#Aaron Hotch Hotchner

[kiwriteswords]

Unveiled

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: This has been on my to-write list forever...hope you guys like it!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 4k

Tags/Warnings: Mild Injury, Mentions of Field Work, Secretive Behavior, Slight Jealousy, Light Swearing, Mentions of Emotional Vulnerability, Secret Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Marriage, Canon-Typical Themes.

Sypnosis: You and Aaron Hotchner have always been experts at keeping work and personal life separate—so much so that the team doesn’t even know you’re together, let alone married. But secrets can only stay hidden for so long, especially when small details start catching everyone’s attention.

The BAU bullpen buzzes with the usual hum of activity. Cases to close, profiles to refine, and endless paperwork to finish. You settle into your desk with a practiced air of nonchalance, tugging the sleeve of your blazer slightly to cover the delicate wedding band now gracing your finger.

The slim band--simple, not flashy, was perfect for both your personality and the line of work you were in. You could count the times on one hand how often JJ had to get her ring fixed or cleaned from the damage being in the field caused. You did not need diamonds or an extravagant engagement or wedding. You had everything and more with the man who had the matching band upstairs. 

You glance across the bullpen, up to Aaron’s office. He’s buried in a stack of reports, his expression unreadable, as always. His left hand is occupied with a red pen, and the thin gold band is barely visible but there nonetheless.

Your lips twitch into a subtle smile as you recall the whirlwind of the weekend: the drive to a secluded courthouse, the soft vows spoken just for each other, the quiet, private moment that bound you and Aaron together in a way only you two could understand--with Jack present, of course. Eloping had been a mutual decision, spurred on by years of hiding, countless near-misses at being caught, and the realization that you were done living for anyone but each other.

Ever the lawyer Aaron was and ever the practical woman you were, you knew marriage was essentially just paperwork. Personally, it did mean a lot more to the both of you in terms of commitment, so that’s why you both decided to do it on a whim, to begin with, but there wasn’t a need for the white dress or all the bells and whistles that you both found overkill. The slim gold bands were enough. The vows were enough. The love you shared was more than enough.

Now, the fun part began.

You turn back to your desk, shuffling through files with purpose as the team begins trickling in. The usual morning energy hums around you, but it’s impossible to ignore the slight thrill of knowing what you’re both hiding—and knowing it won’t be hidden for much longer.

“Hey, Y/N!” Penelope’s voice cuts through the air, cheerful as ever. “Doesn’t this day feel extra special for some reason? Like the world’s just radiating good vibes?”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Maybe it’s just you, Penelope. You’re the good vibes.”

She beams, clearly pleased with the answer, before skipping off to annoy Morgan. You catch Aaron’s eye for the briefest second, and the corner of his mouth twitches—a rare, subtle sign of amusement.

The team trickles in gradually. Rossi strolls past your desk, sharp as ever, with his coffee in hand. His sharp eyes flicker to your hand, and he slows just slightly, one eyebrow quirking upward.

“Nice ring, kid,” he says, voice casual but curious. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone serious enough settle down.”

Your breath hitches for a fraction of a second, but you quickly recover, offering him an easy shrug. “I like to keep my private life... private.”

Rossi had been the hardest over the years to keep at bay. Somehow, it became second nature to be so…secluded in your personal life. It wasn’t that you or Aaron were not sharing with the team, but you never felt the reason to shake things up. You, with your budding career, and him, with his reputation as a leader, why change that? 

Rossi hums thoughtfully, clearly filing that information away for later. You glance over at Aaron again, his focus still trained on the file in front of him. His poker face is maddeningly perfect, but you know he’s listening intently.

It isn’t too long after that a new case brings you to the round table room. You can’t help but feel that there is still an unspoken buzz in the air. Rossi’s comment made you jumpier than you’d like. Not that you’re hiding anything, but the idea of change…makes you uneasy. 

Aaron sits to your right, perfectly composed as always, flipping through the latest case files. His left hand holds a pen, the thin gold band on his ring finger catching the light with every movement. You glance at it, a quiet rush of warmth filling your chest. Your husband. It’s still a surreal thought. You could feel the faintest hint of amusement radiating from him, even if his face betrayed nothing. The quiet thrill of your secret filled the air between you.

You refocus, nodding at something JJ says about an update from the field office, but you can feel Rossi’s eyes on you. He’s seated across the table, his sharp gaze catching every detail. A slow, knowing smile creeps across his face, but he says nothing—yet.

“Anyway,” JJ continues, looking up from her notes, “we’ll need to coordinate with local law enforcement to finalize those interviews.” She glances over, and her eyes snag on your hand mid-gesture. Her words falter for a split second before she quickly recovers. “Morgan, you’ll take the lead.”

Morgan nods, clearly only half-listening. His focus has also shifted—to Aaron, more specifically. His brow furrows as he leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “Hotch, you got something new going on?” His tone is casual, but his grin betrays his curiosity. “That’s one hell of an accessory you’re sporting.”

Aaron doesn’t miss a beat, his voice calm and measured. “I wasn’t aware my ring warranted commentary, Morgan.”

Morgan smirks, glancing at Rossi. “Oh, come on, man. You walk in here wearing a wedding band out of nowhere? You can’t expect us not to say something.”

Rossi leans forward slightly, his fingers steepled under his chin. “And here I thought I was the only one paying attention,” he says, his voice rich with amusement. “Seems our unit chief had quite the weekend.”

The rest of the team snaps to attention. JJ’s head jerks toward Aaron, her eyes widening as she looks between him and you. Penelope, sitting at the far end of the table, gasps audibly.

“Wait,” Penelope exclaims, her voice rising in pitch. “You’re married now? When did this happen? Who’s the lucky lady? Why wasn’t I invited?”

“I’m not the only one,” Rossi interjects smoothly, his gaze now fixed on you. “Looks like Y/N had a busy weekend, too.” He nods toward your left hand.

You glance at Aaron, a silent exchange passing between you. His lips twitch into the faintest of smiles—so brief it’s almost imperceptible. But you catch it.

Penelope’s sharp intake of breath breaks your focus. “Wait a second,” she says, leaning forward, her gaze darting between you and Aaron. “Y/N, is that... a wedding ring?”

Your heart skips a beat, but you keep your voice steady as you respond. “What about it?”

Morgan leans back in his chair, crossing his arms and smirking. “Hold up,” he says, nodding toward Aaron’s hand again. 

All eyes turn toward Aaron now. He calmly finishes jotting a note before closing the folder in front of him. “Is this relevant to the case?” he asks, his tone perfectly neutral.

Rossi tilts his head, his sharp gaze bouncing between you and Aaron. His lips curl into a knowing smile. “Interesting,” he says slowly, leaning back in his chair. “Very interesting.”

JJ’s brow furrows as she glances between the two of you. Her eyes widen slightly as realization begins to dawn. “No,” she says softly, more to herself than anyone else. Then louder, “Wait a second—are you two—?”

You glance at Aaron, and he gives you the slightest nod. With a small sigh, you lean back in your chair and let the corner of your mouth lift into a smirk. “You really don’t know?” you ask, your voice laced with amusement.

Aaron follows up, his tone carrying a faint edge of dry humor. “I thought you were better profilers than that.”

The room goes completely silent as the pieces click into place. Emily gasps, pointing between you and Aaron. “No. No way. You two? Are you telling me you’re married to each other?”

Morgan bursts out laughing, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “You’re telling me you’ve been dating this whole time, and none of us knew? I don’t believe it. You two are way too good at this.”

Penelope’s jaw drops. “What?! Oh my God, I feel so betrayed! How could you keep this from me? I should’ve been your bridesmaid—or at least in the loop!”

Aaron raises a hand, his calm authority cutting through the chaos in the room. “We made the decision to keep our relationship private to maintain professionalism,” he begins, his tone firm but warm. His eyes sweep the room, landing briefly on each team member before continuing. “This team works best when there are no distractions, and we both agreed that our relationship couldn’t interfere with that.”

He pauses, glancing at you. There’s a moment of silent understanding between you before you speak up, your voice steady but lighter than his. “It wasn’t about hiding, exactly. It was about making sure we stayed focused on the work that matters. But,” you add with a small, wry smile, “we eventually realized we didn’t need to keep it a secret anymore.”

Aaron picks up where you leave off, his tone softening slightly. “Especially now that we’re married,” he says, letting the weight of the words settle over the room. “We didn’t make this decision lightly, and we both value the integrity of this team above all else. That hasn’t changed, and it won’t.”

The room falls quiet again, the team absorbing the revelation. You can see the wheels turning in their minds as they piece together the years of subtle interactions, quiet glances, and the seamless way you and Aaron have worked together all this time.

JJ breaks the silence first, her expression shifting from shock to a warm smile. “Well,” she says softly, “congratulations. You both deserve to be happy.”

Morgan leans forward, his grin widening. “Alright, I’ll give you two credit—this is the best-kept secret I’ve seen in a long time. But man, Hotch, you’ve got some explaining to do. Married? Without us knowing? I’m hurt.”

Rossi chuckles, shaking his head. “I should’ve seen it sooner,” he says, his tone amused but approving. “Still, I can’t say I’m surprised. You two make sense.”

Reid almost looks relieved, “I thought I was the only one who didn’t pick up on things like this.” 

Penelope is the last to recover, her hands flying to her cheeks. “Oh my gosh! This is so romantic!” She gestures wildly between you and Aaron. “Secret agents in love, sneaking off to get married—it’s like a spy movie! Please tell me there are pictures. I need pictures. And cake! Why isn’t there cake?”

You laugh, finally letting yourself relax a little as you glance at Aaron. He gives you a small, almost imperceptible smile—one the others might miss, but you recognize instantly. Beneath the table, his pinky brushes against yours, a subtle reminder that you’re in this together.

“Alright,” Aaron says, his commanding tone bringing the room back into focus. “We still have work to do, and I expect everyone to stay focused on the case.”

Morgan leans back in his chair, still grinning. “Yeah, yeah, boss. But this conversation isn’t over.”

Rossi smirks. “Don’t worry, Derek. Something tells me there’s more to this story, and we’ll get the details eventually.”

You exchange a knowing glance with Aaron as the team begins to settle down, still buzzing with excitement. It’s out in the open now—no more hiding, no more secrets. Just you, Aaron, and the life you’ve quietly built together finally shared with the people who matter most.

The case wraps up after a grueling few days. The unsub is in custody, and while the tension of the investigation still lingers, the mood on the jet back home is noticeably lighter. The team is scattered around the cabin—Morgan and Rossi are in their usual seats, discussing the finer points of profiling techniques, while Spencer is engrossed in a book.

You find yourself seated with JJ and Emily at the small table near the galley. Emily is flipping through a magazine, and JJ is scrolling on her phone, but their attention shifts to you when you pull out your phone and casually unlock it.

“You know,” you say, leaning back in your chair with a small grin, “since you all feel so left out, I figured I’d show you some photos from the elopement.”

Emily’s eyes snap up from her magazine, and JJ’s face lights up with interest. “Finally!” Emily exclaims, leaning in. “I thought you were going to make us beg.”

JJ nudges your arm. “I’ve been dying to see these. Penelope’s already planning a post-wedding celebration for you two.”

You chuckle and swipe to the photo album. The first image you show is a candid one—a shot of you and Aaron outside the courthouse, his hand resting gently on your back, both of you mid-laugh. JJ lets out a soft “Aww,” and Emily whistles low under her breath.

“Look at you two,” Emily says, her tone teasing but fond. “Who knew Hotch could look so... human?”

You laugh, swiping to the next picture, a close-up of your intertwined hands with your wedding bands gleaming in the sunlight. “He’s full of surprises,” you quip.

As you share a few more photos, some with Jack, some Jack actually took of you and Aaron.

Aaron walks by, a cup of coffee in hand. He pauses when he notices the three of you huddled around your phone. “Are you showing them the photos?” he asks, his voice calm but tinged with curiosity.

“Of course,” you reply, looking up at him with a playful grin. “They demanded proof.”

Aaron hums thoughtfully, his gaze softening as he leans slightly over the table. “You should show them the photo from last year. The one from the Amalfi Coast.” There’s an amused glint in Aaron’s eye’s that makes you want to roll your own, but you satisfy everyone anyway.

JJ blinks, looking between the two of you. “Wait. The Amalfi Coast? Together?”

Emily narrows her eyes, clearly piecing something together. “Hold on. Didn’t you both take time off around the same time last summer?”

Before you can answer, Reid speaks up from his seat across the cabin, his voice laced with disbelief. “You mean the trip to Italy? I remember you both mentioned visiting Italy, but I never connected the dots that you were there together.”

Morgan, catching the tail end of the conversation, leans over the back of his seat. “Hold up—that’s what you were doing last year? You two were off in Italy, sipping wine and living the good life, and we had no idea?”

Rossi chuckles from across the cabin, shaking his head. “It’s impressive, really. I mean, a courthouse wedding is one thing, but hiding a vacation together? That’s next-level stealth.”

Emily laughs, gesturing toward your phone. “Alright, show us this Amalfi Coast picture. I need to see the evidence.”

With a shake of your head, you scroll back to the album from the trip. You find the photo Aaron mentioned—a picture of the two of you standing on a sunlit terrace overlooking the ocean, the breeze catching your hair while Aaron stands beside you, looking uncharacteristically relaxed in a linen shirt. You hand the phone over, and JJ and Emily lean in closer.

“This is so unfair,” JJ says, shaking her head with a smile. “You two look like you walked out of a travel magazine.”

“Yeah, I can’t believe we didn’t put this together sooner,” Emily adds, smirking. “I mean, Hotch in a linen shirt? That should’ve been the giveaway.”

Aaron shakes his head with a faint chuckle, taking a sip of his coffee. “I told you we were better at keeping secrets than they gave us credit for.”

You grin, leaning back in your seat and crossing your arms. “Well, now you all know. Mystery solved.”

Reid looks up from his book, still shaking his head. “I feel like I should’ve noticed. The behavioral cues were there...”

Morgan snorts. “Don’t beat yourself up, kid. They had us all fooled.”

JJ hands your phone back, smiling warmly. “Well, for the record, I’m glad we know now. You two really are perfect together.”

Aaron catches your eye from where he’s standing, his expression soft but steady. It’s a look that speaks volumes, and you know you’ll both carry this moment—this quiet joy of finally being yourselves with your team—for a long time.

As the jet hums softly beneath you, you settle into the warmth of the conversation, knowing that the life you’ve built with Aaron is now shared with the people who matter most.

When the jet touches down, and the team unloads into the bullpen, you barely have time to gather your things before Penelope corners you and Aaron. She’s been dropping comments all case long—about needing details, demanding photos, and lamenting her exclusion from what she’s now referring to as The Most Romantic Secret Ever Kept—but this time, there’s no escape.

“Alright, you two!” Penelope exclaims, her hands on her hips as she plants herself in front of you both. Her eyes sparkle with determination. “I’ve been patient. I’ve waited through an entire case, and now you owe me. Spill it. All of it. When, where, how? I need the full story.”

Aaron glances at you, his lips twitching in faint amusement. “I told you this would happen,” he murmurs under his breath.

You chuckle softly and look at Penelope. “Fine,” you say, holding up your hands in mock surrender. “We’ll tell you—briefly.”

Penelope’s expression brightens instantly. “Finally!” she squeals, clapping her hands together. “Okay, start from the beginning.”

Aaron crosses his arms, his authoritative posture intact but his tone softer than usual. “It started a few years ago,” he begins, glancing at you. “Not long after you joined the team.”

You nod, picking up the thread. “It wasn’t planned. We just... clicked. We kept things professional at first, but over time, it became harder to ignore. Eventually, we decided it was worth exploring, but we agreed to keep it private.”

Penelope’s eyes are wide as saucers. “Years? You mean to tell me you’ve been dating for years, and I had no idea?”

Aaron tilts his head slightly. “We were careful,” he says simply. “We didn’t want our relationship to interfere with the team dynamic or the work we do.”

“And we didn’t think anyone would benefit from knowing,” you add. “It was easier to keep it between us.”

“But how?” Penelope presses, leaning closer. “I mean, we’re profilers! How did you manage to keep it under wraps?”

You exchange a knowing look with Aaron before answering. “We’ve always been good at separating our personal and professional lives,” you say. “At work, we focused on the cases. Outside of work... we had each other.”

Aaron nods. “We were deliberate about our interactions here, and we made sure not to let anything slip.”

Penelope looks genuinely impressed, though she’s clearly not done grilling you. “So, no one ever suspected? Not even Rossi?”

