#except Aaron is even larger

[emberfrostlovesloki]

Twice Buried [Hotch x Reader]

Photo credits: Left (@i06gyu) Center (@@mickisnotclever) Right (@sleepinginthelibrary)

Prompt: Aaron finds out about the depth of pain the reader went through in her childhood and he can’t let the wrongs done to her go without risking their relationship, so he takes matters into his own hands. 

Pairing: Aaron x BAU!Reader, fem!Reader. The reader uses she/her pronouns 

Category: Angst/Comfort 

Word Count: 14.9K

Content Warnings: Mention of childhood sexual abuse [reader] hoarding, gross bugs, phobias [reader] mention of food and drink, character in distress [reader] mention of death of a family member [reader]. 

A/N: Hi all! I hope you are all doing very well! It has been a good while since I’ve posted a fic. If you want that whole, what happened in Levi’s life recently story, feel free to check out my other posts. I can’t promise fics will be written and posted as often as they used to be, but I am still writing, and I still love Aaron. Please be kind to yourselves this week and do something you love, you are so special. If you enjoy this fic, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! Love Levi - ❤️

List with all stories 

y/n = your name 

y/n had been reserved since joining the BAU. Everyone noticed it. Worse than Emily, who had made a special kind of splash by crash landing ‘by accident’ on the team. But y/n had been far from an accident. She’d been on an arranged agent swap with the General Directorate for Internal Security or the GDIS for short on their anti-terrorism team. After the ‘Je Suis Charlie’ incident in 2015, the U.S. was afraid of similar incidents happening in the States and had sent a few agents abroad to get a better grasp of the situation and then report back to the FBI and the Pentagon. y/n had been one of those agents. When she spotted a similar trend online that indicated that another attack was imminent she acted in time. The information had been found in a private Discord Server which Penelope had helped hack. The ring had been larger than any of the team could imagine, and having y/n on the team had been a help. It wasn’t a long time later before Dave sent y/n an invitation to join the team for a prolonged period of time. y/n had agreed. Getting an invitation to be on the BAU was like winning the lottery, and she hadn’t won anything in her life before, so she wasn’t going to give up this one chance to make something of herself. 

The change from y/n’s original team to the BAU had been a culture shock, even though she’d been on the team for a short time before. Her somber and almost aloof attitude while in the office had rubbed some of the team the wrong way. Aaron had to remind them that they all had a period of adjustment, except for Spencer, who was basically raised in the FBI. All of the original members of the team had laughed at that and agreed with Hotch. However, time passed and yes, y/n had gotten better. She was less aloof, and the team realized they had mistaken that first emotion for a closed-offness that y/n kept herself in. 

She was marvelous at redirecting conversations back to another member of the team, or vaguely answering without really giving any solid details. If their group had normal people, they wouldn’t have even noticed, and it was clear to all of them that y/n’s former team had been the same way too. However, the BAU relied very much on knowing each other, even if it wasn’t all the gory details, Hotch for one had never opened up about his younger years, but hints were appreciated, so they could keep each other safe. 

For example, if the team hadn’t known how bad Spencer’s drug problem had been, they wouldn’t have been able to protect him from the legal ramifications of his actions. They had protected him from that. But over time, y/n had stayed wary and guarded, though she had started attending events with the team outside of work which was an improvement. Finally, JJ stepped in and told y/n, respectfully, if she could just try and talk more to the team. They wanted to know her and cared about what she thought. This had hurt y/n at first. She felt betrayed and that she’d let her new team down. y/n knew JJ was saying this in good faith and not to demean her in any way. She’d experienced that before and this wasn’t that. So, slowly, y/n had started talking more and giving her thoughts on things. She still stayed mostly quiet about herself. Why would remain a mystery to the team for a long, long, time? 

Once when the team was out for a post-case, late-night meal, they were talking about and laughing, and Aaron was sitting across from y/n. He had paid a lot of attention to y/n. In some small ways, she reminded him of Elle, and he felt like he had failed Elle in some fundamental way when she had ‘left’ the team. No matter how much better y/n had become at sharing her emotions and opening up, there were still obvious tells that Hotch could perceive around a topic that made y/n wary. Things like family, or childhood, or the past. When these conversations started, as one had that evening, he watched as y/n’s face fell flat for just a micro-second. When her normally pretty expression changed to this, Aaron imagined y/n as a marble statue whose bright paint had chipped away decades ago. Someone stuck in a moment of anguish forever. y/n always snapped out of it, and the other members of the team didn’t seem to notice it, but Aaron did. He wondered what was behind those moments of affectless expression. It bothered him, but he didn’t pry. He hoped, that when the time was right, y/n would find the courage to open up herself. But he wasn’t going to pressure her into a confession. That was against his moral compass. He knew from personal experience that it was harder to speak about difficult things when pressure was added. 

The team kept trekking on as the summer moved into the fall and a few more facets about y/n were discovered. The team was on a case in the Midwest. A small town off the beaten track where an unsub had been finding more and more gruesome ways to kill people. It was halfway through the case and the team was going back to the hotel to catch some sleep before the start of another day. 3:00 a.m. at a small motel was oddly liminal, and Hotch felt a sense of unease as they all trudged to their rooms. y/n was next to him on the left and he walked with her up the stairs on the outside of the building toward their rooms. y/n covered her mouth as she yawned. She’d told Hotch it was okay, that she could walk by herself, but he insisted he go with her. He didn’t like the idea of y/n walking around outside at this time of night, even if it would be under a five-minute walk. 

y/n could feel her legs lagging up the stairs as she was so tired. She’d done a lot of physical work that day and her brain and body were protesting. As y/n lowered her hand from her mouth and said, “Sorry. Hotch. I’m so ready for bed.” What she was trying to say was that she was moving slowly, slowing him, and his long legs down from getting some sleep. Even though y/n wasn’t very clear with her words, Aaron understood what she meant and was about to say that it was totally fine, but as they reached the landing, an eerily human-child-sounding scream came from the dimly lit parking lot. 

This shocked y/n and Aaron into awareness, and Hotch, subconsciously pulled y/n quickly behind his body. He could feel how tense y/n was. How on edge as her hand brushed his side to look around his body. He held his hand out to the side to keep her back in case it was a dangerous situation. Thankfully, a long second later, there was a thump and another sound as a skinny coyote scampered away from the dumpster in the corner of the lot. Both Aaron and y/n deflated and Hotch turned to look at y/n, and they both chuckled at how frightened they had been at the presence of an animal. They finished getting to their rooms and y/n raised a hand saying, “Night Hotch. See ya in the morning.” Aaron shot her a hint of a smile and said, “Sleep well, y/n.” 

Aaron moved into his room and turned on the lamps. The walls were paper thin in the motel, and he heard as y/n moved around in her room just a wall away from his. Apart from that it was relatively quiet for a bit as Hotch got out of his black slacks and into the grey sweatpants he normally slept in during cases. They were soft and worn in a way he liked. He had just slipped on his classic white short-sleeved shirt from his suitcase and was just moving toward the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth when there was a yelp from y/n’s room, then a crash and the hurried steps of y/n running toward her door. He heard the rusty hinges scream as y/n moved outside and he wasn’t far after her. Outside he caught y/n putting her hand on her chest, breathing heavily and looking more than a little distraught. Before he could ask if everything was alright, Morgan came dashing up next to y/n and placed a hand on her back asking in his husky voice, “Everything alright, y/n? What’s going on?” Morgan was panting too as he had run up the stairs when he’d seen y/n come out of her room the way she had. 

y/n cleared her throat and forced herself to visibly relax and take a breath before saying, “It’s nothing really, just a bad bug. Sorry, I might have overreacted.” Hearing this Derek let out a large laugh and said, “Wow, you really had me scared there for a second. Who knew that you could be scared by a bug? You’re always so stoic, y/n.” Hotch watched y/n laugh, but he could tell it was fake. Morgan continued, “What was it y/n? A spider or a scorpion? Want me to get it for you?” y/n smiled at the ground and said, “Nah, it’s fine. Thanks for the offer, Morgan. I was just surprised when I opened the bathroom door is all.” Derek shook his head and said, “Alright, well if you find any more nasty surprises in your room you just give me a call and I’ll sort it out for you.” y/n nodded and said, “Will do, Derek. You’re the best.” Morgan nodded and gave y/n a pat on the back and then moved past Hotch to get to his own room. 

Aaron caught that y/n hadn’t elaborated on what the bug species was, and he noticed that she seemed to greatly relax once Morgan had made a joke of the whole situation which was clearly adversely affecting her. Once Derek was in his room, Hotch checked in saying, “What was it, y/l/n?” y/n’s head snapped up as if she’d forgotten he was there. y/n dropped her eyes to the ground again and said, “I don’t want to say it Hotch.” Aaron nodded and gently replied, “Does it start with an ‘r?’” y/n cringed but nodded yes. Aaron let out a breath and said, “You want me to get it for you?” After a moment, y/n looked up at Hotch, and he could see that she was embarrassed for being in this situation in the first place. Hotch moved a hand to y/n’s elbow and said, “y/n, I don’t mind. I know they’re gross.” Finally y/n looked at him and said, “Okay. Thanks, Aaron.” Hotch nodded and stepped inside. He kept his eyes mostly trained on the open bathroom door which light was spilling out of. He couldn’t help himself from seeing some of y/n’s more private clothing items on the bed before he moved his eyes safely to the stained carpet. 

In the bathroom, the roach was comfortably hanging out on the wall near the sink. It was like the bug sensed Aaron’s presence and quickly and unnervingly moved off the wall and toward the shower. Hotch grabbed a handful of toilet paper to get the bug. He pulled back the clear plastic shower curtain and the roach moved again to the nearest dark corner. Aaron didn’t like these bugs either. It was something about the way they moved that freaked him out slightly, but he was older, and a man, and he didn’t mind doing this for y/n if it made her feel better. With a decisive move from his hand, Aaron caught the bug in the white paper and he didn’t pay attention as the bug’s body made a crunching sound as he closed his hand around the paper. He quickly threw the chitinous corpse into the toilet and flushed it away before closing the lid and stepping back through the room. He scanned the room to make sure there weren’t any more surprise bugs and he noticed the shattered lamp which y/n must have tipped over when she ran from the room. He strode across to the side of the bed, picked up the small trashcan, and moved back to the shattered pieces of the lamp.

Aaron didn’t notice as y/n, who had been standing at the threshold of the room dropped her hands from covering her mouth, as she chewed on her nails, a nervous tick of hers, and back to her sides. She walked back into the room and next to Hotch and said, “Hotch, you don’t need to do that. I can sort it out. I’m sorry.” Aaron finished picking up the largest parts of the lamp, careful not to cut his hands on any of the glass. Only after he had finished this did he stand and say, “It’s not a bother, y/n. I’m happy to help. You should call the front office and have someone come and get the rest of the glass this morning, and if you use the restroom in the middle of the night, at least what’s left of it, make sure to wear shoes.” y/n nodded timidly, and exhausted and tried not to think about Hotch thinking about her moving around her room in the middle of the night. “Thanks again,” she said as Aaron moved to the door and shut it for the last time that night. 

Once Hotch was out of the room, y/n lay back on the bed so tired that she thought she might fall asleep right then and there. She thanked her guardian angel that she hadn’t seen the bad bug before she’d taken off her pants, because she would have run outside her room with or without pants on, and the idea of Derek, and more significantly, Aaron, seeing her in her underwear, she’d never live it down. After a moment, y/n turned her head to the door which she’d need to lock, and then toward the bathroom, which she still needed to use before she could fully relax. But given the bug and its essence that was left of it, no matter how small, y/n didn’t want to go back to the bathroom. She didn’t want to leave the bed. If she was younger, she’d have tucked her legs into her chest and stayed there for the rest of the night with all the light burning until the dawn sun illuminated her room in shades of pink and orange. But she wasn’t that little girl anymore, and she did get up and lock the door. She did put on shoes, as Aaron had suggested which felt good. It was nice and meant no glass pierced the soles of her feet and it meant she was off the ground. y/n knew this was silly, a coping technique she’d built for herself over the years, but it did give her the strength to quickly wash her face, brush her teeth, and put patches on her acne. By the time this was done, y/n moved back to her bed, turned off the lights, and was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. 

In his room, Aaron moved back to the bathroom and took a shower before getting under the covers. He looked at the ceiling and realized that he’d learned more about y/n in his interaction with her that evening than he had in their whole time as Unit Cheif and supervisor. He pondered if he was wrong for wanting to know more about y/n. Why she was so closed off? What it was that she had to hide. He couldn’t help himself for thinking it was funny that she didn’t like bugs, but he couldn’t blame her for it either. It was never fun to have unwanted company, human or otherwise. He fell into the oblivion of sleep with a look of shame and perhaps gratitude as y/n had let him go into her room and take care of her unwanted guest. 

Aaron didn’t make many more discoveries about y/n until a month later when it was close to 5:00 p.m. and he was sitting in his office. There was a soft knock on his door and he looked up to see y/n peaking into his office. He sat up a bit straighter and said, “Come in, y/n. Do you have a question about something?” y/n shuffled into the room and kept looking at the floor before she finally raised her eyes and met his. He could see that she was biting the inside of her cheek before she said, “I have a favor to ask you if you’re willing. If it’s too much then no worries at all, you just seemed like the right person for this problem I’m having.” Hotch’s eyes widened in surprise. What could y/n possibly need from him that someone else couldn’t offer? He hoped his intrigue didn’t play out on his face as he motioned for the chair across from his desk and said, “Well, let me know what we’re dealing with and then I can let you know. Is it a work thing? Please tell me it’s not a Drake-type of situation again, is it?” He was concerned now and looked at y/n’s face closely for signs of distress. 

Drake had been an agent, who was quickly reassigned to a small HQ in Seattle who had made some untoward comments toward other female agents, including y/n. It had been y/n who had gone to JJ, and JJ who had gone to him to reveal the whole situation. When Aaron heard this he got so angry that he stood, placed his hands on his desk to steady himself before he sat back down, and asked JJ to tell him everything she knew as he grew more and more disgusted by some of the male agents in the building. He’d taken the situation to HR and made sure that y/n nor any of the other female agents were named in the official complaint before going to Strauss and basically demanding a transfer for Drake or outright termination. 

Aaron was thankful when y/n nodded her head no and said, “No, Sir. Nothing like that,” as she sat across from him. He pushed aside his laptop so that there wasn’t anything blocking their view and he waited for y/n to say what had brought her in. After a moment of silence y/n let out a breath and said, “It’s really silly, actually…” Hotch stopped her from continuing by leveling a friendly glare at y/n which made her stop and try again. y/n swallowed and said, “Well, last month there was a leak in my apartment that never got fully fixed. It was livable, but I think there’s mold in my unit now which I think has made me sick again and off again for the last two weeks. I need to get it tested, but I was wondering if there was something in my lease that I might use against my apartment complex to break my lease?” y/n looked over at Hotch. His large brown eyes only seemed more intense in the low light of his lamps. She knew he was listening to her, wanting all of the pieces of the puzzle she was trying to tell him so he could help her. That was one thing y/n loved about Aaron. He never ignored anyone on the team or anyone in need of help, and as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she needed some help. y/n continued by saying, “And, well, I’ve tried reading my lease a few times but it doesn’t make any sense to me. There is a clause about mold, but I can’t figure out the legal jargon. I was wondering if you could read it over for me if it’s not too big a bother.”

Hotch could see y/n rubbing her hands together softly on her legs, a self-soothing gesture she was prone to when y/n was stressed. He let out a little breath and said, “Of course I can, y/n. I’d be happy to help you.” He paused before adding, “I can also probably fix your leak issue while we work out the logistics of the lease. If there is mold, and you did get sick from it, there might be grounds for a civil suit, if you wanted to take legal action that is.” y/n’s face settled into one that was relaxed, and replied, “I’m not sure if I have the energy for that. I don’t even know if I have the energy to move. I’d just like to have the option. To know that I have an option.” Hotch nodded in understanding but didn’t say that. Instead, he stated, “Well, how about we set up a date for me to look over the lease and or your apartment if you want? I’m open this weekend if that works for you?” Hotch felt strange almost inviting himself into her home. He could easily read y/n’s lease in the office, but something told him not to. 

Although Hotch was far from a Marxist he didn’t believe in bringing personal work into the office. He would happily take office work home, but not visa versa. Also, by throwing out an open date for him, which he didn’t often have, he hoped y/n would realize that he did want to help her, not only with her legal issues but with her apartment which was apparently falling apart and making her ill. The idea of that bothered him more than it should have. Aaron was forced from his own head when y/n said, “Yeah. That works for me. Um, what time would you like to come over?” Surprised that y/n would let him of all people, into her space he replied, “How about 9:30? Is that too early for you?” Again Aaron was faced with the fact that he hardly knew anything about y/n. Did she wake up late on the weekends like Reid? Did she work out like he and Morgan did? Did she go out with friends to brunch like Emily? Did she have a boyfriend or girlfriend to wake up to like JJ did every morning? Not all of this information about his teammates had just been told to him, but he knew it nonetheless, and being so bereft of details about y/n’s life made him feel like he knew nothing about her, even if that wasn’t true.

Aaron’s eyes moved up as y/n said, “Hotch, Hotch. 9:30 is great for me. Is it okay with you?” Hotch felt awkward having been caught unaware twice by y/n in the course of under an hour. Aaron replied, “Yes. Sorry, I’m distracted today, y/n. Can you text me your address and I’ll put it in my calendar?” y/n smiled and replied, “Sure thing, Hotch. Thank you for the help.” Aaron nodded and said, “Let me know if you need a place to crash before Saturday. I bet the Bureau can get you a hotel room or something. I don’t think staying in a place that might be making you sick is in the best interest of the department, or my agent.” y/n tried to hide her smile at Aaron’s concern for her. He was trying to mask it too, but not very well. She told him she’d let him know and left his office feeling better than she had in some time. 

That Saturday was the first time that Aaron saw y/n’s apartment. As y/n walked him toward the AC unit that had been leaking, he tried to look around without it looking too obvious. His eyes scanned the kitchen and living room and then he moved into y/n’s small bedroom. They were chatting about their days so far, and as Aaron sat down on the floor, y/n handed him Philip’s head screwdriver to remove the grate from the crawl space below her AC. y/n asked, “So you really run five miles every Saturday morning? How do you deal with the heat? I’m tempted to just stay in all the time during summer.” Aaron let out a chuckle and said, “I think you build up the tolerance. And I wear a lot of sunscreen. They say fresh air is good for you, especially if you’re living in an apartment with mold.” Hotch had meant the statement as a joke, but when y/n didn’t laugh, he bit his tongue and hoped he hadn’t offended her. He didn’t mean to, but by the time he was formulating a response, he noticed the drip and the simple fix to the issue. An issue that the repairmen who had been there a few times already should have easily fixed weeks ago. He grunted slightly as he inched his way forward on his elbows with a wrench in one hand and a flashlight in the other. 

This time in the small space did give him the opportunity to think about y/n’s place a bit more. It was old but decently maintained, and it was clean. When he’d done the walk to get to this part of the house, he hadn’t thought much about it. But now as he saw normal signs of an older building, cobwebs, stains, and dust, he realized he’d seen very little of that in y/n’s space. It was like the apartment was staged, waiting for the photographers to come from Architectural Digest to get their pictures and get her opinion on the Pantene color of the year. y/n didn’t have a lot of things. Her furnishings were sparse but looked comfortable enough. But inside, Aaron had the feeling that maybe somewhere, storage, the attic - there wasn’t one - a closet, there were boxes of things that gave meaning to y/n’s life that she’d neglected to put out or up. Hotch sighed as he tightened the bolt that was allowing water to drip down the side of y/n’s pipes. There were multiple spots like this. It would take a while and some maneuvering on his part, but Hotch didn’t mind. This reminded him of his first apartment in college, but that was much more of a mess. Living with three other guys, it was bound to happen, even if he kept his space relatively clean. 

It took Hotch a few minutes to finish up the work on the leaks before he wriggled back into the bedroom. y/n extended a hand to him, and he took it as he stood with a small grunt. He was happy he hadn’t changed out of his workout clothes because being in such a confined space had made him even more sweaty. He rubbed a hand over his forehead and said, “Well, I think I have it all fixed down there, except for a small puddle from the leak. I can clean that up for you if you like.” y/n nodded her head no and said, “It’s fine, Hotch. You’ve done so much already, I can clean it up in a moment. I’m a bit, picky, with my cleaning habits.” Aaron nodded and said, “I get you. Reid is the same way.” y/n gave an understanding nod, and Hotch looked over y/n’s shoulder to the pictures neatly framed on y/n’s far wall. There were a few with y/n and some friends, maybe some from college and a few from her years in Paris. The photos had good composition even if they were only shot on an iPhone. Even though he had said it, Aaron knew Spencer wasn’t the same as y/n. They both cared for cleanliness, that was obvious, but there was something different about y/n that he couldn’t pin down. Some facts that he felt he was missing. 

