#Aaron hotchner x oc

[ptersparkers]

reckless (aaron hotchner)

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

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

(edit: adding in that the reader is fem)

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

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

***

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

You just wish you liked your job.

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

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

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

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

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

Which is unfortunate, because you liked Aaron the most.

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“New flame?” Emily wonders. 

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

“What is it, babygirl?” Derek beckons. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aaron raises his eyebrow. “What about it?” 

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

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

“Go on.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, let’s keep it that way.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

“You okay?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles when he knows it’s working.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spencer grabs his phone and dials Aaron.

“What is it, Spencer?”

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

But you don’t dwell on this too long. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s quiet. Too quiet. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N, go back to the hotel.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We have to catch Scott.”

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

“That’s not fair.”

“I don’t have to be.”

“Hotch.”

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

Unbelievable. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s black after that. 

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

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

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

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

“This isn’t about me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get back to work.”

***

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

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

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

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

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

“Look who’s awake.”

It’s Scott. 

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

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

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

“Where are we?” you ask. 

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

“Why’s that?”

His smirk widens when you stay quiet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you talking about?”

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

Unfortunately, it comes to you quickly.

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

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

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

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

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

“Remember now?” he asks.

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

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

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

Scott’s jaw locks but he agrees.

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

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

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

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

“No chance in hell.” 

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

He wakes up to a cold sweat. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you never walk through the door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“L/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nobody says anything. 

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

Aaron doesn’t like that answer. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s empty. 

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

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

Aaron’s heart stops beating for a moment. 

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

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

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

Then he hears a gunshot. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His voice is like honey. Sweet.

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

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

“She’s gonna be okay, Aaron.”

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

“Let’s go meet her at the hospital.”

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aaron bought it,” Emily speaks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just–”

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She hesitated before speaking again.

“Do you remember why you’re here?”

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

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

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

“He did?” you ask. It’s news to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you sleep well?” 

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

“Good, I’m glad.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aaron’s eyes snap to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Are the girls okay?” you ask him. 

“Safe and sound. That’s actually why I came to visit, other than to check up on you.” 

You blink out of confusion.

“Jaqueline called the precinct and asked to speak with you,” Dave explains. “Long story short, she got in contact with me and wanted to know if you’d be willing to speak with her. She wants to thank you in person.”

The thought never crossed your mind. Saving her children had always been your first priority, even when Scott threatened to kill you if you didn’t help him. You’re not a mother by any means, but Jaqueline is around your age and you have plenty of nieces and nephews to get an understanding of how difficult this whole ordeal was for her.

And if you were being honest with yourself, you wanted to make sure Jaqueline would be okay. 

“Absolutely,” you say immediately. 

“Y/N, are you sure?” Aaron asks. “You just got to the hospital.”

“I’m sure,” you confirm, turning your attention back to Dave. “They can come visit me here if they’re willing to. I don’t think I have it in me to go to the precinct.”

“Of course,” Dave says with a small grin. It’s almost like he knows this will heal the both of you. He leaves the room and tells you he’ll be back later this afternoon.

Aaron sits in silence and he’s in awe of your resilience. He’s sure it’s the shock and sedatives talking, but he’s always known you to be someone who puts other people first. 

“I should call Strauss and let her know the situation,” Aaron says. “I’ll be back in a little bit, okay?”

“Okay,” you say, and you’re strangely reluctant to let him go. But you do anyway and he walks out of the hospital room, leaving you with your thoughts. 

***

Dave lets you know Jaqueline is here with the girls a few hours later. 

“Agent Y/L/N?” a voice says from beside you. The young mother knocks on the door as two children hide behind her legs. You beckon them inside, with Aaron and Emily supervising from beyond the threshold.

“Jaqueline,” you say, propping yourself up to seem more presentable. “Hi. It’s great to see you.” 

“I’m sorry for barging in like this,” she apologizes, but you’re already waving her off when you see the two children emerge from behind her. “I wanted to thank you in person. For saving my kids.”

“It’s no problem,” you downplay. 

But Jaqueline shakes her head and rushes to grab your hand. She pulls away when she thinks she’s crossed a line, but your grip is devastatingly tight when you squeeze hers. Jaqueline looks at you and tears slip from her eyes, and her children hug her legs like they know something’s wrong.

Jacqueline composes herself and brings Gracie and Olivia in front of her, who each have hand-decorated thank you cards made of colorful cardstock paper, stickers, and glitter. Your heart swells at the gesture and you will yourself not to alarm the family in front of you with your tears, so you promise yourself you’d cry when they leave.

“Hi, Munchkins,” you greet. “What’s all this?”

The girls shyly give you the cards, the eldest taking initiative to put them in your hands.

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “Mommy says you were very brave and saved us.”

“We drew these last night!” the younger one exclaims. “Mommy let us stay up late because we couldn’t sleep, so we made these for you.”

“They’re beautiful,” you compliment, looking at the colors below you. Jaqueline hasn’t let go of your hand. “You girls are very talented.”

“Thank you,” the young one says bashfully. “I hope you get better soon.”

Your heart swells and Jacqueline squeezes your hand again before letting go. You watch her lips flutter and as her children become preoccupied with their dresses, Jaqueline surprises you again.

“Would it be alright if I called you from time to time?” she asks. “To let you know how we’re doing. That we’re okay.” You reach for her one more time.

“I’d love that,” you say honestly.

Jaqueline doesn’t say another word, but the look of gratitude and her quivering lips is enough to make all the hurt from the past few days disappear.

You watch as they leave the room and as the young girls save goodbye. David escorts them to the front of the hospital, which leaves Aaron awkwardly standing in the threshold with his body leaning against the doorframe.

Aaron watches you. Your eyes glaze over and the cards in your hand are slipping through your fingertips, and your lips move as if you’re trying to find the right words to say. But nothing comes out. Aaron listens as your breathing becomes shallow and watches a stray tear slip from the corner of your eyes.

Before he can think, he rushes by your side and envelopes you in his arms.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, somewhere between wanting to give you enough space and wanting to pull you against him. Your fingers are tight on his forearms when he hears your labored breathing become erratic and as your tears soak the fabric of his t-shirt.

Aaron takes the liberty of moving you in front of him, his back against the pillows you were sleeping on. He looks at your frail body in front of him; you always carry yourself as a strong-willed, independent agent on the field, and now he sees that he mistook your brazen character as recklessness when it was false bravado.

His heart aches when your grip on him tightens. Aaron reaches out to move the cards to the side table and pulls you against his chest, thankful that this bed is barely enough to fit the both of you. Aaron notices your craned neck, bringing the hand that isn’t wrapped around your frail figure to your head and gently moves your head to his chest.

Your soft whimpers are enough to make Aaron’s heart break all over again.

“You’re an amazing person,” Aaron says. “You are selfless, caring, and generous.” His words compel you to cry even harder and Aaron lets you weep in his arms until your eyes are dry and you’re hiccuping. 

Aaron doesn’t let you, not for a second, feel embarrassed about breaking down in front of him. His thumbs are drawing soothing circles on your arm and he’s wiping away your tears with a tissue, allowing you to unravel before him. 

Your dry heaving doesn’t bother Aaron, but he coos into your ear and tells you he’s going to get you a bottle of water when you grip his arm. He pries your fingers off of him and melts when you snuggle your head closer to him, but he knows you’re thirsty and the best thing he can do for you is keep you healthy. 

“I’ll be back in two minutes,” he promises. “I’m all yours after that.” 

You nod reluctantly and let him go. The bed feels empty when he leaves and you feel pathetic for hanging onto him like he’s your lifeline, but you don’t care. You just want to be held.

True to his word, Aaron comes back a few minutes later and uncaps the bottle for you. A soft ‘up’ utters from his lips and you sit up straight. He brings the bottle to your lips and tilts your head back enough to let the water slide down your throat. 

Aaron puts it aside when you’ve signaled that you’re done and slides into the spot next to you once again. He puts his arm around your shoulder and brings you to his chest again. 

You don’t tell him, but you feel his heartbeat. It’s irrationally fast and you don’t know what to make of it. You tighten your hold on him as you start to fall asleep and you miss the way Aaron rocks you to sleep. 

***

When it’s time for your discharge, you’re feeling better than you did a few days ago. The team welcomes you back on board once you’ve been cleared to fly and it feels like nothing’s out of place. 

JJ bought a bunch of pastries from a local cafe and everyone (save for Aaron because he was with you the entire time) has written little messages on a decorated card. It’s Spencer who frets over you the most, bringing you cups of tea and asking if there’s anything he can do to ease your pain. You’re quite touched. 

You know you’re in no shape to drive home when you land. Your dominant hand is broken and your car sits in its designated spot, no doubt gathering dust and debris. The team is tired from the trip and everyone checks in on you one by one before leaving, and you don’t know how you’ll get home until you realize your car keys are still in your desk drawer.

Aaron watches you for a moment. He notices your apprehensiveness and the way you look at your car keys, and he puts two and two together. Before he can register what he’s doing, Aaron’s making his way to you and offering to drive you. You start to tell him you don’t need a chauffeur and that he should go home instead, but he’s more worried that you might hurt yourself inadvertently. He persists and you reluctantly say yes because you know he’s right. You could barely open the door to the building, let alone drive home. 

The car ride to your apartment is quiet, save for the sounds of cars passing by on the freeway and the sound of gravel underneath the tires. You look up at your apartment complex when you tell Aaron the code to get into your garage and he parks in the visor spot after you’ve directed him.

The sling on your arm is a nuisance and you already can’t wait to get it off. You’re able to unbuckle yourself with your free hand and you’re surprised that Aaron opens the door for you.

“Thanks,” you mumble. 

“It’s not a problem.” You can tell he means it.

When you get to your apartment, you’re somewhat surprised that you haven’t lost your keys. You struggle to put them into the lock correctly with your non-dominant hand and Aaron can see the quirk of your eyebrow and how you’ve bit your lip out of frustration.

He fears he’s overstepping. He takes the keys out of your hands gently and opens the door for you anyhow. 

When you walk inside, you don’t think you've ever felt happier to see your small one bedroom apartment. Aaron sets your go-bag on the kitchen counter and you stand still for what seems like an eternity until he brings you out of your haze and encourages you to change out of your clothes and take a shower. 

But you don’t move. You stand in the middle of your living room and stare blankly out of your window, unable to appreciate the breathtaking view of D.C. like you always do. Your throat feels dry and your feet feel like they’re permanently planted on the hardwood floor beneath you.

Aaron comes to stand beside you and he leaves distance between the both of you. He looks at the sight before him and makes a comment about how he’s jealous of your view, but not even that gets a reaction out of you.

“I don’t want to be alone,” you mumble after a long pause. “I-I can’t be by myself right now.”

Aaron knows Jack is at sleepaway camp for a school trip and doesn’t get back for another few days. He doesn’t have to think about keeping you company so you don’t feel alone.

“I can stay with you,” he offers. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You turn to look at him and the offer is enough to bring tears to your eyes. 

Aaron sounds so soft, caring, and unlike himself. Your heart tugs at his caring nature and you’re overwhelmed with the notion that he’s caring for you like he cares for your colleagues.

“Please,” you croak.

Aaron nods. He puts his hands on your arms and ushers you into the hallway and you point him in the direction of your bedroom. He’s acutely aware that this is the first time he’s ever been in your apartment, let alone in the room you sleep in, and tries not to dwell on it for your sake. 

“You should take a shower and sleep,” Aaron suggests. “It’ll help clear your head.”

You follow Aaron’s lead. He guides you to your dresser and you grab an extra change of clothes and he accompanies you to the bathroom next door. 

“I’ll be in the living room if you need anything, okay?” he says. “Don’t be afraid to get me.”

“Okay,” you say meekly. Your voice is far too dry to speak normally.

Aaron closes the bathroom door and you avoid looking at yourself in the mirror. You’re sure you look like a mess, despite being taken care of in the hospital back in Los Angeles. But you feel sticky from the flight and the sudden change in temperature, and you want nothing more than to cleanse yourself of the memories from LA.

You remove the sling from your arm and try your hardest to take your clothes off but you find it exceptionally difficult with your arm being in a brace. It hurts to lift your arm and you nearly cry out of frustration and exhaustion when you realize you can’t take your shirt off by yourself.

Embarrassed, you contemplate on showering with your clothes on, but ultimately know you’d need to take them off anyway. You open the door and call for Aaron, and you hear his steps as soon as you do.

“Are you okay?” he asks when he realizes you’re still in your clothes.

“I can’t, um, take my clothes off,” you say, clearing your throat. “I can’t bend my right arm and my left one is extremely sore. I can’t take my fucking clothes off.”

Aaron isn’t offended by your defensiveness. He gathers that it’s your coping mechanism because you feel embarrassed, but Aaron doesn’t care. He doesn’t say anything but he nods like he knows what you’re going through and you have a suspicion that he might.

“I’ll close my eyes and take your clothes off for you,” Aaron says. He says it in a way that’s so sincere but it still makes your cheeks redden at the innuendo. Aaron tries to ignore it because he feels a blush coming.

“It’s so pathetic that I can’t do this by myself.”

“It’s not pathetic,” he reassures. “You have a broken arm and your body’s still in pain. Let me help you.” 

You don’t say anything and Aaron takes it as a cue to move closer. True to his word, he puts his arms on your waist and turns his head away from you, careful to not hurt your broken arm. He maneuvers the fabric until it’s free from your body and he’s acutely aware that he’ll need to touch you in order to take the rest of your clothes off.

Aaron’s surprised when you move his hand to the button of your slacks. He clears his throat while you look up at the ceiling and bite your lip, pretending that the situation you’re in is completely normal to keep yourself from blushing too much. Aaron’s fingers work on the button and he’s careful not to put his hands where it’s inappropriate. He almost laughs at the thought, considering he’s your boss and he’s helping you take off your clothes.

You shimmy out of your slacks as Aaron slides it down your legs. He blushes at the thought of what’s to come next and swallows hard. Aaron returns to his stance and finds his neck is sore from craning, so he keeps his eyes closed and faces you.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize again. “I-I don’t think I can unclasp my bra.” 

You wince at your words, but it’s true. You tried to reach behind you when Aaron worked on taking off your pants, but the ache in your shoulder was too much. 

Aaron doesn’t say anything and you’re afraid that he might leave you. He’s so quiet that you can barely hear his breathing and you look at his closed eyes and see that his jaw is clenched. He mumbles and you’re barely able to catch it. Aaron lifts his hands to find your shoulders and you nearly shiver underneath his warm hands, despite the fact that your body might be just as hot. 

Aaron reaches behind you and searches for your clasp. You can feel his fingers on your back as he feels for it and he’s incredibly aware that your gaze is on him. It takes all of his willpower not to open his eyes. He’s imagined undressing you before, but not like this. Aaron’s fingers find the clasp and he’s slow to undo it, afraid of tangling the metal.

You feel yourself free from its constraints and Aaron slowly moves his fingertips from your shoulders and down your arm. You comply the best you can with your sore arm and your broken one, and your breathing hitches.

Aaron ignores how fast his heart is beating when he hears your bra drop to the floor. His mind is in overdrive and he bends down again, his fingers immediately coming to your waist and gripping them with gentle care. You look down at him and your mouth is wide open with your jaw hanging when you realize he’s on his knees in front of you. Aaron’s fingers hook on the material of your underwear, but you can’t bear to see him take them off.

“Wait,” you say, squeezing your eyes shut momentarily. 

Aaron forces himself to keep his eyes closed and he can hear your shallow breathing. His fingers are wrapped around the fabric of your underwear and suddenly he’s aware that it’s an intimate piece of clothing. Aaron’s cheeks redden and he’s desperately hoping you don’t notice.

“I can do it,” you say. Your voice wavers and you aren���t sure that you won’t be in pain when you take them off, but seeing Aaron on his knees with his hands practically down your underwear is too much for you at this moment.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, clearing his throat. His fingers detach themselves and he abruptly stands up. Aaron keeps his eyes closed still.

“No, it’s okay,” you say, and you mean it. “I really appreciate you helping me out…I’m sure this has crossed a lot of boundaries.”

Aaron wants to tell you he doesn’t mind it one bit, but he holds his tongue to refrain from making you uncomfortable. His eyes feel heavy and he stumbles when he stands up but catches himself when he feels the doorknob behind him.

“Like I said, I’m here if you need anything.” 

Aaron stands still for a moment and it feels like the both of you had the air knocked out of your lungs. He doesn’t want to overstep or make it seem like he’s taking advantage of your vulnerable state, so he exits the bathroom and closes the door behind him.

You lock it immediately and pin yourself against the door. Your heartbeat is irrational and you turn the water on, fixing it to your desired temperature. Bending to take your underwear hurts and your shoulders feel like they’re about to pop off, but you manage.

You’re acutely aware that Aaron’s in your living room, no doubt trying to rid himself of the awkwardness. You aren’t sure if you’re grateful at what transpired because while it’s enough to help you forget about Los Angeles, it makes your cheeks flare into a hot mess and you feel uncomfortably turned on.

Aaron, too, feels the same way. He feels filthy sitting on your couch and results in pacing around the room. His shoes are discarded by the door and it feels all too domestic. Aaron’s tie is suddenly too tight so he tugs on the knot to loosen it. He rids himself of his suit jacket and places it neatly on the arm of the couch, and thinks about anything but you, naked in the shower. His slacks feel a little too tight, so he takes out his phone to check his email. It works for a while,

A while later, Aaron realizes you’ve walked out of the bathroom and you’ve managed to change without his assistance. You comment about how the shower loosened your muscles and you were able to get your clothes in relatively painlessly, but all he can think about is how cute you look in an oversized shirt and sweatpants.

He’s too preoccupied admiring how undone you look because it’s the complete opposite from how he sees you at work. In Quantico, you’re somewhat put together, always wearing appropriate office attire and taking your caseload with grace while the rest of the team complains to no end about the amount of paperwork that needs to be filed.

Now, you’re standing in front of him with wet hair and an old shirt that has lost some lettering. It’s domestic and Aaron loves it.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about offering you the bathroom,” you say timidly. 

It’s nerve wracking for you to be in Aaron’s presence because of what happened a few moments ago and because you’re not sure why he’s been so nice to you. It’s fresh and strange at the same time, as you’re used to him looking over your shoulder.

But you don’t feel like he’s being domineering. 

“I’ve got a few shirts that might be your size,” you announce. “And a bunch of sweatpants too.”

Aaron’s heart flutters at how welcoming you are considering all that happened to you, but he’s also found himself standing with jealousy when you mention that you have men’s clothing. Are you dating someone? Does he know he’s there?

“I love thrifting and sleeping in big shirts,” you explain, overcompensating for how awkward you feel to be standing in front of your boss looking like a disheveled mess. “I tend to thrift for clothes in the men's section because you guys have really good clothes for dirt cheap.”

Aaron’s worries are quelled and he doesn’t know why he feels so relieved to know you aren’t seeing anyone. 

“That would be great,” Aaron says. 

You nearly skip to your room and huff at your awkward demeanor, pulling out a large shirt from your dresser and a pair of sweatpants you hope is big enough. When you walk back to the living room, Aaron is still standing in the same spot and you’re somewhat touched that he’s nervous to be in your apartment.

“You can change in the bathroom,” you instruct. “Take as long as you need. There’s an extra toothbrush on the counter and a towel on the rack.” 

Grateful, Aaron scurries into the bathroom and you walk away before you can think of imagining him getting undressed. Instead, you busy yourself by fetching extra blankets and pillows for him. There’s an extra thick blanket in your closet and you pull two pillows from your bed, unsure if Aaron’s the type of guy to care about his pillow count. You find yourself stumped for a moment, each hand two with pillows as you debate on how many to give him, before you realize how idiotic you must seem if someone were to take a peek inside your head.

You settle with two pillows. 

You’re fixing a cup of tea for the both of you when Aaron walks out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later. You know he likes to drink chamomile tea on the plane when you’re coming back from a case late at night. You’ve seen him make it a million times. It feels weird to be making him a cup, but you figure it’s the least you could do after he helped you change out of your clothes. 

“I made you tea,” you say lamely, setting the cup down on the opposite side of the kitchen counter. Aaron walks towards you and he feels the hardfloor beneath him and how hot the mug is when he touches it. Thinking about this distracts him from your broken arm and the swell of guilt he has in his chest. 

“Thank you,” Aaron says. 

“I put in a little bit of honey. I hope it’s not too much.”

Aaron raises his eyebrow. “How’d you know I liked honey in my tea?”

“You drink it a lot on the plane,” you explain. “I see you make it a lot. You always scold Spencer every time he puts too much of it in.”

He can’t help but smile, but he hides it behind the cup.

Neither of you say anything. You don’t know what more you can say. The words cause you to choke every time you think about what happened back in Los Angeles. Realistically, you know there’s no way Scott can hurt you anymore, but it doesn’t stop you from panicking at the thought of being alone in your apartment. 

But you look at Aaron, who’s looking at you, and you’re able to let your guard down for a little while. 

“Thank you,” you muster. “For taking care of me back at the hospital and back at the barn. It…it meant a lot that you stayed.” 

“Of course,” he says a little too quickly. “You’re a member of this team and your safety is my top priority.”

Your gaze drops to the floor. You aren’t sure what you were expecting. An apology? A confession? Truthfully, you don’t know what you want to hear from Aaron but it hurts knowing that he views you as just another colleague.

“I’m sorry that I haven’t made you feel that way in a long time,” Aaron starts when he realizes you’ve grown quiet. “A member of the team, I mean.” 

“I-I just felt like I should’ve been doing more,” you confess. 

“You’re doing everything right, Y/N. You’re an exceptional agent and an outstanding person. Any part of the bureau would be lucky to have you.”

“Yeah?” you ask quietly. 

“Absolutely.” Aaron means in.

You finish your tea and it all becomes too much for you. The pain of your arm is quelled by the medication your doctor prescribed and Aaron helps you open the bottle. It makes you feel silly that you need someone else’s help to do something so simple and you feel your frustration get the better of you. 

“I’ll be out here if you need anything, okay?” Aaron reassures. “Please don’t hesitate to wake me up.”

“I promise,” you say and it’s one you’re planning on keeping.

You close the door behind you and turn off the lights. It feels weird to be in your apartment because you feel like everything should be back to normal, but it isn’t. In your years with the BAU, nothing as serious as this kidnapping has ever happened to you. You’ve been trained to deal with kidnappings before and how to talk to the victims and to the survivors, but you’ve never thought you’d have to deal with the aftermath yourself. 

You can’t sleep on your side because of your cast and your body feels like it’s constantly being run over by a stampede. The soft mattress is a contrast of how stiff your body feels and it all feels like it’s too much. 

Aaron can’t sleep either. He’s been staring at the door for the past thirty minutes as he tries to fall asleep. His phone is plugged into the wall behind him and he checks in with Dave, who texted him as he drove you back to your apartment. Aaron briefly thinks about Jack and his heart softens for a moment, but then he hears your soft cries from the room.

Aaron lies completely still and hears your whimpers. He hears you sniffle, blow your nose twice, and he’s acutely aware of the fact that he has no idea what to do. He has half a mind of barging into your room to comfort you until you’re asleep, but he doesn’t want to overstep his welcome more than he already has. Aaron feels frozen on the couch and doesn’t know if you’re too nervous to ask him for comfort.

He’s surprised when you walk outside. You don’t turn the lights on and he can barely make your face when you step into the moonlight. But you look frail, broken, and like you’ve been tormented by your memories. Aaron hates that.

“Aaron?” you call out. Your voice is small and his heart cracks. “Can you keep me company?”

Aaron doesn’t need to be told twice. 

He lifts the blankets from his legs and follows you into the bedroom. You sit on the edge of the bed and sniffle. Aaron sits next to you and carefully puts his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side.

It’s comforting and it aches. The pain of trauma and knowing that your life will never be the same again makes it seem like you’re never going to recover. Aaron doesn’t say anything, letting you cry into his shoulder and ignores the way your tear stains have soaked through the fabric. 

He’s imagined being in your apartment before; he often wonders what your decor looks like and how often you spend time here. He’s imagined cooking breakfast for you before you wake up, making you cups of your favorite tea, making the bed after you’ve both woken up, and kissing you goodbye when you walk out the door. Being in your bedroom like this feels too intimate, but if he was being honest with himself, Aaron doesn’t really mind it. He likes that he’s the person you choose to lean on. He feels like this is the first step in holding himself accountable for how he’s treated you in the past. 

Your shoulders are shaking and Aaron does everything he can think of to coax you through your sadness. He whispers praise and allows you to cry when you keep apologizing for your behavior, and he keeps telling you that he’s not going anywhere. 

When you manage to calm down, you’re tired. Aaron lets you climb underneath the covers and tucks the blanket under your chin. His hand brushes your skin and he blushes, though he’s sure you can’t tell because of how dark it is. Aaron bids you goodnight and starts to walk back to the living room but you reach out for his hand before he gets the chance to leave. He turns around and feels your soft grip on him. 

“Could you sleep with me?” you ask. “Or at least stay with me until I fall asleep?”

“Of course,” Aaron says. He throws all caution in the wind and starts to walk to the other side of the bed and he’s surprised when you open the covers for him.

Your mattress is soft and your blankets smell like you. He tries not to think about it and leaves space between the both of you.

“Did you know I joined the BAU because of you?” you ask in the darkness.

“What?” Aaron says of shock.

You laugh lamely. “You guys held a few seminars at my alma mater and I knew then what I wanted to do with my life. I applied to the academy the next fall.”

Aaron doesn’t know what to say. His cheeks are hot and you’ve rendered him utterly speechless. In your tired state, you push yourself as comfortably as you can until the back of your head is leaning on Aaron’s chest, mindful of your broken arm. 

Aaron’s stunned and his body stiffens. But he thinks of all the times he’s thought about laying beside you like this and decides that he’ll cherish it as much as he can. His arm snakes itself underneath you as he tugs you closer, and he whispers a soft goodnight.

