#kiwriteswords

[kiwriteswords]

Roses Behind Her Eyes [Aaron Hotchner x Florist!Reader] **

Florist!Reader Masterlist|| Main Masterlist [I need to update this, sorry!]|| Ao3||Word Count: 1.9k|| AN:  Some poetic smut because I felt like their first time wouldn't be entirely raunchy...but there is room for raunchy florist!reader requests Tags/Warnings: Female!Reader, Florist!Reader, Non-BAU!Reader, pre-relationship, MDNI, tasteful smut, Sassy!Reader, Flirty!Reader, unprotected sex, first time together, spoilers to episode 100, mentions of scars, reader is a little insecure, fear of being perceived Summary:  Big, expensive arrangements to make for the biggest days in your customers' lives? You never got nervous. About to have sex with Aaron Hotchner for the first time? Very nervous.

It hadn’t been the first date. 

But it wasn’t too long after either.

A few dinners. A slow walk home after a stakeout-worthy lunch break. A lot of lingering eye contact, subtle touches, whispered remarks that walked a razor-thin line between charming and obscene.

You flirted with Aaron Hotchner like it was your job.

You did it at your shop.

Over the phone.

Across tables at dimly lit restaurants.

You even flirted with him once through a flower arrangement--

Note tucked in between white peonies and ranunculus that said: “If you were a flower, I’d press you in a book and never let you go.”

He never responded to it in writing.

But he did respond with a look the next time he saw you.

The kind that said, Be careful what you start.

You thought you were prepared.

(You weren’t.)

You weren’t prepared for how quiet and focused he became when he let himself want you--

How he listened when you spoke, watched you when you moved. How it felt to have all that slow-burn attention turned solely on you.

And now?

Now you were standing in his bedroom, a little out of breath, skin warm from being kissed too many times to count, and you realized with a jolt:

You were nervous.

You. Nervous.

Huge expensive arrangements to make on some of the biggest days of your customers' lives? All that pressure? Never a nerve in sight. Now…standing in front of a man who could just change your life? Nervous. Very…very nervous. 

For a person who doesn’t get nervous. 

Wow, you should mention it again. Nervous. 

You hadn’t had sex in a long time--

Like…a really long time? Like, potentially re-virginized long time…

Not just physically, but intimately. This kind of real. This kind of weighted. All your playful confidence, your bold lines, your innuendos--

Those were second nature. 

You wore flirtation like a second skin. But this?

This was Hotch.

Aaron.

Who was already halfway undressed, shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal that taut, defined chest you had definitely fantasized about more than once. And when he kissed you, it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t even hungry.

It was intentional.

And it was wrecking you.

You hovered awkwardly by the bed, arms still wrapped around yourself, unsure what to do with your hands--

You suddenly felt like you were nineteen all over again.

He noticed.

Of course, he noticed.

Damn, profiler. 

Why’d he have to be so good at his job? 

Your brain raced and thought about all of your little imperfections. The softness your body had. It wasn’t toned or overly fit. The callouses your hands held from years of holding shears and being cut with thorns--

Being cut with thorns almost metaphorically, too. 

Years and years of that. 

You’d become a closed off version of yourself. 

Hotch moved slowly toward you, still barefoot, his expression soft but attentive.

“You’re quiet,” he said gently.

You tried to play it off. “Are you complaining?”

“Not yet.”

You huffed out a laugh, but it didn’t land. Your eyes darted toward the bed again. His hand came up, slow and deliberate, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear.

“You okay?” he asked, voice lower now.

You bit the inside of your cheek, nodding.

“...Yeah. Just--” you breathed out. “It’s been…a while.”

His brows pulled slightly, but not with judgment.

“With someone I wanted like this, I mean,” you clarified quickly. “Someone I wasn’t just trying to...get through.”

Hotch’s hand curled around your waist gently, anchoring you. It almost shut off your thoughts. You could only feel his touch. It was confusing. The control freak in you wanted to scream. Run. Push him away. 

You could become addicted to something that had this ability to shut off your worried mind. You could get used to having someone calm your thoughts and worries. They were always there and to feel them dissipate so…so naturally, it felt dangerous. Like you were playing with fire. 

“You don’t have to explain.”

“I want to,” you said, surprising even yourself. “I talk a big game. I flirt like it’s a sport. But when it comes to this--actually being with someone--I freeze up. Like I’m supposed to be good at this just because I make innuendos for a living.”

He didn’t laugh. He didn’t tease.

He just stepped closer, close enough for you to feel the warmth of him seep into your skin.

“You don’t have to perform for me,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to be anything but yourself.”

You blinked fast.

His thumb stroked the curve of your hip through your dress. “You’re already here. That’s all I want.”

That broke something in you--

Something tight you didn’t realize you’d been holding in your chest.

You reached for him slowly, kissing him again. This time softer. Slower. Less trying to impress, more trying to feel. 

And he met you there. Every second of it.

Maybe you could allow one night of this…this drug. One time couldn’t hurt? One time of just shutting off that brain of yours.

When he peeled your dress off, it wasn’t with a groan or a joke. It was reverent. Like he’d been dying to know what you looked like under the layers but didn’t want to rush a second of it. His fingers were warm and careful and steady--

Reassuring in a way that made you feel safe and desired.

And when he laid you down, he didn’t say anything poetic or raunchy.

He just looked at you.

Really looked.

The reflection met back to you from him was one you didn’t recognize. It was at this moment when you realized maybe your self-esteem was past poor because when he looked at you, you thought he had to be looking at someone else. How could he look at you that way? You? 

“You’re beautiful,” he said, like it was the only thing in the world he was sure of. 

Certainty. Not a trace of hesitation.

And then he kissed you like he meant it.

Not just the kind of kiss that makes your stomach twist or your knees weak--

But the kind that says I see you. I want all of you. You’re safe with me.

You didn’t think much during that first time. You didn’t need to. Because every time doubt crept in, his hands were there. His voice was there. His eyes, grounding you back into your body.

It felt like second nature. You could think about all of the ways it was like a blooming flower, just knowing what to do without being told. But even now, there was no space for metaphors. 

And when he finally had you beneath him, skin to skin, all pretense melted. The teasing. The armor. The curated confidence you wore like perfume--

Gone.

Out the window. 

Down the street. 

On a plane already halfway across the world. 

Hotch touched you like you were breakable, but worshiped you like he’d been waiting his whole life to get it right. Every kiss was slow and deliberate, his mouth brushing over your jaw, your neck, your chest with devastating patience. 

When he finally pressed inside you, it wasn’t with a sharp gasp or a rushed moan--

It was a breath. A grounding. A reverent exhale against your shoulder as your fingers curled into his back.

You clung to him, thighs wrapping around his waist instinctively, holding him close like your body knew how to do this even if your mind was still catching up.

And Hotch? He didn’t rush you. He didn’t take--

He gave.

Gave you time. Gave you softness. Gave you heat, slow and building, coaxing your nerves away with every deep, languid thrust that left you gasping and aching for more.

He knew exactly where to put his hands. How to angle your hips…how to hit the right spots. 

You didn’t expect how vocal he was--

How he’d murmur things in your ear with that low, gravelly voice of his, wrecked by restraint.

“God, you feel good.”

Or, “You’re driving me crazy.”

And the one line you’d fall back on when the bed is too empty without him because, wow, it did something to you when he said this, “Don’t hide from me, baby--look at me.”

You did. You couldn’t not.

And when he groaned your name like a secret, hips stuttering, fingers tightening on your waist--

He could leave his hands thereforever.

It…it didn’t feel like sex.

It felt like letting go.

You weren’t graceful about it either--

Your back arched, legs trembling, head throw back when it finally crested. You tried to muffle the sounds in your throat, but he wasn’t having that. He kissed you through it, swallowed every whimper, told you not to hold back.

He wanted all of it.

All of you.

And by the time it was over, your heart was still racing, your body was humming, and all you could do was lay there--tangled in sheets and in him--wondering how the hell you were supposed to go back to normal after that.

He kissed your shoulder, then your cheek, “You okay?”

You nodded, chest full. “Yeah.”

Then, quieter:

“I think you just ruined me for anyone else.”

And Hotch, steady as ever, whispered back, “Good.”

The room was still, the night hushed in that way only post-midnight could be. A car passed slowly outside, headlights momentarily flickering across the ceiling. You lay beside him, skin warm beneath the sheets, your heart finally beginning to beat like it belonged to you again.

Hotch was on his back, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other resting lightly against your hip. He looked more relaxed than you’d ever seen him.

You shifted onto your side, head on his shoulder, and let your hand drift across his chest, fingertips grazing slowly over skin that was far more defined than you'd expected. Then your touch stilled--

Pausing over a pale scar just beneath his left clavicle.

It wasn’t huge. But it was there. Clean, raised. Healed, but noticeable.

You traced it gently, and his breath hitched ever so slightly.

“Where’d this come from?” you asked softly.

Hotch hesitated for a second. “Work.”

You glanced up at him, expression curious but not prying. “That FBI is a dangerous line of work….”

You tried not to think about someone hurting him like that…you didn’t know him well enough to care for him that deeply. Not yet. You’re not sure if you could let yourself get to that point, so you pushed it down. That uneasy feeling. 

He nodded once. “Sometimes.”

You hummed in response, fingers brushing lower across his ribs, then over his abdomen. “That explains the rest of this,” you said, a teasing note sneaking into your voice. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen a body like this in a flower shop.”

He chuckled low in his throat.

You shifted a little, stretching your arm out between you, and he caught your wrist gently in his hand, turning it palm-up. His brow furrowed.

“These,” he murmured, thumb gliding across a small, white scar along the side of your forearm. “What happened here?”

You laughed quietly, slightly embarrassed. “Occupational…hazard.”

He looked confused.

“Being a florist,” you clarified with a little smile. “Thorns. Shears. Floral wire. Those centerpiece installations don’t build themselves, and rose stems are meaner than they look.”

His eyes flicked over your skin again, taking in the small marks. “I never would’ve guessed.”

“I try to keep the bloodshed off the showroom floor,” you said dryly.

Hotch smiled at that, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

You traced over the scar on his chest again, slower this time, a little more thoughtful. “I like that we both wear what we do.”

He turned his head to look at you fully.

You shrugged. “It’s kind of poetic, don’t you think? You protect people. I make things beautiful. Both jobs come with little reminders.”

Hotch leaned in, brushing a kiss against your temple.

“They suit you,” he murmured. “The marks. The job. All of it.”

Your lips curved upward, eyes fluttering closed as you settled closer into his side.

“Likewise,” you whispered. “Even if your work stories are definitely cooler.”

He huffed a laugh. “Debatable.”

And there, tangled in his sheets, your hands on each other’s skin--scars and softness and all--you felt more seen than you had in a long, long time.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @Sweethotchlogy @softtdaisy @stilestotherescue

[hotchology]

100 and 129!

100. How are you feeling? you know when u feel so much of absolutely everything its kind of just static between ur ears? that one. but right now its swinging towards good im very :D

129. What your zodiac sign? scorpio!! by a matter of like. 4 or 5 hours. my chart in two different layouts for those more astrologically inclined :p

put a number in my ask <3

[aureatelys]

8, 15, & 16 🥰🥰🥰

hi ki 🥹

8: Want any tattoos?

yes! i’ve been wanting to get a skeleton flower tattoo for the longest time but the last time i got a tattoo it became severely infected and required several rounds of antibiotics 😀 so maybe not yet

15: Favorite movie

this is embarrassing but captain america the winter soldier only because of the absolute death grip it had on me for years. or hereditary

16: I’ll love you if

if you like to try new food! i hate a boring eater ngl

[ssamorganhotchner]

16 and 26 🥰

Ki my sweets!!! Tysm for the ask 🥹💕

16. I'll love you if

I’ll love you if you just be yourself around me. Don’t try to be someone you’re not. I work with a few who put on a show to mimic the other persons personality just so they like them, and it bothers me because why? Why do you care if a person likes you or not? As Taylor Swift once said, just be you, there is no one better 💕

26. My biggest pet peeves

I can’t stand hearing someone breathe or chew. I have audibly said “stop breathing so close to me” before to people who know 0 space.

Critiquing what I say all the time. My mentally abusive ex did this like crazy and now it triggers me really, really bad. If it doesn’t change the conversation, there is no reason to do it. For example: if I say someone is worth $20 billion but in reality they’re worth $19 billion? Don’t say anything. I wouldn’t do that to someone else either because it makes me feel small. Makes me feel as if I cannot get anything right and I instantly shut down.

