#the biggest L i’ve ever taken

[preciouspatriots]

never forget what they took from you

[meatiershowers]

At least once a year I remember I dropped out of clown school at like 14 and the pieces all fall into place

[kiwriteswords]

If put to the test, would you step back from the line of fire?

AN: This got out of hand!! But kinda became one of my favorite stories I have written! I was up WAY too late today and in between meetings at work finished it, so I hope you enjoy it!! Let me know what you think!

Other Writing | Ao3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female!Reader

Word Count: 19k

Rating: Mature

Tags/TW:  canon-typical themes, angst, fluff, injuries, fade-to-black smut, sexual tension, banters, enemies-to-lovers, suggestive comments.

Summary: New to the BAU, you quickly find yourself at odds with the unit's stoic leader, Aaron Hotchner. What starts as a clash of wills and a battle of stubbornness soon transforms into a connection neither of you anticipated. With each case you work, your fire-fueled banter and undeniable tension grow, challenging your carefully constructed walls. As you both navigate the line between professional rivals and something more, you're forced to confront the truth you’ve been hiding—from each other and yourselves. In a world where control is your armor, letting someone in could be the biggest risk you've ever taken.

The bullpen buzzed with the usual energy as you made your way to your desk, the new addition to the BAU. You knew the reputation Aaron Hotchner held in the unit: stoic, precise, and tough on new recruits—especially women. You’d heard the stories from the team about how he handled Emily's arrival and Jordan’s brief stint. You were determined not to let him rattle you.

But what you didn't expect was how quickly the two of you would clash.

"Agent Y/L/N," Hotch called out from his office, barely looking up from his paperwork. "I need that report on the recent case by the end of the hour. I hope you understand the urgency of deadlines here."

"I've been doing this job for a while, Hotchner," you replied with a clipped tone. "I don’t need a reminder on how to meet deadlines."

His eyes narrowed slightly, and a hint of a smirk played at the corner of his lips. "Good. Let’s see if your actions match your confidence."

The tension between you two was palpable, and the rest of the team took notice almost immediately.

"They fight like an old married couple," Derek muttered under his breath, nudging Emily as the two of you clashed in yet another heated debate. There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes, watching you stand toe-to-toe with Hotch—a rare sight, considering most people didn't dare to challenge his authority so openly.

"She's got guts," Emily said, raising her eyebrows in amusement. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone go head-to-head with Hotch like that. And he's actually... engaging?"

Derek let out a low chuckle. "Oh, he's definitely engaging. Usually, he shuts people down in seconds flat, but with her? He’s giving as good as he gets."

Emily grinned, shaking her head in disbelief. "Think they realize they're basically the same person?"

"Not a chance," Derek replied with a smirk. "They’re too stubborn to see it. And honestly, I’m not sure I want to be around when they do."

The rest of the team exchanged amused, almost disbelieving glances. It was clear they’d never seen Hotch behave like this before. He wasn't just tolerating your defiance; he seemed almost... entertained by it, as if he was finally facing someone who could match his intensity and push back just as hard.

And while you both seemed entirely focused on proving the other wrong, the team couldn’t help but notice the way Hotch's lips twitched ever so slightly when you fired back at him—a hint of a smile that suggested he was enjoying the sparring far more than he let on.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The case had taken a toll on everyone. It was late, the team was exhausted, and emotions were running high. As you laid out your plan to corner the unsub at the next location, Hotch cut you off mid-sentence.

"No, that won't work," he said firmly, his voice colder than usual. "You're making assumptions without enough evidence to back them up. We need to think this through logically."

You clenched your jaw, trying to keep your temper in check. "I am thinking logically, Hotchner. If we don't act fast, we'll lose any chance we have of catching this guy before he strikes again. We have to take the risk."

"And that's exactly the problem," he snapped, his eyes boring into yours. "You're too impulsive. This job isn’t about charging in headfirst without a solid plan."

Your hands balled into fists at your sides, the frustration bubbling over. "I'm not impulsive! I’m trying to save lives, which, correct me if I’m wrong, is the point of this whole job. But you wouldn't know anything about taking risks, would you, Hotch? You always play it safe, no matter what it costs."

A flash of anger crossed his face, and he took a step closer, his voice lowering to a dangerously calm tone. "You don’t know a damn thing about what it costs, Y/L/N. I’m not playing it safe; I’m making sure my team comes home alive. Something you might want to consider before throwing yourself into situations you’re not ready for."

The team watched in stunned silence. No one dared to intervene as you and Hotch stared each other down, both too stubborn to back down. They were used to disagreements in the field, but this level of intensity was something new—even for Hotch.

"I’m not some rookie you can bully into submission," you said, voice shaking with barely restrained fury. "I’m here because I’m damn good at what I do. And maybe if you took your head out of your own ego for two seconds, you’d see that."

Hotch's jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might actually shout back. But instead, he spoke in that calm, unnervingly quiet voice of his. "The minute your 'damn good' plan puts any of my team at risk, I’ll pull you off this case so fast, you won’t know what hit you."

The team exchanged uneasy glances. It was clear this wasn’t just about the case—it was about control, about power, and about two people who couldn’t stand the fact that they met their match in each other.

As you turned on your heel to walk away, you couldn’t help but notice the looks on the faces of your colleagues. They weren't just surprised by how fiercely you stood up to Hotch—they were stunned that he actually seemed to respect you more for it.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The case wrapped up successfully, just as you had predicted. Your plan, the one Hotch had so firmly shot down, ended up being the key to cornering the unsub. It wasn’t without risks, but in the end, it worked, and no one could argue with the results.

As the team gathered their gear, Hotch remained silent, his face stoic as always, though there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—a mix of reluctant admiration and irritation that he couldn’t quite mask.

Rossi, ever the perceptive one, sidled up to Hotch with a knowing smile. "You know, Aaron," he said, his tone dripping with amusement, "it wouldn’t kill you to admit when you’re wrong. I mean, it's not every day someone out-thinks the great Aaron Hotchner."

Hotch shot Rossi a pointed look, his jaw tightening just slightly. "I wasn’t wrong," he muttered defensively. "I was... cautious."

Rossi let out a chuckle, shaking his head. "Cautious? Is that what we’re calling it now?" He cast a glance in your direction, where you stood a little ways off, giving instructions to a local officer. "She was right, you know. And from the look on your face, I'd say you know it too."

Hotch's gaze flicked back to you, the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at his lips before he quickly wiped it away. "She was lucky," he said, more to himself than to Rossi, as if trying to convince himself of that fact.

Rossi raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Right. Lucky.”

Hotch opened his mouth to argue, then thought better of it. Instead, he gave a noncommittal grunt and turned his attention back to his paperwork, his expression a mask of irritation mixed with something that looked suspiciously like pride.

"You’re a tough nut to crack," Rossi said, his tone softer now, more serious. "But maybe that’s exactly why she’s the perfect match for you."

Hotch shot Rossi a glare, but it lacked its usual sharpness. "Don’t start, Rossi," he warned, though there was no real heat in his voice.

Rossi simply laughed, clapping Hotch on the shoulder. "Just saying, my friend. Sooner or later, you might want to let that wall of yours come down—before she knocks it down for you."

As Rossi walked away, Hotch allowed himself one last glance in your direction. He'd never admit it out loud, but in that moment, he couldn't help but feel a grudging respect for you—along with a nagging realization that maybe, just maybe, this wasn't the last time you'd get under his skin.

But he wasn't ready to give you the satisfaction of knowing that. Not yet.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Weeks passed, and while your clashes with Hotch became routine, you couldn't deny that you had developed a strange rhythm with him. You knew each other’s moves like pieces on a chessboard—always anticipating, always one step ahead.

Despite your frequent arguments, there was a mutual respect building beneath the surface that neither of you wanted to acknowledge.

During a late-night case discussion, Hotch had his arms crossed, leaning against the table. "Your theory is flawed," he said, his voice laced with skepticism.

You squared your shoulders, refusing to back down. "It’s not flawed. You’re just too stubborn to admit that my way might actually work."

Hotch raised an eyebrow, his eyes glinting with a challenge. "If I admit you're right, does that mean you'll stop trying to strangle me in these meetings?"

Your lips twisted into a smirk. "Don't flatter yourself, Hotchner. If I ever strangle you, it’ll be out of pure frustration."

Hotch leaned in, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "Oh, Y/N, I didn’t know you were into that."

You blinked in surprise, your cheeks heating slightly at his boldness, but you quickly recovered. "Only if it shuts you up," you shot back, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened.

The rest of the team watched from a distance, exchanging amused glances. They could see the crackling energy between you two, even if you both stubbornly refused to acknowledge it.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The air between you and Hotch was still charged, the underlying tension refusing to fade. The rest of the team had taken to watching your interactions like a live sport—wondering who would land the next verbal blow.

You were in the middle of the bullpen, poring over case files, when Hotch approached, his expression as stern as ever. "Y/L/N," he said, his tone clipped and professional, "I need your analysis on the suspect's profile by end of day. And make sure it’s thorough this time."

You looked up, eyebrow arched. "Oh, don’t worry, Hotchner. I’ll make it as ‘thorough’ as you like," you replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Wouldn’t want you to have to redo it when you realize I was right all along."

Hotch’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of irritation sparking to life. "This isn’t a contest, Y/L/N. It’s about accuracy and professionalism—two things you might want to brush up on."

You stood up, matching his gaze with equal intensity. "And maybe if you stopped micromanaging every move I make, you’d see that I know exactly what I’m doing."

The tension between you was thick enough to cut with a knife, both of you glaring at each other like two opposing forces locked in an endless struggle. The bullpen went silent, eyes darting between the two of you in surprise at how openly you challenged him—again.

Hotch opened his mouth to retort, but then he paused, his gaze softening just a fraction. He seemed to consider his next words carefully, as if he knew he was about to cross a line he wasn’t ready to cross.

"You know," he said slowly, his voice dangerously calm, "for someone who claims to know what they're doing, you spend a lot of time second-guessing your decisions. Almost like you’re afraid to be wrong."

You bristled, feeling the sting of his words hit a little too close to home. "I’m not afraid to be wrong," you shot back, eyes blazing with defiance. "I’m just not used to being treated like an amateur by someone who refuses to admit when they’re outmatched."

Hotch’s lips twitched, a brief flash of something resembling a smile crossing his face before he quickly hid it. "Outmatched? By you?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "If that’s what keeps you motivated, Agent Y/L/N, then by all means—keep believing it."

Before you could fire back, Rossi’s voice broke through the tension. "You two done sparring, or should we set up a ring in the conference room?" he quipped, amusement dancing in his eyes.

The rest of the team chuckled, clearly entertained by the ongoing battle between you and Hotch. Despite their jokes, they were all aware that there was something different about the way Hotch responded to you—how he engaged with you in a way he didn’t with anyone else.

"You know," Morgan added with a grin, "most people don’t stand up to Hotch like that. You must really like getting on his bad side."

"She’s practically setting up camp there," Garcia chimed in with a wink. "It’s like their own twisted form of bonding."

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. "Please. If I ever start bonding with Hotchner, you have my permission to stage an intervention."

Hotch cleared his throat, shooting the team a look that was more amused than annoyed. "Alright, that's enough," he said, but there was a softness to his tone that wasn't there before, a hint that maybe—just maybe—he respected you for pushing back.

As the team dispersed, Hotch caught your gaze one last time. The moment was brief, but it lingered just long enough to make you question whether all this fighting was really about animosity—or if it was something else altogether.

And just like that, the fire between you reignited, burning hotter than ever.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The team was in the middle of a tense operation, a situation that demanded quick thinking and decisive action. You had taken a calculated risk, making a call in the field that didn't go as planned. The unsub got away, and while no one was hurt, it set the case back significantly.

The second you returned to the makeshift command center, Hotch was waiting for you, his eyes dark and unreadable. You barely had a chance to open your mouth before he was on you.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he barked, stepping closer, his voice rough with barely restrained anger. "That decision of yours just put everyone at risk, and I'm not sure we can afford that kind of recklessness again."

You shot back, adrenaline still coursing through your veins. "I was thinking that if we didn’t take the shot, we’d lose our best lead! But of course, you'd rather sit around playing it safe while the unsub walks free!"

Hotch's eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might crack. "This isn't about playing it safe, Y/L/N! It's about not acting like a reckless amateur who puts the entire team's lives at risk because they have something to prove!"

Your hands shook with the force of your frustration, and before you could stop yourself, you snapped, "Oh, spare me the lecture, Hotchner! You act like you're the only one who knows how to do this job, but the truth is, you're just terrified of making a mistake. You’re so damn scared of letting anyone in that you push people away the second they don’t fit your perfect mold!"

The words seemed to hit Hotch harder than you expected, his eyes darkening even further. He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a dangerously quiet tone. "You think you know me, Y/L/N? You don’t know a damn thing. At least I’m not so afraid of being alone that I act like I don’t need anyone. You're more isolated than anyone on this team, and the saddest part? You overcompensate by pretending you don’t care."

Your breath hitched, but you were too angry to back down. "Oh, that's rich coming from you, Hotchner! The great Aaron Hotchner, who’s too afraid to be human around us because it might make him seem weak. You can't even let people in enough to let them see that you're a father first, can you? You act like this job is all that defines you, but deep down, you know you're failing at the one thing that really matters."

The moment the words left your mouth, you saw the flash of pain in Hotch's eyes—a wound laid bare for everyone to see. But before you could take it back, before you could even blink, Hotch struck back, and this time, it was a direct hit.

"You don’t get to talk to me about failure," he said, voice shaking with a mix of anger and hurt. "You walk around here like you have something to prove, like if you’re tough enough, no one will notice how desperately you need to be part of something—anything—to avoid facing how alone you really are. But here's the truth: no matter how loud you are, no matter how many arguments you win, you’re still just trying to convince yourself that you’re enough."

The team collectively held their breath, the weight of the confrontation settling over them like a dark cloud. You could see the shock and discomfort on their faces, how they tried to look away as if that would lessen the impact of the words you and Hotch had just exchanged.

You opened your mouth, ready to deliver one final blow, but something in his eyes stopped you. The hurt, the frustration, the betrayal—it was all there, mirrored in your own gaze. And you knew, in that moment, that you’d gone too far. So had he.

Before either of you could say another word, a voice crackled over the comms, interrupting the heated exchange. "We have a new lead on the unsub," Garcia’s voice came through, urgent and breathless. "I need you back at the command center, ASAP."

The tension snapped, and you both pulled back, breathing hard, eyes locked in a shared look of something like regret. You could see it—the recognition that the words you’d thrown at each other couldn’t be taken back.

Without a word, you turned and walked away, your shoulders tense, refusing to let anyone see how deeply the argument had cut. Hotch stood there for a moment longer, his face an unreadable mask, before he, too, walked in the opposite direction, his movements stiff and deliberate.

As you both moved to your respective corners, the team exchanged glances—expressions of concern, sadness, and a little fear. Even they could tell that this fight had gone way beyond professional differences. It had become personal. Too personal.

"You think they'll be okay?" JJ asked softly, breaking the silence that had settled over them.

Rossi shook his head, his face lined with worry. "Not sure," he said, glancing over at the two of you from a distance. "That was more than just anger. That was hurt. And that’s a lot harder to come back from."

Derek looked from you to Hotch and back again, his face serious. "They both know they crossed a line," he said quietly. "But the question is, can they find their way back?"

Hotch knew he’d struck too close to home, just as you did. The damage was done, and as much as you both wanted to pretend it didn’t matter, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something between you had changed forever.

And for the first time since you joined the BAU, neither of you was sure how to fix it.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

In the days that followed your explosive argument, neither you nor Hotch said a word about what had happened. Both of you were too stubborn to apologize, too proud to admit that you might have gone too far. But even as the tension between you remained thick and uncomfortable, something in the way you interacted began to shift.

Despite your so-called hatred, you and Hotch started doing little things for each other—things that neither of you ever mentioned aloud. He'd leave a coffee on your desk, exactly how you liked it, when you’d had a particularly rough night. You’d order lunch for him when he was too buried in paperwork to take a break. It was as if you were both trying to say "I'm sorry" without actually uttering the words.

The team noticed the change, the way you two danced around each other, trying to make up for the damage in the only way you knew how—without acknowledging it outright.

And whenever one of you tried to express gratitude, it always came out as an insult wrapped in sarcasm.

"Thanks for the coffee, Hotchner," you said one morning, not meeting his eyes. The words were gruff, but there was a softness beneath them that you couldn’t quite hide. "I didn’t realize you were capable of being considerate."

Hotch shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Don’t get used to it, Y/L/N," he replied, voice laced with mock indifference. "Just trying to keep you from falling asleep in the middle of your presentations. Wouldn’t want you to embarrass yourself in front of the team."

You rolled your eyes, a reluctant smile breaking through despite your best efforts to stay annoyed. "Oh please, Hotchner. If I did fall asleep, it’d probably be because your voice has all the excitement of a tax seminar."

He gave a small chuckle, the tension between you two easing just slightly, even if neither of you would admit it. It was as if every sarcastic comment and light jab carried with it a hidden message—"I’m sorry," "I didn’t mean it," "I care more than I should."

And so, the unspoken apologies continued, buried beneath layers of pride and wrapped in your shared rhythm of bickering. The gestures were subtle but unmistakable, a silent acknowledgment that despite the walls you both put up, you were trying to make things right in the only way you knew how.

But even then, the fire between you still burned hot, and neither of you could quite bring yourself to let go of the pretense of animosity. Not yet.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The days were filled with a strange tension—one that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. The biting remarks between you and Hotch were still there, but they were laced with something different now, something that had the team raising their eyebrows and sharing knowing looks. The biting anger had started to twist into something that almost resembled…flirting.

One afternoon, you were both standing by the coffee machine, trying to get through another endless stack of case files. You reached for the last cup of coffee at the same time as Hotch, your hands brushing against each other. You snatched it up quickly, smirking in his direction.

"Careful, Hotchner," you said, raising the cup to your lips. "You keep getting in my way like this, and I might just have to pin you to the wall."

Hotch’s eyes glinted with amusement as he raised an eyebrow, leaning in slightly. "Bold move, Y/L/N," he replied, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Didn't realize you were in the habit of getting physical on the job."

Your breath caught for a second, but you quickly recovered, narrowing your eyes at him with a teasing smile. "Only when someone deserves it," you shot back, your voice light but your gaze steady. "And trust me, Hotchner, you've earned it."

He smirked, the kind of smile that made it clear he enjoyed pushing your buttons, and that little spark in his eyes hinted at something more than just professional rivalry. "I’ll try to contain my excitement," he said, voice smooth and challenging, the playful banter lingering in the air between you.

You opened your mouth to fire back a retort, but no words came out. Instead, you found yourself laughing—a real, genuine laugh that caught both of you off guard. The sound of it seemed to disarm Hotch for a moment, his expression softening as he looked at you.

"Just admit it," he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "You’d miss our arguments if they stopped."

You raised an eyebrow, pretending to think about it. "I’d miss putting you in your place, Hotch. But don’t get used to it—I’m still keeping score, and I’m winning."

Hotch let out a low chuckle. "We’ll see about that."

The team observed from a distance, exchanging amused glances at the way you two were sparring. But this time, it wasn't just hostility—it was something far more complicated, like the first sparks of a fire that neither of you wanted to put out.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The night had not gone the way you’d hoped. The date you’d forced yourself to go on—an attempt to prove to yourself that you could open up to someone, anyone—ended as all the others did: in disappointment. You’d spent the entire evening trying to connect, trying to be someone you weren’t, only to come home with that familiar ache in your chest and a little too much wine in your system.

Stumbling slightly, you sank onto a bench outside the bar, phone in hand, replaying Hotch's words in your mind from your previous argument. "You’re more isolated than anyone on this team, and the saddest part? You overcompensate by pretending you don’t care."

The truth of it stung more now than ever. You felt the weight of his words pressing down on you, and you didn't have the strength to fight against it. Maybe he was right, you thought bitterly. Maybe I am going to end up alone because I can't let anyone in.

Before you could stop yourself, your fingers dialed his number, the alcohol-fueled haze making you braver—or more foolish—than you would have been otherwise. The phone rang once, and then you heard his familiar voice, steady and calm.

"Hotchner," he answered.

You hesitated, suddenly feeling ridiculous for calling him of all people. But then, you let out a shaky breath and said, "I...I don’t know why I called you. I’m fine. I’m—" Your voice cracked slightly, betraying you. "I'm not fine."

He didn’t ask you where you were. He didn’t hesitate or question why you’d reached out to him. Instead, his voice softened, and you could almost hear the worry in it. "Tell me where you are, Y/N," he said, his tone more gentle than you’d ever heard it. "I’m already on my way."

You told him the name of the bar, and before you knew it, Hotch’s car pulled up to the curb. He got out, looking every bit the composed leader he always was, but there was something else in his eyes—something softer as he took in your disheveled state.

Without a word, he draped his coat around your shoulders and led you to the passenger seat. The drive was quiet, the hum of the car the only sound between you. You kept your eyes on the window, embarrassed by your outburst but too drained to put your walls back up.

When he pulled up to your place, he helped you out of the car, his hand lingering at your back, a silent comfort. You let him guide you up the steps to your door, but when you fumbled for your keys, he stopped you, turning you to face him.

"You didn’t have to come get me," you said, your voice small, more vulnerable than you wanted it to be. "I’m just a mess tonight."

He looked at you, really looked at you, and for a moment, you saw the mask he always wore slip just a little. "You’re not a mess, Y/N," he said quietly. "You’re human. We all are."

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. "You don't get it, Hotch. I keep trying to let people in, and I can't. It's like there's this wall I can't tear down, and I'm starting to think I’m going to end up just as alone as you said."

Hotch's jaw tightened, and he reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "You’re not alone," he said, his voice low, almost tender. "And for what it's worth, I never meant to make you feel that way. You’re tougher than anyone I know, but you don’t always have to be."

You looked up at him, feeling the weight of his words settle in a place deep in your chest. For once, there was no sarcasm, no biting remarks—just a quiet honesty that took you by surprise.

"Why did you come?" you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper. "After everything I said to you?"

Hotch hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours, and then he said, "Because I know you. And I knew that when you finally let your guard down, even a little, it wasn’t something you’d do lightly." His voice softened even further. "I couldn’t just leave you alone tonight."

The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words. He moved closer, his hand still resting on your shoulder, and you let yourself lean into his touch, even if just a little.

He just stood there with you, holding you steady when you couldn’t hold yourself up, letting you see that maybe, just maybe, letting him in wasn’t as terrifying as you’d thought.

"Thank you," you finally said, looking up at him with something that felt like gratitude mixed with a hint of something deeper, something you weren’t ready to name yet.

Hotch gave you a small, almost shy smile. "Anytime, Y/N," he said simply. "And for the record, I’m not going anywhere."

You nodded, the walls between you still there, but just a little lower now. And as you stepped into your apartment, you knew that this was the beginning of something different—something you weren’t ready to admit but couldn’t deny anymore.

The fire between you still burned, but it felt like a fire that could warm you instead of one that would consume you.

The door clicked shut behind you, the weight of the night’s events settling over you like a heavy blanket. Hotch stood in your entryway, his hands in his pockets, looking more out of place than you’d ever seen him. This was Aaron Hotchner, the unflinching leader of the BAU, but right now, he looked like a man unsure of what to do next.

You leaned back against the wall, running a hand through your hair and letting out a sigh. "I’m not usually like this," you said, your voice rough around the edges, still tinged with the effects of the alcohol. "I don’t usually call for help."

Hotch gave a small, almost reluctant smile, his eyes softening as they met yours. "I know," he said quietly. "You’d rather bite off your own arm than ask for help. That’s why I came."

You blinked at him, a bit taken aback by the way he said it, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. The honesty in his eyes made something in your chest tighten—a mix of frustration and relief that you couldn’t quite put into words.

"You think you have me all figured out, don’t you?" you muttered, looking away to avoid the intensity of his gaze.

Hotch’s lips twitched into a smirk, that familiar fire sparking back to life in his eyes. "Well, you do have a habit of making it a challenge," he said, his voice taking on that dry, teasing tone. "But you’re not as complicated as you think, Y/N. I see right through that tough act of yours."

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest in a weak attempt to shield yourself from the truth of his words. "Oh, please, Hotchner," you said, trying to regain some of your usual bite. "The last thing I need is you trying to psychoanalyze me."

Hotch took a step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. He was close enough now that you could see the concern etched in the lines of his face, the way he was holding back something he wanted to say. "You’re right," he said, his voice gentler now, almost a whisper. "I’m not here to analyze you. I’m here because I care."

Those last words hit you like a punch to the gut, the sincerity in his tone catching you completely off guard. You opened your mouth to say something, anything to deflect, but all that came out was a shaky breath.

"You care?" you repeated, a mixture of disbelief and sarcasm lacing your voice. "Is this the part where you tell me you’re my knight in shining armor?"

Hotch let out a small, rueful laugh, shaking his head slightly. "Hardly," he said, a hint of that familiar smirk creeping back. "More like the guy who has to keep you from making a fool of yourself because you’re too stubborn to admit you’re human."

You wanted to snap back, to put up the walls again, but you were too tired, too raw. Instead, you just looked at him, really looked at him, and saw something in his eyes that you hadn't allowed yourself to see before—genuine concern, warmth, something that made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t in a long time.

"You know," you said, your voice quieter, softer than it had been all night. "You’re kind of infuriating."

Hotch’s smirk grew into a smile, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes in that rare, almost boyish way that you hardly ever saw. "And you’re impossible," he replied. "But we’ve established that already, haven’t we?"

For a moment, you both just stood there, the air between you thick with unspoken words. You should’ve felt awkward, but instead, there was a strange comfort in the silence, like you were both finally seeing each other without all the defenses in place.

You let out a deep breath and nodded toward the couch. "Stay," you said, surprising even yourself. "Just for a while. I could use the company."

He didn’t argue. Hotch gave a small nod and moved to sit on the couch, his movements careful, deliberate, as if he didn’t want to push too hard, too fast. You sat down beside him, not too close but not as far as you might have a few weeks ago.

The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, your head leaning back against the couch, your eyes closing as you tried to process everything. You felt Hotch’s presence beside you, solid and grounding, the quiet rhythm of his breathing strangely soothing.

"Thank you," you finally said, breaking the silence, the words almost too quiet to hear. "For coming to get me. For…not letting me be alone tonight."

Hotch turned to look at you, and when you opened your eyes, his gaze was softer than you’d ever seen it. "Anytime," he said simply. "And I mean that, Y/N. You don’t have to go through everything on your own."

You felt something crack open inside you, just a little—a small space where the walls had been, making room for him in a way you never thought you’d allow. And maybe, just maybe, that terrified you even more than anything else.

As you both sat there in the quiet, the tension between you still simmering but somehow warmer now, you realized that for all your fights, your arguments, and your stubborn pride, you didn’t hate him. Not even close.

You didn’t say anything more that night. You didn’t have to. The silence said enough, and for once, neither of you felt the need to fill it with words.

The fire between you had shifted, turning into something new, something unspoken but undeniably there. You didn’t feel quite so alone.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The next morning, the BAU office buzzed with its usual energy, but everything felt different. The night before lingered in the back of your mind like a half-remembered dream, and you couldn’t quite shake the image of Hotch sitting beside you on the couch, his quiet presence more comforting than you’d ever expected.

You walked into the bullpen, forcing yourself to adopt the mask of professionalism you always wore, your steps just a touch more deliberate to hide any trace of a hangover or vulnerability. You were determined to pretend like nothing had changed, like the night before was just a glitch in your well-oiled machine of stubborn denial.

But as soon as you stepped into the room, you felt Hotch’s eyes on you. He was at his desk, his expression calm and controlled, but there was something different in the way he looked at you—softer, more attentive, like he was seeing you in a way he hadn’t before.

You met his gaze, and for a second, the rest of the office seemed to fade away. His eyes held yours, and you could feel that unspoken connection between you, the memory of his steadying hand on your back, his whispered words in the dark.

But then you broke the gaze, clearing your throat and throwing up your usual walls. "Morning, Hotchner," you said briskly, moving past his desk like it was business as usual. "Let’s hope you’re ready to keep up today. Wouldn’t want to have to drag you along."

Hotch’s lips twitched into that familiar half-smirk, but there was something in his eyes that wasn’t there before—something almost like pride. "Careful, Y/L/N," he said in that smooth, controlled voice of his. "If you’re not careful, people might start to think you’re actually enjoying this partnership."

You opened your mouth to fire back a retort, but JJ and Morgan chose that moment to walk in, their eyes darting curiously between the two of you. You could see the knowing smiles tugging at their lips, and you knew they’d sensed the shift in the air.

"Everything okay over here?" Morgan asked, a teasing lilt to his voice. "I thought I saw sparks flying for a second there."

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest to regain some semblance of your defenses. "Please, Morgan," you said, a hint of sarcasm in your tone. "If I wanted sparks, I’d go rub two sticks together in the woods."

"Uh-huh," JJ said with a grin, not missing the way Hotch’s eyes followed you, a little softer than they usually were. "Well, you two seem to have your own language these days. Should we be worried?"

Hotch straightened in his chair, his expression slipping back into that stoic professionalism, but you caught the flicker of amusement in his eyes. "I think you have more important things to worry about," he said evenly, glancing at the case files on the table. "Like solving this case."

Morgan shot you a sideways glance, his grin widening. "Man, they really do bicker like an old married couple," he said under his breath to JJ, loud enough for you and Hotch to hear.

You rolled your eyes dramatically, but you couldn’t quite hide the smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "Keep dreaming, Morgan," you said, flicking your gaze to Hotch for a split second before turning back to the files. "If I ever settle down, it’ll be with someone who actually listens."

You didn’t miss the way Hotch’s eyebrow twitched at that comment, the slightest hint of a challenge in his eyes. He gave you a look that said he was holding back something—something that both of you were too stubborn to acknowledge.

"Who said anything about settling down?" Hotch replied, voice smooth as ever. "I thought you were the kind of person who lives for the argument."

"And I thought you were the kind of person who likes to be right," you shot back, smirking. "Guess we’ve both been wrong about each other."

There it was—the unspoken truth lying between you both, hidden beneath the layers of sarcasm and banter. You could feel the shift, the way your arguments had started to feel less like battles and more like dances, each of you knowing the other’s moves before they even made them.

As the day wore on, you found yourself glancing at Hotch more often than you cared to admit, catching him looking at you with that same intense focus that he usually reserved for unsubs. The problem was, this time, you weren’t sure whether he was profiling you or trying to figure out how to get past your defenses.

Later in the day, as you grabbed another cup of coffee, you felt his presence next to you before he even said a word. He reached for a file on the counter, leaning in slightly closer than necessary, and murmured just loud enough for you to hear, "I meant what I said last night, you know."

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Which part?" you asked, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably.

Hotch's gaze held yours, unflinching, unwavering. "The part about not going anywhere," he said softly. "And the part about you not having to be alone. Not if you don’t want to be."

You swallowed hard, the words sticking in your throat. You knew what he was offering—a chance to let him in, to take that next step, whatever that might be. And it terrified you more than you’d ever admit.

"That’s a dangerous game, Hotchner," you said, trying to deflect with a smirk, even though your heart was pounding in your chest.

Hotch gave you that slow, almost maddening smile that seemed to unravel something deep within you. What you couldn’t see—what he hid beneath that calm exterior—was the way his mind was still racing with everything that had happened the night before. The way you'd let your guard down, even for just a moment, had left him more shaken than he wanted to admit.

He wasn’t a man who let people in easily; it took a lot for his interest to be piqued, to feel something more than detached professionalism. But you—you had managed to get under his skin. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that glimpse into your world, the vulnerability you showed him when you thought no one else was watching. It was raw, real, and it stirred something in him that he didn’t want to let go of.

He was intrigued by you in a way he hadn’t been in a long time, and now that he’d seen that side of you—the part you kept hidden from everyone else—he didn’t want you to close that door again. He wanted more than just the sharp banter and the fiery arguments. He wanted to see the layers beneath, to understand the person you were when the armor came off.

There was this part of him that saw you as this rare enigma, but also a part that saw a mirror looking back at him--someone who finally carried their world in the same way as he did. 

"You’ve never been one to play it safe, Y/N," he replied, his voice low and warm, the hint of a challenge still lingering. "Why start now?"

There was a flicker of something in his eyes, something almost like hope mixed with determination. He was giving you a choice, but deep down, he knew he didn’t want you to pull away, to retreat back into the walls you’d built so carefully around yourself.

You didn’t have an answer for that. At least, not one you were ready to give him. The truth was, the idea of letting him in—of letting anyone in—scared you more than you wanted to admit. But his steady gaze, the way he was looking at you as if he was ready to hold that door open as long as it took for you to walk through it, made it harder to hide.

So instead, you just nodded, your walls still there but not quite as high as they’d been before. "We’ll see," you said softly, more to yourself than to him. "We’ll see."

And as you turned away, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of his eyes still on you, watching, waiting. Hotch knew that if you closed yourself off now, it would be ten times harder to find his way back in. But he also knew he couldn’t push you—not yet. All he could do was make sure that when you were ready to open that door again, he’d be right there, waiting for you.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

A few days passed since that quiet moment at the coffee machine, and while you tried to push it to the back of your mind, it kept creeping up on you. Hotch’s words, the look in his eyes—it all felt too real, too close, and you weren’t ready to let it unravel everything you’d built around yourself.

The trouble was, Hotch wasn’t making it any easier.

He was still his usual composed, authoritative self during briefings, but every now and then, you’d catch him watching you out of the corner of his eye, as if trying to figure out what was going on beneath your surface. It was disarming, the way he seemed to see straight through you, and it annoyed you to no end that you cared what he thought.

Today was no different. The team was deep into a new case, the type that pulled everyone’s focus with its twists and turns, but you still felt that nagging awareness of Hotch’s gaze tracking your every move. You tried to shake it off, to focus solely on the details of the profile you were presenting, but when your eyes met his, you hesitated for a fraction of a second—a slip that didn’t go unnoticed.

As you finished laying out your theory on the unsub, you expected Hotch to challenge you like he always did. Instead, he gave a small nod, his eyes never leaving yours. "Solid work, Y/L/N," he said, his voice steady, but there was a trace of something else in it—something that felt like he was acknowledging more than just your profiling skills.

Morgan raised an eyebrow at the rare praise coming from Hotch. "Wow, did I just hear that right?" he teased. "Hotch giving a compliment? Are we sure we’re not in an alternate universe?"

You rolled your eyes, fighting to keep the blush creeping up your neck from reaching your face. "Don’t get used to it," you shot back, forcing a smirk. "I’m sure he’ll find something to disagree with in about five minutes."

But when you glanced back at Hotch, you caught the smallest hint of a smile pulling at his lips, like he was amused by your deflection. It was such a fleeting moment that if you hadn’t been watching him closely, you might have missed it. But it was there, and it sent a ripple through you that you couldn’t quite shake.

Later that evening, as the rest of the team wrapped up for the day, you found yourself alone in the conference room, staring at the evidence board. The case was getting under your skin in a way that you couldn’t quite explain, and you were too restless to go home.

"Working late?" Hotch’s voice broke through the silence, and you turned to find him leaning casually in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. He looked at you with that same unreadable expression, and you hated how your pulse quickened at the sight of him.

"Just tying up loose ends," you said, your tone clipped, but even you could hear the exhaustion in your voice. "Can’t leave things half-finished."

He nodded slowly, stepping further into the room, his gaze never leaving you. "You’ve been distracted," he said, not as a question, but as a statement of fact. "Is it the case, or something else?"

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. "Always profiling, aren’t you?" you said, turning back to the board to avoid looking at him. "Maybe it’s both. Or maybe I’m just tired of being stuck in my own head."

