hotchscoffeecup

[hotchscoffeecup]

#toberead

𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒍, aaron hotchner

aaron hotchner x fem!reader (906 words)

in which you get a necklace with aaron’s initial and he’s absolutely whipped for you <3

warnings: none, clingy hotch :)

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

One of your hands holds the generous amount of shopping bags, the other moves to unlock the door. You open it slowly, in case Jack's already asleep. It's just after dinner time but after all the plans Aaron and him had for today, you know he's probably fast asleep in his bed by now.

"Aaron?" You call out gently as you take off your shoes, immediately hearing his footsteps approaching. He appears seconds later, towel draped over his shoulder from doing the dishes.

"Hey, honey. How was shopping with the girls?" He asks with a small smile, leaning over to peck your lips before taking the bags from you and setting them down on the coffee table.

"Pretty good, got everything i needed to get. I also bought Jack a shirt." In your defence, it had a picture of his latest cartoon obsession. How could you resist it?

"You didn't have to." He takes a step towards you and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

"I disagree." You retort, though you know he doesn't mind you buying thing for Jack. He's not your own, but he's your boy nevertheless. "Is he asleep?"

"Yeah, just put him to bed." Aaron moves to hold your face, leaving kisses all over you forehead. Barely getting to see you on his weekend off feels like some kind of torture and he has plans to not leave your side until Monday.

"Hm, can i go give him a goodnight kiss? Wanna leave his new shirt there so he wakes up to a surprise." You smile eagerly, chuckling at his false annoyed groan.

"Sure, hun. I'll finish the dishes and meet you upstairs." He answers, giving your back a soft tap as you rush to pick up the bag and run upstairs.

You pad into Jack's bedroom, kneeling besides his bed to kiss his forehead gently. Setting the bag at the end of his bed, you leave the room as silently as you came in.

You head to the bedroom that by now is just as yours as it's Hotch's. Gathering one of his shirts before entering the bathroom to get ready for bed.

When you come out, you're met with the sight of Aaron in only a shirt and boxers. Sitting against the headboard of the bed as he waits for you.

"How was your day?" You move under the covers to get comfortable while he starts listing all the activities him and Jack did today.

His hands move to massage your sore legs and you can't help but smile at his thoughtfulness. But they come to a stop once his gaze falls on the gold necklace peaking out from your shirt. He hooks a finger around it, pulling it out from it's hiding place.

Aaron eyes you curiously as it is now completely visible, a small 'A' adorning the middle of the necklace.

"What's this?" He asks, the answer quite evident but he can't get himself to believe it. He looks at you lovingly, brown eyes contrasting with yellow light and making your heart race.

"Oh, i saw it at store and it was too pretty not to get. Besides, you're a part of me and i wanted people to know it." You answer almost sheepishly, fingers playing with the fabric of his shirt. "It's also waterproof so i never have to take it off."

Aaron swears his heart might jump out of his chest. He knows you love him, he just didn't know it was this loudly. He hopes you never stop doing it.

He wonders what the best reaction to this would be, but he can't get himself to think about it too much before he's tugging you closer. Lips pressing against yours in a gentle kiss.

"I'll get one with yours." He mumbles a bit too seriously and you can't help but laugh.

"You don't wear necklaces, Aaron." You hold his face gently, making sure he knows you appreciate the suggestion anyway. You don't need him to get one too, you're content like this.

Aaron hums with a thoughtful expression, "I'll get it engraved on my watch then." He insists and you have to hold back another laugh at the way he raises his eyebrows trying to persuade you.

"Aaron." You try to sound stern but it's prove quite impossible when he kisses your cheek over and over again.

"How about on my handkerchief?"

"Please don't. We'll be looking like an old married couple." You tease with an affectionate smile.

"We could be." His answer is way more sweet than you expected it to be, heat rushing to your cheeks. He smiles at that and pulls you impossibly closer.

"Are you proposing, Hotchner?" You tease further, though your heart is beating wildly in your chest. He's way too nice.

"You think lowly of me." He plays along, his own smile never leaving his face.

Silence falls over you two for a moment and you take advantage of it to lay your head against his chest, relaxing at the sound of his heart beating against your ear.

"Thank you, seriously." Aaron mutters with a gentle squeeze on your shoulder and kiss against your hair.

"Don't bother." Your words come out a bit slurred, sleep starting to evade you. "Love you."

"I love you." He pulls the covers up to your shoulders. He makes note to start looking for rings before his own eyes fall shut.

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

love you,

cat 🤍

[hotchscoffeecup]

"Okay, I'm all these things. But none of you said that I ever put myself above the team, because I don't."

[hotchscoffeecup]

[hotchscoffeecup]

The BAU on a road trip:

GARCIA: the iPad kid who insists on playing her specially curated playlist the entire trip.

SPENCER: constantly suggests I-spy, and tells random facts about each state they pass through. He and Garcia bicker about her hogging the aux - he has some great books on tape!

JJ: snacking the whole time and getting Cheeto dust literally everywhere.

EMILY: switches between falling asleep on peoples’ shoulders and stabbing people in the ribs with her elbows because she cannot sit still.

ELLE & MORGAN: spend the whole trip trading stories from the club, and suggest stopping at every single roadside attraction.

HOTCH: At the wheel, mediating arguments between the CHILDREN in the backseat.

GIDEON: backseat driving, driving Hotch nuts because he insists his paper map is more accurate than the GPS.

