#Aaron hotchner angst

[kiwriteswords]

She Gets the Job Done [Aaron Hotchner x Bratty!Reader]

Masterlist|| Ao3||Word Count: >2k|| AN: IF YALL KNOW ME YOU KNOW I DONT LOVE WRITING SMUT. BUT I'M OVULATING AND BEEN THINKING A LITTLE TOO HARD ABOUT HOTCH. Tags/Warnings: SMUT! MDNI! NSFW!! 18+, female reader, established relationship, bau!reader, pwp, p in v smut, no protection, no talk about protecting (just assume they've got this established!), fingering, brat tamer!Hotch, possessive!hotch, brat!reader, like no "after" scene really because I did not feel like it--lol. office sex!!, seducing an unsub in an interrogation, reader has hair Summary: When you decide to use an Unsub's weakness of being seduced by women to your advantage, it really pisses your boyfriend off.

Hotch’s jaw was tight, muscles strained beneath clenched teeth as he stood rigidly behind the one-way glass. The low hum of the fluorescent lights overhead seemed overly loud in the silent observation room, amplifying the palpable tension that had settled thickly in the air. 

Aaron Hotchner was rarely a man to lose his cool, but right now, he felt like a tightly coiled spring on the verge of snapping.

Through the glass, he watched you closely, noticing the slight, intentional sway of your hips as you circled the interrogation table. 

The unsub's eyes were fixated on you, tracking your every movement hungrily, the intensity in his gaze revolting yet exactly what you intended. 

You had unbuttoned your blouse just enough to draw attention, something that had not gone unnoticed by anyone on the team. 

Certainly not by Hotch.

The way your skirt rose up just a little too high. Or how you pressed your arms closer together, so your breasts stood right in the line of sight for the unsub. Your hair touseled in a way that only Hotch had seen--

In a way where you looked fulled fucked. 

You leaned forward slowly, palms flat against the cool metal surface, eyes locked onto the unsubs with a sultry, playful challenge. 

"Come on," you murmured, voice dripping honey, the seductive undertone unmistakable. "Don't you want to impress me? It'd be our little secret."

Hotch felt his chest tighten, his knuckles white as he squeezed his hands into fists. Rossi glanced sideways, clearing his throat uncomfortably, sensing the impending eruption.

"Hotch," Rossi began cautiously, "maybe we should—"

"No," Hotch cut him off sharply, eyes never leaving your form. He felt a fierce surge of possessiveness clawing at his throat, anger burning hot in his veins. He had agreed reluctantly to your tactic, trusting you implicitly, but this—

This was beyond the pale.

You laughed softly, a delicate sound that danced dangerously around the unsub. The man visibly shivered, eyes wide with anticipation, lips parted in silent surrender. "I'll tell you," the unsub breathed shakily, eyes greedily drinking in your appearance. "But what do I get in return?"

You tilted your head, gaze smoldering beneath lowered lashes. "You tell me first," you purred, leaning closer, deliberately letting your hair brush across his trembling fingers. 

Hotch’s heart hammered violently in his chest, his blood roaring in his ears as the unsub hungrily eyed you.

"He's going to break," Reid muttered quietly, visibly uneasy as he shifted his weight from foot to foot.

Hotch didn't respond. 

He couldn’t. 

His entire being was transfixed, paralyzed between the overwhelming urge to storm into the interrogation room and drag you away, and the knowledge that your tactics were working.

The unsub exhaled roughly, eyes glazed with desperation. "Fine," he gasped, chest heaving. "The body's behind the old warehouse on Elm—buried shallow."

A cruel smirk curled at the corners of your lips, eyes suddenly cold as you pulled away, straightening your posture and buttoning your blouse calmly as if nothing had transpired. 

"Thanks for the cooperation," you said coolly, every trace of seduction vanishing instantly.

Hotch felt a wave of relief, immediately drowned by a surge of anger-- 

Raw and primal. 

He turned sharply, stalking out of the observation room without a word. 

The sound of his shoes pounding harshly against the linoleum matched the racing of his heart.

Moments later, you stepped confidently from the interrogation room, smug satisfaction evident on your face until you caught sight of Hotch’s furious gaze pinned firmly upon you from down the hall. The arrogant smirk faltered briefly, replaced by a flicker of uncertainty as you squared your shoulders and approached him.

"My office. Now." His voice was dangerously soft, controlled with a rigid effort that barely concealed his simmering rage.

You lifted your chin defiantly, a hint of mischief playing in your eyes even now. "Is there a problem, Agent Hotchner?"

Hotch moved closer, invading your space, his presence dominating and overwhelming. His voice dropped lower, vibrating with intensity. "You know exactly what the problem is."

He turned sharply, leaving you standing in the hall, the air between you charged and crackling dangerously as he stalked toward his office, knowing you’d follow, knowing the line had just been irrevocably crossed.

Hotch’s jaw remained tightly set, his anger simmering beneath a mask of forced calm as he stalked into his office, the door closing behind him with a sharp click. 

He turned, arms crossed rigidly over his chest, watching you enter a moment later, defiance radiating from your posture. You stood before him, eyes flashing with an audacious mix of arrogance and curiosity, clearly unfazed by his obvious displeasure.

He moved forward deliberately, narrowing the distance until you were forced to tilt your chin upward to maintain eye contact. 

The air around you both crackled with charged intensity, tension thick enough to choke on. "Do you have any idea how reckless that was?" His voice was low, edged with barely restrained fury.

You tilted your head slightly, eyes dancing mischievously as you shrugged casually, playing off his anger. "I got results, didn't I? Isn’t that what matters most?"

Hotch leaned closer, his eyes dark and stormy. "What matters most is that you stay safe and professional. You compromised yourself—and us."

"I handled it," you replied boldly, leaning into him ever so slightly, the provocative gleam in your eyes unmistakable. "Maybe you're just jealous."

Hotch inhaled sharply, the vein in his neck visibly pulsing as he fought for control. His voice dropped lower, becoming dangerously quiet. "Jealouus? You deliberately let that monster think he had a chance with you."

You laughed softly, a wicked, bratty sound that tugged at something primal deep within him. Your voice dripped honeyed sarcasm, pushing every button he had. "Maybe you're just upset because he liked what he saw. Jealous someone else enjoyed the show?"

Hotch snapped, his large hand darting out swiftly to grip your waist, pulling you flush against his body with a force that drew a startled gasp from your lips. He bent down, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered harshly, voice trembling with intensity, "Say that again. I dare you."

You smirked, eyes blazing defiantly as you pressed closer, your voice dropping into a taunting whisper that brushed his skin like a forbidden caress. "Why don't you bend me over your desk and show me who I belong to?

He felt something snap inside him at your words, a powerful surge of possessiveness and raw desire flooding through his veins. He spun you around abruptly, pinning you against the edge of his desk, chest pressing firmly against your back, one strong arm holding your hips firmly in place. He leaned over you, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his voice ragged and rough. "You think you can provoke me without consequences?"

Your breath hitched audibly, the arrogance melting into something softer, breathless anticipation trembling in your voice. "Maybe I like seeing how far I can push you."

Hotch's grip tightened possessively, voice thick with barely contained passion. "Then prepare yourself," he growled lowly, his control unraveling as he gave in to the powerful tension that had ignited between you both, fully intent on reminding you exactly who you belonged to.

His hands quickly found the edge of your skirt, pulling it up roughly to your waist. He felt your body shiver beneath his touch, your breathing quickening as he leaned closer, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss against your neck. 

His voice was a husky murmur, every word laced with possessive intensity. "You're mine. Never forget that."

You whimpered softly, leaning back into his touch, all traces of defiance giving way to desperate need. His hand slipped down your hips, fingers teasingly brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. 

You arched against him instinctively, desperate for more--

The tension between you reaching an explosive peak.

Hotch groaned lowly against your skin, guiding you firmly into position against his desk, one hand gripping your hip possessively while the other reached to loosen his belt impatiently. 

Your breath came in ragged gasps--

Anticipation nearly unbearable as he pressed himself against you, his voice commanding and darkly seductive as he whispered roughly, "I'll make sure you never doubt again who you belong to."

Had he locked the door? He wasn’t sure. But one moment he was pulling you into his office--

Filled with rage. Anger. Honestly, jealousy--

And now, he was stroking himself, pulling your lace panties to the side, finding you wet and ready after this little episode. 

He knew you liked to poke his buttons--

He knew this. 

He knew being a brat--

Being his brat…turned you on.

But what turned you on more was his visual reaction. And your actions sure as hell lead to a reaction from him.

He never thought of himself as a reactive man. His proud ability to remain stoic within even some of the most trying situations was a strength of his. But you? You with your whits and your body and your pure…pure seduction without even so much trying--

It had him whipped. Whipped in a way he couldn’t explain. 

Whipped in a way that has him fisting his cock with one hand and parting your wet, ready folds with the other. He slid his index finger in you--

Stretching you for him. The tight, wet, warm heat closed around the length of his finger. Practically sucking him in. 

He felt your hips stutter against his wrist.

Needy, needy girl, he thought. 

You mumbled something--

He thought it might be his name, but his heartbeat thud so heavily within his ears, he’s not sure what you said, if anything at all. 

It could have just been a whimper--

A sound he’d come to love so much.

Sure, he’d love you not always having to be such a defiant brat to get here. Yet, here you were. And as he stroked himself. Once. Twice. Three times more, he wasn’t complaining.

Not really. 

Removing his finger from you, he reached around to where your face layed pressed against the cool wooden desk. Papers sprawled out. Case files and budget reports mixed around. 

A clerical mess.

A human resource disaster. 

But pure nirvana to him as you knew to open your lips and taste yourself off his finger. 

Watching that, he bit back a groan as he teased your entrance with the tip of his cock. Up and down, teasing you. He planned to tease and use you. 

Just in the way you did with him today.

He entered you with a deep, assertive thrust, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. Hotch’s movements were powerful and controlled, every stroke filled with possessive intent. 

His hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back gently to expose your neck fully to his hot, demanding mouth. 

Every touch, every thrust, reinforced the undeniable truth of his words—

You belonged to him.

"Say it," he demanded roughly, breath warm against your skin, his pace relentless and passionate. "Tell me who you belong to."

"You," you breathed out shakily, your voice breaking under the weight of overwhelming pleasure. "Only you, Aaron."

"Good girl," he growled approvingly, his grip tightening as his movements quickened, driving you both toward a powerful climax, sealing his claim unmistakably and completely.

As the intensity peaked, your body trembled against his, both of you gasping as waves of pleasure crashedover you. Hotch held you tightly as you both gradually came down from the euphoric high, pressing gentle kisses against your shoulder, murmuring soothing words against your skin.

Slowly, he withdrew, carefully adjusting, reaching for a tissue--

Cleaning you with reverence and respect, then fixing your clothes with unexpected tenderness. 

He turned you gently, cupping your face in his hands, eyes filled with warmth and a fierce protectiveness. "Never again," he whispered softly, a plea and promise intertwined. "You mean too much to me."

You met his gaze, your defiance fully melted into sincerity and affection, nodding softly as you leaned into his gentle kiss, knowing you'd finally found your boundaries—

And exactly where you belonged.

[sweetly-yours-and-mine]

Grocery Store - Frozen Foods

Summary: You run into Hotch after your first few days at the BAU.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x f!Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Eep! I'm planning for this to be a series of oneshots in the same universe of little domestic moments.

Warnings: put the self in self-insert, brief mention of disordered eating (blink and you'll miss it), hotch mention's haley's pregnancy (blink and you'll miss it), a lot being said without being said ig, hotch having massive hands because i said so

The grocery aisles, on a late Saturday night, are predictably empty, still the open space that had been brimming with people only hours before unnerves you. Though you know it’s not true by the sparse cars in the parking lot, it feels as though you were the only one here and that’s not what you wanted when you'd packed up for the short trip over. 

The silence hangs heavy in the air, as if the place is holding its breath, waiting to kick you out of it into the dark of the night so it can get some rest in preparation for the Sunday morning crowds. 

Your basket hangs in the crook of your elbow and you find yourself wandering between aisles slightly aimless, eyes not really seeing as you look around. The anonymity of the place would usually settle you, calm your racing nerves but right now, mixed with a weekend off from work, with a long stretch of a few days left to fill, it makes the air around you feel like vegetable shortening. 

You find yourself in the frozen goods aisles, hoping the chill and rush of the cold can help to ground you when a familiar voice calls out your last name. You turn in its direction. 

“Oh!” Even when you’re off from work, work seems to find you. “Agent Hotchner, sir, hi.” 

“Evening,” he smiles at you politely. Though he’s out of his high collars and suits, his voice betrays none of the vulnerability you feel is dripping from yours at having been caught outside of work. “Rather late for groceries, isn’t it?” 

You look down at your basket, “Just some essentials, sir.” You catch him looking over to the shelves of ice cream to your left, and you let out a nervous laugh, afraid to be caught in a lie you never told, “And an indulgence or two.”

He nods, eyes flitting over to meet yours. “Good.” 

Something about this, seeing Aaron in jeans and worn-down shirt, out of the office and where a passerby would mistake you for two acquaintances, makes you feel childish. The similarity between right now and the times you’d run into your elementary teachers outside of school is hard to miss. It’s the same jarring feeling, like the Earth had wobbled on its axis for a moment, thrust you into a pocket of air where rules didn’t seem to apply anymore. 

Even when you were little, you were a stickler for them. Wanted, needed, to keep everything in its right place. Your mother always told you stories of your seemingly disproportionate anger, screaming and crying tantrums over the slightest things left out of place. 

“And what’s your poison of-” he cuts himself off, tilting his head to read the label on the tub. “Non-Fat, All-Organic, frozen Greek yogurt…” his words trail off, a stitch forming between his eyebrows. 

You smile at him sheepishly. 

Despite the carefree ease that accompanied most of your childhood, you’re not sure if you’d like to go back to it. You’d rather the burden of responsibility, the burden of control, rather than the unbridled rage you feel was coursing through you at almost any given point in time when you were younger. 

“Intriguing.” 

You laugh before you get a chance to reel it in, and heat rushes to your face seconds later. The waters were still murky, around the team, but Aaron especially. Despite everyone’s best efforts to make it seem otherwise, there was still a line drawn between you and them. And they held safety in numbers, an elusive entity that spoke a language of its own. 

Aaron, as your Unit Chief, only added another layer of complexity to the dynamic. His reputation was famous, infamous in other circles, and it only made you approach each and every encounter with him with hesitancy, scared to get too close and not close enough, balancing on a knife’s edge. 

“Forgive me if I’m prying, Agent,” his voice draws you away from your thoughts. “But-but…why the-why-” 

You shrug, gnawing at the inside of your lip. There’s a burning hole in the pit of your stomach, and an exhaustion washes over you suddenly. “It’s…uh,” you laugh again to buy yourself some time. “I like the taste.” 

Aaron pauses a moment too long, and you watch him as he looks you over, at the things in your basket, the circles under your eyes. “I find that hard to believe.” 

It scares you how easily he managed to read you. The spinach and unsweetened plant milk in your basket, the clear indications of what your teenage self would call ‘trying to be good’. 

The condensation starts to form on the tub in your arm, sticking to the sensitive skin of your inner arm. 

“And-uh,” you clear your throat, look around anxiously eager to flick the spotlight away. “What’s got you making the midnight journey?” 

The intentional look he was holding on you disappears in favour of a more general politeness, “Same as you.” He turns to the freezers, opening the door and taking two pints of Ben & Jerry’s, holding them in each hand to show you. “Indulgence.” 

“Chocolate Therapy?” The label on each pint is the same. 

“You’re surprised.” 

You stammer for your footing, the sudden boldness a shock to yourself, “I-uh, sorry, sir, it just-” 

The sound of his laugh cuts you short, muted and barely perceptible to anyone else had they been walking down the aisle, but at this time of night, it’s only you and him and the fuzzy sound of a Top 40s station filtering out over the speakers. 

“What is it, Agent?” He smiles now, properly. The effect is jarring, feels like something you shouldn’t be seeing. “I don’t strike you as a chocolate man?” 

It’s hard to find an answer to that. The day had been long, drawn out, you’d barely processed the weight of it, the weight of the week that preceded it, before running into Aaron and striking up this strange vertigo of an encounter. 

You wish fervently for the ease the rest of the team has around each other, to be able to summon up a witty, smart answer in a matter of milliseconds and the confidence to say it as well. More often than not you’re left bumbling, hands grasping pathetically at little soap bars of words that all seem inadequate. 

“Take a guess.” 

“Sorry, sir?” 

He gestures to the containers to your left, “Take a guess, Agent.” 

You want to rebuttal, apologize profusely maybe, and go back home and pretend none of this had ever happened. Instead, you look over to the freezer, raking your eyes over each label, hoping you can gather your thoughts in a somewhat coherent manner, to come out of this nightmare of a place relatively unscathed. You gaze back over to him and see him watching you intently. There’s a small pint to your right and you make a snap decision before you think too much of it and risk looking daft, “An Éclair Affair.” 

“Really?” His face is still unreadable. Nodding, you fight the urge to stutter and change your answer, this dreadful conversation already taking a turn towards treacherous waters. “Hm.” 

The fridges beside you switch on with a soft hum, their frequency slightly higher than that of the buzzing fluorescents. Your mouth fills with blood, the inside of your cheek chewed raw by the time he speaks up again, “Good.” 

“Good?” you can’t help but repeat, wincing at how dull and parrot-like it makes you look. 

He nods, the edges of his mouth curling up and his eyes twinkling in the harsh light. He looks down at the two pints he’s holding stacked on top of each other in one hand, “They’re for Haley. She’s been having cravings recently and…” he gestures vaguely with the hand holding the containers. “She’s very specific.” 

You wonder if he knows that his shoulders curl just slightly when he talks about her, that the hard flint of his face smooths over, bricks falling away. You wonder if they’re things he’s schooled himself out of doing and is just letting slip here, or if they’re truly forces of habit. 

“She’s got good taste, sir.” 

The rush of your victory is still coursing through you, a flicker of hope at the end of the tunnel, a promise that it can and will get better. 

You see Aaron struggle for a moment, opening his mouth once, twice, before saying, rather bluntly, “You should get what you want.” 

“I-what?” 

With his chin, he gestures to the container in your arm, “Indulge. Properly, I mean.” 

You fumble for an answer, something right. So much of your new life, your new job, has made you feel you’d never do anything properly ever again. “Is that an order, sir?” 

He lets out a soft exhale through his nose, shaking his head as he looks down. To your delight, the corners of his mouth twitch up. Looking up again, he says in a serious tone, “Get the full fat stuff, Agent.” 

When you laugh this time, it isn’t followed by twinges of guilt, of fear. It bursts out easily from your throat, and the sheer nothingness that you feel is heady. You see yourself mirrored in Aaron, in the slow, rumbling chuckle he lets out. Despite his composure, you see the tips of his ears turn red, your feelings about this whole thing this evening mirrored in him. 

It was strange to see him up close like this, with the weight of his authority lifted off his shoulders. It’s like watching a marble statue spring to life in front of you, pockmarks rippling up on top of previously smooth surfaces. 

Aaron keeps looking at you, expectant. The tub grows heavier in your arms, and you shift it higher up. You wonder if you’re just imagining the weight of the decision laying in front of you, the push and pull between should and could. 

It has been a long time since your teenage years, since fainting in the shower and brushing out clumps of your hair, but you think that that girl will always be with you, for better and worse. It’s a wonder to you that nobody saw it coming, your insatiable thirst for control spiraling greater and greater until college where it followed your every thought, manipulated your every move. 

“Agent?” 

You know Aaron well enough at least, to know that he wouldn’t be offended if you didn’t change your choice. He was private, not cruel. 

Your eye catches another flavour, and before you let yourself think too much of it, to think yourself out of it, you open the fridge door and switch. The rush of cool air is gratifying, the wash of a good night’s sleep after a long day. 

Breathing out softly, you look back to see him shift the containers in his grip, “I’ll see you Monday, Agent.” He nods at you, polite and professional as always. 

When he rounds the corner at the end of the aisle, the ice cream catches your eye, a stark contrast to the other things in your basket. The low timbre of Aaron’s laugh rings out in your ears again, the anvil crushing your chest lifted. 

Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! I obsess and re-read reblogs and comments constantly.

Masterlist here.

[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part sixteen

Y'all. I swore this fic wasn't going to be novel-length, but *gestures to the current WC in progress* I fear I've done it again. There's still so much to happen, so it's likely that this will be another 30ish chapter fic😭 That being said, we've reached our turning point for these two...maybe things will start looking up soon 👀

Warnings: angst :( the truth comes out :(

You wake to a missed call from Penelope and an ache in your bones. The day comes back to you in fits and starts: speaking to Richard Monroe again, arguing with Hotch again, the car chase, the hospital— Hotch knows the truth.

A wave of nausea overtakes you when you remember. Hotch knows. Hotch knows and not because you told him, but because he went behind your back.

God, and he probably told the entire team, so now they all know, and they probably hate you for keeping it a secret from them.

Your phone buzzes again with a text and you pick it up, seeing that it’s just Pen asking if you’d like some company for dinner. Just you, her, and some Chinese takeout.

You tell her Of course because you’ll never turn down time with Pen, especially not including food. And because…maybe this will be good. Hotch said he looked at your file, and there’s only one person capable of pulling it and unsealing it for him.

You can’t be mad at Pen, though. Not ever. Because Hotch is her superior just like he is yours, so you can’t blame her for doing what she was told. You just wonder if she read it and kept it a secret, or if she didn’t glance at it at all.

Pen answers that question for you the second she gets to your apartment with the food. As soon as everything is set out on the coffee table in your living room, she blurts it all out.

“I didn’t read your file,” she starts to ramble. “And for the record, I told Hotch that what he was doing was stupid and a betrayal of your trust and that I didn’t agree with it at all. I gave him your file because he asked and he’s my boss, but I made sure to give him a piece of my mind when I did. You don’t just go around digging into people’s pasts like that! He should’ve just asked you! And now he’s got the whole team on high alert being all cryptic and—”

“Pen. Pen, slow down.”

She does, pausing to suck in a deep breath. She takes both of your hands in hers. “I just wanted you to know I’d never do that to you.”

You smile softly, squeezing her hands. “I know.”

“And that if you need anything, anything at all, I don’t care what it is, I’m here,” she continues. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you assure her. “A little sore, but I’m okay.”

“No, I mean,” she pauses, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Are you in any kind of trouble?”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What makes you say that?” Did Hotch seriously spill your secret?

“Hotch had me bring out everything from the last few cases, and dig up everything on Richard Monroe. I know you were speaking to him because he kept asking for you, and Hotch sounded really worried, but he wouldn’t tell any of us what this is all about, so I’m just…I’m scared.”

You frown. “Don’t be scared, Pen, I’m okay.” You pause, wondering if you should let her in. It seems like Hotch hasn’t told anyone, so only he and Rossi are in the know on why he’d want Garcia to dig all of this stuff up. And if he asked for everything from the last few cases, his suspicions might be the same as yours. “You really didn’t look at my file when you unsealed it?”

She shakes her head vigorously. “I didn’t. Shut my eyes and everything. You should’ve seen the sticky note I put on it— I don’t even remember what I wrote but I know it was scathing. I kind of hoped it would make Hotch have second thoughts about digging through your past like that.”

Oh, Penelope. “Well,” you let out a strained laugh, “I appreciate that. He— Pen, what I had sealed was about my biological father.”

She stares at you, eyes wide and expectant.

“My father is The Strangler,” you say, searching her eyes for any recognition. “Carson Adkins. My mom had her and my last name changed back to her maiden name when I was fourteen, and she moved us all the way to Washington to escape from all that he had done. We started over then, and I thought I’d never have to deal with any of it again, but working at the FBI, obviously I had to disclose any other names I had for a background check, and, well…”

“Oh,” Pen breathes. “Oh my god.”

You nod. “Strauss agreed to let me seal that portion of my file since it was twenty years ago now, and my father is dead, so it’s not like any of it is truly relevant — or so I thought, I guess.”