***

D.C. is a little cloudy when you wake up. The light peeks through your blinds and you’re made aware of the man sleeping beside you when you realize your face is buried in his chest. Your good arm is beneath you while the other is on top of the blanket. Aaron’s arms are encircled around you and when you feel his warmth. 

You don’t rush to wake him up. Being here with him somehow feels right despite the part of your brain telling you he’s your boss and nothing more. But Aaron wouldn’t stay with you if he didn’t want to, right? 

Part of you thinks he’s doing it just because he feels guilty. You know that there’s some truth to that, but you wonder if it’s the only reason he elected to take care of you. But you decide it’s too early to think about this. Instead, you close your eyes and bask in Aaron’s warmth, and fall asleep again. 

This time, Aaron wakes you up twenty minutes after you fall back asleep. His arms are numb from your weight and he feels like he might try to kiss you if he doesn’t wake you up. 

Your eyes flutter open and you bury your head in his neck. Aaron doesn’t bring himself to push you off of him. He pulls you against him and the both of you lay in silence for what feels like an eternity. 

Eventually, Aaron has to leave because Jack’s coming home from a sleep away camping trip. He apologizes a thousand times over because he knows he said he wasn’t going anywhere, but you tell him that Jack is more important. An unrecognizable expression flashes across his face before he’s out the door, promising you that he’ll call to check in once Jack’s home.

And he does. Aaron calls you a few hours later when Jack’s in the shower and asks you how you’re feeling, if you’ve taken your medication, and if he needs to do anything for you. You decline for his help despite desperately wanting him back in your apartment.

When night falls, Aaron lets Jack stay up an hour later than usual. They’re watching cartoons from the nineties when Aaron gets a sudden idea. He pauses the television and turns to Jack.

“Do you remember Y/N?” Aaron asks his son.

“Of course I do,” Jack says. “She’s the one who buys me snacks when I come to visit you.” 

“That’s right, buddy.” Truthfully, Aaron didn’t know you’ve continuously done that for Jack. But he rolls with it. 

“Is she okay?”

Aaron knows Jack can tell something’s up.

“Not really,” Aaron replies honestly. “She got hurt real bad in our last case and broke her arm.”

Jack opens his mouth in surprise. “Oh no. Do you think she’ll get better soon?”

“I hope so. She needs a lot of help right now because she lives alone.”

“Well she can stay with us until her arm is better,” Jack says as if it’s the most obvious solution in the world. Aaron can’t help but smile through his shock. 

“I’ve gotta ask her first, but I think that’s a great idea. That’s actually what I wanted to ask you.”

“It’ll be fun!” Jack exclaims. “Me and Y/N can watch cartoons while you’re at work and she can help me with my homework. She’s nice like that.” 

“Yes she is,” Aaron says, nodding. 

“Do you think I should make her a card so she feels welcomed in our home? I think I have leftover paper and glitter. Girls love glitter.”

“Y/N would love that. I’m going to talk to her first and if she agrees to stay over, you can make her a card.”

“Yay! This is gonna be the best sleepover ever.” 

Aaron’s ecstatic that Jack’s receptive to the idea. He calls you the next morning and proposes the idea of staying at his place until your cast comes off. When you lament how long that’ll be from now, he insists and tells you Jack was the one who came up with the idea.

You can’t say no to Jack. 

Aaron helps you gather belongings from your apartment and tells you that he’ll drive you back here or pick you up any time you want or need to. You double check that you’ve packed enough clothes for a week.

It’s a gradual and awkward start. You feel out of place as you try to navigate his apartment and where he keeps everything, not wanting to feel like you’re already welcomed in his home. But Aaron keeps reminding you that his home is your home and you don’t need permission since you’ll be here for a while.

Jack is sweet, too. He helps you by telling you where everything is stored and goes so far as to hold your hand while doing so. He insisted on tucking you in while you slept in the guest bedroom just to make sure you were comfortable on your first night, and you thought you might start crying in front of him.

At first, you walk on eggshells. You tiptoe around the boys and feel like a burden when Aaron brings home dinner for three or when he buys extra groceries, especially when he refuses to let you chip in. Jack tries to ease your worries after sensing your discomfort by asking you to build legos with him and you do your best despite the pain in your arms.

Aaron reminds you of your medication (and in turn, Jack asks you if you’ve taken your pills), cooks your favorite comfort meals, and drives you to mandated therapy sessions whenever he has the time. It warms your heart at how helpful he’s been since you know how busy he is typically, and you’re not sure what to make of your emotions. 

Time passes by and suddenly staying with Aaron feels somewhat normal. You’re off of work until your arm is healed and you’ve seen your therapist a number of times, and you know you have a couple of months of doing whatever you want until you go back into the field. Against the advice of Strauss, you continue to help with cases and the paperwork load so Aaron can spend more time with Jack.

Gradually, you start to feel comfortable when you’re alone. You use his kitchen, clean his dishes, and busy yourself with tidying Jack’s messes. You explore his neighborhood and have found a few cafes and restaurants you’d like to try out. You feel more comfortable lounging on his couch instead of keeping yourself in the guest bedroom.   

It feels domestic and you can’t tell if it’s a good or bad thing. There’s still so much left unsaid, including how you’ve felt being his subordinate prior to your abduction. Aaron’s apologized over and over again, has given you time to heal from it and chooses not to ask for forgiveness in lieu of letting you find it yourself. It means a lot. Deep down, you know Aaron isn’t a bad person. You just wish you knew why you were different.

A week turns into two, then into three, and soon enough you find yourself caring after Jack. You feel useless if you sleep in and start waking up early to make breakfast as best you can for everyone (limited to cold breakfasts until you start to feel confident using your dominant arm when it’s out of the sling). Aaron walks into the kitchen to see you making oatmeal one day and you’re worried that you’ve overstepped, but he thanks you profusely.

Jack waddles in and he takes the oatmeal without question and asks if you can put brown sugar and fruit in it. You look around and see apples and blueberries, and Jack chooses the blueberries. He watches as you fix him a bowl and eats his breakfast in silence.

It becomes a routine for you after growing tired of doing nothing all day. Helping Aaron’s around the house as best you can, working remotely on cases, and spending time in his neighborhood feels like you’re recording.

Jessica, Jack’s aunt, has been informed of your stay by Aaron. You’ve met her before in passing but have never spoken to her in depth before staying with Aaron. She picks him up and drops him off, making small talk with you about her life and about your work. It goes so far as coffee dates when she’s available and it feels like your life is getting back on track.

Meanwhile, Aaron realizes he’s bit off more than he can chew when he sees you every morning. He hears your morning voice and finds himself wanting to wake up to it every day. He sees the way you are with Jack, how thoughtful and helpful you’ve been, and thinks it’s where you belong.

And it hurts. It hurts to know that all of his suppressed feelings are suddenly coming to the surface.

Your cast is coming off later today and you’re due for another mandated therapy session and a psychological evaluation before you’re able to return to work. He’s elated, but that means you’re okay to return to your apartment and he’ll have to get used to the house being empty.

Aaron’s parked his car at Quantico and he glances at you in the passenger seat. Your arm sling and cast are gone and you look as good as new, but he’s reluctant to step out of the car. You look back at him, hands fiddling in your lap.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you begin. “I don’t know what I’d do without you and Jack.”

“You’d be just fine,” Aaron assures. “But it was nice seeing you recover. Is your arm doing okay?”

“It’s like I never had a broken arm.” You flex it in front of him for emphasis. “My shoulder’s still a bit sore but I think my physical therapist has expedited the healing process.”

Aaron smiles. “Good. I’m glad.” 

A brief moment of silence falls between the two of you before you both get out of the car. Your therapist had asked you whether or not you were ready to integrate yourself back with the team and was scheduled to supervise your initial day back in the office. You’re apprehensive, however, because you know that you never perform well if you’re being watched closely. 

JJ’s the first to greet you when you walk through the doors. The office smells the same and it looks the same, but it doesn’t feel the same. You spend a few extra seconds embracing JJ and gather that she needs this hug more than you do.

Everyone files in and it’s barely eight in the morning. David congratulates you on recovery, Derek and Penelope bombard you with jokes that make your stomach hurt, Emily shows you photos of Sergio upon your request, and Spencer gives you a side hug and tells you he’s glad you’re doing better.

The therapist arrives soon after and you’re on your best behavior without making it seem like you’re trying to be. 

In the end, she permits you to return back to the BAU with the promise of continuing therapy. She refers to you to a few others and tells you that you should try to go in at least once a week, or however frequently your job lets you. You’re clear to fly, yield your gun, and you’re reinstated as a profiler with the BAU.

Aaron drives you back to his place to pick up your belongings before he drives you back to your apartment. He and Dave had been kind enough to drive your car back to your place, where it’s been sitting untouched.

The ride is filled with music from the eighties and you’re so elated from your first day back at work that you don’t mind singing in front of Aaron and pretending you’re shredding on an electric guitar. He takes his time getting home, taking the long way instead of the direct route, and he doesn’t think you notice. Aaron hopes you don’t.

But he arrives at his place and Jessica’s greeting you at the front door, happy to see you’ve recovered before she goes home. The sun has barely set and Jack walks out behind his aunt, asking you what’s for dinner.

You’re stunned for a moment as the realization that this all ends tonight. Staying with Aaron, falling into a life of balancing work and domesticity comes to an end when he drops you off at your apartment. Jack’s tugging on your elbow and Aaron scolds him because you might still be in a little bit of pain. He apologizes sweetly.

Aaron beckons you inside where you've started to pack your belongings. The luggage you've brought seems smaller than when you brought it, as you find it difficult to pack everything. You make the bed and set the room as you found it (to the best of your recollection), and you’re ready to put your shoes on when Aaron rounds the corner.

“I was thinking we could have one last meal here.” He clears his throat. “To celebrate your recovery.”

You don’t hesitate. “I would love that. I finally get to show you my cooking skills.” 

Aaron smiles and Jack runs to your legs, beckoning you to the kitchen. You settle on making oven baked chicken with mashed potatoes and honey glazed carrots, all of which Aaron had in his refrigerator. Jack asks how he can help and you’re touched when he brings a stool to perch on, and you tell him he can help you by rinsing the potatoes. 

Aaron offers to help and you look at him with a silly grin, letting him prepare the carrots while you prepare everything else. Halfway through the process, Jack becomes somewhat irritable because of hunger and because the entire kitchen smells like a Thanksgiving feast. But he relents and waits for the meal to be done when you tell him the food always tastes better when it’s cooked longer.

You almost forget it’s your last time with Aaron and Jack when you eat your meal together. You forget it when Jack insists on ice cream for dessert and when Aaron makes you a cup of tea just the way you like it. You forget about it until Jack asks his father if he can be there when he drops you off at your apartment. 

Your heart breaks a little. Aaron agrees and lets you grab your belongings while he buckles Jack in the car. Your luggage is in the trunk by the time Aaron is done and he opens the passenger door for you before getting in the car himself. Jack talks the entire ride, thanking you for dinner and lamenting how much he loved spending time with you. Aaron’s grip on the steering wheel is tight and he doesn’t think his heart could swell any bigger.

Eventually, the boys walk you up to your floor and Jack lunges at your abdomen after the three of you have walked into your living room. 

“I’m gonna miss you,” Jack mumbles in your sweater.

“You’ll see her around, buddy. She’s not leaving the team,” says Aaron.

“But I’ll miss Y/N at home. I like spending time with her there.” 

You and Aaron share a look. You can’t tell what he’s thinking but you know you’re unable to control the influx of emotions that will eventually spill out of you when they leave. 

“Me too,” Aaron says quietly. 

They leave soon after that.

You spend an hour crying in your living room and you haven’t unpacked your suitcase. Living with Aaron and being so close to him made you realize how your feelings for him, albeit complicated, have always been there. 

You love him. You love his generous nature. You love the adoration he has for Jack and for his team. You love how he knows your beverages of choice and how gentle he’s been with you. You love the way he says your name and you love that you feel right at home with him.

It’s ten o’clock when you grab your phone and you know Jack’s been asleep for at least an hour. You dial Aaron’s contact and in your anxious state of mind, nearly regret your actions. But he picks up and you hear the sweet melody of his voice through the phone. Your voice falters at first, but you push through them anyway. You’re sure Aaron can hear your voice post-crying because of how raspy your voice is, but you don’t care.

You tell him you think you love him and it’s not because he’s been taking care of you. You pour your heart and soul into this speech and you panic when he doesn’t say anything.

“This’ll be one hell of a story we tell Strauss.”

And you laugh. You laugh because you know Aaron feels the same and you laugh because facing paperwork and recounting this conversation to Strauss doesn’t seem like the most frightening thing in the world anymore.

But just for good measure, Aaron tells you he loves you too. 

***

AAAND WE’RE DONE X 

[squadmuse]

DOMESTIC HEADCANONS

THE AARON HOTCHNER EDITION

Who reaches out to neighbours/new neighbours

Aaron is usually a bit wary of new neighbours and as he is away on cases, it usually ends up being you who reaches out to neighbours and new neighbours in the cul-de-sac neighbourhood. That being said, Aaron isn’t rude he is just protective of you, Jack and any other children you have together due to his career. As he coaches the soccer team, Aaron does end up trusting the neighbours more.

Who remembers to buy healthy food

You do, as you’re usually the one doing the grocery shopping and want Jack to have healthy eating habits.

Who remembers to buy junk food

Aaron does, but he doesn’t go overboard with it. He loves buying candy in bulk for Halloween, Christmas and the other holidays & vacations. He has a sweet tooth, and sneaks your favourites into your handbag as a surprise. You do have a love of ice cream however, and so does Jack which makes Aaron usually buy a tub on the way home from work or a case.

Who fixes the oven when it breaks

Aaron tries his best, and while Derek tried to fix your old oven, it didn’t last very long. It had been a team effort, with Spencer reciting some book about engineering or electrical tech and Rossi offering to buy a top-of-the-range oven.

Who waters the plants/feeds their pet(s)

You both do! Jack does his best to help you both, being excited to help look after the flowers and the pet dog.

Who wakes up earlier

Aaron does, it’s a force of habit due to his work schedule being unpredictable and so Aaron ends up waking early in anticipation of being called in.

Who makes the bed

You both do, but you’re more precise in lining up the quilts and pillows after Aaron makes it and it makes him laugh at your attention to detail.

Who makes the coffee

Aaron does. You’re not much of a coffee drinker, but you have a fresh espresso every morning made by Aaron.

Who burns breakfast

Aaron does - sometimes. It’s usually if he gets called in, and gets distracted talking about the case. You usually burn the grilled cheese or bacon.

How do they let each other know they’re leaving the house

Aaron will come find you & Jack if he’s there, and give you both hugs and kisses and tells you both to stay safe and that he loves you both.

How do they greet each other when one of them gets home

Jack usually perks up hearing Aaron’s car in the driveway and barrels himself into his father as he comes through the door. Aaron gives you a loving kiss and you welcome him home.

Who brings home little gifts like flowers/chocolates more often

Aaron does. He hates how he is away so much for work and hates how his marriage to Haley disintegrated. So he brings a souvenir or two for you and Jack, gets your favourite flowers and some chocolates that Jack will end up eating too.

Who picks the movie for movie night

Jack does! You and Aaron aren’t picky, and love just getting to curl up on the couch together and watching a funny family movie together.

Their favorite kind of movie to watch

Aaron loves comedy and movies based on plays or theatre shows, while you’re into thrillers and dramas. Jack has you both watching movies like Batman and Spiderman, Minions etc.

Who first suggests a pillow fort

Aaron does, and it’s a for a movie night and Jack is cuddled up between you both.

Who builds the pillow fort

You and Aaron both do, while Jack supervises. You have to make sure there is enough space for Aaron’s large size and so you have him sit down halfway in order to build around him.

Who tries to distract the other during the movie

You both do. Aaron can be quite playful and you also can be so too… the more naughty distractions happen when Jack is away for a sleepover at his Aunt Jessica’s house, a friends house or his grandfather’s house.

Who falls asleep first

You do, and Aaron smiles watching your sleeping form.

Who is big spoon/little spoon

Aaron is of course, and he absolutely dwarves you with his size - which you love!

[mariasont]

Our Minds Entwined-----------------------

ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6, ch 7, ch 8, ch 9, ch 10, ch 11, ch 12

MDNI-----------------------------------------------------------------

pairings: aaron hotchner x oc x spencer reid

summary: in which jason gideon's daughter joins the fbi as the newest, youngest member

warnings: mentions of wet dream, fantasying of 2 guys, oral f receiving, praise, probably more im not sure

A/N: hope you beautiful humans enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

also requests are still open for aaron hotchner and spencer reid & i would love love to write more so shoot me something :)

haappppy readingggg!

chapter eleven:

With a weary slump of her shoulders, Evelyn followed in Hotch's wake, her feet dragging the ground as though shacked by invisible weights. Her eyelids were heavy, drooping in a slow cadence, fighting the lull of sleep that beckoned with each laboring blink. Her lips parted in a slow, drawn-out motion that mirrored the sluggishness of her body. The latte sat in her hand, a supposed ally against the drowsiness, but her yawns betrayed its ineffectiveness as her eyes grew heavier still. The trip had been a marathon of activity--packing, the airport, the plane--all leading to a touchdown in Somerville just as the sun began to rise.

On the way over, Hotch had briefed her on the details of the case. A couple weeks ago, a polyamorous couple--two older men, and their shared partner, a younger woman--were found dead. Then, two days ago another household with the same victimology were killed. The coincidence wasn't lost on Evelyn as her mind wandered to that god forsaken dream that had haunted her since.

And on top of that, throughout the trip, Hotch's silence was a wall between them, broken only by the case details. Despite herself, Evelyn tried to profile him knowing it was wrong. Evelyn replayed the hot tub scene in her mind, a pang of guilt twisting in her gut. She couldn't shake the feeling that she'd crossed a line, even if it was unintentional... right? Her head was a battlefield of jumbled thoughts and creeping doubts, all clamoring for attention. She blamed the fog in her brain on the lack of sleep.

 Evelyn, under the weight of Hotch's intent gaze, gave way to a yawn so extravagantly drawn out it seemed less a sign of fatigue and more a playful challenge to his enduring patience.

"Stop staring; it's too early for judgment," Evelyn murmured, her eyes slits of defiance as she ambled after him towards the station. "This is just my face before the caffeine kicks in. It gets better, I promise."

Hotch offered no reply, merely casting a glance over his shoulder at her. The warmth of their close encounter in the hot tub enveloped his thoughts, an unwelcome yet intoxicating recollection. He wrestled with the memory, a guilty pleasure, even as he held the door open for her. Yet, he steeled himself, shoving those dangerous reflections to the back of his mind, all too conscious of the professional boundaries that he dared not to cross.

"Okay, Hotch, I get it, we can't all be as chatty as me with zero sleep. But come on, give me a smile, or at least a grunt," Evelyn coaxed, her laughter not quite reaching her eyes. "Anything to show you're still with us."

There was a pause, a look from Hotch that cut through her words, heavy with unvoiced thoughts, before he turned and walked away, his back a silent command to keep up. Evelyn's expression dimmed, her lips curving into a faint frown as she trailed behind him. The team's warm welcomes echoed around them as they entered the conference room. Evelyn's smile spread across her face, skillfully painted on to mask the twinge of disappointment that Hotch had left.

The moment Spencer's eyes found Evelyn, a soft blush bloomed across her face, and she offered him a smile tinged with complicity, which he mirrored back, a small but significant lift to her mood. The brief contact of Spencer's hand grazing her shoulder as she passed was enough to deepen the shade on her cheeks as she fought to maintain composure. 

"How was Miami hot stuff?" Morgan questioned, as his arm sling around her shoulder with a teasing squeeze.

"Hot," Evelyn declared, her hand theatrically waving in front of her face in a mock fan, while her elbow lightly collided with Morgan's side. "Nearly had me seeing stars. Poor Hotch was this close to performing CPR," she said, her words a deliberate prod as her eyes sought out Hotch's, hoping for any form of reaction.

"I'd say it was less about the heat and more about you neglecting to eat properly," Hotch commented dryly, his words carrying a hint of reprimand, but hey at least he was talking.

"Well, we really shouldn't dwell on the past," Evelyn said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"Speaking of meals," JJ added, sliding a blueberry muffin towards her with a knowing smile. 

"You're a saint, JJ," Evelyn said, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the food. "I'm this close to giving you a thank-you kiss."

"As tempting as that sounds, you can actually thank Hotch for this one," JJ laughed as she nudged her. "He made it clear--no breakfast for you means a mountain of paperwork duties for us."

Evelyn's tension eased a fraction as she shot Hotch a teasing smile, her heart fluttering at the gesture. "Well, sir, rest assured, I strictly adhere to the 'no kissing the boss' clause. It's somewhere in the fine print, right?"

Evelyn's cheeks took a shade of pink at her own words, hanging in the air, laden with the what-ifs she couldn't quite push aside. Hotch's eyes, sharp and discerning, momentarily betrayed him, darting to her lips before he caught himself.

"Agent," he cautioned, his voice low but clear. Evelyn quickly raised her hands, a silent truce, as Hotch redirected his attention to the team. "What do we have?"

"At this rate, they'll be naming the next HR workshop after you," Morgan murmured, barely containing his amusement. 

"What if the unsub is part of a group like this themselves and feels wronged by it?" Rossi muses out loud, his fingers tracing thoughtful patterns against the stubble of his chin as he stands, back pressed against the brick wall.

Reid paced slowly around the table, his fingertips grazing a file as he passed. "It's possible," he began, his voice a soft murmur, eyes narrowing slightly. "The specific targeting and overkill suggest a perceived slight or trauma associated with such relationships."

Prentiss gave a firm nod. "Let's not rule out the possibility of the unsub viewing these groups as a threat to their moral or social beliefs."

"The female-centric dynamic could be important too," Evelyn tossed out, her steps halting beside the pictures of the victims.

As she pondered aloud Spencer found himself focuses intently on her face, her nose scrunching ever so slightly in thought--a gesture that drew a fleeting smile from him as he cast his gaze downwards in hopes no one else noticed how he looked at her. 

"Maybe the unsub feels wronged by the idea of a woman being the main focus? Or it could be jealously. Someone who wanted into a group like this but was rejected," Evelyn continued. 

"Or the opposite," Hotch contemplates, his brow furrowed in thought. "Someone who was in a group and cast out." He pauses, hands clasped as he leaned forward. "Let's dig into the background of the victims and see if there's a common thread."

The conference room was steeped in the day's fatigue, the air heavy with the tang of frustration and the stale scent of coffee. The team had returned from their respective tasks--interviews, crime scenes, and calls--all roads leading to dead ends. 

The room's stillness is shattered by Garcia's voice emanating from the screen. "I've got something," she declares, the pixelated glow casting an ethereal light in the dim room. "Both triads belonged to an ultra-elite society known as 'The Labyrinth.' It's like Fort Knox meets Fight club--no one talks about it, and no one gets in without an invite. I mean, you don't even want to know the lengths I went to find this in the first place."

"I mean, if the society is as exclusive as P says," Evelyn begins, her hand sweeping through her hair in a fluid motion. "Then the unsub is likely also part of it or they have resources that could get them information on it."

Garcia's voice bursts through the speaker. "Prepare to be dazzled," she trills, the clatter of her keystrokes punctuating her excitement. "The Labyrinth is rolling out the red carpet for a gala tomorrow night at the old Whitmore Estate. And you, my darlings, are virtually invited to the ball."

Morgan hunches over the table. "So, we need a cover," he states, "We can't just show up at the doorstep and demand to look around; it'll spook the unsub."

"Evelyn and Reid could blend in," Prentiss nods. "They fit the profile of two of the victims. Maybe they can draw the unsub out." Evelyn's eyes widen as she glances towards Spencer.

JJ chimes in, "And maybe Morgan could--"

But Rossi interrupts, shaking his head. "No, the second male victim's profile is different--older, more experienced. It's more Hotch's profile."

A crease forms between Hotch's eyes, a shadow of concern etching his features as his protective instincts surge to the forefront, coupling with a deep-seated unease about the unfolding plan. A delicate warmth crept up Evelyn's cheeks, her pulse quickening at the thought. The idea of going undercover with Hotch and Reid, a scenario plucked straight from her wet dream, sends a shiver down her spine and her thoughts into a tailspin. She opens her mouth, to joke it off, but it dissolves into a muddled string of half-formed words, leaving her with a bashful silence.

Hotch's words falter, a rare hesitation flickering across his usually impassive features. "I'm not sure if this is the best course of action--," 

Emily interjected swiftly, her words slicing through Hotch's protest. "Hotch, we may not get another shot at this. Using you three as bait isn't ideal, but it might be the only way to corner our unsub."

Hotch's eyes settle on Spencer, who gives a firm nod. His gaze than shifts to Evelyn, and though he resists the urge to analyze, the rosy flush of her skin and the accelerated pace of her breath betray her feelings. It's a jarring contrast to the professional distance he's been striving for. Hotch's nod was there, almost imperceptible, but the frown that follows is deeply etched, a clear sign of his disapproval despite his acceptable. 

The room hums with a focused energy as the team pores over digital and paper archives alike, each article detailed events like this and of the couples who frequent. Garcia curates a comprehensive collection of profiles detailing the Labyrinth and its attendees, while JJ and Morgan sift through social media for the gala's guest list. In a corner, Spencer and Rossi huddled over a cluttered desk examining the blueprint of the Whitmore Estate.

Meanwhile, in a makeshift office provided by the local police chief, Hotch and Evelyn are deep in study. The walls, now a gallery of whiteboards, are dense with the scribbled complexities of polyamorous relationships and the backgrounds of the victims.

"I've come across open relationships in case studies, but an entire society? That's a statistical outlier if I ever heard one--Spence would have a field day with those odds." Evelyn says with a soft shake of her head.

A faint arch forms in Hotch's brow, a muted signal of surprise to the informal reference of Reid. Catching the lift of Hotch's brow, Evelyn quickly adds, "You know, Hotch, the silent treatment isn't going to work when we're undercover," she started with a tilt of her head. "You've going to have to convince everyone we're together soon, remember? So, you might want to start practicing liking me now."