BONUS - Elle and Hotch argue the entire time, and Morgan passes some of JJ’s snacks back to Garcia so she doesn’t fall down an internet hole and forget to eat. Hotch secretly loves all the Spice Girls songs on Garcia’s playlist.

Check out my Masterlist for more BAU scenarios.

[hotchscoffeecup]

Hello! i hope youre ok ❤️ I was thinking about a Hotch x Reader based on that episode after Emily's "death" (6x20) when Hotch makes assessments about how they are after that event... Reader and Emily were best friends and she's the one who's hurting the most, so when Hotch gives her assessment she cries and kind of says she doesn't want to live without her anymore, so he comforts her... I'm sorry for being specific, I really grieved her death lmao

i have a fic similar to this: how do we carry on? the premise is a little different, but i’d check it out! i could probably work out a short more angsty sitting in his office talking on the couch sort of scene tho too with a lot more comfort. how do we carry on? is hurt no comfort

[hotchscoffeecup]

savoring the moment

summary: it’s hotch’s first case back after recovering from being attacked. he returns home to find you caught in the throes of a panic attack. he guides you through it and takes care of you afterwards.

rating: t to be safe

tags: panic attack, hyperventilating, crying, minor blood, implied sex (at the very end), scars

word count: 2.3k

pairing: hotch x reader

the idea to have reader having a panic attack and being comforted by hotch was submitted to me anonymously. thank you for the request! and as a reminder, my fic requests are open!

Pulling your knees against your chest, you wrap your arms around them and rest your forehead against your knees.

“He’s okay,” you tell yourself, repeating it like a mantra. “He’s okay. He’s okay.”

Rain patters against the windowpane and you try to focus on the sound, trying to let it ground you back to reality and failing to do so as the pounding of your own heart threatens to drown out the sound of everything else around you.

These are the early onset symptoms of a panic attack and you know it’s only a matter of time until it hits you with the full force of a storm like the one that’s raging outside. They’d been far and few between lately, but this was his first case back in the field since he’d been attacked and you can’t shake the feeling that something bad is going to happen. You know the risks, and you know he’s capable of keeping himself safe. The team always has each other’s backs and they’ll do anything to keep one another safe. Why hasn’t he called?

You take in a shuddering breath and exhale it just as shakily. Your hands tremble as you swipe them through your hair.

Water. Maybe a glass of water will help. You slide out of bed and stand. The blood rushes to your head, which causes you to waver on the spot.

“He’s okay,” you whisper to yourself. You clench the hem of your sweater, rubbing the fibers between your fingers. “Five things I can see,” you whisper to yourself as you move towards the bathroom. As you reach for the empty glass on the bathroom counter, you take a shaky breath and speak on the exhale. “Counter, cup, mirror,” your eyes flick up and meet yours, the purple rings under them more like bruises. “Myself, sink.”

You take another breath and try to keep moving through the exercise that your therapist taught you. Twisting the knob on the faucet, you place the glass underneath and watch it fill. “Four…four things I can hear.” You struggle to turn the water off for the shaking in your hands. “Rain, the air conditioner…” you pause and try to strain your ears, failing to pick up on any other distinct noises. That’s when you become aware of your racing heartbeat again. It’s so fast; slamming up against your ribcage. You envision the organ bursting free of your chest and your hands start to shake so violently that you drop the glass. It shatters against the bathroom tile and you gasp, cursing as you kneel down to pick up the pieces.

You try to be careful, but your hand slips and a shard of glass slices into your palm. Immediately, you clutch your hand with the other and roll onto your hip. As you watch the blood drip between your fingers, a vision of his blood staining the hardwood flashes in your mind’s eye and suddenly you’re back in the hospital waiting room waiting for him to come out of surgery. The dam bursts then and you can’t fight the monster inside of you that is the anxiety. It bites and claws at your insides until it bursts free from you in an explosion of tears and guttural sobs. You struggle to take in a full breath as you begin to hyperventilate. You’re not sure how long you sit there feeling wave after wave of panic crashing over you, holding you under and dragging you further and further away from yourself, lost in the throes of an aggressive undertow. Your vision starts to blacken around the corners and you don’t even register the hands on your shoulders or the man kneeling in front of you.

Your pupils rapidly dart back and forth, desperately trying to make sense of your surroundings but all you can make out is your name. It's faint and faraway, like a ghost whispering on a midnight wind.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to focus on the sound of your name until it becomes clearer. It’s Aaron.

Aaron. Aaron. Your partner. Your fiance. Aaron, yes, Aaron. You swallow hard and open your eyes, vision blurring momentarily before clearing. He’s on his knees in front of you, brown eyes warm albeit concerned. He’s holding a rag against your bloody hand. He applies pressure to the wound to stem the bleeding and the pain oddly brings you closer to baseline. It’s something real and tangible you can hold onto as the panic tries to pull you back under.

“Honey, breathe,” Hotch prompts. “Listen to my voice. You’re safe. I’m here.”

You reach for him, cupping his cheek in your uninjured hand. Stroking your thumb against the cut of his jaw, you find solace in the depths of his eyes. It’s him. It’s really him. Your lip quivers and you fall into him. His name rattles out of your mouth as you collapse into him. You throw your arms around him and sob into the crook of his neck, the familiar scent of his cologne washing over you.

“Shh,” he soothes, rubbing his hand in circles against your back. “Deep breaths,” he says and you feel him inhale beneath you. He exhales and inhales again, modeling the pattern you need to follow to reach baseline.