“Wait, but if he’s dead, then…”

You know what she’s asking, and you don’t have an answer. “I know. And I have no idea. I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Okay,” she exhales, squeezing your hands again. “We’ll figure it out. I’ll…I’ll turn over every piece of information that I have to, I’ll hack into anything, I’ll—”

“Pen,” you laugh, pulling her toward you to wrap your arms around her in a hug. “Thank you.”

She holds you tight. “Thank you for telling me.”

You shrug as you pull away. “Figured it was time, I guess.”

She shakes her head. “It’s yours to tell, so whenever you were ready would’ve been the perfect time.”

You smile sadly. “I was getting ready, I was going to talk to Hotch about it soon. But then Richard brought it up, and…” You sigh. “It all went downhill from there.”

Pen frowns. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you deflect, starting to feel that you’ve had enough of talking about this. “What should we watch while we eat?”

Pen takes the bait with ease, immediately launching into an eager retelling of some movie she just heard of that she has to show you. It’s a welcome distraction.

+++

You return to the BAU the next day with your head held high, arriving much earlier than usual on purpose. You’d rather be settled in when the rest of the team arrives than walking in with their eyes all glued to you.

It works in your favor, except for the fact that Rossi is already there and stirring his coffee when you walk through the doors.

“Back already?” he muses, but you can see the concern in his face.

“Yep,” you nod, setting your stuff down on your desk. “Why are you here so early?”

He raises an eyebrow. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Well, don’t,” you huff. “Move over.”

You grab a mug from the cabinet, pouring the coffee nearly to the brim. You can feel Rossi watching you, but he doesn’t say anything.

You decide to beat him to it. “Yes, I’m fine, no broken bones, no concussion, just badly bruised and got some scrapes everywhere,” you gesture to your arms and your forehead. “I’m fine.”

“Glad to hear it,” Rossi replies, still watching you with a certain look you can’t place.

You sip the coffee, watching him just as intensely. “So,” you pause. “How much did Hotch spill yesterday while I wasn’t here?”

“He didn’t say anything.”

“Sure,” you scoff. “Did he tell you what he did? How long he’s known?”

Rossi looks down at his own coffee. Guilty. 

“Of course he did,” you roll your eyes, turning to head back to your desk. You pause halfway, spinning back around. “Why didn’t you tell me he knew?”

“I wanted him to tell you that himself,” Rossi replies. “Because he was out of line doing what he did, and I’ve told him that. He should’ve asked you, and believe me, I’ve told him what he should’ve done.”

You pause, gripping your mug. “Right.”

“I knew you would be upset,” Rossi says. “And you have every right to be.”

“Thank you,” you say, startled by his validation. “He didn’t tell the team?”

“No,” Rossi shakes his head. “He told everyone to go home early.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “But—” The words die in your throat when you see Hotch come through the glass doors, pausing just inside when he spots you here so early, coffee already in hand.

“Agent L/N,” Hotch says, shock all over his face.

“Hotch,” you reply with a curt nod. 

He doesn’t bother with anything else, walking past you to head up to his office in silence. You watch him go.

You hate this. The silence between you two, the clipped words, the averted eyes. You’re used to the heat, the arguing, the glares. You don’t know why, but you want that back. 

But you’re tired. You’re so tired of this. Keeping this secret from the team, hiding behind a new name, pretending like there’s nothing deeper underneath the anger you and Hotch share.

Your feet move before you know what they’re doing, and you’re standing in Hotch’s office before you realize it.

Hotch freezes where he’s standing behind his desk, unpacking his briefcase. He stands up straight, waiting for you to break the silence.

“I’m going to tell the team the truth today,” you say firmly. “Garcia and I had dinner last night, and she told me you had her bring up everything from the last few cases. Do you think they’re connected?”

Hotch hesitates, choosing his words carefully. “Do you?”

Your fingers tighten around the mug as you nod slowly. “Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Since we found the body outside the elementary school,” you murmur, focusing on the spine of a random book on Hotch’s shelf. “That’s where my dad— where Adkins usually dumped bodies.” You pause, swallowing thickly and dragging your eyes back to Hotch’s. “I thought I was just on edge from Richard somehow recognizing me, and that I was forcing connections that weren’t there, so I pushed it down. But after yesterday…” I’m scared. Don’t make me say it. But I’m terrified.

Hotch nods slowly, looking down at his desk for a moment. “Alright. When everyone gets here, we can meet in the conference room.”

“Okay,” you reply. You turn to leave, pausing in the doorway when Hotch calls out your name. You don’t turn to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I should’ve let you come to me.”

You shake your head as you leave, heading back down to your desk.

Slowly, the team begins to trickle in. Reid first, nose shoved in a book like always. JJ and Prentiss next, coffees in hand. Garcia and Morgan next, coffees also in hand, except there’s a third one with your name on it that Derek hands off to you. You take it easily, having already finished the mug you filled earlier.

Once you take stock of everyone being here, you nod toward the conference room. “Let’s head up. I’ve got something I need to talk to you guys about.”

Morgan’s eyebrows furrow immediately. “Oh…‘kay.”

You head up the stairs, passing by Hotch’s office to knock softly. He’s on the phone. “Everyone’s here.”

Hotch nods once. “I’ll call you back.” He hangs up and follows you. 

Rossi peers out of his office, following behind Hotch as you all file into the conference room. 

You don’t bother sitting down, standing up front by the screen, though nothing is on it, and there won’t be. At least not for now. Everyone sits around the table, eyes expectantly watching you, Derek most of all. So Hotch must’ve hinted at something, but not given anything away.

This feels like a reverse intervention. You push past that feeling.

You purposefully don’t look at Hotch as you begin speaking, though you do glance at Rossi.

“Well,” you pause, adjusting your grip on the takeaway coffee cup. “I haven’t been exactly honest with you all, but not out of any malicious intent. I didn’t think this was relevant, but the past few weeks have started to convince me otherwise. So.” You take a deep breath. “My real surname is Adkins. My father was Carson Adkins, The Strangler.”

Silence echoes all around you in the conference room.

You clear your throat, moving forward, because unfortunately, that isn’t the biggest bomb you have to drop on them. “I believe the last few cases we’ve gone on have been connected somehow. Lila’s kidnapping mirrored mine almost exactly, down to her father turning himself in to help find her. Richard Monroe somehow recognized me — that I still don’t understand, but after what happened yesterday when we finished speaking to him, I believe he’s connected to the unsub we’re looking for.”

“Um, what unsub are we looking for?” Reid pipes up.

“The one who left us the note,” you answer. “Gambit. I’d find it hard to believe if it wasn’t him who chased Hotch and I in the car yesterday, given that the car he drove was a victim’s from the last case. He had to know somehow that we were leaving the prison, he had to get her car somehow. The way he disposed of the bodies was almost exactly the same as my father, not to mention strangling them.”

“So this guy’s a copycat?” Morgan asks.

“Not exactly,” Reid says.

“It’s almost like he’s doing a Greatest Hits tour,” Prentiss says.

“But why?” JJ asks.

“He’s playing a game,” Hotch says. “He’s taunting us.”

“Or taunting me,” you add. “And I don’t know why. Maybe he knew my dad, I don’t know. But it’s getting out of hand, and…” You pause, looking around at everyone, even daring to glance at Hotch. “I need your help.”

“Whatever you need,” Prentiss says.

“We’ve got you,” Morgan says firmly. “What do you need?”

“That’s the problem,” you laugh shakily. “I don’t know. I don’t know who we’re looking for, I don’t know why he’s coming after me twenty years later, I don’t know anything.” 

“Then we’ll figure it out together,” Morgan says. “Where do we start?”

You’re at a loss for words again.

Thankfully, Garcia fills the silence for you. “I’ve pulled everything from the other cases, and everything on Richard Monroe. I’ll send it to all of you.” She starts gathering her things.

“Dig up anything you can on Carson Adkins,” you add. “Nothing is too small. And I’ll fill in the blanks with what I can remember.”

Garcia nods slowly, squeezing your shoulder as she passes by you.

Rossi pulls the empty chair next to him out for you, gesturing for you to sit. You take it, your legs shaking, and not from the coffee.

“I’m proud of you, kiddo,” Rossi murmurs, giving you a fond look. 

“Thanks,” you sigh. You look up at everyone around the table, their eyes all watching you with mixes of sympathy, sadness, pity, and whatever else. “Alright guys. I’m an open book, so. What do you wanna know?”

JJ leans forward onto her elbows. “Are you okay?”

You nod, though you’re not so sure of your answer. “Yeah, I just— I really wanna find this guy.”

“We will,” Rossi says quietly. “Why don’t we start with the conversation with Richard? What did he say to you?”

You see Hotch tense, just barely. Probably imperceptibly to the rest of the team, but you see the change — the clench of his jaw, the way he goes as still as a statue.

“Nothing important, seriously,” you say. “He wasted our time for most of it, but then he said I know who’s doing this, just that I don’t want to admit it to myself.” You pause, looking around the table. “But I don’t know who’s doing this. Richard thinks it’s someone who was close with my dad, but I don’t know anyone who was.”

You’re careful not to mention Richard’s taunting about Hotch being your guard dog and all the implications that comes with. Or that the car chase involved you sitting in Hotch’s lap. Which you still haven’t forgotten about, and will be bringing up to him one day — in private at least.

“Is there someone we can ask?” JJ asks tentatively. “Someone who knew your dad?”

You shake your head. “My mom passed away last year,” you answer. “And I don’t have contact with any of his family. They didn’t like that my mom moved us away and changed our name.”

Silence coats the room.

“If he had friends, I didn’t know about them,” you continue. “Mom and I never really talked about him once we moved away.”

“I’ll have Garcia look into it,” Hotch says. Then, almost regretfully, he adds, “Unfortunately, this won’t be the only thing on our plate today. Use of Force Reports are due again soon, and Strauss doesn’t want any delays this time. So, while we wait for some information to come in, I need you all to work on those, please.”

Everyone nods, standing from their chairs to return to their desks to tackle the paperwork. The sooner those reports get done, the sooner all their attention can be devoted to figuring this gambit out.

As you’re about to walk around Hotch to leave, he stops you with the briefest of touches on your arm. Barely there, you’re almost unsure of if he actually touched you.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he says quietly. “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to make this easier for you.”

You nod slowly, despite knowing there is absolutely nothing he can do — or anyone, for that matter — to make this any easier. “Thank you,” you say anyway. “I appreciate it.”

He nods once and leaves you alone, returning to his office. As you pass by, you hear him returning the phone call he was on earlier.

He leaves his door and blinds open, clearly sending the same message in his actions as he did with his words. If there’s anything I can do.

You’re not sure what to do with that.

[chithereader]

jealousy, jealousy / aaron hotchner

here’s my masterlist! pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader / shy!reader word count: 2.4k genre & cw: fluff, a little jealousy and pining angst if u squint, mentions of made-up case, different use of cm character a/n: thank u so much for all the support i've been getting on my fics!! hope you love this one as much as i do, i really enjoyed writing this one the most!

Today was a bad day. That much was clear. From the moment you woke up to the minute you arrived at the BAU– you’re convinced that the universe has simply gone the extra mile to make your life a little harder. 

You slept through your alarm and a few phone calls from Garcia, making your morning stressful and complete chaos. You didn’t have time to grab a cup of coffee or a snack, and apparently you also didn’t have time to remove the colorful pimple patches that adorned your face. 

Your blouse is buttoned asymmetrically, your hair resembling a bird's nest, and you left your ID at home, making your arrival more delayed as you had to employ Garcia’s help in presenting a copy of your ID to let you through. 

That too was not without stress given that your phone was on the verge of dying as you were in the call, but thankfully you could finally breathe in the elevator. Or so you thought. 

There were two things that immediately caught you off guard as you walked into the bullpen: one, almost all the desks were deserted and two, Reid and Morgan were watching you- as if waiting for your reaction, which led you to look around in anticipation. Is there a surprise? A prank? Did I miss a patch? I’m…wearing pants, right? 

Not wanting to prolong your search, you look at the two for any indication or clue. Tilting your head to the side as if to ask what? But to your surprise, they both nod their heads in one direction. Oh.

Strauss was in Hotch’s office, along with Rossi and a woman you don’t recognize. Hotch looked a bit tense, Strauss firm, Rossi is as relaxed as ever, and the woman… is looking directly at Hotch. Just Hotch. Huh. 

You were stood just shy of your desk when you shook thoughts out of your head, slowly approaching your desk to settle your things. Dozens of scenarios were running through your head, trying to make sense of new additions to an otherwise normal day. 

But the way she was studying him made your chest tight like someone was stepping on it.. and you couldn’t figure out why. 

You approach the two rascals only to lean on Derek’s desk as you whisper under your breath, “What’s happening there?” 

Morgan shrugs but his focused face remains, “I don’t know, kid. I tried Garcia but she doesn’t have a clue either.” Eyes studying the people in the room, noting anything that could tell them something. 

Mulling over more possibilities, you hum in response. Turning to Reid, you ask him- hoping that his eidetic memory can tell you anything about the woman even if they’d only met in passing. 

“Do you know anything, Spence?” But Reid only pouts at you, a sign that he’s thought about it hard but is coming up empty. 

Shaking his head, he soberly replies, “No..I don’t think so. I– I’ve never seen her before. Sorry.” 

Before any more thoughts could be voiced between the three of you, the door to Hotch’s office opens and all four of them file out- the woman walking a little too close to Hotch. 

-

You’re approaching your usual seat on the jet beside Morgan and across from Hotch when suddenly Agent Seaver overtakes you and sits on your seat. Caught by surprise, your eyes instinctively go to Hotch who’s already looking at you. 

He nods to himself, moving from the aisle seat to the one by the window. But it appears Agent Seaver misunderstood his gesture and moved beside him, “Oh! Thank you, sir.” Even going as far as touching his arm and leaning closely. 

Now, you’ve never been a violent person. Rage has just never overcome your senses like that but today.. of all days– you couldn’t help the image of spilling your hot chocolate all over her cream blouse. 

You don’t even notice that you’re frowning as you sit beside Morgan, somehow still unaware of how much their closeness really upsets you. You honestly thought you’ve maintained an expressionless face until Morgan looks up from his file and leans close to whisper in your ear, “You’ll need claws not paws, baby girl.” Winking at you as you separate. 

You steal a glance at Hotch only to see him watching you and Morgan with furrowed brows. He almost looks normal if it weren’t for the clenching of his jaw that’s his tell of irritation. Moving your gaze to Seaver, in case you missed something that’s causing his new mood, you find her reading the case file. 

As you return your gaze on Hotch, you watch as Seaver touches his arm again and engages him in conversation about the case. It’s through the whole jet ride that you had to stomach the constant Agent Hotchner, Agent Hotchner! paired with a giggle or a slight touch. UGH!

If it weren’t for Strauss personally recommending Agent Seaver as a consultant for this case, you would have done– …still absolutely nothing. You had no claim whatsoever over Hotch. Morgan and Rossi may tease the two of you occasionally, forcing that he treats you specially or whatever but his behavior could simply be chalked off as him being a good and attentive boss. 

And yes, okay fine. You may have some moments here and there… but! they could honestly just be built up in your head because of the feelings you have for him. Like when he said he likes it when you stare? Come on, being stared at can be flattering and that’s just a universal truth. 

- 

After a whole day of coming up with theories, visiting crime scenes and M.E.’s, you’re all completely spent. Lounging in the makeshift discussion room, all of you are still working tirelessly on the case given that the unsub’s on a spree and his timeline is alarmingly short. 

Reid’s been silently staring at the board for 20 minutes while Morgan’s pretending to read files of potential suspects with his legs stretched out and feet on the table, “This is impossible. We just don’t have enough.” He exclaims as he tosses the file on the table with a thud. 

To the left of Morgan, you’re also silently mulling over files of potential suspects. Not wanting to admit that he’s right, you guys don’t have enough…bodies. You barely have anything on the guy, barely any clues- for a working profile. 

You sigh heavily, peeling your eyes off the paper and looking at the board. “Reid?” The boy genius shakes his head softly, confirming that the known dump sites don’t say much about the unsub’s comfort zones or hunting ground. 

You suddenly wonder where Seaver, Hotch and Rossi are. You and Morgan got back to the precinct at around 11PM, and you realize you haven’t seen any of them, “Where are the others?” 

Morgan, in an effort to lighten the mood, jumps at the chance to tease you, “Hmm. I think what you’re really asking is: Where’s Hotch and is he with Seaver?” He punches your arm lightly, making it obvious he’s only teasing. 

The smug, playful smile on his face makes you fight one of your own, desperately trying to not give yourself away, “Shut up,” hitting him in the head softly with the file in your hand. 

While you two were exchanging playful glares, Reid interjects, “Seaver wanted to turn in early since she’s also the one meeting with the families tomorrow so Hotch brought her to the hotel.” 

You instantly lift your gaze to him and watch as he removes the marker’s cap and scribbles rapidly on the board, quickly adding “And I’m pretty sure Rossi’s getting us coffee from the diner around the block.” 

You want to blame it on your exhaustion– your inability and ineffectiveness at hiding how you truly feel about what Reid just revealed to you, groaning loudly in pain and frustration. You put your head in your hands, muffling the sounds you’re making that are somehow a combination of a laugh and a sob. 

Morgan understands your reaction immediately and laughs out loud. 

“It’s not funny!” There was honestly no point in hiding it. As much as Morgan teased you, you knew he wouldn’t tell anyway, and Reid.. well, he was honestly an even better keeper of secrets than Morgan, Rossi and Garcia. 

He puts a hand on your shoulder to comfort you, “Baby girl, worry not. You know you hold a special place in boss man’s heart.” Then gripping both your wrists to pry your hands off your face. 

Pressing your face even further into your hands, you let out a muffled version of “That’s not true!” that came out more as “Daffs noft thwu!” 

When Morgan successfully pries your hands off your face, you’re surprised to see Reid’s moved from the board to behind Morgan, half leaning half sitting on the table, curiously watching you. 

Morgan turns around to look at the door behind you, making sure the coast is clear before he says, “Kid. Be real with me for a sec… are you blind?” That was not the question you were expecting. 

You must have looked so lost because he continues, “Hotch cares for you. Deeply. And not in the same way he does for us. You’ve gotta have felt that, kid.” Funny, you are starting to feel like a kid– the only thing missing are his hands on your shoulders to complete that huddle pep talk experience. 

“That’s just not–” you try to start. But Reid swiftly raises his hand, signing you to stop–

“Did you know that every morning Hotch makes sure all the pens and mug handles on your desk are pointing to the right– the way you need it to be– in case the night janitors move any out of place?”

“Or that he never really ate lunch in the office before but started bringing sandwiches and other food he could microwave, while timing his lunches with yours presumably so he could strike up a conversation with you during break?” 

“Or do you remember that one time the AC in the bullpen broke and we were all sweating badly, and I said the heat was making me too thirsty then he disappeared into his office and came back with a bottle of water and an orange juice box only to give it to you?” 

Morgan lets out a loud laugh at that one while Reid pouts playfully, “I mean I was genuinely dying then.” 

Not without his own input, Morgan smiles softly at you with a raised brow “Did you know he personally restocks your favorite hot chocolate in the pantry and on the jet? Including the marshmallows.” 

You breathe in deeply, the revelations sounding too good to be true but winding nonetheless. You crack a small joke, trying to play it off “And I thought the bureau was just feeling really generous.” 

The two, who have grown to be such brothers, give you the exact same look of Really? 

As Reid rounds the table to go back and stand by the board, Morgan catches your attention and holds your eye, “Look, there’s so much more, kid. But they all point to the same thing.” He says this as softly as possible, as if to not scare you away. 

You let out a soft, breathy laugh. Shaking your head, “That just can’t be true.” 

With all three of your backs to the door, you don’t notice Rossi nearing. You just suddenly hear his voice from behind, rounding the table and settling the coffee cups in front of all of you, “Coffee, anyone?” 

As if trapped in the null of the previous conversation, you’re still looking at Morgan as you lean back in your chair, slumping further to seek non-existent cover. Reid, who is now back in his own world with the board, is handed a cup by Rossi, who didn’t even turn to look- only stretching out an arm to receive it and mumbling a distracted “Thanks.”  

Rossi, who is simply too smart for his own good, impressively senses something hanging in the air, nonchalantly asking about the tailend of a conversation he was not supposed to hear, “So… what can’t be true?” 

Back to lounging excessively on a chair that is a tad too tiny for him, with legs outstretched and feet on the corner on the table– Morgan spouts, “That she’s Hotch’s girl, and has no reason to be jealous of Seaver– who by the way needs the HR orientation more than Penelope and I.” 

-

Now– all of your backs are to the door except Rossi’s. Not one of you tried to move due to fatigue, let alone look.

Unbeknownst to you, Morgan, and Reid, on the way back to the precinct from the hotel, Hotch had the genius thought of picking up Rossi so the latter wouldn’t have to walk a block with trays of coffee on hand.

Hotch and Rossi arrived together. And as Rossi went around the table to give you your cups of coffee, Hotch stayed behind– leaning on the doorframe with arms crossed, watching you and the team.

Imagine his surprise, hearing what Morgan just said. His heart skipped a beat, his stomach dropped. His entire being froze entirely.. What? Jealous? 

In his mind, he had two choices: Act like he didn’t hear it and save you from embarrassment or use it to his advantage and make his intentions clear..ish. 

-

You gasp loudly at his bluntness– and in front of Rossi! Straightening in your chair and pointing an accusatory finger at Morgan, “You little– I am NOT jealous! and I am NOT Hotch’s–” 

Cut off by someone loudly clearing their throat from behind all of you, you all freeze, including Reid who hasn’t been actively paying attention until now. 

The hair on your neck stands up as you hear the nearing footsteps, already envisioning digging your own grave in your head when finally, Hotch is standing right beside you. 

You’re all still pretty frozen, save from the slow movement which is your eyes slowly lifting its gaze to the man in question until they meet his hazel orbs. He holds your stare as he leans on the desk, arms straining in his shirt– 

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Rossi fighting a smile, and just as you’re about to mentally curse him in your head, you’re broken out of your thoughts by a deep voice, 

“You don’t think you’re my girl?” 

[zvdvdlvr]

savior complex + Aaron Hotchner

     “Hey, baby! So sorry I’m late, I got caught up at work,” you say with an overly saccharine tone.

     Aaron looks up from his phone as you approach him, eyeing you skeptically. He opens his mouth, but closes it when you shake your head ‘no’ frantically.

     Quietly, you rush out, “I’m so sorry. There’s been a man following me from the last four blocks and I don’t want to go home. Please just act like you know me until he goes away.”

     Without raising an eyebrow, Aaron’s eyes dart up and he sees the person you’re talking about. A man dressed in all black, eyes intently on you. “Don’t apologize, honey, I know how busy you get. Up for dinner?” Aaron wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you close to him. He hopes he isn’t overstepping boundaries. “Just follow me,” he says quietly, leading you further down the sidewalk. “When we get to the bookstore up there, go inside. If he’s still following us I can take care of him.”

     “Okay,” you nod. “Thank you. I’m so sorry to ruin your night.”

     Aaron hears the truthfulness in your voice and he looks down at you with uncharacteristically soft eyes. “You didn’t ruin my night. I’m just glad it’s me who helped you instead of some other weird guy,” he says lamely.

     You side-eye him. “I’m sorry, but who are you?”

     Aaron pulls his wallet from his pocket with ease. “Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner with the FBI,” he tells you. He watches you scan his ID with wide eyes until he turn to the street with the bookstore. He took a quick glance over his shoulder and saw that the man wasn’t there. “He’s gone,” he informs you.

     However, you stay in Aaron’s grasp. Despite knowing the threat is gone, you choose to stay in this hot FBI man’s arm. You know you’re fooling yourself but you just wanted to imagine- for a couple more moments- that you do have a hot FBI boyfriend that escorts you to mundane places like the bookstore and calls you honey and protects you from all the bad guys.

     “Is there any way I can say thank you without saying it?” You ask with a nervous chuckle when he leads you to front of the building.