"I'm not giving you the silent treatment, Evelyn." Hotch remarks, his countenance flat, eyes reflecting any readability. 

"Sure, if you say so," Evelyn replied, her eyes thin slits of skepticism. "But if you're not up for this, Rossi could step in. We need to be believable, or people could get hurt."

"That's not going to happen," Hotch assets, his gaze unwavering, the firm set of his jaw sending a flutter to Evelyn's core. "I've played the part before; I can do it again."

"Then what are you so worried about?"

"I just want you to remember boundaries, Evelyn." Hotch reminds. "The seriousness of this cannot be understated, and I need to know your focus will be on the right aspects of the plan."

Hotch could see the subtle crumble of her face, the faint twitch of hurt that flickered across her features. She masked it swiftly, her voice laced with feigned indifference. "Understood. I'll try to keep my inevitable swooning over your pretend affections to a minimum, sir." The lightness of her words contrasted sharply with the hurt in her eyes, and Hotch felt an immediate ache in his stomach for causing it.

"Evelyn, that's not--" Hotch's voice trailed off, the hardness in his eyes giving way to a rare vulnerability. His fingers twitched with the need to reach out, to smooth away the creases of pain from her expression, but the opportunity slipped away as Rossi emerged at the door.

"Hotch, can I see you for a second?" he asked, gesturing subtly with his head.

Hotch offered a silent nod, his gaze holding Evelyn's for a moment longer than necessary, his eyes etching a mental image of her--the tilt of her head, the unresolved tension in her shoulders, before he reluctantly turned to follow Rossi. Spencer, shadowing Rossi's steps, pauses at the threshold, his gaze fixed on the departing figures. With a soft click of the door closing, he turns, the hush of the room settling around him as he turns to Evelyn.

He steps behind her, his hands coming to rest gently upon her shoulders. Evelyn tips her head back, her eyes lifting to meet his. "You okay?" he asks, his voice low and soothing.

Evelyn's laughter bubbled up, slicing through the heavy air. "Had a moment with Hotch. Pretty sure he was subtly hinting that I keep my feelings in check as if I'm incapable of that."

Spencer's lips curled into a half-smile, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Hotch tends to get a bit tense with these high-stakes operations," he reasoned, his thumbs tracing soothing circles on her shoulders, easing the knots. 

Evelyn melts into the warmth of his hands. "That feels good," she sighs, her head gently reclining in contentment. "And tell me about. I'm the one who's going to be all up on my boss and coworker. Talk about awkward."

The thought of sharing Evelyn with Hotch sent an unbidden rush of blood straight to his cock, a visceral response that caught him off caught. He clears his throat, a subtle cover for the fleeting thought that, perhaps, the idea isn't as disconcerting as it should be.

"At least with you I don't have to pretend."

"I don't know, I think additional practice might be beneficial." Reid says, his fingers edging closer to the delicate skin of Evelyn's neck, prompting an involuntary hitch in her breath. "My room tonight? Purely for preparation purposes, of course."

"Dr. Reid, w-what are you suggesting?" Evelyn managed to tease out, despite the gentle pressure of his hand on her pulse point making her senses swim and her focus waver.

He leaned in, his head tilting to plant a gentle kiss in the hollow of her neck. "You're smart enough to deduce it," he murmured softly against her skin, the words almost a sigh, "missed you."

A giggle escaped Evelyn, and she nimbly evaded his grasp. "Spencer, we're practically inviting an audience at this rate."

"Which is precisely why I'm saving it for later, just wanted you to give you a preview, sweetheart."

The remainder of the day unfolded without incident, with Evelyn buried under a towering pile of research papers, its weight causing a dull throb behind her eyes. Every detail was meticulously arranged for tomorrow--the tickets secured, the outfits chose, the escape routes mapped. However, no degree of preparation could quell the fluttering feeling in the pit of her stomach. This is precisely what led Evelyn to Spencer's hotel door, perched anxiously, her knocks rapid and insistent, her gaze sweeping the corridor for onlookers.

The door finally creaked open, and Evelyn breezed inside, her voice a soft tease, "Took you long enough." Spencer, with a quick glance over his shoulder, closed the door with a silent snap.

Spencer's laughter echoed through the room, a carefree sound that made Evelyn pause. "Sorry, I was in the shower," he said, a sheepish grin on his face. 

It was then that Evelyn really looked at him--his hair damp and tousled, clinging to his forehead, chest bare, skin dotted with water beads that caught the light, the soft material of his pajama pants hanging from his hips. Her eyes lingered, almost hypnotized by the sight, and rendered mute. 

Evelyn's lips parted, ready to unleash a clever comeback, yet only a soft, airy giggle escaped. Without thinking, her arms encircled him, her heart thudding erratically from the sheer nearness of him.

His fingers tenderly framed her face, his laughter a comforting hum. "Evelyn, you're going to get all wet," he teased, thumb softly grazing her cheek.

"That's what I'm counting on," Evelyn replies, a coy smile on her lips as she lets her hands wander down his chest, her fingers flirting with the edge of his pants. "I believe I was promise there would be a rehearsal on the agenda this evening."

"Mmm, is that what you want baby?" He questioned teasingly, his hand guiding her gaze to his with a soft tug at her locks. "Be the good girl I know you are, get undressed, and get on the bed."

Evelyn's eyes sparkled with anticipation, her feet barely touching the ground as she hurried to the bed. Her gaze locked with his and with deliberate care, she pinched the hem of her shirt, swiftly gathering the fabric and sending is flying across the room in a fluid motion before she attended to her pants. His eyes followed her every move as he inhaled a sharp breath, his thumb brushing against his bottom lip. Her gaze followed down to his pajama pants and the tent that was growing within them, excitement growing in her chest. 

She carefully turned her back towards him as she hooked her thumbs around her pants and underwear letting them drop to the floor. She crawled on to the bed, arching her back in an exaggerated motion, giving Spencer a full glance at her glistening pussy. She turned quickly, resting on her elbows as she smiled sweetly at Spence who was all but drooling at the sight.

"You're so good sweetheart," Spencer exhaled, each step towards the bed measured, the corners of his mouth lifting at her eagerness, "so pretty."

Evelyn's legs instinctively clasped together in a silent plea for relief as a wave of warmth surged through her cheeks and pussy.

"Take this off, baby," Spencer commanded, the sound of his tongue clicking in disapproval as his fingers drummed a soft rhythm against the material of her bra, "Wanna see all of my beautiful girl."

She quickly complied, sitting up just enough to unclasp the pesky thing. His large hands splayed over the expanse of her thighs, coaxing them open as he settled between them, his gaze penetrating as her tits bounced out of the cups of the bra. "God, you're so pretty sweetheart."

A soft moan escaped Evelyn's lips as she squirmed on the mattress, "Spencer, need you."

Spencer let out a soft chuckle, his hand moving closer to her heat, fingers tracing back and forth in a tantalizing motion. "Gonna take such good care of you baby."

His thumb began to rub slow circles on her swollen clit, Evelyn's breath hitched, her hands frantically searching for something to grasp on to, landing on his wet curls. He teased her slowly, his fingers moving across her soaked folds. Evelyn felt as though she could see stars as she watched Spencer begin to plant soft kisses up her thighs, getting closer and closer to where she wanted him. 

She jutted her hips off the mattress, her fingers curling around his hair as if to move him towards her throbbing cunt. "Evelyn, patience teaches us to regulate our emotions. Neurologically speaking, it's linked to serotonin levels in the brain, did you know that pretty girl?"

"Spencer, please, baby put that good mouth to use."

Spencer let out a soft laugh before placing his mouth to her clit, sucking as if it were his full-time job. The moan that released from her was loud and unrestrained, her body thrusting against his mouth. His tongue curled into her, eating her out like it was his last meal on earth.

"Need you to be quiet, baby. Hotch is on the other side of this wall, don't want him hearing you, do you?" Spencer asked, his voice muffled. "Or maybe you do? Is that what you want? You want Hotch to know how I treat this pussy?"

Evelyn's body trembled with pleasure, her hands grasping against the cool sheets as if to steady herself. His hands wrapped around her thighs, pulling her closer as if to suffocate himself between them. "I-I,"

His tongue lapped greedily through Evelyn's folds, her cunt trembling against the pressure as broken moans escaped her lips. He met her eyes, peering up from his position devouring her aching pussy. 

"Spencer I-oh, fuck, I'm so close," Evelyn moaned out, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as she humped against his face, his nose brushing against her clit every so often. "I can't, I'm gonna-"

A knock at the door caused Spencer's motion to freeze, a panicked gasp releasing from Evelyn's lips as her orgasm dissipated into thin air.

"Reid, are you up?" Hotch's voice, firm and unexpected, pierced the silence. Evelyn's mind was a whirlwind of foggy thoughts, her body reacting before her brain could catch up. Beside her, Spencer's limbs flailed in a hasty attempt to feign alertness, both like deer caught in headlights.

"Oh my god," Evelyn hissed, her hands flying to shield herself. She leaped from the bed, her eyes darting desperately around the room for her scattered clothes.

"Just a second!" Spencer called to Hotch. Meanwhile, Evelyn snatched the nearest shirt, one of Spencer's and yanked it over her head. It was a clumsy dance, one that nearly ended with her sprawled on the floor, tripping over the bulky obstacle of his go-bag. "Get under the bed."

"Under the bed?" Evelyn's voice was a hushed blend of disbelief and urgency. Spencer returned her gaze with an unwavering stare. "God, you're lucky you're so good with that scholarly mouth of yours."

"Radio waves... they're the longest wavelengths in the electromagnetic spectrum," Spencer began, his voice a low hum as he paced the confines of the room. "First predicted by Maxwell in 1864," he continued, more to himself than to Evelyn. Her brow furrowed in confusion. "And they--"

He was cut off as Evelyn interjected. "Spencer, why are you giving me a physics lesson right now?"

"I'm trying to, uh... calm down."

Evelyn's gaze traced the path of Spencer's, her eyes light up at the sight of the tent still evident in his pants. A soft giggle escaped her lips, a delicate sound in the quiet room. Their eyes met once more, and she exhaled a prolonged, "Oh," the syllable stretching out as brought a hand to her mouth.

"Just get under the bed."

Evelyn's laughter was a soft echo, quickly muffled as she deftly maneuvered herself under the bed. Her breath caught in her throat, the only sound the creak of the door swinging open.

Spencer was met by Hotch, his figure framed by the hallway's dim light. "Reid, can I come in?"

With a subtle clearing of his throat, Spencer managed a casual tone, "Uh, yeah, sure, of course."

He swung the door fully open, his expression carefully schooled into one of practiced composure. Hotch stepped over the threshold, his eyes sweeping over the room. Spencer's gaze flitted after his, a silent prayer of gratitude that the room bore no trace of Evelyn's clothes. 

"I just wanted to talk to you about tomorrow," Hotch stated, his voice betraying none of the scrutiny his eyes had just performed. 

"Sure, what's up?" Spencer asked, the words slightly pinched at the edges, his voice climbing a register.

Hotch's arms locked across his chest like a barrier. "This undercover operation is delicate, and we can't afford any... complications."

Spencer swallows hard, his eyes darting to the bed for a fleeting second. "Of course, I understand."

With a casual lean against the desk, Hotch's features relaxed just perceptibly. "I know you understand, but it's not just about the operation. It's about perception too. Evelyn's already under a bit of scrutiny."

An awkward cough escaped Spencer, a clumsy veil over the tension he felt, knowing well that Evelyn hung on every word. "Right," he responded, an unspoken understanding that they were discussing her father.

"Gideon set a high bar, and it's clear Evelyn is rising to meet it," Hotch begins, his voice steady, a tinge of pride in his tone. "She's carved out her own space on this team, a fact we all recognize. But rumors don't always favor the truth, and any suggestion of her involvement with another agent could be damaging..."

"There's nothing unprofessional going on, Hotch," Spencer quickly countered, his voice a swift defense. 

Hotch raised a hand, a gesture of pause and consideration. "I'm not accusing you of anything," he clarified, his voice firm yet fair. "I'm just asking you to exercise caution," he articulated. "For her sake. She has a bright future, and it shouldn't be jeopardized by baseless chatter."

Under the bed, Evelyn's brain was in overdrive, dissecting every word, her mouth suddenly dry. 

"I understand."

"Good," Hotch affirmed with a supportive squeeze on Spencer's shoulder. "Goodnight, Reid."

"Yeah, you too."

next

taglist: @aceofspades190 @nonamevenus @lukesaprince @doigettokeepyou @tequilya @carley12041 @satellitelh @greatdinosaursalad @malewife-cas

[writinghotchner]

fandom: criminal minds pairing: hotch x fem!reader (could be read as hotch x oc, i guess) rating: M (nsfw) words: 1,224

read below, or on ao3.

insomnia has once again webbed its way through her brain and shattered through her eyelids. it's nothing new, she's dealt with it most of her life. with an annoyed, tired sigh, she turns fully onto her side to face her boyfriend letting her eyes scan his sleeping face as puffs of his breath fans across her nose. she sighs again, frustrated that she can't sleep and that he can. just as she's about to fling the blanket off of herself and stomp to the living room to be grumpy on the couch, he cracks an eye to look at her. she immediately huffs out a laugh.

"did i wake you?"

he clears his throat and rolls onto his back, stretching his body a little. "i felt you staring at me." he turns to look at the clock on his nightstand. two a.m.

she laughs at that, reaching over to palm his cheek, it hits him with a soft unpainful smack. "i'm sorry. i was admiring your ability to sleep."

he rolls back onto his side, wiggling a little closer to her. "can't sleep?"

she sighs. "no, my brain won't shut up long enough."

he hums his response, his eyes slipping closed again.

"aaron..."

his eyes open slowly to look at her. "hm?"

"help me fall asleep...?" she studies his face as well as she can in the dimly lit room, but she sees him crack a grin, his eyes coming to life.

"how do you suppose i do that?" his voice is still rough with sleep sending shivers down her spine, igniting the fire already growing deep in her belly.

without saying anything, she reaches for his left hand and guides it slowly towards her already throbbing center. she lifts her right leg up a little to give him room and he automatically palms the entirety of her, the warmth of his large hand making the heat already boiling between her legs unbearable.

"god, baby, please.." she chokes out in a whisper, but he keeps slowly, lightly, running his hand over her.

"please what?"

she throws him a pointed look and he grins. "i want your fingers inside m-"

before she can even finish that sentence, he skims his fingers up over her mound, and then wiggles them under her panties, brushing through her trimmed pubes. he doesn't pull her lips apart like she's dying for him to, instead he rests his entire palm on her pubic bone and lets his fingers play softly at her opening, feeling how hot and wet she already was. she squirms under him, clenching helplessly at nothing. he chuckles. "already so wet, hm? were you planning on waking me up or were you going to take care of this yourself?"

she huffs out something between a breathy laugh and a moan as she reaches under the blankets to grip at his wrist. "you're killing me here, babe."

"oh, we can't have that, can we?" he says and then quickly presses his two middle fingers down and then up, pulling her lips open and then stopping to press the tips of them against her clit. she squirms against his hand even more, her bottom lip caged between her teeth.

"aaron hotchner, i swear to god," she pants, the grip on his wrist tightening.

he props his head up on his right hand so he can look down at her, the street light from outside barely shining into the room so he can see the shadows of her face. she looks up at him right when he starts moving his fingers in small circles. she licks her lips and lets them fall apart to suck in a breath.

he speeds up his movements, watching as her face as it contorts with pleasure, her chest rises and stutters, an annoyed yet pleasurable groan leaving her throat.

"baby, please," she nearly chokes out. he chuckles to himself, loving that he can do this to her - make her beg and moan.

a few more deep pressure circles to her clit and he slides his fingers down to her opening and presses inside of her slowly. "is this what you want?" his voice is low and teasing and she can practically hear the grin on his face through her now closed eyes. he uses the heel of his hand to press back into her clit and her leg twitches.

the grip on his wrist moves down to grab the back of his hand, her fingers over his, and she makes him push himself deeper into her. her fingers brushing against her own entrance with the movement.

"jesus, fuck, god," she cries out, squeezing her eyes closed. his fingers are thick and always fill her up the way she needs, especially when he uses two. he sets a slow steady pace, pressing them as deep as they can go and then drags them slowly almost all the way out of her before quickly sliding them back in to his knuckles. she squeezes her legs together, trapping their hands in place. she can feel the tendons in his hand every time he moves his fingers, and she grips his knuckles as he picks up the pace.

strangled moans fall from her lips as she moves her hips against him. he curls his fingers and holds it momentarily against the spongey tissue that makes her feral which causes her to immediately arch her back and release a guttural moan. when he starts to move his fingers again, picking up the pace even faster, she slides her right leg back so he can have more room to move his hand. he moves faster now, the wet slapping sound of his hand ramming into her and her strangled breaths filling the room.

it only takes a few more pumps and curls of his fingers before she's squeezing his knuckles tight. she presses her her own middle fingers into his, trying to push his fingers in farther as her orgasm sparks through her, her own two middle fingers slip in with his for a moment and she thrashes against him, her eyes still squeezed shut. he can feel her lower stomach spasming and it makes him bite his lip to stop his own pleasured sounds. her breath catches in her chest as her orgasm continues to static its way through her. he leans in closer to her, "breathe, honey."

a final strangled, broken moan leaves her throat and she sucks in a harsh breath, her body goes limp, and her hand falls away from his as she continues to breathe heavily. he doesn't remove his fingers right away, he leaves them buried inside of her, unmoving. she slowly opens her eyes and looks at him. "fuck," is all she can manage to croak get out.

"tired?" he asks, his voice strangled with his own wants now, but willing to go on if that's what she needs.

before she can answer he's pulling his fingers out of her and sliding them right back up to her clit. she can feel the gush of warmth follow his fingers out and it makes her moan again.

"are you?" she husks.

"wide awake." and with that he leans over and catches her mouth in a heated kiss as he moves his body on top of hers and settles between her parted, shaking legs.

[thirtysomethingloser92]

Salvation (Rewrite)

You are the avalanche One world away My make believing While I'm wide awake Just a trick of light To bring me back around again Those wild eyes A psychedelic silhouette I never meant to fall for you, but I Was buried underneath And all that I could see was white

Then

The sun was setting, casting a crimson hue over the horizon, as you sprinted through the hardened clay dirt. You didn’t think you had ever run so far or so fast in your entire life. The burning in your chest was excruciating, and the sting in your throat felt like fire. The world around you blurred, your surroundings becoming a mere backdrop to the only thing that mattered: finding your sister. <><>

Three years with the BAU had taught you to remain composed under pressure, but this was different. This was personal. The lessons you'd learned in managing stress, keeping a clear head, and compartmentalizing your emotions were all crumbling in the face of this nightmare. Your mother’s tearful voice echoed in your ears, each sob a dagger to your heart. She had recounted, in a broken voice, how your fifteen-year-old sister had run away once again, the frustration and helplessness palpable through the phone. You felt a familiar mix of anger and worry; your sister always believed she knew better, always rejecting any attempts to guide or protect her.  Yet, beneath the frustration lay a deep, aching love and a fierce protective instinct. The way it always had been.

The image of your sister’s rebellious spirit flashed through your mind: her defiant green eyes, her confident stride as she waved off your concerns whenever you brought them up. She thought she knew best, thought she was invincible, but now those thoughts were replaced by terror. The realization hit you like a sledgehammer, shattering the facade of control you had carefully maintained over the years. She was taken by a monster.

Fear coursed through your veins, mingling with the guilt that was chewing away at your insides. Guilt for not being there, for not preventing this, for every argument where you couldn’t reach her. The helplessness was suffocating, a black hole in your chest weighing it down. Rage simmered beneath the surface, a barely contained storm, directed at the unknown predator who had shattered your family’s fragile peace. The knowledge that this was beyond the realm of your usual cases, that this was your flesh and blood, made the stakes unbearably high.

Every step, every breath, was infused with the overwhelming need to find her, to save her. The training, the protocols, the experience—none of it felt like it was enough against the raw, visceral terror of potentially losing your sister. This was a new kind of hell, where every second counted, and the weight of your responsibility pressed down like never before. The pain of it was almost physical, an ache that radiated through your entire being. This wasn’t just another case. This was your life unravelling, your worst fear brought to life, and the desperation to find her, to hold her safe once more, was the only thing keeping you moving.

Returning to your hometown felt surreal. The familiar streets and landmarks from your youth were now overshadowed by the grim reality of your sister’s abduction. The quaint charm of the old main street, with its small shops and cafes, seemed dulled by the reason you were there. Every corner, every alleyway, held memories that once brought a smile to your face but now only added to the weight of dread you carried.

The park where you spent countless summer days, laughing with friends, now felt eerie and silent. You remembered the bench where you and your sister used to sit, feeding the ducks and planning your futures. That memory, once a source of warmth and comfort, was now tinged with fear.

Walking past the high school, you couldn't help but recall the mischievous pranks and adventures of your teenage years. The thrill of sneaking out after dark, the exhilaration of late-night joyrides, and the camaraderie of your tight-knit group of friends—these memories now seemed distant and almost non-existent compared to the present crisis.

The diner on the corner, where you used to hang out after school, was a place of laughter and endless conversations over milkshakes and fries. The booth by the window, where you carved your initials with a pocketknife, was still there, a silent witness to your teenage rebellion and dreams. But now, as you looked through the window, the vibrant scenes of your youth were replaced by the stark reality of your sister’s disappearance. The laughter of your friends was drowned out by the echo of your mother’s sobs.

Every memory, every familiar sight, was now overshadowed by the grim reality of what had happened. The carefree weekends spent exploring the back streets and hidden corners of your hometown were now tainted by the darkest moment of your life. The streets you once roamed freely, feeling invincible and full of life, now seemed to close in on you, the walls of your past pressing down with an unbearable weight.

The alleyway where you had your first kiss, the park bench where you and your sister dreamed of the future, the diner booth with your carved initials—all these places, once filled with happiness and hope, now served as haunting reminders of the fragility of life and the urgent need to find your sister. The memories that once brought joy were now eclipsed by a growing dread, each step through your hometown a painful reminder of what was at stake. <><>

The team’s arrival was swift. As soon as the BAU’s black SUVs rolled up, Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner’s commanding presence was unmistakable. He took charge immediately, issuing orders and coordinating with local law enforcement. You, however, stood off to the side, unable to shake the anxiety gnawing at your insides.

Hotch’s stern gaze met yours as he approached. His voice, usually calm and authoritative, held a note of steel that brooked no argument. “Stay back at the station,” he instructed, his eyes conveying a firm resolve. “We’ll find her. I’ll keep you updated.”

His words were meant to reassure, but they fell flat against the backdrop of your rising panic. The thought of sitting idly while your sister’s fate hung in the balance was unbearable. “No,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “I need to be out there. She’s my sister.”

Hotch’s expression hardened. “We need you to be at your best. The last thing we need is for you to compromise the operation by being too close. It’s too dangerous.”

The words felt like a physical blow, a reminder of the harsh reality that your personal connection to the case made you vulnerable. But this was your family, and the idea of staying behind felt like an insurmountable betrayal.  “I’m not going to sit back and let others search for her,” you argued, frustration seeping through your calm façade. “This is my responsibility too. I need to be there.”

Hotch’s eyes softened, but only slightly. “You’re too emotionally involved. Your judgment might be clouded. We’re working to get her back. We’ve got the best people on it.”

The mention of your emotional involvement struck a nerve. The last thing you wanted was to be sidelined because of your connection in the case. You took a deep breath, trying to control the tumult of emotions surging through you. “I understand the risks,” you said, your voice steadying with each word. “But if you leave me behind, I’ll be a wreck, unable to focus on anything but what’s happening out there. I can’t just wait here. Not knowing what’s happening.”

Hotch studied you for a moment, his gaze piercing. You could see the internal struggle warring behind his eyes. He knew how important this case was to you, and he also knew how crucial it was to keep you focused and functional. The silence between you was thick, filled with the weight of your unspoken fears and the stakes of the situation.

Finally, Hotch sighed, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. “Fine,” he said, the word coming out with a reluctant acceptance. “You can come. But you stay by me. No wandering off, no taking unnecessary risks. Understood?”

Relief washed over you, though it was tinged with the continued dread of the situation. “Understood,” you replied, your voice a whisper of gratitude. “Thank you.”

Hotch nodded, the sternness in his demeanour softening just enough to convey a sliver of understanding. “Let’s get going then. We need to find her.”

As the two of you moved towards the field operations, the rest of the team fell into place, coordinating with the local authorities and strategizing their next steps. The intensity of the mission was palpable, every second stretching into eternity. You stayed close to Hotch, your focus sharpened by the urgency of the situation and the need to stay grounded.

Each step you took alongside him was a small victory in the battle against your own fears and the mission’s overwhelming weight. The familiar blend of hope and anxiety churned inside you, but with Hotch’s presence, you felt a sense of purpose guiding you through the storm. <><>

The dirt of the large farmyard clung stubbornly to your jeans, each step kicking up clouds of dust that settled into the creases of your clothing. Your hair, damp with sweat, stuck to your forehead, the heat of the day making every breath feel heavy and laboured. You had managed to keep up with Hotch and the rest of the team despite the oppressive heat and the weight of the situation bearing down on you.

The drive to the farm had been tense. You had been in the back of the SUV, your hands gripping the seat as your mind raced through every possible outcome. You had tried to steady your breathing, to force yourself to think rationally, but the dread that gripped you was almost overwhelming.

When the vehicle finally stopped at the edge of the sprawling farmyard, you barely waited for the doors to open before you were out, following Hotch and the others as they disembarked. The large, open space of the farmyard was daunting, its expanse stretching out before you like a vast, oppressive landscape. The once familiar smell of hay and earth was now tinged with the scent of fear and urgency.

Hotch moved with his usual decisiveness, his posture commanding as he began issuing orders to the team. You stayed close, your mind racing as you tried to process every detail of the surroundings. The large brick house loomed in the distance, its windows dark and unwelcoming. Outbuildings scattered around the property created ominous silhouettes against the sky.

