#aaron hotch x fat reader

[cupidkenji]

killshot, baby

Pairing: Aaron Hotch x Doctor!Fem!reader Cw: Fluff (for real this time), LONGING (this is literally 9k words of pure yearning idek how I did that), mentions of blood, Hotch gets shot, Jack being adorable, Jack gets injured too :(, no explicit age gap, this is just rlly cute idk it's sweet I love Hotch so much I need him Summary: When you get hired as the BAU's stand-by medic, the team leader ends up being the hardest part of your job. Disclaimer: Reader is chubby! She's always fat coded, but like usual she's not described here. Just know a chubby person was imagined when writing this <3 WC: 9k (Hotch is the love of my life I could go on about him forever) This is definitely not medically accurate, please just enjoy for the sake of the story. I LOVE HOTCH I WANNA SMOOCH HIM

As weird as it was, band aids were the thing you remembered most from your childhood. You grew up as a canvas for any sort of scrape, cut, or bruise. Any wound that made your parents feel mildly worried to utterly terrified were ones that decorated your body frequently. You never tried to assign any meaning to why you became a doctor, simply crediting it as your call to the profession - to people. If you had to, though, your consistently bruised adolescent body is the best root cause you could think of. It seemed only right that the kid who couldn’t keep her skin in tact would grow to love helping others. You liked to think that’s how you kept your head an average size. Your bosses and co-workers had raved about your abilities no matter the job you took, and after a while you had to start prioritizing keeping your humility. You had started as just a kid with bruises. 

You tended to ground yourself with those same memories in times like this. For as long as you’d worked in the hospital, you held some disdain for agents. You saw many federal ones, being so close to the HQ for divisions like Behavioral Analysis, but some locals swung by too. You’d had far too many experiences of them being snappy, demanding, and usually inconsiderate to the team of people trying to save someone. You understood the individuals you were committed to helping often got there by doing monstrous things, but demanding to talk to someone when they were bleeding out and half-conscious always forced your tongue between your teeth in an effort to stay respectful. Especially now, pushing a stretcher with 3 other workers while trying to shake off the feds trailing after him. You recognized them, Agents Rossi and Hotchner, if you remembered correctly. 

“We’ll need to talk to him immediately.” The man - Rossi, you assumed, seeing as he was going gray and had less of a charge fueling his steps - spoke quickly as the two men followed your team.

“Be here when he’s out of surgery.” You didn’t bother to look back, trying to convey your annoyance and praying they got the hint. 

“He’s killed three women and has another one hostage. We don’t have time.” The other one piped up, easily keeping pace with you.

Abandoning your previous strategy, you let your team push the man into the operating room, shutting the door behind them and whipping around to face the duo. “I understand that, sir, believe me.” You were more elevated than you would have liked, years of unease unfortunately slipping through your efforts to withhold them. “But whatever happened when you found him left him barely breathing. You can’t speak to a corpse. You’ll have your time when he’s stable. Go do your job and let me do mine.” You tensed your calves planning to turn around, but quickly felt the guilt catch up to you. “I’ll call you if he wakes up.”

“If?” 

You sighed. You hated profilers. “I’ll call you.” 

“Call the headquarters.” He was scribbling down a number on the back of a hospital business card. “Ask for Agent Hotch. We’ll be waiting.” You nodded your head once, taking the card from his hands. He started walking away as he thanked you. “We appreciate it.” Sure.

–

The surgery to save the man had been a trip and half. One of the bullets had internally ricocheted, and the other two were lodged next to crucial arteries. You praised your mother for giving you steady hands as you inched them out of him. It took you and your team six hours and fifteen minutes to get his heartbeat steady, you estimated he’d be knocked out all night. You should call, you thought. You had no idea how late these people worked but they were more than likely expecting to talk tonight and you didn’t know if that’d be possible. You fished the card out of your pocket, his handwriting was impressively neat for how fast he’d written the number. You heard the line ring twice before someone picked up. 

“This is Penelope Garcia with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, who am I speaking to?”

“Uh- I’m Dr. L/n down at Quantico Med. I’m looking for Agent Hotch?” Your words tilted up at the end of your sentence. The casual nature of his shortened name left a weird feeling in your mouth after you said it. “I have an update on a patient he was asking after.”

“Is this about an unsub?” 

“A what?” She lacked professionalism. You wondered briefly if he had just given you the phone number of an employee.

“I’m sorry-” she laughed slightly. “Is this about a suspect? Hotch told me someone might be calling.”

“Um - yeah it’s about a suspect. He was brought in earlier. Is Agent Hotch there? I’m sorry ma’am but I've been in an operating room for the past 6 hours and I want to go home.” You hoped she’d respect your honesty, you really didn’t have the patience to explain yourself to someone new. 

She chuckled. “I got you honey, I’ll page you over.” The line went dead for a second before the ringing resumed. Please be quick, you prayed, get me out of this fucking hospital.

“Hotchner.” His voice was rougher over the phone. You guessed the long hours started to weigh on him by this time of night. You always felt it the most around this time, too.

“Hi, sir. This is Dr. L/n from the hospital. We managed to stabilize your guy, but it’s unlikely he’ll be up before tomorrow. I know it was assumed he’d be awake tonight but it took longer to operate than expected.” Your guys put 3 bullets in him, so sorry for the inconvenience. “I’ll be here all day tomorrow. You can come by at any time and I’ll let you in.”

“Are you positive we can’t talk to him tonight? I understand the situation is difficult but this case is extremely time sensitive. I’m sure that’s not lost on you.” You cursed the man for not being more condescending in his delivery. Thinking of the poor person either trapped or dead right now due to the guy you just saved made you sick. 

“I know.” Fucking hell. “I can wake him up.” A quarter dose of adrenaline works wonders. “Be here in fifteen minutes. You won’t have much time to talk to him.”

“Thank you.” He hung up. You put your head in your hands. Just a little kid with bruises.

– 

The layout of the BAU made you envious of the workers here. You’re sure they’d dealt with atrocities beyond what the average person could stomach, but you also worked within the belly of the beast and man were those hospital hallways claustrophobic. The daylight shone beautifully through the large windows, and you asked yourself if you’d be able to cope with all the paperwork in exchange for a feel like this. There weren’t any front desks, nowhere to sign in, so you sat in one of the chairs by the door and waited to see if something would happen. You had been specifically requested to visit the building , a note signed ‘Strauss’ being left with the hospital secretary. You didn’t like being called on by a stranger, it made you nervous beyond belief. You’re sure anyone walking by assumed you were being charged with something. Sweating like a sinner in church.

“Dr. L/n?” A woman was standing near you, having completely avoided your eyesight until now. “I’m the board supervisor, Erin Strauss. Thank you for coming.” The woman was nice enough, but she seemed rigid, clearly confident in her authority. She led you to her office and gestured to the chair facing her desk.

“I’ll cut right to the chase.” She smoothed her pencil skirt as she sat down. “The BAU is seeking a stand-by medic and I’d like to offer you the position. You’re revered highly by your previous places of employment and your current boss has only good things to say. Along with a personal reference by an employee of mine, you’re certainly a person of interest. You’d be working interchangeably with three other individuals, however you would be the first one called when needed.”

That is definitely not what you were expecting. You were almost immediately ready to turn down the offer. You didn’t work well with cops. You worked well in a hospital, going into the field to patch the wounds of both good and evil was a less than appealing deal to you. 

“You’d be on call while you worked your current position at Quantico Medical, when you’re at home you can remain there, but you’ll be flying with the rest of the team when they leave. You will be entered into a federal database, and employed as a stand-in for hospitals near you when working abroad.” She went on to explain you’d be paid salary, and when you heard just how much you could add to your monthly income by doing this, you took it. You were doing fine, you definitely didn’t need the financial boost, but you had family that could use it. Your niece had been close to turning down college because of the cost, so some extra money could really set her up. 

“Excellent. You’ll start your field training next Monday.” She was shuffling papers into a hefty stack as she talked. “Come back when you’ve finished this and I’ll arrange a team meeting.” The stack was even heavier than you expected when you picked it up. It was far too early to be regretting your decision. 

–

The first day of training had been easy enough. You weren’t an agent, so you avoided having to learn weapons or combat. It generally consisted of learning efficiency, along with how to work properly with agents and the expected etiquette when dealing with an unsub. You had met the team only once by now. Everyone had been nice - Garcia especially - but aside from her nobody had been particularly welcoming. The conditions of your job were a bit strange, basically capitalizing on the what ifs that came with the FBI title, and that created a bit of distance between you and the rest of the team. They questioned the necessity of you, they’d survived this long without a stand-by medic with them, why did they need one now?

Above any disregard for those in law enforcement sat your stubbornness. You knew they were on the fence about you, the most logical thing for you to do now would be attend every session required of you and prove yourself through pure accomplishment. Easy in theory, much harder to execute when Aaron Hotch is the one you’re learning from. He was a good teacher - you’d give him that - he had a confidence to him that easily dominated a room, attracted eyes in a way other men couldn’t manage. You’d ignored the initial stir in your stomach when meeting him in favor of attempting to scold him and his partner. Now, it was much harder to quell the slight pound in your head or the sweat on your palms. He was just standing up front, lecturing on the importance of a team, but his attire was the only thing able to break through the haze in your mind. Every time he’d shown up at the hospital, he’d donned a suit, a slightly baggy blazer worked incredibly well as a shield to your curiosity. That had clearly changed, as he shed the overcoat when talking to the class, having just a white button up adorn his torso. You took notice of the rolled up sleeves, clearing your throat quietly to snap yourself back into focus. You had the intention of snuffing out this little thing of yours but were a living contradiction at this point, setting on the goal of avoidance while barely ignoring the sight of the veins on his arms. You pondered the thought of sleeping with some man at a bar just to get this out of your system, but remembered how little projecting attraction onto someone else helps a situation. In other words, you were probably fucked.

– 

The first mission you worked with the team had you flying to a tiny Georgia town to investigate a string of bodies being found in ransacked homes. It seemed to be a simple motive, robbery turned to murder, but the team was called down to help once the kill count hit five. You had been expecting a long commercial flight, figuring you’d need to invest in a good neck pillow and some aspirin. Nobody had bothered to inform you the Bureau utilized private air travel, or that you’d be flying in one with people you’d known for two weeks. You’re sure you looked a little out of place, looking around the plane without being obvious you were doing it and adjusting to the sight of couches on planes. The others, having had this privilege for years now, took their respective seats. You had been nervous about that, unfortunately. The unsure feeling of where to sit reminding you painfully of high school cafeterias and inferior reputations. The only open seat happened to be right next to the man you’d been ducking away from the past two weeks. Lovely. He took a moment to look at you when you sat. You were prepared to talk to him, but for now you busied yourself with rummaging through your bag looking for nothing and pretending not to see him in your peripherals.

“Do you get sick on planes?” He seemed to have a deeper motive when he asked, like you saying yes would solve a puzzle in his head.

“Not really.” You’d only been on a plane a handful of times. “Turbulence can make me nervous, but I think that’s fairly normal.” You thought momentarily that perhaps he would blame your obvious anxiety on that instead of his proximity to you. He was a profiler, you’re sure he picked up on tells for nerves you weren’t even aware you had, but maybe he’d write it off. “Why do you ask?”

“You seem…” He trailed off for a moment, looking over your face to try and categorize your expression. “I don’t know, lost?” He smiled, light and easy, and you realized he was trying to reach out to you. The comfortability in the gesture made your head spin. It was like a shot of morphine, enveloping your body in a dull elation - an escape. You wanted that comfortability, wanted him to feel weightless around you. There had been a certain tension between the two of you since you started. He was warmer than the rest, but also more awkward. Your first real interaction had been an outburst, and it left you hesitant to talk to him. 

You chuckled at his remark. “No I -” You shook your head as you spoke, as if shaking off his accusation. “Nobody told me about the jet. You’d think exclusive aircraft would be in the job predecessor.”

He nodded in agreement, holding a slight upturn on his lips. “Yes, you would.” He glances away to check the time, looking back to you quickly like you were his homebase. “Strauss has a habit of getting ahead of herself. Plus, we’re all pretty used to it by now. I have to remind her sometimes that normal provisions don’t have a TI.”

“I’m sure.” It was clear she’d worked with the unit for a while. “Even if they did, though, they’d never find another Garcia.” You thought of the woman, bright and sparkly and incredibly good at her job. “You guys are lucky to have her.”

He stared at you, losing a hint of the lightheartedness and letting a wave of genuinity intertwine with it. “You have her too, Y/n.” His eyes were like a trap, rich pools of honey just begging to tug you down in. “You’re a member of this team. Don’t think your newness makes you inferior to anyone else on it. We’re lucky to have you too.”

Fuck, you were whipped. “I really appreciate that, sir.”

He smiled, shaking his head and waving you off. “Don’t with the sir, please. It’s bad enough when Garcia does it. You can call me Aaron.” Not even the other team members called him that, a thought that seemed to strike you both simultaneously. “Or Hotch, whatever you prefer.”

You just looked at him, letting a smile rouse your lips and trying your hardest not to let the effect he had on you reach your face. “Ok.”

–

The first case had been good training wheels, simply tending to a vic who needed stitches and getting a feel for the life of a field agent. You’d been adjusting nicely to it, quickly getting used to working random hospitals and waiting to be needed on an active crime scene. The others had warmed up to you tremendously after getting back, opening their circle for one more, and you couldn’t be more grateful. A team like this was something you’d wanted for a while, growing more and more unsatisfied with the callous ER workspace by the day. Ironically, there was much more life in jobs dealing with murder. He had also been warming up to you. The two of you hit the status of work-place friends nearly instantly. The endearing encounter on the plane simmered inside you for a while. The memory of it prompting you to keep talking to him, always searching for a fix of the painkiller you’d felt that day. 

You weren’t a profiler, but you were unfathomably infatuated, leading you to never miss his tone getting softer with you, or any one of his touches that lingered for just a second too long. It just barely bypassed the line of friendship, but you never lost sight of that linear barrier, so it was incredibly prevalent to you when he breached it. You scoffed at the idea of any reciprocity, brushing off every remark made by a coworker or the one horrific time you heard JJ refer to the two of you as ‘mom and dad.’ This wasn’t a plausible thing. This was a stupid workplace crush that was more of a hindrance than anything. The growing closeness between you and him would have it’s effects properly restrained to the confines of your head, only permitted to express themselves once you were away from the man. It was an odd dynamic, but Aaron wasn’t an obvious guy, so trying to define the edges of you two would only draw attention to the fact you had been looking at all. No thank you.

“Shit.” The team was sitting around the table going over their files. You were mainly there for support, as you were never a part of the lead up to the catch, the chase. You heard Hotch mumble the exclamation under his breath and looked over to see the trouble. He was looking down at his phone, jaw resting between his thumb and pointer finger. You got up and moved to sit next to him, the motion virtually ignored by everyone else as they continued searching for connections.

“Everything ok?” You mumbled to him, trying not to disturb your friends who were nearly nose-deep in their files. 

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Jack’s sitter canceled. I wanted to stay here to go over the latest crime scene but I guess I’ll have to raincheck.” The killings of your latest unsub had been increasing. You knew the collective stress that was starting to boil within the team. Him going home would only slow them down, a horrible addition to a killer that was speeding up. 

You volunteered your night away before you even got a chance to think about it. 

“I can watch him.” 

Surprise was apparent in the raise of his eyebrows. “I appreciate it, but I couldn’t ask that of you.

You’re fairly certain you would do anything he asked of you, but the nobility of the man in this case almost made you roll your eyes. “No, please. I offered and I would love to. I’m not helping anyone just sitting here, and you leaving would slow them down. You know what to look for here, I don’t. I don’t want another girl going missing just cause your sitter flaked. I can do it.”

He seemed mildly speechless. “I -” He paused, trying to find the wording he wanted. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll send you the address, if you’re sure.” He looked at you with more adoration than you’d ever had directed at you, so intense your eyes instinctively ducked down. “Thank you, Y/n.” He was so touched by the action it made you slightly sad to think about. Had no one ever helped him? Maybe you were raised weird, this seemed hardly beyond common decency to you. 

“What are friends for?” He exhaled a slight laugh in gratuitous agreement, but you saw the glimmer of his eyes dull slightly. The notion surely reflected in your own eyes as the words burned your tongue. Friends.

–

Jack was a delight. A well mannered, clearly well raised kid. Parts of his dad shined so vibrantly in him that you’re sure you’d be able to pick him out of a crowd based on mannerisms alone. Hotch had called Jack’s daycare, verifying your identity and giving you the ok to go pick him up. He seemed quiet on the way home, but rushed to give you a tour of the house, and excitedly led you to his line up of toy trains once you’d entered the place. There was a shift between you and Hotch that happened when you gave the offer. A shift that was now only just settling in you. This was his house. His space, his stuff, his place of security. He’d invited you into it, gave you permission to enter it, to exist within it, and it was strangely intoxicating. He was intoxicating, and you realized quickly how much you ached for the permanence of it. You’d made Jack dinner, played for a bit, went out for ice cream per his pleading, and wished him a peaceful goodnight when his bedtime rolled around. He’d dubbed you his ‘best babysitter ever’ and you knew as soon as the words hit your ears that you’d be watching him again. You’re sure situations like today popped up frequently for Hotch, you could be a valuable asset to him when you had free time. He would be saving money too. No need to pay a sitter when you were being paid by the Bureau every second you were there. Aaron had gotten home a few minutes past one, utterly exhausted and uncharacteristically apologetic. He was sorry for being gone so long, making you stay so late, everything and anything the man could apologize for was pouring out of his mouth. He’d welcomed you to stay, but his hair was messy from messing with it all night, and he’d ditched the suit jacket for a gray long sleeve. You’d wanted to take the opportunity, wanted to bask in the safety of him for as long as he’d allow it, but those restrained thoughts were clawing the walls of your skull with a vigor unlike anything you’d felt before. It would be abhorrent to dream about the man while in the confines of his home. You couldn’t do that - you wouldn’t. You brushed off any apology he could conjure and let him escort you out the door. His hand was on your lower back, and his voice was low from the siphoning nature of the day. 

“Thank you, again.” He looked at you. “You’re a lifesaver.” You’d expected to hear some humor in his voice. The start of banter between friends, a casual appreciation for a job well done, but there wasn’t any. He sounded rough, slightly beat down, his eyes filled with a sincerity all aimed at you. A blend of pure adoration and a deeper level of dedication. Was this a commitment? What kind?

Heat bubbled in your stomach as you made eye contact. “Please.” You shook your head slightly. “Jack’s an angel. You’re clearly as good at this as you are profiling.” You nodded in the vague direction of Jack’s bedroom as you referenced the kid. “It was my pleasure. I’d love to do it again, if you’ll let me.” 

He sighed out a small laugh and broke your gaze for a moment, looking back to you as he spoke. “I’d like that.”

–

You’d seen Jack a multitude of times after that. Aaron was never particularly fond of asking you, claiming that he appreciated the gesture but it was mainly Jack’s begging that made him cave. That, and your persistence. You liked Jack a lot, and more selfishly, you liked being around Aaron’s stuff. It was a little creepy, yes, but you felt better acquainted with him after being around his things. An energetic type of understanding, the type that deepened a connection without words. He was needed late tonight, and as much as you hated denying an offer to see Jack, you had priorities at the hospital. The previous sitter wasn’t able to watch him, so she gave a personal recommendation, and Jack got stuck with a stranger. You thought about him while working, probing and patching people half-focused with the desire to be elsewhere. You’d felt mildly guilty about it, but it’s not like it altered your work, so you figured it was harmless. 

You wondered slightly if you manifested the event you were watching play out. You watched in pure disbelief as a sobbing Jack was being carried into the ER by a flustered blonde woman. There was blood staining the right sleeve of his shirt, pouring out of his skin in a surplus and completely soaking through the material. A jagged piece of glass was standing at attention in his wrist, having sliced through the fabric like butter. He was marked ‘urgent,’ who knows if the shard had hit an artery or where the glass had come from. 

Most other doctors were busy, either operating or tending to patients. You’d walked to the front desk, remaining as calm as your racing heart would let you, and told the secretary to assign the case to you. “I know this one. Let me take him.” She just nodded, marking your name down as the primary doctor and allowing you to take him back. 

Walking up to the blonde woman, you assumed this had been the new babysitter. She was a wreck, trying to explain what happened through her own hysteria while simultaneously having her words drowned out by the crying child. “It’s ok, ma’am.” You’d reassured her, obviously she hadn’t intended the injury. “Let me take him, I’m a friend of his father.” You saw the calmness dilate her eyes, making itself apparent in the relaxation of her tense shoulders. You removed the bleeding boy from her arms, holding him against you and cooing at him the way you would a baby. You took him to a stretcher a few feet away and laid him down, ensuring his wounded arm stayed flat in an attempt to slow the blood. He was on the brink of passing out, his body not having nearly enough energy for the sobbing on top of losing vital fluid. “Jack.” You addressed him directly, two more doctors aiding your transfer to an examination room. “I need you to stay with me, buddy. Just a little longer, I promise. You’re gonna be just fine.” You pushed with one hand, caressing his non-injured arm to emphasize your affection. “Just a little longer.” You looked at him in between looking forward to keep the stretcher straight, seeing that same adoration from his father’s eyes mirrored in his. You felt protective, realizing you cared for the Hotchners much more than you let yourself believe. Little kid with bruises, you skimmed through your origins in your mind in an attempt to center your focus. Just a little kid with bruises.

Two hours later, Jack was stitched up and sleeping soundly. You knew his sitter had called Hotch, probably as soon as something happened, and were not surprised to find him idle in a waiting room chair. He was leaned forward, head in his hands and knee bouncing violently. He heard footsteps getting closer, a feeling within him recognizing them as yours, and he looked up. His eyes were teary, tired. The look of a concerned father.

“How is he?” You’d never witnessed this type of worry in him, heard the amount of desperation in his voice.

You smiled lightly as a predecessor to Jack’s wellbeing. “He’s fine. Glass missed his arteries. We had him patched up in around an hour and a half. Gave him a lollipop and a light sedative to get him to rest. He should be all set to go in the morning.” 

He sighed, and the amount of stress that audibly left his body made you feel a little lighter from where you stood. “Thank God.”

“Hey man, give us a little credit.” You joked, relieved when you heard the slight laugh come from his downturned head. Pity laugh, probably, but it was a cherished sound nonetheless. 

“You have full credit, Y/n.” He shook his head, raising it to look at you. “Quite the hero.”

You almost physically recoiled from the term, rushing to correct him while maintaining the lighthearted nature. “Definitely not.” You rejected the praise. “Just doing my job. I’m glad I could help him.”

He leaned back in his chair, relaxing for a second before he planned to stand up. “Noble.” He chuckled. “But you helped my son. That’s about as heroic as it gets to me, doc.”

Blood rushed to your ears at your professional title being used so affectionately. “Go check on your kid, Hotch.” You waved back towards the direction of Jack, knowing that even though he was asleep, he’d want to see him anyway. You also hoped the slight distraction would draw his attention away from your increasingly flustered state. “You’ll have plenty of time to praise me.” You weren’t entirely sure you’d wanted the sentence to exit your mouth, but it was too late to bite your tongue.

He raised his eyebrows so slightly that you scolded yourself for having noticed. Such a minuscule action that seemed to move mountains within your brain. “Oh?”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes at your own remark. “I’m walking away. You know what I meant.”

“Mhm.” He smiled, nodding his head dramatically and rising from his seat. “Just name a time and place, doc. I’ll do good on that promise.”

You went momentarily braindead, hoping your eyes weren’t giving away the less than work appropriate feeling pumping through your veins. You stared baffled at him for what was definitely a millisecond too long before giving a half-shocked, half-flattered laugh and gesturing him away. “Say that when you’re not obviously sleep deprived and delirious and maybe we can arrange it.” The last thing you heard was him, laughing the way you do when you’re very serious but desperately trying to pass it off as a joke. You knew it well, having done it almost every time you were around him since you started. Comfortable, witty retorts between  friends. “Have a good night, Aaron.” 

Aaron, he thought. He’d remember that.

– 

That had been the second shift between the two of you. Felt immediately by both parties and tossing you both into the deep end of whatever you’d been building with him. He’d been much more touchy, seemingly subconscious on his part but noticed by every part of your body, mind, and soul. You thought about what it could mean, then sunk even further into your incoherent mind when realizing just how subconscious the actions really were. He was just drawn to you. You had viscerally fought that conclusion as it came to you but it genuinely could not be anything else. He was touching you more because - whether on the surface or deeper down - he just wanted to, and that fact was wrecking you. You were so fucking into him that it hurt. Hurt to look at him or be in his home watching Jack or have his knee pressed against yours in the back of car during a team outing. It all hurt because he wasn’t yours. He seemed into you, too. Of course, you didn’t know to what extent. You worried maybe he hadn’t said anything yet because he simply didn’t like you enough, and that hurt more than any other factor. It was a foolish notion - one you would have abandoned instantly had you peeked inside his head - but alas, no such luck.

He’d been more relaxed, too. The two of you reaching a point in your relationship you hadn’t ever let yourself dream about. He was funny, achieving that lightness around you that you’d wanted from the start. He’d gotten riskier, amping up the dial on his remarks a bit. Starting with those like the hospital, ending with ones that made you have to take a breather in the room where they kept the coffee. It hadn’t gone unnoticed, per say, but the others were certainly ignorant to the true depth of the change. You simply couldn’t measure it by witnessing, you had to feel it. And fuck were you feeling it. 

A week or so after Jack’s ER visit, you’d asked after him. You didn’t know if the regret was immediate, but it flooded through you quickly. Aaron got nervous, shifty, like you’d touched a live wire of his and he now had to patch it up before it blew. You got concerned, asking if something happened with his stitches or if Jack was now showing some sort of trauma response to the event. Was that even plausible? You weren’t sure, PTSD wasn’t exactly your strong suit. However, he quickly stated that wasn’t the case, noting that Jack was actually in perfect health and had been relentless about wanting you over for dinner.

“He’s grateful.” Hotch was smiling with paternal reluctance, proud of his son for having such good morals but also uncomfortable with the possibility of rejection he was facing. “He wants to see you, say thank you for “saving his life.” He emphasized the last bit in a sarcastic tone, both of you knowing his life hadn’t been in danger but also knowing that fact wouldn’t deter the boy from considering you some type of guardian angel. “Would you be up for it?” If you hadn’t been so focused on snuffing out the heat rushing to your face, you would have seen that same heat reflected in a slight pink across his cheeks. 

“Definitely.” You smiled at the thought of the boy bugging his dad about getting you to the house. “When were you thinking?”

“Saturday night?” Both of you were scheduled to be off that day, and you found yourself begging whatever merciful being would listen to not have some lead to chase that day. “He’ll want the day to prepare.” He chuckled.

“Oh no.” You joked. Prepare? You couldn’t even begin to imagine what that meant. “Well, I am extremely curious to find out what an eight year old boy has to prepare for. How about seven? Would that be good?”

Aaron felt his palms start to sweat. He’d never actually been around his house when you’d been there, only seeing you on your way out. “That’s perfect.”

“Great.” You smiled, checking the time and realizing you needed to get going to the hospital. “I’m looking forward to it.” You nodded slightly as one last confirmation and headed out, suppressing a giddy smile while trying to force yourself into a headspace you could work in. 

In the meantime, Aaron watched you walk off from where he’d been perched on your desk, entirely oblivious to the man watching the scene.

“As I live and breathe.” Rossi had crept up on him, not spooking him but rather suspending him in a state of immeasurable embarrassment. “Aaron Hotcher has a crush.” The man held his shoulder, patting him there like a father witnessing his son get his first girlfriend. “She’s a good one. Quite the eye you got, Aaron.” Then he was gone, walking away with Aaron’s dignity clasped in his hands. Closing his eyes in pure mortification, Hotch simply thanked God that nobody else was around for that and walked away with the intention of fusing to his office chair to avoid ever looking at Rossi again. At least you’d said yes, he thought. He didn’t know how he’d cope with his friend watching him swing and miss.

–

The daylight seemed to be anticipating this more than you were, hours passing by like minutes until eventually the sun woke you up on Saturday morning. It was blazing through the cracks in your blinds, settling in slim lines across your floor, as light and gentle as snow. You’d been rehearsing your poker face in preparation for tonight. Writing safety manuals for any ungodly situation that could happen, everything from a fire to Aaron gaining the ability to read your mind and unearthing what you really thought about him. You were so happy that Jack held you in such high esteem, but your hands were shaking at the thought of sitting down with him and his father and acting like it wasn’t the dynamic you fucking dreamt about. You knew it was a good sign of compatibility if someone’s cat liked you - did their child liking you mean the same thing? You hoped Jack’s seemingly innate approval of you gave you at least a couple brownie points. Aaron had called you a hero. Swiftly ignoring the memory of what he’d said after he called you a hero, you pulled out your phone. You and him didn’t really speak outside of work and babysitting schedules, but you were pacing around your room and needed something to give you a semblance of structure, a reassurance - even if it was just for the time. You texted, asking if you were still on for tonight, then went to go make breakfast and inevitably pace some more. He’d gotten back to you about twenty minutes later, confirming the time and giving details of how excited Jack was about it. You smiled at that, praying tonight would be as smooth as humanly possible and you could walk away with an ounce of emotional control. You set an intention, this wouldn’t deepen your feelings for Aaron. Was it a pointless goal? Yes. Was it also highly unlikely to prove true? Yes. But the loose plan you worked around the resolution almost completely extinguished the anxiety that had been blazing for hours now. It would be fine, you thought. Completely and utterly fine. 

The same words were looping through your thoughts when you got to his front door. Casual - but still minorly more dressed up than he’d seen you. You’d put a little extra effort into your appearance, mainly to pass the time if you were honest, and you walked in with mild confidence fueling your steps. You did your best not to ogle him, he was in an attire that was already threatening to unravel the safety net of the goal you set. You were used to the suits hidden beneath blazers you cursed the existence of, maybe a snippet of his forearms when he rolled up his sleeves late at night. Now, though, he sported a simple black tee, more comfortable than you’d ever seen him. Domesticity was practically oozing from the entire situation. You felt the pieces slip into place as Jack ran up behind him, and you almost cried with how badly you wanted this feeling to be your normal. 

“Hey, buddy.” You laughed as he hugged you, reciprocating the act as well as you could from the multiple feet you had on his height. “How’s the arm?”

He raised up his wrist, now gauze free and proudly showed off the scar there. You played up the genuine admiration you felt for him. “That’s a pretty gnarly scar.” He nodded in response, probably feeling cool for the evidence he handled such an injury. “I don’t want to see you back in my operating room, you hear me? Scared the life out of us.” The scolding was playful, and he giggled at your words.

Aaron huffed in agreement, cocking his head to the side slightly. “You can say that again.” Jack looked between you two, smiling and seemingly thinking something neither of you could decipher. To break the moment of silence, Aaron patted his shoulder. “Why don’t you tell her what’s on the menu, buddy?”

He told you, and you hummed along to his words, commenting that it sounded delicious and actually meaning it. He ran away a second later - presumably back to whatever he’d been doing before you got there - and left you and Aaron alone. Venturing into the kitchen, you saw multiple pans and pots sitting neatly on the stove, table set and ready to be utilized. Everything was being kept warm, and you finally gained an appetite after having wrestled with nerves all day. 

“Do you want a drink?” He asked it while entering the kitchen, pausing to look at you. 

“Please.” You were desperate to calm yourself, eager to subdue the shaking of your hands. “Do you have any wine?” You weren’t the biggest fan, but you couldn’t think of a drink more fitting for the evening.

He nodded slightly. “Red or white?”

“White.”

He chuckled. “Thought so.” It was quiet, more to himself than you as he was already walking away from you when he said it. He’d thought about what kind of wine you liked, you thought. He’d thought about you. He pulled two wine glasses down from the cupboard, then walked over to the fridge. He reached above it, barely having to stretch, and pulled an uncorked bottle from the storage up there. You felt your legs tense looking at how tall he was, how sure he was of his actions. Jesus. It’s been five minutes and you were crumbling. You watched his hands as he uncorked the bottle, reading the label and realizing the brand.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Seems a little fancy for a dinner.”

He laughed under his breath as he finished pouring the glasses, walking back over to sit next to you on the island stools. “You’re a guest of honor.” He placed yours in front of you. “I thought it was fitting.” 

