stbeck

[stbeck]

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader synopsis: since his divorce, all aaron’s known is this subtle, silent anger that breathes under his skin. he’s become an expert at hiding it; he always has been. until you.

Anger is an old friend of Aaron’s.

He can feel the uneasiness of it slipping through his fingertips, losing his grip on reality as you step into his darkened office. It’s a poison contaminating his blood, scorching his insides until the fire consumes him, taking every fragmented piece until nothing remains.

His pulse quickens───

Another step closer; tentatively.

There’s silence; the weighted kind. It’s screaming at him, shouting: this is who he is now, a fragile mess of contradictions is what he’s become, what he’s become to survive in a cruel world meant to break him. One broken soul is standing in front of another, both trying to discover their missing pieces in one another.

He doesn’t know how to describe it.

That feeling where his body doesn’t feel like his own. Where the ground underneath his feet fades until only white noise remains. It’s hard to distinguish truth from the regret and loneliness that’s choking him with an iron fist.

“Hotch.” 

He can hear a heartbeat. A soft hum that isn’t quite his own, echoing through his skin as it pulses against his skin. Aaron’s head is throbbing. It’s been a long day of working through the backlog of paperwork, eyes straining as he scans the rushed penmanship. He leans back in his chair, but avoids meeting your stare, already dreading what he might find if he’s brave, or stupid enough, to acknowledge your presence.

One, two, three───

“Hotch.”

The voice in his head is suddenly harsher. Panicked. Desperate. It’s scratching at his subconscious, scarring his memories of the life he’d promised to Haley, of the picture perfect future he’d promised to Jack, but there’s something else, too. Something he can’t name. A long suppressed ache that ignites an inferno in his chest whenever he senses you, in moments where you’re close enough that he can feel your warm breath on the back of his neck.

He inhales, and holds it for a second.

It’s only when the lightheadedness follows that he exhales it out again. It does little to alleviate the descending pain that’s paralysing him in a strange numbness. He’s acutely attuned to you and can almost visualise the moment you decide to stay, and suddenly he’s on a precipice waiting for the moment where he’ll fall over the edge.

He can only hope he doesn’t drag you down with him.

“Breathe, Hotch,” your voice is quiet.

His next breath catches, and sticks in his throat───

He tries again, taking a short, sharp inhale of the cold air that blankets the room, unwelcoming and piercing as the world grows duller. It’s a moment later when your distress rises as you take in the new unravelled version of the stoic Unit Chief that he’s never let anyone see before. This ruined, broken side of him is usually a kept prisoner, chained in his mind as a permanent scar of a his past.

Because this is who he is now.

He catches sight of his reflection, but he doesn’t recognise himself. His posture drops at the sight of his sullen cheeks, shoulders sagging in defeat. This side of him is unhinged at times with an almost unsettling, manic edge. He’s a caged animal ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble, prepared to run until his lungs ache from exertion and the BAU is all but a distant memory.

He clears his throat and everything else falls away.

There’s a hum of conversation but he can barely hear it.

His eyes catch on the framed picture taking pride of place on his desk, his son’s smile like a knife to his gut, another level of unresolved hurt. He wishes he was a better man, a better father; one who should’ve fought harder to keep his family together. He thinks of the ‘FOR SALE’ sign in the front yard of their family home, and the hollowness sets in.

He’d bought it with Haley with a promise of forever.

Aaron could never have imagined that the forever he wanted would be so temporary. The home they once shared is a shell of its former self, abandoned on a vacant lot. In the few, scant moments that he takes to remember the good times, he craves the familiarity of the life he once had almost as much as he wishes for the freedom of starting over, of having a second chance to be the man he wished he could have been.

“I’m fine, Agent,” he says, but he doesn’t sound right.

He catches the way you flinch in his periphery and feels sick with knowing that he’s armed his words as a weapon, trained to kill. His voice is cold, detached and so unlike him that it doesn’t feel real.

He feels the guilt swallow him. “I didn’t───”

“I know,” is all you can bring yourself to reply.

There’s something brewing in the air between you. Something that neither of you can name. Aaron paces back and forth in the office, feet pounding against the harsh floors, echoing. It’s in his tense shoulders and in the way his jaw clenches every time you inch towards him: one step forward, two steps back. He’s losing his white knuckled grip on everything, questioning how he can keep himself sane when he’s lost all he knows, when he keeps losing everyone he’s ever loved.

When will he lose you too?

“It’s late,” you murmur.

He can recognise the feeling of solitude.

It devours him until it makes a home in his bones.

But here, with you, it almost feels like he’s not alone. Maybe this is what fate, or destiny, is. Finding a glimmer of hope in a life that’s dark just as much as it is tragic. He thinks of Jack, of Gideon and Elle, of Morgan, Dave, JJ, Prentiss, Penelope, Reid and then───you. The thrill of the job makes him feel something, a reminder of what it feels like to be alive. He catches hold of his wrist, seeking out the steady pulse that jumps; one, two, three, four, five, six. 

“Hotch.”

A brief silence, and then, “I’m fine.”

Aaron’s voice is soft; a paradox to the shadows in his eyes.

Since the divorce, the days pass in and out like a tide. Happiness is just as fleeting, just as unpredictable. He bounces from exhilaration to delirium to depression, like it’s a game that he needs to win. Other days he can barely feel anything at all. Sometimes it’s easier to pretend that he doesn’t care because if he doesn’t care, then he won’t feel this gaping wound in his chest that won’t stop bleeding. He won’t be able to feel his heart quiver with the regret that burrows its way into the torn muscle. He won’t be able to miss something he never had like a sewn off limb, the phantom pain suffocating him. 

(Breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe───) 

The room is too small, the warmth of you like a hand prying his ribcage apart until his chest burns. This isn’t what he wanted. He likes you, almost loves you even, but knows deep down in his soul that he shouldn’t. He doesn’t deserve it. He’ll let you down like he let Haley down. It’s suffocating him and all he can do is push himself away from his desk as he leaves the room, a trail of destruction left in his wake.

He seeks solace under the evening sky.

This is his home, the place that he grew up in, but Aaron doesn’t feel like he belongs to the suits and politics that are embedded in his fingernails. It reminds him of everything he doesn’t have; of everything he wishes he could have. He reminisces about Haley and the way her eyes refuse to meet his, cowering in the face of confrontation, their marriage dead and buried.

He doesn’t think about the future.

He no longer indulges himself in what-ifs.

Aaron opens his eyes, scanning the sparse area around him. He bites down against the fear that’s clawing up into his chest, or at least this is what he thinks fear feels like. There’s a beat of silence, and then a door slams from somewhere behind him.

“Hotch.”

He wants to scream.

He thinks of Rossi, and how he seems to move on so easily when his marriages fail. Aaron craves the exhilaration of it; the lack of anything physical tethering to a place he doesn’t want to be. Isn’t that what everyone wants? To leave from where they’re not wanted?

“Hotch.” 

He should have expected this.

He should have predicted that you’d follow him; should’ve predicted you would put up a fight when it came down to it. He marks it down as something he’s still getting used to, having friends that will have his back regardless of the consequences. But it’s more than that; of course, it is, but he’s not ready to admit it.

“Hotch.” 

“Would you stop saying my name like that?” 

A pause, and then, softer. “Aaron.” 

It’s gentle, light against the calm skies above. The soft breeze brushing up against your skin moments before has stopped now, and there’s a lull to the air that Aaron hasn’t felt in a while. It allows the anger, the panic and everything in between to fall from his shoulders, the tension dissipating. 

It allows him to breathe again. 

A moment that’s given to him freely.

“Morgan tried hitting on the new admin,” you tell him in nothing more than a whispered murmur. “Turns out she had her earphones in when he was asking her out. She didn’t even realise he was talking to her.”

He welcomes your voice like the distraction it is.

Before he can stop himself, the corner of his mouth twitches into a small smile. It’s something normal amidst the chaos brewing, tearing him apart piece by piece. It’s something to grip onto, to let himself drift towards to break himself away from his inner turmoil.

The raging storm inside him calms at your voice.

Maybe it’s your larger than life presence, forcing all other topics and feelings aside until there’s only you left but when you’re around, he feels the burden of the world slip from his shoulders. He forgets that his bones ache from exhaustion or that the bags underneath his eyes are so dark he looks like he’s one step away from collapsing. He forgets about the way he hates his reflection, too scared to see a shell of himself staring back; if he can even recognise himself at all.

“I have no doubt his ego will bounce back.”

“He asked her again,” you huff out a breath. “She said yes.”

Aaron wants to say thank you, to show he’s grateful for your presence; to show he’s thankful for the simple fact that you don’t push the boundaries he sets. He wants to grab your shirt in his hands and drag you closer, until you’re so close that he’ll be able to identify every single speck of colour in your eyes. He’ll be able to shiver as your warm, ragged breath touches his skin, to share a charged moment before your lips meet. Aaron wants a lot of things, but he knows that there’s a difference between want and deserve.

He catches you as you glance at him, and smiles. 

(He knows. He knows. He knows───) 

Aaron doesn’t want to become his father’s son.

He can’t take and take and take without acknowledging what comes next. He can’t take anything without giving something in return. Love is supposed to be unconditional; a reflex, a chemical reaction, a memory maybe. All Aaron has ever known has torn him apart, the scars a permanent reminder that love doesn’t come easy to him; it never has. 

“Aaron.”

He feels you move beside him.

He can practically hear the hum of your chest and he savours the simplicity of it. Two lost people standing next to each other with barely any space separating them. If Aaron reached his fingertips out, you’d be holding hands. When Aaron thinks of love, he believes it must be a little like this: the softness of the sharp edges on your face, the lightness of his chest and, you───

“Aaron,” comes as a whisper.

He closes his eyes at the gentleness of your voice.

It’s something saved just for him. All those sharp edges that you use as a defence mechanism fall away in Aaron’s presence, and he wants to welcome you into every single part of him. All Aaron has to do is reach out and grab you, arms outstretched, heart open. Imagining his hands on you sends his heart spiralling, and it takes everything in him not to give in. He tries to forget that he’s wanted to give in for so long that he can barely remember when it started.

“I have paperwork to finish.”

(Thank you, thank you, thank you.) 

He steps forward, craving the feeling of your skin on his. 

It’s easy like this: Aaron doesn’t have to pretend. He’s aware that there’s something between you, and that you can feel it too. It doesn’t scare him half as much as it should. It’s an admission without actually admitting the words out loud and isn’t that what love is supposed to be? To feel known by the only person that matters?

Aaron smiles, and he feels lighter.

It should be nothing and yet, the moment that you lean your shoulder against his is everything. There’s no spark, no fireworks; no grand declaration of the tension that’s been building between you for months. 

Somehow it feels more like home than anything else.

“Thank you,” but it sounds more like a confession. 

(I love you, is what he doesn’t say.) 

A shrug, and then, “No problem, Hotch.” 

(I love you, is what you don’t reply.)

[stbeck]

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader synopsis: here’s a tragedy: you’re bleeding out in aaron’s arms and all you can do is tell him you love him without knowing if he’ll ever say it back.