As you approached the house with Hotch, the weight of your gun in your hand felt both reassuring and heavy. You could hear the team working around you—footsteps crunching on gravel, radios crackling with intermittent updates. The tension was palpable, a collective focus that seemed to tighten with every passing second.

Hotch’s sleeves were rolled up, his own weapon drawn, ready for whatever lay ahead. His movements were precise and calculated, each step taken with the practiced ease of someone who had seen the worst of what humanity had to offer. His brown eyes, usually so composed, held a flicker of concern as he glanced over at you. It was a silent question, a check to see if you were truly prepared for the grim task at hand.

You met his gaze, trying to convey your resolve through the intensity of your stare. The uncertainty you felt was almost suffocating, but you couldn’t afford to let it show. Not now. Not with so much at stake. The fear of what you might find, combined with the desperate hope that you might still save your sister, fuelled your determination.

Hotch’s sympathetic smile, brief but genuine, was a small comfort. It was a rare sign of warmth from the usually stoic leader, a reminder that despite the severity of the situation, he understood the depth of your personal stake in this case. It was a fleeting moment of connection, one that reminded you that you weren’t alone in this.

As you moved in sync with Hotch, every sound seemed amplified—the creak of the door hinges, the rustle of the wind through the fields. Your focus was razor-sharp, each sense heightened as you approached the house. You had prepared yourself for the worst, steeling your resolve against the storm of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you.

In this moment, amid the dust and the heat, the urgency of the search, and the looming presence of the house, there was only one thing you could hold onto: the hope that you would find your sister before it was too late. The determination in your steps, the steady grip on your weapon, and the silent promise you had made to yourself and to Hotch—to stay focused and to find her—were all that kept you moving forward into the unknown.

Twenty minutes felt like an eternity as you combed through the house. Every creak of the floorboards, every distant sound set your nerves on edge.  And then, you found her.

The sight was something that would forever be etched into your mind. Your sister, her makeup smeared from tears, a gun pressed to her temple. Her eyes, wide with fear, locked onto yours. The unsub, a deranged man with a wild look in his eyes, was saying something, but you couldn’t make out the words. All you could see was your sister, her bruised face, her torn stockings revealing bloodied scrapes.

The team was behind you, Spencer Reid’s calm voice trying to negotiate, urging the man to drop his weapon. But all you could think about was ending this nightmare. One clean shot, and it would be over. Your sister would be safe. You could already envision the aftermath: taking her to dinner, getting her the best therapy, telling your mother she was safe, and taking time off to help her heal.

She would never be truly okay again, but she would be alive. Your grip tightened on your gun, finger hovering over the trigger. The unsub’s head was in your sights. Every muscle in your body screamed to pull the trigger. Then a gunshot rang out.

It wasn’t yours.

In an automatic reflex, you fired anyway. The sound of the gunshot was almost a delayed echo in your ears, and the unsub fell backward, a bullet hole now marring his forehead. The world around you seemed to collapse into a strange, dreamlike slowness. Time itself seemed to stretch, elongating every sound and motion into a distorted, surreal haze.

The impact of the shot reverberated through you with a force that felt almost physical. The ringing in your ears was deafening, a relentless high-pitched whine that drowned out all other sounds. It was as though the sound of the gunfire had set off a chain reaction, leaving you suspended in a bubble where everything else was muffled and distant. The air was thick with the acrid smell of gunpowder, mixing with the overpowering stench of fear and sweat. The once-familiar scene—the shouts of your team, the frantic scurrying of the unsub—was now a muted backdrop to the chaos unfolding within you.

Everything around you became a blur of colour and movement. Shapes twisted and morphed, the stark contrast of light and shadow playing tricks on your eyes. You tried to focus, but your vision swam, turning the scene into a disorienting smudge of greys and blacks. Your heart pounded in your chest with a force that seemed to echo in your skull, each beat a reminder of the high stakes and the desperate urgency of the situation.

Amid this sensory overload, someone’s hand was on your shoulder. The touch was grounding, a fleeting connection to reality, but it was also foreign, detached from the context of your disoriented state. You couldn’t tell who it was, their presence both comforting and confusing. The touch was a lifeline in the storm of your emotions, a tether that pulled you back from the precipice of panic, yet it felt distant, as though you were viewing it through a thick fog.

Your mind raced, scrambling to process what had just happened. The adrenaline that had once fuelled your every move now seemed to drain from your body, leaving you feeling hollow and numb.

As you tried to make sense of the situation, the emotional weight of it all began to crash over you. The horror of seeing the unsub fall, the fleeting hope that it might mean your sister’s safety, and the crushing reality of the situation all mingled into a chaotic torrent of feelings. The image of your sister’s frightened face flashed through your mind, her green eyes wide with fear, and the sight of her suffering mingled with the violence you had just witnessed.

The sensation of the hand on your shoulder grew more defined, but the person’s presence remained a distant comfort. You felt their grip tighten slightly, as if trying to anchor you amidst the turmoil. Slowly, you became aware of the voices calling out to you, the urgency in their tones trying to reach through the fog that had enveloped you. Their words were distorted, their meanings elusive, but the repeated call of your name began to cut through the din, a faint beacon guiding you back to reality.

Your gaze fixed on your sister, and time seemed to stand still. The scene before you were both nightmarish and hauntingly vivid. Blood pooled around her, a dark crimson contrast against the stark white of her school uniform. Her blonde hair, usually so vibrant and full of life, was now matted with blood, the colour a stark reminder of the violence that had just transpired.

The bullet wound in her neck was a cruel and grotesque punctuation to the horror. It was a single, jagged mark, surrounded by a halo of red, and it seemed almost unreal against her pale skin. The sight of it sent a shiver down your spine, a visceral reaction to the brutality that had taken her life. Her once lively green eyes, which had sparkled with mischief and youth, were now glassy and vacant, staring unseeing at the ceiling above. The light that had once danced in them was extinguished, leaving behind only the cold, harsh reality of her absence.

You felt as if your entire world had shattered in an instant. Your breath came in ragged gasps, each inhale filled with the acrid scent of blood and gunpowder. Your chest tightened, a crushing weight of grief and despair pressing down on you with unbearable force. The pain was physical, almost tangible, and it radiated from your core outward, a deep and hollow ache that seemed to consume every part of you.

Without warning, your legs gave way, and you collapsed to your knees. The rough texture of the dirt and gravel beneath you was a stark contrast to the softness of your sister’s hair, and the ground felt like the only thing keeping you anchored to the earth as your emotions spiralled. Tears streamed down your face, each drop mingling with the dirt on your cheeks, leaving tracks of raw anguish in their wake. You could barely see through the blur of your tears, the world around you becoming an indistinct smear of colour and movement.

The sounds of the world continued to swirl around you, distant and muffled, as you were enveloped in a cocoon of grief. The muffled voices of your team, the urgent commands and reassurances, seemed to fade into the background, overshadowed by the profound silence of your personal despair. In this moment, everything else was a distant echo, irrelevant compared to the overwhelming reality of your sister’s death.

Strong, comforting arms wrapped around you, pulling you into an embrace. The touch was grounding, a lifeline amidst the storm of your emotions. The warmth of the body holding you was a stark contrast to the cold, lifeless scene before you. The arms around you tightened, offering solace and strength as you sank into the embrace, your sobs wracking your body with violent, uncontrollable shakes. The scent of the person holding you—faintly familiar, mingled with the sharp, clean scent of sweat and gunpowder—was a small comfort in the midst of your turmoil.

Hotch’s voice was a distant murmur. “It’s okay. Let it out.”

The pain in your chest was unbearable. You sobbed, the raw, primal sound tearing from your throat. You were vaguely aware of being turned away from the sight of your sister, held tightly as you screamed out your anguish. The world had become a dark, cruel place, and all you could do was cry.

Now

In the months following your sister's death, you found yourself navigating a labyrinth of sorrow and self-recrimination. The loss had etched a permanent scar on your soul, and it was reflected in every aspect of your life, especially in the relentless drive you exhibited at work. The BAU, once a source of purpose and achievement, had become a refuge from the haunting void left by her absence. You threw yourself into your cases with an almost manic intensity, as though by solving one more crime, you could somehow balance the scales of justice that had so cruelly tipped against you.

Aaron Hotchner, with his customary decisiveness, had placed you on mandatory leave. The instructions were clear: no returning to the building until a minimum of six weeks had passed. When that period ended, you would face a psychiatric assessment to determine whether you were fit to resume your duties or if an extended leave would be necessary. The bureaucratic formality of it all seemed almost cruel in its impersonal nature, a stark contrast to the raw, personal pain you were experiencing. Yet, deep down, you understood the necessity of the measure; even if you resented it, it was a protective boundary imposed for your own well-being.

The enforced separation from your professional world felt like a double-edged sword. On one hand, it was a forced pause in the relentless momentum of your work life, a chance to confront the emotional wreckage left in the wake of your sister’s death. On the other hand, it left you with too much time to dwell on your pain and guilt. The quiet of your home, once a place of solace, became an echo chamber for your torment. The absence of the constant hum of casework and the buzz of office activity only amplified the silence of your grief.

The undercurrent of blame from your family was an invisible burden you carried with you. Though no one ever voiced it explicitly, the unspoken questions hung in the air like a heavy fog. Their silence spoke volumes, a constant reminder of the perceived failure—why hadn’t you been able to protect her? Why couldn’t you have done more? The weight of these unasked questions and the unspoken accusations gnawed at you, deepening the hole of your self-blame. It felt as though every mention of her name was a gentle, yet insistent reminder of your inadequacy, further isolating you in your grief.

Caught in this spiral of guilt and sorrow, your nights were consumed by a restless, numbing haze. Sleep failed you, a cruel irony given the exhaustion that permeated your every waking moment. You sought refuge in alcohol, a temporary anaesthetic that dulled the sharp edges of your thoughts. Bottles of whatever was available became your companions in the dark hours, their contents providing fleeting moments of escape from the relentless barrage of self-reproach. You would drink until the room spun and your mind quieted, if only for a short while.

During the day, you slept almost incessantly, your body trying to recover from the toll of sleepless nights and emotional strain. The cycle of drinking and sleeping created a disorienting blur, where days merged into nights and time lost its meaning.  You would wake only to find yourself enveloped in the same crushing despair, your solitude amplifying the weight of your grief and guilt. The sunlight that filtered through your curtains seemed almost mocking, a reminder of the world continuing while you remained mired in your own personal darkness.

The grief was all-consuming, a relentless tide that swept through every corner of your being. Anger simmered beneath the surface, a fiery, uncontrollable force that seemed to fuel your every thought. You were angry at everyone—at the team, at the world, at yourself. Why hadn't they been faster? Why hadn't they seen the signs sooner? The questions haunted you, each one a sharp, accusing whisper in the back of your mind. The raw, intense anger was a way to cope with the unbearable reality of losing your sister. It was as if directing your rage outward could somehow shield you from the true depth of your pain.

You found yourself replaying the events over and over in your mind, each replay filled with fury. Why hadn’t they put a bullet in him sooner? Why had they let him escalate to this point, to the point where he took your sister's life? You knew, on some rational level, that this anger was misplaced. It was an irrational response to the unbearable loss, a way to direct the helplessness and frustration you felt. But knowing this didn’t make it any easier to control. The anger burned bright and fierce, consuming your thoughts and colouring every interaction you had with those around you.

The team had tried to reach out in their own ways, each gesture a testament to their support and care. Penelope had brought you a gift basket, a colourful assortment of comforting items meant to offer solace. Yet the basket remained unopened on your kitchen counter, its contents a symbol of the love and sympathy that you couldn’t quite bring yourself to appreciate now. Rossi had extended an offer to pay for the funeral, a generous and heartfelt gesture, but the thought of accepting it felt overwhelming and almost intrusive. Spencer had come to your home, bringing with him a pot of tea, a small comfort during your turmoil. He sat silently on your couch, his presence a quiet anchor as you cried, his own eyes reflecting the depth of his empathy and sorrow.

It was your Unit Chief, Aaron Hotchner, who surprised you the most during this period. Four weeks had passed since the tragedy, and you hadn’t expected to see him in your home. His visit was unexpected and deeply unsettling in its own way. He arrived with two grocery bags in hand, a small, tentative smile on his face that seemed almost out of place against the backdrop of your grief. The groceries were a mundane detail, yet they carried with them an unexpected gesture of care.

He stood in the doorway for a moment, his usual stern demeanour softened by a warmth you hadn’t seen before. “I thought I’d stop by and bring you some dinner,” he said, his voice gentle and unassuming. “Jacks at his aunt’s house tonight, so I was just passing through.” The simplicity of the offer was striking—no grand gestures, no elaborate plans, just the quiet, unspoken message that he was there for you.

Hotch’s presence was a quiet balm, his eyes reflecting a depth of understanding that went beyond words. He didn’t push for conversation, didn’t insist on probing your feelings or offering empty platitudes. Instead, he simply stood there, his gaze steady and compassionate. It was as if he was giving you space to breathe, to process your grief in your own time, while still providing a reminder that you were not alone.

As he unpacked the grocery bags and began setting out the contents—simple, comforting foods that seemed almost mundane in their normalcy—there was a sense of normalcy and routine being reintroduced into your fractured world. The act of preparing dinner together, however small, became a moment of connection, a brief respite from the relentless storm of your emotions. The mundane nature of the task, combined with Hotch’s quiet support, offered a fleeting sense of calm amidst the chaos. A part of you couldn’t shake the thought that Hotch’s presence was more than just a gesture of support; it felt like a form of surveillance. As if he was keeping a watchful eye on you, ensuring that in the depths of your despair, you didn’t make any rash decisions or succumb to self-destructive impulses. It was a thought that gnawed at you, mingling with your existing anger and frustration, making you feel like a burden or a responsibility rather than a grieving colleague. You couldn’t quite decide if it was comforting or infuriating to have him there.

Hotch settled next to you on the couch, his movements measured and deliberate. He placed a plate of food in front of you, the steam rising from it a stark contrast to the cold numbness you felt inside. His own plate rested on his lap, a small, almost domestic detail that felt oddly out of place amidst the chaos of your emotions. As he began to speak, he recounted the events of his day, his voice steady and calm. He talked about Jack—his son, a beacon normalcy in his life—how he’d been spending time with his aunt, and how Hotch had taken on a new role as coach of the local soccer team.

You watched him as he spoke, the sight of him in his loosened tie and suit jacket draped casually over the back of the couch adding to the sense of dissonance. This was so horribly domestic and ordinary, and it made you uneasy. The stark contrast between his casual demeanour and the turmoil roiling inside you only heightened your sense of disconnection. You found yourself staring at him, struggling to reconcile the image of your Unit Chief—the authoritative figure you had always respected—with the man who was now seated next to you, sharing mundane details of his life.

The presence of the plate, the simple act of sharing a meal, felt almost intrusive. You continued to drink from the bottle you had been clutching, each sip a feeble attempt to numb the relentless ache in your chest. You didn’t offer him any of the alcohol, the thought of sharing it with him feeling inappropriate and out of place. It was as if the alcohol was your own solace, a temporary escape that you weren’t ready to extend to anyone else.

Hotch’s apology for not visiting earlier was an unexpected twist. He explained that he had been buried under a mountain of paperwork, his voice tinged with an almost apologetic sincerity. It was a mundane excuse, but there was something in the way he said it—a glimpse of the burden he carried as the Unit Chief, the relentless demands of his job that had kept him away. Yet, his apology seemed inadequate in the face of your pain, a well-intentioned but insufficient gesture against the depth of your sorrow.

You were wrapped in a cocoon of your own misery, almost resenting the intrusion of this small act of normalcy. You were deeply entrenched in your own suffering, punishing yourself for not being able to protect the one person who had meant the world to you. The thought of Hotch’s visit, with its ordinary trappings, felt like an unwelcome intrusion into your carefully constructed world of grief.

When Hotch looked at you, you saw the understanding in his eyes—an acknowledgment of your pain and the self-imposed guilt that seemed to define your every moment. His jaw tightened, a subtle sign of his own internal struggle as he placed his fork down on his plate and set the plate aside. The gesture was deliberate, a silent acknowledgment of the emotional distance between you and the world. It was as if he was trying to bridge that gap with his presence, offering you a semblance of normalcy in the face of your overwhelming despair. His eyes blazed with an intensity that seemed to penetrate beyond your surface, reaching into the deepest recesses of your soul. There was an unspoken empathy in his gaze, a quiet understanding that spoke volumes about the weight of the grief he saw reflected in you. It was as if he was seeing not just your present anguish, but the underlying despair that had taken root in your life.

Hotch began to speak, recounting the painful chapter of his own life. He talked about his wife, about how she had been taken from him by a man known as The Reaper. The words were heavy, laden with the memories of a past that had been marked by violence and loss. He described the events that had unfolded, the sense of helplessness that had consumed him in those dark days. There was a raw honesty in his recounting, a willingness to lay bare his own struggles with guilt and self-recrimination.

He admitted that it had taken him a long time to stop living with the crushing weight of her death, and even now, many years later, he still grappled with it. There was a vulnerability in his voice as he spoke of the ongoing battle to come to terms with her loss. The guilt, he explained, was an ever-present shadow, a burden he carried with him each day. But through it all, he had come to a crucial realization—that her death was the result of the actions of the man who had pulled the trigger, not his own. It was a hard-earned lesson, one that he had struggled to accept but had eventually embraced as a means of finding some semblance of peace.

As he spoke, Hotch’s gaze swept around your apartment, taking in the untidiness that mirrored the turmoil within you. His eyes lingered on the dust accumulating on the shelves, the washing strewn carelessly across the floor, the empty bottles cluttering the kitchen bench, and the almost bare fridge. Each detail seemed to underscore the neglect you had allowed yourself to fall into, a physical manifestation of the emotional wreckage you had become.

The observation was not a judgment but a quiet acknowledgment of your current state. Hotch understood that you were not taking care of yourself, that you were wallowing in your grief and punishing yourself for circumstances beyond your control. His eyes, while firm, carried a softness that spoke to his understanding of the depth of your pain and the struggle you faced in navigating it.

The scene was both intimate and revealing, Hotch’s candid sharing of his own experiences acting as a mirror to your own suffering. It was a raw, unfiltered moment of connection, a reminder that even those who seem strongest have their own battles to fight. The contrast between his organized recounting of his own tragic experiences and the disarray of your surroundings highlighted the chasm between the world you had once inhabited and the one you were now trapped in.

Hotch’s presence was both a stark reminder of your own isolation and a beacon of understanding. His willingness to share his personal struggles, coupled with his silent observations of your living conditions, created a tender contrast. It was a moment of stark honesty, where the unspoken truths of grief and self-blame were laid bare, and where the possibility of healing was gently offered through the shared understanding of loss. Tears streamed down your cheeks, their warmth a stark contrast to the cold numbness that had enveloped you. Hotch wrapped his arms around your shoulders with a gentle firmness, his embrace a rare moment of solace amid your suffering. The gesture was simple but profound, a silent acknowledgment of the pain that words could never fully capture. You nestled your head into the crook of his neck, seeking refuge in the intimate space he offered. His cologne enveloped you—a soothing blend of sandalwood and citrus that carried a faint, comforting aroma. It was a scent that seemed to wrap around you like a warm blanket, a small but significant reprieve from the darkness that had been your constant companion.

After a moment, Hotch made his way to your linen closet with a purposeful stride, pulling out a green towel. The act was so mundane, yet it felt infused with a quiet kindness. He handed the towel to you with a soft but unspoken insistence, his gaze steady as he gestured toward your bathroom. The gesture was clear—a silent demand for you to take a step towards normalcy, to care for yourself in the simplest way.

You accepted the towel slowly, a weak attempt at humour slipping from your lips. You made a joke about smelling bad, an effort to inject some semblance of normalcy into the situation. Hotch’s lips curled into a smirk, the brief flicker of amusement a small comfort during your tears. He pointed again toward the bathroom, his demeanour patient but resolute. The unspoken command was to wash away the remnants of your grief, to engage in a ritual of self-care that you had long neglected.

It was in this simple act of kindness that a new chapter began—one marked by Hotch’s unexpected yet steadfast presence in your life. What started as a seemingly ordinary afternoon visit soon became a routine of support and companionship. Each day after work, Hotch would come to your house, his visits a constant thread of stability in your fractured world. Sometimes he would cook for you, his culinary efforts a tangible expression of his care. Other times, he would tidy up, the act of organizing your space a metaphor for the sense of order he sought to bring back into your life.

His visits were not just practical; they were also a gentle reminder of the life outside your grief. There was one day when Hotch brought his son, Jack, along. The three of you sat together on the couch, sharing a moment of uncomplicated pleasure as you watched cartoons. The sight of Jack, his youthful energy and innocent laughter, was a touching contrast to the heaviness that had settled over you. It was a moment of lightness, a brief respite from the shadows that had dominated your days.

Hotch’s involvement went beyond mere presence; it was an ongoing gesture of support and a testament to his understanding of your needs. His daily visits became a routine that helped anchor you, a steadying force in a sea of uncertainty. The act of caring, whether through cooking, cleaning, or simply spending time together, was a silent yet powerful reminder that you were not alone. It was through these small, consistent acts of kindness that Hotch began to help you rebuild, one day at a time, offering not just a physical presence but a lifeline to the possibility of healing and recovery. Over the course of the next few weeks, Hotch took on the role of an unexpected but essential fixture in your daily life. His influence extended beyond mere companionship; he became a catalyst for change, systematically removing the alcohol that had been your crutch. Each empty bottle was a silent victory in his mission to help you confront the harsh reality of your grief. The process was gradual but relentless, and with each passing day, you were stripped of your escape routes, forced to face the painful truths you had been avoiding.

There were days when he would hold you as you cried, offering a comforting presence that provided solace in your most vulnerable moments. His embrace was steady and reassuring, a silent promise that you were not alone in your suffering. On other days, he would sit with you and discuss work, gently steering the conversation toward normalcy and structure. These discussions, while professional, were filled with a warmth that suggested a deeper level of care. It was through these interactions that Hotch slowly but surely became an integral part of your life, his presence a constant source of stability.

It was ten weeks after the death of your sister, during a quiet evening spent on the couch with Hotch and his son, Jack, that you began to realize the depth of your feelings for him. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the television, the light casting gentle shadows that flickered across the walls. Jack was nestled between you and Hotch, his small frame adding a touch of innocence to the scene. The lights were off, creating an atmosphere of intimacy that felt both comforting and surreal.

As you glanced over at Hotch, you found him already looking at you. His gaze met yours with a softness that spoke of understanding and compassion. He offered you a smile, a small, genuine expression that seemed to light up the dim room. It was a fleeting moment, but it carried a weight of significance that you couldn't ignore. As he turned his attention back to the TV, you couldn’t help but feel a warmth spreading through you, an undeniable connection that seemed to pulse in time with your own heartbeat.

A smile began to spread across your face, the first genuine smile you had experienced in what felt like a lifetime. It was a smile that felt both foreign and familiar, a sign of healing that you hadn’t realized was possible. The simple act of smiling in response to Hotch’s presence was a testament to the impact he had on your life, a small but significant step toward rediscovering joy amid the pain.

Every time you saw him standing at your front door, your stomach would erupt in butterflies. The anticipation of his arrival, the quickening of your heart, and the fluttering in your chest became a physical manifestation of the emotions you had been trying to suppress. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was feeling the same way, if he too was experiencing the subtle shift in your relationship.

The realization of your feelings brought with it a mix of hope and uncertainty. Hotch had become a pillar of support in your life, and as you navigated through your grief, you found yourself increasingly drawn to him. The difficulty of your emotions left you both excited and apprehensive. It was a new dimension to your relationship, one that was intertwined with the healing process and the gradual emergence of a new sense of normalcy.

The evolution of your feelings for Hotch was a poignant reminder of the delicate interplay between pain and healing, grief and hope. As you faced each day, the presence of Hotch became a symbol of the possibility of moving forward, of finding new beginnings amidst the remnants of your sorrow. As the weeks progressed, the frequency of Hotch's visits began to decrease. What had once been a daily presence in your life transformed into an every-other-day occurrence. The shift was subtle at first but became more pronounced as you neared your return to work. It was as though he was gradually withdrawing, moving from the role of a close friend and confidant back into the professional realm of your Unit Chief.

The change was jarring. You had grown accustomed to his presence, to the way he had become an integral part of your daily routine. His visits had been a source of comfort, a steadying force amid your grief. His gradual absence left a void that was both palpable and disorienting. It was only in his absence that you fully realized how much he had come to mean to you. His support had been a lifeline, and now, as he pulled away, you felt as though you were losing a part of yourself. <><>

Returning to work was an odd experience. The familiar surroundings of the BAU office, the glass doors that once symbolized the start of your workday, now seemed foreign. You were acutely aware of the transformation within yourself—how the person who re-entered those doors was fundamentally different from the one who had left three months prior. The weight of your experiences had reshaped you, leaving you both vulnerable and stronger in ways you hadn't anticipated.

As you made your way through the office, you spotted Hotch seated behind his desk. He looked up from his work as you approached, his gaze meeting yours with a nod of acknowledgment. The gesture was polite but distant, a stark contrast to the warmth and familiarity that had characterized your interactions just weeks before. You returned the nod, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips.

Your heart ached as you took in the sight of him. The emotional distance that had begun to manifest was palpable, a reminder of the boundaries that now defined your relationship. You longed for the comfort and support he had once offered so freely, but now, in the context of the office, he was your boss—an individual with whom a more personal connection was not only impractical but also inappropriate.

The shift from close confidant to formal superior was a painful adjustment. The professional veneer that now separated you felt like an insurmountable barrier, one that served as a constant reminder of the boundaries imposed by your work environment. The familiarity and comfort you had once derived from his presence were replaced by a sense of loss and longing. <><>

As you settled into your workspace, the ache in your chest persisted. It was a complex mixture of sadness for the personal connection that had faded and the realization that, despite your longing, the nature of your relationship with Hotch had to shift back to its professional bounds. The transition was challenging, both emotionally and psychologically, and it underscored the depth of the bond that had developed during your time of grief.