Your voice cracks when you speak. “You didn’t call. I was—” You breathe in and release a shaky breath. “I was so afraid that—”

Hotch cradles you against him, one arm looped around your waist while his opposite hand tangles into your hair to hold you close. “My phone died. I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to scare you.” He guides you through several more long deep breaths and your temples pound from the dehydration that comes with crying from a place so deep inside yourself.

As your heart rate finally drops back down to normal, the weight of exhaustion slams into you and you feel it dragging at all of your bones leaving all of your limbs feeling leaden.

“Why don’t you take a shower with me, hmm?” Hotch asks gently.

You nod against his chest, feeling the sticky sheen of tears wetting your cheeks. He helps you up and helps you sit on top of the closed toilet seat. He cranks on the shower and disappears out of the room for only a second before returning with a small broom and dustpan. Steam is billowing out from behind the shower curtain by the time he finishes cleaning up the broken glass. He helps you shrug out of your sweater and while he undoes his tie and dress shirt, you shimmy out of your sweatpants. When you step under the steady stream of hot water, you hiss as it stings the open cut in your palm. Blood washes down your hand, swirling down the drain in diluted pink rivulets.

Hotch joins you in the shower, stepping behind you to let you enjoy as much of the warm water as possible. “Let me help,” he says, taking your hand in his. After lathering the soap bar in his hand, he gently cleans the inflamed area. You wince and he apologizes, “I know it hurts.” He rinses your hand and leans out of the shower to grab another washcloth off of the rack. He presses it into your hand and softly instructs you to hold pressure to it.

You laugh weakly, “Aaron, I’m going to ruin all the washcloths.”

He bends down and kisses your forehead. “I’ll buy more. I’m just glad you’re okay.” He turns you around and presses himself against your back, threading his arms through yours and holding you close to him. You just stand like that, under the steady flow of warm water.. You close your eyes and lean back against his chest. Aaron hums and rocks you gently.

“I love you,” you murmur after a while.

You feel him smile against your hairline. “I love you, too.”

You turn then, holding your injured hand over his shoulder out of the stream of water while your other splays against his chest. You feel the raised scar tissue under your hand, bumpy and rough. Your eyes trail down the length of his torso, identifying each scar. Hotch places his fingertips beneath your chin, tilting your face up so that you can look at him. His features are relaxed, his gaze steady. “Honey,” he says, almost sternly. “I’m okay.”

You nod, “I know that.”

“Then let me help you be okay, hmm? Does that sound alright?”

Again, you nod.

He spends the next fifteen minutes taking careful care to wash and condition your hair, massaging your scalp and combing through your hair before rinsing it out. He lathers soap against your skin after, using the palms of his hands to smooth it over every curve and fold of your body; littering kisses across your skin as he does so. For himself, he takes very little time; just a quick scrub and wash of his hair before he cranks the water off.

He wraps you in a fluffy towel before wrapping one around his waist. He dips into your shared bedroom and returns moments later with your robe and the first aid kit you keep in the hall closet. You finish towel drying your hair before letting him help you into your robe, which he loosely ties around your waist. You sit on the edge of your bed and let Hotch work on your hand.

“The bleeding stopped, that’s good” He observes after peeling away the wash cloth. He applies a small bit of antibiotic gel across the length of the cut and places a fresh gauze pad against it, which he then secures by wrapping a roller bandage around your palm and wrist.

“Have you ever thought about quitting the BAU and becoming a paramedic?”

Aaron breathes out a laugh as he tucks the tail end of the bandage in. “Definitely not.”

You pout, sticking out your lower lip. “But you’d look so sexy in that uniform.”

He laughs and shakes his head before placing a quick peck against your cheek. “There’s that sense of humor I love so much.”

He stands and discards the soiled rag and paper wrappings in the bathroom trash can. He washes his hands and uses the towel around his waist to dry them. He puts on a pair of sweats, the words FBI ACADEMY faded and worn running down the one leg.

“How does tea and ice cream sound?”

You smile, and for the first time that evening it feels genuine. “That sounds perfect.”

While he busies himself out in the kitchen, you tie your hair up in a loose knot on top of your head and finish your skincare routine.

As you’re crawling under the covers, Aaron enters the room. He’s cradling two bowls against his chest with one arm while he holds two steaming mugs by their handles in the opposite hand. He crouches awkwardly by the bed, safely placing the bowls of ice cream on the nightstand. He rises to his full height and passes the mug to you.

“Sleepy time tea?” you ask, recognizing the smell.

“I felt like you could use the extra help tonight.”

He tosses the covers back and climbs into bed beside you, placing his own mug down on the nightstand. He lets you take a sip before he takes your cup and sets it beside his.

Taking your hands in his, he strokes his thumb along the back of your uninjured hand. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I am now that you’re home.”

His eyebrows turn, “Honey, I can take some vacation time. I know you’ve been doing better since my attack, but it makes sense that my return to work would serve as a trigger and—”

“Aaron,” you chide. “You’re profiling me.”

He presses his lips together and smiles apologetically. “All I’m saying is if my going back right now is too much for you, I can try to limit my presence in the field.”

You eye him knowingly, “Yeah, because that worked so well when your ear was damaged in that explosion.” Your brow pinches as you regard your fiance. “Well, that’s not something every couple can say, huh?”

Aaron chuckles and stretches an arm around your shoulders, drawing you in close to his side. “Definitely not, but nothing about our relationship has ever been normal, has it?”