You searched, but couldn’t find the humor in his tone. You raised your eyebrows slightly. “Am I?” It was sarcastic, you needed to stop the heat in your stomach from spreading. “I didn’t know doing your job earned such a title.”

He was drinking as you spoke, finishing his sip before joking back. “You’re a doctor.” He said. “I thought you knew that better than anyone.”

You sucked air through your teeth as if wounded by his words. “Touche.” You took a sip of your drink, relishing the taste. Damn, he didn’t come to play. He laughed, and you set your glass back down. “Ok, I have to know.” He drew his attention to you. “What the hell did Jack need the day to prepare for?” The question had been on your mind since he asked you.

He took a drink, chuckling with a mouthful then swallowing so he could reply. “He actually helped cook most of this.” He nodded towards the stove full of different dishes. “That was what he needed the day for. Time for trial and error.”

You grinned at the thought of Jack and Aaron spending the day in aprons, making sure everything turned out perfect. “That is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He looked back towards Jack, coloring in the living room, close enough to see but far enough to miss your discussions. “He gets nervous around you.”

That surprised you. “Why on Earth would he be nervous around me?” You took your turn looking at the boy, an idea hitting you and making you feel sick. “Wait, I didn’t do something did I?”

He looked back at you, smiling. “No, no. Nothing like that. He gets nervous because he likes you. He knows who you are to me, too, so he wants to make a good impression.”

Your mind latched onto that sentence and played it like a broken record, bouncing between your ears over and over. “Oh?” Your lips were curling up at the corners, eyebrows furrowing as you got ready to hold him to that statement. “And who might I be to you, Aaron?”

Fuck. He’d let that slip past his lips without even thinking about it. So used to being in the confidential company of his son. Good thing he used to be a lawyer and could lie his ass off. “Most of his sitters aren’t also my coworkers.” He delivered it the smoothest way he could, smiling and drinking to hopefully exude a false comfortability that he certainly wasn’t feeling.

“Mhm.” You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to look sarcastic but in truth downplaying the sting you felt. What if this had been one-sided all along? You hadn’t prepped a safety guide for that.

Luckily, Jack came sprinting into the kitchen a second later, pleading with his father to eat now. Clinging to his leg and declaring how hunger was killing him by the second, dramatically threatening to wither away before your very eyes. You both shared a look, agreeing silently to put the kid out of his misery. The instinctual nature of the act hit you like a bolt of lightning. Both of you so in tune it was comical. The dinner had been lovely, and you reminded yourself to encourage Jack to keep up his cooking hobby. Maybe you could foster a professional chef. You’d talked with them both, light and the happiest you’d felt in a while. There it was, you realized. That weightless feeling you wanted to give him. You felt it in yourself too, and you could only pray it was because he felt it first. When dinner concluded, you’d help clean up while Jack resumed his coloring. His bedtime was soon, and you didn’t want him to spend his last hour washing pans. He was nearly delirious by the time 9:00 graced the clock, tired from the preparation of the day and needing to get to sleep. He’d given you a hug goodnight, thanked you for coming like the gentleman he was, and that was the last you saw of him. The rest of your time there was spent on the couch with Aaron, you both held a second glass of wine, and you noticed it manifest in the blush on his face. He was gorgeous, and you were staring. You know your eyes went to his lips a couple times as he spoke, low and rougher as the time ushered more light out of the sky. You saw his eyes slip down a few times too, this sort of unspoken, agonizing rule of look don’t touch. He’d walked you to the door, thanked you for your attendance, and then you were leaving. Sitting in your car, warm on the inside from both his presence and the anger you felt at yourself for not just kissing him. You were so incredibly needy for this - for him, and that fact just sat with you, like a raincloud constantly in a state of downpour, never letting you forget the pure fucking craving you had for him.

–

You think the start of your blackout was Morgan’s panicked voice over the speaker. You’d been stationed in your typical hut, equipped with medical gear and waiting on someone to need you. It was almost never your team in need of service, typically you were tending to an injured hostage or sometimes the unsub themselves, but never your friends. Your breath had been baited since you’d heard the gun go off. You knew the case was dealing with an aggressive attacker, you’d been expecting a fight, but nothing is ever more excruciating than waiting to hear who the shot was meant for. Derek crying out your name followed by a “get in here. Hotch is down, we need you in here.” had you ready to run the soles of your shoes down to dust just to make it in time. In time. God, in time for what? You’d ran past Emily and Rossi hauling out the unsub, anger evident in their treatment of him. How bad was it? How bad had he got him to have them acting like that?

The scene was bloody. Your brain switching off and forcing you into autopilot as you registered the pool of Hotch’s blood that Morgan was kneeling in. He was putting pressure on the wound, an attempt to stop the bleeding but it was flowing like a river. He wouldn’t make it to the hospital like this, you realized. He wouldn’t make it to the fucking hospital. You were holding his life in between your hands right now, the slightest tremor could sever that chord and you were feeling the pressure hard. Aaron was leaned against the wall, slumping down slightly which was only making the bleeding increase under the internal pressure. 

You looked at Morgan, putting on the bravest face you could muster and effectively seizing control of the situation. “Morgan.” You got his attention quickly. ��On three I need you to lift him away from the wall. I need to check for an exit wound.” He just nodded, doing exactly as you’d told him when you reached three. You checked the area, finding an exit wound in nearly the same spot. It’d been a straight line. You sighed in relief. Thank fucking God. “Ok, Morgan, I need you to put pressure on the wound on his back. I’m going to stitch the front to give us the time we need for the hospital drive but I need you to hold it. You got me?” 

He nodded once. “I got it.” He moved his hand from the front to the back, Aaron wincing at the switch.

You took out the numbing cream from your pack, knowing it wouldn’t do much for a gushing bullet wound but hoping it would at least quell the sting of a needle. You took out the needle, threading it with hands frighteningly stagnant as the adrenaline gave you tunnel vision. You had to save him. “Aaron.” You looked at him as you prepped his skin for the procedure. “I’m gonna need to double stitch this, and it’s gonna hurt like hell. I need you to stay with me.” 

The man just nodded, exhaling in exhaustion. “Do it.”

You worked as quickly as possible, gaining hope as you listened to the ambulance approach. “There you go.” You said under your breath, at this point you couldn’t tell if you were reassuring him or yourself.  You looked to Morgan, who was still sealing the other injury. “Help me get him up. Keep your hand on there. These stitches are gonna give us twenty minutes tops. Hold his shoulders straight and walk quickly.” You counted again, both of you rising when you hit three, taking the man with you. The walk to the ambulance was the longest of your life. Aaron was clinging to his consciousness but you knew he was losing grip. Finally getting him to the stretcher and slamming the doors was a relief like nothing else. There was no time to debate anyone else going, you rushed him in and sat right down beside him, taking off almost immediately after. The bleeding had slowed, and your hand took the place of Morgan’s on his back. Since he was laying down, his full weight was on it, and you felt the circulation lessen more and more as it remained there. You couldn’t care less, you’d let the blood drain from your entire arm if it meant Aaron’s survival. He hadn’t passed out, which you thought was miraculous, simply walked the line of decently delirious. Groaning under his breath at every slight bump in the road. 

“Why am I always having to save you Hotchner men?” You knew now wasn’t the time to be humorous, but you would have done anything to deviate from the tears in your eyes, the ball in your throat. You finally understood why it was frowned upon to date coworkers - it should be illegal to care this much. 

“I don’t know, honey.” The pet name was the kicker, allowing a tear to break the dam and roll down your cheek as he chuckled. “You seem to be pretty damn good at it, though.” You laughed too, fighting the devastation you felt at the sight of him with the fact that he was clearly well enough to still be joking. “I should have kissed you when you came for dinner.”

Fuck. “Aaron, now is not the time.” You chuckled slightly as more tears fell. This is absurd.

“I know but-” He flinched as the ambulance hit another bump. Almost there. “I might as well say it now.” You wondered if there was genuinely something wrong with him. “You’ve been all I can think about since the moment-'' He paused to breathe slightly in exertion, you giving a disapproving look as his confession took it’s toll. “since the moment you started, you know that?”

“You are dying! Please, for the love of God, Aaron. Use this energy to prevent that from happening.” Your scolding was dramatic, but your actual concern shone brightly through your ruse of sarcasm. 

“Exactly.” He was being equally as sarcastic. How on Earth did he manage this with a rapidly declining life force. “Give a dying man a chance. How unfortunate would it be if the last thing I hear before I go out is the woman of my dreams rejecting me?”

“Jesus Christ.” You shook your head in pure amazement. This was by far the most goal oriented man you’d ever met. “I’ll let you take me out if you shut the hell up and save your energy.” He smiled, letting his head hit the reclined back of the stretcher. “After you get better.” You added, reminding him that his recovery took priority. “Deal?”

“Deal.” This was probably the most insufferable man you’d ever met. “Such a good motivator.”

Scratch that. Most insufferable man ever.

[hotchs-big-hands]

Drawing something :3 gonna post under the cut even tho you can't see anything naughty on it (for now 👀)

😇😇😇

[solardrop]

silver.

aaron hotchner x reader.

summary: hotch really doesn't think getting old is sexy. tags: fluff. a suggestive line here or there but nothing crazy. age gap (reader in their 30s, hotch is 57). jack mentioned. i think this could be read as gn!reader but i could be wrong. just short and cute. word count: 1.0k a/n: last fics rules still apply. be nice to me! when i look up photos of hair dying on pinterest i get rainbow haired e-boys so accept this haircut photo <3 divider creds to @/cafekitsune

Your name echoes across the house when Aaron yells for you from the bathroom. Once you enter the space you're greeted by his hair spiked in every which way, covered in a brownish-black goop. His thick hands are gloved and hold a small black toothbrush-like applicator.

"Sweetheart, can you check if I missed a spot?" Aaron hands you the brush and tray of inky black dye. You make a show of rolling your eyes and pouting back at him in the mirror and you take the items from him.

"I forgot it was that time of month that you decided to cover up all your sexy.." you sigh.

"Really," he scoffs, a teasing smile creeping on his lips, "I thought all the sexy was gone when I shaved.'

You almost teared up remembering the loss of his beard. A case off the grid forced him to grow one out for a few weeks. You understandably jumped his bones upon seeing the new look when he returned. The extra hair provided some out-of-this-world sensations for your softest parts that you would never forget. Only for the wicked man to shave all of it after two days, citing the "professional dress code" of the FBI as the culprit.

You snap a latex glove onto your hand, "Shush and bend over, big guy."

He smiles and kneels to face you, his rough hands gripping the fat of your thighs. You slowly worked around his head, dabbing bits of dye in bare spots. Your fingers rake through the inky black mass on his head, gently massaging his scalp. Aaron hums and thanks you under his breath.

"Do you know why I started dying my hair so consistently?"

"To torture me?"

"No," he huffs," when Jack was about... eight? I had taken him on this trip with a couple of his friends and their fathers, it was fun, but at the end of the whole thing Jack pointed at the grays starting to grow out on my hairline and turned to his friends and said-"

"Baby no...."

"'Guys look! My daddy is sooo old!'"

You clamp your lips shut to hold in your laughter. You didn't want to embarrass him further, especially with the deep red flush rising up the nape of his neck.

"Oh honey Jack was still a baby then... kids are insane you know that"

" I do, and I know. I laughed it off. I know he didn't really mean anything by it, but I didn't know if he felt like the odd one out for having an old dad.." Aaron runs his hands up and down your legs mindlessly. "And now I don't want you to feel out of place either."

You pause at that. In the few years you and Hotch have been together, never has he shown any insecurity about the difference in age between you. And he sure as hell wasn't about to start now if you had anything to do with it. You slicked his hair back with your hands and placed the clear complimentary shower cap in the box on his head, snickering at how silly he looked. Once you slide the slimy gloves off you set the timer on your phone and grasp the face of the man you loved so dearly, forcing him to rest his chin on your stomach and look into your eyes.

"You have less than thirty minutes to explain to me why you think I'd care about you looking old"

"you're young-"

"I'm in my thirties-"

"you're younger," he corrects "than me by quite a bit. All your friends have other young people to share their life and first experiences with. Meanwhile, you're stuck with a sixty-year-old-"

"You're fifty-seven-" Your eyes roll.

"a fifty-seven-year-old with a sassy kid turned angsty teenager for a child." he sighs, "Sweetheart I just don't want you to ever look at me and feel a loss."

You take a moment to scan his face. Despite the stupid shower cap mushrooming around his head, his face showed no amusement when he spoke. The sweet, shy smile he always sported around you was gone, replaced with a grimace and furrowed brow.

"Aaron I have never felt more loved, accepted, and safe than I have with you. I know you know that," you say.

He nods, pressing a quick peck to your belly button before looking at you. His eyes search yours for a moment of hesitation or change in resolve. but you stand your ground.

"The only thing I worry about with you on my arm is fighting off all the homewreckers."

He wheezes a laugh at this. Eventually having to stand up before he smears the dark dye all over you. He always does this. Laughs and acts like he wouldn't have crowds of people stop to fawn over his beauty if he let them.

"Remember that neighbor at the old apartment who would only stop by with cookies when she knew you were home?"

"Or the time Jack's classmate profiled their teacher's crush on you?"

"Don't even get me started on that detective JJ keeps telling me about from years ago in New Mexico. The male detective."

He smiles at you sheepishly, "You've made your point."

"If you want to dye your hair or shave to make yourself happy I think you should," you whisper, "but Aar I love every version of you possible"

You press your lips to his cheek before you continue, "You are the most beautiful, devastatingly sexy old man out. And I will still throw myself at you in public if you decide to finally ditch the box dye."

He smiles at you fully now, eyes shining as he looks down at you. He slides his lips against yours, grinning into the kiss before he pulls away to thank you.

"Maybe after this starts to grow out I'll see how I feel about the silver again." He looks back at his reflection in the mirror. He turns his head every which way to peek at the processing strands under the shower cap.

"Think about the beard too damn it.." you mumble. You begin to wander out of the bathroom when he yells for you again.

"Oh and sweetheart one more thing," you turn to look at him, confused when he stifles a laugh, "will you still think I'm sexy if I start balding like my father?"

[luveline]

Okay, I would love to see an Aaron Hotchner x anemic bombshell!reader (lmao) who gets randomly faint and Aaron freaks <3

“This is oh so difficult,” you say under your breath, a sing-song tone to your voice. You often talk in juxtapositions, unhappy words in silk, cheerful worrying. “This is… stressful.” 

“You don't look stressed,” Spencer says. 

You elbow at him affectionately. “Do I ever? Sweetheart, there's nothing ever so stressful as to wear it on your face. Now come here, you have a pen smudge on your cheek.” 

Hotch could pinch the back of your shirt to stop you, but Spencer holds out a hand to brace you away from him like a disgruntled younger sibling while you laugh and reach for him. 

“Cut it out,” Gideon says. 

“Yes, boss.” 

Hotch turns away from you both to hide his smile. The case is long (as always), difficult (as always), and getting more and more serious as days pass. There hasn't been much time to pause and take stock, and so your playfulness comes at a great time —you need moments of fun like this to stop the weight of the inevitable dragging you down hard.

Your playfulness is unfailing. “So,” you say, quieter now to avoid Gideon’s attention while you lean into Hotch's personal bubble, “what will you make me for dinner?” 

“The same thing I've made you for the last four days.” 

“Ah. Nothing, then.” You tip your head to one side. 

“What?” 

“Nothing. Just feeling kinda weird. I really am hungry, handsome, and you aren't very gentlemanly in letting me starve.” You share a smile. You say everything so particularly, it only serves to endear you to him more and more. It's like… you're just sure of yourself, and in love with the world, and at least a little in love with him. Having you here with him makes the job easier. 

“You're hungry?” he asks, standing up. He expects no answer, nor for you to stand, but you clamber onto your feet quick as anything with wide eyes. 

“I was only–” You pause. 

Hotch can see the moment you lose sight of where you are, that far away gloss to your eyes, the rapid blinking that follows, and your hand thrown out to his too quickly. You grab at his arm roughly and he's crueller in his reaction, grabbing you under the arms with a startled, “Hey.” 

“Is she alright?” Spencer asks, his chair smacking the desk as he stands. 

Your lips pull down into a frown, eyes squeezed closed. He's startled —Hotch didn't even know you could frown outside of a joke. You're feeling that heavy, sudden wrongness that comes with being faint, he'd guess. 

He rides it out with you, holding you tight. After a few moments your eyes peel open, a spark of upset about you that quickly lends to sheepishness. “Oh, sorry,” you say softly. 

“Don't be.” 

You gather your bearings. Hotch moves his hands to a more amicable place on your arms, more to comfort than to hold, while Spencer stands and offers you his bottle of water. 

“She good?” Gideon asks Hotch. 

That perks you up. “I'm always good, sir,” you say, sending a smile at your boss from over your shoulder. “Just flirting with Agent Hotchner.” 

“Did you take your medication?” Hotch asks, cutting the fat of the conversation clean off. 

“Yeah, I never miss it.” 

He is admittedly more concerned about you than one coworker would be for another after a dizzy spell, but you aren't just a coworker. Hotch cups your cheek quickly in his hand to gauge your temperature and deduces from there that it isn't a sickness. 

“You weren't exaggerating about being starved,” he decides. Your iron pills do so much, and you have to do the rest. “Reid, what foods help with anaemia?” 

“Anything rich in iron. Red meat, pork, poultry, dark greens, especially spinach. All kinds of beans,” Spencer reels off. 

“Any of that sounds good to you?” Hotch asks, giving your arm a gentle squeeze. 

You meet his lowbrow with softer eyes, nodding your appreciation. Your lips part to answer him, but you're cut off. “Be quick about it,” Gideon says, glasses slipping down his nose as he turns back to his case file, “we have a lot to do.” 

Hotch buys you a burrito for the iron and a smoothie because you deserve it. You kiss his cheek, and apparently he deserves that for being ‘such a sweetheart’. He doesn't bother pretending he doesn't want it, or the second or third kiss that comes after.

[hotchshands]

A Pleasant Surprise

Masterlist | Taglist | AO3

Summary: Hotch starts noticing things about you; You've been eating more, gaining a little weight, craving more attention, and sleeping more. He just assumes it's nothing to worry about until he realizes the real reason why you've been changing.

Pairings: Aaron Hotchner x pregnant!reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Contains: fluff, mentions of pregnancy symptoms, established relationship, mentions of body insecurity, no use of y/n, hotch's pov

A/N: Hotch's toothy smile gets me every mf time!

There was something off about you. Hotch had known it for weeks but couldn't put his finger on it. You seemed to be eating more than you typically would; in fact, you gained weight at your last doctor's appointment. Hotch would remember cause you came back from the doctor's office pouting and asking him if you "looked fat." Hotch immediately ran to your side to comfort you, telling you how beautiful you are. Five pounds heavier or not, you will always be beautiful to him. After that, Hotch made sure to keep a closer eye on you. He noticed you changing more and more every day.

Typically, you'd only get around seven hours of sleep if you were lucky, but now you sleep around nine hours a day. You were also more mushy than normal. You never really liked physical touch, and Hotch understood why, as he, too, was not a big fan of touch either, but lately, you have been craving his touch. During the day, you would sit close to him at the round table and on the plane, reach for his hand whenever it was empty, and play with his fingers. At night, you would crawl into bed as soon as possible and rush to his side to cuddle. Hotch loved this new side of you. He loved the attention and love you gave him every day, but he couldn't help but wonder why.

One day after work, it finally hit him.

You both had finally gotten home from work. Jack was already asleep in his room, and it was almost time for you and Hotch to sleep. After exiting Jack's room, Hotch could see you in the kitchen. The lights were dim, but he saw you grabbing a tub of ice cream from the freezer. You grabbed a bowl and scooped three decent-sized scoops of vanilla ice cream before putting the tub in the freezer. You then grabbed some cookies from the pantry, breaking pieces off into your bowl of ice cream. Hotch continued to watch you from afar, analyzing your every move, trying to pinpoint the cause of this new behavior. He came up blank.

You moved the ice cream into your room, sat on the bed under the covers, and began to feast on your late-night treat. Hotch followed you in curiosity before asking, "Ice cream and cookies? I'm surprised you have the energy." You shrugged in response, ignoring Hotch's comment. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything, he thought to himself as he walked into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Mid brush, he could hear the sound of the TV on. The noise made him drift off into thought. He listed out everything that has changed in you and began compiling a list of possible causes. Stress? Nope, it can't be that since your lives are always stressful, and they haven't been more or less stressful in the past few weeks. Could it be your depression? Hotch doubted it. You have been taking your medication regularly, never missing a dose, and you wouldn't crave attention in a depressive state. Maybe it's biological, not mental. Were you sick? You weren't coughing, wheezing, or sneezing. Then it slowly started to hit him.

Hotch spits out the toothpaste when he begins to get flashbacks to when Haley was pregnant with Jack. He remembers the morning sickness, the increase in appetite, the need for him to be around 24/7, and the pain. He wiped his mouth on a towel nearby, not really much attention to what he was doing. Could you be? Nope. You were taking birth control, and you guys haven't really been sexually active lately. The last time you had sex was before all this change.

Hotch looked over at you from inside the bathroom. You were in the same position as before, eating your ice cream while watching what appeared to be some crime show. Funny how you go from working on crime cases to watching crime cases unfold on the big screen. He returned to his nighttime routine, moving into the bedroom to grab pajamas. He could tell that you were watching his every move out of the corner of his eye. He chucked to himself before going back into the bathroom to change. While changing, his mind returned back to your predicament. He couldn't help but return to the pregnancy theory as he secretly hoped it was true. You weren't in any type of pain, though, and no morning sickness. That is when he remembered overhearing you talk about your mom's love for being pregnant.

"I swear if my mom didn't have her tubes tied, she would love nothing more than to be pregnant again. All she did was walk around naked eating chocolate," you said while sitting at your desk.

Derek and Emily looked a bit terrified, but Spencer didn't. In fact, Spencer went on a rant about how DNA can affect a pregnancy and how everyone can have an array of symptoms. "It's quite common for people to experience pregnancy differently. In fact, research has shown that genetics can factor into nausea experienced during pregnancy. So, based on that, you'll probably have a smooth pregnancy like your mom," Spencer informed the group.

"Ok, pretty boy, you need to stop reading those pregnancy books JJ has," Derek says as the group returns to their respective work.

Oh my God. You were pregnant. That had to be why you acted differently these last few weeks. Hotch quickly finished getting dressed before running into the bedroom. "You're pregnant," he says quite loudly before jumping on the bed and putting your ice cream on the nightstand beside you so he can hug you.

"I'm what now?" You asked, looking at Hotch confused.

Hotch released you from his embrace, placing his hands on your face. "You, my love, are pregnant. We're pregnant," he spoke softly, only to return to hugging you tightly. You sat in silence, too stunned to speak. You tried to wrap your head around the idea of a baby growing inside of you, but you just couldn't understand why Hotch thought you were pregnant. "I'm pregnant?" you asked Hotch as if trying to convince yourself of it. Hotch pulled away from your body to look down at you. He could see the worry and confusion on your face, and he began to wonder, "Do you not want a baby?"

You looked away for a moment to think about it. It's not that you never wanted a baby, but you just couldn't imagine having one. You guys already have Jack, which was enough for you, but the more you thought about it, the more you smiled at the idea. Hotch is already an amazing father, and you weren't the worst with Jack. The two of you could definitely make a second child work, and the team would be thrilled at the idea of yet another little member of the BAU.

You looked back at Hotch, staring into each other's eyes. You moved in and gave him a little kiss on the lips before whispering, "We're gonna have a baby."

[ssa-dado]

Annoyingly Yours - SOS

Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader Genre: fluff, angst though it's more like ♫ LOATHING, UNADULTERATED LOATHING ♫ Summary: At 33, Aaron Hotchner prides himself on discipline and control... until you become his deskmate. With quirks that seem to clash against his precision, you’re nothing short of maddening. Even your breathing seems to provoke a visceral reaction in him... surely out of frustration, right? Not out of... attraction?! Warnings: None, just wanted to clarify the story is set in 1998, before Hotch became Unit Chief (Gideon and Rossi were charge instead). Word Count: 4.4k Dado's Corner: Based on this ask sent by the loml @c-losur3. Made a few tweaks because I can. And because I’m evil. Enter Aaron “convinces himself he hates you while secretly nursing a big fat crush” Hotchner. A timeless classic. Hope you like it.

masterlist

“People demand freedom of speech as a compensation for the freedom of thought which they seldom use.” - Søren Kierkegaard

Written in blue gel ink on a neon pink sticky note, it sat smugly atop the pristine case file Hotch had spent hours perfecting the night before.

No signature, no admission of guilt.

Just a bright, audacious square of defiance left to mock him.

In all his years as a profiler, he’d never encountered a case this easy to solve. Hell, he wished his active investigations were even half as simple as this. Because only after approximately half a second of analysis, the profile of the Unsub was crystal clear:

Female. Early 20s. A twisted sense of humor. A fascination with philosophy, particularly the existential, though occasionally dabbling in absurdism. Works in law enforcement - specifically, the BAU. Only writes in blue ink because she needs her words to stand out as much as her personality does. Likely has a compulsive habit of arriving to work early but never early enough to beat him to the office.

And there she was, the Unsub, strolling through the entrance just as the clock struck 6:01.

“Good morning, Hotch,” you said without even glancing in his direction, as if you somehow sensed his irritation wafting across the bullpen.

You were the Unsub.

His polyglot, sarcastic, sticky-note-vandalizing deskmate.

Case closed.

“Why did you leave me this?” he scoffed as his fingers carefully peeled back the neon pink square from the folder.

The glue resisted just enough to be infuriating, threatening to leave a smear on what he privately considered his masterpiece - a report so cleanly written that it might one day serve as the gold standard for FBI rookies.

And now, his file, had been vandalized.

It bore your mark.

“Educational purposes,” you said airily, as you dropped into your chair facing his own, a complete lack of regard for the disruption you caused just by existing in his vicinity.

He despised it.

That your desk had to face his, ensuring that every time he so much as lifted his gaze, he was met with the perpetual source of his unease, was nothing short of torture.

Why couldn’t you be like his last deskmate? That moron at least had the decency to leave him alone unless absolutely necessary.

The most small talk he’d ever inflicted was the occasional, self-congratulatory monologue about whatever barely-legal college girl he’d managed to con into bed last Friday night with the oh-so-irresistible revelation that he was FBI.

At least after spewing his bullshit, the guy would shut up and return to his self-inflicted misery, no doubt haunted by the limitations of his pitifully small brain.

You, instead, were far too smart - too sharp for your own good, really - but still your humor was as broken as his own. You had the same, if not more, level of drive. And for some inexplicable reason, you shared his obsession with arriving early.

It was maddening.

It was his thing - his small act of rebellion against a world that had always expected more from him than he could give.

His hours of solitude before the office filled with noise, before the madness and the demands of others hijacked his peace. Those few precious hours were his escape, his refuge, where he could think, where he could breathe.

But no, you had to show up too. Every damn morning.

“Educational purposes?” He echoed flatly, regretting, for the hundredth time, that he ever encouraged you to speak before his second cup of coffee.

“Yes, Hotch. I’ve never seen you use a sticky note,” you retorted, as if your reasoning were completely rational and not mildly absurd. “So, naturally, I assumed you didn’t know they existed. Thought I’d be kind of me to introduce you to the concept.”

“You’re hilarious,” he deadpanned, the sarcasm sliding off his tongue with a sharpness that matched the ache now forming at his temples. “I know what sticky notes are. I don’t use them because they’re impractical. They always leave glue residue, it’s annoying.”

Since for some reasons he felt the need to emphasize his point, he held up his sacred notebook - a worn, leather-bound treasure he treated like an extension of himself. “That’s why we have these. To take proper notes. Like agents. Not middle schoolers.”

But you didn’t even flinch.

Instead, you leaned back in your chair, the movement slow and casual, yet just enough to make him irrationally nervous that you might tip over. “They don’t leave residue if you close the case fast enough. The glue won’t have time to dry. But I guess if it takes you ages to solve something, that’s not really the sticky note’s fault, is it? Sounds more like a problem with the agent.”

His jaw locked so tightly it was a wonder his teeth didn’t crack.

The nerve of you.

He hated how his body betrayed him like this, the faintest tingle at the back of his neck, the way his pulse faltered and then stuttered, because his decision to remain silent didn’t let his voice do the stammering instead.

Oh, he wanted to argue.

Desperately.

To lay out an irrefutable case demonstrating, that the fault lay not in the man who would undoubtedly climb the FBI ranks faster than anyone dared imagine but in the cheap adhesive some factory somewhere had slapped onto your stupid pack of hot pink sticky notes.

And all he wanted, absurdly, was to prove you wrong.

Not just wrong. Spectacularly wrong.

But instead of offering a retort worthy of his reputation, he exhaled sharply, forcing his jaw to unclench.

He leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes locking onto yours, narrowing into the kind of look that could silence seasoned agents, suspects, and even Gideon when necessary.

Yet somehow, it had no discernible effect on the 21-year-old profiler sitting across from him - the one who’d been in the BAU for barely three weeks and already seemed impervious to his most withering glares.

As if in response to his futile attempt at dominance, your smirk widened, as though you could hear the unspoken debate raging in his head. Worse, it looked like you were enjoying the fact that you’d managed to rattle him.

And God help him, he felt rattled.

“How many of those sticky notes do you have?” he finally asked.

Your response was almost immediate.

“As many as you need,” you said as you pulled open your top-right drawer – the drawer that had come to symbolize everything he couldn’t categorize about you.

It housed your so-called “essentials”: pencils, a collection of elastic bands you had an infuriating habit of launching at him when the mood struck, and the same six markers in various states of decay - probably relics from your high school days. There was a stapler in there too - one he had to admit, with no small amount of shame, he borrowed from time to time.

But then there were the other items. The ones his categorically organized brain couldn’t quite justify sharing space with stationary essentials.

A box of tea - the kind of black tea with a scent so strong it practically sucker-punched him from across the desk every time you brewed it, chocolate bars that mysteriously appeared and vanished like contraband…

…and, as it turned out, the dreaded sticky notes.

They were hidden beneath the tea box, of course - because why not force him to think about the assault on his nostrils that would begin precisely three hours and twenty-seven minutes from now?

You lifted the box, revealing the fluorescent pink squares of doom, a shade so bright it only made the pain going on in his head since the first moment you opened your mouth today even worse.

“I only have hot pink, though,” you announced, holding the sticky notes up.

“…And?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Am I not allowed to use hot pink? Do you have a problem with that?”

“On the contrary,” you said, your lips curling into that infuriating smirk again. “I’m impressed. I thought you’d whine about a color demasculating your sacred reports.”

He felt his pulse thrum in his ears at that.

He almost - almost - wanted to tell you that you were looking at a man currently wearing pink socks under his neatly pressed slacks. A pair that had, unfortunately, turned pink during his first solo attempt at laundry in college and had somehow managed to stay in his rotation all these years, as a reminder that even the best could make mistakes.

But he didn’t.

Not because he was embarrassed - he wasn’t - but because he knew you’d twist it into something else entirely, another jab, another laugh at his expense.

And the last thing he needed right now was more of this.

Whatever this was.

Instead, he picked up the hot pink sticky notes, tapping them against his palm. “I’ll take them, we’ll see if it’s really the agent’s fault."

By mid-morning, to his reluctant surprise, the sticky notes had become one of his favorite tools - not just for their undeniable practicality but because they gave him the perfect weapon to deliver a dose of your own medicine.

And you deserved it. Absolutely, unequivocally deserved it.

After all, it wasn’t him launching elastic bands at his deskmate with sniper-like precision at ungodly hours, the faint thwack cutting through the quiet bullpen as the band landed squarely in his lap, while he was clearly trying to work. This, from the same person who’d managed to fail their firearm certification twice

It wasn’t him leaning subtly - though not subtly enough - to sneak a peek at his case files because your own workload wasn’t challenging enough to hold your attention. Still too new to the team, you’d only been sent into the field once, a prisoner of the bullpen and endless paperwork. Yet, despite the monotony, you remained undeterred, tirelessly determined to prove your worth at every possible turn.

And it certainly wasn’t him disrupting the flow of the day by asking if his coffee needed refilling when he was clearly already immersed in work, only to return moments later with an extra steaming cup - and a piece of chocolate from that drawer - placing it without a word on his desk like it wasn’t an unnecessary intrusion. Because you were just kind like that.

It wasn’t him rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, the fabric bunching unevenly around his elbows - a motion so predictable it had practically become your tell when you were wrestling with a puzzle more stubborn than the agent that solving it.