“Are you hurt?”

There’s a myriad of gunfire raining down and the swell of anger burns inside his chest, as the scent of gunpowder permeates the air. Aaron rests his body against yours, shoulder to shoulder as his hands gently pat down the length of your body, assessing for any visible injuries. He’d seen you fall a second before he reached you, his hands cushioning you against the asphalt ground.

“I don’t know,” you answer, shifting under his touch.

Aaron shakes his head, a mournful look in his eyes, and then everything else around you dissolves into nothingness. He hauls your body into his, exhaling the weight burdening his chest and uses his hands to press down hard on your side, somewhere out of sight. He flinches when your body tenses against the unexpected pressure, followed closely by the laboured groan of pain.

“I need you to stay still.”

“Aaron───”

“I need you to be quiet for me.”

His lips brush up against your temple as your body trembles, either from the shock or from the cold chill that sweeps in with the night, and his instinct drives him to pull you in as close as he possibly can. As if the proximity is enough to save you from whatever evil remains hidden in the shadows.

“Aaron,” you murmur, voice soft. “I’m fine.”

“I need you to stay still for me. Can you do that?”

He doesn’t wait for a response. In the next breath he’s calling out to the endless sea of bodies swarming, to anyone who might hear his pleas for help, to someone who can help with the devastation unfolding in front of him. He takes a second, eyes lingering on the obvious bullet wound that’s bleeding profusely underneath his hands. His words begin to sound desperate, voices fading into the backdrop of the violence that’s consumed the last ten minutes, flashing red and blue lights casting shadows and highlighting the concern on his face.

There’s so much blood; so much inevitable suffering.

It’s on his hands, coating his fingers in a vermillion red that almost steals a strangled cry straight out of his scratchy throat. He clings to you while the blood gushes out, watching helplessly as your life begins to ebb away with no way to stop it. He raises his hands to adjust you underneath his touch, and can almost pinpoint the exact moment where you recognise the reality of the situation; the exact moment where the bright hope in your eyes begins to dim.

“That’s my blood, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t trust his voice, so he nods.

Everything slows down then, the moments dragging out in a torturous display that’s almost enough to have him begging and pleading to a God that he doesn’t believe in. He can feel you visibly weakening, body slumping against his frame as you fight back against the welcoming darkness offering you a peaceful transition into the next step; into a universe that will no longer let you exist alongside him.

“How bad is it?”

Silence descends, and then so does the realisation.

It’s sickeningly harsh, the metallic tang lingering as the lightly rusted iron pervades through the gaps in your ribcage: a scent that consumes your brittle bones into something that resembles a nightmare neither one of you can wake from. He can’t breathe against the stench as it settles itself on his sternum, choking him as his lungs beg for release. Instead, he focuses on you and the way you smile, honing in on the simple fact that this might be the last time he’ll see the dimples in your cheeks and the last time he’ll feel you breathe against him.

It breaks and then mends and shatters again.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but he’s not sure what the platitude is for, and it’s too empty to fill the space between you. “I’m so sorry. It’s not meant to be like this. Not you. It should have never been───”

Then comes, “Hotch, that you?”

Rossi appears over his shoulder, face grim as he takes in the scene before him. He observes the way Aaron is taking care to shield your body with his own and then it’s only a second from there that his gaze zeros in on the gaping wound, blood pouring out faster than your body can replace it. He’s at your side within seconds, pulling off his jacket and placing it underneath Aaron’s hand; the same hand that’s holding your insides into the confines of your body instead of on the ground as they should be.

“It won’t stop bleeding.”

“Aaron───”

“Why won’t it stop bleeding?”

“Press down as hard as you can,” Rossi instructs, keeping his voice steady. His fingertips brush the stray hairs out of your face as you turn into the warmth of his hand. He tries not to flinch when he notices that your shirt is no longer white like it’s supposed to be: it’s soaked with blood, and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. “What happened?”

“I never did know how to stay out of trouble.”

Aaron breathes out a laugh, but it sounds forced. “I told you to stay inside.”

“I thought I could help. I couldn’t stand there and do nothing───”

“Someone better get the EMTs over here. There’s so much blood, and no, no, no,” Aaron cuts himself off, turning back as you start to drift off in his arms. He gently shakes you, willing you to stay awake against the dark backdrop of his worst nightmare brought to life. “I need you to stay awake for a little bit longer.”

“Hotch,” you exhale a slow breath; “I’m so tired.”

“Can you keep your eyes open? Can you do that for me?”

It’s like this: Aaron’s holding you close, heart thudding erratically in his chest. It’s echoing in his ears: a reminder that this is his reality; that you are dying in his arms and there’s nothing he can do about it. He thinks about praying for salvation. About trading his sins for your life. It doesn’t occur to him that he’s not religious. All he cares about is the fact that you’re dying in his arms and all he can do is let it happen.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

It’s an unspoken revelation that falls into the short space between where your bodies rest and an admission that occupies the pause before his next heartbeat. He watches as your chest rises and then falls with each breath you struggle to draw in. His hands are still coated in blood, rust smeared against his pale skin as he lets himself process the weight of the last few minutes.

He doesn’t reply at first.

It’s unexpected; unwarranted, but also not entirely out of the realm of possibility. He’s aware of the recent shift in boundaries between you, each toeing the line between professional and personal but each too afraid to take the first step. His gaze flickers between your face and the wound that’s continually bleeding against the palm of his hand, the warm ichor taking inches of your life with it and all he can do is let it. He can’t save you. There’s this weight on this chest when the truth of it becomes clear, something he hasn’t felt since Haley. He wants to indulge in the fantasy of what-ifs, but there’s no time for that now.