In this new phase, you grappled with the tension between your personal feelings and the professional constraints that governed your interactions. It was a delicate balancing act, one that required you to navigate your emotions while adhering to the expectations of your role within the BAU. The process of acclimating to this new dynamic was fraught with difficulty, but it was also a necessary step in reconciling the past with the present. <><> You greeted your teammates with a warmth you hadn’t felt in months, their genuine joy at your return wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. They were more than just colleagues; they were your family, and their presence was a comfort to the wounds you had carried with you. You had missed them more than you’d realized, and their enthusiasm to have you back was a reminder of the supportive network you had, even when you were at your lowest.

For the most part, you convinced yourself that you were okay. The daily grind of cases, the pressure to perform—these were manageable now. You were able to dive into work without feeling the crushing weight of despair, able to handle the demands of your role without hesitation. You could fire your weapon with the precision and resolve you had always prided yourself on. On the surface, you appeared functional and resilient.

Yet beneath that veneer of normalcy, there was an ache that remained unaddressed. What you missed most acutely was Hotch. His regular visits had become a source of comfort and a lifeline during the darkest days of your grief. His absence created a void that no amount of professional success or personal recovery could fill.  When he showed up at your door on a late Friday night, just hours after you had disembarked from a plane, you were caught off guard. The exhaustion from travel weighed heavily on you, but the sight of him stirred a complex mix of emotions.

You greeted him with an enthusiasm that felt almost forced. There was a semblance of normalcy in inviting him in and offering him a seat, but it was overshadowed by the unspoken desire for something more profound. Hotch, however, remained standing, his presence imposing yet gentle. He expressed his concern about how you handled the case, citing his worry about the emotional toll it might have taken on you.

His words were well-intentioned, but they only served to amplify your disappointment. You had hoped for something more than a professional check-in. You wanted him to see you for who you were beyond the facade of competence and resilience. You wanted him to be there for you in a way that went beyond duty—to hold you, to comfort you, to bridge the emotional gap that had widened since he began withdrawing.

A tight smile pulled at your lips as you reassured him that you were fine. You were fine in the context of the case, in the immediate aftermath of work. But on a deeper level, the truth was that you were struggling. The case itself was manageable, but the lingering ache in your chest, the gnawing sense of loss and longing—those were far more challenging to confront.

Hotch’s eyes, sharp and perceptive, reflected his doubt. He had always been a skilled profiler, adept at reading people and situations with uncanny accuracy. His gaze bore into you, revealing a concern that went beyond mere professional obligation. He asked if you wanted to talk about it, a question that opened the door to a conversation you were both eager and reluctant to have. You wanted to talk, to share the depths of your feelings, but the idea of exposing that vulnerability to him, especially in a context so laden with professional boundaries, was daunting.

You hesitated, torn between the desire to confide in him and the fear of overstepping the boundaries that had been so carefully constructed. The offer to talk was both a lifeline and a challenge, a chance to bridge the emotional gap that had formed but also a potential risk of further complicating your already fraught relationship.

As he stood there, waiting for your response, you felt the weight of your emotions pressing down on you. The ache in your chest, the yearning for his comfort, and the lingering sadness that had become a part of your daily existence all seemed to coalesce into a single, poignant moment. You knew you needed to confront these feelings, to find a way to reconcile your emotions with the reality of your professional relationship.

In that moment, the personal and professional blurred, and you were left grappling with the complex interplay of longing, grief, and the desire for connection. Instead, you shook your head and forced a brittle smile, insisting that you would manage on your own. You would be okay. You had convinced yourself that you could handle everything, that you were capable of navigating this turbulent emotional landscape alone. It was a mantra you clung to, a shield against the raw vulnerability that threatened to consume you.

Hotch’s expression grew more concerned, his eyes reflecting a depth of empathy that was both comforting and unsettling. He pressed further; his voice tinged with genuine worry. He didn't want to leave you alone if there was a chance you were struggling with something. The memories of your darkest hours, the times he had seen you at your most vulnerable, were fresh in his mind. He had watched you through tears and frustration, had been there when you reached the point of passing out from alcohol, and had even stayed up late to help you when you were so inebriated that you needed a shower to sober up.  His presence had been a constant in those moments, a steadying force that had helped keep you from falling further into self-destruction.

Hotch’s concern was palpable, his fear of seeing you spiral back into those destructive patterns evident in the lines etched into his face. He didn’t want to watch you deteriorate again, didn’t want to see the pain and loss drive you into a place where you could no longer see a way out. His protective instinct was clear, and it was matched by a resolve to support you, even if it meant facing uncomfortable truths.

But you were not ready to confront those truths. The storm of emotions swirling within you was overwhelming. The anger, the frustration, the hurt—it all bubbled beneath the surface, threatening to erupt. And there was something else, a deeper, more troubling realization you were not prepared to voice: your growing feelings for him. The intensity of your emotions, the way your heart fluttered whenever he was near, was both a source of comfort and turmoil. You knew it was a terrible idea, that allowing these feelings to take root could only lead to complications, but the truth remained undeniable.

As he stood there, watching you with a look of deep concern, you felt a sharp pang of frustration. You didn’t want to reveal the depth of your struggle, didn’t want to admit to the complexity of your feelings. The idea of opening up about your emotions, about the way you were falling for him, felt like an insurmountable burden. You were already grappling with so much, and the thought of adding this to the mix was both terrifying and confusing.

With a heavy heart, you shook your head once more and gently asked him to leave. You couldn’t face the conversation that was threatening to unfold. You didn’t want to delve into the painful truths that lay beneath the surface, didn’t want to acknowledge the romantic feelings that had surfaced amidst your grief. The thought of articulating these emotions, of laying bare your vulnerability, was more than you could bear at that moment.

Hotch’s gaze lingered on you, filled with a mixture of sadness and reluctance. He hesitated, clearly wanting to offer more support, to be there for you in a way that extended beyond the professional boundaries.  He stood resolutely by your front door, his posture tense but unwavering. The worry in his eyes was unmistakable, a deep, unspoken concern that was almost palpable. He took a cautious step closer to the couch, his gaze never leaving you. His voice was gentle but firm as he asked once more if you wanted to talk about what was on your mind. It was clear he could see that there was something weighing heavily on you, something that needed to be released.

In a surge of frustration and raw emotion, you marched towards him. The space between you seemed to shrink with each determined step until you were standing toe to toe, your nose just brushing against his chin. You looked up at him, your eyes blazing with a mix of anger and hurt. Without warning, you shoved him, the force of the motion a physical manifestation of the turmoil inside you.

"Why did you come over tonight?" you demanded, your voice trembling with a mixture of accusation and confusion. "Why do you keep coming back? I was doing fine. I was managing my grief the best way I knew how. But then you came along and showed me something I didn’t want to see. You made me feel what it’s like to fall in love with someone. You made me rely on someone else for the first time in my life."

The anger in your voice was laced with pain, the kind of pain that only deepened with each passing day. You felt betrayed by the way he had subtly infiltrated your life, making you question everything you had built around yourself. You hated him for it. Hated him for making you vulnerable, for making you feel things you weren’t prepared to handle.

Aaron took your emotional assault with a calm, almost stoic demeanour. He didn’t flinch or recoil at your harsh words or the physical shove. The fact that he didn’t retaliate, that he stood there with unwavering patience, only fuelled your anger further. It was as if his silence and restraint were another form of torment, an emotional barrier that kept you from reaching the resolution you desperately sought.

In a sudden, unexpected motion, Aaron reached down and pressed his lips to yours, cutting off your next sentence. The kiss was both shocking and electrifying. Your heart skipped a beat, and the anger that had been building within you began to dissipate. You felt a wave of relief and an undeniable sense of calm as you relaxed into his embrace. It was as if, in that single moment, all the pain and confusion were swept away, leaving only the intense connection between you.

You moved your hands to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. The kiss deepened, his tongue brushing against your lips, his hands gripping your hips with a firm yet gentle pressure. The sensation was overwhelming, a heady mix of tenderness and passion that made you forget the turmoil you had been feeling. For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to be lost in the kiss; to savour the way his presence made you feel both cherished and desired.

But as quickly as it began, the kiss ended. Aaron pulled away, taking a step back and leaving you breathless and disoriented. The sudden distance between you was jarring, a stark contrast to the intimacy you had just shared. You stood there, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your mind racing to catch up with the whirlwind of emotions.

Aaron’s eyes were filled with a mixture of regret and determination. He had broken through your walls, but the aftermath left you both grappling with the implications of what had just happened. The kiss had been a revelation, an undeniable expression of feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface. And now, as you stood facing each other in the charged silence that followed, you were left to confront the reality of those feelings and the changes they would bring to your relationship.

A mix of hurt and frustration surged through you as Aaron stepped back, his eyes downcast. The kiss had left you feeling vulnerable and confused, and his sudden retreat only intensified the storm of emotions swirling within you. What was he playing at? Was this just some elaborate game to him, a manifestation of his so-called ‘White Knight Syndrome’?

You were well aware of what that term meant—someone who seeks to rescue others to fulfill their own needs for validation or control. You knew you weren’t naive, and you resented the implication that your feelings were merely a project or a means for him to feel noble. This wasn’t about his saviour complex; it was about your raw, unfiltered emotions.

You took a determined step forward, closing the distance between you. Your hand reached up, fingers trembling slightly as you grasped his collar and drew him back to you. The kiss was fierce and demanding, an expression of your need for him to acknowledge that what was happening between you was real, and not just a fleeting moment of misplaced pity.

As your lips met his again, the world around you seemed to blur into insignificance. His tongue met yours with an intensity that matched your own, a silent battle for dominance that only fuelled the heat between you. A small, involuntary moan escaped your lips, the sound muffled against his mouth as you felt his hands guiding you backward.

Aaron carefully maneuverered you toward the couch, his movements deliberate yet urgent. His body pressed against yours as he lowered you onto the cushions, his lips never once detaching from yours. The world outside your apartment ceased to exist; it was just the two of you, locked in a passionate embrace that felt both overwhelming and intoxicating.

His hands roamed up the side of your leg, the touch sending shivers down your spine. When he reached the waistband of your leggings, he paused, his eyes meeting yours with a question that needed no words. You nodded once, a simple gesture of consent that spoke volumes.

With that, Aaron swiftly removed the black fabric, his actions guided by a blend of urgency and reverence. The sensation of the cool air against your skin contrasted sharply with the heat of his body pressing down on you. The intimacy of the moment was both electrifying and comforting, a stark reminder of the connection that had been growing between you.

As he continued to explore your body with a tenderness that belied his earlier intensity, you found solace in the fact that this was not just about physicality. It was about the profound emotions and unspoken words that had been building up between you. The kisses, the touches—they were all part of a deeper dialogue, a way of expressing the feelings that words alone could not convey.

The morning after was shrouded in a fog of confusion and regret. You awoke alone, the cool sheets tangled around your legs, and the absence of Aaron Hotchner felt like a heavy weight on your chest. The memory of the previous night was still fresh, and a mixture of emotions swirled inside you—guilt, desire, and an unsettling uncertainty about what it all meant.

The faint aroma of coffee and the low hum of the city outside your window were the only indicators of the new day. You lingered in bed for a while, grappling with the reality of what had happened and the implications it might have on your professional relationship with Aaron.

When you finally gathered the strength to get up, you prepared yourself for the day with mechanical efficiency, though your mind was a chaotic whirl. The BAU headquarters awaited you, and despite your resolve to face the day with professionalism, you couldn’t shake the residual anxiety from last night.

Arriving at the office, you were met with the usual bustle of activity. Colleagues exchanged greetings and shared quick jokes, but you felt detached from the lively atmosphere. The familiar layout of the BAU, with its buzzing energy and focused intensity, seemed foreign and surreal. As you made your way to your desk, your gaze briefly flickered to Aaron’s office. The blinds were partially open, and for a moment, you caught sight of him through the glass. His eyes locked onto yours, and a myriad of emotions flashed across his face—concern, perhaps, or something deeper that you couldn’t quite decipher.

You quickly turned away, a pang of awkwardness hitting you as you joined Emily and JJ at their desk. They were deep in conversation about the latest case details, but you found it difficult to fully engage. The weight of last night hung heavily between you and Aaron, a silent tension that seemed to linger in the air.

Emily, perceptive as ever, noticed your distraction. “Everything okay?” she asked, her tone a mix of curiosity and concern.

You managed a tight smile, nodding. “Yeah, just a bit tired.”

JJ gave you a reassuring smile, though there was a glint of concern in her eyes. “Long night?”

You hesitated, a lump forming in your throat. “You could say that.”

The conversation shifted back to the case, but your mind was elsewhere. You could feel Aaron’s gaze on you through the office window, and every now and then, you would catch him watching you. The awkwardness was palpable, and it was clear that neither of you was ready to address the complexity of what had transpired.

As the day progressed, you forced yourself to focus on the case, pushing aside the emotional turmoil. But the reality of your situation weighed on you. You were navigating a minefield of unspoken words and unresolved feelings, trying to maintain your composure and professionalism amidst the quiet chaos within you.

When you had a moment alone, you glanced back at Aaron’s office. He was seated at his desk, engrossed in paperwork, his demeanour impassive and professional. It was clear that he was trying to return to normalcy, but the undercurrent of tension was impossible to ignore.

You knew that things would have to be addressed eventually. The night you shared had complicated your relationship, intertwining your professional and personal lives in ways that were both thrilling and precarious. For now, you chose to keep your focus on the case and your duties, but the unspoken reality of last night loomed large, waiting for its moment to be confronted.

The office was quiet, the hum of the fluorescent lights the only sound as you and Aaron Hotchner stood in his office, the door closed behind you.

Aaron's expression was a mix of determination and regret as he finally broke the silence. “We need to talk about what happened,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with an underlying sadness.

You nodded, feeling a knot tighten in your chest. “Yeah, we do.”

He gestured to the chairs across from his desk, and you both sat down. His gaze was focused on his hands, clasped together on the desk, as he spoke. “What happened was intense I can’t deny that it was real for both of us.”

You swallowed, trying to keep your emotions in check. “It was,” you said simply.

Aaron sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’ve thought about it a lot. I care about you, more than I probably should. But this… we work together. It’s not just about our personal feelings; it’s about maintaining professionalism and protecting our team.”

You looked away, struggling with the hurt and confusion swirling inside you. “I know. I understand why it can’t continue.”

Aaron leaned forward, his eyes meeting yours with a pained look. “You’re an incredible person and an invaluable part of this team. I don’t want to jeopardize that. I’ve seen what happens when personal feelings affect professional relationships, and it never ends well.”

You nodded, feeling a tear slip down your cheek. “I get it. It’s just. I don’t want to lose what we have here because of this.”

I’m glad you understand. I want you to know that this doesn’t change how much I care about you. It’s just that our relationship has to be defined by respect and professionalism.”

You withdrew your hand, taking a deep breath. “I appreciate you being honest with me”

Aaron stood up, and you followed suit. He extended a hand to you, a gesture of mutual respect and understanding. You shook it firmly, both of you acknowledging the unspoken agreement.

The echoes of your conversation with Aaron Hotchner lingered long after you left his office. As you walked back to your desk, you tried to push the emotions aside, but the hurt and disappointment were too overwhelming. The reality of the situation was settling in, and it felt like a heavy weight on your chest.

You slumped into your chair; your gaze unfocused on the cluttered desk in front of you. The familiar buzz of the office seemed distant and muffled. The usual chatter of your teammates, which had once been comforting, now felt like an intrusion into your personal turmoil.

The ache in your chest grew sharper as you thought about the intense connection you had shared with Aaron, only to realize it had to be severed for the sake of professionalism. You’d built up a dream of what could have been, only to have it abruptly and painfully dismantled. You felt a sense of betrayal, not from Aaron, but from the situation itself. The promise of something more was gone, leaving you grappling with a profound sense of loss.

You tried to focus on your work, but every keystroke felt mechanical and devoid of meaning. Your eyes kept drifting to the photos on your desk, reminders of the happier times and the support of your teammates. You wished you could escape from the suffocating atmosphere of the office, but you were trapped by duty and a desire to maintain your professionalism.

As you glanced up, you noticed Emily and JJ sharing a light moment, their laughter a stark contrast to the turmoil inside you. You forced a smile, trying to participate in their conversation, but your heart wasn’t in it. The effort to appear normal felt exhausting.

When the day finally came to an end, you packed up your things with an almost robotic efficiency. You couldn’t wait to escape the office and find some solace in the solitude of your home. The quiet of your apartment would be a welcome relief, even if it meant being alone with your thoughts and your grief.

The drive home was a blur, the streets passing by in a haze. As you pulled into your driveway, you felt a tear slip down your cheek. You were glad to be home, but the emptiness of your apartment seemed to magnify the ache in your heart. You sank into your couch, staring blankly at the television as it played to an empty room.

The pain of the conversation with Aaron Hotchner was raw and fresh. It felt like you were mourning not just the potential of a relationship, but also the loss of an emotional connection that had provided comfort and hope. The night stretched out before you, each hour a reminder of the distance that had grown between you and Aaron, and the new reality you had to face.

The emptiness of your apartment mirrored the emptiness you felt inside, and as you drifted into a restless sleep, you knew that it would take time to heal and adjust. The journey ahead was uncertain, but you resolved to face it with the strength and resilience that had always defined you. <><>

The sun was setting on a warm Saturday evening as the BAU team gathered at the local soccer field for Jack Hotchner’s game. The field was alive with the sounds of excited children, the cheers of parents, and the occasional whistle of the referee. It was a stark contrast to the intense, high-stakes environment of their usual work. Over the weeks since your conversation with Aaron Hotchner, you both made a conscious effort to maintain professionalism at work. The dynamic within the BAU remained unchanged to the outside observer, with each of you performing your roles with the same dedication and skill as always. You engaged in discussions, briefings, and case analyses with the team, keeping your personal feelings carefully compartmentalized. It wasn’t easy, but you were both determined to preserve the integrity of the unit and your professional relationship.

Yet, as you stood with the team on this sunny afternoon, your mind kept drifting back to Aaron. The sidelines of Jack’s soccer game provided a rare glimpse into his personal life, a side of him that was warm and proud as he cheered for his son. He seemed more relaxed.

You tried to focus on the game, but the sight of Aaron in this context stirred feelings you had been trying to bury. The jealousy you felt wasn’t just about seeing him enjoy this moment without you, but also about the emotional distance that had grown between you since your conversation. Despite your professional facade, your heart ached for the connection you once shared.

“Isn’t he adorable out there?” Penelope Garcia’s voice broke through your reverie. She was standing beside you, her eyes twinkling with delight as she watched Jack play.

You forced a smile, nodding in agreement. “He’s really good. Takes after his dad, I suppose.”

Penelope chuckled. “He sure does. Hotch is so proud of him.”

You stole a glance at Aaron, who was clapping and calling out encouragements to Jack. His smile was genuine, and it tugged at something deep within you. You looked away, trying to push down the feelings threatening to surface.

The game ended, and Jack’s team celebrated their victory. Aaron walked over to congratulate his son, ruffling his hair affectionately. The team began to disperse, and you found yourself standing alone for a moment, lost in thought.

“Hey, you okay?” JJ’s voice pulled you back to reality. She had a keen sense for picking up on the emotions of those around her.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a lot on my mind,” you replied, giving her a reassuring smile.

JJ studied you for a moment before nodding. “Well, if you ever need to talk, you know where to find me.”

“Thanks, JJ. I appreciate it.”

As the crowd thinned out, you noticed Aaron walking towards you. Your heart skipped a beat, but you maintained your composure. He stopped a few feet away, giving you a nod of acknowledgment.

“Good game, right?” he said, his tone casual.

“Yeah, Jack did great,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

Aaron’s eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, the professional mask slipped, revealing a flicker of the unresolved emotions between you. He quickly regained his composure, offering a small smile.

“I’m glad you could make it,” he said.

“Me too,” you replied, forcing another smile.

The conversation was brief, but the unspoken words hung heavy in the air. You both knew there was more to say, but this wasn’t the time or place. As Aaron turned to join Jack, you felt a pang of sadness. The distance between you felt insurmountable, but you also knew that maintaining your professionalism was crucial.

As you watched, Aaron’s attention was suddenly drawn to a woman approaching from the stands. She was dressed casually in a summer dress, her brown hair flowing over her shoulders. Aaron’s face lit up with a genuine smile, and you felt your heart sink.

The woman was Beth. Aaron introduced her to the team, his gestures warm and welcoming. She greeted everyone with a friendly smile, but your focus was solely on the way Aaron’s eyes softened when he looked at her. You tried to mask your feelings of envy as you shook her hand, offering a polite smile.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” Beth said, her voice friendly and warm.

“Nice to meet you too,” you replied, forcing a smile.

Beth was charming, effortlessly engaging with the team. She and Aaron seemed at ease together, their interactions full of familiarity and comfort. They shared inside jokes and exchanged knowing glances; their connection palpable. You couldn’t help but notice how easily they slipped into a rhythm together, their chemistry undeniable.

As the team chatted with Beth, you found it increasingly difficult to remain composed. The sight of Aaron with her, so natural and happy, was a stark reminder of the distance that had grown between you. You took a step back, trying to give yourself some space to breathe.

The meeting with Beth was supposed to be a casual introduction, a friendly encounter at Jack's soccer game. However, the moment you met her, you felt a surge of jealousy and discomfort that was hard to shake. Beth seemed to embody everything you wished you could have had with Aaron—her easy smile, the way she interacted with Jack, the effortless way she seemed to fit into Aaron's life.

You tried to focus on what was being said to you, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Aaron and Beth. The way he looked at her, the warmth in his eyes, made your heart ache. You wanted to be happy for him, but it was difficult when all you could think about was the possibility that you could never have that kind of connection with him.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you made an excuse to leave quickly, needing to get away from the painful reminder of what you couldn't have. You said your goodbyes to the team and hurried to your car, tears stinging your eyes. <><>

Back at work, you and Aaron maintained a professional distance. The tension between you was palpable, but neither of you acknowledged it. You buried yourself in case files, hoping that the workload would help you forget your feelings. Aaron, for his part, remained courteous but distant, a constant reminder of the boundary between your personal and professional lives.

One late evening, after everyone else had left, you found yourself in the bullpen, finishing up some paperwork. Aaron was still in his office, the light on, his silhouette visible through the glass walls. You could feel his eyes on you occasionally, but you didn't look up, determined to keep your focus on the task at hand.

You glanced up toward Aaron's office again, catching a glimpse of him leaning back in his chair, his gaze momentarily meeting yours before you quickly looked away. Your heart pounded in your chest, the unspoken feelings swirling inside you like a storm.

The memories of your conversation with Hotch replayed in your mind. It had been brief, professional, but the underlying tension was palpable. You had tried to keep your emotions in check, to maintain the facade of calm and control that was expected of you. But every glance, every exchange with him seemed to chip away at the walls you had so carefully constructed. Suddenly, you heard a knock on your desk. Looking up, you saw Rossi standing there, his expression unreadable.

"Got a minute?" he asked.

You nodded, setting your pen down. Rossi pulled up a chair and sat across from you, his eyes searching your face.

"You look tired," he said gently.

You shrugged. "It's been a long week."

Rossi leaned in slightly, his tone softening. "I've noticed you've been a bit distant lately. Is everything okay?"

You hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. "Just...dealing with some personal stuff."

He nodded, as if he already knew. "I heard about your conversation with Hotch."

Your heart skipped a beat. "What about it?"

"He's worried about you," Rossi said. "We all are."

You looked away, the pain in your chest intensifying. "I'm fine."

Rossi sighed, reaching out to place a comforting hand on yours. "Listen, if you ever need to talk, I'm here. We've all been through rough patches, and sometimes it helps to have someone to lean on."

You nodded, grateful for his support but not ready to open up. "Thanks, Rossi. I appreciate it."

He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before standing up. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

As Rossi started to leave, his gaze fell on the paperwork scattered on your desk—documents regarding your potential transfer to Atlanta. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he paused before speaking again.

"What's this about?" Rossi asked, his tone more curious than accusatory.

You felt your heart race, knowing you couldn’t easily brush off the topic. "Just considering some options," you said, trying to sound casual. "A change of scenery might be good."

Rossi studied you for a moment, his expression shifting to one of concern. "Look, if this is about wanting to get away from something or someone here, I want you to know you're not alone. Running away might not solve the problem. Sometimes, facing it head-on is what really helps."

You sighed, the decision weighing heavily on you. "I just... I need some space, I think. A chance to figure things out."

Rossi nodded slowly, understanding but still worried. "Well, if you're set on making a move, I respect that. Just know that we’ll miss you around here. And remember, the door’s always open if you need to talk."

You managed a small smile, appreciative of his genuine concern. "Thanks, Rossi. I'll keep that in mind."

As he walked away, you returned your gaze to the paperwork. The thought of transferring to Atlanta now felt more tangible, but also more daunting. The decision to leave wasn't just about changing locations; it was about escaping the emotional entanglements and facing the reality of what you were leaving behind. The empty bullpen seemed more desolate, and the shadows seemed to stretch longer, as if reflecting the uncertainty of your future.

As you gathered your things to leave, you felt a pang of regret. The idea of transferring to the Atlanta field office, while practical, felt like a desperate measure to escape the emotional turmoil that had been weighing on you. The thought of starting fresh in a new city, away from the constant reminders of Aaron and the life you had built here, was both enticing and daunting. Maybe one day you would muster the courage to confront your emotions and the reality of what you felt for him. But for now, the possibility of a transfer seemed like a refuge from the aching loneliness of unspoken words and unfulfilled desires that clung to you with every step you took away from the bullpen.

The Atlanta field office offered a chance to redefine yourself, to create a new routine and immerse yourself in different challenges. It was an opportunity to distance yourself from the memories and feelings that had become almost too heavy to bear. Yet, this potential escape came with its own set of uncertainties—leaving behind colleagues who had become like family, the comfort of familiar routines, and the underlying fear of whether running away from your feelings would truly bring you peace or merely prolong the inevitable confrontation with your heart.