Hotch moved closer, close enough that you could feel his presence like a tangible weight in the room. "You know, you don’t always have to carry everything alone," he said quietly. "You’re allowed to let someone in."

You turned to him then, your eyes locking onto his, the vulnerability of that night flashing in your mind. "I thought you knew me better than that, Hotchner," you said, your voice laced with a mix of defiance and something softer. "I’m not good at letting people in."

Hotch held your gaze, and this time, he didn’t look away. "I know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I also know that when you finally do, you don’t want to regret it."

The words hung between you like a dare, and for a second, you saw past the stoic exterior he always wore, straight into the man who’d been just as guarded, just as wary of letting anyone see the cracks beneath his armor. It was unnerving and comforting all at once.

"I don’t want to close that door again," he admitted, his voice steady but his eyes revealing a flicker of uncertainty, as if saying it out loud made him vulnerable in a way he hadn’t been before. "You let me in, Y/N, even if it was just for a moment. And I don’t want to lose that."

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words died in your throat. You could feel your defenses crumbling, piece by piece, under the weight of his gaze, and it scared you. But it also made you feel something else—something you weren’t ready to put a name to.

"I don’t know what you expect from me," you said finally, your voice softer, almost hesitant. "You know I’m not the kind of person who’s good at this… at letting someone get close."

Hotch’s lips curved into that maddening, gentle smile, and he reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm. It was a simple touch, but it sent a jolt of warmth through you. "I’m not expecting anything," he said, his voice calm, reassuring. "I just don’t want you to shut me out when you don’t have to."

For once, you didn’t have a quick retort, no sarcastic comeback to throw up as a shield. Instead, you found yourself nodding, the smallest sign of surrender, as if silently agreeing to let this—whatever it was between you—take its own course.

"Goodnight, Y/N," Hotch said softly, his hand lingering on your arm for just a moment longer before he turned to leave.

"Goodnight, Hotch," you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper as you watched him walk away.

As he disappeared through the doorway, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. The fire between you wasn’t just simmering anymore—it was building into something that felt inevitable, something that terrified and thrilled you all at once.

You didn’t feel the urge to run away from it.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It had been a long week for the team, the kind that left everyone mentally and physically exhausted. The case had taken a toll on each of them, but none more so than Hotch. You could see it in the way his shoulders sagged slightly when he thought no one was looking, in the tightness around his eyes that no amount of professionalism could hide.

He’d been quieter than usual, more distant, even with you. It was a stark contrast to the way he’d been drawing closer lately, as if he’d built up his walls all over again. And for some reason, that made something inside you ache.

You found him alone in his office late that evening, the light dim, a half-empty cup of coffee growing cold on his desk. The tension in his posture was palpable, and he didn’t look up when you knocked lightly on the doorframe.

"Hotch," you said softly, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. "You look like you’re about to tear that case file in half. What’s going on?"

He didn’t answer at first. He just kept staring at the paper in front of him, his jaw clenched tight, the muscle ticking in his cheek. For a moment, you thought he might brush you off, that he’d snap back into his guarded self and shut you out completely.

But then he let out a slow, shaky breath and finally looked up at you. There was a weariness in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before, something raw and unguarded. "It’s Jack," he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I missed his soccer game today. I promised I’d be there, and I missed it."

You blinked, surprised by the admission. It wasn’t like Hotch to let his personal life bleed into the job. He was the master of compartmentalization, always keeping his professional mask firmly in place. But right now, that mask was slipping, and you could see the guilt and pain beneath.

"I’m sorry," you said, the words genuine and uncharacteristically soft. "I know how much he means to you."

He gave a short, humorless laugh, rubbing a hand over his face as if trying to scrub away the exhaustion. "It’s not just that," he said, finally meeting your gaze. "I try so hard to be there for him, to make up for all the time I can’t get back. And every time I fail, it feels like I’m failing him all over again."

You took a hesitant step closer, your defenses lowering in response to his vulnerability. "You’re not failing him, Hotch," you said, your voice firmer now. "Jack knows you’re doing everything you can. You’re a damn good father, even if you don’t give yourself enough credit."

Hotch’s eyes softened as he looked at you like he was seeing something in you that he hadn’t allowed himself to see before. "It’s just hard," he said quietly. "Balancing everything. Being there for him and still being the kind of leader this team needs. Sometimes I don’t know if I’m doing either one right."

You took another step closer, your hand hovering near his on the desk. "You don’t have to be perfect, Aaron," you said, using his first name intentionally, letting it roll off your tongue like a promise. "You’re allowed to be human. To mess up. To let people help you when you need it."

His breath hitched slightly when you said his name, and you saw the way his defenses cracked just a little more, like he was allowing himself to believe you, even if just for a moment. "You say that," he said, a small, wry smile forming on his lips. "But you’re not exactly the poster child for letting people in either."

You felt a reluctant smile tug at your lips, even as your heart pounded in your chest. "Touché," you said, your voice gentler now. "But maybe we could both stand to learn a little."

Hotch stared at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours as if trying to decide whether he could really let you see him—really let you in. And then, almost imperceptibly, he reached out, his hand covering yours where it rested on the desk.

"You know," he said, his voice low and rough, "it’s easier for me to tell you not to close yourself off than it is to follow my own advice."

You looked down at his hand on yours, feeling the warmth of his touch seeping into your skin, and you squeezed his fingers lightly. "Yeah, well," you said, your voice soft but steady, "lucky for you, I’m not going anywhere either."

His eyes softened even more at your words, a quiet gratitude filling them that made your chest tighten. He was letting you see him—not the stoic leader, not the unflinching profiler, but the man beneath all that. The one who was just as scared of opening up, just as afraid of failing the people he loved.

"Thank you," he said finally, his voice thick with emotion. "For this. For not letting me push you away."

You offered him a small smile, one that felt more real than anything you’d given him before. "Don’t thank me yet," you said, a teasing glint in your eyes. "I’m still going to make your life hell in the field."

Hotch let out a soft chuckle, the sound breaking the tension in the room like a breath of fresh air. "I’d expect nothing less," he said, the warmth returning to his gaze. "In fact, I’d be disappointed if you didn’t."

The two of you stood there, hands still linked, the silence stretching out but not uncomfortable anymore. It was filled with a promise, an unspoken understanding that things had changed between you—that neither of you was quite as alone as you used to be.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The bullpen was buzzing with the usual chatter as the team wrapped up another case. The mood was lighter than it had been in days, and everyone seemed relieved to have a few moments to breathe. You stood at your desk, reviewing some final notes when you felt that familiar presence beside you.

"Y/L/N," Hotch said in his even tone, but there was a hint of playfulness in his eyes that only you could see. "I noticed a couple of discrepancies in your report. Care to explain?"

You raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly as you turned to face him. "Oh, Hotchner, I didn’t realize you were that nitpicky," you said, leaning in just a fraction. "I thought you were more of a big-picture kind of guy."

Hotch’s lips curved into that maddening smile, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Details matter," he replied, his voice dropping a notch. "And if I didn’t keep you on your toes, where’s the fun in that?"

The rest of the team was watching this exchange with poorly concealed amusement. Morgan exchanged a look with JJ, and Garcia's eyes were practically sparkling with glee.

"You two are at it again," Morgan said, shaking his head with a grin. "I swear, the tension between you two is so thick we could cut it with a knife."

"More like set it on fire," JJ added, nudging Garcia, who was already leaning forward, her mouth wide with anticipation.

"Oh, please," you said with a mock roll of your eyes, but your smirk was undeniable. "If Hotchner could actually manage to light a fire, he’d probably try to put it out just to avoid making a mess."

Hotch’s eyebrow shot up at that, and he took a small step closer to you, his voice barely above a whisper but loud enough for everyone to hear. "I don’t know, Y/N," he said, his eyes locking onto yours with a challenging glint. "I think you’d be surprised at how good I am at playing with fire."

The room went silent for a beat, the rest of the team exchanging looks that screamed oh my God, did he just say that?

Garcia’s jaw dropped dramatically. "Okay, that’s it!" she exclaimed, pointing between you and Hotch. "There is no way you two don’t have some unresolved sexual tension going on here. Spill the beans!"

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could say anything, an alarm went off on the conference room monitor. Garcia’s eyes widened as she quickly typed on her laptop. "We’ve got an urgent update from the field team," she said, all traces of her previous amusement gone. "It looks like the suspect we apprehended escaped during transfer."

Hotch’s face shifted instantly into his no-nonsense mode, all traces of flirtation gone as he snapped back into action. "Everyone, gather your gear," he ordered. "We’re heading out now."

As you all hurried to grab your things, you felt Hotch’s hand on your arm, his grip just a bit tighter than usual. "Stay close," he said, his voice low and serious. "I don’t want any surprises."

You nodded, but there was a fire in his eyes that hadn’t been there before—a look that sent a thrill through you despite the situation. You didn’t have time to dwell on it as you jumped into the SUV, your focus shifting to the task at hand.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The stand-off had gone sideways fast. The unsub, cornered and desperate, made a reckless move, and in the chaos that followed, Hotch took a hit—a deep gash to his arm from a knife as he shielded you from the unsub. He stayed in control, his face a mask of determination as he secured the suspect, but you could see the pain etched in the tight lines around his mouth.

"Hotch!" you shouted, rushing to his side the second the threat was neutralized. Your heart was pounding in your chest, but you forced yourself to stay focused, your eyes darting over the wound. "You couldn’t just dodge or take a step back like a normal person?"

He gave you a half-smile that somehow still had that infuriating charm. "I had to make sure you had a clear shot," he said, his voice calm despite the blood seeping through his sleeve. "Besides, if I’d let you take the hit, you’d never let me live it down."

"Yeah, well, now you’re stuck listening to me complain about your lack of self-preservation," you muttered, shaking your head even as you helped him over to the waiting ambulance.

The paramedics wasted no time guiding Hotch into the back of the ambulance, their hands moving efficiently as they assessed the wound. You followed closely, trying to keep your expression neutral, but the sight of blood seeping through his sleeve made your stomach twist with worry you couldn’t quite hide.

"How bad is it?" you asked the nearest paramedic, doing your best to sound calm even though your insides were in knots.

"Deep cut," the paramedic said as he worked quickly to clean and bandage Hotch’s arm. "He’ll need stitches but no major damage. He got lucky."

Hotch’s eyes flicked up to yours, a small smirk forming on his lips despite the pain. "Lucky, huh?" he said, his voice slightly strained but still holding that familiar edge of sarcasm. "Looks like I’m harder to get rid of than you thought."

You let out a shaky breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, and for a moment, your guard slipped completely. The rush of adrenaline from the standoff was fading, leaving nothing but raw fear and relief in its wake. Without thinking, you reached out and gave his good shoulder a light but frustrated punch.

"You reckless idiot," you muttered, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to hold it steady. "Do you have any idea how worried I was? You scared the hell out of me, Hotch."

The words came out harsher than you intended, your emotions bubbling to the surface faster than you could control them. Hotch’s smirk softened into something gentler, more genuine, and he looked at you like he was seeing right through your bravado to the fear and vulnerability beneath.

"Y/N," he said quietly, his tone different now—gentler, sincere. "I didn’t mean to worry you."

But before he could say anything more, you felt your chest tighten, overwhelmed by how close you’d come to losing him. Hotch reached out slowly, his uninjured hand wrapping around yours, holding on in a way that felt both grounding and intimate. His thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles, and you didn’t pull away.

Hotch hesitated, then reached out to gently touch your hand, his voice almost a whisper, "I’m right here, even if you don’t know what to do with that."

You blinked rapidly, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill, and you squeezed his hand harder than you meant to.

"You infuriating man," you said, your voice trembling as you tried to hold onto the last shred of your composure. "You just had to go and make me care, didn’t you?"

The laugh that escaped Hotch was soft, almost disbelieving, and his eyes were filled with something you’d never seen before—something that made your chest tighten and your defenses crumble even more.

"I’m glad you care," he said, so quietly that it was almost lost in the noise around you. "More than you know."

Your breath hitched at his words, and you bit your lip to keep the tears at bay. Desperate to deflect, you let go of his hand and turned away, taking a deep breath to steady yourself.

"You had to make me feel something, didn’t you?" you said, throwing him a wry smile over your shoulder as you blinked back the tears that refused to fall. "Next time, try not to make a mess of it, okay?"

Hotch's eyes softened as he looked at you, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at his lips despite the pain. "No promises," he said, a warmth in his gaze that wrapped around you like a lifeline. "But I'll try not to scare you again."

You nodded, biting your lip to keep your composure, and then without another word, you turned and walked away, each step heavier than the last. You needed to get some distance before you completely fell apart in front of him.

But as you reached the end of the ambulance, you heard his voice, softer and closer than you expected. "Y/N," he called out, making you pause. "You know I’m not going anywhere, right?"

You didn’t turn back, but you felt the faintest smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. "You’d better not," you said, voice just loud enough for him to hear. "You’ve got a lot to make up for."

And as you walked away, you realized that letting him in didn’t feel like a mistake—it felt like the only choice that made sense.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Hours later, after a tense and exhausting standoff, the team finally returned to the BAU headquarters. Everyone was drained, their nerves frayed from the adrenaline crash, but there was a palpable sense of relief in the air—the suspect had been recaptured, and despite the close call, no one was seriously hurt.

But you couldn’t shake the image of Hotch sitting in the back of that ambulance, blood staining his sleeve, his eyes meeting yours with that maddening calmness he always managed to keep. The memory made your chest feel tight, like something was lodged there that you couldn’t swallow down.

You headed to the quiet of the briefing room, too wired to sit still. You started pacing, the adrenaline from the night's chaos still buzzing through your veins. All you could think about was how close you’d come to losing him and how much that realization had rattled you more than you wanted to admit.

Just as you were about to let out a frustrated sigh, you heard footsteps behind you. Turning around, you found Hotch standing in the doorway. His usually neat tie was loosened, and his composed demeanor seemed a little frayed around the edges.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice softer than usual, his gaze fixed on yours with an intensity that sent a shiver straight down your spine.

"Yeah," you said, but your voice wavered, betraying the emotions that had been building all night. "Just trying to come down from the rush, you know?"

Hotch stepped closer, the space between you shrinking, the room suddenly feeling too small to contain everything unspoken between you. His injured arm was bandaged, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. He was looking at you like you were the only thing in the room.

"You handled yourself well out there," he said, his voice steady but tinged with something else—something like pride, mixed with relief and maybe even a touch of vulnerability. "You always do."

You gave a shaky smile, but you couldn’t help the words that slipped out next. "You didn’t have to get hurt for me to prove it, you know," you said, your voice cracking just a little. "What were you thinking out there?"

Hotch's lips twitched into a faint smile. "I was thinking," he said, meeting your eyes with that steady, unwavering gaze, "that if it came down to protecting you or getting a scratch, I’d take the scratch every time."

You let out a breath, something between a laugh and a scoff, your defenses slipping in a way that was becoming too familiar. "You’re impossible," you muttered, shaking your head. "Always playing the hero, aren’t you?"

"Only when it matters," he said softly, taking another step closer. His voice dropped to a whisper, the kind that sent a rush of warmth straight through you. "You’re important to this team—to me."

The air between you was crackling with the kind of tension that had been building for weeks, maybe even months. It was as if all the arguments, the banter, the fire had been leading up to this moment, and you both knew it.

"Hotch," you said, barely more than a whisper, taking a step closer to him. "What are we doing here?"

He took a deep breath, and you watched as his gaze flicked down to your lips for the briefest of moments before returning to meet your eyes. There was a crack in his usual stoic demeanor, the tiniest flicker of vulnerability shining through, like he was finally letting you see the part of him he always kept hidden from the world.

For once, Aaron Hotchner didn’t look like the unshakeable leader of the BAU—he looked like a man on the edge, torn between staying in control and letting his guard drop completely.

"I don’t know," he admitted, his voice rough, tinged with a hint of something you’d never heard from him before—fear, maybe, or hope. "I’ve spent a long time pretending this wasn’t happening... I don’t think I can anymore."

He took another step closer, and you could see the hesitation in his eyes, like he was terrified of making a move that couldn’t be undone. 

His voice softened, almost to a whisper, as he added, "I’ve been trying to ignore this," he admitted softly, his eyes never leaving yours, "but it’s not that simple anymore."

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, knocking the air right out of your lungs. You’d always known he was guarded, that he kept his distance as a way to protect himself, but hearing him say it out loud, seeing the raw vulnerability in his eyes—it shook you to your core.

For a heartbeat, you stood there, your emotions tangled, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. The weight of his words, the confession in his voice, crashed over you like a wave, breaking down every last wall you’d built between you.

"I don’t know how to do this either," you said, your own voice barely holding together, a touch of desperation leaking into your words. "I’m so used to keeping people out, and then you come along and—" You shook your head, letting out a shaky breath. "You scare me, Hotch. This scares me."

His gaze softened even further, his thumb grazing over your knuckles as he reached for your hand, holding it like it was the most natural thing in the world. "You don’t have to be scared," he said, his voice so gentle it almost broke you. "Not with me."

The tenderness in his touch, the way his eyes held yours with so much quiet intensity, like you were the only person who existed in that moment—it was more than you could take. And then, with a boldness you didn’t know you had, you reached up, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, and pulled him into a kiss that was anything but gentle—fierce, desperate, a release of all the frustration and desire you’d been bottling up for so long.

The moment your lips met, it was like the world stopped turning. The kiss was electric, searing, filled with all the unspoken words and pent-up tension that had been building between you. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a collision—a clash of everything you’d both held back, all the things you were too afraid to say out loud.

Hotch responded instantly, his good hand sliding to the small of your back, pulling you against him as if he was afraid you’d slip away. His kiss was just as intense as yours, almost rough, like he was staking a claim, like he’d been waiting for this moment just as long as you had. His fingers tangled in your hair, his breath mingling with yours, and he kissed you like he was pouring everything he had into it—all the fear, all the hope, all the need he’d been trying so hard to hide.

When you finally broke apart, gasping for breath, you saw that the mask had shattered completely. The intensity in his eyes was unlike anything you’d seen before—raw, open, unguarded. Finally, you saw Aaron Hotchner not as your stoic boss or your sparring partner but as the man who had somehow slipped past every defense you’d ever built.

"You," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and relief, "You make everything so damn complicated."

Hotch’s lips curled into a slow, almost wicked smile, his thumb gently stroking your cheek as he held you close. "And you wouldn’t have it any other way," he said, his voice low, roughened with emotion.

"Maybe not," you said, a shaky laugh escaping despite the tears welling in your eyes. "But damn you, Hotch…you’re going to ruin me."

He brushed his lips against your forehead, soft and lingering, his breath warm on your skin. "Only if you let me," he whispered a promise in his voice that made your chest tighten almost painfully. "And I really hope you let me."

At this moment, you realized that maybe letting your guard down wasn’t a sign of weakness; maybe it was the bravest thing you’d ever done. And maybe, just maybe, you were ready to be brave with him.

Just as the charged silence wrapped around you both, the door to the briefing room swung open. You and Hotch sprang apart, a little too quickly, both of you turning to see Derek Morgan standing there with an expression that was equal parts surprise and amusement.

Morgan's eyes flicked between you and Hotch, taking in the slightly disheveled look on both of your faces. A grin spread slowly across his face, and he raised an eyebrow in mock innocence. "Whoa," he said, holding up his hands as if surrendering. "Did I just walk in on something, or is this one of those 'don't ask, don't tell' situations?"

You felt your cheeks heat up instantly, your mind scrambling for a response. But before you could even open your mouth, Hotch, ever composed and unreadable, turned to Morgan with the kind of calm authority that only he could pull off.

"We're just wrapping up, Morgan," Hotch said, his voice steady, but there was the slightest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth—one that only you seemed to notice. He kept his gaze locked on Morgan, his posture relaxed yet still protective, as though daring anyone to comment further.

Morgan's grin widened, but he knew better than to push his boss too far. He gave you both a knowing nod, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Alright, alright," he said, backing out of the doorway with his hands still raised. "I’ll let you two get back to 'wrapping things up.' Just remember, Hotch, the team’s got eyes everywhere."

As soon as Morgan disappeared, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, a half-laugh escaping your lips. You turned back to Hotch, who met your gaze with a look that was a mix of exasperation and reluctant amusement.

"Well," you said, shaking your head with a smile, "that went better than expected."

Hotch's lips twitched into a wry smile, the hint of a challenge in his eyes. "You realize this isn’t going to go unnoticed by the rest of the team," he said, his tone a little softer now, almost conspiratorial.

"Oh, I know," you replied, your smile turning playful. "But I’m not planning on making it easy for them."

Hotch’s gaze held yours for a moment longer, something unspoken passing between you—an agreement, a promise, that whatever came next, you’d face it together. And with that, the tension in the room shifted once more, the unspoken understanding between you deepening into something neither of you could—or wanted to—deny.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The rest of the night passed in a blur of paperwork, debriefings, and quiet conversations as the team began to wind down after the exhausting case. But no matter how much you tried to focus, your mind kept drifting back to what had happened with Hotch in the briefing room—the way his touch had lingered on your waist, the heat in his eyes, and the quiet promise of something more.

You couldn't shake it. Every glance in his direction sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, a reminder of the kiss, of the way his lips had moved against yours, demanding and tender all at once. The tension between you hadn’t just simmered—it was boiling over, and the thought of leaving it unresolved made your heart race.

As the rest of the team filtered out, leaving the office empty and quiet, you found yourself lingering by your desk, unable to shake the feeling that tonight wasn’t over yet. And then, as if on cue, you felt him before you even saw him—Hotch’s presence filling the room, his footsteps slow and deliberate as he approached.

When you looked up, your breath hitched at the sight of him. His tie was still loosened, the first few buttons of his shirt undone, and his sleeves were rolled up, revealing the bandage on his arm from earlier. There was a slight shadow of exhaustion around his eyes, but it did nothing to dampen the intensity of his gaze.

He didn’t say a word as he reached your desk, his eyes never leaving yours, and suddenly the air between you was thick with everything that had been left unsaid.

"You’re still here," he finally said, his voice low and rough, laced with something that made your skin tingle.

"So are you," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, but the way he was looking at you made it nearly impossible. You swallowed, the tension between you two practically vibrating. "We need to finish this, don’t we?"

Hotch didn’t hesitate. His lips quirked into the faintest smile as he nodded, the movement slow and deliberate. "I think we do," he said, his voice dropping an octave. His gaze flicked to your lips for just a moment before meeting your eyes again, and you could see the unspoken question in them—are you ready for this?

You were.

He stood close, closer than he ever had before, his fingers brushing the back of your hand in a touch that seemed to linger just a little too long. He didn’t say anything, but the way his gaze dropped to your lips and then flicked back to your eyes spoke volumes. It was a silent question, one he wasn’t quite ready to put into words.

Without thinking, you leaned in, a slow, tentative movement that felt like testing the waters. His breath hitched, and just as your lips barely brushed his, he hesitated—only for a second—before closing the distance, his kiss soft and controlled, as though he was savoring a secret he’d kept locked away for too long.

Hotch responded instantly, his good arm snaking around your waist and pulling you flush against him, his lips moving against yours with an intensity that made your head spin. His kiss was demanding, fierce like he was making up for every moment of restraint, every fight, every time he’d held back. His hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you to him, deepening the kiss as his tongue grazed your lower lip.

You let out a soft gasp, and he took the opportunity to take control, his tongue slipping past your lips in a way that sent a jolt of heat straight through you. You pressed against him harder, your hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt, desperate to get closer, to feel every inch of him.

He groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating through your chest, and it was like something inside you snapped. You reached up, running your fingers through his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him pull back, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps.

"Careful," he warned, his voice rough and low, his eyes dark with a mixture of desire and control. "You’re playing with fire."

You smirked, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, "I thought you liked that."

His grip on your waist tightened, and before you could tease him again, he spun you around, pressing your back against the nearest wall with a swift, fluid movement that left you breathless. His body pinned you there, his chest rising and falling heavily as he stared down at you with an intensity that made your knees weak.

"I do," he murmured, his lips brushing against your jaw as his hand slid beneath your shirt, his fingers skimming over your skin in a way that made your pulse race. "But I don’t think you know just how far I’m willing to go."

You shivered under his touch, your breath hitching as his fingers grazed the curve of your waist, his lips tracing a hot path down the side of your neck. "Then show me," you whispered, barely able to form the words as the heat between you both threatened to overwhelm you.

Hotch’s lips curled into a wicked smile against your skin, and without another word, he kissed you again—harder this time, more demanding, more possessive. His hands explored your body with a hunger that matched your own, sliding beneath the fabric of your shirt, tracing every curve, every dip, until you were arching against him, desperate for more.

You tugged at his shirt, fingers fumbling to unbutton it as you kissed him back with just as much intensity, your heart pounding in your chest as the desire between you grew hotter, more insistent.

"Y/N," he groaned, his breath hot against your lips as you finally managed to push his shirt off his shoulders, your hands exploring the hard lines of his chest, the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers. "God, you’re going to drive me crazy."

You smiled against his mouth, tugging him closer. "Good," you breathed, your voice a mix of teasing and need. "I’ve been waiting for this."

He let out a low, rumbling laugh, his hands sliding down your body until they were gripping your hips, holding you tight against him as he kissed you again, harder, deeper. It felt like you were both caught in a storm, a whirlwind of desire that neither of you could control, and you didn’t want to.

You didn’t know how long the kiss lasted, how many times you lost yourself in the feel of his lips on yours, the heat of his body against yours. All you knew was that it wasn’t enough—it would never be enough.

When Hotch finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your bodies pressed so close together you could feel the rapid beat of his heart against your chest. He stared down at you, his eyes dark and full of desire, but there was something else there too—something deeper, something that went beyond the heat of the moment.

"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion, his forehead resting against yours as he tried to catch his breath.

You smiled, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. "I think I do," you whispered, your voice soft, full of affection and heat.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the intensity of what had just happened settling between you like a silent promise. But the fire was still there, simmering just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to burn even hotter.

The air in the bullpen was electric, the tension between you and Hotch almost crackling as you both stood there, chests heaving, lips swollen from the kiss you’d just shared. The reality of where you were hit you like a bucket of cold water, and you glanced around, grateful that the rest of the team had already gone home.

"Hotch," you said, voice still breathless, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips as you took in the sight of him—tie askew, shirt half-unbuttoned, looking thoroughly disheveled in a way you’d never seen before. "As much as I’d love to continue this… display, I’m pretty sure the FBI frowns upon public displays of—well, whatever this is."

He let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest, his hand still resting on your waist, like he wasn’t quite ready to let you go. "You make a good point," he said, his lips quirking up into that maddening smirk that drove you insane. "Wouldn’t want to scandalize the rest of the team more than we already have."

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a teasing look. "Oh, I don’t know," you said, a sly smile spreading across your face. "I think Morgan’s probably got a running commentary ready for the next team meeting. Maybe we should give him more material."

Hotch’s smirk widened, a flash of mischief sparking in his eyes. "You really are trouble, aren’t you?" he murmured, his fingers trailing lightly up your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. "I knew it the moment you walked into the BAU."

"You sure that’s what you thought?" you shot back, your voice laced with challenge. "Because I’m pretty sure the first thing you said to me was how I needed to 'fall in line' if I wanted to survive on this team."

Hotch let out a short laugh, the kind that sounded like he was finally letting himself enjoy this. "And you’ve been driving me crazy ever since," he said, his voice softer, almost reverent, as his thumb brushed across your cheek. "In the best possible way."

You felt your cheeks flush, but you couldn’t help the smile that broke across your face, the one you couldn’t hide anymore. "You know," you said, tilting your head slightly, your tone shifting back to playful, "for a man who claims to be the master of control, you really have a habit of losing it around me."

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning almost predatory as he leaned in, his lips brushing just shy of your ear. "Oh, I haven't lost control yet," he whispered, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that sent a shiver straight down your spine. "But keep pushing, and I might just have to show you what that really looks like."

Your breath hitched, and you had to fight the urge to pull him back into another kiss right then and there. Instead, you pressed your hand against his chest, pushing him back just slightly, a teasing smile playing on your lips. "Promises, promises, Hotchner," you said with a wink. "But you’re right—we should probably get out of here before this turns into an official FBI incident."

He chuckled, shaking his head slightly, but the fire in his eyes never dimmed. "My place or yours?" he asked, the question laced with a hint of playfulness that made your heart skip a beat.

You pretended to think about it for a moment, your lips quirking up into a sly grin. "Yours," you said decisively. "Wouldn’t want you thinking I’m too comfortable letting you into my world just yet. Gotta keep you on your toes."

Hotch’s eyes sparkled with amusement, his smirk widening into a full grin. "Ah, so we’re back to this, are we?" he said, shaking his head as if he couldn’t quite believe how much he was enjoying this. "Fine. But don’t think this means I’m going to let you win our next argument."

You laughed, the sound coming out light and genuine, surprising even yourself. "Hotch," you said, leaning in close enough that your lips almost brushed his, "you never had a chance of winning. I’ve been three steps ahead of you since day one."

His expression softened, his eyes locking onto yours with that intensity that always made you feel like he was seeing right through you. "And that’s exactly why I’m not letting you out of my sight," he said, his voice rough with honesty. "You’ve already got me hooked."

Your teasing smile faltered for a heartbeat at the sincerity in his voice, and you felt the air between you shift—deepening into something more than just banter, more than the physical pull you couldn’t resist. You reached up, cupping his jaw in your hand, and for a moment, you let yourself just look at him—this man who’d somehow become everything you never knew you needed.

"You coming or what, Hotchner?" you finally said, pulling back just enough to flash him a challenging smile, the one he loved to see on your face.

He let out a breath, his smile softening into something almost tender. "Oh, I’m coming," he said, taking your hand in his, lacing his fingers with yours as he pulled you toward the elevator. "And don’t think for a second that I’m letting you out of my sight."

As the elevator doors closed behind you, the teasing banter between you faded into silence, replaced by a different kind of tension—one that promised tonight was only the beginning of something that neither of you could walk away from now.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The car ride to Hotch’s apartment was silent but not the uncomfortable kind. It was the kind of silence that crackled with tension, filled with every word neither of you dared to speak aloud. Every glance he stole in your direction made your pulse quicken; every brush of his hand against yours made your breath hitch just a little. You were both wound tight, like two live wires sparking dangerously close.

When you finally reached his place, Hotch opened the door with a practiced calm, but you could see the fire still simmering just beneath his composed exterior. He let you step inside first, and the second the door clicked shut behind you, something seemed to shift between you—a silent understanding that whatever happened next would change everything.

"You know," you said, turning to face him, your voice teasing but your smile almost too genuine, "I never thought I’d end up here, with you, of all people."

Hotch raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth as he took a slow step toward you. "Trust me," he said, his voice low and rough, "I never planned on it either. But somehow, you’ve got a way of turning my plans upside down."

You let out a breathless laugh, the kind that felt like a release of all the pent-up tension between you. "I guess I have a knack for getting under your skin, huh?" you teased, taking a step closer to him, so close now that you could feel the heat radiating off his body.

"Under my skin?" Hotch murmured, his gaze darkening as he reached out, his hand cupping your cheek with a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat. "You’ve done a lot more than that."

He leaned in, his lips just a breath away from yours, the anticipation almost unbearable. But before he could close the distance, you pulled back slightly, a mischievous smile playing on your lips.

"Easy there, Hotchner," you said, a teasing lilt in your voice. "Are you sure you can handle this? I wouldn’t want you to lose control on me now."

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head, and in one swift movement, he had you pinned against the wall, his hands on either side of your head, caging you in. His face was so close to yours that you could feel his breath against your lips, warm and teasing. "Oh, I’m more than ready," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "but don’t think for a second that I’m letting you call the shots tonight."

Before you could muster a retort, his lips crashed onto yours, the kiss fierce and consuming, a raw release of everything you’d both been holding back. This wasn’t the careful, testing kiss from before—this was a battle of wills, a clash of all the fire and passion that had been building between you for so long.

You responded just as fiercely, your hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer, your mouth opening under his, desperate to taste every inch of him. His hands slid to your hips, gripping tight as he pressed his body against yours, pinning you to the wall in a way that left no space between you.

You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, your lips brushing against his as you whispered, "Come on, Hotchner, that’s the best you can do? I thought you’d at least make me work for it."

His eyes flashed with something wild and hungry, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, voice rough like gravel, "I’m just getting started."

Without another word, he scooped you up in his arms, his grip firm yet gentle, and carried you through the hallway, his lips never straying far from yours. He kicked open the door to his bedroom, the darkness of the room swallowed up by the heat between you two. He set you down on the bed with a deliberate slowness, his eyes drinking you in like he was memorizing every detail.

"You have no idea how much you’ve messed with my head," he said, his voice a mix of frustration and longing as he leaned over you, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "How many nights I’ve spent wanting you, hating you for making me feel this way."

You reached up, cupping his face in your hands, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "Believe me," you said softly, all the teasing gone from your voice, "I know exactly how you feel."

Hotch's expression shifted then, something raw and unguarded flickering in his eyes, and he crashed his lips onto yours again, this time with a desperation that bordered on reverence. He kissed you like he was pouring all his unspoken words into it—all the frustration, the longing, the need that he’d kept buried for so long.

You tugged at his shirt, pulling it off him in one swift motion, and his hands followed suit, sliding under your top, lifting it over your head with a quick, impatient motion. His fingers traced the bare skin of your waist, sending shivers down your spine as he drank in the sight of you like he was seeing something he’d been waiting for his entire life.

"You make this harder than it needs to be," he said, his voice a rough whisper against your lips, his hands caressing your skin with a touch that was both tender and possessive. "But I wouldn’t have it any other way."

"Good," you murmured, your lips brushing his as you smiled, that fiery spark still dancing in your eyes. "Because I’m not done driving you crazy yet."

His answering laugh was low and rough, a sound that made your toes curl. "Bring it on," he growled, his mouth crashing onto yours once more, claiming you with a kiss that left no room for doubt, no space for second-guessing.

This wasn’t just a moment. This was everything—the culmination of all the fights, the banter, the fire you had both sparked from the beginning. The dance had finally peaked, and you knew there was no going back now.

As he pulled you closer, his hands mapping every inch of your body with a hunger that matched your own, you realized that you didn’t want to go back. Not to the arguments, not to the distance, not to the days of pretending this wasn’t inevitable.

Whatever this was—this fire, this madness, this undeniable connection—you were both all in, ready to let it burn as bright and as hot as it needed to.

And as his lips moved over yours, the night stretching out ahead of you, one thought echoed in your mind with a clarity that was impossible to ignore: This was only the beginning.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The first light of dawn crept through the blinds of Hotch’s bedroom, casting soft shadows across the room. You blinked awake, a lazy smile spreading across your face as the events of the night slowly came rushing back—how it had started with teasing banter and ended with the two of you tangled together in ways that left no room for ambiguity.

You turned your head slightly to see Hotch lying next to you; his face softened in sleep, a look of peacefulness that you rarely saw on him. The lines of stress and worry that usually creased his brow were smoothed out, his breathing even and slow. At this moment, he looked almost boyish, vulnerable in a way that made your heart squeeze just a little.

Careful not to wake him, you let yourself watch him for a moment longer, taking in this rare sight of Aaron Hotchner—not the stoic leader of the BAU, not your sparring partner in the bullpen, but just a man who’d let his walls down for you.

Just then, Hotch’s eyes fluttered open, and the soft sleepiness was quickly replaced by that intense gaze that never failed to set your pulse racing. He gave you a small, almost shy smile—a look you hadn’t seen on him before and one that did dangerous things to your heart.

"Morning," he said, his voice low and rough from sleep, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. His hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle, almost reverent.

"Morning," you replied, unable to keep the smile from your face as you met his gaze. "So, about last night…"

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, and he raised an eyebrow in that infuriatingly charming way of his. "You mean the part where you practically tackled me against the wall or the part where you admitted you’ve been three steps ahead of me this whole time?"

