#aaron hotchner one-shot | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whereireid · 11 months

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˚ · . 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: aaron hotchner x plus!sized fem reader | masterlist

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After months of waiting, you finally give Aaron what he's been craving most — you.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: established relationship. fluffy icknames (honey & sweetheart). words of affirmations, declarations of love. age gap. nsfw content; first time(s) stomach bulge. aaron has a huge cock. p in v (soft sex, making love) oral, fingering, virgin!reader, nipple play.

Trapped between the plush mattress and Aaron's hard chest, you let out a quiet hum as you feel the pad of his thumb softly glide over your knuckles. There's something so blissfully domestic about being intertwined with your boyfriend in the late evening; him still in his work clothes, and you dressed in your satin pink nightgown.

His large, muscular frame presses into yours as he embraces you, and his tongue flicks out to wet his lips as he drinks in your appearance. You had been laying in his bed when he returned home from work, having just put Jack to sleep, and you were waiting up for him. Aaron had bid goodnight to his sleeping son, a content smile on his lips as he traipsed towards his bedroom, and he swears that his heart had stopped beating in his chest when he saw you.

The pink, satin chemise that you're wearing has forced his eyes you since the moment that he stepped into the bedroom. It's a perfect fit, tracing the curves of your body, slightly outlining the small pudge of your tummy as you sit. He didn't even have time to change — he simply toed his shoes off before he collapsed atop on you, his nose nuzzling into the crook of your neck as he breathed your scent in, desperately trying to calm the throbbing ache in his trousers.

You're not quite ready for what he wants to do to you, yet and he knows that — but you're just so delicious, gazing up at him with hazy eyes, feigning innocence as your nails run over the lightly buzzed sides of his hair.

"You know, I've been thinking about you all day," Aaron murmurs sweetly, a small smile on his lips as you squirm beneath him. His eyes flick down to your thighs, mesmerised by the way your chemise rides upwards, exposing your plump flesh. "Couldn't get you out of my head."

Your heart feels tight in your chest as his hands slide down your body, his knee delicately parting your thighs as kisses you. There's an affectionate expression fleeting across his features, and you smile up at him shyly. "I thought about you a lot, too," you say quietly, biting back a smile as he presses a soft, drawn-out kiss to your lips.

He pulls away, smiling down at you, and your skin blazes with warmth. He's so handsome, so big — you can see the way his biceps strain against his shirt as he leans over you, and you try to hide the way your breath hitches as his knee rubs against the black lace panties you're wearing beneath your gown.

"I love you," Aaron says, between the gentle chaste pecks he delivers you. His hands gently squeeze at your waist through your nightgown, his voice rumbly as he adds, "so much."

Warmth blooms beneath his touch, and you desperately hope that he doesn't think too much into the way you squirm beneath him as he kisses you. "I love you," you repeat back to him, your voice as sweet as honey. Your nails gently scratch at his scalp again, and you watch as his eyes flutter shut as you touch him. His hands stay fixed on your waist. "Was work okay?"

Aaron hums softly, and his stubble skims against your cheek as his lips trail peppery kisses from your cheek, down towards your jaw. "Work was work," he responds, no hostility in his voice; just slight hesitation, "but I don't want to focus on work right now, honey. Not when I've got such a sweet thing like you beneath me."

Honey. The sound of his husky voice makes you tingle, and your breath hitches in your throat as he delivers hot, wet kisses to your neck, suckling at your pulse point softly. The sensation makes your cheek flush with warmth, and Aaron smiles into your neck as he feels your pelvis softly grind into his knee.

"Oh," you whisper, your cheeks glowing with warmth as he nips at your neck. A knot forms in your stomach as his tongue flicks over the skin he had just bruised, in an attempt to soothe your neck. "So, you want to just focus on me instead, Aaron?"

"Yes, honey," he responds, but he doesn't let up, his teeth softly nipping at your neck, his hands trailing down towards your thighs. An ache grows in his trousers as he feels your plush thighs beneath your gown, an insatiable desire beginning to bubble in his gut as he continues to kiss down your neck. "I just want to focus on you, if that's okay."

For the first time in minutes, Aaron pulls away from you. You can see the genuine concern circling in his dark brown eyes, a sharp contrast to the usual black sheen, as they study your face. Your eyes flick down to his lips, your heart pumping fast as he squeezes your thigh gently.

"Yes, please," you say, your voice eager, "that's okay, Aaron."

Your voice is soft and delicate, and it's all the affirmation that Aaron needed. He lets out a quiet groan of approval, before dipping his head again, his focus zeroing in on the purple mark which has begun to form on your neck. "My sweet girl," he murmurs as his tongue laps over the bruised area, "You're just as sweet as honey."

The phrase causes butterflies to bloom in your stomach, and you let out a quiet moan of agreement as his hands begin to ride up your gown.

Sweet as honey. It was what Aaron had described you as on your first ever date, and when you had flustered and squirmed as a result, he made it a habit to use the phrase whenever possible.

You don't stop his wandering hands, instead, you invite him to touch you more. As his lips trail along your chest, just short of where your gown rests above your plush breasts, you open your legs shyly. Your motions are timid, and you allow for his hands to roam closer and closer to the area where you need him the most.