Aaron wiped his dusty hands on his shorts and y/n said, “Do you want to wash your hands? Who knows what kind of gross stuff is under there.” She eyes the open grate and Hotch replied, “Yes, please. It’s not actually that bad down there, just dust mainly.” He chose not to talk about the spider webs, given y/n’s aversion to bugs. He’d swept away the webs anyway so she wouldn’t have to see them. y/n pointed Hotch to the door of the bathroom and he stepped inside closing the door He took a minute to look at his reflection. He didn’t look as sweaty as he felt, which he was grateful for. ‘Why does it matter?’ Aaron asked himself as he rinsed off his hands and then added a generous amount of hand soap into his palms. As he lathered the soap and then rinsed it off Hotch tried to quell the thoughts which had subconsciously been growing since he’d seen y/n looking frightened at the motel. If he tried hard enough, he could play them off in his head as protective, a fatherly gesture, but in his spirit, he knew this wasn’t true. Hotch dried his hand and pushed his hair around a bit until he liked how it sat. His ego nudged him whispering, ‘Vanity, Hotchner.” He snorted slightly and left the bathroom before he could get more in his head about his appearance. That wasn’t the point of him being here in the first place. 

By the time Aaron stepped back into y/n’s room, she had added three of the four screws back on the grate and into the wall covering the gaping hole that had been there. y/n looked up at him and smiled as she said, “Well now that you’ve helped me fix the leak I don’t think I have a reason to sue the landlord.” Hotch pressed his lips together before replying, “Well that might be true, but I think if your apartment is using a subcontractor for maintenance you could sue them for not knowing how to do their jobs.” y/n chuckled but as a big fan of not having any extra confrontation in her life, she didn’t think she’d be taking Hotch up on that offer. Instead, she asked, “Could I pay you back with a coffee, Hotch? There’s a good spot two blocks over. I was going to go there anyway to hang out for a bit.” Before the logical or even aware part of Aaron’s mind could respond he said, “You don’t mind going out with me looking like this?” His self-consciousness side blurted out what he was trying to avoid thinking in the bathroom. For a second Aaron felt like chucking himself out y/n’s bedroom window as he internally cringed so hard that his stomach hurt. 

y/n took a moment to process what Aaron had said and she stopped herself from scratching the back of her head in confusion. “‘You don’t mind going out with me looking like this?’” What the hell did that even mean? Did Hotch know how he looked? How her seeing him in something that wasn’t a suit had almost taken her breath away and sped up her heart rate three times past normal? She had thought as he worked on her AC, his body half buried in the wall, ‘He could send out a warning if he’s not going to show up in a suit. Good god, give a girl one chance not to be fucking lusting over her boss.’ She had been embarrassed by the thought, as Hotch clearly was embarrassed now. To not make the situation any more strange than it was and tried humor saying, “You mean like a guy wearing shorts and a Nike shirt?” y/n never knew if jokes would work with Aaron. He seemed to have a very sharp wit and she never knew where jokes would land with him. Thankfully this one worked and Hotch let out one of his rare laughs, shaking his head slightly at his inability to keep unwanted thoughts in. At least he hadn’t made a comment about y/n, who he thought looked lovely in her more relaxed outfit. After a moment of silence, he blinked and said, “Well alright then. You lead the way, though your apartment should be paying you for having to deal with this.” y/n chuckled and grabbed her purse as Hotch got his keys and wallet from the counter. They spent the next half hour chatting comfortably about work or people in the office, and whatever came up naturally. It was pleasant for both of them to just be allowed to relax in the presence of the other for once. When they had finished, Aaron thought for a moment that he understood y/n better. He did, but the most enlightening thing he would learn about y/n would come later in the year, and when it did, it hit Hotch like a load of bricks. 

It was September, and the weather was just starting to get cool in Virginia. The crispness of the air had the team in mostly good spirits. The latest cases had been easier.  Hotch was sipping his coffee from a cup Jack had given him for Father’s Day last year when there was a knock on his office door. He looked up from the rim of his cup to see y/n pop into the room and close the door behind her. After he’d helped her with her apartment, she had been more relaxed around him, and came to him every now and then with questions she still had about past cases or current files the team was supposed to do. The forms were often asinine and useless you’d been working in the department for years. Every time y/n made an appearance, Hotch had to settle himself and act calmly. It reminded him so much of the first time y/n had asked him for a favor. When she had been a new agent and afraid to disappoint him and the rest of the team. But this time was different and he could tell. This wasn’t y/n being shy to ask for help, or ‘checking in on him’ as she said when she had no reason to be in his office but inexplicably wanted to be there anyway. When y/n stepped in there was no attempt at a dad-joke. Instead, she was looking at his carpeted floor and there was an aurora of burden that came with her. 

Hotch was up and out of this chair before the words, “What’s happened, y/n?” left his mouth. y/n swallowed dryly and looked up at Aaron. He could see her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. y/n sniffled and stepped forward, leaning against the edge of Aaron’s desk as she said the easy part first, “I need some time off. A week or so, maybe more.” Hotch nodded his head in understanding saying, “Of course, you can get all the time you need. Can you tell me what happened, please?” There was silence, and y/n looked at her hands as she shakily replied, “My mom died yesterday. She made me the executor of her estate, so I need to go down to her house and work some things out with her will.” Hotch moved from his side of the desk to y/n’s and gently wrapped her in a hug. He could feel her shaking against him. He held her without much force, just giving her something softer to cling to than the sharp edge of his oak desk. y/n was grateful that Aaron had moved to this position. That she didn’t have to look at his face which was filled with worry. And she could not only hide her sadness but also her shame in the crook of his neck and shoulder. After a comfortable amount of time, y/n stood back and asked, “Can I leave now, or do you want me to stay till the EOD?” Hotch’s grip on y/n’s arms tightened slightly as he looked down at her and said, “Of course, you can leave now. I’ll send HR a memo. The team will help you if you want y/n. I’ll help you with anything you need. You just have to ask.” 

y/n sniffled and ran her hand under her nose which she knew was unbecoming of a federal agent, but she was past spent and decorum had seemed to go out the back door with the news that she would need to return to her childhood home. A place she had avoided for many years now. Her behavior repulsed her, expanded by her sense of shame. She didn’t want anyone with her for this. No one could see, and no one on the team could know. Still looking down, y/n said, “Thank you, Hotch. Can you just tell the team that a family emergency came up? This situation, it’s, it’s private, and I think I need some time to just get my head around it.” 

Hotch nodded in understanding. He had had moments when the rug had absolutely been ripped from underneath him. Aaron felt that there was something more going on, but he knew now was not the time to pry. Instead, he said, “Yes, of course, y/n. Can you just send me the address of the spot you’ll be staying at so I can give it to HR. They’ll ask you for it anyway, so if you let me know I can help you skip that step.” y/n looked at Hotch and said, “Sure Hotch. Thanks. I’m just going to get my stuff and go.” Aaron let y/n go and he watched her walk to his door, turn, and raise a hand half-heartedly before saying, “Thanks,” one more time and slipping out the door as quietly as she had come in. 

Hotch felt a tug at his chest. There was a small feeling of dread that he couldn’t not feel after y/n had left the room which made it hard for him to do anything else than send the forms to HR on y/n’s behalf. He leaned back in his chair and heaved a sigh. He hadn’t once heard y/n talk about her parents. He knew that they had existed. It was on her transfer paper and application to the BAU. Clearly, the government had to know pretty much everything about a person to hire them into the inner ranks. But unlike Reid and Morgan, and occasionally Emily, y/n didn’t relegate any details about family around the team. He had always pictured her as an island, alone. At that moment Aaron decided that he would check in on y/n often in her absence. He hoped it wouldn’t ruin the trust they had slowly built between them, but his conscious wouldn’t let him not make sure she was okay because something inside him told him there was more going on here than simple grief. That feeling only grew worse as three days passed and y/n didn’t answer any of his calls and only one of his texts asking if she was okay, or if she needed anything. He’d offered to send her food, or coffee, or anything to her hotel, but there had just been one text: “Sorry Hotch, I’m too busy to think about this right now, thanks for the offer, I’ll take you up on it once I have more finished.” 

On the fourth day, a Saturday, Hotch couldn’t take the silence anymore. He knew he was pushing it, but he had y/n’s hotel address and the address of her mom’s house because she said she’d be at both pretty often working on things. Aaron thought it was absurd that the FBI still asked for a mailing address when someone went on leave. It was like asking for a fax number when everyone had a cell phone in their pocket. That was what made y/n’s non-response so jarring. As Aaron put the second address into his GPS, he was surprised to see that it was only a forty-five-minute drive away. He considered that y/n probably could have stayed at her apartment if she wanted to, but as Aaron got further from the city and into the exurbs, past the exurbs even to roads in disrepair, closed CVS’s franchises, and mobile homes, he realized that this juxtaposition from the luxury and safety of the city to this could be exhausting apart from all the emotions and work she was doing. Aaron wasn’t exactly surprised by what he saw as he got further and further away from Quantico. He knew the makeup of Southwestern Virginia, but the poverty of the area never failed to make him take a hard look at what had once been a thriving community. He didn’t want this part of y/n’s past to affect how he saw her. Not that he’d ever judge her for living in a place like this, but with her life being so guarded, he couldn’t help but make assumptions about why she had remained quiet so often. 

When Hotch got the the far edge of one of the many trailer and mobile home parks it was easy to find y/n even if she hadn’t answered his two calls that morning. The only thing Aaron needed to see, y/n’s old car, was parked outside of the mobile home at the far edge of the plot. There was no house number or mailbox to indicate he was at the right place, but he knew he was. He parked beside y/n’s car and stepped out of his. As he walked closer to the house and locked his car doors he noticed the very rundown state of affairs at the domicile. Most of the windows were covered with cardboard and mildew was creeping up the edge of the fake wood siding of the housing. A few feet away from the front screened door the small assaulted his nostrils and he had to take a few deep breaths through his mouth to stop from being ill. The scent was distinctly one of rot, waste, and decay. With his arm over his mouth, Aaron wondered if y/n’s mother had died and been found a few days or perhaps a week after she had been deceased. The thought appalled him for y/n’s sake, and the idea of her being inside the home made him quicken his steps to see what was going on. 

Aaron moved up the two cracked and chipped concrete steps. He knocked on the gnarled screen door. y/n had kept the inner glass door open to get better air circulation of air in the room. Hotch swallowed and softly shouted, “y/n? y/n, are you in there? It’s Aaron.” The sound seemed to be absorbed into the house, the doors gaping mouth sucking everything into its blackness. The inside of the house was dim. Hotch couldn’t see any lights on and there seemed to be piles of stuff near the door half blocking it. Before Hotch stepped inside he thought that maybe the piles of boxes might be y/n packing up her mother’s things to get rid of or sell. However, after a minute of y/n not answering, Aaron decided to move inside the home and realized he was wrong. Hotch had to open the door and slide through the opening sideways to fit around the boxes which he realized were a fire hazard right away. As he was about to call to y/n again, Aaron’s eyes adjusted to the room and the words died on his lips. 

The front room of the small mobile home was filled with stuff. Boxes upon boxes were piled on top of each other. Many of which seemed to be growing mold or deteriorating. The boxes at the bottom were falling apart and yellowed or brown. The floors were also filthy, sticky, and littered with debris. As Aaron moved his way carefully further into the room he couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the sheer number of things around him. Not only were the boxes and trash overwhelming, but the scent had gotten considerably worse now that he was inside. After Hotch passed another pile of boxes, papers, and files he noticed that in the far corner was a couch which had one cushion cleared of garbage. It was the only clear spot he had seen in the house at all. Not that the couch cushion was clean, it was stained and smelled, but it didn’t have stuff on it. Aaron was coming to the realization of what y/n had grown up around as he rounded the corner into the kitchen area. 

This space was different and yet the same as the rest of the house. In the kitchen the windows weren’t covered up, so there was more natural light which highlighted the clutter even more. This clutter also wasn’t in boxes. It was on the counters and piled in all of the corners and crevices. The scent of rot was so bad here as boxes of discarded food, possibly years old sat on counters and in the sink. There were plates and cups forgotten and even as Hotch surveyed the disgusting scene he could tell there were bugs festering in the piles of rotting paper plates and unfinished coffee cups. There was one trash bag, half full of stuff sitting on top of one of the piles, but that was the only sign of life that Aaron could sense. From how bad the hoarding looked, he assumed that this had been going on for years, if not multiple decades. 

Hotch was fully in the kitchen and had almost forgotten why he was there. He was so surprised by what he was seeing that when y/n, who was very confused as to why her boss was inside her deceased mom’s house, rounded the corner, she was startled at his presence. Aaron whipped around effectively knocking a pile of things off of the metal folding table onto the floor. He watched as if in slow motion as a glass half of a puss-colored liquid crashed to the ground and broke. It seemed so loud in the small confines of the house that seemed to absorb all sounds into its piles of decay. He and y/n looked at the mess he’d made for a half second before a number of bugs, bugs that Aaron knew y/n didn’t like scurried out from the pile on the floor, and from the kitchen counters and onto the walls. y/n saw the bugs as clearly as Hotch and nearly jumped out of her skin swatting and brushing herself, afraid that some had gotten on her. Her breath had picked up and Hotch could see that y/n might be sick. Hotch’s instincts kicked in and he didn’t even apologize or explain why he was there. He simply knew that he had to get y/n out of this house. As far away as he possibly could. He stepped forward ignoring the retreating bugs looking for cover in some other dark corner of the room, took y/n’s arm in his, and started leading her toward the front door. y/n was trying to say something to him, ask him a question perhaps, but the blood was pumping in his ears and his heart was thumping in his chest. He’d answer any questions y/n had once they were outside. 

Aaron didn’t care that some boxes fell as he pushed the pile in front of the door out of the way. He could feel y/n shaking now and he wrenched open the screen door and followed her out, down the stairs, and into the front yard. y/n was still shaking and patting herself down like she might explode into flames while looking for bugs. Hotch stepped forward assertively and stilled her hands as he thoroughly brushed her off from her arms and shoulders, then down her chest and legs. He then moved to her back and did the same thing. When he did find a bug, he brushed it off and didn’t say a thing about it. When he got back to y/n’s front, she was breathing harshly through her teeth but seemed to calm down as she asked, “What are you doing here, Hotch?” 

Hotch looked at y/n and her eyes were telling him two stories. One was logical, “Is there a case? Did something bad happen? Do you need help?” and the other was everything else, “I didn’t want you here, go away, can’t you see what I’m going through?” Aaron felt terrible for how this had ended. He hadn’t expected this, but he knew the best answer was the truth, so he said, “I was worried about you,” and nothing else. y/n sniffled and wrapped her arms around herself before looking over Aaron’s shoulder and into the house. y/n spoke the truth too, Hotch could always tell when she was lying: “I didn’t want anyone to see this.” Aaron swallowed and nodded, replying, “I know. I’m sorry.” He hadn’t known of course, but now he did, and all he could do was apologize. 

y/n composed herself. Putting her emotions back into all the boxes where they belonged and stood waiting for Hotch to say or do something. She knew if she started whatever conversation was about to happen she’d break, and she never wanted that. It was the thing that she had learned since leaving home; her secret weapon. Lie, tell half-truths, don’t show your emotions. Don’t let them know where you come from or who you really are, because if they knew, they’d never understand or give a damn about you. Slightly delusionally, y/n hoped that Aaron would get back into his car and leave, pretending he hadn’t seen anything. That he didn’t know her secret, and when she came back from leave, he wouldn’t say anything. He was kind, maybe he’d forget for her sake? 

Aaron watched the emotions play across her face like a silent film star on the big screen. It was only a series of seconds before y/n was back to the person he knew. The silence was intense and instead of leading with his emotions, Hotch tried to think logically. He assumed if he went from the heart he’d say something or ask a question that would distance y/n from him forever. So instead he asked the first logical question that came to mind, “Have you been in the house long?” Hotch was concerned that y/n might get sick again, this time from real mold and whatever other bad things inside the home, though his brain could think of little else apart from y/n not only as a child but an adult in such squalor. 

y/n’s soft, “No” had him relax. One thing was for sure, if he could avoid it, he wouldn’t be having y/n go back in there. Hotch looked back at y/n as she continued speaking, “I’ve mostly been in my hotel looking over the legal documents and trying to set my mom’s debts in order. And arrange some kind of funeral, though I doubt people will show up. She was kind of a recluse near the end of her life.” Aaron nodded along, grateful that she hadn’t spent much time here. He looked around the yard, unwilling to leave y/n here in this state, but also awkward about how he’d discovered this part of her past that she had so desperately hidden away like the trash inside. Aaron composed his next sentence carefully and asked, “Is there anything important that you need inside? Any of your mom’s documents, or items that have value?” Hotch tried to sound sincere in his words. He meant them, but with so much stuff inside, most of it looking like garbage, he knew it could come off as sounding condescending or like a joke. 

y/n thought for a moment, shifting uncomfortably on her feet before saying, “All the important stuff is out like her documents and stuff. I really should go back in and start cleaning. I rented a dumpster out back for the week and it’s not going to fill itself.” Hotch appreciated that y/n was trying to be lighthearted through this, but he shook his head no, replying, “I’ll hire someone to come and clean up. y/n. I don’t want you going back in there.” He didn’t phrase it like a command. On this account, he had no authority apart from his care and growing feelings for y/n. 

At Aaron’s offer, y/n looked back at the house from which she had fled so many times. Could this be the last time? Could she walk away and never look back? Never feel like she was slowly being buried alive by junk and trinkets and trash? She took a breath of clean air and considered that maybe she could. Maybe this was the end she had been dreaming of for so long. Maybe someone had finally come to save her from this hell. As she was about to turn around and say, “Yes, please. Let’s do that,” to Aaron, a single item crossed y/n’s mind and she paused. She looked up at Aaron and truly asked for help for the first time in a long time. “There’s a stuffed rabbit inside. It’s in my room I think. Could you get it for me?” In asking this of Aaron, she was opening herself to him almost wholly. It was an invitation for him to see all of the parts of herself that she had hidden. It was the chance to be ridiculed as she had by friends in childhood who came over and saw how she lived. It was the chance for men, older men, to not even come inside and leave her mother sobbing in the front yard. y/n was already swallowing back the tears when Aaron would say no and leave her. It was all too much for most people. It had been too much for her too. She wouldn’t blame Aaron as he drove away to something safe. To a clean apartment and shower. To a son who loved him. To someone who was no longer his wife, but someone who still cared. Given that choice, how can you pick the former? 

“Where’s the bunny? Is it a certain color?” The questions almost knocked y/n off her feet. She took in more air before saying, “It’s in the very back room. It used to be my bedroom. It’s pink with a white nose and long floppy ears.” Aaron nodded, shaking off his coat, ready to go back inside. As he moved past y/n, she grabbed his arm and said, “You don’t have to do this Hotch. It may not even be in there.” They both looked at the home and this time Aaron tried to be optimistic as he said, “y/n, do you really think your mom got rid of your childhood stuffie?” y/n couldn’t help but laugh at the ludicrous question. She let Hotch go and watched as he entered the house while her heart was trying to figure out what to do with itself. Since she had heard the news of her mom’s passing, she was on the precipice of a very high and ragged cliff face. All she would have to do was fall and everything would be over, but Aaron was like the pair of strong arms that held her back. Asking if this was what she really wanted. 

Aaron went back into the house once more trying to ignore the smell. He carefully pushed past the kitchen and into the narrow hallway. There was hardly room for him to squeeze his broad frame though. He found himself coughing a lot as particulate matter got into his system. Once out of the darkened hallway, he moved to the final door at the end of the home, peaking into the two other rooms, the main bedroom and the bathroom which were somehow worse than the front of the house. The farther he got back the more the trash piled up. He paid no mind to what was on the floor or what he was stepping on or over to get y/n what she needed to be rid of this place. He’d have to look up hoarding more thoroughly now. He’d been to a few homes on cases in the past where it had seemed to be an issue, he’d even had to call CPS on one family so they would get their act together. However, this was the worst case he’d ever seen, and he could only imagine what it was like growing up in an environment like this. Hotch had so many questions he felt like asking, so many ideas running through his mind, but he knew he’d have to be sensitive. Now was not a time for an interrogation. Now was the moment to remind y/n that he would support her. That he could be there for her, and if he couldn’t say the other things he might want to, the things he kept hidden himself, the least he could do was that. 