Nor was it how your forearms inevitably transformed into impressionist paintings of smudged blue ink, the accidental artwork often bleeding onto the cuffs of your shirt, leaving the unfortunate soul seated across from you utterly derailed from whatever he’d been about to jot down, unable to look away.

It wasn’t him who dressed like that.

Had a brain like that.

A voice like that.

A face like that.

No.

It wasn’t him. It was you. And that was the problem.

Because for all his irritation, for all his carefully constructed disdain, he couldn’t stop noticing. Couldn't stop looking. Couldn't stop… what exactly?

…Right.

Couldn’t stop scribbling down his meticulously crafted revenge, which he would plant squarely on your desk the moment you wandered off to refill your coffee.

“We are all born ignorant, but one must work hard to remain stupid.” – Benjamin Franklin

Thought you might enjoy something to ponder while you’re busy ignoring the typo you made on page 7, line 15 of your report.– A.H.

He placed the sticky note precisely in the center of your desk, ensuring it was impossible to miss. Satisfied, he returned to his seat, feigning an air of indifference as he watched you from the corner of his eye.

It didn’t take long.

He didn’t look up when you arrived, but he heard it - the subtle shift in your breathing, the gasp as your eyes widened. The pages of your report rustled as you flipped through them, and the sharp exhale that followed told him you’d found it.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, more to yourself than him.

Never had a sound been so soothing to his ears.

And yet - he should have known better.

He barely had time to blink before the loud thud of your hand slamming onto his desk jolted him upright. He looked up to find you standing over him, your eyes gleaming with a smugness so infuriating it made him want to wipe it off your face.

His gaze darted down to the sticky note you’d slapped in front of him, and -

Oh.

Hotch stared at it. Then stared some more.

There, in all its crude glory, was what could only be described as a "creative interpretation" of a very specific part of the male anatomy, staring back at him from the bright pink square.

“The proportions are all wrong.” He deadpanned.

And then you, with all your infuriating composure, leaned on his desk.

Close. Too close.

"Oh, I’m sorry, Agent Hotchner," you said, raising a brow. "If you want it anatomically correct, maybe next time you should hand me a reference photo."

His brain short-circuited.

For a horrifying moment, he couldn’t think of a single word, but only at the implication of what you said… you couldn’t mean that… right?!

“Not yours!” you blurted out, your hands flailing in a frantic attempt to erase the moment. “I didn’t mean- I wasn’t asking for- I just-”

"And I certainly wouldn’t-" he cut in, his own voice breaking due to the sudden clumsiness of his own tongue.

But the damage was done.

Your cheeks turned the same vivid shade as the neon pink sticky note still plastered defiantly on his desk. He felt his own face burning, and the back of his neck prickled uncomfortably, like his own body was actively rebelling against him.

Both of you were way too stunned to say anything that wouldn’t somehow make it worse.

Hotch’s mind raced for a way to defuse the situation, but every possible response felt like it would either escalate the embarrassment or reveal… something he wasn’t ready to confront.

And then, mercifully - or perhaps not - your survival instincts kicked in.

“I’ll just… uh… get more coffee,” you muttered, backing away from his desk like it might physically combust if you stayed a moment longer. You turned on your heel, clearly aiming to escape the bullpen as fast as humanly possible. “Do you want some?”

He blinked, thrown off by the question. “Yes, thanks. Black,” he replied automatically, his voice still a little stiff.

As soon as you were out of sight, he allowed himself to crumble. His left hand dragged across his face, fingers pressing against his temples as if they could massage the ridiculousness of it all out of his brain.

Stupid. The whole thing was so stupid.

A slip of the tongue, a misstep, blown completely out of proportion.

And yet, here he was, sitting at his desk, undone by a pink sticky note and a fleeting moment of awkwardness.

With a low, frustrated groan, he let his hand drop, hitting his forehead against the heel of his palm in a futile attempt to snap himself out of it.

Focus. He needed to focus.

He stared down at the open case file in front of him, its neatly typed words mocking him with their clarity.

He knew they were legible - he’d written them himself.

But right now, the letters blurred into meaningless smudges on the page, overridden by a far more vivid image - your face.

Flushed. Wide-eyed. Flustered.

This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous.

Just a joke, he reminded himself. Just a stupid, ill-timed joke.

And yet his chest still felt tight, his pulse erratic, like he’d run up the stairs two steps at a time.

His gaze flicked to the sticky note still sitting on the edge of his desk, as bright and offensive as the moment it had first been slapped down in front of him. Without thinking, he grabbed it, crumpling it in his fist.

There. Problem solved. Gone. Out of sight, out of mind.

He could move on.

But then his hand stilled, his grip loosening as he stared at the crumpled ball of paper.

His pulse still raced, his mind still spiraled, and all because of… this.

A rational man would throw it away. Rip it into pieces, toss it into the trash, and let it become a fleeting, forgotten memory.

He should throw it away. He would throw it away. Any second now.

But his hand didn’t move.

Instead, and against every shred of common sense he prided himself on, Hotch smoothed the crumpled edges as best he could and opened his desk drawer, tucking it far into the back, behind a few other things he pretended not to care about but couldn’t quite get rid of.

Hidden away, out of sight.

Safe.

From what? From you? From himself? He didn’t have the answer, and he didn’t dare linger on the questions.

Instead, he closed the drawer with more force than necessary, ignoring the faint tremor in his hand - but even as he turned his attention to the files in front of him, the pink still lingered in his periphery, an afterimage burned into his mind.

Of your flustered face.

Adorable.

So adorable that, over time, that sticky note became far from the only item inhabiting that drawer.

Aaron Hotchner - the very man who had once scoffed at your so-called “miscellaneous essentials” drawer - now secretly had one of his own.

A collection of odd, seemingly random things: items you had given him, thrown at him in moments of boredom, or those ridiculous little tokens you’d started exchanging lately that blurred the line between teasing and genuine thoughtfulness.

Because that’s what deskmates did, right?

They shared. They joked. They exchanged these odd little tokens of camaraderie that somehow made the job less crushing.

Except this felt like something more.

Maybe you were more than deskmates. Maybe even… friends?

And he wasn’t the only one who noticed.

Gideon, had been starting to observe the two of you like he was profiling a particularly complex unsub, his sharp, knowing glances making Hotch feel like a bug under a magnifying glass.

Then there was Rossi, who took an almost perverse delight in making his observations less subtle. "Synergy," he'd say with a pointed smirk, the kind that made Hotch’s jaw tighten. "It’s a rare thing, you know, finding compatibility like this. Magic, really."

They saw something. Something neither of you was ready to admit.

And ominously - no, deliberately - they decided to exploit it.

Because that’s what bosses did.

The BAU was chronically understaffed, perpetually fighting against the outdated perception that profiling was glorified guesswork. The pay wasn’t anything to write home about, either. Most cases were worked from behind desks, saving the budget for the bigger field assignments.

But what the BAU lacked in glamour, it tried to make up for in partnerships - teams so seamlessly synchronized they became the backbone of the unit.

Apparently, you and Hotch had become one of those teams.

What had started as two distinct desks - two well-defined territories with clear boundaries - had slowly morphed into one chaotic shared space.

A 5’x5’ no-man’s-land where it was impossible to tell where your workspace ended, and his began.

Like now.

The oversized map of your current case sprawled across the desk, forcing you both into closer proximity than either of you would normally allow.

You were perched on his side of the desk, tracing potential paths and patterns, completely absorbed in piecing together the unsub’s geographical profile.

He told himself he was focused. Jotting down victim locations. Marking points on the map with  little red magnets.

Totally immersed in the task at hand.

Except he wasn’t.

Because the occasional brush of your arm against his felt electrifying in a way it had no right to be.

Because your voice, low and steady as you murmured your observations, felt less like background noise and more like the only sound in the room.

And yet, this closeness, this seamless partnership, felt natural.

Effortless.

Distracting as hell.

So distracting that by the time he placed the last magnet, he realized he’d miscounted. One victim left, and no magnet to place them.

“Hotch,” you said softly, your eyes scanning the map, “It looks like we might’ve missed a pin for Daniel Hardman.”

How diplomatic of you.

How unnecessarily kind, considering it was entirely his fault.

He’d miscounted the magnets - a mistake caused by a momentary lapse in focus when, mid-count, you casually asked him if he wanted to go watch the first Star Wars prequel with you next year.

It wasn’t just the advance planning that sent his mind reeling - though the thought of you penciling him into your future like that was disarming enough - it was the fact that you remembered he liked Star Wars.

A detail you had no business remembering, and yet, somehow, you did.

“Yes, sorry. There are more in my drawer,” he said, standing quickly to fetch them himself. But before he could stop you, you were already at the drawer, pulling it open.

“It’s the second one-” The words barely left his mouth before he heard the gasp.

“…from the top,” he finished weakly, already knowing what you’d seen.

There they were. Your tokens. In his drawer. Staring right at you.

The gun casing from the bullet you’d proudly handed him after finally earning your firearm certification on your third attempt. You’d declared, almost giddy, that you’d never be a burden to him again, and maybe it was his lessons, you’d added shyly, that had helped you finally overcome it. He wasn’t sure what had struck him more: the pride in your voice or the fact that you’d thought of him at all.

A framed solo photograph of the two of you from that year’s Thanksgiving spent stuck in the bullpen, drowning in case files while Rossi and Gideon insisted on a makeshift dinner with takeout. You hadn’t hesitated for a second, throwing an arm around him for the picture and leaning into him like it was the most natural thing in the world. For you, maybe it had been. For him, it had been anything but.

Every single elastic band you’d launched at him -143, though he’d never admit to counting.

A single stray hair tie - the one you’d used to tie his hair into a ridiculous fountain one day when his fringe had gotten so long it kept falling into his face. He’d left it like that the rest of the day, silently cursing himself for how much he didn’t hate it.

An unopened pack of hot pink sticky notes, the only color he now allowed himself to buy, though he’d never admit why.

And, of course, every sticky note you’d ever left him, arranged in chronological order - except for one.

The “caricature,” the crude drawing that had started his ridiculous collection. That particular sticky note hadn’t stayed long in the drawer. Somehow, it had made its way home with him, “inexplicably” framed and placed on his bedside table.

It now sat next to his alarm clock, the two most irritating objects in his life.

Both constant reminders of things he couldn’t seem to escape - one for its relentless insistence on dragging him out of bed every morning, and the other for how it made him feel every time he looked at it.

And now here you were, looking up from the drawer, eyes wide. “Hotch…”

He tensed, his pulse quickening with each step you took toward him… what were you doing?

Without a word, you opened your drawer—the infamous "essentials" drawer he thought he knew like the back of his hand.

Except this time, its contents had changed.

Because right on top, perched like a cherished keepsake, was a photo he hadn’t known existed.

Another one from that Thanksgiving night.

The one photo taken moments later, when you’d decided, in your infinite ability to wreak havoc, to joke about “capturing a moment” and had wrapped your arms around his head, holding him still as you planted a kiss on his cheek.

His expression in the photo was pure indignation, eyebrows furrowed in protest - though it also captured the deep rouge spreading across his cheeks.

“This one is my favorite,” you said, laughing as you held it up for him to see. “You’re so red in it, it’s hilarious.”

He stared at the photo, feeling the telltale warmth creeping up his neck, threatening to betray him all over again. His ears burned as he managed to mutter, “Never been kissed by a woman before.”

The words hung in the air for a beat too long.

You blinked, your laughter abruptly halting as your mouth fell open in shock. “Wait, seriously? Are you-?”

He sighed, cutting you off before your pity or disbelief could spiral out of control. “I was joking,” he said, voice flat and utterly deadpan. “I’ve been kissed by women. Multiple.”

You burst into laughter again, this time doubling over. “Oh my God! Why did you say it like that? Multiple! Hotch,” you said, gasping for air between giggles, “you’re killing me.”

“No,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he turned back to the map in front of him. “You’re killing me.”

You didn’t hear him, thank God - or if you did, you gave no sign. He wasn’t sure which would have been worse.

A moment later, you were back at his side of the desk, the missing red magnet in your hand. You held it out to him, your smile still warm, still lingering. “For the record,” you said, your voice softer now, “I think it’s kind of sweet. That you framed it, I mean.”

His hand hesitated as he reached for the magnet, his fingers hovering just over yours. Something so simple suddenly felt unbearably complicated.

Delicate.

He couldn’t seem to figure out how to take the magnet without brushing against your skin - not that he didn’t want to.

He just wasn’t sure if he should.

“It’s a good photo,” he said at last, his voice quieter than usual, his eyes flickering up to meet yours briefly before darting back to the map.

Safe. Neutral.

But you didn’t retreat.

If anything, your smile only grew.

“Yes,” you said, voice just as quiet. “It is.”

---

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @oxforce ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

"obstinate, headstrong girl" part 1 - aaron hotchner x fem!reader

in which you meet the incredibly irritating (who said that?) aaron hotchner at a party. you do not hit it off.

wc: 4.6k

cw: enemies to lovers! mentions of food & alcohol, jemily agenda (i'm not sorry), reader is hella stubborn, hotch is kind of a little bitch

a/n: this is part 1 😈 there will be more, trust

big fat thank you to my bestie @cerisereids for all her help workshopping / brainstorming with me! i also got the BEAUTIFUL dividers from the immensely talented @saradika-graphics

You hate bars. Most of the time, they feel like a meat market, with men ogling you up and down, surveying you like they have x-ray vision and are trying to determine if you’re worth the chase. 

Tonight is slightly different in that you are not going to this particular bar to chat up men. Your very good friend, Penelope Garcia, invited you and your other friend, Jacqueline, to a bar for a coworker’s birthday. Not just any coworker. The coworker, the Derek Morgan, that Penelope just rants and raves about. They are soulmates, from what you understand, in a weirdly flirtatious, sibling-type relationship? 

Penelope has tried to explain it to you and has always ended up confusing both you and herself. It is what it is, she’s said in the past. He’s my chocolate thunder, and I’m his babygirl. 

You think it’s best not to try and unpack that. 

Jacqueline is a couple of years younger than you and Penelope. She’s just a couple of years out of college, whereas you’re a couple of years out of college, plus a couple more years. Jacqueline is sweet. She’s painfully shy, though, and you and Penelope are determined to break her out of her shell. There’s another coworker of Penelope’s who, from what you’ve heard, would be a perfect fit for Jacqueline. His name is Spencer, and he’s supposedly this young, cute genius. Like, actually a genius. Certifiably.

The goal tonight is for Penelope to find a moment to introduce Jacqueline and Spencer. You’re tagging along so that those intentions could be a little bit better masqueraded. You and Penelope also know for a fact that sweet, sheltered Jacqueline would not attend a party at a bar full of strangers by herself. 

You don’t mind being a chaperone, of sorts. Jacqueline is like a little sister. You just want her to be happy, so you don a cute red dress, pick up Jacqueline in an Uber, and off you go. 

The bar isn’t nearly as crowded as you thought it would be. It’s still busy, sure, but there’s enough room to walk around without bumping into someone. That seems to calm Jacqueline’s obvious nerves when you enter the establishment. Your eyes scan the place until you finally spot what appears to be a party room just off the main part of the bar, and you see a flash of familiar blonde hair with pink highlights. 

“There’s Penny,” you say to Jacqueline, and nudge her with your elbow to follow you. 

You’re the leader as you serpentine through the bar patrons, and Penelope turns around to spot you just as you reach her. “My sweets!” she squeals, wrapping both you and Jacqueline into a tight hug. “Thank you so much for coming!” Penelope gestures to the party room, which is open for integration into the rest of the bar. It all seems very flowy and casual, with guests either standing or sitting with a drink in hand, talking and laughing with one another. 

There’s a table in the corner with decadent cupcakes that you’d bet are homemade, all crowded on a tiered stand, and various birthday decorations hanging from the walls. The jukebox in the corner plays 80s and 90s hits. You spot the birthday boy in an instant across the room, and you know it’s him from Penelope’s ridiculously detailed descriptions. He’s like a cheetah, personified, Penelope said before, and yeah, that might be accurate. 

Except for the bright blue, glittery party hat strapped crookedly to his head and the sparkly sash around his shoulders that says BIRTHDAY BOY in big, bold letters. 

“There’s snacks, and water in the corner if you’re not feeling booze,” Penelope goes into full hostess mode and points to everything. “How about you lovelies get some drinks, and then I’ll introduce you around?” She suggests. 

Jacqueline is ever the quiet one in all social situations, and you can tell she is overwhelmed by the noise, or maybe the amount of people that she doesn’t know. You know that she would be a little less nervous with a drink in her system, so you nod to Penelope’s suggestion and agree to meet up with her after visiting the bar. 

Jacqueline follows you like a lost puppy as you snake through the crowd again. One of the few perks of being pretty women, though, is that once you reach the bustling bar, your orders are quickly taken. 

You get an amaretto sour for yourself, a Malibu pineapple for Jacqueline, and she leans against the bar next to you as you wait for your drinks. “Lots of people here!” Jacqueline exclaims with a sheepish chuckle. She smooths the ends of her cinnamon-colored bob, one of her nervous habits you’ve picked up on over the few years you’ve been friends. 

“Yeah, but we love Penny, and she loves all the people in there,” You nod towards the party room. “So it’s like we know they’re cool by association, y’know?” 

“I guess,” Jacqueline shrugs, unconvinced. She’s lived a fairly sheltered life, from what you understand. Strict parents, so she never dated in high school, and always focused on her studies in college rather than a social life. It’s good to get her out of her shell. 

You’re given your drinks and you head back to the party room, where Penelope is speaking to two men. They’re both tall, but one is younger, with brown hair and a patterned sweater vest. The other is older, with dark, nearly obsidian, hair, and stark, narrowed eyes to match. He’s in dark, belted jeans, with a black polo to match his hair. When you and Jacqueline approach Penelope, you lock eyes with the older man for a fleeting moment.

He looks at you like you’re an outsider. And sure, maybe in this particular situation, you are. But with his tapered eyes, watching your every breath, you get the feeling that he thinks you shouldn’t be here. 

Penelope ushers you and Jacqueline into the conversation and introduces you. “This is Y/N, and Jacqueline, my two really good friends,” she says, then gestures to the lanky, younger man first. “This is the brilliant Dr. Spencer Reid, and the Unit Chief of the BAU, Aaron Hotchner.” 

Your eyes land on Aaron and he outstretches his hand, obviously out of obligation. “Pleasure to meet you both,” Aaron says coolly, and you shake his hand chastely. Your eyes flicker over to where Jacqueline shakes Dr. Reid’s hand. He’s already insisting she call him Spencer. 

Penelope was right, you think. Spencer and Jacqueline have an immediate connection. 

“Likewise,” you say to Aaron, merely matching the indifferent energy he’s putting out. Penelope, in true hostess fashion, excuses herself to check on Derek, leaving the four of you in an awkward conversation square, with Aaron and Spencer facing you and Jacqueline directly. 

“Penelope says you’re all in a book club together?” Spencer proffers as a conversation starter. He’s looking directly at Jacqueline, like he’s got tunnel vision, like she’s the only other person in the room. 

She nods and sips her cocktail through the thin plastic straw. “We’ve been going through the classics, one by one. Started with Pride and Prejudice a couple of years ago, now we’re working on War and Peace,” she explains. 

“Oh, fascinating,” Spencer seems incredibly interested by this. “I love Tolstoy. Did you know his wife, Sophia, helped him tremendously during the editing process? Over seven years, she hand wrote the manuscript eight different times, all while carrying and birthing four children.” 

Jacqueline loves weird facts like this, so she beams. You smile softly at this and are immediately met with thoughts of how tooth-achingly sweet these two would be if they got together. 

You and Aaron play audience as Spencer and Jacqueline’s conversation continues for a few moments more, until finally, Spencer suggests they sit at a booth to continue. Jacqueline shoots you a look, like, sorry for abandoning you with the grumpy guy! And you merely shrug as you are left alone with Aaron. 

“Well, aren’t they just adorable?” You flash a bright smile, and when your eyes meet Aaron’s, it falls. He’s so stoic and unemotional. You know he’s just standing with you to be polite, but at the same time, if he’s so uninterested in having a conversation with you, why is he still here? 

Aaron gives an impassive hum of civil agreement, and you clear your throat. “So, you’re Penelope’s boss, then?” you ask, rather than simply make an excuse to leave this awkward, cringey hellhole of a conversation. Maybe some petty part of you wants to see who will break first. 

“That’s correct,” Aaron’s fingers are wrapped around the glass tumbler of what is presumably whiskey that is in his hand. His forearm flexes a little as he shifts the glass in his palm. 

“What’s that like, working for the FBI?” you ask, shifting your weight to one hip as if to tell him that you’re getting comfortable, that he shouldn’t expect to go anywhere. 

“About the same as working anyplace else, I’d expect,” Aaron’s giving you absolutely nothing to work with, so you’re incredibly thankful when Penelope approaches the two of you again. 

“Oh, look at that!” Penelope squeals, squeezing your arm. She nods over to Spencer and Jacqueline, sitting across from one another at a booth, both leaning forward on the table, endearingly engaged in conversation with each other.

Jacqueline’s babyish face is plastered with an earnest smile, and you love seeing your friend so captivated and clearly in her element with Spencer. 

Penelope was right, they’re clearly well-suited. 

Unlike you and Aaron. 

“And what are you two talking about over here?” Penelope croons, waving a teasing finger between you and Aaron. 

“Not anything in particular,” Aaron’s deep voice beats you to it, and you feel your jaw tense slightly. He avoids contact with you, just stares at Spencer and Jacqueline. 

“Yeah, Penny, I was hoping you’d introduce me to the rest of your team,” you suggest, smiling saccharinely at Aaron before making pleading eyes to your darling blonde friend. 

Penelope’s chocolatey brown eyes dart from you, to Aaron, and back, and you can almost see the gears shift in her head. “Right,” she gets it, and you nearly sigh in relief. “C’mon then, Y/N, let me show you off!” 

You nod curtly to Aaron. “Nice meeting you,” you spout off, totally out of obligation. 

“Likewise,” says Aaron, mirroring how you’d thrown the terse colloquialism at him before. 

Your nostrils flare and Penelope manages to drag you away before you rip him a new one. “What the hell is all the animosity about?” Penelope asks as soon as you’re out of earshot. You see that Derek, the birthday boy, has approached Aaron in your absence. 

“Not animosity,” you correct Penelope, taking a chug of your Malibu pineapple. “He doesn’t like me, for some reason. Seemed to have made his mind up on that real fast.” 

Penelope scoffs. “Hotch?” You deduce quickly that this is Aaron’s nickname. “He’s such a sweetheart. You must have just caught him in a bad moment, Y/N. I swear, he’s one of the sweetest guys I know!” 

You purse your lips and feign an open mind. Penelope introduces you to the rest of her team - David, an older Italian man whose glass of wine cost about three times as much as your cocktail, then JJ and Emily, a blonde and a raven-haired woman who are obviously in love. 

Emily’s got her palm splayed across the small of JJ’s back, and the blonde leans into her touch. You wonder briefly how their relationship was approved by Aaron Hotchner, because, as you understand it, he’s their boss and he can be quite the stickler. 

“He can be a grump at times, that’s for sure,” Emily says before taking a sip of her wine. “But he’s a really great boss. He’d do anything for any one of us.” 

“Including going to bat for us staying on the team together after our relationship became public,” JJ adds, and you furrow your brows, shooting a sideways glance to the man in question. He’s still across the room, speaking with Derek, leaning against an empty spot on the wall and nursing his glass tumbler of whiskey. 

That guy? You think. That guy went to bat for the benefit of other people? 

“That surprises me,” you admit. “He was so cold when we spoke just a few minutes ago.” 

JJ, Emily, and Penelope all seem to share a look. They clearly know something you don’t. “Well,” Penelope starts, her voice inclining. “He’s sort of… going through a hard time right now,” she scrunches up her nose and shrugs her shoulders, as if to indicate that she can’t really say more on the matter. 

It’s none of your business, you remind yourself, but you also want to smack Penelope for dangling a carrot like that. 

“If he comes off obtrusive, just know you’re not experiencing the real Hotch,” JJ concludes. You spot Emily squeezing her hip as if to say that’s a good way to put it. 

Whatever that means, you think, and shrug your shoulders. “No skin off my back,” you attempt to appear nonchalant. Hopefully they won’t be able to tell that the thought of someone not liking you makes you want to rip your hair out. 

“Right,” Emily agrees, just as JJ and Penelope share a look. 

The two blondes smirk at each other. Simultaneously, they say, “Profilers.” And you wonder what the hell that’s supposed to mean. 

Over the next thirty minutes, you’re shown around the room by Penelope, introduced to a few more people. Finally, Penelope notices that the cupcakes are all gone and runs off to the kitchen, where she has more store in case of this very specific emergency.

You find yourself tucked away at a table in the corner of the party room, halfway hidden by the imposing and comically large jukebox. As you scan the room, you notice Jacqueline and Spencer still at the booth, still engaged in what appears to be very riveting conversation. Jacqueline’s got this demure, girlish smile on her face, and lightly flushed cheeks. 

“What do you make of that?” A voice asks, and you don’t see anyone around. You lean back in your seat and can see through the sliver of visibility between the jukebox and the wall. That Italian man, David, has just asked Aaron the question, gesturing across the room to where Spencer and Jacqueline sit. 

“Hm,” is all Aaron has to say, and you scowl, furrowing your brows as you watch him watch your friend. “She seems nice enough. Kind of a dud, though, isn’t she?” 

“A dud?” David repeats, scoffing. “She’s been keeping up with Boy Wonder for nearly an hour now. I’d say she’s either an alien or a miracle.” 

Damn straight, you think. 

“I suppose,” says Aaron, and you roll your eyes. He must hold an ungodly amount of pride. Probably totes it along with his stupidly expensive whiskey and his judgmental expressions and opinions about people he doesn’t know. Sure, you’re casting judgment on someone you don’t know, too. But this is different… somehow. Jacqueline is obviously very earnest and sweet, and Aaron is acting like he’s suspicious of her.

“Garcia’s other friend seems sweet,” David goes on to say. You’re not ashamed to admit that your ears perk up a little at this. “She’s fun. Asked me about my wine. Made a joke about cutting a rug with me on the dance floor.” 

“She’s something,” Aaron exhales as he says this, and you feel your jaw tighten a little. 

Something? What the hell does that mean? 

“What the hell does that mean?” David shares your train of thought, though his voice is lined with an omniscient, teasing lilt. “She’s cute. You don’t want to ask her for her number?” 

“No,” Aaron says quickly, too quickly. “No, I’m not even slightly tempted.” 

You feel your ears burn, and you look down at the empty glass in your hand. This has been your only drink tonight, and you’ve been nursing it for the better part of an hour. You let the condensation slicken your palm.

“What’s the matter with you?” David goes on to ask. “She’s very sweet, and she’s got a great sense of humor. And she’s beautiful, I might add. Why aren’t you interested?” 

You stand up from your seat, deciding you’ve had enough eavesdropping for one night. You don’t want to hear what faults Aaron Hotchner saw in you after a three-minute conversation. Feeling a bit self-protective, you march past David and Aaron without so much as looking at either of them. You don’t know if they notice you. 

You resolve not to care. 

Jacqueline joins you at the bar about thirty minutes later, and is smiling like an idiot.“So, Spencer’s really nice,” she says, breaking out her ID so she can buy another drink. She’s so smooth-skinned and utterly gorgeous that she does, in fact, get ID’d every time she orders a drink. 

“Yeah?” You smirk at Jacqueline just as the bartender comes back with your second drink and takes your friend’s order. “He seems really into you, too.” Even if his friend is a massive prick.

“I think we’re gonna go out,” Jacqueline beams, biting her lip anxiously. “Like, on a date.”

“That’s great!” You grin, glancing behind Jacqueline to see Spencer speaking with Aaron across the now-dwindling crowd. At this point, there’s just a handful of patrons for the bar, and only Penelope’s team remains in the party room for Derek. “You should! He’s obviously very polite, maintains good conversation. I’m only seeing green flags.” Except that his boss is a judgmental tool. 

“I just get so nervous, y’know?” Your friend says as the bartender brings her drink. 

“I know you do, sweetie, but he’s just a guy,” you begin. “He’s not some cosmic being who will alter the trajectory of your entire life simply by taking you on a date. He’s-”

“What?” Jacqueline follows your eyes, whipping her head around with no amount of subtlety. Her cinnamon curls flounce as she notices the same thing you are. Aaron’s staring at you, those unrelenting raven eyes. What’s he trying to do, burn a hole through your head? 

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” you mutter. 

“What is it?” Jacqueline’s constantly aware of the people around her. It’s a blessing and a curse. Mostly a curse, since you’re her Emotional Support Friend. 

“I just… don’t worry about it,” you wave it away, not wanting to stress her out. 

“No, what is it?” God. He’s still looking at you, maintaining his conversation with Spencer. You let your gaze wander and you see his lips moving. Is he talking about you so blatantly? 

You suppose you’re talking about him, but still. 

“I just don’t like Aaron, that’s all.” 

“Why not?” Jacqueline’s nutmeg brows furrow, and you meet her confused expression with a shrug. 

“We just don’t vibe. Don’t worry about it, Jackie, seriously,” you nod. “I’m not gonna, like, challenge him to a duel.” 

Before Jacqueline can attempt to defend someone she doesn’t know (God bless her), Penelope’s waving at you from the party room and beckoning the two of you towards her. 

You and Jacqueline grab your drinks and oblige. Derek and Emily are shifting tables out of the way, creating a small, makeshift dance floor in the middle of the party room. 

JJ is queuing up a few songs on the jukebox, and when “Take My Breath Away” by Berlin comes filtering through the speakers, a slightly tipsy Penelope is singing into her margarita and demanding that Derek slow dance with her. 

You end up standing by Spencer and Aaron, to your dismay, and you think for a second that Spencer isn’t going to ask Jacqueline to dance. That wouldn’t be totally out of character, but he does, and Jacqueline’s beaming, leaving you alone with Aaron. 

You let out a slightly annoyed huff and stir your cocktail with the little plastic red straw. You meet his unwavering gaze with narrowed eyes. “Do you like to dance?” You ask with half-assed interest. 

“Not if I can help it,” Aaron says, and you wonder for a moment if he’s joking. The ever-serious look on his face says otherwise. 

“I was looking for a pretty young lady!” A voice cuts in, and you turn to see David Rossi, of all people, standing before you. 

You smile softly. You know he isn’t flirting, he isn’t romantically interested in you, that he’s just being a nice older man and going out of his way to make you feel included. And you can’t help but feel warmth from him. “We were just talking about dancing,” you bring him into the conversation, clocking how Aaron’s jaw visibly tenses. 

“Ah, dancing. I remember when we had clubs all up and down the streets. You could go in and just dance until your feet hurt,” David prattles, and you purse your lips in the side of your mouth. He only looks like he’s in his early sixties, but you resist the urge to call him old, to tell him he’s acting like a grandpa. 

“Do you like to dance?” Aaron’s asking you all of a sudden. You spot Penelope and Derek slow dancing as well as Spencer and Jacqueline. Emily and JJ have even joined in on the fun. 

“I do,” you say simply, pursing your lips at him. And maybe it’s a little mean, but you look at David and plaster a devilish little grin on your face and hold out your hand. “Dave? Wanna cut a rug with me?” 

Aaron watches as Rossi throws his head back in one of those wheezy, old man laughs. 

“It’s been a long time since a pretty young lady asked me to dance,” the Italian man jokes, and Aaron knows that is simply not true. As a best-selling author, Rossi weirdly gets a lot of groupies. 

Aaron feels like he has a smokescreen up, and behind it, he’s fuming. He’s not jealous of Rossi, because he knows Dave’s just being friendly. But Aaron doesn’t think it shouldn’t be Dave dancing with you. It should be him. 

He doesn’t know why he told you he doesn’t dance. Maybe it’s this whole divorce with Haley. It was finalized nearly six months ago, but Aaron’s still reeling from it, he supposes. He’s not been on a date. He’s not even so much as looked at another woman in a romantic capacity, until you walked in tonight. Your hair looks so shiny, your face made up all glowy, like you literally have a halo hovering over you. 

It’s incredibly frustrating.

He didn’t know what to do. He panicked. He doesn’t want to see anyone right now, or at least, that’s what he’s been telling himself for the past six months. He wants to focus on his job and on being a good dad to Jack. 