     Aaron watches you for a moment before checking his watch and scratching his head. “If you’re offering, I could eat- but don’t feel compelled. It’s really no proble-“

     “Agent Hotchner, it’s really no problem. Where do you want to go?”

     “Call me Aaron,” he smiles. “And… I could go for some burgers.”

[mariasficrecs]

oh 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 why would u do this to me 😭😭😭😭 i can’t stop sobbing 😭😭😭

but this was so brilliant and so hurtful and so good and argh my heart hurts i need to lie down

(Ignore this if it got sent twice! Clearly I’m excited!) but congratulations on 2k!!! I am SO happy and excited for you. You deserve it and so much more lovely! I’d love to request Hotch x Reader + Couldn’t Make it Any Harder by Sabrina Carpenter! Love all of your writing so much, but have not been able to stop thinking about your last angst piece!!

summary. Hotch really wished he could have loved you. He really tried to. But maybe love isn't made for him anymore.

words count. 2 392

song. couldn't make it any harder by Sabrina Carpenter

a/n.  I can never thank you enough for your amazing support anytime I post something (and even when I don't ahah), I really hope you love this story (and I am sorry for the tears) 🩷

PARTICIPATE IN MY 2K CELEBRATION

criminal minds masterlist | F1 masterlist | general masterlist| request

“I’m sorry.” 

Those were the last words you heard from Hotch after he broke your heart.

“I’m sorry.”

It all started when, on a random Wednesday evening, after dinner, Jack asked his dad if he could take guitar lessons.

“Guitar is cool, Dad!” He argued, his spoon still with yogurt in it moving in the air in a dangerous way. 

Something that made Hotch laugh. “Ok, put down your weapon; I will consider your offer,” he replied, tousling his son’s hair. 

What kind of dad would he have been if he didn’t let his son be cool?

And in a maybe overprotective way, but a very defendable one if he was questioned about it, Hotch went to Penelope to get some help about the situation. He asked her to find the guitar professor. One that didn’t have any criminal records, of course, that had good reviews and seemed reliable enough to entrust Jack to.

Hotch realized his mistake, or that maybe he should have given Penelope more indications in his research during the first lesson.

When he opened his door and met you. 

You, all so smiley, radiating happiness.

You, who couldn’t be older than thirty.

You, so pretty that his heart missed a beat at your sight.

When you offered your hand, a thin and small hand that disappeared between his big fingers when he shook it, Hotch knew that you didn’t only come with a guitar and a will to do well. You also accidentally brought a new kind of problem for him.

“You must be Jack,” you said, seeing the shy boss in the middle of the living room. “We’re going to do great things together, buddy.” 

Hotch wouldn’t say his son was really the shy type. Growing up, Jack opened himself more and more to others—ironically, the more Jack was doing that, the more Hotch seemed to withdraw into himself. Yet, he knew his son had a hard time being confident around new people, something he inherited from him.

But with you, Jack didn’t hesitate a single second. You were the definition of trust. At least, on that part, Penelope did a great job. 

Even if, deep down, Hotch could feel she had something else in mind when she chose you.

And it worked. The very first night after you came, he couldn’t keep you out of his head. He was lying in bed, trying to find some sleep. But whenever he closed his eyes, all he could see was your beautiful and experienced fingers. Imagining how they would feel running down his chest. How they would so slightly bring down his underwear. How your subtle touch could probably bring him to the edge in seconds.

He had to fight against the desire to slide his hand underneath the sheet. 

Hotch won that battle that night, but the war was only beginning.

The organization for Jack’s classes was simple. It took place after school, at Hotch’s place on Wednesday and yours on Friday. 

And Hotch couldn't decide which one was harder to deal with.

Seeing you so naturally fitting in his home, drinking in the very same cup that Jack decided was yours and that Hotch couldn’t separate from the sigh of your lips on it.

Or getting to see your place, how much it looked like you, and how he felt like an intruder whenever you offered him a drink when he came to pick up his son.

“How is he doing?” he asked one day after the class. He had finally accepted to get the drink you offered, mostly because Jack begged his dad to stay a little longer. Turns out, in your building, you were also giving class to a girl from his school that the boy had a very small crush on. And so the two ended up playing in the courtyard.

Hotch watched as you moved your hand closer to his, the one resting on the counter. He couldn’t keep his eyes away from your fingers, which so slowly landed on his. He held his breath as your forefinger brushed his skin softly. 

“He’s doing amazing,” you finally answered. You knew exactly what you were doing. And when you saw the way his throat moved at your touch, you knew you weren’t the only one feeling the attraction. “Just like his dad does.”

He slightly turned to you, just very subtly, fearing his movement might break the whole moment. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

But your smile was a temptation. “You won’t know if you don’t try,” you replied, closing the gap between you and sliding your body against his legs. You could feel his heartbeat go faster. And you waited, making sure you weren’t forcing him to do anything. 

When his free hand moved to your back, you got the confirmation it wasn’t all in your head. 

Your first kiss stayed in Hotch’s head for days. The taste of your lips, so sweet and smooth against his. The heat of your body against him could be felt through your clothes. The smile and mostly the way your tongue ran through your lips after it. The images kept coming back.

He felt trapped in his desire like a sailor falling in the sirens trap.

Having no idea that actually, you were the only victim in the story.

Because the desire Hotch felt for you was scaring him. He couldn’t remember if he ever felt like that in the past, with Haley. And that was the problem.

He kept feeling bad at the idea of erasing the memory of his ex-wife with you. 

Every single time you and he shared an intimate moment, a part of him was screaming at his behavior. And he kept punishing himself and you, incidentally, for letting you take that much space in his life.

The first time you both noticed a change in his comportment was during one of Jack’s lessons at your place.

On Wednesday, after you finished your lesson, Jack ran to his bedroom to do his homework. And once the coast was clear, Hotch kissed you. You weren’t seeing each other much; it was hard to find the time and the excuse to spend time together. So these furtive kisses were the best you could do, most of the time. 

But when you saw him again, two days later, you faced a pure stranger. Hotch was cold, barely talking to you and even ignoring you at some point. Like nothing happened. The pain you felt in your heart was nothing you’ve ever experienced. 

If he apologized later that night, blaming it on a bad day, you both knew it wasn’t true. You’ve seen Hotch on a bad day before, and he was never the one to act like that. But you put it aside. The first time and all the following ones, it happened.

One day, he broke the cup you were using at his place. Jack had left for a sleepover after your lesson, and Hotch offered you to stay. The next morning, after you left, all he could see was that cup in the sink. And his thoughts spoke louder than his common sense. The next thing he knew, he had to clean up the pieces and the cut he got on his palm.

At some point, he didn’t realize he had stopped replying to your text until you called him to make sure he was alright—adding to the fact he wasn’t in town, making you more stressed about the idea of being hurt. But that was something that ended up happening more and more often.

He started to push you away more and more. And most of the time, he didn’t even mean to. Hotch really thought that each step would bring him closer to some happiness, that he would be free from all the chains he was trapping himself into. The more it went, the more the pain grew and the more the walls of the prison he built himself were narrowing around him.

To the point you couldn’t handle the situation anymore. 

“What are you doing here?”

Saying Hotch was surprised to see you at his door on a random Sunday afternoon was an understatement. Jack wasn’t home; you didn’t plan anything. And mostly, you looked far from being happy to be there.

It didn’t take years in the FBI as a profiler to know that the way you crossed your arms against your chest was a way to protect yourself from what was coming. Or maybe, and that was the profiler talking this time, you were protecting yourself from him. Which wasn’t reassuring either.

“We need to talk,” you replied in a broken voice. 

Hotch flinched at that sound. He reached for you, his hand coming close to your shoulder, but you dodged his touch. Instead, you simply walked inside. 

He followed you. With little steps, sure, to not oppress you. He would say he needed to know what was going on.

The truth was, he already knew.

“Talk to me, then,” he said, reaching for you and succeeding at holding it this time. The feeling of his thumb brushing yours used to be so delightful before. Today, it was burning your skin. But you kept it. Because at this point, you felt like all that Aaron Hotchner had to give to you was pain and bruises inside.

You stayed silent, trying to get anything from his eyes. You wished there was confusion; you wished there was something that would make you want to fight. But there was nothing. Except for some acceptance. “Why do you keep doing this?” Your voice was low. That was only the way you found to keep it from breaking again.

Hotch opened his mouth and took a step closer to you. But you stopped him and took a step back. Some kind of heartbreaking dance.

“You keep pushing me away, Aaron,” you snapped. “Don’t you think I see what you do? Every time we get closer, you push me harder. And harder. And I’m tired of this.”

You expected him to fight, to reply, to say anything that would prove to you that he cared. But he stayed silent.

Hotch just stood there, in the middle of the room, looking at you helplessly. While you were walking around, trying to find the composure to clearly speak what’s in your heart. And so he watched you, incapable of moving himself.

The truth was, he truly wished he could. He wanted to run to you, to put his arms around you, and to hold you close to him. He wanted to take away all the pain, all the sorrow that surrounded you. He wanted to make you feel loved and appreciated. 

But he simply couldn’t. His feet were glued to the floor; his legs felt too heavy to move. Yet, he was still feeling your pain. The sad part was that he wasn’t taking it away from you; it was simply multiplying.

He couldn’t do anything when you stopped and turned around. Nothing when he watched your expression change, an anger growing on your soft features. And nothing when he saw you walking to him, again, faster. 

“Don’t you understand, Aaron?” You cried this time, hitting his chest. You hated how quickly he grabbed your hand and how good it felt when he ease your fist. He wasn’t supposed to make you feel good. Not now, not anymore. “I’m tired.” 

Seeing you like that was hurting him on so many levels. But he kept looking. He looked at every tear that fell from your eyes and ran down your cheeks without stopping them. He looked at the stains they left on your skin. He looked at your red eyes and how they seemed to get sadder every minute. He looked at your trembling lips.

Hotch needed to see all of these details. Remember he was the one who hurt you. 

“I’m tired of waiting for you, of waiting for your love,” you continued. He tried to ignore the way it hurt like you were grabbing his heart in your hands and just squeezing it until it broke. 

He knew you were right. Hotch had to face the truth. He was incapable of loving like he used to. This would never feel right again. 

His vision started to blur, and he didn’t if it were real tears and just because he forgot to blink. Probably a little of both, at this point. 

“And you,” you snapped again. “Every time I try to give you my heart, you just wrench it, Aaron. Every. Single. Time.” Not even his hand could prevent you from accentuating every word with another hit on his chest.

When he heard you sobbing, his natural and protective instinct took the lead. And soon you felt Hotch’s hand on the back of your head, bringing you against his chest. You didn’t have the strength to resist this moment; you needed this comfort for a second or two. 

To get the impression that you could be truly loved by Hotch, at least once.

You didn’t get to see the single tear that ran down his cheek when he put his chin on your head. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, closing his eyes and trying to appreciate this last contact. The last time he would see you. 

When Jack got home that day, Hotch was still sitting on the sofa. He never found the strength to move; he couldn’t care about his look. He knew he looked miserable with his red eyes, his shirt slightly opened -through which he could see there were still some red marks from your punches earlier.

Jack didn’t question anything. Because the boy knew. He could feel what happened here when you were around. He noticed his dad and his professor getting closer and then being distant again. Adults weren’t so smooth with their problems.

And so he simply sat next to Hotch and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s ok, dad.” 

Hotch gave him a confused look and met a reassuring smile that he didn’t know he needed.

“I mean, she was cool, but the guitar isn’t that cool, and I wasn't even great at it. So it’s ok.” 

And for Jack, Hotch accepted to pretend it was ok. 

Even if he knew it would never be.

[mariasont]

Casualties Of Control - A.H

caught in a moment of panic, you freeze, but hotch guides your next moves, revealing just how comforting surrendering control can be

pairings: aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader warnings: age gap, power imbalance, sexual tension, anxiety/self-doubt galore, gun violence, near-death experience, hurt/comfort, depictions of trauma responses, authority kink, themes of submission and control, brief mention of parental emotional neglect wc: 3k request: here

You were starting to think someone should stage an intervention, maybe Garcia or JJ, because this is getting borderline pathetic. More specifically, you, are getting borderline pathetic.

The second Hotch speaks, reality melts into background noise, and you’re zeroed in on the column of his throat, the subtle movement of muscle beneath perfectly pressed shirt collars.

You’re standing in the middle of a crime scene, dirt kicking up around your sensible shoes, yet all you can think about is the shift of tension in his jaw. Tighten, loosen, swallow — rinse and repeat. It’s mortifying, really, this fixation.

You wonder why it happens or if he even realizes he’s doing it. Maybe it’s an unconscious reflex, his overwhelming need for control compressed into a single, visible place. Authority, responsibility, and his entire leadership style condensed into that twitch. It’d be poetic if it wasn’t so distracting.

And really, truly, genuinely, you need to pull yourself together because Morgan is giving you a side-eye that suggests he’s not only noticed your gawking, but worse, has developed several theories about it.

Hotch’s instructions spill out rapid fire, and you’re halfway to zoning out, catching snippets — Morgan, perimeter. Reid, coordinate with local PD. 

You force yourself to tune in just in time to realize you’ve missed most of what he’s saying, something vaguely alarming about the missing witness slipping past your ears. When Hotch says your name, you flinch, probably visibly, and snap upright, trying (likely failing spectacularly) to look alert.

“You’re with me.”

And then he’s turning, moving, and naturally, instinctively, you fall into step beside him.

It’s fine, you reason, it’s not that you mind. You really don’t. Still, there’s a small part of you, buried beneath layers of admiration and self-doubt, that’s starting to twitch with impatience. You’ve been here for five cases now and you assumed by this point you’d graduate from perpetual trainee shadow to, well, anything else.

You remember Reid telling you he earned independence fairly quickly, and Morgan practically started the job fully formed. But you’re still following dutifully in Hotch’s shadow, like a duckling too nervous to swim on its own. Is it him? Is it you? Is there some glaring flaw he sees, something that screams liability, too-green-to-function-alone? You bite the inside of your cheek, silencing your insecurities before they start screaming louder.

You’re practically speed-walking at this point, struggling to match Hotch’s long strides as the sun cooks your brain into a scrambled mush.

Your fingertips shield your eyes, squinting hard against the glare, cursing your impulsiveness — rushing out this morning after the team like a lovesick intern, leaving behind basic necessities like water. Rookie mistake. You’ll be dehydrated and delirious by noon, hallucinating your own incompetence in vivid detail.

Hotch doesn't even spare you a sidelong glance your way when he thrusts a water bottle toward you, eyes still scanning the horizon, speaking into his radio.

You stare dumbly at it for a second, and he must sense your confusion, because he tacks on, “You always forget to grab one. Drink.”

It sounds more gentle chiding than reprimand, but your face warms all the same.

The moment the bottle touches your lips, your body moves on autopilot, obeying Hotch’s casual command like it’s ingrained in your DNA. You’re pretty sure that’s concerning, how effortlessly you bend to his wishes, but introspection on that front can wait, especially since you’re burning alive under more than just the summer heat.

Without conscious thought, you offer the bottle back to him. 

Hotch pauses mid-sentence, the radio chatter fading momentarily as he eyes the bottle in mild confusion. 

But he takes it, pressing his mouth exactly where yours had been just seconds ago.

The simple action triggers a cascade of horribly inappropriate thoughts — mostly involving other, much less professional ways you’d rather be sharing space with his lips. Your imagination provides a cinematic experience of saliva exchange methods that have absolutely nothing to do with staying hydrated.

Wonderful. 

Your brain officially needs adult supervision.

Hotch, unfortunately observant, asks immediately, “You okay?”

“Fine!” Your voice pitches too high. Words tumble recklessly from your lips, an avalanche of rational-sounding nonsense designed solely to bury the fact that you’ve gone and made this weird. “Actually, if the unsub abducted the witness from the parking lot instead of her home, doesn’t that significantly change the risk factor? Public place, daylight — it would require confidence. That implies either past experiences or familiarity with the location —,”

You’re practically tripping over your own tongue, but your reasoning sounds airtight, thankfully. Because while your mouth may be spewing perfectly acceptable analysis, your brain is still utterly fixated on Hotch’s lips and their newly established indirect intimacy. 

Please let him not notice that.

Hotch considers your point, oblivious to your internal meltdown — or mercifully pretending to be. “That’s a good point.”

You’re in said parking lot before you realize it, baking on the blacktop, the car ride here an absolute blank.

It’s so hot your shoes practically fuse with the pavement, sticking with every step. Hastily shoving sunglasses onto your nose provides some mercy, but it does little to shield you from the full-body assault of sunlight, droplets of sweat quickly making trails down your collarbones. 

Reid would undoubtedly be rattling off something about albedo, thermal something-or-other, or some complicated explanation he pulled from a random academic paper. You simply classify it as outrageously, freakishly hot.

Hotch stands near the SUV, jacket discarded in favor of rolled-up sleeves. 

You discreetly pop open two buttons at your collar, self-consciousness momentarily forgotten in your bid for self-preservation, fingers grazing sweaty skin. 

Hotch’s mild, pointed throat-clear pulls your attention sharply, and your hands fall innocently back to your sides. 

He returns his gaze to the lot, brow furrowed in thought as he begins, “So, our unsub takes a woman from a busy parking lot in broad daylight, and nobody notices. What’s your read on that?”

You swallow painfully.

“Either he’s invisible, or everyone else is oblivious. Maybe both. More realistically, he’s non-threatening — at least initially. Approachable, trustworthy enough to not raise any red flags.”

His eyes flicker to the security cameras. “The unsub knew enough to pick a blind spot and a busy hour. Probably wasn’t his first time.”

“Right,” you agree. “Plus, no personal items were left behind, her keys, phone, everything gone with her. She went willingly at first.”

“Or he was convincing enough to make it appear that way,” Hotch adds.

Sweat trickles annoyingly down your spine, pooling uncomfortably between your shoulder blades. You glance sideways at Hotch, baffled by how unfazed he seems, looking like he’s casually waiting in a nice, breezy room rather than cooking alive in this inferno masquerading as a parking lot.

“I want you to check the eastern side, see if local PD missed anything.”

There’s a flash of doubt, a brief impulse to argue that maybe your efforts would be better spent elsewhere. A tiny voice in the back of your mind suggests hesitantly that maybe you’d earn his respect if, just once, you challenged his orders instead of quietly complying. But that impulse quickly wilts under the addictive rush you feel in gaining his approval.

It’s uncomfortable to admit, even privately, that you like the certainty of following his lead. You trust his judgment implicitly, which is a dangerous revelation you haven’t been able to shake. But even as the realization unsettles you, you’re already heading toward the eastern side, willingly and undeniably eager to please.

You’ve built your whole identity around color-coded calendars, neatly ordered lists, and near-pathological insistence on control. Yet, somehow, here you are, feeling embarrassingly grateful, borderline euphoric, simply because Aaron Hotchner told you exactly where to stand. You’ve either hit rock bottom or stumbled onto a whole new level of pathetic, jury’s still out. Deep down, you suspect you should be significantly more concerned about your state of mind than you actually are.

After a fruitless couple of hours spent cooking yourself alive on the asphalt, Hotch finally takes mercy on you, shepherding you back into the blessed relief of the artificially cooled paradise of the station.

You have a complicated relationship with local police stations. Sure, they’re usually air-conditioned, blessedly cool havens compared to the heat simmering outside. But then again, they’re always saturated with that same smell of charred coffee and day-old donuts. This station, particularly, is no exception. 

You push aside your petty complaints, focusing instead on Hotch’s directive to pair up with Prentiss and sift through alibis the local PD has halfheartedly checked.

You had gotten straight to work, ostensibly because it was necessary but mostly to distract yourself from the soul-crushing awareness Emily’s presence always inspired. She’d always been calm, collected, entirely too put-together, a combination that paradoxically eased your mind while also amplifying every self-conscious insecurity you owned.

You vividly recall your first few interactions with her, particularly the time she’d gently pointed out you’d been reading the map upside-down for five solid minutes.

The memory makes you cringe even now, but Emily had laughed with you, not at you, instantly easing your embarrassment. From the start, she’d balanced teasing and patience, correcting your mistakes without ever making you feel incompetent. It only deepened your appreciation, and, if you were being honest, your mild hero-worship of her.

Your nostalgic reverie about Emily implodes instantly, ruthlessly obliterated by the sudden deafening crack of gunfire. 

The room seems to tumble sideways, your equilibrium evaporation, replaced by sickening vertigo. 

The bullet glimmers so close to your temple that it nudges your hair, a grotesque mockery of intimacy. 

Your mind barely has time to piece together what’s happened before the shouting starts, voices exploding around you. In a dizzy blur, uniforms flood the space, tackling the unsub to the ground.

You stare forward, dazed, your senses dialed down to a murmur as if you’ve sunken underwater without realizing it. Emily materializes in front of you, blurred at first, then rapidly sharpening into focus, her lips moving quickly, shaping syllables you can’t fully grasp. Her face reflects fierce urgency, her stance instinctively protective, something that vaguely registers, but your thoughts stay stubbornly cloudly, lost somewhere between numb disbelief and fragmented comprehension.

Reality rushes back in as Emily’s voice finally floods your ears, her gaze anxiously probing yours for confirmation that you’re alright.

“I’m fine,” you reassure quickly, the words steady enough that they almost convince even you. “What do you need me to do?”

How could you freeze like that?

Breathe in. Count to three. Exhale slowly. You push the panic bubbling up into a box neatly stored behind well-worn barriers of composure. Control slides gracefully back into position, a transparent illusion spun from willpower alone. 

Your mother had been your first and relentless instructor, composure valued above tenderness, flawlessness demanded before comfort was ever considered. Beneath perfectly pinned-up hair and practiced smiles, she’d etched these lessons deeply. You’ve always been made from shards, a careful mosaic of concealed fractures, sewn together by unsaid apologies and quiet disappointments.

You learned early on that the safest place was behind a perfected facade.

She places a hand on your arm. “Maybe you should sit down for a minute.”

“Really, Em, I’m okay,” you assure her quickly. It fits perfectly, even if it feels painfully dishonest now. “Just tell me what you need next.”

You feel your reassurance wobbling like a well-used record, repetitive and empty, but you don’t trust yourself to say anything else. If you speak too openly, you risk Emily seeing the brittleness beneath your words, the terrifying image branded behind your eyes — your body lying cold, lifeless on the station floor, if you had just been one inch to the left. Your father would’ve gotten that call, your desk would’ve been quietly emptied, and your entire life would’ve ended mid-sentence. 

Hotch moves purposefully into your line of sight.

Your attention snags on the empty space where Emily had just stood. You hadn’t noticed her leaving, but that’s typical — Hotch tends to clear the space around you, intentional or not, whenever he addresses you directly. You wonder briefly if it’s because he senses your tendency to falter under scrutiny, or perhaps because he expects you to embarrass yourself again.

How long has he been standing there, waiting patiently for your response?

“Sorry,” you say quickly, refocusing on his face. “Could you repeat that?”

His voice is steady as he repeats, more gently this time, “I asked if you’re hurt.”

“No.”

You glance down quickly immediately afterward. You’re not even sure that’s true — had you actually checked, or had the adrenaline blocked out any injuries? You scan yourself quickly, a little unsure, a lot overwhelmed. Nothing seems wrong, at least nothing visible, but then your attention flits anxiously around the room, eyes instinctively looking for the unsub.

They tackled him, right? So where did they take him afterward — was he cuffed, detained, secured? More importantly, did they figure out why he barged in and opened fire? 

Hotch’s gaze sweeps quickly over you before his hands are gently tipping your head, his fingertips lightly exploring the place where the bullet almost found its mark. Warm fingers carefully part your hair, brushing just above your ear, and suddenly, you’re painfully aware of how tender he’s being, despite everything.

“Just to be safe, the EMTs will check you out,” he says, confident you’re unharmed but cautious nonetheless.

You nod, but you know exactly what he’s thinking, exactly what he must have seen. You were careless, oblivious — frozen solid at the worst possible moment. You’d slipped, and it almost cost everything. Your incompetence nearly ended your life, it could’ve endangered Emily, Hotch, the team. 