You laugh. “Oh, Rossi definitely had his suspicions,” you admit. “But he never said anything outright.”

Aaron smirks faintly. “I think he enjoyed watching the rest of you try to figure it out.”

Penelope groans dramatically, throwing her hands in the air. “I can’t believe this. You two are like... spy-level secretive. I don’t know whether to be mad at you or impressed.”

“Be impressed,” you say with a grin. “It’s less stressful.”

Penelope narrows her eyes at both of you, then sighs. “Fine. But only because you’re ridiculously adorable together. And because I’m still planning a post-wedding party. You’re not getting out of that.”

Aaron shakes his head with a faint smile. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

With that, Penelope finally relents, though she shoots you both one last look that clearly says she’s not done asking questions. As she flounces off to her office, you exhale a soft laugh, turning to Aaron.

“Well,” you say lightly, “that went better than I expected.”

Aaron’s gaze softens, and he leans in slightly, his voice low. “She’ll be back.”

You laugh, shaking your head as the two of you head toward your offices. It’s out in the open now—your story, your love, your life together. And though you’ve enjoyed the secrecy, there’s something freeing about finally being able to share it with your team.

After a long day and an even longer week, the bullpen finally clears out. The soft hum of computers and the faint buzz of the overhead lights are the only sounds left as you and Aaron prepare to leave. You gather your things, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as he approaches with his jacket draped over his arm.

“You ready?” he asks, his voice low and steady.

You nod, falling into step beside him as the two of you head toward the elevator. There’s an unspoken ease between you; the weight of secrecy finally lifted. When the elevator doors close, Aaron glances at you, his lips quirking into the faintest smirk.

“You know,” he says, his tone laced with quiet humor, “we don’t have to stagger our exits anymore.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “No more waiting ten minutes so no one sees us leaving together?”

“Or arriving,” he adds. “No more separate cars or pretending to run into each other in the parking lot. We’ve been doing that for years. I think it’s become muscle memory.”

The thought makes you smile as the elevator dings, and you step out into the cool night air. You walk together to the car, and the rhythmic click of your shoes is the only sound. When you slide into the passenger seat, and Aaron starts the engine, the hum of the car fills the silence.

As he pulls onto the road, you glance over at him, the city lights casting fleeting shadows across his face. “Do you ever think about all the close calls?” you ask, your voice quiet but teasing.

Aaron’s lips twitch in amusement. “All the time. Like that day you got hurt in the field.”

You know exactly which day he means. It’s burned into your memory as much as his. “You mean when I dislocated my shoulder chasing that suspect?”

He nods, his tone softening. “I remember standing over you, trying to keep it together while the EMTs worked. I wanted to pick you up and carry you to the ambulance myself, but I couldn’t. All I could do was stay professional and keep my voice steady.”

You smile faintly, your heart tightening at the memory. “I remember how calm you sounded, even though I could see it in your eyes. You hated every second of it.”

Aaron glances at you briefly, his eyes filled with something deeper. “It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Morgan even asked me later why I seemed so shaken. I had to play it off as just another day in the field.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Well, you were convincing enough. I think I was more worried about you slipping than about my shoulder.”

He lets out a low chuckle, his focus on the road. “That wasn’t the only close call. Remember Kansas City? The hotel?”

“Oh God,” you groan, covering your face with one hand. “I thought for sure Morgan would figure it out. He knocked on my door right after you left.”

Aaron smirks, glancing at you briefly. “What did you tell him?”

“I said I was up late working on the profile,” you reply, grinning. “Which wasn’t a lie, technically. I just left out the part where you were with me.”

Aaron shakes his head, amusement glinting in his dark eyes. “How about all the times we shared a room and no one noticed?”

You laugh, sinking back into your seat. “That was a miracle. Every single time. Can you imagine if anyone went looking for you in your empty room?” 

“Or walked past at the wrong moment,” Aaron adds, his voice tinged with humor. “I can’t believe we managed to pull that off.”

You grin at him, your tone teasing. “We probably wasted so much of the Bureau’s money on extra rooms we didn’t need.”

His lips twitch into a smirk. “I think we’ve earned it, considering the hours we’ve put in.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Still, we were playing with fire. Like that time Rossi knocked on your door in Denver. I thought for sure he’d notice something.”

Aaron chuckles, his tone more amused now. “Rossi always noticed. He just didn’t say anything.”

“Probably because he enjoyed watching everyone else flounder,” you reply with a grin. “He was always a little too smug.”

The car falls into a comfortable silence as the memories wash over you both—the near-misses, the stolen moments, the countless times you had to act like nothing more than colleagues. Now, with the secrecy behind you, the memories feel more like a badge of honor than a burden.

Aaron pulls into the driveway, turning off the engine before glancing at you. His expression is soft, his voice quieter now. “No more sneaking around,” he says. “No more separate cars or extra rooms.”

You smile, reaching for his hand. “Just us.”

The two of you walk inside, your home warm and inviting as you settle in for the night. The conversation drifts back to the little things you had to do to keep your relationship under wraps—the cover stories, the excuses, the times you almost slipped. But the laughter and warmth you share now make it all worth it.

As the night deepens, you both revel in the freedom of no longer having to hide. It’s just you and Aaron, building the life you’ve always wanted… with Jack—together, out in the open, and exactly as it should be.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

[hoe4hotchner]

Aaron Hotchner x non bau rich reader. Hotchner see's reader be all professional CEO and telling her that she looks hot when talking about work.

Girl Boss | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x rich fem!reader| WC: 0.6k | CW: girlbossing

The sharp click of your heels resonated within the room. Sunlight streamed through the towering glass windows behind you, casting your silhouette against the long table where half a dozen personnel sat, their pens poised and eyes alert.

"Let me be clear," you began, your voice cutting through the silence. "We are not pushing this launch back again." Your words were sharp enough to make even the most seasoned executive in the room sit a little straighter. You placed your hands on the table's edge, leaning forward slightly, the subtle move reinforcing your authority.  

"I expect finalized projections on my desk by tomorrow morning. No excuses. No oversights," you continued. "If there are any further delays, we’ll be having an entirely different kind of meeting. Understood?"

The collective murmurs of agreement followed swiftly, though not without a trace of hesitation. Your gaze swept the table, catching each person’s eye for a split second, long enough to cement your expectations but short enough to keep your employees at bay.  

"Good," you said, straightening up. Your expression softened by a degree — but only a degree. "Meeting adjourned."

Aaron had been leaning casually against the doorway to your office, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat as he observed the scene unfolding. His eyes tracked your every movement, and there you were — fierce and assertive — commanding the room in a way that made it impossible for anyone to look away. Including him.  

He didn’t interrupt, content to watch as you had delivered your final order, and dismissed the room. His gaze lingered, marveling at the way you held everyone’s attention.  

Finally, your eyes found him. You turned and strode out of the room, the rhythm of your heels once again filling the space.

"Aaron," you said, your voice losing the edge it carried moments before as you walked toward him. Behind you, the meeting’s attendees began packing up. "You’re early."

"Traffic was light," he replied. He tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening as he added, "Should I call you ma’am now, or will boss suffice?"

You rolled your eyes. Still, you couldn’t keep the small smile from tugging at your lips.  

"Come on," you said, closing the distance between you and reaching for his arm. Your fingers brushed against the sleeve of his coat. "We’re done here."

Aaron pushed off the doorframe and let you lead him, his smirk lingering as he fell into step beside you. Whatever commanding personality you projected in the boardroom, he knew the softer version of you just as well — and he loved both sides equally.  

The elevator was empty when the two of you stepped inside. His arm came around you without hesitation, his hand finding the small of your back. "Long day?"

"You have no idea," you admitted, closing your eyes as you allowed yourself to rest against him. "Sometimes I forget why I even started this."

Aaron chuckled softly, his breath warm against your temple as he leaned down slightly. "I think I just remembered," he said with a teasing tone as his lips brushed the shell of your ear.  

You opened your eyes, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, an eyebrow arching in curiosity. "Oh?" you prompted.  

"You," he replied without missing a beat. "You look unbelievably hot when you're bossing people around. I should make you talk about profit margins more often."

A surprised laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it, your hand instinctively swatting at his chest. "You’re ridiculous," you said, shaking your head, though the smile that stretched across your face betrayed your words.  

"Ridiculously in love," he countered smoothly, his hand at your back pulling you just a fraction closer, as though he couldn’t stand the thought of even an inch of space between you.  

The elevator glided to a stop, the faint ding marking your arrival at the parking level. Aaron glanced at the doors as they began to slide open, then back at you. "Come on, CEO," he said, "let me take you home."

[chithereader]

stir crazy / aaron hotchner

pairing: aaron hotchner x f!reader

word count: 2k

genre: fluff/angst if you squint

cw: omniscient pov, hotch being vulnerable

“My agent has been asking me for the manuscript but it’s just not ready yet. And I’ve still got my day job that keeps me busy enough,” It’s a quiet day at the BAU. No urgent cases or serial killers, just a few feet worth of case files. Leaning against Reid’s desk, Rossi, Emily and boy genius himself have been talking about the next big David Rossi book.

“Oh c’mon, I see you typing away in your office and writing in that little notebook of yours– which I know is for your drafts by the way,” Emily teases. Rossi shrugs it off with a soft smirk and looks to the boy genius who has been uncharacteristically quiet for the past few minutes. 

“Nothing to say, kid?” lowering his head to catch the young man’s preoccupied eye but Reid’s sight is incredibly glued far away. 

It took Reid a good 6 seconds to realize he’s kid before he shakes himself out of the trance and answers, “Well, considering the hours he’s spent typing on his personal laptop as opposed to the office computer and adding the minutes he allots on the jet to jot down on his writing notebook– assuming he’s writing in a similar format to his previous books–  I’d say….you’re actually well into the third chapter of your manuscript.” 

Still with his eyes trained on whatever caught his attention in the first place, Reid unsurprisingly impresses Rossi again because he is indeed a little over halfway into the third chapter.

But Rossi and Emily instantly become interested with what or who Reid has been staring at for the past minute, noticing that even when going off on his boy-genius tangent, his stare had been focused somewhere else. 

Reid jumps in his seat a little as the two level their heads on either side of his to see where his gaze has been glued. He had been so focused on figuring out the worrying sight and what caused it that he hadn’t noticed how much of him wasn’t aware of his surroundings. 

To their surprise, they’re met with a seemingly everyday sight: Hotch, in the pantry, stirring his coffee. And by everyday, they mean that to any passerby they’d think this is incredibly normal. Nothing at all out of place or out of character. 

But to the trained eye- to profilers who also spend almost everyday with the man, they slowly see what Reid must have seen. 

Hotch is stirring his coffee. But he doesn’t even put sugar or creamer in his always black coffee. 

He’s doing it absentmindedly. Literally looking lost in his head. Hotch is a busy guy, a busy boss guy, with millions of things to think about, but Hotch is never absent. His movements are always purposeful, precise, and calculated. Never lacking and never excess. 

Hotch has his head tilted down and to the side. Like a perpetually confused puppy. One of the things that make Hotch Hotch is his posture. His rigid, firm posture. Back always so straight, hands always clenched, jaw always tight– Hotch is never just there, his presence alone is commanding. 

And worst of all, Hotch’s hair is neat. Too neat. Okay, Hotch’s habit of being neat -with his pressed suits and shined shoes no matter where he is- naturally extends to how he styles his hair. Over the years, he’s learned to gel it out of his face for both convenience and aesthetic. But this neat- this neat looks a little too flat and ruffled at the same time. Like he’s run his hand through it a hundred times in a matter of minutes. 

So Rossi and Emily finally understand. The two share a look of understanding, while Reid looks up at them with curiosity and a little worry. 

“Do you guys think he’s.. okay?” Reid asks quietly with a little grimace. He looks between the two, trying to figure out what they’re thinking, “I mean it has been exactly 12 minutes that he’s been stirring nothing into his coffee.” 

“12?!” If Emily had any sort of drink in her mouth, she surely would have spat it out all over Reid–for which he is silently thankful she doesn’t because as much as he adores Emily, he’s just not mentally prepared for… well that. 

Finally, there’s movement in the pantry. Unaware of his colleagues now watching his every move, Hotch wakes up from the trance he was trapped in and quickly retreats back into his office with his now-cold cup of coffee. 

Knowing that Rossi’s the only one to easily get through to Hotch, Emily and Reid turn to look at him, wordlessly nudging him to check on the poor man who spent 12 minutes stirring his painfully plain black coffee. 

Raising both his hands as he stands from where he was leaning, Rossi surrenders “Alright alright! But I am not telling you rascals what he tells me in confidence.” pointing at the doe-eyed pair. 

Rossi lets the possibilities run through his head as he walks up the stairs to Aaron’s office. Maybe Jack’s having trouble with that one kid again– what’s his name? Or maybe Jack’s having trouble with Mothers’ Day coming up. That’s never been easy. But the stirring and staring into space and the hair? What could possibly– Knock knock. 

Rossi doesn’t even wait to hear Aaron’s voice. He pushes the door open to be greeted with the sight of Aaron finally looking a little more him: writing on his desk knee-deep in case files. 

Aaron looks up for a second and continues writing reports, “What can I help you with, Dave?” Putting extra pressure on penning that last period before closing the case file and grabbing another to open. 

Dave stays quiet for a bit and takes in the sight. Looks fine to me. But his silence halts Aaron’s writing and he looks up to Dave who’s just studying him by the door. 

“You know you can sit right?” Aaron stoically jokes. 

And a joke?! Dave finally cracks and sits down to say, “Boy genius just watched you stir your coffee for 12 minutes which we all know is black. Your hair’s messy and too fixed at the same time, you were standing in the pantry just minutes ago glaring into nothing. And you were slouching with your head tilted to the side.” 

“Honestly whatever it is, it’s none of my business but you just scared two members of your team and I think this may be the seed of doubt in your leadership skills because you’re finally not a robot.” It was obvious that Dave was trying to play it cool, masking concern with humor and sarcasm. 

But Aaron is a painfully private guy. He’d think it over for days before he decides to open up or seek advice from a close friend. Only he has thought about it for days and not saying anything’s been driving him insane he genuinely feels like he could implode at any second. 

Aaron takes one big breath and through clenched teeth he grumbles out, “It’s a she.” Finally staring Dave straight in the eyes, he clarifies, “the it in whatever it is is a she.” 

Realization and more worry hits Dave at the same time which Aaron clearly sees on his face. But Rossi quickly recovers and gives Aaron a soft, comforting smile, “Well what’s so bad about your she that’s got you so shaken up?” 

In Dave’s head, he’s already preparing responses for the worst: 

She doesn’t approve of my job. Well she can suck it. This is who you are. 

Jack doesn’t like her. Aaron, the one thing I like about kids is that they give it to you straight. I think you should take that as a sign

She’s not comfortable with the age gap. She’s way older. She’s way younger. I’m scarred in more ways than one. I’m not sure I still know how to– 

Aaron could see the increasing concern in Dave’s face, “I just–” he started. 

Dave’s thoughts were cut short by Aaron’s voice, thankfully because his mind was starting to reach the point of no return. Anticipating Aaron’s explanation, he leaned forward in his seat trying to read Aaron’s expression. 

“A few months ago, I’d stay here. After a case, when I know my son’s fast asleep and Jessica’s with him- I’d stay here.” Dave kept quiet, intently listening and trying to piece together where this could possibly go. 

“I would choose to stay here and finish reports, make a dent in the never-ending pile of case files because when I’m focused on helping others, I don’t have time to think of how alone I am.”

Before Dave could try and quell this ‘alone’ sentiment, Aaron quickly follows it up “I love my son. And he’s always been more than enough. And I have the team but… you guys have people to come home to. Arms to fall into at the end of a grueling day.” 

“For the longest time, since Haley.. I haven’t allowed myself to feel. To want. And if I’ve just been honest then it’d be known, I want to be loved. All that I carry, I drop all of it at the door and then there’s just this exhaustion that hits me. And all I want is for someone to hold me.” 

Dave takes all of this in, feeling an immense amount of love and sadness for his friend who deserves nothing but happiness but hasn’t for the longest time allowed himself the one thing that can give him that. 

“I know you think that getting into a relationship makes you a bad father, splitting the only time you have left with someone else instead of your son. But the truth is Aaron, Jack’s growing up. He has his sleepovers, camps, and football now. Soon he’ll leave for parties and college, and as much as he adores you he’ll have his own family.”