You knew that transferring to Atlanta could be a way to avoid dealing with the painful truth of your feelings for Aaron, but it also represented a fresh start, a chance to rebuild without the constant reminder of a love that could never be. As you walked away from the bullpen, the weight of your decision loomed large, the future uncertain and the path ahead shrouded in both hope and apprehension. <><> Aaron was immersed in his paperwork when he noticed a memo slip across his desk. With a practiced hand, he opened it, expecting routine updates. But as he scanned the contents, his focus sharpened on a line about a personnel transfer request—specifically, a transfer to the Atlanta field office.

His heart sank as he recognized the name at the top of the memo. It was yours.

Aaron’s mind raced, the room around him suddenly feeling constricting. He’d sensed that something had been off lately, your distance and the quiet struggles you’d been grappling with, but this news hit him harder than he anticipated. He couldn't shake the feeling that this transfer was more than just a career move for you—it was an escape.

He tried to focus on the details of the memo, but his thoughts kept returning to you. The idea of you leaving, especially under these circumstances, stirred a mix of regret and frustration within him. He knew he hadn't been the most communicative or open, but the thought of you leaving without any real resolution gnawed at him.

Determined to understand more, he set the memo aside and made a mental note to talk to you. He had to address this before any decision was finalized. The idea of you transferring to Atlanta wasn't just a professional change; it was a personal one that affected him deeply.

Later that day, as you were about to leave for the day, Aaron found himself standing by your desk, trying to keep his voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling within him.

"Hey, got a minute?" he asked, his tone more urgent than he intended.

You looked up, clearly surprised by the request. "Sure, Hotch. What’s up?"

He gestured for you to follow him to a quieter part of the office. Once there, he held up the memo. "I saw this on my desk. Can you explain what’s going on?"

You glanced at the memo and then back at him, a mixture of surprise and apprehension in your eyes. "It’s just a transfer request. I thought it might be a good idea to consider some new opportunities."

Aaron’s expression softened, but his concern was evident. "Is this about what’s been going on lately? If you need to talk or if there’s something specific you’re trying to escape, we need to address it."

You hesitated, feeling the weight of the unspoken emotions hanging between you. "It’s not just about escaping. I just need a change, Aaron. It’s been a lot to handle."

Aaron’s gaze was intense, filled with a mix of frustration and a deep, unresolved care. "I understand that things have been difficult, but running away might not be the solution. We can work through this. I want to understand what’s been going on with you."

You felt the sting of his words, realizing that your decision to transfer was more than just about a new job—it was about the distance you needed from unresolved feelings and the challenges you faced. You knew you needed to be honest but struggled with finding the right words.

"I appreciate that, Aaron. But right now, I think I need this distance to figure things out."

He nodded, though his frustration was palpable. "If you decide to go through with this, just know that I’ll support you. But before you make any final decisions, please consider talking things out. It’s important."

You nodded, feeling a mix of gratitude and sadness. "I’ll think about it. Thanks for understanding."

As you walked away, Aaron felt the weight of the situation pressing down on him. The prospect of you leaving was a stark reminder of the unresolved feelings and the impact of not addressing them. He knew he needed to act before it was too late, but for now, all he could do was hope that you would reconsider and find a way to confront the challenges together. <><> After a lively team outing at a local restaurant, everyone was in high spirits. The night had been filled with laughter and camaraderie, but Beth couldn’t help but notice Aaron’s lingering glances toward you. The smiles he shared with you were different, more genuine and soft compared to the usual reserved expression he wore. It wasn’t lost on her that this was not the first time she had seen this subtle, but telling, shift in his demeanour around you.

As the evening wound down and the team started to disperse, Beth knew it was time to have a conversation that had been weighing on her for some time. She decided to wait until they were back at Aaron’s apartment, where they could talk privately without interruptions.

Once inside, Beth’s eyes were sharp with concern as she locked the door behind them. Aaron was in the kitchen, setting down a few leftovers. She took a deep breath and approached him, her voice firm but caring.

“Aaron, we need to talk,” she said, her tone brooking no argument.

Aaron looked up, a hint of surprise in his eyes. “About what?”

Beth’s gaze was steady, unwavering. “About how you look at her. The smiles you only seem to reserve for her, the way your eyes follow her around. I’ve noticed it tonight, and it’s been building for a while.”

Aaron’s expression shifted, a mix of guilt and apprehension crossing his face. “Beth, I—”

Beth cut him off gently but decisively. “Don’t try to brush this off. I’ve seen the way you look at her, and I know there’s something more there. More then what you have for me. It’s clear you have feelings for her, and you need to address that before it’s too late.”

Aaron’s shoulders slumped slightly. “It’s complicated. With everything that’s happened, and the grief from losing her sister, it feels like the timing is all wrong.”

Beth’s expression softened with understanding, but her resolve remained strong. “I get that it’s complicated. We’ve both faced our own share of challenges. But sometimes, things that are rare and special are too valuable to let slip through your fingers just because the timing isn’t perfect. If you really care about her, you need to be honest with her.” “I care about you too Beth,” Aaron looked away, struggling with his emotions. “I don’t want to make things more difficult for her. She’s been through so much already.”

Beth stepped closer; her voice gentle but insistent. “I know, Aaron. But by not telling her how you feel, you’re only adding to her confusion and uncertainty. The risk of waiting too long is that you might lose the chance to ever have what could be something truly meaningful. Don’t let your hesitation keep you from being honest.”

Aaron’s gaze met hers, and for a moment, the weight of his unspoken feelings seemed to lift slightly. “You’re right. I’ve been afraid of complicating things further, but maybe it’s time I faced that fear.”

Finally, she took a deep breath and faced Aaron, her eyes brimming with a mix of determination and sadness. "Aaron, there’s something else I need to tell you."

Aaron looked at her with concern, sensing the gravity in her tone. "What is it?"

Beth took a moment to gather her thoughts before speaking. "I’ve made a decision. I’m moving to Milan."

Aaron’s eyes widened in shock. "Milan? When? Why didn’t you say anything sooner?"

Beth’s gaze was steady, but her voice carried a note of finality. "It’s been in the works for a while now. I didn’t want to bring it up until everything was finalized. I’ve accepted a position there and will be leaving in a few weeks."

Aaron’s heart sank, a mix of surprise and hurt crossing his face. "Beth, I… I don’t know what to say."

Beth reached out, gently placing a hand on his. "Aaron, this is important. I need you to listen. I’m breaking things off between us. It’s not just because of the move, but because I’ve realized something. Your feelings for her are clear, and it’s not fair to either of us to ignore them."

Aaron’s expression turned pained. "Beth, I never meant for things to be like this. I’ve been struggling with my feelings for her, and now..."

Beth interrupted softly but firmly. "I know, Aaron. And that’s why I’m telling you this now. I don’t want you to waste any more time. If you truly care about her, you need to be honest and act on your feelings. Don’t let your hesitation or our relationship keep you from being with someone you care about." Aaron’s eyes were filled with regret and confusion. "Are you sure about this? I never wanted to hurt you."

Beth nodded, her resolve unwavering. "Yes, I’m sure. I’ve come to terms with it. It’s time for both of us to move on and find what we truly want. I hope you’ll take this chance with her before it’s too late."

Aaron swallowed hard, trying to process the sudden shift in his life. "I… I understand. I’ll talk to her. Thank you for being honest with me."

Beth offered him a sad but sincere smile. "Good. I hope everything works out for both of you. And for me, too. Sometimes, moving forward means letting go."

With that, Beth turned and began to gather her things, her movements methodical but tinged with a deep sadness. Aaron watched her, his mind racing with the implications of her words and the urgency of the situation.

As Beth left his apartment to prepare for her new chapter in Milan, Aaron was left alone with his thoughts. The weight of the conversation pressed heavily on him, but the clarity it provided was both a burden and a blessing. He knew that now, more than ever, he needed to confront his feelings for you and act before the opportunity slipped away. <><> The room was filled with the soft rustle of fabric as you packed your large suitcase, preparing for your imminent move to the Atlanta field office. The decision to transfer had been difficult, but the need for a fresh start had felt urgent. As you methodically folded clothes and packed away your belongings, your mind wandered to the whirlwind of emotions and changes that had led you here.

Suddenly, a knock on the door jolted you from your thoughts. You paused, glancing at the clock and wondering who it could be at this hour. With a sigh, you wiped your hands on a nearby towel and walked to the door, your heart unexpectedly racing.

When you opened it, you were met with the sight of Aaron Hotchner standing on the other side. His usual composed demeanour was softened by an intense look of vulnerability. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you heavy with unspoken emotions.

Aaron’s gaze held yours with a depth that seemed to pierce through the very core of your being. He took a deep breath, his voice barely more than a whisper, but unmistakably earnest.

“I love you,” he said, the simplicity and sincerity of his words cutting through the noise of the past few days.

The words hung in the air, their weight settling over you as you processed their impact. Your heart skipped a beat, and a mixture of surprise, relief, and overwhelming emotion flooded through you. The baggage of your impending move, the unresolved feelings, and the complicated paths you had both navigated seemed to converge in that single moment of confession.

“Oh”. You had hoped for this, longed for it even, but never expected it to come so suddenly or so poignantly.

“Aaron…” you started, your voice trembling with the weight of everything unspoken between you.

He stepped closer, his expression pleading, as if willing you to understand the depth of his feelings despite the circumstances. “I know this might be too late, but I couldn’t let you leave without telling you how I feel.”

You took a step back, your suitcase forgotten for the moment, as you tried to grasp the enormity of his declaration. The room seemed smaller, filled with the echoes of his words and the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you.

Aaron continued, his voice steady despite the vulnerability. “I should have told you sooner. I’ve been struggling with my feelings, with the timing, and with everything going on. But I can’t let you go without you knowing how I truly feel.”

Tears streamed down your face as you looked at him, the man you cared for deeply standing there with a sincerity that made your heart ache. The prospect of leaving now felt even more complicated, but his confession gave you a glimmer of hope that perhaps there was still a chance for something more.

You reached out, your fingers brushing his, feeling the connection that had always been there but was now heightened by his words. “Aaron, I… I didn’t think this would happen.”

He gently cupped your face in his hands, his eyes searching yours with a mix of hope and apology. “I know it’s complicated, but I needed you to know. I love you, and I want to work through this, whatever it takes.”

In that moment, the weight of your decision to leave seemed to lift, replaced by the possibility of exploring what might come next. Your heart was still torn, but Aaron’s words gave you a reason to pause and reconsider, to see if there was a way to navigate the future together.

You took a deep breath, your emotions still raw but now infused with a sense of possibility. “I need to think, Aaron. But thank you for telling me.”

He nodded, a look of understanding and hope on his face. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here.”

As Aaron stepped back, you closed the door, the silence in the room now filled with the echo of his confession. The future remained uncertain, but for the first time in a long while, you felt a glimmer of hope that things might turn out differently than you had anticipated. The room fell silent after Aaron left, the weight of his confession hanging heavily in the air. You stared at the closed door, your heart racing with conflicting emotions. The echo of his words, "I love you," resonated within you, but the decision to leave still loomed large in your mind.

You took a moment to compose yourself, wiping away the tears that had blurred your vision. The truth was, despite the profound revelation from Aaron, you couldn't shake the deeper issues at play. The grief from losing your sister, the violence of her death, and the way it had coloured your perception of everything around you had become overwhelming. Your once-familiar environment, your safe space, had become tainted by the shadows of that loss.

As you turned back to your suitcase, your resolve solidified. The decision to transfer to the Atlanta field office had seemed like the only way to escape the haunting memories and to start anew. The loss of your sister had made everything familiar feel foreign, and despite Aaron’s heartfelt confession, the environment you were leaving behind was still too painful.

With a determined sigh, you resumed packing your belongings. The act of organizing your things, the physical motion of moving forward, became a form of therapy—a way to assert control over the chaos that had become your life. Each item you folded and placed into your suitcase felt like a step towards reclaiming your sense of self.

You couldn’t deny the gravity of Aaron’s feelings, but the reality was that the grief and the scars from your sister’s death had irrevocably changed your perspective. The office, once a place of camaraderie and comfort, now seemed overshadowed by the violence that had touched your life so profoundly.

As the final items were packed away, you took one last look around your apartment, a mix of nostalgia and melancholy filling your heart. You had made a life here, built connections, and found solace, but now, it was time to find a new path where the past didn’t weigh so heavily on your shoulders.

You took a deep breath, feeling a sense of finality as you closed your suitcase. It wasn’t just about moving to a new place; it was about finding a way to heal and rebuild. The decision to leave was not a rejection of Aaron’s feelings, but a necessary step for you to address your own needs and find a space where you could begin to process and heal from the grief that had consumed you. As you left your apartment with your suitcase in tow, a profound sense of resolution settled over you. The grief from losing your sister had irrevocably changed you, and the decision to move forward with your transfer was not just about leaving a place but also about finding yourself again. However, there was one final step you needed to take before embarking on this new chapter.

You knew in your heart that you couldn’t leave without speaking to Aaron one last time. His confession earlier had touched a part of you that you had kept locked away, and although you had made the decision to leave, you needed him to understand the depth of your feelings and the reasons behind your departure.

You found Aaron at the edge of the parking lot; his silhouette framed by the dim streetlights. He stood there, looking lost and weary, as if waiting for something he couldn’t quite name. When he saw you approaching, his expression shifted from confusion to a glimmer of hope.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady the emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. “Aaron, I need to talk to you. Before I go.”

He nodded, his eyes searching yours for answers. “Of course. What’s on your mind?”

You paused, gathering your thoughts as you looked at him. “I need you to know that I love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone. Your words tonight were everything I’ve ever wanted to hear. But…”

Aaron stepped closer, his face a mixture of hope and anxiety. “But what?”

“I have to leave,” you continued, your voice trembling slightly. “I’ve lost myself over the past few months. The grief from losing my sister and everything that has happened has changed me in ways I can’t ignore. I need to find out who I am again, both as a person and as an Agent. I need to figure out what I want and who I want to be.”

Aaron’s eyes softened with understanding and pain. “I get it. I really do. But you should know that you’ve always been someone special to me, and that hasn’t changed. I just wish there was something more I could do.”

You shook your head gently, your tears falling freely now. “This isn’t about you, Aaron. It’s about me. I need to do this for myself. I need to find a way to heal and to rediscover my purpose. I can’t do that while I’m still surrounded by reminders of what I’ve lost.”

Aaron reached out, his hand brushing against yours. “If you need time and space, I understand. But please, don’t let this be goodbye forever.”

You squeezed his hand, feeling the warmth of his touch and the depth of his feelings. “I don’t want it to be. I’m not closing the door on us entirely. I’m just stepping away for now to find my own path.”

He nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Then I’ll be here, waiting for when you’re ready. I’ll be patient.”

You offered him a sad, yet hopeful smile. “Thank you, Aaron. For understanding and for being there. I hope that one day, when I’ve figured things out, we can see where we stand.”

Aaron pulled you into a gentle embrace, holding you close as if trying to convey everything he couldn’t put into words. The embrace was a mixture of comfort and farewell, filled with the promise of what might come in the future.

As you finally pulled away, you felt a bittersweet sense of closure. With one last look at Aaron, you turned and walked toward your car, the weight of your decision and the uncertainty of the future ahead of you.

The drive to your new life in Atlanta felt both daunting and liberating. The road stretched out before you, and with each mile, you hoped to find the clarity and healing you so desperately needed. And while the future was uncertain, you carried with you the knowledge that, despite everything, you had made the right decision for yourself.

[lillysdreaminnn]

Labyrinth.

Labyrinth; introduction.

Pairing; aaron hotchner x fem!oc

Words; 2.2k

Summary; Ivy got accepted to fill the empty place in the behavioural analysis unit - what she's been after her whole life - and meets her boss and colleagues for the first time.

Warnings; swearing, Derek being Derek, JJ being a little shit here and there (but we love her 🫶🏻), not proofread, i suck at warnings that's all ive got :)

A/n; hi! I decided to post my fic on here too! You can also find it on wattpad under the name Oceanbringerr (my dad picked it out 💀). It's my first fic 🫢 comments and reblogs are heavily appreciated and I hope you enjoy 🫶🏻🫶🏻

"So, do you think I'm hired?" Ivy muttered, fixing her blazer for what seemed to be the fifteenth time. April just shot her a glare, basically scolding her.

 "Okay babe; relax. You've been after this your whole life. You got this, I promise you honey." April tried to reassure her sister once again, watching her mess with her outfit more - messing it up even more.

 "Ivy, I swear to fucking God if you mess with your blazer one more time I will murder you." Violet, the eldest of the family, yelled as she shot up from her spot on Ivy's bed. She stormed over to her sister, forcefully fixing the blazer and top.

 "You're beautiful, honey." She said, a lot calmer this time. "I don't want him to employ me just because I'm beautiful." Ivy scoffed at her two sisters, putting her hair up in a slick ponytail, wanting to seem as serious as she felt about all this.

"So you haven't even met your boss yet?" Violet asked, popping a piece of chocolate in her mouth after she sat back down on Ivy's - once - perfectly made bed.

 "No, not yet. I only met section chief Erin Strauss... She seemed... Fine?" Ivy said with a soft laugh, turning back to her sisters who shot her a thumbs up. "Anyway, I have to go. Don't eat all of these, your date will go perfectly fine, plus you have seven more hours to stress about it." The girl snatched the chocolate away from her sister, smiling as Violet whined like a child.

 "Fine. Have fun!" The oldest sister called out after the youngling - in Violet's very words - as she ran out the door.

 Blasting some music in her car, Ivy was quick to arrive at the bureau. She took a moment to herself, staring at the building in complete and utter awe, telling herself that she finally made it. After all those years of pure blood, sweat and tears - maybe even literally - she was finally there.

 Taking a deep breath, she put her name-tag on and walked inside the huge building with a box of her stuff. She was greeted by the usual lovely agents she always passed as she made her way to the elevators, pressing the number eight.

 "Hold the doors!" A voice called out, making Ivy put her hand between the doors to keep them from shutting. Once the sensor got her hand, the doors re-opened, revealing a tall, strong man.

 He's handsome. Ivy thought to herself, smiling politely at him.

 "Thank you." He smiled at her, holding a cup of coffee in his left hand. "You're new here?" He asked Ivy, making her look up at him. "Uh, not exactly. I've just been promoted to the behavioural analysis unit." She said with a smile.

 She thought she was bragging, but she had every right to; she had been chasing after this her entire life.

 The man smiled, making Ivy smile a little wider too. "So you're the new recruit, huh? Nice to meet you, I'm Derek Morgan." He introduced himself, making Ivy almost drop her stuff. Of course she had heard of Derek Morgan. Who hadn't?

 The specialist on obsessional crimes.

 "It's very nice to meet you, Derek." Ivy offered him another friendly smile, since she was holding a pretty heavy box in her arms. "I take it you're meeting Hotch today." He laughed a little at Ivy's worried expression.

 "Yup." She nodded, her polite smile never faltering. "He's not as scary as he seems. He likes to play it tough, but he's very nice." Derek said as the two walked out of the elevators and into the bullpen.

"Good luck and welcome to the team, agent." Derek said with a small smile as he walked to his desk, leaving Ivy lost.

 "Staircase, first door to your right." A girly voice called from next to her, making her head snap towards the blonde woman next to her. Finally a familiar face.

 "Hi JJ." Ivy smiled, wrapping her free arm around the girls waist, as she hugged Ivy back with a similar smile. "Hi honey. Let me take you to Hotch, he's been quite stressed as well." JJ said with a laugh, leading Ivy to their boss's office.

 She knocked on the door and waited for the green light, so they could walk inside. When they did get the green light, JJ opened the door, Ivy standing behind her like a lost child.

 "Hey, Hotch. Look who's here." JJ said, making the man look up from his papers, a subtle scowl on his face. The scowl disappeared when his eyes landed on the terrified girl behind JJ.

 Jesus Christ, man up Ivy. You're a full blown FBI agent, for fuck's sake.

 "You must be agent Monroe." Said Hotch, as he got up from his chair, stretching his hand out to Ivy, who gladly gave him a handshake with a smile.

 "It's very nice to meet you, sir." She said, using both hands to hold her box again. JJ had left the two be, shutting the door behind her as well. Hotch motioned for Ivy to sit, which she did after putting her box next to her feet.

 "Strauss told me all about you and your achievements and I have to admit; I'm surprised. In the best way, of course." Hotch said looking down at some files and then back up at Ivy.

 He's stressed.

 The files on his desk had nothing to do with Ivy and she knew it. He looked down because of the awkwardness in the room, which didn't take a profiler to notice.

 "Thank you, sir. I'm very honoured to be here." She said, a small smile on her face as well. Derek told her Hotch looked - and she quotes - 'scary' but to her he seemed just fine. Maybe a little intimidating, but that's about it.

 After a very in depth talk about the job and some of Ivy's accomplishments, Ivy was cleared to go set up. With a polite handshake, she picked up her box and started heading out, when Hotch's voice stopped her.

 "Oh and please; call me Hotch. We're collegues now."

 Ivy smiled and nodded, mumbling a soft 'bye' as she shut the door behind herself. She made her way down to the bullpen and found the desk Hotch had told her about, placing her box on it and sighing. She took a moment to look around, smiling to herself.

 "Meeting with the boss went well?" Derek's voice rang out of nowhere, making Ivy slightly jump. "You're jumpy for an FBI agent." He joked, making Ivy laugh. "I'm not gonna fight that." She chuckled, staring to set up on her desk.

 "Need any help?" Derek offered and before a woman scoffed with a laugh, "Let the poor girl set up her stuff before you start flirting." A woman with raven black hair said, laughing a little.

 Damn, why's everyone so fine in here?

 "Hey, I wasn't flirting! I was just... offering a helping hand to the newbie." Derek defended himself, making the woman laugh again as she shook her head. "Don't mind him, he's a flirt but a really nice guy. Hi, I'm Emily Prentiss." Emily stretched a hand out to Ivy.

 Ivy gladly shook her hand while politely smiling at her. "Nice to meet you, Emily, I'm Ivy." She said, making Emily smile as well.

 "Very pretty name." Emily chuckled, making Ivy's cheeks turn a dusty pink. "Thank you." Ivy said with a smile, staring to set up her stuff on her desk.

 Derek was sat in his spinny chair while Emily was standing, both watching the younger agent set up her office. "Do you need anything?" Ivy laughed awkwardly, as the two agents basically ogled at her. "Sorry, you just look so much like JJ..." Derek said, sounding as confused as he looked.

 "We're second cousins." Ivy laughed, stopping her movements so she could look at the two with an amused smile. "Oh my God! You're the Ivy she talks about!" Emily realised, pointing a finger at Ivy, who was horribly trying to hold back her laughter.

 "That's me" She said, motioning to herself.

 "I pictured you a redhead." Emily mumbled, mainly to herself, but Ivy heard and chuckled.

 "It's the name."

 "It's the DC villain."

 "Maybe both."

 "Both." Both women nodded, a similar grin on their faces.

 Derek just sat confused, watching the two women talk as if they had known each other for ages. "I'm very confused." He commented, mumbling to himself, "You look confused." Emily pointed out as Derek scoffed jokingly.

 "I do not." He defended himself.

 "Why's Derek confused?" A tall, scrawny boy asked as he walked by, sitting across Ivy's desk. God damnit, he's cute too.

 "Oh fuck you."

 Ivy could only laugh at the sibling-like interaction between Emily, Derek and the boy - who seemed awfully young to be witnessing such horrors the BAU saw daily. "Because; Spencer, this is Ivy. The cousin JJ always talks about." Emily introduced, making Spencer nod with a side smile.

 "JJ talks about you very often. I always pictured you a redhead, though." Spencer said with a chuckle, making Ivy smile. He was indeed very cute.

 "Well, I'm obviously a blonde. But I've been thinking about changing it up a li-"

 "Don't even finish that sentence missy." JJ's voice called out suddenly, making Ivy groan. "Why do you always spawn so randomly? Does the universe put money in the slot or something?" Ivy mumbled, making Derek laugh subtly.

 "Ivy, you remember how it went last time you tried to dye your hair." JJ laughed, sitting on her cousin's desk with a smile eerily identical to Ivy's, who just smiled softly and looked down to her feet.

 "How'd it go?" Emily asked with a curious smile.

 "Miss Monroe here had greenish hair for like a month." Ivy shot her cousin a glare, trying to hold back her own laughter. Eventually she gave in and started laughing as well, shaking her head a little.

 "Yeah okay, it was a disaster. Something went wrong with the dye and I ended up with green hair." Ivy explained, everyone laughing at the mental picture of their new friend with green hair.

 Ivy continued setting up her desk while chatting with the rest of the team, getting to know them better. Ny the end of their shifts, they had done their work and even tried to help Ivy but she wouldn't let them.

 "Go home, Emily." Ivy said with a laugh as Emily sighed in defeat. "Fine. But text me when you get home." The raven haired woman said, patting Ivy's shoulder as a goodbye gesture.

 It was nine when Emily left, leaving Hotch and Ivy alone.

 Two hours later, Hotch exited his office, seeking some caffeine to keep him up for the ridiculous amount of paperwork he had for some reason, when he spotted his new agent. "She's still here?" He mumbled to himself, surprised that Ivy was there.

 He shrugged it off and made his way to the coffee machiene, deciding to leave the girl be for now. That was all out the window when he saw the exhaustion in her face when she lifted her head from her paperwork to sip her own coffee.

 So he decided to be a good boos and check on her.

 "Hey, Monroe. You alright?" He asked, reaching her desk.

 Ivy looked up from her files and smiled at Hotch, nodding her head. "Yeah, I just want to get these out of the way so I have less for tomorrow." She said with a soft smile, making Hotch smile too.

 She's interesting.

 "What are you still doing here?" Ivy asked back, as Hotch sighed and rubbed his eyes, "Chief duties." He said with a faint smile, making Ivy giggle. "It's eleven at night." Ivy pointed out, a soft smile on her face.