How could he trust you after this? Shame blooms hotly, choking your breath, because you know better.

This job doesn’t allow second chances, and you nearly used yours up.

“I’ll just — let me find Emily, then we can —,”

“You’re not doing anything right now.” Hotch’s interruption is firm, an immovable wall you know you can’t scale. “You’re staying exactly here until I say otherwise.”

You feel the sting of his words, immediately interpreting them as proof he no longer trusts you. 

“I’m not restricting you because of anything you did or didn’t do,” he says firmly, understanding clear in his eyes. “You’ve just experienced severe trauma. The EMTs will check you out first, then I’ll bring you up to speed. You’re not being sidelined. I’m going to handle the scene, and once everything is secure, we will regroup and go from there. Do you understand?”

You nod, but your trust feels tissue-thin, easily shredded by self-doubt. Hotch studies you carefully, eyes narrowing just enough to communicate clearly that he knows exactly how hollow your assurance really is.

Still, he nods back gently, pulling out a chair. You sit.

Hotch effortlessly stepped into the space your panic had left open. You watched as he moved calmly through the room, issuing commands. He spoke briefly with the EMTs first, outlining precisely what they needed to check, sparing you the uncomfortable necessity of trying to articulate your confusion.

Moments later, another water bottle appeared in your grapes, placed decisively by Hotch, who barely broke stride in his quiet management of everything around you.

He anticipated your questions and worries before you could voice them, confirming that the unsub was secure and that no one else was injured. 

Each directive he gave on your behalf made you aware of just how badly you needed this — someone stronger, steadier, more certain than yourself, carefully taking control away.

Discovering that surrendering control could feel like finally breathing after holding your breath for far too long was unsettling yet profoundly comforting.

The EMT now moves cautiously around you, examining the side of your head, brushing your hair aside to search for injuries you know aren’t there. Still, you remain perfectly still.

You find Hotch standing nearby, arms loosely crossed, fixed on the EMT’s every movement. He occasionally interrupts with instructions, and the micromanagement that should feel excessive but instead makes you feel grateful.

“I’m sorry,” you finally blurt out. “I completely blanked today. I didn’t respond when I should’ve, and it put everyone in danger. I should’ve been more alert, and…” 

You swallow thickly, shame edging painfully into your words, gaze fixed stubbornly downward.

“You didn’t blank,” Hotch interrupts. “You experienced something called perceptual narrowing. It’s common under severe stress, especially when you’re caught completely off-guard. Your brain was trying to process too much at once, it’s an instinctive reaction, not a failure.” 

You nod hesitantly, biting your lip as you struggle to voice your lingering frustration. “I know that makes sense, but it’s more than just freezing. It’s afterward when I realized how little I actually contributed.”

“You weren’t supposed to contribute right then,” Hotch reminds you. “You were under strict instructions to stay exactly here and let me handle the rest. Trust me, I can manage just fine.” His eyes glimmer briefly with amusement. “Unless you’re saying you don’t trust me to take control?”

You quickly shake your head, cheeks burning hotter now that the EMT has moved away, leaving no buffer between you and Hotch.

“No — no, that’s not what I meant,” you stammer. “Of course I trust you. Probably more than —” You catch yourself abruptly, clearing your throat awkwardly. “I mean, I trust your judgment completely.”

Hotch regards you for a moment, a faint, knowing smile ghosting briefly across his lips before he masks it again.

“I know what you meant,” he says evenly, though the warmth in his voice suggests he heard far more than your careful correction. “I appreciate your trust.” He pauses briefly. “I’ll try not to abuse it.”

Abuse it. That is such a potent phrase. Could he? Would he? The rational answer is no, but another voice counters with maybe. The potential hangs there, tantalizing and terrifying in equal measure. You’ve handed him someone precious, breakable, and yet the risk of abuse feels softer, sweeter, when it’s him.

“You wouldn’t,” you whisper after a moment. “But I think even if you did, I might forgive you.”

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[outoftheseine]

- AARON HOTCHNER FIC RECS 2 -

my cutie pie | note: please be aware of the authors’ warnings before reading. fics include canon tw’s like: violence, death, blood. some fics have 18+ content so minors please DNI.

part one | main masterlist

SERIES - MULTI-CHAPTERS

the night we met | part two • aaron hotchner x reader

↳ by @bau-drabbles

any other world • aaron hotchner x fem!reader

↳ by @greg-montgomery

you're losing me | how you get the girl • aaron hotchner x fem!reader

↳ by @14buddy22

we can’t be friends (wait for your love) | part two | part three | part four • aaron hotchner x fem!rossi!reader

↳ by @cerisereids

so long, london | all my ghosts | i miss you, i am sorry • aaron hotchner x reader

↳ by @navia3000

ONE-SHOTS - BLURBS - HC'S

sleeping arrangements • aaron hotchner x fem!reader

↳ by @boldlyvoid (pregnant!reader, comfort)

unconditional • aaron hotchner x reader

↳ by @ssahotchnerr (girldad!aaron, fluff)

soak it in • aaron hotchner x fem!reader

↳ by @ssahotchnerr (girldad!aaron, very fluffy)

while i breathe, i hope • aaron hotchner x fem!reader

↳ by @confused-pyramid (age-gap, angst, yearning, smut)

the great war • aaron hotchner x fem!reader

↳ by @sprinkler-ashes (angst with happy ending)

guilty as sin • aaron hotchner x fem!reader

↳ by @sprinkler-ashes (a little angst, pining, longing)

warmth • aaron hotchner x gn!reader

↳ by @strawbeerossi (fluff, mutual pining)

wound • aaron hotchner x bau!reader

↳ by @wyniepooh (flirty!reader, hurt/comfort)

if things go bad • aaron hotchner x fem!reader

↳ by @luveline (home invasion, angst, comfort, tw: sa)

get a grip • aaron hotchner x fem!reader

↳ by @nincompoopydoo (comfort)

coffee, black, two sugars • aaron hotchner x bau!reader

↳ by @erwinsvow (very fluffy)

something more • aaron hotchner x bau!fem!reader

↳ by @headkiss (friends to lovers, pining, 5+1, very fluffy)

a pleasant surprise • aaron hotchner x pregnant!reader

↳ by @hotchshands (fluff)

you are losing me • aaron hotchner x bau!fem!reader

↳ by @natashasfilms (lovers to exes to lovers, fluff angst but happy ending)

steady hand • aaron hotchner x bau!reader

↳ by @headkiss (shy!reader, fluff, yearning, 4+1)

everything has changed • aaron hotchner x reader

↳ by @gilmore-angel (fluff)

warm feelings • aaron hotchner x reader

↳ by @hardlyinteresting (fluff)

it had to be you • aaron hotchner x reader

↳ by @lilacwants (soo fluffy)

protector • aaron hotchner x reader

↳ by @elliewithcellie (slowburn, age-gap, boss/employee, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, smut)

overprotective • aaron hotchner x reader

↳ by @januaryembrs (angst, fluff)

ten’s a good number • aaron hotchner x psychiatrist!reader

↳ by @mrs-weasley-reid (enemies to lovers, angst, little fluff)

power struggle • aaron hotchner x reader

↳ by @hotchscoffeecup (angst, hurt/comfort, tw: sa)

dance until we’re bones • aaron hotchner x fem!reader

↳ by @atlabeth (a lot of angst with hopeful ending)

tell your baby that i am your baby • aaron hotchner x bau!fem!reader

↳ by @em-prentiss (angst)

breakup • aaron hotchner x reader

↳ by @hazelhearts (angst, heartbreak)

killshot, baby • aaron hotchner x doctor!fem!reader

↳ by @cupidkenji (fluff, yearning)

long time coming • aaron hotchner x fem!reader

↳ by @uranometrias (angst, fluff)

the riper the fruit • aaron hotchner x bau!fem!reader

↳ by @therightbeaches (hurt/comfort, fluff)

a better father • aaron hotchner x reader

↳ by @softtdaisy (insecurity, pregnancy complications, angst, fluff)

victim • aaron hotchner x bau!gf!reader

↳ by @finelinevogue (angst, comfort)

undercover • aaron hotchner x afab!reader

↳ by @luvvyouforever (fluff)

don’t call me kid • aaron hotchner x fem!reader

↳ by @cxrrodedcoffin (angst, age-gap)

i know who you are! • aaron hotchner x reader

↳ by @cognitiveoverload (fluff)

annoyingly yours • aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader

↳ by @ssa-dado (fluff, kind of angsty)

stir crazy • aaron hotchner x fem!reader

↳ by @chithereader (fluff, slightly angsty)

always come home • aaron hotchner x bau!reader

↳ by @stardusksx (fluff, angst but happy ending)

fireworks • aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader

↳ by @writtenbysprout (very fluffy, angst, pining)

daddy’s pancakes • aaron hotchner x fem!reader

↳ by @thewulf (fluff)

let me hand you my love • aaron hotchner x fem!reader

↳ by @kiwriteswords (affectionate!reader, fluff)

[minswriting]

ILLICIT AFFAIRS - A.H x Reader

About: Aaron is served divorce papers after getting back from a case. The team goes out for drinks to decompress and you end up going home with Aaron.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, angst, smut, oral (f), fingering (f), unprotected sex, p in v, cheating?, insecurity problems, again this is angst, slightly intoxicated smut, mentions of a case, boss/employee dynamics, clawing at Aaron’s back, overstimulation, etc.

Word Count: 5.0k

A/N: Hello! Please comment and reblog to support your creators! Borders made by @cafekitsune and thank you to @aureatelys for proofreading for me!!

When the team arrived back at the Bureau after a pretty tough case which included the abduction, burning, and mutilation of women, everyone was ready to decompress. It had been a tough case, hitting a bit too close to home for some of the team members. And so, when someone mentioned going out for drinks, everyone was happy to agree. Before you guys could leave, however, someone had stopped Aaron and handed him an envelope.

“Haley’s filing for divorce,” Aaron clarified, looking at the team. His gaze met yours, lingering briefly before he opened the envelope. He looked at the papers, sighed, and put them into his bag. “Shall we go?”

And so, you all were, in O’Keefe’s and drinking some alcoholic beverages. You were next to Aaron, sipping on a fruity cocktail of some sort while he drank a disgusting beer. Derek was dancing with some random women as Penelope watched, JJ and Emily were playing darts with some guys while Spencer sat with a few people, talking about whatever came to mind, and Rossi was outside smoking a cigar, leaving you and Aaron alone.

You had a good relationship with your boss. You both respected one another on a professional level. You were good at what you did and Aaron appreciated that. Just as you appreciated his authority and his ability to lead the team. He had always been someone you admired. The way he would balance leading the team, filing all the paperwork, and dealing with the bureaucracy that came with the position, all while having a wife and a child at home. You always knew it had to be tough and stressful on the man.

As you and Aaron sat at the table, you couldn’t help but look at him. Perhaps it was the fact that he looked so exhausted and worn out or maybe it’s the fact you’re attracted to sad and older men, but you couldn’t help but look at him. Part of you has always been attracted to Hotch. With his dark brown eyes, dark short hair, broad shoulders, how tall he was, and the way he was just so fit. Not to mention the way he was able to dominate a room. It often had you thinking about what it would be like to have sex with him. Was he as dominant in the bedroom as he was at work? Your imagination was endless with images of Aaron and all of the possibilities.

You knew it was wrong. He was a married man or at least would remain so until he signed his divorce papers. Not to mention the fact that he was also your boss. It broke many, many Bureau policies to even think of your boss in such a way. There’s also the fact that he was sad, going through such a tough time without anyone there for him.

“I can feel your eyes on me,” Aaron spoke, taking a sip of his beer, and keeping his gaze on the atmosphere in the bar.

You couldn’t help the small jump as Aaron’s voice, so soft and velvety that it never failed to have you clenching your thighs, kicked you out of your thoughts. Your cheeks felt hot, whether, from the alcohol or the embarrassment of getting caught, you weren’t sure. “Sorry,” You said, grabbing your drink and taking a sip from it, keeping your gaze on the table. “I just-” You paused for a second before reworking your sentence. “Are you alright?”

Aaron took a deep breath, leaning back in his chair as he turned his gaze to look at you. “I’m fine,” He said, his voice disingenuous as he spoke. You knew he wasn’t fine, no one would be in such a situation. Here Aaron was, building walls and avoiding the fact that he was going through such an emotional time. He was always like this. Hiding his true emotions to not let anyone in because if he lets someone in, it means admitting he’s not alright, admitting he’s weak, sustained by the abuse he endured by his father at a young age.

“It’s okay to not be okay,” You said softly, eyes softening as you looked at Aaron. “I mean divorce is a hard thing to go through.”

Aaron quirked an eyebrow at you, silence overcoming the two of you before he broke it. “Do you always do this?” He asked.

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, tilting your head. “Do what?”

“Try to fix sad men because you lack that control in your life?” He asked before taking another sip of his drink.

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips. It was the way Aaron coped, a defense to divert the attention away from himself. Aaron was entirely right, of course. It was something you had a bit of a habit of doing. Your previous relationships were brought upon the need to fix damaged goods. This was certainly no different. “Maybe,” You sighed, taking another sip of your drink. “Regardless, my point still stands. It’s okay to not be okay, Hotch,” You exclaimed.

Aaron hummed, placing his glass down. He called down a waiter, ordering you both another round of drinks before looking at you once more. You couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes raked over your body but as quickly as you had noticed, his gaze was on yours as if nothing had happened. He took a moment to gather his thoughts. “I suppose you’re right,” He exclaimed. “I’ll be alright though. It was bound to happen at some point.”

You shrugged, finishing off your drink. “Did she give a reason as to why she was divorcing you?” You asked as you placed the glass down.

“Not really,” He stated. “We’ve only talked in regards to Jack but other than that, not much else.” The new round of drinks was set on the table by the waiter, the both of you thanked him before he walked away. Aaron placed your drink in front of you before grabbing his own and placing it in front of him. “I know it’s due to this job.”

You nodded your head in understanding, unsure of what to say in response. It made the most sense. This job, as fulfilling as it was to put away the bad guys, also drained the life out of you. Having to drop anything and everything you’re doing at any given moment to save another city from a serial killer, really affected your day-to-day personal relationships. You couldn’t imagine how bad it was for Aaron, especially with his son involved. “I’m sorry,” You managed to reply, not wanting to leave Aaron’s words unacknowledged.

Aaron was silent for a few moments, looking into his glass, deep in thought. “This job, what we do, it’s important. We catch killers, we save lives, we are heroes. Until the time we go home and then everything changes. Then, I am nothing more than the father and the husband that is never there,” He took a deep breath before sighing.

You listened intently with sympathy. Hearing Hotch open up for the first time was a bit of a shock, the man had way too many defenses up that it made it hard to know anything about his private life other than what he wanted to share. “It’s incredibly lonesome,” you began, glancing around the room as your gaze caught onto each of the team members. “We work and work, trying to protect the citizens of this country, to make it a better place, and yet, no one outside of this team understands what we really go through in order to protect everyone.” You paused for a second, turning your gaze back to Aaron. “At the end of the day, no one will ever truly understand.”

Aaron’s eyes softened as he looked at you, taking in your words. “Which is why we find comfort in each other,” he replied softly.

“Which is why we find comfort in each other.” You repeated back, nodding your head. You glanced over at Spencer, who was on the other side of the bar talking very animatedly about something with Penelope and Derek, his hands moving wildly as he rambled on. JJ and Emily had walked over to them, joining in on the conversation and even Rossi joined in as well. Everyone gravitates back to one another eventually, it always happens.

“So how come, instead of talking with the others, you’ve spent the night sitting with me?” Aaron asked suddenly. “I can’t be too joyous to be around right now.”

You looked back over at Aaron, catching his knowing gaze. “You looked like you didn’t want to be alone tonight,” was your response.

“So it’s your savior complex,” Aaron replied with a faint smirk, amusement in his gorgeous brown eyes.

You laughed softly, nodding your head in agreement. “I guess so,” you exclaimed.

At that moment, as the two of you looked at each other, you weren’t boss and employee. You were simply Aaron and Y/N. Two souls, one shamed by his failed marriage and the other ridden with loneliness, finding solace in one another.

What was a seemingly innocent conversation in the bar had quickly turned into something much more than that when in the middle of your conversation, Aaron put his hand on your thigh. You should have stopped it right then and there, told him you both had to keep things professional. But the moment he breathed into your ear, asking you to keep him company for the night, you couldn’t resist. Not when it has been something you’ve been dreaming about since you joined the team.

And now, here you were, in the back of a taxi with Aaron, as the driver made their way through the city to Aaron’s new apartment. The two of you were sitting next to each other, Aaron’s legs were spread, causing his thigh to press up against yours. Other than that, however, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

That was until you arrived outside of Aaron’s apartment complex. The moment the two of you stepped out of the car, Aaron grabbed you by your hips, slightly tentative, as he looked at you. “We don’t have to do this,” He murmured. “We can just pretend this didn’t happen and I can send you home.”

You shook your head, putting your hands on Aaron’s shoulders. “I want to,” you replied softly. “I shouldn’t but I do.”

And that was all Aaron needed before leaning in, his breath fanning your face as his lips inched closer to yours. You were standing on the sidewalk outside of Aaron’s apartment building, about to kiss your boss. The thought should frighten you; yet, the moment he pressed his lips against yours, all thoughts and fears disappeared. You could taste the faint cheap beer that coated Aaron’s mouth as you kissed. Your heart was beating fast and yet, you were calm at the same time. And when you both eventually pulled away, you could see the fire in Aaron’s eyes in the way he looked at you and you were sure he could see it in yours as well.

It was wrong, you both knew it was. But none of that didn’t matter when Aaron was guiding you inside the building, feeling you up in the elevator, kissing you in such a way that it felt almost intoxicating. The drinks you guys had earlier could not compare to the way Aaron kissed you. It was almost dizzying and yet, you couldn’t get enough of it. Aaron had his hands firmly placed on your hips, kissing you hungrily. Your hands rested on his chest, feeling his muscles through the fabric of his dress shirt. One of his hands slipped down to your ass, causing you to let out a soft noise against his lips, which in turn caused Aaron to let out a low, soft chuckle that went straight to your cunt.

When the elevator dinged, the two of you pulled away, not wanting to draw attention to yourselves by any passersby who may want to use the elevator this late at night. Aaron put a hand on your lower back as the two of you walked to his apartment down the hall, stopping once you reached his door. You had never been to Hotch’s apartment, especially because it’s been so recent since his separation from Haley. You had expected it to be completely bare as soon as you walked in but instead, you were met with a relatively furnished apartment decorated with photos and small antiques. It wasn’t anything special but it showed the refined tastes of an older man, not a bachelor pad like you had expected.

As soon as you stepped in, Aaron closed the door behind you. He reached for you once more, pulling you in for another kiss. This one was more intense, and more passionate, showing the growing need between the two of you. You hadn’t expected Hotch to be much of a kisser but you certainly weren’t complaining as he guided you through his apartment with his lips attached to yours.

You placed your hands on Aaron’s suit jacket, pushing the fabric off of him. He removed his hands off of you for just a moment, shrugging off the jacket and tossing it somewhere in the apartment. You pulled away from the kiss for just a moment to speak. But Aaron had other thoughts. “We,” Aaron interrupted you by kissing you again. “Really, shouldn’t,” another kiss. “Be doing this.”

Aaron simply hummed “Mhm,” while still kissing you, his hands moving to the hem of your shirt and trailing it upwards. “I know,” He began but you interrupted him by kissing him. “It’s wrong,” You did so again. “As your boss-” His words fell flat when you pulled away just enough to pull your shirt off and toss it somewhere, revealing a simple black lace bra. “You’re so beautiful,” He murmured, taking you in.

You felt the heat in your cheeks as Aaron looked at you. “I think we are far past worrying about our professional dynamics,” You exclaimed, unable to help the smirk that formed on your lips.

“You’re right,” He confirmed, nodding his head. Aaron’s fingers moved to undo his tie, taking the material and throwing it wherever your shirt landed. He grabbed you again, his lips going from yours to your jawline, pressing soft feather-like kisses along your skin until he got to your neck. Your breath hitched as Aaron kissed your neck, the area being a bit sensitive to the touch. Aaron licked your pulse point, causing you to let out a soft noise. He nipped at it, leaving a small mark, though careful to not make it noticeable as a mark like that could cost you your positions if anyone were to find out who you had gotten it from.

After leaving the small mark, Aaron pulled away, placing his hands on your hips. He guided you to the couch, sitting you down on the leather material. You looked up at him with the prettiest eyes, almost causing Aaron to just say fuck it and take you right then and there. But he controlled himself, wanting to make this good for you both, even if it is for his satisfaction.

He got onto his knees, kneeling before you. “I want to taste you,” Aaron said, putting his hands on your knees. “Is that alright?”

You let out a breathless chuckle, unable to help it. It was sweet that Aaron asked, almost scared that you’d ever deny him anything. If there was one thing he should know about you, it’s that you’ve never denied any of Aaron’s demands. “Yes, please,” you said.

Aaron gave you a small smirk before unbuttoning your jeans. You lifted your hips slightly, allowing Aaron to pull them down completely as he threw them somewhere, leaving you in a pair of matching black lace panties. “Fuck,” Aaron breathed out, licking his lips. “You have no idea how much I’ve thought about this.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “Is that so?” You asked, your heart racing at the idea. “For how long?”

Aaron gently grabbed the hem of your panties, pulling them down. “For far much longer than I should admit,” he replied.

That thought made you feel a bit guilty. He likely had been harboring some sort of attraction to you for quite some time and the fact that he’s still technically married dawned upon you. You knew you shouldn’t be doing this and yet, that need you felt growing inside of you outweighed the guilt, especially when Aaron spread your legs and began kissing your inner thigh.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your skin. “So perfect. I’m going to ravish you tonight.”

“Please,” you rasped softly, looking at Aaron with an almost pleading expression. You desperately wanted to feel him, to have him do something. You have wanted him for far too long and now that you had him, you didn’t want to let go. You knew that you were just a mere distraction. Perhaps that was your flaw. Being the woman that distracts men from their problems. But you couldn’t help it. Not when the man you’ve harbored an attraction to was sitting before you, on his knees, telling you how beautiful you were.

Without further hesitation, Aaron placed a kiss on your pubic bone before dipping his head lower. He pressed his lips against your cunt, causing you to gasp as he kissed your pussy lips. Then, he stuck his tongue out, licking a strip from your hole to your clit. You let out a moan, spreading your legs further for Aaron to give him better access. Aaron groaned against your pussy. “You’re so sweet,” he said before diving back in, running his tongue in figure eights around your pussy.

“Oh,” you moaned, bringing a hand to Aaron’s dark hair, entangling your fingers into it.

To say it was heavenly would be an understatement. The way Aaron’s tongue lapped around your cunt and how his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking on it gently. You were whining in pleasure, throwing your head back. You’ve had people go down on you before but it was always a chore to them. This, however, felt like Aaron truly loved going down on you, adoring your pussy. He wasn’t hesitant to dive right in, holding your thighs with his arms as he practically held your cunt against his face. This was a man who thrived eating pussy.

As Aaron sucked on your clit, he trailed his finger to your pussy, teasing your hole by spreading it around the wetness. You let out a whine, tugging at Aaron’s hair, eliciting a moan from the older man. He inserted a finger, thrusting it slowly in and out of you. “Oh fuck,” you moaned, breathing heavily. Aaron eventually added a second finger, curling them to hit your g-spot. You gave a choked moan, and an almost whiny “Aaron,” escaped your lips, causing him to groan against your cunt once more. The vibrations add to the pleasure.

It wasn’t long before you were cumming with your head thrown back against the leather of the couch, thighs clamping around Aaron’s face and hand, and toes curling. And when you finished and relaxed against the couch, Aaron pulled away. His face glistened with your juices, his pupils dilated, and his hair was tousled all over the place from your fingers. He looked so incredibly attractive.