His fingers twitch against your inner thighs, but they don't move. Aaron's focused on making you feel good, and he doesn't want to pressure you into anything. He knows that you're still a virgin, and he understands that whilst you trust him, you may not be ready to commit fully yet.

"Aaron," you whisper, your hands falling to clutch at his biceps, "More, please."

"More, please?" He repeats, gazing down at you through half-lidded eyes. He pulls away from you somewhat, though you're still pinned beneath him, and he observes your face. "What do you mean, honey? Use your words."

His hands gently press against your thigh, and a breathy moan catches in your throat as he carefully rocks his knee against your clothed cunt.

"This," you say, "but more."

An amused expression flitters across Aaron's features, and you have to close your eyes as you feel him press his knee into you with more pressure. You feel slightly flustered, pinned beneath him, ashamed that your body reacts so needily to his every touch.

He hums. "You can't be coherent, honey? That's okay. I think I know what you want." He cocks his head, a small grin on his lips as he shuffles downwards slightly, pushing your gown up softly.

His knee abandons your cunt, and you pout, opening your eyes and looking down at him. Aaron has nestled between your thighs, and as you lock eyes with him — his hazel irises are sheathed by his pupils, which are dilated massively as a result of his lust — you can't help but shudder.

"You always know what I want,” you say quietly as he looks at you for permission, and your body trembles as his fingers delicately push your wet panties to the side, "please make me feel good, Aaron."

Your voice wobbles slightly, and your tone is syrupy; sickly sweet, causing the ache which pulsates in his trousers to worsen. He coos. "How can I say no when you ask me like that?"

As if to praise you for your obedient tone, Aaron tilts his head down. His eyes flutter shut as he dips his head between your thighs, and his tongue softly glides over your sticky slits. "Sweet as honey," he growls instinctively, the sound rumbling in his chest as he pushes his mouth against you. His nose presses into your pelvis as he slides his tongue around your pulsing pearl, "my favourite dessert."

The feeling of his tongue rolling skilfully against your heat has you panting, your back arching into his touch. Being treasured by Aaron is your favourite past-time, and whilst your relationship has never gone any further than the innoceuous pleasure of worshipping one another with your hot mouths, you desperately crave more.

Perhaps, you're now ready for him. You can feel the strain of his trousers as his crotch presses into your ankle. Aaron eagerly laps at your cunt, and your walls flutter as his lips suckle at your clit. He relishes in each desperate breath you take and the sounds of your lewd, quiet moans spilling out into the open air.

"Aaron," you mewl, your toes curling as a familiar warmth begins to bubble in your stomach, pleasure spilling over you in waves, "I'm gonna—"

"It's okay, honey," he praises, his voice sickly-sweet as he grinds against you softly, his mouth hot against your heat, "you can let go for me. I'm right here."

"I need — ah," you gasp quietly, your thighs beginning to tremble as he continues to worship you, "more, Aaron. I need more, please!"

As though to make a point, you grind against his palm, and he hums in acknowledgement, the sensation sending a vibration pulsing over your clit. Skilfully, Aaron parts your slits further with his fingers, and he softly pushes two of his digits inside of your cunt, your walls sheathing him instantly.

You're tight around him, and he's careful as he softly curls his fingers inside of you, his tongue simultaneously working on you. Desire rolls through him as your thighs tighten against his head, your plush flesh warm against his ears as you shake and tremble.

You writhe above him, and Aaron can't help but groan as he feels you convulse. You taste so delicious, so sweet as your cream floods his tongue, his senses heightened by your overwhelming orgasm that crashes over you.

The knot inside of you frays and snaps, and you eagerly tug at his hair, your back arching. Your breasts spill from your chemise as you do so, and you whimper softly as Aaron keeps lapping at you, his tastebuds dancing with the sweetness of your cum.

“So sweet,” he praises again, pulling away from your cunt once your thighs dull their trembling.

You can tell that he’s going to pull away from you — and whilst you love that he respects your initial hesitance to anything more intimate than the general exploration of one another’s bodies, you can’t help but want more.

"No," you murmur quietly, trying to steady your breathing and calm your racing heart. You reach out towards him, your eyes pleading and your chest tight with nerves. "I'm ready, Aaron. I need more. I need all of you."

"All of me?" He repeats, and his deep brown eyes stare into yours, "Do you mean—"

"—I'm ready, Aaron. I want you. I'm ready."

Truth be told, you're not sure if you'll ever be ready. Aaron's so big, and you struggle to take him in your mouth. The thought of his cock burrowing inside of your cunt strikes fear inside of you, but you simply can't wait anymore.

He's been patient, and he's been kind, and it's been six months — you're unsure of any other man who would wait that long, and the fact that Aaron has been so forbearing makes your heart feel full.

"You're ready?" He breathes, adjusting himself so his trousers are pressing against your soaked panties, and he swears that his body sparks with electricity as you nod vigorously. "You're sure?"

"Yes," you affirm, "I'm sure. I want you so badly, it hurts.”

A few seconds pass, and you're worried that you've said the wrong thing, so you part your lips to speak. Your words are silenced by his mouth pressing against yours, his lips entrapping your own in a feverish kiss.

Wisps of his hair tickle your face as he kisses you. His warm hands gradually begin to pull your chemise up, and as the cool air nips at each inch of exposed skin, goosebumps rise. You fluster as Aaron pulls away from you, his eyes darting over your frame, which grows more exposed with each upward pull from his hands. He tugs, further and further, until he pulls the gown over your head.