You let out a breathy laugh, rolling your eyes playfully. "Oh, please," you said, leaning in slightly. "If I recall correctly, you were the one who said you were 'just getting started,' Hotchner."

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made your stomach flip. "Touché," he said, his fingers lightly tracing circles on your bare shoulder. "But I have to say, if this is what happens when we stop fighting, I’m not sure I want to go back."

You paused, the teasing smile fading slightly as you looked at him, something softer, more vulnerable settling in your chest. "You’re really okay with this?" you asked, your voice quieter now, the question carrying more weight than you intended.

Hotch’s expression shifted, the playfulness giving way to something deeper, something that spoke of sincerity and warmth. He reached out, taking your hand in his, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. "More than okay," he said softly, his eyes locked on yours. "I know this changes everything, and that scares me a little—but not as much as the thought of pretending this didn’t mean something."

You opened your mouth to respond, but he stopped you with a gentle press of his lips against yours—a kiss that was so different from the ones last night. It was soft, slow, like he was savoring the taste of something he’d finally allowed himself to have.

When he pulled back, you gave him a lopsided smile, your voice teasing but with a hint of tenderness. "You know, for a guy who spent so much time trying to get me to fall in line, you’re awfully good at breaking your own rules."

Hotch let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. "Maybe I’ve always been a little too good at breaking them when it comes to you," he said, a hint of that old mischief dancing in his eyes. "Besides, it’s only fair—you’ve been breaking down my walls from the start."

You arched an eyebrow, smirking at him. "Who knew all it took to get through to the great Aaron Hotchner was a little bit of sass and a lot of stubbornness?"

"Trust me," he said, his smile turning soft, almost shy again, "it’s more than just the sass and stubbornness. You’ve always had a way of seeing through the tough exterior, straight to the heart of it all. Even when I didn’t want you to."

The sincerity in his words made your heart skip a beat, and for once, you found yourself speechless. You stared at him, the man who had always seemed so distant, so unreachable, now lying here beside you with his guard completely down.

"You know," you said finally, your voice barely more than a whisper, "I didn’t expect this to happen."

"Neither did I," Hotch admitted, his hand tightening around yours, "but I’m not sorry it did."

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. "I’m not sure how we’re going to explain this to the team. You know they’ll never let us live it down."

A slow, wicked smile spread across his face. "Oh, I’m counting on it," he said, leaning in closer until his lips were just a breath away from yours. "Besides, I’m pretty sure they already have us pegged as the bickering married couple of the team. This will just confirm their suspicions."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your face. "Oh great, so now we’re giving them material for years to come. Just what I needed."

Hotch chuckled, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was playful and sweet yet still carrying that hint of fire that never seemed to go away. "Well, if we’re going to give them something to talk about," he murmured against your lips, "we might as well make it worth their while."

You raised an eyebrow, your smile turning into a smirk as you gave him a light shove. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

He grinned, pulling you back into his arms, his voice a low whisper against your ear. "And you wouldn’t have it any other way."

You realized he was right. You wouldn’t have it any other way. The fire, the fights, the laughter—it was all a part of what had led you here, to this moment, to him.

And as the morning light continued to filter through the window, warming the room, you knew that whatever happened next, you and Hotch were in it together.

And that was more than enough.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Walking into the BAU the next morning felt different—like the air itself had changed. As you and Hotch stepped into the bullpen, you couldn’t help the way your shoulders brushed, the way his gaze lingered on you just a moment longer than usual. The two of you had agreed to keep things professional, at least while on the job, but there was an undeniable shift between you—like a secret that wasn’t much of a secret at all.

As you both moved to your respective desks, trying your best to look like everything was perfectly normal, you were acutely aware of the way the team's eyes tracked your every move. Morgan and JJ were huddled near the coffee station, grinning like they were in on the world’s biggest joke, while Garcia’s jaw practically hit the floor the second she spotted you two.

"Well, well, well," Morgan said, straightening up with a grin so wide it looked like it might split his face in two. "If it isn’t the lovebirds gracing us with their presence. How was the night, you two?"

You rolled your eyes, a hint of a smirk tugging at your lips. "Please," you said with a dismissive wave of your hand, "you act like this is something new. We’ve been driving each other crazy for months."

"Oh, trust me, we noticed," JJ chimed in, her grin just as wide as Morgan’s. "But judging by the way you two walked in this morning, I’m guessing the banter took a… different turn last night?"

Hotch, ever the picture of composure, adjusted his tie as if this was just another day at the office. "I’m not sure what you’re implying, JJ," he said in that calm, collected tone of his, though you could see the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

"Oh, come on, Hotch," Garcia said, practically bouncing on her toes with excitement. "So, anything new happening here that we should know about?

"Remind me to never play poker with any of you," you said dryly, raising an eyebrow at the lot of them. "You can’t hide anything."

Morgan leaned against his desk, crossing his arms with a knowing smirk. "And here I thought the toughest thing to crack in this office was the newest unsub," he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Turns out, it was the two of you."

Hotch offered a small, controlled smile, giving Morgan a pointed look but saying nothing, his silence more telling than any words.

"Exactly," you said, turning to Hotch with a grin. "Might as well own up to the fact that I’ve been right all along, and you’ve been falling behind since day one."

"Oh, is that how you remember it?" Hotch replied, raising an eyebrow in challenge. "I seem to recall you being the one who couldn’t keep up."

You felt a laugh bubbling up, the banter between you as natural as ever, but now it was tinged with something lighter, something softer. "Keep telling yourself that, Hotchner," you said, crossing your arms with a teasing smile. "We both know I’m the one who’s three steps ahead."

Morgan let out a loud laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, this is going to be fun to watch," he said. "You two are never going to stop, are you?"

Hotch gave Morgan a look that was both calm and controlled, but there was a slight softening at the corner of his mouth, a hint of a smile that only you would recognize. "Let's try to keep it professional," he said in his usual authoritative tone, though you could see the glimmer of amusement hidden in his eyes.

You couldn’t help but smirk at his response, the challenge still present between you even if he wasn’t openly saying it. "Of course, Hotch," you said with a touch of mock seriousness. "I wouldn’t dream of making things too easy for you."

Hotch’s lips twitched ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly, as he turned back to his desk, his expression as unreadable as ever to the rest of the team. But in that brief glance, you saw it—the silent promise, the unspoken words that lingered between you: this is far from over.

The rest of the team exchanged amused glances, their smiles wide and knowing. It was clear that this was the moment they’d all been waiting for, the confirmation of what they’d suspected for far too long.

As the team gradually settled back into their usual routine, you felt Hotch’s hand brush lightly against yours, a subtle touch that sent a thrill through you. You turned to look at him, and he gave you a small, private smile—a look that was meant only for you.

"Think you can handle the rest of the day without causing too much trouble?" he asked, his tone teasing but his eyes warm.

"I don’t know," you said, leaning in just a little closer, your voice a soft whisper only he could hear. "Trouble seems to be the one thing I’m really good at."

Hotch’s smile widened, and he shook his head slightly, a glimmer of affection in his eyes. "Good," he said softly. "Because I have a feeling we’re just getting started."

And as the day carried on, with the team throwing you both teasing looks and sly smiles, you knew that things were never going to be the same again. The banter, the fire, the arguments—they were still there, but now they were wrapped in something new, something deeper.

And this time, you were both all in, ready to face whatever came next together.

The worst-kept secret in the BAU was out, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @khxna @rousethemouse

[ptersparkers]

reckless (aaron hotchner)

summary: After two years with the BAU, you get the feeling that Aaron Hotchner isn’t your biggest fan. That’s too bad, because you really like him.

notes: hello. this is singlehandedly the longest fic i’ve ever written (like 21.7K words). i didn’t intend for it to be this long and i tried to see where i could break it up, but i think it flows better if it’s in one piece. happy reading! x 

(edit: adding in that the reader is fem)

a huge thank you to @hotchsdoormat​ for being the best person alive and for listening to me rant about this piece. love u forever.

warnings: typical criminal minds speak, kidnapping and mentions of broken arms and ribs and typos, probably. 

***

Years of dreaming of becoming a federal agent for the Behavioral Analysis Unit led to the beginning of an illustrious career solving crimes and traveling across the country. It had only taken guest lectures by none other than the BAU themselves for the idea of catching killers and outsmarting them to do so to seep its way to the back of your mind.

You just wish you liked your job.

You like your work. You like walking into the office with a sense of purpose and you like profiling bad people and saving the good ones. You even like the shitty coffee that never seems to run out and you don’t mind the early call times and the sudden departures. 

What you don’t like, however, is your boss. But you know that’s just because he doesn’t like you. 

In your two years with the BAU, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Aaron throw a smile in your direction if it wasn’t meant for someone standing next to you. Two years of Aaron being dismissive and choosing to sit farthest from you in the conference room and on the jet. Two years of watching him foster friendships with your coworkers without sparing you a second glance. But work is work.

You’re an outsider. It’s almost what you expected. 

Emily’s the first one to tell you that you don’t need to take it personally. Her rocky start with the BAU and stories of learning that trust takes time eased your worries for a while, but Aaron never seemed to give you the time of day aside collaborating with the rest of the team. Everyone says he’s notorious for being stoic and intimidating, but you don’t see it that way. In your mind, he loathes you. 

Which is unfortunate, because you liked Aaron the most.

The guest lecture had sent you into a spiral of researching recently closed BAU cases and watching hours of press conferences led by Aaron. You appreciated the way he spoke about his work. He spoke about it like it was his due diligence and you liked that he treated each victim and their loved ones with grace and kindness. 

It kills you to know that he doesn’t trust you despite doing your best in the field. Your six month review approached and you passed with flying colors, earning a short-lived celebration from Erin Strauss before she exited Aaron’s office. But he kept quiet the entire examination, aside from putting his own input with how you acted in the field. He said you were diligent, followed orders well enough, and could listen to directions. It was the most you’d ever heard Aaron speak about you, but the swell of pride didn’t last long.

Sometimes people compare the two of you when it comes to your worth ethic. Last ones to leave, can’t be bothered when focused, and the need to excel in your career field while downplaying your contribution. Perhaps the need to do good in the world catapulted you into considering a role where you’d be actively helping others instead of a career where it would be too late. 

But every time you sit at your desk, opposite of Aaron’s office, you find yourself frowning. The blinds are always closed and you always wondered if Aaron could feel you staring at the emblem on his door when you wondered how you managed to keep your job. 

“I can hear your brain all the way from here,” Derek says, leaning against the stall of your desk. You avert your eyes from the door to his voice. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

“Nothing,” you say.

Derek gives you a look. “I know it’s not nothing, sweetness.”

“Just tired,” you lie, “I slept poorly last night.”

Your gaze focuses on the files in front of you and Derek looks between you and Aaron’s office. He does his best not to let you know it’s been affecting him too; everyone’s noticed how Aaron’s been giving you the short end of the stick and that his wavering trust hasn’t disappeared like it had for the rest of them. It doesn’t do any good for team morale. 

For a moment in the beginning of your time with the BAU, you think he’s asking you to prove yourself. You’re new, you need to get used to team dynamics, and you need to prove yourself capable before he can trust that you’d have everyone’s back. You understand that. 

What you don’t understand, however, is why he treats you like a first-day agent after your contributions. 

“Alright,” Derek says, knowing better than to pry you out of your work. “Coffee?”

“Please.”

He leaves you momentarily when Aaron steps out of his office. You try not to look up, but it’s hard to ignore him when your desk is pointed in front of his door. He’s wearing a classic black suit with a red tie, belt and shoes to match. You know what the look on his face means–there’s a case. 

“Everyone in the conference room,” Aaron pointedly says.

Derek finishes pouring two cups of coffee and brings it over to the room where he sees you sitting in front of the screen. You thank him for the cup as he sits beside you and Reid gives you a small ‘good morning’ before everyone files into the conference room and their attentions are focused on the faces on the screen. 

“Two children have gone missing in Los Angeles, California,” Penelope begins. “Gracie and Olivia McCormack, four and six respectively, were last seen in their shared bedroom last night and LAPD has contacted us to help find them.”

“Looks like the mother reported going into their bedroom to wake them up, only to find them missing,” you say, frowning. 

“Is the father in the picture?” JJ asks. 

“Jaqueline, the mother, divorced Scott McCormack before her youngest was born,” Penelope informs.

“New flame?” Emily wonders. 

“Yes ma’am. Logan James.” Penelope presses a few buttons and Jaqueline and Logan appear on the screen. “This is where it gets tricky.”

“It looks like both Scott and Logan were abusive towards Jaqueline during their marriages,” David reads from the file. 

“Jaqueline’s pretty familiar with the local hospital,” you mutter. 

“We can talk about the file and start to strategize on our way to LA,” Aaron says, packing his file in his go-bag, which is already in hand. “Wheels up in thirty.” 

***

The six hour plane ride doesn’t feel as nauseating as you had predicted. Your second cup of coffee sits on the table in front of you as your file is displayed on the surface, along with everyone else. Departure wasn’t terrible, mild turbulence followed but nothing you couldn’t handle. The armrest becomes your best friend on these flights. 

“Did Scott kidnap Gracie and Olivia because he wants his kids?” Derek says aloud. 

“Most likely,” Reid adds. “Scott’s a migrant construction worker. I can’t imagine anyone letting him raise two children without a steady home or income, though.”

“So he’s angry at the loss of his children and wants them back,” Aaron says. “Garcia, does Scott have any background of domestic abuse prior to his marriage with Jaqueline?”  

“One count of domestic battery with a former girlfriend, but his childhood tells us a whole different story.”

“What is it, babygirl?” Derek beckons. 

“Scott was born to heroin addicts and they’d leave him in hotel rooms for days while they tried to rob local convenience stores for money, presumably for their next high. Poor kid, he never stood a chance.”

“Damn,” Derek says, shaking his head. “I can’t imagine growing up like that.”

“He was put into the care of his grandparents on his mother’s side until he was six and–oh, ouch–he apparently caused too much trouble for himself that his grandparents gave him to the foster care system.”

“I can imagine that abandonment took a toll on Scott,” JJ says.

“Take the kids away from Jacqueline as punishment,” adds Rossi. “Makes sense, especially when Jacqueline was the one to file for divorce.”

“What about Jaqueline’s marriage with Logan? Haven’t we established that Logan was abusive during their marriage?” you ask. 

Aaron raises his eyebrow. “What about it?” 

“I think it’s important to consider him in all of this, Sir. If Logan was abusive to Jaqueline throughout their marriage, maybe Scott sees this kidnapping as some sort of effort to save them from harm.”

All eyes are on you now. It makes your skin crawl and you hope you don’t say the wrong thing.

“Go on.”

“If Scott really did take his kids, I don’t know if he did it to get back at her by kidnapping them. It makes more sense that Scott would want to save his children from an abuser. I mean, he knows what it’s like to live with abusive and absent parents. What if Scott wants to protect his children from suffering what he went through?” 

“Interesting,” Dave hums. “You’re theorizing that Scott considers this kidnapping as rescuing?”

You nod. “It makes sense. Maybe he has some animosity towards Jaqueline for letting Logan into their lives and retaliates by taking his children away from her because he thinks he’s saving them.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Aaron says pointedly. 

“I’m just spitballing,” you say. “I’m not trying to step on anyone’s toes.”

“Well, let’s keep it that way.”

You shut your mouth and revert your eyes back to the file that’s in your lap, desperate for any minute distraction it can give you. The rest of the team is stunned in silence and Spencer tries his best to fill in the awkward silence by reviewing all of the facts that have been listed in the report. 

At this moment, you feel small. Aaron’s dismissive attitude makes you feel somewhat inadequate at your job and you find it difficult to remind yourself of all the cases you’ve helped close when your boss has just undermined your work in front of your colleagues. 

His coldness towards you is what you don’t get. Aaron has a reputation for maintaining professionalism, which you can appreciate, but it seems like his stoic tendencies extend far beyond keeping it civil in the workplace. It feels like you’ve been isolated and boxed out from day one and despite having gotten to know the rest of the team on a deeper level, you still walk on eggshells around Aaron. It makes you wonder why he hired you at all.

From the other side of the plane, Aaron takes a seat in an empty chair and looks out the window pensively. He knows he’s being hard on you and he knows it’s unfair that he’s treating you much harsher than the others, but Aaron knows that it’s for the best. 

When you walked into his office for your initial interview, there was no doubt that you were the perfect candidate to fill in the role as a new profiler. Your past experiences had clued you into profiling and he promised Strauss that your addition to the team would benefit the BAU as a whole. 

And Aaron was right. Cases were closing at a higher rate than previously, your quick thinking and problem solving skills aided the capture of many prolific criminals, and it almost felt like you’d been with the team since the beginning. 

What Aaron didn’t account for, however, was developing feelings for you. 

All it took was a simple undercover operation to see you in a completely different light. The unsub had targeted women who looked like you and you were more than ready to step up to the plate to catch him. It took seeing you in a sleek black dress to make Aaron’s heart lurch out of his chest and make him feel like he was a teenager in love all over again, and he hated it. 

He hated feeling this way towards his coworker. For weeks, his mind bounced around the idea of what it might cost the team; your respective positions might cause an interference because of the dating policy set in place and how it would look from the outside. Aaron didn’t want to jeopardize your career by making it seem like you were providing unprofessional favors if news were to come out that you were romantically linked with him. He didn’t want your career to be damaged just because he couldn’t keep it in his pants. 

Moreover, Aaron hadn’t felt like this towards anyone since marrying Haley.

He had dated casually but never thought about the possibility of anything serious coming out of it. Aaron thought he might’ve come close to it when he had dated Beth for a while, but her career taking her across the country made him realize how unstable his life already was. Dating became a question of who gets along with Jack and the rest of his family and who is able to handle his frequent absences. His marriage to Haley showed Aaron the downside of traveling all the time and he’d be damned if he made that mistake again.

The idea of liking you in any capacity that wasn’t professional scared Aaron to death. He hates that he’s willing to find any excuse to walk by your desk or strike up a conversation with you if time permitted. He hates that his mind often wanders to a life of domesticity with you. The only logical possibility for him to combat his feelings for you is to keep you at arms length and treat you like he would any of his coworkers, which means keeping your personal lives separate and maintaining professionalism at all times.

It works a little too well and Aaron doesn’t realize it. He misplaces his anger—the frustration of knowing he can’t have you the way he wants you—and you’re at the receiving end. Aaron thinks he’s doing his best by delegating and separating you from him in the field, but he doesn’t realize that it’s causing professional tension because you constantly think you aren’t doing enough to help the team solve cases and catch criminals. 

Aaron spends the rest of the flight looking over reports the precinct sent over before the plane lands in Los Angeles. You elect to keep your nose buried in your reports for the fear of looking like you aren’t working hard enough.

***

The Los Angeles weather has cooled down when you land and Aaron has ordered everyone to head to the precinct first thing after touching down. The detectives are kind enough to reserve a room for all of you to work out of and you waste no time setting up the white board with the missing girls and timeline of the abduction. 

The stakes are high and you can feel the tension in the room. You aren’t a stranger to cases like these and you know that everyone is trying their best to keep themselves together for the sake of the department and the family of the victims. You try not to read into Aaron’s coldness to you too much. You’ve convinced yourself enough times that it’s the stress of the job and being away from his home that keeps him running on pure stress and adrenaline to prevent you from overthinking your position on his team. 

Aaron has you and Spencer stay behind in the precinct to work on the profile and piece together a timeline of the abduction, and you’re more than grateful you don’t have to spend time in the field with him. The relaxation enters your body the section you see him step out of the precinct and Spencer can’t help but pry. 

“You okay?” he asks.

You turn around from the white board and your sleeve smudges the freshly written text. The annoyance bubbles up in your chest and you hastily erase the mess you created and rewrite it before turning your attention back to Spencer.

“Stressed out, but otherwise I’m good.”

He pauses. “You’ve seemed that lately, though.”

“Can you blame me?” you ask defensively. “Our job isn’t exactly low-stress.”

“It’s just that every time Hotch enters the room, you stiffen up and you seem to lose your voice, and you play with your nails. It’s your biggest tell, actually.”

You give Spencer a pointed look. “Reid, I did not ask to be profiled.”

“Sorry,” he relents. “I just…look, I care about you and I hate seeing that you feel like you can’t share your ideas with us. Is something bothering you?”

You know Spencer knows. You’re sure the team knows why you’re apprehensive about your work and second guess yourself every time you bring forth a new theory or concept. But it’s hard to admit it out loud when all you’ve done is complain about him in your head and push your feelings aside for the sake of solving cases. 

But you know Spencer has always looked out for you after the first time you took a bullet for him a week into the job after barely getting to know each other. It’s the same way that he looks out for you in the field, protecting your cover and being the first to volunteer partnering with you when Aaron asks. He’s keen and perceptive, and you know you can’t hide your feelings from him unless you want to jeopardize another relationship with your coworker.

“I feel like Hotch doesn’t like me,” you say earnestly. “And I mean it in a way that seems almost personal.”

“He’s been pretty distant,” Spencer adds.

You shake your head. “It feels like he doesn’t trust my judgment or values what I have to say unless one of you backs me up. I can’t really tell you when I started to feel this way, but I’ve always felt like I have to walk on eggshells around him or else he’ll fire me.”

“No one’s going to fire you,” Spencer reassures. “You have an exceptional skill at finding unsubs and getting into their heads. It’s quite impressive how you’re able to put yourself in their shoes.”

“Thanks, I think,” you say with a laugh. “But you saw what happened on the plane. Hotch shot down my theory and told me not to jump to any conclusions even though I was just theorizing. I feel like he doesn’t want to listen to what I have to say because he doesn’t think there’s any value in it.” 

Spencer pauses. He sees your grip on the dry erase pen and knows how frustrated you feel. He knows you, the way you think, your work ethic, and just how badly you want to save these girls. He also knows how to distract you from your own feelings.

“Then tell me about your theory,” Spencer chides. 

“Scott might’ve taken his children as a form of punishment against Jaqueline. Sure, I think that’s a plausible theory to go off of, considering she was the one who filed for divorce. But he was never abusive towards the girls, whereas Logan was abusive to all three of them.”

He smiles when he knows it’s working.

“So you’re thinking that Scott is trying to rescue Gracie and Olivia from further abuse?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “As a parent, I can’t imagine tolerating a stranger abusing your kids. Maybe in Scott’s mind, Jaqueline was allowing Logan to abuse them without realizing he was doing the same to her.”

“The wife had full custody of the kids too,” Spencer adds, opening a case file. “He was only allowed supervised visits with a social worker present if she allowed it to happen and in the time they’ve been divorced, she hadn’t let Scott see them since she and Logan got together.”

“Okay, so Scott had enough and wanted to take matters into his own hands. If his ex-wife won’t take care of the kids and neither will her new husband, it’s up to him to take care of the girls.” 

“It looks like Scott’s had a problem with authoritative figures his entire life,” he says, frowning. Spencer turns the case file towards you. “His grandparents were physically and emotionally abusive and social workers did nothing about it. Looks like he was also a truant during his time in foster care.” 

“Get this. He’s been fired from multiple construction sites because he couldn’t follow orders,” you read. 

“Jacqueline was also the breadwinner of their relationship. I think Scott resents people who hold authority.”

“Scott wants to raise his kids,” you say, snapping your fingers. “It’s a rescue mission because he thinks he can raise them better than she can.”

Spencer grabs his phone and dials Aaron.

“What is it, Spencer?”

“Y/N and I talked more about her theory on the abduction. I think she’s right.”

Aaron doesn’t say anything. You’re almost sure he’s going to tell you to change the profile.

“We’ll meet you at the precinct in fifteen.”

***

You consider yourself lucky that Spencer backs your theory with claims and evidence. Your voice wavers multiple times when Aaron asks you to make your case, and the way he’s looking at you makes you doubt yourself. 

But everyone comes to the realization that you’re right. A few conversations with Jacqueline and an interrogation with Logan convinces Aaron that your theory had been the correct one all along. You should feel happy, but you don’t. 

You feel like you have to piggyback off of your coworkers and get them to support you before you can make your case heard. You feel like the smallest person in the room when you stand next to seasoned profilers who you’re sure Aaron values more than you. The weight of the world is on your shoulders and you carry it with you every time you formulate new ideas you want to share with the team. 

But you don’t dwell on this too long. 

Aaron has Spencer comb through security footage of local gas stations while Emily and David talk to Scott’s most recent employer. Derek and JJ are searching his last known whereabouts and searching for the girls, which leaves you and Aaron.

You’re barely able to hear his command. He wants you to talk to Jacqueline and try to coax more information out of her while he connects with Penelope about financial records and possible places he’s hiding the girls. She’s your age and he figures you might connect with her better than JJ did.

Jaqueline is understandably crying when you walk into the room. You hand her a box of tissues upon entering and she doesn’t say anything. She starts to open up after you tell her about yourself, your nieces and nephews, and you show her photos of them to prove yourself. You let her know you’re not a mother and can’t imagine the immense pain she’s going through, but you know what it’s like to care for people and how much it hurts when something bad happens to them.

Slowly, Jaqueline begins to talk. You ask her about her relationship with Scott and Logan, and all the important places that hold significance between the two marriages. She lists off a few and you make a note of it for later. Aaron calls you from the interview when Jaqueline has started to close herself in. He lets her go and gives her his business card in case she wants to talk, but tells her they’ll be in contact soon.

He doesn’t say a word about the interrogation. He just tells you to see if Derek and JJ need help canvassing more area. 

Two days later and the team is nowhere near finding Jaqueline’s children. Scott’s previous employer had less than stellar things to say about him and you’re beginning to panic at the thought of your ability to catch him and save the girls. Penelope calls with a development and thinks one of two locations is where Scott might be hiding the children. His trailer in East LA or a small house a friend of his owns. 

Aaron dispatches Dave, Emily, and JJ to the trailer while he commands you, Derek, and Spencer to follow him to the house. It’s located off of the freeway off the beaten path and you have a bad feeling about what’s about to happen.

Aaron’s driving like he knows something you don’t. You’ve taken a seat in the back with Spencer and listen as Derek points Aaron in the direction of the house. It’s getting dark outside, the sun is just barely above the horizon, and you know everyone has to be quick in order to save the girls if they’re in the house. 

LAPD officers drive behind the SUV. Aaron pulls over and you can hear the gravel underneath the tire. You swing the door open with all your might and draw your gun out as the rest of the team does, following Aaron’s orders to follow behind him as they explore the house. 

It’s quiet. Too quiet. 

The floorboards creak underneath you and Aaron tells you he’s going to clear the back of the house while you take the front. Everyone calls a distinctive ‘clear’ and you’re about to breathe out of frustration and ask Aaron if they’ve found the girls at Scott’s trailer when you hear the faint sound of someone crying from behind you. 

You’re careful not to step too loudly despite the hardwood floors. Derek finds you and calls out your name but you put your finger to your lips and he silences himself. The sound of feet shuffling sounds incredibly quiet, but you swear you can hear footsteps somewhere behind you. 

Spencer and Aaron join the two of you after hearing silence despite calling your names. Derek tells both men to silence themselves as you walk about the room, unsure of what you’re looking for. For the most part, nothing looks out of place. That is, until your hand falls on a set of books that feels much too hollow to contain any pages. 

“What is it?” Derek asks from behind you.

“I don’t know…I think this is a false backing.” 

And you’re right. You pull the books to reveal a small hidden entryway that’s dark, and it looks like it doesn’t lead to anything. Aaron’s halfway through telling you to let another police officer look through the crawl space because you have to take off your vest and gun to fit, but you’re not hearing it. 

“Hotch, I’m the only one who’s small enough to fit through here,” you say. “I’m shorter than the rest of you and all of you are men. I don’t think Gracie or Olivia want to see someone who looks like their dad.”

“She’s right,” Spencer mumbles. You don’t wait for Aaron’s approval, venturing into the crawlspace. 

Gracie and Olivia are understandably scared until you tell them their mother’s waiting for them at the police station. You help them out of the small room they’ve been kept in and notice how relatively furnished it is–a mattress, blankets, pillows, and coloring material–and make note of how your profile was right. 

You don’t spare a glance at Aaron, too invested in making sure the children are safe with EMTs while they’re being checked for harm. Olivia asks you to stay with them and holds your hand, and you don’t bring yourself to leave them. When the EMTs let you know they aren’t injured and can visit the police station without going to the hospital, Aaron reluctantly lets you accompany both of them back to the precinct. 

It’s well after dark by the time both children leave with Jaqueline. JJ and Emily have worked out a deal with local police to keep them under surveillance and protection until Scott has been captured and are instructed not to let Logan near the three of them for the time being. 

You aren’t able to say goodbye to the three of them, instead recounting your story to the local detective who needs your statement for the paperwork while it’s fresh in your memory. You’re on a high after seeing the two girls reunite with their mother and the entire team congratulates you on a job well done when Aaron storms into the office, angry.

“Y/N, go back to the hotel.” 

Aaron stands tall, his hands on his hips and his mouth etched in an angry frown. His voice is low and you can’t believe the words you’re hearing. 

“To the hotel? Hotch, you can’t be serious.”

“You made a reckless decision to abandon your gun and vest. That could have gotten you killed,” Aaron says. “You are not capable of working under pressure.”

“You told the entire team to use our instincts and that’s exactly what I did. I saved two little girls, for God’s sake.”

“You are hot headed and have this overwhelming urge to prove yourself when nobody cares how well you perform,” Aaron says angrily. “The entire time you’ve been with the BAU, you’ve barely contributed aside from piggybacking off of someone else to reach a conclusion.”

That, you know, is a lie. Aaron just wants to hurt you.

“At this very moment, you are incompetent and can’t hold yourself together for the sake of the victims and their families.”

“We have to catch Scott.”

“You can’t do your job, go back to the hotel.” 

“That’s not fair.”

“I don’t have to be.”

“Hotch.”

“I want you gone, Y/N,” Aaron says firmly. “Go back to the hotel or hand in your badge.” 

Unbelievable. 

You don’t spare Aaron another glance. Your feet carry you out to the lobby and your breath is so uneven that you need to step aside into an empty interrogation room to calm yourself down. Your jaw clenches and you ball your fists to gather some sort of relief, but you don’t find it. Instead, your nails dig into your palm until it turns white and you let go, exiting the room without another word.

The keys to the SUV are still in your pocket. You don’t necessarily care that the team will have to squeeze into the remaining vehicles and you don’t care enough to let one of them know you’ve made it outside. 

Your hands shake when you reach into your pocket. The warmth of the metal is familiar and your hand pulls it out when a stray tear falls from your face and splashes onto your cheek. Hastily, you enter the car and slam the door shut and lock it when you feel yourself overcome with sadness and anxiety. 

The tears fall freely at this point and you bow your head to the steering wheel, your breaths hot and mouth wet from crying. The back of your sleeves are soaked as you try to wipe away your tears to no avail and your vision becomes too blurry to drive. 

You allow yourself a few minutes to cry. The sound of your gasps echo throughout the care and your shoulders feel heavy with every sob. The weight of the world is truly on your shoulders now and you aren’t sure if you have a job when you go back to Quantico. 

But you pull yourself together and drive back to the hotel. It feels much longer than it needs to be and you sit in the driver’s seat for a moment when you park the car. You hate that you feel incapable of being a member of the team without Aaron breathing down your neck. You hate that you can’t live up to his expectations and that you try to in the first place. Working at the BAU wasn’t supposed to be a nightmare. 

You exit the car and lock it behind you, another stray tear escaping. You feverishly rid yourself of the tear and walk to the entrance of the hotel when you feel someone grabbing you from behind and an acute sense of pain at the base of your neck. 

It’s black after that. 

Back in the station, the local police have distracted themselves with their case files and other happenings while the rest of the team looks at Aaron in shock. Spencer's looking at the empty space where you stood and Emily is looking at Aaron like he’s grown a second head. 

“Are you serious?” she begins. “Hotch, we need everyone on this. We need Y/N.”

“She’s too hot headed,” Aaron replies. 

“Oh yeah?” Derek chimes in. “And how about you?”

“This isn’t about me.”

“You know damn well that Y/N adds as much value to this team as the rest of her. Two years with the BAU and stellar reviews from the board has proven that. Why are you still treating her like a first-day agent?”

“Y/N needs to learn to let go of her ego,” Aaron retaliates. “I don’t need to explain myself to any of you.”

“You’re wrong about her not contributing anything,” Spencer says. It surprises Aaron to hear Reid defy him on your behalf. “For the cases that we’ve worked on with her, she’s been the one to take lead on the preliminary profiles for most of them. Some of our biggest leads have come from her.” 

Aaron breathes and doesn’t say a thing. He looks at his team and knows they don’t approve of his choice to send you back to the hotel, but he stands by it. David looks at him like he’s almost disappointed in him and JJ holds his stare. 

He knows why he’s being extra hard on you. He knows he’s pushing you to your limit by keeping you at arm’s length. Aaron doesn’t want to admit that he sees you as anything other than his subordinate and coworker, but he does. He doesn’t want to be the reason why you don’t advance within the bureau and why there might be a future workplace ban on relationships. Even if he disagrees with how you handled things tonight.

Aaron doesn’t communicate any of this with the team while he stares them down. Instead, he fixes his posture and clears his throat. 

“Get back to work.”

***

When you come to, you’re acutely aware of the handcuffs around your wrist. 

The air is cold and you realize you’re bound to a pole in a barn, and you’re not sure where you are. Everything is suddenly hazy and your vision blurs until you blink rapidly with the hope that you’ll regain full consciousness.

The first thing you can feel is a headache. Your head’s pounding viciously and you wince at the pain, inadvertently tugging in your wrist and against the handcuffs. The metal is cold and it sends a chill up your spine when you realize you’re alone. You try your best to recite what you can sense over and over again in your mind.

The air is cold. You’re sitting on a hard floor with straw and other debris around you. The air smells like manure and hay. You can hear crickets and wind blowing just outside of the barn, and you can see hardware tools towards the back of the building.

The influx of emotions that creep into your chest is enough to make any person an anxiety-ridden mess. Your heart feels like it’s going to lurch out of your chest with every second that passes by because your reality becomes more real; this isn’t a nightmare you’re desperately hoping to wake up from. 

“Look who’s awake.”

It’s Scott. 

He flickers the lights on and that’s when you realize he’s holding a gun. 

“You took quite a while to wake up, actually. I’ve been waiting here for two hours wondering when you’d return to the land of the living.”

Scott dons a smirk that you wish you could wipe off with both of your fists. His right hand grips the gun haphazardly and he waves it around as he gestures while speaking, and the fear of dying has finally crept into the forefront of your mind.

“Where are we?” you ask. 

“South of Los Angeles,” Scott replies. “Far enough that your little team won’t find this patch of land.”

“Why’s that?”

His smirk widens when you stay quiet.

“You know, Agent, I find you interesting.”

“There’s nothing remotely interesting about me,” you say. You try your best to remember the profile and give him what he wants. He hates authority and between the two of you, you legally have all of it. So, you downplay yourself, 

“I beg to differ,” he laughs. Scott takes a step towards you and you recoil. “I’ve been watching this investigation unfold because I need to keep tabs on what’s happening so that I don’t get caught. It’s worked so far, but you were just lucky to have found my little girls.” 

“We found them because you made a mistake,” you chide. “You slipped up.”

Scott’s smirk turns into anger, and he takes another step towards you. 

“I made a mistake because I wasn’t thinking far ahead, Agent.” 

He takes another step and he’s by your thigh. Scott bends down to your level and you’re aware of how close his gun is to your abdomen, and you pray that you don’t say the wrong thing.

“I wasn’t thinking far ahead because I couldn’t see the bigger picture. But it came to me a few nights ago when I realized that you and I are people that don’t naturally get to be in the spotlight.” 

Scott caresses your cheek and you shudder underneath his fingertips. He retracts and stands up, pacing back and forth in front of you. 