But, god, the way your dress hits you right above the knee. He wants desperately to see your thighs. He’s been thinking about them all night, actually, how supple the skin might be, how sensitive. That’s why he’s been so cold to you all night - he’s trying to push you out of his mind, trying to focus on anything else. But you’ve got an attitude and a good sense of humor, and he couldn’t help but stare. 

It’s the same way he can’t help but stare now, when Rossi places one hand on your waist and clasps your other one. You’ve got one palm on Rossi’s shoulder, the other holding your drink as you occasionally sip it. 

You’re laughing and Rossi’s got crows’ feet from smiling, and he sways with you to the music. That song from Top Gun. Aaron wonders briefly if you’re old enough to have even seen Top Gun in the theater. 

You’re young. You’re not too young, per se, but you’re right on the line, Aaron thinks. He’s gripping his tumbler of whiskey - his third since you entered the party because god, does he need a vice right now - and his jaw is clenched as he watches Rossi twirl you out. 

Your laugh is heavenly and melodic and Aaron, for a split second, considers leaving just because of it. 

Aaron leans against the wall by the jukebox, the odd man out, with your friend Jacqueline dancing with Spencer, Garcia with Morgan, and, of course, JJ with Emily. He doesn’t mind being the odd man out, watching his team have a good time. It’s you he feels excluded from. 

Okay, maybe you’re not totally sober, you realize, as David twirls you out a second time. You hold on tight to your drink, but your steps aren’t completely precise, and your back slams into a muscled chest with a clumsy grunt. Amaretto sour splashes over the side of your glass and onto a pair of brown, Italian loafers. 

Gargantuan hands graze down your elbows, then clench your forearms as you regain your balance, and you turn around to see the brick wall of a person you’ve run into. Aaron’s stupidly dark, hazelnut eyes are drawing down your body. They bore into you and you feel your entire face flush, all the way down to your collarbone. 

“You spilled your drink,” Aaron exhales sharply through his nose, and you feel your expression harden. 

“It was an accident,” you bite back, taking a step away from him, enforcing the space you desperately need to keep from clawing his eyes out. You don’t hate people. But, god, is this man getting under your skin.

Aaron opens his mouth, and you think for a split-second that he’s about to reassure you. But he just clamps his mouth shut, into a straight line like a ruler. “Right,” is all he says. You take a deep, serrated breath and turn pointedly on your heel. 

As you return to David to dance, Derek cuts in, and you and Penelope swap partners. Derek is respectful as he places a hand round the small of your back, and you smile softly when you see Jacqueline and Spencer. They’re barely moving, and Jacqueline’s gray-green eyes are looking up into Spencer’s brown ones, and you nod in their direction. “God, they’re cute, aren’t they?” 

“It’s a miracle Pretty Boy’s lasted this long,” Derek chuckles. You arch a brow at this, so he continues. “He doesn’t do too well with the ladies. Not like yours truly,” he jokes, flashing his teeth. 

“Oh, please,” you tease playfully. You tug at his sparkly blue birthday sash to further your point. Derek laughs and spins you around. 

“So what’s going on with you and Hotch?” Derek asks. You roll your eyes. 

“Nothing,” you insist. “I barely know him. I barely know any of you, besides Penelope. God, you guys are really mixed up in each other’s lives, huh? I’m definitely not that close with my coworkers.” 

“Oh, we’re not just close,” Derek laughs. “We’re family.” 

“And Aaron is, what, the overbearing father?” You ask. You’ve had a couple drinks, and your filter is more or less nonexistent. 

“See, I knew there was something going on between you two,” Derek teases. You glare at him. He holds one hand up defensively. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop, but you’re in for trouble, sweetheart.” 

“How so?” 

Derek nods over to Jacqueline and Spencer. Both their feet are still planted in the same spot, but they’re swaying together. It’s dorky as hell, but so cute you could cry. You understand what Derek means before he even says it. “You’re about to become friends-in-law. The more Jacqueline sees Spencer, the more you see Hotch.” 

Your eyes flicker over to the man in question, now sitting at a table and talking with David. There’s some kind of magnetic tug, and Aaron’s eyes meet yours, and your knees buckle a little beneath you. Either you’re drunker than you thought, or you really are in trouble.  

edit: read part 2 here

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

aaron hotchner x jacks nanny/babysitter

she’s got a crazy ex that stalked and threatened her so she moved far away to live a simple, under the radar life and started working for hotch. he knows her situation and does his best to look out for her, maybe she’s like a live in nanny ? neither of them is bold enough to make a move first until her ex finds her and hotch and the team race to save her. ends with love confessions and all the sappy stuff

could be a one shot or a short lil series i’m sure whatever you write will be amazing !

༉‧₊˚. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨-𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 || 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

— pairing: aaron hotchner x plus size babysitter!reader

— summary: your new life as a live-in nanny was wonderful, and with your dark past behind you, there was nothing that could ruin this. but as they say, what goes around comes around.

— warnings: heavily detailed violence BEWARE, surprisingly light angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, physical hurt/comfort, mutual pining, abusive ex's :[, guns, and a horribly written action/fight scene (forgive me).

— wc: 1965

⋆ a/n: okay this is a heavy fic so beware once more, but aside from that this takes a fully turn! i don't really have anything else to say besides enjoy!

masterlist | AO3

“Backpack? Check. Lunchbox? Check. Shoes are tied? Check.” 

You placed your hands on your hips triumphantly, a proud smile on your face as you examined the little boy. 

Being a live-in nanny came with being organizational and making sure that Jack was ready for school everyday without fail. It wasn’t like Aaron was super strict on you; he understands when you have your days where things are a bit out of place, but honestly it was a personal preference, and totally not because you have a big fat crush on the FBI agent.

You had been very skeptical about your babysitting position at first because of your ex who was absolutely bat shit crazy. It was a situation you had barely escaped from, and it had taken almost everything in you to get where you were now, so you were a little afraid of men in general. But Aaron was kind, and welcoming, and fatherly, someone that you felt safe with.

And then, you fell in love.

It had scared the shit out of you of course, but now it was a feeling that you welcomed with open arms, even if you couldn’t act on it. 

Your phone began to ring as you searched for the car keys, the contact name read ‘Aaron <3’.

“Morning!” You greeted with a smile as you picked up. “Good morning. How are you guys?” The older man asked. “We're doing just fine, as always,” You successfully found the keys. “How are things?” You knew better than to ask how he was, because if you had the kind of job that he did, there was no way you could answer positively. 

“We pretty much have everything we need, so we’ll probably be able to wrap this case up early.” 

“Oh Aaron, that's great!” You cheer happily and make your way back to where Jack was waiting for you. “You ready to go, little man?” Jack looks up at you from his toys. “Is that daddy on the phone?”

“Yeah buddy, you wanna say hi?” 

“Yes!” Jack’s answer was full of excitement, and you can’t help but smile. “As much as I enjoy talking to you, it looks like I’m handing you over.” You swear you could hear Aaron chuckle.

Yeah, this was a life that you could get used to.

Having the house to yourself was weird.

With Jack away at his aunt’s for the weekend, it was strangely quiet due to the emptiness of the child’s presence. You suppose you’re grateful for the break even though taking care of Jack really isn’t as tiring as one might think. 

Despite Aaron rarely being home, he’s managed to raise the boy well when he could, and it’s honestly very admirable. It’s one of the many things that made you fall in love with him. You gaze down into the wine glass at the thought, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Ugh, why does love make you such a loser?

Your bashful train of thought was stopped by a suspicious thump coming from the back of the house. Your smile dropped and a feeling of anxiety and worry twisted in your gut as you grabbed your phone that was lying on the kitchen counter.

You’re quick to dial Aaron’s number and your fingernail finds itself in your mouth as you chew on it anxiously. It’s an old habit, one that you had picked up back in your old relationship.

“Hello?” Rasped Aaron. 

You knew he had just recently flown in from wherever he was because you could hear the foot traffic of everyone grabbing their luggage from the plane’s storage.

“Hey,” Your greeting was nervous and it was something that Aaron easily picked up on. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?” He asks with a furrowed brow. “Yeah, just um - I’m just hearing some weird things so I just wanted to know when you think you might be getting home.” I miss you.

“Honey what type of weird things?” Before you were able to answer, there was a loud crashing sound. You instantly dropped to the floor to hide behind the counter; you cradled the phone to your ear, “Okay uh - change of claim,” You attempted to joke. “Someone is most definitely in the house.”

Aaron tries not to panic at the way his insides turn cold, “You remember what to do, right?” He asks with a hardened voice. You gulp, stretching slightly to peer over the marble. You stare out into the darkness and a frightened shiver shoots up your spine. 

“Get to your room and enter the safe.” You reiterated what he had told you almost a year ago when you had first moved in. You’ve never shot a gun before but tonight might be the night where you learn how too.

“That’s right, and do you remember the code?” 

As you went to answer him, you were snatched up by your hair and a scream rang out and into the phone. Even though you weren’t on speaker the others that were currently standing outside with Aaron could hear it.

Aaron desperately calls out your name, and with your silence he takes off without any explanation, but his team knows to follow close behind.

“So, this is what you’ve been doing since you tried to leave me?!”

You cried out as another blow was delivered to your gut but a heavy boot. Your lungs burned and there were tears streaming down your face. He had pulled you so hard over the counter that it made your scalp burn, a blistering headache beginning to form at the base of your skull.

“Fuck you!” You spat as you attempted to prop yourself up on your elbows. 

There was a fine line between anger and fear, and this was one of those moments where they blend together. If you ended up dying tonight, at least you didn’t go down in vain.

This time he punched you in the face before snatching you up by your arms. There was a metallic taste in your mouth, a bruise already developing near your eye. “Why’d you leave me, huh?! We had a good thing going and you just… you just ruined it!”

“I didn’t ruin shit asshole!” You screamed and pushed at him but it was no use. “We were gonna get married but you… but you wanted to play house with an old man, really?!”

“You’ve been watching me.” You said in disbelief. It made your stomach twist in nausea and horror at the thought of him watching Jack, what he could’ve done to him. You had actively put the man you loved kid in danger and it devastated you.

“I had no choice!”

“You’re fucking crazy!”

“Put your hands where I can see them.” Aaron’s voice rang out throughout the house.

Before you knew it you were spun around with a gun to your head, his arm locked against your neck, faintly strangling you.

“Aaron!” You called out in relief, but it turned into a grunt as you tugged further into your ex’s chest.

Aaron’s gun was raised steadily, his eyes focused on your attacker, but he doesn’t hesitate to cast you a reassuring look. When he sees your bloody and bruised face his jaw tightens, the vein in his neck popping and visible through his skin.

“Boyfriend to the rescue, huh?” Your ex sneers into your cheek. You shudder. 

“Put the gun down.” Aaron continues to coax, and out the corner of your eye you can see Morgan approaching through the darkness. 

“Why do you want to save this slut? Don’t tell me you’ve already -” A shot rings out into the fair followed by a scream of pain.

Your ex collapses to the ground, cradling the gunshot wound in his knee as blood spills through his fingers. Aaron was the one that pulled the trigger and Morgan is already in the kitchen by the time he’s tugging you away and into his arms.

“Oh God.” You finally cried. “You came, you came…” His arms are wound tightly around you, purposefully tucking your face into his chest. “I’m here, I’m here.” He shushes and rocks you side to side in order to try and lull you.

Aaron – softly – orders you to sit down while he cleans up the blood when the rest of the team has already left.

You can’t help but watch him from where you’re sitting on the couch with his sleeves of his white button up rolled up and his hands gloved. “I’m sorry.” You decide to say, because you really were. “I’m sorry for everything.” There was so much more you wanted to say, but you felt your throat tighten with unshed tears.

“No, don’t apologize.” He says softly, abandoning the rag that he was using to scrub up said blood. “No Aaron you don’t understand. I put you and Jack in danger because of my bullshit and I thought that I had put it all behind me and I don’t -” 

“Stop.” It’s a bit firmer this time. “I knew exactly what I was getting myself into when I offered you to live with me and my son. Nothing that has occurred tonight has swayed my trust or opinion about you, you know that, right?”

“Right.” His hand holds your cheek and strokes the soft skin of it. “Good.”

Your eyes flicker down to his lips before peering back into his eyes, “If I asked you to kiss me, would you?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I promise this isn’t like a trauma bond thing. I’ve liked you for as long as I’ve worked for you and I didn’t want to tell you because I have nowhere else to go if you say no. Plus,” You sigh, “I just don’t want to make things difficult or uncomfortable for you.”

“You could never do that, feelings reciprocated or not.” He reassures.

“Well are they?”

He grins at your question, “I’d be an idiot not to feel the same way.” You laugh and he leans forward to join your lips together.

A warm feeling spreads in your gut and you knew that this is what love was supposed to feel like.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @celtic-crossbow @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @alixwriter @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus @khxna @moonysreid

[show-your-fangs]

Ooh are you still taking requests for Hotch? If so, I would like a smut fic with a plus size reader please! I always see stuff about how most fat people are self confident now, but that isn’t the case for me, maybe some reassurance from Aaron ? If you’re uncomfortable writing this or don’t want to, don’t worry about it!! 🤍🤍

hi gorgeous angel 🤍🤍 i hope i was able to deliver. i sprinkled a lot of smut because you deserve to be rewarded.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x plus size f!Reader

Words: 1.7k

CW: 18+, nsfw, mdni.

Tags/warnings: established relationship, self-concious/insecure plus size!reader, soft Aaron, a lot of reassurance, pet names (beautiful, gorgeous girl, darling), praise, oral (f receiving), basically Aaron eats you out to show you he's obsessed with you and your body.

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.

“No!” you screeched and he immediately stilled over you. 

Your heart was racing, your ears were hot with shame, the confidence that had led you here, to his bedroom, to his bed where you currently laid, splayed on your back with his tight, broad frame pressed tightly over you, evaporating at the mere thought of light. 

He had just leaned over you to turn his bedside table lamp on, to fill the room with soft light. He wanted to see you, wanted to get to witness every twitch, every shiver, everything he was about to make you feel.

He assessed the situation for a second, took in your heaving breaths which had turned from excited to terrified ones. He could make out the outline of your hands now fiddling uncomfortably with your fingernails.

“What’s wrong, beautiful?” he asked, his hands slowly retreating from the lamp back to your body, to your hips where he gently began to draw circles.

“Can we…can we keep the light off?” you whispered, ashamed. “Please.”

You couldn’t see his face since the light from the hall was hitting his back in a low glow. But if you could’ve seen him, you would’ve caught the flash of sadness, of despair and hurt. 

He immediately understood why you were feeling this way, and yet he couldn’t help but get incredibly angry that you were. Not at you, however, never at you. It wasn’t your fault you were feeling this way, it was the fault of whoever had made you believe that you weren’t beautiful, that you weren’t desirable, that your body wasn’t perfect.

“Darling,” he started, his voice soft and gentle, kind and understanding. “You have the body of a goddess,” you winced then, and it unfortunately confirmed all of his suspicions. He truly was good at his job. It was eerie how he could read you so easily, so quickly, with nothing more than a single sound. “Please allow me to do right by Aphrodite and worship you like you deserve.”

Your mind was stunned into complete silence. The voice that had been screaming was now quiet. No one had ever spoken to you that way, with such sincerity and intensity that you couldn’t do anything but believe them, take them to heart, accept that he was telling you the truth.

He wanted you, desired you, found you irresistible, and who were you to deny him of what he wanted, who were you to deny your body what it craved. 

You slowly nodded, breath hitching as you felt him shift again, this time the action emphasized by the click of the lamp turning on. Warmth enveloped the room, but you didn’t register it fully. 

“Open your eyes, beautiful,” he purred. “Let me see you.”

You hadn’t realized you’d closed them until then. You took one more steadying breath, focusing all of your energy on his hands, on how warm they were against your hips, how they were gently and lovingly tracing circles over your love handles. 

You opened your eyes slowly, white specks of light fluttering as his beautiful face came into focus above you. He smiled brightly and you swore you melted right into the mattress. 

“There you are, gorgeous girl,” he praised. “You’re doing so good for me.”

You couldn’t help the blush that rose from your chest to your cheeks, a hot and adorable pink that matched the one on his. 

It was almost overwhelming to think that you had this effect on him, you made him blush, you made him smile so brightly you were afraid the sun would stop working, you made his heart beat so fast against his chest you were afraid it would break through. 

“I’m going to take off your pants, alright?” he asked gently, making sure to keep you comfortable as a priority, to take it at your pace, to go as slowly as you needed, even if all he wanted to do was jump you right then and there, bury himself so far inside of you that you forgot what you were even feeling self conscious about.

You nodded and his hands slowly slid down your body, delicate and soft, slowly and steady. He unbuttoned your pants, followed by the zipper, and then hooked his hands into the waistband. 

He looked back at you before he even began to pull them off and you nodded again, biting down on your lip out of habit. He slowly pulled your pants down your legs, the eye contact never faltering. 

You were feeling too much, the fire in your belly having spread to every part of your body. It was silly, silly to think that just by looking at you like you were the most beautiful person on the planet he could get you this hot and bothered. 

You’d always thought he was out of your league, nothing more than an unattainable dream, a crush that would lead nowhere. You knew his type, the athletic, runs marathons for fun, only eats lean protein with mountains of steamed vegetables with no seasoning type. And yet Aaron had managed to surprise you at every corner. 

He tossed your pants across the room, his hands now on your thighs. He ran them up and down like he’d done with your waist, diligently taking his time to feel, to commit every inch of your body to memory. 

He slowly opened your legs for him, to allow him to press himself flush against your core. You couldn’t help the moan that escaped you and he grinned brightly in response. 

“Can I eat you out, beautiful?” he murmured, the feeling of his hands, the feeling of his hot and hard erection pressed against your heat. You were practically panting, not really digesting his words fully. 

You nodded, the simple thought of the burning ache between your legs getting relieved enough to make you forget exactly what he had to get you there. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your belly button, distracting, as his hands opened your legs further, parting them for him to settle into them comfortably. 

He continued to trail kisses down your stomach, taking extra care of making it a point to linger, to hum and groan and make sure he was constantly letting you know just how much he’d been craving you. 

He sank down to his knees then and the sight nearly took you out. Your head strained to stay upright, to try and see him, your eyes unable to look away from him. 

But then he pressed his face against your clothed pussy, his nose practically rubbing over your clit, and you couldn’t take it anymore. You fell back on the bed, hands wrapping themselves tightly around the duvet. 

“You’re soaking, gorgeous girl,” he groaned, his thumb teasingly running down your clothed slit. You whimpered, the anticipation already making you lose it, which was exactly what he wanted. 

He gingerly pulled your panties to the side, his eyes practically sparkling as he took in your glistening folds before him. He moaned then, not wasting another second before he dove in. 

His lips wrapped around your clit, gently sucking before his tongue began to lap circles over it. You moaned loudly at his actions, the beautiful sounds coming out of your mouth spurring him on. 

He ran his tongue down to your opening, teasing your hole before pressing it flatley against your slit and licking all the way back up to your clit. Your mind went blank at that, whatever thoughts remained, positive or negative, swiftly evaporating into the night. 

He repeated the action a few more times, getting into a nice, steady rhythm. Your moans had gotten more chaotic, wild, free. Your body started to tremble, to move in tandem with his tongue, to seek it out to search for your own pleasure. 

That’s when he pulled back, a needy whine escaping your lips at the loss of contact. He grinned, his tongue licking up the wetness around his lips before he swiftly sank two fingers inside of you.

And just like that your moans were back, filling his room with so much warmth it rivaled the heat from the lamp beside your head.

"So tight," he groaned as he began pumping his fingers in and out of you, making sure to curl them upwards inside of you to hit the spot he knew would make you come undone. 

He leaned back down to press a kiss to your clit, the puffy nub looking incredibly lonely, almost begging to be given attention. 

“You’re beautiful,” he stated. It was factual, matter-of-fact, veridical, never a question about it. 

You sighed deeply, his words still sounding foreign to you, as if you knew them to be true and yet could not yet believe them in their entirety. 

“Say it,” he ordered before his teeth bit down around your clit. 

You practically screamed, the shock forcing you onto your forearms to see him, to see what he was doing to you. 

“Say you’re beautiful,” he repeated the command as clearly as he could, tugging now, enough to make the pain just edge on the line to uncomfortable. 

“Fuck, Aaron,” you whined, hands desperately trying to push him away by his shoulders. But he stood his ground, challenging. “I’m–I’m beautiful, I’m beautiful, I’m– gonna cum please–”

His teeth let go of your clit, the final jolt of electricity perfectly in tandem with a twist of his fingers inside of you. You couldn’t stop yourself from exploding, the tightness finally snapping, flooding your own body with more warmth than you knew what to do with.

Aaron dove right back in, his fingers sliding out as his tongue replaced them, sinking into you to feel your walls constrict, to feel your essence wash over him like a tidal wave. He lapped all of your juices up, his tongue skillfully working you through your orgasm.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even register anything other than the beating of your heart in your ears and the deliciously painful sting of overstimulation that was starting to take over as Aaron swallowed all you gave him.

After your breathing had calmed, your heart returned to a normal pace, your eyes focused on the room around you once more, Aaron stood himself up from between your legs, his even more pronounced erection pressing into you once more, as if to show you just how much harder you’d made him. 

“Now, was that so hard?” he joked, a satisfied smile over his glossy lips.

"You have the body of a goddess. Please allow me to do right by Aphrodite and worship you like you deserve." will easily go down in history as once of the best lines of dialogue i will ever write.

now if y'all excuse me i need to go scream into my pillow.

tags: @xladyxdreamer, @canuck-eh, @ssamorganhotchner

[boldlyvoid]

Bigger than the Whole Sky

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

plot summary: what could've been isn't what would've been, she realizes that when she finds everything that love should've been in her boss, Aaron Hotchner, instead of her ex-husband.

Warnings: spousal abuse (physical and mental), infertility, self-esteem issues, friends to lovers, divorce, smut, pregnancy, found family

Part 1: Peter losing Wendy

Reader has been with the BAU for 2 months when she walks into the bullpen with a fat lip and a bloody nose. Her husband's been keeping secrets and breaking her heart for almost a decade now. However, it takes her 10 minutes to decide she's done with him.

Aaron has been harbouring a crush on our dear reader for as long as she's been on the team... he knew it would never go anywhere when she was married, but that crush goes from a hopeless dream to a heartstopping love faster than he could say "be mine."

Part 2: from Neverland to Wonderland (18+)

She went from dreaming about a life where she was a mom and she's loved and appreciated for who she is... to actually being appreciated, being really, truly loved and a mom of not just the baby Aaron has helped her make, but Jack as well.

Part 3: Electric Hearts

As it turns out, getting pregnant was the easiest part... The hard part is making sure Jack is okay with it and the team understands what it's going to look like when Hotch goes on paternity leave... and Peter's moms reaction to a grandbaby that isn't hers.

Part 4: Forever and Always

desk duty, new co-workers, bonding with Jack, decorating Juliette's room, baby showers and unwanted guests... the second half of this pregnancy is full of surprises.

Part 5: Next Chapter

Juliette Hale Hotchner is born

[emberfrostlovesloki]

A Warm Bath [Hotch x Reader]

Photo credits: Left (@cozyreadings) Center (@weleavetomorrow) Right (@milla984)

Prompt: Aaron is having negative thoughts about his body and aging. The case the team faces puts Hotch’s physical ability on the line, as he attempts to save the BAU-reader from a violent fate. 

Pairing: [established relationship] Aaron x gender-neutral reader. The reader uses They/them pronouns. 

Category: Angst/comfort 

Word Count: 16K 

Content Warnings: Body image issues [mostly related to aging (Hotch)], brief mention of food and diet, mention of 2000s celebrity tabloids, multiple deaths [via dogs eating them], victim’s body parts are mentioned, animal cruelty [some dogs are described as living in bad conditions and being mistreated]. Animal death [dogs (not explicitly shown or described, but implied], a good bit of swearing and language, Hotch and the reader are naked in front of each other [no smut], and slight drinking.  

A/N: Hi loves! I’m back with another long, angsty fic. This was written for my love Rome (@criminalskies) from my December prompt list (linked) #28: Character A hears Character B sing for the first time. This was supposed to be short and sweet, and like most of my writing, it got a bit away from me, but in a way that I like. I will say I think this is a bit darker than some of my writing given the means of death, but I hope I handled it and the animal issues okay. If you know me, you know I love some insecure Hotch plus lots of angst, and I hope you find that here. Once more, thank you Rome for being my friend. ILY. If you like this story, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. I hope ya’ll have a great rest of the week. - Love Levi ❤️

P.S. There is a mention that the reader’s favorite song is Hozier’s “Unknown / Nth” If this is not your favorite song, feel free to substitute your own! 

List with all stories 

_y/n_ = your name 

_y/l/n_ = your last name

_y/f/c_ = your favorite candle 

Aaron stood in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom. The mirror was half-steamed from the warm air and moisture seeping from the bathroom. The white towel draped over his hips sat in a way that did not reveal anything inappropriate. Those areas and his legs were not the spots on his body that bothered him. Those areas didn’t bother _y/n_ either. Not that any part of his body bothered _y/n_. When they were bare to each other, _y/n_ seemed to worship him in a manner that Aaron didn’t feel he deserved. Where these insecurities had arisen from. He was unsure or unwilling to explore. But he couldn’t stop judging his body as hard as he tried. He knew he had little time before _y/n_ would come back from the store. They had just gone on a small grocery run. The winter weather called for some soup and toasted sourdough, but Hotch had been woefully short in the bread department. Probably because he hadn’t bought it in weeks. He was trying to add more protein to his meals. Because it was December and flurries fell on the ground almost every day, Aaron’s daily runs had been cut, almost completely, out of his schedule. His body ached too much in the cold. His knees and back gave small pops of protest, and his chest was particularly sensitive around the scars left by Foyett. That attack had been over a year ago, but the pain lingered and reminded him of how weak he had been that day. How he’d been off his feet for weeks. He hadn’t liked his body after that spell either. Of course, he could always go to the Quanitco gym, but most of the men there were more built like Derek. Pumping iron in some unspoken competition of who could look better in a tank, shorts, and being sweaty. Even if Hotch could zone out while he did his workout, he just felt like he didn’t belong in that space anymore. ‘This is so stupid, Aaron, and you know it,’ his internal critic droned out. Hotch tried to still the voice and ran a hand over his stomach. He could still feel his muscles under the slight layer of fat, tissue, and skin. ‘At least you have that,’ the voice continued. Aaron pulled his hand away as if he was burned by his own body. Aaron had planned to move to his dresser and cover the body that was bothering him so much, but his face, cast in the soft glow of his lamps caught his attention as well. Hotch moved closer to the mirror. The bags under his eyes, crow's feet, and the small, grey hairs that peppered his dark locks seemed to bother him as much as the rest of his body. 

Aaron wasn’t dumb, far from it, but as he looked at his reflection, he couldn’t help but judge how age had changed not only his body but his face as well. Aaron hadn’t expected to age like a celebrity or anything; his work ensured that his body was worn down weekly, and the stress of the job did nothing for his frown lines. He knew late middle age would catch up with him one day, but he hadn’t expected it to be like this. The aches and pains, the look of wariness that haunted him. His reflection only mocked him. Reminded him that he wasn’t young anymore. His intrusive thoughts got louder: so loud that he didn’t notice when _y/n_ entered the room; cheeks flushed from the cold they had been in just a minute ago. _y/n_ was going to give a cheery, “I’m back!” But stopped in their tracks as they saw Aaron absorbed by the mirror. This wasn’t the first time they had seen him like this. Hotch tried to hide it in the morning when he showered, and _y/n_ brushed their teeth in the sink. They could see his eyes dart to the mirror for a second and then away like he was assessing himself negatively. They didn’t know when this had begun, but _y/n_ caught him doing it more and more recently. _y/n_ knew they would have to say something soon. Whatever was going on didn’t seem good for Aaron’s mental health. Realizing that now might be as good a time as any to breach the subject, _y/n_ cleared their throat and said, “See anything interesting over there, mister?” Of course, to _y/n_, Aaron clad in a towel was the same as looking at a statue of a Greek god, and him without a towel -- well, that could be blinding, but it seemed that Aaron was less than pleased with himself, and _y/n_ sought to understand why. Aaron’s eyes snapped to the side, realizing he’d been caught body-checking. Hotch turned and faked a half smile and said, “Hey, love. I felt something in my eye. I was trying to see it before I tried to wash it out in the sink.” The lie was so half-assed that Hotch wouldn’t have believed it. And _y/n_ was far too perceptive a partner and profiler to be taken in by a white lie. Aaron wasn’t even sure why he had lied. He assumed it was because it was embarrassing. He felt like a teenager looking at the cover of Stars where Miley Cyrus, or Brintey Spears, or Ann Hathoway’s heroine chic figures were splashed on the front page with the headline “Starlet gains pounds - Fan wonder where X fell off the wagon?” And below that would be the advert for a page about dieting or exercise. It was all too shameful to admit to something like that to _y/n_. _y/n_ matched his lie by stating, “Come here. Let me see if I can see what’s in your eye.” Aaron hesitated and stumbled through the response with, “Well, well I… I think it’s gone now, _y/n_. I’ll be okay. Just need to get some clothes on. Did you find the bread you wanted at the store?” He spoke quick as if he were trying to cover up some secret. _y/n_ tilted their head and raised a brow. In as gentle a voice that was also pseudo-commanding, they said, “Come sit with me on the bed for a second, Aaron.” 

Aaron listened to _y/n_, especially when they used that tone that was half-concerned and half-wary. Wary not for themself, but for him. It was rarely employed, but when _y/n_ did use it, he listened. He padded over to the side of the bed with _y/n_, and they both sat down. _y/n_ looked into his dark brown eyes. _y/n_ knew if they saw them in the light, they were tinted hazel. But that wasn’t what this was about. _y/n_ looked from him to the mirror and said, “That thing isn’t doing you any favors, Aaron. A reflection can be a cruel companion. Hotch flushed and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, _y/n_.” _y/n_ smiled softly and said, “How many times have you told me I’m not stupid when I doubt my logic on a case?” _y/n_ let that question hang in the room for a second before replying, “Hundreds at this point. And you know what? It’s true. Now I see how you look at yourself. Doubting. Hesitant like I am sometimes. You wear darker colors. I know what those things can mean. Aaron. Where is this coming from, love?” _y/n_ had only known Aaron to be confident since they started their relationship. There had been a small period of doubt after Foyett, but shortly after that, it had been replaced by rage. There was a short silence as Hotch looked at the soft woven blanket that covered his bed and then to the window. He watched the snow fall lazily to the ground. He sighed and said, “I feel different. My body, it feels different now.” _y/n_ placed a hand over his and gave it a squeeze. That got him to look at them. _y/n_ moved their hand from his hand to his defined jawline, running a hand down it before dropping it back to the bed. _y/n_ asked, “Did this start in December?” Hotch half nodded and said, “Kind of. I’ve felt it worse now that I’m not working out as much. It just happened so slowly. Age has hit me differently than I thought it would.” Somehow this wasn’t the conversation _y/n_ had planned on having today, but it wasn’t something that could be put off. Not with Aaron seeming so upset. _y/n_ asked, “What do you mean that it’s ‘different than you expected,’ exactly?” Hotch looked back at them and said, “I can feel my body changing in various ways. I don’t feel like I can perform the same way I did on the field. That if I’m put in a physical situation, I might fail.” _y/n_ resisted sighing. They knew how fragile a conversation this was and wanted to address it with care. _y/n_ held his gaze and said, “Hotch, you’re allowed to age. We all do. You’re the Unit Chief of the BAU. If Strauss had a problem with your performance, she’d tell you again. The team would tell you. You’re a competent, capable agent. As for your physical prowess, you’re strong, Aaron. Did you forget how you carried me over the huge puddle in the parking lot the other day because I was wearing my nice shoes?” At this, Aaron chuckled. He remembered it clearly, as Morgan had teased _y/n_ about getting their good leather shoes wet. But Aaron knew they didn’t want to get them wet half because they were very nice shoes and, also, because they had been an anniversary gift from him. At his laughter, the mood seemed to lighten. Even with that being the case, _y/n_ still worried about him; these types of thoughts, if he’d been having them long, didn’t bode well for the long term. _y/n_ leaned in and kissed him gently. They started at his neck and up his jawline. Aaron relaxed into the touch, and as _y/n_ pulled back, the look they gave him reassured him that _y/n_ meant every word they had just shared. _y/n _added, “Hotch, I think this is something that a professional should hear about if these types of thoughts continue. If they make you feel bad about yourself?” Aaron let out a sigh, and said, “You’re right, _y/n_. I’ll speak to someone if I start feeling this way again. Thanks for the affirmation. I didn’t know I needed it that much.” _y/n_ smiled at him and ran a hand over his right arm. _y/n_ was about to suggest taking a warm bath together to decompress from that conversation, but before the words could come out. Aaron’s phone rang. 

