Aaron Hotchner Fanfiction - Tumblr Posts

Dinner for Three

Summary: Going to the BAU with the intention of dragging your boyfriend away from working all night proves to be a good decision when you meet a team member of his who needs some cheering up based on the ending scene of 11x09 with an Aaron Hotchner x reader component

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader (fluff)

Word Count: 1.7k

Content Warning: a very slight sexual reference

You're slightly disappointed when you get Aaron's call.

He'd left the BAU early that night to pick you up for your 8 pm dinner date. It hadn't worked, and he texted you something cryptic about a new case involving a longer-running case that concerned the team's technical analyst.

As always, he was incredibly apologetic, calling you as soon as he had a chance, but you don't mind. You know how important his job is and the sacrifices he has to make. Plus, the other times this has happened, he more than made it up to you, proving to be the sweet boyfriend you know he is.

He texts you the next night to let you know they're still working, but he's okay and in Virginia. It's so late that you don't get a chance to text him back until the morning, and you're just hoping he got some sleep during the night, but it doesn't seem likely.

On the second night, he's more upbeat, delivering the good news about his case closing. Oddly, you don't get another message that he's on his way into DC.

With your own profiling effort, you deduce he went to the BAU and got stuck into his paperwork, no doubt putting eating and sleeping at the bottom of his priority list. As a diligent girlfriend, you're walking out the door of your apartment to force him to leave to get something to eat before you can overthink about having never been to his office or the possibility he might not want to see you.

After making it through security and proving who you're there to see, you take the elevator to the sixth floor. It's dead silent, probably because it's close to 10 at night.

Aside from the fluorescent overhead lights in the bullpen and the corridor, the only other light on is an office on the left after you step off the elevator.

It has to be Aaron's since he's most likely the only one here, you reason as you walk toward the door. Gently you tap on the doorframe, but the woman inside definitely isn't your boyfriend.

There are personal belongings in the office, clothing, and boxes scattered on the sofa and table, and two suitcases on the floor, like someone's been living out of the office, and judging by the jacket's pattern, it could be the woman in the room.

She jumps when she sees you, and you quickly apologize. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

She shakes her head. "No. No, it's okay."

Then you realize it's weird that you're just standing there without an explanation, a total stranger. "I'm looking for Aaron Hotchner."

Nervousness flashes across her features. "Agent Hotchner is due back soon. Sorry, who are you?"

It's a question you expected, knowing you might bump into other agents, despite hoping you wouldn't. Aaron has told you about how he keeps his personal life, and therefore you, further away from his professional life than he used to, and you're not sure he'd want his team to know who you are.

You also should have anticipated the suspicion in her voice since people out there want to hurt them and could find their way into the offices to do so.

"His...friend." You settle on. It doesn't even sound right to say anymore. "Although, if he said that about me, he'd be in trouble." You joke mostly to yourself.

She looks more excited now, grinning like a little kid who's found a secret block of chocolate. "I'm Penelope Garcia, the BAU's technical analyst."

"Oh, of course. Aaron talks a lot about you." You tell her, putting a face to the stories as you shake her hand. "I'm Y/n L/n."

"The reason he smiles every time he checks his phone nowadays?" She asks, now eager.

Heat rises to your cheeks. You've seen the smile Penelope's talking about when you catch Aaron looking at you before he bashfully looks away. It's adorable and heartwarming to think about him doing it around his colleagues and probably trying to hide it.

"Sometimes." You downplay it. "It could be him getting a picture of Jack."

She shakes her head. "No, he shows us those. Texts ding on his phone, and he tries to hide his smile, and that's how we know it's not BAU-related. Theories about what they are and who they're from is the hottest gossip around here."

"It better be me then." You say, although you have no doubts that it is. "Otherwise, he's got some explaining to do."

Penelope laughs lightly. "Don't worry. He's about as loyal as they come."

You had come to that conclusion by yourself, but it's good to have it verified by someone who has known him for over a decade.

She catches your eyes wandering around the room and explains it. "I don't know how much you know, but I'm on lockdown here until further notice."

"Aaron mentioned it vaguely." You tell her. "I'm sorry. It must suck." It's not the most aesthetically pleasing home with bleak concert walls, generic lamps, and no closet. She's provided you with information about Aaron's whereabouts and character, so it's your turn to try and help her. "This couch wouldn't look as bad with some sheets, and I'm sure you've got some decorations. I can help. Only if you'd like, no pressure."

Instantly, she sees the optimistic side of you that Aaron admires and loves. "Yeah." Penelope agrees slowly. "Thank you."

She hasn't wanted to take anything out of her bags because it means this nightmare would be real, but you're offering to help, and she realizes she could do with a friend. If she happened to stumble across information about her boss during the process, then so be it. 

You help her brighten up the room, complimenting her comfort decorations.

"So, what's it like to be in a relationship with Aaron Hotchner?" She asks you as she fluffs the throw pillows on the couch, and you hang fairy lights.

After ten minutes of non-Aaron-related talk, you know she's been refraining from asking questions about your relationship. 

"Amazing." You answer effortlessly. "He's..." You trail off from your sentence when someone clears their throat, and you turn around to see your handsome but tired-looking boyfriend standing in the doorway. "Hey."

His expression softens seeing you there, but his features show confusion. "Hey." He returns while acknowledging Penelope with a nod as he steps further into the room. The hand not holding his briefcase comes to rest on your lower back, and you lean into his warmth. "What are you doing here?"

You weren't expecting him to show you physical affection in front of people he knows, but it's a welcomed surprise. "I thought I'd come and convince you not to sit at your desk doing paperwork all night."

He avoids being very unprofessional and asking exactly how you planned to distract him since you're under the careful observation of Penelope, who's memorizing your interaction to repeat to the team tomorrow. 

"There are still a few things we need to go over, Garcia," Aaron says to her. About the case they just closed, you figure, but it can't be overwhelmingly good news because he wouldn't stretch out telling her that she's safe. "Are you going to be okay?"

You admire her bravery as she nods with tears filling her vision. "I'm gonna make myself a vegetarian omelet for dinner." She says before pausing. "Do you both want to stay?" She quickly backtracks. "Forget that. You've probably got places to be, sorry."

Aaron looks to you for your judgment, and although he's letting you decide since this would typically be time you two spend together, there's an answer he would prefer. 

"No, we've got nothing planned, and I'm starving." You confirm. Penelope's face lights up, the sadness she's holding onto about her new living quarters feeling less heavy. "Do you have jalapenos?" 

"Do I have jalapenos?" She repeats, suggesting an obvious answer. She moved to grab the ingredients. "I should let you know that I have had a love affair with all things hot and spicy since I was, like, 12."

You smile at her delight as Aaron takes the chopping board she handed him with a bowl full of jalapenos. "Maybe the more important question is will you judge me for putting them on my food even if they make me cry a little?" You ask, nudging Aaron, who knows the incident you're referencing.

She looks at him in horror before turning back to you. "Is there any other way to eat them?" She asks.

"Someone." You nod to Aaron, who's getting to work on his task. "Eats spicy food without even tearing up."

He snorts out a laugh. "You weren't crying 'a little.'" He reminds you, defending himself playfully. "It was full-on crying with mascara tracks down your cheeks. You should have seen her, Penelope." He continues. "Seriously, I thought we were about to get kicked out of that restaurant. The waitress was so concerned." He laughs at the memory. He concluded that night that your crying with pleasure tendency is much better when it's only the two of you.

You lightly hit him on the shoulder to scold him before letting your hand linger to test the boundaries. He relaxes under your touch, muscles relaxing a little.

"It's a natural reaction." You jokingly argue back. "I'm on a spicy food ban at restaurants now." You inform Penelope.

"Oh, you've got to come to the next pasta night at Rossi's." She tells you. "It's the best food you can get, no jalapenos involved."

You look to Aaron for permission, not wanting to agree to something if he doesn't want you around his friends. He smiles lightly at you, now knowing introducing you and merging two parts of his life isn't as risky as he thought it might be.

"I'd love that." You agree. "Ready for that, Aaron?"

"Please agree." Penelope jumps in. "They'll love her. Don't worry." She assures you. "I'll make sure the team knows how perfect you are for him." 

Aaron chuckles beside you. "I don't doubt that." 

There's a double meaning that you and Aaron catch. Most obviously, Aaron knows the team will find out about your dinner together and probably learn every detail about you that they can before you officially meet, and additionally, he doesn't have any doubts that you're perfect for him.

crazy

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader

summary: after one heated and spontaneous night together, aaron can’t seem to get his pretty subordinate (or her pussy) out of his head.

content warnings: smut, 18+, minors do not interact!, pussy!whipped hotch, age gaps, dirty talk, rough unprotected office sex, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving, mentions of m receiving in the past), choking, hair pulling, ass slapping, groping, some angst if u squint, love confessions and some asshole behavior, hotch is a munch and masturbates in his office.

word count: 6.5k (yea…)

a/n: this may seem a lil out of character for hotch? we all know he’s a professional thru and thru but the point is this is that he’s pussy whipped! also lots of flashbacks in italics whoopsies <3

Aaron was sure he was going crazy.

Or maybe he already was, and he was just starting to feel the effects of his craziness.

Aaron Hotchner, usually poised in a way that unwillingly intimidated others and made them back away from him, was unraveling in a way he had never done so before.

Having a one-night stand with his subordinate, the same subordinate he had been harboring painfully arising feelings for literal years, often led to such a reaction.

He could still recount every single detail from that night, from the moment the tension between you both began building itself up to the moment it actually snapped. It was as if he had everything engraved in his mind; the views he never thought he'd get to see to the things he never thought he would get to feel etched into his brain.

It had all been a blur that night, and a part of Aaron still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that you reciprocated his attraction towards you, letting him, not only touch you but also fuck you.

You two had stayed up late in your shared hotel room only to talk, really. After you and the rest of the team had wrapped up a somewhat good case, you only wanted to rant to one another. Aaron knew that you weren’t a ‘whiskey girl,’ or whatever it was that you said, but he had offered you a drink either way.

Neither one of you had even gotten tipsy, so he couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol. But the connection had always been there, though, one thing finally leading to another and all the unsaid words and stolen glances between you both began to surface.

It was as if everything you both silently felt for another was starting to seep through and everything that hindered you from telling each other no longer mattered.

It had felt so hot, from the way you held him close with your legs wrapped around his waist to the messy yet passionate kisses you shared, your bodies connected beneath.

It was everything Aaron envisioned it to be. But, as magical and heated as it was, he was the one to have ended things before they even had a chance at starting.

The morning after, as soon as you had both untangled your bodies from one another and got dressed to get back home to Quantico, he had done the stupidest thing imaginable.

“We shouldn’t do this again.”

You froze in your spot, half-way through tugging your pants up your legs. You blink at him from where he stood on the other side of the bed, already dressed, “This?”

“Yes.” Aaron says, voice awfully neutral.

You frown, jutting out your bottom lip that same way you did when you were thinking, “May I ask why?”

He takes a deep breath, “I’m your boss,” he gives you a pointed look, as if he had to remind you after fucking you dumb, “and you’re my subordinate. This goes against several workplace regulations and if anyone were to find out we could both lose our jobs.”

You’re quiet for several moments after that, and Aaron uses the silence to his advantage to prepare for any arguments you could be thinking of to use against him. He can’t seem to read you, though, your expression pensive as you stare at the floor.

Then you shrug. “Okay.” You say, simple and nonchalant.

Aaron watches as you continue finishing getting ready and he doesn’t know if he should ask if you were actually okay with it.

He decides that it’s for the best, not getting any pushback or having to argue on why he’s just subconsciously pushing you away after having one of the best nights of his life.

“Okay.” He repeats, giving you a small nod, even though you weren’t looking at him. With one last glance to your surprisingly calm figure, he finishes collecting the rest of his things and heads out of the room.

Even after the team had checked out of their hotel and settled onto the jet, you didn’t spare him a second glance. You hadn’t necessarily moved to ignoring him or silently lashing out, but it was as if everything went back to normal, with no mentions or glances back to that night.

That should be what was driving him crazy; the way he didn’t know if you were only calm because you were planning on going to the higher-ups, to HR, about what had happened. If you were secretly planning on putting him on blast out of anger or betrayal or telling him that he had coerced you to sleep with him and threatened you in case you didn’t.

No. What was driving him crazy was that he couldn’t get you out of his head, even after he broke things off.

Everything was engraved into his mind, from the sight of you on your knees, mouth full of his cock while you stared up at him with tear-pricked eyelashes and basked in his praises. Or the way your nails dug into his skin as he thrusted into you and the way you felt around him, all while he took pleasure in the sweet sounds he emitted from you every second.

He was going mad, and the already established feelings he had for you weren’t helping, either.

Aaron stared at you from inside his office, studied your features from afar whilst you sat on your desk. Your face was set in a neutral expression, flickering your attention from your computer screens to the physical files in front of you, but all he could see was the same face and person morphed into the one that had been withering in pleasure underneath him.

“Hotch…” you whine, a hand wrapped around his bicep as he dipped a finger inside your glistening pussy.

He watched as your back arched off the bed, throwing your head back against the pillows at the feeling of his thick digit inside you, “What, sweetheart?” He asked, the nickname rolling of his tongue easily. “What do you need? Hm?”

Your hips stuttered as he inserted another finger, thrusting them in and out you, “Y-You. I want you. Inside me.” You peered at him through your fluttering lashes, your mascara smudged underneath your eyes from the tears that had slipped out while you were sucking his cock.

“Yeah?” His voice is filled with amusement and bewilderment, one part of him indulging in seeing you this way—all disheveled and needy for him—while the other was still stunned at the whole thing. “Want my cock inside you after you just had it in your mouth?”

You nod meekly at his words, a sweet pout adorning your flushed lips.

Despite the heat and tension that suffocated the room, Aaron’s heart fluttered at the sight of you. The way you were asking for him ever so bashfully after just giving him the best head of his life tugged at his heartstrings and made his cock twitch.

“Please,” you whisper, bucking your hips upwards. A stuttered gasp emits from your lips when you feel the tip of his dick prod at your sopping entrance, “Aaron…”

Aaron lets out a low, throaty groan at the sound of his first name mumbled in desperation, and he thinks back to all the times he’s thought about you like this. How many times he’s dreamed of having you underneath him, encaged by his broad figure and whining for him.

“I got you, sweet girl,” he says promisingly. He lifts himself to his full height on his knees, lining himself up with your entrance and holding onto the meat of your thigh. Another groan utters from the back of his throat, mixed in with your gasps and puffs of breath as he begins to sink inside you.

A knock on his office door forces Aaron to snap out of his train of thought. He looks down at himself, registering the painfully hard boner he was now sporting. Quickly, he scooted further into his desk so that the tent in his pants wouldn’t be visible by whoever was knocking on his door. Clearing his throat, he lets out a somewhat proper ‘come in.’

In walks Garcia, and Aaron doesn’t know if he should be thankful or mortified it was her out of all people.

“Sir?” She asks politely, files in hand and head tilted in an ever so Penelope manner. “We’re ready whenever you are.”

Right. It was barely nine in the morning and Aaron was already sporting a growing tent in his suit pants.

He nods, doing his best to feign being busy, “I’ll be there in five, Garcia.”

He wants to think he comes out as somewhat normal, but panic surges through him briefly when her expression turns into a curious one.

“Are you alright, sir?” She takes a step forward and Aaron has to hold himself back from screaming for her to stay where she is. “You look red and pale at the same time.”

He shakes his head, waving a hand dismissively yet good-naturedly, “I’m fine. Jack is coming down with something and I think I might be, too.”

Great. Now he was using his innocent son as a scapegoat for his own horniness and bad decisions. Some father he was.

Garcia nods, looking convinced enough before bidding him a nod shuffling out of his office and closing the door behind her.

Aaron lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding in. His boner had softened the slightest bit, and he was conflicted in trying to make it go down completely or taking care of it right here and now. But the thought of having to face his team after fucking himself into his fist mortified him. Of seeing you, right after fucking himself into his fist to the thought of you after leaving you hanging coldly.

He opted out of it, though it took more than five minutes to settle himself before heading over to the conference room. Once again, he tried to play it as casual as possible while he walked to his seat with everyone staring expectantly at him, including you.

“Let’s get started.”

The team’s briefings went on as so, everyone presenting their perspective cases and discoveries within them. It was a bit easier to lose focus of what he was thinking earlier when the gory crime scenes showed up on the TV screen each time someone went up, but all focus was lost when it was your turn.

You stood from your seat, taking the control from Penelope’s hands and talking everyone through the case you were currently focusing on.

Aaron held his fist up to his face as he tried to focus on the details of the case instead of you and your entire being. Your hair whipped out and into your face each time you looked from the screen and back to the team. The top part of your dress twisted with each turn and motion you made, the bottom part of it creasing along with it. Was it a new dress?

Didn’t matter. It didn’t compare to the pajama shorts he had slowly, almost tauntingly, pulled down your legs before–

“...makes me think he’s keeping them in a secluded space. He obviously likes the control and the pleasure of having his victims’ screams and cries for help to himself, so I’ve advised police to search condemned and empty areas far away from the city and even on the outskirts of the town.” You finished with a nod and once again Aaron was snapped away from his unholy thoughts.

While everyone else added their own commentary and advice, Aaron realized he had been the only to have not said anything during your presentation, too preoccupied with you once more.

“Adding in the possibility of him keeping them outside of the main town the victims have been found in was a smart move,” He quickly added, trying his best to comment on what he had paid attention to. His breath hitched when you turned to look at him. “Law enforcement might have missed that and can collaborate with police from the next town over. Good job.”

You smiled softly and nodded in appreciation, “Thank you.”

Fuck. How were you so nonchalant about this? Aaron’s mind wandered back to the probability of you getting back at him by going to Strauss about your rendezvous. It was only early morning Monday, the first day back in the office after said events, so it wasn’t a surprise he hadn’t heard anything from her. Yet.

He nodded back in response, though, casting his gaze downwards and collecting his things, “Great. I expect everyone’s reports to be on my desk by tonight, please.”

Everyone stood from their seats, shuffling out of the room with mumbled conversations. Aaron held back, taking his time in looking through his files and stacking them together while you did the same, leaving the two of you alone once everyone else had gone.

He wanted to say something, gather the courage to ask you something. Anything, just to make sure you were alright. If the two of you were still right, in spite of everything.

Only when you finished collecting things did he bring himself to open his mouth, a soft utterance of your name to get your attention.

You stopped in your tracks, a good couple feet away from him and the door. You stared at him, waiting for him to speak with a neutral expression on your face.

Not one of annoyance or irritation. Just expectant.

God, you really were driving him crazy.

You raised a brow when he didn’t say anything, “…Yes?”

He clears his throat again before asking, “Is everything okay?”

You blink and tilt your head, dumbfounded, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Aaron grips at his files, guilt consuming him all over again. “With us,” he clarifies, swallowing harshly. “Is everything okay with us?”

You blink a couple more times, eyes wandering to the side as if you’re trying to catch onto what he’s implying.

It makes his heart churn.

“Oh.” You finally say, meeting his gaze. “Yes. We both agreed, no? To what you said.”

Aaron can’t decipher if the smile you give him is genuine or jeering, and he can’t tell if what you say last is clarifying as his answer or if it’s something underlyingly petty.

Either way it’s something. You’ve given him something and he’ll take it.

He nods finally, “Yes, we did.”

You shrug, smiling a bit wider this time, “All good then.”

He gives another curt nod, stepping to the side so you could exit the room. He moves to follow behind you, but he gets a whiff of your perfume as soon as you brush past him. The scent makes him halt and he has to hold onto one of the back posts of a chair to stabilize himself.

He takes a deep breath, inhaling the remnants that linger behind you for a moment.

He truly was going crazy.

The rest of the day goes by the same and hardly any work gets done on Aaron’s end. He’d scribble whatever he needed to write down or fill out then get distracted by the void of you.

It was getting impossible for him to keep working with the relentless problem that was his ongoing boner. He was tucked into his desk all the way yet it hurt whenever he leaned forward or backwards while moving around. Oftentimes he tried to give himself some sort of relief by running a hand over himself, but it didn’t help much, and the dirty thoughts about you certainly didn’t either.

The sounds that filled the room were lewd, your gags and moans from below mixed in with Aaron’s grunts and words of encouragement echoing off the hotel room’s walls. His large hand was entangled in your hair, pushing your head forward to take more of him, as if your jaw wasn’t aching enough already.

Though there wasn’t a way for him to tell, really. You gave no sign or indication that you wanted him to stop, your tongue swiping at the head of his cock each time he dipped your head even more. Saliva pooled from your tongue and leaked from your mouth, dripping into the carpeted floor and entailing a trail from your lips to your chin.

Aaron’s head was thrown back in utter pleasure and astonishment, bewildered that you’d ever be doing this to him. He didn’t want to finish before you, but it was taking everything him to not give in and fuck your face the way he truly desired.

He’d never received head this good, nor had he received it much recently. His legs were spread with you settled in between them contently. “That’s it sweetheart,” he mumbled, brushing fallen strands of hair out of your face lovingly. “Taking me so good, such a good girl.”

His praises only edged you on even further, bobbing your head up and down a couple more times before pulling off of him with a slick ‘pop!’ You rest your head on his thigh in an attempt to catch your breath, a shaky, stuttered sigh heaving from your chest as your hand comes up to continue the rest of your work.

Aaron has to run a hand over his face to try and keep his composure, his nails digging into the skin of his palm albeit their short length. He throws his head back against his chair, a grunt threatening to emit from his throat as he coercively runs his hand over his boner.

At least he wishes he can say it’s coercively, really it’s just a tainted image of you he’s embedded in his own dirty mind.

It doesn’t take long for Aaron to give in and reach inside his pants, sparing another careful glance to his now locked office door before springing his painfully hard cock free. A low, pleased grunt spills from his pursed lips as he wraps his hand around himself. He gives his length a good tug, bucking his hips up instantaneously, the same way he did when you first wrapped your mouth around him.

Still, as cautiously and quietly as possible, he begins to stroke at his length, a hand covering his mouth as he continues to dart his eyes from below himself to his door–as if anyone would walk in at any second and catch him jerking himself off in his own government-issued office.

He begins to imagine that his fist is you. That you’re sitting in the space between his legs with your hot mouth licking long stripes up his length and that your hand is toying with his balls the same way you did before. It only makes him pump at his fist even faster, the hand that was covering his mouth shooting down to the armrest of his chair, gripping at the cushioned leather as he began to reach his high.

“Fuck, Hotch, fuck!” Your whines are eccentric, head thrown back in pure ecstasy. Your legs wrap around Aaron’s waist, pulling him closer to you as he continues to thrust into your sopping pussy.

Aaron groans loudly, silently thanking that his and yours room was placed further down the hall from everyone else’s. His hands rest at the bottom of your thighs, his large hand gripping the flesh for support as he pounds into you relentlessly. Your pussy grips him like a vice and your nails dig into the skin of his biceps from where you hold him.

His sight is focused on you only, the way your tits bounce with each thrust and the way your mouth is curled into a wide ‘o’ from the pleasure you’re receiving.

“So good for me, baby,” he mumbles, hand coming down to grab at your breast, squeezing possessively before leaning down to crash his lips against yours hungrily.

You whine through the kiss, grabbing a fistful of his hair and tugging while your other hand scratches at his back. A string of saliva connects at your lips when he pulls away, his head dipping down to kiss and suck at your neck while he grabs your hips to better pistol himself inside you.

A moan echoes through the room again and straight to his ear, your back arching into his chest, “Feels so good, Aaron, so good!”

Aaron’s release sputters everywhere messily and he has to bite at his fist to stop himself from groaning loudly. His come spills onto parts of his leg, his desk, and even onto the floor. He leans back into his chair, trying to contain himself and his heaving chest.

He takes a look at the mess he created–the mess you unknowingly entailed from him. Like clockwork, the paranoia and guilt from doing this begins to seep in and he’s quick to snatch a handful of tissues from the box he kept on the corner of his desk to clean himself up. He tucks himself back into his pants then moves to clean at his desk and his floor.

Clearly, he hadn’t known what he was thinking. Not when it came to calling things off between the two of you before they even happened and certainly not now after he realized the spell he was currently in.

The last hour of the work day comes by agonizingly slowly. After his little session, Aaron finds it a little bit easier to get the rest of his work done (key word: a little bit). The rest of the members all begin to spill into his office to hand in their finished paperwork and files, all of them sparing him brief glances of curiosity and concern–the same way Garcia had done earlier–before bidding him goodnight and leaving.

The only one that hasn’t come to hand in anything was you. He knew you were still here, he could see you sitting at your desk from the view through his blinds, scribbling away casually like you had been doing so the whole day. After you had stalled to follow behind the rest of your co-workers, Aaron had gotten up from his desk and pretended to be walking around his office with a file in hand, lifting his head every few minutes to see if you were ever making your way towards him to turn in your work.

He wanted desperately to know what you were thinking. If you were secretly being tortured by the recollections of your hook-up, too, or if you truly didn’t care about him basically dumping you after having sex with you and telling you that it could never happen again due to your perspective titles.

With a defeated sigh, he closes the file he was still pretending to read. His eyes instinctively travel back to where your desk was at and his breath immediately catches in his throat when he sees that you aren’t there. He hears the sound of footsteps approaching closer and closer through the staircase that leads up to his office and you walk in soon after.

You freeze in the doorway when you see that he’s already staring at you. Your eyes flicker to a space behind him then back at him before you take a tentative step back and glance at the clock hung on the wall facing his desk, “Uh, is this a bad time?”

“No!” Aaron takes a step forward when you take another one back. He rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly, “No, no, it’s not. I didn’t know you were still here. Everyone else left almost half an hour ago.”

“Oh,” you glance back behind you to the rest of the bullpen before looking back at him. “I was just finishing up the reports you said you wanted done by the end of today.” You jut your chin toward the stack of files you were carrying in one arm.

“Right.” He clears his throat, motioning to the pile of files the rest of the team had stacked on his desk. “You can just leave them there.”

You nod, giving him a small smile.

He watches as you walk over to his desk, taking in your appearance while you double-check that everything was correct. He swallowed harshly, taking in the way your skirt hugged your lower figure perfectly the same way it did during the morning debriefing. Your hair flows ever so slightly and he takes in a good look at your side profile when you tuck a loose strand behind your ears while you continue to flip through the pages of your file.

You’re breathtakingly gorgeous and Aaron doesn’t know if what suddenly makes him start walking up behind you is from what he’s felt since sleeping with you or if it’s everything he’s felt since way before that.

You halt your movements when you feel his presence directly behind you, gasping when you turn and find how close he was standing.

“Hotch–” you gulp, heat blooming through your cheeks albeit feeling confused. “W-What are you doing?”

Aaron takes in your tone and he can tell that you’re not asking in a disgusted, annoyed way, more so in a flustered way. He lifts a hand to brush the hair that frames your face past your face but doesn’t actually move to do it, keeping it there to see if you push him away. But you don’t. So he brushes it away.

“I can’t get you out of my head.” He mumbles, eyes boring into the side of your face as you stare up at him as best as you can from your practically rigid figure.

You scoff, a sound filled with so much humor yet so little at the same time, “You were the one that said this couldn’t happen again.” You twist your head, trying to turn your body around more with the way he had you pressed against the front of his desk.

“That was a mistake,” he whispers. He dips his head so that his mouth is by your ear, watching you shiver from the proximity.

“A mistake?” You repeat, brows raised. You lull your head to the side but you don’t know if you do it to get away from him or to grant him access to your neck.

Aaron takes it as the latter and hovers his lips over your skin, the same spot where he had left splotches of pink and purple last time.

“Yes,” he confirms, “a mistake.”

You want to ask why he said it then, want to press him for answers but you can’t when his hot breath sends shivers down your spine and arms. Your legs go weak when he brings a hand around you to wrap at your middle, big hand splayed across your stomach to pull you in even closer, if possible.

“H-Hotch,” you clear your throat. “We can’t. You said so yourself.” You roll your shoulders back in a weak effort to push him away, but all he does is hold you tighter.

“I was wrong,” he mutters, pressing a feather-light kiss to the very side of your neck. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the aroma of your perfume again and letting out a pleased hum from the back of his throat. “I was so wrong.”

You gasp when he flings an arm out in front of you, proceeding to knock over the multiple things from his desk. Files, pens, and other trinkets fly off the hard wood and land on the floor with a loud crash. Aaron spins you around before you can process the whole mess, turning you around so that you were facing him.

“Aaron-!” Your mind is a whirlwind as he grabs at your hips and easily sets you down on the edge of the desk. His lips crash onto yours messily and you hum, satisfied.