Slow drivers. If you can’t drive the speed limit get off the road.

really get to know me(:

[minswriting]

a lil list of my favorite authors

hello my loves! i decided that i will be making a small post with my favorite cm writers. go ahead and check them out to read their fics!! this isn’t everyone but just a few of my top fic writers fr.

@brattyspence - my pookie wookie. she writes angst and fluff. i personally ADORE her fluffy pieces, especially her dad!spence fics!! she writes for only spencer

@esote-rika - erika, my QUEEN. she writes for spencer and writes a lot of 18+ content. her work is literally just gold

@incognit0slut - lou is legit like one of my favorite writers on here. she writes only spencer content and they’re all just *chef’s kiss*. her blog is MDNI!

@mariasont - MARIA MY HOMEGIRL!! she writes the best bimbo!reader x hotch fics. i literally SCREAM when she posts a new fic because they’re literally all so good. she writes for both spencer and aaron!!

@mggslover - lover, my lover. i adore her fics so much. especially her aaron content as she recently started writing for hotch!! she writes for both spencer and hotch and it’s all SO GOOD!

@aureatelys - DENISE AHHHH she writes for hotch and is an 18+ blog. her dbf hotch fics literally make me SCREAM. they’re so fucking good. literally top tier fics for me and i adore them so much.

@beenreidingaboutyou - eliza, my POOKIE. she’s such a good spencer writer and she just wrote her first ever smut fic which CAME OUT SO GOOD!! literally shat bricks reading it. i loved it so much.

@kiwriteswords - LITERALLY SOME OF THE BEST HOTCH FICS I HAVE EVER READ. top tier 100%. adore her so very much and her fics are just AHHHHH.

@reidrum - arya, i adore you so much. her spencer fics are just so good and when she writes smut? bitch i’m in love fr.

like stated before, this isn’t everyone because it would be so much to put absolutely everyone lol. but regardless, enjoy!!!

[overcaffienatedinsomniac]

Some of my, I kid you not, favorite Tumblr fanfic writes specifically for Criminal Minds. (Plus 68 Kill mentioned for one) In no specific order!

@darkmatilda writes for Spencer Reid.

@mariasont writes for Spencer Reid and Aaron Hotchner.

@reidingandallthat writes for Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner and Emily Prentiss.

@reiding-writing writes for Spencer Reid.

@minswriting writes for Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner, Derek Morgan, Luke Alvez and Emily Prentiss.

@esote-rika writes for Spencer Reid (and Chip Taylor.)

@mggslover writes for Spencer Reid and Aaron Hotchner.

@kiwriteswords writes for Aaron Hotchner.

@incognit0slut writes for Spencer Reid.

If any of the creators I have tagged want to be removed or if I have the wrong information, feel free to DM me and I will change what I need to! Just wanted to share the love and share some of my favorite writers on this app.

[somuchforahobby]

invisible string

Summary: Jessica is out of town and Hotch hires a new nanny for Jack Word count: 8k Warnings: Hotchner is afraid of women Tags: Tooth rotting fluff GIFS belong to @kiwriteswords Read on AO3

Time, curious time

It had been quite a while since you got a job interview. You had been recommended by your friend Jessica to her brother in law to take care of her nephew for a few weeks until she comes back from a work-related trip. But first you had to be interviewed by him and Jessica warned you it was not gonna be a walk in the park.

You didn’t know if you had to look like governess or a Nanny Fine, so you went somewhere in the middle, with an oversized blazer, straight jeans, a crop top and loafers. You wanted to look professional and mature but not boring and old.

When you arrived at the Cafe, your eyes quickly searched for a man alone, who seemed like a dad, but you could not find any. Only one that was much closer to a Calvin Klein catalog than what you expected to be Jessica’s in law. He raised his hand and for a second you thought of politely saying no with your head, because you were here for a job interview not a flirt, but then realized.

“Mr. Hotchner?” You asked, once you have walked to his table.

“Yes, nice to meet you, please have a seat.” He stood up from his chair and extended a hand to you. You shared a professional hand shake and sat in front of him.

“Thank you for agreeing to this in such a short notice, I appreciate your time.” He said, raising an eyebrow, forming a crease in his forehead. “Do you have your resume?”

You handed it to him, his eyebrows remained creased as he readed it. While he did it, you ordered a latte to the waitress, his eyes quickly examined you while doing so.

“Why did you study pedagogy and education?” He asked once your coffee had arrived.

“I think the best way to eliminate violence is education, I want to contribute. Also, I like to study human behavior, in a way, and the way we educate children has a lot to do with how they grow up to be. So I’m passionate about that.” You calmly explained, his sigh was still stern. “And I also really like the outfits we get to wear as educators” you decided to throw in a small joke to get a smile but it flopped magistrally. 

“According to this” he gestures to your resume, “you’ve had experience helping children to cope with trauma, can you talk me through the process?” He finished his question and took a sip of his coffee.

“Yes, sure, it’s mostly through art. We either paint, draw or sculpt feelings and we explain them, that way we can talk about ourselves while being grounded by some self made craft.”

“You bring the materials?” 

“Yes, sir. In case there is anything extraordinary I’d be letting you know about extra costs, and of course it’s all based on the child’s preferences and allergies.” 

“I would not want Jack to be off school, get home and feel like he still has work or school to do, how would you manage that?” 

‘What a fucking jerk’ you thought, the superiority in his tone made you cringe.

“Well, yes, sir. I have a masters in Primary Education, I think I can realize when a child is bored or exhausted and change the activities for something that makes them have fun and relax. So, yeah, I am indeed trained to manage that.” You were certain that answer alone was gonna get you off the job because of the moody tone it came out with. Oddly, you saw the corners of his lips curl upwards just a little.

***

“He hated me” You stated the moment you picked up the phone call from your friend Jessica.

“He loved you!” She overspoke through the line.

“What?” You both said.

“You first” she requested

“He hated me, he was polite but his tone, OH MY GOD!, his tone was implying I was an idiot question after question.” You explained as you walked down the street to your apartment.

“He just called me to ask me when it’s appropriate to tell you you’ve got the job!” Your friend was laughing over the line.

“So, when is he gonna call me?” 

“I said I’d tell you myself.”

You laughed through the line and yelled a little in excitement for finally getting a job.

“Let’s have dinner tonight to talk about Jack and his father.” Your friend made plans and you thought they were perfect.

***

“So, you’re a child’s profiler?” The tall skinny guy you had been talking to since you arrived was very interested in your work.

“Not really, no. I treat kids with trauma to avoid them growing into it.”

“But can you realize when there’s a psychopathy in them?”

“Yeah but I don’t treat them, I refer them to a psychiatrist and I advise the parents to take therapy as well.” 

“That is so interesting, how do you treat them then?”

“Well, I usually work with kids than have blocked their trauma, so I can give them exercises and activities to learn it, live it, understand it and manage it—“ A voice calling your full name interrupted you. You turned and saw Mr. Hotchner on the threshold. You nodded to the young man who you were talking to and headed to your employer’s office.

“Please, come in, how can I help you?”

“Thank you. Well it’s just procedure, a few questions I have to ask before I start treating a child—“

“You are not treating my child.” He scolded you.

“Yes, I am.” You gave him his tone back. “But if you will be ashamed of it then your son will be too and this is not going to work.” 

“Go on.” He took a deep breath.

***

Gave no compasses, gave me no signs

You and Jack had spent the day playing in the snow, then coloring and finally, you requested his help to cook dinner in order to teach him to be independent. Truth is, you two were really getting along.

Dinner was ready when Mr. Hotchner arrived.

He called your name as soon as he opened the door, and the corner of his eyes wrinkled when he saw little Jack with an apron in the kitchen.

“Daddy, I made you dinner!” The little guy raised his hand holding a spoon, wearing a big smile.

“That is amazing, buddy. Then let’s have dinner.” Mr. Hotchner hugged Jack. “How was your day?” He turned his gaze to you, still holding Jack.

“It was great, maybe Jack should tell you what his favorite part was.” You asked him as you laid out the plates for dinner.

“The snowman!” He said with a big smile and you did as well.

“Thank you very much, that would be all for today.” Your boss gave you a handshake with the stern face he always has on. “Jack, say goodnight to your nanny.” He put the boy on the ground.

“Can’t she stay for dinner?” He asked his father. Mr. Hotchner raised his gaze at you in a questioning manner. You scrunched down to meet Jack’s eyes.

“No, sweetie. This is quality time you have to spend with your daddy, besides we only cook for two.”

“Are you also having dinner with your daddy?” He tilted his head to the side in confusion and you couldn’t help but laugh. With the corner of your eyes you saw Mr. Hotchner laughed as well.

“Yeah, I should, right? See you tomorrow little buddy.” You gave him a hug.

You walked to the couch to get your backpack and headed out of the house.

“Goodnight, Mr. Hotncher, Jack.” You gave them a smile before opening the door and walking out.

***

“Hotchner”

“Hey, Mr. Hotchner, sweetie get in the car–” 

“what’s going on?” 

“Sir, I can’t work from your apartment today” a car door closed in the back

“what’s wrong?” 

“There’s a–god–I don’t–I think there’s something inside” You were trailing off, he could hear you starting a car.

He said your name trying to get you to focus.

“I won’t go in there, sir, we will be in my apartment, you can pick up Jack when–”

“Where are you? I’m sending an officer”

“That’s not necessary”

“Come to my office, now” that sounded like an order

“Sir, let me just” you took a deep breath, trying to calm down

“Stay on the line, I will locate your phone”

“Sir, there’s a rat!” You screamed. Jack’s laugh resonated through the line.

“A rat? This is because of a rat?” He was ridiculing you.

“Yes, I opened the door and saw a rat running through the living room. So I can’t go in there.” 

“Daddy, she’s afraid of rats!” Jack screamed through the phone, laughing at you.

“Don’t you ever do this again” And he hung up.

“I think he is afraid too” You told little Jack as you drove home.

***

“Daddy! You’re early! Can my daddy make one too?” Jack jumped to hug his father the second he walked through the door, showing him the paste of play-doh he was holding.

“Yes, of course!” You answered, clearing another seat at the table for him. “Maybe, I should explain the activity again for your father to join in, would you like that Jack?”

“Yes, yes!” 

Mr. Hotchner had no other choice but to drop his briefcase and blazer on the couch and join both of you at the table.

“Today’s activity, Mr. Hotchner is to think of one emotion we have been feeling a whole lot this week and try to represent it in the play-doh. Jack and I had already started so you gotta catch up. Once we finish our sculptures we will share them with the rest, okay?” You looked at him with an apologetic look and he nodded in response.

“I made two,” Jack started to explain. “One is sadness and the other one is happiness.” He pointed at each of the sculptures, one blue and one pink. “The blue is the sadness and the pink is happiness.”

“Why did you choose those colors, Jack?”

“Because blue is a sad color, I think. And also when my daddy is sad he plays music he calls blues.”

“And why have you been feeling  sad,  Jack?”

“I don’t want to say it in front of my daddy, he says I have to be strong.” The little boy covered his face with his hands, in shame. You turned to look at his father in concern and he was just as ashamed as his son.

“Sweetie, if you want you can tell me in secret but you can also share it with your father because above all people, you should trust him to know how you feel.” Your tone was soft and tender, your focus only on the blond child sitting in front of you. “Or you can talk about happiness while you think about how you want to share the sadness.” You finally see a smile form in the little guy’s face. 

“Yes!” He yelled. “I am happy because you’re my new friend and we paint, and play a lot.”

“Oh, thank you sweetie, I am very happy to be your friend too. And why is happiness pink?”

“Because your backpack is pink! When I see it after school I know it’s going to be a fun day!” He was glowing, making your heart fill with joy. “You go!” 

“Okay, I made surprise, because this whole week I have been surprised with you Jack, because you are so smart, funny and amazing!” Your little friend blushed but quickly turned to his father to hear what his emotion was.

“I did love, because that’s the feeling that floods me when I am with you, and this moment is the most important I’ve had in my week.” 

“Not catching the bad guys?” Jack asked, excited.

His father moved his head from side to side with a smile, giving him an answer.

“Now, would you like to share why you have been feeling sad, buddy?”

“I miss my mommy” The little boy dropped his head to the table and you could swear your heart had been smashed. You looked at his father to handle it, but by the look of his face he wasn’t anywhere near to do so.

“Thank you very much for sharing this with us, Jack, is there anything we can do to make you feel better?” You ask. Jack said yes with his head and raised his arms in a hug. His father was quick to raise him in his arms in a tight hug. A tear rolled down your boss’ cheek when he mouthed ´thank you´ to you in complete silence.