Hotch had to push open the door harshly to get into the back room. It was so dark inside that Aaron pulled out his phone and turned the flashlight on. This sent multiple bugs and what Hotch assumed was a small rat scampering into the dark. Aaron was surprised at how overwhelmed he could be by this problem, but even being in the house for a few minutes had him desperate for space and clean air. y/n’s apartment made total sense to him now. There was no clear path in this room and Hotch moved over whatever he needed to to get to the far wall. Under a window that was also covered with cardboard, he found a twin bed. It was mostly clear of stuff apart from the detritus in the room and he wondered if y/n or her mother had kept that one space clean. He was thankful to see the stuffed animal was on the center of the bed, old and stained brown by some substance of unknown origins. Aaron picked it up and moved as quickly and carefully as he could back out of the house. He attempted to look like he wasn’t running out of the place to not make y/n feel worse about his being there, but there was no hiding that once he was outside he felt so much better. He drank in the air like water and had a final fit of coughing before he moved toward y/n. 

The very sight of Aaron with her old stuffed animal had y/n near tears again. She could have lived without it, but it had been a single constant in her life and it was a reminder of everything she’d lived through. Having it felt like a trophy: “I made it. I’m here. Look at where I am now.” As soon as Hotch handed the bunny over with his long arms, and once y/n’s hands were around the worn-out toy whose fur was all but gone where she had hugged it as a child, she broke. There was nothing or no one that could have stopped her from pulling the rabbit to her chest and crumbling to the ground with sobs that wracked her body so hard that it hurt to breathe. Hotch watched as she crumbled to the ground and he ran forward trying to catch y/n, but she slipped out of his grasp like oil. y/n was curled in on herself and shaking and Hotch bit the inside of his lip. He moved slowly, not going to make any surprise moves on y/n’s fragile mental state, as he lowered himself to the ground. Once on his knees, Aaron leaned forward and placed one of his large hands on y/n’s back. She didn’t pull back from his touch, either too overwhelmed to do so, or comforted by him. Either way, after a moment Hotch leaned in further and covered her more with his body, anchoring her to something other than the ground and herself. 

It felt like a long time, like forever until y/n’s cries weakened and her breathing evened out. y/n let her body relax slightly, exhausted by her outburst. There were so many things y/n wanted to say to Aaron about how she was behaving. She figured this type of volatility could get her kicked off of the BAU, which is one reason she’d not wanted anyone’s help with this situation. She wanted to apologize but all she could say was the question that had been plaguing her for years, “Do you know what it feels like to have someone that’s supposed to love you chose absolutely shitty worthless trash over you? Do you know what that’s like Hotch?” y/n had spoken so softly that it was hard for Aaron to understand her, but the existential ache in her voice was one he knew well and he replied honestly, “No, y/n. I don’t, and I’m sorry you have to ask questions like that to yourself.” There was another loaded pause and y/n let herself go fully limp. Hotch hadn’t left yet and there was nothing left to lose if she just let go for a moment. She’d spent her energy, there was nothing left to give. Hotch supported y/n’s body, never letting it fully lay on the ground. He looked over her and said softly, “Let me get you to your hotel, y/n. Or just away from here, okay?” 

y/n nodded and Hotch helped her to her feet. She leaned on him heavily. Letting him take her anywhere but here. The pair was moving toward Aaron’s car when they stopped. y/n looked up from the ground to see what the issue was and why they had stopped. As soon as she saw who was approaching them, she froze. Went absolutely stiff as a board, and if Aaron hadn’t been there she would have fallen over, but her hands gripped onto his shoulder like a vice and she could feel him flinch but not move away. 

Aaron saw the man walking their way slightly later than he’d liked. He was leading y/n toward his car. He was going to take her to the hotel and try and get some food and water in her before making any more suggestions. But this new man, though he seemed harmless could pose a problem to him getting them out of there as fast as possible. The approaching figure walked with a limp and was probably about fifteen years older than Hotch. When he stopped he could feel y/n stop too, bumping into him slightly. He could feel her eyes lift past his shoulder where y/n’s hand was resting and the change in demeanor was so drastic that he could feel it. The coldness and stiffness radiating off y/n signaled her discomfort along with her harsh grip on his body. Instinctually he moved in front of y/n. Whoever this guy was, he was bad news. Hotch’s protective stance didn’t stop the man from walking about a foot from them and saying in a weak voice, “y/n. Is that you? It’s hard to believe it’s you. I haven’t seen you in years.” The man spoke like Aaron wasn’t even there, and there was an awkward pause when y/n should have responded back in some way but didn’t. That didn’t stop the man from continuing like nothing odd was happening here and saying, “I heard about your mother, y/n. I’m sorry… I just wanted to come over here and let you know.” y/n’s grip tightened on his shoulder even more but he didn’t grimace, and when y/n replied in a voice so void that he wouldn’t believe she was there if she wasn’t holding him so tight, “I’m sure you are,” Aaron knew something terrible had happened between them. No one sounded like y/n without it, whatever it was, it was bad. 

That was when the flip switched on in Hotch and he moved in front of y/n totally blocking her from view. If looks could kill the man in front of Hotch would have been found in cardiac arrest so bad that it seemed medically impossible. Aaron didn’t say anything, he didn’t need to as the man finally noticed his presence and almost wilted on site. The man opened his mouth and extended his hand out a millimeter but then just as quickly shut his chapped lips and turned on his heel moving as fast as she could without it looking like an outright sprint toward another building further in the neighborhood. 

Once the man was out of sight, Aaron moved y/n to his car and opened the door for her. She slipped into the passenger seat and was back to her early state in the BAU. When she would lose all affect. Hotch helped buckle her in and then got in on the driver’s side. He started the car and turned on the AC, it had gotten surprisingly warm and Hotch felt flushed and he couldn’t tell if it was from anger or something else. The pair didn’t talk during the ten-minute drive to y/n’s hotel. However, Hotch looked over at y/n every now and then to make sure she was still with him. It felt like if he didn’t stay tuned in on her she might slip away to a place he’d never be able to find her again. At the hotel, Hotch asked y/n what her room number was and she said, “251” and handed over her key fob. Hotch took it in his hand and led y/n inside and up to her room. If a stranger walked past them they might think something sketchy was going down. y/n looked drugged from her state and Aaron was like someone taking advantage of that opportunity. But there was no one there to see them, and for that, Hotch was grateful. 

y/n slumped into bed and Hotch sat down on the edge of the mattress. He knew that he needed to give y/n space. To let her rest and recover herself from what must have been a terrible day even though it had only been an hour that he’d been with her. He’d ask her if she’d like him to leave or stay, but first, he asked, “y/n, who was that guy?” For the first time since they’d gotten to the hotel room, y/n looked at Aaron and said in a whisper, “Don’t make me say it, Aaron. Please…” Hotch needed and put his hand on her shoulder and nodded. He didn’t need to know. Inside he knew, and he realized in that moment he wasn’t leaving y/n alone. Not ever; she’d been alone for too long and he’d help her change that if she wanted that. 

It wasn’t until a few months later, when the air had cleared and the skies stopped looking perpetually gray that y/n told Aaron what he had asked months ago. This was after they had been dating for a while. He knew almost everything about her now. He had found out the main source of her shame and after that there had been little to hide from him, thus beginning a relationship had been natural. She had asked him many times why he came that day and his answers varied, but the theme was consistent. “I was worried about you. I had a bad feeling. I just needed to be there,” and whatever other motivation Hotch might have had conscious or not y/n didn’t question them. He’d come when she had needed someone and now as they were laying next to each other, in their pajamas and a sheet over them she’d tell him the rest. 

y/n rolled on her side and ran her hand down Aaron’s sharp jawline. His stubble was slightly growing out, and she knew he’d shave it later that day. His dark eyes found hers and a hint of a smile on his face. y/n said, “Hotch, you once asked about that guy, in my mom’s neighborhood. Do you still want to know?” Hotch’s eyelids closed slightly. He was thinking through this offer. It wouldn’t change anything about how he thought about y/n. He had the utmost respect for y/n and how she had handled her life after all the terrible situations she’d lived through. And this would be no different. He knew he’d respect y/n for how she’d acted in whatever situation she had been put in, but his response wouldn’t change. Because of that he honestly replied, “y/n, if it would bring you peace and make you feel better then I’d like you to tell me. If it would make you feel bad or change anything then I don’t need to know. I’d like to know, but there are parts of ourselves that can stay hidden if it’s for the best. I trust you to know what’s best.” 

y/n had a feeling this would be the response from Aaron. He always was so considerate of her and her past. She knew that even though Hotch said he wouldn’t look at her differently, there was the nagging feeling in her mind, that was always in her mind, that the truth would push whoever she was with away. And even if it was slightly selfish, y/n loved Aaron so much that if she had to lose him, then she’d rather be the one to cut the cord sooner rather than latery/n let out a deep breath and said, “I’d like to tell you.” y/n paused before adding, “I’ve never told this to anyone before, so if I get confused or it sounds weird, I’m sorry.” Hotch nodded with understanding. He placed his hand on y/n’s arm and looked at her with encouragement. 

y/n got that far-away look in her eyes as she did when she thought about the far-away past. However, he could tell that she wasn’t fully immersed in the memories as her thumb glided over his knuckles. Aaron wondered if it was too painful to fully go back there, but either way, he was ready to listen. y/n took a shallow breath and said, “My mom’s… problems… have always been there. She used to tell me that it had nothing to do with me. I got that, or I tried to, but even if the hoarding wasn’t about me, it still affected me. It still made me smell funny and made it hard to do homework, or hard to eat any normal meals. When I was very young I just assumed everyone lived like we did because we were pretty isolated.” There was a break as y/n bit the inside of her lip as she decided how to continue. When she had her timeline as clear as her mind would allow, she continued her story: “When I got old enough to go to school I had a real wake-up call and I figured out that what I was living wasn’t ‘normal’ as I had believed. This meant that I got out more often, which I was glad about and I joined as many clubs and sports as possible to stay away from home. But I was like, eleven, so there weren’t a ton of options and we were poor, but I did what I could.

This was a blessing and a curse because I made some friends, but I never told anyone about what it was like at home. It was too embarrassing for me. My absence and meeting new people gave my mom time alone to buy more stuff without me around and it gave her a chance to meet some new people too. You know my soccer coach, or drama friends mom’s and dad’s.” Aaron nodded. y/n was slowing down, which he sensed meant that the story was going to get harder to tell from then. y/n swallowed and continued, “Mom started bringing guys around, drinking and stuff, but none of them would stay once they saw what her place was like, and I don’t blame them. Then one day one of your neighbors, that man that talked to me when you were at my mom’s house was over. I found them together more and more at home, so I thought they had a thing. I was surprised that he stuck around. Rumors fly in that type of environment. One day when the house was really really bad he told me I could spend some time with him at his place if I wanted somewhere clean to study.” Hotch’s brows pulled together. He’d heard these stories time and time again and the pit in his stomach balled into a knot. 

“I thought he was being nice, at first. It was nice for a while, but he, you know, he made me pay him back for his kindness. Aaron pulled y/n into a tight hug and whispered, “I’m sorry, y/n. I’m so sorry.” There was a tense pause before Hotch asked, “Did you ever tell your mom?” y/n tensed and he knew this was the point that was tormenting her. Not that any of what she had said before wasn’t incredibly inhuman and cruel, but there were strong feelings attached to what was coming next. y/n was silent as she nodded her head yes. She sobbed into his chest and rasped out, “I did tell her after it got bad. She… she didn’t believe me. She didn’t want to believe me, because that man was someone who was willing to live and sleep with her delusions. I was the price of that relationship.” Hotch nuzzled his nose into her shoulder and whispered, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” over and over again like a lullaby. After y/n had soothed slightly, she said, “I never told anyone else, Aaron. I let it fester, and I was scared. But… what if he hurt other people after me? Other kids? I can’t live with that. This job, our job, I thought it would make my guilt feel better, but no matter how hard I try it doesn’t go away.” 

Aaron pulled up a bit and wiped away y/n’s tear-stained face. Her eyes were red-rimmed and so sad. Hotch shook his head and said, “y/n, you were a child. So many people failed you. I imagine you were clinging to what you knew. The only thing you knew. No one can blame you for that, and if they do, that’s on them. I am so sorry that no one was there to protect you then. I’m here now, no one, no one will ever hurt you like that again, and if you want to talk more about this, I’m ready to hear you. If you want comfort, I’m here. If you want to speak to someone, a therapist, or a lawyer, I’m here. I’m here,” Hotch echoed again making sure she knew that she’d never be put in that place again. As long as he was alive, it would never happen again. y/n relaxed against him. She felt so much lighter having said everything. She knew Aaron, and she knew he was speaking the truth - he was there for her and he would be as long as she wanted him to be. Aaron, despite his flaws, was committed, and he didn’t give up on things. y/n rested her hand against his heart and felt it beating under her palm, steady like he was, and for the first time in over a decade, she had nothing to hide from someone she cared for. 

Hotch was sure to be careful with this new information y/n had shared with him. He had an even keel and he kept his promises. He had even more respect for y/n than before, and he treated her the same with that new knowledge. He knew that if he made a big deal of y/n’s situation that was not what she wanted. Like all things with their relationship, they took time with each other, letting what needed to happen do so in due time. However, even though Hotch could treat y/n with the same love, the knowledge of the man’s actions who had harmed her so severely ate at him. Not only that, but that he had seen him. That the man who had tormented someone so young and innocent was still walking around free of repercussions started a small seed of darkness in his spirit. 

Aaron normally didn’t let cases get to him, but whenever there were children involved he could only imagine Jack and now a young version of y/n in the same situation. Sometimes he dreamed of the man he’d seen in the trailer park. Dreamed of him dying in various ways. He knew it wasn’t good. He knew he couldn’t let him affect him this much, but there was no stopping the hatred that was growing in his heart. After a while, Hotch had researched the man and found out where he worked, and his criminal record. It was no shock that he had a long list of pretty crimes one of assault and battery. Aaron was always shocked by the freedom of information. It took him two days to find all of this out. He realized he was privileged as an agent, it was his job to find information about people, but even so, the surveillance state seemed to be getting worse every day and no one even noticed it. He pushed that thought aside as he glared at the address on the online yellow pages. He closed the private tab and sighed, making a not to delete all of these accounts once he got home and to call Jack and see how he was doing. 

After a few months of dreams about the man and y/n  that seemed to intensify in violence, Hotch knew that he couldn’t outrun this feeling of anger. It ran in his family, and he could normally control it, but this situation dealt with someone who was as close to himself as anyone had been, so forgiving and forgetting was not an option. Plus, the pervert who had hurt y/n didn’t deserve to be forgiven. He deserved what was coming to him. Aaron knew he couldn’t risk doing something like Elle had, even if that too was justified. He had far too many people relying on him, but he knew this anger wasn’t helping him, so with careful thought and research, he made a plan. Yes, couldn’t be a Batman-type vigilante doling out justice, but he sure as hell could instill fear into the hearts of weak, hurtful, and manipulative men, and that was what he was planning to do. 

He waited until the team was on break and y/n was going to see a good childhood friend. He knew she’d be so wrapped up in spreading her warmth with those around her that she’d not fully notice if he wasn’t as responsive as usual. This plan was only going to take two days according to his carefully crafted agenda. With the team on leave, he’d also be safe from a case calling him away and the other BAU members wondered why he was near the edge of the state and not at his apartment which was a forty-minute drive to Quantico. 

It was early when Aaron caught his 4:45 AM flight. He didn’t need to, he could drive to the trailer park easily, but he didn’t want to leave a clear trail behind his actions. He rested during the flight and knew that once his task was done, he’d be able to let this go and be fully present for y/n. To return the care she always gave him. He felt that he couldn’t love her unless he let this hatred go. The flight was short, less than an hour, and it landed in a small dinky airport on the edge of Virginia. He then rented a car from the airport and paid in cash. As the sun was fully lighting the sky, Hotch pulled up to the work site where the man he was after was sitting in an air-conditioned office, making sure workers didn’t get hurt on the job. When Aaron found out that that was what the man did, he could only cringe at the irony of someone like that keeping grown men safe but having such neglect for children. 

Hotch turned off the car and sat for a moment, tapping his hand on the wheel for a second. He was wearing work clothes, some he’d picked up at Goodwill two days ago. As he stepped out of the truck, he fit right in with the other men coming on the job. It was bound to be a hot day from the sun and lack of clouds. Hotch didn’t look at anyone as he walked toward the portable set of offices on the construction site. He stepped up the wooden stairs and entered the door on the left side. The man he was looking for sat in an uncomfortable-looking swivel chair, drinking a bitter cup of coffee. The man looked up at Aaron and eyed him over. Clearly thinking he was looking for a job, the man said, “HR is the door over. You’re lucky, we fired some guys yesterday.” Hotch clenched his jaw and didn’t say anything. The silence intensified and the man uncomfortably cleared his throat and said, “Can I help you with something?” Hotch let out a breath and locked the door of the office from the inside, trapping the man in with him. The man fidgeted in his chair, not expecting this kind of reaction and not having a clue what to do. 

Once Aaron was standing in front of the man’s desk he said, “There is something you can do for me. And you will do it, or you’ll regret the rest of your sorry life.” The man in the chair swallowed thickly and stuttered, “M-man what’s this about? Do I know you?” A tiny flash of understanding moved over his face but it went away as the fear returned. Given his response, the man clearly had more than one enemy, and perhaps this wasn’t the first time this kind of conversation had happened before. Aaron didn’t take the long road as he said, “If I so much as see you, or know that you’re around a child, ever, you’ll be in the ground before you can reach for your phone and try and call the cops.” A look of horror splashed the man like water and he took a bit too long to reply, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know any kids man.” 

Aaron let out a breath and replied, “I don’t believe you. The way you’re biting the inside of your mouth right now tells me you’re lying. Also, the sex offender registry says otherwise. If you’re going to blatantly lie to me, at least be right.” Another minute of silence elapsed and Hotch continued, “You can lie to yourself all you want, but you can’t lie to me. So I’m going to say it once more. If I ever see your face near a kid, or in a paper, or near someone I care about I will end you, and you’ll regret every choice you ever make. If you think you can get away with doing something you’re wrong. Every time you pass a school, every time you sit in a pew, or at a restaurant you’d better be watching your back because I will be there somehow someway.” 

Hotch slammed his hands on the cheap wooden table, shaking it and the trailer as the man flinched away. The man closed his eyes, expecting to be hit, but by the time he opened his eyes, the large man who had threatened his life was walking out the door. 

Back in the car, Aaron pulled out, the man wouldn’t call the police, if he did, his criminal record who be brought up again, and questions would be asked. Questions the man couldn’t afford to answer. Hotch took his time driving back. He made a one-night stay at a hotel and saw a one-man play of Marx in Soho. He enjoyed the performance, but it was more of a cover-up than anything else. The team would ask him what he’d done while off and he’d have something to tell them for once. The next afternoon, he checked out of his hotel and drove back to the city. He arrived at the rental return lot in the evening, dropped off the car, and then got back into his own. As he entered the driver's seat, he felt the need to be with y/n. To have her presence relax him and to know that he’d done the right thing. He texted her to ask if she was back yet. As he started the car, he got a text from y/n saying, “Aaron, yeah I’m back. I got home this afternoon. I was just going to sleep early, I just got out of the shower. If you want to come a spend the night I’d love to have you here.” Hotch’s heart warmed at her response and he quickly texted back that he’d be over in a few minutes. 

When Aaron got to y/n’s apartment he parked in a visitor spot and grabbed his keys. He let himself in with his spare and closed the door with a soft click, locking it behind him. There was only the small stove light and lamp on in the kitchen and front room. Hotch looked into the clean space and called out, “Honey, I’m here. Do you want me to turn off the lights?” The soft reply from the bedroom was a simple, “Yes, please.” Hotch smiled and switched off the lights and then moved down the wooden hallway and into y/n’s room. 

y/n was just crawling into bed in her favorite night shirt when her bedroom door opened. She beamed at Aaron. Seeing him always made her feel safe, and even though she was tired, she was so happy for him to be here. “Are you staying tonight, or just stopping by to say hi?” Aaron looked around the room, feeling better being here already. Once he started slipping off his shoes and undoing the buttons on his shirt, y/n relaxed more into the bed now that she knew he was staying. When he was just in his briefs, Hotch dipped into bed and turned off the main light in the room. Under the covers he snuggled y/n from behind, breathing in her scent of moisturizer and shampoo. He stayed like that for a little while as they both got comfortable. y/n hummed her approval and whispered, “I’m sorry I’m not up for more tonight. Thanks for coming. How was your break?” Aaron kissed the nape of her neck and replied equally softly, “It was good. I saw a play you’d like yesterday. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.” Aaron could feel y/n smile in front of him as she said, “Agent Aaron Hotchner, the man of culture. I can’t wait, love.” 

y/n was as tired as she sounded as she fell asleep a few minutes later. Hotch brushed her hair lightly and held her a little more tightly as he relaxed for the first time since y/n had told him the extent of what had happened to her. He couldn’t save everyone, sometimes it was too late, but this once, this once he was going to be there for someone. He was going to keep being there. As he drifted off, he was able to sleep and not have any dreams at all.

