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hoe4hotchner · 5 months ago

Text

Epilogue

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x figure skater (fem)!Reader

Summary: The story follows you a figure skater training for nationals and Aaron Hotchner as your lives intertwine during an investigation into the abductions of young athletic women, including the your close friend, Leah. As the BAU delves deeper into the case, you find yourself captivated by Hotch’s quiet strength and protective presence. When Leah’s body is tragically discovered at the rink, the tension escalates, surrounding you in an atmosphere of fear and uncertainty.

Word count: 7.8k

Warnings: Lot of law and court case stuff, 18+, Smut, oral, heated kissing, P in V, mention of injury.

A/N: This is the end…… Please bear with me on this one, when I went to edit the chater I realized that I had swapped the genders of the prosecutor and the defense attorney from what I had writte 2 chapters ago 😭😭😭 I hope I caught all places where I swapped them.

Masterlist

It had been months since everything had come to light—since Collins had been arrested. Since you’d started to rebuild your life, your trust in people, in yourself.

But today, you had to face him again.

You flexed your fingers absentmindedly, feeling the slight resistance as your wrist protested the movement. The cast had been removed weeks ago, but the stiffness remained. You still wore a brace for support, still had exercises from your physiotherapist to regain full mobility. It wasn’t painful, not exactly, but it was a reminder—one you couldn’t ignore, one that despite surviving Collins, your mind had not been in the right place which had caused you injury.

It was a reminder of everything you’d lost. And everything you’d fought to reclaim.

The air felt heavier than usual as you stood in front of your mirror, trying to steady your breathing. You smoothed your hand—your good hand—down the front of your blouse, not because it was wrinkled, but because it gave your fingers something to do.

No amount of preparation could stop the nerves from creeping up your spine, sending shivers through your body. This was new territory. A courtroom wasn��t an ice rink, and there was no routine to guide you through it, nothing that would've ever prepared you for it.

A sharp knock at the door startled you from your thoughts. You exhaled slowly, pressing your hands to your thighs before moving to answer it.

Hotch.

He stood there in his usual suit, his expression calm and composed—but his eyes told a different story. There was something searching in his gaze, in the way he looked at you, like he already knew exactly how you were feeling.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice gentle yet firm.

You nodded out of habit, but he wasn’t fooled. His gaze flickered to your hand, twisting at the hem of your shirt. Before you could tuck it away at your sides, Hotch reached out, his fingers brushing against yours before wrapping fully around your good hand.

The gesture wasn’t unfamiliar anymore. In the months since your injury, since everything had changed, your relationship with Hotch had shifted too.

It wasn’t sudden, not a single moment that flipped a switch, but something steady, something that grew naturally between shared late-night conversations and moments that neither of you wanted to end. You spent nearly all your free time together now—movie nights on his couch, long walks where he let you talk about everything and nothing, stolen hours where he made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t even realized you needed.

Somewhere along the way, he had become more than just the man who had protected you. More than the person who had been by your side when everything had fallen apart.

He had become someone you didn’t want to imagine your life without.

And now, standing in front of him, his hand wrapped around yours like it belonged there, you felt that warmth settle deep in your chest.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he murmured.

Your throat tightened, the weight of the situation pressing against your chest. You forced yourself to meet his eyes, searching for something—you didn't know what, strength maybe? Reassurance? Anything to help you breathe through the suffocating anxiety curling in your lungs.

“I just…” The words stuck, and you hesitated, swallowing against the growing lump in your throat. Your fingers curled slightly against Hotch’s hand. “I don’t know if I’m ready to see him again.”

Hotch’s grip on your hand tightened just slightly—not enough to hurt, never that, but enough to ground you, to remind you that he was there. The warmth of his touch seeped into your skin, it felt like a promise without words, a promise that he would do all he could to keep you safe.

“I know,” he said, his voice was calm. “I'm not going to lie and tell you that it’ll be easy, because it won't. Collin's defense attorney will likely try to grill you on the stand.”

Your chest ached at his words. He usually always knew exactly what to say—not in a way that dismissed your feelings or brushed past them, but in a way that acknowledged them. This time was not one of them.

You inhaled, slow and shaky, trying to find your balance amidst the storm inside you. “What if—”

He didn’t let you spiral.

“He can’t hurt you anymore.” His voice was firm. “You’re safe. And I’ll be with you the entire time.”

Your breath hitched, and you blinked rapidly, willing the burn behind your eyes to fade. You hadn’t even realized how much you needed to hear that.

How much you needed to believe it.