Aaron licked his lips, looking up at you as he was still kneeling. You were breathing heavily, looking at him with a blissful expression on your face. And all of a sudden, Aaron dived back in, eating you out more like a starved and deprived man rather than with precision as he did before. It wasn’t a matter of whether you came or not, it was a matter of what Aaron wanted. And right now, he wanted nothing more than to live between your thighs. “Oh!” You moaned loudly, your hands going back to Aaron’s hair as he began licking your cunt all over.

You were whining and moaning, writhing around on the leather of Aaron’s couch as he ate you out desperately. He began sucking and slurping up your juices, burying his nose into your cunt. It wasn’t didn’t take long for you to cum all over his face once more as Aaron moaned against your cunt, relishing in the fact you were pulling his hair. This was the sign of a pussy drunk man. And you adored it.

When you finished a second time, Aaron pulled away completely, taking a second to gather his breath before standing up. You looked up at him, legs spread with just your bra still on. He began to undo his shirt, frantically undoing the buttons. He wanted you. He needed to be buried inside of your cunt. He threw his dress shirt somewhere in the living room, not caring as to where it landed. “Need you,” Aaron said hoarsely, moving to undo his pants.

You watched as Aaron moved with desperation you had never seen in such a normally composed man. You reached behind yourself, undoing your bra and tossing it next to you on the couch. Aaron kicked off his slacks, revealing his boxers and his obvious erection. The outline of his cock was seen perfectly and your mouth practically watered at the sight. He pulled down his boxers, stepping out of them as he made his way back to you. His cock was big, bigger than you’ve ever had, and it was girthy too. You couldn’t help the whimper that escaped your lips as your cunt fluttered around nothing at the idea of Aaron fucking you.

Aaron gave a deep chuckle as he saw the way you reacted to him. “Lay down for me,” He said, standing in front of you on the couch. You obeyed, moving your legs onto the couch as you lay down on your back on the cushions. Aaron crawled on top of you, taking a second to just look at you, really take you in. You, one of his best profilers, were lying underneath him, on his couch, ready for him to take you. All because you didn’t want him to be lonely tonight. Admittedly, he felt guilty. He felt as though he was using you with how his wife had just left him. But he couldn’t deny the attraction he has felt for you since you had joined the team. And now that he finally had an opportunity to have you, he wasn’t going to lose it.

“Beautiful,” He whispered, leaning down to press a kiss onto your sternum before moving to kiss your boobs. He swirled his tongue along your nipple teasingly, eliciting a small moan from you, before kissing upwards to your neck and jawline. He reached between the two of you, gripping himself as he guided his cock to your folds. He rubbed the tip against your slit, spreading your wetness onto his cock before lining himself up against your hole. He slowly eased himself into you, causing both of your breaths to hitch.

“You’re so wet,” Aaron breathed out.

“Yeah, that tends to happen,” You replied, face contorting into slight pain as Aaron’s cock stretched you out. “You’re so big,” You whined slightly.

“I know, darling,” Aaron murmured, still taking his time to ease into you. When he was fully inside of you, he stayed still, giving you time to adjust.

After a few minutes, the pain subsided as you relaxed. The stretch turning from pain to pleasure. “Y-you can move,” you stuttered, looking up at Aaron as you bit your bottom lip.

Aaron didn’t hesitate to start moving his cock out of you before thrusting it back in, repeating those movements. “You’re so fucking tight,” He groaned.

You moaned, eyes fluttering shut as Aaron began moving his cock inside of you. The feeling was rather dizzying, more so than the kiss from earlier. The feeling was electrifying. He was so much bigger than anyone you had ever slept with and already so much better. You were sure that Aaron had ruined sex for you forever and you knew that this was likely going to be the only time you’d sleep with the man.

Aaron began picking up the pace, causing you to moan louder. “Aaron,” you said his name loudly, bringing your hands to his back, clawing at the skin. Not enough to hurt him but enough to cause Aaron to hiss in both pain and pleasure.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” He groaned, fucking you deeply. To say he was feeling good would be an understatement. You were so warm, so wet, and so tight. He hadn’t felt something as amazing as your pussy in such a long time. At this moment, if Aaron died feeling your cunt wrapped around him, he would die a happy man. The fact his marriage failed couldn’t bother him when he was buried deep inside of you. “You feel incredible,” Aaron said, slamming his hips against yours as he fucked you.

“Just like that,” You whimpered as Aaron’s thrusts got more frantic. You could feel yourself getting close as Aaron’s cock grazed your sweet spot, making you see stars. “Am so close, Aaron.”

“That’s it, sweetheart,” He grunted, moving inside of you. “Go ahead and cum for me.”

And that was all you needed before you were whining, arching your back as you clamped around Aaron’s length, moaning his name so prettily that he could’ve busted right then and there. And he did as he buried himself so deep inside of you and came, filling you up with his cum.

When you both were done, you expected to be finished, for Aaron to toss you to the side and tell you to go home. Instead, however, he maneuvered you into his lap as he sat on the couch, inserting himself back into you and using his cum as lube as he thrusts up into you, fucking you both into overstimulation.

The night was spent fucking each other in so many positions all over Aaron’s apartment. And by the end of the night, you were both spent, fully satisfied from the amount of orgasms you had. You were in Aaron’s bed after he came inside of you once more, lying next to him as you both breathed heavily. Once you had calmed down, you sat up in the bed, ready to get up and gather your things. But just as you stood up, Aaron grabbed your hand. You turned to look at him, seeing the almost pleading expression on his face. “Stay? Just for tonight?” He asked.

And how were you ever going to say no to that? “Sure,” You whispered, lying back down in the bed.

Aaron pressed a kiss onto your shoulder as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to him. “Thank you,” He murmured against your skin, burying his face in your neck as he held you. You hadn’t expected Aaron to be much of a cuddler after sex and yet, here you were.

“There’s no need to thank me,” You murmured back, placing your hand on top of Aaron’s.

Eventually, sleep consumed you both, the exhaustion from the case and that night’s vigorous activities finally catching up to you.

In the morning, the sound of Aaron’s cell phone ringing awoke the both of you from your slumber. Aaron inhaled sharply before removing the arm that was wrapped around you. He reached for his phone, answering it with a deep, raspy morning voice that sent a shiver down your body. “Hotchner,” He rasped out. You turned from your side onto your back, the blanket drifting off of you and revealing your chest, causing Aaron to not so subtly look.

After a few minutes, Aaron hung up the phone, placing it back on his nightstand. “We have a case,” He said before getting up and out of bed.

You followed suit, shivering as the crisp air touched your skin. You took a second to gather your surroundings, stretching as you did so as Aaron walked over to his closet.

Neither of you spoke, not quite knowing what to say after last night's endeavors. You made your way out of his bedroom, going to the living room and gathering your clothes, getting dressed. You knew you were just a means to forget about the hardships Aaron was going through, nothing more and nothing less. At the end of the day, he was still your boss above all else.

And when you were completely dressed in yesterday’s clothes, Aaron came out dressed in a fresh suit. He looked at you for a moment before speaking. “Last night can’t happen again,” He said, his face and voice void of emotion as his walls were built up once more. “It was nothing more than a moment of weakness.”

You nodded your head in understanding, feeling your heart drop. “Of course, sir.” You agreed. Because of course, it was nothing more than that. And you would always be there to help in a moment of weakness.

Yet, that night, back at the hotel while on a case in Chula Vista, California, you found yourself in Hotch’s hotel room as he ravished you once more. By the next morning, he said the same thing as he had said the previous day. “It was nothing more than a moment of weakness,” in that soft, velvety, stoic tone. And thus began a strange arrangement where you’d sleep with your boss whenever he wanted it and you allowed it because you wanted it too.

[augustjoy]

The Color Pink

Based on the following ask: Hii, I was just wondering if you could do Aaron x reader but the team for some reason refuses to warm up to her for a while.  If you can please make the reader hyperfem only if you want to. Thank you!!!! I love the idea of Hotch with a hyperfem girlie – she’d be in pink ALWAYS, with a wardrobe and home full of ruffles! So, the BAU team is against this relationship of Hotch’s because 1. They assume she’s a bimbo due to the hyperfemininity and 2. She’s young. Basically, they are questioning Hotch’s judgement on this one. Flashbacks in italics.

Aaron Hotchner x HyperFem! Reader Angst/Fluff Word count: 2552

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, age gap (reader is 20s/Hotch is 40s), female reader, np physical description (other than having hair long enough to curl and Aaron referring to her as little – which he’s big tall so everyone is small compared to him), hyperfeminine reader, explicit language, consultant reader, BAU being judgy overprotective, Morgan being rude, Spencer and Garcia defending the reader, Reader is a presumed Bimbo…but is actually really smart (Elle Woods-esque),  mentions of food/eating, reader has a flash of self-doubt, mention of Jack, let me know if I missed anything.

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

Meeting you had been an act of fate. At least, that’s how Aaron saw it. You were not the type of girl he’d typically go for…not ever. But that morning, you’d got a flat tire on your way to work, ironically on Aaron’s way to work. He had to do the right thing, any chivalrous man would, he was going to pull over no matter what, but when you stepped out of your car…that sealed the deal. He needed to pull over because if he didn’t, someone else would, someone potentially dangerous.

--

“Excuse me miss; do you need some help?” Aaron offered.

“Oh, I um – I got a flat. I called Triple A, but they said it be like forty-five minutes.” You explained.

You stepped out of your car and stole the breath from Aaron’s lungs. You were in a satin pink button-up blouse, with high-waisted white trousers, and strappy pink heels. Your hair was cascading over your shoulders in beautiful loose curls, your gaze lifted to his. Aaron had to release a light cough to pull himself out of the trance you had him in.

“Do you have a spare?” He asked.

“I don’ t think so. But like I said, Triple A is on the way, so I guess I will just sit and wait.” You shrugged.

“I’m not sure I feel comfortable leaving you here on your own.” Aaron admitted.

You gave him a once over. He was in a well-fitted gray suit, his hair lightly slicked back, black dress shoes, and a silver Rolex resting on his left wrist. You took quick note of the absence of a wedding ring. A very brief rush of unease slid through you, but it was washed away as he moved his hand to his hip, unknowingly flashing the FBI badge that was clipped to his belt loop.

“I’d hate to be an imposition. Plus, we are strangers…” You eyed him once more.

“Right, I uh – I’m Aaron Hotchner.” He introduced himself and offered you his hand to shake.

You shook it gently, giving him your name. You couldn’t help the blush that crept over your cheeks at the warmth radiating from him. It was your turn to feel breathless. Taking him in once more, you had to admit to yourself that he was handsome. Clearly older than you, but you didn’t mind…and age didn’t define beauty.

Aaron had waited the whole forty-five minutes with you, once Triple A showed up, he waited for you to get everything squared away with them before turning to leave.

“So that’s it?”  You called after him.

“What do you mean?” He questioned.

“You just sat and waited forty-five minutes with me and you’re just going to leave? Without asking me out? Or at least asking for my phone number?” You huffed.

Aaron was speechless. He had wanted to ask you out…truthfully he’d thought about it the moment you stepped out of your car, but he didn’t want you to fell that he was some sort of predator. But now here you were, this gorgeous little thing, asking him to ask you out.

“Would you go to dinner with me Friday? Provided my work doesn’t call me away.” He asks.

“Yes. Pick me up at seven.” You smiled, handing him a light pink business card.

--

Initially, Aaron didn’t introduce you to anyone because he wanted to see if your relationship would bloom into something real. As things did progress, he opened up to you about his life, his job, his family…and his demons. He hadn’t wanted to let his darkness taint your light, your sparkle, but one night while he was staying with you, he’d had a brutal nightmare, one that had him spewing all the information out to you while you held him close, your sparkle shining bright.

Another reason why Aaron had hesitated to really bring you into his world was because you were so different than the other women he’d dated. They were grown-up, mature (maybe even too mature), boring even, and here you were, this pastel princess whose home was filled with pink – ruffled pillows, lace curtains, fashion books, flowers, fluffy rugs, etc. you were the textbook definition of a girly-girl.

He was sure the BAU team would have some pretty strong opinions about his relationship with you, not only because of your differences, but also because of the almost 20-year age gap. It sounded silly, but he really wanted the team to like you.

The first time Aaron introduced you to the team hadn’t exactly gone as he had hoped. He had asked you to join them out at their favorite bar for drinks. They had put on quite the show in front of you, but when you stepped away to get a drink, the truth came out.

--

“Hey guys, I hope you don’t mind, but I invited my girlfriend to join us.” Aaron mentioned casually.

A chorus of “what” and “you have a girlfriend” and “who is she” all rang out at once. He couldn’t help but chuckle at them. He figured he should answer some of their questions now so that way they could focus on getting to know you once you arrived.

“She and I have been together for about six months. It’s getting pretty serious and, uh – she uh…” Aaron smiles to himself. “She um, she’s different than the other girls I’ve dated, so just keep an open mind and get to know her.”

You arrived about ten minutes later, rendering everyone speechless. You walked in with a light pink mini puff dress on. It flowed around you in a cloud of tulle it rested against your upper thighs which were adorned in sparkly nude tights. You’d chosen to wear white lace up heels with it, and your hair was pulled back, pinned up with loose tendrils framing your face.

“Hi! I’m so sorry I’m late, a client called last minute and, you totally do not want to hear about my boring work.” You sighed, meeting the gazes of the stunned agents seated before you.

Aaron had officially introduced you to everyone, they exchanged hesitant pleasantries, and you began making small talk. After a few awkward moments, you excused yourself to get a drink.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Aaron asked.

“No, no. I got it honey. I’ll get you another whiskey.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek and walked toward the bar.

As soon as you were out of earshot, the questions came rolling in. Most notably, Dereks.

“What the hell are you doing man?”

“I beg your pardon?” Aaron was shocked.

“Hotch, man, she’s young enough to be your daughter. And I mean, look at her.” Derek gestured toward where you stood at the bar.

“I am well aware of her age Morgan. She and I have discussed that at length and have both agreed that it didn’t matter. Age doesn’t change how we feel about one another.”

“Hotch, I’m more worried about the fact that she looks like she just walked off of sorority row.” Emily shook her head.

“Yeah, her outfit…Hotch she’s not serious. I mean she’s still a kid.” JJ added.

“That’s enough, she and I are serious. She’s not a kid; she runs a very successful consulting firm, she is kind and sweet, she takes care of me, she gets along with Jack, and I and…well. I love her.” Aaron concluded.

A muffled remark sounded from across the table. Morgan had more to say, and Aaron wasn’t going to let it go. He cared about you and the people across from him were his family, their opinions meant a lot to him…but right now they were letting him down.

“Say it out loud Morgan.” Aaron demanded.

“Nothing.”

“Say it.” Aaron hissed.

“I said she gets along with Jack because they’re closer in age.” Derek shot back.

The table went silent, tension filling the air. Aaron scoffed, shook his head in disbelief, and walked away. Moving towards you, coming up with some lame excuse to get the hell out of there.

“Look, I know that was a lot, but I didn’t say anything that we weren’t all thinking. That girl, she’s a bimbo. Hotch needs someone more serious…more like Beth.” Derek justified.

“Wow.” Penelope scoffed, pushing her chair away from the table. “You guys are terrible.”

“What are you talking about?

“Did you not see his face? Hotch is happy, his smile took over his entire face…because of that girl and you all tore him down so quickly. I mean come on. Spence when was the last time Hotch smiled like that?” Penelope asked.

“The last time Hotch has smiled like that in front of us was back in 2005 when he introduced Jack to the team as a newborn.”  Spencer rattled off.

--

That was about eight months ago. Aaron and you have grown even more serious since then, you moved in together – into a new house where you could set up a space that was all your own, full of pink and ruffles and lace.

Honestly, Aaron had gone as far as buying a ring for you. He wanted to propose and had the whole thing planned. He and Jack were going to take you on a picnic and then they’d ask you to become a permanent part of their family.

Despite the happiness he felt at the idea of marrying you, he couldn’t help the disappointment that crept in. He wanted his family to all be there in support of you two…and his family, well that was the BAU.

He knew he’d have to talk to them, to do something to prove to them how incredible you are.

--

Aaron had called everyone to the round table. He needed to tell them about how serious he really was about you, and he needed them to love you.

 “I asked you all here because today we will have a special guest for lunch.” Aaron went on to explain that you’d be coming in, bringing in lunch from one of the BAU’s favorites. “I know that when you all first met her, you were unsure. But I need you all to realize that I’ve been with her for over a year now, we live together, and…”

“You can’t be serious man. She’s naïve, just some young hot thing seeking an older man, presumably for his money.” Derek interrupted.

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Aaron commanded. “I plan on marrying her, and you guys are my family. I need my family there when I marry this woman. If you can’t get on board…then I guess you aren’t the people I thought you were.” Aaron says with finality.

There was a collective nod and shrug amongst everyone.

--

When you walked in, you could feel the tension like a thick fog. It was all consuming, like picking a hangnail until that piece of skin runs further and further up your finger, bleeding and tender.

You needed this to go well.

Aaron had told you to be your usual self. He wanted the team to like you for you, but you knew it would be best to tone it down at least a little bit. You’d choose to wear light blue jeans, a chunky pink sweater, and some heeled ballet flats. Your arms were juggling multiple bags, filled with sandwiches and another one with drinks for everyone.

“Hi guys.” You offered a small wave as you entered the conference room.

“Hey sweetheart, let me help you with those.” Aaron was quick to grab the bags from you.

“You look stunning as always! It’s good to see you again!” Penelope greeted.

“Oh, thanks babe! I love the new hair; it is such a good color!” You complimented. “Oh, Spence, I got you something!” You pulled a wrapped book from your bag, handing it to him.

“What’s this?” He asked, gently pulling at the wrapping. “The Narrative of John Smith, this is one of my favorites!” Spencer gushed.

“It’s a special edition, they only made 200 of them. But that’s not the best part…open the cover.” You were giddy with excitement.

Spencer opened the book to reveal that it had been signed. “Are you kidding me! This is amazing, thank you so much!”

“It’s really no problem.” You smiled.

Aaron was beaming at you, you had been so kind, showing them all who you really were, and he just hoped that they’d all finally see you for who you truly are.

As everyone finished their lunch, you began clearing the trash. Everyone offers thanks to you, the girls planning a day out with you. Each of them seemed to be coming around except for Derek. Aaron couldn’t figure out why he was so against you.

--

You said your goodbyes and made your way out. They had all filtered out of the conference room when Aaron decided to confront Derek once and for all.

“Everyone else has come around, so why can’t you? What is your problem with her?” Aaron asked.

“It’s not her that I have a problem with. Not really.” Derek shrugged. “Look man, I am sorry for how I have acted towards her. It’s unacceptable. But I don’t think you dating her is a good idea.”

“I appreciate your concern, but it’s misplaced Morgan. She is the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“You think that now Hotch. But what are you going to do when she up and walks away. That is the type of girl who will ruin your life and Hotch, you’ve been hurt too many times. You and Jack have lost far too much.”

“Derek, I know you are worried for me, but I have to see this through. I really love this girl, and she can handle herself, she makes good money, so I know that isn’t the motivation here. She is everything to me, and she has done nothing but prove that she feels the same for me.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I have your back man, and if you love her, then I’m not going to stand in your way.”

--

Things began looking up after that. Derek had pushed his concerns aside and took the time to get to know you, which only made him feel like an idiot for his behavior. Aaron had been right, you could hold your own – you were smart and witty and far to quick with your words, giving him a run for his money. Derek started to see how big your heart was, and he saw the changes in Aaron thanks to your presence in his life. He started to actually appreciate you and your love for his boss.

Aaron told you about his interaction with Derek and you offered some valuable insight.

“Honey, Derek looks up to you. You have made a huge impact on his life, and he has seen you lose so much because of your work, he’s seen you in, quite literally, your lowest moment. He just wants to protect you from hurting like that once again.”

“You are the smartest person I know sweetheart.” Aaron pressed a kiss to your temple.

--

Months later, the BAU team stood and witnessed Aaron and you vowing to spend forever with one another. You had finally been welcomed into this family.

Taglist: @bernelflo@pastelpinkflowerlife@just-moondust@khxna@crimesthatnooneaskedfor

[not-a-fever-dream]

How beautiful. Heartbreaking in a sense but also so so lovely.

Yours, Mine, but Never Ours [Aaron Hotchner x Reader]

Masterlist|| Ao3||Word Count: 6.6k|| AN: This is inspired by the gifset of Hotch + his wedding ring last week. I really mulled over the idea of Hotch, his trauma, and likely idea of marriage. I had originally--and really went back and forth on this--planned out a sad ending for this, but I couldn't do that to you all. Tags/Warnings: female reader, established relationship, jack hotchner, mentions of Haley hotchner, fear of commitment, marriage issues, spoilers to seasons 3-5, Derek and Rossi giving Hotch shit for his personal issues, talks of marriage, talks of death, angst, hurt/comfort, anxiety, reader couldn't give two damns about marriage, but hotch is old fashioned and conflicted, happy ending Summary: For someone as traditional as Aaron Hotchner, the topic of marriage shouldn't be one he shied away from. But given his past? Nothing scares him more.

Aaron Hotchner stood at the kitchen sink, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the warmth of soapy water lapping at his wrists.

Golden evening sunlight spilled softly through the half-open blinds, casting gentle stripes of light across the countertop and illuminating the porcelain dishes he methodically rinsed.

Behind him, at the kitchen island, Jack sat with homework spread around him, colored pencils scattered like confetti across the marble surface.

Aaron listened quietly to the gentle rhythm of pencil scratches and Jack's occasional murmurs as he read aloud softly.

"Dad?" Jack’s voice broke through the quiet hum of the dishwasher.

"Yeah, buddy?" Hotch replied, glancing over his shoulder.

Jack looked thoughtful, head tilted slightly, his brow furrowed in a familiar expression—

One he'd inherited from Aaron himself.

"Are you going to marry her?"

The casual innocence of the question hit Aaron like a splash of cold water. 

He paused mid-motion, water dripping from the plate suspended above the sink, eyes fixed on the steady drip-drip-drip into the basin below.

"Marry who, Jack?" He managed a neutral tone, heart suddenly heavier in his chest.

Hotch expected your name to come from Jack, but it still continued to catch him off guard. Jack’s eyes sparkled, entirely oblivious to his father's sudden tension.

Aaron slowly set the plate down, turning off the faucet, and dried his hands carefully with a navy towel. He took a deliberate breath, calming the racing pulse beneath his carefully composed expression.

“Jack…” he hesitated slightly, keeping his tone even.

"Yeah!" Jack interrupted eagerly, nodding vigorously. "I really like her. I think she’d be a good wife for you. And she makes pancakes better than anyone."

Aaron felt the corners of his lips twitch, betraying the smile fighting to emerge at Jack’s earnestness. 

You had become such an integral part of their lives that he hadn’t fully realized how deeply Jack had attached himself to you. Or perhaps, he admitted quietly to himself, how deeply he himself had become attached.

"Well," he began, stepping slowly toward the island, where Jack sat expectantly. Aaron leaned forward slightly, meeting his son's bright eyes. "Sometimes, marriage is… it’s complicated."

Jack tilted his head curiously, brows knitting deeper. "Why?"

Aaron swallowed hard, suddenly conscious of the persistent ache that seemed permanently woven into the fabric of his heart—

A remnant of old wounds never fully healed.

"Because…when you marry someone, you promise to always keep them safe, to always be there. And sometimes…" He paused, gently ruffling Jack’s soft brown hair, searching for the right words. "Sometimes life makes it hard to keep that promise."

Jack’s expression softened, becoming thoughtful and mature beyond his years. "Like with mom?"

Aaron's heart clenched painfully at the simple acknowledgment, but he forced a gentle nod. "Yeah, buddy. Like with mom."

Jack considered this silently, carefully rolling a blue pencil between his small fingers. Finally, he looked back up at his father with steady, serious eyes. "But we still love mom. And I think you can still love someone else too. Like you love mom, but different."

Aaron’s breath caught sharply in his chest. He stared down at his son, astounded by the profound wisdom carried in such innocent words. Jack gave him a shy smile, small but deeply reassuring.

Aaron reached out gently, placing a steadying hand on Jack’s shoulder. He knew he owed his son honesty—

At least as much as he could comfortably offer.