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[wildflowerluver]

sharing 

aaron hotchner x fem!reader

3 times aaron shares his clothes with you

cw: nsfw mentions, aftercare, bau reader, injury, case details

wc: 1.4k

༺♡༻

suit jacket

aaron hotchner is rarely seen during work hours in anything other than a suit. 

there’s exceptions, of course, such as cases up north where he can be found dressed in jeans and a quarter zip. but then again, how often does the team get sent to a place like alaska. 

the team was sent up to vermont. the suspected unsub lived and hunted in the thick forests which made profiling extremely difficult. days later, when you finally had a suspect, you and the team wasted no time in speeding through the pouring rain to get to his location. 

arriving first, you and morgan shot off running after the unsub who had escaped out of the back of his rural house and into the woods. the team stayed behind to raid the home for one of the missing girls as well as setting up a base camp for the arrest. 

by the time you caught up with morgan who had already apprehended the unsub, you’re soaked from the rain. it doesn’t help that you have to walk up another hill to get back to where you hope the team is.

you’re absolutely drenched and can’t stop shivering. 

the bullet proof vest that sits across your chest has transformed from its normal navy blue to a near black; mud streaks across it to add to the mess.

once you appear in the sight of the team, emily is the one who reaches you and morgan first. 

you’re both a little out of it from a combination of the weather and the chase. her voice is muffled but the hands cupping your cheeks are easy to feel. they’re warm and seem to ground you. 

the warmth you’re feeling is leaving as quick as you registered it. emily’s soft hands are replaced with larger, more calloused ones. ones you know very well; aaron’s.

“honey, are you alright?” his voice is quiet.

it takes you a moment to meet his eyes.

“s’ cold,” you chatter.

aaron takes you being able to respond to that as a win. his expression shifts to relief as he places a tentative hand on your shoulder. “the ambulance is here. we should get you checked out.”

you allow him to guide you over. morgan’s already been cleared which is a good sign.  

the emt’s waste no time in bombarding you with questions. you’re still shivering.

not even thinking twice, aaron slides off his suit jacket to place it on your shoulders. you know you won’t be fully warm until you get out of the clothes that you’re in but the jacket is a kind gesture. 

aaron doesn’t care in the slightest that his jacket is getting wet. you, on the other hand, frown and try to push it back. you know how expensive his work clothes are. they’re the only thing in your shared closet that gets sent to a dry cleaner for special cleaning.

“y/n,” aaron scolds. “please take my jacket.”

you feel like a child at his words. his usual term of endearment had shifted into just your name for emphasis. 

you grumbled quietly before allowing aaron to readjust his jacket over your shoulders. it doesn’t just provide you with warmth from the material, but simply from knowing that it was aaron’s.

he stays seated next to you the entire time. His arm had snaked around your waist to hold you close.

aaron waits until the emt’s successfully clear you and move to check on some of the others before he raises his chin so you meet his eyes. 

he leans down to kiss you gently. it’s short and sweet. you barely have any time to process it before he’s pulling away. 

“all better.”

sweater

the house is slightly chilly when you wake up.

normally you would take this opportunity to roll over and bury yourself into aaron’s chest. he was a personal furnace.

instead of finding aaron beside you, you’re met with an empty bed. his covers are neatly tucked in and his pillow is fluffed. the mattress is cold too, a telltale sign aaron’s been out of bed for quite a bit. 

though tiredness courses throughout you, the urge to find aaron outweighs that. 

you shiver as your feet hit the hardwood floor. the shirt you decided to wear to bed seems like a bad choice. across the room, a grey article catches your eye.

the sweatshirt is soft in your hands once you pick it up. you know it’s aaron’s judging by the print on it. he had a habit of keeping his old college apparel.

the george washington university logo had faded and cracked from years of wear but it smells like aaron. you don’t think twice before sliding it on. 

you pad down the stairs and shuffle into the kitchen in search of your boyfriend. 

the sleeves of aaron’s sweatshirt go a bit past the tips of your fingers and you bring your hands up to your chest.

aaron is by the stove, humming along to the music that plays out of the record player as he cooks breakfast. he’s dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt. you have no idea how he isn’t cold though you’re sure he’s planning on building a fire in the fireplace to combat the chill of the blowing snow outside. 

you waste no time in moving forward to wrap your arms around his midsection. your head finds a place between his shoulder blades as you squeeze him a little tighter. 

“good morning,” you smile.

aaron places his spatula to the side and turns the stove down. whatever he’s making can wait. 

he’s turning around to face you. your arms remain around his waist and his move up to cup your cheeks.

aaron moves down to kiss you deeply. your heart beats faster as your lips meet. despite the months of dating, you never get tired of kissing him.

“good morning, honey,” he mumbles against your lips.

aaron’s eyes leave yours and look down at your frame. you bite your lip. 

“is that my sweatshirt?” he asks.

you hide your face in his neck. “maybe,” you mumble. you know he’s not mad but the embarrassment of getting caught makes your face flush.

aaron kisses the crown of your head. 

“i don’t mind. looks much better on you anyway.”

shirt

you’re still breathing hard when your head finally hits the pillow.

aaron takes his time pulling out. you whimper at the empty feeling but he kisses you gently as if to combat the feeling.

“so good for me,” he presses the words into your neck. “so perfect.”

aaron thumbs away a few stray tears, purely from pleasure, that have fallen down your cheeks. your eyes are still a little clouded and aaron notices almost immediately. 

“feeling okay?” he kisses your cheek, then your forehead, and finally your lips.

you nod, face flushing. “more than okay.”

aaron hums. aftercare after sex is one of the most important things to him but he first needed to make sure you were okay.

“c’mon, let's get cleaned up,” aaron snakes an arm around your waist to pull you flush to him. you keep your head in the crook of his neck as he helps you to your feet and into the bathroom.

aaron takes his time with you in the shower. he makes sure the water is just the right temperature before he pulls you in.

his hands are soft as they wash and massage your scalp. he’s mindful of your sensitivity and when you’re done, he wraps you up in a big fluffy white towel. 

“what can i get you?” aaron asks.

“bed,” you mumble, tiredness finally taking over.

aaron kisses your forehead. he squeezes your hip and leaves you to walk over to his drawer. he returns just a moment later with one of his t-shirts in hand.

“arms up,” aaron instructs gently.

you do as you’re told, the soft material concealing your body in the best way possible. the smile on your face tells aaron he made the right choice in his pick of pajamas for you. you can’t help it, there’s something so intimate about sharing clothes with a partner. 

you finally make it back to the bed. the sheets had been changed and the covers are pulled back to make it look extra inviting. 

aaron helps you before sliding in after you. 

you promptly curled into aaron’s side.

“goodnight honey,” he whispered.

you’re asleep before you have the chance to answer.

[markrosewater]

I really love animals and how many different species there are. When you started talking about Bloomburrow's mechanics not being directly typal, I was hoping that there'd be a lot of one-off animals. But almost all of the cards revealed so far are one of the main 10 animals, with the main exceptions being the calamity beasts.

Was there ever a point in development where the focus was more on showcasing a lot of different animal species rather than selecting a smaller number that act as draft archetype groups?

I talked about this in my first Bloomburrow preview column. Here's a snippet:

"Once it was on the schedule, I did a little advance work on the genre to familiarize myself with it. I realized that there were two ways it's traditionally done.

Take #1 – Animals represent groups of people. These people are mice, those people are badgers, and these people are otters. Each animal type has qualities that are consistent among that group, usually things that feel resonant with the real-world animal. In this version, the setting is usually a biome, and all the animals in it are ones who would live in that biome. The animals are roughly proportional to what they would be in the real world.

Take #2 – Animals represent individual people. This person's jumpy, so she's a frog. That person's sneaky, so he's a fox. This other person rushes into things, so they're a rhino. Each animal is used to represent personality qualities. In this version, the setting is usually something more human in structure, often a city, and the variety of animals is much larger. The animal selection here is not limited by biome, so you can have animals living together that normally would never see each other in the real world. The animals are loosely related in size (a racoon is smaller than an elephant), but the scope of scale is compressed.

Take number one is easier for worldbuilding. There are less unique types of animals, and they're organized by creature type. Because animals are used to express groups of people, they tend to act more similarly to traditional species creature types, like Elves, Goblins, or Merfolk. This pushes us more toward a factioned typal theme.

Take number two is easier for design because the designers have access to a lot more animals and can make more individually cool designs. The twelfth Mouse card, for instance, is a lot harder to make different than the first Giraffe. This approach pushes us more toward mechanics that tie into a larger animal theme. It's more likely we'd create an environment that was about a lot of different animals working together, putting the focus more on individual top-down card design.

Aaron was more interested in doing take number one, while I was more interested in doing take number two. So, we did a bunch of market research. It came back exactly even. Half the people we polled preferred take one, and half preferred take two. In a tie, Aaron's original vision won out, so we did take one. (Also, I believe more people internally wanted to do take one.) I do want to stress that both takes would have allowed us to make a cool set. They just head down different paths and would have ended up in very different places, mechanically and creatively."

[zvdvdlvr]

— Olive Garden Gift Card

🌌 — synopsis. You meet your dad.

🌌 — warnings. This is basically a self-fucking-insert. You have a sister and good grandparents but youre stepdad left! Fix-It!Rossi. Don’t read this if you don’t have daddy issues.

     The sun had just dipped over the tall building when you entered the FBI building. You knew going in here was a gamble. Why would a big shot FBI boss believe an almost 22 year old woman claiming that he’s her daughter?

     No matter, you told yourself as you wittily convinced the security officer to let you in the building. Your mother was dead now and you wanted to at least let him know you existed. Even if he did already know, you wanted to tell him of your mother’s death. The dark blue folder with paint stained in the back (courtesy of your little sister) stopped shaking after taking a calming breath in the elevator.

     You had memorized the layout of the room memorized after weeks of planning what you would say and how you would say it, so actually entering the room made your heart beat a little faster. To think you were actually going to see your biological father- your dad- made you mad and a little nervous.

     Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner looked up at the figure at the door. Her face was solemn, but the way her eyebrows were set made Hotch think she was nervous. She had a familiar frown. The girl wore a pair of dark jeans with brown square-toed boots. The Carhartt shirt she wore was black. “Hello. SSA Hotchner. What can I do for you?” He asked, sticking his hand out.

     “I was asked to give this to you,” you said after shaking your dad’s hand. You tried to keep your voice calm. You couldn’t believe you were actually standing in front of your father. From a young age you knew you were different. All the other boys and girls weren’t in their mom’s wedding as the flower girl or ring bearer. All the other boys and girls didn’t call their male parent by their first name. All the other boys and girls had the same last name as everyone in the house. Except you.

     Aaron looked at the tightly-written cursive on the back of the envelope and felt a pang of familiarity in his heart. “I- I’m sorry, who are you?”

     After saying your last name- your mother’s last name- you saw it.

     “I’ll read fast.” You watched your father’s eyes dart over the front page. Your mother’s handwriting took up most of the back as well, but you were ready for Aaron to usher you out of his office and apologize for your loss so you stayed rigid in your seat. The cold leather of the chair did nothing to soothe you. Aaron’s cologne made you want to heave. What would he say?

     Another minute passed before Aaron placed the letter in his desk and took out photos from the envelope. You didn’t know what your mother wrote, but you read the captions and years on the back and your eyes filled with unshed tears as you relived those memories.

     After examining the photos with an unreadable expression, Aaron looked up at you. “I didn’t realize your mother was pregnant when she left,” he murmured, glancing down at the photo of you at age six with a pink hat and camo jacket on your mother’s shoulders. In your hands you held a small trout. In your mother’s hands was a larger trout. You were so proud because that was the first fish you had ever caught.

     You nodded. “She told me everything.” You tried to keep yourself neutral until Hotch told you to get out.

     “Y/n,” he said slowly, examining you closely. You had your mother’s flat nose, hooded eyes, and plump lips. You had Aaron’s high cheekbones, sharp jawline, and serious eyebrows. Aaron knew you were a spitfire- a dangerous combination of him and your mother. “What do you want to do? What do you want me to do?” His tone was quiet and you knew you had done it. He didn’t care. Not about you or your dead mother or the little sister that you cared so deeply for. Well, fine.

     That caught you off guard. “I don’t care. I just wanted to come tell you that you have two other kids and that my mother was dead.” You felt your throat tighten at the mention of your little sister. Your grandparents were currently watching her since your stepfather had divorced your mother and wanted nothing to do with either of you. “So I did that. I, uh…” your jaw clenched and you looked at the framed picture of the happy family of three: consisting of Aaron Hotchner, his wife, and son. You didn’t want to cry in front of a man you didn’t even know, so you swallowed and set your eyes to him. “I’ll leave you to your life.”

     You tried to ignore the way your bottom lip trembled and how a single tear slipped down your cheek as you closed the door to his office rather loudly. You tilted your head up and your shoulders kept solid as you walked past your dad’s office, your dad’s team, and your dad. This time you were the one doing the walking away.

— 🌌

     You had promised your sister to pick up a present for her. Despite the pretty big age gap between the two of you, you and Ava go along well. You had planned to stay for a couple days in Virginia, so you had time to thrift for gifts for your loving grandparents (read: mother’s mom and dad) and sister.

     Right now, though, you were strolling through a small book store on a darker lit area of the town. Sure, you knew you probably stuck out like a sore thumb with your appearance, but you had always harbored a love to read. You were just pulling out a Sylvia Plath to add to the growing pile of Vonnegut and Wiesel book on your arm. You counted those books and decided another one wouldn’t hurt.

     “Already read you,” you murmured, walking slowly past an aisle of titles.

     “Do you want me to carry those for you?”

     You turned around, remembering the stainless steel knife your stepdad had gifted you long ago in your front jeans pocket. In front of you was an older gentleman in an expensive suit. The lines across his face told you he was older, wiser. “Uh… no. Thank you though.”

     He nodded and stuck his hand out for you to shake. “My name is David. David Rossi.”

     This David Rossi fellow worked with Aaron, you recalled. You had done your research. “I see. Did Hotchner send you?”

     Rossi shook his head and followed you. “No. I came here on my own accord. You left in a hurry,” he said. You made your way to the fictional section- you were a sucker for some fictional romance.

     “I don’t think he wanted me there. He has a life and so do I. I just… my mother wanted me to give him that letter and I… just wanted to meet dear old dad,” you replied dryly. You didn’t regret seeing him- you had planned for the scenario that he didn’t want you. Hell, you had already lived with not knowing your dad and thinking about him for your whole life. This just gave you a reason to never think about him again. “Why are you even here?”

     “I wanted to talk to you,” he answered immediately. “Try to convince you to stay for a couple more days. I think you’re isolating yourself from your dad because you’ve been let down by other men before. I think you’re trying to protect yourself from what you want. I know that you wouldn’t have stuck around if you didn’t at least have a little hope for talking to your dad again.”

     “Please don’t call him that,” you requested tensely. You didn’t like that word. Dad. It made you shudder as you reached out to examine a book by Margaret Atwood. “But you’re right. I am scared. I have- I have other priorities. People need me and I need her. We’re all we have and I’m not about to waste my life away trying to prove to some man that I- his blood- an worth his while. I’m tired of that, sir. But thanks for trying.”

     You picked up the book and moved to the register. Rossi followed you, watching as you paid the price with cash. “Receipt in the bag please,” you said with a bright smile. “Thank you, Joe.” 

     “You’re more than welcome,” the man replied smoothly, returning your smile. You didn’t acknowledge the man known as David Rossi as you unlocked your rent truck.

     “Please just come talk to him again. He wants to talk to you, I can tell. He just needs to talk to his wife and son,” Rossi tried again.

     Shaking your head, you scoffed. “‘Wife and son’? No. No, I’m good.”

    “Before you leave. If not for him, sit down and eat lunch with me and the rest of the team. You’re an intriguing individual.”

     You buckled your seat belt and leaned back in your seat. “No. I’m not.”

     Before you had shut the door and left, you heard Rossi yell “You know the building!”

— 🌌

     Much to your own dismay, you did end up showing up to the building two days later. In your hand was an Olive Garden gift card you’d been saving for a special occasion. Hopefully David liked Italian.

     But you also tried to hide the little flicker of hope that burned in your chest. ‘He wants to talk to you, I can tell’ is what David had told you.

     Your phone rang, though, as soon as you had entered the building. The security man recognized you immediately and handed you a guest badge as you accepted the call from your Grandmother. “Hi Gramma,” you greeted brightly, genuinely happy to hear from the woman.

     “Hi puddin’ pie! Ava wants to talk to you since we missed your call last night,” the woman explained.

     “Put her on,” you said, pulling your jeans up by the belt loop and tucking in your pocket as the phone crackled. You were wearing a light washed pair of jeans, the ones your mother was so proud of when she bought and guessed your size. Jean shopping was always difficult, but your mother always seemed to get you the perfect pair.

     “Hi y/n! How’s Virginia? Did you get me anything?” Ava asked.

     Pushing the button to the BAU’s floor, you laughed. “No? I didn’t know you wanted anything you crazy girl. Too late now, I’m on my way home now.”

     You heard Ava groan loudly and your grandma’s laugh from the other line. You smiled, happy to call them your family. “Y/n! I told you what-“

     “I’m just teasing, kiddo. It’s a surprise though. I’ve got a couple more days here until you can see it,” you explained, waiting for the door to open.

     “Well… is it cool? Like a tank or a grenade or- or a really big skull?” Ava asked.

     You stepped out of the elevator and stood to the side, not wanting to end the call. “I told you, Ave, it’s a surprise. I can’t tell you otherwise I’ll die.”

     Ava’s laughter filled the line and your heart ached for the little girl. She had gone through so much. So had you, but she was more important.

     You scratched your head and your smile faded after seeing the corner of his lips lift. He was standing in the middle of the bullpen, listening to his agent’s conversation. He tilted his head towards his office. You raised an eyebrow and he just nodded before excusing himself to wait for you.

     Pocketing the gift card, you kept your head solid and your back straight as you walked in. “Well, I gotta go, Ava-Girl. Give Papa some hell and keep the cows clean, yeah?”

     “Okay. You’ll call tonight, right? Papa said he wanted to call, but is busy fixing Mr. O’Donnel’s wiring.”

     “Yeah, yeah I’ll call, Ave. Be good for Gramma okay? Give her a hug for me. Love you, kiddo,” you said quietly as you quickly walked past Aaron’s open door.

     “I love you too, y/n. Have fun and be safe,” Ava replied before hanging up.

     Rossi smiled at you. “Good evening,” he greeted. You resisted the urge to laugh at the smugness of his smile. “We’re almost off. Are you going to talk to your da- Hotch?”

     “If he wants to,” you replied. “I have a gift card for Olive Garden. Is that offer for-“

     “Yes. Do you want the whole team to come with? They might ask a lot of questions but they all mean well,” Rossi asked.

     “I mean, I’m a complete stranger to you all so it’s up to them. I’ll pay,” you answered, feeling your billfold in your back pocket.

     “Nonsense. Do you… do you want to talk to Hotch first? We can go and reserve a table,” Rossi offered. You wondered how you were going from avoiding the whole lot of people all together to going to dinner with them.

     You nodded slowly. “Yeah. That would probably be best. Thank you, Rossi.”

     “Just David, kid, and don’t worry about it,” he said, laying a hand on your shoulder before heading out to get the team.

     This time, you entered Aaron’s office without knocking. “David and the team are meeting us at Olive Garden. Are you- do you want to come?”

     Hotch stood up, arms hanging awkwardly at his side. “Do you want me there?”

    “I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t… I also thought we should, uh, talk. Or you talk and I listen. You know what I have to say.”

     Aaron nodded, still rigid. “I don’t- I liked your mother, y/n. I did. We just had different plans for our future. I wasn’t in love with her, but she was a good soul, a good mother. I didn’t know she was… with child when we parted ways,” he explained cautiously, examining you for your reaction.

     “Do you love your wife? And son?” You asked, voice oddly calm.

     Aaron nodded. “I do. I do but I want to be in your life. You said you had a little sister?”

     “Yes but I don’t want you to feel like you have to just because you hooked up with my ma. I want you to want to know us.”

     Aaron nodded. “I do. I really do, y/n. Just give me a chance and some time. I talked to Haley and Jack and they… well, they’d like to meet you.”

     Swallowing, you nodded. “Okay. Okay, well. We can start with dinner.”

     “Dinner,” Hotch repeated, arm twitching as he nodded.

     An solemn silence filled the air as you gnawed at your lips. The rigid, wide-eyed man in front of you did want to know you. You felt your eyes sting knowing that this would either heal you or break you. But you wanted to try. For you, your mother, and your sister.

     “Come here, y/n,” Aaron murmured, bottom lip shaking ever so slightly as he opened his arms.