Hotch watched you for a long moment. He wasn’t pushing, wasn’t demanding anything from you—just waiting, letting you take what you needed from him. Then, after another beat of silence, he gave your hand one final squeeze before gently letting go.

“Come on,” he said, his voice softer now. “Let’s go.”

You nodded, even as your stomach churned, even as uncertainty clawed at the edges of your sanity. You forced your feet to move, to take that first step out of your home, out of your safe space, toward whatever was waiting for you in that courtroom.

The courthouse was colder than you expected, the chill settling deep in your bones despite the cardigan you’d thrown over your blouse. The air smelled like polished wood and old paper, it felt like a strange mix, but in reality, wasn't. The faint hum of voices echoed down the long hallway where you stood with Hotch and the rest of the team. The space was too bright, the fluorescent lights overhead casting a harsh glow on the marble pillars and cream-colored walls. Everything about this place felt rigid.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt once more, it was a nervous habit from your early skating days that you had never quite managed to shake, even with all the time that had passed. You knew you had no reason to be afraid—Collins was locked away, shackled, and awaiting judgment, police officers would surround him at all times—but the knowledge didn’t stop the pulse of anxiety running through you.

Emily stood beside you, her arms crossed as she leaned in slightly. “You okay?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to nod. “Yeah. Just—” You hesitated, exhaling through your nose. “Just nervous.”

Emily’s lips pressed together in understanding. “That’s normal. Even if you know the outcome, it’s still a lot.”

You appreciated that she didn’t try to brush it off or tell you there was nothing to worry about. She knew better than anyone that facing the past, even when it couldn’t touch you anymore, was never easy.

From your other side, Morgan tilted his head toward you. “You know we’ve got your back, right?” His voice was calm and steady, filled with the same confidence that you had come to admire about him.

“Yeah.” You offered him a small, appreciative smile. “I know.”

But even as you said it, you could feel the weight in your chest growing heavier with every passing second.

Without thinking, your gaze drifted toward Hotch. He hadn’t said much since you’d arrived, but he didn’t need to. He was watching you, his eyes looked calm, taking in every shift in your posture, every flicker of emotion that crossed your face. He always saw more than you wanted to show, but for once, you didn’t mind. Today it was important that he knew.

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he just moved a little closer, his hand brushing lightly against your lower back. The touch was brief, barely even there, but it was enough to ground you.

Before you could say anything, the heavy wooden doors at the end of the hallway creaked open, and a bailiff stepped into the corridor. “We’re ready to begin,” he announced, his voice firm but not unkind. “You can take your seats.”

Your stomach clenched.

This was it. The moment you had spent months anticipating, dreading.

Your feet felt heavier than they should have as you moved toward the open doorway, but Hotch stayed at your side, matching your pace with quiet patience. He didn’t rush you, didn’t push—just walked with you.

The courtroom was just as cold as the hallway, the wooden benches polished to a shine, the air thick whispers. The moment settled in your chest as you stepped forward, your pulse drumming in your ears.

You could do this.

The judge’s gavel echoed sharply through the courtroom, signaling the start of the trial. Your heart hammered in your chest as you settled into your seat beside Hotch, feeling the tension of the room press in from all sides.

“Court is now in session,” the judge, a stern woman with glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, declared. Her voice was commanding, and as she took her seat at the bench, the room followed suit.

Hotch’s presence beside you was comforting, his hand resting just close enough that you could feel the warmth of it without needing to feel his touch. He didn’t say anything—didn’t need to. His proximity, his silence was enough.

The defense attorney was the first to speak, her voice smooth and confident, her movements deliberate as she stood up. A short woman in her mid-forties with graying temples, her tailored suit fit her well, a clear sign of the money backing her. She adjusted her tie, then turned to address the judge.

“Your Honor,” she began, her tone respectful but laced with a subtle arrogance, you already hated her “I request that we begin the trial by reviewing the charges against my client, Mr. Eric Collins. While the allegations are certainly serious, we intend to prove that the evidence against him is not as conclusive as the prosecution would like the court to believe.”

The defense attorney paused, eyes briefly scanning the room. She met your gaze for a moment, and though you didn’t flinch, your stomach dropped. She didn’t look at you like a person—she looked at you as a tool to be used, to be twisted into something to help his case. You swallowed hard, forcing your attention back to the judge.

The judge nodded, her gaze sharp. “We will proceed with the opening statements. Mr. Williams, you may begin.” She gestured toward the prosecution, and you exhaled, the sound barely audible beneath the murmurs of the court.