 "Your point?"

 "It's too late to work."

 "You're working too."

 "Not for long." Ivy smirked, tapping her pen shut and putting her hair up, "I'm officially done with these, plus if I stay an other minute awake I actually think I'll go crazy." She chuckled, taking the thick stack of files in her arms.

 "I'll take them to my office, don't worry about it; go home." Hotch said, putting the full coffee mug down on Ivy's desk as he reached for the papers. "It's fine, Hotch, honestly." Ivy tried to stop him, but he insisted.

 "You look exhausted, Monroe. Leave those to me and go rest." Ivy gave up and sighed with a smile, "Fine." She passed the files over to Hotch, who easily held them up with one hand while Ivy needed both.

 Damn.

 Ivy sighed and put her coat on, placing her bag over her shoulder. She finished off her coffee and threw away the papercup, while making sure she got everything she needed. Once she gathered the last of her things, she walked to the doors about to leave when a voice called out to her.

 "Goodnight Monroe." Hotch's voice called out, not even looking at her as he opened the door to his office.

 "Goodnight Hotch." Ivy chuckled, shaking her head as she walked to the elevators, calling it a day finally.

[just-moondust]

Honey & Herbal Tea

Part 1 Part 2

Aaron Hotchner x Fem OC

Summary: Aaron & Seren take the week off at Rossi's cabin.

A/N: The smut is here bitches! Idk how to write smut so my bad if it's too short. Also there smut! So... warning for that I guess...

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Rossi gladly relinquished his cabin under the knowledge that Aaron wouldn't be in a position of being in charge, or able to micromanage the team for the next week. He’d made him unpack all the files from his suitcase before Seren had arrived to pick him up. 

Go enjoy yourself. There’s better things to be looking at than murder cases.

Aaron had to admit Dave had been right about that one. He was, for once, thankful that he didn’t have his nose stuck in a file. He exhales, his eyes scanning over the calmness of the lake as he sits on the porch sipping coffee from a tin mug. 

His attention was being pulled elsewhere though, just off to the side of the porch. Where Seren was looking decidedly more attractive than usual as she brought an axe down over her head, cutting through a log that she tossed aside in a pile. 

He had admittedly lied about it being a little cold the first night, just so she’d have to cut up more firewood. It was entirely worth it though, he thought as she was picking up another log and readying herself for another. She swings the axe, her biceps tense as she pulls it down again, splitting the log in two. 

“You think that’s enough?”

She looks over to him, hands placed on her hips as she catches her breath. He pretends to glance at the pile, then makes an unsure kind of face.

“I’m not sure…It was pretty cold last night”

She laughs as she senses his jest, shaking her head as she walks back to the porch with a pile of firewood. She drops it at the door before wrapping her arms around his shoulders, burying a kiss in the nape of his neck.

“I’m sure there are other ways to keep you warm…”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhmm…” she mutters out the reply, her kisses trailing up to his jaw. He gently tugs at her arm, guiding her to sit with him. One of his hands rests on her thigh that’s across his lap, tracing gentle circles under his fingertips, the other is brushing stray hairs from her face as he studies the creases in her face when she smiles at him with that whimsical gleam in her eyes.

“I thought you said I should be taking it easy?”

“I’ll be gentle” she shrugs, her fingertips gently grip his chin as she tilts her head, bringing their lips together. Aaron’s heart skips a beat, his hand slowly moving up into her hair, pulling her closer as he deepens the kiss, his tongue brushing along his lower lip before pressing to hers. The bitterness of the coffee he’d just had mixed into the sweeter taste in her mouth.

The hand that’d been on her thigh now drifted higher, where her jeans met the bottom of her t-shirt. His thumb smoothing over the exposed skin of her hip.

She pulls back all of a sudden, leaving him too surprised to open his eyes again for a few more seconds.

“Careful Hotchner” she warns with a devilish grin, “anymore of that and you might end up bruising those ribs again.”

He chuckles, smoothing down her hair. His hand slips under her shirt to rest in the curve over her waist as he speaks in a lowered tone. “I think a little pain will be worth it…”

She tilts her head to the side in amusement, thinking it over before she stands up, pointing toward the door.

“Inside Hotchner.” 

“Yes Ma'am”

 He quickly replies, jumping to his feet just as fast. A light laugh escapes her as he passes, she follows behind with an armful of firewood. She drops them down by the fireplace, joining him on the makeshift mattress of pillows and blankets they’d slept on the night before. She can barely ask if he’s comfortable before he pulls her back into a passionate kiss, earning a squeak of surprise from her before she relaxes, letting him guide her onto his lap. Her hands graze over the stubble on his cheeks, up into his hair as his travel down to her waist.

The comfort of having her so close only fuels his need for more, his hands going under her shirt again, one moving up to cup her breast through her bra. He feels her breath hitch in response, only daring him to be braver. He pulls away from her lips, his fingertips tracing back down to the bottom of her t-shirt as she gives him a silent nod of approval, lifting her arms as he pulls the soft cotton away from her freckled skin. 

He takes a moment to take in this welcome new sight, though he can’t help two of his fingers following the length of a fading scar on her left side. 

“It’s…from an accident… The accident.” She says in a hushed tone as she spies his curious eyes wandering from the rest of her to the long, jagged line. Aaron only nods, looking back up to her face with sympathy. She’d told him the story of one of her crew being lost on the job, how it’d been ruled as a tragic accident at the time. But she hadn’t said anything about herself being hurt too. He supposed it was out of a sense of leadership to her team. Why should she be hurt when someone had died? 

“Sorry…” he shakes his head, realising he’d only pulled them both out of their sweet moment with his own curiosity. Sometimes, he really hated being a profiler.

“It’s okay. It’s kinda hard to miss, right?” She shrugs, keeping her warm smile as she makes light of the situation. He had to admire her for that. Seeing it as part of her rather than a reminder of a painful experience as he had with his own.The thought of her seeing his scars in the same way he had looked at hers was flooding his mind as she’d reached down to pull up his own shirt. She frowns in concern as his hands take hold of hers, the anxiety he was unsuccessfully hiding becoming clearer as held onto her hands, staring down at them.

“Aaron we don’t have to…” She stops as he shakes his head.

“No, it’s not that I -” he swallows, finding the courage to look her in the eyes again. “I just have some…reminders that aren’t so healed yet…”

The explanation seemed vague enough for her to know he couldn’t face talking about what had happened to him, instead she softly kisses his cheek and smiles understandingly, “I get it” She whispers as he leans into her lips, the tips of their noses meeting before he just has to kiss her again. The sweet taste of her lips and delicate touches across his chest fill him with warmth once more.

His hands wander across her torso again, paying attention to every inch. Soon his kisses travel there too, soft and quickly down her neck and along her collarbone, earning a hum of enjoyment from her. The sound only encouraging him, touches shifting to her lower body. Caressing her clothed thighs, making her tighten them around his waist, beginning a slow pace of rocking her hips along his own.

Aaron lets out a breathy groan, soon growing impatient with her tempo. His grip moves to her hips, hoping to guide her to an increase as he feels the growing ache of need.

“Hmm, you’re not one for patience, are you?”

A devious grin stretches across Seren’s lips as she stops, eliciting a disappointed whimper from his. She pushes him down flat on his back, hovering over him as she inches closer to his mouth. But when Aaron tries to close the distance, she just makes him chase her. Her smirk grows as she watches him get playfully frustrated, cursing under his breath.

“Quit it, you tease”

“Oh sweetie, you’re just too fun not to tease” she chuckles, “but alright. Seeing as you’re in such a tender state…”

She peels away from him and to her feet, finally ridding herself of her jeans. Aaron soon follows suit, kicking off his own as she crawls back up to him. Her bare thighs drawing in his hands as he palms at whatever he can reach while she holds him down with one hand, kissing and softly nipping at his neck. 

The neediness inside him grows, along with the thought of just flipping them both over. But somehow he doubts it to be possible. She was afterall, just as, if not stronger than him. And despite the teasing, she continued to lure him gladly into a sense of submission that he felt when he whined and squirmed underneath her.

“G-god Seren, p-please just…”

“Hmm?” She lifts her head lazily from his neck to meet his eyes. “Is there something you wanted to say?” she asks, a sultry tone thick in her voice as she delights in his worked up state.

“I…I can’t take much more of this” he mutters out in a gasp, the painful hardness in his pants evident to the both of them. 

Much to his relief, she finally relents, helping him slide off his boxers. She wraps a hand around him, making him quickly try to restrain himself from just thrusting into her hand then and there. He bites down on his lip, hard.

It doesn’t go unnoticed either, a praising smile on Seren’s face as she witnesses the struggle.  “You’re doing so well for me sweetheart…” she hums, her other hand trailing up her inner thigh, fingers pulling the fabric of her underwear aside.

Aaron can do nothing but watch the feeling of contentment fill her as their bodies are joined. A trembling exhaled breath escapes her as they both adjust to the feeling of one another for a moment.

Once she finally starts to move, his hands go to her hips, fingertips digging into her skin as he tries to settle into this pace. He pushes against the hand she had holding him down till she lets up, letting him pull her down with his fingers laced into her hair for the kiss he so desperately needed. He feels her smiling against his lips, maybe out of amusement of how needy she was making him. So he snaps his hips up, quickening the rhythm between them and earns some delightful surprised sounds from her mouth as she hangs over him. 

“That’s it sweetie…keep going…” She breathes, “god that feels good…” 

He groans lowly, the praise only pushing him further into this feeling of euphoria. She grips tightly at his still clothed shoulders while his hands trail up her back and down to her thighs, guiding her movements. He can help but wear a besotted look as he gazes up at her. The way her hair falls over one shoulder, completely messed up. The strength in her body, every movement she makes tensing a muscle under her flushed skin that he just has to smooth over. The equally as intoxicated look in her dark eyes as they both inch further and further to an end.

She knows it too. They both feel each other getting more frantic. Wet, open mouthed kisses through panting, hands grasping harshly at one another…

“Seren…” Aaron hissed as she bites down a little on his lip for that last kiss. 

“I know…It’s okay…” she half nods, her breath hitching with every one of his thrusts. 

That’s it. Her permission is the only thing left he needed as he released inside her.

Their cries fill the air of the cabin as they both gradually come to standstill after the waves die down.

Seren almost collapses onto him,but  Aaron lets out a pained grunt as an arm comes into contact with the tender part of his injuries. She jumps in alarm, straightening up again. 

“Oh god, are you okay? I forgot-” she stops as he grins, giving his shoulder a light smack at his tease. 

“Ow! Hey!” he giggles, pulling her into his side as she rolls out of his lap.

“I thought I hurt you Aaron, not funny…”

But she’s smiling. Trying not to laugh, even.

“Sorry” 

He plants a few apologetic kisses to the top of her hair, his arm around her softly rubbing at her side. 

“Mhmm. You’re lucky you’re cute…”

[bellatriestowritesometimes]

Know Me Better

Aaron Hotchner x OC - sneak peek

(can be read as x reader I suppose?¿)

Here’s a peek at my Aaron Hotchner x OC fic that I’m working on currently. It is a chapter well into the story but I wanted to share a snippet because I’m excited to get it finished and posted! It will pick up from an established relationship between Hotch (& everyone else in the bau) and my OC - Alexandra Everly. It will be a slow burn, with plenty of angst & comfort. I am still working on it but once it’s done it’ll be uploaded onto Wattpad &/or AO3, but I’m happy to post previews as I go on here! (divider cred. cafekitsune)

Hope you enjoy xx 

Hotch didn’t say anything back. He just stood there, staring at Alex with such intensity that she almost saw the emotions shift in his eyes - anger, disappointment and disgust. Alex was sure in that moment Hotch had realised exactly who he had fallen in love with. She wasn’t some damsel in distress that he could save, she was a selfish, power-hungry mess who had jeopardised everything.

The weight of her actions crushed her, each second of silence amplifying her guilt. She felt exposed, as if he could see straight through to the core of her being, and what he saw repulsed him. How could he love her after this? How could anyone?

Hotch’s eyes, usually filled with understanding and warmth, now seemed cold and distant. She could almost hear the thoughts running through his mind, condemning her for her reckless behaviour, for putting her career and ego above everything else, including their relationship.

She wanted to scream, to cry out and beg for his forgiveness, but she felt paralysed by the fear that his love for her had vanished. The realisation that she had pushed him away with her actions, that she had let her insecurities and ambitions drive a wedge between them was too much to bear.

Alex felt her throat tighten, her chest aching with the effort to hold back tears. She was desperate for him to say something, anything, that would prove her wrong, that would show her he still cared. But as the silence stretched on, her hope dwindled, replaced by a suffocating sense of despair.

After what felt like eternity Hotch opened his mouth. His voice was calm, but the words were like a dagger to her heart.

“You’re off the case,” he replied simply, his tone void of the warmth she so desperately needed to hear, even if she didn’t deserve it.

Alex nodded her head, a bitter smile covering her face. She turned to grab her things, her movements numb and mechanical. Each step felt heavy, as if she were wading through thick mud. The room seemed to close in on her, the walls pressing down with the weight of her failure.

When she finally looked up, Hotch was gone. The sight of the empty doorway hit her like a punch in the gut, and she felt the last remnants of her composure crumble. The tears she had fought so hard to contain finally spilled over, streaming down her cheeks.

She heard the shuffling of footsteps approaching and quickly brushed her tears away, turning around to get herself together. Part of her hoped it was Aaron, that he had come back to talk or even yell at her again. But that hope was dashed when she heard the distinctive click of heels against the floor.

“That sounded rough,” Roxy observed, her tone gentle and sympathetic.

Alex tuned to face her, forcing a weak smile. “Yeah, well, I put it all on myself.”

“You two together?” she asked, taking a seat as she undid her shoes.

“I don’t know anymore,” Alex shrugged, biting the inside of her cheek.

“Well, I’m sure the two of you will figure it out. You both seem sensible enough,” she said, trying to reassure Alex as she changed out of her work clothes into something more comfortable and less revealing.

“Since you’re not technically on the clock anymore and neither am I, how about I buy you a drink to cheer you up?” Roxy offered, with a kind smile. “They’re closing up now, so no more creeps.”

Alex let out a small laugh, wiping away the rest of her tears. “As tempting as that sounds right now, I think I’m okay.”

“Alright, well how about a cigarette? I see you’ve already made a start on my pack.” She pulled the packet out of her coat with a grin.

“Sorry about that,” Alex chuckled, taking one. “Lance was a smoker, and I was hoping he’d either ask for one or ask to use your lighter.”

“It’s alright, come on let’s get some fresh air. It’s too stuffy in here.” Roxy grabbed Alex by the hand and gently pulled her towards the door leading back to the club.

She didn’t fight Roxy and the two of them made their way outside. It was noticeably less busy than earlier. Her eyes scanned the room for any signs of Hotch but he must’ve headed back to the precinct with Emily and Morgan to meet the others and interrogate Lance.

The two of them sat down on the curb, watching the remaining people leave. Roxy lit her cigarette and then passed the lighter to Alex.

“Tough job,” Roxy hummed, taking a drag of her cigarette.

“Yours or mine?”

“Both,” Roxy replied with a wry smile.

Alex nodded her head, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “I will not argue with you there. How long have you been doing this?”

“Three years now,” Roxy revealed with a shrug. “I kept telling myself that it was only temporary, that once I made enough money, I’d quit. But here I still am.”

Alex glanced at her, sensing the mix of resignation and acceptance in her voice. “It’s hard to leave, isn’t it? Once you get caught up in it all.”

“Yeah, it is. But we all do what we have to do to get by. How about you? How long have you been with the BAU?”

Alex took another drag from her cigarette, her mind briefly wandering to the events of the night. “Feels like forever sometimes. But I think it’s coming up to eight years’ now.”

“And you’ve been with suit man for that long?”

Alex laughed, shaking her head. “God no, he was married when I joined, and I was in love with my best friend. Or at least I thought I was. Who knows anymore?”

Normally, Alex kept her personal life tightly guarded, but something about Roxy’s openness made her feel unusually comfortable.

Roxy raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Sounds complicated.”

“Yeah, well, I think I’ve just managed to complicate it even more by screwing everything up altogether,” Alex said, flicking her cigarette away and watching the ember spark briefly before dying out.

“Sometimes it feels like life’s just one big mess, doesn’t it? But you’re tougher than you think. You’ll figure it out.”

“I hope so.” Alex gave Roxy a small, appreciative smile. As they sat in silence, the weight of the evening pressed heavily on her.

Alex’s mind raced, trying to figure out what to do next. Hotch had taken her off the case, and she knew there was no point in trying to force herself back on it – she had already caused enough damage. Her thoughts drifted to the moment he found out about her meeting with Strauss, the look of disappointment in his eyes. She was indeed her father’s daughter because all she could think about was a glass of wine to accompany her sorrows.

She felt a pang of regret, realising how much she had let her emotions cloud her judgement. Normally so composed and in control, Alex was unaccustomed to feeling this vulnerable, this lost, but that seemed to be her life at the moment.

Away in her thoughts, Alex didn’t realise there was a figure approaching her and Roxy until he spoke.

“You’re with the FBI right?” Jackson, the bartender from the club, asked.

“I am,” Alex nodded, pushing herself up and standing.

“We were doing our normal sweep clean and we found this,” he explained, holding up a little black book. “I think you need to see what’s inside.”

Alex took the book from him and flipped it open. Inside were various pictures of girls, some she recognised immediately as Lance’s victims. As she continued going through the pages, she saw images of girls she didn’t know, which she quickly gathered were his next potential targets.

Roxy leaned over to get a better look. “Oh my God,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “I know some of these girls. They work here.”

“This is… wow,” Alex mumbled as she made her way through the rest of the notebook. She landed on one photo near the back. It didn’t fit in with the rest, in fact it looked like it was ripped from a family photo. It was of a young boy with an older woman. Lance and his mother, if Alex had to guess. “Thank you for bringing this to me,” she said, glancing up at Jackson.

hehe that's all for now! i'll be happy to post snippets as i go if anyone is interested :P

[captaincherrie]

Hotch: Tonight, one of you will betray us.

Rossi: Is it me, Hotch?

Hotch: No, it’s not you.

Josie: Is it me, Hotch?

Hotch: It’s not you either.

Emily: Is it me, Hotch?

Hotch:

Hotch, mockingly: Is IT mE Hotch?

[natalie-hotchner]

Natalie likes watching her husband, but he likes watching her just as much.

[clairewritesandrambles]

─── Masterlist ───

❀ Denotes Smut/NSFW Content

↠ Fics ↞

↠ One-Shots ↞

↠ Drabbles ↞

─── WIPs ───

❀ Denotes Smut/NSFW Content

↠ Fics ↞

↠ One-Shots ↞

↠ Drabbles ↞

[ptersparkers]

So ive been reading Spencer R. x hot wife, could You do Aaron with hot wife reader too? 🔥

omg it’s so funny that you sent me this because i was talking to @hotchsdoormat about a lil idea i had before i saw this in my inbox x

***

As your husband and boss, Aaron knows you can handle yourself. That doesn’t mean he likes seeing men try to get in your pants.

The BAU is on a case in Virginia and he’s grateful he doesn’t need to travel. The lead detective introduces himself as Det. Franklin and because neither you or Aaron want to confuse the officers, you introduce yourself with your maiden name while Aaron introduces himself as Hotchner.

He regrets it on this particular case. Aaron’s not blind either. He knows men and women alike look at you because of how you carry yourself. You’re naturally charismatic, talkative, and have the ability to make all heads turn when you walk into the room.

Usually, it doesn’t affect him too much. He knows he’s lucky because you come home to him every night and sleep next to him when you’re away on cases. He’s the only one who sees and touches your body, and he’s the only person you reach for when you wake up in the morning.

He knows this, but it doesn’t stop his blood from boiling when he realizes Franklin is hitting on you.

“Y/N, he’s trying to get into your pants,” Aaron says in a hushed tone after pulling you into the interrogation room.

“Look, honey, I know. I don’t like it either but we need to focus on the case before the unsub kills again.”

“I know,” Aaron mutters. You kiss him sweetly and he seems to relent.

“When this is all over, you can have me any way you want. Screw Franklin. I know you’ll treat me right.” You squeeze his bicep and wink before leaving the interrogation room. Aaron clears his throat, needing a moment to regain his composure.

When you catch the killer, the team feels liberated and opts to spend a few hours at a local bar to celebrate. Aaron’s given the team the night off since the jet won’t be ready until the following morning and no one complains.

But Franklin doesn’t relent. Aaron watches him corner you despite your clear boundaries. He lets you be like you asked, knowing fully well you’re capable of taking care of yourself, but he can’t help himself when he hears Franklin proposition you.

“Let’s go back to my place and celebrate. I bet you’re a real slut in the sack.”

Aaron strides to where Franklin is standing and pins his back against the wall, bracing his arm on Franklin’s throat. The sound of him slamming Franklin against the wall is enough to catch the team’s attention and they look at the scene that unfolded in front of them, amused at the way their boss is over protective.

“Don’t talk about my wife like that.”

He lets Franklin go after staring at him a second too long. The detective retreats into his office, no doubt embarrassed.

Aaron’s cheeks are red and you up your hand along his bicep and give him a squeeze. The team stifles a laugh and when JJ asks if you guys are coming to get drinks with them, it’s Emily who speaks up.

“I think Mom and Dad need some alone time.” Aaron’s cheeks flare up while you wink at her.

Everyone files out of the precinct and when Aaron finds himself planted in his spot, you touch his chest and tug on his tie.

“Come on, handsome. Feel like celebrating with me tonight?”

[squadmuse]

GET TO KNOW THEM ALPHABET

THE AARON HOTCHNER EDITION

Accessories: do they wear them and what kind?

Aaron likes ties, but other than that he doesn’t wear much in the way of accessories other than his briefcase which he carries for work.

Bad habits: do they have any?

Aaron is a workaholic and has really unpredictable work hours that mean he isn’t always around much or available.

Clothing: what's their style and what do they wear at home/out and about?

Aaron usually wears a business suit for work but he wears casual clothes when off duty such as polo shirts, jeans and trainers.

Date: what would their ideal first date look like? Do they enjoy datenights when in a relationship?

Aaron would definitely take you out to dinner, granted he wasn’t called out to a case. He wouldn’t introduce you to Jack right away and after you’re in a serious relationship, having met Jack & maybe even married, Aaron would spoil you to different things for date nights.

Emotional: are they an emotional person?

Aaron has seen a lot with his work and can compartmentalise his emotions but he doesn’t hide them from you or Jack and any other children he has with you. Some might think he’s unemotional but he feels so much.

Fears: what are they afraid of?

Aaron is afraid of losing you and Jack and any other children. He’s already lost Haley, and he’s afraid of driving you off like he did with Haley once upon a time.

Gifts: what makes them happy?

Aaron is a simple man with simple pleasures. He is happy seeing you and Jack and any other children he has with you, happy. He loves handmade gifts from Jack and any other children.

Helpful: do they help others, or are they rather selfish?

Aaron is very humble and thoughtful, he does acts of service and helps as much as he can whoever it is.

Insecure: do they have any insecurities?

Aaron is insecure about his presence at home as he’s away from home a lot due to different cases and working long hours. He’s insecure about himself being a potential threat to you and you being targeted by an unsub.

Jealous: are they of jealous nature?

Aaron isn’t a jealous guy.

Kitchen: can they cook? Do they have a signature dish?

Aaron is a decent cook. He can make a good breakfast, lunch and dinner but he isn’t as good a baker. He gets an easy enough pasta recipe off Dave and it becomes his signature recipe to make for you.

Laugh: what makes them laugh?

Aaron laughs at the happiness of you, Jack and any other children you have. He loves seeing you laugh and being carefree. He also loves classic comedy like Chaplin and he has a great love of different comedy genres.

Morning routine: what are they like in the morning?

Aaron gets up, has a quick shower and then gets dressed before waking Jack up while you shower and dress. He gets Jack washed and ready before meeting you in the kitchen where you’re fixing breakfast for the three of you usually.

Night routine: how do they unwind before going to bed?

Aaron will tuck Jack into bed and do their nightly candle connection chat with Haley while you tidy up the house and get ready for bed yourself. Aaron will then comes to bed where the two of you chat a bit and sometimes watch a movie or read a book together.

Occupy: what does their home look like?

Aaron has a tidy home and it has signs of warmth, family and love with pictures of him, you and Jack and any other children you have together. Children’s toys are sometimes scattered, the odd Lego lying on the ground unseen.

Pet peeve: what are things they absolutely can't stand?

Aaron can’t stand disloyalty or people not accepting their commitments or stepping up. He also can’t stand arrogance and bullying.

Quirky: what's their quirky trait?

Aaron collects fridge magnets from each city or town or state he visits. It helps him remember that there is more to the place than the unsub.

Relax: are they easily stressed out or do they go with the flow?

Aaron has a high stress job but he isn’t stressed out by it or show it. He has learned to deal with it by now.

Spontaneous: are they?

Aaron is quite spontaneous due to his job being unpredictable and whenever he has free time or no cases happening then he will whisk you or you & Jack off to somewhere or something.

Truthful: how much of the truth do they tell others?

Aaron doesn’t talk about his cases and will gloss over them. But he is genuinely a truthful guy and values honesty and transparency and integrity.

Upset: are they upset easily? And what upsets them?

Aaron again has seen a lot of horrific things happen within his career and doesn’t let his emotions show then but he lets his emotions show when around you, Jack and any other children you have together. He gets upset thinking about losing any of you or any of his team.

Vain: how vain are they?

Aaron isn’t the most vain. He works out, likes being fit and healthy and wears nice suits with his hair trimmed neatly.

Work: what kind of job do they have/would they like?

Aaron is a profiler and ex-attorney. But he wishes his job would let him be home more often.

X-factor: do they have a talent for something?

Aaron has a talent for reading people due to his job but he also has a talent for acting to an extent due to his past.

Yield: how easily do they give in to something/someone?

Aaron can be somewhat unyielding.