Hotch stood and moved to his nightstand. He swiped to answer the call and put the cell to his ear saying, “Agent Hotchner. There was a pause, and then he said, “Yes. Got it. Be there in a few, JJ. Have you called the rest of the team? … Okay, and yeah, _y/n_’s here. We’ll be over soon. … Okay, bye.” Once Aaron hung up, he moved decidedly to his drawer. He dropped the towel and pulled on his briefs and an undershirt before moving to his clotheshorse that held his outer shirts, suit jackets, and pants. _y/n_ didn’t even have time to admire his nude body, as they needed to change into their formal attire as well. _y/n_ moved into his closet, changed, and unlocked the gun safe, pulling Aaron’s two guns out for him with their sidearm. _y/n_ called from the closet, “Does it sound bad?” the audible sigh from Aaron in the next room told _y/n_ all they needed to know about the type of case that had just landed at the BAU’s door. Twenty minutes later, Aaron and _y/n_, plus the rest of the team were seated in the conference room with JJ and Aaron standing up front and Penelope running the slideshow from the far side of the table. Hotch looked at his media liaison for a second almost for reassurance before saying, “I’m just going to show you the photos first. I think once you see them, you’ll know more about the type of person we are dealing with. Aaron rarely prefaced the photos attached to the case, so the team looked with some anticipation at the screen. Garcia clicked for the next slide and everyone, even Hotch, cringed at the gruesome, bloodied, almost unidentifiable body parts of one victim. Then the next, and the next, and the next. The victims varied in skin color, build, and sex. There were three female victims and one male victim. Each of the deceased was missing various parts of their bodies. Since their bodies were so exposed, half-eaten, the elements had only decomposed the bodies faster. Aaron gave the team enough time to see the photos on the big screen before having Garcia turn the screen off. Hotch said, “As you can see, we’re dealing with something strange here. The coroner knows it’s some kind of wild animal, and we are waiting on the diagnostic report from the hospital two counties over. Some of the victims were so badly mauled that teeth prints had to be taken to identify the victims. We know all of their identities. Hotch nodded to JJ, who had Garcia show regular photos of Katerina Lia, Jeffre Domingez, Sherry Paine, and Dusty Hoffner. When this was done, Hotch continued, saying, “Their profiles and the photos can be found in your files after the briefing. The police in Kansas were hesitant to call us the first two times, as they thought it might just be a tragic accident by a wild animal, and they involved the Game and Fisheries authorities as well as contacting State Troopers. The few parts of the first victim were found strewn on the main street and although it seemed unlikely, the authorities wanted to rule out the possibility that it wasn’t a wild animal, or pack of animals first. Given the external damage to the bodies, it’s unlikely that it’s only one dog or coyote. In the following two weeks, the three other bodies were found in similar popular areas in town, like the park, outside the movie theater, and at the middle school. After that, there was no denying that this was just a wild animal. Thus we were called, but a bit later than I would have liked. But that’s what we’re working with. This case is undoubtedly an odd one, but the unsub seems to be amping up his kills, and if we don’t stop them quickly, well, we’ve seen what happens. Now. Wheels up in thirty.” 

The team scattered to their desks, each repulsed by what they had seen. _y/n_ was so grossed out that they even skipped getting coffee for the plane. _y/n_’s mind kept flashing to whoever had found each of the bodies. Probably a young worker moving to clean the theater for the first matinee show. Or a janitor or coach arriving early in the morning trying to get some extra work done. This fact twisted _y/n_’s stomach even more, as they grabbed for their go bag from the deep drawer in their desk, plus the pair of tennis shoes that they always stuffed in their duffle. It constantly bothered _y/n_  that not only the victims that the BAU saw were often minorities of some kind, but those who found them also often lived in difficult situations or worked hard jobs. This irked _y/n_ more than they would admit. _y/n_ found it hard seeing the gore and violence they did, and they were acclimatized to the sight. How could a normal person recover from seeing such a thing? It seemed insurmountable to them. The possibility that dogs might be involved in some way also twisted _y/n_ insides. They loved animals, and using man’s best friend in such a brutal manner felt more than psychotic. As _y/n_ stood up, they were surprised by Aaron, who already had his go bag and briefcase ready. He looked at _y/n_ and noticed their visible distress. He asked, “Are you alright?” He brushed a hand over theirs, and _y/n_ replied, “Yeah. This case is just weird. It feels different. But I can’t put a finger on it yet.” Aaron nodded and said, “We’ll look out for each other on this one. I promise.” _y/n_knew what Hotch meant by “look out for each other,” was “I’ll look out for you, okay?” _y/n_ nodded, reassured by his words and continued support. Hotch held out his hand for their duffle, and _y/n_ gave it to him. Aaron swung the bag over his shoulder and waited for _y/n_ to follow him to the airstrip. He didn’t need to do this but felt that _y/n_ might need some extra support right now. He didn’t blame them. He’d dropped a load on their shoulders this morning, and now they had this case. It felt like a lot, even to him. So he was going to be there for _y/n_ -- even if it was just physical closeness. 

On the jet, the team debriefed about what their initial thoughts were. Spencer had stats on the town and how rare animal attacks were one in every 70,000 deaths a year. Derek mentioned how the bite marks looked like dog bites. Morgan had seen a few bad bites in his previous Chicago beat. After the debrief, the team slipped into their normal groups. Em moved to JJ’s side. Reid and Morgan found each other, and _y/n_ put on some wired headphones and pulled out the brief again. As much as _y/n_ found the team's chatter comforting when a case troubled them, they found silence or an easy soundtrack or song to help them focus on the case. Aaron settled next to Dave and Emily. The trio started talking about Cottonwood Falls, its population, and the type of police force they should expect there. Small towns often called in State Troopers to help with bigger investigations, which just meant more bureaucratic red tape; something that all three agents were all too familiar with. Hotch looked over his team and _y/n_ sitting near the back of the jet. He was sure that _y/n_ that they were either listening to white noise or one of their five playlists which mostly consisted of Hozier and other music in that genre. Aaron appreciated _y/n_’s need to find moments of calm and clarity at the start of cases. When they had first joined the team, Aaron had overheard _y/n_ speaking to Garcia about feeling weird about isolating themself from the team early on in the case, but it helped to ground them in the new whirlwind of events. They liked to annotate the brief written by JJ and thoroughly look at the photos. This often helped later on as trends or niche things from the crime scene would be useful if the team got stuck. Aaron listened in as Penelope said, “Sweetheart, everyone has their own method. Your contribution to the case is essential and, however, you need to do that is fine. I promise. Stick around this group for long enough, and you’ll see that we all have our strange habits.” Aaron had been thankful and was still thankful for Garcia for being so uplifting and understanding of the team. Together they made an odd group, but it worked. The next case after that conversation had happened, Hotch had made sure to shoot _y/n_ a hint of a smile as they distanced themself to read the case file beginning to end -- pen and highlighter in hand. It was a similar scene now, as _y/n_ opened the case file and looked at the brief. It read:  

Location: Cottonwood Falls, Kansas, USA

Population: 851 

Victim No.: 4 

Names of Victims: Dusty Hoffner, F (28), Jeffre Domingez, M (39), Katerina Lia, F (45)

 Sherry Paine, F (19).

Victim’s Occupations: Unknown. 

Report of crimes thus far: On December 15th at 5:00 a.m. A local refuse worker (Jim Vaunt) found a mangled left hand near a trashcan on Locust and Union St. He quickly called the police, who quickly arrived. Mr. Vaunt and the officers were disturbed to find other body parts of the first victim (Katerina). The areas where body parts were found were condoned off, and a thorough search went out looking for a wild animal. The residents were informed, and school was canceled for the day. Little progress was made and the next week, the three other victims were found in similar states of decomposition and decay. Though the cooler weather and frost have kept some of the body parts better preserved. The town is in a panic, with parents pulling their children from school early and groups going looking at local farms for any animals. This had resulted in the death of one family dog that had gotten loose earlier on the afternoon of the 17th. The State Troopers have been called in. Two town meetings have been held, but little progress has been made so far. 

_y/n_ then moved back to the vile photos. Sherry’s stood out the most as she was the youngest victim. One photograph of her left hand showed that she had been wearing bubble gum pink nail polish. It was slightly chipped from wear. _y/n_ frowned at a life so young being snuffed out in such a brutal, literally animalistic, fashion. It wasn’t fair. But that was where the BAU came in; _y/n_ reflected. Not that they could change the past, but at least they could ensure that the human who committed such atrocities paid for their choices. There was a reassurance in that. When _y/n_ had finished taking notes and looking at the crime scene photos, they paused their playlist and took off the headphones. _y/n_ grabbed their file and moved over to Derek and Spencer to see what they were thinking. Now _y/n_ was ready to add their voices to the preliminary profile being built. As the jet cruised toward the small landing strip a few miles from Cottonwood Falls, the team all felt anticipation, an undercurrent of tension at what would face them in the small town below. 

Cottonwood Falls was as small and quiet as Spencer had described. But it wasn’t a peaceful quiet. It was a disquiet. The team saw large groups of men sitting in the backs of various trucks, holding shotguns, and scowling as the Chase County Police Department got closer. The team didn’t see any children out, and the schoolyard and playgrounds lay quiet. Devoid of kids. It made sense, of course, four unknown people had been torn apart, literally. _y/n_, who was in an SUV with Spencer, Derek, and JJ, hoped that there would be more information once they got to the stations. _y/n_ was right as the team was slightly heard into the station, Sheriff Welsh had hastily introduced himself to the team, with Aaron running as the point man. Sheriff Welsh seemed more prepared than most small-town cops who had a bizarre crime happen in their jurisdiction. A whole corner of the department was dedicated to the case, with multiple maps and boards up on the walls with the photos neatly grouped. The information that they already had was neatly placed on two pop-up card tables. The Sherrif had the team stand near the tables, and the dark-haired man said, “I have two new bits of information to share with you now that you folks are here. The first is that although it’s not growing season, we still have some workers that hop from farm jobs to far jobs through the slow season. It turns out Katerina Lia was one of those workers. A farmer in Olathe noticed her picture in the paper and called us, saying that she had signed a two-week contract for his sorghum harvest. It was late in the year, and he needed fewer workers, but Katerina was one of them. Also, though this is a small town, we do get tourists driving through because the highway runs toward Wichita and Topeka on either side of us. So I’m thinking that these might be some people or visitors hoping to pass through and something went horribly, horribly wrong. The other big item is that the coroner has stated that the cause of death was bleeding out and shock, and the bite marks found on the body were made by dogs. Various breeds and sizes, but for sure, it was dogs.” The horrible idea seemed to weigh the Sheriff down. It made him look ill. Hotch absorbed the information and quickly said, “Thank you for those updates. For now, I’m going to send my team to various sites to gather data and when we have more information and regrouped, we’ll present a preliminary profile for yourself and your officers.” Aaron could see the question, “What’s a preliminary profile coming,” and stopped the man saying, “And I promise to explain all of the practical jargon this afternoon if that’s alright?” The Sheriff raised his hands and said, “You got it. I’m just grateful ya’ll came out here to the sticks. Take all the time you need. There are three SUVs that you can use.” Aaron nodded and signaled to the team. He stated clearly, “Morgan, Reid, you go to the hospital and look at the victims. See if there’s anything we’re missing about them. Anything that might give us a location of death. Em, JJ, you go check any animal shelters in the area. Then call the school and theater. See if you can interview the janitor and employee who found the victims. Rossi and _y/n_, come with me. We’ll check out the other two sites and see if the vets around town have had any reports of wild or rabid dogs in the last two weeks.” The team understood their roles and moved to their respective cars. Just before Hotch had stepped outside, keys in hand, he asked Weiss, “How many farmers have dogs around here?” The Sheriff shrugged his shoulders and said, “Heck, all of them that I can think of. I’d be stupid not to.” Aaron nodded and let out a sigh. He realized that it was going to be harder to track down the dogs than he might have thought, but the method of killing was so specific that he hoped they could at least find the unsub quickly. Someone in a  town this small had to know something. 

There was a shocking amount of vets in such a confined space. However, it made sense given how much livestock there was in the farming and ranching community. Be it hobby farms or cattle, those animals needed care. As they were driving to meet Mr. Vaunt for an interview, _y/n_ had an idea and called Penelope. _y/n_ put the techie on speaker, and Garcia answered with, “Hello, my loves. How can the Office of Supreme Intelligence assist you today?” _y/n_ couldn’t help but smile at Penelope's pep, and said, “Can you compile a list of people that visit and more importantly adopt dogs regularly in the surrounding towns and counties? It probably won’t be all at the same time, maybe two or three weeks apart.” _y/n_ caught Hotch’s eyes in the rearview. He gave them a nod of approval at thinking of this. After a short pause, Garcia said, “I’ll have to get back to you on that my sweet. These small towns seem to have fewer electronic records, but that doesn’t mean I can’t find them somewhere. I’ll get back to you when I have something.” Before Garcia hung up, Aaron said, “Garcia, nothing illegal,” in a semi-stern tone. Penelope let out a bright laugh and said, “You got it, Hotch.” After that call, the day seemed to slip by quickly. By the end of it, the team had discovered and then presented to the small police force that the unsub was most likely a white male in his mid-thirties, a recluse or someone that rarely came into town, owned land to hold a pack of dogs who had at least five large canines. The land potentially had a field of tall June grass, as lots had been found on the victims' clothing, thanks to Spencer’s keen eye, and the unsub was only targeting out-of-towners. Lastly, if the man finds another person to kill, he will take the chance to do so again without remorse as the unsub was most likely a psychopath. After the basic profile was delivered, the team worked late into the night. They speculated that the unsub might have had a bad incident with a dog in his past, or some significant trauma with an animal of some kind. Emily recommended going back to the hospital in the morning to see if there were any medical records of such an event happening around thirty years ago. Hotch agreed and made preliminary assignments for the morning. With nothing else to really go on, the team headed to their motel to turn in for the night. It was odd getting to bed before two a.m. on a case, but this was not a normal case. In his room, Hotch showered and changed. He slumped into bed, trying to ignore looking in the mirror, at this body again. It was hard for him to imagine that it had just been that morning that _y/n_ had reminded him how much they loved him in his entirety. It was funny to Hotch how quickly he forgot those things. Aaron rolled onto his stomach, grabbed his phone, which was charging, and texted _y/n_ simply writing, “I love you, _y/n_. Sleep well.” He read the quick reply of, “Love you too, Aaron,” before he turned off his lamp, set his alarms, and attempted to sleep. Aaron was having a hard time with his rest and he sat up. He moved to the door and down the hallway. He knocked on _y/n_’s door and he could see the lamps still burning bright in their room. _y/n_ let him in, headphones still in their ears. Hotch slumped down on their bed, comforted to be in _y/n_’s calming presence. They didn’t bother him as he closed his eyes. They sat down and kept reading over their notes, again, and again, and again. Aaron could hear _y/n_ tapping along with the beat of their playlist on their leg. He knew the rhythm well at this point and it lulled him to sleep as _y/n_ kept thinking deep into the night. 

The dawn woke the team, and everyone was relieved to find that there wasn’t a new victim. That didn’t mean there wouldn’t be, but they would strive to make sure it didn’t happen again. At the precinct, the team drank the poor-grade coffee and talked briefly about how quiet the town was at night. Spencer had stayed up all night and heard an owl and one time the barking of a dog. The genius had admitted that even that had him scared. Of course, Morgan had made fun of Spencer for this, except he had to eat his words because one of the police dogs had barked right after his joke, and Derek nearly jumped out of his skin. That had brought a moment of lightness to a very grim case. The team, little did they know it, would need that for the rest of the day, and their time in Kansas. 

Rossi suggested to Aaron that he, Derek, and Aaron go and speak to some of the men running their patrols looking for dogs. _y/n_ suggested she and Emily go and check the medical records, and JJ decided to try and contact the farmer who had employed Katerina to get more information while Spencer found maps of the area. He wanted to see if there were any large swaths of June grass in the surrounding areas, and the lean agent knew he could guess pretty well with a topological map where large patches of the native grass would grow. Aaron agreed, and everyone moved to their respective tasks. Hotch, Morgan, and Dave were told by the sheriff that most of the menfolk had met at a local dive bar down the street, made plans, and then drove out for the day to ‘explore.’ Aaron thanked the man for the information, and his group headed out. The dive bar was ironically called Shooters. The theme of the place was hunting-oriented with mounted deer heads and some old-style rifles adorning the walls. The proprietor, who was standing behind the bar was potbellied and red-cheeked. He seemed more chipper than appropriate. but Derek assumed it was because he had the room half full with lots of people holding beers or shots in front of them. The place was tackily decorated for Christmas with a small tree in the corner and lights up on the walls. One of the deer heads had a Santa hat askew on its head. Morgan and Rossi moved to speak to the owner of the bar. Aaron began talking to a few of the men, showing his badge when questioned. As Hotch moved toward another group, he noticed a small faded flyer. It had the picture of an English Springer Spaniel with a duck in its mouth. The blocky, white text read: “Here to hunt at the Lodge on Route 75? Make your time here more fun and successful by renting a purebred hunting dog! $80/day, including drop off and pick up at your designated hunting site. Call: 390-785-0092 for inquiries. There was no name attached to the flyer. Aaron moved to the man behind the bar and asked, “Do you know who put up that advertisement?” The man looked at where Hotch was pointed and took on a reflective gaze before nodding and saying in a deeply accented voice, “Yeah. That’s Jeff Karon’s side business. Man has corn and wheat crops, but in the summer we get swamped with hunters and he breeds dogs on the side for some extra cash. He’s an odd one. Lives way out there past the town limits.” Hotch nodded and wrote down the name and number. He would call Penelope and see what she came up with as well as speaking with Sheriff Weiss when they returned to the station. 

_y/n_ and Emily at the hospital started to make converging discoveries with Hotch. The pair sat in the medical records room. A kind nurse had pulled out some boxes from the 1990s that she remembered being memorable cases for such a small town. After an hour they found nothing and moved to put the boxes back in the correct place. However, as they had quickly been putting the files back in chronological order, one folder was misplaced. It was much older than the rest. The front read Jeffery C. Karon 1958 - Infected Dog Bite. Emily let out a laugh, and _y/n_ turned to face her and said, “What is it?” As they put a box away on top of a dusty old one, Prentiss replied, “A file in the wrong box. Coincidentally it sounds related to the case.” _y/n_ stepped off of the one small step they needed to reach the tall, top shelf and walked over to Emily saying, “Let’s look at it. We’ve almost looked at every other file in here anyway. Maybe we can learn something.” Pretiness scoffed and opened the file as _y/n_ stood at her shoulder. However, after both agents' eyes skimmed over the first paragraph, they realized that they might have stumbled across something important. The patient data was typed and the case notes were written in cursive. They read read: 

The young boy of twelve was bitten pretty severely by a rabid dog in the wheat field on the father’s farm in Oldsdaile. Ten stitches were needed to seal the wound and a rabies shot was given along with a course of antibiotics. There was a note about the patient’s father and then something about how if the wound wasn’t cleaned and cared for carefully, the boy could develop an infection in the bone and might need major surgery or worse. 

_y/n_ and Pretiss looked at each other and then the photo of the young boy on a sepia-toned brownish grey. Emily grabbed the file and said, “Let’s ask around and see if anyone knows who this Jeffery Karon is.” The two agents moved to the nurse in charge of records and _y/n_ asked, “Ma’am. We found a file accidentally misplaced, but we think this person might be helpful to our investigation and the recent deaths. Do you or anyone here have any idea who this person is? If they still live around here?” The nurse took the file and looked it over. She said, “Just a moment, let me ask around.” Em and _y/n_ waited for a few minutes and the nurse returned and said, “Sorry but no one here seems to know who this is. Our old doctor. Dr. Anderson. who just retired and moved to Texas to be with his grandkids would know. I would recommend going to the town hall and looking at the records there. I can also print you a copy of this file and give Dr. Anderson’s number. Just don’t spread any of this around -- And Dr. Anderson is notorious for not answering his phone. He never really learned to use one, but perhaps that’s changed now that he’s around some youngsters.” Both agents thanked the nurse for her help and waited for the copy of the medical file and the number. It was only a few minutes before Emily and _y/n_ were back in the car and headed to the station. Instead of going to the town hall, Prentiss and _y/l/n_ decided to call Garcia instead. Before they came to that choice, they reflected how small-town cases were so different from those in the city. How they offered a change of pace to the often hectic cases in sprawling metropolises. Not that this case wasn’t urgent, just different. Emily was driving, so _y/n_ pulled out their phone to call Garcia, but just as they started to dial, Penelope called _y/n_. _y/l/n_ said, “Speak of the devil,” as they smiled and swiped answers. Garcia, always her chipper self said, “Alrighty my little chickens. It took me a while. but looking at the ten adjacent counties surrounding Cottonwood Falls there was a startling pattern. One man seems to go into these shelters and has been adopting a surprising amount of dogs that are up for euthanization. But the dude is picky. He only takes in big breeds from Shepards to Heelers to Great Danes. You name it. If it’s a big dog and it seems on its last legs, this guy will take it in.” Emily asked, “What’s this dude's name?” Garcia replied, “Jeffery Karon.” Prentiss and _y/n_ looked at each other knowingly. Both simultaneously thought, ‘Bingo.’ _y/n_ let out a sigh and said, “How many dogs are we talking about here? And how often are they being adopted?” Penelope clicked a few keys on her computer and said, “I’d say three to four a month. So maybe thirty-six a year. But some months there are no adoptions. I don’t know how one man can care for so many dogs. Feeding them alone must cost an absorbent sum each month.” _y/n_ didn’t say it but thought, ‘One way to cut costs would be to not feed them. Thus the need to adopt so many dogs.’ They thought back to the photos of the victims. They all had really been torn apart. The image of that happening was to sickening to the stomach and _y/n_ cleared her throat and said, “As always Garcia, you’re the best. We’re pulling up the precinct now and it looks like Hotch is back too, so I’ll call you with any updates when I can.” Garcia replied, “Anything for you sweetness, and I texted you the dude’s address too. It’s headed to your phone as we speak. Supreme genius out.” Emily put the car in park and they both jumped out. They both had a lot to share. 

As the pair got inside _y/n_ realized that Hotch, Morgan, and Rossi had also just gotten back as well. Emily let out a breath behind them. The brunette was excited to share their news and said, “I think we might have our guy!” The three men, and JJ and Spencer in the back looked over at her. Hotch spoke first and asked, “Is his name Jeffrey Karon?” Aaron’s statement seemed to take the wind out of Emily’s sails and she replied, “Hey. How’d you know?” The small sub-teams merged, and they all got updated on what they had all learned that morning. When everyone was caught up, the team moved to Sherrif Weiss. Aaron asked the head of the police department, with a copy of Jeff’s childhood photo, “Do you know this man? Jeffrey C. Karon?” The Sheriff nodded after a moment and replied, “Yeah. Yeah, I do. He’s an odd one. He’s lived on the farm his father, Jean Karon lived on. It’s a farm out in the boonies. Jean’s wife died in childbirth and from what I understand, Jean wasn’t exactly dad material. So it was just those two for a long time. Then the town they lived in dissolved. Too many people moved out in the 70’s. A few years after that, Cottonwood Falls proposed taking the land into our county. By that point old man Karon was pretty worn out and sickly, but he was vehemently against reintegration. He waged a moral war on the idea and, well he kind of died while losing that battle and Oldsdaile became part of Cottonwood Falls. That left his twenty-year-old son with the farm and a small sum of cash the man had stored away. Jeffrey tried to go away and get an education at a local college. He fell in love with a girl. I couldn’t tell you why, but Jeff dropped out of school and brought his new wife back with him. Allegedly they had a kid together, but anytime I’ve visited that farm I’ve never seen a kid. So I guess when Jeff’s wife inevitably left him, she must have taken the kid with her. And honestly, good for her. I wouldn’t want to spend a long time out there either. But I haven’t honestly seen Jeff in over two years. Guess he ended up a recluse like his father.” The Sheriff gave a whistle after the long monologue. The Sheriff had almost forgotten the wheat farm on the far outskirts of town. The whole team took a second to absorb that the Sheriff had described the perfect unsub. Breaking from their shared trance, Hotch emphatically asked, “Where does Mr. Karon live!” As the Sheriff murmured, “Let me look. I haven’t thought of him in a long while.” While the man was puttering about, _y/n_ pulled up her phone and said, “I have it Hotch. Penelope sent it to me while we were on the way back here.” Aaron shot _y/n_ a small smile and said, “We’ll need LEOs for this Sheriff Weiss. Five men at least.” The law enforcement officer looked at Aaron with apprehension and asked, “You think Jeff is our guy?” The look Hotch shot Weiss was enough to shut the man up and then turn and order two cop cars and five officers to accompany the BAU team on their trip out to the isolated farm. 

The white SUVs and two cop cars rushed down the isolated dirt and gravel road. The Karon farm was a good thirty-five minutes outside of town set on an isolated road that left the highway. As they moved down the road. _y/n_ noticed that random patches of the tall grass seemed pressed down or pushed aside unnaturally. Hotch was driving too fast for them to see what was happening but after the third time seeing the phenomena, _y/n_ called out, “Aaron, stop for a second. Somethings off on the side of the road.” Hotch threw _y/n_ a look with his classic raised eyebrow from the front. His sunglasses were blocking his eyes but after a moment, he slowed to a roll and then a stop. _y/n_ jumped out of the car with Morgan, who was also in the middle row of the car. Derek called out, “What did you see, _y/n_?” As they both ran toward another place where the grass looked odd. _y/n_ didn’t need to answer him as they pushed the tall grass aside to reveal a long wooden board with over two dozen nails pounded through the wooden beam. Morgan whistled and said, “Well that’ll stop a car alright. How many of these have you spotted already kid?” _y/n_ looked up at Derek and said, “This makes four.” The pair of agents didn’t disturb the plank in case it was needed for evidence later, and they both jogged back to the stalled car. Once inside, Morgan said, “Hotch there’s a homemade parking block spikes in the grass, and _y/n_ spotted three more before that one.” Aaron nodded and then started the car again. As he pushed the gas pedal, he said, “We did wonder how he got his victims out of their cars. Maybe they get turned around and go ask for help, but then get a flat instead. Aaron turned briefly and looked at _y/n_ and said, “Good catch. Keep a count of how many of those you see as we keep getting closer to the house.” After another four minutes, the cars reached an old rushing iron gate with a big sign in the font that read: “PRIVATE PROPERTY - DO NOT ENTER: BEWARE OF DOGS!!!” The line, “Beware of dogs,” sent a chill down everyone’s spine. Aaron attempted calling the home number twice, which Penelope had also dug up for the team, but nobody picked up, and there was no option for voice mail. One of the police officers got out of his cruiser with a pair of bolt cutters and broke open the chain that held the fence closed. The gate made a terrible screeching sound that had the team’s skin crawl. All of the cars pulled into the drive. The house was a simple farm-style house, painted white with green accents. All of the paint was badly chipped and there was a large truck parked out front. It seemed to be the only sign of life on that part of the farm. Aaron got on the radio and spoke to the other car saying, “Everyone’s wearing their FBI vests here, and everyone has weapons drawn. We can’t be sure what we’ll find in the house or on the farm. Lastly, no one, and I mean no one goes off alone. Rodger?” There was a crackle on the line and Emily replied, “Got it, Hotch.” As the team stepped out of the cars, a symphony of howling and then barking could be heard from the house Everyone went on the defensive. Hotch pulled out his microphone and stepped a few feet closer to the glass and screen door. _y/n_ followed after him a few paces. From their angle, they could see what looked like three to four big dogs at the door barking up a storm. _y/n_ had their gun aimed at the door. If something went wrong, they would have a bead on one of the dogs and would shoot if it came to that. They prayed it wouldn’t. Rossi sidled up next to _y/n_, they felt better knowing they weren’t alone in keeping Aaron safe as he clicked on the microphone and said, “Jeffrey Karon. This is Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. If you’re inside I’m giving you three minutes to restrain your dogs and come out of your home with your hands up. I’m starting a timer now.” Aaron’s voice echoed across the face of the house and the yard. It was a very tense minute and thirty seconds as the dogs continued to bray at the agents and police officers. 

It felt like an eternity before one of the windows on the side of the house revealed a haggard-looking man who shouted, “Get off my goddamn property before I get a shotgun and shoot you, people. ‘Tis is an ‘nvastion of ma rights. My God-given rights ‘ye hear me!” All eyes turned to the window and again, Aaron stepped forward and said, “You don’t have any right Mr. Karon. You’re suspected of five counts of first-degree murder and tampering with remains. Now come downstairs and restrain your dogs or my team and I will come in and do what we have to restrain you. And I don’t think you’re so stupid to not know what will happen to you if you do try and get a gun.” Jeffrey was red-faced and spluttered, but in a half-show, Aaron looked at his watch and said, “You have a minute and a half left,” then Hotch angled his gun at the front door. Of course, _y/n_ knew that Aaron wouldn’t shoot one of Mr. Karon’s dogs unless it was a life-or-death scenario, but Mr. Karon didn’t. Hotch’s threat was enough to have the man at the window shout, “Fine, fine I’m coming. Don’t shoot the dogs. God damn you. I’m suing if anything happens to those dogs!” Aaron lowered the sidearm and let out a breath, slightly surprised that his strategy had worked. The team watched with bated breath as Jeff moved down the stairs slowly. He looked like he was in pain, as he walked with a significant limp, gripping the white stair rail tightly. The man called his dogs loudly enough for the team to hear him say, “Here boys, here.” At the call of their owner, the dogs all moved away from the door and to the foot of the stairs. Now that they were farther back, _y/n_ could see that it was five dogs, not three. All of the canines' tails seemed to wag happily as they saw their owner. Jeff petted all of them and seemed to give them a treat from the pocket of his robe. Something the older man said had the dogs stop barking. Jeff moved toward the door and Aaron and the team stepped onto the porch. Aaron looked at Jeff as the man moved to open the door. Hotch gripped the handle and closed it as soon as the man tried to open it. Aaron said clearly, “Put your dogs on leads and attach those leads to the stair rail.” Jeff blustered and said, “My dogs don’t go on lead. No State Commie can make me do that.” Hotch glared at the man and said, “They go on leads when I say they do. If you don’t do as I say I’ll add intentionally delaying a state investigation to your list of charges. Do you want the state looking into you more than we already are, Mr. Karon?” Jeff furrowed his brow and turned. The man who had tanned and spotted skin like many men who spent hours in the sun let out a litany of curse words as he moved to the other side of the room and grabbed five old faded leads. Again, the team watched as he moved painfully toward his dogs and one by one attached the lead to their collar and then tied the collars to the staircase. This took about seven minutes and finally, Aaron motioned for Rossi and _y/n_ to follow him as they breached the door. There was some chaos as Hotch cuffed Jeff and the dogs barked at seeing their owner get angry and yell again. Aaron twisted Karon’s arm uncomfortably and said, “I’d put a rag in it and answer any questions asked to you, Mr. Karon.” The added pain had the farmer shut up for a second before the man spit at Aaron’s shoes and said, “I’ll shut up. I want a lawyer. You big city types think you can break into an honest man’s house and threaten him, well. We’ll see about that, Special Agent Hotchner.” Jeffrey seemed to have a glint of malice in his eyes, and Aaron pushed him toward one of the officers, not letting the threat affect him. Aaron told the officer he handed Karon off to, “Put him in the back of one of the cruisers and read him his Miranda’s. If he says anything, record it. Anything could be important in this case. And once you're done that, take the dogs out and attach them to the wooden railing on the poach. Make sure they have shade and water.” The officer looked a little hesitant but nodded and began hauling Jeffrey off. 