The kiss quickly becomes sloppy and hungry, muffled whines as you two practically devour one another. Your hands wrap around his neck while his own roam your body, curious hands searching for the zipper of your dress and bunching up the fabric in the process. You mewl when he finally finds it and slowly tugs it down. You break apart from the kiss in order to help him, scrambling from side to side so that it comes off from under you.

Aaron lets out a groan at the sight of you as he tosses the dress to the side. You’re wearing a matching set: a lacy white bra that cups your breasts gorgeously and a lacy white thong paired with it. It takes everything in him to not come undone right then and there.

Holding your gaze, Aaron sinks to his knees, shrugging off his suit jacket as he kneels before you.

“Aaron…”

He immediately shushes you, discarding the jacket somewhere next to your dress on his office floor. “Spread your legs for me, sweetheart.”

Instead of obeying, you knock your knees together bashfully, the fat of your thighs pressing against each other.

Aaron’s eyes darken at your shy defiance. “I said spread your legs.” His hands come out to grab behind your knees and you gasp again when he spreads them apart forcefully, large hands holding them in place.

“Oh, sweet girl,” he utters, gaze locked on your soaked panties. His palms slide down your legs, eyes flickering back up at you as he begins to kiss at your calves. Each peck to your skin leaves a wet trail from your earlier kiss and you whine in anticipation as he makes his way up before coming face to face with your pussy. His fingers hook themselves inside the thin fabric and you immediately get the message, lifting your hips once more so he could slide them down your legs

Aaron swiftly shoves the wet material into his pockets, wasting no time before diving straight in and burying his head in between your thighs.

His tongue swiping at your folds elicits a loud moan from you, your hands shooting out to grab at his head, “Aaron!” You yell out, fingers tangling in his hair to stabilize yourself from the suddenness.

Aaron grunts from below you, the sound sending vibrations up your body and causing you to arch into his touch. He didn’t know how he hadn’t thought of tasting you that night in the hotel room, too preoccupied with the pleasure he had received from you. But–dare he say–this was better than head, better than anything else he had ever gotten, tasted or even done. He wasn’t even a minute into devouring you and he had already decided that this was the best pussy he had ever had in his whole life.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about this pussy.” He lapped at your juices, mouth hot on your dripping cunt. His hands continued to grip at your thighs, large palms still keeping you in place from where you were writhing in pleasure.

“A-Aaron,” you whimper, grinding your hips against his face. “Please, I need you. Need you so bad.”

Your head was thrown back in utter bliss, hips stuttering with each nibble at your clit. Your fingers tugged his face closer despite the longing you had to feel him inside you, caging his head to keep him there.

Aaron couldn’t help but bask in the sounds he was pulling from you. It was as if his mouth had a mind of his own and all it could focus on was licking up every single one of your juices, the taste nearly intoxicating. He flickered his eyes up to you, taking in the way your chest heaved and your breasts pushed against the cups of your bra, practically spilling out.

Without removing his tongue from your pussy, he reaches behind you and easily undoes the hooks.

You let the straps fall from your shoulders and aid him in tossing it somewhere in the room along with your dress. Desperately, you reach for Aaron’s hands and place them on your breasts, groaning when he rolls each already hard and sensitive nipple in between your fingers.

Your legs begin to shake and you’re quick to wrap them around Aaron’s head, the heels of your feet digging into his muscular back. “Mm, fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” you toss your head back as the coil in your belly threatens to snap.

“Yeah?” He teases, angling his head so that he could spit onto your cunt, all before diving right back in and swirling it together with your arousal. “You gonna cum on my mouth, honey?”

You nod, feverishly, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you feel your orgasm getting closer and closer.

“Go ahead, pretty,” Aaron ushers, voice deep and rough from his non stop nibbling and sucking. “Come on my mouth, sweetheart.”

A certain bite on your clit immediately has you seeing stars and the office is soon filled with your cries of ecstasy as your orgasm washes over you violently. Your body shakes and stutters as you ride out the high on his face, leaning backwards until your back was resting against his desk.

Aaron doesn’t relent even as you begin to come down from your high, enhancing the way your legs shook from where they were wrapped around him.

“No, n-no more, Aaron, p-please,” you begged, keeping your back on the desk while weakly attempting to push him away.

“Just one more, honey. You can give me one more, can’t you?”

You don’t get the chance to answer, back arching off the desk as his fingers prodded at your entrance briefly before he shoved two inside. A high-pitched moan emitted from your swollen lips and your hips rutted against his face once more as he scissored the thick digits inside your gummy walls.

“That’s it, pretty girl, that’s it,” Aaron’s sultry words only encouraged you further, his face wet with your arousal and the release of your first orgasm. “I’m gonna make it up to you, sweetheart. But first you gotta give me another one.”

His thumb came up alongside his mouth to rub rough circles on your already sensitive, swollen clit and you immediately felt that coil snap once more, mixing in with the first orgasm you hadn’t even properly come down from.

“Aaron, Aaron, Aaron!” You mumbled dumbly, mouth agape and head hanging back from the desk as you rode out your second high on his face, the heavy wood shaking with every motion.

Aaron’s head was buried even further in between your legs, lips trying to catch every single drop that leaked from your hole, pulling out your fingers and cleaning them with a swirl from his tongue. He delivered a sweet kiss to your folds before standing, his knees cracking in response to being kneeled on the ground for so long.

He leans over, bringing a guiding hand to the back of your neck to get you to sit up, “You good, honey?” Aaron asks, brushing away the stray hands of hair that had stuck to your face. “Still with me?”

You hum, nodding weakly, “Need you, Aaron.”

Aaron chuckles at your fucked-out form, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head, “I got you, sweetheart. Bend over the desk for me.”

You stand on wobbly legs and do as he says blindly, the need to have him inside you outshining your nearing overstimulation. You feel yourself salivate as the sound of him undoing his belt is heard from behind you and you look back to watch him pull himself out from his boxers.

He hears you gasp when his cock springs out and hits against his stomach, tip an angry red and leaking with precome. He wraps a hand around himself and groans at how painfully hard he was. He quickly lines himself up with your entrance, slapping his length against your dripping folds before easing himself inside little by little.

You whine from in front of him when he bottoms out, the tip of his dick easily hitting your sweet spot the same way it did before in the hotel. This time, though, it feels even better with how wet you already were, his cock glistening when he pulls out before shoving himself back in roughly.

It doesn’t take long for Aaron to set a brutal pace, hands on your hips as he begins to pound into you from behind ruthlessly, a stark contrast from the way he had asked you if you were okay.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You have no idea how crazy you’ve driven me since I first fucked this pretty pussy,” Aaron grunted form behind, fingers digging so hard into your hips he was sure there would be an imprint there. “Had to get myself off in my own office, that’s how crazy you had me going.”

You don’t answer. You can’t answer. Your mouth is wide open, small huffs the only noise you can make while a line of saliva drools from your tongue. It’s only when you feel him wrap your hair in his hand and pull your back flush against his chest that you squeal, the angle pushing his cock further inside you.

“You like that, pretty?” He asks deeply, voice hoarse and gravely as he continues to pound into your pussy, the squelching that comes from beneath scandalous. “Like getting this pussy fucked by me, huh?”

You nod dumbly, too fucked out to properly answer him. A harsh slap against your ass makes you cry out, the sting somewhat snapping you back to reality.

“Answer me,” Aaron commands, tugging at your hair and making your back arch even further against him. “Did I fuck you dumb like last time?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you babble, legs shaking even in your standing position. “I l-love it, Aaron. Feels so g-good.”

He chuckles against your ear, the way you could barely register his questions only making him quicken his pace, “You gonna come on my cock, sweetheart? Gonna give me one more wrapped around me?”

You nod with as much fervor as possible, “Yes, y-yes, can I, Aaron? Want you to c-cum inside me, please.”

“Yeah? Want me to stuff you full of my cum?” He asks. He doesn’t bother to correct you when you don’t answer, instead snaking his hand to your front and down to your pussy.

The feel of him rubbing circles on your clit is the final push you need before you’re clenching around him, body trembling against him as he continues his assault on your swollen bud.

It doesn’t take long for Aaron to spill his own release inside you, giving you a couple more shallow thrusts as he comes down from his own high.

You whine when you feel him pull out, a string of your mixed releases following suit on the tip of his cock.

“So good, baby,” he praises, wrapping a hand around your neck gently and pressing soothing kisses on your cheek. “Did so good for me.”

You lean your head against his shoulder as he reaches for some tissues to clean you up, “So I guess we’re definitely doing this again?”

Aaron laughs, a pink adorning his cheeks, “Yes. Yes, we are. In fact, I’m telling everyone to work from home tomorrow so I can take you on a proper date. I’m not risking going crazy again.”

You suppress a giggle, “You went crazy? Over my pussy?”

He sighs, “If only you knew.”

Aaron Hotchner: Found Out

Imagine your boyfriend(Aaron Hotchner) realizes you're the unsub:

-Lil warning: includes descriptions of blood/gore, also a little hint of past domestic abuse, PTSD, murder, hint of child abuse/molestation(barely even there)-

My life wasn't always this complicated, I would find my target, learn their schedule, then attack. I didn't kill innocent people, only scumbags like pedophiles, rapists, and abusers who got off easy or didn't get prosecuted at all; I had easy access as I worked as a courtroom reporter.

Sadly, this simple life couldn't last.

———————

Everything changed when I met a certain prosecutor, he had short black hair and a serious expression on his face, one which I immediately found attractive. We were never on the same case, only seeing each other in passing. I only really got to know him when we bumped into each other during a coffee break and finally started talking. He had invited me to go out for lunch later that day, and we scheduled another meeting from there.

We quickly started dating, I supported him and his rampant schedule as mine was equally rampant, and my support never faltered when he took on the daunting task of joining the FBI. I had held off on killing when I started dating Aaron, but I really only managed for a few months.

I was honestly surprised when no connection or larger investigation was ever created, I think I have made it quite obvious that these crimes were done by the same killer. I had actually studied criminology in university, but I had a certain interest in serial killers that dated all the way back to childhood. I loved the idea of having a signature to distinguish yourself by, to have a certain way that you kill.

My preferred way was to poison them, unnecessary violence is something I don't indulge in unless they truly deserve it. Certain crimes such as rape/sodomy, and crimes against children or the elderly usually make me feel the need to be malicious and cruel; I always torture pedophiles though, there is absolutely nothing good or redeeming about them. The way I would kill them is through slow torture, possibly cutting off their fingers or toes, sometimes even removing every single tooth in their mouth before I allow them to die.

After their deaths, I drain their blood, usually into a bucket, then I will take an amount into a cup and move to a wall, usually the one nearest to them. I take down any pictures and move away anything cluttering the space before I start. This part is always my favorite, making beautiful artwork out of their filthy, dirtied blood.

I make my art take up the whole wall, usually drawing a vicious beast, such as a dragon, or possibly a snarling dog, but sometimes I draw beautiful things, such as a landscape or a galloping horse. I try not to draw beautiful things, but I can't stop it when the brush speaks.

This process naturally takes a lot of time. I used to not have to worry, but now I have to make sure I spend enough of my personal time with Aaron that I don't seem distant or suspicious. The last thing I want is for him to think I'm cheating or that I don't love him.

———————

Today... Was an off day. I had spent the last week on surveillance of this man, Kade Wilkins, he was a child predator who was arrested for lewd and lascivious acts with a child under the age of 14. I was in the courtroom during his case and had to hear all the gruesome details, the kid even went up to testify. Sadly, this man somehow landed a phenomenal lawyer who got him off with only having to register as a sex offender and five years community service.

I was immensely enraged, the kid actually walked up to me afterwards and asked what happened because no one else would tell him the truth. I had to explain that the man who had been molesting and abusing him for a year was just set free with practically no punishment.

Kade Wilkins was disgusting, he would walk over to the elementary schools and watch them during recess, then he would just wander around aimlessly, usually near parks before stopping at a liquor store to buy beer and ask if someone would let him borrow a cigarette. Today, I was gonna be that person.

He had walked into the store as per usual, I waited outside, pulling the laced cigarette pack out of my purse as planned, but all he did was walk right past, paying no attention to the expensive cigarettes being held in my hand. I let out an aggravated sigh after he was out of hearing range, I guess I will have to do this the hard way.

I wait until night falls, he already lives in a shady neighborhood, the last thing I want is for one of his neighbors to see my face. I quickly scale the tattered wood fence, landing quietly in the dying grass of his backyard. Walking over to the back door I quickly slide it open, this idiot never locks his doors.

I hear the shower running, meaning he's probably in his room already, so I will just have to wait because I do not want to see this creep in the shower.

Looking around his home I immediately feel filthy, there's trash on the tables from weeks of takeout, and dirty laundry is littered on the floor, empty beer cans scattered on the tattered smelly couch. Dirty dishes are stacked sky high along the sink, and the fridge reeks of old food and cheap alcohol.

I avert my eyes to look at the watch on my left wrist, the time was 1950(7:50pm), Aaron and I had a dinner reservation at 2200(10:00pm), so I will have to sadly make his death quick.

I must've been in my mind longer than I thought, because the next thing I know I feel arms wrapped around my neck, I did not come here looking for a fight so I am unhappily caught off guard. I fight back, stomping my boots on his sock covered toes, throwing my head back into his nose.

Kade backs up, now sporting a nose bleed with a crooked smile. My arms are up defensively, he always made me uneasy, even from afar, but now I felt straight up disgusted and sick. Wanting to end this quickly I snatch my mace from my belt and spray his face excessively.

He lets out shouts of agony, but I quickly silence him with a pistol-whip to the face. He seems knocked out, so I quickly get to work draining his blood. I usually do this by hanging them up by their arms and just cutting off their feet, letting gravity do the rest for me. This isn't exact or professional, but I don't care, I just want enough blood to paint with.

Normally this process can take up to 20 minutes, but I usually just take blood as it drains. I've also found that blood consistency really matters, use thinner blood for an outline, and thicker when you want more distinguishing features, warming the blood will make it a runnier consistency.

With Kade I had him hanging from some hooks on his ceiling (presumably for a bike), I was already wearing protective gear, the last thing I want is to contract some sort of disease from this sicko.

Normally when I cut off their feet they remain unconscious, but today was simply not my day. Not only did he regain consciousness, he also tried to fight back, I really didn't want to endure this so I slid my knife from its sheath and stabbed it through his neck into his oral cavity.

The look in his eyes was fearful and pleading, but that only made me grin knowing that I made this predator feel nothing but fear in his last moments.

When he is finally dead I pull out a small purple stone from my pocket and delicately place it on top of his head. Call me crazy, but Amethyst is a healing stone, and in some weird way I hope it heals his broken mind in whatever afterlife he is in.

I quickly get to work with painting, his old yellow wallpaper isn't ideal, but I make it work. Today felt different, it felt like his blood didn't want to be paint, but ink; used for writing instead of drawing, and I am not one to go against what the brush wants.

I begin writing, in dripping cursive as well as sharp print. Some words were light whilst others were carved, the blood against the wall reminding me of the orange sunsets against the cold, blue ocean.

It was a while before I stepped back to admire my work, and it was only then I realized that the words were things he had said, things people had said when defending him, but the real thing that stood out was directly in the middle of the wall. It was something that the boy had said to me, and just looking at it written in this man's blood gave me a high that I knew should disgust me.

It said "Why is he free?" Nothing else could sum up how I felt during the court's decision, and knowing that I had taken away his freedom for eternity made me smile with glee.

I immediately began cleaning up, finally glancing at the clock to see it was already 2130(9:30pm), which gave me only 30 minutes to get home and get ready before meeting Aaron for dinner. My heart felt like it was throbbing within my chest, I had made up an excuse of working late today even though Aaron only gets a few days off, at some level I am glad I rid the world of the POS known as Kade Wilkins, but on another I am disgusted that I would rather kill this man than spend time with the one who loves me.

I shove away those thoughts, almost leaving before quickly turning around and approaching the wall, I completely forgot to sign it seeing as this wasn't a drawing. Too lazy to get a brush and start painting again with blood I simply pulled a pen from my purse and signed it before turning off the lights and heading back to my car.

———————

I arrive home in 10 minutes, thankfully(or unluckily?) Kade lived only a short drive away from our shared house. I rush in, tossing my purse on the table as I lock the front door, immediately setting off upstairs and stripping myself of my clothes, tossing them into the washer before hopping into the shower, the last thing I need is for Aaron to see blood on my clothes.

As I get dressed I feel arms wrap around my waist softly, I tense up rigidly before smelling Aaron's cologne and feeling at ease again. He had already felt me tense up though, releasing my waist as he walked in front of me.

"What's wrong?" He asks in his calm tone, I can't help but avoid his eyes, still looking away even when he lifts my face up to look at him. He releases a quiet sigh, I finally shift my eyes to him, taking in his fitting black suit and his soft looking hair. I can't help but reach my hand out to run my fingers through it, him closing his eyes and leaning into my touch as he releases my chin.

"Where's Jackie boy gone?" I question, nonchalantly trying to change the topic of conversation, I don't know if he noticed that or not.

"I dropped him off at Jessica's, she said she wouldn't mind watching him for the night." He speaks, his voice deeper than it was a few moments ago, I can't help the smile that crosses my face as he grabs my hand from his hair, placing a gentle kiss upon it as he looks into my eyes.

"We should get going if we want to make our reservation, last time they almost gave our table away." I state a laugh bubbling in my throat as Aaron chuckles, nodding his head at the memory of me quickly running to our table and telling the waiter off for trying to sit another couple there.

We quickly walked out of our house, Aaron opening the door for me before getting in and driving off. The ride there is quiet and comfortable, the hum of music playing throughout the car with our voices occasionally joining the tune. We are a little late when we finally arrive, but to be honest, 10 minutes is early for us when it comes to dinner reservations.

The restaurant is fancier than I remember. I glance down at my plain black dress and feel slightly uncomfortable, Aaron seems to sense this because as soon as we sit down he reaches out and grasps my hand.

"Honey, what is it?"

"I just feel really under-dressed. You fit right in with your handsome self in a suit, but I'm just in a bland black dress." I quickly respond, feeling my cheeks warm up as I realize how I complimented him during my self-deprecating response. His cheeks are now dusted with a faint sheen of pink, and even though he is slightly flustered, I only pay attention to the warm look in his gaze.

"I'll have you know, that 'bland black dress' is possibly my favorite dress, and you look incredibly gorgeous whenever you wear it." His response causes me to be even more flustered, my eyes dropping to the ground at his compliments. He lets out a quiet string of laughs at my flustered state, squeezing my hand in comfort before sliding my menu over to me.

The rest of the night went quite similar, him making me flustered and myself complimenting him unintentionally, the night felt carefree and I found myself paying no mind to how I brutally murdered a pedophile not even 3 hours ago. The only time it even barely crossed my mind was when Aaron asked how my day was, but I quickly made up an excuse that satisfied his curiosity.

When we finally got home it was nearing 2350(11:50pm), I was much too tired to do anything other than change into a loose shirt before getting in bed, Aaron quickly checked the windows and doors of the house before changing and getting in bed as well. We shared a few slow, lingering kisses before snuggling into each other to fall asleep.

———————

When I woke up, Aaron was already trying to slide out of bed without waking me up, but I quickly grabbed his arm and pulled him back under the covers, releasing a groan of disapproval that he was trying to leave.

We lay like that for a few more minutes before he tries to leave again, which results in me hugging his arm and entangling my legs with his to stop his escape.

I hear him huff in amusement at my antics, the next thing I know he's kissing along my neck, something that I definitely do not attempt to deny. Slowly his kisses move to my clavicle, his arms grasping me and turning me onto my back as he hovers over me, his kisses moving back to my neck before meeting my lips. This kiss is gentle, reminding me of all the reasons that I love this man, causing me to smile slightly.

As he pulls away I finally open my eyes, greeting his dark ones with warmth. I must look so sleepy right now because a grin etches upon his face before he kisses me once more. This kiss is more passionate and leaves me in a daze, which he takes advantage of and slides out of bed. I whine slightly as his warmth leaves me, pulling more covers over for me to snuggle into.

"Honey, you know I have work, I'll try and be back at a reasonable hour, and Jessica will be dropping Jack off after school." He speaks softly as he starts buttoning up his shirt. I gaze at him and smile, he always looks so handsome in the crisp morning air with the pale sunrise shining through the window.

"I know Aar, I just miss you." I smile constantly, something he quickly returns before he starts searching for a tie to wear, holding out a purple or a blue one for me to choose from, I obviously choose the purple one. He grins at my cheekiness as I swat the blue one away and hand him the purple one, he says a 'thank you' before giving me a peck and then returning to getting dressed.

I must've dozed off because I felt Aaron kissing my forehead goodbye. I try to open my eyes, but can only manage a mumbled 'goodbye' before falling back into dreamland.

———————

As I get up, I start a cup of coffee up and walk to the washroom, my stomach turns uncomfortably as I realize that my dirty clothes from last night have just been sitting in the washer, not getting washed. I look through them, not seeing anything missing, and immediately turn on the washing machine, letting out a breath as I head back to the kitchen.

I add some half-and-half and some sugar before throwing on some pants and sitting on the porch. Call me country, but I like to sit out on the porch in the morning to drink coffee and read.

I wave and say 'good morning' to neighbors as they head out for work, everyone around the neighborhood is at least my acquaintance.

I head back inside after finishing my coffee, glancing at the clock to see it is 09:00am, I have to be at work at 10:00am. I quickly set about getting dressed, throwing on a dark gray blouse with some black dress pants, lacing up my work shoes and grabbing my purse as I head out the door. Hopping into my old little car I begin the drive to work, turning on the radio and tuning into the 70s station.

———————

Aaron Hotchner's POV:

This morning had been great, y/n was always incredibly cute, but even today she seemed to be surpassing her normal standard. I always try to sneak out of bed because I don't want to annoy her, but I've found that her waking up leads to a very enjoyable morning, and it always makes me feel better about going to work.

Everything was going great until I went into the washroom, y/n already had some clothes but they weren't washed yet, I pulled some out to see what settings I should set the machine to, but my mind quickly went blank when I saw splatters of red on her jeans. Y/n loves to paint, but she has specific clothes to paint in, and she would never wear her favorite pair of jeans.

This paint also looks weird, like really thin, almost like it was watercolor, but it seems to be flaking, and y/n only buys quality paint and absolutely detests watercolor.

All of this is making me feel uncomfortable, in any other circumstance I would immediately think this was blood, but y/n couldn't hurt anyone, she wouldn't even hurt a fly. The thing that finally makes me ask questions is when I notice the strong smell of iron, something that I've smelled many times before when walking into a crime scene.

I feel uncomfortable, grabbing the over-shirt from the clump of clothes, placing it in a Ziploc bag before heading over to work. I don't know why my stomach was in twists, she probably just cut her finger or something.

———————

Arriving at work I quickly stuff the clothing into my bag, the team doesn't even know I have a girlfriend, the last thing I want is for them to think she is a murderer. I rub my temples as I await the elevator's arrival, luckily it is empty, I really don't feel like being profiled right now.

I neutralize my expression when I reach my floor, striding out of the elevator and through the glass doors, barely sparing any glances to my team. I just want to smooth this whole thing out already, I need to get this clothing tested so that I can feel at ease.

I sit at my desk for a few minutes, mulling over files that still need to be finished, but I immediately stand up, making my way out of my office and through the bullpen, JJ walks by and stops me.

"Sir, we have a case."

"Okay, start without me, I'll join you in a few minutes." I don't give her time to respond, I just begin walking away and to the elevator.

———————

I have just dropped off the clothes, making sure they knew this was incredibly under-wraps and not to be spoken of unless it is directly to me. I think they were kind of scared, but that is the least of my worries.

Walking back into the conference room everyone immediately looks to me, JJ pausing as I take my seat, nodding for her to continue. She does, everyone slowly giving her their attention again, I can tell they want an explanation or an excuse, but I really just want to get past this day.

I glanced at the screen, seeing several gruesome murders, most were men, and they all looked like sleazes. JJ finishes up her presentation, and after a quick chat I decide that this case needs our attention.

"Wheels up in 20."

———————

"What do we know about victimology?" I question, the team quickly starts chattering away.

"Every victim seems to be some sort of criminal, most of them are pedophiles, but there are also some rapists as well as abusers." Reid spouts as he leans back in his chair.

"Alright, so we have a mission-oriented killer, someone who is cleaning up the world, and he is organized and in control." Morgan states. I nod, looking down at the files on my device.

"Why do you say he's organized? These scenes look manic to me." JJ questions

"I actually believe the houses already looked like that, these people were low lifes, they were trashy and disorganized, not to mention criminals. I don't think our unsub did any of that to the house. Also, look at each scene, they are all hanging somehow, they have their feet cut off, and each scene has a painting. These crimes look planned, they were carefully organized and each decision was planned out." Prentiss responds, zooming in to show JJ small details that support her, everyone nodding their heads in agreement.

"This killer also seems to want power and control, look at the way these men are restricted and hanging, he even cut off their feet to possibly stop them from running." I voice, shuffling through the images. Everyone continues bouncing ideas and theories off each other.

"What's with the stone on top of their heads?" Prentiss questions, zooming in on each crime scene photo to show a purple rock of some kind placed on their heads. Everyone looks interested, it would seem we all missed that detail.

"That is actually a crystal, commonly known as an amethyst, but is also known as amethystus in Latin writings. It is considered a powerful and protective crystal, in spiritual religions they claim it opens up a person's third eye and is considered a source of power and wisdom. It is said to have healing properties, such as relieving stress, dispelling anger, and dissolving negativity. People claim it activates spiritual awareness, opens intuitions, and heightens psychic abilities." Reid rambles, looking slightly interested, but also slightly confused, squinting his eyes as he mulls over his explanation and tries to connect it to the crimes.

"Why do you think he is putting an amethyst on each of them? It is obviously deliberate. What is he trying to do?" Rossi asks, that question stumped us for a few moments.

"Lots of people believe that pedophiles have broken minds, this is due to the fact that pedophilia isn't something you can cure, many people believe death is the only thing you can do to protect others." Reid responds.

"Are you saying that our unsub is trying to heal them?" Morgan questions. We all glance at each other.

"Possibly, but I'm not completely sure since people think an amethyst crystal can do so many things. This could be a form of remorse or it could be a way of asking forgiveness for themselves since they killed them." Reid responds again, seeming to only be forming more questions with each answer he reaches.

"How long until we arrive?" Prentiss questions after we had settled down.

"Not long for some of us, I'm sending Derek and Rossi to Ohio, it was where the first 4 victims were murdered. You, Reid, JJ and I will be heading to the 6 more recent crime scenes, which are here in Virginia, we only have another 10 minutes, you guys have about an hour." I say, seeing people nod their heads at the plan.

I feel myself beginning to doze off. I didn't get to sleep a lot, having gotten home around 11:30 and having to wake up around 5:00. Usually I try to stay awake, but today has already been so stressful I allow myself the few moments of rest I have before we have to land.

———————

Y/N's POV:

Today in the courtroom I had to endure a murder trial, sometimes I really hate my life.

A man had killed his wife, and was claiming that she abused him, but he has no evidence to support his claims. Apparently his wife was trying to leave him and take their kids, she wanted to live separately whilst they were finalizing their divorce. He stated that she said she was 'never going to let him see his kids again' and that 'her boyfriend will be a better father than he ever was', and all he could remember from there was seeing red.

I hate these days, lots of people claimed crimes of passion, and though it didn't mean no punishment, it was always a lighter sentence. The person always throws in that their spouse was cheating or abusive.

The moment I arrived home I went to work researching the woman and man, Irene and Arnold Daniels. She had social media, which she rarely used. I quickly hacked my way into her account, though she barely posted anything, she seems to have messaged a few people quite a lot. Mainly two friends, Sheryl Walters and Tanner Singer. I start my programs and it begins scanning through all of her messages, immediately showing the results I wanted.

"He keeps hitting me, and threatening to leave with his girlfriend.." That message alone stopped me in my tracks, I should've known Arnold would be the cheating one. I scan through the message, searching for a name when I find one, a 'Rachel Moors'. Irene goes into detail about how Arnold has been dating Rachel on the side for about a year now, and how that was when he started hitting her and yelling at their children.

I stop myself from continuing, I have all the evidence I need now to know that Arnold Daniels murdered his wife, anymore looking and I would feel gross because I'm snooping through a dead woman's private messages. I quickly exit and shut down my computer,feeling relieved that I can do this without worrying about Aaron seeing.

Don't get me wrong, I would die for Aaron, and I love him to death, but having my own space is nice every once and awhile. I gave up a lot when I started dating him. I was planning on killing at least once a week, which I had been achieving, but that had to slow down because I now need to be careful in my own home.