     It was embarrassing how hard you collided into your dad’s arms. You probably would have even laughed if you weren’t so overwhelmed with actually hugging him.

     Aaron closed his eyes as tears fell down his own face. He really really really hoped he didn’t screw this up.

     You finally pulled away and sniffed, knowing you probably looked like a mess. “So you are going to Olive Garden with us?”

     A watery laugh bubbled out of Aaron throat as he hugged you even tighter. “I’d love to get Olive Garden with you.”

[violet-bruises]

Baby Lay Your Head Down

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x OFC (SSA Sophie Carter)

Warnings: Established past relationship (kind of), mild suggestive language, mentions of grief, mentions of death and almost death, mentions of suppressing emotions, excessive longing, angst

Author's note: I've had ideas for Hotch swirling in my head for months years, and this is the first time I've managed to get anything down on paper. In my head, my OFC is a little more fleshed out, as is her relationship to Hotch, and their story is much larger. This is just a small blurb taken from a point in their story that was swirling in my mind recently. I hope it makes sense lol. ALSO! This is my very first time posting to tumblr, or publicly at all for that matter.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN AARON HOTCHNER AS A CHARACTER! ALL CREDIT TO THE CREATOR! (did i say it right?)

Word count: 2,474

Summary: Aaron is usually the first one in the office. Usually.

Once upon a time, Aaron loved mornings. In law school, he’d wake up while it was still dark, squeeze in an early run around campus, shower, and enjoy his coffee all before the sun ever began to show its soft colors. When he and Haley were newlyweds, he’d surprise her with breakfast in bed—which quickly grew cold as they entangled themselves in their straight from the registry sheets. And once Jack was born, Aaron would wake up just to hold him, rock him in the cushioned chair in his nursery before work. But soon, slowly and then all at once, his life grew darker. A thick shadow cast over his days, no matter how high the sun sat in the sky. He and Haley drifted apart. He’d wake many mornings to an empty apartment—no longer a home, much less a house. He spent his mornings in the confines of the BAU. And then Haley died, and Jack almost did; Aaron started sneaking into Jack’s room to watch him sleep just to reassure himself that his son was still here, alive and breathing.

But eventually, mornings became bearable, until they were even enjoyable again. The thick smog over his days lifted. He stopped going into the office early and started having small moments with Jack. Aaron got to enjoy his coffee again, squeeze in the occasional early run, and, for the first time ever, eat breakfast in bed, made for him. For the first time, Aaron’s small apartment felt like home; the soft colors of the sun were no match the vibrant warmth Sophie carted into his life. But clearly Aaron was cursed long ago to fulfill the same prophecy over and over again, because, just as he was finally happy again, truly and utterly, deeply and joyously, he managed to fuck that up, too.

So, once again, Aaron arrives early at the office now every morning. Some occasional mornings, he’s not the first one to wake the floor. On those mornings, he’s grateful—a pot of bitter hot coffee almost certain to be residing in the carafe, singing his name. Most mornings, however, Aaron arrives to a dark and empty bullpen, and he’ll trudge to the small kitchenette in the break room before doing anything else to start the coffee. While the coffee brews, Aaron will make his way to his office, setting down his briefcase and unloading the files on his desk. He’ll file away papers he’s finished with, creating a pile for JJ and Garcia to review. By this time, his coffee has dripped enough that he can pour himself a decent cup. Black. No cream or sugar when in the office, not that any amount could truly save the monstrosity. He’ll place the files on Garcia’s desk, then backtrack to JJ’s. Once he returns, he’ll sit at his desk, pouring over case files, old and new, as the sun rises outside and the city wakes and people begin to pour into the office, a trickle, then a flood.

The same routine for the past three months. Every morning. Everyday.

Except for today.

Today, when Aaron manages to pull himself to the seventh floor and into the BAU, he stops short. The usually quiet and dim office space is punctuated by a soft glow, right at its heart. As he approaches from the entrance, he expects someone to be occupying the lit desk, but its chair is empty. Scattered across the tabletop are case files. A file on the missing twin girls in Arizona from last week (paperwork the responsible unit chief in him is praying is finally done) is open on top, but more lie underneath. He can’t quite read the labels in the shadows that escape the desk lamp’s light. Aaron reaches his hand out to thumb through the papers.

“Oh!”

Aaron swivels to find Supervisory Special Agent Sophie Carter, sock-footed and grasping a massive cup of coffee, standing before him, clearly having just emerged from the break room. Aaron briefly, traitorously, wonders what the ratio of actual coffee to sugar to cream she’s decided on today.

“Good morning,” Aaron greets her, gruffly. He hasn’t spoken since waking up, really only just above a whisper when dropping Jack off at Jessica’s. His voice is rough with unuse. Clearing his throat, he tries again. “What are you doing here?”

“Good morning,” Sophie responds. She diverts eye contact and brushes just past Aaron to reach her desk chair. Aaron watches her. “And I work here.”

Aaron’s lips purse displeasingly. After a moment, Sophie glances up at him then sighs. “I, um, couldn’t really sleep. Figured I’d turn that into being a model employee and finally finish all of my paperwork.”

Aaron documents the subtle red tinge bloomed across her cheeks. Still avoiding his questioning and concerned gaze, she raises her coffee mug to her soft lips. I’m Down To Just 1 Cup A Day in big block letters written on the side. The mug is as big as his head.

“I wish you’d chosen that philosophy about ten years ago. Would’ve saved me a few headaches.”

Sophie finally meets his eyes again. Warm and dark, nearly midnight when cast away from the light on her desk. Aaron is reminded of the night skies that cover all of the small towns he’s seen; far enough from the city, awash with billions of tiny dots of light—stars that create impossibly beautiful and intricate patterns in the sky—the vastness could swallow him whole, and he’d welcome it with open arms.

“Ha ha,” she intones, but her eyes never lose their warmth. Aaron chuckles but doesn’t respond. Instead, he watches. Watches her shuffle through papers, write things down on a sticky note, tuck papers away in folders, pull more papers out. Finally, with tight shoulders, she turns to look up at him. “Can I help you?”

Aaron scans her face. “What are you doing here so early?”

She frowns. “I told you. I couldn’t sleep.”

Then, Sophie sighs, slumping back in her chair. Aaron knows she’s tired. But it’s not the discoloration under her eyes, or the heaviness of her lids that gives her away. It’s how quickly she caves to telling the truth. Too tired to be stubborn, Aaron muses. The fight and irritation drain from her in an instant. “I don’t know, Hotch. Genuinely, I really haven’t been sleeping well, promise. But. . . yeah, it’s been more than just a few sleepless nights.” She flops over, forehead resting on her folded arms. “I haven’t had insomnia like this since college.” Her words come out muffled and pitiful, wrought with exhaustion.

“How long has it been this bad?”

“Um, I guess. . . since the serial in Montana.”

“That was three months ago.”

She doesn’t answer; her head stays buried. Aaron frowns, though he pretty much has been since he realized it was her desk light on in the dark office. Since his discovery, the sun has risen a tiny bit beyond the brick of the building, the sky a cornflower blue. Aaron reckons it’s about 5:30—about an hour and a half before anyone starts arriving—two and a half before the bullpen is officially alive for the day (and three before Morgan manages his way in). Aaron’s noticed Sophie’s tiredness. Of course he has. He catches her blank stares and heavy lids easily. He would’ve said something by now, but her exhaustion had, remarkably, not yet affected her job. The minute duty calls, she springs into action, like she’s been a tightly coiled spring finally allowed to burst. But, it’s more than just that that holds Aaron back. Because that wasn’t part of their arrangement, was it? Because asking her if she’s been sleeping, or feeling well, or eating okay, or taking care of herself, or seeing anyone— those questions were off limits. Wasn’t that what they’d decided? The rules they’d laid down?

Aaron never really was good at following the rules.

“C’mon.”

Sophie lifted her head, eyes wide and round. “What?”

“C’mon,” Aaron repeated, holding his hand out for her to take. She looked between him and his outstretched palm, gaze wildly skeptical.

“Aaron. . . we talked—”

“You talked, I listened, and this—this isn’t about that. This is about ensuring all of my subordinates are in appropriate shape to adequately perform their duties.”

“Last time I checked, I perform my duties far better than adequately.”

“Sophie,” he pleads. It’s a mistake and he knows it, but she broke the rule first. She called him Aaron. Not Hotch, or Agent Hotchner. His resolve was weak enough as it was; her so easily tossing around his first name like that, when he hadn’t heard it from her in months, when he had grown so used to hearing it when she lay next to him, or, when she whispered it, breathlessly, under him. “Please just. . . humor me.”

Her icy look melted, trickling down her body as exhaustion quickly crept up on her. She didn’t take his hand, but she did stand, shuffling papers in folders and stacking them neatly on top of each other. Aaron waited patiently for her to finish tidying and wondered if he’d ever unlearn her. If he ever wanted to. Arranging papers and cleaning off the desk cleaner than he’d seen it since before it was hers—she was stalling to fully accept his offer, and he knows it’s a punishment, her not giving in. For whom, he’s not quite sure.

Finally, after ages, she turns to him. Her eyebrows raise.

Aaron simply turns on his heel, slightly tipping his head for her to follow. He leads them up the short staircase and as they cross the threshold into his office. Aaron places his briefcase down on his own desk before turning to the couch pressed against the opposite wall.

“Hotch—” So she did realize her mistake, “—really, I’m fine. This isn’t the first sleepless night and early morning I’ve had. I can manage on my own.”

Aaron doesn’t respond right away, busying himself with gathering blankets and pillows.

“Hotch.”

“I am very aware that you are perfectly capable of managing on your own. But, Soph,” Aaron can see the miniscule pinch in her brows. Small, but powerful in the painful way it tugs at him. He sighs. “Friends, right? Don’t friends. . . take care of each other?”

Aaron knows, knows all too well, that an argument boils on the tip of her tongue. But he also knows the heavy dangle of her limbs and the soft glaze of her eyes means she’s close to nearly collapsing. It’s not fair, what he’s doing. He knows that and yet. . .

He watches her study the makeshift bed he’s made for her. And then, “I suppose. . . Penelope would do the same for me, too.”

Aaron suppresses a smile. “She would.”

“She’d do more, actually. Penelope would have freshly baked cookies waiting for me, too.”

“That she would.”

“Penelope is a better friend than you are.”

Aaron hears the jest in her voice, but he doesn’t smile. “That she is,” he says, softly.

Finally, Sophie drags her feet to the couch. Without meeting his gaze, she climbs under the covers and settles in. She inhales deeply as her eyes flutter shut.

It should be studied, Aaron thinks, the mercurial rush of affection that overcomes him. He wishes he could control it. Tamper it down and bury it under the crushing weight of all the other emotions he has buried and ignored. He’s usually quite good at it, actually, with years of careful experience under his belt. Though maybe that’s the problem; he’s attempting to add to something already overflowing, and the erosion of it all has chipped his self-control down to nearly nothing.

Aaron’s surety is bone deep: he’s destined to love her until the day he dies. Even if she doesn’t want him to, even if she doesn’t love him. He’d use his dying breath to confess his overwhelming and all-consuming truth. His throat grows tight.

He’s about to turn on his heel, afraid of what he’ll do if he lingers any longer, when Sophie softly calls out to him.

“Thank you,” she tells him, her eyes opening to finally meet his again. Like an electric shock, the urge to touch her races through him. To caress her warm cheek in his palm, to cradle her face and pull it closer to his own, to press his lips to hers. Aaron feels his fingers twitch under his thinning restraint.

He allows his lips to curve in a faint smile. “Of course,” he whispers.

Aaron finally retreats. With his back to her, he swears he can feel Sophie watching him, but when he turns back as he reaches his desk, Sophie has flipped onto her side, her back facing him. It’s for the best, Aaron reminds himself. If he’d caught her eye again, the ghost of his resolve would haunt his office forever.

As the hours ticked on, the BAU bullpen slowly comes back to life. Just as eight o’clock slips by and the trickling morning light catches the ends of Sophie’s hair ablaze, a knock sounds on his door. Before Aaron gets a chance to stand and answer, the door opens and Garcia swiftly steps in.

“Good morning, sir! I sent over the background profiles you requested from the Jefferson City case—”

“Thank you, Garcia. I—”

“Also, I got that police chief in Wichita to finally send over the files on that cold case Rossi needed—”

“Garcia—”

“You wouldn’t believe the sweet talking I had to do, I mean, Morgan level—”

“Garcia!” Aaron couldn’t resist glancing at Sophie, still fast asleep.

Unfortunately, Garcia caught his slip, and she followed his gaze.

“Oh!”

Garcia looked between Aaron and Sophie, once. Then twice.

“Oh, sir,” she started, much softer than when she’d entered. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize!” Garcia began to back out of his office. “See! I saw her desk light on but I hadn’t seen her since I got in. I thought maybe she just forgot to turn it off, ya know, but then she didn’t respond to my text! Which I get now why, you know, given that she’s, you know—”

“Garcia.” She stopped at the entry way. “Let’s just— please don’t—”

She nodded rapidly and mimicked zipping her lips shut, locking them, and throwing away the key. “Of course, sir.”

Just before she closed the door, Garcia poked her head back in.

“Oh! Also, I brought leftover cookies I baked for the counseling center. They’re in the kitchen!” And the door clicked shut behind her.

“See,” Sophie mumbled, voice muffled by the pillows. “Told you.”

Aaron laughs. Maybe these new early mornings weren’t so bad after all.

[bidaryl]

time travel fix it au's are done to death in this fandom but also they're my favourite thing in the world so au where the entire show happens as is and it's heartbreaking and inspiring etc but then. restart button. waking back up at the start of the end except only the people that lived remember

wanna think about what would happen when daryl and carol wake up at camp, remembering everything that happened; carol stronger, knowing in her gut that everything that she remembers is real, and daryl fucking terrified, because if everything in his head actually happened, then what the fuck is this

wanna think about a rick dragging a hostile merle and a wide-eyed glenn back to camp, memories completely intact, and running to reunite with his family. not letting daryl go and hugging carol so so so tight, collapsing to the ground with carl in his arms

wanna think about them dragging the atlanta group to the farm, maggie leaving the front porch light on for them, and everyone reuniting. rick seeing hershel again, daryl seeing beth, carol pulling sophia close, and maggie being unable to even breath, looking at glenn

wanna think about them tossing up whether to even go to the prison, but they met important people there, and alexandria's a long way, and if they're gonna survive this time–if they're gonna live–they're gonna do it right

so they go to the prison so they can figure out their next step, and michonne's there and waiting, andre on her hip, and they deal with the governor before the governor deals with them, and sasha and tyresse finally show up, they find the prisoners, and then one day they get a knock on the front gate, and it's negan

negan showing up, no baseball bat in hand but his leather jacket still in place, a sick but alive lucille by his side, laura and doctor franklin behind him, and all he's got to say is at the end of the world, i know which side i wanna be on

the fallout of that, of maggie being against it, of rick never having gotten to see negan at the end, not knowing the choices he made, the good and the bad. daryl and carol looking at glenn, seeing him alive and in love and having no memory of his last moments, and never wanting anything to ruin that, but negan saved judiths life, helped save all their lives. he chose, in the end, and now it's their turn

wanna think about a future where beth doesn't die, but they go on a rescue mission to get noah anyway. a future where tara turns up with her niece, led by eugene with abraham and rosita following right behind him

wanna think about how they'd handle terminus, how they'd handle the claimers. wanna think about them trying to find father gabriel, except gabe made it the first time around, and he wasn't wasting his second chance. he saved his flock, and he led them to alexandria, and he's waiting

wanna think of connie's group searching for hilltop. not finding maggie, or alden, but finding jesus. wanna think about lydia, being a fucking child, and watching her mother kill her dad, and remembering aaron telling her how loved she was

wanna think of the growing pains of them being able to save so many more family members this time, but god, a larger group is harder to keep alive

daryl trying to run interference with merle and everyone else, getting the jack of it one day and telling him he's already mourned him once, and he won't again. if merle wants to stay–to live–then it's up to him. daryl's not gonna babysit him anymore

rick trying to find his footing between lori and shane and judith, with carl, with michonne and andre. michonne looking at a weak but alive lori grimes holding a screaming and crying newborn in her arms, and knowing that she's never gonna be her daughter the way she was before, but knowing she'll always be something to her

carol struggling to be the mother sophia needs her to be, emotions too sharp and constantly fucking terrified. doesn't know how to hold onto someone like that anymore, either gripping too tight or not at all

maggie trying to exist in a world where she has everyone she's ever loved back, so close and so fucking dear, except it cost her her son. not knowing if she'll ever get him back at all. doesn't know how to live with the grief of losing someone she never technically had in this world

they make it to alexandria and it's aaron opening the gate for them, waiting to welcome them home

[xxx-inhibitionless-xxx]

Chapter 47 : Day Three ( Matt & Alex part 1 )

 Matt sat staring out the window of Alex’s car as they drove along, trying to think of anything at all other than the recent string of events that had resulted in him being either naked, tied up, or both at the two worst places to be in either one of those conditions.

 Matt tried to think of what equipment he needed to outfit his zombie apocalypse game character with but ended up imagining his character running around a shopping mall shooting zombies naked. Matt slumped his head against the window in defeat.

 Brass, dude, what’s wrong, Alex asked Matt using the new nickname Matt had been labeled with after the events of just a few hours ago which found the collected ensemble of both Matt and Alex along with Matt’s friends Aaron and Chad and Alex’s frat brothers Brad and Jason all arriving at the Delta-Iota-Kappa frat house in the middle of the night and the entire lot of them completely bare assed naked.

 After a round of everyone explaining what had happened to them and why they were showing up naked, the frat brothers had decided that Aaron, Matt and Chad had definitely earned honorary frat brother status. As a result, it was also decided that their newest members needed new frat names.

 Alex had detailed Matt’s bravery during their escapade referring to the fact that Matt did indeed have a set of brass balls on him, thus, it was decided Matt’s new name would be Brass.

 Brad spoke on behalf of Chad, detailing the adventure that he, Chad, and Aaron had endured and of Chad’s remarkably spontaneous ability to learn to drive a stick-shift under the adverse conditions of having to do so completely naked. The brothers all voted unanimously that Chad’s new name would, therefore, be Stick.

 Aaron, on the other hand, had the most unfortunate evening since he was stick shackled by the bondage equipment he had been tricked into during art class the evening before and then further hobbled by because of Emmett making Chad secure them together.

 Luckily, Jason was also present and was able to confirm that the equipment was his so he knew the trick to unfastening them. This at least allowed Aaron the freedom to move his limbs and to finally put on a pair of shorts offered by one of the brothers. To the continued embarrassment of the whole group, however, Lisa was also there waiting on them.

 She had set up the art class incident to get back at her brother, Jason, but that all malfunctioned and Jason had ended up equally humiliated but at the hands of their neighbor Janet instead of the art class. Aaron was the one who had ended up enduring not only that humiliation but the extra humiliation brought on by Emmett’s scheme.

 The group ended up deciding that they had nothing to cut Aaron loose with so Jason and Lisa would have to get the correct keys from their house in the morning. Thus, because of Aaron’s nude Houdini act of trying to escape from the bondage equipment, it was decided Aaron’s new name would be Nudini.

 Yo, Brass, Alex continued to try and get Matt’s attention, Matt, bro, what’s the matter ? You worried about last night ?

 Huh, Matt finally responded, what, sorry, just distracted I guess. What were you saying ?

 I was trying to tell you not to worry about what went down at the mall last night. Nobody saw us, well, except for Lisa and Sally, and Diana, Alex kept rattling off names like the list was larger than it was, and that damn gang of punks, but nobody else.

 Besides, Alex continued to comfort his new honorary frat brother, you’re the one with the big ole brass balls, not me. Alex chuckled at his own comment before continuing, don’t go getting soft on me now, emphasizing the word soft in reference to the boner Matt was sporting during their naked excursion through the mall last night.

 Ha ha, Matt responded sarcastically to Alex’s innuendo, very funny. Just one thing, though, Matt continued as he adjusted himself in the seat to accentuate his groin, currently concealed by a pair of too large sweatpants Alex had loaned him.  Oh my god, Alex replied as he literally laughed out loud, you are such a horn dog, he said in reference to the tent in the sweatpants Matt was presenting. Shaking his head in disbelief, Alex continued to try and stifle his laughter, like I said, no shame what so ever. You can probably keep those now too, he said indicating the sweatpants.

[mariacallous]

Married musicians turned restaurateurs, Aaron Tomasko and Rachel Brashear, are filling a niche — and bellies — by serving up Jewish Ashkenazi staples at Sweet Lorraine’s Latkes & More, located in Portland, Oregon.  