You lean into him and press a kiss against his jaw. “I’ll be okay, Aaron, really. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a panic attack like that. I think it was just because it was your first case back since…” You hesitate. “…the incident.” You reach over him and grab the two bowls of ice cream off of his nightstand, handing one to him before settling back against the pillows.

You dig your spoon into the vanilla ice cream, stirring it some before taking a bite. You close your eyes and savor its sweetness.

“Are you sure?” Aaron asks.

You open your eyes and look up at him from beneath your lashes. “I’m sure. I’m working with my therapist. I’m coping. I’m taking it day by day, just like I know you are.”

“One day at a time.” He leans down and kisses you softly. “Mmm, you taste like vanilla.”

You smile against his lips. “My therapist did advise us to prioritize living in the present moment.

He sets his bowl of ice cream aside and loops his arms around your waist, heaving you onto his lap. “Did they now?”

You laugh and feel it deep in your belly, the panic you’d felt earlier seeming so far away now. “And how do you suppose we do that?”

He pulls at the tie on your robe. “Oh, I bet I can think of something.”

You dip your spoon back into your bowl of ice cream, an idea of your own coming to mind. “You said you like the taste of vanilla?” You slip the spoon between your lips, amusement glinting in your eyes.

Aaron nods, taking the bowl from your hands and capturing your lips with his. As his hands fold around your body, you feel him smile against your lips. “I love the taste of vanilla.”

And you’ve never felt safer than in his arms right then, savoring the moment.

[hotchscoffeecup]

hotch + the coat with the red lining

[hotchscoffeecup]

Fic Requests OPEN

Just a friendly reminder that my fic requests are OPEN! 18+ only, MDNI. I will use my discretion when it comes to receiving ideas and won’t write anything I am not comfortable with. I primarily write Alex, Hotch, or Emily x Reader fics, but am open to writing for any character!

[hotchscoffeecup]

unstuck (pt.2 to stuck)

pairing: hotch x reader

word count: 2.1k

genre: fluff

rating: e

summary: it’s been two weeks since you and hotch were stuck in an elevator together and two weeks since he’d nearly kissed you. unable to shake him from your mind, you’re pleasantly surprised when he shows up at your house with flowers and a plan.

“Well look who decided to show up?” Derek teases as he passes by your desk.

You flash him an amused smile and plop your bag down inside your bottom drawer. “Good morning to you too, Morgan.”

“Are you still on light duty?” Reid asks from his desk, which is parallel to yours.

You nod. “I have a follow up in a week with the doctor to get cleared to go back in the field, but I haven’t had any pain or headaches in several days now.”

“And look,” Derek says, perching on the side of your desk. “You even got a little bitty battle scar.” He inclines his head towards you, where the tail of your eyebrow is now severed; a pale pink line now traversing it.

You scoff, “Battle scar, please. Let’s just tell people I got tackled by an unsub or had to break through a window or anything that isn’t me falling face first into an elevator panel in front of my boss.”

“Speaking of…” Derek trails off and subtly points toward Hotch’s office, where JJ just finished dropping off a file.

Hotch moves swiftly out of his office and knocks on Rossi’s door, summoning him. With Rossi now trailing behind him, he leans over the railing. “Conference room,” he says, and it’s an order. You don’t miss the way his eyes linger on yours for a second longer than he normally would.

“What was that?” Spencer asks as you grab your mug of coffee and head towards the conference room.

“What was what?” you ask, knowing exactly what he’s talking about. Leave it to the boy genius to pick up on that which is imperceptible. Well, okay, that is your job after all, but still.

“The extended eye contact with Hotch. Are you in trouble?”

You let out an exasperated laugh. “Spencer, it’s my first day back. Why would I be in trouble?”

He frowns and shrugs, though there’s a curious glint in his eye. “Not sure.”

“Spencer,” you warn, drawing out his name. His lips twitch into a smile as he quickens his pace and dips into the conference room.

Damn that boy and his big giant brain. You settle in next to him at the round table, where you can keep an eye on him and whatever subtle antics he might try to employ to dig more meaning out of things.

Penelope struts into the room, her multi-colored pigtails streaked with blue and purple bouncing as she draws to a stop in front of the wide monitor.

“Good afternoon, Crime Fighters. Boy, do we have a doozy on our hands today…”

You feel Hotch’s eyes on you as Penelope flashes images across the screen of crime scene photos from the local PD down in Raleigh, North Carolina. It takes everything you have not to look up at him from your case file and listen to what Penelope is saying.

At the end of the briefing, you gather your belongings and swiftly exit the room. Dropping the file on your desk in passing, you dash into the restroom and lean over the sink. You exhale a deep breath and swipe a hand through your hair. “What are you doing?” you whisper to your reflection. “You’re acting like a middle schooler.”

“What’s this about middle school?”

You startle at the sound of Emily’s voice. The door creaks as it shuts behind her.

“Nothing!” you answer quickly, too quickly.

One of Emily’s perfectly manicured eyebrows arches toward her hairline. She crosses her arms over her chest and leans against the wall. “Spill.”

You do, and you don’t hold back. The words tumble out of your mouth in an avalanche of detail.

Emily’s eyes widen. “Hotch?”

You nod vigorously. “Yes!”

“Hotch cupped your face in his hand?”

You groan, “With extended eye contact!”

Emily waves her hands in front of her, face scrunching. “I need a visual. Do it to me. Pretend I’m you and you’re Hotch.”

You roll your eyes and relent, approaching Emily. With eyes locked on hers, you force a concerned expression onto your face and cradle her cheek in your hand.