“See, you and I are people who don’t get enough credit for our work. All it took was one moment watching your horrendous boss dismiss you for your work. I knew you’d be the key in getting my girls back to me.”

“What are you talking about?”

Scott leans forward. “You’re smart enough to figure it out.”

Unfortunately, it comes to you quickly.

The team had gathered around the house that Jaqueline and Scott had lived in when they were married. Penelope had clued the team in on this location. A new couple lived in that house with no connection to Jaqueline and Scott but you thought it was worth checking out.

Aaron disagreed. That house hadn’t been occupied by either of them for years since they got a divorce but your gut had been telling you to visit the property to look around for extra clues that might’ve turned up. Your insistence angered him, who accused you of disobeying orders, and it was David who had to intervene and remind Aaron never to leave any stone unturned.

Reluctantly, Aaron ordered the team to the house and you successfully convinced the new owners to let you look through their property with the promise that nothing would be disturbed. Two hours into searching and Aaron was ready to write your mishappenings in the file report when he returned to Quantico, but your sudden interest in the backyard piqued everyone’s interest.

You had discovered a well-hidden doorway to an underground room. The new family would’ve never seen it, as it was tucked away with roots and other invasive plants that covered the wooden doorway. When you and Morgan entered the space, it was clear that Scott had been there recently.

Unbeknownst to you, Scott has been hiding out a few houses down watching everything unfold, including the way Aaron distrusted your judgment. He’d been using that bunker as a living space, careful to work around the new family so as to not get caught. It was far enough that they couldn’t see him from where the windows were placed unless they were out in the backyard the same as he was.

“Remember now?” he asks.

You nod, complying. “You watched my boss reprimand me for wasting everyone’s time.”

He nods. “You and I are overworked and underappreciated. We don’t get credit or recognition even though we deserve it.”

“You knew we’d find Gracie and Olivia.”

Scott’s jaw locks but he agrees.

“I knew there was no way I’d be able to get to my girls in time to move them someplace else. So, I let you find them because I knew that I’d have no other chance to get them back if you arrested me.

“Then I followed you all the way back to the precinct so I could keep tabs on you and see where you were staying. It was just my luck that I happened to hear your boss yelling at you because of an open window. I knew my chance was when he ordered you to go back to the hotel.”

“How do I fit into all of this?” you ask.

“You, Agent, are going to help me get my kids back from Jaqueline and cover for me.”

“No chance in hell.” 

Scott doesn’t like that answer. He lunges towards you and tugs on your hair, enough to make your scalp feel like it’s being set on fire. 

“You don’t have a choice. I want my kids back and you aren’t in the position to make any demands.” 

He doesn’t say much after that. Scott looks into your eyes with a murderous expression before letting you go. Your head hits the pole behind you because he pushed you away with enough force that it makes you dizzy again.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Scott says from the barn’s entrance. “I need some sleep and so do you.”

He doesn’t uncuff you and you’re left wondering how you can sleep when you’re being held captive.

***

When the team leaves the precinct, everyone is too drained to continue talking about the case on the ride back. They’d only been there two hours after you left but Aaron gets the feeling that the rest of them aren’t happy with him dismissing you. 

The ride is silent and everyone retreats to their rooms respectively. He tries to forget the aching feeling in his chest and goes to sleep. 

He wakes up to a cold sweat. 

Aaron’s still not happy what perspired last night. He nearly made the choice to knock on your door and apologize for being harsh in front of the team and the local police, but he doesn’t. It’s better to put distance. It’s how he rationalizes how he’s treating you because he’ll fall apart if he imagines the consequences of being in a relationship with you. 

You’re the first thing he thinks about when he wakes up. He’s surprised he didn’t hear you knocking on his door to give him a piece of your mind, but he was too tired to consider that you didn’t. 

His clock reads six A.M. and he’s sure the rest of the team is waking up and heading to the police station like he is. Aaron feels more tired with each day passing and it feels like his body is on autopilot mode with how fast he’s able to change and get to the precinct. 

The team trickles in one by one and everyone makes their coffee before picking up where they left off last night. Penelope had sent the team a list of possible places that Scott might be and Aaron wants to cover as much ground as possible.

When he’s more awake, he mentally groups the team and the other police officers to search each property. 

He stops when he realizes you’re not in the precinct. 

At first, Aaron feels annoyed because he thinks you’re late. It isn’t completely out of character for you, as he’s watched you stumble into the office a few minutes before debriefing. Still, he prays that you’ll show up so everyone can move on with their day. 

But you don’t come in. Every person that walks through the door isn’t you and Aaron’s annoyance becomes a question of curiosity with fear at the end of it. 

“Where’s L/N?” Morgan asks from beside him. 

“Probably slept in,” JJ snorts. “She sleeps like a brick.” 

Everyone laughs at her comment in good fun because they know it’s true. You’re a heavy sleeper. But Aaron isn’t convinced. Something doesn’t feel right to him but he can’t quite place what it is. 

He gives it another ten minutes. Aaron’s bouncing from leg to leg, anticipating your arrival. He’s waiting for you to hastily apologize about not hearing your alarm and he’s waiting for you to jump right where you left off because of your tardiness.

But you never walk through the door.

“Something’s wrong,” Aaron mutters. Spencer nods at his disheveled expression from where he sits and Emily looks down at her phone.

“I know she’s a heavy sleeper but there’s no way she’d be twenty minutes late with the stakes this high,” Emily points out. 

JJ walks out of the room the BAU is occupying and inquires with everyone outside if they’ve seen you come in, but all of them say they haven’t seen you since last night. JJ walks back into the room with shaking hands and she’s almost reluctant to tell Aaron that nobody has seen you yet.

Emily tries to call your cell phone one more time with no luck. Aaron sends Derek to check on you at the hotel and doesn't bother to respect the speed limit on the ten minute drive to the hotel from the station. The receptionist is more than willing to give him a key to your room when you don’t answer your phone. 

When he walks in, he notices that you aren’t sleeping in the bed. Your room is clean. The bed is made and there’s no indication that you slept in it last night. Your go-bag is perched on the table and a few clothes are haphazardly thrown on the chair beside it. Nothing seems out of place. 

It’s when he walks back outside to return to the station that he hears a phone ringing from the bushes. Derek walks towards the sound and his breath catches in his throat when he realizes the phone is yours. He curses and picks up the phone to see Emily’s contact.

“L/N?”

“It’s me,” Derek says through your phone. “L/N’s not here and her phone was tossed in the bushes.” Metal catches Derek’s eye. “Wait a minute.” 

He walks forward with caution and his heart drops when he realizes it’s a discarded needle and your gun right next to it. 

“What is it?” Emily asks from the other line. She hears Derek sigh and she knows it can’t be good. 

“It’s a needle and her gun, Prentiss. L/N not showing up to the precinct and her belongings being discarded can’t be a coincidence.” 

From the police station, Emily panics. She hangs up when Derek lets her know he’s coming back and her panic rises when she sees her teammates looking at her quizzically. The lump in her throat grows when she realizes everyone is looking at her for an answer. 

“Did you find her?” JJ asks. Emily doesn’t speak for a second. 

“Morgan found her cell phone in the bushes by the front of the hotel,” Emily explains. “He also found a discarded needle...and her gun.” 

Aaron’s attention shifts from the file he’s holding to Emily, who’s fidgeting with her hands. 

“Her gun?” Dave asks for clarification. “Found outside of the hotel room?” 

Emily nods. “Morgan picked up L/N’s phone and said he found it tossed aside.”

“And none of us saw her when she left the precinct?”

Nobody says anything. 

“I think she’s been kidnapped,” Reid says abruptly. “None of us saw her when we got back to the hotel nor when we arrived at the precinct. Scott must know Y/N was the one who rescued his daughters and he’s either kidnapped her out of revenge or because he wants them back.”

Aaron doesn’t like that answer. 

His hands feel warm and his heart is racing too quickly for his liking. Aaron can feel his exterior start to wither away with the realization that you’ve been kidnapped and he doesn’t second guess himself when he calls Penelope and asks her to track Scott’s cell phone and to triangulate his last known location.

This is now a rescue mission and he hates that you’re the victim. 

The team doesn’t spare a second in finding a third location he could’ve taken you too. Penelope foregoes any of her other responsibilities to find you and Aaron can hear the frantic pace of her keyboard typing as she speaks. Derek and Spencer are visiting locations that hold significance to Scott in the event that he’s returned, but Aaron's doubtful that he’d make that mistake. 

It’s when JJ explains what’s happening to the lead detective does Aaron feel like his world is crumbling around him. He’s put himself at arm’s length so much as to push you away from him and right into the arms of the unsub, and he feels like he might pass out in the middle of the precinct. 

Emily and Dave pick up how quiet Aaron’s been ever since Penelope hung up. He’s too busy staring at the white board and it doesn’t help that your handwriting is all over it. Aaron’s throat is dry and he’s a second away from starting to blame himself for your disappearance, but he knows that he doesn’t have enough time to feel sorry for himself if he wants to find you.

When Derek comes back and tells the team there’s been no luck in finding you, Aaron’s heart sinks. He’s running out of options and he knows his head isn’t where it should be, but he can’t help it. Aaron does his best to keep himself composed when Spencer tries to piece together your timeline and he hates that they’re treating you like a abduction victim because you should be in this room with them. Instead, you’re God knows where and Aaron doesn’t bring himself to imagine that you might be dead already. 

It’s Spencer who makes the connection between you and his children. He theorizes that Scott must’ve been present when you had rescued the children and kidnapped you for one of two reasons: to exact revenge or to force you to help him get his children back. JJ suspects that it’s the latter because of your profile. Scott wants to get his children back and he’d do anything to do it. 

Dave wonders why Scott would risk kidnapping a federal agent and how he knew you’d be at the precinct or the hotel, and Spencer doesn’t hold his tongue when he said the only common link between the two of you is the way you’d both been treated by your superiors. 

The room goes quiet and Spencer thinks he’s overstepped, but he doesn’t regret his choice of words. 

Everyone looks at Aaron, who’s been silent the entire time. He thinks about how angry you were last night and how he convinced himself he didn’t see you shed a tear as you passed him. The guilt of sending you home and not checking in on you when he got back to the hotel is eating him alive because you’ve been missing for twelve hours and nobody knew about it. 

“Reid’s right,” Aaron says. He feels his voice start to break. “We know why he’s taken L/N but now we need to understand how he’s going to use her in order to get his children back.” 

Aaron’s phone rings and he’s grateful for the distraction. Penelope informs them of a house that was paid in all cash and purchased under a false identity a few months ago, and confirms that it was Scott who paid for the property after speaking with the realtor and showing her a photo. Aaron wastes no time ordering the team to head to the house and he feels like he’s running out of time when Penelope says the property is seventy miles from the precinct. 

The ride to the property is agonizing. Aaron’s grip on the steering wheel is lethal and he’s swerving between every car with the hopes that he’ll reach you in time. Emily’s sitting in the passenger seat and she knows there’s nothing either of them can do except hope that you’re alive and well.

“We’ll find her,” she says after a long period of silence. “You know L/N. She’s strong and won’t go down without a fight.”

Aaron hesitates to speak. He gulps and he feels like his mouth is far too dry to hold a decent conversation because while he knows that Emily’s right, he can’t help but feel utterly hopeless on the freeway while you’re being held hostage by Scott. 

“I shouldn’t have told her to go to the hotel,” Aaron says. “I should’ve left it at reprimanding her for going in alone. We could’ve avoided all of this.”

“You of all people know you couldn’t have predicted that Scott would’ve done,” Emily said. “It wasn’t in the profile. Neither of us could’ve predicted that he’d kidnap L/N.”

“I know.” Aaron signals and passes three cars who are driving far too slow for his liking. 

He’s silent again, which doesn’t surprise Emily. Aaron sits in the driver’s seat, a million thoughts racing to the front of his head but he can’t seem to choose the right words to speak. He knows how unfair he’s been to you and all the anger and frustration about not being able to be with you has transpired into this mess he’s found himself in. He should’ve never let his feelings get to this point nor let his frustration shift from the forbidden relationship onto you. 

“I’ve been unfair to her,” Aaron croaks. He hears the crack in his voice as it starts to falter, but he keeps talking because he thinks he might go insane if they sit in any more silence. “I’ve pushed her aside and made her second guess herself as an agent of this team all because I couldn’t keep my feelings in check.” 

“What do you mean?” Emily asks. Aaron sighs and he grips his steering wheel, embarrassed that he’s been an unfair leader and that he’s admitting it to one of his colleagues. 

“L/N is an exceptional agent and it’s no wonder why I fell for her.” 

Emily’s quiet and Aaron’s sure he’s made a mistake by confessing that to her. He wishes he could take it back and lie instead of being honest with his friend, but he can’t take back the words he’s said. And he stands by it. 

“I’ve been so busy trying to pretend like I don’t have feelings for her but every day I’m scared that something like this could happen to her. I hate it when she’s reckless and disobeys orders because I’m afraid that it’ll get her killed.

“I know what it looks like on the outside to see me and my subordinate in a romantic relationship. She’s young, career-driven, and I’d hate to stand in the way of whatever’s next for her. I don’t know how to act around her and I thought that pushing all of this down would help me lose feelings for her, but I haven’t.”

“You sound like a teenager,” Emily says. It shocks him and when he looks at her quizzically, Emily chuckles. “What, you think I couldn't see how hopeless you were when it came to L/N? Hotch, you’re like a kid in a candy store when she’s around. The rest of us were ready to start placing bets on you two until you started giving her the short end of the stick.”

He feels awful. Aaron’s guilt causes him to flex and rev the engine. 

“I never meant to hurt her,” he confesses. “But that doesn’t matter now.”

“What matters is that we’re on our way to rescue her and there’s nowhere else she could be,” Emily reassures. “Scott wants his kids back and he knows they’re in LA county. There’s no way he would risk taking her somewhere else when he doesn’t have Gracie and Olivia.” 

“Right,” Aaron says, clearing his throat. Neither he nor Emily need to chide him for how he’s been treating you. He knows he’s wrong and Emily knows it too. 

“L/N is the strongest out of all of us. She’ll make it through this.”

Aaron has a sneaking suspicion that Emily’s trying to convince herself, but he doesn’t say anything. 

When the team reaches the property, it’s notably quiet. The next neighbor is two miles down the road and Derek’s ready to search the house when Aaron steps out of his vehicle. 

“More backup’s two minutes out,” Aaron explains, “but we’ve got enough people to start the search. Reid and JJ, check the backyard. Prentiss and Rossi, check the house. Morgan, you’re with me. We’re checking the garage.” 

Aaron orders the police officers to check elsewhere before he and Morgan make their way to the garage. With his gun and flashlight in his hands, he approaches the enclosed space with caution and his heart spikes with anxiety. Before he can think about the worst that could happen, two police officers manage to open the garage door as he and Derek search the place. 

It’s empty. 

Aaron curses under his breath as they check the confined space but find nothing out of the ordinary. The rest of the team relates the same information and Aaron feels like he’s losing hope because he doesn't know where else you could possibly be. 

“Guys, there’s a barn across the landing,” comes JJ’s voice from the communications line. “There’s a truck parked outside and I’m willing to bet it’s Scott’s.”

Aaron’s heart stops beating for a moment. 

“We need to search that barn,” Aaron commands. “Everyone pull your resources and let’s head out.” 

It feels like slow motion to him, the way he diverts his attention to the barn that JJ pointed out. He feels like he’s watching the scene unfold in front of him from another person’s perspective and desperately prays that you’re in there, safe and alive. The grip on his gun is falling from how his hands are trembling but he reminds himself that he has a job to do. 

Dave touches the hood of the car and says it’s warm, which means Scott is most likely inside of the barn. The lead detective is ordering his team to secure the back entrance and surround the building so that Scott has no place to run and Aaron instructs his team to do the same at the front. Under hushed voices, he can almost make out the faint scout of scuffling coming from behind the large wooden doors and feels his throat close. 

Then he hears a gunshot. 

Everyone rushes inside and he’s overcome with dread when he walks inside. Aaron’s heart is racing; he can feel the grip of his gun slipping because of how unsteady his hands are and he’s nearly tripping from all the hay that he’s stepping on. He fears the worst when he enters and does his best to prepare himself to see your lifeless body.

But you’re laying on your stomach with a gun in your hands. 

You don’t process the ringing in your ears until Aaron moves beside you to reach for the gun in your hands. He’s tossed it aside and maneuvers you to check for any injuries. Aaron glances at your face and notices a deep bruise forming on your left temple with scratches and smaller bruises adorning your face, and he hates it. 

He hates that your body and face is covered in Scott’s blood. He hates that your hands are still shaking with fear. He hates that there’s nothing he can say or do that will make everything better for you. 

The shirt you’re wearing is covered in Scott’s blood spatter and you’re barely able to process that you’ve most likely broken a few ribs. You don’t say anything. The overwhelming urge to cry resurfaces and this time, you don’t stop yourself. 

Aaron catches you before you hit your head onto the ground and moves his body to sit behind you. You’re stationed between his legs, your back pressed against his chest as you slump over and grab his arm for support as your tears wet his dress shirt. Aaron foregoes all standard procedure and lets you cry in his arms instead of calling for the EMT to whisk you away from the hospital. 

You don’t care that your cries are almost louder than the ambulance sirens. Your adrenaline makes the blood pump loudly in your ears and you grip onto Aaron like you’re afraid Scott will come back to life and kill you if you let go. 

His free arm is secured around you. Aaron’s eyes become glossy as each second passes by and his heart breaks in two when he hears your continual cries.

“You did so good,” Aaron whispers. “So good. You’re safe now.” 

Aaron doesn’t let the EMT get close to you when you’re trembling in his arms. He tells them to wait a moment and they try to argue with him, but they relent when they see Aaron’s stern expression. His voice cracks when he tries to speak upon hearing your soft whimpers. Your eyes are screwed shut and Aaron strokes your hair as you bury yourself further deeper into him.

Dave and Spencer canvas the scene and look around for anything out of the ordinary to report. Derek's speaking with the EMTs while JJ and Emily are patiently waiting with blankets and bottles of water for you. But you don’t get up. Your legs feel numb from sitting down and Aaron’s grip on you is so tight that you feel like you’ll fall back down if you try to stand up.

Your sobs have turned quiet and you almost feel like you’re at peace. But then you remember your bruises and the blood still on your body. You remember Scott’s body and find yourself crying even harder.

“Let’s get you to a hospital,” Aaron says in your ear. “We can get you cleaned up and on your way home. Does that sound good?”

His voice is like honey. Sweet.

You nod and you try your best to sit up to no avail. Aaron tries to help you up and the EMTs catch you before you can fall back onto the ground. He reluctantly lets the EMTs take you to the ambulance where JJ and Emily are waiting. He watches as they drape a blanket over you and as you’re wheeled up into the vehicle. Emily offers to follow you to the hospital and JJ steps away, letting the ambulance drive off.

Aaron doesn’t process anything. He doesn’t hear the sirens, the police chatter, or Dave approach him with a concerned look.

“She’s gonna be okay, Aaron.”

Dave’s voice is nothing but a hollow shell to Aaron. It feels like an empty promise even though he knows you’re going to make it out alive. Still, Aaron doesn’t say a word.

“Let’s go meet her at the hospital.”

***

The doctor explains that you’ve suffered a concussion, a couple of bruised ribs, a broken arm, and a grazed bullet wound. You’ll be relatively fine, but Aaron’s heart is racing and can't get past seeing you covered in blood to pay attention to anything the doctor is saying. He hasn’t had time to beat himself up for sending you back to the hotel without accompaniment and he hates that the guilt is crashing in on him when you need him the most.

Aaron looks down at his sleeves and they’re covered in blood, dirt, and your mascara. He stares down in shock and his mind flashes to the barn, and he realizes it’s the first time he’s ever seen you cry before. It breaks him.

The doctor explains that they needed to sedate you because of your sudden adrenaline rush. Your shock had caused you to lash out when a nurse had grabbed your wrist, and through your clouded judgment, you’d swung at him with all of your might. Your fretful apologies made you uncontrollably sob afterwards and the nurse could only look at you with sympathy. 

Two hours later, the team was still waiting in the waiting room. Under the guise of wanting to get you something to eat other than stale hospital food, Aaron leaves to buy you a meal. But he needs to get ou and get fresh air before he suffocates. 

Aaron’s guilt eats him alive. He walks aimlessly towards a deli and scolds himself over and over again for making you drive to the hotel unsupervised. In hindsight, Aaron knows his personal feelings came into play when he berated you for your recklessness. He knows he was unfair to you because he would’ve done the same thing if he were in your position.

When he returns, Dave’s looking at him like he knows what he’s thinking, but doesn’t say anything. Aaron appreciates his friend’s concern but the guilt doesn’t relent. He fidgets in his seat and tries to calm his spiking anxiety but nothing seems to work. His mind retracts to the moment he found you covered in Scott’s blood and your cries are enough to make Aaron feel like he might shed a tear in front of his teammates.

His thoughts are disrupted when he sees your doctor approach the group. 

“She’s a little out of it,” says the doctor, “but she’s conscious. You’re all welcome to say hello, but only for a few minutes.” 

When the doctor directs the team to your room, she explains what happened after you reached the hospital. Aaron can’t process anything she’s saying. His ears are ringing and he feels like everyone around him is talking too loudly for him to be able to hear anything the doctor is saying. All he can pick up is “dehydrated” and “concussed.” 

Everyone hastily walks to the room you’re in. JJ files into the room first. It takes Aaron a few breaths to find the courage to step inside of the room and he’s sure Emily’s the one who helped him take the first step.

“What’s the prognosis?” your croaked voice asks. JJ sniffles and laughs at the same time, and the rest of the group watch you try to prop yourself up.

“How you’re able to joke at a time like this is beyond me,” JJ gushes. She takes a pillow from the bed and helps you sit up.

“What, a few broken ribs and a concussion? I’m lucky the bullet only grazed me.”

Nobody laughs but you can tell they’re trying their best.

Aaron towers over everybody easily and he’s in between trying to catch your gaze and trying to avoid it. Emily hands you the sandwich from the local deli and you waste no time, opening the wrapper and letting the aioli slide down the side of your mouth.

It’s easily the most adorable and most heartbreaking thing Aaron has ever seen.

“Slow down, Tiger,” says Derek. He grabs a nearby napkin and wipes the sauce away while you smile sheepishly.

“Sorry,” you mutter, taking slower bites. Spencer’s next to hug you and you welcome the way he refuses to let you go.

Everyone looks at you under the harsh lights of the hospital room and you feel like you’re being observed. The sedative you’d been given is enough to make you feel somewhat normal because no matter how hard you try to panic over the last few hours, you can’t. 

You feel like you’re numb to your experiences and the pain Scott inflicted. Staring at your team feels eerily normal and you almost forget that you’re sitting in a hospital gown with enough injuries to put you out of the field for a few months. 

“You broke my heart, kiddo,” Dave chimes in. He grabs your free hand and gives it a gentle squeeze, accompanied by a kiss to the back of your hand. JJ pulls you into a mother-like embrace, kissing the crown of your head. You lean into her touch and Aaron wishes he were the one comforting you.

“I feel like shit,” you confess. “I woke up feeling groggy and I feel like I’m about to pass out.”

“We’re so glad you’re okay, Y/N,” Emily says. 

“Thanks, Em,” you say. You take another bite. “This sandwich is good.”

“Aaron bought it,” Emily speaks.

You look at him. It’s the first time you’ve acknowledged his presence since he walked into the room.

“Thanks,” you mumble behind the sandwich. “I could eat five of these.” 

“I don’t want to deal with you puking on us,” Spencer jokes, and it makes you feel somewhat normal.

You don’t like feeling as though you’re a delicate piece of glass that’s close to being dropped. You hate feeling useless and pitied. Everyone’s looking at you with sad eyes and it makes you feel like you’ve let your colleagues down, even though you know there’s nothing you could’ve done to prevent what transpired.

“I’m really sleepy,” you say, haphazardly throwing the wrapper on the table next to you. It isn’t a lie, but you say it with the hopes of being alone.

“We’ll be back in the morning,” JJ says. She looks at the clock in front of her and doesn’t realize that it’s four in the morning. You squeeze her hand when her eyes well up. JJ wipes her eyes and blinks her tears back and you lean against her side.

Aaron can’t help but stare. You look so vulnerable at this moment and you’re doing your best to keep yourself awake, but the sedatives are making you drowsy. The team says their goodbyes and reluctantly trek back to the hotel, but Aaron can’t bring himself to walk into the building once he’s parked.

“Get changed,” Dave says after a brief moment of silence. Aaron looks at him in confusion. “Take a shower, eat something from the vending machine, and go back to the hospital.”

“She doesn't want me there,” he says slowly. 

“She’s asleep,” Dave dismisses. “She’s not going to know you’re there and I’m sure she’ll want to see a familiar face when she wakes up.”

“I’m not sure I’m the person she wants to see.”

“You were the first person she reached for when we entered the barn,” Dave explains, “and I know you won’t be sleeping a wink tonight unless you’re by L/N’s side. Go get changed and get back to the hospital, Aaron.”

“I just–”

“I know you feel guilty. Whatever feelings you have towards her never went away and that’s why you’ve been so hard on her.” Aaron’s not surprised that he’s picked up on this habit. “I don’t have to agree with how you handled it, but what matters is that she’s alive and she’s resting. We got her back, Aaron. She’s here and Scott isn’t.” 

Aaron knows Dave is right. He thanks him for being a good friend and trudges back into his hotel room, hastily freshening himself up before returning back to the hospital.

***

You wake up later in the morning with little to no recollection of how you got there. You feel extremely out of it, like someone removed a ton of bricks from your chest after keeping it there for a fortnight. You look to your left and see a window that shows you a gloomy D.C. morning. You look to your right and see Aaron Hotchner slumped over in a seat, asleep. 

This wakes you up. You’re blinking the sleep out of your eyes when you realize he’s snoring. It’s soft and unassuming, but you don’t remember the last time you’ve ever seen him sleep. 

The chairs must be uncomfortable, too. You do your best to sit up—which is when you notice the sling on your arm—and manage to prop yourself up on the pillows until you’re sitting upright. Aaron stirs in his sleep at the sound but he’s still asleep.

You’re not close enough to reach him and wake him up. You aren’t sure that you want to either, for the fear that he might start telling you a laundry list of all the things you did wrong throughout the case. 

The doctor from last night walks in and knocks on your door, which shifts your focus. Aaron’s still asleep and the doctor, who reintroduces herself as Dr. Aguta, gently walks around Aaron and to your bedside.

“How are you feeling?” she asks you while holding a clipboard. You notice her colorful print skirt first and it’s a contrast to how grey it is outside. 

“My head hurts,” you say with a croak. It’s the first thing you’ve said since you woke up. “And I realized my arm’s broken. But other than that, I feel fine.” 

Dr. Aguta gives you a pleasant smile. “I’m glad to hear that you’re doing okay. The sedatives we gave you last night seemed to help ease your pain, though I’ll be giving you a prescription for the rest of the month when it wears off.”

She hesitated before speaking again.

“Do you remember why you’re here?”

Unfortunately, you do. You remember Scott, the gun, and Aaron coaxing you to go with the EMTs. It’s mostly a blur and you can’t remember the details but you remember enough. The softened expression is a dead giveaway and Dr. Aguta doesn’t press any further.

She sees your gaze shift to Aaron, who still hasn’t woken up.

“He came last night and insisted on staying with you,” Dr. Aguta informs. “Typically I’d only let immediate family stay overnight, but your boss seemed extremely worried about you.” 

“He did?” you ask. It’s news to you.

She nods. “When I saw him for the first time last night, I could tell he’s a man of few words and the leader of your team. But last night he was a stuttering mess and I let him stay overnight with the condition that he doesn’t wake you.”

You don’t say anything. Aaron’s mouth is partly ajar and you know he’s going to wake up with a lot of back pain from how he’s positioned. Dr. Aguta performs a routine check up on you and lets you know that you’ll be discharged from the hospital the following day. You thank her profusely and she can only give you a reassuring smile. You ask her to wake Aaron up for you just before she leaves.

Aaron blinks and remembers he’s not in the hotel. Dr. Aguta excuses herself to give the both of you privacy and he sits upright, stretching his back unpleasantly. 

“Morning,” he says, clearing this throat. “How do you feel?”

You’re getting tired of answering this question but you humor him.

“Better,” you say honestly. “Aside from my broken arm and concussion.” Aaron’s gaze shifts to your arm and he almost winces.

“Did you sleep well?” 

“For the most part, but I think the sedatives had more to do with it than anything.”

“Good, I’m glad.” 

An awkward silence falls over the both of you. Aaron desperately tried to pull himself together by waking himself up and you’re fiddling with your hands. You noticed he’s changed since you saw him last night, now in slacks and a quarter zip, and you don’t remember the last time you’ve ever seen him look so casual.

Aaron’s trying to think of the right words to say. As your boss, he wants to tell you that none of this was your fault and there’s nothing you could’ve done to prevent it from happening. He wants to tell you he shouldn’t have ordered you back to the hotel, not without anyone accompanying you.

But as someone who has deep feelings for you, Aaron wants to say he was scared to death and thought he might lose another person he cares for. His anxiety skyrocketed through the roof when he saw what you had done to Scott and he wishes that you didn’t have to work through this trauma.

But he doesn’t say anything. You watch as he swallows and you know his brain is working overtime by how often he pulls his eyebrows together. You don’t have it in you to be angry at him like you were the night he sent you away. The sedatives, along with your exhaustion, leaves little room for anger. 

“I’m getting hungry,” you say to break the silence. 

“I can get something from the cafeteria,” he offers immediately, touching his pocket to make sure his wallet didn’t fall out. 

“That would be nice.” You’d be lying if you said you weren’t touched by the offer.

Aaron leaves for a short while and you try your best to process what just happened. He chose to stay with you overnight. He offered to buy you breakfast. You didn’t think Aaron would care for you like that.

He comes back a while later and apologizes for both the sandwich (that looks haphazardly made) and the time it took, as there was a long line. You thank him politely and eat the meal, and you’re grateful that you have anything to eat at all.

Aaron watches you and feels like he’s invading your personal time. He bought himself a fruit cup, knowing Dave would reprimand him for not eating if he were able to buy something. 

“I shouldn’t have told you to go back,” Aaron says softly. You almost didn’t hear him say it. “I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you. I did the wrong thing and it got you kidnapped.”

You don’t tell him that it’s okay, because quite frankly he’s right. He shouldn’t have sent you home, but you know it’s not his fault that you were abducted. 

“It’s not your fault that Scott took me,” you say matter-of-factly. Aaron can sense what you’re trying to say and his eyes hang in shame. “But I’m alive. I’m going to have one hell of a transition back to work, but I’m alive. I’m here. That is, if I still have my job.”

Aaron’s eyes snap to you.

“The job is yours for however long you want it,” he says immediately, and he means it. “What you did was reckless but I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same thing.”

This makes you smile a little and Aaron soars when he sees it. 

“I didn’t mean what I said back at the precinct either, Y/N. You’re a fantastic agent and we’re lucky to have you.”

There are a million things you want to ask him. Why have you been second guessing me? Is my work not satisfactory enough? Why did you stay in the hospital with me? 

But you don’t. There are too many things you want to say to Aaron that it ends up turning into a frustrating mess every time you think of the right question to ask. Aaron doesn’t seem to notice your lack of conversation. Or if he does, you think he’s trying to fill the awkward silence like you are.

“I don’t mean to be a burden,” is what you settle on. “I don’t purposely challenge your authority or how the team operates. I know I haven’t been here as long as everyone else but I like to think I make enough contributions.”

“You do,” Aaron says. “You aren’t a burden.”

You don’t believe him. “I just…lately I feel like I've been getting in the way of things.”

“You haven’t.” Aaron means that honestly but you don’t pick up on it. “You’ve shown immense critical thinking and problem solving skills. This case alone has proven that.”

You don’t disagree with him, but your mind reverts back to Scott and you start to deflate. 

Aaron knows he needs to apologize for how he’s been acting towards you. The abduction and his guilt is eating him alive and it forced him to be truthful with himself about how harsh he’s been treating you upon realizing he likes you more than a colleague should. But he doesn’t know whether this moment is appropriate or not. Ever the professional.

Both of you are saved by Dave showing up unannounced. He’s dressed casually too, with jeans and a sweater for an unusually cloudy day in Southern California. His knocking brings both you and Aaron out of your heads.

“Hey, kiddo,” Dave laments. He enters the room after you beckon him in and gives you a gentle hug on the side that doesn’t have your sling. “I won’t ask how you’re feeling because I’m sure you’re tired of that.”

“Thank you.”

“But I did want to check up on you,” Dave continues. “The rest of the team are slowly waking up, I imagine.” He turns to Aaron. “I assume we’re grounded here until Y/N can fly back.”

“That’s right,” Aaron says. “Tell the team they have the rest of the week off. I don’t think Strauss wants us spending more of our budget on flights.”

“Already done,” Dave says with a smile. “You had us worried for a while there.” 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, even though you know you have nothing to be sorry for. “I didn’t mean to make any of you worry about me.”

“We always worry about you, kid. It’s our job.”

“Are the girls okay?” you ask him. 

“Safe and sound. That’s actually why I came to visit, other than to check up on you.” 

You blink out of confusion.

“Jaqueline called the precinct and asked to speak with you,” Dave explains. “Long story short, she got in contact with me and wanted to know if you’d be willing to speak with her. She wants to thank you in person.”

The thought never crossed your mind. Saving her children had always been your first priority, even when Scott threatened to kill you if you didn’t help him. You’re not a mother by any means, but Jaqueline is around your age and you have plenty of nieces and nephews to get an understanding of how difficult this whole ordeal was for her.

And if you were being honest with yourself, you wanted to make sure Jaqueline would be okay. 

“Absolutely,” you say immediately. 

“Y/N, are you sure?” Aaron asks. “You just got to the hospital.”

“I’m sure,” you confirm, turning your attention back to Dave. “They can come visit me here if they’re willing to. I don’t think I have it in me to go to the precinct.”

“Of course,” Dave says with a small grin. It’s almost like he knows this will heal the both of you. He leaves the room and tells you he’ll be back later this afternoon.

Aaron sits in silence and he’s in awe of your resilience. He’s sure it’s the shock and sedatives talking, but he’s always known you to be someone who puts other people first. 

“I should call Strauss and let her know the situation,” Aaron says. “I’ll be back in a little bit, okay?”

“Okay,” you say, and you’re strangely reluctant to let him go. But you do anyway and he walks out of the hospital room, leaving you with your thoughts. 

***

Dave lets you know Jaqueline is here with the girls a few hours later. 

“Agent Y/L/N?” a voice says from beside you. The young mother knocks on the door as two children hide behind her legs. You beckon them inside, with Aaron and Emily supervising from beyond the threshold.

“Jaqueline,” you say, propping yourself up to seem more presentable. “Hi. It’s great to see you.” 

“I’m sorry for barging in like this,” she apologizes, but you’re already waving her off when you see the two children emerge from behind her. “I wanted to thank you in person. For saving my kids.”

“It’s no problem,” you downplay. 

But Jaqueline shakes her head and rushes to grab your hand. She pulls away when she thinks she’s crossed a line, but your grip is devastatingly tight when you squeeze hers. Jaqueline looks at you and tears slip from her eyes, and her children hug her legs like they know something’s wrong.

Jacqueline composes herself and brings Gracie and Olivia in front of her, who each have hand-decorated thank you cards made of colorful cardstock paper, stickers, and glitter. Your heart swells at the gesture and you will yourself not to alarm the family in front of you with your tears, so you promise yourself you’d cry when they leave.

“Hi, Munchkins,” you greet. “What’s all this?”

The girls shyly give you the cards, the eldest taking initiative to put them in your hands.