What started out as a food cart focused solely on slinging latkes has evolved into a full Jewish dairy establishment. Portland has a long history of formidable chefs emerging from tiny food carts, but the city is not as well known for Jewish food coming out of those carts. While Jewish immigrants began arriving in Oregon in the mid-1800s, Portland’s Jewish community has historically been relatively small in size compared to larger coastal cities, albeit it continues to grow and thrive. For context, there are more Jews living in the Upper West Side of Manhattan than in the entire state of Oregon. Regardless of the exact population count, it’s clear there’s a hunger for Jewish food.

“Portland has a lot more Jewish people here than the Jewish people think there are, and it is a foodie city,” Tomasko told The Nosher. 

Brashear added, “We also have a lot of regulars and friends who are interested in Jewish food and don’t have a Jewish connection. New York expatriots come to us, or people who saw something on Seinfeld and always wanted to try it.” 

It’s clear why there’s mass appeal, at Sweet Lorraine’s the menu features dishes rarely found anywhere else in the state: classic Askenazi dishes like kasha varnishkes, noodle kugel, buttery matzah brei and egg creams. Tomasko and Brashear pay attention to every detail of every dish they serve, with painstakingly handmade potato knishes, challah made from scratch for egg sandwiches, lox sourced from the Smokery—a small local fish business run by an Irish Jewish family — and fry up latkes fresh to order. 

As a former deli owner and latke enthusiast, I can confidently say Sweet Lorraine’s makes the best latkes I’ve ever had. They have a crackly, crispy exterior, but are shockingly airy and light inside; wide, but not too thick, and not too thin. 

Among friends and family, Tomasko has always had a reputation for making stellar latkes. The pair even joked about opening a latke cart for years. When Covid hit in 2020, they found themselves suddenly unemployed and unable to play gigs or teach music classes in person. The inside joke started to seem like a viable career pivot. While they had no prior chef experience, they took a chance on their gut instincts: People love latkes. Newfound unemployment gave the couple time to develop their concept and test their recipes, and by February 2021, Sweet Lorraine’s opened up shop. They named their cart after Tomasko’s grandmother, who was the inspiration for their menu. Lorraine was known among friends and family for her exceptional latkes, and she taught Tomasko’s mother, who in turn taught him how to make the family’s signature potato pancakes.

“The first year we were open ended up being the last year of her life,” Brashear explained, “she was so proud of it. She told everyone she met that she had a restaurant named after her.” 

“[Opening Sweet Lorraine’s] allowed me to have a deeper relationship with my grandma than I ever had before,” said Tomakso. 

It’s no secret that it’s a tricky time to be in the restaurant business; the cost of running a food cart in Portland has nearly doubled in the past year. After a few years of being open, the food cart pod where they were located decided to close, so Sweet Lorraine’s relocated inside the Labyrinth Forge Brewery.

Their Jewish food business remains a family operation: Brashear heads up the baking and Tomasko mans the griddle. With good communication, they’ve found their stride as partners in life and in food, and dream of opening a little cafe or lunch counter in the future. For them, Sweet Lorraine’s is more than a restaurant — it’s a community gathering space, and one that’s explicitly Jewish while still being welcoming to all. 

Tomasko offers, “Food is this magical thing and it’s our main passion, and our goal is to focus on fostering that connection that unites this community.”

[sunnyuto]

Aaron Bushnell made a very clear and thought out statement prior to his self-immolation.

“My name is Aaron Bushnell. I am an active duty member of the United States Air Force, and I will no longer be complicit in genocide. I am about to engage in an extreme act of protest, but compared to what people have been experiencing in Palestine at the hands of their colonizers, it’s not extreme at all. This is what our ruling class has decided will be normal.”

He was not behaving erratically or as if he was in distress, beyond his vocalized moral distress at the situation in Gaza. He was so committed to and sure of his choice that he had drawn up a legal will leaving everything he had to the Palestinian Children’s Relief Fund and dictating who should care for his cats. That is not a quick or easy thing that someone can just do on a whim; it indicates that this was extensively premeditated. Those are not the actions of someone who is mentally ill and in crisis.

After lighting the fire and being immediately fully consumed, he shouted “Free Palestine” repeatedly until he physically couldn’t anymore. It’s hard for us to fully imagine the level of pain he was feeling because there is simply nothing for us to compare it to, but if you think for a moment of the most painful thing you’ve experienced - childbirth, maybe, or a broken bone - then imagine that pain in every single cell of your body, you might come close. No one experiencing that type of pain is going to have the presence of mind to yell anything except what they feel with desperation. Aaron Bushnell did not cry for help even once. He did not stop yelling even as his clothes burned off of him and he fought to stay standing. He repeated “Free Palestine” until he could no longer speak, and he did not cry out in pain until he collapsed.

The footage is out there, in still image, audio, censored video, and uncensored video formats. It is extremely difficult to take in. But it should be taken in, in whatever capacity you can handle it, even if you need to take in the audio and video separately as I did. I will not repost it here (I’m sure it violates Tumblr’s TOS) but I am willing to send links of both the censored and uncensored videos to anyone who would like to see them. I think viewing his sacrifice is vital to understanding why he did what he did.

As an active duty member of the USAF, Aaron Bushnell was under direct and imminent orders to assist the IOF in its “targeting” of Gaza. He was not acting in defiance of some larger overarching idea of complicity, he was being told to quite literally commit genocide with his own hands and he decided that he would rather die in extreme pain than follow any more orders to that end. That is the definition of conviction and disavowing that choice as mental illness is incredibly disrespectful to his name and his memory.

hoping aaron bushnell's sacrifice won't be swept under the rug by politicians/media and forgotten about in another fucking week as the genocide on palestinians continues

[percontaion-points]

Elizabeth and the Thunder of Dragons chapter 1

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Click here for the rest of the series!

Chapter 1

“Ewe, you’re gross!”

Editors? Anybody seen an editor?

The author does realise that this is a whole-ass other word, right?

“Hey, Dumbledore.” I smiled, eyeing his sexy beard. He’d trimmed it today, but it’d been growing long. Thus, the nickname.

The beard itself is hardly the first thing that springs to mind when I think of Dumbledore. It’s the shape and colour, in combination with the entire “wizard” look. 

So unless this book is seriously trying to tell me that he’s turned grey overnight…

“Hey, Dumbledore.” I smiled, eyeing his sexy beard. He’d trimmed it today, but it’d been growing long. Thus, the nickname. 

He didn’t have a shirt on yet, and the combination of his beard with his tats was some definite eye candy. 

YES, BECAUSE THAT’S THE FIRST THING WHEN I THINK ABOUT DUMBLEDORE: HOW SEXY HIS TATTOOS LOOK WHENEVER HE’S SHIRTLESS. /sarcasm

I’m also so sorry for subjecting your mind to the thought of “sexy tattooed Dumbledore”.

“But the thing is, I don’t know how you left things with him, with Aaron.” 

I couldn’t speak. I didn’t even really know how things were with him myself. Was he married? Or not? And if he wasn’t, did I still have the same feelings for him? I wasn’t sure. But Edward was looking at me, still expecting an answer, so I realized that I had to come up with something. 

I shrugged. “I don’t know.” Good one, Lizzy. Fucking eloquent and to the point. “I mean. He tried to help me escape, and he stood up to the pack for me.”

 “Do you know if he’s still alive?” 

I froze, the thought not even occurring to me before now, and all the blood drained from my face. 

He rushed to comfort me. “If he was alive before you escaped, then I’m sure he’s still alive now. I just wasn’t sure with everything that happened…”

I would normally say that Garret wouldn’t kill his child. But Garret is kind of a monster, so it’s kind of up in the air if he would or not. 

I think it mainly depends on how useful he thinks his son is… And how obedient that Aaron is to his cause. (Aaron’s opinions on the matter aside, sometimes we gotta do what we can to survive.)

He laughed. “As soon as we go over emergency protocols, yes. We’ll go all day if you want.”

Chapter 1 summary: We open on LIz faffing about with the guys. Sure, they claim that it’s more training and everything, but come on. Training doesn’t and shouldn’t result in boners. Ugh. None of this is remotely important, so don’t worry about it.

James has also been folded into the pack, so Liz asks about what it means for her wolf to want him. Hunter explains that it’s usually a power thing, and doesn’t necessarily mean that it has to be sexual. But he’s pretty sure that James is expecting sex… Oh sure, he gives this thing about how he belongs to the queen’s clan, but come on. James is a pig. 

After even more faffing about, Liz meets up with Edward, who comes with intel on what’s been going on in Tennessee in regards to Garret. He’s built himself a huuuuuge compound, with larger forest grounds. 

Eddie then changes the subject and asks about Aaron. He knew Liz’s dad, and is of the impression that dad knew about the Liz/Aaron situation, but that he approved. But he also asks if Liz knows what happened to Aaron, which is nothing. However, considering the intel he gave, I think Ed probably knows more about what Aaron’s been up to, or if he’s even still alive.

He also warns that the dragons might not like having Aaron thrown into the mix of their pack. That to add in James the dragon is one thing. But adding in a wolf might be too much. 

The group then goes skydiving. Liz is of the opinion that when they go back to Tennessee to take back control of her pack, they might end up parachuting in. And I get that, but like… Everybody except for Liz can fly, so it seems kind of dumb. 

[judas-langley]

Harbinger of Death || Self-Para

“Out of the box poured disease and poverty. Out came misery, out came death, out came sadness - all shaped like tiny buzzing moths. All that remained in the box was Hope.”

Seven low-level Vincent thugs. Thugs ranked so low on the totem pole that their deaths would be nothing but expected, a breath of fresh air in disguise. They caused issues and were uncontrollable. Really, Judas was doing the Vincent’s a favor by getting rid of them; with the factions in disarray, no one was really paying attention to their own past their inner circles which lead to the filth coming up from the undercroft and taking over. No one paid attention to the pests except for him.

He thought he would’ve needed more time to observe his targets, but they were all so predictable that he only needed two days of observation from the rooftops to really understand their routines. Aaron and Brandon ate breakfast at the same restaurant every morning, met up with Damion after the latter had finished his workout. The three hassled and catcalled women as if they were paid for it.

Gus, a closeted homosexual, would fuck random men in an alley before meeting up with the others; claiming his ‘boss’ kept him later than usual. His favorite drink of choice was tequila straight up with a heroine chaser, possibly to drown out the fact that if he was ever outed to his friends, he’d surely be shunned. The close-minded fucks that they were.

Kurt was the run of the mill tough, burly, meathead with a hubris larger than his muscles, nothing special.

Now, Maverick and Reuben weren’t on Pandora’s list, brought into the fold by Jason after they had broken up. Maverick was the drug supplier for the group, somehow having ties to the Ainsworth’s drug running, which was interesting but not interesting enough to keep him alive; only interesting for what he had planned for the group’s deaths.

Reuben, being the greenest of the group, was the easiest to sway if it were in exchange for his life—not that he would have known that Judas planned to kill him all along; not until it was too late. The last to join… the first to die.

The seven of them always met at their hangout at ten o’clock at night, sharp. No exceptions.

Their ‘hangout’ was a rundown warehouse that they fashioned into an above-average deplorable space where they would start their nightly ritual of drugs and booze. Sometimes they would fuck random women that they managed to bring back there with them. All in all, nothing changed and they always poured one out for their fallen friend while they cursed Pandora’s name; plotting against her.

Pandora was right to fear them, their retaliation; in some way or another, they were all vile. Lowest of the low and not important enough to even be considered pawns. How Pandora had gotten wrapped up in them was beyond him, but Judas was never one that could judge; he’d also run with people that were low filth, but he forged his own story. With this… he’ll help Pan forge her own and all it took was a death. Not a huge price to pay when it came to him, not when he courted Death daily since he was young enough to understand what it meant.

Judas’ eyes focused on the ticking second hand of his watch as it made its final journey to mark ten o’clock. He sat in the shadows on one of their rickety chairs, waiting for the other six of his targets to visit their shitty excuse of a hangout. His posture seemed nothing of what one would expect of a seasoned killer, chin in hand seeming bored. However, anyone that knew Judas would know the front he put on, the way every one of his nerves sang underneath his skin; fingers itching to reach for the hilt of his knives and gun – ready to pounce like the lethal being he is.

Ever since founding the little group that consisted of the city’s greatest assassins, he’d barely had the time to do field work himself, being the face of the family and cultivating connections so that they’d survive against the tides of change in St. Cascadia. Judas knew that there was a screw loose or two to have his blood sing in excitement at this job. Adrenaline pumping at the prospect of killing, envisioning painting the walls of the dingy warehouse red and coating his hands in the deaths of those after Pandora. He wished the feeling of elation was because he was protecting her and doing what he needed to, but he would be lying. Judas stopped thinking he was made to be anything other than what Sullivan forged him into years ago, it only bred resentment when Sullivan was right. He was meant to be a killer in this life.

He heard the footsteps before the light turned on – the men walking like lemmings to their death. One by one they entered the door, attempting to flick on the lights, conversing among themselves attempting to figure out what was wrong with the electricity; finding that only one light worked. His lips ticked up on one side at hearing their exclaimed shouts. The light illuminated only one thing, Reuben.

The greenest member, the weakest link, the traitor that gave Judas access to everything. He never did promise the kid that he wouldn’t kill him, Reuben just happened to watch too many movies and forgot how the world worked. He didn’t forget, however, in the last few seconds left of his life as Judas held his head back and cut through the cartilage of his throat to sever his head completely. As the life dimmed in Reuben’s eyes, he knew that the city they occupied had no forgiveness for anyone, especially not the lowlifes.

What his friends saw under the dimly lit bulb that seemed to swing on a single string of electrical wire was Reuben’s severed head on one of the only side tables that littered the warehouse. Crimson pooling and dripping off the sides, splattering and cooling on the concrete ground. He took that time then, between the other’s chaos and panicked movements, to make himself known; the figure of his body bleeding out from the shadows he stayed in as if he were himself a shadow.

“Hello, boys,” Judas spoke with a crooked smile as he sauntered to a stop behind the side-table, his eyes moving – assessing. He had to give them credit, the older ones who had been in the group the longest paled – they knew who he was. They knew what he meant; their death and most likely no survivors. He knew they thought they’d never see him in person, Judas Langley was an assassin of a certain caliber – likely to go after the Vincent’s than the common ilk, and the fact that he was standing before them meant someone sent him there.

“Where is the bitch,” the meathead said, Kurt– the one that Judas could have figured would have stepped up as leader, pretending that he’s ‘alpha’ material, when he’s nothing but a wannabe. He had some braincells though, apparently, since he managed to piece together who had contracted the assassin. Judas cocked his head, the movement almost robotic, the crooked smile never leaving his lips as he spoke, “Pandora sends her regards.”

Being as seasoned as he was, with so many deaths under his belt, he could almost see the fight playing out in his mind– knew their moves before they knew it. Even with the minimum information on the lot from Pandora and what recon he did, they were so fucking predictable. He could have yawned if the prospect of killing all the assholes didn’t make him giddy. Some would be rooted in terror, not able to act for the first couple seconds of the fight, while others would have their fight or flight activate in the face of a superior threat that he was.

Unsheathing daggers stowed in their holders on his thighs in each hand, he threw them with startingly accurate ferocity– embedding into the calves of the two who attempted to run. He promised slow and painful deaths. Their screams filled the space, bouncing off of the rickety walls and greeting his ears like a song as he readied himself for Kurt running towards him. Two others joined the fray with Kurt. He underestimated the hierarchy, the little lemmings following Kurt into certain death– he was more of a leader to the ragtag group than he anticipated, but the additional bodies in the initial fight against someone like him was still inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

He watched Kurt’s movements and attack in slow motion, dodging out of the way of a punch he wasn’t so sure would have even hurt him in the first place before thrusting an open palm up to meet his elbow, the resounding snap cracking through the air and Kurt’s attempt to stifle the screech of pain making him grin devilishly. Blood was rushing in his ears as he watched Kurt bend slowly, taking a running jump before kicking the burly kid over– using the momentum to propel himself towards the two that were rushing him side by side like Kurt was a driving board.

They’d obviously never heard that one should never run in a straight line towards an attacker, it only made them an easier target as he reached out with his arms, close lining the two in the throats and taking them down to the ground. While they were winded, he tucked and rolled. It was utter child’s play, but he wasn’t expecting any different from people that thought so highly of themselves when, in reality, a speck of dust counted would be appreciated more.

The one that was left standing, the one frozen as he expected was the other green member. Maverick, the final nail in the coffin of his plan, and he was smart. He supposed the kid would have to have some street smarts to be involved with some sort of drug run in the Vincent territory, drawing a gun against Judas. He was the smartest one to face the assassin, though he was still leagues below Judas fucking Langley. A shot rang out, the ear-piercing sound making Judas’ ears ring but otherwise unfazed as he maneuvered to the side so that the bullet missed him, skidding to a halt just before the kid.

With one thrust upwards with his hand at the kid’s wrist, the handgun flew through upwards. Judas kicked the kid in the sternum, pushing him backwards and away from the weapon, grabbing it in his own hands before aiming and pulling the trigger twice. Another set of wails as the kid fell to the ground with fresh bullet wounds to his kneecaps, Judas turned as he saw Aaron and Brandon charging him, the two numbskulls that he had close lined having regained themselves enough for another joint assault. Absolute morons.

He raised the gun to the two advancing on him, pulling the trigger to be met with an audible click. Judas sighed, turning to Maverick, holding the empty gun up, “three bullets, really?” The kid garbled out some curse at him, but he turned away; knowing that the kid wasn’t going anywhere quickly. Facing the two again, they had the audacity to grin at him at hearing the empty gun– thinking that every inch of him wasn’t a weapon. Judas chucked the empty gun at Brandon, smacking the guy in the forehead, before wheeling on his heels and using his momentum to swing his leg around in a roundhouse kick– meeting the other in the temple. They crumpled like wet tissues onto the ground, he grunted at the disappointment of the fight.

Dealing with the different men was like playing a game of chess– calculating and dealing with certain pieces at certain times. Stalking over to the two he’d thrown his knives into first, the coward runners, he followed the blood trails. They’d managed to get pretty far through the warehouse, using each other’s bodies to push themselves standing and wobbled like a three-legged race since each one were sporting wounds in opposite legs. Judas purposefully made noises with his movements, wanted them to realize he was coming for them and it only made them hobble faster towards the exit. “Uh-uh,” Judas tutted towards the duo, “there’s no escaping your fate.”

Taking a couple more daggers from their sheaths he threw them at the duo again, their unwounded legs. This time, however, it wasn’t merely in their calves. Calf wounds they were able to still walk on, though excruciating. This time, he didn’t want them to move at all. The streak of silver imbedded themselves into the Achilles tendons of the two, cutting the fragile string of tissue as if it were merely warm butter. The two collapsing to the ground with agonizing screams as their feet lolled– no longer connected in a way to be useful.

He gripped the two’s legs, fingers digging into the flesh of their legs above their fresh wounds, the crimson of their blood leaking through and around his grip, dragging them back towards the others in the center of the warehouse. Most of them were where Judas had left them, however he noticed that Kurt was now up and moving– hiding in the shadows attempting a surprise attack. Judas didn’t think Kurt really had it in him– but at least he knew that he wasn’t going to be completely bored. Fighting someone who fights back is more entertaining than fighting cowards.

He kept walking towards the center of the warehouse, pretending he didn’t clock where Kurt was right away. Over-confident people tend to overstep their means, which was exactly what he did. Coming from the shadows, similarly to how Judas did, he swung with his undamaged arm– attempting to target Judas with a tire-iron that only God knows where the fuck he got it, but it didn’t matter. Using the leg of one of the two he’d lamed, he blocked the blow, a sickening crunch and subsequent cries only pointed to a broken tibia.

Pushing the two he’d been dragging to the ground, Judas grappled with Kurt; twisting the tire-iron out of his grasp, maneuvering his arm just so there were no obstacles in the way as he delivered a swift hit to the guy’s nose with his forehead. Slight pain buzzed in his head, but nothing he wasn’t used to– blood spurt from Kurt’s nose, splashing down his own clothes and Judas’. Not that you could really tell, wearing all black was purposeful. He kicked out Kurt’s legs, pinning him down with a foot to the chest; pulling out his own gun, knowing he wouldn’t face the same problem as before with an empty gun. “You should stop moving, it’s less painful that way.” His words punctuated with two shots into the abdomen– not lethal right away, but easily enough to down someone for the time being.

Slowly he gathered those wounded enough to not move anymore to the center, piling them into a groaning pile with Kurt laying at the top. Fitting for an acting leader. From the bottom of the group, the two that had merely been unconscious struggled to free themselves, the clawing noises of their fingernails on concrete sounding like skittering mice. The heel of Judas’ boot came down on the forearm of one, holding it still as his had gripped the offending hand, wrenching it to the side quickly and snapping the bones easily. The other guy, seeing what happened to his friend tried to retract himself, play unconscious game even though he was an atrocious actor– Judas was so tired of cowardice, taking his gun again and putting holes into the guy’s hands like he was crucifying him.