At that moment, the door swings open and JJ strides into the bathroom. When she sees you and Emily in this compromising position, her face is a wash of confusion.

“What is going on here?”

“Oh my God,” Emily says, mouth agape.

“Oh my God,” you whine and drop your hand from her face.

“Do you understand what I’m talking about now?”

Emily nods slowly, “Yeah.”

“Hello?” JJ says, waving her hand out in front of her. “Anyone want to clue me in here?”

Emily’s lips curve into a sly smile. “Someone has a crush on a certain Unit Chief.”

JJ’s jaw drops to her chest as your eyes sharpen to daggers. You reach forward and punch Emily in the shoulder.

“Ow!” she exclaims, laughing and rubbing her shoulder. “And vice versa!” she adds.

“No!” JJ responds, the disbelief evident in her voice. She leans her hip against the sink. “Well, what are you gonna do about it?”

You throw your hands in the air. “I don’t know! What are you supposed to do after something like that? It’s easy to get lost in the idea of it when you’re stuck in an elevator and then in a small hospital room for six hours. He took me to breakfast at 4am at this 24 hour diner and then insisted on taking me home. The whole time, no matter where we were, we just laughed and talked and none of it was about work.”

“Hotch with a sense of humor?” Emily questions. “Our Hotch?”

“Yes! And now we’re back at work and he’s all serious and stern, but I catch these subtle-not-subtle looks and now I don’t know if I’m reading into things or we’re both just too awkward and scared to acknowledge something was going on that night.”

“Not to be the stick in the mud,” JJ starts, “but do you think it could’ve been a product of being stuck together? Like maybe the forced proximity brought up feelings you might not otherwise feel for one another.”

“No, you’re definitely not a stick in the mud. I thought the exact same thing. And then I thought because I was home for two weeks that I was just ruminating on the idea of toeing that line with him and then I started to focus on the little things like that stupid dimple in his chin when he smiles and the way he remembers the little things about everyone and now I don’t know if I actually like him or just this conflated idea of him.”

Emily blows out a slow breath. “I definitely don’t think you’ve conflated anything. I think you got a glimpse of the real Hotch and that was exciting for both of you and now you’re both in uncharted waters without a map and you’re freaking out.”

You sigh, blowing a piece of hair out of your face. “What am I supposed to do?”

JJ and Emily exchange a knowing look. “Let us handle that.”

•

You heave a sigh of relief as you settle into the plush couch cushions in your living room. Your phone buzzes on the counter, but you ignore it. You can take at least five minutes to yourself before work summons you back to the office. You’d only just gotten home from work about twenty minutes ago. The clock reads 8:24PM, but you feel as though you could go to bed right now and sleep for twelve hours.

You rub the raised scar tissue at your eyebrow. It doesn’t hurt anymore, but you can’t believe how two weeks out of work has caused your stamina to dwindle. Just sitting at your desk all day has you exhausted…maybe you should take Morgan up on his offer to jog together before work, get your energy levels back up before you return to the field.

That is a call you’ll make later though. For now, your only job is to decide between Indian or Thai takeout for dinner. As you pick up the menus off of your coffee table, there’s a knock at the front door.

Brow furrowed, you stand up and make your way towards the entryway of your apartment, unsure of who it could be.

When you open the door, your lips part in surprise.

“Hotch, what are you doing here?”

He licks his lips before smiling awkwardly. “I, uh, I tried to call.”

“I left my phone on the charger. What uh, is everything okay? Is there a case?” God you hoped not. The team had only just returned from Raleigh a few hours ago.

He nods quickly. “Yeah, yes. Everything is fine. There’s no case. Nothing like that. I um, I brought you these.” He moves fully into the doorway, a bouquet of carnations dotted with baby’s breath in hand.

Your features relax as you take them. “Hotch, these are beautiful.”

He scrubs a hand through his hair, a crimson blush spreading across his cheeks. “Emily told me they were your favorite. I had a really interesting conversation with her and JJ on the plane.”

You stiffen, only mildly embarrassed. Oh God, what did they say?

He smiles again. “They reminded me how out of practice I am when it comes to all of this.” He waves a hand through the air.

“Oh yeah?” you press, a smile of your own playing on your lips. “And what might this be Agent Hotchner?”

He shakes his head as a melodic chuckle tumbles from his mouth. He knows you’re toying with him. “Dating. Asking people out.” His warm eyes flick up to meet yours. “Asking you out.”

“Is that what’s happening now?” you tease.

He nods, the smile never leaving his lips. “Yes, I am asking you out. I thought maybe I’d take you to dinner. We talk, not about work,” he adds pointedly. “We drink some wine, maybe share a dessert.”

“Aaron Hotchner, a dessert guy. Who would’ve thought?”

He inclines his head, amused. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

You arch a brow, intrigued. Grabbing your purse off of the hook by the door, you withdraw your keys and step out onto the welcome mat, closing the door behind you and locking it. “I was wrestling with what to order for dinner tonight. I was stuck between Thai or Indian.” You turn around, your body just barely pressing against him in the small porch space. You tilt your chin up to look at him and

watch his Adam’s apple bob. You stand on your toes and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth before moving to speak in his ear. “Care to surprise me?”

As you step past him onto the sidewalk leading down to the curb, you feel one of Hotch’s wide hands wrap around your forearm. He twirls you around and pulls you up against his body. He doesn’t hesitate and presses his lips against yours, kissing you with such fervor you swear you see stars. When he pulls away you’re both breathless and your eyes are still closed. Hotch whispers in your ear, “Surprised?”