The prosecutor stood, a man in his thirties with short and neatly combed, blonde hair and a no-nonsense demeanor. He was dressed in a simple black suit, his posture straight and commanding as he turned to face the jury.

“Thank you, Your Honor,” he said, his voice firm but calm. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the case we present today is about the pursuit of justice for a victim of an atrocious crime. The defendant, Mr. Collins, is accused of a series of actions that have left an indelible mark on the life of the victim. We will present evidence that shows not only his guilt but his complete disregard for the consequences of his actions.”

Your throat went dry as he spoke, the words piercing you like shards of glass. It was all coming out—everything you had worked so hard to bury. And as the prosecutor continued, you could feel the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest.

The prosecutor turned slightly toward you, acknowledging you without actually speaking your name. You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching slightly in the brace.

“Witnesses will testify, documents will be presented, and video footage will be shown,” the prosecutor continued. “By the end of this trial, the only conclusion you will be able to draw is that Mr. Collins committed the acts of which he is accused, and that he must be held accountable.”

He sat down, giving the jury a moment to digest his words. You could feel the weight of their eyes, their gaze locked on either you or Collins as they tried to assess the truth of what had been laid before them.

“Ms. Avery,” the judge said, turning to the defense. “You may present your opening statement.”

The defense attorney stood again, her hands steepled in front of her as she addressed the jury, her tone more calculated than Mr. Williams'.

“Ladies and gentlemen, what the prosecution would have you believe is a clear-cut case is not as simple as they make it appear. Yes, my client has been accused, but that does not mean he is guilty. The prosecution will present a case based on circumstantial evidence, on theories and assumptions that are far from conclusive.” Her voice was smooth and persuasive, weaving through the air like silk. It wasn't for nothing that Hotch had warned you about her, you thought, swallowing the lump stuck in your throat.

She paused, allowing the jury to absorb her words. “What they will not tell you is that there is no direct evidence linking my client to several of the crimes he's accused of. No confession. No forensic evidence that definitively ties him to these allegations. Instead, they will attempt to sway you with emotion, to exploit the trauma of the victim and push you toward a verdict based on sympathy rather than facts.”

Your chest tightened. The words hit harder than you expected, and for a moment, you couldn’t help but feel a little light-headed. You weren’t just a victim in the eyes of the defense—you were a symbol to be used, manipulated for their case, hoping you would mess up. You felt your hand tighten in your brace, the pain that came from the pressure was enough to keep your thoughts away from your mind.

Ms. Avery wasn’t finished yet. She paced in front of the jury, each step deliberate, as if marking the space she claimed as her own. “We will show that the prosecution’s case is built on conjecture. We will show that the victim’s testimony, while certainly painful, is not enough to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt.”

She shot a quick glance toward you, her eyes calculating, trying to figure out your train of thought, before continuing, “We will show that the truth is not so simple.”

The words settled over you like a blanket of ice, and you had to force yourself to breathe, to crack free. You could feel Hotch’s hand move slightly closer to yours, his fingers brushing against yours for just a second.

The judge cleared her throat. “Thank you, Ms. Avery. We will now proceed with the presentation of evidence.”

The room grew quieter, and more focused as the trial moved into the next phase. A team of forensic experts, investigators, and even a few of your former teammates would take the stand. Each piece of evidence, each testimony, would build the case against Collins, piece by piece.

The process was long, but it was necessary. And as you listened, as you tried to hold yourself together, you found strength in the presence of those who stood with you—Hotch, the BAU, everyone who believed you.

This trial wasn’t just about a man who had wronged you, how he had wronged and murdered others. It was about putting together the pieces of your own story, confronting the damage he had done, and finally taking control of the narrative, hoping that you could flip the page and begin a new chapter.

The courtroom buzzed with a tense energy. The prosecution had laid their case, outlining the terrifying events of Collins' rampage, while the defense had attempted to argue his mental state, trying to paint him as a victim of his circumstances. But now, the stage was set for the witnesses—people who had been right in the thick of it, people who had lived through the investigation.

Hotch sat in the gallery, his posture rigid as always. The back of his neck tingled with the weight of the moment—the weight of the entire investigation, the lives that had been touched, and the trauma that lingered in the air.

"Agent Hotchner, please take the stand," the judge's voice echoed through the room.

You watched as Hotch stood, his broad shoulders filling the space as he made his way to the witness box. His face remained unreadable, but you knew him well enough by now to see the subtle tension in his jaw, the quiet focus in his eyes. He didn’t flinch when the room fell into a silence, all eyes on him.

After swearing him in, the prosecutor began his questioning.