Holstering his gun, he walked to the corner where he’d stashed all of his things for the last part of his plan, dragging it back in the center near the pile of soon to be dead bodies. “How many times did she suck your cock to get you to come here and do her dirty work?” a voice rang out from the pile, wheezing and pained. Judas gave an exasperated sigh. There was nothing he hated more than cowards than someone who uses the last of their words to try and get under his skin. He didn’t reply, which only made the other man brazen. “Oh, I see, she’s a real good fuck then? You know, Jason never would share but I bet if he did, she’d’ve slept with every one of us to get what she wanted. The fucking whore.”

The things he held in his hand clattered to the ground save one of the many jars of clear liquid, just before he whirled around on his heels, prowling towards Kurt. He was the one he figured that had spoken such words like the small minded fuck that he was, Judas figured; Judas’ face a solid mask of no emotion as he knelt on front of the offender, his knee pressing into his chest and arms, forcing him still. “I’m not going to waste my breath on you more than to tell you that you don’t deserve to speak of her,” Judas hissed, his hand shooting out to grasp Kurt’s jaw with a bone crushing intensity, pushing his fingers into the skin of his cheeks forcing his mouth open.

With one easy movement, Judas unsheathed one of his knives, pressing it into Kurt’s mouth. Nicking gums, teeth, and cheek, he forced the blade down into the muscle of Kurt’s tongue. The movement was awkward even for him since he would have rather grabbed the man’s tongue and cut it off cleanly, but this was more painful. More deserving of a piece of trash that Kurt was. He didn’t care that blood was pouring out, he didn’t care if it was splattering against him and even marring his emotionless face. Cared even less for the choked screaming. Judas kept plunging and cutting into the tissue until he was able to flick out a mutilated resemblance of a tongue; a wet plop sounding from it hitting the concrete flooring. “That’s better,” Judas released Kurt’s face, though he was sure the other didn’t hear his words over the garbled and strangled weeping.

Judas retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping the crimson from his face and hands before opening the jar that he’d placed on the floor; dipping the cloth into the liquid and plopping it on the ground. Carefully and meticulously, he analyzed the warehouse and catalogued all of the weak spots; advantageous for the finale, before wandering back to the group. Upending the liquid from the jar he’d carried, Judas moved it in a circle, coating each one of them with the chemical. Soon the warehouse began to smell of pungent chemicals, his own nose turning up at the fumes. After making sure that each of the boys were coated, he threw the rest of the jars shattering into areas that were well populated with debris, which was easy since the warehouse was so run down. Their idiocy was only his gain.

After he’d sufficiently emptied all of the turpentine that he’d brought save for a small amount he held in his hands, he walked back to Kurt who’s wailing still didn’t cease– grasping his jaw once more and upended the contents into his mouth; the blood mixing with the acrid chemical. “See you in hell,” Judas said, lighting a match and placing it near Kurt’s face– the fumes catching fire and rapidly combusting. All he could hear as he backed away quickly, tamping out the own fire that had started on his fingertips, were the screams of those he’d come to end. Their final breathes reaching a maddening screech of victory. Of course that wasn’t all he needed to do.

Leaving out the door the men had come through initially, fire licking at his heels, he barred the door shut; matching all of the other doors that he’d closed shut before he even went in. This was always the final play, the end game; the slowest death he could ever provide. An agonized death of fire sloughing off skin, putrid smell of burning flesh hanging in the air. If they somehow managed to move they’d find that there was no escape. Unearthing a bag Judas had stashed in the bushes outside of the warehouse, he reached in and retrieved on of the many bags of drugs that Maverick had stashed in the warehouse and shoved his knife through one in into the door and dumping the rest around; leaving it for all to see before spray painting the door in large bold letters in red.

Thieves.

Now Judas didn’t mind if he was linked to this crime if he had left evidence behind, though from the black billowing smoke that came from the shattered windows at the very top of the warehouse, he knew that no one would find anything. However, he didn’t want this coming back to Pandora in any way; a simple red herring to point any officials into thinking that this was related to the drugs that the kid was running into Newford. Not necessarily a plot from Ainsworth himself, but lower thug versus lower thug.

Grabbing his bag, Judas disappeared into the darkness; watching from afar while he waited for the officials to arrive. First firefighters attempting to put out the flames and police officers closing off the area, then ambulances when the firefighters realized that there were bodies amid the flames. Chin in hand, much like how he waited for his targets to arrive, he waited for his targets to leave in black bags that held their charred remains. The fire dwindled down after blazing for several hours, around the same time they pulled the last of the heathens out, storing their remains in another body bag.

That was it, the last of his targets confirmed dead. The contract was closed. He blew a sigh through his lips as he stood, encapsulated by the darkness that still hung heavy now that the light of the fire died in front of him. News vans shot down the streets, the area becoming a clusterfuck of media. He didn’t need to tell Pan that he had the job completed. She’d surely see it. Knowing that, he retreated– ending his time as the harbinger of Death.

At least for today.

[thetoxicgamer]

Overwatch 2 is bringing back your least favorite mechanic

Overwatch 2 has some big plans in store, and they’re likely to split its audience right down the middle. Ahead of Overwatch 2 season 5, an update from game director Aaron Keller suggests some of the changes Blizzard is considering for its next balance patch, and they include a return of crowd control effects to the multiplayer game, as well as some potentially big nerfs to one-shot characters. The removal of CC, or crowd control (that’s anything in the realm of stuns, slows, and boops), from almost all skills except from tanks was a big part of the changes to Overwatch 2. The goal, Blizzard says, was to put more of a focus on people creating plays rather than shutting them down, especially with the removal of the second tank player. “Overall, we think that this was a positive change to the game,” Keller says, comparing the original game to a “pinball machine.” But, he explains, “we have a lot of high-mobility heroes on the roster, and a team can’t always rely on their tank to take care of them. So we’re softening our approach here.” For season five, Blizzard has two characters in mind as a test bed of sorts – Mei and Cassidy. Mei’s primary, the Endothermic Blaster, will still slow as normal but “will also build up to an effect that will apply a much larger slow for 1.5 seconds” that Keller says “will feel familiar to the way her old weapon worked.” Presumably you’ll have a little more opportunity to counter it than being completely frozen solid, but that’s still rather terrifying. Cassidy, meanwhile, is having his Magnetic Grenade reworked – it’ll do less damage than before, but will now apply an effect that slows targets and blocks them from using movement abilities. It’s unclear whether that will apply when the grenade sticks, or when it explodes – if it’s the former, that could make it a lot more deadly to heroes who can typically escape from its clutches. Also likely to cause plenty of chatter is plans to “reduce the frequency” of one-shots from Widowmaker and Hanzo. Widow’s damage falloff is being dramatically shortened, while the amount the damage drops over distance is being increased, which will make her unable to kill even 200 health heroes past 50 meters with a single bullet. Hanzo will see his damage slightly nerfed “so that he is no longer able to one-shot 250 health heroes.” Another change will make it easier for the enemy team to see where his Sonic Arrow has been used, meaning you’ll know when he’s got a bead on your position. Keller says “the intent here is to reduce his kills that feel like they come out of nowhere.” Keller also notes that a Junker Queen nerf will see her Commanding Shout health gain dropped from 200 to 150 to make her a little less survivable, while Lifeweaver is set to receive “increases to his healing and damage output, a heal on Life Grip, a slightly reduced hitbox, and some quality-of-life changes to Petal Platform.” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v4b7DtgOQ_A Personally, I’ve always been a bit of a crowd control defender – I liked the slightly more MOBA-like aspects of the first Overwatch – but, having gotten used to the game without them, I’m not sure how I feel about their return. I’m also torn on the one-shot changes, though I’ll undoubtedly benefit as someone who isn’t a particularly good sniper myself. Either way, these are likely to provide some dramatic alterations to how the game feels, so it’ll be fascinating to see how the Overwatch community responds. Browse our Overwatch 2 tier list if you want to know who’s looking best in Overwatch 2 season 4. You might also want to run eyes over the best Overwatch 2 settings if you’re looking to optimize your FPS and in-game performance. Read the full article

[tinyorangepotato]

fucked up my boss is a more helpful person tha. my dad.

I moved into the apartment so i got my own room now and all that yet no furtnure at first. my dad on Thanksgiving sent me screenshots of aarons furtnite bundles fhay he said he could get for me and then he will just pay it off in the installments so like a housewarming gift but way more epxnes8ve yknow.

and I have nothing for my room. no bed, no bedframe, boxspring, end tables. hell not even a desk. I had blankets and then a bunch of stuffed animals that were yputooz thay I never took out the box becausei didn't have my own area.

so I instead picked out a bed set that was cheaper than the living room bundles he sent me and sent it over to him. and so he said he'll get it sorted and everything. Thursday comes, everything goes fine. me and my friend go and buy the things we need like pots and pans and towels and sheets and a pillow (for me), toilet paper, trash bags. yknow all the stuff. and I call my dad to see whats going on on his end and he forgot. he forgot whay sya I was moving and that he was feeling like ahit physically the lats few days. understandable. I just now gotta get an air mattress for the night so I'm not sleeping on the floor.

I go back to my grandma's later that night to grab more things and my aunt (my dadd sister) offers to let me use the air mattress my cousin uses when we go to camp so I don't have to buy a new one. great.

we didn't have a couch because those bitches are wpxnsive so ny other aunt (dads sister again) offers to let use use her blow up couch that she uses at camp. turns out it's fucking huge (like the size of a 3 cushion couch which is larger than I expected) and it folds out into a queen size air mattress. super cool.

next day, I text my dad at around 7pm when I was still at work to see what's going on. says he will be most luekly able to get the bedset later that night when he cashes out. never fucking hear form him. sleeps on the air mattress thay night again.

next day, I got to work (my main job that actually pays me not minimum wage with shitty hours) and my boss says he can get me a microwave because his daughter has a spare and he found a couch and a few other things on the Facebook buy nothing group. fucking aweseome. thay saves so much money. he drops the sofa off later thag night and now we have a couch! it's black and white striped so goofy looking but we have sheets over it and it's comfortable.

still haven't heard form my dad on the bedset. I got my TV from ym grandma's and idk where my dad put the remote so I texted him about thay and he said he'll look around for it. I'm on the air mattress as we speak. my boss also got me a pretty standard computer desk (it's just a board with 4 legs but ita actually pretty large) for 10 dollars.

fucking it just sucks that my dad sucks so much. I got 2 drug addict parents one of which Is addicted to pain meds and 8ne who is now dead because she took too much illegal drugs. (I think we think it was fetnyal but idk. I was not even 11 so I wasn't told anything besides ivwrdose)

and so like everyone has helped out even my one friends mom who got us an air fryer. except my dad. which i would be a okay with. he still owes me over 1k and is still struggling money wise and I know that. but he fucking offered. why the fuck would you fucking offer if you knew you weren't good for it. I get thay you want to be but fucning God damn jt man. I didn't expect anything from him and the entire time i was like Yay I'll immesdtly get at least a real mattress is that isn't twin size and all that but always reminded myself bot get too attached because yknow and even if he does get it, I might have to help him out with the 110 monthly payments but still. that's so fucked that even from the get go of him offering I had to remind myself that it's not a for sure thing until it happens and looked what fucjing happened.

I love my dad and he's a cool guy. he's not a good dad though. I was trying so hard to not get my hopes up but also belive him and the last few days driving back to my place ill remember and be pretty much on the verge of tears because fuck man. I alreayd knew and called it but whay if. what if he cared enough. fuck me man. my fucjing boss has been mor help than him. yes I have a TV in my room at the moemnt because my dad grabbed it form our old place before he fully moved out of there (he's back there now btw.) and it wasform ym old room there where we all got tvs since emy dad mainly had his shit together 5 or so years ago. but man, I don't care about having a TV. I barely watch shows as it is and I have a laptop that I bought recently (within the year) thag I use and my friend brought his TV that we having in the living room and we have been wts hing TV together.

I just want a real mattress to sleep on. i don't want to be just barely above floor level. I want to be able to put my money toward soemthing else like dressers kr bookcases instead dof soenthing I was told I would have for free (or well no money form me at leats). I qas gonan get a full size bed. not even a fucking queen. just seomthing larger than the twin beds I've had all my life. and it would have had a boxspring and a frame with drawers int he bottom and shelf built into the headboard and it would've been grwta. but now I'm sitting aline in ym room crying on a blow up mattress on the ground at 2 am and I'm pissed.

I knew this would happen. he's not a dependable person. I loaned him 100 follars a few days before thanksgiv8ng which he said he would pay back the next fucking day and he still hasn't. yes I know he has mental issues (adhd, anxiety, depression, proabbly a number of other things) and hes in chronic pain and so he takes pain killers but you can't even help out your own fucjing kid. and the first one to move out fully on their own. yes by oldest brother had moved out but never his own place that he owns and he's right back where we all started with my other brothers and hell my dad was even there for a while too.

idk if im going to slepe soon or not. but I am gonna go out on the couch and proabbyl watch some supernatural to calm down.

[igor-shestyorkin]

I spent a lot of time on this please appreciate me

[gatheringbones]

[“First developed in Deaf culture, disability gain points to the ways ordinary disabled people with no special abilities or talents may find benefit in their disabilities. Coined by artist Aaron Williamson in 1998, the term “deaf gain” offers a means of rethinking the whole notion of disability as deficit, beyond the specific case of hearing impairment. Instead of measuring against an impossible norm, bodyminds should be valued for their diversity—or the very differences and variety they carry. This is a biodiversity model: like biodiverse ecosystems that are valued for their diversity, social ecosystems’ health should be measured by their linguistic, cultural, intellectual, and creative diversity. As psychologists Dirksen Bauman and Joseph Murray argue, “In this light, what might normally be seen as a biological loss can actually be seen as individual and social gain in guarding against the perils of monocultural vulnerability.”

Autism advocates have adopted this model to speak of the value of cognitive and intellectual differences, offering a model of “neurodiversity” in which autism and other forms of neurological difference are valued as part of nature’s (or God’s, if you prefer) endless variations, with specific benefits not just to autistic people themselves but also to the larger society. The monofocus of autistics, for example, has led to many engineering and other scientific innovations, such as those in the field of cattle management by the well-known autistic scientist Temple Grandin. Climate activist Greta Thunberg argues that she was able to be such an international game changer about the climate crisis precisely because her autism doesn’t allow her the forms of denial and deferral that neurotypical people engage in. Her “deficits”—her inability to compartmentalize, her moral absolutism, her disregard for social norms and peer acceptance—may yet save the world.

Of course, not every disabled person can or should make such exceptional, world-transforming contributions. Few of us, disabled or not, can make such exceptional, world-transforming contributions! However, even the most ordinary disabled person gains a kind of fluency in thinking and working outside the box, in having to make work-arounds to the expectations and norms of society. Average people with disabilities and those involved in their care are often more adaptable and creative because they have to be.

This is quite a nuanced concept. “What is to be gained from disability cannot be easily delineated,” notes disability writer-activist Barker. “Disability gain . . . is what good comes of a person’s disability and impairment, that would have been unlikely or impossible otherwise. This can be as little as finding a new friend from a doctor’s appointment, or as great as finding a new community and way of life that you would not otherwise have access to.” She also notes how access accommodations such as ramps benefit all of society—a phenomenon known as the curb cut effect. A modification such as a curb cut, designed for wheelchair users, may benefit nondisabled people such as parents trying to negotiate a curb with a stroller. As a mother with a newborn in a stroller, I gained new appreciation for a very literal curb cut effect! The curb cut effect of disability lineage is that we would all be less fearful of potential differences, mutations, and “defects” when we contemplated having children if we had lived experiences of disability in our family lives and stories.”]

jennifer natalya fink, from all our families: disability lineage and the future of kinship, 2022

[ssahoodrathotchner]

Pictures of You

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Summary: you lose your memories of the last few years, including the ones of your relationship with Aaron. The rest of the team thinks it’s hilarious.

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: memory loss, swearing, some angst, hospital, talk of injuries, team shenanigans and fluff

A/N: okay this was a lot of fun to write bc soft!Hotch rights !! also really wanted to make the team play a larger role in a fic so here we go :)

Masterlist

---

You wake in a hospital bed, Morgan by your side, and a godawful pounding in your cloudy head. With a groan, you try to raise one of your hands to cover your eyes as Morgan’s head shoots up to stare at you with a relieved smile.

“Hey,” he says, catching your hand before you can lift it higher, “Don’t do that. You had a nasty fall, Princess.”

Satisfied that you won’t make any more moves towards your head, he sits back down at your side.

“Should I even ask how you’re doing or…” he trails off when you glare at him. “I’ll go let the team know you’re okay. Boss Man will be happy to hear you finally woke up,” and with that, Morgan is up and out of the room before you can even open your mouth because what.

Shifting around in the bed, you try to gauge just how injured you are, but the soreness in literally your entire body coupled with the haziness in your mind from the constant pain makes you conclude that you’ll leave it to the doctors to tell you what’s wrong. Sighing, you gently tilt your head to the side and observe the various beeping monitors.

The door opens and as you turn to see who it is, your mouth opens in disbelief. There’s no way. There’s absolutely no fucking way. This is fake. This is a dream. Your stomach simultaneously drops and fills with dread. How is this possible?

“You’re dead. You’re dead. We buried you,” you say in a rush, as none other than Emily fucking Prentiss stops by the side of your bed, looking at you confusedly. “Does this mean I’m dead? Are you a ghost?” you wonder out loud, and Emily looks behind her as the rest of the team, except Hotch, file in behind her, seemingly fine with her sudden appearance.

“How are you here, why are you here, what happened? You died. You’re supposed to be dead which means I’m probably dead,” you continue to ramble, frantically looking from at each member of your team and then back to Emily.

“What? Y/N, you aren’t dead. Just like I’m not dead,” she says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“But you are,” you say shakily, chest tightening as your breaths become shorter and shorter.

“Y/N…” she says slowly, softly, “I faked my death four years ago.”

And with that, your ears rush and your mind goes blank. No no no no no no we buried her six months ago, she’s dead. You don’t notice the rest of the team trading glances around you as the world you thought you knew shatters and reforms in your mind.

“No,” you croak, throat suddenly constricting, but Emily only looks at you worriedly, Reid slipping out the door behind her.

“Y/N, can you take some deep breaths for me?” and your head turns to find JJ at your other side, hand on your shoulder. “Let’s breathe, you can do this,” she says, taking exaggerated breaths to demonstrate, smiling gently as you cooperate.

Reid enters, now, followed by a doctor who, immediately upon reaching your side, proceeds to shine a light in your eyes and asks you to complete all sorts of short tests while the team looks on.

“Now, Agent Y/L/N, Dr. Reid informed me that you seem to be having some memory issues, which is normal,” the doctor assures you, “especially with the head trauma you endured. So, tell me what you can remember and we’ll go from there,” he says with a helpful smile.

Fuck. What do you remember?

“Well…” you trail off, trying to pin-point an exact moment. “I remember Emily—Agent Prentiss’—funeral because it was six months ago, but apparently—” your eyes slide over the rest of the team, “—apparently, it was more like four years ago,” you finish slowly.

“And that’s as recent as you can remember?” the doctor pushes. You nod your head. “Well, Agent Y/L/N, it seems that you have post-traumatic retrograde amnesia, which isn’t a surprise, as I said before. My guess is that it’s temporary, and that you’ll recover your memories in time.”

“Any ideas how long?” Emily speaks up, carefully looking at your face.

“With cases such as these, there isn’t a definite timeline or standard procedure for memory recovery,” the doctor explains. “It may help to look at photos or videos and tell stories to try and help Agent Y/L/N heal quicker, but the brain is tricky,” and with that wonderful statement, the doctor turns and exits, leaving you and your team staring at each other, processing the fact that you don’t know when you’ll get your memories of the last four freakin’ years back.

“So, from the research I’ve done, it seems that—” Reid is cut off by the door flying open and Aaron Hotchner, your Unit Chief, bursting into the room with a concerned look on his face wearing a hoodie and jeans.

Morgan tries to grab his shoulder, but Hotch shakes him off as he walks right up to your bedside and grabs your hand. Holy shit. Heat rises to your cheeks instantly and you think your heart might have actually skipped a beat but, you can’t help it, you’ve had a crush on Hotch for ages and he’s holding your hand. But you don’t remember a time when Hotch was so forward in showing concern for one of his agents.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up, Sweetheart—” you’re pretty sure you’re dreaming because Hotch has never called you Sweetheart. Ever. You’ve also never seen him in anything other than a suit. “—Jessica called because Jack has the flu and then he wanted to talk to me and—”

“Hotch!” Morgan all but yells, interrupting Hotch’s update on Jack, as you stare pointedly at his hand, still holding yours, trying to control the redness growing steadily stronger in your cheeks. What the hell.