He musters up the courage to respond when───

“Would you stay with me?”

He chokes back his emotions with a small cough, leaning down to press his lips against your cheek. He can’t bring himself to kiss you again, not yet, not when he can’t be sure that this is what you want, not when he can’t be sure that you’ll make it. Not when he’s too much of a coward to speak what he truly feels in a moment when you need to hear it the most.

“Always.”

Except he’s not sure how long that will be.

He catches the pained expression on your face, a fleeting wince, before he notices that your lips are turning blue, skin growing paler as the sirens amplify into a crescendo before it fades into a silence that’s almost as deafening. It consumes you until Emily pushes her way through the growing crowd, JJ hot on her heels with the rest of the team surrounding you moments later, all of them wishing for a miracle as you lie in a pool of blood.

“I love you,” you say again.

It sounds too much like a goodbye.

“No, no, no,” Aaron retorts quickly, voice breaking under the strain of his own emotions. He doesn’t care that he’s losing what’s left of his sanity in front of his team. “Don’t you know it’s me that loves you? Don’t you know that?”

Silence is all that comes, and then Emily’s voice.

It’s muffled, almost as if she’s underwater, or miles away from where you are. Her hands are reaching out for you, but you can’t feel her comforting touch when it comes. The numbness has spread too quickly, and too far, paralysing limbs as the fear and grief starts to mount. Her mouth moves as she attempts to soothe you, but her voice doesn’t make it past the terror encasing you.

“Aaron?”

He doesn’t move; he can’t do anything.

History begins to repeat itself and he feels the insurmountable loss of Haley rising to the surface. He couldn’t save her, either. Everyone who gets too close seems to leave him in the end, and he doesn’t learn his lesson. His heart should be locked away, never to see the light of day again. At least then the ones closest to him will be safe, guarded against stray bullets; guarded from him.

“I need you to move,” Emily orders, but he’s not listening.

His clothes are ruffled, and soaked in blood. He can feel them sticking to his skin as Rossi guides him far enough to give Emily space. She starts CPR immediately and JJ takes over from Aaron, applying pressure to the wound in a bid to stem the bleeding. His chest aches, heart sinking as his eyes meet Rossi’s. They mirror the grief he feels, the heartrending pain devouring him until the point where it feels he’s going to collapse under the weight of it.

“I can’t do this again,” he says, and his heart fractures.

Burying Haley was hard. Watching you die is even worse.

He can’t tear his eyes away from where you’re laying on the floor, JJ leaning over you as Emily continues the chest compressions, pumping a flicker of life back into you. His body feels oddly light like it doesn’t belong to him. It’s an out of body experience: one that separates the tragedy from reality.

“I can’t lose another person I love.”

Rossi rests a comforting hand on his arm. “I know.”

“Why didn’t I say it back? Why didn’t I say anything at all?”

He falters as Emily’s movements slow, her hands falling away from your chest. She doesn’t start the compressions again. JJ guides her to Morgan’s open arms, before resuming the fight to save your life. One minute blends into the next and it feels like a lifetime before JJ turns to him, too, face void of hope, shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Please don’t stop! Please, you can’t───”

JJ’s across the room within seconds. “Hotch.”

“This can’t be happening again. It can’t be.”

JJ reaches up, taking his face between her hands. It’s gentle, tender and she loses herself in the sorrow clouding his dull, dark eyes, haunted by the agony, death and grief that surrounds him. Aaron is rarely the first one to break eye-contact, but this time is not like the others. This time he pulls back before JJ can see the silent tears his body is beginning to shed.

“I’m sorry, Hotch.”

No one knows what else to say.

Nothing else can be said, but there’s a weird sort of disquiet that turns his stomach, making it harder to hear the rough, haggard breathing stealing any remaining energy you have left. He blinks, once, twice, hoping that it’s another nightmare he can wake up from, a phantom fear that’ll disappear and take this hurt with it.

“Hotch,” you call out, voice so weak he barely hears you.

But he’s at your side within seconds, hands gripping tightly onto you like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. He rests his forehead against yours, whispering platitudes that he doesn’t believe in, but it’s the only thing he can think of to calm you down, to remind you that you’re not alone. It’s dark out; stars blinking against the blanket night sky, fog hanging low as his entire world implodes around him.

“Aaron,” you whisper, before falling quiet.

Then all he can do after that is watch how your trembling hands finally stop shaking.

[stbeck]

welcome! hi, i’m louv, and welcome to my ongoing collection of fics! here you’ll find self-indulgent works pertaining to my fave characters, which will eventually involve multiple fandoms. this is my safe haven to share pieces i’m working on where i hope to grow as a writer 🤍

𝐀𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐄𝐑

pillow talk; slow, sometimes uneasy, mornings spent with the love of your life. mornings you want to have for the rest of your days.

lighthouse; in the aftermath of violence, you are the light guiding aaron back home to safety. the unwavering lighthouse to his stormy nights.

midnights; sacred midnight moments spent with the love of your life, mulling over the doubts that are beginning to drive you insane.

tragedy; here’s a tragedy: you’re bleeding out in aaron’s arms and all you can do is tell him you love him without knowing if he’ll ever say it back.

ruination; since his divorce, all aaron’s known is this subtle, silent anger that breathes under his skin. he’s become an expert at hiding it; he always has been. until you.

[stbeck]

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader synopsis: sacred midnight moments spent with the love of your life, mulling over the doubts that are beginning to drive you insane.

“Are you awake?”