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “Mommy says you were very brave and saved us.”

“We drew these last night!” the younger one exclaims. “Mommy let us stay up late because we couldn’t sleep, so we made these for you.”

“They’re beautiful,” you compliment, looking at the colors below you. Jaqueline hasn’t let go of your hand. “You girls are very talented.”

“Thank you,” the young one says bashfully. “I hope you get better soon.”

Your heart swells and Jacqueline squeezes your hand again before letting go. You watch her lips flutter and as her children become preoccupied with their dresses, Jaqueline surprises you again.

“Would it be alright if I called you from time to time?” she asks. “To let you know how we’re doing. That we’re okay.” You reach for her one more time.

“I’d love that,” you say honestly.

Jaqueline doesn’t say another word, but the look of gratitude and her quivering lips is enough to make all the hurt from the past few days disappear.

You watch as they leave the room and as the young girls save goodbye. David escorts them to the front of the hospital, which leaves Aaron awkwardly standing in the threshold with his body leaning against the doorframe.

Aaron watches you. Your eyes glaze over and the cards in your hand are slipping through your fingertips, and your lips move as if you’re trying to find the right words to say. But nothing comes out. Aaron listens as your breathing becomes shallow and watches a stray tear slip from the corner of your eyes.

Before he can think, he rushes by your side and envelopes you in his arms.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, somewhere between wanting to give you enough space and wanting to pull you against him. Your fingers are tight on his forearms when he hears your labored breathing become erratic and as your tears soak the fabric of his t-shirt.

Aaron takes the liberty of moving you in front of him, his back against the pillows you were sleeping on. He looks at your frail body in front of him; you always carry yourself as a strong-willed, independent agent on the field, and now he sees that he mistook your brazen character as recklessness when it was false bravado.

His heart aches when your grip on him tightens. Aaron reaches out to move the cards to the side table and pulls you against his chest, thankful that this bed is barely enough to fit the both of you. Aaron notices your craned neck, bringing the hand that isn’t wrapped around your frail figure to your head and gently moves your head to his chest.

Your soft whimpers are enough to make Aaron’s heart break all over again.

“You’re an amazing person,” Aaron says. “You are selfless, caring, and generous.” His words compel you to cry even harder and Aaron lets you weep in his arms until your eyes are dry and you’re hiccuping. 

Aaron doesn’t let you, not for a second, feel embarrassed about breaking down in front of him. His thumbs are drawing soothing circles on your arm and he’s wiping away your tears with a tissue, allowing you to unravel before him. 

Your dry heaving doesn’t bother Aaron, but he coos into your ear and tells you he’s going to get you a bottle of water when you grip his arm. He pries your fingers off of him and melts when you snuggle your head closer to him, but he knows you’re thirsty and the best thing he can do for you is keep you healthy. 

“I’ll be back in two minutes,” he promises. “I’m all yours after that.” 

You nod reluctantly and let him go. The bed feels empty when he leaves and you feel pathetic for hanging onto him like he’s your lifeline, but you don’t care. You just want to be held.

True to his word, Aaron comes back a few minutes later and uncaps the bottle for you. A soft ‘up’ utters from his lips and you sit up straight. He brings the bottle to your lips and tilts your head back enough to let the water slide down your throat. 

Aaron puts it aside when you’ve signaled that you’re done and slides into the spot next to you once again. He puts his arm around your shoulder and brings you to his chest again. 

You don’t tell him, but you feel his heartbeat. It’s irrationally fast and you don’t know what to make of it. You tighten your hold on him as you start to fall asleep and you miss the way Aaron rocks you to sleep. 

***

When it’s time for your discharge, you’re feeling better than you did a few days ago. The team welcomes you back on board once you’ve been cleared to fly and it feels like nothing’s out of place. 

JJ bought a bunch of pastries from a local cafe and everyone (save for Aaron because he was with you the entire time) has written little messages on a decorated card. It’s Spencer who frets over you the most, bringing you cups of tea and asking if there’s anything he can do to ease your pain. You’re quite touched. 

You know you’re in no shape to drive home when you land. Your dominant hand is broken and your car sits in its designated spot, no doubt gathering dust and debris. The team is tired from the trip and everyone checks in on you one by one before leaving, and you don’t know how you’ll get home until you realize your car keys are still in your desk drawer.

Aaron watches you for a moment. He notices your apprehensiveness and the way you look at your car keys, and he puts two and two together. Before he can register what he’s doing, Aaron’s making his way to you and offering to drive you. You start to tell him you don’t need a chauffeur and that he should go home instead, but he’s more worried that you might hurt yourself inadvertently. He persists and you reluctantly say yes because you know he’s right. You could barely open the door to the building, let alone drive home. 

The car ride to your apartment is quiet, save for the sounds of cars passing by on the freeway and the sound of gravel underneath the tires. You look up at your apartment complex when you tell Aaron the code to get into your garage and he parks in the visor spot after you’ve directed him.

The sling on your arm is a nuisance and you already can’t wait to get it off. You’re able to unbuckle yourself with your free hand and you’re surprised that Aaron opens the door for you.

“Thanks,” you mumble. 

“It’s not a problem.” You can tell he means it.

When you get to your apartment, you’re somewhat surprised that you haven’t lost your keys. You struggle to put them into the lock correctly with your non-dominant hand and Aaron can see the quirk of your eyebrow and how you’ve bit your lip out of frustration.

He fears he’s overstepping. He takes the keys out of your hands gently and opens the door for you anyhow. 

When you walk inside, you don’t think you've ever felt happier to see your small one bedroom apartment. Aaron sets your go-bag on the kitchen counter and you stand still for what seems like an eternity until he brings you out of your haze and encourages you to change out of your clothes and take a shower. 

But you don’t move. You stand in the middle of your living room and stare blankly out of your window, unable to appreciate the breathtaking view of D.C. like you always do. Your throat feels dry and your feet feel like they’re permanently planted on the hardwood floor beneath you.

Aaron comes to stand beside you and he leaves distance between the both of you. He looks at the sight before him and makes a comment about how he’s jealous of your view, but not even that gets a reaction out of you.

“I don’t want to be alone,” you mumble after a long pause. “I-I can’t be by myself right now.”

Aaron knows Jack is at sleepaway camp for a school trip and doesn’t get back for another few days. He doesn’t have to think about keeping you company so you don’t feel alone.

“I can stay with you,” he offers. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You turn to look at him and the offer is enough to bring tears to your eyes. 

Aaron sounds so soft, caring, and unlike himself. Your heart tugs at his caring nature and you’re overwhelmed with the notion that he’s caring for you like he cares for your colleagues.

“Please,” you croak.

Aaron nods. He puts his hands on your arms and ushers you into the hallway and you point him in the direction of your bedroom. He’s acutely aware that this is the first time he’s ever been in your apartment, let alone in the room you sleep in, and tries not to dwell on it for your sake. 

“You should take a shower and sleep,” Aaron suggests. “It’ll help clear your head.”

You follow Aaron’s lead. He guides you to your dresser and you grab an extra change of clothes and he accompanies you to the bathroom next door. 

“I’ll be in the living room if you need anything, okay?” he says. “Don’t be afraid to get me.”

“Okay,” you say meekly. Your voice is far too dry to speak normally.

Aaron closes the bathroom door and you avoid looking at yourself in the mirror. You’re sure you look like a mess, despite being taken care of in the hospital back in Los Angeles. But you feel sticky from the flight and the sudden change in temperature, and you want nothing more than to cleanse yourself of the memories from LA.

You remove the sling from your arm and try your hardest to take your clothes off but you find it exceptionally difficult with your arm being in a brace. It hurts to lift your arm and you nearly cry out of frustration and exhaustion when you realize you can’t take your shirt off by yourself.

Embarrassed, you contemplate on showering with your clothes on, but ultimately know you’d need to take them off anyway. You open the door and call for Aaron, and you hear his steps as soon as you do.

“Are you okay?” he asks when he realizes you’re still in your clothes.

“I can’t, um, take my clothes off,” you say, clearing your throat. “I can’t bend my right arm and my left one is extremely sore. I can’t take my fucking clothes off.”

Aaron isn’t offended by your defensiveness. He gathers that it’s your coping mechanism because you feel embarrassed, but Aaron doesn’t care. He doesn’t say anything but he nods like he knows what you’re going through and you have a suspicion that he might.

“I’ll close my eyes and take your clothes off for you,” Aaron says. He says it in a way that’s so sincere but it still makes your cheeks redden at the innuendo. Aaron tries to ignore it because he feels a blush coming.

“It’s so pathetic that I can’t do this by myself.”

“It’s not pathetic,” he reassures. “You have a broken arm and your body’s still in pain. Let me help you.” 

You don’t say anything and Aaron takes it as a cue to move closer. True to his word, he puts his arms on your waist and turns his head away from you, careful to not hurt your broken arm. He maneuvers the fabric until it’s free from your body and he’s acutely aware that he’ll need to touch you in order to take the rest of your clothes off.

Aaron’s surprised when you move his hand to the button of your slacks. He clears his throat while you look up at the ceiling and bite your lip, pretending that the situation you’re in is completely normal to keep yourself from blushing too much. Aaron’s fingers work on the button and he’s careful not to put his hands where it’s inappropriate. He almost laughs at the thought, considering he’s your boss and he’s helping you take off your clothes.

You shimmy out of your slacks as Aaron slides it down your legs. He blushes at the thought of what’s to come next and swallows hard. Aaron returns to his stance and finds his neck is sore from craning, so he keeps his eyes closed and faces you.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize again. “I-I don’t think I can unclasp my bra.” 

You wince at your words, but it’s true. You tried to reach behind you when Aaron worked on taking off your pants, but the ache in your shoulder was too much. 

Aaron doesn’t say anything and you’re afraid that he might leave you. He’s so quiet that you can barely hear his breathing and you look at his closed eyes and see that his jaw is clenched. He mumbles and you’re barely able to catch it. Aaron lifts his hands to find your shoulders and you nearly shiver underneath his warm hands, despite the fact that your body might be just as hot. 

Aaron reaches behind you and searches for your clasp. You can feel his fingers on your back as he feels for it and he’s incredibly aware that your gaze is on him. It takes all of his willpower not to open his eyes. He’s imagined undressing you before, but not like this. Aaron’s fingers find the clasp and he’s slow to undo it, afraid of tangling the metal.

You feel yourself free from its constraints and Aaron slowly moves his fingertips from your shoulders and down your arm. You comply the best you can with your sore arm and your broken one, and your breathing hitches.

Aaron ignores how fast his heart is beating when he hears your bra drop to the floor. His mind is in overdrive and he bends down again, his fingers immediately coming to your waist and gripping them with gentle care. You look down at him and your mouth is wide open with your jaw hanging when you realize he’s on his knees in front of you. Aaron’s fingers hook on the material of your underwear, but you can’t bear to see him take them off.

“Wait,” you say, squeezing your eyes shut momentarily. 

Aaron forces himself to keep his eyes closed and he can hear your shallow breathing. His fingers are wrapped around the fabric of your underwear and suddenly he’s aware that it’s an intimate piece of clothing. Aaron’s cheeks redden and he’s desperately hoping you don’t notice.

“I can do it,” you say. Your voice wavers and you aren’t sure that you won’t be in pain when you take them off, but seeing Aaron on his knees with his hands practically down your underwear is too much for you at this moment.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, clearing his throat. His fingers detach themselves and he abruptly stands up. Aaron keeps his eyes closed still.

“No, it’s okay,” you say, and you mean it. “I really appreciate you helping me out…I’m sure this has crossed a lot of boundaries.”

Aaron wants to tell you he doesn’t mind it one bit, but he holds his tongue to refrain from making you uncomfortable. His eyes feel heavy and he stumbles when he stands up but catches himself when he feels the doorknob behind him.

“Like I said, I’m here if you need anything.” 

Aaron stands still for a moment and it feels like the both of you had the air knocked out of your lungs. He doesn’t want to overstep or make it seem like he’s taking advantage of your vulnerable state, so he exits the bathroom and closes the door behind him.

You lock it immediately and pin yourself against the door. Your heartbeat is irrational and you turn the water on, fixing it to your desired temperature. Bending to take your underwear hurts and your shoulders feel like they’re about to pop off, but you manage.

You’re acutely aware that Aaron’s in your living room, no doubt trying to rid himself of the awkwardness. You aren’t sure if you’re grateful at what transpired because while it’s enough to help you forget about Los Angeles, it makes your cheeks flare into a hot mess and you feel uncomfortably turned on.

Aaron, too, feels the same way. He feels filthy sitting on your couch and results in pacing around the room. His shoes are discarded by the door and it feels all too domestic. Aaron’s tie is suddenly too tight so he tugs on the knot to loosen it. He rids himself of his suit jacket and places it neatly on the arm of the couch, and thinks about anything but you, naked in the shower. His slacks feel a little too tight, so he takes out his phone to check his email. It works for a while,

A while later, Aaron realizes you’ve walked out of the bathroom and you’ve managed to change without his assistance. You comment about how the shower loosened your muscles and you were able to get your clothes in relatively painlessly, but all he can think about is how cute you look in an oversized shirt and sweatpants.

He’s too preoccupied admiring how undone you look because it’s the complete opposite from how he sees you at work. In Quantico, you’re somewhat put together, always wearing appropriate office attire and taking your caseload with grace while the rest of the team complains to no end about the amount of paperwork that needs to be filed.

Now, you’re standing in front of him with wet hair and an old shirt that has lost some lettering. It’s domestic and Aaron loves it.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about offering you the bathroom,” you say timidly. 

It’s nerve wracking for you to be in Aaron’s presence because of what happened a few moments ago and because you’re not sure why he’s been so nice to you. It’s fresh and strange at the same time, as you’re used to him looking over your shoulder.

But you don’t feel like he’s being domineering. 

“I’ve got a few shirts that might be your size,” you announce. “And a bunch of sweatpants too.”

Aaron’s heart flutters at how welcoming you are considering all that happened to you, but he’s also found himself standing with jealousy when you mention that you have men’s clothing. Are you dating someone? Does he know he’s there?

“I love thrifting and sleeping in big shirts,” you explain, overcompensating for how awkward you feel to be standing in front of your boss looking like a disheveled mess. “I tend to thrift for clothes in the men's section because you guys have really good clothes for dirt cheap.”

Aaron’s worries are quelled and he doesn’t know why he feels so relieved to know you aren’t seeing anyone. 

“That would be great,” Aaron says. 

You nearly skip to your room and huff at your awkward demeanor, pulling out a large shirt from your dresser and a pair of sweatpants you hope is big enough. When you walk back to the living room, Aaron is still standing in the same spot and you’re somewhat touched that he’s nervous to be in your apartment.

“You can change in the bathroom,” you instruct. “Take as long as you need. There’s an extra toothbrush on the counter and a towel on the rack.” 

Grateful, Aaron scurries into the bathroom and you walk away before you can think of imagining him getting undressed. Instead, you busy yourself by fetching extra blankets and pillows for him. There’s an extra thick blanket in your closet and you pull two pillows from your bed, unsure if Aaron’s the type of guy to care about his pillow count. You find yourself stumped for a moment, each hand two with pillows as you debate on how many to give him, before you realize how idiotic you must seem if someone were to take a peek inside your head.

You settle with two pillows. 

You’re fixing a cup of tea for the both of you when Aaron walks out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later. You know he likes to drink chamomile tea on the plane when you’re coming back from a case late at night. You’ve seen him make it a million times. It feels weird to be making him a cup, but you figure it’s the least you could do after he helped you change out of your clothes. 

“I made you tea,” you say lamely, setting the cup down on the opposite side of the kitchen counter. Aaron walks towards you and he feels the hardfloor beneath him and how hot the mug is when he touches it. Thinking about this distracts him from your broken arm and the swell of guilt he has in his chest. 

“Thank you,” Aaron says. 

“I put in a little bit of honey. I hope it’s not too much.”

Aaron raises his eyebrow. “How’d you know I liked honey in my tea?”

“You drink it a lot on the plane,” you explain. “I see you make it a lot. You always scold Spencer every time he puts too much of it in.”

He can’t help but smile, but he hides it behind the cup.

Neither of you say anything. You don’t know what more you can say. The words cause you to choke every time you think about what happened back in Los Angeles. Realistically, you know there’s no way Scott can hurt you anymore, but it doesn’t stop you from panicking at the thought of being alone in your apartment. 

But you look at Aaron, who’s looking at you, and you’re able to let your guard down for a little while. 

“Thank you,” you muster. “For taking care of me back at the hospital and back at the barn. It…it meant a lot that you stayed.” 

“Of course,” he says a little too quickly. “You’re a member of this team and your safety is my top priority.”

Your gaze drops to the floor. You aren’t sure what you were expecting. An apology? A confession? Truthfully, you don’t know what you want to hear from Aaron but it hurts knowing that he views you as just another colleague.

“I’m sorry that I haven’t made you feel that way in a long time,” Aaron starts when he realizes you’ve grown quiet. “A member of the team, I mean.” 

“I-I just felt like I should’ve been doing more,” you confess. 

“You’re doing everything right, Y/N. You’re an exceptional agent and an outstanding person. Any part of the bureau would be lucky to have you.”

“Yeah?” you ask quietly. 

“Absolutely.” Aaron means in.

You finish your tea and it all becomes too much for you. The pain of your arm is quelled by the medication your doctor prescribed and Aaron helps you open the bottle. It makes you feel silly that you need someone else’s help to do something so simple and you feel your frustration get the better of you. 

“I’ll be out here if you need anything, okay?” Aaron reassures. “Please don’t hesitate to wake me up.”

“I promise,” you say and it’s one you’re planning on keeping.

You close the door behind you and turn off the lights. It feels weird to be in your apartment because you feel like everything should be back to normal, but it isn’t. In your years with the BAU, nothing as serious as this kidnapping has ever happened to you. You’ve been trained to deal with kidnappings before and how to talk to the victims and to the survivors, but you’ve never thought you’d have to deal with the aftermath yourself. 

You can’t sleep on your side because of your cast and your body feels like it’s constantly being run over by a stampede. The soft mattress is a contrast of how stiff your body feels and it all feels like it’s too much. 

Aaron can’t sleep either. He’s been staring at the door for the past thirty minutes as he tries to fall asleep. His phone is plugged into the wall behind him and he checks in with Dave, who texted him as he drove you back to your apartment. Aaron briefly thinks about Jack and his heart softens for a moment, but then he hears your soft cries from the room.

Aaron lies completely still and hears your whimpers. He hears you sniffle, blow your nose twice, and he’s acutely aware of the fact that he has no idea what to do. He has half a mind of barging into your room to comfort you until you’re asleep, but he doesn’t want to overstep his welcome more than he already has. Aaron feels frozen on the couch and doesn’t know if you’re too nervous to ask him for comfort.

He’s surprised when you walk outside. You don’t turn the lights on and he can barely make your face when you step into the moonlight. But you look frail, broken, and like you’ve been tormented by your memories. Aaron hates that.

“Aaron?” you call out. Your voice is small and his heart cracks. “Can you keep me company?”

Aaron doesn’t need to be told twice. 

He lifts the blankets from his legs and follows you into the bedroom. You sit on the edge of the bed and sniffle. Aaron sits next to you and carefully puts his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side.

It’s comforting and it aches. The pain of trauma and knowing that your life will never be the same again makes it seem like you’re never going to recover. Aaron doesn’t say anything, letting you cry into his shoulder and ignores the way your tear stains have soaked through the fabric. 

He’s imagined being in your apartment before; he often wonders what your decor looks like and how often you spend time here. He’s imagined cooking breakfast for you before you wake up, making you cups of your favorite tea, making the bed after you’ve both woken up, and kissing you goodbye when you walk out the door. Being in your bedroom like this feels too intimate, but if he was being honest with himself, Aaron doesn’t really mind it. He likes that he’s the person you choose to lean on. He feels like this is the first step in holding himself accountable for how he’s treated you in the past. 

Your shoulders are shaking and Aaron does everything he can think of to coax you through your sadness. He whispers praise and allows you to cry when you keep apologizing for your behavior, and he keeps telling you that he’s not going anywhere. 

When you manage to calm down, you’re tired. Aaron lets you climb underneath the covers and tucks the blanket under your chin. His hand brushes your skin and he blushes, though he’s sure you can’t tell because of how dark it is. Aaron bids you goodnight and starts to walk back to the living room but you reach out for his hand before he gets the chance to leave. He turns around and feels your soft grip on him. 

“Could you sleep with me?” you ask. “Or at least stay with me until I fall asleep?”

“Of course,” Aaron says. He throws all caution in the wind and starts to walk to the other side of the bed and he’s surprised when you open the covers for him.

Your mattress is soft and your blankets smell like you. He tries not to think about it and leaves space between the both of you.

“Did you know I joined the BAU because of you?” you ask in the darkness.

“What?” Aaron says of shock.

You laugh lamely. “You guys held a few seminars at my alma mater and I knew then what I wanted to do with my life. I applied to the academy the next fall.”

Aaron doesn’t know what to say. His cheeks are hot and you’ve rendered him utterly speechless. In your tired state, you push yourself as comfortably as you can until the back of your head is leaning on Aaron’s chest, mindful of your broken arm. 

Aaron’s stunned and his body stiffens. But he thinks of all the times he’s thought about laying beside you like this and decides that he’ll cherish it as much as he can. His arm snakes itself underneath you as he tugs you closer, and he whispers a soft goodnight.

***

D.C. is a little cloudy when you wake up. The light peeks through your blinds and you’re made aware of the man sleeping beside you when you realize your face is buried in his chest. Your good arm is beneath you while the other is on top of the blanket. Aaron’s arms are encircled around you and when you feel his warmth. 

You don’t rush to wake him up. Being here with him somehow feels right despite the part of your brain telling you he’s your boss and nothing more. But Aaron wouldn’t stay with you if he didn’t want to, right? 

Part of you thinks he’s doing it just because he feels guilty. You know that there’s some truth to that, but you wonder if it’s the only reason he elected to take care of you. But you decide it’s too early to think about this. Instead, you close your eyes and bask in Aaron’s warmth, and fall asleep again. 

This time, Aaron wakes you up twenty minutes after you fall back asleep. His arms are numb from your weight and he feels like he might try to kiss you if he doesn’t wake you up. 

Your eyes flutter open and you bury your head in his neck. Aaron doesn’t bring himself to push you off of him. He pulls you against him and the both of you lay in silence for what feels like an eternity. 

Eventually, Aaron has to leave because Jack’s coming home from a sleep away camping trip. He apologizes a thousand times over because he knows he said he wasn’t going anywhere, but you tell him that Jack is more important. An unrecognizable expression flashes across his face before he’s out the door, promising you that he’ll call to check in once Jack’s home.

And he does. Aaron calls you a few hours later when Jack’s in the shower and asks you how you’re feeling, if you’ve taken your medication, and if he needs to do anything for you. You decline for his help despite desperately wanting him back in your apartment.

When night falls, Aaron lets Jack stay up an hour later than usual. They’re watching cartoons from the nineties when Aaron gets a sudden idea. He pauses the television and turns to Jack.

“Do you remember Y/N?” Aaron asks his son.

“Of course I do,” Jack says. “She’s the one who buys me snacks when I come to visit you.” 

“That’s right, buddy.” Truthfully, Aaron didn’t know you’ve continuously done that for Jack. But he rolls with it. 

“Is she okay?”

Aaron knows Jack can tell something’s up.

“Not really,” Aaron replies honestly. “She got hurt real bad in our last case and broke her arm.”

Jack opens his mouth in surprise. “Oh no. Do you think she’ll get better soon?”

“I hope so. She needs a lot of help right now because she lives alone.”

“Well she can stay with us until her arm is better,” Jack says as if it’s the most obvious solution in the world. Aaron can’t help but smile through his shock. 

“I’ve gotta ask her first, but I think that’s a great idea. That’s actually what I wanted to ask you.”

“It’ll be fun!” Jack exclaims. “Me and Y/N can watch cartoons while you’re at work and she can help me with my homework. She’s nice like that.” 

“Yes she is,” Aaron says, nodding. 

“Do you think I should make her a card so she feels welcomed in our home? I think I have leftover paper and glitter. Girls love glitter.”

“Y/N would love that. I’m going to talk to her first and if she agrees to stay over, you can make her a card.”

“Yay! This is gonna be the best sleepover ever.” 

Aaron’s ecstatic that Jack’s receptive to the idea. He calls you the next morning and proposes the idea of staying at his place until your cast comes off. When you lament how long that’ll be from now, he insists and tells you Jack was the one who came up with the idea.

You can’t say no to Jack. 

Aaron helps you gather belongings from your apartment and tells you that he’ll drive you back here or pick you up any time you want or need to. You double check that you’ve packed enough clothes for a week.

It’s a gradual and awkward start. You feel out of place as you try to navigate his apartment and where he keeps everything, not wanting to feel like you’re already welcomed in his home. But Aaron keeps reminding you that his home is your home and you don’t need permission since you’ll be here for a while.

Jack is sweet, too. He helps you by telling you where everything is stored and goes so far as to hold your hand while doing so. He insisted on tucking you in while you slept in the guest bedroom just to make sure you were comfortable on your first night, and you thought you might start crying in front of him.

At first, you walk on eggshells. You tiptoe around the boys and feel like a burden when Aaron brings home dinner for three or when he buys extra groceries, especially when he refuses to let you chip in. Jack tries to ease your worries after sensing your discomfort by asking you to build legos with him and you do your best despite the pain in your arms.

Aaron reminds you of your medication (and in turn, Jack asks you if you’ve taken your pills), cooks your favorite comfort meals, and drives you to mandated therapy sessions whenever he has the time. It warms your heart at how helpful he’s been since you know how busy he is typically, and you’re not sure what to make of your emotions. 

Time passes by and suddenly staying with Aaron feels somewhat normal. You’re off of work until your arm is healed and you’ve seen your therapist a number of times, and you know you have a couple of months of doing whatever you want until you go back into the field. Against the advice of Strauss, you continue to help with cases and the paperwork load so Aaron can spend more time with Jack.

Gradually, you start to feel comfortable when you’re alone. You use his kitchen, clean his dishes, and busy yourself with tidying Jack’s messes. You explore his neighborhood and have found a few cafes and restaurants you’d like to try out. You feel more comfortable lounging on his couch instead of keeping yourself in the guest bedroom.   

It feels domestic and you can’t tell if it’s a good or bad thing. There’s still so much left unsaid, including how you’ve felt being his subordinate prior to your abduction. Aaron’s apologized over and over again, has given you time to heal from it and chooses not to ask for forgiveness in lieu of letting you find it yourself. It means a lot. Deep down, you know Aaron isn’t a bad person. You just wish you knew why you were different.

A week turns into two, then into three, and soon enough you find yourself caring after Jack. You feel useless if you sleep in and start waking up early to make breakfast as best you can for everyone (limited to cold breakfasts until you start to feel confident using your dominant arm when it’s out of the sling). Aaron walks into the kitchen to see you making oatmeal one day and you’re worried that you’ve overstepped, but he thanks you profusely.

Jack waddles in and he takes the oatmeal without question and asks if you can put brown sugar and fruit in it. You look around and see apples and blueberries, and Jack chooses the blueberries. He watches as you fix him a bowl and eats his breakfast in silence.

It becomes a routine for you after growing tired of doing nothing all day. Helping Aaron’s around the house as best you can, working remotely on cases, and spending time in his neighborhood feels like you’re recording.

Jessica, Jack’s aunt, has been informed of your stay by Aaron. You’ve met her before in passing but have never spoken to her in depth before staying with Aaron. She picks him up and drops him off, making small talk with you about her life and about your work. It goes so far as coffee dates when she’s available and it feels like your life is getting back on track.

Meanwhile, Aaron realizes he’s bit off more than he can chew when he sees you every morning. He hears your morning voice and finds himself wanting to wake up to it every day. He sees the way you are with Jack, how thoughtful and helpful you’ve been, and thinks it’s where you belong.

And it hurts. It hurts to know that all of his suppressed feelings are suddenly coming to the surface.

Your cast is coming off later today and you’re due for another mandated therapy session and a psychological evaluation before you’re able to return to work. He’s elated, but that means you’re okay to return to your apartment and he’ll have to get used to the house being empty.

Aaron’s parked his car at Quantico and he glances at you in the passenger seat. Your arm sling and cast are gone and you look as good as new, but he’s reluctant to step out of the car. You look back at him, hands fiddling in your lap.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you begin. “I don’t know what I’d do without you and Jack.”

“You’d be just fine,” Aaron assures. “But it was nice seeing you recover. Is your arm doing okay?”

“It’s like I never had a broken arm.” You flex it in front of him for emphasis. “My shoulder’s still a bit sore but I think my physical therapist has expedited the healing process.”

Aaron smiles. “Good. I’m glad.” 

A brief moment of silence falls between the two of you before you both get out of the car. Your therapist had asked you whether or not you were ready to integrate yourself back with the team and was scheduled to supervise your initial day back in the office. You’re apprehensive, however, because you know that you never perform well if you’re being watched closely. 

JJ’s the first to greet you when you walk through the doors. The office smells the same and it looks the same, but it doesn’t feel the same. You spend a few extra seconds embracing JJ and gather that she needs this hug more than you do.

Everyone files in and it’s barely eight in the morning. David congratulates you on recovery, Derek and Penelope bombard you with jokes that make your stomach hurt, Emily shows you photos of Sergio upon your request, and Spencer gives you a side hug and tells you he’s glad you’re doing better.

The therapist arrives soon after and you’re on your best behavior without making it seem like you’re trying to be. 

In the end, she permits you to return back to the BAU with the promise of continuing therapy. She refers to you to a few others and tells you that you should try to go in at least once a week, or however frequently your job lets you. You’re clear to fly, yield your gun, and you’re reinstated as a profiler with the BAU.

Aaron drives you back to his place to pick up your belongings before he drives you back to your apartment. He and Dave had been kind enough to drive your car back to your place, where it’s been sitting untouched.

The ride is filled with music from the eighties and you’re so elated from your first day back at work that you don’t mind singing in front of Aaron and pretending you’re shredding on an electric guitar. He takes his time getting home, taking the long way instead of the direct route, and he doesn’t think you notice. Aaron hopes you don’t.

But he arrives at his place and Jessica’s greeting you at the front door, happy to see you’ve recovered before she goes home. The sun has barely set and Jack walks out behind his aunt, asking you what’s for dinner.

You’re stunned for a moment as the realization that this all ends tonight. Staying with Aaron, falling into a life of balancing work and domesticity comes to an end when he drops you off at your apartment. Jack’s tugging on your elbow and Aaron scolds him because you might still be in a little bit of pain. He apologizes sweetly.

Aaron beckons you inside where you've started to pack your belongings. The luggage you've brought seems smaller than when you brought it, as you find it difficult to pack everything. You make the bed and set the room as you found it (to the best of your recollection), and you’re ready to put your shoes on when Aaron rounds the corner.

“I was thinking we could have one last meal here.” He clears his throat. “To celebrate your recovery.”

You don’t hesitate. “I would love that. I finally get to show you my cooking skills.” 

Aaron smiles and Jack runs to your legs, beckoning you to the kitchen. You settle on making oven baked chicken with mashed potatoes and honey glazed carrots, all of which Aaron had in his refrigerator. Jack asks how he can help and you’re touched when he brings a stool to perch on, and you tell him he can help you by rinsing the potatoes. 

Aaron offers to help and you look at him with a silly grin, letting him prepare the carrots while you prepare everything else. Halfway through the process, Jack becomes somewhat irritable because of hunger and because the entire kitchen smells like a Thanksgiving feast. But he relents and waits for the meal to be done when you tell him the food always tastes better when it’s cooked longer.

You almost forget it’s your last time with Aaron and Jack when you eat your meal together. You forget it when Jack insists on ice cream for dessert and when Aaron makes you a cup of tea just the way you like it. You forget about it until Jack asks his father if he can be there when he drops you off at your apartment. 

Your heart breaks a little. Aaron agrees and lets you grab your belongings while he buckles Jack in the car. Your luggage is in the trunk by the time Aaron is done and he opens the passenger door for you before getting in the car himself. Jack talks the entire ride, thanking you for dinner and lamenting how much he loved spending time with you. Aaron’s grip on the steering wheel is tight and he doesn’t think his heart could swell any bigger.

Eventually, the boys walk you up to your floor and Jack lunges at your abdomen after the three of you have walked into your living room. 

“I’m gonna miss you,” Jack mumbles in your sweater.

“You’ll see her around, buddy. She’s not leaving the team,” says Aaron.

“But I’ll miss Y/N at home. I like spending time with her there.” 

You and Aaron share a look. You can’t tell what he’s thinking but you know you’re unable to control the influx of emotions that will eventually spill out of you when they leave. 

“Me too,” Aaron says quietly. 

They leave soon after that.

You spend an hour crying in your living room and you haven’t unpacked your suitcase. Living with Aaron and being so close to him made you realize how your feelings for him, albeit complicated, have always been there. 

You love him. You love his generous nature. You love the adoration he has for Jack and for his team. You love how he knows your beverages of choice and how gentle he’s been with you. You love the way he says your name and you love that you feel right at home with him.

It’s ten o’clock when you grab your phone and you know Jack’s been asleep for at least an hour. You dial Aaron’s contact and in your anxious state of mind, nearly regret your actions. But he picks up and you hear the sweet melody of his voice through the phone. Your voice falters at first, but you push through them anyway. You’re sure Aaron can hear your voice post-crying because of how raspy your voice is, but you don’t care.

You tell him you think you love him and it’s not because he’s been taking care of you. You pour your heart and soul into this speech and you panic when he doesn’t say anything.

“This’ll be one hell of a story we tell Strauss.”

And you laugh. You laugh because you know Aaron feels the same and you laugh because facing paperwork and recounting this conversation to Strauss doesn’t seem like the most frightening thing in the world anymore.

But just for good measure, Aaron tells you he loves you too. 

***

AAAND WE’RE DONE X 

[chvoswxtch]

a favor

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: frank's true intentions behind getting you a lawyer are revealed.

warnings: swearing, a lil angst, sassy lawyer matty, instigating frankie

word count: 5.7k

a/n: happy one year of the bodyguard! again, I can't thank y'all enough for the love and support y'all have shown this series for the past year. i'm eternally grateful. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

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“Frank.”

“Red.”

The two men exchanged curt nods in greeting while the nickname Frank used for the man who had introduced himself as Matthew further added to your growing puzzlement. There was clearly a history between the two of them that you weren’t aware of. Frank hadn’t been lying when he said he had a lawyer, but it only fanned the flame of curiosity burning within you.

What could Frank have possibly needed a lawyer for?

Frank had assured you that according to Madani, Steven didn’t have anything on you, but Matthew’s presence had a wave of newfound anxiety beginning to crest steadily. If Steven didn’t have anything, why did you need a lawyer? Turning your attention towards Frank, you lightly clenched your fists at your sides to keep them from betraying how nervous you actually were in that moment. 

“I thought you said he didn’t have a case?”

“He don’t.”

Frank said it as if it were the simplest thing in the world with a careless shrug of his broad shoulders, but it didn’t put you at ease. Behind you, Matthew cleared his throat to capture your attention, and when you turned around to face him, you noticed he had taken a step towards you. His plump lips were stretched into a charming smile that had your nerves suddenly calming of their own accord.

“Miss Y/L/N, you have nothing to worry about. I’m here as a formality more than anything, and a favor to Frank. I’m familiar with men like Price. He’s going to try and scare you, like he did with the letter of intent, and try to manipulate you to get his way. I’m not gonna let that happen.”

Matthew spoke with such conviction that it was hard for you not to believe him. You didn’t know how good of a lawyer Matthew was, or if he was a match for Steven, but Frank clearly trusted him enough to involve him, and you trusted Frank with your life.