"You know," he finally said, voice soft, vulnerable, and undeniably sincere, "I really care about her."

"Good." Jack nodded firmly, returning to his homework with newfound decisiveness. "Because we both like having her around."

Aaron straightened, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Through the window, twilight began to deepen, colors bleeding into shades of lavender and deep blue, shadows stretching quietly across their small, familiar kitchen.

As the quiet settled once more, Aaron found himself thinking about you, about Jack’s words, and about the soft warmth he'd started associating with your presence. It terrified him, the depth of this feeling—

How easily and completely you’d settled into every corner of his life and heart.

Jack resumed his homework as if nothing monumental had just transpired, the gentle scratching of his pencil filling the contemplative silence. Aaron watched him briefly, a soft, affectionate ache filling his chest, before turning slowly back toward the sink.

In the quiet simplicity of the moment, he knew one thing clearly:

His son was right. You had quietly, undeniably woven yourself into their lives.

And now, Aaron had to figure out what to do about it.

The thought took root quietly, like an errant seed drifting into fertile soil, taking hold in the darkness and growing tangled and stubborn as it bloomed.

Marriage.

Aaron hadn’t intended for it to become something he thought about, but Jack’s innocent question echoed relentlessly in his mind—

At work, in meetings, late at night when he tried to find rest. It threaded through his thoughts when he watched you reading quietly on the couch, when he saw you laughing with Jack in the backyard, and even now, as he stood in the bullpen at the BAU, staring blankly through the window of his office, watching you across the bullpen.

You were speaking animatedly to Garcia, laughing at something she’d whispered. Your hand fluttered briefly to your hair, brushing a loose strand behind your ear—

A gesture so natural. 

So ordinary, yet lately, every little detail seemed steeped in meaning.

He wondered how he’d gotten here—

How you'd become someone he couldn’t imagine living without. 

The idea itself was quietly terrifying. After Haley’s death, after the brutal way that chapter of his life ended, Aaron had silently vowed to himself that he'd never step back into that vulnerability again. He’d convinced himself that emotional isolation was simpler, safer—

Far less painful.

But you were a soft disruption to his hardened rules, somehow slipping quietly through every defensive barrier he’d erected around his heart. 

Now, as he watched you laugh, your eyes sparkling and filled with warmth, he realized with stark clarity that he wanted to spend his life with you. But at the very same moment, something deep and raw within him recoiled, filled with dread at the risk that kind of love presented.

He thought of Haley—

The first time they'd met, their wedding day, the promises whispered softly in candlelight, promises of forever that had ended abruptly. 

Violently. 

Marriage meant vulnerability. It meant offering his heart, wholly and without reserve, knowing how easily it could be ripped away.

“You good, Hotch?”

Dave’s voice broke him sharply from his thoughts. Aaron startled slightly, turning to find Rossi leaning casually in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, observing him with careful eyes.

“Fine,” Aaron answered quickly—

Too quickly, he realized.

Rossi raised a brow, stepping slowly inside the office, nudging the door closed behind him. “You’ve never been good at lying to me, Aaron.”

Hotch sighed softly, rubbing his forehead. “Just...thinking.”

“Must be some pretty heavy thoughts,” Rossi observed, following Aaron’s gaze out toward you. Understanding crossed his face. “Ah.”

“It’s nothing,” Aaron deflected quietly, knowing it was useless even as he spoke the words.

Rossi moved further into the room, settling against the edge of the desk. 

Aaron shot him a quiet look, momentarily surprised. Rossi simply offered a sympathetic smile.

“You’re not exactly subtle, Aaron,” Rossi said gently. “I’ve seen that look before—the one where the past and the future start to blur together.”

Aaron hesitated, the tension in his jaw visible, emotions pressing beneath a carefully maintained surface. “Jack…Jack asked me if I would marry her,” He sighed, “It was just an innocent question. But—” He broke off, feeling foolish.

“But you’re terrified,” Rossi finished quietly.

Aaron’s eyes flickered back out the window. You had moved, crossing back toward your own desk, unaware of the turmoil raging inside him.

He felt selfish, torn between longing and fear, aching for the simplicity of your touch, your warmth, yet paralyzed by the haunting memories of what could happen—what had happened once before.

“Marriage almost destroyed me once,” Aaron admitted quietly, the words barely audible even in the quiet of the office. “Not just divorce—but the guilt, the danger, losing Haley the way I did. Losing everything. Jack almost losing both of us…almost losing Jack. I swore I’d never put anyone else through that. Especially someone I—”

“Someone you love,” Rossi interjected gently.

Aaron drew a sharp breath, giving a stiff nod. “Someone I love.”

Rossi pushed gently, cautiously. “Have you talked to her about it?”

Aaron shook his head slowly, eyes never leaving you as you settled at your desk, pen dancing lightly across paper. He took in every detail—the way your hair fell against your cheek, the graceful slope of your shoulders, the familiar tilt of your head—and suddenly felt the unbearable heaviness of what he stood to lose.

“It isn’t fair to her,” Aaron murmured, voice thickening. “She deserves certainty. Not my fears.”

Rossi placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Aaron, don’t underestimate her. You’re afraid because you’ve lived the worst-case scenario—but you’ve also survived it. You’re allowed to be happy again.”

Aaron was quiet for a long moment, absorbing Rossi’s words, feeling them settle somewhere deep and aching within him.

“I don’t know if I can put her at risk like that. I don’t know if I could survive losing someone else,” he admitted softly. “But God help me—I can’t imagine letting her go either.”

Rossi’s expression softened knowingly, compassionately. “Then don’t.”

Aaron let the simple truth of it sink in, a quiet ache lodged in his chest. His eyes returned to you again, watching as you tucked your hair behind your ear once more, your smile gentle, unburdened.

I can’t lose you, he thought desperately, even as fear tightened around him, relentless and choking.

And he knew—painfully, inevitably—that sooner or later, he’d have to face the possibility of opening that conversation, sharing those fears, or risk losing you anyway.

But for now, he stood quietly in the shadow of his past, trapped between memories of what had been lost and the quiet, terrifying beauty of what could still be found.

hat night, the darkness in the bedroom felt heavier, thicker somehow—each silence pulsing with uncertainty. Aaron lay on his back, eyes tracing the shadowy patterns along the ceiling as he felt your soft breathing beside him. His chest tightened with anxiety, as though every quiet breath was slowly stealing oxygen from his lungs.

He’d always been skilled with words—careful, purposeful—but tonight, they tangled uselessly on his tongue, caught by an invisible weight that felt impossibly heavy.

“Aaron?” Your voice broke through the quiet, gentle and sleepy, as your fingers brushed softly along his chest. “You’re tense.”

His breath stuttered briefly in his throat. Of course, you’d noticed. 

You always did.

“Can’t sleep,” he murmured, voice rough with the edge of nerves.

You shifted beside him, the bed softly creaking beneath your movements. Aaron felt his heart quicken as you propped yourself up slightly, your eyes studying him thoughtfully in the dim glow of moonlight.

“Something’s been bothering you,” you whispered knowingly. Your fingertips drew small, comforting circles against his chest. “You want to talk about it?”

For a long, hesitant moment, he almost didn’t. Aaron feared the weight of what he was about to say—

The risk of shattering everything he’d grown to love.

Yet the tenderness in your touch, the gentle patience radiating from your expression, urged him onward. You deserved honesty, even if he was afraid of what came next.

Slowly, cautiously, he met your gaze. “Marriage,” he said quietly, voice tight and guarded.

Your fingers paused, hovering briefly. Aaron’s heart pounded painfully as silence settled heavily between you. He braced himself for you to pull away, for hurt or disappointment to cloud your eyes. 

He wouldn’t blame you if you got up and left—

He knew what it sounded like, the fear in his voice. 

How could he expect you to stay if he couldn’t offer more?

But instead, your lips curved softly upward, surprising him. A quiet chuckle escaped you, gentle and warm. “Is that what’s been haunting you all week?”

Aaron frowned in confusion, blinking slowly. “You...knew?”

“I had a feeling something’s been bothering you,” you whispered, your eyes gentle, affectionate, reassuring. You shifted closer, your cheek resting against his shoulder, hand gently moving once more over his chest. “Aaron, listen. I understand why marriage scares you. You don’t have to apologize for it.”

He exhaled softly, relief mingling uneasily with confusion. “Y-You don’t mind?” he murmured uncertainly.

You shook your head gently against him, voice quiet yet firm. “Aaron, marriage—it’s just paperwork to me. A certificate. A legality.” You looked up at him, eyes sparkling with gentle humor. “As a former prosecutor, you should understand paperwork doesn’t always mean much.”

A small laugh escaped him—

Surprising.

Genuine. 

Breaking some of the tension that had been suffocating him for days. 

His chest loosened, though the shadow in his mind lingered. “Still,” he continued softly, “most people expect it at some point. A wedding, a ring—something.”

You squeezed him gently, your voice clear and steady in the quiet night. “If I ever married anyone, Aaron, I’d want it to be you. But I’d never ask that of you. I know what you’ve been through. What we have—this—means more to me than vows and rings and certificates ever could.”

Aaron felt something powerful surge through him—gratitude, relief, warmth—and yet something else lingered, stubbornly unresolved. 

He wrapped his arms carefully around you, pulling you close as you settled gently against him. He pressed his lips softly to your forehead, inhaling the comforting scent of your hair.

“Thank you,” he whispered softly, meaning it more deeply than words could express.

You hummed contentedly, drifting gently toward sleep again, wrapped safely in his arms. But as your breathing evened out, Aaron lay wide awake, staring once again at the ceiling, haunted by the visions your words conjured in his mind.

He imagined a life for you—

A real one.

Complete with celebrations and milestones, the kind that were marked by gold bands, carefully spoken promises, laughter, joy, perhaps even children of your own. The thought pierced him deeply—

A life you might never have because of his past, because of his pain, because of him.

He wondered if he was stopping you from the quiet life you deserved. 

The one with a husband who wouldn’t bring danger home constantly. He cringed, thinking of another man’s hands getting to hold him at the end of the night, but this ordinary man could give you so much more than Aaron was comfortable even thinking about. 

Guilt wrapped tightly around his heart, squeezing with a terrible, relentless force. He imagined resentment clouding your eyes someday, silent regrets staining quiet evenings, things left unspoken but deeply felt. The selfishness of it stung sharply.

As you slept softly beside him, trusting him, loving him unconditionally, Aaron silently grappled with the invisible weight pressing heavily against his chest.

He knew you'd meant what you'd said tonight—

He had no doubts about your sincerity. Yet it still haunted him, the fear that one day you’d look at him and realize you deserved more than he could ever offer.

And as he lay awake, your body curled softly, trustingly, in his arms, Aaron realized with an aching certainty:

He'd give anything to make sure you never regretted choosing him—even if it meant confronting every fear he'd ever had.

The weeks turned quietly into months, each day deepening the gentle rhythm between you, Aaron, and Jack. The comfort of routine wrapped around you both, steady and reassuring, but beneath that comfortable surface, Aaron felt himself growing restless—

An anxiety simmering just under the warmth, quiet but ever-present.

It was the milestones that haunted him most.

Like the afternoon Penelope burst into the bullpen, glittering ring catching every light, tears of joy streaming down her face as the team quickly crowded around her.

“I said yes!” she had cried joyfully, throwing her arms around Morgan, who laughed heartily and lifted her off the ground. The bullpen buzzed with congratulations, laughter, and plans for celebrations.

Aaron had watched quietly from the side, heart tightening painfully at your gentle smile and the sincere warmth in your eyes. You squeezed Penelope’s hand, genuinely thrilled for your friend, your voice filled with affection. But as Aaron stood slightly apart, his fingers clenched in quiet frustration, imagining you missing out on that kind of joy—

Of celebrations that revolved around promises he’d silently denied you.

The guilt lingered long after the excitement faded.

Or when the two of you attended a gala for the FBI, and he watched, heart heavy, as you introduced him to a former colleague of yours.

“This is Aaron Hotchner,” you’d said proudly, gently squeezing his arm. “My boyfriend.”

Boyfriend. 

Aaron had almost flinched at the word—

Not because he didn’t cherish it but because it felt so inadequate. 

He noticed the subtle reaction in your colleague’s eyes, the quick glance down at your hand, perhaps checking for a ring. He hated the way you quietly shifted your stance, almost defensively, as though expecting judgment.

Later that evening, in the darkness of the car ride home, Aaron felt you quietly watching him, reading the subtle tension in his jaw.

“Aaron,” you whispered gently, fingertips brushing his thigh, “you know none of that matters to me.”

But he hadn’t entirely believed you, even though he desperately wanted to.

Then there was the playdate at Jack’s friend’s house—

A moment, Aaron hadn’t anticipated hurting him so deeply.

“So, your wife mentioned Jack doesn’t like strawberries?” The other parent had asked casually, unloading snacks from grocery bags.

Aaron’s hesitation had been brief but painfully obvious. “Ah, actually…she’s not my wife,” he’d explained awkwardly. “My girlfriend. She’s—we live together.”

“Oh,” the parent said softly, embarrassment flashing over their face. “Sorry, I just assumed.”

Aaron had waved it away, pretending not to see the confusion, pretending not to notice the way the word ‘girlfriend’ seemed suddenly juvenile or inadequate.

He spent the rest of the afternoon tense, discomfort spreading through his chest, lingering even hours later as he walked into the kitchen and found you preparing dinner. 

Your gentle, easy smile pierced his heart.

“Hey,” you greeted softly. “Did Jack have fun?”

“Yes,” Aaron murmured, stepping behind you, wrapping his arms gently around your waist. 

He buried his face in your neck, inhaling the familiar warmth of your scent, his chest aching quietly.

You’d tilted your head gently back against him, feeling the tension in his embrace. “Everything okay?”

He’d wanted desperately to say yes—

To protect you from his burdens. 

But the words came out strained. “They thought you were my wife.”

Your shoulders stiffened slightly, then relaxed just as quickly. You’d turned in his arms, your expression patient and understanding. “Aaron, we’ve talked about this.”

“I know,” he sighed softly. “I just—I hate the idea of people misunderstanding your role in my life.”

You’d cupped his cheek gently, your thumb brushing soothingly over his skin. “I’m not worried about what they think, Aaron. I know exactly what I mean to you.”

He wanted so deeply to believe you, but even as you smiled reassuringly, he couldn’t shake the fear—

The persistent ache that whispered to him late at night, taunting him with visions of what you might eventually grow to resent.

And in the quiet darkness of his own mind, Aaron found himself caught between two impossible fears: losing you, or selfishly keeping you and robbing you of something you might one day desperately want.

He felt trapped—

Holding his breath, waiting for the inevitable day, you’d finally realize he couldn’t give you enough.

Penelope’s surprise bridal shower had transformed Rossi’s elegant backyard patio into something that looked like an enchanted garden, glowing softly beneath strands of golden fairy lights. Laughter and warm conversation carried gently through the cool evening air, mixing seamlessly with the low hum of soft music.

Aaron leaned back quietly in his chair, his eyes trailing across the table to you. Warm light flickered from small candles, catching softly in your hair and reflecting in your eyes, bright with laughter. You were seated beside Penelope, your hands resting gracefully atop the white linen tablecloth as you listened, fully engrossed in the conversation.

He knew he should have felt completely at ease surrounded by his team—his friends—but the unease he’d been carrying for weeks now seemed even heavier tonight.

“So, Garcia,” Emily called out teasingly, swirling her wine gently in her glass, a playful smile on her lips. “Did you choose the ring, or did you let your man surprise you?”

Penelope grinned brightly, eyes glittering with excitement. She extended her hand dramatically across the table, showcasing the ring proudly. “He surprised me, and he nailed it.”

JJ reached across the table, taking Penelope’s hand gently to admire the sparkling diamond more closely. “It’s gorgeous, Pen. He did amazing.”

Aaron watched quietly, his chest tightening uncomfortably as Emily’s gaze suddenly shifted toward you. “Alright, your turn,” Emily teased gently, nudging your elbow playfully. “What about you—what’s your dream ring?”

He saw your expression soften, eyes brightening as you leaned in closer, not a hint of discomfort or awkwardness visible. Aaron’s heart stalled briefly, his grip tightening subconsciously around the cool glass in his hand.

“Well,” you began softly, entirely casual, oblivious to the fact that your words were slowly twisting something inside of Aaron, “I’ve never really thought about it much, but probably something vintage-inspired. I’d want something delicate. Not too flashy.”

Aaron swallowed hard, feeling suddenly and irrationally nervous, as though everyone at the table might turn toward him at any second, reading plainly the conflict on his face. He forced himself to maintain a neutral expression, carefully raising his glass to his lips to hide his discomfort.

You continued, laughing softly, warmth in your voice, “Maybe something with a sapphire, even. I’ve never really been a diamond girl anyway.”

He caught Morgan’s eyes across the table in that moment—

Dark, knowing, and filled with playful seriousness. Morgan raised an eyebrow subtly, tilting his chin slightly toward Aaron as if to say, Are you taking notes? You better be.

Aaron looked away quickly, the weight of expectation and guilt pressing harder against his chest. He found himself staring into his wine glass, the deep red liquid gently swirling against the sides, feeling profoundly exposed. 

He felt selfish for holding back something that felt so normal, so easy to discuss for you and the others.

You glanced over at him just then, eyes warm, oblivious to the storm brewing quietly in his chest. Your smile was gentle, reassuring—

Always comforting. 

And yet, it only deepened the tightness in his chest, reinforcing his quiet dread.

Morgan cleared his throat quietly, leaning casually closer to Aaron, his voice pitched low enough that only the two of them could hear. “You good, Hotch?”

Aaron forced a careful nod, but Morgan wasn’t easily fooled. His friend’s expression softened knowingly, quietly supportive.

“Look,” Morgan said gently, glancing discreetly toward you, where you continued chatting warmly with JJ, “you know you’ve got something special. Don’t overthink it, man. She seems pretty clear about what matters most.”

Aaron nodded again, eyes still locked on you, heart aching deeply. He knew Morgan was right, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that perhaps you deserved more than he could offer—more than he’d ever be brave enough to give.

And as laughter and excited conversation continued to fill the air around him, Aaron quietly watched you, hoping desperately that he wouldn’t someday come to regret holding you back from the life you truly deserved.

The ride home was unbearably quiet.

Aaron’s grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles whitened beneath the pale illumination of passing streetlights. The silence in the car hung heavy, like an oppressive storm cloud, stifling any attempts at casual conversation. He felt trapped in his own head, frustration gnawing relentlessly at him.

Beside him, your posture was rigid, arms crossed tightly over your chest as you stared unseeingly out the passenger window. Every second of silence made Aaron’s chest feel tighter, every shallow breath adding fuel to the simmering frustration that refused to be contained.

Finally, you broke first.

“Are you seriously going to do this again?” Your voice was sharp, hurt simmering just beneath the surface. Your eyes flashed toward him in the dim light of the dashboard, wounded yet defiant.

Aaron’s jaw tightened, eyes locked forward, voice controlled and low. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Oh, please,” you snapped bitterly. “You’re tense, Aaron. You’ve been tense all night. Is it because of the damn ring conversation? Again?”

His eyes narrowed, fingers clenching tighter around the wheel. “I didn’t say a word about that.”

“You didn’t have to,” you retorted sharply. “You’ve been stuck in your own head for months now. Every time someone mentions marriage, or engagements, or God forbid a ring, you completely shut down. Do you honestly think I don’t notice?”

He exhaled sharply, frustration flaring dangerously in his chest. “You said yourself you’d want a ring. Vintage. Something delicate. Sapphires, wasn’t it?”

Your laugh was harsh, humorless. “Yeah, I did say that—because they asked. You’re making a huge deal out of nothing.”

“It’s not nothing!” Aaron’s voice rose sharply, surprising even himself. His eyes darkened, flickering with something raw and painful. “You don’t get it. You deserve all of that. You deserve someone who can give you exactly that, and I’m the one keeping it from you.”

“I told you,” you shot back, voice thickening with frustration and hurt, “I don’t care about a ring or a piece of paper or—”

“You say that now!” Aaron snapped, his words harsh and unyielding. “But what about later? What about ten years down the line when you resent me for not giving you the things you deserve, the life you pictured for yourself?”

Your eyes widened slightly in disbelief, anger sparking dangerously. “Are you kidding me right now? Aaron, I could die tomorrow. We could get into a crash right here, right now, and you really think I’d be worried about not being your wife? That some paperwork or a damn ring would make a difference in how I feel about you?”

Aaron’s jaw tightened further, breath ragged with emotion. “It’s not about the paperwork! It’s about making promises that I’ve already broken once. It’s about knowing the second I give you that, I could lose everything again. I don’t want that—I don’t want to lose you.”

“You think marriage changes that?” you challenged fiercely, voice shaking slightly. “I see myself old with you, Aaron. You. And that vision isn’t any stronger or weaker because we signed something or because I wear your ring.”

His voice cracked painfully. “You say that, but you don’t know—”

“No,” you interrupted harshly, hurt blazing in your eyes. “You’re pushing me away because you’re scared. Because you think wanting marriage again means risking it all again. Maybe you’re afraid because deep down, you actually want that with me.”

Aaron’s grip on the wheel was nearly painful, his voice dangerously quiet, trembling with barely-contained fury. “Enough.”

But you didn’t listen. You leaned closer, your voice fierce, challenging. “Is that it, Aaron? Is that what scares you? Because at the end of the day, you do want it—”

“Yes!” Aaron suddenly roared, slamming a hand against the wheel in frustration, the words erupting from somewhere deep and raw within him. The car filled with stunned silence, broken only by his heavy, ragged breathing.

His heart was pounding painfully, eyes filled with conflict, pain, and longing as he finally looked over at you, emotion raw and unguarded. “Yes,” he repeated, softer now, voice broken. “I want it. I want you. I want to call you my wife. I want it all, every damn thing that terrifies me, because I want to know that you’re mine—really mine.”

You stared back at him, eyes wide and glistening with tears, your anger replaced instantly by shock, empathy, and a deep, aching tenderness.

“I know it’s old fashioned--I’m old fashioned. But you don’t think that every day I think about wanting to buy you a ridiculously expensive ring? Or sign my entire life over to you? Because you already have it. Paper or not--my life is yours. I want you to have it. Take it.” Aaron exhaled heavily, voice unsteady with vulnerability. “But God, it scares me. It scares me more than losing you, because the moment we make it real—I could lose everything. Again.”

You reached out, your hand shaking slightly, gently resting on his tense arm. Your touch felt like an anchor amidst his storm, steadying him.

“Aaron,” you whispered softly, voice thick with emotion, “you're not going to lose me. Not because we marry or because we don't. I chose you, and I choose you every single day. Nothing changes that.”

He let out a ragged breath, feeling a quiet release in your words, but the fear still remained, tangled stubbornly within his heart.

And even as he pulled the car slowly into your driveway, the silence between you softening, Aaron knew he’d laid his fears bare, his heart open—

Completely vulnerable. 

The words had been said, and now, nothing could ever quite be the same again.

Not much was said--or done--after that conversation. A few goodnights to Jack, the quiet domesticity of getting ready for bed unfolded, but little words were said between the two of you that night. 

Exhaustion weighed far heavier on Aaron’s shoulders and he felt as if he had revealed so much--partly worried too much to you. He didn’t want to push it…push you. 

Aaron woke suddenly, sharply, his breath catching painfully in his throat as his eyes snapped open to the cold emptiness beside him. The sheets on your side of the bed were wrinkled but cool, evidence of your absence already lingering heavily in the room.

A wave of raw panic surged through him, immediate and overwhelming, twisting his stomach into painful knots. Aaron’s heart began to pound fiercely, hammering in his chest as he quickly sat up, scanning the bedroom for any trace of you. But the silence around him was oppressive, mocking, thick with dread.

He called your name hoarsely. 

No response. 

His mind flooded suddenly with memories—

Painful, vivid recollections of another empty bed, another empty room years before, and the heartbreaking absence Haley had left.