“I know. And then I’ll be alone.” Aaron’s voice starts to sound rough. Like this fact’s caught in his throat and he can’t speak. Dave studies Aaron and considers all the things he knows are holding Aaron back.

“So give it a shot.” Dave insists. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. Just set a date, and show up.” 

Aaron looks at Dave pointedly, “You make it sound easy–” “You make it sound hard.” 

Aaron appears to recover. He smoothes a hand over his tie and straightens his back yet again. In an instant, he’s back to looking stoic and stern with brows furrowed and eyes glaring.

He’s not used to being vulnerable, even in the privacy of his own office. Feeling like an open book for others to read makes goosebumps trail up his spine- in a bad way. Dave quickly reads this and decides to lighten the mood. 

“So…. when will we meet her?” Dave asks smugly. 

“Funny.”

“I understand.. your concerns. But I don’t think you’d be so worried about it if you weren’t already serious about her. So, what’s really going on with her?” 

Aaron thought he could get away without revealing much about her. He’s uncomfortable enough talking about himself, and all the more protective he is when it comes to you. Especially as someone who wants to keep your little world away from the harshness of everything else–

He sighs. He knows Dave is relentless and as payback for his concern, he decides he has to give Dave something. 

“I don’t know. Really. I don’t– I told you one day I’m tiring myself out so I don’t have to come home and process my empty bed as empty..”

“Now I’m tiptoeing in my own kitchen so as to not disturb this crazy singing person washing my dishes while my kid wipes the plates. And I watch them for god knows how long, instead of going up to my office to attend to case files whose deadlines are a bit too close for my liking.” 

“I don’t know,” Aaron shrugs. A soft, weak smile grows on his lips at the memory of you.

Dave stands from the seat, a knowing smirk on his face, “Hmm.” Teasing Aaron as he walks to the door and grabs the handle. 

“I think you’ll be just fine, Aaron. Just fine.” 

[patrickispinky]

Derek: are you the big spoon or the little spoon?

Emily: i'm the knife

Jj: *from across the room* she's the little spoon

[irndad]

won't you be my sunshine-a.h.

a/n: runner!hotch x sunshine!reader !! sooooo fluffy, first hotch fic of mine so be gentle with me! lots of pining and happy end <3 happy to continue with these two in an au!

Aaron Hotchner is not a particularly emotive man. 

This is a skill he has honed, a cherished quality that was not born of luck or of natural ability, but a skill that he has honed down to a fine tip point. He needs to be, in this job. It’s cost him things, of course, but for the most part, Aaron is happy with his choices. He takes a firm line with people he works with, and does not always let up in his personal life.

The only time this sometimes causes a hitch, is in his romantic life.

Which isn’t to say that he has one. 

There is a woman who reads in the park every morning. Aaron affectionately thinks of this bench as her bench, as it is marked by wisterias and hyacinths on either end of it. It’s something of a ritual, after his runs, that they talk. 

It’s fun. He doesn’t have a lot of space for fun. He’d collapsed on the bench one day after siphoning his anger at a particular case into a difficult run. He’d crashed onto the bench, sweaty and exhausted and hadn’t even seen her there. Which is a bit impressive, as she’s hard to miss the sight of. It is also in equal measure embarrassing. It’s not every day you collapse in front of a gorgeous woman, disturbing her from what is likely a lovely afternoon in the park.

That’s how it started, anyway. She doesn’t run, so each break is punctuated by her company. He’s actually not sure if they’re flirting. He’s not very good at that- the last time he has to he was 17 and so full of unearned confidence, he lucked into a partnership. 

Now, he’s a bit older and a lot more scarred. She’s younger than him, not by much. She laughs with her whole chest at his dry, glib humor- and this is something Aaron had forgotten. The joy of a beautiful, wonderful woman’s company beside you. 

He feels a little out of place next to her. Romance is not something he does. Ever thought he’d do again, really. That’s not to say that this is romance. Their romance is almost entirely hypothetical. He thinks of her at work, which is a monumental development in and of itself. 

“So, how was the paperwork? I know you’ve been taking a little more on since your colleague had a baby. It’s so kind of you to do it.” She asks him on a beautiful August morning. 

He fights off a blush that she remembers what he’s done for JJ. He’s not big on mentioning his own good deeds. Aaron believes that this would cancel it out. Still, her praise is a warm balm to the exhaustion that plagues him. It’s hedonistic, the way he wants her to say more about him. He wonders absentmindedly if she knew everything about him that’s hard to love, she’d still paint him with such a light and warm glance. She’s bright enough, he’s tempted to tell her everything about him just because she asks. 

“It was…alright. My team is excellent. I’m lucky to work with people like them, it makes the process better. I couldn’t ask for more.”

She giggles a little at this, and there���s that roar of affection. 

He feels a sense of ease around her, one that is suspicious for him. He tries not to romanticize, but this connection is hard not to. She’s beautiful- this is obvious to anyone who meets her, a simple truth of her. But Aaron is trained to notice things little factors that show the truth of someone. 

He likes to watch her- it’s a pleasant thing, getting to be in her presence. It’s a little addicting, the way she looks at him. It makes him feel like all of the things he knows to be true of himself- his relative failures, the closed-off nature of his demeanor- are things that not only can be overlooked, but don’t seem to be in her line of sight at all. It’s an honor, to have her doe eyes rake over the sight of him, to meet him with gentle conversation. 

He tries not to notice that she is gorgeous. Aaron has been around beautiful women, of course- this is not something that should surprise him. But there’s something effervescent about her, something that his him wondering if it’s possible that she might feel the same way about him. He knows that he used to be a more attractive man, but now. Well, he’s a bit bruised, both metaphorically and physically. 

It feels odd to even think of this happening. She’s just got a warm, sweet tone and he replays what it’s like when she greets him. She smiles her brilliant grin and sometimes hugs him. It’s embarrassing how much he likes the feeling of it- soft curves against hard muscle and scarred skin. She always smells wonderful, and he wonders how nice it would be to have more of this. 

“I like your new shirt, by the way.” She smiles at him, and his heart jumps. It feels juvenile, but- she’s wearing a new lipstick, it seems. Her beautiful pout looks awfully tempting. 

“I like the lip color,” he tries to compliment back amenably, but that doesn’t stick. Instead, it comes out too earnest. He’s hyper aware of the fact that she’s right by him. She flushes, and Aaron feels a surge of pride. 

“Thank you,” she says, voice softer and flattered, and isn’t that a pretty sound? He’d love to do that for her, make her feel seen, make her feel like she’s as beautiful as she is, “I thought you might like it.”

It’s her directiveness that breaks the seal, he supposes looking back. Because she wore the lipstick for him. That’s just about the only thing it can mean, and he is struck with a particularly sensory fantasy of what it would be like to slot his mouth against hers- he gets the feeling it might be worth it even if he gets the color on his mouth. 

He’s a gentleman, though, he decides after a decidedly ungentlemanly amount of time spend staring at the gorgeous curve of her lips. 

“Would you want to get dinner with me?” He hears himself say it before he’s processed it, and then it’s out into the world. His heart is hammering and he’s blaming on the run, when god, it’s absolutely about how breathtaking she looks, the sunlight reflecting off her hair like a halo. When she beams back at him, she looks particularly angelic. 

It’s then, she leans over and kisses him on the cheek. 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

(Months later, when she is sitting on his kitchen counter and he is standing between her legs, gazing down at her with unabated fondness because he is entitled to that, he reflects on this moment and thinks god, how lucky am I, that I ran past that bench?) 

[pedroscowgirl]

Filling the void

aaron hotchner x afab!reader

Warnings!: smut minors DNI

summary: After tucking in jack, you realised how badly you wanted a baby with Aaron

Wc: 3.7k

Heavy on the breeding kink!!, p in v (wrap it up tho), creampie, lactation kink kinda (?), dirty talk, age gap (later seasons aaron, reader is in her twenties) lmk if i forgot something!

a/n: i orginally was not planning on posting an aaron fic today but I'm ovulating rn and i just need this man to breed me. That's it. Also I can't find a gif of later seasons aaron smiling so😭

You heard the front door creak open just as you pulled Jack’s bedroom door closed behind you. The soft click of the latch was a quiet reward after successfully getting him to bed. Aaron’s return brought a wave of relief; his presence always grounded the house, making everything feel more complete. You saw him standing at the entrance, pulling off his suit jacket with practiced ease, his hair slightly mussed from a long day of work.

“Is he already asleep?” Aaron asked, glancing toward Jack’s door as he set his bag down by the entryway and hung his jacket over the back of a chair.

You shook your head, smiling softly. “Not yet. Go say goodnight before he drifts off,” you suggested, knowing Jack would want that last moment with his dad.

Aaron’s face softened at your words. He closed the distance between you and leaned in, pressing his lips to yours with a familiar, tender kiss that sent warmth spreading through your chest. “You’re the best,” he murmured against your lips before pulling away and heading down the hallway to Jack’s room.

You watched him for a moment, feeling the love and contentment settle around you like a warm blanket. This was home. Jack was tucked in, Aaron was back, and everything felt just as it should. You made your way to the living room, slipping into your comfortable loungewear. The cozy clothes were a contrast to the busy day you’d had, a signal that it was finally time to relax.

As you sank into the plush cushions of the couch, you could hear Aaron’s soft voice coming from Jack’s room. He always had that gentle, soothing tone when he talked to his son, even after the most stressful days. It was one of the many things you loved about him—the way he could switch from FBI Unit Chief to loving father in the span of a breath.

Soon, Aaron returned, the familiar creak of the floorboards under his feet signaling his approach. He had changed into his pajamas—flannel pants and a plain white T-shirt that hugged his strong frame. His hair was still slightly tousled, and there was a tired but peaceful expression on his face as he walked into the living room and sat beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders without a word. You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest.

The soft glow of the television illuminated the room, but neither of you paid much attention to it. The comfort of being near each other, after another day of navigating the complexities of life, was enough. You absently traced patterns on Aaron’s arm with your fingertips, feeling the firmness of his muscles beneath his skin. His hand squeezed your shoulder gently, his thumb rubbing soothing circles.

Minutes passed like this, quiet and content, the peace between you a testament to how strong your relationship had become. It was in these small moments, tucked between the chaos of your everyday lives, that you truly felt how much you loved him. And Jack. And the life the three of you were building.

But tonight, your heart was full of more than just love for what you already had. It was full of a new kind of hope, a desire that had been quietly growing in you for some time now. You lifted your head from Aaron’s shoulder and shifted slightly, turning to face him. Then, in one fluid motion, you straddled his lap, your knees sinking into the couch on either side of his hips.

Aaron’s eyes widened, surprise flashing across his face as his hands instinctively found your waist. “Hi, sweetheart,” he said, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “What are you doing?” His voice was teasing, but there was an edge of curiosity as his eyes searched yours.

You smiled back, your fingers trailing up his chest before resting on his shoulders. “You know I really love Jack,” you whispered, leaning in close, your noses almost brushing.

Aaron’s expression softened immediately, his gaze warm as he looked up at you. “Yes, I know you do,” he said softly. “And he loves you.” His eyes searched yours, a hint of emotion flickering beneath his words. “And so do I,” he added, his voice low and sincere.

He leaned forward, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss, his hands sliding up from your waist to your back, pulling you closer against him. The familiar sensation of his touch sent warmth flooding through you, but tonight, your thoughts were on something more, something deeper.

As the kiss broke, you leaned in, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered the words that had been on your heart for some time now. “I want a baby Aaron.”

For a moment, everything stilled. His hands froze on your back, his breath catching in his throat. You pulled back slightly, just enough to see his face, to see the way his expression shifted from surprise to something that mirrored the emotions swirling in your own chest.

“A baby?” Aaron repeated softly, as if he needed to make sure he heard you correctly.

You nodded, your fingers brushing through his dark hair. “Yes,” you said, your voice steady, but your heart racing. “I love you, Aaron. I love Jack. And I want to grow our family. I want to have a baby with you. Please make me pregnant.”

His eyes softened, but behind that softness was something else, a shadow of hesitation. He swallowed hard, his hands resting on your hips, keeping you steady in his lap. His brow furrowed slightly, and you could tell he was thinking, his mind racing through all the things he hadn’t said yet.

“I… I don’t know,” he said, his voice quiet. “I’m scared, to be honest.”

You blinked, pulling back just enough to see his face more clearly. “Scared?” you asked softly, your hands still resting on his chest. “Why?”

Aaron let out a long breath, running a hand through his tousled hair. “It’s just… with my job, everything I see, the risks I face every day… I’m not sure I can handle bringing another child into that world. Jack is already a huge part of my life, and he’s growing up. But starting over… it’s a lot. And…” He trailed off, his eyes flickering down for a moment before meeting yours again. “I’m not exactly getting any younger. I already feel old some days.”

Your heart ached a little at the vulnerability in his words. He rarely let down his guard like this, and hearing his worries laid bare reminded you just how deeply he cared about the people in his life. But you also knew that this hesitation came from a place of fear—fear of the unknown, of losing control, of risking more when he already had so much to protect.

You shifted slightly in his lap, feeling the warmth of his body beneath you, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders. “Aaron,” you whispered, leaning in closer, your lips grazing his ear. “I get that you’re scared. I understand. But I also know you. And I know how much love you have to give. You’re an amazing father to Jack… and you’d be just as amazing with another baby.”

His grip on your hips tightened a little as your words washed over him, but you could still sense the doubt lingering in his mind.

You smiled softly, letting your fingers trace along the back of his neck. “And besides,” you added with a playful glint in your eye, “I’d look so good pregnant with your baby.”

Aaron’s eyes widened slightly as you shifted again in his lap, your body pressing more firmly against him. The playful grin on your face made heat rise in his cheeks, and you could feel the subtle reaction from his body beneath you—the growing bulge between his legs. He inhaled sharply, his hands moving to steady you, but the corner of his mouth tugged upward into a small smile despite himself.

“Hmm,” he groaned softly, leaning his head back against the couch, eyes half-lidded as he watched you. “Your hormones are just talking,” he murmured, trying to play it off, but you could see the way his resolve was beginning to melt under your touch.

Before you could respond, your phone buzzed on the coffee table. The sudden interruption broke the moment for a split second, and you glanced down at the screen, seeing the notification flash. It was a reminder to take your birth control.

Aaron’s chuckle broke the silence. He raised an eyebrow, his hand resting on your thigh now. “Ah, look at that. It’s a sign we shouldn’t do it,” he said, half-serious but with a teasing edge to his voice.

You met his gaze and without a second thought, you tossed your phone across the room, hearing it land with a soft thud on the carpet. “Or maybe,” you whispered, leaning down so that your lips were just inches from his, “it’s a sign that I should stop taking birth control.”

Aaron’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening with the weight of your words. His hands froze again on your hips, his mind clearly racing as he tried to process what you were saying. “Stop taking…?” he began, but you cut him off with a seductive smile.

“Wouldn’t it be fun?” you whispered against his lips, your voice sultry. “Just to try for a baby anytime we can. No more holding back. Just us… trying, whenever we feel like it and keeping your cum inside of me for as long as I can.”

You rolled your hips ever so slightly, feeling his reaction underneath you. Aaron groaned, his head falling back against the couch again, eyes closed as he tried to hold onto the last threads of his self-control.

“Please, Aaron,” you continued, your voice a soft plea as your lips grazed his neck. “I want this. I want you. And I know you want it too…”

His hands tightened on your waist, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts as he struggled to maintain his resolve. You could feel the conflict in him, his logical, cautious side battling with the desire you were stirring up with each movement of your body against his.

He opened his eyes, looking up at you with a mixture of hesitation and raw emotion. “This is a huge decision,” he said, his voice thick. “Are you really sure about this? About us… having a baby?”

You smiled softly, cupping his face in your hands as you leaned down to kiss him, your lips gentle but full of promise. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” you whispered against his lips.

Aaron’s resolve finally broke. With a groan, he pulled you closer, his lips crashing into yours with a sudden intensity that made your heart race. His hands roamed over your back, your waist, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t get enough of you. The tension that had been building between you both finally released, and in that moment, you knew that he was ready-ready to take this leap with you, ready to start this new chapter of your lives.

As you straddled Aaron’s lap, the heat between you became unbearable, the tension of the moment thick in the air. His eyes, dark with desire, roamed over your body. Slowly, he lifted your shirt, his fingers grazing your skin and sending shivers down your spine. The cool air hit your exposed chest, and immediately, your nipples hardened, betraying how sensitive you were to his touch. His gaze locked on them with raw hunger.