"Oh, sweetheart," he murmurs, and his hands instantly dart down to grope and grab at your body, "you have no idea what you do to me."

You gasp quietly as his hands slide over your waist, trailing over the pudge of your stomach. He lets out a quiet groan as he gives your plump flesh a small squeeze, dipping his head to kiss you again, his tongue running over your swollen bottom lip. His hands are gentle against you, but his movements blaze a fire beneath your skin, and you find yourself growing hot and needy.

"Stop teasing," you breathe against his lips, "I need you now."

Aaron smiles against your mouth, before he pulls his lips away, trailing wet kisses across your jaw. "I need to make sure that you're wet enough to take me, honey," he utters quietly, "I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm wet," you say in response, shivering as his hands part your thighs slightly, "I'm so wet. Fuck, Aaron, please."

He laughs as your hands pull at his tie, smiles when your fingers begin to shakily unbutton his shirt.

"Somebody's eager," he comments, and he sits so that it's easier for you to undress him, and his hands abandon your body in favour for unbuttoning his trousers.

You're frantic, but he's smooth; calm and collected. Aaron lets his eyes explore you, and he can't help but palm himself through his trousers as he drinks in your flushed body.

Every curve, every soft indentation of flesh makes him feel feral. Your body, so generous and cushy, drives him wild, and he chokes back a groan as he slides his eyes over your soft stomach and your wide hips. The sight of you makes him ache, and he couldn't be more thankful that you're too inebriated by your own lust to notice the extent of his.

There's a fire in his gut, and his hands shake somewhat as he finally rids himself off his trousers. Aaron's face blazes as he notices the patch on his underwear, evidence of his own lewd desire, but you're too busy pushing his shirt off of him to notice.

You're trapped beneath him, pinned, and as his clothes become abandoned on the floor, he dips his head down, and he burrows his head in your chest. His tongue glides over your right breast, his hand palming the left, and you gasp as you feel his teeth nip at your sensitive bud.

"Do you know what you do to me, honey?" Aaron asks as he worships your body, delivering kisses over your pillowy chest, burrowing his head between your cleavage. He pinches your nipple softly, relishing in the way you writhe from his touch.

"I have an idea," you squeak out weakly, your thighs trembling as his hands slide down to pull at the waistband of your panties.

He shakes his head, looking down at you through thick lashes as he abandons your underwear to the floor. "No, you don't," he responds, and his head is instantly burrowed between your chest again, his hands trailing the curve of your waist and hips before he slides his palm between your legs, "you have no idea what you do to me."

A satisfied sigh glides past your lips as you feel his fingers glide through your sticky slits, and you eye him cautiously, your eyes zeroed in on the tight crotch of his boxers.

He's so hard, and you wonder if he's in any pain, because you are. You're pulsing between your legs, desperate to take him in, but he's being so sensual and considerate that it somehow makes you hurt more.

"You're so beautiful," he comments, and he adjusts so that he can slip his own underwear down. His voice is husky, and his hot breath fans against your ear as he murmurs, "I could look at you forever, honey."

"You mean it?"

"I mean it." Aaron's voice is serious, weighty, and he smiles down at you softly. His eyes are focused on your glistening face, wet from tears of pleasure and sticky from the summer heat. "You're just perfect."

You flush under his gaze, and you whimper as he kisses you again. Aaron's lips are soft this time, gentle as he moulds his mouth against yours. You let out a quiet gasp as you feel his hands part your thighs further, the sensation of his cock flexing against your folds making you shudder.

He's so big, but you're so wet, and you hope that it's enough to stop the sting. You wish that you had more experience, you wish that you could take cock perfectly, but you can't, and you and Aaron both know that.

You cried the first time he fingered you, so this is going to hurt.

"I'll take it slow," Aaron's voice pulls you from your thoughts, "and if it hurts — tell me, honey, and I'll stop, okay?"

You flick your eyes up to meet his. You instantly drown in his hazel irises, which are so round and soft and considerate. You nod your head. Your throat feels a little bit dry, and you feel somewhat hazy, but his words are so gentle and reassuring that you beckon him in.

"Okay," you respond, your voice wavering.

Aaron presses a soft kiss to your neck, his hand giving your hip a gentle squeeze. "I love you," he murmurs quietly, gently sliding his cock through your sticky folds, trying to keep his breathing even as he sees your eyes flitter shut.

"I love you," you mumble back to him, trying to stay lax as his hand slides over your stomach.

"Are you ready?" He asks, his tongue wetting his lips as he squeezes your flesh softly. He can feel precum dribbling out of his slit, and he's desperate to burrow deep inside of you, to feel you swallowing his cock.

His lips tickle your neck again, and you whine softly. "I'm ready. Please make love to me, Aaron," you say shakily, your arms wrapping around his neck for support, your fingers riding through his hair, "I want you."

Your confirmation was all he needed.

He keeps his hand against your stomach, his eyes focused on yours as he gently slides his cock inside of you.

You're so tight. Your walls are pillowy and soft, insatiably warm and wet, and he lets out a quiet groan as he feels you tighten around him.

You whimper below him. Aaron's eyes are soft, and they carefully scan yours. You can tell that he's enjoying this, even if right now he's hardly moving — just slowly pushing his hips forward, encouraging your cunt to swallow him inch by inch.