Back in Ohio I had started on accident, the first kill was done impulsively and in a complete rage, I didn't paint with their blood, instead I grabbed a pen and a piece of paper and started drawing, it was something I did when I felt nervous or uncomfortable. Next thing I know I'm killing again, but this time I planned it, and experimented with using their blood to draw.

The third murder was when I had really created my style, I would knock them unconscious, hang them up, and then kill them by draining their blood, using it to paint on their walls. The 4th murder was the cleanest, the man, Gray Daws, was a man with multiple petty crimes, but he was currently being tried for the rapes of 3 women. Each woman refused to go into the box, so with little evidence and no one talking, he was released.

I was about to move to Virginia, and I wasn't planning on killing again, but this case just stuck with me. I spent about a week stalking him, he frequented night clubs and bars, and picked up a prostitute at least once every day. I learned his schedule and dressed to his preference, wanting to know how he talked to these girls.

It was a lively night, I think some game was on and a carnival was being held just down the road, the streets full of people. I was leaning over the bar, slowly sipping a cold coke when a drink was placed in front of me, not by a bartender, but by Gray Daws himself. I obviously didn't drink it, it was bubbling with something that reminded me of when my friend placed a capsule of ecstasy into her water. I simply looked at him and smiled.

He was dressed in a suit that screamed expensive, but looking closely I could see it was a knock off meant to fool me. Glancing to his wrist I saw a fake Rolex, I acted impressed though, raking my eyes over his sleazy figure. His hair was black but was graying on the sides, and it looked oily, slicked back with some of it falling to the side. His face was clean but it just looked dirty, the stubble on his jaw repulsing me.

Heslid the glass closer to me, placing his other hand on my lower back. I wanted to smack his hand away and pour the drink down his shirt, but I held back, instead mustering up an attractive smile that seemed to work.

"What are you doing here all alone, doll face?" The nickname alone made me want to growl, but instead I took one of my hands and grabbed the offered drink, swirling it around in the glass.

"I could ask you the same, a handsome man like you surely can't be single." I state, placing my hand on his chest to push him back slightly, both to play hard to get as well as to feel less repulsed. He pays no mind and lowers his hand even further, making me shift in my seat

"How would you like to get to know me in private then, I know a place." He continues, his voice lowering as he pushes into my personal space. He tries to grab my wrist, but I quickly twirl my seat around and glide out of it quickly; I don't really feel like letting a rapist touch me.

That night I left my home at around 2300(11:00) since Daws goes to sleep around 2400(12:00). I snuck into his house and tied him down, pouring the drink he gave me down his throat. He woke up immediately, choking as he swallowed the liquid. He tried to get up, but I could already see the drug working, for him I wanted him to be awake. I went to his kitchen, pulling out a big knife from a drawer before returning back to his room. He tried to resist even pleading for me to stop, but I couldn't and I wouldn't.

———————

Aaron Hotchner's POV:

We arrived at the local PD, Prentiss and Reid quickly heading to the room after greeting Detective Calder. JJ waits with me as I talk with him.

"Detective, what have you and your team come up with so far?" I question as we walk to the setup room.

"So far we see no sexual element at all, he leaves no evidence and each murder seems to be getting more and more organized." He states in frustration, something I can understand, I can't believe they are only just now calling us in.

"I'm going to send a member of my team to look at some of the crime scenes, would you please have an officer escort her." I ask, but it's more of a statement. I need to get to the bottom of this case quickly, an organized killer that just gets more organized is not exactly great. I'm about to send Prentiss when an officer from the other room shouts over to us.

"There's been another murder!" We have to drive practically back to Quantico, but I don't mind, it gives me some time to go over the case; I'm about to turn on some music when my phone rings. I answered calmly.

"Hotchner."

"Yes, sir, this is about the forensics you requested."

"Yes, what is it?"

"Sir, we can confirm these are blood spatters." My heart speeds up in trepidation at all the thoughts crossing my mind.

"Save all information on it and hold it, it might come in handy with this case." I respond, barely letting the person respond before ending the call. I'm frustrated and scared, the fact that my sweet girlfriend might be a murderer makes me grip the steering wheel a bit tighter.

"Hotch, who was that?" Emily questions, looking over at me, though I refuse to look at her, I know she'll see the uncertainty and fear in my eyes.

"It was no one." I respond shortly, my voice quiet.

"You said it might help our case, why won't you tell me what it is?" She asks. Sometimes I hate her for being so nosy, but I know that she should be made aware.

"Prentiss, I have a girlfriend."

"....Okay." She responds, clearly confused.

"This morning... Just before I left, I found some of her clothes from last night, and it looked like they had blood on them. I sent them to the lab and it was confirmed it was blood."

"Hotch, I think you might be jumping to conclusion, there's a lot of reasons there could be blood on her shirt."

"I know I know, I shouldn't be so nervous and suspicious, but I just can't help it."

The rest of the ride is silent until we arrive at the house. It is surrounded by police, neighbors crowding around and having to be held back by the police. Thankfully the news hasn't caught wind of these cases yet, when they did it would only feed the killers need for control, it might make him speed up his schedule.

———————

Entering the house I am greeted with the strong scent of iron, one that sadly reminds me of Y/n's clothes that reeked of the same scent. Looking around I immediately see things that are different about this crime scene. For one, it looks like there was a struggle, and the victim is a lot more beat up than the others.

"Are we sure this is the same killer, this was done sooner than their schedule, and it looks like he actually fought this victim." Prentiss voices, walking around the crime scene before settling near the dead man.

I look around, slightly confused at the change in MO, but I think it is still the same killer, I am only supported when I glance into the other room. It makes me even more confused, I have so many questions forming

"I think it's the same killer."

"Why?" Prentiss questions, walking towards me before poking her head around me to see what I'm looking at. Her jaw drops open, the wall is covered in dried blood, but instead of a drawing we find writing. It covers the whole surface and looks like the ramblings of a mad man, the message in the middle being the most prominent.

"Why is he free?" I read, my voice full of confusion. Prentiss is about to respond when my phone goes off.

"Hotchner."

"Office of Supreme Genius coming at you with some knowledge." Garcia responds, I want to smirk at her playful responses, but this case makes me want to frown.

"What have you found so far?"

"Nothing good, sadly. A lot of these people are obviously sickos, but it seems they are all sickos that get off with little to no punishments. The man you are visiting right now molested and abused a young boy for a year, and he only has to register as a sex offender and do community service.

The others include people such as a Gray Daws, who was accused of raping three women, all of which refused to testify and the case fell through. There are others, but they are all similar in that the person obviously did horrible things, and they either got a light punishment or no punishment at all." Garcia finishes.

"Are there any similarities in where each case was held? Are any names repeated in any of the trials or investigations?" I quickly responded, wanting to know if anyone was present during all of these trials.

"That will take me a couple of minutes sir, I will call you back when I have results." Garcia quickly ends the phone call, and I slide my phone back into my pocket.

"You think we're looking for a guy in criminal justice?" Prentiss asks, and I simply nod before I turn around to face her.

"Look at this crime scene and tell me what you see."

"...I see a serious need for control, it seems like it is a requirement to instill fear in his victims. He never shots his victims even though he obviously carries, preferring to use knives as well as preferring to torture his victims beforehand, but this victim was killed rather suddenly for some reason." She responds slowly and confidently, glancing around the house before focusing on the dead man.

"Good, now tell me what is missing." She takes a moment to think about my question before looking around.

"There is no sexual element, and no humiliation, the victims are left clothed, and the unsub for some reason seems to be exhibiting remorse. He doesn't fit into the standard profile perimeters." I listen closely to what she says, and almost feel a smirk slide upon my face.

"I think I know what we're missing about our unsub." I state, feeling Prentiss stare at me in confusion.

"What about him would explain this." She questions exasperatedly.

"For one, I don't think this is a he."

———————

I get a call from Dave, he explains the first few crime scenes and victims.

The very first was a man named Cain Smith, he was a young man who was a lawyer and known to be incredibly obnoxious, he was also said to be quite misogynistic. It was messy and impulsive, and there was practically no resemblance to our current killer apart from a drawing and signature left on a piece of paper.

The second murder was getting more organized, she was starting to experiment with blood, the third murder had her painting on the walls and hanging the men up, and the last murder was similar, but more vengeful than the others, it actually reminded me a lot about the first murder.

"Dave, I think our unsub is a female."

"Well... that makes more sense, especially when it comes to the lack of sexual gratification."

"Yah, but look at the other clues as well. She uses an amethyst, something many believe to be a healing crystal, most guys don't really buy into that sort of stuff. Also, look at the crimes these people are committing, rape, spousal abuse, molestation, these are all things that women will pay the most attention too, sure, battery and robbery are bad, but these crimes tend to really catch a girls attention."

"I think you might be on to something Aaron-" Dave was cut off as an incoming call interrupted him.

"Hold on, Garcia is joining our call." I state, quickly accepting.

"Hello sirs. So Hotch I did that research you asked and it turns out every case was held in the same place, well, the cases in Ohio were held in the same courthouse, and the cases in Virginia were held in the same courthouse."

"That's great Garcia, did you find any names in common?"I asked, hoping that I wouldn't be arresting my girlfriend anytime soon.

"Only one, the courtroom reporter is the same in each of these cases, her name is Y/n L/n, and she was living in Ohio before going off the grid. There is no paper trail, but we can assume she moved to Virginia since this is where the murders have picked up. I can send her old address over, but it seems like the house was demolished."

"Anything of interest on her?" Dave questions, but I can barely pay attention to the conversation. The only person in common with every murder is my girlfriend, the sweetest and kindest person I know. I trust her with everything, I trust her with Jack, how on earth could she be capable of murdering all these people?

"Sir, SIR!" I quickly snap back to reality.

"Sorry, my phone cut out, what did you say Garcia?" I quickly say, not wanting to be questioned on why I was so quiet.

"Well, sir, she basically has no criminal record at all, she actually won quite a few awards back in her hometown, and you guessed it, they were for art. Her drawings are actually pretty cool, like I would totally buy a book of her art... Sorry I'm getting off topic.

She was academically above average, and had quite the talent with computers. She got a lot of job offers when graduating high school but decided to go to university, which landed her even more job offers. She could've gone pretty much anywhere, but decided on being a courtroom reporter. I called some of her contacts, they say that she stays in contact with them but that they don't know where she is, they also only have good things to say.

Many people all say she is really kind, that she was the one to protect kids from getting bullied, she was the emotional support person for everyone, and she also apparently had a stubborn streak, she got into a few fights during high school, none of which she initiated, but all of which she most definitely finished." Garcia states.

I feel like I've been listening to the exact description of Y/n, and I can't help but want to run to her and cry over what is going on. I suck it up, I can't say anything, we're not even sure she is the murderer.

"That's great, thank you Garcia." She immediately ends her call and that leaves just me and Dave.

"Dave, I want you to go around to the courthouse she worked at, meet and talk to everyone who knew her, friends, family, colleagues, I don't care, I want to know everyone she has contacted and exactly what she's said." I state, I need to keep them busy, at least until I can talk to Y/n.

"Alright." I hung up the call and looked at Emily. I don't know how I can lie to her, she was here and probably saw my response to hearing my girlfriend being labeled as the suspect.

"Emily I--"

"No, go. I don't know what is going on, and I don't want to know what is going on. I'll come up with an excuse, you clearly have some things you need to sort out." She states, not allowing me the chance to respond before she leaves the house.

I need to get home, Y/n needs to explain exactly what the hell is going on.

Luckily Prentiss left with an officer back to the department, I quickly jumped in the car and drove to our home. Jack shouldn't be home for another hour, I think I'll just call Jessica again, hopefully she won't mind.

"Hey Jess."

"Hey Aaron, what do you need?" I release a sigh at her response, she doesn't sound annoyed, just like she expected this call.

"I'm really sorry, but Y/n and I really need to have a serious talk and I don't want Jack to be home when it happens."

"Alright, but I thought you were working a case?" Jess replies in a confused voice.

"This has to do with the case." I can practically sense her clenching the phone tighter in confusion and worry.

"Aaron, what's going on, is Y/n in danger?"

"I--I can't tell you, I'm sorry Jess." I can't tell Jess, I can't tell her that Y/n may be the unsub and that I am contemplating letting her escape.

"...Okay, just call me when I should drop Jack off at home. Y/n better be fine after all this, she's become like a sister to me and a mother to Jack, and it seems she has become everything to you." I feel my eyes water knowing that as soon as I get home I need to make a decision.

"Thank you Jess, I'll call you when you should drop off Jack." I hang up the phone, I'm in my neighborhood now, and I can see our house quickly approaching. Her little Lotus Sprint parked in the driveway, the lights in the house on. I swallow harshly as I park in our driveway, I've made my decision.

———————

Y/n's POV:

I'm getting things out of the cabinet to make for dinner. Jess should be dropping Jack off in about an hour, so that should give me enough time, I'll have to wait a little while until I can go after my latest target. My thoughts get cut off as I hear the front door being unlocked and pushed open, I grab a knife from the drawer before glancing around the kitchen corner and into the hallway.

I am pleasantly surprised to see Aaron home early, tossing the knife onto the counter as I walk up and hug him.

"You didn't tell me you were coming home early, I would've made dinner sooner." I say happily as I look up at him, but my smile quickly falters when I see the expression on his face. Mine turns into worry as I see the faintest sign of tears in his eyes. Not sure what caused this, I immediately think he had a really tough case.

"What is it Aar, was it a tough case?" I ask, holding both of his arms, but he backs up away from my embrace. I'm really confused now, I don't know what to do, he's never been like this, even after some really tough cases.

"Why did you do it?" He finally asks, his voice gruff with emotion

"..." I don't know how to respond, I don't even know what he's asking.

"WHY DID YOU DO IT!" He shouts, I feel myself jump in surprise and fear, I hate being yelled at, especially after my first relationship.

"What are you talking about?" My voice is quiet, I'm scared, but I try not to be, Aaron would never hurt me. I back up subconsciously, but he reaches out and grabs my wrists tightly, yanking me forward. I stumble and nearly fall, but he drags me up and back onto my feet.

Tears are clouding my vision, does he think I cheated on him, did I do something wrong? I'm so confused, and the way he's treating me is giving me some serious flashbacks.

"Why did you kill all those people?" His tone is calm, almost deceivingly calm, I keep my head turned away and my eyes to the ground, my stomach drops as I hear those words. My body is now cowering away, the only way I know to respond is to shy away and that is kind of hard to do right now.

My hands are shaking, and my breathing is becoming excessively shallow. I feel like I'm gasping for air, but I can never get enough.

———————

Aaron Hotchner's POV:

She looked like she was trying to lower her body to the ground, like her body was trying to shrink into the background. I remember when I came into our house I was only sad and confused, but it suddenly turned into anger, rage at what she had done and how she could throw away the life she had with me.

I wasn't able to control it all, I had never hurt her before, and seeing her cowering form being held up only by my tight grip on her wrists snapped me out of my angry haze.

I almost let go of her, but she would've fallen straight to the ground, instead I loosen my hold on her wrists, and gently lower us both to the ground, from the looks of it she's hyperventilating. I gently let go of her wrists, which she quickly pulls into her, like she is trying to disappear, she lowers her torso over her bent legs, trying to back away from me.

"Y/n, I-I'm sorry." I was already broken over what she had done, the last thing I wanted to do was make her scared that I would hurt her. I try to reach out to her, but she just tries to back up even more. I don't know what else to do, I can't leave her here alone, but I don't know how to comfort her, hesitantly I slide my hand gently over the floor.

She lifts her face up to look at my hand, I catch a glimpse of her tear stained cheeks, her eyes are flooded with tears, and they hold a glint of fear when she looks at my hand.

———————

Y/n's POV:

I never expected to feel betrayed by Aaron, but then again, I guess I am the one who betrayed him. His hand looks so annoyingly welcoming, but I don't know anymore, my wrists still sting from where he grabbed them.

I slowly look up from his hand to meet his eyes, they hold regret and fear, they still maintain a warmth that never fails to make me feel loved.

Hesitantly, I place my shaking hand into his, feeling a sudden burst of fear that he'll hurt me again, but that thought is quickly forgotten when he gently squeezes my hand to comfort me. My breathing is still uneven, but this gesture is really helping calm me down.

I simply stare at our hands, this is probably the last semblance of normalcy I'll ever have, Aaron will have to turn me in, it's his job, and I would never ask him to let me escape, that could ruin his career. Thinking about the life I have here, more tears resurface, I try to hold in my cries, but the thought of leaving Aaron and Jack alone is physically and mentally tearing me apart.

"I-I'm sorry." Is all I can manage to say through my tears, I look away, feeling disgusted with myself. I try to pull away, but instead feel myself being pulled toward him; I don't struggle, I fully expect him to cuff me while he has the chance, but I am pleasantly met with a warm embrace, one that speaks a million words.

I am forgiven.

Aaron Hotchner: First and Last Phone Call

Imagine being followed, so you call your brother (Aaron Hotchner), hoping he might save you:

Y/N's POV:

The walk to my dorm was taking me longer than usual, the recent injury to my leg was definitely not helping me.

The sun had long since set, and the darkness of the night had fully set in, my only light sources being the sparse lamp posts dotting along the sidewalk. The dark has always been a fear of mine, but my fear is reaching a whole new level right now. I'm injured, alone, and in a new environment; anything could happen to me. I keep my head up and on a swivel, turning at anything and everything.

I eventually calm down after a few minutes of excessive paranoia, instead finding comfort in the soft breeze, the leaves russling under the trees, and gazing at the orange glow of the lamps against the dark blue sky, it's actually quite calming.

Rain lightly begins to sprinkle from above, something that I embrace as I love rainy weather. Of course my clothes and bag are getting wet, but I don't care.

I almost miss the quiet scuffle behind me, the sound of light footsteps against the wet sidewalk. I turn around quickly, but I see nothing. Turning back around, I shake my head, thinking I'm being paranoid again. I continue my slow walk, my dorm is still several minutes away.

After another few moments of walking, the light scuffle is heard again, this time I immediately turn around, once again seeing nothing behind me. I glare at my surroundings harshly, I'm about to continue my trek when something catches my attention.

Along the sidewalk is a dirt area with bushes and trees, large oaks that are spread every 7 feet along the sidewalk. Nothing about that is odd, but carefully surveying the tree, I noticed the rubber toe of a shoe, it reminds me of the thick rubber sole of Vans.

My breathing feels harder, an eerie sense of understanding floods through my body. I don't have my pepper spray or any of my knives on me, I made the stupid decision that a philosophy textbooks was more important. I'm wearing my Ariat leather books, good for walking and work, but not so amazing when it comes to having to outrun somebody.

My brain is turning with thoughts of what to do, but the first thing I know I must do is turn back around and start walking as if nothing is wrong; this may seem stupid, but I can't let this person know that I've spotted them. I force my breaths to be even, and I grasp my bag loosely to my side.

Continuing to walk was very hard, especially when you know somebody is following you, and you have no idea what their intentions are.

Grasping my bag, I swiftly undo its buckles, taking care not to look like I'm rushing. Rain drips down my skin as I pull my phone out of my bag, looking closely, I notice the slight tremble in my hands and the burning of my eyes. Clicking on the only contact I can think of, I hold the phone tightly to my ear.

———————

Aaron Hotchner's POV:

I hear my phone ringing, it causes the conference room to fall silent, all eyes going to me. Sheepishly reaching into my coat pocket, I glance at the name and know it must be important.

"What is it Aaron?" Rossi questions, clearly seeing the confusion in my eyes.

"It's my sister?" My voice is deep and raspy, I haven't spoken to her since I left home, and she has never reached out to me. I don't know why she's calling, but I know I need to answer it.

"Continue without me, give me the summary on the jet." Is all I say before pushing out of my chair and exiting the room, leaving it full of confused and concerned profilers.

———

"....Y/N?" I listen closely, hearing the slight pattering of rain through the line.

"...Hey Aaron." Her voice is tight, it only increases my concern.

"Why are you calling?" My question can't help but be asked, my personality doesn't allow for the polite bullshitting, instead wanting to get straight to the point.

"I'm doing great, heading to my dorm right now actually, I know you're waiting for me." Her response is confusing, we haven't kept in contact at all, and I didn't even know she was in university. Something starts to scratch in the back of my mind, this conversation feels off.

"What are you talking about? Why did you call me?" My question is overflowing with the need for an answer, my voice lowering so that prying ears can't hear.

"Yah, I did go down to California for spring break. The horse races were crazy!" With this sentence my thoughts still. When Y/N was just a little girl, I taught her certain phrases to say when something is happening to her; and this was one of the scariest scenarios:

She was being actively followed.

My breathing gets heavier, and my heart feels like it's ramming against my rib cage. I grip my phone so tight it feels like I might crush it. Thinking quickly, I stride out of my office and back into the conference room, JJ falls silent as they all look at me.

Motioning for everyone to stay quiet, I pull the phone away from my ear and put it on silent.

"I'm with my team Y/N, tell me where you are."

"...I'm walking to (university name), I was just in town, but I'm currently passing some gas station. I should only be about 10 minutes away, so I'll meet you there." I can hear her straining to keep a normal pitch and her breaths becoming faster, alerting me that she is worried. I point at Garcia, her eyes lighting up with understanding as she begins typing away on her computer.

By now, everyone looks confused and worried, but all are in work mode.

"Y/N, you need to get into a building, I don't care which one, you just need to find other people. NOW." My voice is harsh, and I know it's not helping the situation, but I need her to be safe.

———————

Y/N's POV:

He's almost shouting at me, but I know he's just worried, I can hear the almost inaudible waver in his voice. The tears are freely falling now, I've already passed the last building between town and my university.

The footsteps behind me speed up, it seems they noticed my predicament as well, they are going to do something to me, and there is nothing I can do. I speed up as well, wanting to be able to explain everything to Aaron.

"Aar.. A-Aaron...I-I'm sorry." I can't stop my voice from stuttering, sobs now mixing with my talking.

"I'm sorry I said I hated you. I was angry at myself, not you" My words drip with emotion, the guilt that flows through me is almost as painful as knowing I'm about to die.

"Y/N-" He tries to speak, but I interrupt him as I know I have little time.

"I'm sorry that your last memory of me will be over the phone, please forgive m-" My apologies are cut short, my phone being smacked to the ground. I try to face my attacker, but a punch to the face causes me to take a detour to the floor.

The rough asphalt rips into the flesh of my hands, it burns, but not as much as the kick I receive to the gut. I scream in pain, hoping someone will hear, but knowing deep down that no one will.

The person jumps on top of me, their weight forcing my already empty lungs to collapse even further, I feel like I'm gasping, but no air enters. Everything is blurry, and wet, it's all so disorienting.

Two large hands wrap around my throat, the pressure quickly increasing; I try to fight, feebly punching him with my weakening limbs.

I feel heavy, my head foggy, I kind of just want to close my eyes and sleep. As my eyelids droop closed, the last memory I have is of a blurry warm light from a lamp post a little ways away.

———————

Aaron Hotchner's POV:

After the screams and scuffle end, all we hear through the phone is silence, someone(I assume the attacker) picks up the phone, and ends the call after another few seconds. Sadness is surging through my body, I already know tears are dripping down my cheeks, but even through all my sorrow, I remain silent.

Everyone looks uncomfortable, looks of fear, anger, shock, and concern mingling in all of their expressions. JJ is about to say something when Garcia comes bustling through the door, she looks just as depressed as I feel.

"Sir, I know where she is."

please love me, like the wave does the shore

aaron hotchner x female!reader

wc: 7.9k

warnings: fake!dating, SO much pining, mentions of murder, only one bed, Hotch is very whipped lol, this is so cliché it should be a crime

an: the moment y’all have been waiting for! i hope you kids enjoy! this will probably become a lil series so stay tuned for part 2 :)

summary: murders along the glistening white coast of Cape Cod was not a good look for anybody. especially not the BAU. the case needs a turn around, a big break, but most importantly: a Mr and Mrs.

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THIS WAS AMAZING! MY FRIEND IS SO TALENTED! my heart was broken and then put back together so quickly poor little jack I wanted to scoop him up and hug him and never let go :(

Safety Net.

Content warnings: Angst. Hurt/comfort. Majorly cliche. Not Proofread (I lack the attention span). 

A/N: This is my first ever ever fic so please let me know your thougths! :D Also I feel like I maybe rushed the real meaty dialogue of this, so please don’t hold back if you think I could take a better stab at rewriting it! <3

Summary: You spend the night reflecting on a beautiful love you shared with Aaron Hotchner, more accurately, you spend the night reflecting on the last two months of heartache without him. It will take one unexpected visitor to bring the two of you to face the reality you’ve found yourselves in.

Word Count: 3.1k.

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You always hated driving, especially short distances that could easily be traversed on your own two legs. Or, you used to. You used to love all the sensations of walking home from work, especially on a nice spring night like this. When you could see fireflies making their way out of the trees, and feel the gentle breeze almost swaddling you on your way home. 

But that was a long time ago, the last time you really enjoyed this time of your day which you now wish would just be over already. The last time you cherished your walks home, there was a much smaller hand nestled in your own. But even once you make it home, it doesn’t feel deserving of that title anymore. There are no toys scattered across your living room floor. No Captain America or Batman figurines lodged in the soil of your beloved pot plants. There are no big strong arms snaking around your waist, enveloping you in warmth as you put all the love you can into a beautiful home-cooked dinner for three. This is just your apartment now, a place to put your things and to rest your weary bones. 

You hardly realise time has passed as you reminisce on the times you so dearly miss. You zone back into your tandoori chicken frozen dinner sadly oscillating itself in the microwave. You haven’t been able to bring yourself to really cook for one in a while. The insurmountable pile of leftovers that remain spend too much time attempting to haunt you from the cold confines of the fridge. The pictures hung on the exterior looking back at you, smiles plastered on three adoring faces. It’s torture. You opt to beeline to the freezer each time instead. 

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ALEXA PLAY FIREWORK BY KATY PERRY

this was amazing? you are amazing? I literally felt like I was reading a novel during the first half it was so good. the second half was so fucking hot and the way they kept harassing the poor old man would definitely be me

everyone needs to read this so they know how talented you are👏

Fireworks

MINORS DNI

AO3

Pairing: DBF!Hotch x You (fem!reader)

Summary: It's just some Fourth of July fluff/smut. Happy Fourth, my dear American friends.

Tags: Soft Dom Aaron Hotchner x Light Dom/sub x Dom/sub Undertones x Sweet Degradation x Brat Taming x Praise Kink x Reader Is Kind Of A Brat But I find her absolutely hilarious x Banter x Attempt at Humor x Age Difference x Forbidden Love x Smut, you know me x Sweet x Protected Sex x Impact Play x Spanking, the nice kind x apparently this is better than patriotism x I'm Canadian what do I know x Fireworks x Dom Aaron Hotchner x dbf!hotch x Adult Content

Word count: 5.3k

A/N: Honestly, I wasn't sure whether I'd get to publishing it. But I hope this hits the sweet spot for you.

In the midst of the vibrant bursts of color that decorated the sky and the crackling sounds filling the air around you, you wondered how you got so lucky. 

You wondered how you got to sit on the stairs of the Lincoln Memorial, watching the Washington Monument in the distance as it bathed in the soft glow of lights, exuding a sense of reverence and history which seemed particularly fitting today of all days.

The mesmerizing display of lights painting the sky in short succession was nothing compared to the vivid streaks of red, white, and blue dancing across his face and flickering in his dark eyes with patriotic hues. 

You could have sworn his eyes did more than mirror the sparkle of the fireworks above, they drowned them out with the lust and possibility glowing in his irises.

You let your eyes wander and trace the contours of his face, wanting nothing more than to taste his strong jawline with delicate lips, to feel the hint of his stubble prick the corners of your mouth. 

You wanted to read what was happening behind his piercing eyes as he stared at you. They were filled with his usual intense focus, but now they held a depth that hinted at the multitude of emotions he carried within but barely let out. 

You weren’t supposed to be here. There was, after all, a party in full effect at your house. And you weren’t supposed to be here together. You weren’t sure how exactly your father would react to finding his daughter sitting beside his friend, but it didn't take a profiler to guess that it would not be a happy conversation. 

Yet here you were. Sitting on the sun-warmed steps with the other spectators watching the explosions in the sky and positive that you were about to make the best decision of your life as a small smile curled his lips into a breathtaking grin that blinded you with hope. 

You were walking a fine line. A line you had been tethering on the edge of for months.

In the past year of your acquaintance, you often thought that there was a certain grace in the way he moved—his controlled, deliberate gestures, and the way he carried himself with confidence and poise. Every action seemed purposeful, reflecting the meticulous nature with which he clearly approached life. 

So when his pinky grazed the side of your hand before he swallowed his pride and took your hand in his, you smiled through your sigh of relief.  His mind had waved the white flag long enough for him to be vulnerable, long enough for him to silently tell you that you weren’t a rash decision, but a carefully considered one. 