Without a second’s hesitation, Aaron’s mouth found your breast, his lips closing around your sensitive skin as he began to kiss and suck, his tongue flicking over your nipple in a way that made you whimper. His hand came up to cup your other breast, squeezing gently as his mouth worked its magic, driving you wild.

“Fuck, it’d be so sexy if these were full of milk,” he murmured, the sudden filthy talk catching you off guard. His voice, so deep and seductive, sent another wave of arousal straight through you. The idea of being pregnant with his baby, your body changing for him, made your heart race and your body tremble with need.

You could feel yourself growing wetter by the second, your body aching for him. “Fuck, Aaron, please,” you gasped, your voice breathy and desperate. “Just fuck me.”

He pulled back from your chest, his lips glistening as he looked up at you, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “Oh, you’re so impatient,” he whispered, his tone laced with playful arrogance.

Unable to wait any longer, you leaned in, crashing your lips against his in a hungry kiss. As you kissed him, you ground your hips harder against his, feeling the bulge beneath you grow even more. Aaron groaned into your mouth, his hands gripping your hips tightly, but he wasn’t giving in just yet. His control, his teasing, only made you want him more.

Without warning, he grabbed your thighs and stood up from the couch, holding you against him as if you weighed nothing. You wrapped your arms around his neck, careful not to make too much noise as he carried you down the hallway toward your shared bedroom, being mindful of Jack sleeping in the next room. You could feel Aaron’s heart pounding against your chest, the heat of his body pressed so close to yours, and every step made your anticipation grow.

As soon as he pushed open the door to your bedroom, he laid you down gently on the mattress, his eyes dark with need as he hovered over you. His hands moved quickly, tugging off your pants and underwear in one swift motion. You shivered at the feeling of being exposed to him, your body aching for him to touch you. He wasted no time in pulling off his own pants, revealing his already hard, leaking cock. The sight of it made your mouth water, your eyes glued to the way it pulsed, ready for you.

Aaron caught the way you were staring, and a wicked smile curved his lips. “Be patient,” he teased, leaning down to brush his lips against your ear. “There’s going to be a lot of this inside you soon.”

And then, without warning, he pushed himself inside you in one smooth motion. The sudden stretch made you cry out, your back arching off the bed as your fingers gripped the bedsheets tightly. He filled you completely, his cock so thick and hard inside you that it made your entire body shudder.

Aaron groaned as he bottomed out, his head falling to your shoulder as he took a moment to savour the feeling of being inside you. “God, you feel so good,” he whispered, his voice rough with need.

He started to move, slow at first, each thrust deep and purposeful, hitting all the right spots inside you. You could feel every inch of him sliding in and out, the delicious friction driving you closer and closer to the edge. Your body responded to his every movement, your hips rising to meet his as you moaned his name, lost in the feeling of him inside you.

There were kisses, soft and sweet, shared between moans and gasps for air. His lips found yours, then your neck, then your chest again, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. His hands roamed your body, fingers exploring every inch of skin he could reach, as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

Just when you felt yourself on the brink of release, Aaron pulled out, leaving you gasping from the sudden emptiness. You whimpered in protest, your body aching for him to fill you again, but he wasn’t done yet.

He grabbed your legs, lifting them and placing them over his shoulders, angling your hips just right. When he thrust back inside you, the new position made him hit deeper, harder, a spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids. Your nails dug into his skin, leaving red marks as you clung to him, your moans filling the room.

Aaron’s head fell back, his pace quickening as he lost himself in the sensation of being buried so deep inside you. You could feel him twitching, the tension building in his body, and you knew he was close. “Please,” you moaned, your voice shaky with need. “Please make me pregnant, Daddy. Just use me whenever you want.”

Your words sent him over the edge. His hips snapped forward, his thrusts becoming erratic, harder, faster. “Fuck,” he groaned, his voice low and rough. “I’m going to get you pregnant. Everyone will know that you begged for my cum and that I gave it to you.”

With one final, deep thrust, you both came together, your body convulsing as your orgasm ripped through you. You cried out his name, your entire body trembling as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. Aaron followed right after, groaning deeply as he emptied himself inside you, filling you with his release. You could feel him pulsing, twitching inside you as he rode out his orgasm, his hips still moving as he pushed himself deeper.

For a moment, neither of you moved, both of you breathing heavily, your bodies still locked together.

As the waves of pleasure finally began to subside, you collapsed onto the bed beside Aaron, your breathing still heavy, skin glistening with a sheen of sweat. His arm wrapped around you, pulling you close to his side, and you nestled into his warmth, feeling the afterglow of everything that had just happened between you.

Your head rested on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as you both slowly came down from the high. The room was quiet, filled only with the soft sounds of your breathing and the occasional rustling of the sheets as you shifted to get comfortable.

You let out a soft chuckle, still catching your breath. “I guess I’ll have to throw my birth control away,” you murmured, your fingers tracing lazy patterns across his chest.

Aaron’s deep laugh rumbled through him, the sound making you smile. “Yeah, you should do that,” he replied, his voice still husky from everything you’d shared.

You grinned, but as the moment settled around you, the weight of what you were discussing—the enormity of the decision—began to creep into your mind. You lifted your head slightly, looking up at him. The soft light in the room highlighted the contours of his face, the small lines around his eyes that came from years of both stress and joy, and the way his lips curved into that subtle smile he reserved just for you.

“Hey,” you whispered, your voice a little more serious now, “are you really sure about this, Aaron? I mean, I don’t want to pressure you or anything. I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.” You paused, your heart racing a little, unsure of what he might say next. The desire for a baby was real, but so was the reality of what it would mean for both of you.

Aaron turned his head slightly, his eyes soft as they met yours. He reached up, gently cupping your cheek with his hand, his thumb brushing across your skin in a tender, reassuring gesture.

“Sweetheart,” he began, his voice steady and filled with that signature calmness that always made you feel safe, “I’m an old man. I’ve been around long enough to know what I want, and I can make my own decisions.” He gave you a teasing smile, but there was nothing but sincerity in his eyes. “And I want this with you. I’m not going to lie—it’s a big deal, and I’ve thought about it. But seeing you with Jack, seeing how much you love him… I know you’ll be an amazing mom. And I want to share that with you.”

Your heart swelled at his words, a warmth spreading through your chest as you held his gaze. You leaned into his touch, feeling the truth in everything he was saying. He wasn’t just saying what he thought you wanted to hear; he truly meant it.

“And,” he added, his voice dropping into that playful, husky tone again, “I really love the process of making the baby.”

You laughed softly, the tension in the air dissolving as his teasing words brought a smile to your lips. “Oh, I can tell,” you replied, leaning up to kiss him softly.

Aaron kissed you back, his lips slow and gentle against yours, the tenderness of the moment wrapping around both of you like a warm blanket. When you pulled away, you could still feel the smile lingering on his lips.

“I love you,” you whispered, the words slipping out naturally, effortlessly. They felt like the most honest thing you’d ever said.

“I love you, too,” Aaron whispered back, his voice filled with the weight of all the unspoken promises between you.

You both shifted under the covers, settling into each other’s arms as the exhaustion from the night finally caught up with you. His hand rested on your hip, his thumb absentmindedly stroking your skin as you drifted closer to sleep. The soft rhythm of his breathing lulled you into a comfortable, peaceful state, and the warmth of his body next to yours made you feel like you were exactly where you belonged.

Just before sleep claimed you, you felt him press a soft kiss to the top of your head. “We’ll figure this out together,” he whispered, his words barely audible but full of meaning.

You smiled against his chest, your heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time. And as you both drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other’s warmth, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement for the future. The possibilities felt endless, and with Aaron beside you, you knew that whatever came next, you would face it with love, strength, and the kind of partnership that only deepened with time.

taglist (lmk if u wanna be added): @looking1016 @pear-1206 @doe-eyed-diva @ssa-aaronhotchner @sweetpinkchampagne @totallyjovialblaze @pastelpinkflowerlife @donttrustlove @actualdeemon @jencole214 @fandomawesomeness @devilslittlehelper @mrs-ssa-hotch

[headkiss]

something more

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader

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

word count: 6.6k

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

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

༄

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatcha doing?” You’d asked.

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

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

“I should really get this done-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, put me to work, boss.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he still wanted to check on you.

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

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

“Get in here, Hotchner.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who taught you that one, huh?”

“I like to keep my sources anonymous.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

The flight home from a case always feels the longest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hopeless, she thinks.

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

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

“Should we wake them up?” JJ asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We fell asleep, but we landed.”

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s going on?” You ask Aaron.

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

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

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

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

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

He likes that idea, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

You guess that this time might be up for debate.

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.” And then, you hung up.

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

So, your instincts weren’t so bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If you say so, Hotchner.”

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

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

“Learned from the best,” you say.

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

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

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

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

-

+1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll clean it all up, too, I prom-”

Your rambling is cut off with his lips on yours. He’s kissing you.

It’s soft, the press of his mouth against yours, and it takes you a second to push back. It stays delicate, a dance between the two of you like you’d practiced a million times before.

His hands skate down your arms to hold your hands, weaving his fingers with yours, squeezing like he’s making sure you know this is real.

You feel it all over, your stomach tumbling, your heart beating in a rhythm that thumps his name. Aaron, Aaron, Aaron, over and over.

It’s a kiss worth a thousand words that you haven’t said yet, a kiss full of feelings and meaning and you know it, just by the way he does it, because you know him and he knows you. It’s you and Aaron, and it feels like the beginning of something huge. Of the rest of your life, maybe.

When he pulls back, Hotch rests his forehead against yours, giving your head a gentle nudge, locking his brown eyes on yours.

“It’s perfect,” he says.

The next thing you hear is Derek Morgan cheering, “I knew it!”

Similar words come from the rest of the team.

“Finally,” from Emily.

“About time,” from JJ.

“This isn’t surprising,” from Spencer, who smiles while saying it.

A sweet, “yay,” from Penelope.

Distracted by Aaron kissing you, you’d sort of forgotten they were there. Bashful, you tuck your head beneath Aaron’s chin, forehead against his collar. He simply tightens his hands around yours.

And when it’s time for cake, this year, Aaron Hotchner makes a wish on his birthday candles. He wishes to spend every other birthday just like this. With you.

༄

thank you so so much for reading!!! if you liked it, please please please consider reblogging/commenting and letting me know what you thought! love you <3

[l0v3-qu4rtz]

I'm part Lover Girl

And part Daddy Issues

[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.

[kiwriteswords]

Aaron Hotchner + Physical Touch ↳ Part 2/?

[hoe4hotchner]

Chapter 9 - Sectionals

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x figure skater (fem)!Reader

Summary: The story follows you a figure skater training for nationals and Aaron Hotchner as your lives intertwine during an investigation into the abductions of young athletic women, including the your close friend, Leah. As the BAU delves deeper into the case, you find yourself captivated by Hotch’s quiet strength and protective presence. When Leah’s body is tragically discovered at the rink, the tension escalates, surrounding you in an atmosphere of fear and uncertainty.

Word count: 12.4k

Warnings: Tense atmosphere, explosion, anxiety and uncertainty, protective behavior, law enforcement taking charge, mentions of potential danger, team coordination, emotional reassurance, crisis response.

A/N: I've been so busy lately that this chapter took way longer than expected, but here it is, and I hope you enjoy it.

Masterlist

The drive to the arena was tense, the silence between you and the rest of the team hung heavy in the air. None of you dared to break it, knowing any conversation would inevitably turn to strategizing — and a discussion that could mean the difference between life and death for you. The silence was only broken by the steady hum of the SUV’s engine as Hotch drove closer and closer to the arena.

The city blurred past in a haze of neon signs and glowing streetlights, muted by the darkness of the tinted windows as the sun started rising out in the distance. You sat stiffly in the passenger seat, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, while Hotch remained focused on the road. His grip on the steering wheel was tight. It occasionally became tighter, you noticed his knuckles whitening, his expression was unreadable, but the faint crease in his brow betrayed the weight of his thoughts — you wondered what exactly he was thinking about, although you could probably imagine what it was.

Behind you, the team followed in two other SUVs, their presence both reassuring and unnerving. You couldn't see them, but you could almost feel their concern for you and their focus on the job at hand. Because that was what it was to them — a job. Despite how close you'd grown to the team, situations like this would always just feel like a job to them, while to you it could mean the end.

As the arena came into view, its massive structure rose against the skyline, the glowing display flashing the name of the event. You could sense the crowds of people flowing through the open entrance, their excited chatter muffled by the glass of the SUV. Competitors lugged their gear, some laughing, others stone-faced, and some with pre-competition nerves, while spectators bundled in scarves and coats hurried inside, eager to escape the cold outdoors.

Your chest tightened as your gaze lingered on the doors.

Hotch glanced over at you briefly. His steady presence had been a constant since the case began. He didn’t need to say much to steady you; his composed and authoritative demeanor spoke volumes. “We’re almost there,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the silence and the jumble of thoughts racing through your mind.

You nodded, your eyes fixed on the road as Hotch turned to enter the parking lot at the back of the arena, meant for staff only. You drew in a deep breath. The moment settled heavily on your chest, but you found enough strength to murmur, “Thank you, Hotch. For… everything. I know I haven’t made it easy at times.” The words felt awkward as they left your lips, catching slightly in your throat, but they were true.

“Don't worry about it," He put a hand on your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze before removing it again. "You’ve been handling more than most people could,” he replied, his voice was low. His eyes flicked toward you again, and this time, a small, reassuring smile softened his features. “You’re stronger than you realize. I’ve seen it, and I know you’re going to get through this.”  

Those words lingered in your mind, they were reassuring to you as the SUVs pulled into the designated area that had been blocked off by the arena’s back entrance. Staff waved the vehicles into position, their movements efficient and practiced — they had clearly been trained to do so, you thought. The low rumble of the engines faded as Hotch shifted into park and shut the car off. You opened the door, and the moment you stepped out, a burst of crisp air greeted you — it was nice. 

You adjusted your jacket, the motion almost instinctive, and drew in a steadying breath, letting the cold air settle your nerves. Behind you, the car door shut with a solid thud as Hotch stepped out as well. Straightening your posture, you turned to face the scene ahead. 

From the corner of your eye, you caught movement as the rest of the team approached from the second SUV. They closed the distance quickly, their expressions reflecting a shared determination to do whatever it'll take to keep you — and to some extent the other skaters — safe and hopefully catch the unsub if he decides to show up.

“You ready to show everyone what you’re made of?” JJ asked, her voice was gentle. She rested a hand lightly on your shoulder. 

You met her gaze and forced a small smile, the weight of the moment pressing on your chest but not breaking you — not like it would've without them. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied, your voice was steady, even though your heart raced. 

They didn’t press for more. Their quiet support spoke volumes. You felt the strength of their presence in the air.

Hotch stepped closer, placing a steady hand on your shoulder. His grip was brief but firm, and before he let go, his words followed in its wake. “We’ll be here the whole time,” he said. “If you need anything, just let us know.”

With a deep breath, you nodded, hiking your gear bag up on your shoulder to get a better grip — Morgan had offered to carry it, but you declined, wanting to feel the weight of your stuff. The moment was still heavy but it felt more manageable. Together, you walked toward the arena’s entrance, the team moving seamlessly as a shield around you. The sound of your footsteps mixed with the distant hum of voices.

The crowd inside was thick, a mix of families, coaches, and fellow skaters, each group immersed in their own world of preparation and excitement. The backstage area was alive with chatter, the buzz of anticipation rising, and you could feel the collective energy as people moved around, some barely noticing the presence of the FBI agents at your side. But others — more curious — turned their heads, whispering amongst themselves, eyes briefly falling on you and the imposing figures accompanying you.

The whispers felt distant, and detached, almost as if they were happening to someone else. You tried to focus on the competition at hand, but despite the support surrounding you, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being utterly alone in the face of it all, especially with Branson missing — he was supposed to be here.

The familiar scent of the ice and the competition hit you the moment you walked past an open door into the rink — a mix of cold air, buttery popcorn, and the faint, metallic scent of blades. It was a smell that carried memories, memories of countless hours spent on the rink at home, memories of minor competitions that held no weight now, of dreams that had once seemed without reach — but now were closer than ever before. For a brief moment, you paused, standing still trying to ground yourself. The sound of the crowd was distant, and it felt muted.

You could almost feel the echoes of your younger self, the excitement, the determination, the hope. You took one last, steadying breath, letting the familiar air settle in your lungs before turning back to the team. Their faces were set in stoned expressions waiting for you to be ready to move on.