“Thank you, that would be all for today” He dismissed you as he took off his jacket, but before you could turn away little Jack took his hand, guiding him a few steps from you.

***

“Daddy, I need to tell you a secwet ” 

Mr. Hotchner gestured for you to wait while he talked to his son, he hunched down to reach his height and the 5 year old leaned to whisper in his father’s ear. Your boss’ face turned from amused to intrigued in seconds while the child eyed you up and down.

“Thank you for sayin that, buddy. Wanna watch some TV while I talk to her?” The little blond kid nodded and walked to the living room. Mr. Hotchner guided you to the kitchen to talk, but you already knew what this was about the second he leaned against the door frame, locking you inside. “Jack says you cried today” folding his arms on his chest.

“I can explain.”

“I certainly hope so.”

“Well, uh, today when I went to pick Jack from school the teacher said his grandfather had already picked him up.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” Even though his voice was lower, he was speaking louder to you, rougher. His shoulders seemed to grow wider and his height taller.

“Sir.” You warned him, “I decided to check first and panic later, which was not necessary because Jack was actually with his grandfather.” You gave him his scolding tone back and saw how his shoulders went back to its original size.

“You should have called me.” He stretched his neck sideways, trying to relieve stress.

“Well I didn’t” you crossed your arms and turned away from him, tears pricking your eyes again. You heard him sigh.

“And then what?” 

“Well I drove to his house.” Your voice was shaking. “And he said a lot of things.” 

Mr. Hotchner said your name in a slow whisper, giving you the courage to look back at him.

“He said horrible things, sir.” Tears were already scrolling down your face and any signs of anger on him disappeared. “It’s not even worth saying them again.” 

He strode closed, “I’d like to know, please.” He raised his palms to your elbows but never actually touched you. He just stood there, in front of you, with his arms stretched to hug you but without the courage to do so.

“He said” you finally met his gaze, “that you… killed her?” A sob left your mouth at the sole repetition. “Is that…?” You couldn’t finish the question. He never had told you exactly what happened to Jack’s mom, he said she had been murdered while Jack was in the house, only that.

“No.” He turned away, “Of course I didn’t do it.” He kept moving his head sideways, almost obsessively, as if he was trying to convince himself as well. “It was a serial killer. He offered me a deal, not to go after him and he would not kill while I lived, but I declined it. I thought myself better, smarter, and I wasn’t responsible enough to take the necessary security measures.” He took a deep breath and you continued crying.

”is he in jail?”

”no.”

You gasped, “so he is still out there?”

“No.” One of his hand raised to massage his eyes in circular motions, “I killed him.”

Your entire body froze at the confession, alarms were flashing inside your head, warning you all the possible trauma that Jack might be suffering because of this. This was much more problematic that “his mother was murdered” as Mr. Hotchner said in your interview.

“Sir, that’s-“

“I know.” He returned to his initial position against the door. “What else did Jack’s grandfather say?”

“Well he insisted that I wasn’t a pedagogue, that I was with you” you turned down again, embarrassed, “so that I would be next.” 

“Did Jack hear any of this?” 

“No.” 

“Good. The first part, he,” he took a deep breath, “believes it is my fault, he thinks my mistakes are what pulled the trigger.” He was looking away, avoiding eye contact. “For the second, I apologize.” 

“Sir, don’t” now you wanted to comfort him, “why haven’t you put him to a stop?”

“Maybe because I think he is right.” He looked down and that was all you needed to round his chest with your arms, pulling him into a hug, his head falling to your shoulder.

“He is not” you repeated slowly while your fingers ran through his hair.

***

Were the clues I didn’t see?

Your boss had let you know he’d be coming home later than usual and requested you to stay home with Jack. Since this had turned out to be an usual request, you always had an extra change of clothes, pajamas and all the basic beauty products in your car.

So after you had dinner with Jack, left some for his father and got him to bed, you headed to the bathroom to get yourself ready to sleep.

You turned the tv on and chose a documentary in the Discovery Channel to lull yourself, after a few minutes you were fast asleep.

The keys didn’t wake you up, neither did the door opening nor the man walking in. Not even him turning off the tv. What woke you up was his judging stare or at least that’s what you woke up to.

“Jeez, Mr. Hotchner, you scared me. What time is it?” You said, sitting in one movement, with your eyes still sleepy.

“It’s 2:30 am. What if I was a murderer?” He asked, and maybe it’s because you were sleepy but you think he was teasing.

“I’m sorry, I was so tired, I couldn’t stay awake for long after putting Jack to bed.” You kept apologizing for… sleeping? At night? Like a human being? 

“No need to apologize, go back to it. I’m sorry I woke you up.” 

“No, sir, I should get home.” You stood up fast to get out of his scrutinous eyes but you were still sleepy so you ended up stumbling on your boss’ chest. His hands secured you by your shoulders. Your eyes automatically raised to his and for a few seconds you allowed yourself to admire him. Gosh, he was so handsome. He raised an eyebrow and that was your cue to stop staring.

“Careful, you can’t drive like this.” You’d swear his voice had dropped an octave. “Sit for a few minutes”

“Yes, sir.” You sat back down, your cheeks felt hot with embarrassment. He walked out of the living room.

“Do you always stay on the couch?” He asked from the kitchen. You didn’t have the courage to look back yet.

“Yes.” 

“Even when I leave for several days?” 

“Yes.”

“You shouldn’t. Sleep in my bed next time, please.” You finally turned your head to see him, shook by what he had asked you.

“Sir, I don’t think that’s appropriate.” You quickly answered.

“Why not? There’s nobody else there. I don’t see why you would neglect a perfectly comfortable bed when nobody else is using it. I need you to rest so you can take care of my child.” His tone was scolding, he sounded like he was talking about something serious, not asking you to sleep on his bed.

“Understood.” You limited to answer and stood up from the couch without losing eye contact with your boss. Or at least enough to see him scan your whole body in seconds and you felt nothing but shame.

There he was, with his pristine suit, tailored head to toe while you wore pink booty short pajamas. You started to fold the covers on the couch to distract yourself from him. Although you couldn’t, you wish you had stayed seated to avoid him seeing you like this. He must think you're a simple, immature woman. He must be the type to like lingerie for pajamas, not the Walmart 2x1 100% cotton promos.

You were lost in your own thoughts of how must be the woman he likes, how well he must treat women, fantasizing of your boss like a man, for once, when his voice interrupted your train of thought.

“Aren’t you cold?” 

“Mm?” You railed out.

“Aren’t you cold? It has been snowing lately.”

“No, not really. The heating system is enough. I'll change so I can go home for the night, excuse me.” And so you walked through the room to the bathroom.

“I’mma go home, Mr. Hotchner, have a good night.” He was still in the kitchen when you were leaving, you got your backpack without looking back and headed to the door.

“Good night”

You opened the door but he called your name before you could be out.

“Yeah?” You turned back to see him.

“Text when you’re home so I know you’re safe.”

“Sure, Mr. Hotchner, good night.”

***

“Is this yours?” Mr. Hotchner asked you, holding a hoodie in between his fingers. Jack was already asleep and you were gathering your stuff to leave for the day after one of your boss’ three day work trips.

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry.” You quickly grabbed it, blushing. You had forgotten it in the bathroom after your morning shower.

“Did you go to Georgetown?” He pointed at the hoodie. Casual conversation wasn’t usual with him, so his question took you out of your concentration.

“Oh, no.” You scoffed, “I was a barista in Georgetown. Getting discounted coffee to the guys in the souvenir store got me some stuff.” He smiled. “You didn’t know? I thought the FBI knew even my high school hobbies.” You teased as you finished folding your clothes in your backpack at the end of the couch.

“Yeah, right, cheerleading and making out with the quarterback?” He teased back with a side smirk that melted your insides, walking to you. You laughed.

“What gave me up? The reading club or the academic scholarship?” You asked, giggling. He smiled, coming to sit next to your backpack, looking up to you.

“I never actually searched you in the FBI database.” 

“What a hustle!” You fake mocked, “what if I was a murderer?” You repeated his question from days before. He smiled again.

“I would’ve known,” he nodded with a confident smirk.

“How?” You put your backpack on the floor and sat next to him.

“I’m very good at my job.” He scanned your face thoroughly, his smile nowhere to be found.

“Oh, really?” You asked, your gaze lost on his lips and how his tongue came out and licked them.

“Yeah” he swallowed, nervous.

“What am I thinking, then?” Your voice was merely a whisper, the tension in the air had gotten the best of you, the logical side of your brain nowhere to be found. His eyes had never been that dark, traveling between your own and your lips.

“That is very late,” he took a deep breath, “and I should” his eyes closed and you bit your lower lip in anticipation as he leaned closer to you when his phone rang. He jumped off his seat in a second.

“Hotchner.” 

You stood up to grab your backpack and head for the door when he lifted a hand motioning you to hold.

“I’m on my way” He said, closing the flip phone. “I have to go back, do you mind staying? I can call a co-worker if you need to leave, he can stay with her husband.” He asked you, taking off his jacket.

“No, it’s ok.” 

“Thanks. I’ll take a shower and go, please feel free to go to sleep.” And with that he disappeared in the bathroom.

***

“Hotch” his voice resonated through the line, manly and powerful. Made your mouth water, honestly.

“Hey, Mr. Hotchner, I’m sorry to bother you-“

“It’s not a bother,” he interrupted you, “you can call me anytime. Is everything ok?”

“It is, but Jack had a bit of a breakdown today and I think we should talk about it.” 

“How is he now? Do you need me to be there?” He was concerned.

“No, no, he is good. I calmed him down and lulled him to a nap. I’ll text you recommendations on how to behave tonight according to how I see him when he wakes up.”

“Thank you. Let’s have brunch tomorrow while he is at school, 1 o'clock is ok?”

“Perfect.”

“He misses his mom, of course.” You started to explain once you both got your coffees and had exchanged the usual courtesies. He didn’t seem surprised at all by your discovery. “But he says some boy at school told him he can have a new mommy.” You repeated the exact words Jack had said the day before. Mr. Hotchner seemed to be confused. 

“How?”

“His daddy needs to pick him a new mommy. And Jack is upset that his daddy hasn’t done it because he doesn’t have time.” You finished explaining but the gears in his head were still working.

“A step mother?” He finally asked with his usual eyebrow up.

“I think—yeah.” You took a sip of coffee to let the idea sink in.

“I… okay.” He finally said something. His whole face was a puzzle, he was evaluating the options. For once he had more questions than answers. “Should I… get him one?” It was absurd to even ask.

“Look, I definitely cannot tell you what to do, and your dating life is none of my business but as your son’s nanny I would strongly advise you not to introduce anybody to him until you’re very certain of the relationship.” You gather the courage to say.

“So I shouldn’t hurry to find someone?” 

“No, Mr. Hotchner. Jack needs to know that he won’t have another mom, that he already has one. But he has to understand and grieve the death of his mother. As painful and horrendous as it is.” You saw his eyes fill with water at your words. He only nodded in response.

“He will be okay, he is a smart kid and has a loving father helping him in the way.” You gave him a smile and he mimicked one.

“I wish I was around more often.” He took a sip of coffee. “You’re real wise for your age, uh” He sounded amused and scolded at the same time.

“I’m not as young as I’d like to, though”

“Do you mind me asking?”

“Not at all, I’ll be 32 this year, I’m getting old.”

“Oh, I wish I was 32 again. So young, full of hope.” He was glowing, a half smile formed on his lips.

“Well, if I’mma age like you, I shouldn’t be worried.” Oh, shit, you said it. A blush creeped your face the moment you realized and apparently his too. “Oh, my god, I’m so sorry, Mr. Hotch—.”

“Please don’t be.” He cut you off. “Flattery isn’t common in my line of business, I appreciate it.”

“Well, in mine is overly common.” You exaggerated the phrase to lessen the tension.

“Oh, really?” He leaned both of his elbows on the table, amused, “how so?” 

“You do know I do therapies in a clinic, right?” He nodded in response. “Well, there was this one time, I was treating a 10 year old girl for sexual harassment, one day, her father comes to pick her up from the therapy and, in front of her, he just straight out asked me if I was interested in a threesome with his wife!” You blushed at the memory and he laughed. He actually laughed. 

“What did you do?”

“Well I explained to him why his behavior was inappropriate, even more in front of his daughter, and transferred the girl to another therapist. A forty something year old partner, so even if they dare to propose to her, I doubt she’ll have the libido for it.”

“Hey, be careful there.” He actually commanded you and damn it was hot. His phone rang once. You showed him your hands in surrender.