"Agent Hotchner," the prosecutor said, adjusting his glasses, "You were the lead investigator in this case. Can you explain to the court how the BAU approached the investigation?"

Hotch’s voice was steady as he began, each word measured and precise. “We began by securing the crime scene and identifying the potential connections between the victims. The first priority was to gather as much evidence as possible to understand the unsub’s motives, patterns, and any links to prior incidents. Once we had a profile of the suspect, we worked to narrow down potential suspects in the area and focused our efforts on tracking down Collins once we had identified him as our main suspect.”

His eyes flickered over the room briefly, but his attention remained fixed on the prosecutor. You couldn’t help but feel respect for him. His methodical approach, his composure—it was all so deliberate, so composed. Even in this moment, standing before a courtroom full of people, he was the same Hotch you knew from the investigation. How he did it you did not know.

"And how did you handle the situation when you discovered that Collins might be a danger to those closest to him?" the prosecutor pressed, his voice a little sharper.

Hotch’s expression remained unreadable. "We immediately began working with local law enforcement to put measures in place. The situation was time-sensitive, and we knew that if we didn’t act quickly, there was a real risk that Collins could harm more people—especially those connected to the investigation."

He paused for a moment, taking a breath, his eyes now narrowing slightly as he added, “It’s our job to not only stop the unsub but to protect the innocent. At all costs.”

The weight of his words hit hard, the room quiet except for the sound of a pen scratching paper. It wasn’t just a statement about his job. It was about everything—the responsibility that came with being part of a team like the BAU, the lives they were meant to protect, the people who trusted them with their safety.

The prosecutor leaned in slightly, then spoke again. “And can you speak to the specifics of the threat Collins posed? How close did the situation come to escalation?"

Hotch's voice grew even firmer as he replied, "We knew that Collins was unpredictable, and his erratic behavior indicated that he was capable of extreme violence. We had no way of knowing when or where he would strike next, so our strategy was to close in on him as quickly as possible to neutralize the threat before anyone else was hurt by being present at major events regarding the athletes he was targeting."

The prosecutor nodded, clearly satisfied with the answer. The court seemed to hold its collective breath as he continued with his questioning, but Hotch stood strong.

As the questioning shifted to the specifics of the arrest and the team’s coordination, you couldn’t help but think back to everything that had led up to this moment—the fear, the adrenaline, and the quiet relief when Collins had finally been taken down. It felt like a lifetime ago, but the emotions were still as raw as the day it had happened.

And through it all, Hotch had remained the anchor—steadfast, always holding everyone together.

The defense attorney cleared his throat, standing and adjusting her suit before turning her attention to Hotch. She had spent the trial circling the BAU's methods, scrutinizing every step of their investigation, but now it seemed she was going for something more personal.

"Agent Hotchner," the Ms. Avery began, her voice smooth and probing. "I’d like to turn to a different subject. I believe you and Ms. [L/N] have developed a relationship over the course of this investigation. Is that correct?"

Hotch’s expression didn’t shift, his demeanor as professional as ever. He met the defense attorney’s gaze without hesitation. “That’s correct,” he replied evenly.

The attorney raised an eyebrow, leaning slightly forward as she pressed on. "And this relationship has become romantic, yes?"

Hotch didn’t flinch, his voice was controlled. “We did not become romantically involved until after the investigation was concluded. Before that, Ms. [L/N] and I were not involved in any personal way. We were working together to apprehend the suspect.”

The attorney’s lips curled slightly, clearly not satisfied with the answer, and she continued. "So you’re saying that your personal relationship with Ms. [L/N] has no bearing on how the investigation was conducted? You can assure the court that it didn’t cloud your judgment or affect the outcome of the case?"

“Absolutely,” Hotch responded firmly. “Our personal relationship developed after the case was over. During the investigation, I was fully focused on the task at hand—solving the case. My team and I conducted ourselves with professionalism, and that includes the way we handled every aspect of the investigation.”

There was no hesitation in his response. Hotch was calm, his posture unyielding, as if he had already anticipated the line of questioning.

The defense attorney took a slow step back, but her gaze remained sharp. “So, despite the nature of your personal connection with Ms. [L/N], you assert that the integrity of the investigation was never compromised?”

“My professional responsibility to the case, my team, and the victims, took precedence over everything else. The relationship didn’t come into play during the investigation. I assure you, and this court, that the focus was solely on gathering evidence and apprehending the suspect.”

There was a moment of silence as the Ms. Avery tried to gauge whether she should press on, but Hotch’s professionalism seemed to have deterred him. The attorney finally shifted her focus back to the case details, seemingly realizing that no further personal questions would shake the unit chief's resolve.