Now that the house seemed quiet, Aaron had the team split up into groups of two and look over the whole abode. Even though the dogs and Karon were out of the house, that didn’t mean that they dropped their guard. As the echoes of “Clear” rang through the upstairs and downstairs, the team seemed to lighten up. The most interesting things in the house were the profound amount of liquor bottles in the bedroom and kitchen, as well as the cabinet full of assorted pain meds in the bathroom. It was obvious to Spencer, Emily, and _y/n_ that Karon was self-medicating. If it was just for the leg injury that he had gotten as a child or something more, they couldn’t know until someone interviewed the potential unsub. Spencer took a moment too long looking at the multiple narcotics bottles for _yn_’s comfort and they gently said, “I’ve got this Spencer. Why don’t you help Morgan.” Reid looked at _y/n_ with a hint of gratitude and nodded softly saying, “Thanks, _y/n_.” _y/n_ just smiled at him and said, “No prob, Spence.’ With that, Spencer left the bathroom while Emily was looking over the bedroom. _y/n_ gave a small sigh. They knew Reid was clean, and had been for a few years now, but they knew how easy it was to fall back into bad habits, and alleviating any possibility was the least they could do for their friend. But the most interesting thing in the house was the little boy’s room on the first floor next to the living room. The pastel-blue walled room was caked in dust. So much that Hotch had a coughing fit for three minutes after leaving the room. It was hard to tell if it was Karon’s old room or his supposed son’s. Garcia hadn’t been able to find a record of Jeffrey Karon having a son, but she did find a name and address for his ex-wife who now lived in Tennessee. Hotch was beginning to think that the story about Mr. Karon having a son was a local legend of some kind. A story passed around about the strange old recluse with a tragic backstory who lived at the edge of town. Either way, the room being so well preserved and unused would prove helpful in trying to crack Jeffrey in the interview process. The child’s room meant something to him. When the house had been gone through, the team spread out in groups of two again to search the rest of the large thirty-acre property. 

Behind the house was an ATV with the keys still in the ignition. Derek speculated that that was the easiest way to navigate the bumpy roads between the fields. The largest wheat field had two barns on one side of it. The first barn was for a large group of chickens that squawked when Spencer and Derek entered the smelly space. The other barn seemed to have regular farming equipment and feed for the assortment of animals that resided on the land. However, as _y/n_ moved a rake through the deep chicken feed containers, something snagged on the tines of the object. Pulling the tool up revealed a very tattered shirt sleeve. _y/n_ called in and let the team know what she’d found. Emily was up in the hayloft and said, “_y/n_, there’s a pillow and blanket up here too. Let the team know I think someone might be sleeping up here.” _y/n_ acknowledged Prentiss and let the team know the new information. Once Em had documented the small and narrow loft space, which was barely seven boards wide and could be accessed by a  ladder, she climbed down to help _y/n_ to see if they could find anything else in the grain bins. As it turned out, a lot more was to be found including shoes, pants, IDs of the victims, and cash. Not only did they find the personal identification of all of the victims so far,  but they found three new IDs and a passport of victims, who had not yet been found or reported missing. 

The last metaphorical nail in Jeffrey Karon’s case was when Aaron and Rossi plus two other officers neared the oldest and largest barn on the other side of the wheat field which Spencer aptly pointed out had been tilled and Blue grass had been planted as a filler crop until next planting season. Neither car needed to even roll down its windows, as they neared the barn and heard the near-constant cacophony of barking and growling that filled the air in a disorganized symphony of sound. All four men drew their guns again. Obviously, they couldn’t just open the barn doors because Aaron didn’t know how the dogs inside this barn were being contained, or if they were contained at all. The BAU men moved around the barn, and Rossi found a ladder that would let them look up and into the barn’s higher windows. Aaron and Rossi moved the ladder to the window. Dave kept the ladder steady and Hotch climbed up to the dusty glass. Aaron slipped off his sunglasses and used his keen sight to look into the dim barn. He could see that one-third of the barn was empty but the other two-thirds had a strong very tall metal fence containing the bodies of a dozen dogs or more moving, writhing, and barking at the almost darkness. Every now and then one of the canine’s teeth would catch the light of the window Hotch was looking in, and Aaron couldn’t help but imagine how those teeth felt tearing into a human's flesh. The idea revolted him. He caught something odd, a red glowing light on the front of the cage. Aaron called for a pair of binoculars which were quickly brought to him. Hotch carefully shot out the windows which only set the dogs inside off more, but without the glass in the way and with the aid of the binoculars, he could see that there was a locking mechanism on the front of the padded gate. This reassured Aaron that they could get into the barn, but it only added that Jeffrey was smarter than he let on. Lawyering up was one thing, but having a timed gate assured that Mr. Karon didn’t become an accidental victim to the dogs inside the barn. Aaron quickly stepped down the ladder and told Rossi and the officers that they were clear to enter the hostile den. The officers seemed hesitant, but Rossi brushed past them, trusting Hotch and opening the doors of the barn. The dogs went wild and rushed the gate but couldn’t get out. Hotch and Dave covered their ears, and they stepped into the barn. Even though it might be safe for them to be inside the dank-smelling space, they kept a good five-foot distance from the dogs. Aaron observed that all of the dogs were malnourished and had their tails docked. Many of the dogs had bite marks and looked in ill health. Rossi noticed the feathers on the floor of the cage. There was a children’s pool filled with stinking water and flies on the far side of the cage. Aaron took pictures of the dogs, the cage, and the locking mechanism which seemed to be turned on via a switch or remote timer. Hotch felt a pang of pity for the dogs inside the barn and what a horrible life they had been put through. However, he realized that these animals had also killed up to seven human beings. There was no nice way of putting that. When Rossi and Aaron had seen what they needed to, Aaron called Sheriff Weiss and brought the man up to date. He detailed the need for animal control and that they would need a lot of animal control. Weiss had paused and said that he would have to call into multiple counties and vets for help getting all the dogs out of the barn. Hotch understood and agreed. Aaron left one of the policemen to sit in his cruiser just outside the bard to wait as long as it took for the animal control members to arrive and take care of the situation inside the barn. The officer seemed to relax when he realized that he could wait inside his protected vehicle. 

With the farm mostly searched and a lot of damning evidence gathered, the team left with Mr. Karon to conduct their first interview. The unsub had said very little except for cursing the officer in the other police car out. The team left another three officers to cordon off the farm and sites of interest. At the precinct, Jeffrey was quickly moved into a room that was normally a holding cell for those who had too much to drink and needed the night to sober up before going home to their wives in shame with another fifty-dollar ticket of disorderly conduct or public indecency. It was the best the small police station had for an interrogation room. Sheriff Weiss had a table and chairs brought in and Derek and Rossi had the first round of trying to get the unsub to talk. Outside the cell _y/n_ paced and Aaron watched them while also looking into the room with Jeffrey. Something was upsetting _y/n_ and he could tell. It was not only the pacing, but the way _y/n_ was just slightly biting the inside of their cheek. After a minute of this, Aaron turned to them and asked, “What it is _y/n_?” _y/n_ turned on their heel and said, “It can’t be him Hotch? You smelled his breath when we first got in the house. It reeked of alcohol and he was stumbling around either because he was drunk or high on meds, or both. I don’t know how a man like that can pull something like this off. Not by himself. Not to mention his leg injury. He can barely walk. He couldn’t possibly handle those dogs in the barn. Plus, we’re looking for a supposed psychopath. Mr. Karon might be disturbed, but he loved those dogs in the house. How does that work?” Aaron nodded. He had felt that something was off too, but having _y/n_ put it into words helped solidify how he felt. _y/n_ said, “It’s something to do with that boy’s room. That makeshift bed in the barn. I think we’re missing something big. I think I should go back.” Hotch nodded and said, “I’m coming with you.” _y/n_ gave him just the smallest smile and said, “Alright. I’ll tell the team, why don’t you start the car? I’ll be out in a minute.” Aaron agreed and moved outside. It didn’t take long for them to get back to the farm. Aaron had an officer go with _y/n_ to the boy’s room, and he and another officer moved back to the barn to look at the cot again. The two were determined to find out what vital piece was missing from the bigger picture. 

Back in the interrogation room, Karon wasn’t talking and it had been nearly fifty minutes. Derek was saying, “So what, you get bitten by a dog when you're a kid and then have dogs kill people? What do you gain from that, Karon? Apart from some sick need to see people be torn apart.” The man didn’t answer and Rossi tried another approach saying, “Why keep your bedroom the same Jeffrey? Why lock it up and keep it preserved? Why is it so important to you?” This finally had a response for the unsub and he said, “That room’s special to me, yeah. Gotta keep it like that for when she comes back.” Morgan and Dave looked at each other and Rossi asked, “Who comes back, Mr. Karon? You’re wife? Your son?” Jeffrey put his head in his hands and said, “That goodman bitch of a wife you idiot. My son’s still there. But he’s not like he used to be. And I’m not like I used to be, get it. Before that bitch of a city slicker wife left me everything was fine. FINE! Get it, but she left and it all went bad. Went to goddamn shit.” Morgan cared less about the wife and more about the fact that Jeff had said his son was still on the property, on the farm. Derek asked, “Your son, Karon. Where is he!” Jeff laughed and the built agent raised to his feet and slammed his hands on the table near the unsub, getting him to stop laughing and Morgan said again, “Where is your son!” Karon chuckled a little and said, “Sleeps ‘n the barn at night. I hear four of those cops are still out there, and two of your agents. Pity for them. Jason’s better with the dogs than I am. Has been for the last ten years since my fucking leg’s been acting up more. Motherfucker of a leg.” This realization hit the two FBI agents like a ton of bricks. There was a beat of silence before Rossi rushed out of the room to call Aaron and let him know that Karon’s son was on the farm while Derek worked his best to not beat the crap out of the man in front of him and try and get something that might help Hotch and _y/n_. Rossi paced as he waited for Aaron to pick up. Finally, his friend did, saying, “Hotchner.” Dave nearly yelled, “Karon’s son is still living on the farm. He’s the one letting the dogs out. Where’s _y/n_? Are you with them?” 

Aaron’s stomach dropped like a bag of stones as he realized _y/n_ hadn’t checked in in over twenty minutes. He put Dave on hold and called _y/n_. He prayed that they’d pick up, but _y/n_’s phone went to voicemail. Aaron then tried radioing the officer with _y/n_ but all he got was the man sitting outside the barn. Hotch almost threw himself down the ladder to the loft and shouted at the officer at the bottom to follow him. Hotch drove faster the he ever had toward the farmhouse. Something told him that he would find answers there. It had been _y/n_’s last location for starters. Aaron didn’t even bother turning off the car as he and the officer rushed into the house, guns drawn. There was no one in the main room, but sounds were coming from the kitchen. Aaron breached the room and found a large man standing with a clever aim to cut apart a de-feathered chicken. The man froze when Aaron rushed the room and pointed the gun at him, Jason Karon. Hotch shouted, “Put the knife down slowly or I shoot.” The man didn’t seem to care that he was moving incredibly slowly while he set the knife down on the butcher block. Hotch then shouted, “Where is the other agent and officer?” The large man shrugged, and Aaron shouted again, stepping within a foot of the second unsub’s face, “Where is my agent!” Jason said slowly with a small glint in his eyes, “Middle of the wheat field I guess. That fucking agent bit me. Had to tranque ‘em. Dogs ‘ill get ‘em soon. But don’t ya worry. I gave ‘em a fighting chance. Set a timer for the dog's release. It’s no fun to watch them die if they’re tranqued. Dogs ‘ill be out in ‘bout fifteen minutes and if I timed it right, the drugs ‘ill wear off a bit before then. I ain’t never seen a cop die before. Should be fun” There was a devil-may-care attitude that indicated the unsub cared nothing for human life. The rage that filled Aaron nearly had him shoot the man in front of him, but the fact that _y/n_ was still alive and could be torn apart had Aaron brush past Jason and ran out the back door so quickly that he didn’t even tell the officer to restrain the man. He only had thoughts for _y/n_. Hotch straddled the ATV, turned the key that was miraculously still in the ignition and pressed the electronic throttle. Aaron could feel the wind in his face and his hands held onto the handlebars of the ATV with a death grip. He entered the wheat field in around seven minutes and slowed slightly as he got closer to the center. He didn’t want to run over _y/n_, but he knew he had only minutes to find them before both of them were going to face the same fate as all the other victims from before. Just as Aaron heard the first howling of the dogs, he found _y/n_ on the cold ground. 

Hotch jumped off the vehicle and ran to _y/n_. Their eyes were open but glazed. _y/n_’s hands were bound, but not their feet. Aaron grabbed _y/n_ and pulled them onto the ATV in front of him. _y/n_ was lucid enough to move their feet with Aaron’s. As Hotch kicked the ignition on again. He saw the first three dogs breach the tall grass. Hotch opened up the throttle. He held _y/n_ to his chest while he tried to press the gas and control the ATV all at the same time. Even at the full thirty miles per hour, the dogs were catching up to them. Aaron felt his heart beat faster than it ever had before. It was like he could hear the breaths of the crazed animals following him, could hear their feet hitting the ground, which would outpace him and _y/n_ soon. Another three minutes and they’d be out of the field, and the police would see what was happening and come to help. At least that was what Aaron hoped. But a sound had Hotch’s heart nearly stop. At the edge of the wheat field, the engine of the ATV spluttered loudly. Hotch looked down at the gas gauge: E. Aaron pushed the machine as far as it would go but it slowed after another thirty seconds, then died. 

There was a split second when Aaron thought there was no way for them to live. His mind went blank, black. But _y/n_ stirred, and he knew they couldn’t die. He’d happily die, but _y/n_ couldn’t die. Not like this. They deserved warmth, retirement, and old age, and happiness. And because Aaron couldn’t have the love of his life die, he was forced to think in a split second. This brought up two options. The first was to shoot as many of the dogs as possible. He knew that he wouldn’t get to all of them before the rest overpowered them, but this was an option that would reduce the number of animals that would kill them. Maybe the others would get scared off by the sounds of gunfire. The other option was to make a run for the barn with the loft inside. It was about ten feet from the open barn door. Something in Aaron’s gut told him this was the only option where _y/n_ lived. Aaron didn’t care if he died; he just needed _y/n_ to live. 

So with his soul telling him, compelling him forward, Aaron dismounted, pulled _y/n_ over his broad shoulders, and ran the fastest he had ever run before. 

Step, step step, breath. Step, step, step breath. Pothole. Twisted ankle. Step, step, step, shooting pain up the leg. The reek of dog breath, and teeth at his legs. Breath. Door, ladder, Teeth in the leg, Foot to dogs mouth, Last step. 

Aaron’s heart felt like it might burst, and his muscles had never hurt so much, never been pushed so hard. However, there wasn’t time for that, as one of the dogs had used its legs to get to the top of the ladder. Not even thinking of his gun, Aaron kicked at the dog's head, trying to avoid the now bloody and snapping teeth. When the dog had fallen, Aaron used his hands to tear the old ladder from the loft sending it crashing to the ground below. Even though the ladder was old, it was rusted in place with only Aaron’s adrenaline that allowed him to get it off the loft. Hotch slumped back next to _y/n_. How he had managed to get them both up the ladder, he wasn’t sure. Aaron pushed _y/n_ to the wall and lay very closely pressed to them as there wasn’t room for both of their bodies in the loft. Aaron was half in shock. He didn’t really hear the gunshots from the officers below, but he could somehow feel the heat from the blowback and saw the light flash from the ignitions. The noise seemed to rouse _y/n_ more, and Hotch moved to cover their ears. He was blocking their view of below with his body. Even he didn’t want to see what lay beneath the loft, but after a few minutes, whatever chaos had been happening stopped. Aaron could now see the red and blue lights of either an ambulance or police car on the wall of the barn. Sound suddenly rushed back into Hotch’s senses. He also registered the pain in his body and leg where he had been bitten. Due to his shock, Aaron felt like stuff happened to him for the next two hours. Aaron did make sure that _y/n_ got into the first ambulance that had arrived even though they started saying that he needed it more because he was hurt and they weren’t. In the end, it didn’t matter as the only other ambulance from the small local hospital arrived shortly after. Hotch was given a local anesthetic in his left leg which had been bitten to the muscle below. Aaron was so exhausted, and now that he knew that _y/n_ was safe, he closed his eyes and let everything else that was happening to and around him just wash over him like a flood

It turned out that Aaron needed ten stitches for his bites and a set of antibiotics to make sure that he didn’t let the bite get infected. _y/n_ had been given a larger dose of Tiletamine and they needed to be kept on close observation as that medication was related but not the same as Ketamine and the side effects of that drug on humans were not known as it wasn’t a drug not meant to be used on humans. _y/n_ felt queasy and said they had a bad headache and were weak, but thankfully the symptoms didn’t get much worse than that. After a few hours of close monitoring for both Aaorn and _y/n_. The hospital staff felt that both agents would pull out without too much physical damage. However, the hospital required Aaron to stay put until the local anesthetic wore off so they could assess his pain, and that _y/n_ stay for a full twenty-four hours to ensure there were no long-lasting side effects of the drugs they had been given. Rossi went in and checked on Hotch first, letting him know that _y/n_ was going okay apart from some slight discomfort and nausea. He then explained what had happened since Aaron had been out of the loop for around three hours. How the police had handled most of the dogs by the time the rest of the BAU had arrived. How Jason Karon had been taken into custody and his father had agreed to throw his flesh and blood under the bus for a potentially lighter sentence once he found out that his son had been caught. How Jeffrey Karon had delusions about his wife coming home, how Jason had all the makings of a psychopath, and how together the father and son had made a fun hobby of killing anyone unlucky enough to land on their farm that they both wanted to protect with their lives. Hotch listened with disgust at the narrative and how so many had died for nothing more than a game, a distraction. He reflected on how in some cases, no one seemed to win. There were just losers. But then again, _y/n_ could have died. He could have died. Not that he valued his life much, but _y/n_ was physically okay, and that was enough of a positive to let him relax just a little bit into the bed. Rossi looked down at Aaron from his chair, gave his friend a pat on the shoulder, and said, “You did everything you could, and sometimes that just has to be enough. 

The next morning, _y/n_, who had been given some medication to help them sleep, woke to Aaron sitting by their bedside. They rubbed the sleep from their eyes and looked over the parts of their love that they could see. _y/n_ noticed the bandaging on Aaron’s leg, and they asked, “Should you be out of bed?” Hotch chuckled and tried to lighten the mood by saying, “Oh, I just had to fight two nurses to get here from my room.” _y/n_ leveled him with a glare that had him honestly say, “But seriously, they let me out last night after you were under. Rossi insisted that I not stay here all night waiting for you to wake up.” That got a small smile from _y/n_, and they replied, “Remind me to send Rossi a thank you card when we get home.” Aaron laughed again and rolled his eyes before asking, “How are you feeling today? I’m sure the nurses will be in here in a moment to ask you the same, but I’d like to hear it first.” _y/n_ took a moment to think about their physical state before saying, “Better. I still have a bit of a headache, but much better than last night.” Hotch nodded and then looked to the door as two nurses entered the room as he had guessed. The medical staff asked Aaron to sit in one of the chairs near the wall as they performed some routine checks on _y/n_ and assessed their vital signs. After the nurses had given _y/n_ a dose of medication to make sure they remained stable, they left Aaron and _y/n_ alone again, promising to be back in half an hour to check up on _y/n_.

When they had gone, Aaron moved back to his prior seat. _y/n_ held out their hands for Hotch and he took it in his, running his thumb over their knuckles. Aaron looked up and _y/n_ was looking at him with sad eyes, like they knew something already, but they wished it wasn’t true. _y/n_ had a vague memory of some of yesterday, but with the drugs and the excitement, it had seemed to fade; they asked Hotch softly, “Tell me what happened yesterday. Everything that happened.” Aaron hesitated before replying, “_y/n_, it’s not very pleasant. Maybe you should wait a bit.” _y/n_ sighed and said, “Once the team comes to see me they’ll talk about it and I’d rather hear it from you. I do remember the doctor telling me I’m stuck here for twenty-four hours last night which leaves me with about ten hours to spare.” Aaron sighed before realizing that they were right. He recounted the events of the former day to _y/n_. They squeezed his hand as he described how he’d gotten them out of the field and to the barn. How he couldn’t let them die, and how that had saved his own life. _y/n_ didn’t have the right words to thank him for saving their life at that moment, but Aaron could see it, the look of thanks in their eyes. Instead of saying anything else, he leaned down and kissed _y/n_’s forehead. His lips lingered on their skin. Aaron knew that they had saved each other in an unspoken way. Aaron couldn’t let _y/n_ die, and deep down, he knew that they’d never forgive him if he’d died yesterday either, which had pushed him to run instead of shooting at the dogs. _y/n_ seemed to notice his shift in thoughts, and they asked, “And the dogs?” Aaron knew they would ask about the dogs soon. As someone who cherished animals, he knew his response would bring _y/n_ pain. Hotch pulled back and just nodded his head no, indicating the worst. _y/n_ closed their eyes and let out a half breath, half sob, saying, “They didn’t do anything wrong. They didn’t know what was happening.” Aaron squeezed their hand and said, “I know, love. But maybe it was a mercy. They weren’t treated well, and I heard from one of the officers that a lot of them looked sick. The state wouldn’t have let them live, and they went quickly.” A few tears fell from _y/n_’s eyes, but they nodded ever so slightly, wanting to believe Aaron. Trusting what he said, even if he had fibbed, even if they could hear him lying to make them feel better. _y/n_ opened their eyes and asked, “What about the dogs from in the house? Those were good dogs? Nice dogs.” Aaron replied, “I’m not sure. I didn’t think about them when we got back to the farm. I’ll call the Sheriff later and see what he says. Maybe animal control came and took them before we got back.” _y/n_ nodded, also remembering how the other dogs had been gone once they arrived. They hoped that at least those dogs that they had petted on the first visit to the barn would find good forever homes, far away from the farm. Far away from Kansas. 

Later that evening, _y/n_ was discharged, and the following day, the team was headed back to Quantico after the largest thank you from Sheriff Weiss. Aaron ever so slightly accepted the gratitude but knew with a weariness that another, possibly worse case was waiting for them on JJ’s desk, and the two men shook hands. On the plane, Hotch and _y/n_ both took their mid-day meds from the hospital. _y/n_’s medication left them drowsy, and they moved to sit next to Aaron on the couch, slipping on their headphones and slipping their right hand into his. _y/n_ nestled slightly closer into his side and rested their head on his shoulder. Aaron pressed a kiss to _y/n_’s temple and moved back to the file in his hand. After about twenty minutes, the words began swimming in front of his eyes, and Aaron closed the file and realized he was defeated for the moment. Hotch tapped _y/n_ on the shoulder, and they roused a bit, mumbling, “What is it, Aaron?” Wordlessly, he put out a hand for one of their headphones. _y/n_ smiled and handed one over. Hotch slipped the earbud into his right ear and let the soft soundtrack of Hozier’s “Francesca,” “Northern Attitude,” and _y/n_’s favorite Unknown / Nth” envelope him like a hug. Aaron realized that whenever he listened to this playlist, he could picture _y/n_ so clearly in his mind. Their time together. The soft longing in the Irish man’s voice had become a connection for how much he loved and longed to spend his days with _y/n_. As he slipped off to sleep, he pictured them back home, already nestled in bed, under the covers, skin to skin. His face rested in a calm facade for once as the jet flew thousands of miles above the ground, taking them home. 

When they all got back to Virginia, the team went to their separate houses, Aaron and _y/n_ arrived home, ready for some sleep. Aaron went to the kitchen to make them an early dinner while _y/n_ unpacked their go bags and replaced their dirty clothes with fresh ones whenever the next case came their way. Turning on the light, _y/n_ caught sight of their reflection in the mirror, reminded them of how Hotch had looked at himself before the case, the way he spoke of himself. _y/n_ remembered the idea of getting him into a warm bath and showering him with praise while they sat by the side of the tub, rubbing his shoulders and massaging his scalp. The idea sent a flush through them, and they were determined to make it happen after all they had been through on the last case. _y/n_ had to wait a few days until Aaron could be safely submerged in water. His leg had significantly healed, and he was now putting on a topical antibiotic cream to the bite area instead of the stronger oral tablets he’d been taking before. It was Wednesday evening, and _y/n_ sent Hotch off on a short errand to get some tomato sauce and zucchini for dinner. While he was gone, _y/n_ filled the tub with hot water, lit some of their _y/f/c_’s, and dimmed the lights to low in the bedroom. _y/n_ also put a sheet over the standing mirror in the bedroom and a towel over the mirror in the bathroom. This was about Aaron cherishing his body, not putting it under a microscope. Just when all of this was done, _y/n_ heard Aaron enter the apartment and set the grocery bags on the counter. _y/n_ slipped out of the bedroom and found Aaron, kissing him. Hotch smiled at them, and as _y/n_ wordlessly pulled him into the bedroom, he didn’t question it or protest. Aaron did, however, look a bit taken aback as _y/n_ started undoing the buttons of his shirt He asked softly, “Is everything alright, sweetheart?” _y/n_ smiled at him tenderly and said, “It will be when you have your clothes off.” Aaron flushed. _y/n_ was rarely so brazen, and he didn’t know what this was about, but he didn’t stop himself from undoing his belt and sliding his trousers to the ground. Now that his shirt and pants were off, and his skin exposed to the cool air of the room he took _y/n_’s hand and looked at the bed as if asking if they wanted to move there now. _y/n_ leaned down a bit and kissed his chest, running their hands down his torso and beneath the band of his underwear. Hotch took in a sharp breath, flexing his muscles. _y/n_ pulled his last article of clothing down and simultaneously began gently sucking on one of the scars Foyett had left on his upper torso.

Aaron whispered their name and made to move to the bed, but _y/n_ said, “Actually, I drew you a warm bath. I, I kind of thought you might need something relaxing after that last case.” Hotch’s dark eyes changed from something filled with desire to a different kind of want; to be shown affection, and his gaze softened ever so slightly as he whispered, “Would you lead the way?” _y/n_ nodded, taking his hand as they led him to the bathroom. They checked the temperature of the water, and it felt perfect. Aaron kissed _y/n_ once more before settling in the tub. He lowered himself slowly into the water, letting it lap at his thighs, groin, and finally, his chest. He let out a sigh at how comforting the bath felt. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d treated himself to something like this. He could sense _y/n_ move behind him with soft steps and then get onto their knees near the lip of the tub. _y/n_ dipped their hands in the water and ran them over his broad, muscled shoulders, which were tight from the stress he kept in his neck and upper back. As _y/n_ began running firm hands over the knots, Aaron turned his head to the side and asked, “Would you get in with me, _y/n_?” _y/n_ paused, and though that had not been their original plan, a bath with Aaron sounded like bliss. _y/n_ put their head near this mouth and said, “Okay. Just give me a moment to put away the groceries. I’ll grab you a drink too.” Hotch smiled and nodded. He was happy that if he was going to be so relaxed, that _y/n_ would get to revel in it too. 

Aaron didn’t think much about how long _y/n_ was taking to put away the groceries, get him a drink, and then strip in the next room. He kept his eyes closed and pictured _y/n_ and really, without thinking about it, started humming _y/n_’s favorite song. When the tune to the chorus came around, he murmured the words as well in his soft tenor voice. Little did he know that _y/n_ was standing in the doorway listening to him. When _y/n_ stepped forward, he stopped immediately as if embarrassed for singing aloud. _y/n_ didn’t comment yet as they stepped into view, now stripped of their clothes. Aaron looked up at them, reveling in the sight of them fully revealed to him. Not that he didn’t see this every day, but it never failed to take the breath from him. _y/n_ handed him a chilled glass with an amber liquid inside saying, “Thought you might enjoy a scotch.” Aaron downright beamed at _y/n_’s thoughtfulness and said, “You’re singing my song.” _y/n_ smiled and cheekily replied, as they got into the bath, “Actually, I think you were singing my song.” Hotch flushed, as he took his first sip of his drink. There was a silence before _y/n_ asked, “Would you sing the rest of it for me? I don’t think I’ve ever really heard you sing before.” Aaron spluttered for a second, and he said, “Probably because I’m not a good singer, _y/n_. I think my talents lie elsewhere.” _y/n_ gave a soft pout and said, “I think you sounded lovely before. Please, Aaron.” Hotch knew he could never refuse them, and he steeled himself as he finished singing the third verse, bridge, and chorus of Hozier’s lyrics. He was shocked that the words just came to him, as he’d never actually looked them up before. But he guessed he’d just heard it so often and listened to _y/n_ sing them in the car or the shower that they had soaked into his neural paths naturally. After he finished, he looked to _y/n_ for some response.

Their smile told him what he needed to know, and he relaxed back more fully. For a moment there was just the soft sound of water lapping at their bodies. Eventually, _y/n_ said, “You know I love every part of you, right?” Aaron opened his eyes and met _y/n_’s as he responded with, “_y/n_ I…” He dropped the sentence because he didn’t know how to finish it. He did know that they loved every part of him, but he felt this was more than just about their perception of him. Aaron’s silence told _y/n_ that he was thinking and they gently said, “I mean it, Aaron. I love your mind that’s sharp as a razor, and I love your determination to do the right thing and protect people, and I love your body too. No matter how you change with age and time, nothing is going to stop me from loving you wholly. I need you to know that. I wouldn’t be here right now if it hadn’t been for all three of those things a week back.” The cynical side of his brain had him say, “_y/n_, that was all adrenaline in the heat of the moment.” _y/n_ scoffed at his logic slightly and said, “And? So what? That was your adrenaline that saved me. No one else's. Not the cop’s, not Derek’s. It was you who put your body on the line for me and didn’t let me die in a field in Kansas. You think you’re not capable of things because you’re getting older, but me being here is proof that you’re more capable than you know. And you always will be Aaron.” Hotch felt the weight of their words and emotions in _y/n_’s statement, and he almost started crying. He looked at _y/n_ through bleary eyes and said, “Thank you for taking care of me, _y/n_.” That was all he could get out without letting his tears actually fall. _y/n_ gave him a soft smile of understanding and opened their legs to make space for him, and they patted their chest for him to lean on. Aaron moved so his back was against their chest, and _y/n_ said, “Always, Aaron. We’ll always be there for each other.” Aaron closed his eyes and chose to let go of his negative thoughts for now. Choosing to accept _y/n_’s reality. Choosing to believe that he was worthy. As he settled back into their embrace, _y/n_ started working his aching muscles with their hands, whispering words of praise. He knew he had made it home.

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Virginia vampire - 2/2

Pairing: Aaron Hotch x vampire!fem!reader Cw: SLOWBURN BRO, non-gory descriptions of death, descriptions of hunting/blood consumption, angst, fluff, Lolita name drop (the book), non-descriptive mentions of an abusive dad, cursing, typical criminal minds violence, possible ED trigger (more in disclaimer), this chapter has kissing but it's not rlly suggestive Summary: Still reeling from your newly discovered brother, you find yourself struggling with the increased policing of the night life. In this, you also find a new incentive to hunt down your father. Disclaimer 1: Reader is chubby! She's not physically described here at all but a fat woman is always the MC. Disclaimer 2: Reader lives strictly on blood. This story discusses themes of intense bloodlust/hunger, UNINTENTIONAL avoidance of blood (food), and physical consequences due to not eating. This is NOT pro-ana or anything like that, and while these themes are explicitly negative, they are still there and may affect those struggling. Please look after yourself, this is all fantasy and is not meant to trigger you. That's all <3 WC: 6.4k - read part 1 first Y'all are really not fucking with this series but I had to finish it for my soul. Stings a lil bit ngl but I got a little something in the works that'll prob be received better. HEAD THE WARNINGS PLEASE but like usual I highly doubt this will be triggering to anyone, I've had an ED in the past and wouldn't write shit that would suck. <3

The morning after the introduction, you walked into the BAU with more purpose that you’d ever held in your step. You were practically on a manhunt for Aaron. You figured it wouldn’t be long before he found you; he’d been trying to speak to you everyday since you started ignoring him. After a week of unreciprocated persistence, your direct addressal of him hit him like a freight train. He looked at you confused for a minute, wondering if perhaps he was starting to see things as a product of missing your company, but quickly ushered you away upon realizing you were indeed speaking to him. You hadn’t been in his office since the night you’d laid your sins to rest on his lap, and it was uncomfortable to be standing at the scene of the crime. 

“Something happen-”

“Now you want to talk?” He was understandably upset, but his emotions were something you honestly didn’t have time for right now. “I’ve been practically begging you to talk to me for the past week. It was so unbelievably fucked up for you to shut me out like that.”

You sighed, he was for sure in the right but you needed all hands on deck and did not want to confront this right now. “I know, Aaron. I’m sorry, but I need your help.”