“Hotchner.” You looked at your watch, you had to pick up Jack in 20 minutes. “I’m on my way.” And he closed his phone. “I’m sorry I have to go.”

“It’s ok, so do I.”

After paying the bill, he walked you to your car like the gentleman he is. He even opened your door once you turned off the alarm.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Hotchner.” You said to him from inside your car.

“Nothing to thank me for, and please call me Aaron.” He stated before closing the door and sending you a wink.

***

Isn’t it just so pretty to think

It was a Saturday night, you were getting drinks with your friends when you got a phone call, you answered to your full name being called on the line.

“Hello, sir.” You said with a smile.

“Is that the hot guy?” Your friend asked next to you. You shushed her.

“It’s my employer.”

“Good to know” you heard him chuckle through the words.

“I’m sorry, I have very nosy friends, Mr. Hotchner. How can I help you? Is everything alright?”

“Yes, I’m sorry to interrupt but I have an emergency call and I need you to come stay the night. If you’re busy or… intoxicated, I can call someone else.”

“No, there’s no need. I’m the designated driver. I can be there in 30 minutes, is that ok?”

Your friends booed you until you agreed to pay for the next two rounds. 

When you arrived it was nearly 3 am and he was already in his usual perfect suit.

“Nice outfit” he said the minute you got inside, eyeing up and down your mini black dress and heels.

“Thanks. Likewise.” You made a mock reverence with a smirk, earning a soft smile on his lips.

“Do you have a change of clothes?” He asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I always carry some essentials,” you pointed at your backpack, “just in case.” 

“Well if there’s anything you can use from either mine or Jack’s closet, please take it.” He said as he walked to the door.

“Thanks, sir. If I’m ever in need of a Gucci tie and a spiderman shirt I won’t hesitate.” Your tease didn’t go unnoticed since the edges of his lips curved upwards.

“It was a gift” he quickly justified, smiling.

“Of course” you kept your smug face.

“From a friend.” He was clearly amused by the exchange.

“I need one of those.” You closed your arms on your chest. 

“I can introduce him to you.” 

“Is he single?” 

“Not to you.” 

You gasped in mock surprise, “what does that mean?”

“Sweet dreams.” And with a smile he closed the door.

***

You and Jack were having dinner in your pajamas, you’ve made Mac and Cheese, Jack’s favorite. It was your last night special before his father came back from a trip and would have to go back to regular, healthy dinners.

“Oh, sweetie you’re so sleepy already!” He hadn’t finished his food and he was already falling asleep on the table.

“Can I have some juice?” He asked you, blinking.

“Of course sweetie.” You stood up to grab the bottle of juice from the counter but you didn’t realize Jack was running just behind you, so when you turned back to fill his glass, he crashed against you, throwing juice all over your pajamas.

“I’m sorry!” He screamed.

“Oh, don’t worry, dear. I’ll get cleaned up in a minute.” 

You sent him to bed after he drank his juice, cleaned the kitchen and headed to the master bedroom to take a shower.

Every time you showered in your boss’ bathroom you took your time to satisfy your curiosity smelling his body wash, lotion, shampoo, everything. And this time wasn’t the exception.

Since this was the last night of his trip you had no clean clothes left. So you searched through his drawers for something that could be used as pajamas.

You found an old FBI t-shirt that fitted almost like a dress, in the morning you’d put it in the washing machine as well as the sheets you’d been sleeping in. You’d only washed them on your way out, so you could smell a bit of him every night when you went to bed. Sick? Yeah, you had made your peace with it. That night you slept better than ever, the smell of his clothes relaxed you way past any expectations.

In the morning you got up at 6:30 as usual, to get Jack’s breakfast ready, so you walked to the bathroom to wash your face. When you walked back to the room still half asleep, a voice took your out of your thoughts.

“Nice shirt”

You raised your head to find your boss dropped on the still unmade bed, with half lidded eyes, scanning you, taking extra time on your exposed legs and his t-shirt.

“Good Morning, Mr. Hotchner, last night Jack spilled juice all over my pajamas and I had to borrow—“ He stood up from the bed. “I was gonna wash it along with the sheets—“ He started walking towards you, you were begging your legs to run back to bathroom but your body was numb. “I swear this won’t ever happen again nor it has happened before—“ you were stuttering, covering your mouth in shame. He finally reached you, cornering you to the wall.

“Aaron.” He finally said. “Call me Aaron.” 

His eyes were filled with determination and lust, his hands landed on the wall behind you, just two inches separating your bodies. He was towering, looking down on you like you were the most precious thing he had ever seen.

You scanned him as well, your insides were starting to liquify at his smell. He was still in his suit pants and shirt, he had lost the blazer and tie, the first three buttons were undone, giving him a domestic look and your mouth watered at the sight.

“Understood?” He kept you trapped. 

“Understood.” You said with a knot on your throat. You swallowed, your breathing was strong and agitated, maybe he could even hear your heartbeat.

He tilted his head down to you, his eyes closed like he was focused. Although his expression was of a man in pain. When he was just a few centimeters from you, he took a deep breath and pushed himself away.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what I was thinking. That was inappropriate, please forgive me.” He walked out of the room before he could finish talking.

Once you gathered enough courage, you walked out straight to the washing machine to put the sheets and tshirt.

“Good morning, boss.” You limited to say when you saw him cooking breakfast with the corner of your eyes.

“Don’t boss me, I think of me as an employer rather than a boss, wouldn’t you agree?” His tone was as serious as always. Back to normal.

“What’s the difference?”

“First off, I don’t pay your taxes. And second, I am not a real authority to you.” He was measuring your body language with the corner of his eyes.

“I think you’re authority enough.” You set the machine and turned your body fully to him to show authority as well.

“I wash them every sunday” He said while cutting ham and cheese.

“I don’t wash them because I think they are dirty.”

“Then why?” He was honestly confused.

“Because I don’t think you should sleep in sheets that somebody else has slept on.”

“Do you wash them when you arrive?” He asked.

“No.”

“Why? Somebody has slept on them.” He kept preparing an omelet.

“Because I don’t care” 

“Neither do I”

“Sir, I don’t think it’s appropriate to sleep in the same sheets as your kid’s nanny.” You used the m tone you use to explain things to children.

“But is it appropriate for my nanny to sleep on my sheets?” Well you weren’t ready for that knock out.

“You’re right, sir. I will bring my own from tomorrow on.” 

“I didn’t mean that.” he quickly tried to fix it. “You can use mine, I don’t mind. I just don’t want to be doubling the work.” He tilted his head, explaining.

“Don’t worry, I’ll bring my own and leave your bed ready for you when you get back.” You didn’t even turn to look at him.

“Hey, about this morning, I’m sorry. I was out of the line, I don’t want to make excuses but I am really tired, and—“ this time you interrupted him.

“Don’t worry, sir.—“

“Aaron” he corrected you.

“I understand. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.” You sent a subtle tease.

A devilish grin played on his face. 

“How do you want your omelet?” He asked, blushed.

“Don’t bother, I’ll have breakfast at home.” You grabbed your backpack and left.

***

It was around 10:00 pm, you were working on some other kids files when the door opened. Your legs were extended on the couch, your back leaning on the armrest and you were wearing glasses. This was not a position where you wanted to be found by your boss, even less now. In the last few days you have been avoiding him as much as possible, despite whatever your feelings were, you knew he was vulnerable and probably misinterpreting your presence.

At the end, he was still a parent for a kid you were treating and any complaint of him could take out of business really fast.

“Hello, Mr. Hotchner.” 

“Hey” He left his briefcase on the couch and headed to his son’s bedroom, as always. From the hallway he called you “Please wait, I need a word.” After he gave Jack his goodnight kiss, he came back to the couch and sat on the other end.

“How is he doing?” He took off his jacket, threw it away and started to loosen his tie. What a sight for sore eyes.

“Better, I believe. He talks about his feelings way more, that’s good.”

“Jessica comes back next week.” He completely took off his tie and now was unbuttoning the neck of his shirt.

“About that, would you like me to still treat Jack after that?” 

He raised his shoulders in answer, unbuttoning the cuffs.

“Do you think he needs to?” He asked you while he folded up the cuffs.

“It’s your son, Mr. Hotchner. This is a choice you should take, with him, of course.” 

He let himself relax on the couch, dropping his body completely.

“I have no idea.” He breathed out. He was exhausted. “How do you see him?”

“I think his trauma is far from healing, he is barely getting close to it, but he is starting to talk about it.” A light snore came from Jack’s bedroom interrupting you.

“Come closer” Your boss gestured with a hand to the space between you. You scrunch your legs to a butterfly position, causing you to be seated next to him. “Go on.” He rested his head on the pillow, closed his eyes and fully extended his legs from the couch to the rug beneath it. Knowing he wasn’t looking, you took your chance to stare at his face, how different he  looked relaxed in opposition to what he usually looks. Just as handsome.

“I don’t want this to sound like I want to keep him forever, although I would like to” a smile escaped the corner of his lips, “but I think it’s important that he talks to a professional. It can be me, or it can be a therapist, whoever you want, but please, please, don’t let this golden heart child become a traumatized, hurt, misunderstood adult.” Your tone reflected all the love and care you felt for this kid, and he realized. He turned his head to you with eyes opened. Took your hand and led it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on your knuckles.

“You’re an angel.”

***

“Hello?” You answered the phone to hear your full name on the other line in the voice of your employer. “Hey, Mr. Hotchner.” He was on a work trip and would be returning this afternoon, or at least that’s what he said yesterday.

“Are you still going to the wedding?” He asked. Earlier this week you explained to him you had a very important wedding to attend and kindly asked him to be home Friday night so you’d be able to go, request that he only answered by questioning if the said wedding was your own otherwise he could not promise anything.

“Umm, I guess that’s really up to you, sir.” You heard him clear his throat through the line.

“Do you have a date?” You panicked, absolutely panicked. Your cheeks flushed and were thankful to be over the phone and not face to face. He said your name in a questioning manner to get an answer.

“Uh, no, I mean—“ you swallowed, “I do have an extra ticket but no, no date.”

“I think I can fix that, if you let me” he was teasing. Your whole body was melting over this man’s voice and Jack’s eyes looked at you with concern. “There’s someone who I think would like to go with you, if that’s okay with you…” 

“But, um, who’s gonna—“ take care of Jack? You wanted to say, but your mouth was dry and your throat was closed.

“He’s a nice looking fella, I’d say, for his age.” You could practically hear his smile. ‘You don’t have to compensate yourself, you are a work of art!’ Your mind was shouting while your heart pounded inside your chest in anticipation. “So, what do you say?”

“I would love to” you managed to say.

“Thank you.” He sighed. “Due to bad weather that’s the only way I think you’ll make it to the wedding, we are flying in the morning. I think there’s a tuxedo somewhere in his closet—“ He kept baffling and you were having trouble understanding.

“Jack?” You asked, looking over your little friend. And it all made sense now.

“Yes” You could hear a small laugh, “who else would it be?” 

“Of course, I’ll get this guy handsome and ready. Thank you, sir.” You tried to brush off the disappointment, but also your expectations.

“It’s Aaron.” 

“Have a safe flight.” And you closed your phone feeling like an idiot.

***

That all along there was some invisible string

“Daddy, can I have a girlfriend?” Jack asked as you and him finished making dinner. The early arrival of your boss that night had taken you by surprise and had no other option but to ask him to ‘help’ but he only leaned against the counter, rolling up his sleeves while you two cooked.

“Mmm” Aaron looked at the kid analyzing him, “why do you want to have a girlfriend?” 

Jack shrugged.

“He asked me that earlier today and I said that was something he should ask his father.” You explained.

“I think you should have a girlfriend whenever you meet a girl who you want her to be your girlfriend. Or a boy, doesn’t matter.” 

Jack seemed to think about his father’s answer for a minute, then he looked up to you.

“I want you to be my girlfriend!” He smiled and you could not help but laugh. You lifted him, sitting him on the counter next to his dad.

“I can’t be your girlfriend, I’m too old for you.”

“Buddy, rule number one, you gotta ask her if she already has a boyfriend.” Aaron leaned to say near Jack’s ear, smiling at you.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Jack asked you.

“Or girlfriend.” His father instructed.

“Or girlfriend?” 

You laughed, “no.”

“Then you can be my daddy’s girlfriend!” His smile grew wider while his father blushed.

“Jack” He tried to stop him, laughing.

“He thinks you’re pretty.”

“You little traitor!” He lifted the kid and threw him on his shoulder, Jack’s laugh filled the house as his father faked-wrestled him, taking him to the couch. A few minutes later, Aaron returned, flushed and with a thin layer of sweat on his face, “these kids uh? Say the craziest of things.”