“He’s a real asshole.”

Matthew’s thick brows lifted slightly above the rim of his crimson tinted glasses when you suddenly blurted that out, and an amused chuckle quickly sounded from deep within his chest. His lips parted to reveal a dazzling row of teeth complimented by deep indentations in each of his cheeks.

“So I’ve been told. Shall we?”

Glancing at Frank over your shoulder, he motioned towards the room with his head, an expression of pure annoyance painted on his sharp features. If his face didn’t give away how he felt about the current situation, the dissatisfied grunt that preceded Frank’s gruff voice certainly did.

“Let’s get this over with.”

»»———　　———««

Orange was not Steven’s color. It contrasted sharply against his stupid blonde hair that had grown shaggy and appeared unkempt, much to your satisfaction. He was the only guy you ever dated that took more time getting ready than you, and knowing how meticulous he was about his looks, it filled you with a sense of enjoyment seeing his golden tan faded to pasty ivory, darkness blooming under his dull blue eyes, and a sour scowl on his mouth.

He wasn’t considered a violent threat, so he wasn’t handcuffed to the table. Steven had chosen to “represent himself” in his make believe case, so there wasn’t anyone else in the room but him. A guard was stationed outside the door, not so much for protection, but to let all of you in and out. 

The whole thing made you almost laugh.

Steven had handcrafted one of the most violent homegrown terrorist groups that had been the biggest threat New York had seen in decades, and the prison still didn’t consider him a danger. Surely that had to be a huge blow to his ego.

As soon as the three of you stepped through the door of the meeting room, Steven was quick to let out a dry scoff, crossing his arms over his chest in visible disapproval. 

“Well that’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

Confusion weaved between your brows at his statement.

“What?”

“Two bodyguards? You’re not in any ‘danger’ anymore.”

The way he spit out the word danger had your blood already simmering in your bloodstream, like he was implying that you never truly were. To him, you had been overreacting; playing the part of a victim instead of actually being one. It was bad enough he invalidated your feelings throughout your entire previous relationship, but eight years later, you were still dealing with his bullshit.

The mention of two bodyguards only muddled your confusion further. Glancing up at Frank, you were met with the familiar sight of him standing as still as a statue right by your side, his right hand clasped over his left wrist, and an intense broody expression on his features. Steven knew that Frank was your bodyguard, but why did he think that Matthew was also? Turning your attention to Matthew, your brows raised slightly in surprise.

Matthew was standing just as close to you as Frank was, and in a similar protective stature. His full lips were pressed together in a firm line that highlighted his sharp jawline. You hadn’t realized just how large he was before when he introduced himself, mainly because he didn’t look as menacing as Frank normally did. He wasn’t quite as big and bulky as Frank was. He had more of a slim and lean build, and appeared to be maybe an inch or two shorter than Frank, but your eyes caught the way his suit jacket seemed to be straining around his shoulders and arms. From an outsider perspective, he did look like a second bodyguard. 

“Or, one and a half I guess. Is Russo struggling that bad he has to hire a blind guy?”

That comment completely caught you off guard. You’d briefly noticed the crimson tinted glasses that Matthew wore, but for some reason you had immediately assumed that they were transition lenses adjusting from being out in the sunlight. It was only when you glanced down at the red and white cane he held in his left hand that it all of a sudden clicked in your brain, and you realized for the first time that Matthew was blind.

Before you could think too hard about how you had missed that, Steven’s abrasive comment echoed in your ears, and your blood went from simmering to scorching as you whipped your head in his direction. Taking a bold step forward, your features were twisted up in raw outrage as you prepared to hurl verbal assaults in his direction.

“You fucking-”

Abruptly, two arms shot out to stop your rampage before it could begin. Dropping your gaze downward, you saw Frank’s arm was flush against your ribcage, while Matthew’s was directly underneath, hovering a respectful inch away from your lower stomach. Flickering your eyes upwards to look at Matthew, a mixture of perplexity and curiosity lingered in your stare as you wondered how he had known that you’d taken a step forward. But before you could ask, he cleared his throat and moved his arm away, beginning to fold up his cane with both of his hands.

“Mr. Price, my name is Matthew Murdock. I’m Miss Y/L/N’s attorney.”

“And what firm do you work for?”

“My own. Nelson, Murdock, and Page.”

Steven narrowed his eyes while he sized Matthew up and down, making it obvious he clearly was not impressed, which was incredibly stupid on his part now that you were aware Matthew couldn’t see it. Smacking his lips, Steven shrugged his shoulders and leaned back in the metal chair he sat in.

“Never heard of you.”

“You follow the Kingpin trial?”

Frank had been silent up until that point, which made you nervous. You weren’t used to men that were quiet about their rage, and it felt as if you had only seen a fraction of what Frank was capable of when he was angry. But the mention of the Fisk case caught your attention. What did that have to do with anything?

“Of course I did. That was one of the biggest criminal cases this city has seen in years.”

Steven made it sound like Frank had asked the most ignorant question in the world. As much as you hated to admit it, he had a point. That case was huge. The only part of it that left a sour taste in your mouth was the fact that Fisk was never charged for Ben’s murder. Deep down you knew it couldn’t be proven, there simply wasn’t any evidence, and you should’ve been happy Fisk would never get out with everything he had been charged with, but it wasn’t enough. Not for you, and not for Ben.

“Then you’re not only a dumbass, you’re a fuckin’ liar too. His firm was the one that put that shitbag away.”

That piece of information had your head swiveling to stare at Matthew almost in awe. You had been so focused on the charges of the case that you hadn’t actually paid attention to who was running the case against Fisk. It made you wonder if he had known about Ben.

“Anyone could’ve won that case. That devil guy practically handed Fisk over to the police wrapped neatly in a bow.”

You could’ve sworn you saw Matthew stiffen at the mention of Daredevil, but he swiftly recovered. Tossing his folded cane onto the table with surprising accuracy, he adjusted his glasses on the bride of his nose and slipped his hands into his pockets nonchalantly. 

“That’s true. But unlike you, I don’t have to tamper with evidence, threaten witnesses, or buy off judges and juries to win my cases. Now, do you want to discuss the multiple charges that are currently pending against you for malpractice and wrongful conviction on top of domestic terrorism, or can we skip the pleasantries and get to the point of this meeting.”

Steven was not at all prepared for Matthew’s sharp retort, and you couldn’t stop the way your jaw dropped in astonishment at how smoothly he had called him out. Steven was the only lawyer you really had any experience with, but in the five minutes you’d known Matthew, he made one fact abundantly clear; Steven had been pretending to be a skilled lawyer. Matthew actually was one.

You could always tell when Steven was flustered or upset by how red his face became. He shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable but trying to play it off like he wasn’t, while a faint flush of scarlet was beginning to creep up along the column of his throat. 

“Fine. Let’s discuss the case. My demands were-”

“You have no authority to make demands, because you have no case. Now you’re ridiculously ignorant, but you aren’t that stupid. So, why don’t we discuss why you really asked my client here.”

“Excuse me? You can’t talk to me like that. Do you have any idea who I am?”

Matthew let out a slow and deep exhale through his nose and took a step further towards the table, his hands still nestled comfortably in his pockets, a layer of boredom coveted on his features.

“Yeah, you’re the guy facing twenty-five to life without the possibility of parole. I didn’t think we needed to state the obvious.”

Frank let out a quiet snicker beside you, and when you snuck a glance up at him, you noticed he had the faintest of smirks tugging at the corner of his mouth. His deep brown eyes seemed to be almost shining with merriment under the harsh fluorescents of the lights above. 

He was enjoying this.

It hadn’t occurred to you before that Frank might have invited Matthew simply just to humiliate Steven and intellectually torment him for the hell of it. Narrowing your eyes in half-hearted suspicion, you leaned closer and whispered lowly to him.

“Did you do this on purpose?”

Turning his head to look down at you, Frank didn’t even bother trying to play innocent. He flashed you a playful wink before turning his attention back to Matthew and Steven, crossing his arms over his chest in a relaxed manner. A bubble of childlike laughter almost escaped from your mouth at the sudden epiphany.

Frank had asked Matthew to come strictly to fuck with your ex-boyfriend. 

Steven’s “case” was bullshit. Frank knew that Steven was afraid of him because Steven couldn’t take him physically, and Frank had proved on several occasions that Steven wasn’t as untouchable as he thought he was. But Steven always thought he was the smartest person in the room, and he probably thought he had outsmarted you and Frank with the letter of intent. 

Until Frank had purposefully brought someone that he knew could talk circles around Steven and make him feel as small as he had made you feel. 

That thought brought a grin to your lips, and it made you wonder if Matthew was in on it.

“Clearly you aren’t as good of a lawyer as you think you are, or maybe you just didn’t do your homework, but I am getting out of here. Do you know who my father is? I can-”

“Yes, Mr. Price, I’m well aware of who your family is, and I’m sure your father’s status is what gives you the luxury of ignorance to think that you’re invincible, but if that were case then you wouldn’t be sitting here in federal prison, would you?”

Steven immediately clenched his jaw tightly and his chest started to rise and fall a little faster while his nostrils angrily flared. His irritation was written clearly across his face. He wasn’t used to not being the most intelligent and powerful person in the room. He wasn’t used to people not kissing his ass just because of who he thought he was and the family name he carried. He wasn’t used to being challenged, and that’s exactly what Matthew was.

A challenge. 

Matthew was getting to Steven, and it seemed like he knew it. Matthew took another casual step forward and reached for the metal chair, pulling it out slowly and stepping around to leisurely take a seat in front of Steven. He clasped his hands together and rested them on the metal table. While there was a look of neutrality on his face, the low voice he spoke in and his razor sharp words betrayed his true feelings towards Steven.

“Daddy’s money can’t buy you out of this one. You have nothing, you’re grasping at straws, and you’re wasting everyone’s time. Now I realize that you have plenty of that here considering you’re facing at least twenty five years on the domestic terrorism charges alone, but the rest of us have lives to return to outside of this room. So, did you call us here just to throw an entitled tantrum? Or is there something of value you’d like to discuss?”

“I want her to pay for what she’s done!”

“What I’ve done?”

A look of incredulity and anger was painted across your face at Steven’s outburst. His blue eyes snapped up to meet yours, wild with rage, and he glared at you while pointing his index finger stiffly in your direction.

“You ruined my life.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Frank attempted to pull you back when you took a frustrated step forward, but you yanked your wrist away forcefully from his large hand. 

“You lazy, arrogant, selfish dick! You hired a bunch of psychos to blow up New York because you weren’t good enough to win an election and that’s my fault? Fuck you!”

“Sweetheart, let’s take it easy.”

Frank was standing right behind you, his large hand splayed on your lower back as he attempted to rein you in. Matthew was supposed to be the one handling Steven, that’s why he was here. But you couldn’t handle listening to another second of his privileged pity party while he still refused to take some goddamn accountability for what he did.

Stepping forward until you were directly in front of the table, you gripped onto the edge of it tightly until the blood flow around your knuckles was restricted. Wrath was burning vividly in your eyes and Steven abruptly backed away in his chair as if he were afraid of you. Even though you were seething, you kept your voice low and calm, wanting him to hear every venomous syllable that had been building on your tongue for the past ten years.

“You are fucking pathetic. You had every privilege at your fingertips and you still couldn’t make something real of yourself. You chose to cut corners, buy your way in and out of everything, and even resorted to murder just to get ahead because deep down, you knew you couldn’t fucking cut it. Daddy didn’t love his fucked up protege enough so the rest of us had to suffer your waste of an existence. The only reason you sent me that ridiculous letter is because for whatever idiotic reason, you think you still own me-”

Leaning in across the table, your face was mere inches away from Steven’s as you spoke in an even more merciless tone.

“-even though the moment I held a gun to your head should’ve made it very fucking clear that you never did.”

Steven’s eyes went wide, and his mouth hung open in shock before he snapped his head to look at Matthew in bewilderment, stammering over his words.

“She admitted it!”

“That’s hearsay.”

“Bullshit! She just confessed-”

“Technically she didn’t explicitly state when or where she held you at gunpoint, and as her lawyer, anything my client says in my presence is protected under client confidentiality, so I can’t act as a witness. Good luck getting Frank on your side.”

“Looks like you still got nothin’ asshole.”

Steven was frantically looking between the three of you in complete disbelief like a gaping fish out of water flopping around on a dock. 

“This…this is insane! You can’t do this! I made a statement-”

“Neither Frank nor Mr. Russo corroborated that claim.”

“Of course they didn’t! Russo tried to get her to shoot me, for Christ’s sake! She assaulted me, and so did he.”

Steven was getting hysterical, his face nearly ripening to the shade of a freshly grown tomato, his desperate glare fixated on Frank. But Frank and Matthew didn’t visibly react at all, which only set Steven off even further.

“Frank’s job was to protect Y/N from any and all threats. You presented yourself as a threat, which resulted in him taking action.”

Matthew lightly shrugged his shoulders, speaking as if he were explaining a simple concept to a child.

“He broke my nose! And that slimy bastard Russo recorded me without my consent. That’s illegal! I was coerced-”

“Actually, it wasn’t illegal. Mr. Russo’s company was hired by Homeland Security to keep Y/N safe, thus by extension, Mr. Russo and Frank were acting as employees of Homeland. They had the right to record any and all conversations involving a person of interest, and due to Y/N being clever enough to get your men to confess and mention you by name on tape, you became a person of interest. That recording was perfectly legal, and even if it had been coerced, you were arrested with evidence in your pocket linking you directly to the Defenders of Freedom, including proof that it was your operation. Now Mr. Price, I don't enjoy repeating myself, but since you seem to be struggling to comprehend just how fucked you are, let me simplify this: you are staying in prison. There is no negotiating, no price tag, and no favor that can prevent it. So get to the goddamn point. Why are we here?”

“He’s mad.”

Looking up at Frank, one of your brows raised in curiosity as you noticed that he was grinning from ear to ear. Matthew’s head perked up, slightly cocking to the side. Steven focused his incessant glare on Frank, letting out a dry scoff.

“And what am I mad about, Frank? I could own this prison with the change in my pocket. Might even turn into a kingpin myself in here.”

Frank instantly let out a deep howl of laughter, which only pissed Steven off that much more.

“I doubt that. Money don’t make you a man, and that ain’t the currency in here. Respect is, and you’re too much of a pussy to fight for it. I bet you’re already someone’s bitch, ain’t ya? That why you sent the letter? You hoped she’d feel sorry for your ass, yeah? Help you outta here? Cause you’re still fuckin’ stupid enough to think she would lift a goddamn finger in your favor.”

You didn’t notice when Matthew had silently slipped out of the chair in front of the table, but as Frank took a few bold steps towards Steven, suddenly Matthew had extended his arm across your stomach and was gently guiding you behind himself. Grabbing onto Matthew’s bicep lightly with both hands, you peered around him to see what was happening. Steven had leaned all the way back in his seat, and when Frank started to round the table, pure fear shined in the baby blue of his irises.

“You’re mad she didn’t come alone. You’re mad she ain’t helpin’ you. You’re mad Red’s right, and you are fucked. You’re mad you’re a fuckin’ embarrassment to daddy and your entire goddamn stuck up family. I bet he ain’t called you once, huh? Ain’t checked on ya? Cause he don’t wanna be associated with such a fuckin’ disappointment of a son, yeah? You dug your fuckin’ grave, and instead of helpin’ you outta it, he’s shovelin’ that dirt right on top to bury you.”

The closer Frank got to Steven, the louder the alarms started going off in your head. You tightened your grip on Matthew’s arm, feeling more and more nervous about what Frank was about to do. It wasn’t beneath him to start a fight in a Federal prison if he thought it was warranted. But if he started swinging, would Matthew be able to step in? Would Frank go to prison because of it? You weren’t sure what the law was, but you were pretty sure there were serious repercussions that would follow what Frank was about to do.

As if he could somehow sense your growing anxiety, Matthew subtly reached behind himself and placed his hand on your hip, giving it a light squeeze. He turned his head faintly in your direction and whispered only loud enough for you to hear. 

“Relax. He won’t hurt him.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Matthew’s lips parted, and then abruptly closed. After a moment, he gave your hip another light squeeze and whispered lowly again with a hint of a  smile on his lips.

“Mostly.”

Before you could explain how Frank nearly beat the life out of Steven last time they were in the same room together, Frank’s deep voice captured your attention.

“But that ain’t the biggest reason why you’re mad, is it?”

When you looked around Matthew again to stare at Frank, you saw that he had grabbed the arms of Steven’s chair and had leaned down so that they were face to face. Something about Frank’s expression in that moment had you completely puzzled. He didn’t look as angry as he sounded.

He was smirking. 

“You’re jealous.”

Steven was trying hard to hide how terrified he was of Frank. His hands were clenched into tight fists in his lap, the skin so taught over his knuckles they turned stark white, and they were visibly trembling. But not because he was mad; because he was scared. He attempted to look unimpressed as he let out a dry laugh that shook as much as his hands.

“Jealous of what?”

“That I’m the one fuckin’ her now.”

As soon as those words left Frank’s lips, your eyes widened to the size of moons and your jaw nearly dropped to the floor. Steven appeared to be just as shocked by Frank’s shameless boast as you were, while Matthew on the other hand had a devilish grin stretching over his full lips that was accompanied by a dark chuckle.

“Oh, so that’s why he’s so pissed off.”

Matthew wasn’t at all uncomfortable by Frank’s admission. He seemed to be completely amused by it which was evident by the taunting tone dripping from his velvet voice. Swallowing thickly, heat burned in your cheeks as you snuck a glance up at Matthew. You still had a vice grip on his arm, and his hand was still resting comfortably on your hip. You weren’t sure if he could feel you looking at him, but he subtly turned his head in your direction and arched one of his thick brows while his smirk stretched further across his lips to display his dimples. Meanwhile, Steven was glaring across the room at you in a concoction of betrayal and resentment.

“Do you really have no self respect that you’d whore yourself out for your bodyguard? What, you let him and Russo take turns? You gonna slut yourself out to Murdock, next?”

For some reason that comment set you off. Any feelings of embarrassment you might have felt that Frank just revealed to everyone in that room that the two of you were fucking suddenly flew out the window. Finally letting go of Matthew’s arm, he removed his hand from your hip when you stepped forward towards the table. 

“That’s not really any of your business, but if you’re lacking entertainment in here, feel free to picture me sharing a bed with all three of them tonight when you’re sleeping in your cell.”

The bold confidence you spoke with surprised you and everyone else in that room. A dusty layer of pink instantly covered Matthew’s cheeks, and he quickly cleared his throat while trying to hide the playful smile that threatened to take over his entire mouth. Frank was clearly caught off guard by your response, his thick brows lifting considerably up his forehead. When he caught the smile on Matthew’s lips however, he rose to his full height and squared his shoulders, tapering his gaze in Matthew’s direction with a deep scowl. Steven looked completely dumbfounded and horrified, and that filled you with an intense feeling of satisfaction.

Standing up a little straighter, you crossed your arms over your chest and let out an exasperated sigh.

“If you’re finished throwing your fit, I’d like to take my boyfriend and Matt to lunch. Matt, you don’t have any plans, do you?”

“He does.”

Frank grumbled as he walked around the table to stand next to you, wrapping one of his arms around your waist in a possessive manner, leaving Steven behind to watch the display of affection in clear anguish and disgust. Reaching for his folded cane on the table, Matthew’s tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip before his mouth stretched into a satisfied grin.

“I can spare an hour for good company.”

Frank glowered at Matthew as he unfolded his cane and walked towards the door, knocking twice against it to signal for the guard to open it. You couldn’t help but laugh at the look on his face, and you leaned up to press a gentle kiss to his jaw, which immediately softened his hardened features.

“Come on, big guy. Let me treat you to some Italian.”

“I’d rather take you to the parkin’ lot and treat you to somethin’ else.”

Frank reached down and grabbed a large handful of your ass, speaking loudly enough for Steven to hear. A noise of surprise left your lips at the sudden gesture, and you laughed while looking up at him with widened eyes.

“Frank!”

A boyish grin split across Frank’s lips as he snickered, wrapping his arm around your waist to guide you towards the open door. Neither of you spared so much as a final glance back in Steven’s direction.

Once you were out in the hallway, Frank gently grabbed your arm to pull you aside while Matt walked ahead. He cocked his head to the side while looking down at you with a pensive look melting in his warm brown eyes.

“Boyfriend, huh?”

The question made your confidence falter slightly, but you tried not to let it show. Instead, you crossed your arms over your chest in a defensive manner and arched one of your brows in a silent challenge.

“Did you want to be demoted back to bodyguard?”

“Hell no.”

Frank almost looked offended by the question, and it caused an amused laugh to quickly escape your mouth. Reaching out to cradle your face in both of his large hands, Frank leaned in and planted a soft kiss on your lips that nearly took your breath away. When he reluctantly pulled away, his thumbs were delicately brushing over your cheekbones.

“You know I always will be though, right?”

“Always be what?”

“Your bodyguard.”

A content smile covered your lips as you nodded, staring up into his eyes lovingly.

“I can live with that.”

Frank tore his gaze away from you for a moment. When he looked to his left, a furrow formed between his thick brows and a faint pout pursed on his soft lips.

“Does he have to come?”

You didn’t have to turn around to know who he was talking about. Rolling your eyes playfully, you gave him a pointed look.

“Frank.”

Letting out a grunt, he reached down to take one of your hands, lacing your fingers together.

“Fine. But if he gets handsy with you again, I’m gonna throw his ass in the Hudson.”

A look of shock crossed your features at that, and when he began to tug you towards the exit, you smacked your hand against his chest.

“Frank!”

Without missing a beat, Matt quickly retorted over his shoulder.

“I can swim, Frank.”

“Yeah? See how good you do with cinder blocks chained to your ankles.”

“You’d try to drown a blind man?”

“Don’t start your shit, Red.”

»»———　　———««

Matt and Frank argued like an old married couple, and it was extremely entertaining to witness. The only friend you had ever seen Frank interact with was Billy, and their dynamic was far different than his was with Matt. It was intriguing to watch them go back and forth with one another so effortlessly. Matt had a naturally sharp wit, one that Steven had been no match for, but Frank easily kept up with him. It made you wonder how long they had known each other.

“Ain’t you got somewhere else to be other than here bustin’ my balls?”

“Nope.”

“Bullshit. I heard you swear at least four times earlier. Ain’t that grounds for confession, altar boy?”

“It’s Wednesday, not Sunday. But while we’re on the topic of confession-”

“Ah, kiss my ass.”

A laugh erupted from your mouth at the way Frank waved his hand dismissively in Matt’s direction, leaning back in his seat while turning his head to glance out the window he was sitting next to. The spot the three of you had come to for lunch was a cozy little family owned Italian place that made the best pizza in all of New York, in your humble opinion. 

Looking across the table at Matt curiously, you tilted your head to the side with a soft smile.

“Are you Catholic?”

That signature charming grin stretched over his lips as he gave a nod of his head.

“Guilt and all.”

Before you could speak again, a thought unexpectedly popped into your head. When Frank was teaching you how to shoot a few weeks ago, he had joked that he knew a blind man that had better aim than you, only he hadn’t been joking. He hadn’t said anything else about the mysterious blind man with good aim other than that he was Catholic. Your brain was slowly putting two and two together, and you suddenly realized Frank had been talking about Matt.

Your eyes immediately lit up with excitement and your lips subsequently stretched into an enraptured grin. When you’d asked Frank how a blind man had such good aim, he’d told you to ask him yourself, which was exactly what you were about to do.

“So, I hear you have good aim.”

Matt nearly choked on his drink, covering his mouth with his palm and coughing while he set his glass of water down. His thick brows shot up above the rim of his glasses when he attempted to compose himself.

“I’m sorry?”

“Frank was teaching me how to shoot recently, and he said he knew a blind guy with better aim than me. I’m assuming that’s you. I asked him how you did it, and he said to ask you myself. So, tell me, Matthew. How does a blind man have such good aim?”

While you leaned forward earnestly and rested your chin on the knuckles of your clasped hands, Matt subtly tilted his head in Frank’s direction, a faint look of annoyance on his face. Beside you, Frank was snickering, lifting another slice of pizza to his mouth, his eyes glimmering with mirth.

“Yeah Red, explain it to us.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“And you’re the Devil.”

Matt’s full lips pursed into a firm line as he focused his attention in Frank’s direction. He seemed completely unamused by Frank’s comment. Turning your head to look at Frank, you noticed he was giving Matt a knowing look which had confusion settling between your brows as you glanced back at Matt.

“Am I missing something?”

“I’m afraid Frank has overexaggerated. I don’t use guns-”

“Because you’re Catholic?”

Frank busted out laughing at your innocent question, and you could see Matt’s glare of irritation even behind the deep crimson lenses of his glasses. 

“Because I don’t believe in them, and also because I’m blind. Frank, what the hell did you tell her, exactly?”

Frank lightly shrugged his broad shoulders as he took another large bite of the slice of pizza in his hand, looking over at Matt with a pleased smirk.

“That you’re a really good lawyer.”

tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @avengerstower-houseplant @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary @cherry-berry-ollie @sorrowfulfragmentation @kdogreads @sumo-b98 @blackhawkfanatic @gloryekaterina @whistle1whistle @starbritestarlite @callmebrooklynbabes @hallway5 @scarletfvckingwitch @bifuriouslatina @soupyspence @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @wonwoosthetic @linguist-breakaribecca @nerdytreeflower @mrs-bellingham @smhnxdiii @s3riou2 @slavic-empress

[theautisticwriter]

Love Letters: Yandere! Helluva Boss characters X G/N Reader

Characters- Blitzø, Moxxie, Millie, Loona, Stolas, Asmodeus, Fizzarolli

Show- Helluva Boss

Genre- romantic, yandere

Summary- Mini love letters from your not so secret stalkers admirers!

Warnings- swearing, pet names, yandere themes, mentions of planned kidnapping, stalking, delusional characters, unwanted attention

Word count- 1.5K

Extra notes- I have a Hazbin Hotel version of this uploaded as well!

key: f/l = first letter of your name, y/n = your name, n/n = your nickname

———————————————————

By this point you know who it is y/n, I’m the only person COOL enough to send u romantic as fuck letters like the old people do

Sorry for eating the food u made last night, when i was raiding ur fridge it looked so fucking good (and it was, who knew u could cook :P). i left u a pony as a replacement, u can’t eat it but it’ll make u think of me ;) and that pony cost me a FUCK ton of money, collectors addition and shit. i know, bad fucking ass right??

the stupid shitty loud alarm u installed didn’t work when i came in, ud be much safer with me and loony. that’s the plan anyways babe, u have NO idea the fucking creeps that live down here, they’re all fucking animals and ur…not, a fucking asshole i guess.

i drew you smth (it’s the thing stuck on the back of the envelope with the glitter glu)

^glue

it’s me and u holding hands, like other couples do. we’re better than those corny fuckers tho, hence the crowns on our heads.

ignoring my texts, BLOCKING ME (still upset about this BY THE WAY) and then ignoring my very nice letters is kinda a dick move f/l, but it’s whatevs. everything is almost ready for ur move in. i cleaned up n everything :D

from the only bitch worth ur time,

blitzø

<3 (ignore that, moxxie threw a gun at me and my hand slipped, might fire him)

———————————————————

Hiya sweet cheeks!!!

It’s Mills here, just checking in! Via letter! Ain’t that just the fanciest little thing? Mox said it’s the best way to show thought and care to someone, so here’s all my thoughts and care, just for you!

How’ve you been? Good I hope, I’ve been just peachy thanks for asking! My Ma and Pa are super excited to meet ya one day, they’ve even started planning the wedding! Now I told them to slow their horses down, and not the overwhelm ya, we’ll get to that don’t you worry darlin.

Im just so excited to write this letter for you! Ain’t it so romantic?? I’m practically squealing in delight at the thought of you opening this and swoonin’, that’s what you’re doing, right?

Now i’m writing this on my break, and my boss really needs me back in the game! I got employ of the month! Most amount of kills, with the best and bloodiest results baby!

Until next time sweetheart,

Your Mills! ♡

———————————————————

Hi y/n,

It’s Moxxie here, I was a little nervous to send this letter to you, but I always try to follow my heart, and my heart was telling me to communicate with you in the most romantic way I know how due to our current circumstances of being so far away. It’s hard, for the both of us i’m sure, but we’ll be okay y/n.

As much as I don’t get along with my father, he has been helpful with my preparations for your arrival. It’s a big deal, moving in together. I’m sure your anxious, I am too, but in the best way possible. Love is pure, and can make somebody feel whole, it’s a wonderful feeling. I never want that to be taken away from me, and you are the source of all my love. That’s why we need to be together, being only half a demon isn’t good for the soul.

We can do lots of fun things together as well, like go to the opera, or to musicals, or I can show you my shooting skills. My boss says that I have a pretty good shot, which is the biggest compliment he’s ever given me. And we can do things you like too, marriage is equal of course. Obviously, this will all happen later done the line, you’ll need time to adjust, and I understand that. I understand you.

I’m running out of room on my page, but I will write to you again tomorrow. Please respond? Just once, y/n? It’d be nice, to hold something from you since I can’t hold you yet.

All my love,

Your Moxxie <3

———————————————————

Uh, hi?

Wait, you don’t put ‘uh’ in letters do you? Or put wait whilst you think, fuck shit fuck

Sorry, I’m new to this. Normally I just send a text to people but, your phone is off at the moment I think? Or you lost it? Or you blocked me?

Either way, I’ll send you these stupid letter things until it’s back on. So, uh, what are you up to? Blitz has been up my ass about meeting you, heads up, when I come get you and bring you to our room he’s gonna go all psycho dad mode and integrate you, but he’ll back off after a while. He’s a dick sure, but he does want me to be happy. And your, likeable or whatever, so i’m sure you’ll get along.

Once you get comfortable at home with me, Blitz said you could work with me at I.M.P. You’ll be like the co-secretary or something. You won’t be put in danger, I won’t let that happen, you’ll just get to sit with me. We can watch things together, if you wanted.

I guess i’ll see you soon, how do you end these?

See you,

Love from,

Regards?

Bye y/n,

Loona.

———————————————————

My dearest y/n,

I hope this letter finds you well. I yearn for your presence here, besides me. It’s quite lonely without you, I will admit my dear. It would be oh so wonderful if you could write back. I understand you may be preoccupied with your current activities, but I can’t help myself from desiring a response. I know, it’s selfish of me to expect you to reply to my letters when you’ll be here with me shortly, but I can’t keep my thoughts at bay at the moment.

Your face is a constant in my mind, night and day, asleep and awake, your voice in my mind calms me when I need it most, your smile brightens the bleariest of moments and so on. You can imagine the difficulties I’m facing with no response from you, but that’s alright. If you can’t write back to me dear, I won’t pressure you. Your time is precious, and we will have all the time in hell quite soon. Isn’t that exciting?

I can give you the life you deserve n/n, any luxuries or mundanities you wish for will be handed to you on a silver platter. Or a golden one, if that’s more to your liking? We can properly discuss the specifics once we are together. How thrilling, the though of you and I together at last.

We truly are written in the stars!

Yours until the end of the sky and then some,

Stolas.

———————————————————

Hey there baby,

It’s been a while, huh? I’m sorry if you feel neglected babe, it’s so hard keeping in contact with you when you’re so far away hun. Wouldn’t it be so much better if you were here with me? Sure I’ve got a lot of meetings, being a sin and all, but I’d be at your beck and call n/n, you could even be my new excuse to leave those awful “business” discussions. They barely talk business with me, it’s just complete bullshit babe.

I know the lust ring can be intimidating, we have quite the reputation, but I assure you, love is not a foreign concept to me. Romance is one of my most favourite things! Though that’s a secret, let’s keep that between us, yeah? That side of me is reserved for you n/n.

It’s so boring over here without you, I feel like i’m just lounging around and last time I checked, I was the lust sin, not the sloth sin. We’d have so much fun together babe! Can’t you picture it? Even if you can’t yet, I can wait. Having you near me will be enough, you are enough just as you are.

Sincerely yours,

Asmodeus (Ozzie) xoxo

———————————————————

Heya cutie!

Letters are a lot harder to write than I thought they’d be y’know? I’ve rewritten this like 16 times already, sheesh. It just feels so awkward, I can’t see your reaction to my words which means I can’t fix any mistakes I’ve made :(. I’m sure I haven’t made any though! Right? This letters going really well so far and is definitely wooing you, right, y/n?

Hah, I’m asking questions as if you can reply right away. Silly old me, I don’t know what i’m worrying about! We’re meant to be together. I know it’s super sappy, but we’re like soulmates. Soulmates are bound to be together! That’s why I’m bringing you home soon, I can’t wait! I’ve got sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo many awesome tricks to show you!

And, the best news, I quit my job!! ༘⋆-ˋ�� ༘⋆-ˋˏ This means, we will have a LOT more time with each other, and you don’t have to worry about Mammon being possessive over me, because fuck him! I’m my own clown! Or, well, your clown.

I can’t wait to see you! This is going to be great for us, I pinky promise :P

Love from,

Fizzarolli !!!! ༘⋆!!,-!ˋˏ!!!

———————————————————

[jesswritesthat]

Shinsō Hitoshi: Friends?

Fandom: BNHA // MHA — [ Masterlist ]

Summary: ~1.2k, fluff

• U.A. had a rumour that Shinsō was only ever late to (L/n)s’ side once, but he hasn’t let anything touch them since. But just how true is it?

Warnings: Potential spoilers

>>>>——————————>

It was a renowned fact that you were perfectly capable of defending yourself in dangerous situations - as well as dishing out your own dangerous attacks.

In this instance, it made sense that yourself and Shinsō were often paired together since he joined Class 2A as you seemed to compliment one another on the field and during training drills.

Hero course third years naturally had the respect and attention of a majority of their juniors, especially since you were all involved in the war. It became useful for when you assisted in their training lessons though and due to Shinsōs’ connection with Sensei Aizawa, he was requested - and you by proxy if it was a team focused protocol.

The set of five students you were both up against were the cleverest so far, you’d noted that when you’d knocked out two of them only to realise they’d sacrificed themselves as bait so the remaining three -two as Hitoshi wrapped the aerial student up- went all out on a combo attack directed at you.

Now you could take this hit, and then use the debris as a cover to counterattack. However, you never had the chance when you saw a familiar cloth bind your attackers’ limb and derail his trajectory into the dusty floor whilst the other received a swift counterattack on your behalf and it was all over.

“Thanks Hitoshi.” The two of you shared a fist bump to celebrate the victory.

“The tactics you used allowed you to survive the longest against Shinsō and (L/n) at 2 minutes, however exposing yourself to danger should only be a last resort…”

As Aizawa finished his teachings and set the assignment of improving their times for the following weeks session, a few students began their idle chatter regarding the exercise. How they’d seen similar behaviour on various accounts.

On occasions when you were in danger, they’d seen Shinsō use his binding cloth to pull you out of the way or neutralise the attackers. They’d seen him put himself between you and an onslaught or push you out of the way. In every circumstance that he was in your radius, and you on the rare chance were in firing range, he’d protect you over himself at any cost.

That’s what heroes do though right? And Shinsō Hitoshi had a greater determination to prove that than most.

This was… different somehow. You were different.

You were certainly friends as you were seen together fairly commonly, but Shinsō was closer to Izuku and Denki, whilst you associated more with Mina and Kirishima. Maybe they were reading too much into this?

———

It was only when the young group were brainstorming strategies did the topic arise in depth.

“I heard from seniors that Shinsō was late once, and he hasn’t let (L/n) get touched since.” One of the group claimed proudly.

“Late? Like to school?”

“No idiot. Apparently (L/n) was up against a villain last year and put themselves between civilians so I found the footage.” The student quickly fished for her phone, playing the video to her peers.