It’s whispered words in the dead of night while the rest of the world rests, the moon illuminating the dark skies above. A sliver of light creeps in through the condensation  on the window, dancing along the rumpled sheets strewn over a tangled mess of limbs. It’s in the slow breath of Aaron as he leans over you, forehead pressed down to rest against your bare shoulder, the warmth of his breath dancing flames across your skin.

“I used to think that nothing could break us.”

His hand finds yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your neck. It’s intimate, soft even, something sacred in the world of blood, murder, and undeniable tragedy. He presses another feather-light kiss against your skin, moving upwards slightly so that his hair is brushing against your jawline, his scent overwhelming you. His touch makes the room warmer somehow, and your future within its walls seems a little less bleak with every passing moment that you’re wrapped up in him.

“I was naive, Aaron.”

“Don’t───”

“How can this life not? How can it not break you?”

He sighs, closing his eyes. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Maybe,” you placate, then add, “for now.”

His gaze is piercing as he reaches across, pulling you into his chest. His arm wraps around your waist, and despite the heaviness in your stomach, it flutters at the sensation of his body pressed up against yours. Almost like the first time you saw him propped up against the back wall of the bar your friends had dragged you to, watching you move in time with the low, intoxicating music: a siren calling out to prey. He fell for you, hook, line and sinker just as much as you fell for him.

“I can take care of myself.”

A flash of jarring memories fuels your anxiety───

Aaron in the hospital, his skin gaunt and body lifeless under harsh, fluorescent lighting. Aaron, bloody and bruised, knuckles cut and sliced open as he tells tales of defending himself and his team. There’s so many moments that flicker through your mind, so many instances where it’s tortured your heart, seeing him hurt and broken, waiting for you to patch him up, softening his barbed edges.

“Not always,” you say, voice barely a whisper.

“I’ll always protect you and our family. Whatever it takes.”

It’s a promise he’ll keep until his last dying breath; a promise that’ll take him to the grave. But it’s also the promise that’s likely to get himself killed if it meant saving you. Aaron is the stoic Unit Chief, cold and heartless, keeping all his emotions close to his chest except for when it comes to his family. That’s the only time he’ll break every single rule to keep you safe, to protect you.

“Don’t you know that’s what I’m worried about?”

He smiles sadly, thumb brushing your lips. “Is that what’s keeping you up?”

“I always worry about you. It comes with the territory of loving you.”

Aaron hums in response, rolling over quickly so that he’s on top of you, his weight pressing you down further into the bed. He looks serious for a moment, the humour no longer visible against the darkness of his eyes as he leans down, pressing his lips against yours. It’s not a kiss that’s fuelled by intense desire or lust, it’s not filled with passion, it’s not rushed or messy, it’s just this: a kiss that barely lasts a minute, but is somehow enough for you to sink into. It overwhelms you: how soft he is when it’s just the two of you falling in love all over again with only the moon as a witness.

It feels a bit like coming home; comfortable; safe.

“I’ve got people watching my back,” he replies when he pulls back, his forehead resting gently against yours. “We’re a family. Nothing will change that.”

“Aaron───”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s empty promises at best but you can tell Aaron doesn’t want to continue this conversation. He adjusts his body against you, running a hand through his unkempt hair. He glances up at the window, the light hitting his face in a way that only seems to emphasise his boyish features and it looks like the weight of the future has finally been lifted off his shoulders by the sheer strength of the moonlight. It’s a moment where you can see the warmth back in his eyes, his genuine smile erasing the sunken years he’d taken on in the last few months, and it’s as if he’s never been as happy as he is right now.

He looks content, almost.

It feels surreal.

Jack coughs, the sound echoing through the dark house, shattering the suspended moment where the world had dwindled down to just the two of you. He’s the wake-up call to reality, a constant reminder of the struggle that’s still ahead as Aaron tries to balance his commitment to the BAU and his commitment to his family. Sometimes his obligation to his job outweighs his responsibility to you, and the arguments in the aftermath leave you feeling hollow. But for every disagreement, every missed date night, every fight, it only serves to fuel your determination to fight harder because you’re not sure you can survive the fallout if this fragile thing between you breaks, and you don’t want to lose him.

“I love you.”

His lips twitch upwards. “I know.”

He leans over the side of the bed, grabbing some clothes to throw on before he goes to check on Jack, the crisp chill of the house ensuring that he doesn’t walk around half naked, much to your disappointment. He smiles fondly back at you, the sight of you wrapped up in his bed igniting a familiar warmth in his chest. He likes to think he’ll have you forever. He reminds himself that you’re not something he’ll ever give up without a fight, a promise he made to himself on the day you’d first said you loved him. 

He knows that you’d never let him leave without one either.

“Don’t be long,” you murmur, adding, “I’ve missed you.”

Between the endless cases, keeping his team in line, and his own demons that he’s still learning to live with, he rarely sees you anymore. This is the first time in a week that he’s spent longer than an hour in your presence. He watches you stretch your body out, rolling into the abandoned warmth of his side of the bed, like seeking him out has become one of your basic human instincts. He watches you for a moment, allowing his guard to drop long enough to treasure this singular moment with you.

It tugs at his aching heart; he knew you felt lonely.

But not to the extent where you’d willingly admit it to him.

“I’ve missed you too,” his voice is soft, gentle.

He thinks about the last week where you’d settled for salvaging a spare moment in the brief spaces in his busy schedule, sneaking around like teenagers, hiding in the shadows with Aaron’s lips on your neck. He’s kissed you a thousand times, pressing you up against the wall, stolen fragments in his office with the blinds drawn shut, away from prying eyes.

He’d wanted to apologise for it; to make up for it somehow. 

Except for you, there’s nothing to forgive him for.

He smiles to himself, saying, “I love you.”