You bit your lower lip to hide your smile.

***

The final day came.

You said your goodbyes to Jack after a whole month of being his best friend. He cried, of course, so did you. You promised to visit his aunt Jessica once a week to play together, you promised him to be friends forever. You hugged him till he fell asleep in your arms, while his dad observed in silence.

You left him on his bed, kissed his forehead and walked out holding your own tears.

“Thank you” He said while he walked you to your car.

“Anytime, and really, if you ever need any help with that little guy, please call me. I adore him.”

“I know. And it’s mutual, I see.” He smiled.

“Yeah, I guess we were kinda meant to meet.” You joked. “Did you think about whether or not I will keep on treating him?” You asked, leaning on your car’s capo to make some time. He took a deep breath, so you knew it was bad news. You were already nodding before he said a thing.

“I think therapy would be better, he just loves you too much.” 

“No, I agree.” You looked down to hide your disappointment. “Well, thank you, Mr. Hotchner–”

“Wait.” He turned the alarm of his car off, opened the passenger door and took out a gift bag that then handed to you. “I got you something, for, well, all the help.”

“Oh” you smiled, “you really didn’t have to buy me anything.”  You grabbed it shyly.

“Actually, I didn’t” A half smile adorned his face.

You opened the bag to find the FBI shirt you had worn as pajamas that one time. A full smile formed on your lips.

“Thank you, I love it.” When you raised your sight to him, he was beaming.

“Looks better on you, anyway.” You blushed at the comment.

“Thank you.” 

He opened the door of your car and you walked towards it.

“If you’re not treating my kid anymore, can I ask you out sometime?” He asked while still holding the door for you. You blushed and smiled at the question.

“Sir, I–” 

“Aaron.” He corrected you yet again.

“Would love to, Aaron .” You said his name, like an experiment on your mouth.

“Will you add me to your list of perverts?” He teased.

“That is completely up to you” You teased back.

“I take the challenge.” 

You got inside the car and he closed the door sending you a cheeky wink.

Tying you to me

[inhotchsarmswetrust]

“I was mad at you because you shaved And honestly? “Vailed”.

Beard!Hotch X FemOC!reader SUMMARY— For the Beared!Hotch girlies this one’s for us

reader gets upset when Hotch shaves his beard , but she freaks out when he grows it back just for her ..

Genre : Beard!Hotch , angst , silly , comfort ,: warnings : angst , hurt , comfort , reader gets really upset with Hotch about his beard even tho she knows it’s silly . WC: 1.8k

Author notes : I loved writing this honestly because I loved bearded Hotch in needed him in longer scenes.

I hope you enjoy this please be kind if you don’t like it please don’t tell me .. I’m still doing my best as I go long .

@ssamorganhotchner @kiwriteswords @alinathinkstoomuch



It wasn’t anything big—that was the most annoying part.

There wasn’t a fight. There wasn’t a misstep. Hotch didn’t snap at you or give you the cold shoulder or overlook something important you'd said in the field.

No. He just shaved his damn beard.

And for some reason… that hurt a little more than you expected.

It wasn’t even technically a beard, if we’re being honest. More like rugged stubble—a beard in progress. But it had been glorious. It softened his face just enough to make the constant intensity feel warm instead of sharp. It made you look at him and, stupidly, think of things like Sunday mornings. Blankets and coffee and softness you had no business associating with your boss, of all people.

And then he walked into the bullpen that morning with a fresh shave and a casual, “Morning,” like he hadn’t just destroyed your will to function.

You barely looked up. Just muttered, “Hey,” and stared way too hard at your coffee.

Hotch paused. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Fine.”

You didn’t look at him. Couldn’t.

Because if you did, he’d probably be able to read it on your face, the same way he always could. You could already feel him trying to analyze you like a case file. His gaze lingered longer than normal, but eventually, he walked off, clearly a little confused.

You figured it would pass. It was just a beard, for God’s sake. Get over it. Be normal. Move on.

Except… you didn’t.

You stayed weird about it for days.

You found yourself in Garcia’s office mid-week, venting like a lunatic.

“I’m mad because he shaved,” you whispered.

Penelope blinked at you. “Wait. Hotch?”

You groaned and dropped your head onto her desk. “Yes. It’s so dumb, I know, but he looked so good with the beard. Like... rugged FBI lumberjack. I was thriving.”

She leaned closer, totally unbothered. “That’s not dumb. That beard had presence. I would’ve trusted him to chop wood and also hold my heart.”

You laughed miserably. “Exactly. And now it’s just... gone. Without warning.”

“You sound personally betrayed.”— Garcia says ..

“I am.”— you replied..

You didn’t know Hotch had walked by her office right then. Or that he’d paused. Or that he’d heard just enough to leave him... well. Thinking.

That Friday, after most of the team had gone home, he approached your desk again.

“You’ve been a little off lately,” he said gently. “More than usual. Did I do something?”

You looked up at him—clean-shaven, gorgeous, concerned—and immediately panicked.

“No,” you blurted. “No, not at all.”

He hesitated. “Because I overheard something. Earlier. In Garcia’s office.”

You froze.

He tilted his head, a flicker of amusement starting to pull at the corner of his mouth. “You were upset… because I shaved?”

You covered your face. “Oh my God.”

“I didn’t realize it mattered.”

“You looked amazing,” you admitted, voice muffled behind your hands. “I know it’s dumb. But the beard—it was a moment, okay?”

When you finally looked back up at him, he was smiling. Actually smiling. That soft, barely-there smile that felt like a private secret between the two of you.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he said, “I can grow it back.”

Your heart did a very stupid, very noticeable flip.

“Really?”

“If it makes you smile again, yeah.”

You grinned. “It’s working already.”

Two weeks later, you were trying to hold your life together on the BAU jet, and failing.

He was sitting across from you. With the beard. Full force.

It was back. And somehow better than before.

And he was not doing you any favors by leaning back in his seat, flipping through a case file like he didn’t know exactly what he was doing to you.

Garcia caught your eye from across the aisle, smirked, and mouthed, Control yourself.

You glared. She raised her brows. You pretended not to care. Badly.

By the time the case wrapped and you were back in the conference room for a quick debrief, you were barely hanging on.

“Any questions before we wrap?” Hotch asked, glancing around.

You—for some unknown reason—raised your hand.

His eyes flicked to you, a little surprised. “Yes?”

You immediately panicked. “No. Sorry. I—uh. I thought I had one.”

He tilted his head just slightly, that little smirk back again. “Alright.

The rest of the team filtered out, but you stayed behind a few seconds too long. And he noticed.

“You noticed it was back,” he said softly.

You turned to him. He was closer than you thought. Close enough to smell his aftershave—clean, warm, a little woodsy. It made everything worse.

Or better. You hadn’t decided yet.

“Of course I noticed,” you murmured. “I think the whole building noticed.”

He laughed under his breath. “You’re not mad at me anymore, then?”

“No,” you said, smiling despite yourself. “I think you made up for it.”

He hesitated—just for a second—and then said, a little quieter, “You know… I liked that you noticed.”

You looked up at him, heart thudding.

“I didn’t expect it,” he continued. “But it meant something. Having someone… see me that way.”

You swallowed. “I always see you, Hotch.”

There was a pause. The air shifted. Something warm moved between you, quiet and unspoken.

“Would you maybe let me take you to dinner?” he asked. “Not as your boss. Just me. With the beard—if that’s your preference.”

You laughed, heart full, eyes soft.

“Definitely with the beard.”

The restaurant was quiet. Warm lighting. A little rustic. The kind of place you’d always thought Hotch would like—refined, but not flashy. Classy but grounded. It made sense that he picked it.

What didn’t make sense was how surreal it all felt. You, sitting across from him. Not in the bullpen. Not on a jet. But here. On a date.

You were trying to play it cool. Not stare too much. Not fidget. Not make it obvious that you’d spent twenty full minutes choosing your outfit and then another ten wondering if he’d still have the beard when he showed up.

“He did. And somehow, it looked even better outside the fluorescent hell of Quantico lighting.

He’d traded his usual suit for a dark sweater and jacket. Still Hotch, still composed—but something about it felt... softer. Realer. And he was looking at you like he’d been waiting for this just as long as you had.

Dinner went smoother than you expected. Easy conversation, quiet laughs, tiny stolen glances that lingered longer than they probably should have.

But it wasn’t until you were walking out to the parking lot together that the nerves kicked back in. The “what now” part of the evening. You stood by your car, keys in hand, not quite ready to leave.

Hotch shifted slightly beside you, his voice low. “This was nice.”

You nodded. “Yeah. It really was.”

A pause. Then—

“I was nervous,” he admitted, glancing over. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this.”

You looked at him, surprised. “You were nervous? You’re Aaron Hotchner.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Exactly.”

You smiled. And before you could stop yourself, the words just came out:

“Can I touch it?”

He blinked. “Touch what?”

“The beard,” you said, suddenly self-conscious. “I just—I’ve been so good, okay? I haven’t stared that much, and I didn’t say anything during dinner even though it looks amazing, and I feel like I deserve—”

He took a step closer. “Yes.”

Your words caught in your throat.

“Yes?” you repeated.

He leaned down, just a little, his voice low and warm. “You can touch it.”

You reached out slowly, hand brushing along his jaw, fingers lightly grazing the soft edges of his beard. It was warm. Soft but scruffy. He tilted his head slightly, letting you trace your thumb along the line of it.

“Wow,” you whispered. “This is dangerous.”

He smiled. Really smiled. “That’s what you were mad about?”

“You say that like it wasn’t devastating.”

“I didn’t realize it meant that much.”

You met his eyes, hand still gently resting along his jaw. “It kind of did.”

And maybe it was the way you said it. Or the way you were looking at him like he was something you wanted to keep. But suddenly, his hand was at your waist, and he was leaning in, slowly, giving you time to stop him.

You didn’t.

His lips brushed against yours—soft, sure, just enough pressure to leave you breathless. And when he pulled back, you stayed close, forehead resting against his.

“So,” you whispered, “beard stays?”

He smirked. “If it gets me kissed like that? It’s never going anywhere.”

[kiwriteswords]

Won't you please arrange it? Cause I love you. [Aaron Hotchner x Florist!Reader]

Florist!Reader Masterlist|| Main Masterlist [I need to update this, sorry!]|| Ao3||Word Count: 3.8k|| AN:  Weddings were always SO fun and so romantic when I worked as a florist. The chaos was unruly, but the excitement always outweighed that! Tags/Warnings: Female!Reader, Florist!Reader, Non-BAU!Reader, established-relationship, Sassy!Reader, Flirty!Reader, weddings, marriage, alluding to fear of commitment (sorta), romance, fluff, healing!reader, hotch and florist have been dating for some time, Grant Anderson wedding!! Summary: While preparing the wedding flowers for a BAU colleague, you find yourself imagining a future you never let yourself believe in: one where the man who sees every part of you, Aaron Hotchner, might just be the one waiting at the end of the aisle.

It was well past seven, the shop long closed to customers, but you were still inside, apron smudged with pollen and eucalyptus sap, hands deep in a box of ivory roses that had been overnighted from a grower you trusted with your life. 

The backroom smelled like heaven--

Fresh lilac, white ranunculus, garden roses, blush sweet pea, trailing jasmine. It was organized chaos: half-filled vases, open ribbon spools…small cards scribbled with table seventeen: soft mauve and sage green--no baby’s breath. Bride’s orders. Mother of Groom allergic to lilies. Bride said that using quotations.

The wedding was in two days.

Agent Anderson and his fiancée had come in sheepish and sweet, asking if--maybe, if it wasn’t too much trouble--you’d consider doing the flowers for their wedding.

Hotch had just smirked behind them, arms crossed like he’d known it was coming all along.

And honestly? You’d loved the idea. Weddings were your groove. Stressful? Sure. But magical? Always. 

Something about crafting the very things someone would hold as they said forever just…filled you.

Every rose. Every ribbon. Every goddamn petal.

You were all in.

Which is why, when the bell over the door chimed and you heard the lock click behind it, you didn’t even look up from your bouquet-in-progress.

“You’re technically breaking and entering,” you called out, voice teasing, fingers still weaving stems into the bouquet holder.

Hotch’s voice answered, dry but warm, “I have a key. And probable cause.”

You grinned. “What’s the probable cause?”

“Suspicious activity,” he said, appearing in the doorway to your workroom. “Owner hasn’t texted in hours. Lights still on. No sign of food or hydration. Floral debris everywhere.”