Zealous: what are they enthusiastic and passionate about?

Aaron is passionate about his family and about his job.

[mariasont]

Our Minds Entwined-----------------------

ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6, ch 7, ch 8, ch 9, ch 10, ch 11

MDNI-----------------------------------------------------------------

pairings: aaron hotchner x oc x spencer reid

summary: in which jason gideon's daughter joins the fbi as the newest, youngest member

warnings: wet dream between 2 men, evelyn needs to be spayed or smth, fainting, creepy men

A/N: hiiiii gorgeous, lovely, beautiful human beings thank you so much for the support on this fic, I LOVE YOU ALL!!!! <3 let me know if you want to be adding to the tag list

ALSOOOOOO my requests are open for aaron hotchner and spencer reid!!! I would love to write some drabbles/one shots so shoot me a message! <3

HAPPY READING!

Chapter Ten:

Gasping for air, Evelyn emerged from the depths of her dream, the vividness of it lingering like a second reality. She swiftly pressed her back against the headboard, her fingers weaving through her sweat-soaked hair. The dream's details were smeared in her memory, but the visceral ache it left behind was crystal clear. Hotch and Spencer--their hands that were insistent upon her, their mouths that explored every inch of her. She scolded herself for the image--what is wrong with her? She felt like a pervert, imagining both men in such a way.

Her legs brushed against the fabric of the sheets, her actions freezing as she became aware of the dampness enveloping between her legs. Her mind turned to Spencer--his hair a soft curtain on her skin. His hands, always in motion, leaving no fragment of her unexplored. His mouth, the way his tongue felt inside her.

Evelyn's fingers instinctively started to play with the waist band of her pajama shorts, moving closer to the swollen bundle of nerves. Her thoughts drifted to Hotch--his shoulders and build, how easy it would be for him to overpower her, and she secretly wished he would. This was crazy, she thought. Despite her mind's protests, her fingers continue to wander, tracing gentle circle against her clit. 

She let out a puff of air, her back arching slightly off the mattress as light began to seep into the room. She thought of Hotch positioned behind her, showing her no mercy, finally pounding her attitude out of her. She pictured Spencer before her, his cock working its way into her mouth. Her fingers pushed into her gently, her gasps coming out short and desperate as she pictured her own fingers being replaced by Hotch's.

The imagine coaxed a moan from her, a sound that seemed too loud in her own ears. The knock at the door was abrupt, freezing her in place, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. Evelyn's heart hammered against her ribs, panic seizing her as she scrambled out of bed. Her feet barely touched the carpet as she rushed to the door, flinging it open with a force that echoed through the silent hallway.

Hotch, a study in precision, stood there--impeccable in a charcoal-gray suit that made her want to drool. And his tie, a navy silk affair that lay flat against the white shirt, hinted at meticulous order. But it was his face that betrayed him--a subtle furrow of his brow, the pinch of annoyance around his mouth that suggested he'd been waiting longer than he card to admit.

Evelyn's heart did a clumsy somersault, her cheeks betraying her, turning a shade that rivaled a traffic light. One-half of her fantasy--or rather, the less enthusiastic version--stood there. "Hotch," she managed, "what are you doing here? And, um, what time is it?"

Evelyn's heart-shaped pajamas clung to her, the soft fabric revealing more than it concealed. Her cheeks flushed with urgency, mirrored to disarray of her hair. The hallway light caught the faint smattering of freckles across her nose, delicate constellations that bloomed when she eschewed makeup. 

Hotch's annoyance ebbed, replaced by a reluctant fondness. What had she been doing? Hotch's gaze lingered on her--no makeup, no artifice--just raw, unfiltered beauty. He was unsettled by how much the sight affected him. The flush in her cheeks, the softness in her eyes. 

Hotch willed his demeanor to snap back into place, his voice clipped. "Evelyn," he said, each syllable a warning. "I've called you five times. We need to be downstairs in 15 minutes."

Her pulse raced, and her tongue tripped over her words. "Oh, shoot, sorry," she blurted out, her voice echoing in the narrow hallway. The disheveled room behind her seemed to mock her--sheets tangled, alarm clock blinking accusatorily. "My alarm must've never gone off." She gestured toward the half-open door. "Do you want to come in and wait? I promise I'll be super speedy."

Evelyn's cheeks were ablaze, a canvas of mortification. She could feel Hotch's scrutiny lingering, a laser beam that could dissect her every flaw. She ushered him inside, the hallway suddenly too narrow, too confining. She slipped into the bathroom and shed the pajamas. Her fingers waged a silent war with buttons and zippers, a clumsy ballet of haste. Each click and snap was a resounding echo of the dream that clung to her thoughts. She tried to shove the images aside, to bury them under layers of fabric, but it seemed inescapable. Because now, he stood outside, annoyance etched in every line of his impeccable suit.

"Hotch," she began as she waved at the alarm clock, its digital numbers blinking like a guilty accomplice. She pulled her hair into a hasty ponytail, the elastic snapping against her skin. "I'm convinced my alarm clock is broken." The words tumbled out, a desperate attempt at distraction. "But hey," she continued, her eyes meeting his, "I think I just won that bet--the one where the team bet you'd never get mad at me." Her lips curved into a half-teasing smile, her nose scrunching at the action. "Soft spot, my friend."

Hotch said nothing as his gaze followed the hurried sway of her movements. Stepping closer, he surveyed the bed's solitary disarray amidst the room's order. The blankets lay in a tangle of turmoil. How much does she move in her sleep? he wondered. His eyes honed in on a small corner of fabric peeking out from under the pillows.

There, nestled among the tangled sheets, sat a small teddy bear, its pink bow a splash of color against the tan. Hotch's expression softened as he lifted the plush toy, turning it over in his hands, a smile tugging at his lips. Of course she slept with a stuffed animal. 

The warmth of mortification spread across Evelyn's face. "Oh, um," she mumbled with a forced chuckle, plucking the bear from Hotch's grasp. "That's my... strategic sleep ally. Because, you know, every good agent needs a backup. Totally standard-issue."

"We'll circle back to your... bedtime tactics," he said with a hint of a smirk. "For now, conference room. Let's go."

Evelyn and Hotch made their way down to the conference area. The room hummed with anticipation, bathed in the soft glow of fluorescent lights. Rows of round tables faced a raised stage, where a large screen displayed the conference logo. Agents in crisp suits mingled with academics in tweed jackets. Some wore glasses, other carried tablets or leather-bound notebooks.

A spark of excitement ignited within Evelyn, her gaze darting from face to face, recognizing those who were like celebrities of their field. 

"Hotch, do you see who that is?" Evelyn's voice was on of awe as she nudged Hotch, her gaze fixed on the figure across the room. 

Hotch's eyes followed her line of sight and landed on a distinguished-looking woman who, upon noticing Hotch, raised her hand in a casual wave. "I do," Hotch confirmed with a nod, acknowledging the silent greeting with a subtle nod of his head.

Evelyn's mouth fell open slightly. "You're actually so cool," she said, the words slipping out before she could filter them, a smile spreading across her face.

Hotch's mouth twitched in a semblance of a smile. "I'm going to choose to not take that as an insult," he replied, his eyebrow arching in mock offense. "Stay here, I'm going to check us in."

Evelyn acknowledged Hotch's departure with a quick nod and an 'okay boss'. She was still orienting herself in the conference's bustling atmosphere when two familiar faces approached from the crowed. Mr. Weller, his suit a bit worn at the elbows, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a practiced gesture. Dr. Reeves, his hair slightly disheveled, was animatedly discussing some policy change in data privacy. He quickly roped Evelyn into the conversation who listened intently, interjecting only with thoughtful nods.

Evelyn's muscles relaxed slightly as Hotch returned to her side. His hand rested momentarily on her back, a professional gesture by all accounts, but Evelyn couldn't help but feel a spark of awareness ignite. She fastened the name tag he handed her with fingers that suddenly seemed less steady, the metal's chill doing little to dispel the soft heat that had settled between her shoulder blades. 

As Professor Lewis swept in, she bypassed Evelyn's attempted greeting as if it and her were invisible. The professor's laser focus cut her off with surgical precision as it landed on Hotch. 

Her voice carried an urgent edge as she addressed Hotch. "Aaron, can I pick you brain about something?"

Evelyn's greeting hung suspended, and a familiar twinge of frustration pricked at her--the kind that came from being eclipsed again by the professor's selective attention. With a quick nod, Hotch vanished into the crowd with Professor Lewis, leaving Evelyn grappling with a sudden, unsettling sensation in her chest. She exchanged pleasantries with the two men before her, their words weaving through her consciousness without taking hold. 

Her gaze, however, was glued to the sight of Hotch and the professor, their heads bowed in earnest conversation. A surge of jealously, uninvited and irrational, twisted inside her. It was a confusing betrayal of emotion, given her casual relationship with Spencer. But she realized if it was Spencer in that Hotch's position, she'd feel the same about the professor, if not worse. The dream from last night was the culprit, she decided.

Left alone as Dr. Reeves and Mr. Weller departed, Evelyn sank into the chair at her table. The sight of Professor Lewis, so at ease with Hotch, gnawed at her. Why did it bother her so much? Maybe she just needed a nap.

As if summoned by the sheer force of her thoughts, Hotch appeared, his presence a sudden weight beside her. The question erupted from Evelyn before she could stop herself. "What did she want?"

His eyes took on a discerning quality, the subtle narrowing revealing his assessment. "She asked for my opinion on a theory."

"Hmm," came a soft murmur from Evelyn, her lips briefly pressing together in contemplation.

Hotch's gaze drilled into hers, probing. "What?"

"Nothing," Evelyn dismissed, her shoulders lifting in an indifferent shrug.

The morning's panel had unfolded with a deceptive ease, allowing Evelyn to shelve her simmering jealously. Yet, as the shadows shifted to signal the afternoon's approach, her anxiety crept back, an unwelcome companion. 

In a separate room, she paced, her fingers tracing over her notes, each word etched into memory. "You've got this, Evelyn," she murmured, a mantra against the fatigue that seemed to drape over her. "You are prepared. You are intelligent."

Evelyn's grasp to the chair became white-knuckled as a sudden dizziness swept over her, unannounced and unwelcome. The room swirled into a blur, the ground beneath her seemingly shifting as her breathing became uneven and rapid. She looked up to see Hotch. Caught mid-affirmation and near-collapse, a rush of warmth flooded Evelyn's face. She righted herself with a silent plea, willing the black dots to vanish from her vision. 

His eyes locked onto hers with a piercing intensity, studying her--the subtle shift in her posture, the way her hands trembled. "Evelyn," he said, reaching out to steady her with a firm hand. "What's wrong?"

Her words stumbled out, a clumsy cascade of denial. "Just nerves," she claimed, offering a faltering smile and a brittle laugh to conceal the tightening in her throat. Hotch's steady, searching gaze didn't waver, his disbelief hanging silently in the air.

His voice held a note of insistence. "Have you eaten today?"

Evelyn blinked, realization dawning. "It slipped my mind," she admitted. 

Hotch's next words were lost on her as darkness seeped into her field of view. She felt the world tilt, her knees buckling as she was swiftly cradled in a secure, urgent grasp. Blinking away the disorientation, Evelyn found herself cradled in Hotch's panic-stricken gaze. His eyes were wide with alarm, his cool facade shattered as his hand hovered over 911.

"Hotch," she managed, her voice soft but her sarcasm intact. "Impeccable timing as always."

There was a softening in Hotch's gaze, a subtle shift from concern to mild exasperation. "Evelyn," he chided softly, his finger's tap on her hip a punctuation to his words. "You're anemic. You can't just skip meals like they're optional."

Evelyn's effort to sit up sent the room into a dizzying tailspin, each movement threatening to yank her back down. They found themselves grounded in an intimate proximity--she, half-laying in a disoriented haze, and he, crouching by her side, arms wrapped around her in a secure hold, one hand cupping her head to shield her from the hard ground, the other laid upon her waist. 

"Didn't event cross my mind," she confessed, her voice a fragile thread. "Been so busy."

Hotch's hand emerged from his pocket, clutching a compact, foil-wrapped package. "Here," he urged, extending the snack towards her with a gentle authority. "It's good for anemia."

She squinted at the package. "Do you always carry this around?" she questioned, her voice tinged with genuine surprise.

He nodded, no-nonsense. "Yes."

Inside, her heart did an unexpected leap, touched by his silent care.

"You're a sap, Hotch," she teased, her voice light. "Who knew? I bet you've got a whole stash in that suit."

His eyes bore into hers, and for a moment, the room dissolved and the air thickened. And despite her playful words, Evelyn's fingertips tingled, her skin hyper-aware of every pore. The anemia-induced weakness faded into insignificance all because of a stupid snack he carried around. A snack he had thought to carry for her, based on a single, fleeting confession. 

"Stop talking and eat."

And so, she did.

Evelyn's body protested with each step towards her room. She'd argued, of course--pleaded about missing her speech, about the importance of being present. But Hotch, with his hands guided her with a careful touch, wore an expression that left no room for debate. The lines of his face were drawn tight, a clear reflection of the worry that silenced her objections. 

"Rest," was a firm directive, and though Evelyn balked, she ultimately yielded to his authoritative concern. Promptly, room service materialized at her door, courtesy of her favorite unit chief. The tray was abundant with foods rich in iron, and she'd devoured it with an eagerness, only pausing for sips of water.

As the sun made its descent beyond the horizon, its lingering rays casted a golden spotlight on the outdoor hot tub. Evelyn's silhouette blurred against the steam rising from the water, her skin kissed by the fading light. Her hair, a cascade of disobedient curls, crowned her head and softened the contours of her face. The night air nipped playfully at her heated skin, a refreshing counterpoint to the liquid warmth that welcomed her as she dipped into the water.

As her gaze lifted, her room came into view--the curtains drawn, the soft glow of lamplight seeping through. But then she turned her head, and there he was.

Hotch stood on his balcony, his gaze fixed on her. His expression was inscrutable, and for a moment, Evelyn's heart raced. She could sense it--the unspoken command that she should be in her room resting. But her half-wave was genuine, a flicker of happiness at seeing him. He acknowledged her with a curt nod. Evelyn's gaze returned to her book, her fingers tracing the book's creases, her focus slipping. 

A stranger's appearance disrupted her quietude. He had a tailored physique, the kind that hinted at gym memberships and expensive cologne. His eyes, though--too probing--made her uneasy. "Mind if I join you?" he asked, easing into the water.

Evelyn's responses were polite, but she kept her distance. Yet, he persisted, inching closer with every comment. Evelyn's spine prickled, a frosty warning that crawled from nape to tailbone. The book now lay abandoned on the tub's edge. The distant city lights blurred as she feigned interest, but his nearness--his breath, his questions--made her skin crawl. 

Evelyn's eyes scanned the balcony, hoping to see the reassuring figure of her unit chief. But it was empty--the moon's glow casting eerie shadows on the tiles. 

And then, as if summoned, he materialized. Hotch stood there, his expression unreadable. The moon's glow painted his features--sharp jawline, a hint of stubble. But it was the swimsuit--a sinuous second skin--that stole her breath. The fabric of his shorts traced every contour, leaving little to imagination. Evelyn's gaze lingered on his chest, the hair that spread across of it, the rugged masculinity that defied office walls. Her mouth went dry, pulse racing.

"There you are, babe," she murmured, her tone laced with artificial sweetness. Her pulse raced, her eyes seeking Hotch's with an intensity that begged him to read between the lines.

Confusion creased Hotch's forehead as he processed the scene, his eyes flitting from Evelyn to the stranger, the gears turning. "Sorry honey," he said, his voice a low rumble as he approached the water's edge. "Had to take a call. Work stuff."

The word 'honey' lingered in the air, sweet and potent, leaving Evelyn lightheaded. She felt a flutter in her chest, a realization dawning that with the use of such a word, she'd gladly drawn in paperwork if he asked.

With Hotch's arrival, the water created ripples that reached Evelyn. His eyes, deep and searching, locked onto hers with an immediacy that bridged the distance between them. As he settled next to her, the subtle heat of his presence enveloped her. She nestled against him, her whispered explanation cut off by his lips grazing her ear. 

"I know," he murmured, his breath sending shivers down her spine. Evelyn's heart stumbled over itself, a drumbeat out of sync. "You look so good tonight, honey," he announced, ensuring the words reached beyond their intimate circle. His eyes darted to the supple swell of her breasts on display, a quick, silent exchange that left her heart fluttering wildly, even as her mind reminded her it was just an act.

The man's eyes widened, bouncing from Evelyn and Hotch like a pinball. "Oh," he stuttered, a hint of embarrassment coloring his tone, "I didn't realize you were with someone."

"Yeah," Evelyn said, her voice a soft murmur as she settled into the curve of Hotch's lap, her ass planted firmly against his front. The warmth of his body seeped through the thin veil of her bathing suit, causing her cheeks to set flame. Her heart skipped, reveling in the proximity she knew was off-limits. Hotch's arms, both protective and dangerously intimate, encircled her waist.

"This is my husband," she introduced, the word foreign on her tongue. "Aaron, meet...?" His first name rolled of her tongue, a sweet liberty taken in a moment of pretense, as she left the space open for the stranger to introduce himself. 

The barest hint of a smile threatened to disrupt the stoic lines of Hotch's mouth, a silent admission of pleasure of the sound of his name from Evelyn's lips. The intimacy of the act, hidden behind the guise of necessity, wasn't lost on him. He should have been irked by the ruse, yet he found himself savoring the moment. He cleared his throat, a quiet struggle for detachment, even as her voice echoed in his ears.

"Nathan."

Hotch extended his hand with a blend of authority and subtle warning, introducing himself, "nice to meet you," with a tone that cloaked none of his conviction.

Meanwhile, Evelyn's touch traced a path over his chest, a touch that betrayed the unfamiliarity of the act. Her other hand tangled gently in the hair at his nape, a tender exploration that drew an involuntary shiver from him. 

Hotch's voice was hushed against her ear. "You're laying it on thick," he murmured, his breath a warm caress that belied the sternness of his words. His grip on her hip tightened imperceptibly.

Evelyn's lips quirked, a silent acknowledgement of her tactic. "Necessary," she whispered back, her voice a playful lilt. "For my safety." 

Nathan persisted, undeterred. "So, what are you two down here for?"

Hotch's face remained impassive. "A work conference," he stated, the intensity of his eyes fixed on Evelyn.

"So you both work together?" Nathan asked, his tone probing. "Is that how you met?"

Evelyn's smile unfurled like a victory flag. "Oh, yes," she purred, his voice dripping with faux innocence. "He's my boss actually--totally inappropriate, I know. But bless him, the poor man never stood a chance from the moment he laid eyes on me. He just couldn't help himself. It was a HR disaster, of course, but it all worked out."

Hotch's brow furrowed in disapproval, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him, curling into a reluctant grin. "That's true," he conceded, his voice gruff. "She's... something else, a handful to say the least."

"That's what hands are for!"

Nathan fidgeted uncomfortably as he gave the couple a tight-lipped smile. "Well, I ought to head out," he declared, darting glances between Evelyn and Hotch. "Aaron, you've hit the jackpot, my man."

Hotch's voice was tight, barely containing his exasperation. "No doubt," he managed, "I'm living the dream."

Once Nathan had disappeared, Evelyn leaned closer, her voice a soft, playful murmur. "Guess I owe you one," she teased. "You really sold that doting husband role."

Hotch's response was a single raised brow, his face a mask of feigned solemnity. "Necessary," he echoed, the word rolling of his tongue with a hint of irony. "For your safety."

"You caught the weird vibes he was giving off, right?" she prodded, her elbow gently jabbing his side. "I mean, talk about strange, huh?"

"You're like a magnet for guys like that," Hotch observed, his mouth curving into a half-smile "but, yes, you made the right call."

Her grin was infectious. "Always do," she said with a wink. "You know we make a pretty good team, don't you think? Maybe we should look into undercover work."

"A good team, yes," Hotch agreed, his tone dry. "But undercover? I'd have to start practicing my 'shushing' gestures now."

"Aaron Hotchner, did you just make a joke? Where's my notebook?" Evelyn's giggle rang out, loud and unrestrained as she clutched his shoulders. "And if I talk too much, it's only to balance out your brooding silence."

Her laughter was a living thing, wrapping around Hotch, nudging at the corners of his usually impassive facade. The sheer delight in her voice, planted a seed of contemplation in Hotch, a consideration that maybe, just maybe, a joke here and there wouldn't be such a bad thing, especially if it elicited such a reaction from her.

For a fleeting moment, a genuine, toothy smile flashed across Hotch's face, an uncommon display that he quickly concealed with a downward shake of his head, not wanting to boost her ego any more than necessary. 

"You know, aren't you supposed to be resting up in your room?" 

Evelyn's gaze lingered on him, savoring the rarity of his wide smile. She couldn't help but marvel at the sight and it stirred in her an urge to see it again and again.

"I don't know, Hotch," Evelyn replied, her voice as light as the air around them. A stray lock of hair drifted across her face, and she huffed it away with a puff of breath. "I'm quite content right here."

Hotch raised an eyebrow, disbelief playing on his words. "Oh, really?"

Suddenly, Evelyn's casual demeanor crumbled, replaced by a flustered clarity as she realized her position, perched unceremoniously upon his lap. "Oh, um," she murmured, her voice trailing off into a stammer as a warm flush of embarrassment spread across her face. "I mean, not in an inappropriate way! That came out wrong, sir. I just meant the hot tub is relaxing--like a warm hug for my muscles. Not that I'm hugging you. I mean, I am, but not intentionally. It's just the--"

The shrill ring of Hotch's phone sliced through the air, a timely interruption to Evelyn's frenzied monologue. He leaned subtly to the side, his hand extending towards the intrusive device, his movements fluid and composed. Meanwhile, Evelyn's departure from his lap was anything but graceful; her cheeks burned with a fiery blush as she mumbled an apology, her limbs betraying her as she hastily disentangled herself.

"Sorry," she stammered, her words trailing off into the chaos of her movement. "I'll just--"

With a simple lift of his hand, Hotch stilled her spiraling apologies, his attention shifting seamlessly to the caller on the line. Evelyn perched beside him, her cheeks still painted with the flush of embarrassment, feeling the residual heat from their embrace. His voice was the epitome of calm and control, his gaze lingering on her as he spoke into the phone.

"Hotchner," he announced into the phone, his voice a steady command. Evelyn breath steadied, her hands playing at her bikini strings as she willed calm to wash over her. The call ended with a decisive click, and she tensed anticipating his next words. "We have a case. We're going to meet the team in Somerville, Massachusetts."

NEXT

taglist: @aceofspades190 @nonamevenus @lukesaprince @doigettokeepyou @tequilya

[crystalflwr]

˚₊· ━ 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗩𝗘𝗟𝗩𝗘𝗧 𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗦 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧!

𝗪𝗲𝗹𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝘆 𝘃𝗲𝗹𝘃𝗲𝘁 𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁! ᵇᵉ ʷᵃʳⁿᵉᵈ ᵐᵒˢᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵐʸ ᵖᵒˢᵗˢ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵃⁱⁿ ˢᵉˣᵘᵃˡ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗ

"𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞"

No one is safe.

When 5 years ago the first dead body of a male turned up, the police thought it was a one time thing created by pure rage. They should've known better — the bau should've known better.

The velvet killer. The lady in red. The most horrific female killer known in history. Her brute was unmarkable but the skill to throw the bau off every time again also preoccupied her a spot in everyone's worst dreams.

But what happens when one of the bau's team members gets taken by the uncatchable killer?

Only what they don't know is, she's closer than expected.

➸ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: late 20's Spencer Reid × early 20's fem oc! — early 40's Aaron Hotchner × early 20's fem oc!.

↳ fem oc = Sienna Carter

➸ 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄: angst and smut.

➸ 𝐖𝐂: 2.8k (ongoing)

➸ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: violence, heavy nsfw themes. (more specific details will be found in the chapter warnings).

➸ 𝐀/𝐍: If you want to get tagged, comment to let me know and you'll be notified!

series taglist: none

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐗,

► PROLOGUE : shadows

synopsis: Agent Carter finds herself at the mercy of a psychopathic killer but it wasn't just any killer... the velvet killer has finally stepped from the shadows.

↳ (coming soon)

► CHAPTER ONE : religion

synopsis: Hidden truths finally present themselves and the impossible becomes possible when Spencer finds himself tied to a bed with the one person he once trusted most holding a gun to his head.

► CHAPTER TWO : bloody red

synopsis: revealed soon.

► CHAPTER THREE : inner demons

synopsis: revealed soon.

► EPILOGUE : it never ends

synopsis: revealed soon.

[judithlevvy]

teaser <3 possible new fanfic coming

Author’s note: please let me know if you find any grammar/spelling/syntax mistake, cause I’m not English mother tongue 🥰 hope you’ll like it

She kept staring across the street, ready in case any movement called her attention. She could feel his presence in the passenger seat, but she didn’t have the strength to bring herself to care about it: she had given up on it. He would never treat her with the same attitude he had with anyone else on the team and she had made peace with it… sort of.

Okay, it was possible she wasn’t totally fine with it, but she knew she had no control over the way he saw her, so she just gave up. It was a first-time occurrence: she never gave up on anything, especially not if she wanted to prove herself with someone. However, she had become old enough to recognize a losing battle, and trying to change the way Hotch saw her was one of those.

The sound of agent Hotchner clearing his throat drawer her attention back to the present. “You still there, Graham?”

She had to resist the impulse of rolling her eyes, and barely acknowledge him. “Fine, just sleepy”.

“We need to be focused, if you’re too tired I can have you switch turns with Morgan perhaps”.

oh, fantastic. Now it turned out she couldn’t even manage an ordinary stakeout. Her week was getting better by the second. She didn’t even bother meeting his eyes and made her eyes jump from one side to the other of the road. “I’m not going to fall asleep on the job if that’s what you’re suggesting, sir”. and yes, she made it on purpose, the “sir” thing. She was way too polite, but her newfound coldness in front of him could cut like a knife, albeit this came with cutting herself too in the process.