"Hurts," you say shakily, the sting bottoming out any feeling of pleasure. The only satisfaction that you feel right now is knowing that Aaron's enjoying himself, and the fact that your cunt is slowly beginning to feel fill.

His brows pinch together as stills his hips. "You want me to stop?"

You shake your head. "You're not even in all of the way yet," you say warily, "keep going, please?"

Nodding his head slowly, he continues to push himself inside of you. Your walls flutter around him and his breath hitches, his body tensing as he palms your navel, feeling your stomach bulge slightly as you finally take all of him in.

Aaron stills his hips.

Your chest heaves, and your eyes prick with tears. It hurts, and it feels intrusive, and you know that it's supposed to hurt — but this much, really? You curse yourself somewhat for losing your virginity to a man whose cock is quite literally huge, and you exhale shakily as you meet his eyes.

"Is this okay?" He asks, and he's so caring that your bottom lip trembles slightly. He can see tears prick at your eyes and his heart drops in his chest, worrying that he may have hurt you.

His hand comes forward, swiping away the stray tear which slips from your eyes. "It's okay," you affirm, his warm palm cupping your cheek, "I'm okay. It just hurts, that's all."

"Do you want me to stay still, just like this?"

Your walls flutter around him as he speaks. He can feel how wet your cunt is, even when he's not moving. It's the most blissful thing he's ever felt in his entire life. Aaron wants to press against your navel again, wants to watch your plump stomach bulge further from his cock, but he restrains himself, because has plenty of time to do that; he has the rest of his life to do that with you.

Right now, all he needs to focus on is making you feel good.

"I want you to move," you say finally, tilting your head. Your nose brushes against his, and you give him a soft kiss. "Slowly, if that's okay."

Aaron gazes down at you through half-lidded eyes. Your heart hammers in your chest as you watch his dark brows knit together in concentration as he slowly begins to roll his hips into you, ensuring that his motions are gentle.

A warmth blossoms in your stomach. It's a different kind of warmth, and you feel the familiar feeling of pleasure beginning to shroud the pain of his intrusion.

"Right there," you choke out, your eyes screwing shut as his cock brushes against a particularly sensitive spot inside of you, "just like that."

A quiet groan slides past his lips as you praise him. He's doing good, and he bites down on his swollen lip as your walls tighten around him. His hands slides over your body, runs over your plump flesh lovingly. Aaron swears he could do this forever, just continuously fuck his cock into of you whilst simultaneously groping at your plump flesh. The way you moan and writhe beneath him is addicting, so beautiful, and he wants to worship you this way for forever.

Your breath hitches in your throat as he continues to softly roll his hips into you. His eyes are fluttering shut, and his hair is sticking to his forehead slightly, and he looks so good. The scent of sex and his cologne floods your senses, and you softly drag your nails over his shoulders, arching into him as his movements pick up.

He moans softly, and you screw your eyes shut, unable to look at him anymore, the pleasure growing overwhelming.

"Please," you beg, "more."

"I don't want to hurt you," Aaron whispers, and his voice shakes slightly. He grips at your hip to steady himself, the lewd sounds of your squelching cunt echoing around his bedroom.

"You won't hurt me," you say, and you look up at him, pressing your lips against his in reassurance, "I promise."

Aaron's jaw ticks, but he nods his head. His head lulls, his nose brushing against yours as he carefully begins to increase his speed. His hands linger at your hips, digging into the plump flesh softly, and he groans as your walls flutter around him again.

You're so wet. The sound of his balls slapping against your soaking cunt shrouds the bedroom, and you find yourself growing closer and closer as he moans against you. His cock hilts inside of you, brushing consistently against the area where you need him most.

You can feel the love that he has for you poking through. You feel it in every gentle squeeze he delivers you; sense it in the way that his eyes lingers on the soft jiggling of your breasts and your stomach. You don't feel insecure around him — you feel powerful, and you arch your back more to allow him deeper inside of you.

The sting is gone, replaced by an insatiable pleasure that devours you from the inside out. Aaron’s cock is perfect, hilting inside of you, and your walls squeeze him, milking everything that he's got.

You gasp. You feel warm and fuzzy, and your body tingles with desire. He keeps squeezing you, his hands enveloping your thighs as he pushes your legs up slightly. The position allows for a better angle, and you sigh contently as you feel him ride against the sensitive spot inside of your cunt.

Aaron's eyes scan yours, and you feel so overwhelmed, so beautiful. "You're so beautiful, honey," he murmurs, his eyes dragging down to study where your body meets, where the two of you become one. His breath hitches, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. "My perfect girl."

You flush wildly, your face burning with heat. He feels so good inside of you, and you moan against his lips as he kisses you again, gently, softly. You savour the taste of him, relishing in the fact that you can still somewhat taste yourself on your tongue, and your nails dig further into his shoulders as he rolls inside of you.

You're growing close. You can feel it in the way the knot inside of you is beginning to fray and break loose. Aaron’s lips stay pressed against yours, and he squeezes your trembling thighs reassuringly.

"It's okay," he breathes incoherently against your lips, "you can cum, honey. Be a good girl and let go for me, okay?"