You turned around, bouquet in one hand, clippers in the other, arching a brow. “Sounds like someone’s just really good at their job.”

His eyes swept the room, the table, you.

To many, the place would have looked like utter chaos. But Hotch? He knew you well enough now. Too well, you’d argue some days. There was a madness to your craziness. There was order in the mess. The pile to your left was clippings that could be repurposed: the flower girl’s petals, a groomsmen’s boutonniere, the mother of the bride’s corsage…

Then he stepped closer, tilting his head slightly as he looked at the bouquet. “That the bride’s?”

You nodded, turning it slightly to show him the cascade of white and blush peonies, spirea, and pale mauve lisianthus spilling from the center like a waterfall.

Hotch blinked slowly. Taking in the talent…but more so taking in you, “It’s beautiful.”

You smiled, brushing a thumb over one of the petals. “It has to be. It’s the one she’s going to hold when she walks down the aisle. When she sees him. I want her to look at it and remember that exact second forever. Every time she looks at a peony, I want her to remember this day.”

You thought about the few good men out there. The ones that came into your shop for an anniversary purchased bouquets of pale white roses with Queen Anne’s lace instead of baby’s breath because those were the exact flowers the two of them had on their wedding day. 

Flowers made a lasting impression.

They were the friend that accompanied you on some of your biggest days. Weddings, funerals, birthdays, recitals, graduations…they were always--always--a friend.

Hotch watched you for a moment, quietly.

The way your hands moved. The way your mouth softened when you looked at your work. The joy that practically radiated from your skin, even with circles under your eyes and flower bits in your hair.

He had no idea how he got this lucky.

“You know,” he said, stepping up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist, “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who works more unpredictable hours than I do.”

You leaned back into his chest. “You’re not the only overachiever in this relationship, Hotchner.”

“I’m aware.”

You turned in his arms, still holding the bouquet awkwardly between you. “Have I told you how glad I am you agreed to be my date?”

He smirked. “Anderson made it very clear I didn’t have a choice. Something about needing to show off the power couple.” Hotch cringed at his own use of the word: power couple. 

You laughed, mock moving the clippers in your hands, wiggling your eyebrows, “We are kind of intimidating, huh?” You placed the clippers back on your workbench and took in the mixed aroma of the powdery peonies and Hotch’s cologne now filling the stuffy space.

Hotch leaned down, brushing a kiss against your temple. “You, yes. Me? Only when I’m holding a gun.”

You tilted your head. “You’re very intimidating with a boutonnière, too.”

“That so?”

You held up one of the finished ones from the tray near the sink. “Try me.”

Hotch smirked, taking it and gently pinning it to the lapel of his blazer. He pinned it with such ease. When you first became a florist, you were baffled by how many men began to need assistance with a pin and a petite bouquet. But Hotch? He made it look easy. He made everything look easy.

“How do I look?”

You stepped back, fake-swooning. “Like I should marry you on the spot.”

That made him pause.

Almost took the breath from his lungs--

Knocked the wind from his sails. 

Something you…you had a habit of doing, but it was as if realization flooded over him. How he just could marry you on the spot. If you’d let him, of course. 

You’d probably put up a bit of a fuss. Act like you didn’t want it. Share some slightly cynical statistics about weddings and marriage. Yet, deep down, he knew you well enough to know that you did want it. 

You wouldn’t be working here and surrounding yourself with it if you didn’t fully believe or want it wholeheartedly.

You didn’t notice. You were already turning back to your arrangement. A few more sprigs and you were close to being finished. 

He reached for your wrist gently. “Hey.”

You looked up.

His expression had softened, all the teasing tucked behind something a little deeper.

“I love watching you do this,” he said simply. “I know how hard it is to care about something this much and still do it well. You make it look easy.”

You felt that one in your chest.

You felt that one in your soul. 

To be loved, is to be seen.

To be loved…is to be seen.

TO BE LOVED. IS TO BE SEEN. 

To. Be. Loved. Is. To. Be. Seen.

That quote played like a broken record in your brain. You could have stared at him for a minuscule second or maybe five minutes. But you felt so…so seen. 

He was staring right through you.

Right at you.

“Thank you,” you said, quieter now.

“You ready to go home?”

You shook your head. “Not yet. I’ve got three more centerpieces, and the aisle markers haven’t even started.” You looked around at your organized mess, “Oh, and the mother of the bride and groom’s corsages, ugh,” you groaned, “I have to wait until the last second to do those because they’re so damn fragile.” You got back into your rhythm, “They’ll wither to pieces if I don’t.”

“You’re going to wither to pieces if you don’t eat something sustainable soon,” Hotch checked his watch. “I can give you an hour. After that, I’m carrying you out.”

You grinned. “You say that like it’s a threat.”

He leaned in, kissed the side of your neck. “It’s a promise.”

You exhaled a soft laugh, and he just held you there for a second--his arms wrapped around your middle, the smell of lilacs and coffee clinging to your skin.

Somehow, amidst the chaos of your workshop, covered in thorns and tape and half-finished beauty, it felt like the most romantic place in the world.

It always was with him. 

You lost track of time completely in the two days leading up to the wedding.

Your shop transformed into a full-blown production zone: tables covered with rows of centerpieces in progress, glass vases waiting to be packed, crates of blooms stacked in the walk-in cooler, ribbons fluttering from every knob and handle. 

You moved in a rhythm--focused, deliberate, elbows deep in roses and ranunculus and fern--and still somehow chasing the clock.

Hotch had started showing up every night after work.

Always the same.

Loosened tie. Rolled sleeves. Low voice. Calm presence.

That first night, he offered to help.

You handed him the floral preservative spray.

He lasted five minutes before he set the bottle down and said, “This smells like a hospital hallway, and a meadow hd a toxic lovechild.”

You tried not to laugh.

“I think I’ll be more useful handling food,” he muttered, disappearing into the backroom.

After that, he became your unofficial project manager.

He made sure you were eating. Made you drink water. Pressed coffee into your hands without being asked. He sat at the edge of the worktable and asked about table layout and runner colors, like he understood any of it. He didn’t--

But he cared.

And when you finally packed the last bouquet into its cooler, stood back, and let out a slow, shaky breath, he came up behind you, wrapped his arms around your waist, and said, “You crushed it.”

And you did.

The wedding day arrived in a blur of sunlight and music.

Anderson looked nervous in a sweet, fumbling kind of way. His bride glowed. The venue--draped in warm light and blush-toned blooms--was picture perfect. The centerpieces were crisp, the aisle markers held beautifully, and the bouquet? 

The one you’d trimmed and retied and fluffed four separate times?

Perfect.

You wore a floral dress.

Flowy, soft, romantic.

A little on-the-nose? Sure. But so you.

Hotch wore a dark navy suit with a tie that matched one of the floral hues of your dress. A subtle pocket square peeked from his lapel--

Same shade. 

He didn’t say a word when you complimented him. Just reached for your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And as the ceremony began, you sat beside him--close, impossibly close, thighs brushing, shoulders aligned--and for once, you didn’t look at the florals.

You didn’t scan for wilting petals or crooked vases. You didn’t worry about whether the arbor garland was holding or if the corsages had been pinned correctly.

Your hand was in his. His thumb was brushing soft circles against your skin. His cologne--warm, clean, him--curled into your lungs like it belonged there.

And he was looking at you.

Not at the bride.

Not at the aisle.

Definitely not at Anderson, who was a puddle of tears at the alter.

You.

Like he already knew what you were thinking.

Like he was thinking it too.

And you couldn’t stop the wave that hit you then--not nerves, not fear.

Just clarity.

You'd never been the girl who let herself imagine a wedding of her own. You knew too well how expectations led to disappointment. You’d spent years scoffing at that brand of fantasy--

Keeping your heart safe by staying realistic.

But now?

With him?

With the weight of his hand in yours and the warmth of his love so constant, so quietly fierce, you didn’t even realize how deeply you’d sunk into it?

You couldn’t not imagine it.

Dreams did not seem too far out of reach when you were dating Aaron Hotchner. 

Not a venue. Not a dress.

Just him.

The man who came to your shop every night without being asked.

The man who didn’t flinch at your mess or your stress or your silence.

The man who wore a tie to match your flowers, and who--right now--was looking at you like he knew every secret you weren’t saying.

You turned your head slightly, and he leaned in.

“I love you,” he whispered, low and reverent.

Your breath caught.

Your fingers curled tighter into his.

And when you whispered it back, something in his eyes softened like he’d been holding that hope for far too long.

God, you loved him.

So much it bloomed in your chest like wildflowers--

Unruly and full.

Because maybe that’s what you were. All of this time, you tried to put yourself into the category of traditional. Yet, you couldn’t be tamed. You were not some neat rose bouquet or dainty sprig of carnation. You were a coneflower…or a poppy…or an aster. Something…something wayward and lawless. 

Wandering and oftentimes chaotic. 

You’d spent your whole life trying to find someone to hold you. You’d been looking at people who only knew how to hold traditional. Safe. Calm.

Yet Hotch? He could hold the wild, untethered, ethereal person you were. 

And for the first time ever, you let yourself picture the walk. The vows. The bouquet you’d never have to design--

Because someone else would make it for you.

And you’d walk toward him.

And he’d look at you just like this.

Because he was already yours.

After, the sun dipped low over the reception tent, casting everything in a warm, dusky glow. The fairy lights strung overhead began to flicker to life, one by one, like fireflies waking up. There was a hum of soft conversation, champagne fizzing in glasses, the faint scent of peonies and greenery weaving through the air.

The dance floor had just opened. Music floated in--

Something romantic but timeless, instrumental and slow, the kind of song that didn’t need lyrics to get its point across.

You stood off to the side with a glass of prosecco in hand, still glowing from compliments on the florals.

Hotch appeared behind you, sliding his hand low against your back, voice close to your ear.

“You know there’s a whole tent of people talking about the flowers instead of the bride.”

You grinned, eyes scanning the candlelit tables. “That’s because the bride didn’t come in four hours before the ceremony to personally reposition the arbor installation.”

“She didn’t have to,” he said. “She had you.”

You turned to him slowly, raising a brow. “Are you flirting with me, Agent Hotchner?”

His mouth tilted in that unfairly attractive, knowing smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, sipping your drink. “You only flirt with your eyes.”

“That’s not true,” he said, stepping closer. “Sometimes I flirt with my hands.”

He let one of them slide down your bare arm--slow, feather-light, possessive in the gentlest way.

You laughed, but it came out a little shaky. “You should probably dance with me before I combust.”

“Can’t have that, can we?” He took the glass from your hand and set it on a nearby table. “Then let’s save your life.”

The two of you stepped onto the dance floor.

He pulled you close, hand resting respectfully at your waist, your other hand finding its way to his shoulder.

You weren’t the most graceful dancer--not in heels, not in long dresses--but somehow, with him, you moved like you were born for it. He guided you effortlessly, his hand gentle, his body strong and sure. You could feel every breath he took. Every inch of warmth between you.

“I’ve seen you knee-deep in buckets of blooms, hair a mess, hands full of wire and tape--and you’ve always taken my breath away. But tonight, I think you might’ve just finished me off.”

Your lips curled. “Don’t say that. You’ll ruin your image.”

“I’ll survive,” he murmured.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, heart full.

You’d never been a pristine bouquet kind of girl. 

You were a wildflower by nature--

Soft in the middle, a little unruly, a little overgrown, impossible to contain.

You knew how to thrive in the dirt, in the chaos, in the sun and the storm.

And somehow--somehow--you’d found the one person who didn’t try to trim you back.

He just held you like you bloomed just fine the way you were.

Hotch didn’t say much for the next few minutes. He just held you like the world outside the tent didn’t exist. And every now and then, you caught him looking at you with that quiet, reverent gaze--

The one that said more than I love you. 

The one that said I choose you.

Even when you’re messy. Even when you’re loud. Even when you don’t think you’re easy to love.

Especially then.

The song faded into another, more upbeat number, but neither of you moved.

You looked up at him, cheeks a little flushed from the prosecco and the moment. Maybe this wasn’t the right time. Was there a right time? You’d never brought up the topic with him before. 

Despite having worked on…handfuls of weddings since dating him. Yet…yet this? It was so different. 

“Can I ask you something?”

His brow lifted slightly. “Always.”

You swallowed, “Do you ever think about getting married again?”

He didn’t pause.

He didn’t blink.

He just looked at you like he’d already been waiting for the question. 

Like maybe if you didn’t ask it, he would have.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about it,” he said, “since you held that bridal bouquet the other day.”

Your breath hitched. “Seriously?”

He nodded. Confident. “You looked like the future. My future.”