It displayed you taking a nasty blow when acting as a shield, strong enough to draw blood. Shinsō just managed to catch you in his arms before you hit the floor unconscious - a deadly rage sparking in his violet eyes when taking in your condition and looking back to the villain.

“Biggest mistake of your life.”

“Hah! The mistake was—“

It was over instantly, Brainwash took ahold and the rest was wrapped up undeniably quickly. Then the video ended leaving the students gawking.

“Ouch.” One of them winced. “I’ve never seen Shinsō look so angry. That villain was tied up unconscious quicker than anyone could blink.”

“Yep. (L/n) has never taken major hits with him around since.”

“We could use that to our advantage right?”

“Exactly…”

———

The following week you were called upon once more to evaluate their (hopeful) improvements to their previous strategies. Although it was Present Mic supervising this time so it was far more deafening in comparison.

When facing the top scorers from last week, both yourself and Shinsō noticed the adjustments in their tactics but hadn’t quite deciphered their endgame. It was when they staged an attack for you and minimised Shinsōs’ movements to a point that prevented him from getting to you in time did it come to fruition.

You could dodge though, except when one of their quirks went haywire and lead to an explosion large enough to decimate the rocky terrain into a crumbling landslide.

Naturally you’d used your quirk to get the other student to safety which limited your escape time, but with Shinsō and the others out of harms way you were a little reassured. At least until a desperate cloth bound your abdomen - immediately pulling you from an array of thrashing boulders.

You went crashing into a solid chest, toned fishnetted arms enveloping you as effortlessly as breathing. You felt the racing of his heart, the raggedness of his breath, and the warm sigh of relief when he’d pulled his mask down with one hand.

“Hitoshi?”

“Are you alright?” His tone was slightly lower, angling himself slightly so it was spoken near your ear rather than to anyone else.

“Yes but, why are you always saving me?”

His eyes widened for a moment, pulling back slightly in brief surprise like you’d unravelled a personal secret.

“(L/n)! Shinsō! I’m so sorry I dunno what happened - my quirk just— I didn’t mean for it to—“ The panicked first year came bounding over the rocks frantically issuing apologies which Shinsō was admittedly grateful for.

“What matters is that you’re okay, and so are your friends - uh mostly.” You managed a brief glance at the trio who’d cornered your comrade, all of them groaning and rubbing their heads whilst the perpetrator simply shrugged.

“They prevented me from my objective. I had no choice but to incapacitate them.”

“Alright alright, shows over! You may’ve beat your time but the risk wasn’t worth it. I’m sure Aizawa would agree.” Mic chastised, adjusting his glasses to send a daring glance their way.

“Yes Sensei.” The group bowed in apology, the rest of the class both concerned and amused with the whole ordeal.

“You can all help clean up, you can practice quirk management, and you two can let go of each other now y’know.” Mic pointed at each of his targets, raising a bemused brow when landing on the two of you.

Immediately you’d stepped apart, awkwardly locking gazes and snapping back to Present Mic rather guiltily. Though you soon had a moment to yourselves once clean up began and Mic lectured them on quirk control.

“Hitoshi, you know I can handle myself right?”

“I know. But seeing you get hurt once was bad enough, and knowing I hadn’t arrived in time to save the one person I—“ He shoved his hands in his pockets, deadpan gaze remaining on your figure prior to flicking to the ground. “It doesn’t matter. You know how it is.”

“I do. I’d be upset if I couldn’t save you too.”

A meaningful look was exchanged, one that communicated more than words possibly could, and you pretended you hadn’t seen the heavy scarlet dusting the skin of Hitoshi as he pulled his scarf up.

“Since today has been smashing, shall we have an early dinner at the dorms? Maybe watch a movie too?”

“That was terrible.”

“But you appreciate it~”

“I tolerate it.”

The pair of you left together, you laughing as you spoke with Hitoshis’ admiring gaze never leaving you.

In the midst of clearing the collateral damage, the first year class watched on in awe.

“Huh. Maybe they’re more than just friends.”

“Maybe? Hah yeah right!” Present Mic only laughed, oblivious to the entire glass snapping to him in utter astonishment.

<——————————<<<<

[ Masterlist ]

[rhaenella]

idk if ur reqs are open but im obsessed with ur account. i was wondering if u could do a smau of any driver (other than danny ric) x pbr!reader. like shes the only woman to ever compete at NFR in bull riding. shes also 19 and doesnt ride with a helmet (just a cowboy hat) shes also like yhe biggest rodeo barbie you could imagine.

Firstly, I’m sorry it took me so long to get to work on your request, end of the year stuff and other wips got in the way 🫠 Anyways, I decided on Max for this because I almost immediately thought of him and his little Texas outfit 🥰 Also, I have to admit that my (non-American) knowledge of professional bull riding consisted primarily of The Longest Ride so excuse any inaccuracies, but I tried my best to read up on it! That being said, I hope it’s to your liking :) 

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

MV1 | Season of Champions

pairing: max verstappen x pbr!reader

genre: social media au

summary: you and max are each other's biggest supporters as max tries to secure his 3rd world championship title, whilst you're fighting for your 1st in a previously all male dominated sport

masterlist

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

Liked by wagsf1, user3 and 135,092 others

mv.y/nupdates: Tomorrow our girl can secure one of the few select spots in the NFR finals!!! Unfortunately Max can’t be there due to his own race in Qatar, but we’ll be sure to cheer them both on ❤️

View all 712 comments

user1: they’re gonna kill it on both sides of the atlantic

user2: POWER COUPLE

user3: omg i hope y/n wins 🙏 she deserves this so much

user4: my alarm is set for 4 am to support y/n 🫡

user5: are you taking a nap between their races??

user4: lol obviously

user5: same 😂 it’s a tough life stanning max & y/n

7 October

Liked by y/n, mv.y/nupdates and 112,363 others

pbr: y/n y/l/n becomes the first woman in history to qualify for the NFR finals in Las Vegas in December! Congrats on this incredible achievement, y/n. See you in Sin City⚡️

View all 674 comments

user6: OMG SHE DID IT ❤️❤️❤️

user7: i’m so proud of her, i’ve literally been here since day 1

user8: remember when she used to do rodeo and everyone told her she could never go into pbr… look at her NOW 🔥

user9: she gave her hat to the little girl in the front row 😭❤️

user10: yep i cried

user11: y/n is not only the best, she is the SWEETEST

8 October

Liked by maxverstappen1, carlossainz55 and 805,298 others

y/n: There aren’t words to describe how it feels to finally have my childhood dream come true. I’m not gonna lie, it was a tough road, especially as a female in this industry. Working my way up through rodeo to where I am today: a NFR finalist!! It’s a real pinch me moment… Little me would be ecstatic (just like present me 🙈) To all the other little girls that share the same passion & dream, it’s possible! Never stop believing in yourself ❤️ Now, let’s get that trophy!!!

View all 3,238 comments

maxverstappen1: My girl 😍 You’ve 100% got this 💪

y/n: Thank you baby 🥰 But first, Texas!

landonorris: GET INNN

Liked by y/n

lewishamilton: Legend in the making 🤍

Liked by y/n

user12: you’re gonna inspire so many girls to follow their dreams 🧡

user13: ✨role model✨

user14: soooo… idk if anyone’s seen the other finalists but she’s going to absolutely annihilate the competition just saying

user15: fr, they ain’t ready

8 October

Liked by user16, user17 and 658,512 others

f1: Howdy, y’all, it’s race week 🤠 Austin, here we come! 🇺🇸

View all 520 comments

y/n: Looking sharp sheriffs!

carlossainz55: Muchas gracias

charles_leclerc: Have to look our best this weekend, don’t we?

y/n: I wonder who for 🤔

charles_leclerc: 😉

user16: UHM FLIRTY MUCH??

user17: easy there sharl, she’s taken 💀

user18: cota the soap opera, i’m here for it

16 October

Liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing and 778,543 others

y/n: Switching my bull gear for that other bull gear 💙 COTA LET’S GOOO

View all 2,160 comments

maxverstappen1: Blue looks good on you

Liked by y/n

danielricciardo: Yeeeeehaaawwww

redbullracing: Team Bull. Always.

y/n: Hell yeah!!

user19: you can pull off literally anything 😍

user20: y/n is at cota this weekend!!!!!

user21: omfg finally some y/n & max content

user22: we’ve been STARVED

user21: exactly 🥲

user23: GIRL WAIT YOU SWITCHED TO THE CAP??

y/n: Don’t worry!! It was only for the pic 😊

user23: oh thank god

18 October

y/n's story

Seen by landonorris, alex_albon and 2,436,712 others

19 October

Liked by y/n, victoriaverstappen and 728,451 others

maxverstappen1: Austin ready 🇺🇸💪

View all 1,934 comments

y/n: There were so many cool hats to choose from but he insisted on wearing mine…😈

landonorris: Initiating the cowboy hat rule just in time before the race… Clever girl

alex_albon: Oooohh everybody watch out

schecoperez: 😂😂😂

y/n: You know it ;)

maxverstappen1: Wait what?

landonorris: Nothing, mate 🤠 You’ll find out soon enough

user24: BYEEEE AHAHAHA

user25: y/n and the whole grid ganging up on max 😭

user26: he’s so oblivious i love it

19 October

Liked by sophiekumpen, redbullracing and 654,281 others

f1: VERSTAPPEN WINS AT COTA! 🏆

View all 2,017 comments

user27: 🔥🔥🔥

user28: the goat does it again

user29: little sad that max didn’t wear the cowboy hat on the podium tho

user30: lmao y/n is probably as well

22 October

Liked by maxverstappen1, alex_albon and 768,311 others

y/n: WHAT. A. WEEKEND. 15th win of the season & 50th altogether!!!🥇Proud of you Maxie 😘😘

View all 2,108 comments

maxverstappen1: Love you 😘

user31: MAXIE??? i’m sobbing

user32: i need to know all her nicknames for him NOW

user33: and i need her to be at every one of his races

user34: same she fitted right in with the crew in the pitbox, joking around and everything :’)

user33: truly one of the few wags who are actually into the sport…

22 October

Liked by y/n, danielricciardo and 734,161 others

maxverstappen1: It’s incredible to win my 50th Grand Prix here today. I feel very proud to achieve this! Amazing job by everyone in the team 👏 And special thank you to y/n, the hat indeed brought us luck!

View all 1,998 comments

y/n: Always trust the hat, you should wear it more often

maxverstappen1: Unfortunately we cannot all break the helmet rules

y/n: 🙄

user35: lmao y/n is like you either die trying or you don’t try at all

user36: she has an aesthetic to look after 💅🏼

y/n: 🤣 You got it!

user36: OMG OMG

user37: BROOO

user38: well at least we’ve got that confirmed now

22 October

y/n's story

Seen by charles_leclerc, fernandoalo_oficial and 2,766,192 others

23 October

y/n's story

Seen by lewishamilton, charles_leclerc and 2,541,384 others

23 October

Liked by user39, user40 and 31,476 others

mv1jet: Verstappen’s jet just touched ground! 🛬 Nevada, United States of America 🇺🇸

View all 508 comments

user39: oh god everyone get ready

user40: this can only mean 1 thing

user41: MAX EMILIAN VERSTAPPEN, 3-TIME F1 WORLD CHAMPION, COMING TO SUPPORT HIS GIRL AT THE BIGGEST PBR EVENT OF THE YEAR HELLO YES I AM SAT

28 November

Liked by mv.y/nupdates, pbr and 275,021 others

wranglernfr: Today marks the start of the 65th NFR Finals! Newcomer and fan favorite y/n y/l/n has a good shot at winning the championship this week. However, will she decide to adhere to the mandatory helmet regulations or will she risk disqualification and still wear her self-proclaimed good luck hat? We’ll find out soon, folks. Stay tuned!

View all 1,454 comments

user42: i bet she keeps to her aesthetic

user43: oh def, she basically said it herself already

user44: but but but would they really disqualify her when she wins…??

user45: technically it is against the rules to ride without a helmet during the nfr’s so… yeah they might

user44: 😥😥

user46: please y/n don’t jeopardize it all 😩

2 December

maxverstappen1's story

Seen by landonorris, schecoperez and 3,014,839 others

11 December

Liked by maxverstappen1, mv.y/nupdates and 301,294 others

wranglernfr: NFR 2023 Champion y/n y/l/n⚡️Despite sticking to her famous but controversial cowboy hat, y/n becomes the 65th winner in Las Vegas at just nineteen, beating the runnerup and last year’s champion Billy Youngster!

View all 1,778 comments

user47: SHE DID IT!!!! 💪🔥

user48: i’m bursting with pride i’m so happy for her 🥰🥰🥰

mv.y/nupdates: two world champions this is almost too good to be true 😭❤️

user49: their christmas is gonna be one helluva party

user50: well deserved, that billy kid had it coming

user51: he only won last year because of dumb luck!

user52: FACTS

user53: this year we have a winner who’s worthy of the title ❤️

user54: can’t get over how y/n was so far up ahead they literally couldn’t disqualify her for the hat thing lol

user55: imagine if they had, people would have rioted

user54: omg they would have, with max at the front hoisting his pitchfork in the air, leading the pack

user55: 😂😂

11 December

Liked by maxverstappen1, fernandoalo_oficial and 1,219,748 others

y/n: Cowboy hat + racing gloves = champions of the world 🏆

View all 4,193 comments

maxverstappen1: ❤️

sophiekumpen: So proud of both of you 🥰

victoriaverstappen: Coolest auntie (en oom natuurlijk🙊)!!!

Liked by y/n

landonorris: Congrats on making champion, champ!!! And wow… Max has got his own hat 👀

y/n: Yup! He deserved it after his triple US win 😍

charles_leclerc: Does this mean that your hat claim has lifted…?

maxverstappen1: Unless you want another inchident, back off

y/n: Uhm... He knows what it means now…

charles_leclerc: 😳

alex_albon: RIP Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc 🪦

Liked by maxverstappen1 and y/n

12 December

Liked by y/n, landonorris and 1,182,853 others

maxverstappen1: Wear the hat…

Comments have been disabled

12 December

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

a/n: translation of “en oom natuurlijk” > “and uncle ofcourse”

Happy holidays! x

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

[unofficial-writing]

Promise

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Maybe the tiniest ounce of angst, so much fluff I’m sick

Summary: After the battle you two stumble upon the mirror of Erised and now’s a good time as any to propose.

Word count: 856, short and sweet

༺═────────────═༻

You stood back by the doorway, gazing out the slim hole in the stone. Dirt and blood painted your face, likely covering smaller wounds that hadn’t been tended to yet. Even with your current appearance, Fred was completely taken by you.

His lips turned into a smile, allowing his eyes to move drift away from his girl to scan the room. “As surprising as it is, I’ve never been here before.” He announced, his green eyes landing on the object in the center of the room. A tall golden mirror. It shined as if it were new, yet had a weathered look to it at the same time.

“I haven’t either.” You responded, turning on your heels to catch up with Fred, who moved around to the front of the mirror. He fumbled with the ring in his pocket— which was surprisingly still on his person after all that had happened. It seemed so long ago that he was at his desk, engraving “I promise” onto the inside of it.

Fred stood before the mirror, seeing both you and him in horrible shape. You were both bruised, bloody and exhausted. But despite all that, your smile never failed. Smaller but never gone. The sight of it summoned a warm feeling to his chest.

He turned away from the mirror, glancing at you just in time to see your expression completely change. Your mouth fell open, staring at your reflection in awe.

Confused, he followed your eyes and his heart jumped at the picture. It had completely changed. Where you both were looking practically homeless, you now stood completely cleaned up. Fred was in a sleek black suit staring down at you— you. Oh my god, you were breathtaking. You were in a flowing white dress, a vale draped over your h/c hair and the biggest smile he had ever seen.

His lungs failed him. Seeing you in a wedding dress sparked thoughts. Just the thought of getting to marry you made his head spin.

“Are you seeing this?” The real you took his focus back, but he could only nod. “They’re beautiful! Are they ours?” His brows furrowed and your question and he pulled his eyes back down to you.

“Who?”

“Well, probably the little ginger you’re carrying! And the one George has over his shoulder.” You went on describing the scene and it sunk in what you saw. Both of you saw the perfect future together. it made his mind drift to the ring he carried.

He slipped his hand back into his pocket for it, hesitant. You smiled up at him, making up his mind for him. Throwing his big plans out the window, he pulled the ring out gently, as if it could break under his touch. “Y/n.” He started, glancing from the ring to its future wearer.

“This is less extravagant than I had hoped it would be.” He was aware that his tone gave away how nervous he was but you didn’t care. You were shocked and through your face, that was given away too.

“Since we’ve met, we’ve probably been through more than most couples, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing. During these past few years, I’ve fallen in love with you in every way possible.” Your smile was brighter than the one in the mirror.

“I want to be yours as long as I’m alive, if you’ll have me.” Fred beamed. “Y/n Y/m/n Y/l/n, will you marry me?”

You were pretty much in tears now, which immediately prompted him to copy you. “R-really?” You got out. You didn’t even wait for a response before dropping to your knees with him and throwing your arms around him.

Fred managed to get out an emotional laugh, as your shaking body settled into his arms. You lifted your head to meet his eyes but he interrupted and pressed close to a thousand kisses all over your face, finishing with a sweet kiss to your lips.

To you, this was all you wanted. Whatever Fred’s elaborate plans were didn’t matter at all to you. You were overjoyed to be able to marry him. After all the jokes and teasing, it was finally real.

“Looks like I’m finally going to be a Weasley.” You smiled at your new fiancé, who pulled you back to him, wrapping his arms around you.

He exaggerated a sigh. “We’re gonna have to dye your hair now.”

“Absolutely not.” You replied while Fred slid the ring onto your finger.

“We’ll see, love.” He teased, running his fingers through your hair. You kissed the spot just under his ear and buried your face there.

There were a few moments of silence as both of you processed. Fred breathed deeply, holding you tightly. “I’m yours, Y/n.” He whispered, smiling when you melted into his embrace.

“Forever?” Your voice sounded like music in his ears.

“Forever.” Fred responded, brushing his thumb over the ring, which was now occupied by your delicate finger. “I promise.”

[softguarnere]

I've been staring at your ask box for about 20 minutes now because i'm speechless, your writing is so fucking good!!! I've even sent it to my friend (she is not into hbowar) and she was like woow, specially at Ares and Athena, sooo I was wondering if you could write more stuff like that? it's not like I've been shaking, crying, screaming at my screen while reading over and over again BUT PLEASE WRITE MORE SPEIRS X READER

Evaded by Hypnos

Ron Speirs x reader

A/N: Omg hi anon! Thank you so much 💖 This ask absolutely made my day when I got it! Ares and Athena is one of my favorite fics that I've written, so I'm super glad you and your friend liked it as well! This is a prequel based off an off-handed line at the end of the fic about how Ron and the reader met. I really hope you like it! (and tagging @ronsparky since you wanted to read it 😁) As always, this is written for the fictional depictions from the show - no disrespect to the real life veterans! Warnings: language

The night sky hangs still overhead. Somewhere in the distance, machine gun fire pops in bursts, shattering any stillness that might have been about to settle over everyone. Some people can sleep through just about any conditions. Good for them. They’re probably the only ones managing to catch some shuteye. Meanwhile, everyone else is awake and in varying degrees of alertness, and all for different reasons. Some are too scared to attempt sleep, afraid that it might be the last time that they ever shut their eyes. But for Ron and those like him, staying alert is the only thing to do when sleep remains elusive.

D-Day has been hectic, to say the least. Scattered men have been trying to rejoin their companies. They’ve all been on the move, living one order to the next, one objective to the next. The frustration of the night has turned to exhaustion for many, as Fox Company remains elusive. Ron never would have guessed that their biggest challenge once they got to Europe would be trying to keep the companies in line as they moved. Which seems funny, in a sort of pitiful way, now that he’s alone and there’s time to think about it.

Lots of time to think about it. Hours stretch before him in the dark night. Now that they’ve got Talbert from Easy Company taken care of, Ron leans back in his foxhole, waiting for something else to happen, or for sleep to take him first.

You’re so quiet that he doesn’t notice you until you speak. “Lieutenant Speirs?”

Ron looks up. Through the darkness, he can just make out the shape of someone standing above his foxhole, staring down at him. Her voice is quiet, but firm. Ron sits up straight to get a better look. “Yes?”

You gesture down, indicating the foxhole, him, the room he has. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” he replies, already moving over to create more space.

“Thanks,” you say when you hop in and land beside him with a soft thump! Now that you’re closer, he recognizes you. Lieutenant (Y/L/N), from Easy Company. One of the women in the female paratrooper program – and one of the only women to become an officer so far. Maybe it’s the poor lighting, but it looks like you smile at him. “Went to make sure they had Talbert handled, and then came back to find that some of the guys had taken my foxhole.”

“You didn’t make them move?” Ron isn’t sure if it comes out as more of a question or a statement. Obviously you either didn’t make them move, or they chose not to listen to your order – a problem with some of the men when it comes to the gender of whoever is giving them a command.

You shake your head. “I’ve fought enough battles today.”

That doesn’t seem fair. Ron doesn’t know you personally – has never even spoken to you one on one before now – but he’s heard about you. And the popular consensus seems to be that you’re a good officer. The upper echelon seem to think so, and so do the men and women of Easy company. Good officers are hard to come by. They shouldn’t be left in the dark looking for a foxhole to spend the night in.

“Well, if you ever need a place to stay, my foxhole is always open.” The words are out of Ron’s mouth before he’s fully had time to realize how cheesy and awful they sound. Thank God for the darkness, because he grimaces, and when he hears you emit a small laugh, his cheeks feel a little warm.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. That’s very kind.”

“You can call me Ron,” he offers.

A pause. Great, he’s said the wrong thing again.

Or maybe not. “Okay,” you agree. “Thank you . . . Ron.” You don’t say it reluctantly, just slowly, like maybe it’s some sort of trick, or like you’re taking your time trying it out. “You can call me (Y/N).”

“(Y/N),” he repeats. It’s beautiful. It suits you.

There’s the clinking sound of metal on metal as you unscrew your canteen and take a sip of water. You sigh through your nose. “So, Ron. Why are you awake on such an exciting night?”

He starts to make something up, then thinks better of it. He’s only just properly met you, and yet, he feels that he can tell you the truth, even though most people probably wouldn’t believe him. It must be something about being under the cover of night; it’s a shroud that makes sharing secrets easier, somehow.

“To tell you the truth, (Y/N) . . .” He allows the words to hang there for a second to create suspense. “I just can’t sleep.”

In the darkness, he hears you replace the lid of your canteen. “Is tonight special? Or is this an ongoing issue?”

Ron blinks. No one has ever asked him that before. Back in training, everyone seemed to think that his lack of sleep was some sort of vigilance, like staying up late was a way to assert dominance over everyone, proving that he was fearless in the face of the night, like some sort of watch dog. Really, the simple answer was that he just couldn’t sleep. There wasn’t more to it then, and there’s not really more to it now.

“The latter,” he replies.

You hum. “Me, too.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Chalk it up to the war being so damn exciting, or something, but I haven’t slept well since Toccoa.”

“I don’t know about the excitement. Those horrible mattresses, maybe.” Ron grins, forgetting that you probably won’t be able to see it in the dark. You let out a short laugh, though, and he knows that for the first time since he joined up, one of his jokes has actually been taken as a joke instead of being misconstrued.

“Well, they were better than a foxhole,” you muse. He can hear metal on metal again as you open your canteen once more. “Sorry if I’m keeping you up, though.”

“You aren’t,” Ron promises. “In fact, it’s kind of nice having someone else with the same issue. Good to have company.”

“I agree.” For a moment, the two of you fall into a lull. Ron swears that he can feel you looking at him from the corner of your eye, like you’re sizing him up. He decides to make the first move.

“So, (Y/N),” he begins. “Where are you from?”

And that is the beginning – how Ares met Athena. All because Hypnos evades both, and the Fates tied them together because of it.

[opticfile]

𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐡é

—✦ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 // in which a player (Lutz Beilschmidt himself) falls for real this time, and the girl he's enamored by has to overcome his reputation.

✧ taken from my old quotev!! not stolen work!!!

—✦ 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 // Lutz Beilschmidt (APH 2p!Germany)

—✦ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 // drinking, angst, assumed cheating, betrayal, fluff

3.3k words

The pounding in your head was only outweighed by the obnoxiously loud sound of the music blaring from the living room. It was another frat party, one you didn't intend on going to, but hey, you only live once. At least this time there was more of a theme, it was a Halloween costume party—though that mostly just meant sorority girls got to add a cat ear headband to their usual miniskirt and heels.

You and your friends were not dressed in the classic slutty animal costumes, and the more and more this party went on the more you were both thankful and regretful. Emma convinced you and Darcy to dress like... wizards. Not the cute, girly kind, the kind with the 2-foot beards and starry robes. Then again, Emma still managed to make the shapeless robes sexy, and she discarded her beard long ago. You were about to rip off your own, the synthetic material was getting itchy. 

The whole thankful and regretful part came in when you saw possibly the most notorious trio on campus, the biggest players to grace the university in about... what? 20? 30 years? Allen L. Jones (he claims the L stands for Liberty), Zao Wang, and none other than Lutz Beilschmidt stood in the middle of a group of girls, dressed as... holy shit, are they dressed as the Powerpuff Girls?

"Oh my god their shorts are so... short!" Emma giggled, "You can see every muscle..."

"When did the Powerpuff Girls get so slutty," You scoffed, itching under your fake grey beard. "...and buff."

"I see Lutz hasn't changed a bit," Darcy snorted, "Still as much of a manwhore as ever."

"I still can't believe he played you like that." Emma grimaced.

"Like a fiddle." You added in.

"Let's not revisit that..." Darcy dragged her hands down her face.

As Emma and Darcy got caught up in drinks and boys, you found yourself needing a breath of fresh air. Maybe if you were drinking right now, or at least a little tipsy, you might be able to deal with the sight of Allen showing off his biceps to four women. The backyard wasn't really that much better—toilet paper strung through the trees, the blaring music still within hearing, and a random couple making out behind a bush—but it was an improvement. You sat on the wooden steps of the deck, itching under your beard again. You hoped it wouldn't leave a rash...

“Merlin?”

“Huh?” You turned your head to be met with... Of course! Lutz! Probably the last person you wanted to see right now.

“Gandalf?”

“Oh, uh, more like… unlicensed no copyright generic wizard character…” You turned back forwards, praying he would go away.

“Gotcha, my favorite.” He sat next to you. Great! 

"Shouldn't you be, ya know, whoring out?" You snorted, glancing at him as his face distorted into an amused grin.

"Hey, I'm not all slut. I need breaks from the noise too sometimes." He nudged you, “I don't think I’ve seen you around.”

“Oh, we actually have the same world history class-" Unfortunately. "-with Professor Neilson?" He stared at you owlishly,  "Here, wait, maybe removing the beard will help.”

You pulled down the itchy beard and Lutz drank in your facial features. Scrunching up your face, you removed it completely and tossed it on the steps beside you.

“Oh, now I recognize you!" He smiled, before letting it morph into a more sheepish expression, "…Can I get a name though orrrrr…”

"...Y/n." You exhaled through your nose, turning away from him. "Don't worry, I already know your name."

"I'm glad!" He grinned broadly, "Introductions were never my favorite."

"..."

“Sooo... Can I get you a drink?

“I’m actually the designated driver so I’ll pass.” 

“Ah, respectable. Maybe something non-alcoholic then?”

“Actually I probably should be getting home to my, uh, my fairy godmother.” You internally facepalmed, god you were mixing up your fairytales. “Like in uh, Cinderella.”

“I didn't know unlicensed no copyright generic wizard character was a Cinderella character.” Lutz snorted,

“He’s from a remake, Cinder…wizard… It’s really popular overseas.” You checked your nonexistent watch, “Oops, clock is about to strike twelve.”

"Is your fake beard the Cinderwizard version of a glass slipper?" He chuckled, eliciting a genuine giggle from you—god you were gonna have to shoot yourself later.

"Sure, but it's stretchy so it's probably more like a one size fits all.

“Well… seeing as I know what you look like and where to find you, I’d say I'm a few steps ahead of Prince Charming.”

“Yeah, ‘I know where to find you’ isn’t creepy at all.”

“Sorry,” He laughed airily, “I’ll see you around then.” 

You quickly excused yourself and hurriedly walked back into the party to meet with Emma and Darcy .

"Was that Lutz? Why was Lutz talking to you?" Darcy inquired, hushedly but urgently.

"He was just asking for bathroom directions!" You made up an excuse.

"Isn't this... his frat house?" Emma raised a brow.

"Okay, okay, listen. He just- He just came over and he wouldn't leave and then told me he knew where to find me and- I don't know it was torture!" You whined.

"God, don't tell me you're his next victim..." Darcy shivered, "We need to keep you away from him, at all costs."

"Y/n L/n and Lutz Beilschmidt..." Professor Neilson continued to announce the pairs for a group project, and you felt like you were dying inside. Lutz's head popped up from his resting place on his desk.

"No way." You said in unison (though one was obviously far more excited than the other), and you glanced at him to see him grinning widely at you.

The moment class was dismissed and students began funneling out you made your way to Professor Neilson's desk with some very strong words and a lot of questions.

"Professor, not to question your judgment but why was I paired up with Lutz?" You frowned.

"I think you'll be a good influence on him-" 

"But-"

"-and he isn't a slacker so you won't be doing the project alone. You and Beilschmidt need to work together, just for this week." He said, sternly as he turned back to the various papers spread across his desk.

"C'mon, don't tell me you're trying to get rid of me already." A very familiar German accent purred behind you, an arm—a muscular arm but you tried not to go there—slung around your shoulder.

"Of course not, partner." You grimaced. "You smell like beer..."

"Sorry, süße, I'll wear cologne when we study." 

You shrugged off his arm with a groan, walking out of the classroom as Lutz trailed behind you. He easily kept up with your speedy strides, damn him for being so tall and quick on his feet, you were hoping all that muscle would weigh him down.

...You really have to stop thinking about his muscular build.

"Hey, wait, I thought we got off on the right foot." Lutz continued following you like a lost puppy until you turned around and glared straight at him.

"Listen, Lutz, I know a little too well what kind of guy you are and I really don't want to get involved so can you please just..." You sighed, "Just do your part and let's not get buddy-buddy."

"Hey, I was looking forwards to getting buddy-buddy..." He huffed, "Listen, Y/n, I know I have a reputation but that doesn't mean we can't be friendly, I mean c'mon, give me a fair chance."

You glanced between him and the crowd of students trailing the hallways, groaning as you gave in.

"Fine. But make one wrong move and I'm out."

"He's your what?" Emma gasped.

"My history project partner..." You whined, "I cannot believe Professor Neilson would do that to me, I mean come on I thought I was his star student. Why is he torturing me with Lutz."

"Not my monkey, not my circus." Darcy snorted, "You're on your own here."

"How did you get rid of him, Darcy?" You pleaded.

"I liked him." She sighed.

"Oh... Right..." You let your face fall into your arms, "God I'm never gonna shake him, am I?"

"She's your what?" Allen snorted. 

"My history project partner!" Lutz fist-pumped, "God, I thought Neilson was a hardass but he really hooked me up this time."

"She is kinda bad," Zao smirked, "You gonna... ya know..."

"She said no getting buddy-buddy but, well, you know me," Lutz smirked, Allen and Zao whistling and cheering. "I mean... I dunno, maybe I won't go too far with her..."

"What? Are you going soft on us, buddy?" Allen cackled.

"Hey man, shes not really like other girls ya know, she didn't really fold fast at all. I kinda wanna see where it'll go..."

"'Not like other girls' is wild," Zao snorted, "she's gonna end up like every single one of them did, in your bed. Or mine. Might snatch her up since you're hesitating~."

"I mean it, I kind of... like her. I don't really want to make her into another fling.." Lutz leaned back in his chair, groaning. "God, what am I gonna do..."

Lutz had been studying with you every day this week, and you don't think you've ever seen him this dedicated to the class itself. When he could, he would invite you to his place—goofily kicking aside the stray socks and boxers left strung across the floor by his roommates—but when he couldn't, you would study on campus.

Today, however, it was raining.

Lutz (yuck) 3:42 Y/N lemme just come to your dorm pls my place is busy rn zao is dealiong drugs or smth ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ Y/n3:43 no we can study tomorrow you're not coming in my dorm stay away far away ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ Lutz (yuck) 3:43 P[LEASE ill be on my bestest behavior trust

You gave in eventually.

"-and in retaliation, they..." You glanced up at Lutz, scooting away a bit. "You're this close to sitting on me, dude."

"Sorry, the words are so small, I can't read them..." He slowly grinned, "Hey, maybe you should sit on me, süße-"

"Don't even start, Lutz." You groaned, punching him lightly as he practically giggled beside you.

"It smells great in here, what is that, vanilla?" He sniffed.

"I think my roommate has a candle in the bathroom," You said, "but I think its lavendar so I'm not sure where youre getting vanilla."

He hummed, and though you couldnt see it, he was staring at you as your rattled on about some random history thingy—he wasnt really listening in the first place. Lutz had grown a soft spot to you, much to Allen and Zao's amusement, it had gotten so bad he was turning down girls. Lutz Beilschmidt was turning down girls. He was whipped, but he was too lovesick to be ashamed.

You flipped the page gently, but Lutz reached over and flipped it back. When you looked up at him, his face was hovering inches away from yours and he was practically drowning himself in your eyes.

"I wasn't- I wasn't done reading." His voice came out low, his tone intimate even.

God, what was happening to you?

Charcoal nuzzled into your neck as you leaned back in Lutz's beanbag chair. He pouted at you from his desk chair.

"Charcoal doesn't even do that with me."

"What can I say, he must just like me more." You smirked, sticking your tongue out at Lutz as you rubbed the top of Charcoal's head.

"Maybe you're like his mom." Lutz grinned, "Which since I'm his dad that would mean-"

You threw his dirty socks at him.

Emma and Darcy were supportive of you, even if they did think you were a little stupid for falling for Lutz (though, Emma meant stupid in an endearing, cute way!). However, sometimes you wondered if Darcy was jealous, and sometimes it seemed like she was. When you were talking to Lutz in the hallways, him begging you to come hang out with him with the saddest puppy-dog eyes Darcy had ever seen, her browline creased and her lips downturned. When Lutz was texting you, begging for your attention, Darcy was glaring at your phone screen. When you were complaining about Lutz being a little too comfortable, Darcy was bitterly making comments like "must be hard" and "poor you".

"I was gonna go to a party at Theta Theta this weekend." Darcy said as she scrolled through her phone, "You guys wanna come with?"

"Isn't that Lutz's frat house?" Emma said, bobbypin in mouth as she braided your hair, "Ya know, the guy Y/n is head over heels for?"

"I am not head over heels for Lutz-!"

"I'm not letting that loser stop me from partying," Darcy grinned, giggling, "Plus, it gives little miss Y/n a chance to meet someone new~."

"Oooh!" Emma giggled, "We can find you a man to make Lutz jealous!"

"Guys I cannot believe youre trying to rope me into doing that in his god damn house, are you kidding me?" You griped, "I am not going."

You sipped lightly on a hard lemonade, the blaring music echoing through your ears as you looked through the crowd for any sign of Lutz. 

(Yes, you gave in)

Since arriving, you had lost Darcy in the crowd and hadn't seen a single glimpse of the fluffy blonde hair you were so familiar with. Emma suggested going up to his room, teasing you and saying you might've made him retire from his partying ways. You rolled your eyes, but carefully made your way up the stairs anyway. Immediately, you saw Lutz exiting his room, looking a bit dishevelled but, hey, he's a frat boy. You smiled widely as you went up to greet him.

You never made it to him.

No one other than Darcy, your best friend since before highschool, walked out of his room behind him. Her lipstick was smeared and her hair messy. She barely spared you a glance before wrapping her grimy hands around Lutz's bicep.