Hotch held his ground, his voice and demeanor a clear representation of the principles that guided his actions. The personal connection between he and you was secondary to the pursuit of justice. That was the truth, and nothing in this courtroom could change that.

As the defense moved on, Hotch let out a quiet breath. The questioning had been intense, but the focus was where it needed to be. His mind stayed centered on what mattered—justice for the victims, and closure for everyone involved. He didn’t need to explain anything further about his feelings for you; what mattered was what had been done during the investigation.

The air in the courtroom shifted as the bailiff called your name, a silence falling over the room. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you had to fight the urge to let your hands shake as you stood, walking toward the witness stand with unsteady legs. You tried not to look at Collins, but you could feel his cold gaze on you, piercing through the room. Every step you took felt heavier, as though the weight of the entire courtroom was bearing down on you.

You took your seat and swore to tell the truth, but even as the words left your lips, you couldn’t shake the knot in your stomach. You weren’t sure how much longer you could keep it together.

Ms. Avery was already rising, her voice smooth as she approached, an air of confidence that set your teeth on edge. Her tone was practiced, almost patronizing as she began.

“Ms. [L/N], you were once a student of Mr. Collins when you were just a child, correct?” She asked, her eyes cold and calculating as they locked onto you.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “Yes.”

"And at that time, he was your coach, your mentor. You looked up to him, didn't you?" the attorney pressed, stepping closer.

You nodded stiffly. “Yes, he was my coach.”

The attorney’s eyes narrowed, and you could tell she was starting to lay the groundwork for something far more sinister. “And throughout that time, you trusted him, didn't you? He helped shape your career. He’s the reason you’re here today, isn’t that right?”

The question felt like a weight crashing down on you, but you nodded again, trying to keep your composure. “He helped me, yes. He taught me.”

The attorney paced in front of you, her voice still smooth. “But now, many years later, you’re accusing him of sexual and verbal assault. Isn’t that interesting? You’ve had years to think about this, to come to terms with your feelings, and yet, after all that time, you choose now to speak up. What do you think that says about you, Ms. [L/N]?”

The words stung, her insinuations digging deep. “You’re suggesting, then, that what happened all those years ago, as a child, didn’t really matter? That maybe you’ve distorted the facts, or perhaps even created them in your mind?” She continued, her tone growing more biting.

You felt a surge of frustration building in your chest. How dare she? How dare she try to invalidate everything you had endured, everything you had carried with you all these years? Everything you had fought to get back the memories of?

You took a deep breath, your voice shaky but resolute. “What he did to me was real,” you said, your words coming out with a force you didn’t expect. “It doesn’t matter how much time has passed. It was real, and I’m not going to let anyone, especially you, make it seem like it wasn’t.”

The defense didn’t back down, instead pushing harder. “But you were just a child. How can you truly claim that what happened was assault? You’re telling the court that everything Mr. Collins did to you, everything you experienced, was something you couldn’t handle, that you couldn’t have misunderstood?”

The question felt like a slap in the face, but you didn’t flinch. You stared at her, the anger rising within you, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. “No,” you said firmly, your voice trembling with emotion. “I’m telling the court that I was a child, and he took advantage of me. And I’m not here to let you twist that, no matter how hard you try.”

There was a brief, tense silence in the room as the attorney stared at you, probably realizing that her words weren’t going to break you. Her mouth tightened, but you didn’t care. You had already said what needed to be said.

The judge’s voice rang out then, sharp and commanding. “This is a courtroom, not a place for personal attacks. Proceed with the questions, but remember your professional conduct.”

You nodded quickly, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. The defense attorney seemed to think better of pushing further for now, shifting the line of questioning. But the damage had been done.

You knew now more than ever that you could face whatever came next. Because the truth had already been spoken, and nothing they said could take that away.

The prosecutor stood up next, and the shift in energy was noticeable. The defense attorney had tried to discredit you, but now it was the prosecution’s turn to make sure your truth was heard. The prosecutor’s presence felt like a breath of fresh air after the tense exchange with the defense.

He approached the stand with grace. You hadn’t realized how much you needed someone to stand in your corner, but now, with the prosecutor’s calm, confident demeanor, you felt a small sense of relief.

“Ms. [L/N], I know this has been incredibly difficult, but I need to ask you to recount what happened at the Regionals, the events that led up to Mr. Collins’s arrest. Could you please walk us through what occurred that day?”

You nodded slowly, trying to steady your racing heart. You thought back to the competition, to everything that had led to that moment. It felt like it had happened so fast, like it had all been a blur.