A pause, and then, “I know.”

He stumbles at the open tenderness in your voice, back at your side within a second so he can lean down long enough to press a kiss against your temple. He only lingers for a moment, but there’s a faint curve to his lips as he’s leaving the room, knowing that he’ll be back in your arms before he knows it.

[stbeck]

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader synopsis: in the aftermath of violence, you are the light guiding aaron back home to safety. the unwavering lighthouse to his stormy nights.

It’s been six days since he’s been home.

Six agonising nights spent wallowing in the nightmares that claw at your skin, digging and scratching the surface to escape. A flash of white light, the loud echoes of gunfire, Aaron, Aaron, Aaron; his lifeless body buried in the shadows, face void of colour.

It’s hard to breathe───

Aaron shifts next to you, reaching out and letting his fingertips drift over your body; he starts with your neck first, tethering you to this single moment wrapped up the sheets with him. He’s stirring from a restless sleep; all marbled bruises and scar tissue that’s only partially healed, leaving small red indents in his skin. It’s hard to see him like this; to think about how it all could have turned out.

“Stop torturing yourself.”

His voice is a welcome distraction.

He doesn’t open his eyes, but he doesn’t need to.

It’s been a vicious cycle ever since he arrived home from the hospital; survive the day, sleep barely two hours, watch him sleep, feel his pulse racing against your skin. Repeat, repeat, repeat. He knows it’s a compulsion by now; you need to keep track of his breathing, fluctuating heartbeat, the warmth of his body to ensure he makes it through another day.

“It’s not what you think───”

“I think I know you better than that.”

The truth of it hits you square in the chest as you take a breath; there’s a scream echoing in your mind. An inhumane screech that tugs at something in your chest, throat raw and hands curled into fists. There’s smoke, thick, black smoke gradually smothering you, a knife wrapped around your throat, a hand clasped over your mouth, but all you can see is Aaron, lifeless and bleeding out, at your feet.

“It’s over now,” he says, soft.

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

He stills; wishing that he could somehow erase the moment from your mind. To finally free you from the constant reminders that he’d faced evil and ultimately survived. He doesn’t tell you about how he thought he wouldn’t make it. He doesn’t tell you about the moment where his entire life flashed before his eyes, the darkness beckoning him home. He doesn’t tell you that he can barely sleep, that the muscle memory of a knife slicing into skin is haunting him or that he’s barely holding himself together, broken pieces that need stitching back together.

“I’m okay,” he says, like it’s a mantra.

“Aaron───”

“It’s okay. We’re okay.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead.

A faint, crisp breeze stirs the stale air as Aaron’s arm wraps around you, open palm resting against your stomach. He thinks about kissing you until you’re breathless, too blissed out to focus on anything other than two hearts beating together as one.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“There’s nothing to apologise for.”

His dark eyes focus on you, holding your gaze.

He’s memorising every single feature; the small scattering of freckles across the bridge of your nose, the faint scar above your top lip, the slight gap in your teeth but nothing can compare to the hollowness of your eyes. There’s a sadness festering there, a reminder that perhaps he’s not as invincible as he once thought. He hates that he’s the reason why you look so grief-stricken, and he’s not sure he’s either seen this side of you before.

He’s never known you to be so defeated.

He doesn’t like the way it makes him feel.

There’s something damaged in the cracks of your smile; a smile that feels forced. Something that he may never be able to heal with overdue intimacy and lingering kisses. There’s something distant in the way you look at him. It’s like this: he’s here with you, but your mind is elsewhere, wandering, worrying, somewhere out of his reach.

“Aaron?”

“I’m right here.”

The sun is beginning to set over the horizon, the slow descent drawing shadows out of what’s left of the flickering daylight. His arm tightens around your hips, anchoring himself to you and this moment, hoping that this is enough to blur out the death, gore and bleakness that plays on repeat inside his mind.

“Do you love me?”

He thinks: yes. 

It’s a reflex; a habit.

But there’s a part of him that doesn’t feel right.

Like maybe he’s not here and that perhaps he lost pieces of himself he’ll never be able to claw back. Maybe this is a dream; something to settle his soul before he’s thrown headfirst into the afterlife. He reaches for your wrist, pulling it close and using the pulse as a test so he can differentiate between fiction and reality. It’s a reminder that this moment is not a figment of his delirious mind; a reminder that he’s alive, and that his heart is still beating inside his chest.

“Do you love me?”

He thinks: of course. 

He always has. Or, at least, he thinks he has.

He remembers the very moment you met. It was raining, and he’d been talked into joining the BAU night out one Tuesday in a dreary November, and you were outside as he left the bar. A subtle naivety about you called out to him, a ship lost at sea. He thought he’d become your lighthouse, guiding you back to safety. 

It turns out that you were his.

“Do you love me?”

He thinks: yes.

He says, “How can I not?”

It’s then that you sink into him. 

It’s the first time in days that he’s had you curled up at his side as you watch the world pass you by. It’s the little things, the simple moments, like this that he misses when he’s away. He misses the breakfasts in bed, the sound of laughter, the spontaneity of days off spent under the warm sun, as rare as they are. He lets his mind wander in the silence. He thinks of his job, the sacrifices he’s made, the moments you might have lost had the reaper finished him off. He thinks of the compromises your relationship has needed to survive, and waits for the guilt to resurface.

Somehow, it always does.

“I feel───”

A pause, then, “Guilty?”

He nods, as his body shifts beside you.

It’s like this: Aaron survived, but not everyone did.