You nod, opening your eyes and looking up at him from beneath your lashes. “Very.”

The corner of his lips twitch as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“How long have you been wanting to do that?”

He looks up, as if the answer to the question is somewhere in the stars above. After a moment, he levels his gaze back on you. “When did we get stuck inside that elevator?”

Your lips quirk into a smile. “About two weeks, give or take.”

He nods, “I’d say about three months before that.”

Your eyes widen, brow climbing towards your hairline. “Well, damn, Hotch.”

“I’m just full of surprises, aren’t I?” He opens the car door for you and you slide in with ease. When he slides into the driver’s seat, he starts the car. His hand lingers on the gear shift, not quite ready to shift into drive. He looks at you, eyes glimmering in the street lights outside.

“If we do this, it won’t be easy.”

You lean over the center console, meeting his gaze head on. With a smile on your lips, you press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose, no longer scared to make a move; all of your walls having crumbled the second he’d kissed you on the sidewalk. “Nothing about our lives is easy.”

“Then we’re doing this?”

“We’re doing this.”

[hotchscoffeecup]

hi!!! ❤️ can you write Hotchner helping reader with a panic attack?

i definitely can! i wrote one from the opposite perspective where reader gives hotch comfort. i’ll put it on my list! stay tuned!

[hotchscoffeecup]

hotch using chopsticks is so important to me

[hotchscoffeecup]

Please I need a part 2 of Stuck, it was soooo good!!!!

I’ll definitely try an outline and see what flows!

UPDATE just published unstuck

[hotchscoffeecup]

stuck

summary: stuck inside an elevator with your boss, aaron hotchner, isn’t what you had in mind when you left work late. perhaps, you can get your supervisor to relax just a little. SFW

tags: minor blood, stuck inside an elevator

pairing: hotch x reader

word count: 3k

a late birthday fic for muffin <3

“Alright, goodnight Hotch. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright?”

“Hotch, it’s late. I’m tired. It’s hotter than hell outside. Trust me, when I tell you that all I need is some late night takeout, a shower, and eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.” You let out a short laugh. “I’ll be fine.”

He nods in farewell; offering a tired, albeit, tight smile before parting ways and moving toward his SUV a few spots down from your sedan. It had been a long day, and an even longer evening. The rest of the team had gone home hours ago, but Hotch had volunteered to stay behind and help you on your case report. Your skin bristles at the thought of the last 72 hours and you feel the tension pulling each one of your muscles as you reach into your purse and feel for your keys. After a few seconds of rifling around, your brow knits together when you don’t come across the key fob.

Releasing an exasperated sigh, your shoulders slump. “Dammit.”

“Everything okay?” Hotch asks, pausing after opening his car door.

You incline your head and wave a hand through the air. “Yeah, I just left my keys on my desk.”

A car door slams and the sound of Hotch’s footsteps echo as he moves towards you. “I’ll walk with you.”

You blow out a breath and wave him off. “No, go home. It’s just going to be a few extra minutes. Go see Jack.”

“He’s with his aunt until tomorrow evening, then hopefully I’ll get to spend the entire weekend with him before duty calls.” He gestures towards the elevator. “It’s no trouble, really,” he insists.

You can’t help but feel like a nuisance, but you don’t argue any further. A humid breeze blows through the parking garage and thunder rumbles off in the distance. Hotch presses the button to summon the elevator and as the gears rumble to life both of your cells start pinging.

Hotch reaches into his pants pocket as you reach into your purse. You both check your cells where a severe thunderstorm warning flashes across the screen.

“Hotch, really, you can go.”

Hotch arches a brow, sparing you a look that says not-a-chance as the doors open. “Come on, if the weather kicks up before we get back down, I’ll drive you home.”

He stretches an arm out to hold the door and you reluctantly step inside, accepting that he’s not going to leave.

You push the button for the ninth floor and cross your arms over your chest. “My car can handle a little rain, Hotch.”

He blows out a breath and shakes his head. “With the weather they’re calling for, your car will become a boat.”

“Careful, Hotch. That was almost a joke.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, but he doesn’t reply.

The elevator pings as you ascend higher and higher. By the time the elevator crawls past floor four the sound of rain pounding against the building echoes inside the elevator.

“Damn,” you curse quietly. “I can only imagine what 95 is going to look like with this going on.”

“I’m sure it’ll—” A loud clap of thunder explodes outside, cutting Aaron off.

You startle, gasping loudly and feeling yourself immediately flush red with embarrassment. Your eyes flicker over to Hotch and he looks calm and collected, unshaken by the burst of sound.

Suddenly, the lights go out and the elevator screeches to a halt, throwing you off balance. You stumble as the elevator rocks violently and in your heels, you’re unable to catch yourself before you fall forward and hit your head against the wall; dropping your purse and scattering its contents in the process.

Pain splits your brow and your hand flies to your forehead. Blood, sticky and wet, trickles into your eye and you wince. The emergency lights kick on as you and Hotch both collect yourselves and stand.

“Are you ok?” Hotch asks.

“I hit my head.”

“Here, let me take a look.”

His hand curls under your arm as he uses the other to tilt your chin up. His eyes are hard in the dim red light.

“I can’t tell how deep it is in this lighting.” He presses his lips together and reaches for his cell. “Dammit!”

“Let me guess,” you say. “No signal.”

He snaps his phone shut. “None, what about you?”

“My entire life is on the floor right now,” you quip, gesturing at the ground.