Hotch met your gaze and gave you a nod — a small but powerful gesture. It was the kind of nod that said he trusted you completely, that he believed in you unconditionally, that he gave you the time that you needed, even in the face of the unknown where his constant command would've been safer than letting you take breaks — but your well-being was just as important as your safety. That belief, so clearly reflected in his eyes, gave you strength.

With a deep breath, you squared your shoulders. Each step forward felt like a small victory — each step you were still alive — you were reclaiming your story, the dreams you had held so tightly when entering the skating world.

As you moved down the corridor, the team led you to a locker room that had been specially reserved for you. Hotch had insisted on this extra security measure, making sure you had a private space to prepare, away from the prying eyes of the crowd and any potential threats.

The tension was thick as Hotch and Rossi stopped just outside the locker room door, their expressions unreadable. They exchanged a quick glance and a nod — moving completely in sync — before stepping inside. You stood in the corridor surrounded by the rest of the team, your hands fidgeting in front of you, the nervousness spilling over despite your best efforts to suppress it. 

Inside the locker room, Hotch moved with the precision of someone who had done this countless of times before. His eyes swept across the space, gun held ready at his hip as he methodically checked every corner, every shadow, his steps silent. Rossi, just as meticulous, crouched to inspect the lockers and checked the hidden crevices. Their movements synchronized. It was a routine they had perfected over the years, and while its necessity was unsettling, it was also a source of comfort, knowing that they did everything in their power to ensure your safety.

Outside, the seconds dragged on, stretching the silence between being reassured that you would be okay. You caught JJ’s hand briefly, grounding yourself. Even Garcia’s energy had damped for a moment as she reached over to give your arm a squeeze, her eyes brimming with her usual unshakable belief in you. 

Finally, the door opened, Hotch and Rossi stepped back into the hallway. Hotch's gaze met yours immediately, the edges of his expression softening just slightly. “All clear,” he said simply, moving away from the entrance to give you the clearance to enter.

As his eyes lingered on yours, he gave you a brief nod, and in that moment, it felt like more than reassurance — it felt like a promise.

With a grateful smile, you stepped into the locker room, the door closing softly behind you. The space was quiet, the kind of stillness that magnified every sound — the faint flicker of the overhead lights as the fluorescent tube lights popped a little, the rustle of your bag as you set it on the bench. Normally, this room would be alive with chatter, nervous laughter, and the hurried sounds of skaters making last-minute adjustments to their costumes. But today — today, it was just you. The solitude felt daunting, you'd much rather have peers to hang around. Despite the competitions between you, you knew that being around the other skaters would've helped you calm your nerves. 

You unzipped your bag, pulling out the elegant black costume you’d packed. The fabric shimmered as it caught the light, the rhinestones adorning the bodice and forearms glinting like stars. It was stunning, a dress meant to command attention on the ice, and as you slipped out of your warm clothes and into the costume, it felt like an armor. The fabric against your skin was grounding, the tulle part of the skirt barely covering your upper thighs. The costume was a reminder of the hours you’d poured into perfecting every move and every detail of your performance. 

Adjusting the dress in the mirror, you smoothed it over your shoulders. You paused, your hand brushing against the rhinestones as you took a steadying breath, letting the reality sink in — you had made it this far, surely you could make it a couple of hours more. 

Sitting down on the bench, you pulled your skates on and laced them tight. You snapped the blade guards into place, the sound of each click echoing in the room. When you stood, the tiles beneath your blades felt foreign for a second, but you balanced yourself easily, the muscle memory of years of practice kicking in. 

Your eyes flicked to the mirror again, and for a moment, you simply stared at the reflection. The girl looking back wasn’t just a skater. She was strong and resilient, someone who had weathered unimaginable storms and emerged on the other side stronger than before. You took a moment to meet her gaze, finding strength in her determination. 

This was it. The culmination of everything you’d fought for. Straightening your shoulders, you gave yourself a small, confident nod. You weren’t just walking out there to compete — you were reclaiming a piece of yourself, reclaiming your own narrative.

With a last anxious sigh, you walked to the door and cracked it open, your heart pounding as you signaled to the team. The moment they saw you, their expressions shifted, their faces lighting up as they took you in.

Emily reacted first, her eyes widening as they swept over your costume. “You look incredible,” she said, her voice carrying a mixture of awe and pride as she grabbed both your shoulders and leaned back to take your beauty in. Her smile was infectious, and you quickly found yourself smiling back at her as a little of the tension in your chest started melting away. 

Garcia was the next, she let out a soft gasp, clasping her hands dramatically over her mouth for a moment to prevent herself from screaming. “Oh, honey,” she squealed. “You’re a vision! They’re not going to know what hit them!”

Hotch lingered at the back for a moment before stepping forward. He didn’t say anything right away, but his gaze spoke volumes. His eyes softened as they met yours, his expression filled with belief and encouragement, knowing that you were strong enough to do this. When he finally did speak, his voice was more monotone than you had hoped. “You’re going to do great,” he said, a simple statement. The way he looked at you — it felt like a mix of pride and trust — but it was words you knew he'd never speak out loud, although no matter what you wanted to hear or feel, you knew he was in your corner. 

You straightened your shoulders — your back cracking a little as you did — and managed a small, grateful smile. “Thank you,” you said, your voice was quiet. “It means a lot to have you all here.” 

Emily grinned and nudged you playfully. “We wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Now go out there and show them how to win.”

Standing in the doorway to the locker room, you stared at the team, gathered together in a circle around. Months of preparation, countless grueling hours of training, and the ever-present threat that had loomed over you leading up to sectionals were settling in your stomach. It all felt like it was catching up with you now, making each breath harder to take.

You’d faced competitions before, even high-stakes ones early on in your journey where the pressure had been almost unbearable, but this was different. This time, it wasn’t just about winning. It wasn’t just another event to check off a list — it was everything. The culmination of every sacrifice, every setback, every late-night practice, and every moment you’d fought to get to this place. And with it, a vulnerability you couldn’t shake, a sense that so much more was riding on this than you’d ever allowed yourself to acknowledge before.

Can I do this? The question echoed in your mind loud enough to make your body tense up. The nerves were so overwhelming that you had to fist your hands so you wouldn't shake. The anticipation was almost suffocating, and it felt like there was no room for doubt, no time for hesitation.

As if sensing your internal turmoil, Hotch stepped in. There was no hesitation in his movements, no uncertainty in him. His authority radiated, drawing the team’s focus back to the mission as he began to address the group.

“Alright, everyone, listen up,” Hotch began, his tone was sharp. “While she’s on the ice, we’ll be operating in two key positions: interior and exterior monitoring. Emily and JJ, you’ll be stationed at the arena entrance and rinkside doors. I want both of you on high alert for any unusual movement or non-ticketed entries. We’re not taking any chances. If anyone looks out of place or tries to slip by, I want eyes on them immediately. You’ll have comms linked directly to the rest of us on the interior.”

His eyes scanned the room, ensuring everyone was absorbing the information. “Maintain clear visual contact at all times — especially if large crowds are entering or exiting. Don’t let anything slip under the radar.”

Emily nodded quickly, her hand already reaching for the comm device on her belt to place it in her ear. “Got it, Hotch.” Her voice was confident.

Hotch’s gaze briefly shifted between the two of them, a subtle nod of approval in response to their readiness. But he didn’t linger; there was no time for that. His focus sharpened again as he continued to lay out the plan. You could feel the shift in the room.

Hotch turned to Garcia next. “Penelope, you’ll be monitoring security feeds in the surveillance room with stadium security. I need real-time video feeds on all arena exits, the main rink, and the locker room corridor. Any gaps in the footage — no matter how small — need to be flagged and investigated immediately. If anything, even remotely suspicious comes up, I want to know about it. We’ll have a secondary comm channel open for you, in case you need to escalate something right away.”

Garcia’s eyes lit up with her usual enthusiasm as she slipped her earpiece in. “Consider it done, boss-man. I’ll keep my eyes peeled. If anyone so much as sneezes suspiciously, I’ll catch it.” Her voice was light-hearted and confident with the sharp focus that always defined her when it counted.

Hotch gave her a quick, appreciative nod before his gaze shifted to Morgan and Reid. His posture remained alert. “Morgan, Reid — I want you both covering the back entrance. Ensure no one slips in unauthorized. You’re on backup detail in case there’s any movement that needs immediate attention.”

Morgan nodded firmly. “We’ll keep a close watch, Hotch. Nothing’s getting past us.”

Reid, who had already started analyzing the arena layout in his mind, added with his usual systematic accuracy, “We’ll also do a sweep of the corridor near the locker rooms.”

Hotch’s eyes flicked to both of them, he had trust in their abilities. “Good. Make sure you’re ready for anything. The moment something’s off, I want to know about it.”

Finally, Hotch turned to Rossi. “Dave, you and I will stay rinkside. We’ll be the first point of contact if anything happens, and we can coordinate directly with the rest of the team from there. We’ll be covering her from every angle.”

Rossi met his gaze with a nod. “You got it, Aaron.” There was no hesitation in his voice, just the confidence of someone who had been in countless high-pressure situations before — and had made it out alive every single one of them.

Lastly, Hotch turned to you, his gaze softening slightly, though his tone stayed constant. “You’re going to be in our constant sightline while you’re on the ice,” he said. “If anything feels wrong, don’t push through it. You signal to us, and we’ll handle the rest.”

You nodded, comforted by the structure and clear plan Hotch had concocted. He’d thought of everything, and accounted for every possible risk, ensuring that you wouldn’t have to shoulder anything if it was up to him. It eased a fraction of the tension that had coiled in your chest. They weren’t just here to watch; they were here to protect, each one stationed like a wall around you. That clarity, that assurance — it was your lifeline.

Around you, the team moved into their positions. Emily’s quick nod, JJ’s reassuring glance, Morgan’s confident stance, Garcia’s friendly smile — all of it steadied the nervous energy threatening to overwhelm you.

As you stood there, letting their presence anchor you, you took a deep breath — a very deep breath.

As everyone began filing out to their positions, Hotch’s hand came up, a subtle but unmistakable signal for you to stay back for a moment. You froze mid-step, glancing up at him in surprise. He motioned toward the locker room, away from the door and prying eyes. It was just the two of you now, the buzz of the arena and the team’s footsteps fading into the background.

He’d noticed the telltale signs — the way your fingers fidgeted with the rhinestone-laden sleeves of your costume, how your teeth pressed into your bottom lip during his briefing, the way your shoulders seemed to sag under invisible doubts. His instincts were always attuned to the smallest details.

“Hey,” he began, his voice was low like he was carefully choosing every word. “Before you go out there, I want you to know something. You’ve got this. You’ve put in the work, and we’re right here with you. Nothing’s going to happen that we aren’t prepared for.”

The warmth in his words was unexpected. But even as his reassurances settled over you, the lingering weight of your fears refused to be fully silenced. Swallowing hard, you found yourself speaking before you could second-guess yourself. “Hotch, I know it’s irrational, but I feel… I don’t know, like I’m not ready, or maybe just not strong enough to do this without him.” The words tumbled out faster than you’d planned, more vulnerable than you'd expected and that surprised even you.

Your eyes dropped to the floor, unable to meet the intensity of his gaze. Instead, you focused on the intricate pattern of the tiles, moving them to your skates, tracing the laces with your eyes as if they held the answers. “Every time I’m about to step on the ice, there’s this voice in my head,” you admitted, your fingers gripping the edge of your sleeves a little tighter. “It keeps telling me I’m not ready… that I don’t have it in me.”

Hotch’s hand reached out, resting firmly yet gently on your shoulder. His touch wasn’t just grounding; it kept you from drifting too far into your spiraling thoughts.

“Listen to me,” he said. “You’ve already proven your strength by coming this far. I know losing Branson has made this feel impossible, and I understand that. But what you’re doing — going out there, honoring all of the victims by competing despite everything — takes more courage than most people will ever know.”

His words hit you like a wave. He spoke with such conviction, as though he could see something in you that you couldn’t.

“But what if — what if I mess up?” you whispered, your voice trembling. The words slipped out before you could stop them. “What if all of this training and everything I’ve done just… falls apart?” 

The fear had been gnawing at you for weeks, a persistent whisper in the back of your mind that no amount of practice or preparation had been able to silence. Saying it out loud as if naming it might make it real.

Hotch’s grip on your shoulder tightened. “Then you’ll keep going,” he said, his voice was layered with emotion, but he quickly snapped out of it, “just like you’ve done every time before. Messing up doesn’t change what you’ve accomplished or who you are. And it certainly won’t change how proud everyone is of you. Mistakes don’t define you; what you do next does. And right now, I see someone strong enough to face this, no matter what happens.”

His words cut through the doubt. It wasn’t just what he said — it was the absolute certainty in his tone, the way he delivered like it was fact. You could feel his belief in you.

“Thanks, Hotch,” you murmured, your voice was soft as you looked up at him. Your lips curved into a smile — a genuine smile.

He held your gaze for a moment longer, his own expression softening slightly too. With a firm nod, he released your shoulder, his hand lingering just a second longer than necessary. “Now go out there and show them.”

The corner of his mouth quirked upward ever so slightly and it felt like a spark igniting in your chest. You were ready.

The energy in the arena buzzed, and the hum of the audience seemed to seep into your skin as you stood in the narrow waiting area just off the rink. Your fingers twisted the fabric of your costume, an unconscious attempt to tether your thoughts as your eyes locked on the skater gliding effortlessly across the ice.

Natalia Ivanova.

Even the name carried weight — she was a rising star whose performances had already sparked whispers of greatness within the skating world. She wasn’t just good; she was extraordinary. You’d known that before today, had watched grainy footage of her routines — that Branson somehow had gotten his hands on through some dodgy Russian website — during late-night study sessions, dissecting her artistry and precision. But seeing her in person was an entirely different experience.

Natalia’s presence on the ice was magnetic and held a refined grace. Every movement she made was deliberate, every step part of a larger, perfectly choreographed narrative. Her coach’s reputation preceded her — a great figure in Russian skating known for a ruthless dedication to perfection. The rumors of severe training schedules and discipline seemed to manifest in every controlled motion Natalia delivered. She wasn’t just skating; she owned the ice, bending it to her will.

As she launched into a series of jumps, each one higher and more precise than the last, your breath hitched. Natalia’s triple Lutz was perfection, her spins faster than you'd ever managed, and it blurred into a vortex. Her footwork was sharp and fluid all at once as if the ice itself answered only to her. Watching her was both inspiring and daunting, and it was a reminder of the sheer level of competition you were up against.

The crowd erupted as Natalia neared the end of her routine, their cheers swelling into a roar of approval as she struck her final pose. Arms extended, chin lifted, she held her position for a fraction longer than necessary, commanding the spotlight on her even as the music faded. The applause was deafening.

You exhaled slowly, willing the tightness in your chest to ease. The reality of Natalia’s skill loomed over you. She’d set the bar impossibly high, and now it soon was your turn to step onto the ice, you were scared that competing after such a talented skater would be your certain doom.

The announcer’s voice echoed through the arena, delivering Natalia’s score, it made the crowd erupt once again. It was an impressive number. She was undeniably talented, her performance near-flawless, and now she stood at the top of the leaderboard as the skater to beat. The thought gnawed at you. Could your routine, no matter how tirelessly you had trained, truly stand up to hers? The crowd’s energy seemed to affirm Natalia’s dominance.

Your mind wandered, replaying every hour of practice, every late night spent refining your choreography until the music and movements felt like second nature. You knew you’d worked hard — relentlessly hard — but the small, insidious voice of doubt whispered that maybe it wasn’t enough. That no matter how prepared you thought you were, someone like Natalia was more talented.

Your gaze dropped to the ice, searching for something — focus, courage, clarity? The polished surface reflected the arena lights in fractured glints, as the Zamboni made its way across, preparing the ice for you. You felt the storm of "what ifs" building in your chest until you sensed him behind you. His presence wasn’t loud or invasive, but it was a constant amidst the chaos. You didn’t need to turn around to know it was Hotch. His aura was unmistakable.

You could almost sense the picture of him, towering a little over you. The mental picture of a Doberman popped into your head — alert, loyal, fierce — and the image almost made you smile despite the tension coiling in your chest. If Hotch was the guard dog, you were the kitten, small and vulnerable but you were protected. Somehow, that strange picture settled your nerves just enough to let you breathe a little deeper. Hotch had been that way since the night you first met him: a silent guardian who didn’t have to do much to remind you that you were never truly alone in anything you faced.