You knew he wouldn’t come out and say it in so many words. He was not that kind of man. But the gesture itself carried a profound weight– a silent confession of his desire to be closer to you regardless of the consequences.

You squeezed his hand, and he squeezed yours right back. 

Whatever happened, you’d face it together. 

You were breathless as his eyes glittered with the hope that was reflected in yours. Everyone around you was focused on the spectacle above but he was the only thing you wanted to admire, the only fascinating light in the darkness of the night you needed to see. 

Sure, the fireworks were nice enough. But people who loved the scintillating aspect of fireworks had just never gotten a glimpse of a happy Aaron. 

You loved how the lights above adorned his face as he cautiously scooted closer. 

For a man who could reduce monsters to whimpering messes, as your dad often put it, he was strangely timid when it was just you two.

Although under normal circumstances you could read his nervousness when he tapped his thumb and index together, a coping mechanism to self-soothe he had probably acquired young, you could not read his expression right now. 

His jaw was clenching and unclenching, the muscles and veins in his neck protruded as he gritted his teeth. He wasn’t angry, the smile that tugged at his lips and the absence of his signature frown indicated that much. But he was not carefree either. 

Lust and apprehension, desire and fear, affection and worry, or confidence and restlessness… They were all plausible and contradictory possibilities.   

Aaron Hotchner was a paradox. It was one of the first things you had realized about him, and it was what always made you come back to him for more, despite everything that told you not to. His outer and inner beauty had left you smitten, completely head over heels for a man who had never even kissed you. 

You still fondly remembered when he had called you a troublemaker only hours after meeting you.

You had yet to shed that title after all these months. He had cursed and called you a brat earlier tonight before he suggested coming here to watch the fireworks with you. 

He had scoffed when you had mentioned it felt like date material, then called you incorrigible. 

Another justified adjective. 

You two couldn’t happen. You had been telling yourself that for over a year. 

But here you were, wondering how you got so lucky to get to witness the way his features softened with each explosion, how his smile illuminated his face with a radiance that rivaled the pleasantly bright sky. 

You finally looked down, witnessing how perfectly your fingers fit together. His hand was much bigger than yours. It felt like the spaces between his fingers had been made just for you. 

You risked a glance at him, finding his face covered in childlike wonder and joy. When he suggested fireworks, you wondered what it was about them that made him want to see them, but it was clear this brought him back to a time when life hadn’t gotten to him yet. 

He had a pure and good heart, and as bruised as it had been before, he was finally telling you he was ready to risk it and give it to you with a look that left nothing to doubt. 

No one had ever looked at you like this, so freely projecting their affection for you in their glistening eyes. 

You leaned in closer, your voice barely above a whisper as you spoke, your breath mingling with his in the night air. “It was about time you made a move,” you teased.

He shrugged, looking back up at the sky. “I’m just holding your hand. It looked lonely sitting there.”

You chuckled, hiding your face in his chest, smelling his expensive cologne all over his shirt. Within weeks of meeting him, you had started to associate his scent with safety and comfort, and today was no exception.

His breath hitched as your laugh was muffled by his chest, as you hooked your arm around his waist. 

You loved laughing at his bad jokes, you had since the very beginning because something incredible happened each time you laughed for him. 

His eyes shone with pride, elation both elegant and irresistible taking over his features. 

“I thought you had finally fallen victim to my charms,” you mused.

He chuckled, his other hand coming to rest on your lower back as your legs intertwined with his. 

“Keep on hoping,” he whispered.

He pulled you flush against his chest, with no hesitation in sight, and your body immediately found solace against his solid frame. You could feel the steady rise of his chest with each breath, a gentle rhythm that lulled you into a state of contentment and peacefulness. 

For all the chaos in your head, your heart was awfully calm as it beat in sync with his.

“I’m sorry it took me a while,” he said solemnly.  

“You don’t have to–” you began, but he cut you off with a small shake of his head.

“I need you to know that it wasn’t you,” he explained. “It was me. Me and my fears. You always bring light in the darkest corners of my world, my sweet girl, and I didn’t want to mess that up,” he muttered against your temple, his lips lingering on your skin. 

Aaron had called you many things before now, but this one was the most precious of them all. 

You gave a firm squeeze to his love handle before your hand came to rest in the middle of his chest, “You won’t mess it up; I won’t let you,” you promised, no doubt in mind that you’d be like gum under his shoe starting now. 

He pinched your hip softly, almost tickling you. You squealed sharply, making passersby and nearby couples look in your direction. 

“Shut up with the cuteness. I had a speech prepared,” he asserted with a casual air of authority that made you tremble in your darkest fantasies. 

“Sorry, sir,” you quipped with a smirk, emphasizing the last word.

His jaw tightened as his hold on you slackened enough to look into your eyes, his own darting between yours. They were dark and heavy with something more, and something almost dangerous in the shadows, but as he cocked his head to avert his gaze, you felt the tension leave his body. 

“I just wanted to say, you made me realize it’s not that scary to be seen.”

You cupped his cheek, offering him a heartwarming smile. “Thank you for letting me see you.”

He closed his eyes as if to savor it, and you let your thumb caress his rough cheek. 

You brought his face close to yours, your lips only inches away when he pulled back. 

“We shouldn't,” he breathed. 

Oh, please. 

Yes, we should.

“I don't care,” you assured him.

He shook his head. His expression was still tender and affectionate, but there was something dark swimming beneath the surface of those warm brown eyes. “I mean not here.” He gave you a wolfish grin. “If I get to kiss you, I won’t be able to stop.”

Oh.

He leaned down and pecked the little spot next to your ear. You shivered in delight. He smelled like a mix of mahogany and old money. 

“My place is close. We can probably still see the fireworks from there,” he murmured. 

 You looked nervous as he picked you up to sit you on his kitchen counter, parting your legs with gentle hands so he could come closer. 

You allowed him to invade your personal space, your legs going around his waist almost instinctively, but when he had caressed your leg up and down, you tensed up. 

You still kissed him back, your lips met his as hungrily as before when you had pulled his shirt out of his pants, but something had shifted when you had glanced around his apartment. Aaron followed your gaze when your eyes had stopped wandering.

You had found a picture of Haley and Jack.  

Jack loved you, it had never been an issue and he didn’t think it would ever be, but Haley loomed over you with her sacredness, and he was helpless to do anything but wait you out as you processed it. 

The love he held for Haley was the only one you knew could never be dismissed. But what you didn’t know was that he already loved you so much that it should have terrified him to think of how that love would only grow. It should have, but it didn't. 

Aaron didn’t know how to love anyone halfway. When he let himself love, it was fiercely and without reservation. His love for you would consume him eventually, and he was happy to let the undercurrent take him if it meant your arms ended up around his neck and your lips ended up on his.

Still, Aaron would never push you if you were unsure, and if nothing happened tonight, he was fine with that. Whether he got to see you naked or not tonight, whether he would have to relieve the pressure in his pants alone at some point or glare at his erection to make it go away, he never wanted you to question your place in his life. 

You weren’t a fling or a hot piece of ass. He didn’t even know how to care less. 

He would not discard you when the excitement of this forbidden adventure faded or the consequences came. He would face your dad with you once you were ready for that. He would ask your dad for your hand in marriage if you wanted him half as much as he wanted you. 

The burning intensity of the kiss lowered to a simmering heat, and it occurred to him that he could provide you some comfort. 

He cradled your face into his big hands, watching you smile at him with so much love in your eyes, with a sparkling gaze more alluring than any fireworks could ever be. He had never felt more positive that this was right. That you were right for him. 

“You know, I've liked you ever since I saw you laugh at your mom's poor attempt to bake you a birthday cake.”

You giggled at the memory, that travesty of a baked good evaporating the discomfort. Tension left your shoulders, your jaw slackened, and you were bubbly and warm again.

“You have me, Aaron.”

Nothing quite took his breath away like you saying his name. 

“Do I?” he asked, surveying your features for any sign of uncertainty. 

“Anything you want,” you promised. “I'm yours tonight.”

He didn’t stop to wonder whether you’d be his after tonight, too drunk on you effectively mewling his name as he rocked his hips into you. 

Aaron had never known he could be too hard to care about semantics. 

He drove his hips into you a few times, making you purr his name like a melody right before you buried your hand in his hair, making him hum and drool in the crook of your neck. 

He gathered his spit with his tongue, licking your skin and finding out how delicious you were. He’d drag his tongue all over you if you let him. 

His cock twitched, and if you continued to moan as he suckled on your pulse point, he’d come in his pants like a teenager. 

He grabbed both of your wrists, hanging on tight and looking at you with appetite. 

“Sweet girl, be quiet for me or I won’t be able to focus on you,” he warned. 

“Aaron–” you whined, grinding against his throbbing erection. 

“Hmm… As much as I’ve dreamt of having you shove that pussy against me, I think I’d rather take my time with you.” He bit your neck, making your loud whimpers his new favorite sound. “You get me so hard I can’t even think straight. I can barely feel my legs.” He thrusted against your clothed core again, and a violent shudder made you squirm on the counter. He braced his hand on each side of your hips, looking deeply into your eyes, finding you smirking despite your flushed skin and damp legging.   

“That’s because you’re an old man. You know, arthritis is the real silent killer,” you joked. 

Of all the times to remind him of your very twisted sense of humor- 

A cackle erupted from your throat and he chuckled dryly. “Such a brat,” he chided, the darkness of his eyes broken by his glimmer of amusement at your determination to bait him now of all times. 

“Do you need me to massage your wrinkled extremities?” Your eyes had a mischievous air to them. You then palmed his erection. “Or just this very tense one?”

He groaned as his knees buckled under him, making him surge closer to you, restraining your movements with his large hands pressed over yours. “Oh, god.”

“My old man, do we need to sit you down?”

With the last of his strength, he picked you up and went towards his armchair, the one facing the balcony where the fireworks were still in full effect. 

He sat down, shifting you to put you over his knee. “Sweetheart, I’m going to teach you some manners.”

You wiggled into a more stable position before turning and saying with the utmost innocence, “I’ve always been told to respect the elderly.”

You could barely finish your sentence, let alone laugh at your quip when his hand came up and slapped you fully on the ass. 

He watched your laughter die in your throat, replaced by a delicious whimper. He caressed the place he had hit, softly brushing his palm against the soft material of your leggings before his other hand settled around your throat. You moaned as he gave it a gentle squeeze, and he felt pre-cum drip from his slit. 

“What happened to your tongue?” he mocked. You said nothing, opting to nod eagerly as he lifted his hand.

He smacked you again, watching you roll your head back as pleasure and pain melted on your skin. 

You proffered him your throat so sweetly, and he squeezed it gently, the contrast between his soft hold on your neck and his firm grip on your ass flooding your cotton leggings. 

Fucking leggings. They did nothing to hide how beautiful you were. 

Your cheeks warm from the flush of blood to your skin, and your moans filled the room around him. The fireworks were sounding off triumphantly, coating the room in flashes of color, yet his eyes never wavered from you. 

You were exquisite. 

“Did you learn your lesson, kitten?” He let his hand wander to your lower back before he took a handful of ass and squeezed. 

“Aaron- Aaron-” You chanted his name, begging for more. 

You were so pliant. So perfect. Just for him. 

“Or do you need more?”

“Aaron–”

“How badly do you want me?” he whispered, his voice rough with arousal. 

“Please don’t make me beg,” you gasped.

“Sweetheart, I’ll do as I damn please.”

He saw an opening, quite literally, as your legs parted to try and grind on his knee, searching for release, for friction, for anything he wouldn’t provide. He repositioned you, but he slipped a hand between your warm folds, feeling how damp the leggings were where you tried to swallow his hand between your thighs. 

“Soaking your leggings already,” he said, his voice a strange mix of stifled pride and feigned disapproval. 

His own arousal started to ache, but he was focused on you. He would make sure you’d remember this, that you’d craved this, that you’d ask for more, and that you’d be his more than just tonight. 

“I think you need more,” he decided aloud for you.

“Please– please–” you pleaded, pride vanishing as he continued to drag the pads of his fingers over your soaked leggings.

It took all of his considerable resolve to resist you, but he was determined to have you reduced to a mess of incoherent sounds harmoniously coating his ears. 

“I asked you to be quiet, sweetheart.”

You moaned loudly at the gravel of his scolding voice. 

It seemed he would have to keep you quiet himself.

He smacked your ass once more, and this time, instead of squeezing your throat, he brought his fingers towards your mouth, tapping on your lips and hoping you’d get the message. 

You opened your mouth so obediently, and he sank his fingers inside, stuffing you with his hand as best as he could, keeping you quiet at last.

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” he teased as he pushed them in a little deeper.

You sucked on his fingers in agreement, and he hissed loudly, smacking your ass which had to be sore by now. He longed to be buried inside you and feel how wet you were for him. 

As much as he enjoyed taming the brat out of you, he knew there was no ill intent behind your jokes. You teased the ones you loved,  and he was honored to be included in that group. Besides, he found you so funny that he had a hard time wanting to punish you for it. He compromised with himself by keeping you quiet as his fingers toyed with the damp fabric.

“Are you going to be a good girl now or do I need to shut you up with something else?” 

You moaned loudly in response. 

His dick throbbed and twitched, and he would have to think about his mother’s oatmeal not to come if he felt your lips around his length. 

He removed his fingers from your mouth, propping you up on his lap as his hands roamed over your back soothingly. 

“I’m going to be good, I swear,” you said with the same coy smile that had just gotten you put over his knee. 

You let your body crash against his, and he hugged you close as he stroked your back. 

He smiled, knowing your silence was a testament to your desire for him to touch you.

“Prove it, sweet girl. Prove me how good you can be.”

You really should not have been surprised that his cock was this big; that he would fill your mouth without even having to try.

His hips moved of their own accord the more you sucked, and the more saltiness coated your tongue, the more his thighs quivered, the more his groans made your chest swell with pride. 

“Such a good girl,” he cooed. 

His praise only spurred you on, lapping at his tanginess before you sucked harder on the head, flattening your tongue on the underside of his cock to make his hips buck. 

“See, the thing is, men like blowjobs for the peace and quiet–” he tried to say before a bob of your head halted his words. 

You were terribly good at this game, and you had no intention of losing. You fondled his balls to keep him quiet, deep-throating him in one go. You choked on him, swallowing around him as you tried to breathe through your nose and tears welled in your eyes. 

When you looked up at him, he collected the spit on your chin with his thumb and he practically purred. “Ahh, fuck–” 

His eyes were set on you, and as much as his tender gaze made your skin prickle in delight, he had been so intent on seeing the fireworks earlier that you stopped sucking him off, looking up at him from under your eyelashes. 

You pointed behind you at the sky still lighting up in various colors, wondering how long you had until D.C. grew quiet. “Wouldn’t want you to miss the show,” you remarked, still pumping his wet length with your hand, tracing the vein on his shaft with your tongue. 

He cursed your name, but he was already slack-jawed and shaking, his dark eyes hooded with lust. 

He grabbed your arms to bring you up and he lunged forward, his mouth landing on your wet lips, searing you in a fiery kiss as his tongue swirled with yours. 

You sat on his lap, kissing him back with the raw desire that overwhelmed you as his fingers touched your spine, grazing it with featherlight touches amidst the scorching passion that was setting you on fire from head to toe. 

He grinned from ear to ear with a glint in his eyes. “We’re not going to miss a minute of that show, sweetheart.”

He disappeared down the hallway, leaving you panting and painfully aroused. Moments later, he  came back with his cock wrapped in a condom, and before you could joke about his eagerness to fuck you before his bedtime, he brought you out on the balcony, making you brace your hands on the railing as he entered you swiftly from behind. 

He was so incredibly stiff and large that the breach caught you off-guard, making you whimper as he stretched you out without preparation.

“You were about to say something, my dear brat. I had to shut you up,” he scolded, a soft hand patting your back.

You were wet enough for him to be able to slide right in, but the pain of the intrusion blinded you like a firework had gone off inches from your nose. It felt absolutely addicting how he had carefully mixed pleasure and pain. 

“You’re clenching so hard right now–” he added, his hand finding your pussy and resting there. “You’re drenching me and I’m all wrapped up. You’re making a mess, dirty girl.” 

He gently flicked your clit, making you shudder until all you could feel was the tingle in your extremities. 

You saw people under you, walking in and out of the building. 

“Aaron–” you tried to warn. 

He didn’t relent, his finger faster on your clit. “Shh, my sweet girl. We wouldn’t want people to look up, now, would we?”

Holy shit.

“Tell me when I can move,” he croaked, his tone betraying how close he already was. 

He continued to make you feel good with a finger on your clit, making you incredibly aware that you had to hold yourself up on the railing. 

“Go slow,” you panted.

Fortunately, Aaron was done with the taming, and he thrusted so gently, you wondered if he was pacing himself or actually making love to you. 

Those words had never made sense before now. You had fucked plenty, but this was different. He was sweet, caring, and thoughtful in the way he was taking you, and while he had entered you impatiently, he was taking his time to savor this, to make you feel good. 

He hit your g-spot each time he fully sheathed his length inside you, and with his finger on your clit, with the depth of your feelings for him, it didn’t take long for you to tremble and bite your upper arm to refrain from screaming his name into the air. 

“Mine. You are mine,” he grunted. 

You nodded, doing your best to keep your face from hitting the railing as he plunged into you once more. “I am yours.”

“You. Are. Mine. Not just tonight,” he drawled. 

Apparently, when you had said you were his tonight, he had taken it as a personal offense. 

“Aaron, I am yours for as long as you’ll have me,” you whispered.

You usually made jokes to make light of serious situations, but not now. He deserved your most sincere self. 

He rubbed at your clit with renewed vigor, making the coil in your stomach tighten and rip before you could warn him. His hips stilled almost at the same time, and he hissed curses and praises of your name as you felt him fill the condom with his hot seed. Your clenching walls choked around him, milking his own orgasm out of his balls until every last drop had been emptied into the rubber. 

Aaron grabbed you and moved you inside, slipping out of you and making you miss the full feeling already. He kissed you tenderly, keeping you close to him. 

He was about to kneel when you stopped him, cupping his face with adoration. “I am way too tired for this,” you admitted with a laugh. Admitting your feelings for someone was draining enough without the mindblowing orgasm.

“And here I thought I’d have to stay up past my bedtime with you,” he teased.

“Let me nap and we’ll see.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” he agreed, taking your hand and leading you towards his room. “After all, you were such a good girl. You deserve a reward.”

You looked over your shoulder once again, seeing what appeared to be the grand finale of the fireworks for tonight. 

People often say they see stars when the sex is really good, but as far as you were concerned, fireworks were way better.

Nothing was sweeter than your essence, nothing was more delightful than the sounds you were making in his bedroom as if his name was the best chorus you had ever sung. 

He purred the second you pulled his hair as you came, thrashing against his face as you drenched him with your nectar. He didn’t stop until the only thing you could do was mewl his name over and over again, your thighs squeezing his head in and keeping him firmly in place. 

He was proud to see that you had made a mess of his sheets. He would have to change them sometime before he would wash you along with himself, but that was an issue for another time after he had shown you just how beautiful you were to him. 

He lapped at your juices, nestling his face between your thighs before slowly trailing his lips up to seal your lips into a hungry kiss, making you taste what he had gathered on his tongue. He hummed as you entangled yourself with him even more, his hips still searching for friction even though he was empty.

He lay on his side, loving how you instantly cuddled into his arms. He kissed the top of your head as you still rode waves of pleasure, stroking your back with his fingertips. 

Your hands were holding onto his waist, and he had to hide his face in the crook of your neck when he felt you grab a handful of him there. You buried a hand into his hair, making him groan against your skin in the process.

“Why are you touching my love handles?” he breathed. 

“They’re incredibly attractive. Just more of you to love.”

Love?

Aaron was taken aback enough to frown and look into your eyes, finding no mischievous glint or hint of teasing anywhere. 

“You heard me correctly,” you added, cradling his face as if he was precious. 

He kissed your lips in place of a reply, pouring what he could into a gesture rather than words, and he held you firmly in place, pinning you under his weight.

He pulled back just enough to grin at you, his eyes no doubt sparkling with adoration.

“Should we get in the shower?” he suggested. 

You followed him back into his bedroom, and he offered you a tee shirt with a heartwarming smile right before he put on his pajamas. You pulled it on quickly, the cold air of the room replaced by his warm scent. He sat on the edge of his bed, watching you tug at the hem of his shirt with one of his strange half-smiles. 

“Will you stay?” he asked, his eyes begging you not to leave. 

“Do you want me to?”

He nodded, his brows furrowed but his eyes never straying from yours.

“Then I’m staying. But you'd better treat me to some waffles in the morning.”

There was no doubt in your mind that you would have stayed whether he had offered or not. His actions spoke louder than whatever he could say, and it was obvious he wanted you here.

“Oh, sweet girl, I promise there will be waffles.”

He offered you his hand, and you accepted it, allowing him to tug you into bed with him.

You snuggled into his side the second you were under the fresh covers, finding his warmth and cuddly body to be everything you had ever wanted. 

You woke up entangled in his limbs a few hours later. It was still dark outside. The city had finally come to a halt, and silence hung in the air. 

You glanced at the alarm clock, careful to not disturb him. 

3 am. You were familiar with the peacefulness night provided. 

His face was plastered in the crook of your neck and blowing hot air onto it. You gently caressed his hair, making him groan sleepily and his eyelashes tickled your skin. He planted a gentle kiss on your neck before he traced your jaw with soft sleepy kisses.

“What time is it?” he muttered. 

“Still night. Sleep,” you replied, patting his head and massaging his scalp. 

“Don’t leave,” he pleaded, clutching you so tightly you weren’t sure where his body ended and yours started. 

“I won’t.”

He groaned and his soft snores filled the room again within seconds.

You held him in your arms, vowing you’d never let go before he did because tonight he had called you his, and that was by far your favorite thing to be called. 

-------

taglist: @ssamorganhotchner @mrs-ssa-hotch @ssa-tahlia-obsessions @rousethemouse @criminalskies @persephonewritessometimes @hotchsdoormat @sweetnightowl @morgthemagpie @a-cloud-for-dreams @hausoflove @simp4f1 @alexxavicry @angelmather1 @hotchsdharma

Masterlist main masterlist request

Aaron and his family on a vacation

domestic hotch request for sitting in his lap bonus points if reader falls asleep !!

Sitting in Aaron's lap happens as much as you'd like it to, which is to say a lot. It's mostly because what you want you get, and Aaron loves to have you curled up in his lap.

You're in your pyjamas, a pretty silky nightdress, and Aaron in some plaid pants and a grey t-shirt. You're watching a sitcom on the tv while he finishes looking over a report from the last case.

Tiredly, you rub your eyes and make a big show of stretching and yawning. You know your husband sees you when his cheek jumps in effort to suppress his smile.

"Aaron," you're tired and achy and crawl over to him, your head in his lap like a kitten begging for attention.

"Yes, honey?" your heart picks up at how soft he sounds and the way one of his hands drop away from his file to hold the chub of your cheek. "Tired?" there's amusement in his tone and you scoot even further into his lap, knocking the file from his hand.

"Are you exceptionally busy?" he knows what you really mean to ask, 'Are you going to be busy for much longer or can we go to bed now?' He wishes he could say he's almost finished but he has three more reports to review and then he's all caught up.

"Come here honey," his hands reach for your hips, pulling you into his lap with a sigh and pressing his nose into your hairline. Aaron strokes your back as you tuck your head under his chin, closing your eyes as you listen to his heartbeat. "You can sleep if you want, I'll only be another hour."

You whine your distaste with that, but remain in his lap. Your fingers trace patterns on his forearms, eyes closed as you feel him pick up the file again.

It's not long before your hand's movement slows, your breath evening out and hitting Aaron's collarbones making goosebumps spread there.

You're both in silence, your deep breathing helping Aaron focus as he finishes the file. He tries, tries very had to make it all the way to the last section on the last file, but you shift in his lap and mumble his name in your sleep and his heart clenches.

Aaron loves that moment when you're fully asleep but you can't help but need him. It's a bit of an addiction he has, always wanting to be awake to hear you call for him.

You can't hear him, but he murmurs all the same. "We're going to bed, baby." he kisses at your hairline, slipping one hand under your knees and one behind your back as he carries you both to the bedroom, a plan to sleep in a little on his mind.

Heyyyy can you do a Hotch x reader where readers just kinda been down all day but doesn’t wanna tell Hotch because she’s kinda used to being the badass with all her walls up? And hotch kinda pulls her to the side and forces it out of her 😊😊

thank you for requesting!! fem, 1.2k

Hotch has dark hair. He’s an older guy but he’s yet to grey, hair like the strands are soaked with coal pitch, even darker under the office lights. He braces his hand on the desk and ducks toward Spencer’s computer screen, pointing at a corner with patience. 

“This one,” Hotch says. 

“Why would they organise it like this?” Spencer asks, his voice bordering incredulous. 

“I’m not sure. You’ll remember where this is?” 

“Do you usually have to tell me more than once?” Spencer says lightly. 

“Ask your licence to carry.” 

You’d laugh, his wit quick and poor Spencer a good sport, but your head feels heavy with a forming upset. Like your mind has turned to thick porridge. You woke up on the wrong side of the bed, but you don’t feel angry, more magnificently empty. Nothing is touching beyond your surface level. 

“Thank you, sir,” Spencer says. 

You ignore the weight of a gaze on you while you click through your emails, prioritising what needs to be answered before the end of the day, the end of the week, and the end of the month as Hotch taught you to. You double click an email chain from a consult you’d been assigned from out of state and reread your response, nervous that your lack of confidence today might have shone through blunt wording. Hotch is looped into the chain —he can correct any glaring errors should you have made them. 

“Hey,” Hotch says when you don’t look up. He doesn’t use your name, and he doesn’t need to. “I’d like to talk to you. Let’s go up to my office.” 

“Can I have a half hour to work through my emails?” you ask apologetically.

“I’d prefer we talk now. Any overdue reply can be blamed on me,” he says. 

The way he talks is natural to him but perhaps strange if it were another person, with another disposition. You know Hotch to be both gentle and stern at once. His tone leaves little room for debate, but it reassures you to hear the measured cadence of each word without rush. The openness of his expression is similarly comforting, and though he doesn’t know it —you would never own up to feeling this way, verbally or physically— you’d quite like to be comforted by him. Even if he takes you to the office to reprimand you, you’ll at least have been near him for long enough to forget your odd aching. 

Hotch doesn’t walk until you do, taking each step by side until he gets to the office, where he opens the door to encourage you in. 

You drift a few feet inward, shoes soft on clean, crisp carpeting. Hotch closes the door, where he stands momentarily, silence held.

“Everything okay?” you ask. 

Hotch pulls out one of the two black chairs in front of his desk and gestures for you to sit. “Everything’s okay,” he says, standing back to give you space to sit, his hand moving to rest on the back of the chair as you sit. It whines as you shift to see him. “With me, everything’s okay. How about you?” 

“Everything’s fine with me.” 

You’d pad your explanation out if you didn’t think he was about to tell you what you’re in the brig for. No one likes a nervous Nelly. 

“Are you sure?” he asks. 

You glance at his hand behind you and he moves it swiftly. “Hotch?” you ask tentatively. 

“I’ve noticed you aren’t yourself today.” 

“I’m completely myself.” 

“It’s not like you to stare into space.” He frowns. “I want to sit down because I don’t like towering over you, but I don’t want you to internalise this as a meeting.” 

“You’re not towering over me, Hotch.

His frown doesn’t ebb. “…We each have our own unique levy to carry the weight of, I know that. But it’s not… nice, to see you like this. I’d like to know what’s wrong.” 

Again, no nonsense and reassuring at once. 

Maybe he is towering a little. You avert your gaze from his, feeling uncharacteristically meek for a weak moment. 

“I think I woke up mixed up,” you confess eventually, picking at a stray thread on your skirt until the tips of your fingers burn. “Like, nothing happened to upset me, but I…” 

“You do feel upset.” 

“Yeah, I guess so.” 

“You’re not sure why?” 

“Not really. I think that–” You lick your lips nervously, not finding the right words, wanting to be vulnerable and simultaneously reluctant to show him anything he might not like. “I think it’s lots of smaller things and they’re layering on top of each other. Do you get that?” 

“All the time. Though usually my way of dealing with it is less pleasant for others.” He looks down at you steadily. “And yours,” —he aims enough fondness at you to stop your heart— “is self-contained. But I don't want you to think you’re walking through life unseen.” 

“Unseen,” you repeat. 

He stands very still. “Can I touch your face?” he asks quietly. 

You don’t know why he’d ask, but you say, “Yes, please.” 