“Right, sorry.” His eyes scan the ground and quickly locate your phone. He scoops it up and after flipping it open, he shakes his head with an exasperated sigh.

“Well,” you reply. “Guess we better make ourselves comfortable until the generators kick in.”

You kneel down and begin sweeping your belongings toward you. Hotch crouches and helps you without asking.

“Let’s at least see what you might have that I can use to help clean it up and stop the bleeding.”

“Oh yeah, let me just reach into my Mary Poppins bag here and pull out an EMT’s jump bag.”

He aims a hard look at you that he usually reserves for whenever Penelope makes a comment that teeters the line with HR.

“I’m the one with my head split open, I think I’m allowed to be sarcastic right now.”

Hotch breathes out sharply. “Split open, that’s a tad dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Two zingers in a row, Hotch. I’m impressed.” He shakes his head but even in the dim lighting, you don’t miss the smile on his lips. He picks up a couple of items and hands them to you. “Here’s your,” he pauses to examine the items in his hand. “Lipstick and tampons.”

A furious heat races to your cheeks as you snatch them out of his hand and shove them in your purse.

“Wait, give me one of those. I can use it to stop the bleeding.”

“Hotch, I’m not giving you a tampon.”

He levels you with another hard stare and when he says your name, you can hear the amusement in his voice. “It’s either that or your sweater, and I know that was a gift from JJ on your birthday. Besides, I was married for a long time. I’m not embarrassed by tampons or pads. You know I keep a supply in my desk, right?”

Your brow pinches, but a smile plays about your face. “Ok, I’ll bite,” you say as you pass him one. “Why?”

He pauses before tearing open the packaging. “You wouldn’t happen to have any hand sanitizer in there, would you?”

It takes you seconds to find the mini Purell inside your handbag and pass it to him. He squeezes some into his hands and scrubs it over his skin. “One time, Penelope dropped a file off in my office. She was in a rush and not acting like herself. I could tell she was stressed.” He tears open the plastic and pushes the cotton portion of the tampon out of the applicator. “I asked her if she was okay and boy, was that the wrong question to ask.” Hotch turns his head, looking around. “Ah, thought I saw that.” He scoops your half finished water bottle off the ground and pours a small bit of water onto the cotton to break it up. After working it into a small square, he gently presses it against the split in your brow. You wince and he apologizes. “She burst into tears and told me that her cycle had snuck up out of nowhere and she was unprepared and needed to run to the drug store. I told her not to worry and that I’d go for her. I’d forgotten to ask what exactly she wanted me to get, so I bought a little of everything. She took what she needed and I told her that I’d keep the rest in the lower left drawer of my desk in case an emergency ever arose again.”

“Hotch, that’s actually really sweet.”

He feigns a pained look, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Your use of the word actually cuts pretty deep, you know?” He lifts the makeshift bandage and inspects the injury. “It’s still bleeding. I’m afraid you might need stitches.”

You blow out a breath. “Great, and what do I tell them? Hey, I fell face first into an elevator panel. Patch me up!”

Hotch chuckles and applies more pressure to the wound. You hiss and again, he apologizes.

“It’s okay,” you say and realize this is probably the closest you’ve ever been to your supervisor. In fact, from this angle you notice just how long and thick his dark lashes are; the way his coffee colored eyes glimmer in the low lighting.

Holy shit, what are you thinking? That’s your boss you’re ogling.

“It’s hot.”

You blink out of your momentary stupor. “I’m sorry, what?”

“In here,” Aaron answers.

“Well yeah, the AC is out with the power. What do you think is taking the generators so long to kick in?”

Hotch’s brow furrows as his eyes flick about the space. “I’m not sure. It’s highly unusual though.”

You shrug out of your sweater and take over holding the makeshift bandage against your forehead, your fingers brushing against his hand as you do so. Bunching your sweater into a ball, you place it behind you and lie back.

Hotch laughs awkwardly. “What are you doing?”

“It seems like we’re going to be stuck here awhile, might as well make myself comfortable.”

He pushes himself to his feet and presses the emergency call button. You’re not shocked when the only response is static. You watch as he paces, pushing the button every few minutes.

“This is where Reid would say something like ‘the definition of insanity is trying the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.’”

Hotch tucks his hand against his belt and pushes his suit jacket back with his other fingers. It's a gesture you’re all too familiar with, the one he uses when he’s exasperated. He swipes at the perspiration beading on his forehead with his opposite sleeve.

“So, what, we just wait?”

A smirk pulls at your lips. This shouldn’t amuse you as much as it does, especially given the fact that you have a head injury and probably need to get checked out.

“What’s so funny?”

“You’re so,” you hedge, searching for the word, “high strung.”

Hotch’s brow climbs toward his hairline. “Excuse me?”

Did you hit a nerve? It was a fairly bold statement to make. Situation be damned, he was still your boss. “I don’t know, Hotch.” You release a short laugh. “You can’t really be in control all the time, can you?”

“Doesn’t this team have an agreement to not profile each other?”

You roll your eyes and prop yourself up on an elbow, wincing as pain pulses behind your eye. Hotch’s lips part as he instinctively moves toward you and you wave him off. “It’s not about profiling, Hotch, look at you. Stop trying to solve everything all the time and just say ‘hey, this shit sucks!’”

He holds your eye for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“You’re right,” he says. He shrugs out of his suit jacket and drops onto the floor beside you. “This shit sucks.”

You smile and he returns one. It looks good on him. It’s something he doesn’t do often enough.