Natalia glided off the ice with a satisfied attitude as she passed by. Her presence lingered maybe even taunting you, to match what she had just delivered. The weight of it threatened to send you spiraling again, but before it could, Hotch’s voice cut through the noise.

“You’re going to be incredible,” Hotch said, stepping a little closer until his chest was nearly brushing against your back. His voice was calm — maybe a little too calm given the situation. “You’ve got this, no matter what anyone else scores. Remember, this isn’t about them. It’s about you and what you’re here to do.”

You nodded, drawing in a deep breath. There wasn’t an ounce of doubt in his tone, and somehow that steadiness seeped into you, pushing back against the nervous energy buzzing in your chest. Hotch didn’t offer more words, but he didn’t need to. His presence was enough.

The announcer’s voice boomed through the arena, calling your name, and the atmosphere shifted as the crowd’s attention swung toward you. A murmur rippled through the stands, accompanied by polite applause, but it all blurred into background noise as you took a step forward. The bright lights bore down on you, and the cold, crisp air prickled against your skin, heightening your senses. For a moment it all swelled, threatening to overwhelm you — but then you glanced back.

Hotch was still there, rooted in place, his eyes meeting yours and with a firm and steady gaze, he gave you a small nod. It wasn’t overbearing; it was just enough to remind you of everything, of the people who believed in you and the work that had brought you here.

That nod was all you needed.

You turned toward the ice, exhaling. This was your moment, and you were ready to claim it. As your skates touched the ice you glided to your starting position, the arena’s energy wrapping around you.

The announcer’s voice carried on, introducing you, but just as you reached the center of the rink, his tone shifted. It grew softer, more solemn as if hinting at something — you weren't sure if he would announce it, but you sure hoped he didn't. The slight change sent a surge through the crowd, quieting the murmurs as anticipation settled over the audience.

"And now, representing Quantico, Virginia," the announcer's voice carried through the arena, "a brave young woman who, not long ago, suffered the tragic loss of her longtime coach in a heartbreaking incident that has no doubt deeply affected her journey here today."

The words struck, rumbling through the arena. You froze, the announcement cutting through the confidence you’d just pieced together. It wasn’t just the mention of your coach’s death — it was the way it was framed, so public, so intrusive, as if your grief were a narrative for the world to consume. You hadn’t prepared for this, for the raw wound to be laid bare before thousands of spectators.

From the corner of your eye, you caught the team’s reactions. Morgan’s jaw clenched, JJ's mouth parted in shock, her eyes narrowing in disbelief as she turned sharply toward Hotch from the door. Reid stood just behind Morgan, his brows furrowed, his face carrying a sense of sorrow that spoke to his own experiences with loss. He looked like he wanted to say something, to object, but the words seemed to stick in his throat.

Hotch, however, was unreadable. His body was taut with control, his expression carved from stone as his eyes stayed locked on you. There was no visible anger, no outward sign of the frustration he undoubtedly felt, but the tension radiating from him was unmistakable. His jaw tightened ever so slightly and his hands locked on his hips were the only signs of his frustration with the announcement.

Instinctively, your gaze sought his. Your eyes, wide with disbelief as you silently pleaded with him to do something. Why did they say that? What does this mean? The once-excited hum of the arena was replaced by a heavy and stiff silence. Everything felt too loud and too quiet all at once, your thoughts colliding as you tried to process what had just been said.

When Hotch met your gaze, his response was immediate. He didn’t break eye contact, slowly, he gave you a single, deliberate nod. It wasn’t dismissive, nor was it overly reassuring. Instead, it was an unspoken promise. I’ll handle this, his eyes seemed to convey. But right now, I need you to focus. I’m here.

The crowd’s murmur began to rise again, unsure, but you held onto that connection, that lifeline Hotch had silently extended.

You took a deep breath, reminding yourself of your routine, your hard work — nothing, and no one could take that away.

The arena settled into silence as the lights dimmed, and a single, piercing spotlight illuminated you. For a fleeting moment, the world outside the ice disappeared. The crowd, the noise, even the ache of loss — it all fell away.

You pushed all doubt aside. This was your moment, your chance to honor everything you’d worked. The cold of the ice seeped through the delicate fabric of your costume. It wasn’t uncomfortable — it was nice.

Another breath. Deep, steady, intentional. And then you moved into your starting pose. As the first haunting notes of your music filled the air, the stillness gave way to motion. You stepped forward with the confidence of someone who had done this a thousand times before. The sharp sound of your blades cutting into the ice echoed softly.

The spotlight followed you as the rest of the rink faded into shadow, casting the rhinestones on your costumes into sparks of light. They glittered like fragments of a starry sky, transforming you into something otherworldly under the glow. The shimmering stones caught the light with every subtle movement.

The music flowed soft and melodic, carrying you forward. Each turn, each spin, flowed effortlessly from the next, the choreography imprinted in your muscles from endless repetition.

You leaned into the music, letting it guide you. Your arms arced gracefully through the air as you performed a series of elegant steps, each more intricate than the last. The swish of your blades cutting across the ice was almost hypnotic.

The crowd’s reaction was lost to you — at least, for now. You were no longer aware of anything beyond the ice and your own movements. There was only the rhythm of the music, the glide of your skates, and the rush of adrenaline that propelled you forward.

You felt the audience’s eyes on you, but it didn’t matter. The whispers of the crowd faded away. This was your stage, your moment. You were more than the grief. You were strength, determination, and resilience personified. As you launched into your first jump, the air seemed to hold its breath.

Your legs extended gracefully, kicking high as your body twisted through the air, weightless for that perfect second. Then, you landed, cleanly, your blades biting into the ice with a satisfying sharp The crowd’s gasp of awe rippled through the arena, but you barely registered it. Your focus was unshakable, channeled entirely into your routine.

From that first jump, you flowed seamlessly into the next sequence. The choreography demanded a balance of strength and elegance, a challenge you had spent years perfecting. Each turn, each spin, held power, telling a story that words and pictures never could.

Yet even as you lost yourself in the rhythm of the music and the beauty of your performance, one constant remained. Hotch.

He stood at the far end of the rink, a dark figure blending into the shadows. His eyes were locked on you. But his focus wasn’t just on the grace of your movements or the artistry of your routine — it was on everything. The arena, the audience, the exits, the subtle shifts in energy around the room. He didn’t stop calculating, didn’t stop scanning, his mind constantly processing potential threats and outcomes.

Even in stillness, his posture radiated control. He didn’t draw attention to himself, but there was no mistaking the command he held over the space around him. To the audience, he might have been just another spectator. To you, he was so much more.

As he watched you glide across the ice, his expression softened in a way that most people would never notice. But you would. He saw the fire behind your performance, the resilience you poured into every spin, every leap, every graceful line you created on the ice. He knew the depth of your struggle.

And still, he couldn’t let his guard down. As you moved, so did he, his tall form cutting a purposeful path around the rink’s perimeter. His sharp eyes swept the crowd, assessing every face, every possibility. He wasn’t here to enjoy the show. He was here to protect you.

But even in his attentiveness, his heart wasn’t untouched. With every flawless element of your routine, something entirely different swelled in his chest. He wasn’t one to dwell on sentiment, but watching you out there, defying the odds, he couldn’t help it. You were doing it. You were proving to everyone — and, most importantly, to yourself — that you were unbreakable.

And as you skated through the crescendo of your routine, the crowd held its collective breath, captivated by your story and your skill. Hotch remained on edge. You might have been performing under the bright spotlight, but in his eyes, you were the brightest light of all.

The end of your routine drew near. You could feel the intensity mounting in the air, every note of the melody urging you onward. This was the final stretch, the moment you’d trained for, the pinnacle of everything you’d worked so hard to achieve. Your heart raced, adrenaline flooding your veins as you propelled yourself into the final series of moves.

You spun with unrelenting grace, the rhinestones of your costume catching the spotlight in dazzling bursts. The rink was your stage, and you commanded it with every turn of your body, every subtle shift of your weight.

And then came the moment you had been building toward — the most difficult element of your routine, the leap that required every ounce of your strength, focus, and courage. With a deep inhale, you pushed off, your legs kicking powerfully as you launched yourself into the air. The arena seemed to hold its breath as you soared — knowing fully well the danger of your element — your body twisting in a perfect arc.

When you landed, the ice met your blades with a satisfying slice. The momentum carried you smoothly through the final steps, your movements slowing as the music swelled to its last note. With a fluid motion, you struck your final pose at the center of the rink, poised and frozen in a picture of perfection. The arena was silent.

And then, like the shattering of a dam, the applause erupted. It started as a ripple before surging into a roaring wave, filling the arena with deafening sound. The cheers, whistles, and stomping feet seemed to shake the very ground beneath you. You stood there for a moment, chest heaving with the exhilaration of your performance, your mind struggling to grasp what you had just accomplished.

From the shadows, Hotch’s gaze remained fixed on you. To the untrained eye, he appeared calm, but inside, pride swelled in his chest. He had seen every step of your journey the past few weeks, every struggle and triumph, and now, he watched as you stood victorious.

The applause still echoed around you as the announcer’s voice cut through the air. The crowd hushed slightly, their attention shifting toward the scoreboard. You remained at center ice, your body still, though your fingers twitched at your sides. The adrenaline still coursed through you, making the moment feel both impossibly long and achingly brief.

Your eyes locked onto the scoreboard, the only thing in your line of sight now. Time seemed to slow as the numbers flickered, the world holding its breath alongside you. Your chest rose and fell steadily, but inside, your heart pounded. Waiting, hoping, believing.

Then, the numbers appeared.

"Total Score: 147.56," the board lit up, and the individual breakdown of your program components appeared underneath it:

- Technical Elements: 72.34

- Program Components: 75.22

It was a great score — a strong one, especially when measured against the competition in the competition. The crowd reacted with scattered applause and murmurs of approval, but your gaze instinctively flickered toward the scoreboard again, scanning for context. Just moments before, the Russian skater's score had flashed onto the board. She had also received a 147.56, but with a slightly higher technical mark and a lower program component score.

Your heart leaped in your chest as the realization sank in. The tie, the near mirror image of your scores, seemed almost impossible given how flawless her performance had been. The breath you had been holding came out in a shaky exhale. This was more than good; it was remarkable. You had stood your ground against one of the most highly praised skaters of the season — the one glorified as the "rising star" and "unbeatable." And here you were, matching her score.

But a flicker of doubt pushed its way into your mind. Your eyes darted back to her, standing by the sidelines, her posture rigid as her score glowed next to yours. Her expression was unreadable, but her body language betrayed a hint of frustration.

It wasn’t a perfect victory — there was no gold medal being handed to you just yet. But this wasn’t about medals or rankings anymore. This was your moment, your proof that you could rise to the occasion, even without your coach.

The numbers on the board seemed to glow brighter. A faint smile crossed your lips, hesitant at first, before blooming. You had done it. You hadn’t stuttered, you hadn’t stumbled. You had poured every ounce of your heart and soul onto that ice, and it had paid off.

The applause began to swell again as your name was announced, pulling you from your thoughts. You glanced up at the crowd, your chest rising and falling as you took in the moment. For all the loss and grief that had brought you here, for all the challenges you’d faced in your training, this was your triumph. Not just because of the score, but because you had proven something to yourself.

You stepped off the ice, your skates leaving faint, sharp lines in their wake, and allowed yourself to feel the mix of emotions swirling inside you — relief, pride, and a lingering ache for the absence of your coach. But even that ache was quieter now, overshadowed by the sense of accomplishment. You had competed, and you had competed well. That was what mattered.

But before you could fully bask in the moment, a loud bang shattered the atmosphere of the arena. It wasn’t a celebratory sound, nor the kind of noise you might expect in a place like this. It was sharp and deep, thundering through the air like an explosion. The echoes seemed to cling to the walls, leaving behind a strange silence that pressed down on everyone present.

It didn’t belong here, not in this arena meant for elegance and artistry. It was utterly wrong.

Your heart skipped a beat, the sound sending a jolt through your body. Instinctively, your head snapped toward the direction of the noise. Your muscles tensed, and a cold wave of unease rushed through you. Around you, the crowd, which had moments ago been alive with applause and cheers, seemed to freeze. Confused murmurs began to rise, growing louder and more urgent as the initial shock faded.

Your eyes darted to Hotch. He was already moving, his entire demeanor changing in an instant. His piercing gaze swept across the arena, narrowing on the source of the disturbance. His jaw clenched, a muscle twitching as his mind worked quickly to assess the situation. He stood rigid yet poised, every part of him ready to act.

Even in his intense focus, he glanced toward you. It was just for a moment. But the moment didn’t linger. His expression hardened again, his attention snapping back to the task. Whatever this was, he was already working through it, calculating every possibility.

Without hesitation, Hotch moved toward you, his steps deliberate and controlled. He reached out, his hand clasping your arm firmly but gently. It wasn’t just a touch — it was a message. His grip communicated a silent directive to stay close and follow his lead.

You didn’t need him to speak. You trusted him, knowing that in situations like this, he was the one person who could bring order and keep you safe.

Around you, the murmurs in the crowd grew louder, some voices rising in alarm. Hotch’s sharp gaze flicked back to the arena’s perimeter, his body tense as he scanned for any signs of further danger. His hand remained on your arm, anchoring you to him, his protective instincts driving every movement.

The silence of the arena was breaking, but your focus stayed on him. Whatever was about to unfold, you knew he would take care of it.

Parents clutching their children, coaches exchanging uneasy glances, spectators craning their necks to catch a glimpse of what was happening. Yet, amid the chaos, one thing was abundantly clear: something was wrong. The rest of the BAU team was already moving, their training kicking in. Eyes scanned exits and entry points, steps purposeful, bodies coiled and ready for action.

Hotch’s voice sliced through the tension like a blade, drawing your attention back to him.

“Stay close. We’ll get you to safety,” he said, his tone firm and edged with an urgency that matched the adrenaline pulsing through your veins. Around you, his team moved into position. JJ was speaking quickly to a nearby event organizer, while Morgan and Rossi spread out to survey the crowd. Emily and Reid were already coordinating with security and checking sightlines. No one was leaving anything to chance.

The atmosphere in the arena shifted further, tension thickening like a storm cloud about to break. Your stomach twisted as you watched the judges exchanging concerned looks, the skaters huddled near the edge of the rink, and the crowd fidgeting in their seats. Whatever had caused the explosion remained a mystery, and the not-knowing only made it worse.

You felt your thoughts scatter, your pulse pounding in your ears.

People remained seated but shifted nervously as if preparing to flee once getting the go-ahead.

“Everyone stay where you are,” Hotch barked, his voice roaring over the noise. The authority in his tone was enough to quiet the murmurs in his immediate vicinity, though the tension in the room didn’t reduce. His gaze flickered back to you as if ensuring you were still steady under his protection. Even as his body remained composed, you caught the tightness in his jaw and the subtle way his shoulders squared — he was ready for anything.

In one fluid motion, Hotch pulled his phone from his jacket and dialed. His voice turned cold and precise, each word clipped and efficient as he relayed the situation to the local police.

“This is Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner with the FBI. We have a potential security threat at the Sectional Skating Championship. Requesting immediate assistance. Unknown cause of disturbance — a loud explosion-like sound—followed by unusual crowd behavior. My team is securing the area. Lock the building down — no one in or out until further notice. I’m on the ground. We need a full investigation.”

He paused, his eyes scanning the crowd once more as he listened to the dispatcher’s response. When he spoke again, his voice was even sharper, cutting through the noise around you.

“Yes. Multiple agents on-site. We’ll hold until local law enforcement arrives.” There was a brief pause as he listened to the other end, and then he added, “Send an officer to every exit and have them check for anything suspicious. I want the building swept. No exceptions.”

The brief crackle of static from Hotch’s phone was drowned out by the rising noise of the crowd, but you could still catch the exchange between him and the dispatcher. Even after the call ended, the residual weight of his authority lingered. Hotch wasn’t just standing beside you as your protector — he was assuming command, his focus split between ensuring your safety and piecing together the origin of the threat.

As he slipped the phone back into his pocket, Hotch turned toward you. Though his posture remained stiff, his expression softened for just a moment.

“Stay close,” he instructed, his tone low but firm, just audible over the murmur of the crowd. His eyes didn’t leave yours, even as he began issuing orders to the team.

“Morgan, Prentiss,” he called, his voice sharp as a commander's. “Check the perimeter. Sweep the hallways and backstage areas. We don’t know if this was an isolated incident or the beginning of something larger. Make sure everyone’s accounted for.”