“I’ve been helping, Y/n.” You can’t remember a time you’d seen him so expressive. “I lied my ass off to a team I preach honesty to. I didn’t even care because it was to protect you. And then you stop talking to me? Make me give your orders to others just because of…what? Embarrassment? Pride?” You let him finish, mirroring his own exhaustion in a tenfold with the look you gave him. He sighed, putting his hands on top of the desk chair and leaning over it slightly. “What happened?”

Gratuity intertwined with the fatigue in your eyes as he said that. You owed him more than you knew how to make up, but unfortunately you weren’t done taking yet. “I talked to the unsub.”

His eyes shot to you. “What?”

“His name’s Daniel. He’s twelve, Hotch.” You looked down as you thought about him in the clutches of your father. “He hasn’t escaped. My dad is sending him out hunting and I have no idea why or how to find him.”

He breathed out, long and heavy as he approached absolute depletion, putting his hands on his hips and letting his head fall forward. “Ok.” He nodded, looking up with a new purpose than the one he held a moment ago. “We need to tell the team to look for him. We can’t find him on our own.”

The thought was petrifying, but you’d been prepared to share limited details. The team didn’t have to know about your condition to know about your father’s insanity. You could plead a convincing case without using yourself as evidence. “I’ll tell them.” You made eye contact with him, a comfortable agreement falling silently over the two of you. You walked back into the meeting you’d pulled him from. 

You expected the team to have carried on without Hotch there, but it seems the curiosity was simply too overwhelming to ignore, and they chose to sit stagnant and wait for the leader to be returned. You walked in after him, stating the new objective explicitly. You already had a sense like you were running out of time, you had no desire to prolong that feeling. “I’ve made the dynamic weird between everyone the past week, and I’m sorry.” You started, standing before the team as you spoke. “I think we need to start looking for my father as a suspect. I haven’t been honest with you all.”

You saw bewilderment light up the faces of them all, but only Morgan held a slight look of betrayal. He hated secrets, which is why it didn’t surprise you when he spoke up first. “How do you mean?”

You took a deep breath. What a plunge you were about to take. “Obviously you all know my father is virtually off the grid, but I’ve never told you about the man he was when I was growing up.” You weren’t going to give them the ins and outs, just the bare minimum. “He wasn’t a kind man, but he was a devoted one. He always talked about wanting to ‘expand his experiments.’ He swore to the public he’d never go beyond trials on mice but he lied. I found his plans to start human trials when I was seventeen and ran.” Not entirely untrue. The only part that blurred the lines was human trials - you genuinely believed he’d never attempt to make another you. Stupid.

Prentiss furrowed her eyebrows, messing with the pen in her hand as she processed the information. “You think he succeeded? That we’re dealing with a vampire?”

God, you were sick of that word. “I think we’re dealing with a mutated kid. The sun’s not gonna light him on fire, he’s just another victim of my dad.”

“I mean-” She seemed lost for words. “You seriously think he lives on the blood he’s taking?”

You were really praying on their trust in you. You were going to insist with all your might that he be tracked down, there wasn’t another way you were willing to convince them. “I’m positive.”

You were incredibly grateful when Aaron came to your defense. “I think we should look into it.” You saw a reluctant acceptance dawn on the group and internally sighed. Thank God. “Even if we don’t find evidence of human trials, he may know something about the unsub. It’s worth a shot.” They were suspicious, the room practically reeked of it, but you had to put aside the unease it caused you in favor of finding your brother. 

“Alright.” Morgan nodded. “I’ll go talk to Garcia. We’ll get a start on it.” He gave you one last inquisitive look before heading down the hall, the others filing out of the room to start on their routine tasks when a new theory was proposed.

Hotch looked over once the two of you were all that remained. “Do you think we can do this?”

You thought about it, truly thought of him and all his fucked up habits from your adolescence. “Daniel’s here, which means my father has to be.” You thought of the high chance this doesn’t work out in your favor. “If Garcia can’t find him then nobody can.”

He chuckled. “Can’t argue with that.” He looked at the board in front of you two, covered with pictures of drained bodies and bloodshot eyes. He flipped it, revealing a vacant side ready to be utilized for the task of locating your father. He returned his gaze to you, and understanding what he was implying, you grabbed a marker. “Let’s get to work.”

–

The boy - if he had ever truly been slowing down like the media claimed - relinquished that pattern almost as quickly as he’d adopted it. He hit the streets after a two day refractory period with a vigor unlike any previous attacks. You’d found four bodies in one night, and you had to force yourself not to picture him being locked away in one of your father’s cages, being starved just to be let out in hopes of wreaking havoc. Now, the night after the discoveries, cops were back on the streets in record-breaking numbers. You thanked your lucky stars you’d stocked up this time and wouldn’t have to duck and weave through all of them just to feed yourself. You were, however, scared for Daniel. Even your team started to notice his increasing sloppiness. There was a full sketch that had been made, the accounts of numerous officers making up the image. You knew well that he was smart enough to evade them, making you nervous he was trying to get caught - or worse, he was simply too exhausted to be speedy. You wouldn’t blame him for being fed up, but you feared the day his legs were gripped by it and he simply ran out of time. He hadn’t come back to your house, but you found a letter in your mailbox with no return address, simply stating your name in a handwriting that your father would have dubbed ‘chicken scratch.’ It was beautifully his, though, and you could practically feel the youth emanate from the words as you read them. He said that he’d hadn’t told you about himself, and that if you were going to be friends, that was a good start. You finished reading the letter a little teary-eyed with a cemented fondness for him - that whisper of maternal protection you’d felt at first now fully sprouting roots within you. 

It was him you thought of when you were called to fifth and main, listening to a panting policeman report that his luck, indeed, had run out. Your legs carried you out of the building without your vest, your cuffs, everything that was meant to be required sat unthought of in another room. Your team, of course, had gotten the same call that the wretched Virginia vampire was finally against the wall, and were rushing out of the building with equal energy but far less desperation. You headed immediately for the driver side, allowing Hotch to take the passenger and forcing every remaining member into the other car. He knew things they didn’t, you could talk to him about this in a way nobody else could hear. That was your intention, at least; let him calm you down before you made a mess of the scene with your unprofessional personal ties. You ended up completely ignoring his attempts to talk you back into sanity, focusing on dodging cars and clearing a path that would get you there the quickest. You don’t remember shifting the gear to park, simply slamming the brakes and falling out the door once you got there. Guns were drawn - a herd of police with sight trained on him - and you were standing in nothing but jeans and a long sleeve. You certainly felt the absence of your protection, but equipping them would have cost you far too much of the one thing you didn’t have: time. His hands were up, the typical sign of a peaceful surrender, but the knots currently pulling taught within your gut sent waves of nausea through you that you took as a bad sign. He wouldn’t surrender, your father would never let that happen. You lost track of the people following you closer as you rushed towards it all. You only knew Aaron was beside you because of his hand gently halting you from going further. Just a slight grip of your forearm and you stilled, waiting in the wings for that approaching storm to fling you asunder. You felt your tongue expel the word ‘please’ multiple times under your breath as you begged him not to do anything, begged God to listen to you, just begged for the sake of begging. Maybe, you bargained, showing a bit of gratitude to any higher power would let everyone walk away from this. You picked up on the twitch of his legs as he hesitated the run he was about to make. You felt yourself lurch forward slightly in response, as though somehow you could catch the bullets before they met his body should he try to flee. Soon, it wasn’t a speculatory thought - he did try. He ran straight at one of the officers, your eyes taking in every brutal detail of every bullet flying close-range right into him. You doubt a single officer held their finger off the trigger, estimating at least three bullets hitting him in rapid succession, every impact searing into your memory to forever loop in your nightmares. You felt Hotch’s arms in your clawing hands before you realized you’d fallen into him, the hoarse denials of the situation exiled from your throat with raspy wails. He let himself absorb them all, holding your head to his chest as you squirmed to look back at your brother's corpse. His fucking corpse. You would have charged at his executioners if not for his grip on you, and though you couldn’t feel it now, you’re sure you’d be grateful for the restriction when you inevitably exited your hysteria and still had your job. You felt the wet patches you were making on Aaron’s blazer rub against your cheeks but you could barely tell where you were, you had no energy to be bothered by the sensation. 

You heard him whisper, barely audible over your own heartbeat pounding against your skull. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

You sat like that, him waving away any approaching team member or officer. Anyone who wasn’t the man holding you was instantly ushered away, insanely confused and slightly offended. His body was bagged up, journalists and news casters were scratching at the barricades like vultures, circling until they could get the scoop. You’d listened to one woman describe his death as “the short reign of terror done by the Quantico bloodsucker finally being cut off” and thought about how he looked when he smiled. He’d liked white chocolate and baby birds, all the malice had been your father living vicariously through the boy. Daniel, well, he was just a kid. Sweeter than taffy and radiant. Simply bred to be a killer - a condition fully out of his control. He was just a dead vampire now, and you felt an emptiness like never before. 

Aaron offered, “let me drive you home” and so you nodded, preparing to go back to a cold house. He’d been there before, you should have insisted. You let him walk away and go back to your father, so sure you’d be able to obtain him again. You’d almost caught the firefly and now you weren’t sure you’d see light anywhere but the sterile reminders of the boy you almost knew. The car stopped, your whole neighborhood felt alien - unrecognizable. 

“Will you spend the night?”

“Of course.” 

So you went in. He hadn’t been in your house before. It was well lived, slightly aged and a little cluttered, but it smelled like you. He was happy to be there. He looked around the areas he could see. Kitchen, living room, typical entry-level stuff. He put his minimal things on the couch and went to situate himself there. It was comfortable, certainly not the worst couch he’d slept on. You looked at him, not bothering to suppress the obvious accusation of his stupidity in your eyes. 

“Spend the night with me, Aaron. Not on the couch.” This day single-handedly outweighed the world as it sat on your shoulders, making you question how you ever thought you’d known grief before tonight. “I probably wasn’t gonna sleep anyways, but I’m definitely not gonna sleep if you’re out here and I’m alone in a cold bed.”

He sighed, clearly wanting to comfort you. “Y/n-”

“Please just get in the bed.” You felt your eyes slip shut as you breathed out your answer, pointing vaguely in the direction of your bedroom as you referenced the item within it. “We can talk in the morning.”

He stood up, nodding slightly. “Ok.” He was so quiet, so domestic in his delivery that you almost let some of the tension slip off you. He’d always had an effect like that, and right now it was all you could ask for. He let you take his arm and pull him towards your personal abyss. You two could exist there, no bounds or expectation, just peace and quiet. You shoved him down, not bothering to change or even do your typical night routine. You just curled up to him, and tried to lose yourself in the feeling of his hands running up and down your back. You fought - hard - to surrender your racing mind into his open palms. He was here, like always, as a refuge - and for once in your life, you allowed yourself to be enveloped in the safety he offered. 

–

You’d partially expected to wake up to an empty bed the next morning. You’d put Hotch in a really compromised position, and though he was eager to support you, it would still be him that would take the blame as your superior. You’d compromised both your positions by bringing him into your mess at all. As guilty as you felt for the possible repercussions, you didn’t regret your choices. Especially as you scanned over the sleeping man, still donning his full suit - only kicking off his shoes the previous night in respect of your sheets. Always the gentleman. His arm was snug around you, but you wormed your way out after a few minutes, keeping his slumber intact while you made your way outside. Your throat felt smaller, in a way. As if the edges had shrunk overnight and now were incapable of taking in as much oxygen as they had the day before. Your eyes were swollen and slightly sore, and you were nearly begging for fresh air by the time you reached the door. You found the strangest thing when you opened it - a book. Pages bound in brown leather sat neatly to the right of the walkway. You weren’t exactly surprised you missed it last night, you weren’t in a particularly analytical state, but seeing it in the daylight was like seeing an angel ringing your doorbell. Mystical and dreadful - full of questions you didn’t want the answer to. What was it? Why is it here? Opening the cover, you found that loveable chicken scratch filling the first page, and raced inside your house with the book tucked under your arm. You protected it as if it were his lifeforce - at this point, it might as well have been. It was all you had left of him. You placed your shaking legs in a chair and settled in to read all of it. Whether he’d dropped it or left it intentionally didn’t matter to you. It was here, you were eager to merge his thoughts with yours. You knew it would be a mistake, and just like you predicted, you were weeping ten pages in. But you sat there, letting a jagged hour and a half pass before pausing when you found the last entry - your name was there. You’d learned about his desires, his fears, his ambitions, his shared hatred for your father. You acquainted yourself thoroughly with him throughout his own narration of his life, and now, he had something to say to you.

Y/n,

Surely I’m gone by now. I’m leaving you my journal so hopefully you know more about me than just the stuff at the end. You seemed nice, I’m sorry we couldn’t get to know each other. Just know I’m not doing this because I don’t believe in you, I fully think you could have done it. I’m just sick of this. I’m sick of him. I’d rather be dead, at least then it won’t be something he wanted me to do. Please go after him still, he talked about making more, and nobody deserves to live the life he creates. I’m rooting for you.

-Daniel

He’d gotten caught on purpose, then. You’d pondered on the full lead up to the shooting, gone over all the possibilities in your head the whole night. That was a primary option - hell, you’d thought about meeting the same fate more than once. You lost count of how many times you re-read the note before placing the book under a coat near the door. You didn’t want someone to find it, feeling overly protective of the thing. He’d wanted you to have it, nobody else. A plan was sorting itself out in the confines of your working brain. You knew it was late, the rest of your team surely having clocked in hours ago. You thought about the likelihood of you being able to get your gear and talk to Garcia without alerting the others. The verdict chalked up to a lukewarm worth a try, so you set off. You left Aaron sleeping in your bed, driving to your place of employment in yesterday’s clothes, still wallowing in yesterday’s grief. Your reaction to Daniel’s death had been very public and was definitely noted down by all of your coworkers, but you couldn’t find any care for that in your head. You would wing it, come up with something on the spot, all that mattered was getting to Garcia and your bulletproof vest.

You pulled up to the building, fate winking down at you as you retrieved your protective gear and added it to your attire. They must be at the table, you thought. That left Garcia alone and available in her office. You didn’t bother knocking, calling her name as you walked in and nearly scaring the skin off her bones. 

“I need you to look for something.”

She stared, unblinking at you, turning fully away from her computers to face you. “Well, hello to you too.” It was weirdly calming to see someone in such a normal mood. “Where the hell did you and Hotch go last night? Everyone’s been worried sick.” She was speaking in rushed whispers even though her door was closed, trying to maintain privacy while simultaneously being away from any onlookers.

“Look, I know it’s weird. I’ll explain everything, but I need a favor first.”

“They always do.” She sighed, pursing her lips and spinning her chair to face the devices. “Shoot.” 

Fate was really on your side today. “I need you to look at buildings owned by McCaslister corp. Anything with a yellow roof.” In your obsessive readings of his journal, you’d swiftly taken note of the multiple mentions of the “yellow roof” building. Your father used to be a suck up to the CEO of McCaslister, and it would hardly surprise you if the company let him operate in a facility of theirs. They had thousands across the country, and you’d never had any semblance of guideline to narrow it down, so you figured mentioning the connection wouldn’t be helpful. All of that changed now, though, and you were cautiously hopeful. 

“I got nothing, girlie.” She delivered the news quickly, hands working vigorously as she typed. “Anything else I can look at?”

“Look for any building the company sold with a yellow roof.” Your father may have been too distrusting to take a favor. He was wealthy enough to buy something from them. The seconds passing felt stuck in your throat as you watched her work, scouring every database she both did and did not legally have access to in honor of fulfilling your request. 

Finally, she pulled up records of a contract signed the year you’d run away. It was signed by a “Humbert Haze” and you felt your stomach leap at the name. You always knew briefly of your father’s many aliases, guessing this one was a nod towards the Lolita obsession he’d held when you were younger. It had to be him. A lab with a yellow roof, big and desolate. It was in the middle of nowhere, perfect breeding grounds for an experiment such as this. You took a look at the address, burning it into your retinas to ensure you’d see it wherever you looked, and casted your sincerest possible gaze at Penelope. You remember her giving the team a combination of keys that would temporarily shut down her system lest there ever be another hacker that infiltrated the BAU. Using the dreaded fisher king scapegoat against her in a time like this was cruel, but cruelty was all you had right now.

“Please don’t hate me for this.” And then you hit it. You watched her screens go black instantaneously and her eyes spark with baffled suspension. You began your trip to hell quickly, Garcia stumbling up, her heels clicking from behind you.

“Wha - Y/n!” She was speaking as she walked. You hadn’t deserted her room yet, but as you reached the door she uttered one last plea. “What are you gonna do? You can’t do whatever it is you’re thinking on your own.”

You honestly didn’t know if you planned on coming back from this. You figured you might as well air some dirty laundry. “He was my brother, Pen.” You opened the door, turning back to add one thing before you left. “Tell them I’m sorry.” You heard her call out from her doorway one last time as you stalked away. Upon entering your car, you put the address into your GPS before you could forget it. Twenty minutes. It was odd to think about. Twenty minutes and you could end this. 

Penelope, in the meantime, was busy rushing to interrupt the team as they attempted a timeline of a new case. They’d moved on, not finding you or Hotch but knowing damn well there were always more cases to be solved. They’d all jumped in their seats as she burst in, detailing your interaction and getting increasingly panicked as she explained. She gave her theory of the motivations and possible family ties of everything, and no matter how far off it could have been, it was enough to earn the team’s immediate priority. When asked where it is you went, Garcia was faced with the steel-cold unknown. She hadn’t personally paid attention to the address, never predicting in a million years you’d fisher-king her system and render her technologically helpless. Everyone congregated in her office as she attempted to hack around her own barricades, watching as she essentially battled against herself. You’d known it would work out that way, only crashing her systems to buy yourself the needed confrontation time. They would find you, you were sure, but first you had to kill your father.

You pulled up, nearly a half hour later, to a little patch of woods giving way to a huge plot of land. A stark, sterile white building with a hunk of yellow adorning the top of it. It was hideous, perfectly fitting for a man like your dad. Your stomach bottomed out, the feeling you lived within for your first seventeen years burrowing back home inside you after being gone so long. He was definitely here. You could throw yourself to the opposite side of the Earth and you’d still possess that sixth sense you’d gained for his presence. The door was locked, but you couldn’t kick it in. You didn’t want to alert anyone - especially him - of your arrival. A sneak attack was the best shot you had at success. Plus, he could have more subjects or guards willing to protect him. You wouldn’t kill any more innocent lives he’d doomed to a fate of his choosing. You wouldn’t put down any more of his victims. You decided to pick the lock, a trick you’d picked up from one of your city friends, and slowly inched the door open just enough to slip through. It was sickeningly bright, fluorescent lighting giving the room a slight green hue that made your eyes ache in their sockets. You couldn’t imagine growing up here; at least you’d gotten a house. Hallways decorated with doors that were chained closed and name tags to match each door was the immediate sight. They were too far away to read, and they weren’t what you were here for anyway. You ventured past the entrance, reeled deeper into the belly of the beast, finding a common area with tables and a tv propped on a wooden stand. How many fucking people did he have here? You’d been careful, ducking behind corners, peeking around them before rushing to the next. You maneuvered your way through most of the building like this, finally coming up on the back of a madman. He was sat at a desk - presumably his workspace from the clutter of papers and tools - tinkering with some either useless or catastrophically destructive gadget. Your lips trembled, your tongue almost forbidding you to use your voice. A voice that was half his genes. You were half of this man. You were in so far over your head. 

You inhaled, silent and sharp, mustering all your strength to spout his full government name followed by you informing him of his arrest. You held him at gunpoint, your trigger finger begging you to press the texture of that angelic button. Put a formal and undeniable end to his reign of terror. “Stand up and look at me.” He stood up, turned and looked at you.

He scanned you up and down, scoffing at your attire. “How does someone with a kill count as high as yours end up an FBI agent?” His hands were up, per your command, but he stood as though he was in control. “Remind me not to trust our justice system.”

Your eyes practically receded into your skull with how far they rolled back. “Like you’d trust anyone. Agent or not. How much you shell out for this building, huh?”

“What exactly am I being charged for?” He held so still, but you were sure he’d start walking anytime. He liked to circle people, like a lion encroaching his target.

“Daniel. I want to know what happened.” He smiled, a grin like the Cheshire cat. Although looking at him now, he just looked demonic. “What did you do to him?”

He laughed at the audible ball in your throat. “It’s not as bad as you’re picturing, sweetheart.” He shrugged. “The kid even enjoyed the hunt sometimes.”

You don’t think you’d blinked the entire time you’d been aiming at him. “What’s behind the doors?” You jerked your head towards the entrance, referencing the hallway full of possible containment units. “You putting more of that DNA into innocent women? Make some more monster babies?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Unicorns, actually.” Fucking bastard. “Got bored of you bloodsuckers.”

You chuckled, sarcasm spewing from your mouth as your tongue met your cheek. “He died, you know?” You could still hear the gunfire from last night. “That’s all on you.”

He nodded. “Yeah, saw that on the news. Your boys did me a favor, honestly. Kid was drying up.”

“You’re heartless.”

“I’m a scientist.”

“We’re not some variables in a fucking equation, dad. You brought real people into this world and real people died because of it. You knew that would happen. You knew and you did it anyway.”

“You devastated my work, you know that?” He started walking, keeping his hands elevated but circling nonetheless. “You were my most impressive - credit where credit is due - but lord you made things difficult.” As he got closer, you got more on edge. You couldn’t predict him, you never could. “Had to start from scratch all over again. More women, more failures. How many do you think died because you ran away? That’s blood on your hands, Y/n.” Hands still up, he got maybe four feet away from you. You almost wanted him to charge, to give you justification to pull the trigger. “Daniel - well…he never quite lived up to you. I changed up my method, let him out of the house instead of giving him food and he just came crawling back. I almost wanted to let him go.” Two more steps, he just needed to try something. “Are you really gonna shoot me?”

You inhaled, tired and annoyed. “I’m just begging you to come and find out.” You cocked your head at him, ready to be done with this. “You were scary cause I was young, dad. Now you’re just a psychopath. I deal with you everyday.” 

He sharply exhaled, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff and looked down. He had his tongue to his cheek -a habit of yours that you only now realized came from him -  and his hand to his heart, feigning an injury like your words struck him deep. He charged a moment later, looking up swiftly and making a go at you. You gave in to the wail of your finger and fired two shots - straight to his heart. You were saddened, he was nearly submerged in his own blood within a minute, most likely dying quick. You’d wanted him to suffer more than that, but you supposed you couldn’t get everything you wanted. It was then, when you truly looked at the blood, you noted for the first time in your life how unappealing the substance was. Rather, the substance that leaked from his veins. You’d lived under the impression your whole life that just the sight of it would stimulate your appetite beyond belief, but looking at the near endless food supply spilling from him in buckets, you felt above it - above him. He was a tainted man, sick and soulless. His blood would be as foul as his actions had been, you wanted no part of it. He was dead, that was the only thing that mattered. An eye for an eye. 

You realized it had been over an hour since you left only when your team came barreling in. It had taken them longer than you expected to find you. They’d clearly woken Aaron up on their journey here, as he was newly dressed and suited up in his FBI vest. None of them were needed, not anymore, but their company was nice to have. You weren’t worried about losing your job - in fact, your body was more weightless than it’d been your whole life. Even with multiple decades free from your father, his eyes sat heavy on you always. The weight of his approval, of his words, actions - all of it was ingrained in you, was part of you. That feeling was finally gone. He had, more or less, confirmed he was housing experiments in those rooms. You could justify it all, they’d understand. You would plead your case, testify if you had to. You were in the right here, you would prove it if they wanted it. More people were called to the scene, you were questioned and asked to temporarily part with your badge until they processed your statement. You gladly gave it over, needing a break from your professional title. They bagged and removed his body while tears of pure ecstasy fell from your eyes. Without Frankenstein, were you truly bound to the identity of his monster? Who were you without your Achilles heel? As you stared forward, Aaron approached you, greeting you with a gentle disposition and a loving stroke of your arm. He’d asked to drive you home, you replied with a ‘please.’ 

Your home was how you left it, the only deviant being the sign of a rushed man that was painted on your sheets. They were tangled and distressed, evidently reflecting how Aaron was feeling as he’d toppled out of your house that morning.  “You scared us. We were all worried about you.”

You looked at him, dazed and affectionate. The day so draining that there was no longer a filter between your perception of him and what you allowed yourself to express. There was just you, very much in love with him and very obvious about it. “I’m sorry.” You were sorry for scaring them, not at all remorseful for the outcome, though. “Does Garcia want my head on a stick?”

He chuckled, sitting down on your bed. You were still stood in front of him, and he put his hands on your hips to inch you closer as he stared slightly up at you. His hands were warm, and you were nervous. “I think your next four paychecks are gonna need to go strictly to make up gifts if you ever want her to speak to you again.”

You sucked air between your teeth, grimacing at the thought. “I deserve that.” The heat of his hands was seeping into you, weaving into your skin. He seemed to be healing your internal tension from just his physical grip on your torso. “Guess I’ll start planning.” You looked down at him, the pure fondness that filled your eyes when directed at him seemingly mirrored in his own as he held the contact.

“I think that can wait till’ tomorrow.” He was nervous too, you realized. His hands were shaky through the firm grasp he had on you. “Do you want to talk?” You couldn’t decipher if he was referring to the situation that you were returning from, or the situation you both were currently in. Talking about either at the moment seemed much too taxing. You were pure instinct right now, leaning into his hands because of how good they felt, not because you could consciously recognize the meaning. 

You nodded. “In the morning.” You ran your hands along his shoulder, clasping your fingers around the back of his neck. You leaned down a little, resting your forehead against his. “I’m tired right now." If you thought you could beat sleep, you would have put it off forever to be awake with him. "Can you kiss me so I can go to bed?” Your eyes were closed, you assumed his were too, and you felt his slight laugh smudge his lips against yours. He followed the action with the pressure you’d been craving for years. Entirely consuming as he lead you, even from the physically submissive position, through the most anticipated kiss of your life. You could have stayed like that forever, feeling his grip get the slightest bit tighter on your hips to support some of your weight as you leaned down. Eventually, you both caved, him falling flat against the bed and you hovering above his waist before he pulled you down onto him in an action that seemed subconscious. He’d separated from you after a few minutes; snuffed it out before those tiny embers could fully ignite. He reminded you ‘in the morning,’ making you once again realize how much sleep beckoned to you. You agreed, ‘in the morning,’ and turned over to slot yourself against him. It was the best you’d slept in years - possibly ever - and you didn’t know if you could even rationalize how good life would be with Aaron in this aspect of it. He’d be in your home, perhaps even become it, and that thought struck you like the bullets struck the men of your family. You supposed now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. Sleep tugged your eyelids down, and his hold on you only amplified the sedation that was sweeping your system.

You would think about it in the morning.

[hotchs-big-hands]

What did you call me?

Part 1|Part 2|Part 3|4.9k words

Aaron Hotchner x plus size fem!reader

NSFW Minors dni please

Warning(s): some angst, yearning, details about graphic crime scenes, strip clubs/sex clubs.

When Dom/sub couples begin to show up murdered mid-coital, the BAU team is brought in to solve the case. But as more couples are found and the unsub remains undetected, it becomes an undercover mission. The posing Dom/sub couple in question? Your intimidating, attractive boss and you.

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Hey everyone, welcome to my first fanfic! I used to write and post stuff back in 2018ish but it was a different fandom. I've not written and posted anything tho since then so I'm a bit nervous! But idk I just got back into cm recently and I saw Hotch and my brain was like oh yeah 👁️👁️ (I used to be a Spencer girlie) and I've mostly written stuff for myself but I decided imma start doing stuff on here too! I hope you enjoy and lemme know if you wanna be tagged in future writings 🥰 side note, I'm a fat gal so I will probably centre most of my stuff around plus size readers cuz there's not enough of it for plus size Hotch girlies 😔 but technically anyone can read and enjoy it! This was getting extremely long so I'm splitting it into three parts so here's the first one! Anyway, enjoy 💅

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The feeling of something blunt lightly bounced against your forehead, making you blink a few times and rub the area with your hand.

"Hey... Who did that?" You grumbled, eyes darting from one face of your coworkers to the next. Three of them all pointed towards the culprit and as your eyes drifted back to him you were met with a cheeky grin on the charming, dark-skinned man's face.

"You were spaced out, sugar." Derek Morgan said. "Got a lot on your mind?"

"Got a lot of him on her mind, more like." A voice cut in smugly, flustering you in an instant, your heart beginning to race. Your eyes flicked to Prentiss, the pristine raven haired woman was smirking at you, her eyes glinting. You squeaked and shifted in your office chair nervously.

"No, Em! Just... couldn't sleep last night."

The weak explanation didn't help, it only widened the smirk on Prentiss' face as she leaned forward.

"Oh? Do tell us more."

"There's nothing to say!" You abruptly turned to the casefile that lay open on your slightly messy desk and tried to ignore the movement at the corner of your eye; Emily was shuffling her chair over to you, no doubt still with that annoying smirk on her face.

"Oh it sure sounds like there is though."

Before you had the chance to defend yourself an all too familiar voice demanded everyone's attention and subsequently caused a shiver to trickle down your spine. Your hands gripped onto your chair.

"My team; in the conference room now. We have a case." Your unit chief spoke. All heads turned to the direction of a slightly elevated walkway where a sharply dressed man stood for a mere moment, locking eyes with yours, before he began walking briskly towards the mentioned conference room.

Fuck. Hotch was wearing your favourite suit and tie today and a few stray wisps of his short, dark hair stubbornly lay over his forehead, no matter how often he must have tried to push them up off his face. Everyday was harder than the previous working with that man. The moment you'd attended your interview months ago, sitting in front of the brooding man, you knew you were fucked. Yes, you had been eager to join the famed BAU unit and were grateful for the opportunity that arose but you'd be lying if another reason you eagerly answered all the questions prompted to you in that interview wasn't because you were instantly attracted to Aaron Hotchner. However, that was almost a year ago now and you were struggling with your growing attraction to the man the more you were around him. Your coworkers and friends certainly were no help, given they'd soon caught onto your crush.

A hand waved in front of your face and you blinked.

"Time to go, lovergirl." Prentiss teased and you sighed, quickly joining the others as they made their way to the case briefing. You needed to focus.

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Landing in Chicago a few hours later, the team were thrust into a gnarly investigation involving couples being murdered in their hotel rooms mid-coital. The crime scene photos were hard to look at, to say the least. Setting up a base of operations in the police department didn't take too long and currently you were in the midst of interviewing family members of the deceased along with Hotch at his insistence. It wasn't often that you took part in these interviews, even less often did Hotch ever team you up with him. Quite frankly, it made you feel a little nervous, but there was no way you'd question his decision. And certainly, you did not miss the subtle smug look Emily gave you as you trailed after the man you thought about way too much.

Sitting beside him in the SUV, just the two of you alone made your head feel a little bit floaty as you tried your best to remain as stoic as possible, reminding yourself of the details of the case so far and of the little bits of information from the families you'd spoken to. Even with the effort there was no preventing the permeating scent of his cologne and a hint of his own natural musk from scrambling your brain. He smelled good, too good, and the way his hands gripped the steering wheel from the quick glances you dared peek developed a heat to coil within the depths of your lower abdomen.

"Are you alright?" His voice brought you out of your thoughts. You felt flushed.

"H-huh?" You felt dumbstruck, all because of him. He exhaled through his nose sharply, clearly dissatisfied with your response.

"You're distracted."

Oh. Of course he could pick up on it. You shifted in your seat, subtly rubbing your plump thighs together.

"I'm okay, I guess I've not had enough to drink today though. I'll get some water when we head back to the station." Not a lie, technically. You'd forgotten your bottle of water you normally had ready to fill up to take on cases. Hotch hummed, the sound deep and making you clench between your thighs.

"I did notice you didn't have your water like you usually do. I should have said something." He said. Wait, he noticed? You didn't think he picked up on things about you, he didn't often appear to pay attention to you besides on a strictly professional level. But as you turned your head to him in surprise his brows were furrowed in frustration, as though annoyed with himself for not saying anything.

"Oh no, it's fine. I've been a bit of a scatterbrain as of late." You admitted sheepishly, a little smile on your lips. Hotch glanced at you, eyes flicking down to your lips, then back to your eyes, making your breath hitch.

"Anything I can do to help?"