“At Regionals... it was supposed to be the culmination of everything I’d worked for,” you began, the words coming out slowly at first. “I was focused, I had to be. But there was something about that day—something felt off.”

“The competition started, and I tried to push it all aside, tried to focus on what I was doing on the ice. And then he showed himself.”

Your breath hitched, but you kept going. You had to.

“He threatened me, tried to shoot. And I ran. Or rather skated off, trying to stay out of line not to get hurt.”

The room was silent, every eye focused on you. You took another breath, trying to steady yourself, but it wasn’t easy. The memories, the rawness of them, felt too fresh, too painful.

“And that’s when Mr. Hotchner and the BAU stepped in and took him down” the prosecutor continued, nodding toward Hotch, who sat at the back of the courtroom. “Can you tell us how they were involved?”

You turned slightly, your eyes meeting Hotch’s for a moment. He was watching you, his expression soft but resolute. It gave you strength, knowing he was there.

“Yes,” you said, a slight tremor in your voice as you began again. “When I left the ice, I... I didn’t know where to go. I was terrified. But I knew I couldn’t go back. Once everything was safe again, Agent Hotchner came to find me to make sure I hadn't gotten hurt.”

“Hotch and the team... they made sure I was safe. They took my statements, and they didn’t waste any time. They found out everything they needed to, all the evidence, all the details.”

You swallowed, your throat tight, but you pressed on. “I didn’t have to fight this alone. The BAU made sure of that.”

The prosecutor nodded, his voice reassuring as they continued. “And when Mr. Collins was arrested, how did that feel?”

You took a deep breath, the question pressing against you. “It felt like... like a weight had been lifted. Like I could finally breathe again. But it wasn’t just about the arrest—it was about what it meant. That someone believed me.”

The prosecutor smiled at you, though it was small. “Thank you, Ms. [L/N]. No further questions.”

As he stepped back, you felt a weight lift off your chest. You had spoken your truth, and you knew, deep down, that it had been the right thing to do. You had done your part.

And now, it was time to let justice take its course.

The courtroom fell into an expectant hush as the jury returned. Eric Collins sat in his chair, his expression unreadable, his hands clasped tightly in front of him, while you sat in your seat, your heart pounding in your chest, your hands clenched tightly in your lap.

The judge looked over at the jury foreman, who stood, a piece of paper in hand. The judge’s voice rang out clear and steady as he asked, “Has the jury reached a verdict?”

The foreman nodded, his expression earnest. “We have, Your Honor.”

You held your breath as the foreman read aloud, “We, the jury, find the defendant, Eric Collins, guilty on all charges.”

The words echoed in the courtroom, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. The weight of the verdict settled into your chest. It was over. The man who had tried to destroy your life was now held accountable for his actions. The realization, though it didn’t erase the pain, brought a sense of closure that you never thought you would feel.

Collins didn’t react—he didn’t even flinch. But you noticed a small shift in his posture, a slight tension in his shoulders, as if the reality of the verdict was finally sinking in or if he was considering appealing the judgement. Regardless, he would pay for what he had done.

Hotch, who had been sitting next to you the entire trial, reached out and placed a reassuring hand on your thigh. You hadn’t even realized how tense you had become until you felt his touch. It was steadying, comforting, and you leaned into it, giving a small nod of acknowledgment.

The judge addressed the room again, his voice firm. “The court will reconvene for sentencing at a later date. In the meantime, the defendant is remanded into custody.”

Collins was escorted from the courtroom, his face stoic. You didn’t watch him leave. Instead, you focused on the moment—the moment when the system had listened, and when justice had finally been served.

As the courtroom began to clear, you remained seated, the full weight of everything still settling over you. Hotch remained by your side, never once moving away.

"You did it," he said quietly, his words almost a whisper.

You managed a small smile, though the exhaustion was written all over your face. “We did it,” you corrected him softly, your voice hoarse from everything you had been through.

Hotch nodded, and for a moment, neither of you said anything more. You just sat there, a shared understanding passing between the two of you. It wasn’t over—not completely—but it was a step forward. And that, for now, was enough.

The kitchen was quiet, the only sounds coming from the hum of the fridge and the faint tapping of raindrops against the windows. The room was dimly lit, the warm light from the overhead lamp casting a gentle glow on the counter, where two mugs of coffee sat, cooling. You and Hotch had just returned to your apartment after the trial, everything still felt heavy, but there was a relief in the air now—something you couldn’t quite put into words.