Morgan’s response was immediate, his posture tense with readiness. “On it,” he said, already scanning for exits as Emily moved in tandem.

Hotch’s gaze flicked toward one of the arena officers, who was fumbling to coordinate with staff. With his usual efficiency, Hotch strode over and handed off a series of rapid instructions, his tone leaving no room for question. It was clear to everyone that he was taking control.

Then, his attention was back on you. He closed the space between you, stopping just short of crowding your personal space. Even now, as chaos brewed around you, Hotch was attuned to your needs, knowing exactly how to make you feel secure without overwhelming you.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” he said softly. This was Hotch at his core — methodical, persistent, and entirely focused on the task while ensuring you remained his top priority.

Strategically, he moved to position himself near the entrance to the locker rooms, creating a barrier that no one could pass without confronting him first. His protective stance made it clear: you were his responsibility, and nothing was going to slip past him.

“JJ, stay with her,” Hotch directed, nodding toward the blonde agent, who was already on her way to your side. Her movements were brisk but deliberate, and her warm smile was meant to comfort, even though the tension in her eyes mirrored the unease in the room.

“Got it,” JJ replied, standing close enough to reassure you without adding to the weight of the moment.

Meanwhile, Hotch’s focus returned to the broader scene. He continued issuing orders. “Dave, you and I will manage the investigation at the main entrance. Coordinate with the local PD and security. Stay in contact with the team — if anything changes, I want to know immediately.”

Rossi gave a sharp nod, already moving to carry out the directive. Around you, the team dispersed like clockwork. Yet even as they moved, Hotch’s eyes flicked back to you intermittently.

His movements were quick, sharp. Rossi gave him a firm nod before he walked off toward the entrance. Meanwhile, Hotch turned back to you, his hand lightly resting on your shoulder once again, the gesture offering reassurance, though you could see the tightness in his face.

You swallowed hard, nodding in acknowledgement, though a lump had formed in your throat. The scene before you had turned from a competition into something far more complicated, far more dangerous. Hotch, though, was steadfast in his focus, ensuring that everyone had a role to play in securing the area, keeping everyone safe.

"You'll be fine," Hotch said again. "We’ve got this under control, but I need you to stay right here with JJ. Don’t go anywhere. I won’t be far."

You glanced at JJ, who offered you a comforting, gentle smile, and you felt the small knot of anxiety in your stomach begin to loosen slightly. The team had it under control, but even still, the looming threat and the lingering chaos left you feeling a little off-center.

He moved to take his place at the front of the arena, ready to address the situation head-on, but with a glance back at you — just a quick look, to make sure you were still safe.

The tension didn’t ease, not by a long shot, but for the moment, you had the protection you needed.

The air was thick with tension as Morgan and Emily moved through the backstage area, their footsteps silent but quick. Every corner, every shadow, was a potential hiding spot for the person behind the explosion sound. The buzz of activity and officers calling out orders had begun to fade as the pair zeroed in on their search, their movements precise.

“Here,” Morgan murmured, motioning toward the steel door at the end of the hall. The hum of machinery echoed from within the room — the Zamboni room, where one of the two ice-resurfacing machines was stored when not in use. A room that, until moments ago, had been nothing more than a utilitarian part of the rink’s operation.

Emily’s hand was already on the door handle. She pushed it open, and they both stepped inside, their eyes quickly adjusting to the low light. At first, the room appeared as it always did — rows of machinery, a place for storage, a place for repairs. But then, their gazes locked on the destruction in the center of the room.

The Zamboni was in pieces.

The giant machine had been obliterated. The frame had been crushed, twisted metal hanging off at odd angles like the remnants of a wrecked car. Bits of shattered glass and chunks of the vehicle’s undercarriage were scattered across the floor, the machinery was unrecognizable. The cause of the explosion was now painfully clear — someone had sabotaged the Zamboni with a destructive force designed to do one thing: send a message.

"Jesus," Emily breathed, her voice low but laced with disbelief as she tried to think of exactly how the Zamboni had been destroyed like that. Her hand instinctively reached for her gun, though there was nothing left of the machine to be worried about anymore. The force of the explosion had left a crater of destruction in the middle of the room, the walls and floors marred by scorch marks.

Morgan’s jaw clenched as his eyes narrowed. He surveyed the wreckage, his gaze flickering over every damaged piece. But it was something on top of the destroyed Zamboni that caught his eye.

There, resting on the crushed metal, was a small, unaffected object — something that, at first glance, seemed almost out of place amid the wreckage. It was a plain, seemingly unmarked CD.

"Is that...?" Emily began, stepping forward cautiously as she pulled her flashlight from her belt and cast its beam on the CD. "No way."

Morgan approached the machine slowly, his hand never far from his weapon as he reached for the CD. He gingerly picked it up, his fingers brushing against the surface. The words scrawled on it in thick, bold Sharpie were specific: Play Me.

“Damn,” Morgan muttered under his breath. He turned the CD over in his hands, checking the back for any other markings or labels, but it was just the words.

"Whoever did this... they want us to listen," Emily said, her tone dark, as she stood back from the wreckage. "But why? What’s on it?"

Morgan glanced over at her, his eyes flashing with the usual resolve. "We need to get this to Hotch. He’s gonna want to see this right now. Whatever’s on this CD, it’s tied to all this." His voice hardened, knowing that this wasn't just a random act of destruction; it was part of something bigger. A message. A warning — and it was all for you.

They exchanged a brief look — silent, but their thoughts aligned. The situation was escalating, and they needed to act quickly. They couldn’t afford to waste any more time.

Morgan pocketed the CD in his vest and turned to leave the room, his focus sharp. Emily followed close behind, and as they made their way out, she glanced back at the destroyed Zamboni. She couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. Whatever was coming next, it wasn’t going to be good.

They moved through the hallway with urgency, heading straight for Hotch, who was already coordinating the investigation. The ominous CD in Morgan's pocket felt like a ticking clock. The message had been delivered. Now, it was up to them to decode it before everything spiraled out of control.

Morgan and Emily hurried back to Hotch, the tension between them noticeable as they moved quickly through the hallway. Morgan had the CD tightly in his grip. As soon as they arrived at the part of the area where Hotch was, Morgan handed over the disc without a word, his expression tense.

Hotch glanced at it before his sharp gaze snapped back up to Morgan. "What do we have?"

Morgan answered, "It's a message. We found it at the scene — the Zamboni room. Whoever did this... they're taunting us."

Emily added, "There's no label on it, just the words 'Play Me' written on the CD. We knew it was important, so we brought it straight to you."

Hotch nodded, his face hardening as he took the CD. Without wasting a second, he led them to a nearby office — one they'd set up as their temporary command center. Inside, he sat down at the computer and inserted the disk into the drive. The monitor flickered before the video began to load.

The figure that appeared on the screen was cast in darkness — his face obscured by shadows, the low lighting ensuring his identity remained hidden. He spoke with an eerie calmness, his voice laced with a mix of confidence and amusement, as though he were already in control of the situation.

“You really thought you could stop me, didn’t you?” His voice was low, calculated, and filled with an unsettling arrogance. If he had had him in his interrogation room, Hotch was sure he would've needed to step out before he let his anger overtake him. “You thought Branson’s death meant the end. But I’m always one step ahead. I'm always ahead." He repeated

The video flickered, and images began to appear on the screen. First, a photo of you, being led to Hotch’s SUV the night Branson was murdered. The image was clear, documenting the aftermath of a tragedy, and the protectiveness in Hotch’s gaze as he escorted you away from the crime scene.

The next photo was taken from a distance — again, it was of you, practicing alone on the ice at the rink, completely unaware of the watchful eyes on you. Anderson who had been there to keep an eye out for you, stood off to the side, watching intently. Fire bubbled within him — Anderson was supposed to look out for you, yet he had let the unsub get close enough to take pictures that day.

Then, another image — you again, this time accompanied by the girls, laughing with them during your night out, a moment of lightheartedness in the midst of everything that had been happening. It was a candid shot, but it held the terrifying realization that you had been watched the entire time.

You had been followed. And you hadn’t known.

The room was dead silent as the images flickered across the screen. It was clear now — this wasn’t just a stalker. This was someone who had been tracking your every move, every breath, for who knows how long. And now, he was making sure you knew it.

The last image hit them hard — a photo of you, surrounded by the team, smiling during your celebration after a long practice, completely unaware of the danger that had been stalking you. You had been followed everywhere, and it was more disturbing now than ever before.

The man’s voice returned, his words dripping with amusement. “You’ll learn soon enough who’s really in charge. This is only the beginning. I will get to her sooner than you think”

The screen cut out abruptly, leaving a chilling silence in its wake.

Hotch stood still for a moment, absorbing the implications of the video. His jaw was clenched tightly as he took in every detail. The fact that this man had been following you, watching you from the shadows — it wasn’t just disturbing, it was personal — he took it personally.

Morgan and Emily exchanged a look, both now fully aware of the gravity of the situation. This wasn’t just about stopping a random killer. This was a calculated, dangerous individual who had been in control the whole time — more than they had thought he had been.

Hotch finally spoke, his voice steady but firm. “Lock down the perimeter. Every exit, every corner, needs to be checked. We need to find out who’s behind this — and we need to do it now. Morgan, Prentiss, you’re with me. We’re going through all the footage from tonight, starting with the security cameras. We need answers, and we need them now.”

He paused and turned to you, his eyes softening just slightly. “We’re not going to let anything happen to you. Stay close. We’re going to handle this.”

You nodded, feeling a surge of both dread and relief. The man behind the video had been watching your every move, but you weren’t alone. The team was here, and they were going to make sure he didn’t get away with it.

Hotch’s jaw was set tight, his eyes dark with fury, but he didn’t let it show outwardly. He was a master of control, and right now, his focus needed to be on the team and you. The anger simmered beneath the surface as the weight of the situation pressed in on him, but he couldn’t afford to let it slip — especially not now. The lives of the people in this arena, particularly yours, depended on him remaining calm.

Still, he couldn’t help but make a mental note, his mind already ticking off the necessary steps. Anderson was next on his list of reprimanding, he had failed to notice, or worse, ignored the warning signs while protecting you. If there was even the slightest chance that Anderson could've prevented this by pulling his head out of his ass, Hotch would make sure he was held accountable. Anderson was going to be in for one hell of a reprimand the moment they got back to the office.

He turned his attention back to the screen, his gaze darkening as the images flickered in his mind. The unsub had been planning this for so long, watching and waiting. And now, Hotch was furious that he’d let this slip under his radar for so long. The thought of you being followed, the pictures of you taken without your knowledge, without your permission... it gnawed at him.

But this wasn’t the time for personal anger. This was the time for action. He couldn’t afford to lose focus. First, he needed to make sure everyone was safe. Second, he needed to find out exactly who this man was and put a stop to him, once and for all.

As his mind ran through the next steps, he made a note to himself: once they were back in the office, he would need to pass the disk over to Garcia. She would be the key to deciphering this he thought — she would find something, maybe a code, in the data hidden on the disk, that would lead them to more answers — maybe she could find the origins of where the disk had been purchased. The words used in the video were no accident, and Garcia’s knack for digging into digital trails was exactly what they needed.

“Take this back to Garcia as soon as possible,” Hotch said, his voice sharp, as he looked at Morgan. “Make sure she checks it from every angle. I want to know who’s behind this, and I want to know now.” He almost growled.

Morgan nodded quickly. “Got it, Hotch.”

Emily, standing by his side, glanced at you briefly. She had a similar, unspoken understanding as Hotch. Whatever was happening now, it was becoming more personal by the second. The killer wasn’t just playing games — he was making his presence known, and he wasn’t going to stop. Not unless they made him.

Hotch turned back to the group with that same steely focus. “Once we have the answers, we move fast. No hesitation. We clear out every area of this arena. Every single corner gets checked. And keep your eyes on the crowd. This man might be hiding in plain sight.”

You, still shaken but determined, met his gaze for a split second, offering him a silent nod. It wasn’t just about safety now. It was about stopping a person who had been lurking in the shadows for far too long. And you were done being the prey.

Hotch’s hand flexed into a fist for a brief moment, his anger still simmering beneath the surface, but he clamped down on it, ready to lead his team with the precise command they needed. He couldn’t afford to let the personal emotions cloud his judgment. Not now. Not when it was all on the line.

“Let’s move,” Hotch said quietly, his voice still calm but filled with that unmistakable urgency. “And remember — stay close. We don’t take any chances.”

They all nodded, shifting into action, and Hotch stayed close, positioning himself as a protective shield between you and the unknown danger that was closing in around you.

And when the case was over, he would deal with Anderson. But right now, there was only one priority: keeping you safe.

The air in the arena was tense as the team waited for the all-clear. Hotch had done everything in his power to ensure the security of the building and those within it. The bomb threat was real, but after a thorough sweep, there was no sign of the unsub inside the arena, no lingering danger. The decision to continue the competition was made with careful consideration, but Hotch wasn’t willing to leave anything to chance.

The FBI had taken over perimeter security, local law enforcement assisting with the sweep of the area, and all competitors were closely monitored. Hotch made sure the team was in position, watching the exits, the crowd, the ice, and each other’s backs. They’d gone over the plan several times already, but the weight of the situation wasn’t lost on him. Even though the threat was seemingly neutralized, Hotch wasn’t going to leave anything to chance. Not while you were so vulnerable.

As the final skaters took the ice, Hotch kept his eyes on you, watching you from a few feet away as you sat in the designated area, the bright lights of the arena casting sharp contrasts across your expression. He noticed you were still tense, though you did your best to hide it. Your body was still tightly wound, the nerves from earlier lingering, but you were focused — your eyes intent on the ice as each skater performed their routine.

Hotch had made it clear earlier that the team was staying close, and he kept that promise. He wasn’t going to let you out of his sight — not now, not ever. He stationed himself just behind you, standing protectively, while the rest of the team remained nearby, their eyes scanning the crowd and the rink, ensuring no one would get too close.

Morgan was just a few feet to his left, standing with Emily, both of them making sure to keep watch of the area around you, while Reid sat a little further away, his eyes flicking between the skaters and the crowd. Garcia, on the other hand, was in constant communication with Hotch, eyes glued to the security feeds on her laptop, making sure there was no sign of the unsub reappearing.

You glanced up at Hotch and offered a small, thankful smile. You appreciated the support, even if you weren’t sure you could perform at your best with everything going on. The fear that had been gnawing at you earlier was still there, buried under layers of nerves and adrenaline, but you could feel a little of it slip away with Hotch’s presence so close by. It was almost like he was your rock.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly, sensing your unease. His voice was calm, yet it carried assurance.

It was that voice that reminded you that he was there for you — not just as an agent or as a protector, but as someone who cared deeply about your safety and well-being. You nodded, grateful, and looked back to the ice, your mind still swirling with the weight of everything happening around you. You focused on your breathing, trying to steady yourself, trying to find that quiet place where your mind and body could align.

The announcer called out the name of the last skater, and you turned your focus back to the ice as the young woman glided out with perfect form. Hotch’s hand subtly touched the back of your seat, the smallest gesture that was somehow grounding, reminding you that he was there — always within reach.

It was almost surreal, the calm after the chaos. The atmosphere was still electric, the energy of the arena humming with anticipation. The competitors were giving it their all, but your mind kept circling back to the moment that had nearly destroyed everything. You didn’t want to think about the danger anymore, but it lingered just beneath the surface.

The final skater performed her routine with grace, but there was something in the way she moved that didn’t quite have the same sharpness as the others. The audience cheered, but the applause wasn’t as thunderous as it had been for some of the earlier skaters. As she finished, the score popped up on the board — an impressive number, but nothing that would push her to the top.

“Okay,” Hotch muttered, giving a glance to Morgan. “Let’s keep it tight. No surprises.”

The last round of scores were being tallied. The scoreboard flickered momentarily as the announcer stepped up to call the final results. The crowd’s hushed anticipation was a thick tension in the air, and Hotch stayed standing by you.

Through the chaos of the competition, he had made sure to keep a cool, level head. His team was sharp, and they had done everything they could to ensure your safety. Now, it was your time to shine, despite the shadows still lurking in the background.

The results would soon be in. And no matter what the outcome, Hotch would stand by you, just as he had all along.

The competition had been intense, every skater pushing their limits, giving everything they had. You had performed your routine flawlessly, but the pressure and nerves still clawed at you. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you could feel the eyes of everyone in the arena on you.

The announcer’s voice broke through the silence, echoing through the arena.

“The scores are in for the women’s singles competition. And moving on to regionals in the first place is Natalia Ivanova and Y/N L/N!”