Lives were brutally snatched long before they should have been taken, most without a second thought for their loved ones or the dreams they might have had. Aaron spends the aftermath blaming himself for not seeing the signs, for not doing his job quick enough, and he carries the guilt like a second skin, never once letting himself forget that it’s all his fault.

It’s like this: he survived, but the cost was too high.

It’s in the night terrors that paralyse him, an endless lineup of victims staring at him through cold, lifeless eyes. He can feel the remnants of their lives slipping through his fingertips, ebbing slowly away. He can still feel the moment the blade sliced through his abdomen, the cool, sharp steel cold and slick with blood.

No one talks about the nightmares or insomnia.

No one talks about how survival is sometimes worse.

Aaron doesn’t speak about the horrors encased in his mind; the way it creeps up on him when he least expects it. Or that when he closes his eyes, he’s back in his apartment, alone, bleeding, feeling his life slowly ebb away.

He doesn’t need to; you already know.

“I love you.”

He smiles, then says, “I know.”

It’s been days since those words have left your mouth.

It’s not by choice; there was a time when you’d say it whenever you could, loving the way Aaron would smile at you, eyes full of adoration. But the phrase feels almost uncomfortable now, chest tightening with the agonising pain that rips through you as the memory of the last time you spoke them plays on repeat in your head. Aaron had been leaving your apartment to head home, unaware that there’d be a dark figure awaiting his arrival, readying himself for the perfect moment to strike. It never crossed your mind that it might have been the last time he heard it. It still doesn’t feel real; a recurring dream that neither of you can wake from───you try not to remember the way he didn’t have time to say it back.

“Do you think it’ll get easier?”

He thinks: of course not. Why should it?

How can the world right itself after all that loss?

Grief profilerates until sometimes, it’s all anyone can feel. The weight of the grief doesn’t lessen nor does it become easier to bear, but time can give you a new perspective. For Aaron, it’ll only fuel his determination to be the best at his job, to never falter in the face of evil, so that killers can be caught and brought to justice. He’ll turn this overbearing grief into something meaningful, to ensure that the lives lost were not in vain. He wakes with the realisation of it wrapped around his throat every morning, a hand clasped against his clammy skin, tightening its grip until he’s struggling for breath.

“I’m not sure I want it to.”

There’s the guilt; then there’s you.

“It’s not your fault, Aaron. It’s not your fault.”

He allows the words to settle into his skin, breathing them into his aching lungs. He doesn’t tell you he doesn’t believe you. He doesn’t tell you that his heart aches with every beat. He doesn’t tell you when the nightmares get so dark that he struggles to distinguish between what’s real and what’s not. He doesn’t tell you that he might need some help, that he’s practically screaming out for it. He doesn’t tell you anything that might destroy the carefully curated bubble he’s built around this fragile thing between you. 

He’ll be damned if he lets his mind ruin that.

He’ll be damned if he lets his mind ruin you.

“I love you,” he breathes out, “and I always will.”

It’s the only truth he knows; the only truth that matters.

It does nothing to alleviate the demons but here, with you, limbs coiled together as one, he almost feels safe. His chest is alight with tenderness; it lingers and emanates as you gently rock him to the soft hum that crawls up your throat; a soft lullaby for him to fall asleep to.

It’s like this: you’re the lighthouse, and he’s lost at sea.

It’s only a matter of time before you guide him home.

[stbeck]

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader synopsis: slow, sometimes uneasy, mornings spent with the love of your life. mornings you want to have for the rest of your days.

The early morning sunrise is welcoming as it spills through the crack in the blinds, swallowing the room up in a blend of soft oranges and reds. The sun continues to make a slow ascent over the horizon, waking the world with a gentle explosion of comfort as it splinters across the sky, expelling the lingering nightmares pulling at your subconscious. It’s the first time in weeks that Aaron’s next to you, so close that it’s hard to decipher where your body ends and his begins.

“Aaron.”

A soft grunt.

“Aaron.”

His eyes flicker.

“Baby,” another murmur.

But he still doesn’t wake up to the affection in your voice.

Nor does he acknowledge the faint touch of your fingertips as they dance across his abdomen, tracing the old scars that blemish his skin: memories of a survival of the fittest, where the reaper’s blade had permanently sliced his skin and almost destroyed the future you’d been building together. His body is eerily still except for the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he takes a breath, freckled skin pale against the dark sheets beneath him.

He looks peaceful; innocent.

Angelic in the early morning fragments of light.

Except you know Aaron Hotchner is anything but holy.

“Aaron,” you whisper, mouth pressed to his ear.

There’s a brief moment where there’s nothing and then, without warning, he’s quickly shifting his position, fists closing around the covers in anticipation of them being snatched from him. Even when he’s half-asleep, he seems to know you better than you know yourself, predicting the moves you want to make before they even enter your mind. There’s no flicker of regret or annoyance at the way he can read you so well, because this is the life you’d always dreamed of; curled up in one another’s warmth as though the world doesn’t exist outside the two of you. It’s barely dawn but you find yourself wishing that this moment never ends, that you never have to sacrifice another moment with him for the sake of his job.

“Morning, baby,” you hum.

He presses a tender kiss to your shoulder.

The sun dances along his skin as he adjusts his body so it rests against yours, the palm of his hand brushing innocently against your thigh. His touch doesn’t linger before he’s reaching for you again, toppling your body back onto the mattress and trapping you underneath him.

“I can’t breathe,” you groan out.

“Should’ve let me sleep in then.”

He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder, following the slope of your neck until eventually his forehead is resting against yours. There’s a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and it feels like you’re in a freefall, spinning out as you experience all the butterflies you felt when you first met, falling in love all over again. It doesn’t take much; it never has when it comes to him.

“Let me go, Aaron.”