You stood by the counter, wrapping your hand around your mug. Hotch was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with a quiet intensity. You could feel the pull between you, the unspoken understanding of everything that had passed between the two of you for the past couple of months.

“Do you ever think about how everything changed?” you asked, breaking the silence, your voice soft, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the delicate peace in the room.

Hotch’s gaze softened as he stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “Every day,” he said quietly. “But I think it was for the better. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

You swallowed, his words settling in your chest. “I don’t feel strong,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I feel like everything’s been... out of my control.”

He reached out, his hand gently brushing against yours. “You’ve handled more than anyone should ever have to. But you’ve come through it.”

You didn’t know how to respond, so you just nodded, taking a sip of your coffee to steady yourself. You weren’t sure when it happened, but somehow, Hotch had become someone you relied on—someone who made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.

He stepped closer, his fingers brushing against the side of your arm. His touch was gentle, but there was a warmth to it that sent a shiver down your spine. The space between you was shrinking, and you could feel his presence filling the room. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze flickering to your lips, then back up to your eyes.

You couldn’t ignore it anymore—the way your heart was racing, the way your body seemed to respond to him without thought. You took a slow breath, feeling a wave of vulnerability rush through you.

“Hotch…” Your voice stuttered, but you didn’t want to pull away. You didn’t want him to leave—not now, not after everything.

He closed the space between you, his hand resting on your shoulder, his thumb brushing over the fabric of your shirt. His voice was low, almost a whisper. “It’s okay.”

Before you could respond, he was kissing you—gentle at first, his lips brushing against yours in a tentative exploration. Your breath hitched, and instinctively, you reached up, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, and the warmth between you intensified, the slow, gentle rhythm of it turning into something more urgent, more heated.

Hotch’s hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer as if there were no space left between you that needed to be filled. You could feel the tension in his body, the same tension you had felt all throughout the trial—only now, it was different. Now, it was alive in the way his hands slid under your shirt, the heat of his touch burning through your skin.

You responded, your own hands finding their way to his neck, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging him closer, desperate to feel more of him. The kiss became more passionate, the need for connection undeniable. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with desire.

“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice a low growl, his breath coming uneven.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yes. I’m sure.”

And with that, Hotch’s lips crashed back to yours, and the world around you disappeared. It was just the two of you in that moment—no trials, no past, no uncertainty. Just him, just you, and the feeling that, for once, everything was finally falling into place.

The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as you pulled him back to you, your body pressing into his, responding to the intensity of the moment. His hands roamed down to your hips, pulling you against him, your body flushing with heat. You could feel the thrum of his heartbeat against yours, each beat matching the rhythm of your own.

It was impossible to think of anything else—nothing else mattered except the feeling of his lips on yours, the warmth of his touch, and the connection that seemed to surge between you, stronger than anything either of you had ever known.

As the heat between you and Hotch continued to build, your kisses growing more passionate and urgent by the second, you suddenly found yourself swept up in his strong arms. With a mischievous glint in his eye, Hotch murmured against your lips, "Jump."

Trusting completely in him, you leaped into his embrace, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist. He caught you effortlessly, his hands cupping your ass as he carried you out of the kitchen and down the hall to your bedroom.

Kicking open the door, he carried you inside, his lips never leaving yours as he lowered you gently onto the bed. You moaned softly as you felt the soft duvet beneath your back, the fabric a contrast to the heat radiating off Hotch's body.

He gazed down at you, his eyes taken in every inch of your curves. Slowly, teasingly, he trailed a finger down your neck, between your breasts, and over your stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. "You're so beautiful," he breathed, his voice low and husky. "I want to worship every inch of you."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body aching for his touch. Impatiently, you reached up to tug at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours. He obliged with a wicked grin, pulling the garment over his head and tossing it aside. And soon your own clothes followed

You gasped softly as you took in the sight of his chest and the outline of his biceps, your fingers itching to explore every dip and curve. But before you could touch him, Hotch was on you again, his lips trailing hot kisses down your neck and chest.

He took his time lavishing attention on your breasts, his tongue swirling around each nipple before he drew them into his mouth to suck and nibble. You arched beneath him, tangling your fingers in his hair and holding him close.

Hotch's hands roamed lower, skimming over your hips and thighs. His fingers teased along the edge of your panties, dipping beneath the fabric to caress your already damp folds.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned against your skin, his voice strained with desire. "You're so wet for me already. I can't wait to be inside you."

His words only served to fuel your arousal, your hips bucking up against his hand in a desperate search for more. Hotch seemed to sense your need, quickly divesting you of your remaining clothes until you lay bare before him.