You bit your lip, your mind flooded with a whole array of thoughts that you knew you shouldn't be having about your boss. He didn't know he was the reason you were so distracted, desperate to feel his lips on yours, on your body and his hands on your skin, his fingers inside you. Fuck. You needed to get it together, for goodness' sake. You quickly glanced back towards the road.

"Ah, no. I'm okay, sir. I'll sort myself out." You murmured, missing the way his knuckles whitened under the pressure of his grip on the wheel.

"Don't hesitate to come to me if you need anything."

You tried not to think of what you wanted him to do to you, instead humming in response.

"Thank you, sir."

You needed to get out of this damn car as soon as possible.

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Immediately upon returning to the station you rushed off to find a vending machine so you could grab a bottle of water. As soon as you had your hands on the cold, plastic bottle you were gulping down the cool liquid, not realising just how flushed you felt.

"Whoa, slow down there, (L/n)!" You heard JJ's voice from behind you and you turned, pulling the bottle from your mouth wide-eyed. The blonde woman looked slightly alarmed. "Are you okay?"

You nodded.

"Yeah, yeah. I just forgot to bring water so I kinda got a bit dehydrated I think." You explain quickly. JJ frowned a little.

"You'd better be careful next time. And don't drink too quickly, you could accidentally choke."

You smiled sheepishly under her scolding and screwed the lid back on.

"Sorry, I'll drink slower."

JJ led you back to the office where you found the familiar sight of Spencer pouring over a map of the area. Pieces of string had been wrapped around pins indicating the last locations victims were seen and the scenes of their murders, no clear pattern in sight as there sometimes was. On one of the tables lay several empty paper coffee cups, a few rings of spilled coffee staining the surface top. He was speaking quietly to another member of the team, David Rossi, and Hotch; of whom stood beside the young Doctor with his arms folded across his chest, inevitably tightening the suit over his physique. You forced yourself to focus on the map.

Not long after your arrival you heard two sets of footsteps trudge into the room.

"No employees or frequent customers that are of note. We have nothing." Derek huffed as he made his way over to one of the chairs and slumped down into it. Emily joined you and JJ, her face appeared neutral but you could tell there was a hint of annoyance behind it. You heaved a deep sigh and felt eyes on you which made you instinctively seek out who it was, only to be startled when your eyes met deep brown ones, almost black in the artificial lighting. Hotch didn't look away, instead holding your gaze until you quickly turned away, feeling embarrassed.

"There has to be something that connects them all." Rossi said. Your eyes drifted across the map, narrowing a little. There had to be a mutual place that all these couples had been to in the final week leading up to their deaths. Somewhere that couples who enjoy sexual relations more than the average couple would go. You pulled your phone out of your pocket and quickly scrolled through your contacts until you found the one you were looking for. As you pressed dial you put the call on loudspeaker it merely rang once before there was an answer.

"Hello, you've reached the hotline for the simply fantabulous Penelope Garcia; how may I assist you?" A bubbly voice filtered through. All eyes were on the phone as you placed it on the table in front of you.

"Hiya, babe, I have a request for you. We're trying to find a link between the couples but so far nothing has cropped up. But I have a theory," you spoke, feeling a little awkward at what you were about to say. "Uhm, do you think you could try search for any strip clubs or even straight up sex clubs in the area? Easily accessible or possibly a more hidden club?"

You could feel his eyes on you again but you tried hard to stare at the phone. Garcia gasped from the other end of the line, but the sound of nails on a keyboard reassured you she was already on the case. Beside you, you felt Emily poke you and you lightly shoved her with your wide hip.

"Oh wow, I did not think I would be looking at this sort of thing today. But lucky you, I have a whole list of places! I-" there was clicking, followed by another gasp. "Oh my! That is certainly a homepage! You have no idea about the things I'm seeing right now, well, I mean I'll be sending these to you anyway but gosh! I'm going to do a thorough clean of my history once this case-"

"-Garcia, focus." Hotch said firmly and you heard a quick apology from the other end of the line. He moved to lean over the table, propping himself up with his hands as he took charge of the phone call. "We need security footage from these locations. Whatever you can give us, we'll take it."

More clacking of nails, you tried not to stare at your boss as he leered over your phone, forcing yourself to look away from his straining suit, the dangling tie, his large hands. Horrifically, you instead met eyes with the oldest of the group, Rossi, who had clearly caught you ogling Hotch from the glint in his experienced eyes and the twitch at the corner of his mouth. Shit. You could only hope no one else had witnessed your blatancy. Thankfully, Garcia's voice came through again.

"I'm sending over whatever footage I can find as well as the addresses to the establishments now."

You reached across the table, hyper aware of how close you were to Hotch as you took hold of your phone. He studied you carefully when you hurried backwards, swallowing thickly. You cleared your throat.

"Thanks, babe, you're a star." You said.

"Well of course, I'm your star." Garcia responded cheerily and the line went dead. Hotch straightened up and pulled his suit back into place, turning to address everyone.

"We need to review the footage and find out which location all the victims visited at some point within the last few weeks, then we can make a plan of action." He was stern as he spoke, hands in his pockets and his shoulders squared. There was a mutual noise of agreement from everyone and you all split into smaller groups around the monitors in the room. Hotch disappeared off to find the chief of police and you couldn't help but let your eyes follow him as he rushed out of the room, eyes transfixed on the tight fabric of his dress pants.

"Girl, you aren't even hiding it." You heard Derek say and you huffed, walking over to Spencer and sitting down next to him. He offered you an awkward smile and shuffled his chair to the side so you could get closer to the computer he was working on.

"Shut up, Derek." You muttered and he chuckled.

"I'm just saying, you should probably talk to him."

Your eyes widened in horror.

"Excuse me?"

Spencer cleared his throat.

"I agree, It's a bit obvious that he's interested in you too." He said softly and you huffed, shuffling your chair closer to the table and leaning towards the computer screen.

"Stop saying ridiculous things like that, both of you. We have work to do anyway."

Derek stepped back with his hands raised in surrender before retreating back to the computer he was situated at whilst Spencer simply watched you carefully, frowning a little.

It was dangerous for you to even dare think of such things. There were so many reasons why you couldn't let your mind go there. If not for the ethical reason due to his and your job statuses, then maybe because he was much older than you with a son. But also you'd seen photos of his ex-wife and ex-girlfriend and you certainly didn't look like his type. Not slender, not sleek like they were. You didn't think he was a shallow man but you'd also dealt with disappointment after disappointment with how others had treated you based on your appearance. You had to keep yourself safe, so your attraction for your boss would remain nothing more than a secret from him. You sighed softly as the young man beside you clicked on the first video footage from one of the private sex clubs. There was no more time to waste.

🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑

The following few hours were downright miserable, viewing video, after video of footage from various clubs until you felt as though your eyes and your brain would melt out of your head. Finally, however, Emily made a noise of alarm, mouth full of cheap coffee, and alerted everyone to her computer. Swallowing the burning, bitter liquid, she retracted the footage a little and replayed it.

"Look, It's the Smiths! The first couple to be murdered. They came in to this very exclusive private sex club at the end of last month." She said hurriedly. In the slightly fuzzy camera quality indeed the couple waltzed into the lobby of the facility and approached the reception desk.

"Fast forward the feed." You heard Hotch say, causing goosebumps to bristle across your skin. You knew he had returned at some point but didn't expect him to stand right beside you. Someone made a call to Garcia and she confirmed with her database that it was indeed the couple. Further analysis of the footage from days afterwards showed that every single of the other couples had also been to this sex club too shortly before they were murdered. And yet they had no indication still of who was the murderer.

The day was drawing in at this point but as a final task before anyone would return to the hotel, Hotch sent out Morgan and Prentiss to the club to ask some questions, something that you couldn't help but chuckle at. The raven haired woman narrowed her eyes slightly at you.

"Laugh all you want but I'd be careful if I were you." She warned but you simply smirked.

"Don't have too much fun now, you two." You said cheerily, Morgan raised a brow at you and then the two were off begrudgingly. You felt JJ sidle up beside you.

"You know she will get you back." She murmured and you shrugged.

"She doesn't scare me."

"She scares me a little." Spencer said aloud, causing the two of you to turn your heads in his direction. He flushed, ducking his head slightly. "I- uh, well you know how she is."

"I wouldn't think you were intimidated by her, Spence, I mean you're the one who won the prank war with Morgan." JJ said, chuckling. A small smile tugged at his mouth.

"I wouldn't cross Emily, though."

You hummed and pushed up out of your chair.

"Well anyway, either of you want a hot drink?" You offered. JJ smiled.

"Oh no, thank you." As Spencer opened his mouth to respond she lifted a finger up at him. "Ah- you definitely don't need anymore coffee at this time of day."

A quiet giggle passed your lips and you turned to head to the kitchenette of the station.

"I'm not getting involved."

Walking out of the office you crossed the police department, avoiding any officers who still remained within the building, and came to a pause in the entryway of the kitchen, dipping away from the doorway out of sight. The two oldest members of the team were in a deep conversation, Hotch with his back to the door and Rossi facing the direction you were in. They spoke quietly, you knew you shouldn't listen in and yet you couldn't help it.

"Stop being absurd. What makes you think I'd even consider doing that?" Hotch hissed, his voice barely audible from where you were.

"Come on, Aaron, you can't keep this going forever. You know that." Rossi countered. There were more words said but were too quiet for you to decipher. That was until Hotch spoke a little louder again, sounding more frustrated.

"I am not currently wishing to be involved with anyone like that, Dave. I just can't."

In an instant you felt your heart in your throat, your eyes stinging.

Oh.

You felt stupid. Of course he wasn't interested in dating anyone. Even despite closely guarding your feelings for Hotch to be nothing further than a personal crush that he would never find out about it still hurt knowing you never had a chance to begin with.

Walking a few steps away from the kitchen, you made a point of entering the kitchen area, feigning surprise as your eyes landed on the two men in the room. Clearly, your entrance startled them, particularly him, who looked a little guilty before the slight expression glossed over with stern stoicism. Hotch glanced away, turning to Rossi.

"I'll see you at the hotel." He muttered and then he was brushing past you, his hand grazing your arm slightly and his scent consuming your senses. And then he was gone, all that remained was the slight coolness of his absence. You swallowed thickly but tried to mask your emotions from the seasoned agent still remaining.

"Coffee? There's some left still, maybe enough for one last cup." Rossi said softly. You smiled slightly as you approached him but shook your head.

"Ah no, thank you. I'm going to have tea. It's way too late for coffee, don't you think?"

The man hummed, watching you carefully. You suspected he had seen you earlier, that you'd heard the conversation but you didn't feel like talking about it.

"I hope you know that if you ever need someone to lend an ear that I'm always willing to listen."

Your hands faltered slightly during sorting out putting a tea bag in a clean mug. Your eyes flicked to the side at Rossi briefly.

"I know that."

"I know you heard what you think you heard but-"

"-Let's not- We aren't talking about this." You cut him off shakily, stopping yourself before you poured the hot water into the mug. "There's nothing to say about it."

You turned away from the kitchen counter to lean against it, rubbing your tired eyes with your palms. Rossi sighed quietly.

"You didn't catch the whole conversation." He tried after a moment. You scoffed.

"It wasn't for me to hear. I only did so by accident. I'm not going to read into it because the only people who were meant to hear what was discussed was you and-" Your throat felt tighter still, an unseen coil constricting you, just as the man you longed for constricted your heart and soul. You didn't say his name, couldn't. Mercifully, the man before you understood.

"I know."

You nodded. The mug of tea wasn't appealing anymore; the quiet promise of solitude in a hotel room called to you more than all else.

"I.... I think I need to call it a night. I don't feel well."

Rossi placed a hand on your upper arm and squeezed lightly.

"I'll inform the others and grab your stuff then I'll drive you to the hotel we're staying in," he fished out the keys to one of the SUVs and handed them to you, the metal clinking together. "Go, wait in the car for me." He said. The corners of your mouth tilted upwards in appreciation and you hurried out, eager to have even a moment to yourself.

The moment you pushed the doors of the building open and stepped outside you exhaled, grimacing slightly at the still, warm air of the night. You'd hoped it would have cooled down more, now that the sun had long since settled behind the horizon, but you felt stifled, the heat doing nothing to soothe the tightness in your throat and chest. Breathing shakily, you unlocked the car and climbed into the passenger seat, laying your head back against the head rest.

There was no reason for you to feel so upset about this. It wasn't as though you intended on ever approaching your boss about your ever growing feelings for him, you wouldn't dare do that. And yet you felt almost physically sick from heartbreak and the worst part was he didn't even know the pain you were in. Hell, you didn't even know where he was right now after he rushed out of the kitchen.

You knew the moment Rossi obviously had retrieved your belongings judging the way your phone had begun to vibrate from text notifications, no doubt from your coworkers. You'd answer them when you made it to the hotel, you decided. A few minutes later you spotted the older man exit the station and approach the car you were in, your bag and coat in hand. The sight made you smile even the tiniest bit, something that he noticed. You felt the car jolt a little as he opened the trunk so he could put your belongings down and jolt again when he slammed it lightly. A second later he was climbing in on the driver's side where you held out the car keys to him.

"Thanks." He took the keys and inserted them into the ignition, the engine roaring to life and you slipped your seatbelt on. Rossi glanced at you. "Let's get you to the hotel. Best thing about this is if there aren't enough rooms for one each you can have first pick on if you want the single or not." He said as you pulled out the station parking lot. You scoffed.

"Oh you know I'm absolutely taking the single this time." You retorted. In any other scenario you would have risked sharing a room, risk being paired with him. Now the thought made you want to cry. Your little smile faded and you turned your head to the window, resting on the cool glass. Sensing you were finished talking, Rossi didn't say anything else for the remainder of the drive.

🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑

A little groan escaped your lips when you collapsed backwards on the single bed in your hotel room, exhaustion overrunning your very being from the long day. For a moment you simply lay there silently, staring at the dulled white ceiling whilst your mind raced. You knew this wasn't ideal, you couldn't let yourself be distracted from the case.

Huffing, you remembered that you needed to respond to messages to let the others know you would be alright by the morning. After pulling your phone out of your pocket, the screen lit up and your eyes flicked across the notifications on the lock screen. Lots of messages from your worried coworkers. You unlocked the phone and set about answering them one-by-one. JJ and Emily offered to stop by your hotel room to check in on you, not knowing you'd been feeling unwell up until this point, but you reassured them you would be okay.

Just as you finished your nightly routine and pulled the covers back, there was a knock on your door. Your brows furrowed slightly. Who would be knocking at this time? Sighing, you approached the door and leaned close to the peephole, expecting to see one of the ladies or maybe even Rossi.

Standing tensely with his shoulders squared was Aaron Hotchner. A quiet gasp escaped you and you jolted backwards from the door. What the fuck was he doing here?! With shaky hands, you pulled the door open and slightly covered yourself with it, hyper aware of your clothing situation. Hotch perked up and stared down at you.

"Rossi informed me that you weren't feeling well and had to retire early." He murmured gently, his face stern. You swallowed and silently invited him into your room by stepping back, pulling the door with you. He cautiously walked into your hotel room and you closed the door behind him, wrapping your arms around yourself in a feeble attempt to cover your body up. Why, oh why did you have to wear shorts that barely covered your ass and an old tee that wasn't as baggy anymore from being washed one too many times?

You cleared your throat and avoided looking in Hotch's direction.

"He's right. But I'm sure I'll feel better by tomorrow though."

You offered a little smile, eyes flicking to his face and realised he was staring. Except he wasn't staring at your face, no, his eyes were focused lower down at your chest. Christ. You quickly looked away again before he realised you'd caught him out and he hummed, the sound making you clench.

"What's wrong?"

Oh no. You couldn't answer that. Your eyes met his and you opened your mouth, hesitating with no response to give.

"I.... Just felt sick, that's all. I'll be okay though."

You never were good at hiding how you were really feeling, the deepening frown on the man's face before you merely evident of this.

"Are you certain? You can tell me anything, you know that." He said softly as he stepped closer to you. You nodded and tried smiling again at him.

"I know, sir. I promise I'm alright though." You tightened your arms around yourself until your flesh dipped under the pressure of your fingertips. Hotch's eyes trailed over you from head to toe, clearly unsatisfied with your reluctance to tell him the truth, but didn't push the matter further. You inhaled as he stepped closer still, his scent once more overwhelming you. His fingers flexed at his side as though he was conflicted and you wished he would reach out and touch you. Eventually, he sighed quietly and retreated a step.

"Alright. But I will be keeping an eye on you now."

Not good. You nodded though, then yawned and your cheeks flushed with warmth. Despite the tension, a small smile tugged at Hotch's mouth.

"You should get some rest." He said. You chuckled.

"Yeah, you as well though. I know what you're like."

He raised a brow at you.

"Really now?"

Your eyes widened and you stuttered.

"W-well I'm just saying, you do leave the office last, you're up earlier than everyone else too-" you cut yourself off, not wanting to dig your hole any deeper. You dared a quick glance his way and he was still slightly smirking.

"Get some rest, your boss is going to be up early again tomorrow to call everyone in."

A little chuckle escaped you and you followed Hotch to the door, grabbing the door as he opened it and hiding behind it again as you watched him make his way out into the corridor. He turned back to you and gazed down at you again.

"Good night, (L/n)." He murmured. Your eyes met and you gripped onto the door.

"Good night, sir."

He shifted, as though debating something in his head, then he turned and stalked down the corridor. You didn't close your door until he disappeared from sight. When you returned to your bed you collapsed down onto it whilst your mind raced. That night your dreams were filled with forbidden touches and kisses from the man you loved.

🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑

And that's part one for now pls lemme know what you think and if anyone wants to be tagged in future works! Thank you for reading 💖💖

[specialagentlokitty]

Who I write for/Rules;

This is a list of fandoms and characters I write for (some may be missing) and some rules, if you’re curious about a fandom or character please message and I’ll let you know if it’s someone I’ll write for or not! If you’re looking for prompts please search the tag Lokittys prompt list

THIS BLOG IS STRICTLY NO SMUT DO NOT REQUEST IT AS THE REQUEST WILL BE DELTED IMMEDIATELY!!

Please if you’re requesting use some manners, say please and thank don’t demand I write something from you

This blog is for all ages, do not be hostile towards any member of this blog as you will be told to remove yourself immediately and if you don’t I will remove you, hate will not be tolerated this is a safe space regardless of age, sexual orientation, gender/pronouns, disability and such

If you’re wondering about a request you have but you’re worried or confused if I’ll write it or not or you’re just curious please reach out through inbox or asks and I’ll let you know! I write both romantic and plutonic requests for a wide range of characters!

Some things I will NOT write include; teenage pregnancy, smut(or related themes), underage!reader x older characters (these will ALWAYS be plutonic either a parental or sibling relationship). If you’re wondering about anything else just message! 💜

Fate the winx saga

- Saul silva

- Farah Dowling

Avatar

- Jake

- Quaritch/ recom Quaritch

Criminal minds

- Hotch

- Rossi

- Derek

- Spencer

- Jj

- Emily

- Garcia

Castle

- Castle

- Beckett

Lucifer (Fox)

- Lucifer

- Maze

- Chloe

- Dan

Greys anatomy

- Alex

- Derek

- Mark

Twilight

- Carlisle

- Esme

Harry Potter

- Sirius

- Remus

- Snape

Marvel

- Tony

- Clint

- Bruce

- Natasha

- Thor

- Steve

- Loki

- Bucky

- Logan

- Wanda

- Pietro

- Maria

- Phil

- Carol Danvers

BBC Merlin

- Merlin

- Arthur

- Gwaine

- Leon

- Percival

- Lancelot

BBC Sherlock

- Sherlock

- John

- Moriarty

- Lestrade

- Mycroft

Black butler

- Sebastian

- William

- Undertaker

- Claude

Supernatural

- Sam

- Dean

- Castiel

- Gabriel

- Balthazar

- Chuck

- Crawley

- Lucifer

- Jack

The witcher

- Geralt

- Jaskier

Brooklyn nine nine

- Rosa

- Jake

- Amy

The good doctor

- Melendez

- Shaun

Friends

- Joey

- Rachel

- Ross

- chandler

- Monica

- Phoebe

Teen wolf

- Derek

- Peter

- Melissa (plutonic only)

- Chris

- Parrish

- Noah (plutonic only)

Doctor who

- 9

- 10

- 11

- 12

- 13

- River

- Clara

- Rose

- Amy

- Rory

- Jack

Lord of the rings/the hobbit

- Bilbo

- Legolas

- Thranduil

- Elrond

- Lindir

- Thorin

- Fili

- Kili

- Aragorn

My hero academia

- Aizawa

- Mic

- Dabi

- Hawks

- Midnight

- All Might (Toshinori)

- Fat Gum

Demon slayer

- Rengoku

Tokyo ghoul

- Yomo

- Uta

Durarara!!

- shizuo

Skyrim

- Vilkas

- Farkas

Ackley bridge

- Mr Evershed

- Mrs Carter (plutonic only)

- Mr Bell

The vampire diaries

- Damon

- Klaus

- Elijah

- Finn

the watcher

- Ryan

- Shane

911

- bobby

- Buck

- chim

- hen

- Athena

- Maddie

- Eddie

Downton Abbey

- Thomas Barrow

- Anna

- Tom Branson

- Mary

- Sybil

- Edith

- Mrs Hughes (plutonic only)

Kingsmen

- Merlin

- Eggsy

- Harry

Bones

- Booth

- Brennan (bones)

- Hodgins

- Angela

- Sweets

Buffy the vampire slayer

- Angel

- Giles

The walking dead

- Rick

- Daryl

- Negan

- Glenn

- Rosita

- Carol (plutonic only)

- Gabriel

- Aaron

[ameliora-j]

sneak peek of my new DILF!hotch x nanny!reader fic ♡

Aaron comes back quickly, and Jack now has a cherry flavored lollipop in his hand and a ring of red around his mouth. “Are you in college?” Aaron asks as he crouches in front of your knee. He gently runs a wet wipe over the blood dripping down your leg to wipe it up.

“Yeah” you smile, nodding slightly. Jack sits beside you as he pets and whispers to Nugget. “I'm studying criminal justice and psychology” you continue.

“Psychology and criminal justice, huh?” He asks softly, “big brain. What do you plan to do with those?” he asks softly as he glances at your knee in concentration. He pulls out the antibacterial spray and Jack reaches his tiny hand over to you.

“I hate when Daddy doeth thith pawt,” he slurs around his tasty treat, but he never takes his eyes off Nugget. You look wearily at the small boy’s hand, slightly grossed out by how sticky it was. However, you smile softly at how sweet he is, and place your hand in his. You’re thankful for some semblance of comfort, though, because Jack was right—the spray was absolutely the worst part. You hiss quietly as Aaron sprays the cut. He places a spiderman band-aid on it and then pats your thigh gently. “Daddy you have to kiss it to make it better” Jack chimes in and you laugh softly, heat rising to your face as well as Aaron's.

“No, Jack buddy, that’s okay” you smile reassuringly. “It’s already all better” you smile, gently kicking your leg for effect. “Thank you, Mr. Hotchner.” You offer him a shy smile

“Just Aaron is okay” he says gently, and you nod as you stand from his porch step. “Let me walk you home,” he offers.

“Oh, no!” You exclaim. “It's alright. It’s not too far from here, and uh… Nugget hasn’t pottied yet, so uh… Yeah,” you swallow again, forcing back the giggle that threatened to tumble out. Two lies in less than thirty minutes… Maybe that’s why the gods hated you.

Aaron nods softly. “Well, thank you for watching Jack when the crazy little adventurer got out” he nods, smiling smally at you.

“You’re welcome. Thanks for the band-aid” you giggle softly, taking a hold of Nugget’s leash as you begin to waltz your way down the street. You check behind you inconspicuously, noting that the two boys had gone inside before you pull out your phone, quickly dialing Ari’s number.

“Ari!” You practically squeal into the microphone as your best friend and roommate picks up. “I just met the hottest dilf with the cutest kid!” You shriek.

“Well hurry your ass up into the car and tell me all about it before I get a ticket for being double parked!” She exclaims, failing miserably to hide the loud laugh that she had let out. You and Nugget rush back up the hill and through the fence and clamber up into Ari’s car—the fat corgi sat on your lap, heavily winded from the whole three minutes of exercise that you had just forced him to endure.

You’re sure of so little things… but, as you sit in the car, there are three things that you are absolutely positive about.

Jack is the absolute cutest kid that you have ever seen in your life.

Mr. Hotchner is the most gorgeous man that you’ve ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on.

Nugget is definitely getting two Milk-Bones the second that you get back to the apartment.

[marksbear]

Gor 2 ideas for Hotch and Reader Hotch lol

1) Hotch finding out he and Sean have a younger brother from one of their father's affairs after Reader is mistaken for an unsub in a homicide

2) Hotch's singer brother comes to Quantico and when Hotch learns about it, he goes to see him on his tour. What is supposed to be a friendly meet and greet between reader and the gang turns into a crime scene when the drummer is found dead in Reader's hotel room

Im gonna do 2! Hope you enjoy.

HUGE ANGST.

AARON HOTCH X SINGER BROTHER READER

Why didn't he believe you! Why! He was supposed to be your big brother. And now hes treating you like a monster.

You were on tour.

You were becoming famous. A star you made your own name. Aaron wasn't really supportive of your dreams but later on life he became supportive.

Today you were on top of the world. This was your moment to show the whole world who you are. You wanted to keep it a secret but Sean's big fat mouth had brought it over a brother game night at Aaron's house. "So A-ron are you going to lil bro's big day?"

You give him a stop before i'll kill you. look but still doesn't get the hint.

You even mouthed "stop it". You try to change the subject but Aaron beats you to it. "Big day? What is it?" He asks looking at the two of you. "It's nothing A. Really its nothing-"

You get cut off by your brother saying "What!?! Y/n kidding the kid has his biggest concert yet on Monday! Hes gonna be a star if it does good and I know it's gonna be good! Sean yells out slinging his arm around your shoulder bringing you closer.

"Really Y/n why didn't you tell me? I'm your big brother. " The oldest hotch asked looking at the youngest betrayed.

"Because I thought you'll just speak down about it. Like you always do you kill my mood!" You answer with all honestly. "You don't mean that. You just make bad decisions and I have to look after you. Cause someone won't call them out for being dumb call me the mean brother im just playing my part." He answers back not caring about how you felt. You get up and cuss him out while getting your things storming out the house.

"Fuck you Aaron!" The last thing you say before slamming the door. Aaron looks at his window watching you leave.

You feel a pair of eyes staring at you so you turn around looking at the curtain flipping him off.

PRESENT DAY

It was time for your concert and You were a nervous wreck. Waiting to be announced you pace back and forth and double check things and overthink.

The drummer named Romeo walks over to you and wraps his arms around you giving you a bear hug. Being in Ramon arms always had calmed you down and soon you melted in his touch. "We're gonna be great babe." He says looking at you cupping your cheeks staring deeply into your eyes. You get lost in his and lean forward to give him a deep kiss.

A LITTLE BACK STORY OF YOU AND Romeo.

When you two were in highschool freshmen. You both were in band class together. You two shared other classes but y'all two really became friends in band. You two were always with one another during that class. Giving tips to one another about like the others posture or if they played the wrong note. Slowly you two started to talk during lunch or break periods and growing more comfortable talking and hanging out in the other class periods you shared.

One day after school he saw you walking home. So he rode to you on his bike and told you to hop on. You agreed and got behind him standing and holding on his shoulders while he pelted. "Where are we going romeo?" You ask confused since hes driving to the part of the neighborhood you've never been by.

Always getting told by both brothers to stay away from this side. "Going to my house n/n"

You hum in response looking around thinking this place is sketchy and creepy. He rides his back to the back of a big house and helps you off holding your hand while you get off the bike.

You both get off the bike with no trouble but Romeo makes no effort to let go of your hand. In fact pulling you inside the house. "Hey ma. And other mom"

he smiles at his mothers and tries to walk upstairs fast holding onto your hand tight trying to rush up stairs before they ask questions. "Ah. Ah. A young man who's the boy?" His step mom asks seeing Romeo shoves you upstairs "No funny business young man!" His biological mom yells. With her and her wife laughing at their sons embarrassment.

Romeo leads you to his room and never lets go of your hand while you look around his room. "Do you like princesses?" You ask looking at the dolls. Romeo picks up the dolls and throws them in his closet.

"And you like pink. That's cute it used to be my favorite color until my father found out."

You set your stuff down and lay down on his princess themed bed. "Y/n?" "Yeah." "I like men." The room falls silent. Romeo is shaking thinking that he just lost his best friend and long term crush. "Oh...Me to I think at least. I like girls and boys." You say sitting up rubbing Romeos back when you saw how nervous he became when he came out to you.

"Romeo if it makes you feel better. Can I kiss you?" You ask not wanting to see your best friend sad. Romeo tackles Y/n onto the bed making out. Y/n flips Romeo over pulling away from the heated make out looking into his eyes deeply before kissing him again.

The two horny teenagers begin to fumble around their clothes trying to take them off. Romeo takes Y/n shirt off and begins to kiss him again until they hear someone clear their throat. Romeo kicks off Y/n and quickly covers himself breathing heavy and hair all messy clothes wrinkled. The moms laughs at the new young couple and shuts the door and yells "use protection". Both boys cover their faces in embarrassment.

And that moment starts a new chapter in both of your lives.

Romeo was scared that it was just a one time thing but boy how was he wrong. You two spent everyday outside of school hanging out. Like going to the movies, night bike rides, eating dinner with his family, dressing him as a princess while you're the prince.

You two never argued or fought. Any time y'all disagreed on something you both respected the other decisions no matter what the topic or thing. You two grew up with each other spending the rest of your highschool and college years together. Once you two graduated you two got jobs and bought a small apartment together. Once you two had gotten settled into adulthood you began to make music with each other. Achieving yalls dreams.

TINY STORY DONE.

After the concert you were full of adrenaline. Jumping everywhere and shouting about what you did. Just acting like a cute hyper mess. Romeo skips towards you feeling the blood pumping in his veins too. "We did it Romeo! Like how we dreamed!" Wrapping your arms on his waist. Kissing and sucking on his neck leaving marks on Romeo's neck.

Romeo moans out and holds his fiance holding onto Y/n shoulders grinding on him. Y/n was about to lift him up and take him to his dressing room until he heard someone wolf whistling and whispering.

"Who knew Hotchner three had some game." An unknown voice says to you and your fiance with a big group stand beside him laughing and agreeing.

You stare at them until you notice your brother's face behind all of them. "So your brother's team its nice to meet you all!" You say waving and smiling at them while they introduce themselves and praise you for the performance.

"Who's the man you're holding Y/n?" You sigh and respond with a "Wow not even a good job or hi. Always in my business before me." You hold your fiance's hand bringing him closer so they can get a better look. "This is Romeo lane's future Hotchner." Now that had everyone quiet.

"You can't just marry a man I never met! Y/n you never even mentioned him once!" He shouts. You roll your eyes and begin to walk away holding your fiance's hand leaving the stadium not even in the mood to do anything but sleep.

You and your fiance go to the five star hotel and have dinner and get ready for bed.

Your husband kisses you deeply full of passion. "I love you no matter what happens to me or you in the future. You are my soulmate." Romeo says looking serious at you holding your hand.

"I love you to Romo. No matter how deep we are in trouble if something terrible happens I love you."

You woke up to yelling and someone kicking down the door "FBI PUT YOUR HANDS UP!!" You look around looking for Romeo.

"Romo what's going on. where are you?"

You look down and see blood everywhere on your body. You scream and look around for Romeo.

You see his lifeless body on the floor you try to stand up and walk towards it but falls because your body is drench of blood head to toe. You crawl towards the body holding his lifeless cold body.

"Rome! Please baby wake up!" Blood covers both of you and the floor. You scream and cry on his body praying that it's just a dream.

"Romeo! Baby please!"

People start to take you away from his body and you kick and scream reaching out to him. You begin to cry when you feel the handcuffs on you.

Starting from the very begining.

Why didn't he believe you. Why. He was supposed to be your big brother. And now hes treating you like a monster. "You disgust me Y/n. You're just a low life monster." You remember him telling you that.

You hated him with every inch of your body when it turned out you were innocent. You proved the whole world wrong that you were innocent. How you were framed.

You couldn't handle life without Romeo. You just couldn't. You tried everything but one thing You stand at at Romeo grave. And pulled out your gun closing your eyes. You place it on your head and plugged the trigger.

Your body falls on the ground

smiling towards your husbands grave

One last time.