Nodding your head, you allow yourself to lax, to succumb fully to the comforting feeling of him inside of you. His cock nuzzles against the most sensitive spot inside of you, and then your eyes flutter shut, an orgasmic bliss beginning to pulse through you.

You whine as you cum around him, your walls tight, fluttering around him. You tremble, but he keeps you steady, his hands gently pushing into the flesh of your thighs as he allows himself to grow sloppy in his thrusts. Aaron sighs contently as you paint him with your cum, his balls and thighs growing wet from your squirt, and he can't hold back anymore.

You gasp as you his cock leak inside of you — you feel his hot, ropey cum paint your walls, and it feels good; intensifying your own orgasm as you shake below him, your walls fluttering, your cunt swallowing all of him.

His hands stays tight against your thighs as he finishes inside of you. Aaron's lips graze over your neck, the sensation causing you tingle and shy away from him. He groans quietly into the crook of your neck, nuzzling into you as his hips still.

Your chest heaves and your heart races. Your body is tingling with the aftermath of your orgasm, and you pause before you purposefully tighten around him, trying to gauge his reaction. He cries out into your neck, and your stomach flutters in response. You milk his sensitive cock softly, your walls tight around him. His hips jolt into you, and you gasp as he hilts inside of you again.

Aaron's thankful that his balls no longer feel heavy, that the ache is dulled. He presses lazy kisses against your neck, his hand softly trailing up and down your burning skin. You're so warm that it's comforting, and he wants to stay like this forever, moulded inside of you.

Your motions are lazy as you drag your nails up and down his back, goosebump rising in their wake. His head stays nuzzled in your neck, and his breaths come slowly.

“Was that okay, honey?” He asks finally, his hair tickling you as he presses a soft kiss to your cheek. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “You didn’t hurt me, Aaron,” you murmur softly, looking at him with adoring eyes, “if anything, you did the opposite. That was really good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And, uh, I’d like to do it again with you sometime.”

The cheeky grin that you send him doesn’t go amiss, and he chuckles, giving you a small kiss. You smile as he sinks down, burrowing his head in your chest, his hands squeezing your hips and waist softly.

You could stay like this forever.

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junipers-archive · 1 year

Text

Sweet-Tooth

Word Count: 700

Includes: fluff, fluff, fluff, you have a sweet tooth and one day while staying late at work Aaron find out and can't help but listen!!

Its late. Very late; way above your pay-grade to be staying at the office late. And yet here you are stationed at your desk, you're almost sure you're the only one left.

That is until you hear a noise from the office's kitchen, and really you're not one for believing in ghosts but in that moment you had your doubts...

"Hello? Is anyone there?"you start toward the area when you bump into someone.

"y/n..." Of course, of course Aaron is the only one left here. His hands ghost his collar in attempt to fix his non-existent tie out of nervous habit. "What- uh What're you doing here so late?"

In truth, you'd been nodding off every hour in attempts to catch up on paperwork and had been living off of valentines day chocolate you'd bought yourself. But you were so not telling that to your boss, no matter how cute and approachable he looked with no tie, ruffled hair and slightly open button-down.

"I-I was just doing some paperwork"

"Right...do you need some help?"

Yes. "N-no, just uh maybe some sugar?"

He steps aside to let you through, "You mean coffee?"

"No I mean..." You should've just stayed at your cubicle. "I have this thing about sugar, its the only thing that works to keep me awake."

He raises an eyebrow at this so you continue. "I-well ever since I was little I could only stay up late if I had some type of sugar, I tried all types of other ways, coffee, energy drinks you name it, I've tried it."

He's leaning against the counter now looking concerned though you swear you could see a twinge of amusement in his eyes.

"And...none of these...methods have worked?"

You smile then, "Have you ever seen me drink coffee in the mornings? You could say I'm a tad sweet-toothed"

"And you don't have any sugar on you now?"

"I-uh I ran out, i had these valentines day chocolates but I finished them a few hours ago..."you start to mumble at the end of your sentence, realizing how ridiculously pathetic you'd sound if you told the truth

He hums in response and you now understand how awkward you've made the encounter and begin to retreat to your cubicle. but of course the universe would never allow you such an easy way out.

"Y/n."

"Yea Hotch?" In fear of him seeing you smiling like an idiot for the hundredth time at just hearing him say your name, you keep your back to him.

"Go home. You can work on the paperwork tomorrow."

Now you turn. "Its really no big deal, and I'm behind, and its my own fault for-"

"Go home, and thats an order." Except he doesn't say it like its an order, he says it with his lopsided-Hotch smile that sends butterflies swarming in your stomach.

"Fine" you breathe out your reply, pretending you're in a rush to get out of his sight to hide the fact you're once again grinning because he cares.

✧✧✧✧✧

The next day you're called into on a case at the way-too-early hour of 5:30am.

The next hours are filled with the reviewing of said case and the gathering of go-bags.

It isn't until you're on the plane nodding off as Derek speaks about whether or not the team in dealing with a sadistic serial killer that you catch Hotch watching you.

But he's not just watching you, he's headed towards you.

Before you can react or right yourself He's handing you a box of 'see's candies chocolates'.

"I-uh I thought you might need a pick-me up seeing as you were at the office so late last night."

Is the Aaron Hotchner blushing right now?

You accept the box wordlessly, trying to to ignore the team's stares as Hotch returns to his seat and you stuff your mouth full of the chocolate covered caramel bites.