“Please,” he says. You’re repeating each other. The air in the room feels thicker as he lifts his hand to your cheek and cups it gently. “When you’re upset, I notice. I can’t help but notice.” Your face lists into his palm slowly, worried he’ll move, but he holds you and he watches you with care. “Is there anything I can do to make it all feel better?” 

“I don’t think so.” 

He rubs your cheek with his thumb. “No?” 

You close your eyes. “No,” you say, matching his volume. 

“I don’t know what to do now,” he murmurs. 

“Sorry, I’m okay,” you say, asking yourself to move away from his touch, but unable to force it, “I’m gonna…” 

It’s a boundary crossed, but you and Hotch are good at that. He’s constantly treating you with more sweetness than a boss should show toward his employee, and you eat it up despite every instinct in you that says you shouldn’t. So you won’t tell him you’ve had a bad day until he asks, and even then, you have nothing permanent to offer him for fixing, and still he’ll hold your face and make it feel ordinary. Like he’s touched you a hundred times, something about it feels right, and real. Your cheek feels softer under his tracing thumb. You could fall asleep in his hands. 

“How can I make you feel better?” he asks again. 

“It’s not that bad.” 

“But what can I do?” 

You want to ask for a hug, but even the idea of it is too much to think about. Miss Independent admitting she needs more than this? When it’s already more than you should have? 

Profilers profile, and somehow you give yourself away. 

“Come on,” he says softly. 

He hugs you. His hand falls from your face to your shoulder, wrapping behind it, encompassing you in a strong arm as he bends down to embrace you fully. 

“I wish you’d ask for more,” he says, his free arm slinking between your arm and side, hand to your back, encouraging you to hug him back. 

You don’t know what to do with your arms. Each movement feels stilted, but Hotch makes up for it. He hugs you without inhibition, like he’s wanted to do it for a long, long time. 

A bunch of cuties in love | A.H.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

Content warning: fluff, nicknames (i think that's about it?)

Word Count: 2.2K

Summary: Running late to a meeting with Strauss, Hotch leaves Jack with his favorite person - you. The scene that greets him when he comes back leads to some realizations. 

Request: Hotch request: BAU!Reader is Jack’s favorite and always spends the day with them when he’s brought along to the office. They have a cute bonding moment that Hotch secretly watches. Cue the “oh god I’m in love with them aren’t I”

A/N: it’s been two months today since I made this blog, and it’s been wild, it’s been fun, and it’s been a little teary. thank you for the love and support! Please enjoy this cute little hotch piece, I had a blast writing it! Thank you to the anon who requested this, and I’d love to hear what you think! Also, I miss old Disney😭

9:23.

On the days you weren’t working on a case, and the only thing you really needed to catch up on was paperwork, your usual start time was 8:30. Yet almost an hour had gone by and he wasn’t in his office like he usually would be.

With a punctual Unit Chief like Aaron Hotchner, it was a shock, and a little nerve-wracking that he was late. 

You’d lie if you didn’t say you were getting a little worried, taking into account the last and only time he’d been late - Foyet attacking him in his own home, leaving him with long-lasting trauma, scars, and without his family. 

You'd never forget that day, and every day after where he was left to suffer, laying the blame on himself. No matter how many times you said it, how many times Rossi patted him on the back, reminding him it wasn't his fault, you knew a part of him still didn't believe it.

And the part of you that cared about him, maybe a little more than you should, didn't have the heart to watch him do this to himself - the silent guilt, the long empty looks. 

You’ve known him awhile, seen him through many of his ups, and just as many as his downs. You’d seen him laugh in glee and beam with happiness, you’d seen him lose it in anger and anguish and you’d seen him cry in heartbreak. 

So much of your life spent beside him, so many memories linked with him, and your team. And much of it you knew was friendly love - your love for Emily and Spencer, JJ and Morgan, Penelope and Rossi. But the love you felt for him was just a tiny bit different, deeper, not the friendly kind. 

You’d only recently started to understand what you were really feeling for him, as recent as the last few weeks. Still new and a little unexplainable at times, you were learning to balance that, within your friendship.

You didn’t think you wanted to pursue anything, right now. It had been a little over two years since he’d lost Haley, since he’d needed to start navigating his life as a single dad, a widower. 

You could still see the pain in his eyes, fresh as the day it had happened. You knew he was managing, but it was still apparent, that it was hitting them both hard.

And Jack? He was a little ray of sunshine in the otherwise gruesome life all of you led - the same could be said about Henry. But Henry was Reid's favorite, as his godfather, you knew the bond between them was unbreakable. 

But Jack? You were his favorite, and he was yours. 

He was your little buddy, your partner in all things art, cartoons, and Disney shows. He was your little helper during all things baking - you'd babysat once and he'd requested chocolate chip, peanut butter cookies and you'd been more than happy to help him make them.

He was a natural baker and a little taster. 

Your love for the little cutie ran as deep as your feelings for his dad.

At the end of the day though, you were a friend, a shoulder both could use to lean on and rely on. You were comfortable in your role within their little family and weren't looking to make any changes then.

9:28.

You were playing with your watch, already having decided you’d be giving him a call if he didn't arrive by 9:30.

Worry was making your hands sweat, and just as you went to wipe them on your pants, the door to the bullpen opened, and in walked a very frantic Hotch - his tie was a little crooked, shirt a little wrinkled, and Jack - a little backpack on his back, and a curious look paired with a timid smile.

Aaron's eyes searched the bullpen, as did Jack's, the little Hotchner noticing you seconds before his father did. You stood up, watching as the blond pulled away from his dad, and on a little run, made his way towards you. 

“Cutiee.” He called out, using the nickname you called him, to address you too. You leaned down when he was a few steps away, accepting his hug, his little arms wrapping around your neck. 

“Hi, cutie.” You greeted him, a wide smile on your face. Hotch had made his way over to you by then, giving you a barely-there smile, but his eyes shone.

“You're late.” You started, pulling to your full height.

“Yeah, Jessica was called on an emergency at the last minute, and Liah is away on a hiking trip, so here we are.” Liah was Hotch's neighbor, she looked after Jack for a few hours when Hotch couldn't stay with him, or Jess was busy.

He looked at his watch, running a hand through his hair, messing it up a little.

“I have a meeting with Strauss…well, right now. Can you please watch him until I get done?” 

“Go, don't make her wait. We'll be okay and we're going to have fun. Right, Jack?” You watched him nod at both you and his dad before Hotch exhaled.

“You're a lifesaver. Be good for Y/N, okay buddy.” Another nod from Jack, and he was on his way to Strauss's office.

‘’Okay Jack, let's see if Aunt Penelope can download a few episodes of ‘The Suite Life’ for us, and then we'll go color and draw for a while. Does that sound good to you?” 

“Very good. Can I also have orange juice?” He asked, taking your hand in his small, soft one, fingers wrapping around your own.

“Let's go see if we have any.” You walked towards the small communal kitchen space, checking the fridge and then you checked the pantry…and, “Bingo. Let's go see the lair.” You led him to Penelope's office.

“Knock, knock, may us mortals enter?” You joked, making your little partner giggle. 

“Us?” Her voice rang from the other side of the door.

“I have sir Hotchner with me. The smaller one.”

“Hey,” Jack said in outrage

“My favorite Hotchner.” You added.

Penelope pulled the door open, beaming at both of you, before she made space for you to enter. 

“Jack, my love, hi,” She raised her hand, letting him give her a high five. Even though she was affectionate, Jack wasn’t as much, especially after Haley. He only hugged a few people now - Jess, his dad, and surprisingly, you. 

It really showed how comfortable he was with you.

“What brings you to my tech cave?” She asked. You raised your brows at him, prompting him to do the talking. 

“Can you, please, download a few episodes of Zack and Cody for us?” His voice rang with its usual child calm and sweetness, fingers intertwined in front of him. 

Penelope's smile softened even more, “Sure thing, sweetie,” Her eyes turned towards you then, “Your tablet?”

“Yes, please.” You knew it was a work tablet, but no one had to know.

“Any requests?” She asked the little guy.

“You pick.”

“Okay-dokey. Should have it in about 10 minutes, my loves.”

“Thank you, Aunt Penelope.”

“Thanks Pen.” You gave her air kisses before you led Jack out and towards his father's office. 

His day had started rocky, hell, the whole night had gone that way. 

Jack had woken up from a nightmare - twice at that. After the second time, he’d asked Aaron to sleep in his bed, too scared and sad to stay in his room.

He’d snoozed his alarm, just once, and had a hard time waking his son up too. He’d had 20 minutes to get himself ready, but Jessica had called 10 minutes before she was supposed to arrive - apologizing because she’d been called on an emergency at work. 

Aaron had to rearrange his whole morning then, already aware he’d be late for work. He’d had to get Jack and his backpack ready and cook him breakfast. All of that, and be in the office before his 9:30 meeting with Strauss. 

Breakfast and preparing Jack for a day at the BAU, he’d done successfully. Arriving on time had been a little tricky, with barely 2 minutes to spare. 

But when he’d walked into the bullpen, Jack spotting you just seconds before he did, and he’d watched your smile grow, he’d known all would be okay. 

Watching you with Jack always brought a warm feeling within him, like he was watching something sacred. You were always patient and kind, always interested in listening to him talk, even though he was a quiet kid, who appreciated quality time more. 

You gave him that too, and a lot of it - you watched cartoons and shows with him. Colored and drew, baked cookies, and played with him whenever he wanted. Any time spent with Jack was about what he wanted, what he liked doing, and above all, making him comfortable. 

Even if it meant cleaning flour off your kitchen floor and whatever had gotten in the drawers too. 

He appreciated, even loved the bond you had with his son, every smile, every hug, and every minute you spend with him. He loved hearing about you from Jack - what you’d done together, what you’d told him, the stories, the jokes, the conversations. 

Hearing his son proclaim you as his favorite person in the BAU had made his heart soar. Taking into account all the time you spent with him, it wasn’t really a surprise. He bonded hard, but once he did, he never went back.

He was much like Aaron himself in that regard. His trust had to be earned, as did his friendship, and it required hard work. Jack was much the same. And you’d successfully earned both of theirs with your beautiful and caring personality. 

He exhaled a breath, checking his watch, step fast, and briefcase in hand. 

11:18.

His meeting with Strauss had run longer than he’d anticipated - over an hour and a half. Diplomacy, politics, budgets, and cuts, they’d run through countless things, half of that meeting already fully blacked out from his memory. 

He was tired - every meeting with Strauss left him drained. Worried,  about Jack and his state of mind after last night. All he wanted to do was get to his office and check up on his son. 

Walking into the bullpen for the second time that day, he quickly made his way towards his office, only to stop short at the window. The blinds were open, having forgotten to close them last night, so he had a clear and full view of his office.

You were sat on the couch close to the armrest, Jack cuddled against you, cheek squished against your collarbone, face almost buried in your neck. 

Your work tablet sat propped on the coffee table, and your arm wrapped around his small body, keeping him close. His eyes were almost closed, your thumb running soothingly on his back. 

He watched, mesmerized by the scene. He felt himself soften, all of him. His face, the furrow in his brow, and the tight set of his lips. His whole body, his heart, suddenly at peace. 

For months he'd observed the kindness you showed everyone - the families of victims, heartbroken by the injustice of life. Passersby, people you might never see again. Your team, especially, your work family. Jack, and even Aaron himself. 

And as he watched you with his son, the one person left in this world who truly loved him, no matter his rights or wrongs - he couldn't help but feel himself unravel. 

Every little thought he'd had about you, every feeling he might have somehow suppressed in order to protect himself and his child, they all attacked him, in seconds. 

Because the truth was, you earned his trust, his friendship, and somehow along the way, you'd won his heart as well.

Right at that moment, his heart pounded in need, in adoration, in pure, clear love. Love he hadn't allowed himself to feel since Haley. Love, he'd frankly hadn't felt in years, ever since he’d put his signature down on the dotted line. 

He wanted to get home to see this. He wanted to see you put Jack to bed, and kiss his forehead with a whispered ‘good night’.

He wanted to stroke your cheek tenderly, pull you into a kiss that made you melt, and stroke a fire within you like no one else could. 

He wanted to tell you he loved you - in the car, as he drove you to work. In the kitchen during breakfast and dinner. In his office, a few stolen moments as you worked. And under the sheets, while you made love. 

And even through the fear that gripped him in a vice, of rejection, separation, and even trust - he still wanted to love you, as if he was loving someone for the first time again. 

“Everything okay, Aaron?” David asked, passing on the way to his office. 

Aaron barely spared him a glance, nodding his head a little, “Yeah, it's okay.”

He pushed the door to his office open and walked in, greeted by his new favorite sight, and his two favorite people. 

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

ok shy bau reader and the team finally managed to get her to come a rossi dinner party so she can meet the rest of the team families that she hasn’t met yet, maybe after her first date with hitch and the team realized quickly she softened very fast with the kids and jack and her just seemed to click really fast and jack had her talking more than any of the team has so far… hotch is star eyes

hotch x shy!bau!reader \\ Dinner and Delights

Warnings: brief mention/allusions to Christianity. Otherwise, fluff! More insight into what Aaron is thinking :) I got very carried away, I hope you enjoy <3

"Woah hot stuff, where are you going so fast?" Morgan intercepts you with an arm around your shoulder as you attempt to slip out of the BAU unnoticed. "Hopefully to get ready for our big dinner plans?"

It's not that you don't want to go to one of Rossi's famous dinner parties, you're just afraid that your sub-par social skills would be noticeable by tenfold in a more casual environment.

At work, you can hide your quietness by talking about the psychology of the unsub, your specialty as a licensed psychologist. You can pretend you're not hiding in your shell when the team is all laughing and talking about personal lives by quietly listening while pretending to read your maps and journals. You can observe them and spend time with them, because you do truly love them all at this point, without feeling bad that you prefer to listen over talk.

And that's really it - you prefer to listen to them. You would say you've all but warmed up to all of them. You like Morgan's teasing, Emily's stories, Reid's rambling, Rossi's sarcasm, and Hotch's...

Everything, but the thought snaps you back to the present before you can dwell on memories of a sweet date in a dark restaurant.

"Of course," you succeed, nodding and sending him a tight-lipped smile.

"Hey," he slows you down and stops in the hallway, turning you to face him gently before lifting his hands in a placating gesture as if you were an animal he expects to run. "You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with but I promise none of us are trying to lead our little lamb to slaughter. We know you're quiet," the admission embarrasses you and makes you feel guilty pleasant that he sounds so gentle about it, "and nobody minds, I think it's cute and I think the rest are just happy our other genius isn't as vocal as Reid."

Your nose scrunches at the small dig and you open your mouth to protest at putting Reid down to lift you up.

"And look at that! Another thing we all love - you're quiet but won't let anyone say anything about the other behind their back. You're a good person, we all just want to spend some less-intense time with you. So, go home and doll yourself up, and get ready to see Hotch wine tipsy. We all know that's your main motivator." Morgan winks at you and moves quickly down the hall and away from you, laughing, before you can protest.

He's not wrong, though, and you shake your head as you move toward the elevator.

You end up on Rossi's doorstep, choking the neck of a bottle of expensive wine between two sweaty palms. Your heart is in your throat, nerves humming in anticipation.

Your team cares about you. Nobody expects you to be anything you're not. Gentle affirmations meant to soothe over your skin in gently lapping waves erupt into steam; like water hitting lava rock. You're too tense, too worried about not saying enough or too much; saying the wrong thing or saying the right thing only once and never living up to the expectation of repeated occurrences.

"Hey," Emily says from behind you. You turn to see her jogging up to stand beside you, brushing off her pants and adjusting her jacket. "You brought wine!" She cheers happily, reaching past you to turn the nob and open the door.

She gestures you inside, making no comment about your obvious hesitance. With her by your side, your nerves are calmed. Aside from Aaron, she's the easiest for you to be around. You don't feel any expectations with Emily. She doesn't talk too much or too little, doesn't push, doesn't ever send a pitying look when you opt out of activities outside of work.

"Château Lafite," you say to her, lifting the wine and shaking it gently in the air as you walk inside.

"Oh! Fancy wine."

"Wine?" Rossi asks, rounding a corner. He's dressed slightly more casually in a soft sweater and jeans, drying his hands off with a pristine dish towel. "The more the merrier, bring it in here."

You follow his gesture back into the kitchen, leaving Emily to go to what you presume is the living or dining area.

"Where did you find this?" Rossi asks, taking the wine from you to examine it and letting out a low whistle as he appreciates it.

"Just my local winery," you say, neglecting to admit that you go there often enough that the owner leaves the nicer stuff behind the counter for you.

Lonely nights crave wine, twisting them into lovely things you can appreciate. You enjoy your own company after years of quietly observing others. You've learned how to observe yourself, too, after all of these years.

And, even though you don't quite realize it, the self-awareness carries like confidence. That's what Aaron sees in you: observant eyes darting across a room and noticing everything, understanding flickering before anyone else catches a cue, deft movements across the paper while taking notes, and swift motions always with a purpose.

It's what he sees now, hands in the pockets of his dark jeans while he leans in the doorway of Rossi's kitchen, watching you. How could he not? You're a lovely creature, always begging for his eyes to settle on you for another second, and then another.

He knows the moment you realize he's in the room, minutes before Rossi. You stand straighter, tilt your chin lower, and are aware far before you tilt your head to the side to send him a soft smile. He returns it before Rossi can catch him. It's a warmth he wants to reserve for you.

"Dave," he interrupts the other man's monologuing about the wine he's sure you already know all about, "Jack would like to know if he and Spencer can use your chess set when he gets here?"

"Of course, I'll get it from my study." Rossi leaves, passing you the wine and gesturing to the opener.

Aaron steps in before you can start the process of opening the wine. He doesn't quite know why, but he wants to do it for you. He finds himself wanting that more and more recently: to do simple tasks for the sole purpose of you not having to do them. Opening doors and pulling out chairs are simple gestures that he did with Hayley, but he wants to do sillier, smaller, things, too. Straighten the pens on your desk back into their cup, reorganize the files on your desktop, untangle the wires of the headphones he really should reprimand you for using at your desk, open a damn bottle of wine he can't pronounce the name of but that he heard you say so gently to Emily as you walked in.

"Jack's here?" You ask, handing him the wine and crossing your arms over your chest as you lean back against the counter to watch him work.

He relishes how your eyes focus on his arms, pupils dilating, as his muscles work under his thin henley.

"Yes, I have him this weekend and he likes to spend time with Reid and Garcia."

He has to step closer to reach above you to get the wine glasses. He could ask you to step aside, tuck his hand against your waist to move you himself, or simply walk into the next room to grab the glasses sitting on the table. But, instead, he tucks one foot in between yours, puts one hand on the back of your head to guard it from the cabinet, and opens it to find the nicer crystal there.

Your breath hitches across his neck and he remembers the chaste kisses he's given you before. Nothing serious, nothing has been yet because he's waiting for you to lead him into that, but tantalizing nonetheless. He steps back to pour the wine, standing closer to you than he started.

A little for you, passed gently, and then a little for him. Dave could pour his own glass.

You take the wine and sip it slowly, tongue darting out to taste before you sip. He's reminded of communion as a child. The blood of christ, sacred, something to be tasted but not meant to satiate. Reverence in a sip, devotion in a small act.

He wants to give you the same thing. The desire hits him in the sternum, suddenly, leaving him winded as he watches you lower the glass. Your eyes are locked on his, you haven't seemed as hesitant about holding his gaze recently - something that makes him melt - and he wonders if you can feel how he wants to take care of you. How he wants to show you the same force that water uses to carve canyons. Persistence and pressure, time and care. He's willing to take his time, he's filled with the same patience as everything all together in nature. He's a rabbit perched on its hind legs, sniffing the wind for safety before darting forward; the bird hung in flight between beats of wings, the whisper of wind carrying small seeds miles away to wait and watch the growth. Wait, wait, wait, however long it takes, he's there. For you.

It's a strong feeling to fully realize in David Rossi's kitchen, but he's grateful for it, anyway.

"It's good," you comment softly, eyes smiling.

"Is it?" He asks, setting his glass down and retaking his spot nearer to you. He misses your warmth. "Can I?" He asks, brushing his fingers across your jugular before cupping your cheek.

"Taste the wine?" You tease, eyes flickering to his glass. The gentle jest pulls a chuckle from his chest. Another thing you've become more comfortable doing around him. His blood and bones sing at how familiar you can be with him.

"Yes," he says in a breath, dipping his head down to brush his lips against yours.

And you're reciprocating - you've always reciprocated, enthusiastically, just never in the pressing way you are now. You set down your own glass to hold his arms in both of your hands. Fingers dig into his arm as you sigh and open your mouth, new lands to explore, tilting your head back to grant him full access.

"Daddy?" Jack asks and Aaron pulls away, a man parched and staring at an oasis in the middle of a desert, before Jack can round the corner. He doesn't go far, though, hand traveling down to the small of your back as he turns.

"Jack?" Aaron replies, waiting for him to come around the corner.

"Hello," Jack says, stopping in the doorway and looking up at you with wide eyes.

You've met him a few times before, always in passing, but you still smile warmly and wave at him.

"Hi, Jack."

"Do you know how to play chess?" Jacks asks. Aaron smiles at the eagerness on his son's face.

"Yes, I do. Would you like to play?"

"Yes please!" Jack jumps forward to grab your hand, pulling you into the living room before you can react.

You go easily, though, following him with a gentle laugh that warms the coldest parts of him. Pieces of him he doesn't think have seen the light in years brighten at the sound. He's heard you laugh before but something about the sight of you laughing because of Jack illuminates needs that he didn't even know he had. Needs you're meeting before he can feel the yawning desire of them.

He follows, unable to resist the desire to see you two interact over and over again. You're setting up the board, listening to Jack chatter on, nodding intently.

Disobeyed Orders

Summary: Being married to your boss has its complications, especially when you have a habit of ignoring orders. Based on this request.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff, Angst

Content Warnings: Mild violence, injury, arguing

Word Count: 1.1k

Mars speaks… Thank you so much for the request, I’m sorry that it took so long but I finally found some time to write, I hope I did your request justice!!

Masterlist

The mission had been intense from the start. You knew Aaron — Hotch, here in the field — had ordered you to stay back and cover the rear, but you saw an opening, a chance to catch the unsub off guard. You’d hesitated for a split second, hearing his voice in your earpiece, a mix of command and concern, but the adrenaline took over. You went for it.

Moments later, everything was a blur. The unsub had turned, a knife flashing in his hand, and you’d barely managed to dodge the attack. By the time the team swarmed in, you were grappling on the ground, the unsub subdued but not without a few bruises in the process.

As soon as the cuffs were on, you felt Hotch’s hand on your arm, his grip firm. He pulled you aside, his face unreadable, but his eyes were burning with a quiet fury. “What the hell were you thinking?” he growled under his breath, keeping his voice low so the others wouldn’t hear.

“I saw an opportunity,” you argued, your chest heaving from exertion. “I took it.”

“That’s not your call to make,” he snapped, his hand tightening on your arm. “I gave you an order, and you directly disobeyed it.”

You felt a surge of frustration, tugging your arm free. “I’m not a child, Aaron. I made a decision based on the situation.”

“An incredibly reckless decision,” he countered, his jaw set tight. “You could have been seriously hurt. Or worse.”

You crossed your arms, bristling at the way he was speaking to you like you were just another agent. “I knew what I was doing. I had it under control.”

“Under control?” He almost laughed, but there was no humour in it. “You were pinned down by an armed suspect. That’s not under control, Y/N.”

Your heart pounded, anger simmering beneath the surface. “I’ve been doing this job long enough to know what risks I can handle, Hotch. You don’t get to—”

He cut you off, his voice lowering but still fierce. “Don’t you Hotch me. Not when you just put yourself in danger like that. Not when you’re my—” He stopped himself, glancing around at the team.

You knew what he wanted to say. Not when you’re my wife. But he couldn’t say that here, not in front of everyone. The silence between you was thick with tension, his jaw clenched, and you could see the storm brewing in his eyes.

“Fine,” you muttered, feeling the sting of his words. “Let’s talk about this later.”

He nodded curtly, his expression hard. “Yes. We will.”

Back at the BAU, the air was thick with unspoken tension as you both debriefed with the team. You could feel Hotch’s eyes on you, a steady, burning gaze that only made your irritation grow. You knew the others sensed it too, the way they exchanged glances but said nothing. They all knew you were married to your boss, and while most of the time it didn’t interfere, today was different.

As soon as the debrief was over, Hotch gestured for you to follow him to his office. You walked in, arms crossed, ready for another round. He shut the door behind you, locking it before turning to face you.

“We need to talk,” he began, his voice still low but more controlled now.

“Talk?” you scoffed. “Or are you just going to keep reprimanding me like I’m one of your agents and not your wife?”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Y/N, you are one of my agents. And on the field, I am your superior. You need to follow my orders.”

“I understand that,” you shot back, your frustration boiling over. “But you can’t expect me to stand by when I see an opportunity to take down a threat.”

Hotch’s expression softened, just a bit. “It’s not about the threat, Y/N. It’s about you. Do you know what it does to me, to see you put yourself in harm’s way like that? To think I could lose you because you wouldn’t listen?”

You blinked, the raw emotion in his voice catching you off guard. “Aaron…”

He stepped closer, his hands reaching out to grip your shoulders, his thumb brushing against your collarbone. “You’re not just another agent to me,” he murmured, his voice strained. “You’re my wife. My everything. And I need you to understand that when I give an order, it’s not just to keep the team safe — it’s to keep you safe.”

You felt a pang of guilt at the fear in his eyes, the way his hands tightened on you like he was afraid to let go. “I know,” you whispered. “But I can’t just stand back and do nothing, Aaron. It’s not who I am.”

He sighed, his forehead resting against yours. “I don’t want you to change who you are. I just… I need you to trust me. To trust that I’ll always have your back, that I’ll always protect you.

You swallowed hard, the intensity of his gaze making your heart ache. “I do trust you,” you replied softly. “But you have to understand that I’m not going to just sit by and let you carry all the weight. I’m your partner — in life and on the field.”

His eyes softened, his thumb tracing circles on your shoulder. “I know,” he murmured. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Just… promise me you’ll be more careful. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.”

You nodded, feeling the tension slowly dissolve between you. “I promise,” you whispered.

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss that melted the last of your resistance. You sighed against him, your hands moving to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms.

When you finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You drive me crazy, you know that?” he muttered, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You chuckled softly, your fingers tangling in his tie. “It’s part of my charm.”

He laughed, a deep, genuine sound that made your heart flutter. “I suppose it is.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, and you felt all the frustration and fear of the day melt away, leaving only the warmth of his love and the steady reassurance of his presence.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips, his voice rough with emotion.

“I love you too,” you replied, your hand cupping his cheek. “And I promise… I’ll try to follow orders. Sometimes.”

He chuckled, pulling you closer. “I’ll take that.”

And in that moment, you knew that no matter how many arguments or tense moments lay ahead, you’d always find your way back to each

Mars speaks… (again) Thank you for reading! Any and all feedback is always appreciated🫶

THE WAY YOU WRITE HOTCH IS ASDFGHJKL, and it makes me wanna scream because I love him so much lol. Can I request "Using pet names" drabble prompt with shy!reader? <3

Hi!! Thank you!!! Thanks so much for requesting a short drabble! I had so much fun writing this one! I hope you enjoy!

Drabble Prompts | Other Writing | Ao3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Shy!Fem!Reader!

Word Count: 2k

Rating: Everyone

TW: None!

I find myself runnin' home to your sweet nothings

It’s you who lets a pet name slip out the first time. 

The warm, aromatic scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as you and Aaron Hotchner sat across from each other at your favorite corner café. It wasn’t often that the two of you found time for a peaceful moment away from the intensity of the BAU, but today, you both managed to sneak out for a late lunch. The soft hum of conversation around you created a cozy atmosphere, making you feel more relaxed than usual.

You sipped your cappuccino, smiling softly as you watched Aaron flip through the menu. He had a slight furrow in his brow, clearly debating over what to order, which made you smile. The rare moments where he looked just like any other person—calm, laid back, and not buried under mountains of paperwork or the weight of cases—made you appreciate these quiet times even more.

“What are you thinking?” you asked, tilting your head as you glanced over the options yourself. “The sandwich you always get?”

Aaron looked up from the menu, his lips curling into a small, amused smile. “Am I that predictable?”

“Maybe a little,” you teased, feeling more comfortable in the easy, casual environment.

He chuckled, setting the menu down. “I suppose I do tend to stick to what I know. What about you?”

You shrugged, staring down at the menu, though you had already decided. “Probably the soup. It’s always good here.”