“Hotch,” Morgan states, softer this time, “The last thing Y/L/N remembers clearly is Prentiss’ funeral.”

You look up with a weak approximation of a smile, and watch Hotch’s face shift as he comprehends what Morgan said.

“That was years ago,” he says slowly, face hardening into a look you’ve seen too many times when he tries to separate himself from the information he’s received.

Looking down at you, you can’t tell what he’s thinking, so you divert your eyes to his hand in yours. Once he notices this, he gently lets go and you know it’s silly, but you almost reach out for it again. Who knows the next time Hotch will want to hold your hand?

“So you don’t…” he doesn’t finish his question, which leaves you even more confused. Don’t what…?

“Umm. If it’s happened in the last four-ish years, then umm… Then I probably don’t remember it,” you say quietly, apologetically. “Sir,” you add on quickly, not wanting to forgo formalities even if your memory isn’t what it’s supposed to be.

However, instead of nodding, like you thought he would, Aaron Hotchner looks sad which confuses you even more.

“Aaron,” Rossi begins slowly, “the doctor said that talking about what’s happened since then may help Y/N’s memory come back.” Hotch looks up, almost relieved. “So why don’t you tell her something that’s happened since Prentiss’ funeral.”

And with that, Hotch takes a breath before reaching across your body to your other hand and holding it up. Not quite sure what’s happening, you allow him to hold your left hand up in your line of vision and that’s when you notice a fucking wedding ring. On your hand. Which Hotch is holding.

“I’m married?” you screech, looking at the team, who are now all trying not to laugh for some reason. “Who am I married to? Holy shit, what?” you continue looking around. Morgan and Prentiss look like they’ll break into outright laughter any minute. What’s going on?

Looking helplessly to Hotch, who is suspiciously quiet, you don’t have to repeat your question before he is carefully letting go of your left hand to hold his own up next to it and since when did Hotch wear a wedding band? Until you notice the striking similarities between the ring on your hand, and the one on your boss. What the actual fuck.

“We’re married?” you say, whipping your head to the side—ouch—to stare at Hotch, who is looking a little more amused than worried. “What? When? I just…” you can’t even finish your train of thought because your head is spinning so fast.

“Is it really that much of a surprise, Princess?” Derek chimes in. “I mean, you guys have been in love with each other forever,” and with that, he and Prentiss dissolve into a fit of laughter, which they try to smother, but you’re too busy taking in this very new and very interesting life development.

At some point in the last couple years, you married Hotch. Which means he knows you like him. And he likes you. You dated Hotch and now you’re fucking married. And you can’t remember any of it.

“…I don’t remember it…” you say sadly, softly and the laughter ceases.

Running a hand through his hair, Hotch takes a step back and shrugs, a small, reassuring smile on his face.

“We’ll figure it out, Sweetheart—” your stomach erupts into butterflies, “—we always do.”

With a sigh, you sink back into the pillows on your bed and stare at the ceiling, head throbbing worse than before thanks to all the new information.

“I just…” you pause to think about your current dilemma. “I just don’t know where to start with all this…Getting my memory back,” you look to Hotch and then the team, unsure of what to do.

“Well, the doctor did say that photos and videos might help. I’d be willing to recount every conversation we’ve had since Emily’s funeral, if you want, including the ones that you weren’t a part of, but were about you or a case,” Reid offers with a grin, and your heart melts.

Slowly shaking your head, you answer, “Thanks but maybe later, Spence. I’m still stuck on the whole I’m-married-to-my-boss thing right now.”

“Trust me Princess,” Derek laughs “I’m pretty sure all of us could tell you about how everything went down like a damn movie.”

“Yeah…” JJ continues with a fond shake of her head, “You guys weren’t very subtle about it.”

Sneaking a look out of the corner of your eye, you catch Hotch blushing and staring down at his shoes before he also sneaks a look at you, meeting your eyes.

“See?” Derek’s voice breaks your gaze. “This is exactly what I was talking about. You guys weren’t subtle and still aren’t,” rolling his eyes, he laughs a little and you can’t help but smile.

“At least they’re married this time around,” Rossi supplies. “No more ‘secret’ glances and yearning,” he says with such contempt you can’t help but laugh as Hotch—Aaron? — lets out a small chuckle of his own.

“Now I just need to remember how we got here,” you say, feeling a little more at ease. Slowly, you reach for Hotch’s left hand, studying the ring the matches your own. “Remember us,” you continue, just to him, and the smile that overtakes his face is the best thing you’ve seen since waking up.

“You weren’t wrong, Morgan,” comes Emily’s voice from the end of your bed. “This is just like a movie. Ugh. But don’t worry, Y/N, we’ll help you sort this out.”

“And I know just the woman for the job,” Morgan adds with a mischievous smirk which immediately makes you wonder about whatever it is he has planned.

“Now as much as I’d love to watch the two lovebirds gaze into each other’s eyes, I actually have plans,” Rossi states, looking down at his watch. “So, I’ll be back tomorrow. Have a good night, Y/N,” he says before waving to the rest of the team and leaving.

The rest of the team makes their own excuses to leave, and you can’t help but feel like Morgan and Prentiss have concocted some sort of scheme to “help” you get your memories back.

Running a hand over your face, you sigh. What now? The sound of someone clearing their throat makes you look up and realize that Hotch hadn’t left with the others, but was instead standing near the foot of your bed, looking somewhat anxious.

“I ummm… I was planning on spending the night here to make sure you were okay, but umm…” he trails off, unsure.

“But since I have no memory of us being together you think it’s weird…?” you ask gently.

“Yeah,” he answers in a sigh. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable by being here, especially because I know how frustrating and confusing this must be for you…”

“Hotch,” you start, but he can’t hide his wince when you call him that. “Aaron,” you try again. “Yes, this is incredibly confusing and frustrating because Emily should be dead and I didn’t think you had feelings for me at all,” you pause and see him smile, just a bit, “But I’d really like it if you stayed here. With me. Because—” you take a deep breath. “—Because you make me feel safe, Aaron, and I need that right now,” you say gently, not quite sure where the confidence came from, but Aaron’s eyes soften and his smile grows bigger as his shoulders drop in relief. Worth it.

“Then I’ll stay,” he says, and you can’t help the heat that once again rises in your cheeks as he continues to look at you.

You guys are married, dammit. Pull it together.

Averting your gaze, you turn your attention to getting more comfortable in your bed and decide to fuss with the placement of your pillows because damn was your back starting to hurt, but Aaron beats you to it. Within ten seconds of arranging the pillows behind you, he has them perfect.

“How…?” you start to question, but he just raises his eyebrows. “Right. Married,” you say with a shake of your head.

Aaron finally sits in the chair next to your bed and reaches, almost absentmindedly, for your hand before catching himself and stilling. You can see the fight in his mind—he wants to comfort you and himself, but with your memory, he doesn’t quite know where your boundaries are. Taking pity on him, you grab his hand yourself, weaving your fingers together so he knows it was on purpose. Okay so you really just wanted to hold his hand again, but you’re married! You’re allowed. He takes a deep breath and leans back in the chair, turning his head to really look at you.

“How’s your head?” he asks, brow furrowed in what you’ve come to understand is genuine concern.

You pause and consider for a moment.

“Not terrible, but not great,” you say slowly. “It’s like there’s a fog in my mind that I can’t see through. I know I’m missing stuff, but I just don’t know what.”

Aaron gently squeezes your hand, but doesn’t speak yet.

“I want to know what brought Emily back, how we happened, what it was that gave me this fucking injury, I just…” with an exasperated huff, you collect yourself. “I just want to know.”

“Well, Emily should be the one to tell you her part of the story, and as for us,” he gives you a smile “it’s a longer answer, at least for me, so that will have to wait—Sorry, Sweetheart,” he says when you pout. “However, I can tell you about what landed you in the hospital. How does that sound?”

“It’s a start,” you tease, and yes Aaron smiles wider and rolls his eyes.

“We were chasing an unsub, and Garcia had tracked him to a warehouse not too far from Quantico. We went there and—” his voice wavers. You squeeze his hand. “—and the unsub had set explosives around the perimeter of the building. I guess you got too close to him when trying to talk him down and he triggered the whole set.” Aaron sighs, and his eyes are glazed over like he’s reliving this—which he probably is—and there’s nothing you can really do besides let him take his time.

“You weren’t right by any of them, but you were thrown back and had hit the ground before I could even yell at you to stop—not that you would have listened,” he says pointedly with a watery laugh. “You just laid there, Morgan and I carried you over to the medics as soon as the dust settled and they took you away as we cleared the rest of the scene.”

“And the unsub?”

“He didn’t survive the explosion. As soon as we figured that out, we left it to the local PD and crime scene techs.” He looks at you softly. “We came straight here after that.”

“How long was I out before today,” you ask lightly, curiously.

“Three days. Dave had to convince me to go home and shower on the second day.” He looks down before sneaking a sideways glance at you.

“Well I’m glad he did,” you tease, scrunching your nose.

“And I’m glad you’re awake, Sweetheart,” he replies, squeezing your hand.

You laugh and look away before mumbling, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.”

“Get used to what?” he waits a second. “Sweetheart?” Motherfucker. He knows what he’s doing.

“That! I woke up convinced you didn’t have feelings for me at all,” you say with a glare, “and now I know we’re married and you keep being so nice and understanding and calling me Sweetheart and I just don’t know how to deal with all of this!” you finish in a huff.

“I just feel bad that I can’t remember this, us” you add, gesturing between the two of you. “I’m trying and there’s just—” you make a frustrated noise and flop back to stare at the ceiling. “And my head still kind of hurts,” you add softly, almost pouting.

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Aaron whispers. He clears his throat before continuing. “You’ll get your memories back,” he leans forward to stroke some hair off your forehead. “And until then, you know the team and I will do what we can to catch you up and help you remember.”

You push your head further into his hand with a sigh. He runs his hand through your hair a few times before pulling back and you almost whine. You yawn instead. Settling down, you tug the blanket up higher across your chest and turn to face Aaron as he also gets comfortable. He turns on the small television in your room and at some point, you fall asleep holding his hand.

---

You wake to the sound of the door opening, followed by the unmistakable click-clack of heels worn by none other than Penelope Garcia.  

“Rise and shine! Time to regain your memory, lovely Y/N,” she sings, coming to a stop by the side of your bed as you roll over with a yawn.

“Pen—” you groan. “Let me sleep. Please.”

“Oh no, my little profiler. Do you have your memory back?” You shake your head. “Then we need to work on that! And don’t you dare tell me no; my wonderful Derek Morgan and I were up all night making this for you,”

You raise your eyebrows.

“Sadly, not like that. But, we compiled a presentation-slash-video montage for you about what you’ve missed!”

That catches your attention.

“Wha--? How? Penelope where did the footage come from?” you ask, more awake now.

“Well, I may or may not have used security cam footage for a lot of it, but that’s neither here nor there, so, without further ado, I present to you: your life for the past four-ish years!” and with that, she somehow connects her tablet to the TV and you see a picture of the whole team; Penelope then produces a remote from the depths of her purse and then proceeds to the next slide.

Which is a photo of you. And Aaron. Standing by the coffee machine in the office and smiling at each other, clearly unaware that the moment was being documented. The image is embellished with what must be close to fifty moving, sparkly hearts, obviously done by Garcia.

“First thing’s first,” she starts with a flourish. “Your husband!” and as if on cue, Aaron walks into the room, cup of coffee in hand. Much to your surprise, Aaron just rounds your bed to sit in the same chair you assume he fell asleep in, watching the screen.

“What is happening,” you say softly to yourself, looking from Aaron to Garcia and back.

“The doctor said photos and videos might help restore your memory, so who better to put something together than Garcia?” Hotch answers dryly, a small smile flashing across his face. “The rest of the team should be here shortly,” he says directly to Garcia.

“Oh good. I always work better with an audience,” she replies as you continue to process just what the hell is happening since you woke up approximately five minutes ago.

Within a few minutes, your hospital room is overrun with the rest of the team. Sitting, standing, leaning wherever they can find the space to view Penelope’s presentation with you in the middle of it all.

“Don’t you people have jobs?” you grumble.

“C’mon, Princess. Who better to help you remember the last few years than us?” Derek says with a cheeky grin that makes you roll your eyes.

You turn your gaze to Aaron and find that he’s already looking at you in concern.

“If you really don’t want all of us here we can leave,” he says just loud enough for you to hear.

“I just…” you take a moment to try and collect your thoughts. “I guess I just don’t know how to feel about all of this, but you’re all here so— “

“So here we go!” Penelope cheerfully finishes your sentence before turning back to the screen. “As I was saying before, part one of Operation Get Y/N’s Memories Back is all about—drumroll please—our very own Unit Chief, a.k.a. Hotch, a.k.a. loving husband to our very own Agent Y/L/N.”

With a shake of your head, purposefully ignoring the way Derek and Emily are whooping and whistling, you settle in and gesture for Penelope to continue. God, let’s hope this works.

---

It doesn’t work.

Fuck.

Three almost four hours later and nothing has changed for you. However, it’s a lovely opportunity for some team bonding and creating new memories, but you’re still disappointed. It’s not for lack of trying, though. Penelope did a wonderful job of pulling together a presentation-slash-video montage of your life, complete with titles such as ‘Your lovely husband,’ ‘The Miraculous Life, Death, and Subsequent Resurrection of Emily Prentiss,’ and even ‘Badass BAU Babies,’ which was a collection of team photos and news clips of cases you guys had closed in the past few years.

The whole team had gotten a kick out of each section, especially the last one, as Penelope had spared no one in her quest to help your memory; ugly selfies sent in the BAU group chat, embarrassing footage of you tripping up (and down) the stairs to the bullpen—courtesy of the security cameras, Reid doing physics magic and narrowly missing Rossi’s coffee cup, it was all there. But nothing worked, there was no magical ah ha moment where everything came rushing back. If anything, it really was like watching a movie; it didn’t feel like you were the one is all of these clips and photos. Not even Reid’s commentary made you feel any closer than before to recovering your memories.

It wasn’t all bad, though. Penelope had a veritable stockpile of photos of you and Aaron, ranging from the office, to cases, to the occasional night out with the team. Your engagement announcement, wedding photos, freakin’ everything on the two of you and yet, nothing seemed to make a difference to your brain.

The photo on the screen was one of you and Aaron on a case. You were tucked under his arm, snowflakes visible in your hair and his as you look up and laugh at something he said while he just smiles gently down at you. Penelope had put hearts over both your eyes.

“Actual heart eyes! I had to! You guys are so cute!” she basically squealed when the photo came up.

“What did I tell you,” Rossi said teasingly, “Yearning.”

Prentiss and Morgan hadn’t stopped laughing for this entire segment, with JJ and Reid occasionally joining in if there was something exceptionally ridiculous Penelope had included, like fucking heart eyes.

A hand covering your own makes you realize you had spaced out, and you look down to see that it’s Aaron’s hand, wedding band catching the light.

“Anything, Sweetheart?” he asks in a low voice, carefully watching your face.

You shake your head. “It’s like it’s someone else’s life, but I know it’s mine; you’ve told me it’s mine, there’s photographic evidence that it’s mine!” you say in a huff. “It just doesn’t feel like it’s mine,” you whisper, voice breaking at the end. Tears gather in your eyes and you bite your lip to stop it from shaking as you desperately try and control your overwhelming emotions. You can hear the team in the background, strategizing new ways to help you, but Aaron’s face hovers in front of your own, drawing your attention.

“It’s okay,” he says lightly, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“No, it’s not,” you insist as a few tears make their way down your face. “It’s not, Aaron. What if this is it? What if I just don’t get my memories back?”

Letting out a long sigh, Aaron raises your hand to his lips and kisses your palm before folding your hand into his.

“You will. I know you will,” he says with such conviction you might just believe him if it weren’t for the way he rapidly blinks to keep his own tears at bay.

“Yeah, Princess.” Morgan chimes in from somewhere across the room. “We’ll figure this out, you know we will.”

And with that, you see something click into place in Aaron’s eyes and suddenly, he’s looking at you in such a way that your heart picks up—thanks, heart monitor.

“Aaron…?” you ask cautiously.

“Princess,” he says it so simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You only have time to raise an eyebrow at him before—

Oh.

Kissing Aaron Hotchner is something you could definitely get used to. His hand comes up to cradle your face as he gently moves his lips against yours. You sigh and can feel his smile against your mouth before he’s tugging your face closer, tilting your head just so and—

There.

It’s like opening a window to let in a breeze. Soft and sure, filling the space in a way that’s all-encompassing without being suffocating.

Like snowflakes falling and settling on his black jacket, like Aaron down on one knee sliding your engagement ring on your finger while you smile so much it feels like your face will break. It’s leaving cups of coffee on his desk during late nights in the office. It’s playing soccer with Jack as Aaron smiles and cheers both of you on. It’s being in bed late at night, falling asleep in the comfort provided by the man you love. Your wedding vows, promising to love him forever.

And you know.

With a gasp, you pull Aaron closer, kiss him deeper, harder, moving your lips more frantically against his. I remember I remember I remember and you think he gets it because he pulls back and looks at you with so much hope it almost breaks your heart.

“When I said I’d love you forever, Aaron Hotchner, I meant it.”

And his face breaks into the biggest smile you’ve ever seen as he laughs in disbelief before capturing your lips with his again, returning the urgency you had kissed him with just moments ago.

Someone clears their throat and you pull apart, smiles obvious on both your faces as you turn to the team who are looking somewhat confused.

“Would you mind enlightening us as to why you two are suddenly acting like teenagers?” Rossi asks, eyebrows raised.

“Well,” Aaron starts, grinning in your direction, “It would seem that— “

“Nuh uh. No way,” Derek interrupts him. “Are you seriously about to say that you kissed her and she magically remembered?”

You can’t help but laugh at his disbelief because what the hell and nod, unable to speak through the giddiness overtaking your body. You remember.

“Ohmygod! You guys!!” Penelope squeals before launching herself into your arms for a hug which she promptly pulls Aaron into as well; he doesn’t protest.

“What made you do that, Hotch?” Reid asks curiously once Penelope has let you and Aaron go. “Did you know it would work?”

“Princess,” Aaron says with a nod towards Morgan. “In Jack’s storybooks, a kiss always wakes the Princess so she and her prince can live happily ever after.”

Okay that’s adorable and you can’t help but aww with the rest of the team at Aaron’s confession.

“Happily ever after, huh?” you say, tugging on his hand. “Who knew you were such a sap, Hotchner?”

Rolling his eyes, Aaron just smiles. “Wasn’t it obvious from Garcia’s presentation? I’ve been in love with you forever, Sweetheart. And besides, it worked, didn’t it?” he says with a smug smile. 

You pull him down for a short kiss before moving back just enough to murmur “My Prince Charming.”

“I can’t believe you guys,” you turn to see Morgan shaking his head. “A literal fuckin’ fairytale,” and then he’s laughing and the whole team, you and Aaron included, are laughing with him because yeah this is pretty surreal.

“I can’t believe you thought I was a ghost!” Emily says once the laughter has died down, her arms crossed in mock-anger.

“Can you blame me?” you retort. “The last thing I remember was burying you and suddenly you’re here? Nope. No way. Ghost. Only explanation.”

“I have to say, Y/L/N, I’m glad you’re back, if only to stop Aaron’s sad puppy-dog eyes every time you called him ‘Hotch,’” Rossi shakes his head. “I don’t know how much more yearning I could take.”

“Hey! Be nice,” JJ admonishes, swatting Rossi’s shoulder. “I think it’s sweet.”

“Yeah guys,” you echo. “Be nice! Don’t think I forgot you two,” you say, leveling Morgan and Prentiss with glares, “and all your laughter when I couldn’t remember that my husband and I were married!”

“Oh c’mon, Princess,” Morgan groans. “It was pretty funny. You were trying so hard not to look completely in love with your husband.”

“In my defense,” you start, “I didn’t know that you guys already knew how much I love Aaron, so excuse me for trying to hide my love,” you say with a sniff.

“Well, it was pretty obvious. Whenever you looked at him or he grabbed your hand, the heart monitor would register an increase in your heart rate by—” Reid starts to ramble but your laughter cuts him off.

“I get it, I get it,” you continue through your laughter. “I’m very in love with Aaron, even when I think it’s a secret, but as Penelope’s presentation so eloquently demonstrated, I’m not subtle and neither is he.”

Aaron leans over to kiss your cheek as the rest of the team continues into a conversation about Penelope’s presentation and how the hell she collected all those photos and videos in one day.

With the attention no longer on you—for now—you smile at Aaron, who smiles right back. He slumps back in his chair with a sigh, and you can’t help but pull him back closer to you.

“I love you,” you say kissing the back of his hand.

“I love you more, Sweetheart,” he replies softly.

Yeah, this is happily ever after.