That is until Reid speaks, "I'm sorry did-did I miss something?"

And with that the silence ends as JJ smacks him upside the head, making everyone on the plane laugh.

Emily Whispers in your ear the one thing you were sure you'd never here from any of them.

"I think you just charmed Hotch with your sweet-tooth"

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magnoliabutters · 7 months

Text

SWEET, LITTLE WISHES

pairing: aaron hotchner x wife!reader

warnings: 18+ content, mdni; over stimulation, choking, sex toys, penetration, nipple play, lots of talk of hotch’s killer smile, sucking of appendages, etc.

inspiration: @chestharrington’s lazy ghoul's kinktober → week two: sex toys

word count: ~2.6k

note: how come I'm falling in love with a gif rn 💕 welcome to kinky dinky week dos!

You know what he does is important. You know that he is incredible at his job, that he simply cannot be replaced... but Halloween is your favorite holiday. He could be gone for Christmas - hell, even your birthday.

Hotch and Halloween go together.

It's the day you fell in love with him. Because of him, you love the orange, brown, and red. You love the chill in the air, the sweaters, the costumes. You love the incredible excuse to rewatch all your favorite scary movies.

You love the weather. The grey clouded skies, because those are only acceptable during fall. You loved to see Jack and Hotch in their matching costumes each year...

It's days like this when you are filled with regret for wanting your husband to come home instead of saving people.

But do you really have to feel bad? The man is intoxicating. His honey eyes that leave you in a trance. That beaming smile that makes you weak in the knees. His body, so perfectly fit and bulging in all the right areas.

You bite your lip over the thought of his hands around your waist. The thought of him pulling you back onto his cock, thrusting you on and on until you both came all over each other. Only then would he refer to you as his wife, when you were just his whore.

Quickly reaching across the bed, you grab your phone and call your husband. The dialing tones give you enough time to scramble open the side table and grab your pink rabbit vibrator. Your heart flutters once wrapping your fingers around its base. He's going to love this. You click it on sending vibrations down your legs. He's going to love -

"This is SSA Aaron Hotchner. Please leave a message-"

"Damn it," you grumble as your brows pinch together and your hands crash at your sides. You have to remind yourself, over and over, that what he's doing is important. You don't get to feel frustrated or upset. It's not like he's out late drinking beer with his buddies. No, he's saving lives.

And you're just here, in your bed, with a husband shaped hole beside you.

The fluttering of the rabbit's ears against your inner thigh is enough to sustain your desires. You take a deep inhale through your nostrils before digging your head back into the pillow with defeat.

You wish it was his tongue flicking against your thighs. His hands hooked harshly against your hips, holding you right where he wants you. His sweet lips flush against your own. You can feel the blood buzzing in your body. The perk of your nipples as your chest rises with each breath.

Never has a man had control of you, like Hotch does. Luck is on your side. You don't even have to think of anyone else while you pleasure yourself. The only regret you have is that he isn't here to see you, to hear you.

Your eyes close as you lightly rest the vibrator against your clit. A gasp escapes you as the, all too familiar, light-headed feeling returns. The sensation euphoric, especially when paired with the thought of his sweet smile between your legs. Those Hershey chocolate eyes gleaming back at you.

You wish his cock was pressing into the side of your thigh. That his hand was guiding his thick head and separating your lips. That he gathers you slick, teasing you by slightly bouncing in and out of your hole. Making little, firm circles around your opening - forcing a soft squeal from your lips.

You wish you could feel his hot breath against your neck. To hear him whisper ungodly things into your ear as he fucks you silly from behind. To feel him bury himself into you. To hear that deep, moan of a sigh as he bottoms out inside you. To feel his hands grip onto harder and harder with each rut of his hips.

You click to add another level of intensity, just enough to send sparkles down your legs and to the tips of your toes. Your eyes are still closed as you rush a sweaty hand through your hair. Still, strands lay caught into the purse of your lips as you allow the hums of pleasure to leave you.

"I got your call, but had a little something better in mind."

Your eyes shoot open as you land an open hand at your chest. You gather the slack of the sheets against your bare chest and let go of the toy that now vibrates your mattress. "Shit!" you whisper into a scream. You take a deep breath, trying to slow that pounding heart beat of yours.

There he rests, arms crossed on his chest and a shoulder leaning against the doorway. His glowing smile pulled to the right as he rakes over your barely covered body.

"At least tell me you were thinking of me..." Hotch whispers as he takes a step into your bedroom.

With a shake of your head, the blush spreads across your cheeks. You bite your lip before taking in another harsh breath. "You scared me. You said you weren't going to make it for Halloween." You tilt your head to the right, taking in the sight with a sour puss on your lips.

"I made arrangements. Had someone special to see tonight," he says with a tight lip. He gently lands against the foot of the bed. He extends a hand beneath the sheets to gently rub up your ankle and calf. "Oh, don't stop on my accord, baby. Just as long as my name is on those lips."

You lick your lips, trying desperately to keep a smile away. His hands slowly creep to your thighs. The sensation forces you to hold your breath. Your body screams while your skin turns into a sizzling, hot mess.

But Hotch's eyes remain on you. Those glowing brown eyes and that beaming smile. He knows every facet of your body, every single detail. He knows where to touch you to make your eyes roll to the back of your head. Where to touch you to make your legs turn into a pile of mush, and yet tighten them so close together that he can barely move between them.