Aaron nodded, and as you both settled on your orders, the conversation flowed easily. It always did with him, despite the butterflies you couldn’t help but feel when you were around him. Even though you were naturally shy, there was something about Hotch that always made you feel at ease, even if his quiet intensity sometimes made your heart race.

After the waitress took your order and left, you leaned back in your chair, watching the way Aaron absentmindedly tapped his fingers on the table. It was one of his subtle habits that you had grown to notice. It was like he always had to be doing something—thinking, analyzing—even in the most relaxed moments. But now, there was a softness in his expression that made you feel warm inside.

“I’m glad we could get out today,” you said quietly, smiling. “It’s nice to just… take a break with you.”

His eyes softened as he looked at you, his voice just as gentle when he replied, “I’m glad too. We don’t get to do this nearly enough.”

Your heart fluttered at the way he said it, like these moments meant just as much to him as they did to you. There was a calmness in his presence that you’d come to cherish. You felt safe, cared for, even in the little things, like how he always made sure your coffee was topped up before getting his own or how he positioned himself in a way that made you feel like the world could disappear for a while.

Before you could think, the words slipped out: “You’re sweet, you know that, babe?”

The second the word left your lips, you froze. Your eyes widened slightly, and your hand came up to cover your mouth in surprise. You hadn’t meant to say it—not “babe.” It wasn’t a word you had ever used with him before, and certainly not in public. It just slipped out, so naturally, as if it had been sitting there, waiting to make its debut.

You braced yourself for his reaction, your cheeks already turning pink from embarrassment, but when you looked up, you were met with a look of pure amusement on Aaron’s face.

“Babe?” he repeated, arching an eyebrow as a slow, teasing smile spread across his lips. His voice was filled with warmth and playfulness. “Did I just hear that right?”

You felt your face heat up, but you weren’t exactly embarrassed, just a little flustered by how easily the word had slipped. “I, uh… I didn’t mean—well, I did, but…”

Aaron chuckled, leaning forward slightly, his eyes dancing with amusement. “No need to backtrack now,” he teased. “I have to admit, I didn’t see that one coming.”

You pressed your lips together, trying to hide the shy smile threatening to spill out. “I guess it just… slipped out.”

“Slipped out, huh?” He rested his chin in his hand, watching you with that signature smirk of his. “I think I like it.”

“Really?” You blinked, surprised by his reaction.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning back in his chair, clearly enjoying your flustered state. “It’s got a nice ring to it. But I have to say, I wasn’t expecting you to be the one to start with the pet names.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Well, I guess there’s a first for everything.”

Aaron’s gaze softened as he reached across the table and gently placed his hand over yours. His thumb brushed lightly against your knuckles, his touch warm and reassuring. “You don’t need to be so shy about it,” he said, his voice gentle. “I think it’s cute.”

Your blush deepened at his words, but this time, you didn’t shy away. “I’m not shy… just cautious,” you said, feeling more playful than usual.

He chuckled again, the sound deep and soothing. “Well, I’d like to hear it again sometime… babe.” He teased further. 

The way he said the word sent a wave of warmth through you, and you found yourself grinning, unable to contain it any longer. “I think I can manage that.”

The teasing smile never left his face as he held your gaze. “Good, because I think you’re stuck with it now.”

You laughed, feeling more comfortable and at ease than ever. “And what about you?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Are you going to start calling me pet names too?”

Aaron’s expression softened as he considered it for a moment, then leaned in a little closer. “I think I can manage that,” he said, his voice low and affectionate. “How about ‘sweetheart’? Or maybe ‘honey’? I’ve got a few in mind.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, unable to hide the smile spreading across your face. “I guess I can live with that.”

“Good,” he said with a satisfied smile, giving your hand one more gentle squeeze. “Because I plan on using them a lot.”

It wasn’t soon after that, that Aaron began using them more regularly. Something about hearing him say these endearing names still managed to put butterflies in your stomach.

Tonight, the BAU office was quiet. The bustling activity of the day had finally settled down, and most of the team had left for the night. Aaron Hotchner sat at his desk, the soft glow of his desk lamp illuminating the pile of paperwork he still needed to get through. His focus wavered as he heard a familiar soft knock at his door.

“Come in,” his deep voice called, calm yet commanding, as always.

You peeked your head in, offering a small, shy smile as your eyes met his. You had been working late as well, trying to tie up loose ends from the case you’d just closed. But it wasn’t the case that brought you to his office. It was him.

“Hi,” you said softly, stepping inside and closing the door gently behind you.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Aaron replied, a warmth spreading through his tone that he only ever used with you. It was one of those things that made your heart flutter, even after all this time together. “What are you still doing here?”

You shrugged, walking over to him as you wrung your hands nervously. You never quite got used to how he looked at you, that mixture of care and admiration, like you were the only person in the world when he set his eyes on you.

“I just... wanted to see you before I left,” you murmured, standing in front of his desk. “And I figured you’d still be here working.”

Aaron’s lips curved into a small smile as he leaned back in his chair, his hand extending toward you. “C’mere, honey.”

You took his hand, your heart speeding up at the simple touch, and he gently pulled you into his lap. You blushed, settling into the familiar warmth of his embrace as his arms wrapped securely around you. The door was closed, and you were alone with him—one of the rare moments when you didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing or the walls he kept up as the BAU’s stoic leader.

“You work too hard,” you whispered softly, leaning your head against his shoulder. “You need to rest.”

“I could say the same thing about you,” he replied, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “You’re always looking after me, aren’t you?”

“I try,” you giggled, your shyness melting away a little in his presence. “Someone has to.”

His thumb stroked gently along your arm, and he kissed the top of your head again, this time lingering just a bit longer. “My sweet girl,” he whispered against your hair, his voice low and affectionate.

The pet name--your favorite pet name--sent a rush of warmth through you, making you hide your face against his neck as your cheeks burned. Aaron chuckled softly, clearly amused by your reaction.

“You’re so cute when you blush,” he said quietly, his hand lifting to cup your cheek. “I told you I planned on using these names a lot,” There was a comfortable pause,  “How did I get so lucky to have you in my life?”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you tilted your head slightly to meet his gaze. Even after everything you’d been through together—the cases, the danger, the long nights—he always found a way to make you feel like you were the most important thing in his world.

“I think I’m the lucky one,” you admitted shyly, your fingers tracing small patterns on his chest. “You’ve always been there for me, Hotch.”

“Hey,” he interrupted gently, his fingers lifting your chin so that you were looking into his warm brown eyes. “What did I tell you about that? Call me Aaron when we’re like this.”

“Aaron,” you corrected with a small smile, loving how his name sounded on your lips in these moments.

“That’s better,” he whispered, his lips brushing lightly against yours. “My sweet girl.”

You melted into the kiss, your hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders as you felt the familiar comfort and safety of being in his arms. Aaron’s kiss was soft and gentle, his way of showing you how much he cared without words. When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing as he held you close.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible but filled with sincerity.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he replied without hesitation, the words leaving his lips easily now after everything you’d been through together. “Always.”

You smiled against his lips as he kissed you once more, longer this time, savoring the peaceful moment between you. There were no worries here, no cases or paperwork—just the two of you, wrapped up in each other and the sweet nothings that passed between you.

In his arms, you felt like you were home. And with him calling you all those sweet names, you knew this was exactly where you were meant to be.

Tag List

Between Almost and Always

AN: This one got away from me! I meant for it to be, like...a few thousand words, but now we're at over 10k...so...

Other Writing | Ao3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female!Reader

Word Count: 14.2k !!

Rating: Mature

Tags/TW: Canon-typical violence, canon-typical themes, angst, fluff, kinda fade-to-black smut, read-between-the-lines-smut, happy ending...but it takes some time to get there!

Summary: You and Aaron Hotchner share a bond that runs deeper than either of you dares to acknowledge. Caught between the demands of the BAU and the unspoken pull toward each other, you both struggle to balance your feelings with the fears that keep you apart. As fate and duty continue to intervene, Hotch's silent sacrifices and your unrelenting hope create a tension that neither time nor distance can dissolve, leaving you both to wonder if love will ever break through the almosts and become an always.

The BAU had been your home for as long as you could remember. The team wasn't just a collection of brilliant minds and seasoned agents—they were your family. Together, you moved through darkness, confronting the most twisted parts of humanity. You learned to trust each other with more than just your lives; you entrusted one another with your secrets, your flaws, your fears.

And then, there was Aaron Hotchner.

Hotch was more than just your boss; he was the still center of the storm that raged around you all. He was the steady force that pulled you back when the horrors of the world threatened to consume you. You could always find him standing in the eye of the chaos, unyielding and calm, eyes that spoke of experience, wisdom, and a profound sadness he rarely allowed anyone to see.

But with you, he was different.

From the start, there was something unspoken between you—a magnetic pull that neither of you dared to acknowledge, yet both of you felt with every fiber of your being. It was in the way his eyes lingered just a heartbeat too long, the softening of his voice when he said your name and the brief touches that seemed to hold entire conversations in their warmth.

In quiet moments, when the rest of the world faded, you’d find yourself stealing glances at him, and he'd catch you, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly as if you were sharing a secret no one else could understand. You knew there was something more—something that danced just beyond the reach of words, beyond logic and reason. A bond that went deeper than friendship, stronger than mere attraction. Yet despite the simmering undercurrent, despite all the things you never said, the timing was never right.

Hotch had always been a man of unwavering principle. After Haley’s death, he’d sworn to himself that he would never let his personal life interfere with his work. The guilt he carried from losing her was a shadow that darkened even his brightest moments. It wasn't just the fear of losing someone he cared about—it was the dread of watching the life he touched crumble under the weight of his own demons. He vowed to protect those he loved by keeping them at a distance, believing that his presence was a curse rather than a gift.

But you slipped through his defenses, inch by inch. You, with your unwavering loyalty, your quiet strength, your ability to see straight through his carefully constructed walls. You were the one who saw the Aaron behind the Agent, the man behind the mask. The way you looked at him—like he was not just the leader of your team but a man worthy of being loved—made something inside him soften, something he thought he'd lost long ago.

And maybe that was why he yearned for you. Because you made him believe in a life, he thought was no longer possible for him. You made him dream of stolen moments in a world that wasn’t constantly closing in on him, of lazy Sunday mornings and the warmth of a hand that never let go.

But he was afraid. Afraid that the darkness within him would eventually touch you, hurt you, consume the light you brought into his world. He convinced himself that walking away was the only way to protect you, even if it meant tearing himself apart.

There was an unspoken understanding between the two of you—a silent thread that bound you to Hotch from the moment you joined the BAU. It was the kind of connection that didn’t need words, a gravity that even the team couldn’t ignore. 

JJ, ever the quiet observer, would offer you soft smiles of encouragement, always ready to be your confidante if you ever chose to cross that invisible line. 

Morgan, on the other hand, would tease with that trademark grin of his, throwing out playful jabs to lighten the weight of the tension, hoping his humor might just snap the taut string between you and Hotch. 

Penelope, never one to miss the signs of a budding romance, was less subtle—her eyes practically sparkling with mischief each time she saw you together. 

But it was Reid’s comments that surprised you the most; when even he, with his logical mind, started to speak of soulmates and fated bonds, you knew the connection between you and Hotch wasn’t just something in your head—it was written all over your lives for everyone to see.

It was Seattle, but it could have been anywhere. The rain fell in that relentless way it does in the Pacific Northwest as if the sky itself was unburdening its sorrows. The case had been brutal, a sickening reminder of the cruelty humans are capable of, and though you were all seasoned in darkness, this one had taken a toll on the team.

The unsub had left behind a trail of devastation, each victim a silent cry for help that no one had answered in time. You’d felt it gnaw at your spirit, the failure, the grief, the knowledge that no matter how hard you fought, you couldn’t save them all. The team had dispersed after the long hours of paperwork, retreating to their rooms, each of them carrying the weight in their own way.

But you and Aaron Hotchner—you never went to your rooms. You both sought out the solace of the hotel bar, that quiet space where the world could blur at the edges, where reality was softened by the amber glow of dim lights and the low hum of meaningless conversation. You sat side by side, both of you holding drinks you barely touched, more for the comfort of their warmth than the promise of their escape.

Hotch looked different in the dim light—more human somehow, less like the unshakeable leader who never flinched in the face of terror. The lines etched in his face seemed deeper, the shadows under his eyes more pronounced. He was a man who carried the world on his shoulders, and tonight, it was almost too much to bear.

You’d been through enough with him to know that silence was sometimes the best language, that the quiet between you could speak volumes. You didn’t need to fill the air with words because everything you could have said was already there, in the spaces between your breaths, in the way your hands rested on the bar, inches apart but worlds away.

Then, in a voice that was softer than the rain outside, you said, "Aaron."

It was the first time you’d called him that—not Hotch, not sir—just Aaron. His name felt like an invocation, a secret on your tongue, like you were stepping across a line that you could never uncross. His name tasted like honesty, like the beginnings of something that had been simmering for so long you’d almost convinced yourself it was only in your imagination.

In this moment, you knew everything you wanted to say--all of those stolen looks, touches, and feelings that were so powerful between you two--was written all over your face. Written so clearly not even a profiler was needed to decipher your looks. Yet, here he was, the best known to man.

He turned to you, and in his eyes, you saw a flicker of vulnerability, a glimpse of the man beneath the armor, the man who had been shaped and scarred by his past. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to pause; the weight of a thousand unspoken words filled the air between you.

"Sometimes, I think about how different things might be if I wasn’t who I am," he said, his voice barely a whisper, like he was afraid the confession might break something sacred between you.

He wasn't just talking about the job; he was talking about the man he had become because of it. The man who had lost his wife, who carried the guilt of her death like a second skin. The man who was both the protector and the prisoner of his own choices. You knew what he meant because you had seen it in his eyes so many times before, that yearning for a life untouched by tragedy, a life where he could love without fear, without the shadows of the past lurking in the background.

You opened your mouth to tell him that none of it mattered to you—that you’d take him as he was, battle-scarred and beautiful, that you’d hold every shattered piece of him and never let go. You were ready to say that you didn't need him to be anything but himself, that you’d seen all his flaws and loved him not despite them, but because of them.

But then, his phone buzzed, its vibration cutting through the fragile moment like a knife. You saw the shift in his eyes, the way the warmth turned to a kind of resigned acceptance. It was Jack, his son, his anchor to the real world. Jack was the reason Hotch still fought and still believed in goodness even when everything around him suggested otherwise.

He looked at you, and in his gaze, there was a depth of regret that you felt in your bones. An apology for the life he couldn’t lead, the words he couldn’t say. An unspoken I wish things were different, echoing louder than any spoken declaration ever could.

You forced a smile, swallowing the ache in your throat. "Go," you said gently. "He needs you."

And as he stood to leave, his hand brushed yours, a touch so fleeting yet so full of longing that it nearly undid you. It was the softest of goodbyes, a promise wrapped in sorrow. You watched him walk away, the rain outside blurring into streaks against the window, and all you could think was that love wasn’t supposed to feel like this—like reaching out in the dark, only to find that the light you’d longed for had slipped through your fingers once more.

You were left sitting there, alone in the bar that smelled faintly of smoke and regret, with the knowledge that sometimes the cruelest thing about love is knowing it exists but remains just out of reach. You knew, even then, that no matter how many almosts there were between you, fate would always find a way to keep you apart.

Because Aaron Hotchner was a man bound by duty and sacrifice, and you were a dream he could never quite allow himself to have.

From that quiet night in the Seattle hotel bar, time seemed to stretch out like a thin, fraying thread—pulling taut with every stolen glance, every touch that lingered just a second too long. You and Hotch fell back into the rhythm of your work, the familiar dance of chasing monsters and saving lives. Yet, something between you had shifted, a barely perceptible change that echoed louder than words.

In the weeks and months that followed, you found yourself noticing the small things—how Hotch would watch over you during tense moments in the field, his eyes always tracking your movements as if to ensure you were safe. The way his hand would brush against yours as he passed you a file, the touch so brief and unintentional, yet burning like a brand. There were times, in the quiet of the bullpen, when you’d look up from your desk to find him already watching you, his gaze softening in a way that he never let slip when anyone else was around.

You tried to convince yourself that you were imagining it, that you were reading too much into the way his voice grew softer when he spoke to you, or the way he always seemed to stand just a little too close. But then there were moments that shattered that illusion—like when your laughter would ring out in the middle of a tough day, and his eyes would light up, his guarded expression slipping for a fraction of a second, as if you were the only thing in the room he could see. The unspoken words hung between you like stars on a cloudy night, visible yet just out of reach, a constellation of almosts that never entirely formed a complete picture.

And through it all, you both remained silent, bound by your own hesitations, afraid to name what was so painfully obvious. For Hotch, the shadows of his past and the weight of his responsibilities were chains that held him back, making him believe that to love you was to invite disaster into your life. He buried his feelings under layers of duty and self-sacrifice, convincing himself that he was doing it for your sake, that by keeping his distance, he was somehow protecting you from the darkness that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

So you carried on, both pretending that the universe hadn't already decided for you—that fate hadn't already entwined your lives in a way that neither of you could untangle. And yet, as much as you tried to ignore it, there were those fleeting moments when the world seemed to fade away, and all that was left was the space between you—the space that felt like both a chasm and a promise, waiting for one of you to be brave enough to cross it.

It was in that aching silence that the night at Rossi’s found you, once again surrounded by your team, the people who could see more clearly than you could what was hidden in plain sight. And though you tried to bury the truth, to tuck your feelings into the corner of your heart where they couldn’t hurt you, you knew. You both knew. The gravity that pulled you toward each other was unyielding, relentless—a force that neither time nor circumstance could weaken, even if it was never enough to bring you fully together.

The evening at Rossi’s had a kind of stillness that only follows a storm. The team had just closed the book on a case that left its mark, one of those that burrowed under your skin and lingered in your thoughts long after it was over. The shadows of the day seemed to melt into the twilight as the sun dipped low, painting the sky in hues of amber and rose. Fireflies blinked like tiny lanterns, and the warm breeze carried the scent of pine and summer grass.

The team was scattered across Rossi’s backyard, laughter ringing out beneath the string lights that swayed gently in the evening air. You were there, surrounded by your found family, your laughter rising above the hum of cicadas, infectious and free, as Garcia told some outrageous story that made you double over with mirth. Your joy was like sunlight breaking through the clouds, and for a moment, the weight of the world seemed lighter.

Aaron Hotchner stood on the outskirts of the gathering, a glass of whiskey cradled in his hand, his eyes fixed on you. He didn’t join in the laughter, but his expression had softened, the hard edges of his face smoothed out by the glow of the setting sun. There was something in the way he looked at you—something almost tender as if he were memorizing the way you threw your head back when you laughed, the way your eyes crinkled with genuine delight. At that moment, he wasn’t SSA Aaron Hotchner, leader of the BAU; he was just a man standing at the edge of a life he wished he could have.

Morgan, always the perceptive one, followed Hotch’s gaze, shaking his head with a knowing smile. He stepped closer, clapping a hand on Hotch’s shoulder, breaking the spell for just a second.

"Man, you’re hopeless," Morgan said with a chuckle that was both amused and sympathetic. "We all see it. You look at her like she’s the only thing that matters. When are you gonna do something about it?"

Hotch’s eyes never left you, but the smile that touched his lips was small and tinged with sadness—a bittersweet acknowledgment of everything he wanted but couldn’t have. His voice was quiet, almost resigned, as he finally spoke. "I can’t, Derek," he said, his words heavy with a truth he could never quite shake. "She deserves more than the life I can offer her right now. She deserves someone who can give her the world, not a man whose world is constantly at risk of falling apart."

The admission was laced with more than just sorrow—it was drenched in regret, a painful awareness that his love for you would never be enough to protect you from the darkness that seemed to follow him wherever he went. Hotch knew better than anyone that love wasn’t just about wanting someone; it was about knowing what you could give them in return. And he feared that all he had to offer was a life shadowed by danger, weighed down by the ghosts of every case that stole another piece of his soul.

Morgan opened his mouth to argue, to tell him that love didn’t wait for the perfect moment or the perfect person, but he stopped himself. He knew that when it came to matters of the heart, Aaron Hotchner was a fortress of caution and restraint, too afraid to let the cracks show, too afraid to believe he could have something beautiful that might one day break.

And you—you didn’t hear the words exchanged between them, but you felt the gravity of Hotch’s gaze, that unguarded moment when his eyes met yours across the yard. It was the kind of look that pierced right through the armor you both wore, a silent confession in the space between heartbeats. He looked at you like you were the axis his world revolved around, like every laugh, every smile you gave, was a flicker of light in his otherwise dark universe.

Your breath hitched at the intensity of his stare, and for a split second, you thought that maybe—just maybe—he might finally cross the line he’d drawn so carefully between the two of you. But then, as always, you saw that familiar wall go back up, the flicker of vulnerability snuffed out by the burden of his unspoken promises and his own fears.

You turned away, laughter still ringing in your ears, but your heart was heavy with a sadness that you couldn't quite shake. You knew he was holding back not because he didn’t care but because he cared too much. And it ached, that knowledge—that you were both standing in your own way, two people reaching out from opposite sides of a canyon that life and circumstance had carved between you.

As you walked away, you felt the weight of his gaze on your back, a tether that pulled at you even as you drifted further apart. You wanted to turn back, to tell him that you didn’t need the world or some perfect life. All you needed was him—flawed, guarded, and broken in all the ways that mattered. But you knew he wouldn’t believe you, wouldn’t let himself believe that he could be someone’s happiness without also being their ruin.

And so, you let the moment pass, another almost in a series of almosts, knowing that sometimes love wasn’t about grand gestures or perfect endings. Sometimes, it was about the quiet moments in between, the ones where two souls recognized each other even when they were too afraid to meet halfway.

After that evening at Rossi’s backyard, the dynamic between you and Hotch seemed to settle into an unbearable kind of stillness, a delicate balancing act of emotions held just beneath the surface. 

He’d let his guard down for a fleeting moment, letting you glimpse the ache he tried so hard to hide, only to pull it back up as if regretting that he’d ever let it slip. 

You went back to the familiar routine of the BAU, solving cases and chasing unsubs, but something between you both had shifted—like a door that had been cracked open only to be slammed shut again. Each day felt like another opportunity slipping away; another chance lost to the silence of everything that went unsaid. The weight of his unspoken words hung in the air, suffocating, and you could feel time pressing in on you like a vice, the years ticking by with no promise of change. 

You tried to convince yourself that maybe this was all it would ever be—glances that lingered too long and conversations that always stopped just short of the truth.

So when a kind, reliable man came into your life, someone who was willing to build a future without hesitation, you let yourself be swept into the idea of a relationship that wasn’t built on waiting. 

You told yourself you couldn’t spend your life pining for a man who stood so close yet always seemed miles away, a man who looked at you like you were his entire world but still refused to reach out and hold it. 

And with that, you let go—at least on the surface—even though a part of you would always belong to the moments you’d shared with Aaron Hotchner, the almosts that could never quite become enough.

The day you started seeing someone new was the day you felt the invisible thread between you and Hotch snap—an agonizing, almost audible break in the connection that had always existed between you. 

You hadn’t planned on it happening like this, hadn’t intended for your heart to be caught between what could never be and what felt like a practical choice. But you were in your late twenties, and the ticking clock of your life seemed to grow louder with each passing year. You wanted a family, stability, a love that wasn’t constantly waiting in the shadows, and when he came along—a man who was kind, steady, and good on paper—you thought, maybe this was what you needed.

The team noticed almost immediately. You’d see their eyes dart toward Hotch whenever you mentioned your new boyfriend, a flicker of sympathy crossing their faces as if they knew what was happening but didn’t dare voice it. You tried to ignore it, tried to convince yourself that you were doing the right thing, that this man who wasn’t Aaron Hotchner was exactly what you needed to build a life you could actually count on.

But Hotch—he changed in a way you never expected. The warmth that used to live in his eyes when he looked at you vanished, replaced by something colder, something that felt like stone. He started keeping his distance, treating you with the same detached professionalism he gave to the world outside of the BAU. The touches that once lingered were gone, the secret smiles erased as if they’d never existed. He barely spoke to you unless it was about a case, his words clipped and precise, stripped of any softness.

It was a cruel irony, really. The more you tried to move on, the further he pulled away, until it felt like the bond you’d shared—the bond that had carried you through late-night stakeouts and whispered conversations in empty corridors—had disappeared entirely. It was as though the universe had taken back every promise it had silently made between the two of you.

One evening, you caught him watching you across the bullpen as you spoke on the phone with your boyfriend, your voice soft and your laughter genuine, or at least you tried to make it sound that way. You could feel Hotch’s gaze burning into you, a raw, aching sadness in his eyes, but there was something else too—something darker, twisted with regret and jealousy.

He turned away before you could meet his gaze, his jaw clenched, the tendons in his neck tight with restraint. And later, when you tried to approach him, to bridge the widening chasm between you, he was cold, distant in a way that sliced right through you. His answers were short, his tone indifferent, as if you were just another colleague, just another piece in the puzzle he had to solve.

“Hotch,” you said one evening when the distance between you became too much to bear, when you needed to understand why he’d turned his back on you so completely. “Why are you shutting me out?”

He looked at you then, his eyes hardened, his face a mask of stoic control, but there was a flicker of something beneath the surface—something that looked like hurt. "I'm not shutting you out," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I respect your choice. You made it clear that you’re moving on, and I’m just...following your lead."

The words stung more than you thought they would, like a slap to the face disguised as an apology. You wanted to scream that it wasn’t about moving on—it was about not being able to wait forever, not being able to live in this limbo of almosts and what-ifs--That you were tired of loving a man who wouldn’t allow himself to be loved back.

How could you move on when he could never take the leap of faith to even admit he felt what you were feeling so deeply inside. 

But you couldn’t say those things to him. Because deep down, you knew that your new relationship was a compromise, a safety net you’d cast beneath your heart to keep it from breaking any further. This man you were seeing—he was everything you thought you should want. He was stable, he was kind, he was willing to build a future. But he wasn’t Aaron Hotchner.

And maybe that was the cruelest part of it all—knowing that no matter how hard you tried to move forward, your heart would always circle back to him, to the man who stood just out of reach, the man who’d chosen duty and sacrifice over a chance at happiness. The man who watched you from the shadows, yearning for a love he could never let himself have.

You turned away, feeling the weight of his gaze on your back, the ghost of what you could have been haunting every step you took. And as you walked out of the bullpen, you couldn’t shake the feeling that with every step you took towards a life without him, you were leaving a part of yourself behind—the part that knew, no matter how good on paper anyone else might be, they would never be Aaron Hotchner.

The offer came quietly, slipped into Hotch's hands like a whisper of a storm—an undercover mission, months long, treacherous, the kind that could pull a person so deep into darkness that they might never find their way out. It was the sort of assignment that made sense for a man like him, a man who thrived on control and strategy, who was willing to sacrifice anything and everything to keep the world safe, even if it meant losing pieces of himself in the process.

You heard the news from someone else, the rumors swirling through the BAU like a slow poison. Hotch hadn’t come to you, hadn’t even asked for your opinion or told you he was considering it, and that omission cut deeper than any of his words ever could. When you finally confronted him, it was late in the evening, the bullpen mostly empty, and the quiet hum of the building seemed to amplify the anger simmering just beneath your skin.

"You’re really going to do this?" you demanded, your voice trembling more from hurt than from anger. "You’re considering risking your life on a months-long mission without even telling me? Without asking how I feel about it?"

He looked up from his desk, surprise flickering across his face before it quickly hardened into that mask of stoic control he wore so well. "It’s my job," he said simply, his tone cold and clipped as if that were all the explanation you needed. "I don’t need anyone’s permission to do my job."

"That’s not the point, and you know it," you snapped, the frustration boiling over now, your hands shaking. "This is about you making a decision that could get you killed without even thinking to talk to me about it. Do I really mean that little to you?"

For a moment, something vulnerable flashed in his eyes, a crack in the armor that you almost thought might break open, but then he shut it down, shut you out. His face hardened, and when he spoke, his words were like ice—sharp and cutting, each one landing like a blow.

"You have someone else in your life now," he said, the bitterness in his voice barely concealed. "Why would my decisions matter to you? You made your choice to move on, to be with someone who can give you what I can’t. I’m just following your lead, remember?"

You stared at him, disbelief turning to anger, your voice trembling with the force of emotions that you could no longer hold back. 

"My choice?" you repeated, the words laced with bitterness and hurt. "How can you stand there and talk about my choice when you never even gave me the chance to choose you? You kept me at arm’s length, Aaron. You decided from the start that I didn’t get a say in this—in us. Every time I got close, you shut me out before I could even show you that you were the one I wanted." 

The raw honesty in your voice cut through the air, and you could see the moment the truth of it struck him, a flicker of pain crossing his face, but he said nothing. He just stood there, silent, letting the distance grow between you like he always had, because it was easier to act like he was protecting you than to admit that he was protecting himself.