The crowd erupted into applause, and Natalia stood tall, a proud smile on her face, a glimmer of triumph in her eyes.

The cheers were louder than before, but you didn’t fully register them. Your heart was still racing, the rush of your performance still lingering in the pit of your stomach. You had made it to regionals, but sharing first place still felt bittersweet. Natalia had set the bar high, and you’d come so close, but it hadn’t been enough to truly overtake her in your mind.

But there was a sense of pride too. You had done your best. You had stayed focused and resilient despite everything. And you knew that getting to regionals was still a massive accomplishment, despite sharing the spot.

Natalia turned toward you, her gaze locking with yours across the rink. She gave you a small nod of acknowledgment, a respectful gesture. You returned it with a smile, a silent understanding passing between you. You had been rivals on the ice, but in this moment, there was nothing but respect between you.

“You did great,” Hotch said, his voice low and reassuring. “It is an incredible achievement.”

You nodded, the words from him soothing some of the tension in your chest. But a part of you was still restless — sharing first place meant that the job wasn’t finished yet. Regionals were still ahead, and the road was far from easy.

“Let’s get to the locker room. You’ve earned some time to relax,” Hotch continued.

You let him lead you off the ice, the team forming a protective circle around you as you made your way through the arena. Morgan gave you a thumbs-up from the sidelines, a proud smile on his face. Emily flashed you a wink, and Garcia was quick to send you an encouraging smile as she checked her phone, likely already gathering intel for anything suspicious.

You reached the locker room, and Hotch gave you a moment to catch your breath. The adrenaline from the performance was still running high, but a small sense of relief washed over you. You had made it through the competition, and despite everything, you had succeeded. Natalia may have outperformed you technically, but you were headed to regionals with her and had a better storyline and components in your performance.

And now, with the competition behind you, it was time to regroup, refocus, and prepare for what was to come. The threat was far from over, but for now, you had made it to the next stage.

Hotch stepped closer, his tone serious. “We’ll be right here with you. Let’s keep our focus sharp, and get ready for the next round.”

Tag list: @love4lando @therealbaberuthless @crazyunsexycool @pear-1206 @bookworm124 @itsmytimetoodream @c-losur3 @lumestar @evvy96 @booknerd2004 @werebearcocoon @ahotchnersreid @jazzimac1967 @gamingfeline @soyobi-wankenobi @meg-black

[spencer-reids-fbivest]

He’s so baby 🥹 ( Also Matthew and Thomas are so dad and son in those two pics)

[rainydayathogwarts]

The team discovers you're dating - Aaron Hotchner

d/n: daughter's name.. Summary: The team discovers you're dating because of Jack's freudian slip. (singlemom!bau!reader) 0.7k wc

Small trudging footsteps paired with loud squeals caught the attention of the agents in the bullpen, an apologetic SSA following after his son. Derek and Penelope raced to the young boy, Derek scooping him up the second he was close enough, beating his work wife by seconds. "I'm sorry guys, national holiday and our sitter cancelled." The team dismissed him, understanding of his protectiveness over his son. After seeing so many cases, there was no way he'd let a random person look after his son. "I'll take him down to the daycare in a second, but Jack here just wanted to say hello to someone first."

Derek exaggeratedly frowned, looking down at the blonde boy "Is uncle Derek not the person you were looking for Jacky boy?" Jack shook his head, loud giggles filling the bullpen, just as the glass door opened one more. "Sorry guys," You started, trying to flip strands of hair out of your face while balancing your coffee and keeping your bag on your shoulder. "I had to drop d/n at daycare, sitter cancelled." You gasped loudly when you spotted the small figure in Derek's arms, placing all your things on the closest desk as you opened your arms wide. Jack wiggled his legs in Derek's arms so he could be put down on the floor, a wide smile gracing his features. You crouched down on the floor, grinning at the boy, who yelled loudly "Mommy!" as he ran into your arms.

An eerie silence filled the bullpen as all conversation died down. You wrapped your arms around the boy, his words sinking into your teammates' heads. You lifted Jack up into the air with a clueless smile, standing tall enough so you could see all of your coworkers' facial expressions, when it hit you. Your eyes widened and you froze, past the point of collecting yourself or trying to brush off what Jack said as an accident.

"What did he just say?" You hear Penelope interrogate, looking back and forth between the profilers in the room, hoping to get an answer. As though sensing the change in atmosphere in the room, Jack lifted his head from the crook of your neck, looking up at your face. You moved your stance to balance him on your hip, using the other hand to pick up your to-go cup and take a long sip of your coffee. "You wanna try my coffee Jack?" You teased, breaking the silence between you and him, laughing as the boy pulled a face of disgust, remembering the time he smelt his dad's black coffee one morning when you were over with d/n.

"Yuck! ... Mommy, am I gonna see d/n?" He asks, swinging his legs happily. You're painfully aware of the eyes stuck on you and the boy, glancing up to look at Aaron, observing his reaction. He's smiling softly at you and his son, back turned to the other agents in the bullpen. He walks over to you just as you reply to Jack "She's in daycare right now! Do you want to go join her?" Jack nods excitedly, arms lifting up when his dad walks over, allowing him to take him from you. "Well since the cat's out of the bag." Aaron shrugs, leaning down to press a kiss on your lips, walking out with Jack in his arms who giggles loudly "What cat daddy?"

With Jack finally facing away from you, you let all your emotions show up on your face: shock, confusion, and most importantly embarrassment to being exposed to your relentless team of close friends who will never stop the questions:

'How long?' 'Jack calls you mommy?' 'Don't you owe me money Morgan?'

You laugh at Spencer's comment, watching as Derek fishes his wallet out of his pocket, holding up a 20 dollar bill for Spencer to take. Rossi pushes himself off the desk behind him, where he faces Emily and the rest of the team. He sighs, shaking his head "For the record, I knew his whole time. And at least now you don't have to hide your ring, y/n." He states as he walks away. "You're married!?" Emily and JJ yell at the same time as Penny squeals loudly, running to hug you tightly. "Engaged!" You try saying over the noise. "Engaged not married!"

[my-love-is-mine-all-mine-103]

[ketsueki-k]

Thomas Gibson aka Hotch's selfies were so random LMAO

[miley1442111]

insecurity- a.hotchner

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summary: aaron starts to overthink and doesn't realise how it's impacting the relaitionship.

pairing: aaron hotchner x fiancé! reader

warnings: angst, fluff, aaron is super insecure about his body, reader is upset with him, suggestive mentions, fade to black smut, kissing, aaron ignores reader and is kind of a dickhead, cursing, angsty for a moment (I think that's it?)

not entirely proofread

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“Not good enough.” 

The sentence rang out in his mind as he knocked on your apartment door. 

“She’s too young for you, she’ll get bored.”

“Hi handsome,” your bright eyes met his, your perfect figure clad in a t-shirt and jeans, your hair done how he loved, and he smiled. 

“Hi beautiful,” he smiled. Adjectives became names with him. You smiled. “Ready to go?”

“All packed and ready,” you smiled. 

You were moving in. And Aaron was shitting it. 

“How could she ever find you attractive?” “She’s too young for you.” “Jack will hate you when she leaves you.”

He’d been a careful and logistical man his entire life, and all of that, all the walls and things he’d put in place to protect himself had disintegrated when you confessed to him and asked him out. 

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“Hey boss,” you smiled, knocking on his open door. “Can I talk to you?”

He’d smiled and nodded. It was 9pm, much later than you usually stayed ‘til. It had been months of fleeting glances, scorching touches, and mixed signals. Tonight was the night you’d change that. 

“Of course,” he’d offered you a seat and you smiled up at him. He thought you were gorgeous, even after the excessive amount of running you’d all had to do (since the unsub almost got away), and the long three days of no sleep. 

“Can I say something? And if it’s weird, or wrong, or if it makes you uncomfortable please just tell me to shut up and-”

“I’d never tell you to shut up,” Aaron chuckled, god much he liked you was getting pathetic. 

You smiled. “I’d like to go out with you, like on a date,” You swallowed nervously. “Would that be something you’d be interested in?”

Aaron’s entire throat went dry and a million thoughts ran through his head, every single one of them about you.

“She’s joking, there’s no way she’d ever-”

“I’d be very interested,” his lips moved before his brain could even comprehend what he was saying. Every wall, everything that he’d put up to protect himself, it all crumbled to the ground in an instant. You had a knack for making him feel completely raw, completely at your mercy, and he hated to love it.

You smiled. Your beautiful, indescribable smile. “Good,” you were trying to not smile so hard, but it was proving difficult when he was sitting there so prettily, so Aaron. “How about Thursday, since Fridays are you and Jack time? I know this great tapas bar?”

You even knew Fridays didn’t work since they were ‘Jack and Dad night’. Could you be more perfect? “That sounds great.” 

You’d left his office with a smile on your face. He watched you leave and realised he was fucked.

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“Earth to Aaron?” You waved a hand in front of his face. “You alright?”

“I’m alright,” he chuckled. “Don’t worry.”

“Dad’s a crazy old man!” Jack giggled. You both laughed along, but Aaron couldn’t help but feel the sting. He knew it was a joke, he knew this was all irrational, but it still hurt all the same.  

“Jack!’ you scolded playfully. “He’s only 48.”

Jack rolled his eyes and laughed, then got in the car. 

“You’re not crazy to me,” you pressed a quick kiss to his lips and smiled.  “Promise.”

He smiled back, but he was still riddled with anxiety, and he was scared. Aaron hadn’t been scared since Floyd. He was scared because he knew the power you had over him, and he knew you didn’t even know the magnitude of that power. You were his guiding star, his everything. 

“I love you,” He beamed, despite the inner monologue that was tormenting him.

You softened. “I love you too. Ready to go?”

“All ready,” he smiled. 

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The first week, you could tell something was up with Aaron. He was quieter, less physical, and seemingly, work was more interesting than you.

You frowned every time he came home late and left for work early, just wanting a moment or two alone with your fiancé. When you met him at work, it wasn’t much different which, granted, wasn’t unusual. He was averse to pda, especially in the workplace, and  he didn’t much like sharing his personal life with the team unless it was completely necessary. 

But it was getting strange when even on cases where you’d be sharing a hotel room, he’d choose not to have sex, citing that he was too tired.

Now, your sex life was great, he was great. You hadn't gone more than a week without having sex since the first time you did it, which was a month into your relationship. Had you done something to annoy him? You weren’t sure. 

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Living with you was a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, you were always there. On the other hand, you were always there. He dug himself deeper, hating the scars on his body and the way his hair greyed at the roots. He hated the extra fat he’d put on, and decided to work himself harder in the gym. He hadn’t gone in a while, choosing to spend his time with you instead. Why did he feel like this? Aaron Hotchener had always been a smart, logical, confident man. Now? He was scared to be shirtless in front of his own fiancé. It’s not like he didn’t think he was handsome, he knew he was good-looking. Maybe not as good as he did in his prime, but still good-looking. It’s just that you were so… young and so beautiful. You two were so opposites, he was 48 and you were practically fresh out of the academy in his eyes (You were not fresh out of the academy, you’d been working with him for years). When you two went out, people hit on you, and you had to point to him and say that he was your boyfriend. The way the guys looked at him, the younger, more attractive guys, made him feel small. 

Aaron Hotchner did not like feeling small, so he decided to make a change. No sex (unless initiated by you) until he felt confident again. 

When would that be, you may ask? He had no clue. 

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Ok, three weeks with no sex and you were even more worried. But, at least you two had the weekend off since work was quiet and Jack was off to Jessica’s to be with his cousins.

You walked into his office to see him sweaty and clearly more tired than usual. Aaron had been coming home later, not at all interested in wedding planning, and just not mentally in the room with you or Jack in recent weeks. It was worrying you to say the least. Were you losing him? Was he cheating? 

“Hey boss, here’s the reports from me, Jj, Spencer, and Derek,” You handed him the reports from the last cases, and he barely looked up at you. You felt something other than hurt and confusion started to bubble, anger. Why the fuck was he treating you like this? You’d done nothing that you were aware of and anyways, he had no right to not talk to you if he was upset. He’s a grown man, he can talk about his fucking feelings. 

You walked out without another word, deciding that it was time to be angry, not worried. 

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You got home later than usual, deciding to head out to dinner with Penelope after work, and when you got inside you found Aaron on the couch, waiting up for you. 

“Where were you?” He asked through gritted teeth. Oh, now he wanted to talk. 

“Out,” your answer was short, and ambiguous enough to warrant other questions. 

“Where?” he asked again. 

“Bar.”

“Y/n,” his voice was low.  

“With Penelope.”

He sighed and got up, walking over to you. “Why aren’t you talking to me?”

The look of annoyance on your face made him stop in his tracks. 

“Why am I not talking to you?! You’ve been ignoring me for 3 fucking weeks Aaron!” you shot back. “You come home late, you’re never here when you are here, you ignore me at work, you ignore me at home, I’m the one hanging out with Jack on the weekends, not you and we haven’t so much as kissed in three weeks. If you want me to move back out i-if this is too much for you, I can do that, I don’t mind. I’m just so sick of being treated like I don’t exist, like I’m not your fucking fiancé,” your voice got smaller as you went on, realising just how frustrated you were getting with it all. “It’s not fair Aaron.”

Aaron could feel his heart breaking, while his insecurities swallowed him up, he forgot about how it would make you feel and how it would impact your relationship. “Honey I’m-”

“I love you Aaron. I love you so much, and for a while I thought I did something wrong, like really really wrong. Like maybe I overstepped with Jack, or maybe I upset you somehow. And if I’m right, please just tell me. These last few weeks have been torture trying to figure out why you’re mad,” you begged, small tears cascading down your cheeks as emotion overcame you. 

Aaron hadn’t remembered how good it felt to be told he was loved by you. Obviously you said it everyday, but it sometimes becomes ‘just a thing someone says’. But not with you. You said it with your full chest, only to people who meant something. Aaron meant something to you. He realised how he should have remembered that. He should have remembered that you had loved him despite how he looked and acted, that you stood by him during Foyet, not because you were in love with him (not yet anyway) but because you loved him (even if it was just as a friend then). You were the most loving person he’d ever met, and he felt ashamed that he;d ever let his insecurities blind him to the beautiful reality he was living. He was going to marry you. He was living with you. 

What was he thinking?

“I’m so sorry Honey,” he pleaded. “I was worried.”

You stood there dumbfounded. “Worried about what?” You spat. 

“I worried… that I was too old for you… that you’d look at me and think that you’re without,” he admitted. “Jack thinks I’m old, I thought it was only a matter of time before you came to the same conclusion. I’m not as young as you, and I don’t measure up in… well in looks. You’re fucking beautiful and stunning and beside you I’m just… me. Scars and all.” 

You sighed and took his hand. “You’re 48 Aaron, not 77. Alright? Better yet, you’re a hot 48 year old. But you know what’s better than that? You love me. You’re sweet to me, and you treat me well. I feel the love from you everyday. That’s what I give a shit about, that we love each other. Is that not what you care about?” you asked, a hint of insecurity in your voice. 

“Of course I care about that,” he nodded, glad you were letting him touch you. “I was just…”

“Getting your own head about things?” you finished for him and he nodded. “I understand. But in future please just come to me, yeah?”

“I’m sorry I made you cry,” he added, softly cupping your cheek and drying your wet eyes.  “I’m so sorry.”

You cracked a smile, chuckling lightly as you cupped his cheeks. “It’s ok.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s not.”

You chuckled as you pulled him in to kiss you. “It’s alright,” you whispered against his lips. You quickly pulled away realising you had another question to ask. “You’re not cheating on me, right? Like, why have you been coming home so late?”

He chuckled and smiled at you. “No, you’re enough for me to handle.”

“So what have you been doing,” you asked. 

He looked down in embarrassment. “It’s stupid.”

“I want to know,” you pushed, a smile on your face. 

“I’ve been going to the gym,” he admitted, his cheeks heating up. “Don’t laugh.”

You stared at him in shock, then playfully hit him on the chest. “You bitch! We could’ve been going together!” 

He laughed, then pressed his lips to yours again. “We will.” 

“Y’know what else I’ve missed?” you smirked as he pulled your waist into his. 

“What?” he pressed a kiss to your neck. 

“Sex.”

He smirked. “Well, I do have a lot of making up to do, don’t I?”

You nodded, pulling towards the stairs. “Yes you do.”

As you two made it to the top of the stairs, he pressed his lips to yours again. “I love you.”

“Shut up and fuck me Aaron.”

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