"Babe, come back~."

You and Emma drove home in silence. Emma was horrified at the news, you could hear her acrylics tapping away at her phone screen and you could only imagine the shit storm that Darcy was getting. Your own phone was blowing up, actually, and you had to put it on do not disturb to be able to focus on driving at all. The threat of breaking down and crying pricked at your eyes and made your nose feel ticklish, you felt ill, and you stomach wouldn't stop doing backflips.

When Darcy said you lose Lutz by liking him, she wasn't lying.

At the same time as you were fighting a breakdown, Lutz was cussing out a very smug Darcy.

"Holy shit what is wrong with you?" He scolded, "I'm sorry that I didn't like our fling and I'm not in love with you, but you are some kind of evil for doing this to your best friend. Like jesus fucking christ, what are you even getting from this?"

"Come on Lutz, we were better than whatever you had going on with her, she could never-"

"Don't even finish that thought." He spat, "Get out of my god damn house."

You were awoken from your sleep by pitiful, desperate pleas at your door. You heard the frantic knocking, the begging and crying and whining, and you knew who was behind it. You rubbed your eyes, still puffy from crying yourself to sleep, and checked your notifications.

Lutz <32:13 A.M. please its not what it looks like i know thats like a stupid overused excuse but its not an excuse darcy told me she wanted to talk to me about something she set it all up please i dont want anyone else

Lutz <3 2:43 A.M. please respond pick up my calls i swear to god Y/n i promise nothing was going on i'm not like that  i swear

You snorted at his texts, he was saying every excuse, using every cliché line that people use when they get caught.

"Y/n I know you're in there I just want to talk I swear nothing was happening," As you walked closer to your door you heard Lutz bang his head against the other side, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please just let me explain."

When you opened the door he stumbled in, his face painted in shock and sadness and relief all at once, and the moment he laid eyes on your pitiful expression he looked like the wind had just been taken out of him. He tried to place his hands on the sides of your face to wipe your tears, but you gently pushed his hands away by the wrists and stepped back.

"Y/n..."

"You have 10 minutes to explain." You sniffled. "And then I'm kicking you out for being a dirty, lying, unfaithful asshat!"

"No! No, nonono, I wasn't unfaithful nothing ever happened I swear. On my life, my brothers life, my mother, father, cat, on everything important to me I swear to you that nothing happened between me and Darcy." He pleaded, "When you guys got to the party I was just hanging out in my room, watching videos, you know how it is. Darcy had knocked on my door and I- I went to open it and she just walked in like she owned the place. It was gross she was acting like we're super close and she was all flirty and it-

"Either way, she was trying to be all handsy and I had pushed her off and stepped out and that when you came up the stairs. She just came out after me and I knew it looked so bad and I didn't know what to say and-"

Were his eyes glossing over?

"Look, look at my texts with her and- and you can see that there really isnt anything going on and I swear you're the only person I want. I don't even have her number saved in my phone, Y/n, she's nothing to me."

You snatched his phone, scrolling through countless texts of Lutz being so irreversibly angry and distraught while Darcy simply defended her actions. You checked her number, it was really Darcy, and you felt fat tears roll down your cheeks.

"Oh my god you're telling the truth." You sobbed as you launched forwards into his chest.

He smelled a little woody and his shirt still smelled like laundry detergent and yeah there was an underlying hint of alcohol but it wasn't nearly as strong as it was the day you became his project partner. You melted into him as he rubbed his (rather large) hands over your back, calloused fingers wrapping around your arm as he brought you closer and closer to him and if it weren't literally impossible you thought you might have ended up merging with him. He kissed the crown of your head, muttering words of reassurance and affection. 

Lifting your head up, he wiped the tears away from your face and brushed your hair behind your ears. He gently caressed your cheeks, letting his fingers dance over every detail of your cheek and jaw before shakily bringing himself closer and closer to you until his lips met yours and you melted into each other with so much passion and affection you thought you might drown

"I think I'm in love with you."

✧ navigation.

[imaginecolby]

forever and ever || c.b.

summary: colby makes this valentine's day more memorable than any other one you'd celebrated together.

a/n: just a quick lil something in honor of today. happy valentine's day! <3

valentine’s day. you and colby never made a huge deal of the holiday, but you did exchange gifts every year. they were usually smaller gifts, as the biggest ones you gave each other on your birthdays and christmas. 

but this year was different. colby had a big surprise in store for you. 

“i cant believe you’re finally going through with this.” sam said to him. he and colby were sitting on the couch, the engagement ring colby bought for you sitting in the palms of his hands. 

“i’ve been holding on to this for too long. i’ve been trying to figure out the best time to do this, but i think valentine’s day is the best option.” colby said. sam patted him on the shoulder and wished him good luck.

later that evening, colby had gone over to your place to decorate your apartment before you came home from work. 

he knew better than to try and cook a meal for you, so he elected to order dinner from your favorite restaurant instead, scheduling it to arrive just before he knew you’d be getting home.

he decorated with a few small decorations throughout the living room, streamers and a few balloons and center pieces. he’d fluffed up the bouquet of flowers in a vase on the counter, setting the box of chocolates next to it. once he was done, he snapped a few pictures, proud of the work he’d done.

once you were finally off work, you were more than excited to finally get home. colby let you know he was coming over, so you were excited to see him. once you stepped inside, you were taken aback by the decorations, and looked over to colby, who was standing in the kitchen, a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other. 

“oh my god.” you smiled, on the verge of tears.

“happy valentine’s day.” he said softy as you walked over to him. you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him softly.

“happy valentine’s day.” you repeated, kissing him again. “i can’t believe you did all this.” you said, fully taking in the decorations around your apartment.

“only the best for my favorite girl.” he said, kissing your cheek. he led you over to the table where your food was set, sitting down to dinner with you. he poured your glasses of wine, and you started eating, light chatter being exchanged while you did so.

after dinner, you exchanged your gifts. you bought him a new jacket that he had been dropping hints about. but you had no idea that your gift would pale in comparison to the one he had for you.

“okay, my turn.” he said, moving the jacket to an empty chair. he took your hands in his, and smiled at you. “y/n y/l/n, my love, my sweet, the most beautiful girl in the world. i cannot tell you how much the years that we’ve spent together have meant to me. you make me so incredibly happy, and i feel so grateful every day that i wake up knowing that i get to see or talk to you. every day is a gift, knowing that i get to bask in your love and support.” he moved to kneel on the floor in front of you. your heart was racing and your hands were shaking as the tears started to fall. “all i want is to spend the rest of my life with you. will you marry me?”

as he finished, you felt a huge lump in your throat. you couldn't even speak, you were so shock. all you were able to manage was a nod and the quietest “yes.” you met his eyes again, and were finally able to speak.

“yes, yes. oh my god yes!” you squealed, colby smiling as he slid the ring on your finger. you stood up with him and hugged him tight, peppering kisses on his cheeks.

“i love you so much.” he said, his lips meeting yours.

“i love you so much!” you said, out of breath and through tears. 

later that night, you and colby had finished dinner and had cleaned up your apartment a little bit. you were cuddled up on the couch, the box of chocolates sitting between you. you’d found a movie to watch, tipsy as you finished the bottle of wine colby brought.

he smiled as he caught you fiddling with your ring, moving it around and watching as the light hit it in all the right places. 

“so, i did good this year?” he asked.

“oh, you did perfect. A plus all the way around.” you said, turning to face him. “i love you so much. i can’t wait to marry you.” you said as he leaned down to kiss you.

“me and you, forever.” he said with a smile.

“forever and ever.” you said, reaching up to kiss him again.

this was the best valentine’s day you ever shared with each other.

[solacedeer]

I'm like 15 minutes late but here

what initially inspired your craft? do you ever look back and look at your roots, where you started? what do you think of it? how did you change (or not change)?

its okay theres no expiration date. But I don’t really know what you’re asking, i’ll try my best.

I’m not super cultured, so really my art is inspired by other artists in the fandom spaces i’m in. I’m self taught (haven’t taken an art class since elementary school). I’ve always been into making characters, So I guess that initial inspiration moment was making paper doll oc’s with my friend in 5th grade.

I look back at my old art a lot, I keep it saved. Sometimes to use as reference and other times I go back to try and fix mistakes. For my blog I have a rule to never delete art just because its “embarrassing”.

(this example is like less then a year old but it was in my camera roll).

I could go all the way back to much older art, I think the biggest thing thats changed is that I consider depth a little more now. Looking back at my old art a lot of it is very flat. I also got better with color values.

Some things that haven’t changed is that my poses and expressions are a little understated, I still don’t draw Backgrounds, and the colors l choose don’t tend to be very saturated.

excuse to post a bunch of old art

[phanfictioncatalogue]

15k Words (3) Masterlist

part one, part two

Behind a Mask (ao3) - EmrysBeard

Summary: Dan, frankly, hates Phil. Phil’s friends have been bullying him since primary school, and though the dark haired boy doesn’t directly participate, Dan knows that Phil’s leering glare means bad news. And then, when Halloween comes around, Dan puts on a mask and attends a Halloween party. While there, he meets another masked boy and for the first time in Dan’s life, he has a shot at romance.

Conversely, Phil feels bad that his friends bully Dan, and so when he gets invited to a Halloween party, Phil can’t wait to put on a mask and be someone else for a night. He’d never want to come out as gay, but while behind a mask, he feels brave, so he agrees to dance with a boy. He doesn’t know who this dream boy is, but Phil is falling head over heals.

Dan may not know who his new masked lover is, but he’s determined to find out.

Blue Neighbourhood l 15k l - gorgeousdan

Summary: “What if we run away?”

“I would,” he said, and Phil could tell that his tone was teasing. “But I’ve got so much summer work to do that I have to turn in.” Phil tried to keep the disappointed look off of his face. “I really shouldn’t have taken that extra english class this year,” he added.

or the blue neighbourhood au that no one asked for

Dan And Phil And Ollie (ao3) - chatoyment

Summary: Phil has a crush on his son's pre-school teacher, Dan. Phil woos him.

Dan and Phil: The Game - intelligent-trash

Summary: When lightning hits the local arcade, all hell breaks loose. An unsuspecting Chris and PJ have no idea what events will come to pass when they meet ‘Daninator’ and ‘Phillion’ on their front lawn at midnight in central London. The once fictional characters from the video games have come to life!

Destination - placingglaciers

Summary: In which Phil somehow finds himself on a road trip adventure with some stranger named Dan.

florist (ao3) l 15k l - dnovep

Summary: Phil’s a florist - he hates it.

Halo (ao3) - dannihowell

Summary: Growing up in small beach-side town has Dan seeing the world through a foggy lens. Coming of age story.

In Paradise (ao3) - yoongioss

Summary: “Uhm.. Hi. Who are you?” Phil finally spoke, reaching up to rub his eyes with his fists.

“Oh, Gosh, I’m Dan. I’m the pool boy, maid, groundskeeper, basically whatever you don’t want to do, I’m here for it.” He smiled and his cheek sunk in slightly with the biggest dimple Phil’s ever seen.

Like Space (ao3) - kae_karo

Summary: A cute boy shows up at Phil’s shop.

Living is Easy with My Eyes Closed (ao3) - TheUKAmazingDan

Summary: September 19, 1976

Dan Howell liked pretty things and a pretty guy, but not the one who was interested in him. No, Dan was infatuated with someone he couldn't have.

based off of the Colors music video by Halsey.

modern fairytale (ao3) - howelllesters

Summary: Dan hadn’t even wanted to go watch his flatmate’s friend’s band perform, but now he was backstage and trying really hard not to make eye contact with the guitar player because he was really, really, unfairly cute. Or, the ridiculously long and fluffy sassy pastel!Dan and nerdy punk!Phil AU that no one wanted.

Our Simphany (ao3) - Dilia_Howlter

Summary: Dan and Phil were just filming a gaming video as usual but then their computer spazzes out and they’re suddenly sucked into the Sim world! When Dil recognizes the two of them as his Dad, they decide to play along and give Dil a fatherly role in his life. What they don’t realize though, is that things are going to get steamy for the both of them, and it wasn’t because of a shower…

pastry chef attempts to steal phil’s heart (ao3) - sierraadeux

Summary: If anyone asks, Prince Philip’s sneaky morning journeys down to the royal pastry kitchen are for nothing more than the perfect cup of coffee.

Scared to Be Lonely l 15k l paradisobound

Summary: Phil begins school at a new high school to avoid his past, however, he doesn’t intend for how much his life is going to change. He meets Dan, the one he’s first warned about, and develops a quick attraction for him. But when things begin to look up for Phil, someone else comes in and breaks the norm.

Stick Around (ao3) - limelester

Summary: Phil’s spent every summer of his high school career picking up guys to have his way with, just to drop them before the real school year starts. He’s earned himself a reputation as a brooding heart breaker, and the summer before his senior year was to be no different. A tall, pastel boy named Dan who doesn’t like when people stare at him becomes Phil’s next target. It’s always been a game of one and done for Phil, but this summer he might have gotten more than he bargained for.

The Boy In The Garden (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: (Highschool AU) Dan Howell and Phil Lester had nothing in common. But when the two of them end up working together in the abandoned school garden, will friendship- or something more- develop between them?

The Sun Will Rise, And We Will Try Again - phanlight

Summary: (tw) Phil, the clumsy Barista working an unstable job in a café along the Thames, always carries around too much spare change and really should stop smoking on his lunch breaks. Dan is a struggling street musician making his fortune in pennies on the south bank of London, another stranger in the city, who deserves so much more than the copper thrown at him by passers-by every day. But London is big, loud and really fucking overwhelming at the best of times, and sometimes, city life doesn’t always go to plan. And that’s okay.

Treat You Just The Same - huphilpuffs

Summary: Daniel Howell was definitely not a Hufflepuff. Except that he was, and Phil was determined to befriend the boy with straightened hair who loved transfiguration and probably should have been sorted into Slytherin. A Harry Potter AU.

[im-no-jedi]

so I honestly don’t have too much to say about episode 11. SUPER cool to see the Zillo Beast again, although I am owed compensation for all those jumpscares tyvm 🫣

loved seeing the boys trying to protect Omega the entire time, and Tech seriously needs a leash now that Echo is gone cause good grief buddy, don’t EVER go off on your own like that again plz 😫

Dr Hemlock seems like he’ll be an awesome new villain to hate now that Rampart is gone, and I continue to wish death upon Lama Su 🙃

and of course, chaotic Hunter flying. LORDY. this man needs to quit being my type already GEEZ 🥵

now as for the whole Omega being hunted by the Empire thing… I kinda knew it was coming. one of the screeners who leaked stuff a while back mentioned it, so yeah, I’m not that surprised. it makes sense all things considered. I’m not happy about it of course, but I’m sure it’ll be fine… it’ll be FINE 🫠

honestly, there’s two things I’ve been mainly focusing on this episode: Cid and Nala Se

with Cid, I’m not too surprised about this rift that’s been created with her. it was hinted at in Faster, and it’s pretty in character for her to be a jerk to them in general. but unlike most people, I don’t think this is TBB being donezo with her for good. nor do I think Cid will be the one to sell them out. despite how she acts, Cid does harbor some good feelings towards them, especially Omega. and I highly doubt she would be THAT cruel, all things considered. I foresee the boys going back to ask for her help after Omega inevitably gets captured. at least, that’s what I’m hoping for. I genuinely like Cid and I really don’t want them to leave her for good ☹️

now for Nala Se… OH boy. I can’t believe they’re trying to pull a Mara Sov on us with her. those of you who don’t know, there’s a prominent character in Destiny who, like Nala Se, has been responsible for a LOT of crap happening (all the way down to the genocide of her own people), but recent events have been attempting to have her “atone for her sins” or whatever. and I AIN’T HAVIN IT 😤

y’all know me, I love a good redemption and will always try to push for that whenever possible. but also, sometimes, you gotta let a bad guy be a bad guy. Palpatine and Pong Krell are excellent examples of characters that I was more than happy to see bite the bullet. and I’m the same with Nala Se. that BINCH has been responsible for most if not all of the Clones problems, and is directly responsible for what happened to Fives. she’s been uncaring and selfish for as long as we’ve known her. so to pull this bs of “oh but she actually genuinely cares about this ONE person, even though she manipulated them for their entire life” is NOT gonna fly with me, sorry. idc if she “cares” about Omega, she’s just as terrible as the rest of the Empire and has NO pity from me. and I can already tell, Omega will be conflicted about her feelings cause she’s such a caring person and won’t be able to see how manipulative Nala Se was in comparison to how her brothers have treated her. it’s fine, she’s a child with the biggest heart imaginable, I can forgive her for that. I just REALLY don’t want Nala Se redeemed in any way. she doesn’t deserve it. let her rot in that cell for the rest of her life for all I care 😠

literally, I cannot believe how much this is rivaling Mara’s story in Destiny. even down to “the person you manipulated for the entire time you’ve known them is suddenly taken away from you and now you’re going to attempt to atone for it by trying to be a better person cause you suddenly decided you genuinely care about them now that you don’t have them anymore”. I cannot STAND this bs. sorry, but you had your chance, and you BLEW IT. take the L, stfu, and get outta my face. you’re selfish, and you know it. and continuing to take advantage of a kind person’s kindness makes you even more of a scumbag (predicting things with Nala Se here, but yeah, this is totally gonna happen 🙃)

tl;dr Nala Se can SUCK IT, and I hope her and Lama Su die off with the rest of the Kaminoans 🖕🏻

[anothermansjeans]

I posted 1,566 times in 2022

910 posts created (58%)

656 posts reblogged (42%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@anothermansjeans

@openheart12

@writingquillsandpainpills

@meganskane

@samuel-de-champagne-problems

I tagged 1,221 of my posts in 2022

Only 22% of my posts had no tags

#anne marie shut up pls :) - 549 posts

#anne marie answers - 214 posts

#tw rose - 92 posts

#i can be me without queue - 51 posts

#my beefy moofy contact chewing love bug - 46 posts

#my beefy moofy love bug - 35 posts

#harry styles - 34 posts

#anne marie plays wordle - 34 posts

#ask game - 31 posts

#anne marie plays taylordle - 29 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#like you’re allowed to have your opinions— trust me i have mine— but if it’s something that’s legitimately just mean dont fucking go around

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

L O L can you do 1&2 with spencer reid? 2 literally made me laugh out loud

fun fact: when i made prompt #2 it was originally the basis of a concept i had for another one shot that i never wrote LMAO so thank you for requesting it!!

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

masterlist | wc: .6k | prompt list

++

You and Spencer had been sprawled on his bed, staring at one another with smiles plastering your faces. Nights like these were your favorite. You’d go on a date, get back to one of your places, and have the most passionate night before admiring each other and falling asleep.

Tonight though, your mind wasn’t ready for sleep right away.

You thought about how you met at a bar six months ago, how you’ve been dating for four of those six months, and how no matter how much time has passed, you felt nothing but love for him.

Unknowingly to you, the expressions on your face were very telling, and you didn’t have to say a word for Spencer to see the amount of love that was coming from you, and as much as his heart jumped at the thought of you loving him the same way he so desperately loves you, he was scared.

He was scared that he’d break your heart. He was scared that his baggage will affect you just as much as it affects him. He was scared that once you said those words that couldn’t be taken away so easily, that once you put your heart on the line, he was going to be the one inevitably making you put your guard up. So, as soon as he saw the deep breath you took, and the way your lips formed the forbidden three word, eight letter sentence, his eyes widened in panic.

“I lo—”

His hand shot up in a stop motion, “wait, before you love me…”

Your jaw dropped open at the sudden outburst, and you gave a small nod, “o…kay?”

“I’m a mess. My life is a mess. My head is a complete mess and I just wanted you to know that before you decided to actually say it… I know we’ve been together for some time but I just… yeah.”

Spencer didn’t know what reaction he was expecting from you, but it sure as hell wasn’t laughter. After a minute he began to deflate, obvious rejection on his face, but as soon as you caught it, you abruptly stopped.

“Spencer, I’m laughing because I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone this much.” His furrowed brows and tilted head caused you to let out a sigh and trace his jawline. “Sweetie, I know you’re a mess. That’s actually one of the biggest things I love about you. Your job is horrid and I couldn’t imagine doing what you do, so embrace that mess, because that mess helped save so many lives.”

“Okay, you're allowed to love me now.”

A chuckle left your lips, “that’s all it took? I had to acknowledge that you’re a complete mess of a human being?”

His soft laughter filled the silence once you were done speaking, and he grabbed onto the hand that had been on his jaw. “Yes, actually. You didn’t just brush it off or try to say that I wasn’t. No one’s ever done that.”

“That’s good to know. Anytime you need me to call you out like that, let me know.”

He just about completely ignored the words from your mouth for a moment as he looked at you with the most mesmerizing smile. “I absolutely love you too, by the way.”

“I know…” his raised eyebrow prompted you to continue. “You didn’t want me putting my love out on the line without fully knowing what I was getting into. You weren’t selfish. That’s all the proof I need.”

“You could become a profiler with those observation skills.”

Once again, a laugh erupted from your chest. “I think I’ll save that to the very smart man next to me.”

The two of you shared another laugh before going in for one last kiss— a kiss that felt like a promise for so many things to come of this relationship— a kiss that made the both of you know that Spencer Reid’s life, mess and all, would do nothing but make your love stronger, never weaker.

++

permanent tag list: @wandasylvie @averyhotchner @ssa-m-187 @nomajdetective @pastelbabygirl19 @cacoetheswriting @nyx2021 @openheart12

spencer x reader: @sultrypotter @goose-eats-god

want to be added to a list? tag list form

115 notes - Posted March 1, 2022

#4

“I have this problem. I don’t want to feel things for you but at the same I have this need to be near you 24/7.” with spence and fem or gn!reader please 🥺

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

masterlist | wc: .6k | prompt list

++

Everything was going wrong. Absolutely, irrevocably, wrong. When you joined the BAU, you planned to focus on nothing but work— sure, you could be friends with your coworkers, but you refused to go into “best friend” territory.

And oh, how much better this would all be if it was just “best friend” territory that you found yourself stumbling into… no, this was worse. You were… feeling things? For your coworker? For Spencer Reid?

You think back to where it began; a case in Washington required you and Spencer to go undercover together as a couple. It was actually something you were looking forward to. Spencer was kind and smart and you knew any time you worked with him the job would get done. You think it was the close proximity that made your stomach the home to multiple butterflies. Or it could’ve been the way he made sure you were always safe, putting you first. Or maybe it was the way he would occasionally make a small joke to calm any nerves you had and you couldn’t help but actually laugh because… well, because you found him to be one of the funniest people you’ve met.

So yeah, you were screwed.

Because of these feelings and thoughts and overall fondness you suddenly found in him, you decided avoidance was the best option. If you didn’t talk to him or left at any opportunity when he entered a room, it would be easy to try and get over whatever you’re feeling. Or so you thought.

Apparently subtlety wasn’t your strong suit, and everyone could see right through you. Because of this, Hotch very clearly assigned you and Spencer to work on the geographical profile together, leaving the two of you alone for multiple uncomfortable hours.

There wasn’t much noise going on in the room as you both looked over files, marking on the map every now and then, only the occasional shuffle coming from Spencer when he would shift in his seat. About 30 minutes in though, you heard the clearing of this throat before he spoke up for the first time.

“Have I done anything… uh, anything to you? Because it seems as though there’s a problem between us and I promise if I did something it wasn’t intentional. I just—”

“Reid,” you began, cutting him off and causing him to actually look at you, “we don’t have a problem. I do. I um, I have this problem. I don’t want to feel things for you but at the same I have this need to be near you 24/7. So I just… thought that by not being near you, it would… go away.”

“You… feel things for me?”

“Let’s not make it a big thing, okay?” You bit on your bottom lip, looking back down at the paper in front of you until his voice caused you to once again look his way.

“I don’t necessarily see it as a problem.” The lifting of your eyebrow prompted him to continue. “I mean, I too want to be near you, and I’m also feeling… things, but it’s not a problem for me. Quite the opposite, actually.”

Your face flushed at his confession, and you sat up straighter. This really wasn’t in your plan when you joined the BAU, but now thinking about it more— the idea that Spencer feels the same thing for you as you do for him… it didn’t… feel too bad. “Okay, um, well maybe one day, you can take me out and… help me see that this really isn’t a problem…”

As soon as the words left your mouth, Spencer quickly nodded his head. Now, with a heat rising on both of your faces, you each went back to work in silence, but this time it wasn’t uncomfortable, and you couldn’t help but wonder what was in store for you after this case.

++

permanent tag list: @wandasylvie @averyhotchner @ssa-m-187 @nomajdetective @pastelbabygirl19 @cacoetheswriting @nyx2021 @openheart12

spencer x reader: @sultrypotter @goose-eats-god

want to be added to a list? tag list form

123 notes - Posted February 27, 2022

#3

“i don’t want to bother you. seriously, it’s all just… it’s a lot.”

thank you for sending one!!

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

content warning: mentions of maeve plot line, mentions of stalker (relating to case)

wc: .9k | masterlist | enemies to lovers prompts

++

Spencer was having a really bad day. Well, not just day, more like week. The current case the team had been gifted with revolved around a stalking situation involving a young brunette, and the motive clearly being jealousy. To say it was hitting a little too close to home for him was an understatement. Not only was the case making him a wreck, but you, the newer-but-not-so-new agent had been down his neck all week as well, clearly sensing his bad attitude.

When you first joined the team, Spencer thought the two of you would get on well, but then when he was mid-ramble, giving statistics and leading up to a big discovery in your first case, you cut him off, beating him to the punch (you swore it wasn’t intentional and the words just slipped out of your mouth from pure excitement over the finding, but he didn’t really believe it, being one to get cut off a lot). So since that day, he was nothing but short with you, and if he had to work with you for periods of time longer than five minutes, he quickly became agitated.

Now, in the current case with the way you would send him worried glances, the agitation was there, but it was quickly turning into defeat— tired from the constant nagging in his brain about his past and how similar it felt right now. He was alone in the precinct’s conference room, head down with his palms pressing into his eyes, willing himself to get over it and focus on the file in front of him when you poked your head in the room.

“Um, hey, Spencer.”

The sound of your voice caused a sigh to slip his lips and he sat up, turning towards you with an unamused look. “What? What do you want?”

Whenever Spencer acted this way towards you, there was alway this fire that would start in the pit of your stomach, and you wanted nothing more than to serve right back what he originally dished out. But you never did. You never did because despite the way he could have an attitude to your disliking, you saw the Spencer that would brightly talk to Penelope, or the Spencer that would endure Morgan’s teasing, or even the Spencer that looked after Henry and showed nothing but love for the kid. However, that didn’t stop the eye rolling or scoffs you’d let out, making sure he knew you were aware of the blatantly rude behavior— there was only so much you could take.

You took a timid step into the room before closing the door behind you, and you crossed your arms over your body, “I was just checking up on you. You’ve been on your own a lot”.

He could see the sincerity in your eyes, and he didn’t know whether he hated or appreciated it. “I- it’s uh, it’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“Spencer, you’re clearly not okay. I know I’m probably the last person you want to talk to about this, but I can tell something’s up. I mean, you’ve been so in your head during this case that you’ve barely said one snarky remark towards me.”

At that, he let out a scoff. You were right. Despite the feeling of annoyance he’s felt from your glances the whole time, he hasn’t actually said anything to you regarding them. Taking a moment to himself, he spoke quietly, “I don’t want to bother you. Seriously, it’s all just… it’s a lot.”

You ended up taking the seat next to him, relishing in the way he softly spoke to you— noting that this was probably the second time since you’ve known him that he’s used this tone with you. “It’s not a bother if I’m asking. We’re a team and… no matter what you may think of me, I care about your well-being.”

Spencer then decided that he not only appreciated the sincerity he caught earlier, but loved it.

“Um, a- a couple years ago, I had this… woman, Maeve. Now that I’m saying it I honestly don’t really know what we were, but I loved her, she also had a stalker who was jealous. Wanted what she had— what we had, I guess.” He paused for a moment to look up at you, and noticed unshed tears ready to fall onto your cheeks, “the current victim, um, she resembles Maeve a little bit, and with the way things ended with her I just—” Spencer had cut himself off before he could get too choked up, but at the same moment you threw your arms around his shoulders, squeezing him in a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry”, your voice full of sympathy, “about Maeve and for hugging you without asking… I just thought you needed it.”

He let out a short laugh and sniffled, wrapping his arms around your waist and squeezing you back. “No, no. I did need it. Thank you.”

The two of you stayed there for another moment before splitting apart. “So, do you want me to leave you alone now”, you asked with humor in your voice while wiping your cheeks, and then leaning over to swipe a lone tear that fell below Spencer’s eye.

He was shocked for a second before clearing his throat, “um, no, I uh, I actually have an idea on how to find the unsub but I think it would be easier to talk through my theory with you before deciding if it’s the best option.”

Giving him a smile, you nodded your head and pulled the file that was in front of him over to you. Spencer just watched the way your eyes scanned the paper for a moment, feeling his heartbeat race a bit. Something between the two of you clicked, and he wasn’t quite sure what it was, but that something made him feel good— happy.

++

permanent tag list: @athenaofathens @averyhotchner @ssa-m-187 @nomajdetective @pastelbabygirl19 @cacoetheswriting @nyx2021 @openheart12

spencer x reader: @sultrypotter @goose-eats-god

want to be added? tag list form

153 notes - Posted February 9, 2022

#2

from the friends to lovers prompt list, “do you think they feel the same?” and “Have you ever thought about…us? Y’know, as an…item?” are two sentences that Spencer Reid would definitely say out loud the awkward dork

ohh yes, love awkward dorky spencer!!

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

prompt list || wc: .6k

++

“Do you think they feel the same?”

The abrupt question came from Spencer as he, Penelope, and Emily all stood around the coffee machine. His eyes had been set on you the whole time they had been over there, watching as you went through multiple files.

“Did you just… admit to liking Y/N?” Penelope’s question was laced with hope, looking between him and where you sat.

“Well, I…” a sigh escaped his lips, “I figured everyone except for Y/N knew… so why not just ask the question I’ve been wanting to know for a long time.”

There was a silent moment between the three of them… too silent, and when Spencer looked over at the pair, the shock was evident on their faces.

“…what?”

Shaking themselves out of their current state, Penelope’s lips turned upward into the hopeful smile that was previously on her face. “Honestly, Spencer, I’m surprised you haven’t—”

“I think you should be the one to ask them.” Emily’s bluntness caused Penelope’s mouth to shut.

“R-really?” he looked between the two watching them nod in encouragement. “I’m uh, not really sure.”

“Reid, the only way you’ll get answers to your questions is if you ask the right people. The right person for your question just so happens to be Y/N.”

It took him another moment to really consider it. This was you they were talking about. The person who accepted Spencer for who he was since his first day at the BAU. The person who always volunteers to go see foreign films with him. The person he fell in love with because, well, because life seemed to want to throw that cliche at him— him falling in love with his best friend. But Emily was right. Logically speaking, if you want a question answered truthfully, you have to ask the person who actually knows the answer. You were that person.

He got up without saying another word, and made his way over to you, and the moment you sensed his presence, you looked up at him with a smile. “Hey, Spence.”

“Hey.”

“Are we still on for tonight? I’ll make sure to bring over any snacks you want.”

Oh yeah, the two of you were supposed to watch movies at his place. Spencer really hoped the next couple of minutes wouldn’t make it too awkward to the point where that didn’t happen.

“Yeah, yeah. I was uh,” he looked around the bullpen, seeing everyone minding their own business— well, except for Emily and Penelope that is— “I was thinking, and was wondering something…”

“Wondering something” you questioned, closing whatever file you have opened so that your full attention was on him.

“Yeah it’s just… have you ever, uh, have you ever thought about… us? Y’know, as an… item?”

With your elbows perched on your desk, you rested your chin on your hands, “Spencer?”

“Mhmm?” He suddenly wanted to look anywhere but at you.

“I have most certainly thought about it. I think about it quite a lot.”

Now he was looking at you. Eyes wide and jaw dropped, he was speechless.

“So,” you began after a reasonable amount of quietness between the two of you, “does that… make you wanna ask any other questions?”

He quickly nodded his head before a blush appeared on his cheeks, and he cleared his throat. “Would you like to go on a date with me? Tonight! We can still watch movies like we planned, but I can order dinner and we can talk beforehand and generally, it can be more… intimate than any other movie night. I want to make it special.”

The smile on your face was one he was familiar with, only this time it looked ten times brighter. “That sounds like an amazing night. I would love to, Spence.”

See the full post

257 notes - Posted January 31, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

karma

pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader (she/her pronouns)

warnings: none!

word count: 946

a/n: it’s been 84 years… but ANYWAY… miss taylor swift has infiltrated my mind once again and i just had to a fic inspired by karma because it’s one of my favorite songs on midnights! im sorry if it’s a little rushed (its currently 1:16 a.m when i write this but i am also excited about it)! i also apologize for any mistakes!

inspiration: karma by taylor swift

masterlist

++

Aaron Hotchner has been through a lot. Between being stabbed, hearing his ex-wife being murdered, being blown up, and having to go into witness protection with his kid, you would think he would be a cynical man, but recently that’s changed. He now believes in karma.

It was a year after leaving witness protection when he had his first dose of good karma. He took Jack to a bakery after school and the woman behind the counter offered them each a free cookie since it was the “bakery’s birthday”. It was trivial, he knows, but the way the woman’s eyes lit up when both him and Jack praised the treat made him feel good. It was a feeling that was always fleeting in the past, but this feeling seemed to stay.

It stayed because the next week when he took Jack to the same bakery, the same woman was standing at the counter and had an even brighter smile when she saw them. This time, the visit went a little differently. After he and Jack had gotten their baked goods for the day and started to head out, he stopped at the sound of her voice calling out to him.

“Sir, you left your card!”

He didn’t have time to walk back up to the counter, because she was making her way up to him, and the moment her hand slightly touched his, he swore his body was shocked with one of the most intense feelings.

And he knew she felt it too, her eyes said it all.

“Um… h-have a nice day…?” She trailed off, not knowing his name.

“Aaron”, he responded, giving her a nod. “You too…”

She stared into his eyes for a moment longer before leaving her trance due to the sound of the be above the door ringing. “Y/N.”

“Y/N… have a nice day Y/N.”

That was his second dose of good karma.

The third time karma was in his favor happened a lot sooner than anyone would ever expect. He was alone the next time he went into the bakery— Jack having an after school activity— and when he saw Y/N at the counter she looked more nervous than happy to see him.

���Hi!” Her voice was pitchy, and she fiddled with her fingers as he got closer. “No uh… Your son— I’m assuming— isn’t with you today?”

“No, no. Jack had a school thing. I still wanted to pick something up for him, though.” And then they continued their routine— talking about the specials, picking out two to three treats, paying for it, and saying goodbye. The only difference was… Aaron stayed a minute longer.

She told him to have a nice day, he said the same, but he stood there, standing at the counter, wanting to stay in her presence just a moment longer. He didn’t know how weird it looked until after they stared each down for a good minute, proceeded by her clearing her throat.

“Is there um, anything else… that I can help you with?”

“No… no.” He tried to stay stoic, but he saw her face slightly fall, and he felt something in his stomach make the same movement.

“Okay, well you probably have someone waiting for you—”

“Actually, there is something.” He cut her off, knowing exactly what she had been implying, but he didn’t want her thinking that. “I want to take you out. On a date.”

It was impulsive, and Aaron Hotchner didn’t do impulsive. Until that moment apparently.

She looked shocked at first, but a delicate smile danced on her lips seconds later, and she grabbed a napkin, writing her number down and giving it to him. He used it almost immediately when he got home.

They had gone on several dates after that. So many that they were officially together, and the next step was to tell Jack, which coincidentally was Aaron’s fourth strike of karma.

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441 notes - Posted October 24, 2022

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