He took a moment to drink in the sight of you, his eyes roaming over your naked form with a look of pure hunger. "God, I want to taste you," he rasped, settling between your thighs. "I want to feel you come apart on my tongue."

Before you could respond, he dipped his head, his tongue delving into your already dripping folds. You cried out at the first touch, your head falling back against the pillows as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

Hotch lapped at you greedily, his tongue exploring every crevice and fold with precision. He circled your clit with the tip of his tongue, flicking over the sensitive bud again and again until you were writhing beneath him.

As your moans grew louder and more urgent, Hotch slid two fingers inside you, curling them just right to hit that spot, the one that made stars burst behind your eyelids. "That's it, baby," he purred, his breath ghosting over your skin. "Let me hear how good I make you feel."

Your hands flew to his hair, holding him in place as he worked you over. Your thighs trembled on either side of his head, your hips rocking against his mouth in a desperate search for more.

"Don't stop," you keened, your voice hoarse with pleasure. "Please, Hotch. I'm so close."

He doubled his efforts, sucking hard on your clit as his fingers pumped in and out of you. The pleasure was almost too much to bear, building and building until it finally crested over you in a tidal wave of ecstasy.

You screamed his name as you came, your body convulsing beneath him. He worked you through it, prolonging your orgasm until you were boneless and spent, collapsing back against the mattress.

But Hotch was far from done with you. Crawling up your body, he captured your lips in a searing kiss that tasted of your own arousal. You could feel his erection pressing against you.

Breaking the kiss, he reached down to undo his pants, shoving them down just far enough to free his cock. You bit your lip at the sight, your arousal spiking even higher than before.

"I need to be inside you," he groaned, positioning himself at your entrance. "I need to feel you wrapped around me."

You nodded breathlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist. He surged forward, burying himself deep inside you with one smooth thrust. You both groaned at the sensation, your bodies fitting together like they were made for each other.

Hotch set a slow, sensual pace, his hips rocking against yours in a steady rhythm. He leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth in time with his thrusts.

Your hands roamed over his back, feeling the play of muscles beneath his skin as he moved above you. You could feel every inch of him inside you, stretching you in the most delicious way.

As the pleasure built higher and higher, you could feel yourself tensing, coiling tighter and tighter with each pass of his cock. "Aaron," you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders. "I'm so close. Don't stop."

He answered with a growl, his thrusts becoming harder and faster. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your moans and cries of pleasure. You could feel him pulsing inside you, growing thicker and harder with each passing second.

"Come for me, baby," he groaned, his voice strained with effort. "Come all over my cock. I want to feel you squeezing me."

His words were all it took to send you hurtling over the edge once more. You came with a silent scream, your body shuddering and convulsing beneath him as wave after wave of bliss crashed over you. Hotch followed a second later, burying himself deep inside you.

He collapsed on top of you, both of you gasping for breath as you rode out the aftershocks of your orgasms. He pressed soft kisses to your face and neck, murmuring words of love and devotion against your skin.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "I love you so fucking much."

"I love you too," you whispered back, tangling your fingers in his hair. "More than anything."

He smiled against your skin, rolling onto his side and pulling you close. You nestled into his arms, your body still tingling with pleasure.

Hotch had his arm around you, his hand resting on your waist. You melted into his touch, your body fitting perfectly against his, the weight of the day and everything that had come before fading into the background. In his arms, you felt safe, as if you were exactly where you were meant to be.

You didn’t need to say anything. There were no words that could capture the quiet perfection of the moment, the way everything seemed to have fallen into place without either of you trying. The chaos of the trial, the fears, the insecurities—all of it seemed so far away now, replaced with the simple comfort of his presence.

His fingers gently traced circles on your hip. You could feel his chest rise and fall beneath you, the rhythm of his heartbeat steady and grounding. Your own breath was slow as your eyelids grew heavy, the exhaustion of the past weeks, months even, finally catching up with you.

You shifted slightly, finding the perfect spot to nestle into him, his body surrounding you like a cocoon. His lips brushed the top of your head in a tender kiss, and you let out a soft sigh, a smile tugging at your lips. Everything felt effortless now, as if the world had fallen into place with a single, perfect kiss.

“Goodnight,” Hotch murmured, his voice low and steady, his hand resting on your back, pulling you even closer.

You couldn’t help but smile as you closed your eyes. “Goodnight, Hotch.”

And just like that, with his heartbeat thumping steadily in your ear, you fell asleep. Wrapped up in each other, you both drifted off, finding peace in the simplicity of being together, knowing that everything was perfect.

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