You stared at him--caught somewhere between awe and something close to panic--and then laughed, light and breathless.

“Well,” you said, “maybe we should just rip the band-aid off and get married right now.”

Hotch glanced around the floral-filled tent--

Then back at you. 

Dry and devastatingly sincere.

“There are far too many calla lilies here for your liking.”

You froze.

And your whole heart twisted in your chest, full and fast and certain.

Because he remembered.

Of course, he did.

Every preference. Every offhand comment. Every flower you adored and every one you couldn't stand. He saw every version of you--thorned and blooming--and loved you with his whole chest anyway.

You stared at him, suddenly breathless.

And in that moment, with the laughter still warm between you, the stars coming out above, and the scent of garden roses all around…

You knew.

You were going to marry this man.

Someday.

Hotch’s fingers curled a little tighter around yours as the music picked up again, but neither of you moved to leave the dance floor.

You were still caught in the moment, in him, in the warmth of what he’d just said. The idea of forever no longer something abstract or intimidating—

But real. 

Tangible.

Safe.

You rested your forehead against his chest for a beat, grounding yourself.

“Calla lilies,” you murmured with a small smile.

You felt his chest rumble softly as he replied, “Unforgivable.”

You leaned back just enough to look up at him. “You really do know me.”

“I pay attention,” he murmured.

You turned your head slightly, looking up at him.

“To what?”

He smiled—

Not the public kind. 

The private one. 

The one that came with soft eyes and that quiet tilt of his head that said he saw you.

“To everything,” he said simply. “The way you laugh when you’re tired. How your shoulders drop when you’re proud of something you made. What flowers you hate. The way you hum when you work without realizing it.”

He kissed your temple, the gesture feather-light.

“Every part of you.”

You tried to keep breathing, but it was unfair, really, how easily he could undo you—how being loved like that, seen like that, turned your chest inside out in the best possible way.

You let your forehead rest against his for a beat before the chatter of the reception pulled you back.

“Come on,” you whispered. “They’ll start teasing if we stay out here too long.”

He offered you his hand like you were still in a ballroom, and he was your formal escort. You took it anyway.

The team was exactly how you left them: lively, halfway through their drinks, and already halfway into the next round of commentary.

As you and Hotch reached the table, Garcia let out a delighted gasp. “Finally. I was about to send out a search party. Possibly with glitter.”

“You looked good out there,” Prentiss said with a smirk, swirling the last of her wine. “A little too good. Hotch, you trying to make the rest of us look bad?”

Hotch pulled out your chair for you before answering, casually slipping into the seat beside you.

“I’m just dancing with the love of my life,” he said, like it was the simplest truth in the world.

You froze for half a second—

But no one else did.

“Oh no,” Morgan said, setting his drink down dramatically. “See, that right there? That’s the tone of a man ready to drop to one knee.”

“Seriously,” JJ added with a knowing smile. “Maybe we should start vetting florists now—because the way he looks at her? We’re definitely attending another wedding soon.”

Hotch didn’t even blink.

He just looked at you.

Dead serious. Still a little soft.

“I wouldn’t rule it out,” he said.

Your heart jumped.

But not in a bad way, jumped? Which was weird for you because your avoidant personality typically would be running for the hills about now.

Garcia gasped. “Oh my God. Can I officiate? I’ll cry. I’ll sob. But I’ll do it.”

“Can we not propose at Anderson’s wedding?” you managed to say, grinning even as you reached for your drink to cool off your entire existence.

“You’re right,” Hotch said, sipping his half-forgotten drink, “What I’d have planned wouldn’t be half as tacky.”

“Fair,” Emily said, raising her glass. “But just saying—might want to start thinking about who’s going to do your flowers.”

You opened your mouth, probably to make a snarky comeback—

But Hotch leaned closer again, voice low, meant for you alone.

“I already know what I’d pick,” he said. “And I’d help. But only if you’d let me.”

You stared at him, caught somewhere between a laugh and a breath and a dream that was getting a little too close to real.

God, you were going to marry this man.

Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow.

But it was going to happen.

And when it did—

There wouldn’t be a single calla lily in sight.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @Sweethotchlogy @softtdaisy @stilestotherescue @midnghtprentiss @superlegend216

[hotchology]

All of your Hotch and gideon stuff is making me scream, cry, smile, spontaneously combust…you know, all of the above. ITS SO IMPORTANT. We were ROBBED of so much.

WE REALLY REALLY WERE!!! ive been going back through my notes and also just generally rewatching s1 and 2 (over and over and over and over but lets not look too closely at that) and GODDDDD... GOD!!!! ive said it a million times hotch needed him bad!! even aside from being good for hotch's well being, gideons inability to be a people person most of the time forced charming charismatic hotch out to pick up his slack its so great

[ssamorganhotchner]

6 and 17 🥰🥰

ki!!’ hello my love! tysm for the asks 🥹🥰

6. what’s your favorite candle scent?

my favorite candle scent is probably either vanilla (i’m a vanilla girl through and through) or palo santo vanilla from bbw! it’s the musk of a man topper with a subtle vanilla aroma & i looovvveee it

17. how do you feel best loved?

i answered this one here 💞

send me soft asks 🎀

[mariasont]

i have a 5000 word fic cooking about bimbo reader x aaron’s first time & im no where close to done LOLOL

but i am having so much fun with it hahahaha i cannot wait to share it with u all

also everyone say thank u to the most wonderful @kiwriteswords & @minswriting for requesting & helping my creative juices flow hehehe

❤️‍🔥💖✨💓❤️‍🔥

[softestqueeen]

✧*̥˚ aaron hotchner fic recs part 4 *̥˚✧

a/n: yes, i am mentally ill! how did you guess?

✨ favs

part 1 I part 2 I part 3 I part 4 I my criminal minds masterlist

✧*̥˚ smut *̥˚✧

i can't stand you by @juniperskye

headcanons by @ashlinxsloves

✧*̥˚ fluff *̥˚✧

obsessed hotch by @hotchnerwrites

drivin' on 9 by @luvvyouforever ✨

winning over the kids by @kiwriteswords

sweet beginnings by -//-

something to be thankful for by -//-

nerdy reader by @ddejavvu

play it cool by @chithereader

stir crazy by -//- ✨

boo by @thebeast-dennis-etcetera

sleep snuggler by @brynnwrites

opening night by @hoe4hotchner

three stages of truth - sos by @ssa-dado

dad i'd like to by @starrysoiree

only one by @angellsell

a bunch of cuties in love by @lavenderspence

protective hotch by @headkiss

unconditional by @moowmoon-deactivated20241201

kiss her, you fool by @honeypiehotchner

for a long-last friendship by @mdanon027

✧*̥˚ angst/hurt/comfort *̥˚✧

to the end of the earth by @kiwriteswords

it's a wonderful life by -//- ✨

softly, slowly by @mariasont

drifting apart by @cmtwimagines

change your mind by @luveline ✨

the wedding photos by -//-

always come home by @stardusksx

the right person by @ddejavvu

unexplained sadness by @lavenderspence

a/n: if you want you fic removed, dm me! also, quick shoutout to @kiwriteswords for literally carrying the aaron hotchner fics! how she whips up these amazing fics in like no time i will never understand, i am however forever garteful.

peace out!

[hotchslittleprincess]

This account is pretty much gone inactive so I made a new one fresh start so I hope you’ll follow me on there

@beahotchner I took three months off in needed a break but I’m back just with a different account. That I’m more active on..

@ssamorganhotchner @ssaaaronmontgomery @kiwriteswords @hoe4hotchner @honeypiehotchner @aureatelys @alinathinkstoomuch

Kris 💐🌺💐🌸 that’s all I came here for say

[takadasaiko]

Last Line Game

Rules: Post the last line you wrote and tag as many people as there are words.

Tagged by the fantastic @illegalcerebral 💛

And I’m actually writing, so I can play 😂 This is from my this unnamed TentooRose fic:

He was on the move again and she watched him grow more and more agitated with each empty hall.

Ooof. Nineteen. Let’s see…

@nimata-beroya @exlibrisfangirl @strivia

@pagerunner-j @theherothechampiontheinquisitor @laporcupina @intricatecakes @morningdawnbreaks @alyblacklist @jedimordsith @tatooineknights @paintedmagpie @farmboy1 @twinsoulvisionary @myevilmouse @wolfflock @kiwriteswords @rolliraserin and anyone else that would like to join in 😊

[inhotchsarmswetrust]

“I was protecting you From me.. Aaron.Hotchner X FemOc!reader SUMMARY—

Aaron pushed you away , but snaps after you you started dating someone else. He didn’t realize how deep his feelings were for you he didn’t want to lose you , but it looked like he had lost you .

Warnings: (WC:1.5k). Angst hurt , A case brings up old memories of Haley a Jack and Foyet , you try to comfort Aaron but he pushes you away , no use of your name, feeling guilty , vulnerable, happy ending ,

A/notes : my first piece not sure how I feel about it , but I hope you like it I’m bit nervous after being gone for three months in now writing again … if you don’t like it please don’t tell me but if you do please consider rebloging in liking in comment ..

Not sure if this ever been done but I wanted to do this type version of Hotch in reader …

Tags :

@ssamorganhotchner @kiwriteswords @alinathinkstoomuch

The office was dark, the kind of quiet that settles deep when everyone’s gone home but the weight of the day still lingers.

You could’ve left. You should’ve left. But you didn’t. Not when you passed by his office and saw him still there — sitting at his desk, hands resting on a case file he hadn’t touched in a while, staring through it like it was saying something only he could hear.

You stood there for a second. Watched him. He hadn’t moved since the team got back. And you already knew why.

The case hit too close.

You knocked, but it was light, more habit than anything. He didn’t look up.

“You don’t have to stay,” he said, voice low and a little rough.

“I know.”

You walked in anyway and sat down on the couch across from his desk. Not too close. Just… close enough to let him know you were there if he wanted to say something. If he wanted anything.

The silence wasn’t awkward. Just heavy. Like something unspoken was taking up space between you.

Then, so quietly you almost missed it, he said, “I told her to run.”

You looked up. He was still staring at the file. Still not really here.

“I thought if I kept him talking… if I gave him what he wanted, maybe—” He shook his head. “But it didn’t matter.”

You stood. You didn’t really think about it. You just crossed the room and rested your hand gently over his. Nothing dramatic. Just there. Something to hold onto.

He didn’t move away. That alone said more than words ever could.

“You did everything you could,” you said quietly.

His fingers twitched a little, brushing against yours. His eyes finally lifted to meet yours, and—God. That look. All the pain, the guilt, the exhaustion he kept buried so deep it barely showed. But now? Now it was written across every line of his face.

You squeezed his hand, just once. A quiet I’m here.

For a second, it felt like maybe he wanted to believe you. Maybe he wanted to let you stay in that space with him a little longer.

But then… he pulled his hand away.

Slow. Gentle. But definite.

“This shouldn’t be happening,” he said.

Your heart gave a soft jolt. “What?”

He straightened up. The wall was already coming back, brick by brick.

“I crossed a line. I’m your superior. This…” He shook his head, jaw tightening. “I can’t let this happen.”

You blinked, the sting rising behind your eyes before you could stop it. “Aaron… Nothing happened. You were hurting. I was just… here.”

He looked at you again, softer this time. Regret in every inch of his expression. But it didn’t change what he said next.

“Exactly.”

One word. And it hurt more than it should’ve.

Like being the one he leaned on, even for just a moment, was a mistake he had to fix.

You stepped back, trying to catch your breath without showing it.

“Okay,” you said, voice quiet. “Got it.”—message received.

You turned toward the door, barely trusting yourself to look at him again. Your hand was on the handle when you heard him say your name — so soft, it almost didn’t feel real.

Like maybe he was going to stop you.

But he didn’t.

So you walked out. And the door closed behind you with a soft click that echoed way too loud in your chest.

It’s been a few weeks.

Nothing dramatic happened after that night. No fights, no confrontation. Just… distance. The quiet kind that grows when something real goes unspoken too long.

You’re still doing your job. You’re still good at it. Professional, efficient, steady as ever — if not more so. But your laughter is a little quieter now, more for the team than for him. And your eyes? They never quite linger on him anymore.

He notices. Of course he does.

He tells himself he shouldn’t. That this is what he wanted. The space, the boundary, the line he refused to let blur. But something about the way you’ve been lately — something in your silence — feels worse than anything he expected.

You don’t stay late anymore.

He catches himself looking at your desk sometimes when the bullpen clears out. Half-expecting you to swing by his office with that quiet understanding in your voice, that calm way you made everything less loud. But you don’t.