He was too late then, too stubborn, too closed-off. He’d pushed Haley away, and now—he’d pushed you away too.

Aaron felt completely unraveled, breath shallow, panic rising painfully in his chest. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, desperately trying to steady himself, fighting the pressure building behind them.

He’d finally done it. He’d pushed too hard, said too much, and now you were gone.

Gone because he couldn’t bend. Couldn’t compromise. Couldn’t allow himself to trust you fully, even after you’d given him everything. He’d selfishly forced you to carry his fears, his grief, his trauma—

And now he was alone.

He had no idea how long he sat there, paralyzed, heart painfully clenched, completely lost in the dark spiral of his thoughts until—

The quiet sound of the front door opening downstairs pulled him sharply from his despair.

Aaron froze, heart hammering with sudden hope. 

Or maybe fear. 

He couldn’t be sure.

A moment later, your footsteps echoed gently up the stairs, followed by the soft rustle of bags and a familiar, comforting scent of coffee drifting into the room. Aaron rose unsteadily, his pulse erratic, relief blooming tentatively beneath layers of anxiety and pain.

You stepped through the doorway, arms full—one hand gripping a bag from your favorite bagel shop, the other balancing a cardboard tray of coffees. When your eyes met his, you paused, startled by his clearly shaken appearance.

“Hey,” you said gently, surprise softening your expression, your voice filled with cautious warmth. “I wanted to surprise you with makeup bagels and coffee. Figured we both needed it.”

Aaron didn’t respond immediately. He couldn’t. He simply crossed the room in a heartbeat, bridging the painful gap between you, and pulled you fiercely into his arms.

You gasped softly, taken aback by the intensity behind his embrace, but your body quickly relaxed against him, sensing something deeper, more vulnerable in the way his arms clung desperately around you.

“Aaron?” you whispered, uncertainly at first, then tenderly as you felt him tremble slightly against you. “Hey, I’m right here.”

He tightened his hold, burying his face against your shoulder, his voice rough and barely audible. “I thought you left.”

You set the bags carefully aside on the nearby dresser and gently cupped his face in your palms, forcing him to look at you. The emotion in his eyes nearly undid you—

Painful vulnerability, haunted by old ghosts, old fears.

“Aaron, listen to me,” you said softly, firmly. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise you, I’m here. I didn’t leave you.”

He shook his head slightly, eyes closing for a brief moment, unable to fully trust his voice. When he opened them again, his expression was raw and achingly sincere.

“You could have,” he whispered brokenly. “You could have left, and I wouldn’t have blamed you. I was—I’ve been so unfair to you.”

You shook your head gently, your eyes filled with quiet strength and compassion. “Aaron, I need you to understand something—I chose you, knowing exactly who you are. Knowing your past, your fears, your stubbornness—all of it. And I’d choose you a thousand times over.”

He exhaled shakily, eyes glistening with unshed tears, his chest rising and falling rapidly as your words sank deeply into him. Still holding his face tenderly in your hands, you pressed your forehead gently against his.

“I’m begging you,” you murmured softly, voice steady and filled with gentle pleading, “Please start believing me.”

Aaron nodded slowly, trying desperately to internalize every word. His heart was still trembling, still afraid, but your unwavering warmth anchored him back into reality.

“I’ll try,” he whispered, the words thick with emotion. “I’ll keep trying.”

“Good,” you breathed softly, thumb brushing tenderly across his cheek. “Because I love you far too much to let you keep fighting these ghosts alone.”

His lips curved faintly; finally, the relief washed over him in waves. He tilted his head slightly, pressing a lingering, tender kiss to your forehead. He silently vowed to himself, again and again, that he would learn to trust—to accept the gift of your promise without fear.

And for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to fully believe that the quiet future you’d promised him was real. That maybe, this time, the ghosts could finally rest.

Weeks turned quietly into months, the heaviness that had once shadowed every quiet moment slowly lifting, replaced instead by a gentle warmth—

A sense of ease Aaron hadn't felt in years. The ghosts still lingered, but they were softer now, quieter, fading slowly into the background noise of a life filled instead with laughter, steady reassurance, and you.

The team’s latest case had brought you all to Las Vegas. After the successful resolution, Hotch had surprised everyone by suggesting you all take an extra day before returning to Quantico. It was unusual—perhaps even out of character—but the team had been thrilled, quickly dispersing into the bright lights and bustling energy of the city.

After briefly checking in with Reid—who eagerly took off to visit his mother—the rest of the team scattered into various plans. It left Aaron alone with you, wandering the city, a soft and easy silence settling between you as you navigated colorful streets bathed in neon and laughter.

As the afternoon sun warmed your skin, you glanced up at Aaron, catching the thoughtful expression lingering on his face. “You’re quiet,” you murmured gently, sliding your hand into his, fingers interlocking effortlessly. “Everything okay?”

Aaron smiled softly, squeezing your hand reassuringly. “Yeah, everything’s good. Just... thinking.”

You raised a playful eyebrow, gently nudging his side. “You’re always thinking.”

Aaron’s gaze flickered down to your intertwined fingers, thumb brushing gently over yours. His voice softened thoughtfully. “I suppose I am. But today, I’m thinking about something specific.”

Your eyes met his curiously, noticing the quiet intensity and subtle apprehension in his gaze. “And what’s that?”

He paused, taking a steadying breath, his voice quiet and measured. “I’ve been wondering if you’d be open to something.”

Your heart fluttered slightly, curiosity and anticipation sparking warmly through your chest. You nodded gently, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “I’m listening.”

Aaron slowed his steps, gently pulling you aside, away from the bustling crowd, into the quiet shade of a small alcove near an ornate fountain. He reached carefully into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small velvet box, his movements steady but cautious.

Your breath hitched softly in your throat as you watched him slowly open the box, revealing a delicate, vintage-inspired sapphire ring—

Exactly the kind you’d described that night at Penelope’s bridal shower. Your heart swelled warmly, emotion rising suddenly and powerfully within you.

Aaron’s eyes held yours steadily, soft yet vulnerable. “I know I’ve made things complicated. That I’ve let my fears dictate how I approached all of this.” He swallowed quietly, his thumb running gently over the small box. “But despite all that fear, all that worry—I’m old-fashioned. I want to marry you. Not because you expect it, but because I do. I want to do right by you. I want to promise myself to you openly.”

He hesitated slightly, voice quieter, gentler. “So, I was thinking… maybe we should just elope? Here. Today. Just us. No fuss, no expectations—just you and me.”

Emotion tightened your throat, eyes shimmering with unshed tears of joy as you gazed back at him, your voice warm and steady. “Aaron, of course. Of course I’ll marry you—today, tomorrow, whenever you want. I don’t need the ceremony or fuss. All I’ve ever wanted was you.”

He exhaled softly, tension visibly leaving his shoulders, relief flooding his expression as he gently slipped the delicate sapphire ring onto your finger. “Are you sure?”

You laughed gently, pulling him into a warm, reassuring embrace, your voice filled with love, confidence, and sincerity. “Aaron, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. You are it for me—always have been, always will be. Nothing else matters.”

Aaron’s arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you close, and you felt the steady thud of his heartbeat against your chest. 

In that moment, beneath the shimmering Vegas sunlight, surrounded by the gentle sounds of laughter and splashing fountains, Aaron felt a deep, profound sense of peace.

All the lingering fear, the hesitation, the self-sabotage—

They vanished instantly as your reassuring words echoed gently in his ears, resonating deep within his heart.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, smiling warmly against your skin as he whispered, “Then, let’s go get married?”

And just like that—

Quietly, easily, and perfectly.

You both stepped forward together, leaving behind fears and ghosts alike, moving instead toward the joyful certainty of forever.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @Sweethotchlogy @softtdaisy @superlegend216

[sweetly-yours-and-mine]

Break Room - Coffee Machine

Summary: Hotch shares a pot of coffee with you.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x f!Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Set in the same universe as this, but both stand alone.

Warnings: talk of anxiety and imposter syndrome, pretty tame, doing what i do best for now until i get a grip on hotch

The break room walls seemed caked with the smell of coffees past, the pot scratched and dulled from its near constant use. You’re sure the floor goes through maybe one or two each year, yet the little pot sitting there seems ancient, well-adjusted. The air is bitter, a fragrant, musty sweetness carrying itself on the undercurrent. 

Everything seems comfortable, at home. Cabinets creak when opened, mugs are chipped and stained, well-loved. Somebody, probably in a rush, has opened a sugar packet and left little grains around the sink. You press your finger on them, eager for the indentation that they’ll leave. The fluorescents buzz incessantly, bathing the place in an almost green glow. Sheltered in the middle of the floor, there are no windows and a few hours in this kind of light will send you on to the path towards a dreadful migraine. 

The machine starts to percolate, a slow drip that will soon boil over in intensity, and the aroma of fresh coffee starting to fill the room, blooming. 

There are a few posters tacked up on the bulletin board, food drives, announcements, a sheet scouting interest for a potential sports’ league. 

Though it had hardly been a month since your transfer, you’d already learned that days like these were rare to come by. Quiet downtime between cases where the team got to play pretend at having a nine-to-five office job, and the risk that at any moment it would all be shattered. 

There’s an air of quiet and calm that you feel pointedly left out of, like looking in on a movie theatre, lights and noises muffled, the true meaning lost in between you and the door. 

Instead of relief, instead of taking advantage of the break, your thoughts had been sent into overdrive, anxiety swirling up in a messy haze, sending dust motes, tumbleweeds, and things better off left alone flying. You feel close to distraught, the quiet almost always tightening you to a near breaking point. 

You’re sure coffee won’t necessarily help with this, but sharing a floor with some of the sharpest minds in the country didn’t really leave you much room to stray from routine. You know they’re observing you, feeling their eyes sharp on your back as you walk away. They’re not making much of a show of trying to hide it, and when the initial nerves had faded away with the pleasantries, it was hard to miss. 

It’s easier to take each member one at a time, maybe two if you’re up for it. On their own, the spectre of their unity cast aside, they’re probably the best people you’ve ever met. 

They still try, despite it all, to include you whenever they can, almost pointedly. 

The drip is overwhelming now, drops tripping over each other as they fall down, the machine hissing and popping in protest. You flick it off, look down at the footprints of the sugar granules on your finger, the ache they left there shooting up towards your knuckle. 

There’s a cup drying beside the sink and you take it, the faded floral pattern calling out to you. Cherry pies. That’s what your grandmother called them, picking them from her garden and putting them in her hair. 

A set of footfalls come from down the hall, turning at the break room door. 

“Agent.”  

You turn, cup still in hand, “Agent Hotchner.” You feel like you’ve done something wrong, been caught slacking. You can’t remember the first ever time you’d felt this way, but the sharp sting of it, the twisting of your lungs together, is familiar and sends a wave of nausea through you. 

Suddenly the comforting smell of the room is more stifling, the friendly, almost matronly objects around the place turn hostile, and you want to flee instead. “Hi, sir.” 

He nods, mouth pressed into its characteristic firm line, and walks up to where you are. There’s a mug in his hands with the Bureau logo on it, the stars around the scales looking back at you. “Fresh pot?” He’s the poster child for control, for measured, even actions. His grip on the handle is unfaltering, solid like a tree trunk. 

“Yes-” your voice is rough, struggling to get out, you clear your throat, push through the embarrassment that rises like bile in your throat. “Yes, sir.” You’re painfully aware of your palm around the coffee pot handle, the warmth crawling onto your skin toeing the line between pleasant and overbearing. 

Aaron holds out his mug and you pour a glass for him, the steam curling in and disappearing to the air. You wonder if there was a way to estimate how many cups had been filled here, if the machine kept tabs. 

“Thank you.” 

“Of course, sir.” 

You busy yourself again, filling your own cup. With the pot back in place, you go over to the fridge and grab the milk container, watch the way it falls to the bottom of the cup, rising up in little mold-like blossoms as their fingers reach out to each island. 

You feel his eyes on you and you turn, an apology ready on your tongue when you see him glance down to the carton in your hand. 

“You’re settling in well, Agent,” he says, pouring milk into his cup, grabbing a wooden stirrer. His eyes are trained on what he’s doing. 

You pause, sugar packet still between your fingers. The din of the silent break room bears down on your mind, pressing behind your eyes. You want to throw in the towel on this whole stupid business right then and there, go back to your old unit, tried and true, comforting. 

It’s hard to ignore the heat of his gaze on you and to avoid meeting it for a beat longer, you reach for a stirrer as well, making a point of twirling it around your coffee through a breath or two. 

“You disagree.” 

Your eyes snap to his, see the gathering of his forehead over his eyes, casting a shadow and hiding his irises from you. 

Stammering you finally settle for a safe play, something you’ve found yourself doing too much of over the past weeks, “Sorry, sir, I-” 

“I prefer ‘Hotch’, Agent.” 

The heat rises to your cheeks, spreads across to your ears. This is the first time he’s corrected you like this, and it makes you wonder if he was expecting you to cotton on eventually and had given up hope. You feel scolded, hand stinging from the slap that was never delivered. 

He throws his stirrer out, takes a sip from his cup. His tongue darts out to lick his lips, taking a brief moment as his eyes fall shut a breath longer than normal. They open, and land on you again, and he leans the side of his hip against the counter. There’s a flicker that darts across his eye that unsettles you, “It takes time.” He says simply, and to make sure you’ve understood, “Finding your footing.” 

You churn his words over in your mind, trying to find an appropriate response. You think he was just being kind earlier, what he said about settling in alright. If you were a bit more confident, you might have spoken up how nothing has felt right for the past month, that you feel like you’re drowning most of the time, that sometimes you wake up with dread coursing through you, already weighed down by mistakes and misspoken words. 

Aaron moves to leave, straightening up and grabbing his cup when you take both of you by surprise by speaking up, “Did it take you time?” 

He stops, pausing mid-step halfway to the door. When he faces you again, his eyebrows lift, prompting you quietly. 

“To…” you clear your throat, hyper aware of your every muscle and the hot mug in your hand. You place it to the side, looking at the action pointedly so you can gain the courage to continue. “To figure it out. Find your footing.” 

“I-” he hesitates, before coming back to where he was, standing in front of you. His mouth opens once, twice, before he speaks again, “Yes. It did.” 

It sounds so simple when he says it like that, in his muted, half-murmured tone that you’d found so strange when you’d first met him. The truth sits there, dripping down between you. 

Your eyebrows lift before you can stop them, another error to add to the list for today, “Really?” 

Nodding, the line of his mouth relaxes just slightly, “Why does that surprise you?” If your self-confidence had been so drastically shaken upon your transfer, you might have thought there was amusement held behind his eyes, careful, but still there nonetheless. 

“I-uh,” you laugh, trying to hide your nerves as you test the boundaries of the conversation, your working relationship with your Unit Chief. “It just seems…” you gesture vaguely, trying to gather words as you shift your weight. “You were a pro at it, from the start.” 

Aaron lets out a soft breath through his nose, the sound in sharp contrast to the humming of machines and electricity through the walls. 

“You just,” now that he’s uncorked the bottle thoughts just keep flowing out of you, a manifestation of your frustration at yourself. “You always know what you’re doing. You’re so sure of it.” 

That’s probably the longest he’s heard you speak unprompted, and you draw away suddenly, acutely aware of it, like a bird hiding its beak in its wing. To your shock, he starts to laugh, subtly, but it’s there in the shake of his shoulders, in the covering of his mouth. 

Finally, he catches your eye, something flickering across his face that you can’t name, “I don’t.” Then, softer, “Not always.” 

Ashamed, you look down into your cup, hoping to find the answer inside and coming up empty. 

He clears his throat, “It’s hard, joining a pre-established group.” A few breaths pass before he says, “Don’t think I don’t know, or appreciate what you’re doing.” 

You blink, your thoughts coming to a screeching stop, “Th-thank you, sir.” 

“Ah-” 

A smile stutters on your face, and you correct yourself, “Hotch. Thanks, Hotch.” 

He nods and this time you know you haven’t made up the approving look on his face. It breaks quickly with the ring of his phone, and he turns away to answer. 

You look down at the abandoned stirrer in your cup. Taking a deep breath, you throw it out and take a sip. It’s gotten a bit lukewarm now, and it takes a visible effort to not scrunch your face at the taste. 

Aaron’s voice is all business when he says, “Enjoy your coffee, Agent.” He brings his cup up, in a fraction of a motion that almost looks like a cheers motion. You’re not sure if you will actually, not with the pressure on the inside of your ribs, pushing them outwards painfully, not with the way it tastes more bitter than comforting. 

“Briefing in ten.”  This time, his steps are confident, unrelenting as they click down the hallway. There was something about the way he said it, both a reminder and command. The more you interact with him, the more you realize that the almost fantastical rumours are founded in quite a lot of truth. 

Instead, you pour the coffee down the sink, dark against the battered stainless steel, and run the tap. Cupping your hands under the steady run of water, you splash some on your face, ignoring the way it darkens your blouse in spots, and drink four greedy handfuls before you feel slightly better. You brush your hand down your face to get rid of any remaining water, and dry off with a paper towel, and head down the hallway. 

When you head into the briefing room, JJ is already there, fiddling with the projector. “Hey,” she smiles at you, simple and easy. It lasts only a moment before her warm look turns searching, “You good? You disappeared for a bit.” 

You nod, fighting for some oxygen in the stale room, “Just-went for a coffee.” 

Her eyes stay trained on you for a moment before going back to the projector, “Hotch can be a lot sometimes.” 

You falter at her reading your thoughts so easily, your unease around Aaron. It felt like you were the only one who felt it. 

“Don’t worry,” her smile returns. “You get used to it.” 

You’re about to reply when the door opens again and the rest of the team starts to file in. Aaron is the last to arrive, tossing a handful of papers on the table. He looks around the room, taking in the people there. His presence stretches and fills the place, instilling a foreign sense of confidence in you, though you welcome it eagerly. When he looks at you, he holds your gaze for a beat longer before he sits down at the head of the table. 

“JJ?” 

Swallowing, you straighten in your seat, anxiety shutting off at just a word. 

Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! I obsess and re-read reblogs and comments constantly.

Masterlist here.

[hoe4hotchner]

Helloooo, how are you?I want to make a request about Aaron. Where he and the reader are almost dating but he doesn't feel ready, so he rejects the reader, and she understands. Time passes and they have to go to a case somewhere else, and the officer in charge is an ex of the reader. But not a bad ex, but a really good one, they interact and he confesses to her how much he misses her. I leave the ending to your consideration, thank you ❤️, I love your writing

Almost | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader | WC: 0.9k | CW: Hurt (Is that even a genre?), past relationship, rejection, mild heartache?, miscommunication, it could probably qualify as unrequited love during some parts of the story.

When Aaron rejected you, you understood.

He had stood in front of you, his jaw tense, his hands clenched into fists at his sides like he was physically restraining himself from reaching out. The words had come quietly, like he was ashamed to say them.

"I can’t. Not yet."

You had seen the hesitation in his eyes, the conflict flickering beneath the surface. He wanted you, you knew that much. It was the way his gaze lingered when he thought you weren’t paying attention, the way his fingers ghosted over yours when he handed you a file, the way his voice softened when he said your name. But wanting you and being ready for you were two different things. And you understood that. You understood him.

So you had smiled, forcing a lightness into your voice that you didn’t feel. "I understand, Hotch."

His mouth had pressed into a thin line, like he had hated hearing you call him that again. Like it made the distance between you all the more real.

And so you had walked away, ignoring the ache in your chest, pretending it didn’t feel like losing something before you even had the chance to call it yours.

Months had passed since then, months filled with cases and long nights, with stolen glances that neither of you acknowledged, with tension so thick it was suffocating.

And now you were here, miles away from home, standing beside Hotch as you were introduced to the officer in charge of the case you were called onto.

The moment you saw him, you hesitated.

"Y/N," he breathed, his tone was thick with nostalgia.

A slow smile spread across your face before you could stop it. "Matt?"

Matt was the man you had once thought you might spend your life with. A man who had loved you without hesitation, without fear, without walls—even when your job had become more demanding than his, calling you away more than you were home.

Hotch went still beside you.

Matt grinned. "I can’t believe it. You look—" He huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head. "You look incredible."

Warmth filled your chest, a feeling of something familiar and bittersweet bubbling within. "You too."

Hotch hadn’t moved. Hadn’t said a word. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see his fist clenched at his side, his thumb struggling to do that thing he only did when he was trying to focus.

Matt glanced at him, his brow lifting slightly before turning back to you. "We should catch up after this. Get a drink or something."

There was no ulterior motive in his voice, no expectation—just two people reconnecting after years apart.

Hotch walked away.

Hours later, you found yourself outside, the cold night air settling over your skin. The case was far from over, but for now, there was a brief lull, it gave you a moment to breathe—finally.

The sound of footsteps approached from behind you. The tension in the air shifted subtly, and without needing to glance over your shoulder, you knew exactly who it was—his footsteps alone spoke volumes, a rhythm you had come to recognize in your bones years ago.

"Are you going to see him?"

The question wasn’t casual. It was quiet, clipped, barely contained. You exhaled, tilting your head up to the sky, spotting a few stars peeking out from behind the clouds. "I might."

"Do you still love him?" Hotch finally spoke after a long pause

You let out a breath that was almost a laugh, though there was no humor in it. "Aaron, what does it matter?"

"It matters," he said, and this time, his voice was raw, something fraying at the edges. "It matters to me."

You turned then, searching his face. He looked calm on the surface, as he always did, but you could see the tension in his posture, the way his fists curled at his sides for the second time that day, the way his jaw clenched.

"Why?" you asked softly.

His breath hitched, just barely. "Because I—" He stopped, swallowing hard. His gaze dropped, and for the first time, he looked uncertain. "Because I should have never let you walk away."

Your chest tightened, something sharp twisting inside you. "You didn’t let me walk away. You pushed me away."

His eyes shut briefly, as if the words physically hurt him. "I know."

You took a step closer, close enough that you could see the exhaustion in his face, the faint circles beneath his eyes. "Aaron," you murmured. "You told me you weren’t ready."

"I'm still not," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze locked onto yours, something breaking in the depths of his dark eyes as you stared at each other. "But I can’t stand the thought of losing you to someone else."

The words hung between you, heavy, aching, and too late—they were not enough.

You inhaled slowly, shaking your head. "That’s not fair to me."

His jaw tensed, his hands flexing like he wanted to reach for you—just like that day—but knew he had no right to. "I know that too."

Silence stretched between you, filled with all the words neither of you had said before.

Then, finally, you sighed, your lips curving into something sad, something resigned. "You don’t get to keep me in limbo, Aaron. If you want me, you have to choose me. Otherwise, I have to move on. I can't wait for you to be ready, what if that day never comes?"

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, as if the thought physically pained him. His eyes searched yours, they were desperate and conflicted, understanding your reasons, but not wanting to believe them.

He said nothing.

And you? You didn’t wait for him to.

You turned, walking away before the ache in your chest could consume you. Because this time, it had to be his choice.

And you weren’t going to wait forever.

[mrs-kmikaelson]

helios

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x sunshine!reader Summary: Aaron thinks you're just about the most radiant person he's ever met. But then you fly too close to the sun, and all your light disappears. Warnings: grumpy x sunshine turned not sunshine, references to the greek myth of icarus and the sun god helios, graphic descriptions of violence, murder, mentions of abduction, heartbreak, complicated relationships, unhealthy coping mechanisms, unresolved trauma, aaron is a bit of a jerk (with reason) Words: 3.1K

Masterlist | icarus (part 1) | apollo (part 3)

a/n: part 3 otw (don't kill me; we can talk about the next part of the grey area later)

When you first met Hotch, you knew he was wondering why you'd apply for the BAU. Most people wondered why you'd work for the Bureau in the first place. To make the world brighter, you'd thought.

But now your world was so dark that it made you wonder what the point of any of it was.

Did it matter if you helped some people? Did you really help anyone? You used to think so.

Now you were on the other side of the equation, and it didn't seem that way anymore. You weren't the agent, just the victim. And now you wondered—could you ever truly help anyone? Or were they all just dead the moment they were taken?