"You need to stop looking at me like I’m something I’m not," he continued, his voice steady but softer, almost as if he were pleading with you to understand. "I’m not the man you want me to be, and I’m done pretending like I could ever be enough for you. I’m going on this mission because that’s where I belong—in the field, doing something useful. And maybe when I’m gone, you’ll finally stop waiting for something that was never going to happen."

You stood there, stunned, the sting of his words ringing in your ears. It was like he’d taken everything between you—all the almosts, all the shared glances and whispered moments—and tossed it aside, reducing it to nothing. He was pushing you away, cutting the ties that bound you both, but not because he didn’t care. He was doing it because he cared too much because it was easier for him to hurt you now than to let himself believe in a future that could never exist.

"Fine," you said, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to hold it together. "Go on your mission, Aaron. If it’s so easy for you to walk away, then maybe you’re right. Maybe I was wrong about everything."

He flinched at that, just barely, a shadow of pain flickering across his face before he forced it away. He gave you a stiff nod, his jaw clenched so tight you thought it might break, and then he looked at you with those dark eyes that used to hold a world of unspoken words, now empty and closed off.

"It’s better this way," he said, but the words sounded hollow, even to him. "For both of us."

He turned back to his desk, the finality of it crashing down between you like a wall that could never be scaled. And in that moment, you knew—you knew that he’d made up his mind, not just about the mission but about the two of you. The bond that had once felt unbreakable was now shattered, the pieces scattered like ash in the wind.

As you walked away, your vision blurred with unshed tears; you couldn’t shake the image of him sitting there, rigid and unmoving, the weight of his own choices pressing down on his shoulders. You knew that this wasn’t just a job to him—it was his way of escaping, of punishing himself for wanting something he thought he didn’t deserve. And maybe, in the end, it was easier for him to go on that mission, to risk his life in a world of shadows, than to face the light of what he could have had with you.

And as he watched you leave, he knew he was making the only choice he thought he could live with—the choice that meant hurting you now to save you from the heartbreak he was certain he’d cause later. So he resolved to go on that mission, to bury himself in the danger and the darkness, where feelings didn’t complicate things and yearning for something he could never have didn’t make him feel so much like a man who’d lost his way.

In the aftermath of the confrontation, the tension between you and Hotch became palpable--especially leading up to his departure--a crackling silence that echoed through the bullpen. 

The rest of the team felt the shift immediately; they had seen the glances that used to pass between the two of you, the unspoken words that lingered in the air, and now, the cold distance that had replaced it was impossible to ignore.

Morgan was the first to approach Hotch. He found him in his office, staring out the window as if searching for answers that would never come. “Hotch,” Morgan said, his voice softer than usual, no trace of the teasing smirk he usually wore when talking about you. “You know you’re screwing this up, right? Whatever you think you’re doing to protect her, all you’re doing is pushing her away. And from what I’ve seen, she didn’t want protection—she wanted you.”

Hotch didn’t turn around. He kept his gaze fixed on the horizon, his shoulders tense, jaw clenched. “It’s not that simple, Derek,” he replied, his voice a low rumble of frustration and resignation. “I’m not the man she needs. She has someone who can give her a real future, not just a life spent waiting for me to come back in one piece. She deserves more than this.”

Hotch was just as surprised to hear his honesty come out to Morgan, as Morgan was surprised to hear the vulnerability pour out of Hotch.

Morgan let out a slow breath, shaking his head. “Man, you’re lying to yourself if you think this is for her sake. You’re afraid of getting hurt, of losing something else that matters. But you can’t live your whole life like that, Hotch. You’re gonna lose her either way if you keep this up.” 

Down the hall, hours later, there was a different conversation happening with you. As you sat there in the break room, the warmth of Garcia’s hug lingering on your shoulders, doubt started to creep into your thoughts like a slow-moving fog. You bit your lip, your fingers tracing the rim of your coffee cup, trying to steady the swirl of emotions that threatened to pull you under.

“Maybe he’s right,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. “Maybe I’m just fooling myself. What if I’ve been making something out of nothing this whole time? What if he never felt the same, and I’m just… delusional?” You laughed, but it was a hollow, shaky sound that betrayed the insecurity you’d been fighting to keep at bay. “I feel like I’m going crazy, holding onto every little look and touch like they mean something when maybe they never did.”

JJ’s eyes softened with understanding, and she reached out to cover your trembling hands with her own. “You’re not crazy,” she said firmly, her voice leaving no room for doubt. “I’ve known Hotch for a long time, and I’ve seen him shut everyone out, even when he didn’t have to. But with you—it’s different. He lets you in more than he ever has with anyone else. He cares about you in a way he doesn’t know how to handle.”

Emily, who had been listening quietly until now, leaned forward, her expression a mix of frustration and compassion. “Hotch isn’t the kind of guy to wear his heart on his sleeve,” she said, her tone sharp with conviction. “He’s terrified of getting close to someone and then losing them. But trust me, we’ve all seen it—the way he looks at you, the way he lights up when you walk into a room, even if he tries to hide it. He’s not fooling anyone but himself.”

Garcia nodded fiercely, her eyes blazing with determination. “Honey, you are not crazy,” she insisted, shaking her head. “He has feelings for you, and we all know it. He’s just too stubborn and scared to admit it to himself, let alone to you. That man looks at you like you’re the reason he keeps breathing. If he’s pretending he doesn’t care, it’s because he’s protecting his own heart, not because there’s nothing there.”

You felt the tears welling up, but this time, they weren’t just from the hurt. It was the relief of knowing that maybe—just maybe—you hadn’t been imagining things. That all those lingering glances, the stolen moments, the softness in his eyes when he thought no one was looking, they were real. You weren’t crazy, and you weren’t alone in this.

“But what if he never lets himself admit it?” you asked, your voice breaking, the vulnerability laid bare before them. “What if I’m just waiting for something that’s never going to happen?”

JJ squeezed your hand a little tighter, her smile gentle but determined. “He’s afraid, yes, but that doesn’t mean he’s lost to you. He’s hurting, and he’s hiding, but deep down, he feels it too. Sometimes, the right thing is the hardest thing to do. But he’s worth fighting for, and you are worth more than settling for half-truths and what-ifs.”

Garcia nodded in agreement, and Emily reached out, her hand warm on your shoulder, grounding you. “You’re not crazy for loving him,” Emily said softly. “He’s just scared of letting himself love you back. But one thing’s for sure—we’re not letting you give up on yourself, and we’re not letting you give up on him without a fight.”

You took a shaky breath, nodding, the tightness in your chest easing just a little. Because if they could see it—if the people who knew Aaron Hotchner better than almost anyone else believed in his feelings for you—then maybe, just maybe, there was still hope. Even if he was too afraid to see it, even if he was about to walk away, you weren’t as alone in this as you thought.

Hotch left quietly, like a whisper that faded into the darkness before you even realized he was gone. One moment he was there, stoic and silent in the bullpen, his eyes never quite meeting yours, and the next, he was just...gone. There was no goodbye, no last look, no chance to say what you’d been holding onto for so long. Just an empty desk, a hollow ache in your chest, and the knowledge that he’d chosen to walk away without a word.

You found out from Rossi, of all people, his expression grim yet resigned as he broke the news that Hotch had accepted the mission. The words felt like they echoed in slow motion, each syllable another crack in the fragile hope you’d clung to. Hotch had left for the dangerous undercover mission without telling you, without even giving you the courtesy of a goodbye. The hurt was immediate and sharp, slicing through the fragile shield you’d built around your heart.

He hadn’t come to see you, hadn’t given you a chance to plead with him to stay, and you knew why. Deep down, you knew that if he saw you one last time if he let himself look into your eyes filled with all that unsaid love, he wouldn’t be able to leave. He was running from the feelings he couldn’t control, from the bond that scared him more than any danger in the field ever could. He was a man who would rather face death head-on than confront the possibility of losing you.

But knowing his reasons didn’t dull the pain. It hurt like hell, like a betrayal you couldn’t shake. It felt like he’d taken the easy way out, choosing the mission over you because that was simpler because that was what he knew how to do. It felt like he was giving up on everything you’d never quite let yourself believe in.

That night, when you sat across from your boyfriend, the man who had tried so hard to make you happy, you felt a heaviness in your chest that you couldn’t ignore. He was everything you thought you should want—steady, dependable, willing to build a life with you without hesitation. But he wasn’t Aaron Hotchner, and that truth settled into your bones like the weight of something that could never be lifted.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you said, the words heavy with exhaustion and resignation, your voice cracking under the strain of holding yourself together. “It’s not fair to you, and it’s not fair to me. You’re a good man, and you deserve someone who loves you the way you deserve to be loved.”

He looked at you, confusion and sadness clouding his eyes, and though he tried to mask it, you could see the hurt there. “I thought we were building something real,” he said softly, the disappointment lacing his words. “Was it always him?”

You opened your mouth to deny it, to say that it wasn’t about Hotch, but the words died on your lips because that would have been a lie. Even though Hotch had walked away, even though he had chosen his mission over you, your heart was still tangled up in him, in the idea of what the two of you could have been if he’d just let himself believe in it.

“I don’t know how to love someone halfway,” you admitted, tears brimming in your eyes. “And I’m sorry, but my heart is somewhere else, with someone who might never let himself love me back. I didn’t want it to be like this, but it is, and you deserve more than I can give you right now.”

He gave you a small, sad smile, nodding as he accepted the truth, even though it clearly hurt. “I hope he’s worth it,” he said quietly, a hint of bitterness in his voice, and you couldn’t blame him for that.

As he walked away, leaving you alone in the quiet of your apartment, you felt the full force of your heartbreak crash over you. Hotch was gone, and you were left holding onto pieces of a future that never came to be. All you had now were memories, unspoken words, and the hollow ache of knowing that, in the end, he chose to walk away when you would have chosen him every single time.

The night Hotch left for the mission, Rossi insisted on driving him to the airport. It was late, the kind of late that makes the world feel hollow and deserted, and the car ride was quiet, punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine and the distant lights flickering by. Hotch had barely spoken a word since they left the office, his hands gripping the envelope in his lap like it was his lifeline, even though he knew he would never allow himself to deliver it.

Rossi watched him out of the corner of his eye, his seasoned gaze taking in every detail—the way Hotch’s jaw was clenched, the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers trembled ever so slightly around the edges of that letter. Rossi knew his friend too well, knew that look on his face wasn’t about the danger of the mission ahead but about the danger of something much closer to home.

“Don’t suppose you’re planning on actually giving that to her, are you?” Rossi asked, his voice soft but pointed, breaking the silence with a tone that brooked no argument.

Hotch’s eyes flickered over to Rossi, a flicker of surprise quickly masked by his usual stoic expression. “It’s not for her,” he said quietly, his voice laced with a kind of resignation that came from making hard choices. “It’s better this way. She’s better off without knowing.”

Rossi let out a slow, frustrated sigh, shaking his head as he pulled the car over to the curb just shy of the airport’s main entrance. He turned in his seat to face Hotch, his eyes sharp and filled with a kind of exasperated compassion. Without a word, Rossi reached over and plucked the letter from Hotch’s hands so smoothly that Hotch didn’t have time to react.

“Dave, don’t—” Hotch started, but Rossi cut him off, holding the letter up between them.

“You think you’re protecting her by keeping this to yourself?” Rossi asked his voice a low growl, softened only by the underlying empathy in his eyes. “You think walking away with all these words stuck inside you is some noble sacrifice? All you’re doing is making sure she never knows how much she meant to you. You’re making sure she never gets the chance to choose you.”

Hotch’s defenses crumbled just a little, his face tightening as he swallowed hard. “I’m doing what’s best for her,” he insisted, the words sounding hollow even to his own ears. “If I give her that letter, if I say these things out loud, it’ll only make it harder for her when I’m gone. It’s my job to keep her safe—even from me.”

Rossi leaned in closer, his eyes boring into Hotch’s, unwavering. “You’re a damn fool, Aaron,” he said, his voice softer now but no less fierce. “She’s not some damsel in distress who needs you to protect her from the truth. She’s strong, and she’s got a right to know how you feel. And if you walk away from this without giving her that chance, then you’re not protecting her—you’re just protecting yourself from getting hurt.”

Hotch opened his mouth to argue, to say something—anything—that might justify the fear that kept him chained to his own doubts. But he couldn’t. All he could do was watch as Rossi tucked the letter into the inside pocket of his jacket, his expression unreadable yet determined.

“Dave,” Hotch sighed, his voice cracking under the weight of vulnerability he could no longer mask.

“No,” Rossi replied simply, shaking his head. “I’m not letting you get on that plane with unfinished business. You can be mad at me all you want, but someday you’ll thank me for this. She deserves to know that you loved her enough to be afraid and that you were man enough to admit it.”

Rossi’s words hung heavy in the air between them, and for the first time in a long while, Hotch didn’t have a comeback. He didn’t have the strength to fight the truth he had been running from—the truth that he was terrified to lose something he never really had the courage to hold onto. And in that moment, as he watched Rossi’s car pull away, he knew that this mission wasn’t about risking his life for the job; it was about trying to outrun the love he was too afraid to face.

As Rossi drove off, he knew exactly what he had to do. He would wait until the time was right, and when Hotch was safely away, he would give you that letter. He would give you a chance that Hotch had never allowed himself to take—a chance to understand the truth that had always been hiding behind his stoic gaze, the truth that he loved you too much to let you see him break.

The mission was supposed to take months, long enough for everyone to settle into the idea that Hotch would be gone and that life at the BAU would continue without him. But something went wrong in the field--something unpredictable and chaotic that pulled him out of the operation sooner than expected. 

The whole team was gathered around the screen at the BAU, watching in real-time as events unfolded like a nightmare they couldn’t wake up from.

You watched in silence, your heart lodged in your throat as Hotch risked his life in a split-second decision to save the mission’s integrity. 

You knew he was trained for this, that he was capable of facing danger head-on, but seeing it happen right in front of your eyes, seeing the bullets fly and the chaos ensue with Hotch at the center of it—it tore something inside you apart.

Your hands clenched into fists, nails digging into your palms as a mixture of fear, anger, relief, and heartbreak churned within you. You hated that you still cared so much, hated that watching him put himself in danger made you want to scream at him, to tell him he had no right to scare you like this after everything he’d done.

When it felt like the scene from a horror movie had ended on the scene, and Hotch was declared safe, a wave of relief swept through the room, followed immediately by a heavy silence. 

The rest of the team exchanged glances filled with sympathy and understanding, but you couldn’t look at them. You couldn’t look at him. You turned away, biting back the tears that threatened to spill over, feeling betrayed by your own heart.

Hotch returned to the BAU not long after, weary and haunted, but alive. And when he stepped back into the bullpen, his eyes searching for you, you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. The hurt and betrayal were too raw, too fresh. He tried to speak to you, to offer some kind of explanation or apology, but you turned on your heel and walked away, leaving him standing there with the words dying on his lips.

Rossi watched the scene unfold with a frown, his hand brushing against the letter still tucked away in his jacket. He’d thought the mission would last long enough to give Hotch the chance to come to his senses, to see the truth he’d been too afraid to confront. But now, as he watched the unspoken agony between you and Hotch, he knew that the letter might be the only way to bridge the chasm growing wider by the day.

The tension between you and Hotch was suffocating as you stepped onto the jet for your first case back together. The team tried to maintain a semblance of normalcy, their conversations forced and awkward as they pretended not to notice the icy silence between you and Hotch. But the pain was palpable, hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break.

As the jet cut through the sky, the two of you could barely put your differences aside long enough to discuss the case. Every exchange between you was clipped, your voices low and sharp, each word laced with unspoken accusations. Hotch’s usual calm demeanor was replaced by a tightly controlled frustration, and you could feel your own anger boiling over, fueled by the fear and hurt of watching him almost die and then come back as if nothing had changed.

When he snapped at you over a minor detail, something in you broke. “You don’t get to do that!” you said, your voice rising despite the presence of the team. The pain in your voice was unmistakable, the hurt you’d been holding back finally spilling out. “You don’t get to act like everything’s fine and then snap at me like I’m the one who’s out of line. Not after what you put me through, not after you left without a word.”

Hotch’s eyes flashed with something between guilt and anger, his own control starting to crack. “I’m doing my job,” he said, his voice clipped and colder than you’d ever heard it. “We have a case to solve, and I need you to focus.”

The words stung, cutting deeper than any blade. “Focus?” you said, incredulous, your voice trembling with barely contained emotion. “I watched you almost get yourself killed, Hotch! I watched you risk your life without a second thought, and now you expect me to just sit here and act like none of that matters? Like you leaving didn’t tear me apart?”

The rest of the team exchanged uneasy glances, shifting uncomfortably in their seats. Morgan looked like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to, while JJ’s eyes were filled with empathy for both of you. Emily stared down at her hands, biting her lip, and even remotely through a screen, Garcia seemed to have lost her usual words of comfort.

Hotch opened his mouth to respond, but whatever he was about to say died on his lips. He couldn’t meet your gaze, couldn’t face the truth of what he had done--the loss of your trust, the pain--and that made you even angrier. The silence between you was thick--heavy with all the words left unsaid, the accusations that neither of you was brave enough to voice.

Rossi had been watching everything unfold, his gaze steady and knowing, his years of experience seeing straight through the walls both you and Hotch had built. He’d seen the way you fought on the jet, the way your voices trembled with hurt and frustration, each word a thinly veiled cry for something that neither of you knew how to reach. He knew that you were both hurting in ways that went beyond words, that the love and the pain you shared were tangled together like a knot neither of you could untie.

He’d hoped that Hotch would find the courage to say the things he’d written in that letter, that seeing you again and almost losing his life would finally push him to confront his feelings. But as the days went by and the distance between you grew, Rossi knew that the time had come to step in. He could see that Hotch’s stubbornness and your heartbreak were tearing you both apart, and he could no longer stand by and watch.

One evening, after the team had returned to the BAU from the case, Rossi found you alone in the dimly lit kitchenette. You were leaning against the counter, staring into your coffee cup like it might hold some kind of answer to the mess your heart was in. The rest of the building was quiet, the hum of the lights the only sound in the room. This was the moment—private, away from the eyes of the team—when Rossi knew he had to act.

He approached you slowly, his footsteps soft against the tile floor. You looked up as he entered the room, your eyes red-rimmed and tired, and for a second, you tried to force a smile. But Rossi knew better; he saw right through it.

"Y/N," he said gently, his voice softening with the kind of understanding that only years of watching lives unravel could bring. "I think it’s time you knew something. Something he should have told you himself."

You furrowed your brow in confusion, but before you could ask, Rossi reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. He pulled out the letter, the envelope worn from where his fingers had traced over it time and time again, waiting for this moment. He held it out to you, your name scrawled across the front in Hotch’s precise, careful handwriting.

Your eyes widened as you took in the sight of it, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest. "What is this?" you whispered, though you already had a sense of what it might be, the truth of it hovering just beyond your grasp.

“It’s from him,” Rossi said quietly, his gaze never leaving yours. "He wrote it before he left on that mission. He never meant for you to see it, but I think you need to. You need to know what he’s been holding back all this time."

Your hand shook slightly as you reached out, taking the letter from Rossi. His fingers lingered for just a moment as if transferring not just a piece of paper but the weight of all the unspoken words that Hotch had never been able to say. You could feel the letter’s weight, heavier than you ever imagined a piece of paper could be.

Rossi’s voice was low, almost a whisper, as he said, “Read it, Y/N. It’s time you knew the truth he’s been too afraid to tell you.”

You stared down at the envelope, your fingers trembling as you traced the letters of your name, written by the man who had torn your world apart—the man you still loved, even after everything. The rest of the world seemed to fade into the background as you turned the envelope over, slowly breaking the seal, your breath catching in your throat.

And as you began to unfold the letter, your heart racing with every inch of paper revealed, you knew that whatever was written there would change everything between you and Aaron Hotchner—forever. The truth that had been hiding in the darkness was finally coming to light, and you braced yourself for the impact of words you’d been waiting to hear all along.

The world seemed to fall away as you stared down at the letter in your hands, the one that Hotch had written in a moment of unguarded honesty. His handwriting, precise and steady, almost mocked you with its calmness as you unfolded the paper, knowing that the words on it held the power to either heal or shatter you all over again.

Your hands shook slightly as you began to read, your eyes scanning the lines that laid his soul bare. The letter was filled with the words he could never bring himself to say—the truth he’d hidden behind layers of stoic professionalism and self-sacrifice. He wrote about how he had fallen in love with you so completely that it terrified him, how every time he saw you smile, it felt like the light was breaking through the darkness that had wrapped itself around his life.

He admitted that he had left not because he didn’t care but because he cared too much. He was afraid that if he stayed, he would put you in danger, that the chaos of his world would consume you, and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if anything ever happened to you because of him. He wrote that he was a coward for not letting you in, for not giving you a chance to love him back, and that leaving was the only way he thought he could protect you from himself.

But the most painful confession was how much he regretted not being brave enough to stay. How every day away from you felt like he was living half a life, pretending to be fine while his heart was still tethered to you. He poured out all the vulnerability he’d never let himself show, the raw edges of his love and fear, and by the end, you could barely see the words through the blur of your tears.

You felt your heartbreak and heal all at once, the anguish of his departure mixed with the overwhelming relief of knowing that you hadn’t imagined it, that he did love you—he always had. And yet, there was still anger, still hurt that he could be so selfless and so selfish all at the same time.

You felt reactive, but you knew this moment needed privacy, a space where you could let the raw hurt and anger spill out without holding back. That’s why you found yourself standing in front of Hotch’s apartment door, your heart pounding in your chest, the letter clutched tightly in your trembling hand.

You had rehearsed what you were going to say, how you would confront him for all the pain he’d caused, but the moment he opened the door, everything you’d planned to say disappeared in the face of his shock. He stood there, eyes wide and startled, his hair disheveled, looking as though he’d been caught in the middle of a moment he wasn’t ready for. When he saw the letter in your hand, his face went pale, and you saw something crack in his expression—fear, regret, the realization that there was no more running from this.

“Why?” you demanded, your voice shaking with the weight of everything you felt. You stepped into his apartment without waiting for an invitation, your eyes blazing as you faced him. “Why would you write all of this down, admit that you love me, that you were too afraid to stay, and then just leave? How could you walk away when you knew how much it would hurt me?”

Hotch looked like he’d been punched in the gut. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out at first. He looked down at his hands, then back at you, his eyes glistening with a vulnerability that broke through his stoic facade. “I—I didn’t want you to read that letter,” he said finally, his voice raw and unsteady. “I thought if you never knew how I felt, you could move on, be happy without me holding you back.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head, feeling the tears you’d held back for so long start to spill. “You still don’t get it, do you?” you said, your voice cracking with a mix of anger and heartbreak. “You never gave me a choice, Aaron! You decided what was best for me, like I was some kind of problem you needed to solve, without ever asking me if that’s what I wanted. You left me here, broken, thinking that I wasn’t enough for you, that you didn’t care, when all along you were just too scared to let me in!”

Hotch’s face crumpled as he took a step toward you, his hands shaking slightly as he reached out, only to stop himself. 

“I thought I was protecting you,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, filled with the kind of pain you’d never heard from him before. “I thought if I stayed, if I let myself love you the way I do, that I’d put you in danger, that I’d ruin everything good in your life. But I see now that I was wrong. All I did was hurt you.”

You looked at him, your eyes blazing with hurt and love all at once. “I was ready to fight for you, Aaron,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, each word trembling with the force of your emotion. “I was ready to take on the risk, the danger, all of it, because I loved you that much. And you never even gave me the chance to choose you back.”

Hotch’s breath hitched, and you saw his eyes fill with unshed tears. For the first time, his stoic mask slipped completely, and he looked like a man laid bare, all his defenses shattered. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I thought I was doing what was best for you, but all I did was run away from the one thing that mattered most. I didn’t trust myself to be the man you deserve, and I was a coward for that.”

The apartment felt too small, the walls closing in around the two of you as you stood there, your heartbreaking and mending all at once. You wanted to yell at him, to shake him and make him see just how much he’d hurt you, but you also wanted to reach out and hold him, to tell him that you understood, that you were just as scared as he was.

“Aaron,” you said, your voice shaking but steady, your eyes meeting his. “You don’t get to make these decisions for me. You don’t get to push me away to protect me. I don’t know if I can forgive you yet, but I know that I want to make that choice myself. I want to decide if this is worth the risk if you are.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving yours, his expression raw and pleading. He felt tension both leave his shoulders, but a new weight appear.  

“I promise,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, filled with the kind of vulnerability he never let anyone see. “No more running. No more hiding. I’ll fight for this, for us, if you’ll let me. I don’t want to lose you again.”

You took a shaky breath, feeling the gravity of his promise settle into your heart. The anger and hurt were still there but softened by the truth of his words. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy,” you said softly, the tears still glistening in your eyes. I’m not saying I’ll forgive you right away. But if you’re willing to stay and fight for this—for us—then maybe we still have a chance.”

Hotch let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, a small, tentative smile breaking through the pain in his eyes. He reached for your hand, and this time, you didn’t pull away. His fingers curled around yours, trembling slightly as if afraid this was all a dream that might slip through his grasp.

And as you stood there in the quiet of his apartment, your hand in his, you knew that whatever happened next, you were finally on the same side, facing the fear, the risk, the uncertainty—together. The story between you and Aaron Hotchner was far from over; in fact, it had only just begun.

As the words between you and Hotch settled into the quiet of his apartment, a heavy silence filled the space—not the kind that was strained or uncomfortable, but the kind that wrapped itself around you like a blanket, pulling you both closer to a truth that neither of you was ready to let go of. There was something fragile in the air, something tender that neither of you dared to name, but you both knew it was there. It was the moment you’d both been waiting for, even if you’d never admitted it to yourselves.

You were still standing so close to him, your hand resting in his, and for once, neither of you pulled away. The soft light from the lamp in the corner cast shadows across his face, highlighting the vulnerability in his eyes and the quiet desperation that said he didn’t want this moment to end. He was holding onto you like you were his lifeline, like letting go meant he’d lose more than he could bear.

Hotch took a shaky breath, his thumb brushing gently across your knuckles, his touch so tender it almost broke you all over again. "Stay a little longer," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath, the vulnerability in his words laying everything bare. "I know I have no right to ask, but please... just stay."

Your heart ached at the rawness of his plea, and you couldn’t bring yourself to leave, not yet. You nodded slowly, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. "Okay," you said softly, your voice laced with the same longing that echoed in his eyes. "Just a little longer."

Without a word, he led you to the couch, and the two of you sat down, closer than you’d ever been before. Hotch’s arm rested along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing the fabric near your shoulder as if he was afraid to reach for more but couldn’t bring himself to pull away. You turned toward him, your knees almost touching, and for the first time, the distance that had always seemed insurmountable between you felt like it was finally closing.

He looked at you with such intensity, such quiet longing that it made your chest tighten. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering near your temple as if memorizing the way you looked at this moment. "I never thought I could let myself have this," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes searching yours like he was afraid of what he might find.

You felt the tears well up in your eyes again, but this time they were softer, a mixture of relief and sadness and everything you’d kept locked inside for so long. You placed your hand over his, holding it against your cheek, and closed your eyes for a moment, just feeling the warmth of his touch, the way his thumb traced gentle circles against your skin.

"I’m here now," you whispered, your voice breaking slightly. "I’m here, Aaron. And I’m not going anywhere—not unless you make me."

For a moment, it was as if the world outside had ceased to exist, and it was just the two of you in that small, quiet space. Hotch’s forehead touched yours, the breath between you shared and steadied, and in that touch, there was more intimacy than any words could convey. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the way his breathing matched yours, and you knew he was holding onto this moment as if it were a lifeline.

He closed his eyes, his voice so soft and broken that it almost didn’t reach you. "I don’t deserve this," he murmured, his lips just inches from yours, not in a kiss but in a closeness that held more promise than any kiss ever could. "I don’t deserve you."

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze with a determination you hadn’t felt in so long, your voice trembling but sure. "Maybe you don’t," you said, a hint of a smile breaking through your tears. "But I’m giving you the chance to prove me wrong."

Hotch let out a breath that was almost a laugh, a sound so soft and genuine it made your heartache. He pressed his forehead against yours, his hands coming to cradle your face with a gentleness that you didn’t know he possessed like you were the most precious thing he’d ever held. "I’m not going to let you down again," he promised, his voice raw and filled with something that felt like hope. "I’ll fight for this—for us."

The two of you stayed like that; the world narrowed down to the space between your breaths, the gentle touch of his hands against your skin, and the unspoken promise of everything that lay ahead. You didn’t need to say anything else, didn’t need to break the silence with words that could never capture what this moment meant. You just held each other, the two of you finally, truly, being—no masks, no walls, just you and Aaron.