“Always…” you breathe out as you lean back onto your pillow once more.

His hands follow the heat right to your sensitive bits. His fingers guide over the inside of your thighs. Your head becomes dazy as you furrow your brows together. “Mmm, and who do you have helping you today?" he asks as he reaches for the toy between your legs. "Oo, my favorite.”

“Your favorite?” you giggle out as you look down at his gentle eyes. "You have a favorite?"

Hotch smiles as he slowly pulls the cloth away from your bare legs. The pink of his lips land against the smooth of your skin as he makes his way up to your knee. He whispers, "Yes, I have favorites." Another kiss and he begins to climb his body over yours. "This one, in particular, makes you cum all sweet for me. I swear, I can hear your entire body convulsing through the phone."

You scoff, digging your canine straight into the meat of your bottom lip. "Oh, you wish," you mock. Your brow raises just before rolling your eyes and shaking your head softly.

His fingers reach your chin, pulling you back to look right into him. "I do wish," he whispers. His grip between his thumb and index finger tightens as he drags you towards his lips. "I wish you wouldn't stop. I wish you'd let me help you."

Your mouth slightly parts as you lean your weight into his grasp. Your own hands wrap around his neck, pulling him closer. "You can do more than help me," you murmur, before flipping your hair and exposing the nape of your neck. A seductive smirk thick across your cheeks.

Hotch bites the edge of his lips, taking in a quick inhale through his nostrils. "Tempting," he utters with a cock of his head. In a smooth, quick movement, he presses those fluttering ears back against your clit. Your breath escapes you, taking in a sharp gasp that forces you to straighten your back. The sheets slide off of you with little to no effort.

"Sit back, relax, and let me take care of my wife."

He guides the base of the toy at your opening. He clicks the bottom button, creating a circular motion that massages your hole. Your chin lifts to the sky as your hands fall from his neck and into a scrunch of sheets by your side.

"Look how wet my pretty girl is," Hotch whispers as the sound your slick smacks against the pink silicone. He moves his body beside you. His leg hooked into yours, holding your legs wide open. He breathes a cold breath against your clit before pressing the toy against you once more.

His other hand cups your breast. His fingers tighten around your nipples, creating a sharp and exhilarating energy to flow throughout your body. He then moves his gentle hands to rest against your ribcage as his lips tighten around your tits.

Hotch presses the toy thick against your heat once more. Its head makes it way within which drops a gasp from your mouth. "Let me hear that beautiful voice," he demands in a mumble against your nipple.

Your hand pushes into your hair as you arch your back, pushing your chest further into his mouth. Fuck, you never wanted him to stop. Never did you imagine him coming home early, but you are eternally grateful. He slides the toy inside you ever so slowly, following the lead of your relaxing, tight walls.

You mewl over the sensation. Your hips begin to rut ever so softly against his body. Little, light twitches that guide his firm grasp onto the toy. He pushes it into you, bottoming out within as you lay there gasping for breath.

"Don't stop," you whisper breathlessly.

"Never."

Hotch gently pulls the toy back as it runs thin circles against your walls. Your eyelashes begin to flutter as your body tightens, desperate to curl into itself, but he holds you open. He holds you open and ready for him. This is just the beginning, just a taste of what's to come.

All you know is that you are his and he will do what he pleases with you.

He tilts his head to you, smashing his supple lips against yours. Your hand rushes to the back of his head, pulling him in - no amount was close enough. Your tongues tangle within themselves. Devilish sounds fall from both your lips as you devour each other.

You kick your leg around his back, pulling him into you. Hotch digs the toy deeper within, forcing a harsher stimulation to your clit. It pushes you to the border of ecstasy and overstimulation. Luckily for you, he knows your body so well that he understands exactly where the line lies. He knows how to hold you there, bouncing back and forth before throwing you off the cliff and into a climax that could paralyze you.

He pushes the toy into you in steady pulses. You can feel your legs shaking, wanting nothing more than to quiver against each other. He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, holding you right where he wants you.

Instinctually, your hands reach for his cock. A hand harsh and thick against his hardening dick. You dig your hand into your pants, causing him to pull from your kiss and breathe you in with a shuddering gasp. Your fingers easily dig into the soft cloth of his boxers before gently playing with his balls.

"You first," Hotch grunts out as he quickens his movements in and out of you. You bite into his lips, dragging him closer to you. "Just as long as you're next," you purr, pulling away to stare into those sweet eyes. His balls soft as they roll over the insides of your fingers and palm.

His mouth perks into a smile as he breathes you in once more. His mouth flush against your own as he pumps you firmly and steady. Each thrust, each circulating movement, each vibrating burst pushes you closer and closer to the rubber band in your stomach snapping.

Hotch's hand finds its way at your neck, his index finger and thumb pressing ever so lightly against the sides of your carotid. The light headed feeling causes you to see stars. Your breath hitches as you gulp in with each powerful thrust.

"Hotch," you mewl as your entire body hardens beneath him. You push your hips harshly against his own. Your nails dig into the base of his scalp, gathering as much hair as possible before crashing him against your lips once again. This time your kisses are bites, leading with your tongue and teeth as you take all of him in.