He kisses you, then murmurs, “Never.”

A smile crawls across his face when the sound of your laughter echoes through the room. He’s still holding you close, feeling the thrum of your heartbeat against his as he profiles the way your body subconsciously seeks him out. He watches as you follow his movements, craving the closeness as you lean back into his emanating comfort as though you won’t be able to survive without him.

“I hate you.”

“Didn’t take you for a liar.”

Aaron’s kiss is warm and a little sleep-sour and slow, soft lips moving against yours. It’s chaste at first and incredibly sweet, making your stomach flip as you open your mouth. Aaron chuckles at your obvious neediness, breath ghosting over your parted lips, but obliges, licking his way into your mouth and deepening the kiss.

“I missed you,” you whisper into his skin.

Aaron’s been gone for longer than he ever has before, working through a backlog of cases that he can never talk about. He’s spent the last month speaking up for victims who no longer have a voice, but for each case the team dedicates themselves to, the weight of the burden that comes with it increases tenfold. The aftermath is written in the tired lines of his face, and this time, it matches the dark purple bruising across his cheekbones and split skin of his knuckles that look raw in the muted shadows of the sunrise. Seeing Aaron hurt makes your heart ache in your chest and all you want to do is take him in your arms and never let him leave again. 

“How are you feeling?”

He nods, reassuring. “I’ll be fine.”

He almost sounds like he believes it, and deep down, it might be true. But all you can see is the bruises, the vacant look in his eyes, the fact that he looks like he’s been through hell and there’s not one single part of you that takes him at his word. There’s always a brief period of time when he gets home that he’s still Hotch, the stoic Unit Chief, the man who never smiles, all detached and cold, eyes closed off in a way that sets your frayed nerves on edge.

It takes time to teach himself how to just be Aaron again.

“And you? How are you?”

An ever-steady silence begins to grow, settling amidst the distance but he doesn’t loosen his grip. He allows you as much time and space you need to readjust to having him back, knowing that the thread tying you both together could slip from his grasp at any moment. He watches you, a sharp-clawed glance that pierces through skin until he’s so far deep into your soul, he can see straight through you.

“Better, now you’re here,” you answer.

He can feel the catch in your breath and the way your pulse races under his touch and knows, without a shadow of a doubt, you are his home and there is nothing in the world that could stop him from coming back to you.

“What are you thinking about?”

“How I’d sell my soul if it meant you’d never leave again.”

The words seem to trigger something in him, something so visceral you can almost feel it in the air. He pulls back, not too far, but creates enough distance that he’s able to scan you, seeking some clarity in the way you can’t meet his eyes. His keen eye surveys the room like there’s something out of place, like there’s something missing, something he hasn’t noticed before. He just can’t put his finger on it.

“I’m sorry.”

“Aaron───”

“I don’t deserve you.”

His voice is hollow; muted.

It’s something he’s thought about far too often before, losing himself in the what-ifs. He has this recurring nightmare where he loses you too, like he’s lost everyone else who meant something to him. He’s so used to losing those he loves, he doesn’t understand what it means when someone stays, when someone survives. 

“Don’t say that,” you beg.

“It’s true───”

“I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you.”

He shakes his head, and holds you tighter; there’s no telling when he’ll let you go again. It’s a tangle of bruised limbs against soft, dewy skin and arms entwined until there’s barely any space to breathe in between. He nudges his nose against yours as he mumbles soft, overdue apologies against your lips, like he’s trying to make up for his absence with excuses you’ve never really needed or excuses you’ve never once asked for.

“Aaron?”

His eyes soften as they meet yours.

He savours the way the morning casts a subtle light over your body like a soft caress of a hand, highlighting the soft freckles on your skin. He never takes this for granted, knowing deep down in his bones that he’s lucky to have you waiting for him at home, regardless of the bitterness inside him, regardless of the sacrifices you both have to make to stay together. Somehow all of the darkest times are instantly dwarfed by moments like this.

“Honey,” he says, with a grin.

“Why are you looking at me like that?

 “Any reason why you’re on my side of the bed?”

The observation, as unexpected as it is, coaxes a laugh out of your throat, the sound bubbling up in your chest before you can stop it. It seems like a mundane thing in the grand scheme of things. Minutes ago, the room seemed smaller, the sombre mood immersing you in bruises and nightmares and the metaphorical distance separating twin souls.

“I missed you.”

Aaron frowns, then asks, “What?”

“It’s just───the pillow still smells like you,” you explain, voice low as you rest the palm of your hand against his jawline. “It made me feel a little less alone, like maybe you were here by my side all along. It sounds stupid, I know, but it helped.”

“It’s not stupid,” he breathes out.

He reaches out for you, fingers intertwined with yours.

He’s careful as he drapes his body on top of yours, leaning down to press the gentlest of kisses against your lips. It’s brief, but it’s filled with every ounce of the love he feels and your chest tightens at the gesture, choked up with the sudden rush of emotion. He kisses across your nose, then your cheek until eventually he seeks a path down to your neck, pressing another kiss there before he rests his head against your chest, hugging your body tight.

“I love you so much, honey.”

His voice is quiet; subdued as the confession lingers.

He’s said it before, a thousand times, in a hundred different ways but this feels different. He’s clinging onto you like an anchor in a raging storm and he’s afraid to drown in your absence. He says it again, and then again, and it strikes against your entire being as you melt further into his touch, relishing the moment before the outside world steps in to destroy it all over again.

But here, in this moment, his sacred declaration settles in your soul and for the first time in months, a semblance of peace washes over you.

A simple reminder that you’ve found a home in Aaron, and he’s found a home in you.