And then he hears it.

He’s walking past the break room when Morgan says it—casual, teasing:

“So who’s the lucky guy?”

You laugh, but it’s a little breathless, like you’re caught off guard.

“No one serious. Just... someone I’ve seen a couple times. We’ve had dinner.”

His heart stutters.

It shouldn’t. He has no right. He’s the one who pulled away, who shut the door. But still — that tight little twist of something low in his chest?

Yeah. That’s jealousy. And he hates himself for it.

He doesn’t go in. Just walks past, pretending he didn’t hear a thing.

That night, he’s in his office later than usual, the building long since quiet. Your name’s still written at the top of a report he’s reviewing. His eyes land on it — and stay there.

You’re not his. Never were. But God, the idea of someone else sitting across from you, making you laugh the way you used to around him? It hurts more than it should.

And maybe that’s the moment he realizes…

He didn’t push you away because he didn’t feel something.

He pushed you away because he did.

And now someone else gets to hold what he wasn’t brave enough to reach for.

You hadn’t expected Eli to stop by the BAU. He knew better than to just show up at your job — but he’d been in the area, and he had remembered the coffee order you always joked about.

That, and he brought flowers.

Nothing over-the-top. Just a small bundle of sunflowers and soft white daisies, wrapped in brown paper. Kind of sweet. Kind of thoughtful.

He walked into the bullpen like he didn’t know how out of place he looked in a room full of federal agents and hardened profilers. But he smiled at you like none of that mattered and handed over the coffee and flowers like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You laughed — a real laugh, surprised and warm — and shook your head at him. “You didn’t have to do this.

“I know,” he said. “But I wanted to.

Across the room, you didn’t see Hotch freeze mid-step.

He’d just come down the stairs, a file in hand, brow furrowed like always. But then his eyes landed on you — on him. On the way you smiled when you took the flowers. The way this stranger leaned just a little closer to you than necessary. The easy, familiar comfort of it.

The air in his lungs disappeared like it had been knocked out of him.

Morgan caught it. So did JJ, briefly looking up from her desk.

But Hotch turned on his heel without a word and headed back to his office, steps a little sharper than usual.

Rossi was already watching him when he passed by.

Ten seconds later, Hotch was in his office with the door closed — hard.

Twenty seconds after that, Rossi followed.

He didn’t knock. Just stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

Hotch didn’t even turn around. He was standing near the window, arms stiff at his sides, staring out like the answer to his frustration might be somewhere in the city skyline.

Rossi leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

“So,” he said, easy. “Are we ready to admit it yet?”

Hotch’s shoulders tensed. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Rossi tilted his head. “Don’t call out the fact that you just short-circuited because someone brought her flowers?”

Hotch finally turned, eyes sharp. “He doesn’t belong here.”

“He’s not hurting anyone,” Rossi said. “Unless you count your ego.”

Hotch’s jaw clenched. “It’s not about that.”

Rossi gave him a long look. “Then what is it about, Aaron? Because from where I’m standing, you had your chance. You let her walk out that night. And now you’re pissed someone else didn’t.”

Hotch didn’t say anything. Just looked away, the muscle in his jaw twitching.

“She waited,” Rossi said, voice softer now. “She was there for you. And you shut her out.”

“I was protecting her,” Hotch snapped.

“No,” Rossi said. “You were protecting yourself.”

The silence after that was deafening.

Across the bullpen, you still hadn’t noticed. You were tucking the flowers into an old water bottle from your desk drawer, cheeks a little flushed, trying to shake off how sweet it had been. Elliott had already left.

You had no idea Hotch had seen it.

No idea he’d snapped like that.

And definitely no idea that on the other side of his office door, he was standing there, fists clenched, barely breathing, while Rossi quietly said the thing that scared him most:

“You’re going to lose her, Aaron. And this time? It’s no one’s fault but yours.”

You didn’t know what it was, but there was something different in the way he looked at you now. Something like… jealousy. Something like regret.

But before you could even ask if he was okay, he turned around without saying a word and disappeared into his office.

You frowned, but pushed the thought away. You weren’t going to read too much into it. You couldn’t.

But then the hours passed, and it got worse. The small gestures you once took for granted — the quiet moments when you’d check in with each other after tough cases, the silent understanding between you both — they were all gone now. Replaced by awkward silences and clipped words.

You couldn’t keep pretending you didn’t notice.

That’s when you went to Rossi.

You found him at the back of the bullpen, leaning over a case file, looking unusually thoughtful. The moment you walked in, he glanced up and raised an eyebrow.

“You need advice?”

You hesitated. You didn’t know how to say this out loud, but it came out before you could stop it. “It’s about Aaron. He’s… he’s been avoiding me.”

Rossi set the file down and leaned back in his chair, studying you for a long moment.

“Rossi, he’s been acting so… distant. I don’t understand it. One minute, everything was fine, and now it’s like he’s pulling away.” You paused, biting your lip. “And it’s not just that. Today, Eli brought me flowers, and I swear, I saw him snap. He’s… mad. I don’t know what’s going on.”

Rossi let out a breath, his gaze softening just a little. “Look, I think you already know the answer to that. Aaron’s a man of control, and when something slips through his fingers, especially when it’s something he pushed away... it’s hard for him to deal with.”

You blinked, unsure of what he meant. “But he was the one who shut me out. He’s the one who—”

“I know. But you weren’t the problem, kid,” Rossi said gently. “He’s scared. He’s always been scared of getting too close. Of losing the people he cares about. You’re not the first person he’s pushed away.”

You felt a knot tighten in your stomach. “So what am I supposed to do?”

“You’ve got to talk to him,” Rossi said, leaning forward slightly. “But you’ve got to make him face it. Don’t let him close that door again.”

You nodded, still unsure, but trusting that Rossi was right. You had to talk to him. No more pretending you didn’t feel the shift. No more letting things go unsaid.

That afternoon, you stood outside Hotch’s office, your hand resting lightly on the doorframe. You hesitated, unsure if you should knock or just walk in. The last few days had been like walking on eggshells, and you weren’t sure if you were ready to break the silence between you.

But you couldn’t keep this up. You couldn’t pretend things were fine when they weren’t.

So, you knocked. Just a light tap.

Hotch looked up from his desk, his expression tight and unreadable. His posture straightened immediately, that professional mask falling into place.

“Can I talk to you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

He nodded slowly, his lips pressing together in a thin line. “Of course.”

You closed the door behind you, but you didn’t sit. You couldn’t sit. Not when everything in you was already on edge.

“What’s going on with you?” you asked, your voice a little sharper than you intended. “You’ve been avoiding me for days, and it’s driving me crazy. You act like you don’t even want to talk to me, and then today—” You cut yourself off, biting back the frustration threatening to spill out. “And then today, you saw the flowers, and I saw the way you looked at me. What’s going on, Aaron?”

Hotch shifted in his seat, his eyes flicking away from yours, and for a split second, you saw the walls go up. The ones that always kept everyone out. The ones that kept him safe.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his voice tight, like he was already bracing for what was coming. “I’m just busy. That’s all.”

You stepped forward, not backing down. “That’s not it, and you know it. You’ve been acting weird, Hotch. And don’t try to tell me it’s nothing. I know you better than that.”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “You don’t understand. I don’t do this. I can’t.”

“Can’t do what?” you asked, your heart pounding. “What, Aaron? What are you so afraid of?”

He swallowed hard, avoiding your gaze. “I can’t let anyone in again. Not after what happened with—” He stopped himself, like he was about to say too much.

You took a deep breath, stepping even closer now. “Hotch, I’m not her. I’m not going anywhere. But you have to let me in.”

He didn’t say anything. Just stared at his desk, his jaw tight, his hands clenched.

“You can’t keep shutting me out,” you said, more quietly this time. “I’m not going to keep waiting in the dark, Aaron.”

You let the words hang in the air between you, heavy and real. The silence stretched, thicker than it had ever been.

But this time, you didn’t walk away. Not until you knew whether he was finally ready to stop running.

The silence in Hotch’s office was deafening, stretching between you like a chasm neither of you knew how to cross. You stood there, waiting. Watching him, feeling your own heart pounding in your chest. You hated the awkwardness, the way things had shifted between you. The way Hotch had been pulling away.

And you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Hotch… What’s going on with you?” The words came out sharper than you intended, but you were too frustrated to care.

He looked up at you, his gaze flickering for just a moment before he looked back down at his desk. There was a kind of exhaustion in the way he held himself — the tension in his shoulders, the tightness in his jaw.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his voice a little too stiff.

You shook your head, stepping closer, but not too close. You didn’t want to crowd him, but you couldn’t stand the distance between you any longer. “Don’t do that. You’ve been avoiding me for days. I can feel it.”

Hotch ran a hand through his hair, looking everywhere but at you. “I’ve been busy,” he muttered, the words unconvincing even to him.

You could feel your frustration building, but you tried to keep it in check. You couldn’t just walk away again, not like this. Not when you knew something was wrong. “You’re not just busy. You’re acting like you don’t want me around. Like I’m some kind of inconvenience.”

He winced at that, his face tightening with some emotion you couldn’t quite place. “That’s not it.”

“Then what is it?” you asked, your voice softer this time, though it still carried the weight of everything you were holding in.

Hotch was silent for a long moment, his eyes cast downward like he was fighting with something inside himself. You could see the muscles in his jaw clenching as he fought the urge to shut down. But this time, you weren’t going to let him.

“I just… I don’t know how to do this anymore,” he said finally, the words rough and low, like they’d been stuck in his throat for days. “I don’t know how to let anyone in. Not again.”

Your heart twisted at the pain in his voice, but you didn’t back down. “What are you talking about?”

His eyes finally met yours, but it wasn’t the usual guarded look you were used to. There was something raw there. Something vulnerable.

“Every time I let someone close,” he said, his voice faltering, “I end up losing them. I thought if I kept everyone at a distance — if I pushed them away before they had a chance to get too close — it wouldn’t hurt so much when they left. But with you, it’s different. I can’t push you away. And I don’t know how to deal with that.”

You stood there, letting his words sink in. You hadn’t expected that. You’d known there was something behind his coldness, but hearing him say it — hearing the weight of the pain and the fear in his voice — made it all feel more real, more human.

“Hotch,” you said, your voice barely a whisper now. “I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to push me away. You don’t have to do this alone.”

He shook his head, like he didn’t believe you. “I’m not… I’m not good for you. I never have been. I can’t offer you anything. I can’t offer myself.”

Your chest tightened. “You don’t have to be perfect,” you said, stepping closer, your voice steady now despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. “I’m not asking for you to fix anything. I’m asking you to just be here. To stop pretending you don’t care.”

He looked at you like you’d just said something impossible, his brows furrowing as though he didn’t understand how you could say that so easily. But you meant it. You meant every word.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he was ashamed of even saying it out loud. “I don’t know how to let myself care. And I’m scared that if I do… I’ll mess everything up.”

You couldn’t help it. You reached out, placing your hand gently over his where it rested on the desk. He stiffened at first, like he was surprised by the contact, but he didn’t pull away. His fingers twitched under yours, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t seem like he was trying to run from you.

“You won’t mess it up,” you said softly, your voice steady, even though your heart was racing. “I’m not asking you to be perfect. I’m just asking you to be real with me.”

Hotch’s face softened then, just a little. His eyes searched yours, as though trying to figure out if you were being honest. If you really meant it.

“I’ve been trying to protect myself for so long,” he said, his voice thick. “Trying to keep everything in control. And I thought if I kept people away, it would keep me safe. But with you… I don’t know. You’re not easy to keep away, and I don’t know if I want to.”

A small, tentative smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “I’m not going anywhere, Hotch. I just need you to trust me. Trust that we can figure it out together.”

He exhaled, a long breath like he’d been holding it in for days, maybe longer. And then, for the first time, he finally let go. He relaxed. He didn’t look like the Aaron Hotchner who was always in control, always the rock. He looked… human. Fragile, even.

“I don’t know how to let you in,” he whispered. “But I want to. I really do.”

You squeezed his hand, feeling the weight of the words settle between you both. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

There was a long silence, but this time, it was different. It wasn’t the tension that had been hanging in the air for so long. It was something quieter. More honest.

He let out a breath, his thumb brushing over your hand in a small, tentative gesture. “I don’t know what comes next, but I want to try.”

You smiled, a real smile this time, not the kind you’d been forcing for weeks. “We’ll figure it out.”

And as you stood there, hand in hand with him, for the first time in a long time, you finally felt like things could be okay. Like maybe, just maybe, there was hope for both of you.