“Let me check your head.” He leans forward and you let him inspect the gash in your forehead. “I think the bleeding stopped.” Placing his palm against your jaw, he tilts your head toward the red emergency lights. “Everything looks,” his eyes glimmer and drop to linger on yours. “Fine.”

Your lips part, but you don’t find words. Has Hotch ever looked at you like this? Well, that implies he's looking at you a certain type of way. You clear your throat and Hotch drops his hand.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

The words are out of your mouth before you can think. “Are you?”

He says your name then, barely a whisper. He’s so close, close enough for you to smell his aftershave. You feel your heart rate begin to pick up, pulse pounding in your ears. Hotch’s chin dips and his lips are a hair's breadth away from yours. Before anything can happen, the elevator’s gears suddenly grind to life. The sudden jolt of movement causes your foreheads to bump together and you groan as pain splinters behind your eye.

Hotch immediately apologizes and holds your face in his hands, making sure the minor collision didn’t reopen the wound that had barely stopped bleeding as is.

Your hand reaches up to cup his against your cheek and you meet his concerned eyes. “I’m fine, Hotch.”

He holds your gaze for a moment before dipping his head. “Okay,” he says tightly. “Okay, let’s get you up. There’s a first aid kit in the break room.” He grabs hold of your forearm and loops an arm around your waist before helping you to your feet. You stumble as you rise to your full height, your blood not yet having the chance to properly circulate through your body.

Hotch’s grip tightens around your waist and you place a steadying head against his chest; fingers splayed against the muscular plane beneath the fabric of his dress shirt.

Only when the elevator dings, signaling your arrival at the 9th floor do you remember that it's your boss with his arm around you right now. You startle apart and laugh awkwardly.

“Here, let me—” His voice trails off as he drops to a crouching position and sweeps the remaining items of yours off the floor along with his jacket and your sweater.

You walk in semi-comfortable silence, letting Hotch lead the way to the break room. When you arrive, you let him pull out a chair for you and take a seat. He moves quickly, rummaging through cabinets until he locates the first aid kit. He sits opposite from you and opens the white box. After pulling on a pair of disposable gloves, he makes quick work of opening several gauze pads. He squeezes rubbing alcohol onto the gauze and apologizes in advance.

“It’s going to sting,” he cautions as he begins cleaning the area around the wound and the blood that had dripped down your cheek.

“I’m a big girl, Hotch. My dad cleaned my skinned knees when I was a kid.”

Hotch chuckles, and it rumbles low in his throat. “I certainly hope you don’t see me as your father.”

You nearly choke on your own spit and feel a furious heat blossom across your face. Hotch sees this and the smile stays plastered on his face. He presses the alcohol soaked cotton to the wound.

You hiss at the contact and dig your nails into your palms. “Fuck!” you curse, though it’s mixed with sharp laughter. “I don’t remember it stinging that much!”

Hotch laughs as he apologizes and works as quickly as he can to clean the affected area. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He finishes up and applies two butterfly bandages, which effectively close the gash. He discards the gloves and soiled gauze. After washing his hands, he uses a disinfectant wipe to sanitize the table and replaces the first aid kit in the cabinet.

“Efficient, as always.” You observe.

“I’ll have to fill out an incident report,” he says as he wipes his hands on his pants.

“Yeah, but that can wait until Monday.”

Hotch presses his lips together, not liking the sound of that.

“Oh, come on Aaron!”

His brow quirks. “Aaron? You never call me by my first name.”

You smile and gesture toward your forehead. “Head injury, I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“It’s nice,” he says, a dimple in his cheek on show as he smiles. His expression shifts immediately towards worry. “Though, you might actually have a mild concussion. We should probably get you to a doctor.”

You wave him off. “A doctor is just going to tell me to rest, take ibuprofen, don’t sleep the first night, et cetera, et cetera…Frankly, I’d rather avoid the bill.”

“There's a protocol for this…paper work, workers comp.”

You slap your hands against your thighs. “Fine!” you relent. “Let’s go!”

Hotch smiles, relief evident on his face. “I’ll grab the paperwork.” You scoop your sweater and purse into your arms as he dashes out of the break room.

As you make your way back toward the elevator, Hotch joins you. “Forgetting something?”

Your eyes widen and you feel like you could smack yourself. “My keys!”

Hotch tucks the manila envelope under his arm and fishes around in his pocket, withdrawing your key ring with a cheeky grin on his face. You quickly grab them out of his hand and shove them into your purse. “The whole reason I’m in this mess,” you grumble.

You slap the button to summon the elevator just as thunder crashes outside once more. You and Hotch exchange a look. “On second thought, why don’t we just take the stairs?”

“Good idea,” Hotch agrees.

As you descend the nine flights of stairs, you can’t help but think of the long night you’re about to be in for. When you reach the parking garage, you can smell the rain in the air. You press the button to unlock your car.

“What are you doing?” Hotch asks. “No way, I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“Hotch, I’m going to be there all night.”

“Okay, so I’ll buy you breakfast in the morning.”

You freeze and Hotch does too. For a minute you just stand there holding each other’s gaze and in that moment, you both know something has fundamentally changed between the two of you. What that change is, neither of you can tell; but something in your gut tells you it’s a change for the better and you can’t wait to find out more.

[hotchscoffeecup]

[hotchscoffeecup]

Thomas Gibson as Aaron Hotchner Criminal Minds 2.23 'No Way Out, Part II: The Evilution of Frank'

[hotchscoffeecup]

1.15 Unfinished Business | 5.10 The Slave of Duty

[hotchscoffeecup]