You never stayed long enough to see the aftermath, what happened to the victims after the unsub was apprehended. You now wished you did. Did this feeling ever go away?

It didn't feel like that right now.

Nonetheless, you still found yourself sitting at the BAU round table, coffee in hand in attempts to remedy your lack of sleep. It didn't help much, but it made you feel like you were doing something. Lately, everything in your life felt that way.

You sat across from Spencer, between Emily and Derek. They were talking about this movie they saw; Reid was arguing about innaccuracy and statistical probability. They invited you to go, too.

No thanks, guys. I'm busy this weekend. You didn't elaborate further.

You remembered the look of disappointment that washed over Spencer's face, but he covered it with a smile. You reciprocated it the best you could.

Smiling felt harder.

"Hey, Y/L/N, you listening?"

You blinked, turning to see Morgan looking at you expectantly. "Sorry. What?"

"I said, drinks. After this case. It's all on the old man's tab." Rossi made a sound of protest in the background, but Morgan barely glanced his way, keeping his eyes on you. "You in?"

Your mouth opened, but you didn't know what to say. You were running out of excuses. This felt like a test—

"Let's start the briefing."

At Hotch's entrance to the room, you felt a weight being lifted off your shoulders despite the air somehow getting heavier. You trained your eyes on the screen, relieved that you wouldn't have to answer.

JJ started, "Baltimore's seen a series of child abductions over the past few months. Jimmy Porter was abducted from the mall a week ago." She clicked to the next slide. "His body was found dumped by the harbor 2 days ago."

Diving into profiler mode, you tilted your head at the picture. "Dumped is a nice way of putting it," you commented. "The positioning shows an ample amount of remorse."

"And he dumped the body where it could easily be found," Hotch built off your point. He usually did that. It almost felt like things were normal between you.

Please, Y/N.

You cleared your throat. "Have the other bodies ever been found?"

JJ sighed, automatically indicating you wouldn't like her answer. "Baltimore PD is sweeping the water as we speak." She clicked to the next slide. "Last night, Max Campbell was taken from his home while his parents were asleep."

Derek sat up straighter. "That's a hell of a risk to take."

"To go from abducting from common hunting grounds like a mall to one's own home is extremely unlikely. It shows an immense jump in confidence and victimology, going from victims of opportunity to a specific victim in a specific location," Reid said, making gestures with his hands. 

You tipped your head in his direction. "There must be something specific about Max Campbell that made the unsub take him without even cooling off."

Hotch nodded, agreeing. "We'll discuss this further on the jet. Wheels up in 30." 

You all stood up, grabbing your things. You were about to leave the room when Hotch called your name. 

"Y/N." You turned back, seeing his soft expression that was simultaneously devoid of emotion. "Could I speak to you for a moment, please?"

No. Whatever he wanted to talk about could wait. He already got his fill the night before. You had nothing more to talk about.

But you couldn't say that. You'd already said too much. So, you reluctantly nodded, waiting for everyone to file out of the room and ignoring the glances they shared.

Rossi closed the door on his way out, like he could anticipate that you wouldn't want anyone to hear this conversation. You didn't know if you wanted to thank him for it or be angry at the assumption.

Most of your feelings were torn between extremes.

Sadness and anger.

Relief and intensity.

And as you stared at Aaron, standing there with stiff arms, hate and love.

He started slowly as if he was pacifying an unpredictable animal. "Y/N... I would like you to stay with Garcia for this case."

You involuntarily recoiled, shocked at the notion. If he was ashamed, he didn't show it. You scoffed. "What?" He opened his mouth, but you didn't let him get a word in, taking a step forward. "Hotch, that's ridiculous. Child offenders are my specialty. Are you seriously taking me off this case?"

"I'm not taking you off the case," he reasoned. "You'll be more help here—"

"How?" A look of offense crossed his face, but you couldn't care less. Maybe you would've been more scared to go against Hotch before, but this was now. He'd never suggested something so ludicrous.

Emily called you yin and yang, two sides of the same coin. He trusted you on all fronts. This didn't feel like trust.

It felt like punishment.

Hotch's eyes hardened, giving you a look you'd never seen directed at you before. "Agent Y/L/N, as your unit chief, I am ordering you to stay here. Your input is valued; you will still contribute. But effective immediately, you will not be joining us in the field until a psychological evaluation deems you fit."

Another scoff left you. "Psychological evaluation? That's what this is about? All because I wouldn't fucking talk to you—"

"Watch your tone—"

"You have my doctor's note. I am physically and mentally capable for this job. You are not a licensed psychologist—"

His voice raised as he cut you off. "I reserve the right to make decisions about the agents on my team." He gave you one final once-over, like he was daring you to say another word, give him a reason to do something more drastic. You clenched your jaw, holding back all the words you wanted to let flow. That seemed to satisfy him enough. "You will stay here. End of discussion."

Hotch grabbed his briefcase and promptly left the room, not sparing you another glance as you just stood there, left once again by Aaron Hotchner.

Yin and yang, Emily had said. It almost made you laugh. The coin was flipped.

He was leaving you in the shadows.

— 

Derek passed by your desk as you were grabbing your things, getting ready to go to Penelope's bat cave. He raised a brow at you. "Hey, where's your go bag?"

Without meaning to, you sighed, immediately regretting it when you saw the smile on his face falter. "Sorry, I'm—" not mad at you, "I'm not coming. Bossman's orders." You threw in a smile, trying to smooth things over, but it came out more sarcastic than anything.

He stared at you in silence for a few seconds with that same look that everyone had been giving you since you came back. The same way you'd look at a pressure-activated bomb. Careful not to move too fast, press too hard, press in the wrong areas.

Derek seemed to decide that whatever he was thinking was worth saying. "Kid, you know he just wants what's best for you." Kid.

Were you not grown up now?

You pursed your lips before responding, "Yeah." It was sure as hell hard to see it that way when you were being benched, punished for something that wasn't your fault.

You couldn't help but think that Hotch would never do this to Derek. Or anyone, for that matter. It was just you.

Morgan sighed, but he left it at that, sensing the cut was too fresh. His eyes travelled lower. Silence again.

You knew what he was looking at. You resisted the urge to cover your stomach.

"Does—" he hesitated. Derek Morgan never hesitated. "Does it still hurt?"

You sharply inhaled. The scars had two months to heal. Sometimes, you could still feel the knife ripping into your body. Once. Twice. Three times.

You could feel it most times, actually.

The medications could get rid of the pain, but they couldn't get rid of the sensation of that knife in your body. Sometimes, you thought nothing ever would.

"I'm told it doesn't hurt anymore than it should," you said. Whatever that meant. Apparently, you were in pain paradise. This is the spot you want to be at, you doctor told you.

You didn't call bullshit when he said that, but Morgan looked like he might do it for you in real time.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but he was cut off by Emily. 

"Are you guys coming?" Right after she spoke, her eyes darted between you both, asking you a different question with her eyes. Am I interrupting something?

You shook your head, giving her a smile that looked more practiced. No, you're not. "No, I'm not coming. I'll see you guys when you get back." You dodged any more questions by quickly turning around. Morgan could explain it to her if she asked. You didn't feel like answering any more questions, being treated like a ticking time bomb.

You just wanted things to go back to normal. Once they started treating you like they did before, then you could be the same as you were before.

You're not the same, Y/N.

Nothing was.

—

Penelope couldn't get through to you. You were quiet all day except to share your theories. The next day was the same. And the next. And the next. Until the bastard was caught.

Max Campbell was rescued. You weren't there to see it, but you wondered if it really made a difference. He was just a boy, so full of light.

Would that light ever come back to him?

You exhaled, running your hand over your face. Even though you stayed home, you were exhausted. You didn't sleep more than an hour at a time, but that wasn't much different from your new routine.

You were starting to see more of the moon than the sun.

When the team returned, you greeted them all with smiles. There, just like before. The only difference was that you didn't talk to Hotch.

He glanced at you, wordlessly telling you to talk to him, but you weren't gonna do that.

Rossi noticed the lack of communication between you. Everyone did, but he was the only one who'd say something about it.

Stirring his coffee in the break room, he started, "Aaron is... stubborn. But he's extra hardheaded for the people that he loves." Loves.

Your hand stilled halfway to grabbing the coffee pot, but you recovered quickly, grabbing it and pouring yourself a cup. You glanced side to side, checking to see if anyone was around to hear him and whatever he was implying. 

When you found no one else, you replied, "Okay." You weren't going to dignify that claim with any other response.

You knew Aaron cared about you; you'd be a shitty profiler not to know that. But love was a strong word.

Love didn't leave you all alone when you begged it to stay. Love didn't stay away from you while you were lying in a hospital bed. Love didn't interrogate you and make you sit on the sidelines when you didn't answer its questions. Love didn't make you feel so cold when all you wanted was to feel warm.

Rossi stopped pretending to pay attention to his coffee. You didn't meet his eyes. "Bellissima, you're going to have to talk to him eventually."

"Can you pass the creamer, please?"

"No." Finally, you looked up, meeting Rossi's passionate gaze. "It gets worse before it gets better. You have to let that happen."

You clenched your fists, digging your nails into your palms. You didn't see how it could possibly get worse than this.

"You know, I don't really think I want this coffee anymore." You left the mug on the counter, exiting the break room and leaving the conversation altogether.

— 

"Hotch, please. The case is right here—"

"No."

"Come on, I'll be right by your side the whole time," you argued. A new case came in, just over in Montclair, and you were trying to negotiate your way into it. Two cases had passed where he made you stay in Quantico. It was becoming nonsensical.

You thought he'd crack by now, but he remained firm in his resolve, refusing to let you in the field until you talked about what happened. And "talking about it" was something you didn't want to do, much less with him.

His gaze had more heat than the sun outside. You could tell he was contemplating it. Even he must've been able to see how absurd this was, holding you back from your work when he wouldn't do the same to anyone else.

When it was him on the other side of this, he came back to work. He went into the field 30 days after being stabbed nine times. You only endured a third of that.

You thought back to that day. You'd rushed to the hospital and didn't leave his side. You visited him every day, keeping him company and updating him on your cases. You never iced him out the way he was isolating you right now. You never avoided him when you knew he was hurting.

If you talked to him—if you had that conversation—then that's what you'd say. You'd end up saying something foolish about the things you felt, feelings he wouldn't reciprocate. You'd reopen wounds you were desperately trying to close.

So you wouldn't.

You didn't say a word of what you were really thinking, sticking to the script. Please let me go. I'll be fine. I'll stay by you.

Eventually, he made up his mind. "Fine."

You could've nearly smiled.

— 

The case finished speedily. You captured the unsub and found the girl just in time. Happily ever after.

Hotch didn't seem to think so.

As soon as the elevator doors opened to the sixth floor, he was storming past you all, his footsteps thunderous against the floor. Garcia's smile fell from her face when she saw.

Without turning back, he called, "Y/L/N. My office, now."

You rolled your eyes, following him and ignoring the looks your colleagues exchanged. They did that a lot, lately. But everyone stayed silent, electing not to make commentary. It was smart, not wanting to add fuel to the fire.

But you... you were the most fire you'd been in months. For the first time since what happened, you didn't feel cold. White hot anger coursed through your veins, lighting a fuse that no one could get rid of.

You slammed Hotch's door on your way in. He immediately turned to you, seething, "That was reckless and stupid—"

"It got the job done—"

He raised his voice. "You walked into the house alone, without backup—"

"I talked him down—"

"You could've died!"

"It wouldn't be the first time!" you snapped. Your chest heaved as if you'd just run a marathon, phantom pains in your abdomen supporting your words. 

He glanced downward before meeting your eyes again. For a second, it was almost like you were looking at Aaron. It was almost like he was understanding. 

You got quieter, but your voice was no less firm. "It certainly won't be the last."

And just like that, Aaron disappeared. No longer your friend. Back to the prosecutor, the unit chief who took your words as a challenge. His eyes narrowed. "Yes, it will be." It took you a moment to understand what he meant, but he soon made it very clear. "Your gun and your badge, now. You're suspended for the next two weeks."

You took a step backward as if his words were a slap in the face. "What?"

Hotch didn't lighten up, his face completely impassive. "You are a danger to yourself, and I cannot allow you into the field in good conscience." He held his hand out. "Gun. Badge. Now."

You echoed, "You're suspending me?"

"Yes."

An incredulous scoff left you. He was suspending you after everything? When he had done the same and worse?

He was allowed to use his judgement and keep things to himself, but the second you stepped out of line, he wanted to suspend you? You couldn't believe it. You wouldn't believe it.

In a split second, you made a snap decision. If he didn't want you here, then it wouldn't be on his terms.

You unholstered your gun and unpocketed your badge, shoving them in his chest as opposed to handing them to him. You didn't take your eyes off him once, maintaining your glare.

You hoped it burned.

"You're not suspending me," you rebutted, taking a step closer to him. Realization dawned on his face. "I quit."

Hotch's face morphed into something that almost looked like regret. You wouldn't stay long to savour it.

You spun on your heel, marching out of his office with him right behind you. The team, who no doubt heard small bits of your conversation, looked confused. You didn't stop for any of them.

"Y/N, this conversation isn't finished." He must've thought that'd get to you. His unit chief voice, big and loud. But your feet didn't stop moving.

With your back still turned to him, you retorted, "No, but I am."

You reached the elevator, pressing the ground floor and close button within seconds of each other. When the doors closed, Hotch's approaching figure was gone, replaced by your own reflection.

A shaky breath left you. The fluorescent lights in the elevator were blinding. It was brighter in there than it was anywhere else in the building. But when you got out to the parking lot, it was just dark.

Artificial lights. Not the sun.

They didn't last. They had switches; you could turn them off.

Your switch was flipped, too. For a second, you were hot and blazing, burning brighter than you'd ever burned before. But as soon as you left the building, that changed completely.

You were immersed in darkness.

And you were alone.

[l0vrb0yyy]

criminal minds as the unsent project :,)

(GUYS I ACCIDENTALLY POSTED THIS TO MY SIDE BLOG. FOR MORE CM CONTENT FOLLOW MY MAIN @ceramicbonez)

[chithereader]

l-o-v-e / aaron hotchner

part 2 to jealousy, jealousy!!!! word count: 2.1k pairing: aaron hotchner x f!bau!reader, shy!reader genre & cw: hotch being so in love!! jealousy plot, made-up case, and different use of cm character a/n: i got so much love for jealousy, jealousy it has been so surprising to me how much u guys loved it!! i really hope you enjoy this part 2 as we finally get some clarity to their feelings for each other!!

With your jaw slightly dropped, you manage to get out an “Uh..” Then you clear your throat as if that will make actual words come out then— “Uhh..” 

Now you didn’t know how long you were staring at Hotch. Yet somehow you were aware that the silence— your silence was stretching out for too long. Like a fish out of water, you continue to move your mouth soundlessly. 

And if you were actually underwater, you knew a series of air bubbles would come out in a line from your lips. 

Deep inside, Hotch was getting a little worried. That maybe he came on a little too strong. 

Was that too bold? Was that out of the blue? What if you think he’s joking? Or worse, what if you think he’s not taking you seriously? 

On the outside, Hotch is trying very hard to maintain his calm and collected composure, not letting too much emotion seep through his expression. Making sure he doesn’t look worried or too proud, too scared or too smug. 

The small smile on his face is one that he hopes to convey what he means: that he seriously likes you and that he doesn’t mean to embarrass you. But it is a smile that slowly fades the more he sees the panic growing in your eyes. 

Loud clapping shakes you both out of your individual worries as Derek teasingly cheers for the development in your romance— hooting and whooping about how the boss man has finally made his move. 

As if suddenly remembering that there are other people in the room, you both look around to check the other team members’ faces. 

To your surprise, Reid is blushing even more than you and Hotch are, and to absolutely no one’s surprise, Rossi is looking straight at Hotch with a smug grin. Raising his hands theatrically slow to clap painfully slow for his best friend. 

“My man.” Derek proudly says still clapping, and if he was brave enough to risk losing a hand tonight, he would have stood up to pat his boss on the back. 

Hotch shakes his head bashfully, cheeks turning increasingly red.  He looks down at his shoes to hide his face a bit, mumbling a low, “Shut up.” 

But Rossi being Rossi, was not gonna let the moment go, “I gotta say, Hotch, I didn’t think you’d ever do it…or anything actually.” 

Looking at Hotch, you start to giggle. He’s got his head facing the ceiling, acting playfully exasperated at his team’s antics. No doubt already regretting his public expression a little bit. 

But the laughter dies down into soft giggles, and he straightens a little to look at you. Catching your eye, you smile back at him softly, also hoping that he’d understand what you’re saying with that little smile. I like you too. Don’t worry, you didn’t embarrass me. 

Hotch’s worries are instantly quieted by your smile. Like dust settling on the ocean floor, he feels at peace. 

Your little staring moment though, is suddenly interrupted by his cell ringing. And the room’s mood sombers knowing that there can only be one reason someone will call one of your cells late at night— a new body was just found. 

—

It’s 7:00am and the sun has risen brightly. Reid and Rossi went to the ME with the body to further examine what’s been done. Meanwhile you, Morgan, Seaver and Hotch stay behind at the crime scene, knowing a fresh scene can tell you the most right now.

You’ve been staying close to Morgan as he theorizes the unsub’s movements. Following and coming up with theories of your own in terms of the order of the unsub’s entry and exit. 

But as much as you are focused on the case, you look at Hotch and Seaver every now and then, who are interviewing witnesses and authorities on the side. 

Hotch catches you looking at him and Seaver, just as Seaver holds on to his arm to fix the strap of her heel. You may have looked extra irritated but you’d blame it on the sun being on your face. 

Looking back at Derek who had gotten quiet, you find him smiling at you teasingly. Already aware of what you were just looking at— more like who. You roll your eyes at him, “Shut up, chocolate.”

Derek shakes his head as he laughs, taking his sunglasses from where it hung his shirt and wears it on you. 

“Calm down, Cyclops. You might just kill the two of them if you’re not careful.” 

You gasp at his audacity, watching his back as he walks away, not even giving you the chance to respond to his teasing. 

Not wanting to stare at his back any longer, you turn around to pick up right where you left off. Only to have the fright of your life seeing Hotch right in front of you. 

With a hand on your chest you catch your breath, “Oh my god! How even—“ One second he’s more than 6 feet away from you, the next second he’s not even 4 inches from you. 

Your heart beats even faster as Hotch’s hands reach up to your face to remove Derek’s sunglasses. “Morgan!”, he shouts and tosses Derek his glasses. 

Derek catches it instinctively and looks to the both of you in confusion, but Hotch looks back at you and takes his own sunglasses off his face to wear it on you. 

Seaver watches all of this unfold from behind Hotch, and you could see it annoyed her. But she puffs her chest and turns to the people she and Hotch were talking to, continuing the interviews they were conducting. 

— 

Now during the case, obviously there wasn’t really any time for you and Hotch to discuss the romance brewing between the two of you. Absolutely no time to indulge in personal matters at a time where other people’s lives depended on you. 

But that’s not to say that Hotch has not followed up his advances with more actions. Not at all— the complete opposite actually. 

He has only become increasingly affectionate and bolder with his actions. He seems to have given up on holding himself back around you. He’s constantly sitting beside you, placing his hand on your lower back as you walk, then he stands behind you constantly towering over you whenever, wherever. 

He’s even given you his handkerchief multiple times so you could wipe your sweat, and when you guys ordered takeout for the night, he made sure to unpack yours for you and hand you your utensils, even standing to get you water from the pantry before he even touches his food. 

He’s been crazy sweet and even more protective than usual, you almost didn’t need words to confirm how he feels about you… if it weren’t for Seaver who has also gotten bolder with her advances towards Hotch. Then I mean, maybe a little reassurance would be nice. 

It seems as if the recent development in yours and Hotch’s romance was something Seaver saw as a challenge- a hurdle she has to get over to win Hotch. 

Annoying you even more, when she arrived at the precinct the next day wearing a revealing top and tight pencil skirt. She looked good, you had to admit. 

Looking down at your own attire, with jeans, boots, and a plain shirt. You felt a little defeated. Obviously you weren’t going to attract Hotch being this plain. 

But you also wanted to be ready. The team was closing in on the unsub who has become more and more erratic, you could almost predict a chase and maybe even a tussle. 

You were standing beside Reid, looking at the board trying to uncover a pattern in the unsub’s dump sites when you heard an agitating little voice say, “Hotch, I think my top unbuttoned at the back. Could you get it for me?”

Tension instantly brews. The team, who has caught on to Seaver’s ploy early on, awaits your reaction. You could feel their gazes on your back, even from Reid who you could feel checking on you from the corner of his eye from where he stands to your right.

But you refuse to give in. You continue- more like pretend to- analyze the map on the board. Even tilting your head a little to sell that you’re really not paying attention to the two. However in all honesty, all your other senses are very much attuned to whatever’s happening behind you. 

Rossi cleared his throat, making you check the room’s reflection on the window on your left through the corner of your eye. And you watch as Seaver turns in her seat away from Hotch, anticipating him leaning close and putting his hands on her. 

Now you thought that since Hotch had an idea about how Seaver makes you feel, that he’d keep his distance. You know, set those boundaries to appease you. But to your surprise, Hotch leans over the distance between his chair and hers, and reaches over to button her top. 

You could feel your face heating up. You don’t know if he simply didn’t care, if he was oblivious, or if he did it on purpose. But now was not the time to act up and make a big deal out of something so trivial. You were all so close to catching the unsub, you poured your focus on the case instead. 

But you need a moment to yourself, maybe a little fresh air or even a pep talk in the bathroom mirror will do. Just as you were about to excuse yourself stepping back from the board, you hear Hotch close the file he was reading- before he was interrupted- loudly. 

His stern voice soon follows, “Just a little advice, Agent Seaver: if you’re assigned to the field, dress like it. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about buttons popping or heels snapping while you’re chasing an unsub or racing to save someone’s life.” 

You couldn’t stop yourself even if you wanted to. Their reflection on the window was blurry enough that you couldn’t make out their facial expressions, so when you hear Hotch’s stern voice your head snaps to look at him in surprise, not expecting him to be annoyed at Seaver given that he’d just helped her. 

You almost feel bad for Seaver who’s turning red in embarrassment. She’d obviously put together an outfit for Hotch. You all knew she was an outstanding agent, so to jeopardise her performance for a man’s attention seemed weird even for her. 

–

To your surprise, her advances towards Hotch did not stop even after his dig at her unprofessionalism. 

As you were all boarding a jet well into the night, exhausted from the long case, you all noticed Seaver subtly rushing to sit first. Unsurprisingly, she chose the seat beside Hotch’s usual seat. Acting normally, she pulled out a blanket settling in her seat. 

But Hotch, who has been behind you the whole time, was just shadowing your movements. The most exhausted out of all of you, he wasn’t even thinking about where he’ll sit. He was blindly following you like a puppy, with a hand on your waist as if to not get lost. 

He was actually just waiting for you to sit somewhere, then he’d sit beside you. So you chose a couple-seat on the far end of the jet, away from Seaver. Neither of you have the energy to deal with her antics. 

In a last attempt to get Hotch to her, Seaver calls out “Hotch, I saved you your seat!”, even opening up her arms that are covered by the blanket as if to invite him to her warmth. 

But Hotch only looks at her silently, blinking. Then in less than 10 seconds, Hotch takes your hand, intertwines it with his, kisses yours softly, and crosses his arms as he closes his eyes to sleep- leaving your hand somewhat trapped to his body. 

You’re surprised at the bluntness of his affection, considering most of your team members were looking at you after Seaver called him out. 

Stealing a glance at Seaver, you catch her shoulders drop before she settles back into her seat, while Morgan mouths to you “Told you,” from across her. 

Turning your head to look at Hotch, you can tell he isn’t asleep yet though his eyes are closed. You squeeze the hand intertwined with yours, trying to get it out of his grip and crossed arms– he opens his eyes to look at you and softly whines, “Stoopp.”

“Hey!” you whisper. 

He breathes out a grumpy, “What?” to which you smile softly and say, “Fine. I guess I’m your girl.” 

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