Neither of you wanted to let go, but you knew you had to eventually. So, when you finally pulled back, his hand still lingering on your cheek, you let out a soft sigh. "I should go," you said, your voice gentle, though your heart ached at the thought of leaving.

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours, his thumb brushing one last tender stroke across your cheek. "I know," he said, his voice filled with the quiet acceptance of a man who had found something he didn’t want to lose. "But not too far, okay?"

You gave him a small, tearful smile, your fingers wrapping around his for just a moment longer. "Never too far," you promised.

And as you stood up, reluctantly letting go of his hand, you both knew that something had shifted between you, something irreversible and true. You weren’t sure where this would lead, how much more pain or healing lay ahead, but for the first time, you both believed in the possibility of something real—something worth fighting for. And that was enough.

As fate would have it, just as you and Hotch finally seemed to find solid ground, the world pulled you back into the chaos that had always been your reality. A big case came barreling in like a storm, sweeping the entire BAU into its relentless grip. The details were brutal and time-sensitive, and there was no room for hesitation as you all packed your bags and headed off to the next city to face yet another battle in the war against darkness.

You and Hotch barely had a moment to catch your breath, much less to explore the fragile new beginning you’d carved out in his apartment. The case consumed you both, the demands of the job dragging you into late-night briefings, endless strategy sessions, and the exhaustion that came from running on adrenaline and sheer determination.

But through it all, there was something different in the way he looked at you—something softer, something that made your heart skip a beat even in the midst of chaos. There were stolen glances across the conference room, fleeting touches that lingered a second too long when no one was watching. It was like you were both holding onto a secret, a promise whispered between the cracks of what had always been left unsaid.

It was late—long past midnight—and the case was at a standstill for the night. You were in your hotel room, staring at the ceiling, mind racing with the pieces of the puzzle that didn’t quite fit together when a soft knock came at your door. You knew it was him even before you opened it, your heart pounding as you turned the handle to find Hotch standing there, looking more unguarded and raw than you’d ever seen him.

He was still in his suit, but his tie was gone, the top buttons of his shirt undone, and he looked like he’d been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders for too long. He met your eyes, his own filled with something that looked like vulnerability like fear and longing tangled into one.

“Can I come in?” he asked, his voice low and almost hesitant like he was afraid you’d turn him away.

You nodded, stepping aside to let him in, your pulse thrumming in your veins. Hotch walked in slowly, closing the door behind him, and for a moment, he just stood there, looking at you like he wasn’t sure if he should say something or stay silent.

"I thought I could do this," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I thought I could keep it professional, keep my distance. But every time I look at you, every time I see you put yourself in danger for this job, it terrifies me. And I can’t keep pretending that I’m not in love with you."

The words left you breathless, your mind reeling, and before you could even think, you closed the distance between you, reaching for him like he was the only solid thing in your world. His hands found your face, his touch gentle but desperate like he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

"Aaron," you whispered, your voice trembling with all the emotions you’d kept bottled up for so long. "You don’t have to keep pretending anymore. I’m here. I’m right here."

And then his lips were on yours, and it was like the world stopped spinning. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, almost like he was afraid to believe it was real. But then it deepened, all the years of longing and restraint shattering in an instant, replaced by a raw, desperate need that neither of you could hold back. His hands slipped into your hair, holding you to him like he was afraid to let go, and you felt his breath hitch against your lips.

You broke the kiss just long enough to whisper his name, to look into his eyes and see the love and fear and desire that mirrored your own. "Stay with me," you said, your voice so soft, almost a plea.

He didn’t answer with words; he didn’t have to. He kissed you again, harder this time, more certain, his hands trailing down your sides as he pulled you closer. It was a kiss that spoke of everything you’d both been too afraid to say, everything that had been locked away in silence for so long. He poured himself into it—all the loneliness, the longing, the love he’d kept hidden.

You moved together in a blur of tangled limbs and whispered words, the unspoken promises and all the almosts finally becoming something real. You couldn’t recall at what point whose clothes ended up on the floor first or how it felt like it took no time for your skin to feel on fire under each brush of Hotch’s fingertips against your skin. 

Hotch’s touch was reverent, almost worshipful, as if he was memorizing every inch of your skin, the way you felt beneath his fingertips. His eyes never left yours, even as he kissed a trail down your neck, his breath warm and shaky against your skin.

When he finally laid you down on the bed, his movements were slow, almost hesitant, like he wanted to savor every second, like he couldn’t quite believe you were really here with him. You reached up, brushing your fingers against his cheek, guiding him closer, and he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

As he hovered above you, his forehead pressed to yours, you could see the vulnerability in his eyes—the love and fear and hope all tangled together. "I’ve never let myself have this," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "But with you, I can’t pretend anymore."

You pulled him down into another kiss, softer this time, filled with the tenderness that had always been between you, even when you were too afraid to acknowledge it. And then you were lost in each other, in the feel of his hands on your skin, his lips trailing fire across your body, the way he breathed your name like it was a prayer. 

It was as if his hands and body knew you already--knew exactly how you ticked.

When he finally sank into you, it was with a sigh that seemed to echo in the quiet room, a moment so full of love and longing that it brought tears to your eyes. You moved together, slow and gentle, the world outside fading away until there was nothing left but the two of you, the rhythm of your breaths and the way his eyes held yours like you were the only thing that mattered.

It wasn’t just about desire—it was about finding each other in the dark, about all the broken pieces of yourselves fitting together in a way that finally made sense. It was about love, pure and simple, the kind of love that had always been there, waiting for the right moment to unfold.

When the morning light filtered through the curtains, you woke up wrapped in his arms, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. For once, Aaron Hotchner looked at peace, his eyes soft as he watched you, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your back.

"Good morning," he said, his voice still rough from sleep, a small, tender smile playing at his lips.

"Good morning," you whispered back, feeling the warmth of his smile settle over you like a blanket.

He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his eyes filled with something that looked like wonder. "I don’t want this to end," he said softly, his voice filled with an honesty that took your breath away. "I’m done pretending, done pushing you away. I want this—I want you."

You leaned up and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, your smile growing as you pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. "I’m not going anywhere, Aaron," you said. "Not anymore."

And as you lay there in each other’s arms, the promise of everything you’d both been too afraid to dream of was finally within reach. No more running, no more hiding. Just the two of you, facing whatever came next—together.

When the case was finally over, thee unsub was in custody, and the tension that had bound the team so tightly for the past few days had begun to loosen. You and Hotch had done your best to remain professional throughout the investigation, maintaining a careful distance despite the undeniable connection between you. Every stolen glance and fleeting touch during the case had only reminded you of the night you’d shared together, the secret that seemed to hang in the air between you.

Now, as the jet hummed quietly on the journey back to the BAU, the rest of the team settled into their seats, some rifling through case files while others engaged in quiet conversation. There was a sense of relief in the air, the kind that came after a job well done, but you could still feel Hotch's gaze on you, lingering with something softer, something unspoken that only the two of you understood.

Hotch was sitting directly across from you, his posture as calm and composed as ever, but the way he was watching you betrayed the quiet storm of emotions he was trying to keep in check. He shifted slightly, then cleared his throat, drawing the attention of not just you but everyone around.

Your name slipped from his lips, steady but tinged with a hint of vulnerability that made your pulse quicken. "I was thinking," he said, his voice a little softer than usual, his eyes locked on yours, "when we get back, maybe we could have dinner sometime." He paused for a fraction of a second, his gaze never wavering. "A real dinner. You know, a date."

There was a split second of silence before Morgan let out a low whistle, his face breaking into a wide, knowing grin. He leaned back in his seat, folding his arms over his chest as he shook his head in amusement. "Well, damn, Hotch. I didn’t think you had it in you," he said with a teasing smile, his eyes twinkling with genuine happiness for the two of you. "Took you long enough, man."

JJ and Emily exchanged quick glances, both smiling like they’d just witnessed something monumental. JJ’s smile grew wider, and she gave you a look that was equal parts supportive and relieved. "It’s about time," she said, her tone gentle but filled with a knowing warmth. "I think we’ve all been waiting for this."

Even Reid, who had been lost in a book just moments before, looked up with a surprised but pleased expression. "Statistically speaking," he said thoughtfully, tilting his head slightly as he processed the scene, "the odds were always in favor of you two ending up together. It’s good to see that probability playing out."

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, a mix of embarrassment and joy coloring your cheeks. Hotch, who rarely let his guard down in front of the team, surprised you again by not hiding his smile—a real, genuine smile that lit up his face and made the corners of his eyes crinkle.

"So," he said, his voice lower now, meant just for you even though the whole team was listening. "Is that a yes?"

You nodded, unable to suppress the smile that spread across your face. "Yes," you said softly, your eyes meeting his with a warmth that spoke of everything unspoken between you. "It’s a date."

Hotch’s smile widened just a touch more, and you saw a flicker of relief in his eyes, a quiet kind of joy that made your heart swell. It was such a simple thing—a date—but it felt like a promise, a beginning, a chance for something real outside the chaos of your lives.

As the moment settled between you, the jet full of your colleagues who had become your family, Morgan let out another chuckle. "Just remember, Hotch," he said, grinning as he looked at both of you, "we’ll all be expecting a full report."

Emily smirked, giving you a playful nudge with her elbow. "And we’ll be rooting for you guys," she added, her eyes sparkling with genuine happiness. "All the way."

You felt a warmth spread through you, not just from the support of your team but from the quiet certainty that you were finally on the same page with Hotch. This was more than just a fleeting moment; it was the start of something that neither of you was willing to let slip away this time.

As the jet continued its journey through the sky, you could feel the shift in the air, a sense of hope that was shared by everyone in that small space. It wasn’t just about the kiss you’d shared or the night you’d spent together. It was about a future, a chance for happiness that you both finally believed in.

And it all began with a date, a new beginning that held the promise of everything you’d both been too afraid to dream of—together.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1060

@khxna

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

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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

Arron would let y/n do her daily skin care on him.

aaron hotchner fic recs (series)

me = beyond amazed at the talent on this app 🥹 below is list of all the hotch series i’ve read (and adored <3)! if you also read, please send these amazing writers some well-deserved love!!! i hope you enjoy these as much as i did 💗

agents and asphodel by @qvid-pro-qvo

in the suburbs by @hoe4hotchner

the chances you take by @hotchnerxo

lifelong by @spacecowboyhotch

seeing him by @spacecowboyhotch

the love profile by @reidscanehand

breaking up slowly by @hotchs-bitch

as it seems by @ladylibby

a hard day’s night by @ladylibby

find you by @h0tch-r0cket

Masterlist

The Tortured Poets Department

Down Bad - Wolverine x You

Who's Afraid of Little Old Me? - Erik Lehnsherr x Charles Xavier x You

Florida!!! - Aaron Hotchner x You

My Boy Only Breaks His Favourite Toys - Billy Butcher x You

Fortnight - Din Djarin x You

See TTPD homepage for a brief synopsis and word count of each.

Kinktober 2024

See kinktober masterlist for descriptions and fandoms!

AO3

TTPD Contents

Florida!!!

Aaron Hotchner x Reader After a tough case in Tallahassee, a storm blows in and the jet is grounded, so you find comfort in the arms of someone unexpected. fem!reader, 18+ MDNI 4,203 words

It had been a horrible case. Children had been going missing across Tallahassee for a few weeks, but the incompetent police department had only just called you in. You found the unsub after a few long days and even longer nights. He was a police officer, someone that kids were taught to trust. At least that explained the shocking lack of investigation so far. Thankfully, the children he had taken - all 9 of them - were alive, but you couldn’t say too much more than that. The state they were in when you found them… it wasn’t something you were going to forget any time soon.

And now, a storm was coming in and the jet couldn’t take off until tomorrow at the earliest.

The motel you were all staying in wasn’t the worst by any stretch of the imagination, but it wasn’t exactly great. The rooms were small and dingy, the smell of sweat and cigarettes clinging to the soft furnishings, and questionable stains bloomed across most of the carpet. You weren’t complaining too much, though. There was a dive bar next door, and the bed was clean. That was all you cared about.

It hadn’t taken you long to wind up at the bar. Most of the team were there already, seeming a hell of a lot happier than you. They had drinks and a handful of appetisers spread out on the table, laughing at a story Rossi was telling enthusiastically. You were about to turn and leave, to find somewhere else to wallow for the evening, but Emily spotted you, waving you over with a wide smile. Fuck. At least you knew how to fake it. You plastered on a grin and said your hellos while everyone congratulated you on finding the kids today. It made you feel sick. Maybe that’s why they saw this whole case as a win. They hadn’t fucking seen it.

You excused yourself to get a drink before you had even sat down, ordering two shots alongside the beer you would be drinking at the table, wanting to feel something quickly. You took them as soon as the bartender gave them to you, thanking him and paying what you owed.

“Bad day?” He mused, eyebrow raised as he put your cash into the register.

“You have no idea.” You muttered, and you noticed his eyes raking over your body. He was cute. A little older than you, but that was what you usually went for anyway. Maybe he was something else that you could drown your sorrows in later.

You smiled at him as you left, just in case, and headed back to the table. It was then that you noticed Hotchner wasn’t there. He was the other member of the team who had been with you when you found them, and he had been even more shaken up than you afterwards. It made sense; he had a kid. You were sure he was calling Haley now so he could talk to Jack like he usually did after any cases where children were involved. You just hoped he made his way over at some point. It would be nice to have someone else here who understood a little more.

And you did your best to hide it, but you did have a bit of a crush on him. It was wrong, and you would never act on it; he was your superior, your boss, and he was married. But he was so authoritative and intelligent and handsome that you couldn’t help but think about it sometimes. A lot, actually. Hopefully, by the end of the night you’d be drunk enough to imagine the bartender was him.

You finished your drink quickly, having completely ignored the conversations going around the table. It didn’t take long for Rossi to offer to get you another, a soft, concerned expression on his face. You thanked him with a wide smile, promising yourself to try harder as him and Morgan headed to the bar to get another round, and Emily and JJ headed to the bathroom. Spencer moved next to you in the booth when everyone had left, filling the space where Emily had been sitting and nudging you softly.

“Are you ok?” He asked. You opened your mouth to say that you were fine, but you knew you didn’t have the energy to lie well. He would just notice straight away.

“Just… um… finding the kids today…” he nodded as you ran your hand through your hair, as though trying to dispel the images that had accumulated again at the mere mention of it. “I know it was a good thing, that they were alive and they would recover physically, but it just really didn’t feel like a win.” He didn’t say anything, just squeezed your arm and pulled you in for a hug, which you gratefully accepted. He was your best friend on the team, and he always knew exactly what you needed. You were glad he was here.

Spence had only just released you when everyone came back, their energy still high. You chatted for a bit, forcing yourself to engage now that the conversation had shifted from this week’s case. It was nice, and you felt your mood start to pick up as the drinks kicked in, finishing your second and third beer before excusing yourself for a smoke. You knew it was a bad habit, but with a job as stressful as yours, it was hard to kick.

You had only just lit your cigarette when you saw Hotch heading across the carpark of the motel. It was hot outside, the Florida humidity lasting into the night, but he was still wearing his suit, but he had ditched the jacket, and his tie was hanging loosely around his neck. He looked about as grim as you felt. You smiled softly as he got close, the usual butterflies gathering in your stomach, expecting him to go past you and inside, but he stopped, leaning on the wall next to you. You offered him the pack, just in case, but he shook his head.

“Are you ok?” You asked gently. He sighed.

“Not really. You?”

“Not really.” You took a drag as he stood there, and you felt the need to fill the void with something. “Everyone else is inside celebrating.”

“I’m not sure I feel like there’s a lot to celebrate.”

“Me neither, but Rossi seems to be buying a lot of drinks, so I’m sticking around for that.” He almost laughed at that, a harsh expulsion of air that was as close as you’d ever come to seeing a break in his stony exterior.

“That is a good incentive.” You smiled at him, taking the opportunity to just look at him. He was so fucking attractive, the dark brown of his eyes, the strong nose and jaw that gave him a permanently serious expression, his lips…

“Did you talk to Jack and Haley?” You asked quickly, as though reminding yourself that he has a wife.

“No, Jack was asleep, and Haley and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms right now…” You had to stop yourself from asking anything too quickly.

“Oh?” You were impressed by how casual you managed to keep your voice.

“Yeah, we separated a few months ago.” Oh. “I haven’t exactly told the team yet, I…” he sighed heavily, running his hands over his face in frustration, “I’m not really sure why I’m telling you to be honest. I just…” He seemed to stop himself, sighing again, and looking at you in a way you couldn’t even begin to interpret. Regret maybe?

“I won’t tell anyone, don’t even worry about it.” You said trying to quell his doubts, and he just smiled softly, shaking his head.

“I know.” A third sigh. “I’ll see you inside, ok?” You couldn’t do much but nod, your heart still lurching from his revelation.

You got another beer as soon as you were back inside, ordering another shot as well to calm your frazzled nerves. You knew you were reading too much into it, that he had just had a bad day and let something slip, but it had made your stupid brain think you had a chance. You sat down again next to Spencer, who smiled at you, and you noticed Hotch’s whole demeanour had changed. He was smiling, and actively participating in the team’s chatter and you felt like you couldn’t stop staring at him. How did he do it so easily?

After about an hour or so some of the team started to head to their rooms, midnight looming, and it was at this point you noticed the glances from Hotch. That was a lie, you had noticed them earlier, and you had just chalked them up to your own imagination running away from you. But now, there was no denying it. He was a couple of drinks in, and his looks had started to linger, even when you weren’t the one talking. There was an element to them that made you squirm a little in your seat, especially the way he had stopped hiding the fact he was looking. His eyes were openly gazing at your lips, your chest, and when your eyes met his, he didn’t back down. He didn’t smirk, or smile, or anything other than maintain infuriating and intense eye contact until a blush forced itself across your cheeks. It was fucking intoxicating.

Emily excused herself. Then Morgan. Then JJ. Reid finished his story with a smile, finishing his drink too as you tried your best to comment as though you were listening. It seemed to work.

“I’m going to get a drink, do you want another?” Hotch stood up, talking to both of you, but his eyes stayed firmly on yours.

“Just a diet coke please.” You had had enough for the night, your mind finally quiet enough to stop replaying the days events. “Reid?”

“No, actually I’m going to head to bed too.” Hotch just nodded, wishing him a good sleep and headed to the bar. Reid squeezed your arm softly as he stood up, his expression serious. “You going to be ok?”

“Yeah, I’m good, honey. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Ok, you know where I am.” And with that, it was just you and Hotch.

He put the drinks down wordlessly, sitting opposite you with an unreadable expression on his face, one even a profiler like yourself couldn’t read.

“What?” You asked playfully, your brows furrowing as he took a sip of his scotch.

“Nothing, just the bartender.” You glanced towards the bar to see him standing there, looking at you with a soft smirk on his face. “He was asking after you.” Oh God.

“Was he?” You asked coyly, smiling at the thought. Hotch’s face was steel as his eyes continued to rake over your face and body. Was he… jealous?

“Interested?” He muttered coldly. You grinned.

“Maybe…” You watched as he clenched his teeth and repositioned himself in the seat, leaning forward to rest his arms on the table, never once breaking eye contact.

“Really? Him?”

“What’s wrong with him?” He laughed dryly, taking another drink.

“He’s not exactly…”

“What?”

“He’s not what I’d imagine you going for.” So he’s thought about it. About you. The idea made arousal pool in your stomach.

“Who do you think I’d go for, then?”

“Not him.” He dodged the question easily, not taking the bait. “He’s too cocky, but he also has no real respect for himself. He pours drinks like a performer, just showboating for attention. A bravado begging for approval, but still believing he deserves it. He must be delusional to think he deserves even a glance from you…” He paused, and for the first time you saw a slight waver in his confidence, watching his face change as he realised he said something a little too close to home. You just smiled as he carried on, trying to retrace his steps. “I just think you would only go for him if your first choice wasn’t available.” He knows. Surely he knows. “I know Reid went to bed, but if you…” You cut him off with an uncontrollable laugh of genuine disbelief as he just furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“What?”

“You think I’m after Reid? And you call yourself a profiler.”

“Are you not?” You finished your drink with a sigh.

“Jesus, no Hotch, I’m not. And with that, I’m going to bed.” You left him sitting there, same confused look on his face, sending an apologetic smile to the bartender as you left.

You found yourself pacing when you got back to your room, unable to make sense of what the fuck just happened. You must be going crazy. You thought he knew, that it was so painfully obvious, that he maybe even saw you in the same way… but no. Nothing. Your stupid mind playing tricks on you.

You don’t know why you even wanted this. You couldn’t date him, you couldn’t do anything about it, married or not he was your boss. He was on your team. You saw him everyday at work. It would never end well. It was just a bad fucking idea, regardless of how much your dirty mind protested. How much it reminded you of all the times you’d thought about him while you were touching yourself, or sleeping with other people, or when you were bored on the jet. He had been the only thing that got you off for months and he didn’t even fucking know. But now you knew it was a possibility? That he wasn’t married, that your dirty little fantasy could actually happen? You were spiralling. You needed a smoke, some fresh air, something to remind you nothing had actually changed.

You opened the door, pack in hand to see… him. He looked dishevelled, his tie long gone and his hair messy, as though he been running his hands through it. He was as shocked as you were, just muttering your name quietly as you stood there just looking at him, waiting for him to explain why he was here. What he wanted. He didn’t. There was just this intensity that seemed to emanate from him, this nervous desperation that made you want to grab him by the collar of his shirt and show him what you could do, how you could make him feel better after horrible cases like this one, give him something to use for his own pleasure. Show him that you would do anything he fucking wanted. But you didn’t.

“Did you…” you trailed off, vaguely gesturing to the open door in a way you hoped conveyed what your lips couldn’t bring themselves to say. He was silent as he stepped into your room, closing the door behind him.

“Was it me? Am I…?” He muttered, and you knew what he meant. Am I the one you were after? You stayed quiet, not trusting yourself anymore now he was here in front of you, looking at you like that. He knew anyway. You had no doubt in your mind now. He stepped closer.

“This isn’t a good idea.”

“I know.” You let yourself whisper as he moved to just an inch away from you, a shuddering breath escaping his lips as he looked down at yours. You couldn’t even breathe, couldn’t make eye contact as he continued to scan your face and you could feel yourself getting wet before he had even touched you. Everything you’d wanted for months was a breath away and you still couldn’t bring yourself to be the one to close the gap.

“This isn’t…” he started to repeat himself, tapering off as his fingers touched your chin, tipping your face further up to look at him, a light touch that was fucking electricity through your body.

“I know.” You breathed the words, not meaning them anymore and as you met his gorgeous, hazel eyes, you knew you were fucking done for. He pressed his lips into yours. Just once, light as a feather. But that was all the permission you needed. You threw your arms around his neck and pulled him closer, smashing your lips into his with a desperation you had never felt before. It was a kiss of teeth and tongue, and as you licked up into his hot mouth you heard a groan from him that sent your hands flying to his shirt buttons. He grabbed the bottom of your top and pulled it over your head before you had even had a chance to undo a single one. His lips were back to yours as quickly as they had left, and you only registered that you had moved backwards when your legs hit something. He grabbed your hips and easily lifted you onto the desk, and you thanked the lord you had decided to wear a skirt today as he pushed it up your thighs and settled comfortably between them. Your entire body was practically shaking in anticipation already, and as his hands gripped the soft flesh of your thighs, you whimpered into his mouth. He pulled you forward until you were pressed tightly against his thick erection, and you couldn’t help but grind into him as you undid his buttons, desperate for some friction against your aching cunt. It was almost embarrassing how quickly he had turned you on, wound you up to the point where every tiny touch made you feel like you were going fall over the edge into that white hot pleasure you knew he was capable of giving you.

The hottest part of it all was the pure need you felt from every grab and kiss. Even the moments where he pulled back for air, he used them to bite your neck, or press sloppy open mouthed kisses to your chest that made you whine every fucking time. The way he wanted you so badly he couldn’t even move to the bed, just to wherever was closest, and even when he was trying to catch his breath it was as though he physically couldn’t keep his lips off you.\

You finally got his shirt undone and pressed as much of yourself to him as possible, wrapping your legs around his waist. His kisses were getting more and more sloppy, his hands wandering further and the moan you let out when he grabbed your breast seemed to flip a switch in him. He pulled you off the desktop by your ass, flipping you in a way that was pure filth, and pressing your hips hard into the desk.

“Can I…” You didn’t need him to finish his question as you heard him unzip his fly.

“Fuck, please.” You couldn’t help but beg. His hands ran up the back of your legs, pushing your skirt to your waist and pulling your panties down so quickly you barely noticed until his hard dick hit your throbbing pussy. You could feel the weight of him, the thickness. You wanted to turn around and look at him, truly take him in like this, but you were pinned to the table still, the sharp edges biting into your hips in the most deliciously painful way that you knew would leave bruises. You heard him mutter something, but you couldn’t make it out, anticipation causing blood to rush in your ears and your heart was beating so loud it blocked any other noise. Before you even knew it was happening, he was pressing against your entrance, slowly at first, but then he snapped his hips into yours, splitting you open and all the air was pushed out of your lungs. The groan that escaped his lips was intoxicating, and he stayed there for a moment, gathering your hair in his hands and twisting your head so your lips met his. You felt like a ragdoll, your body and movements his now, but you didn’t care. This is how you wanted it. You just want to make him feel good, and you needed to think about nothing but him. It was working. There was no space for any other thoughts with his cock filling you and his hand gripping your hair.

“Are you…?”

“On the pill.” You confirmed, and he bit down on your shoulder in approval, earning a gasp. One hand stayed on your hair, but he moved backwards, his other hand pressing the small of your back into the table. You were utterly powerless, and you clenched around him at the thought. He groaned as he pulled out of you slowly, and you could feel every single inch of him as he did. And then he started just pounding into you. It stole all the air from your lungs, and you were left gasping as he continued his merciless pace, filthy sounds of his hips meeting your ass and your shuddering breaths and whimpers filling the room. You had to brace your hands against the wall, nothing else to hold on to, and as you lifted your chest slightly to breathe, he took his cue, grabbing your neck and pulling you up so his lips could reach you, the slight force he applied to your throat making you clench around him and earning a loud moan from him. The angle he hitting into you now was incredible, this sweet spot that made your legs turn to jelly and your breaths shorten.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” He panted into your ear, earning a loud moan.

“Fuck, I’m close Hotch..” Even now, with him inside you, you couldn’t bring yourself to call him by his first name, but the soft growl he let out told you he might like it more this way anyway. You just needed something to push you over, and you grabbed his hand on your neck, tightening it to indicate what you wanted. He followed suit, gripping you in a way that limited your air just enough to go a little lightheaded and you whimpered.

“Filthy.” He whispered, and that was all you needed. You started cumming, clenching around him with a strangled sob and he let go of your neck at just that second, letting the blood rush to your head and searing hot pleasure course through your body. You heard him groan and curse behind you, his hips stuttering too as he came, filling you and staying pressed deep inside of you as you rode out the waves of your orgasm, pressing soft kisses to your shoulders.

You stayed like that for a little while, catching your breath. He moved first, pulling out of you slowly with a sigh.

“You can… um…” the energy was awkward suddenly, both unsure of what to do now that passion wasn’t driving you. Unsure how to be around each other. You still knew what he meant though.

“Thanks.” You headed to the bathroom, cleaning up quickly, taking a second to fix your messy hair and makeup, and pulling your skirt down. He went in straight after you, and you took that time to find your panties and put them back on. You had no idea what would happen now. If it was up to you, he would just stay here, but he might not feel comfortable enough to do that. You just wanted to know what he was thinking.

He came out of the bathroom looking perfect, but pensive, his brow furrowed in his signature scowl. You were sitting on the side of the bed, just waiting for him to speak.

“We probably shouldn’t have done that.” He muttered. Disappointment flooded your system. You knew he was right, and you agreed, it was messy and stupid but so fucking good it couldn’t be ignored.

“Probably not.” He nodded.

“Well, I should…” He moved towards the door.

“I don’t want a relationship you know.” You blurted out, and internally scolded yourself, but it had stopped him, so you stood up, carrying on. “This is all I want. A distraction.” You watched relief bloom across his face, and he strode back across the room, planting a light kiss to you your lips.

“Ok.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He stayed, not leaving until the early morning. You knew he just wanted some comfort after the past few days. Something solid to hold on to. You also knew your feelings had already gone past a crush, welling up inside you as he slept peacefully, feeling his chest rise and fall with each breath against yours. But you didn’t care. You would rather have some of him than nothing at all. Even if you were going to get hurt. Even if it got messy. He was worth it.