With a swift movement, you pull Hotch atop of you. His hand still wrapped tightly around the toy's handle, pulsating thrusts within you so deep that you can feel his fingers against your soaking flesh. His hips grind against your own, moving at the same rapid rhythm as his ruts.

He hovers over you with eyes glued and a smile growing with each passing second. The way he looks at you sends butterflies to your chest. A fluttering feeling of love that makes you feel like you could float.

Hotch’s hand sits at your cheek, a thumb grazing over your skin. He leans in, but pauses just before your lips meet. The tension is electrifying. You could feel the static between you both. Before you another second passes, he gently lowers himself and kisses you with the very vibrant passion you’ve come to love.

His movements continue, fast and rapid, as you struggle to hold on - not wanting any of this to stop. Your toes begin to curl. Your knees dig into his side, tightening around him. His thumb finds it way to your lips, dragging across before dipping into your mouth. You suck against him, holding him tight between your teeth.

Hotch presses his forehead against you. His breath hot against your skin. His arm moving quickly and swift. Your lashes begin to flutter as you feel your word shaking and crumbling around you.

“Oh God,” you whisper as your nails dig into his shoulder blade. He winced against you, but digs into his hips. One more of click and the vibrations flutter faster and faster against your clit. You can feel your skin prickle across your body. Your back arches to the heavens as your flooded with oxytocin.

“Hotch, oh fuck, oh fuck!”

“That’s right, baby. Let me hear it. Let me hear that sweet, little mouth.”

“Aaron!” you shout as your walls clench around the toy. You shudder into yourself, closing off as Hotch buries himself with kisses into the nape of your neck. “Yes, baby. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.” You moan out, thrusting into the sky with each convulse of your orgasm.

Your legs grow weak, barely able to move and practically trembling. Hotch brushes the hair from your face, watching as you take shuddering breaths while shaking beneath him. “Mmm, this one’s definitely my favorite,” he whispers before landing light kisses against your eyelids.

You groan, pulling him tight against your chest as you hook your legs around his. “Why do you still have clothes on?” you whine. “I’m leaving that part for you. I remember that’s your favorite,” he teases.

“Yes please,” you utter as you dig your fingers against the leather of his belt. “Hm, we could use this - like last time.”

“Naughty girl.”

notes: yummmmmmyyyyyy, never thought being hotch's wife would come with so many benefits 🤤

coming up next sunday → week three: anonymous sex with eddie munson

kinktober taglist? 🎃

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thank you to my beta reading bestie, @nackrosor

#Aaron hotchner x reader #Aaron hotchner imagine #Aaron hotchner scenario #Aaron hotchner oneshot #Aaron hotchner one-shot #Aaron hotchner one shot #Aaron hotchner headcanons #Aaron hotchner headcanon #Aaron hotchner hc #Aaron hotchner hcs #Aaron hotchner fanfiction #Aaron hotchner drabble #Aaron hotchner dialogue #Aaron hotchner fluff #Aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction

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humblequestvinyl · 1 year

Text

BACKGROUND MUSIC

BACKGROUND MUSIC, AARON HOTCHNER X FEM!READER

APART OF THE HUMBLE QUEST SERIES

SUMMARY: two agents, one department, both wondering if they’ll leave behind some type of legacy, or if they’ll just be two faces on a plaque in the hallways after they leave,

inspired by background music by maren morris

warning: angst, swearing, & usual talk of a cm case

lowercase is intentional!! wordcount: 0.7k

a/n i linked the performance to background music: in rare form, because it reminded me sm of my maren show and brings me so much joy!! i also finally get to write hotch so im so excited!! ps. i hope i did this song justice. i really hope i did. also gif by @hqtchner !!

WATCHING AS THE FLASHING LIGHTS AROUND THEM LIT UP THE OUTSIDE OF THE BRICK BUILDING,

agent y/n hotchner, and aaron hotchner watched as derek had put the suspect into custody, presumably sending him on his way towards the local towns police station.

it took them three days, 22 hours and nine minutes to catch the unsub who had gone on a killing spree, and for the first day and a half, he had the bau stumped, basically leading them on a wild goose chase until he had slipped up.

the h/c girl watched as the rest of her team filed into the vans, and she was soon to follow, with a look of disappointment, and longing filling her face. with hotchner quickly noticing, taking note to ask about it when the two got back.

it took six hours, and a few different vehicles to get back to the hotchner’s apartments, and as soon as they did, the two were in bed, doing their best to fall asleep, but both were unsuccessful.

after awhile, aaron spoke up, splitting the silence between the two, “what’s keeping you up?”

“do you ever think about the legacy we’ll leave behind once we leave the bureau?”y/n asked softly, before turning to face her husband, “seriously aaron, do you ever think about how in ten years we might not even be there, and we might just be some names on a goddamn plaque.”

“we’ve got time, but we’ve also gotta realize that we’re human. especially with our job, one of us could be taken at any moment.”she went on, and she studied her husbands face, waiting for a response, “seriously, how many cases do we have left in us?”

“i do think about that a lot.”aaron admitted, brushing a stray piece of hair out of y/n’s face, “i think about how we could just be some name in a history book, with nobody knowing about who we actually are.”

“i don't want that.”y/n whispered, propping her chin on her hand, “i want to be remembered, like i get not all of us can leave a souvenir like rossi, but i don’t want to be another agent in the history books, only being known for reading lips and transcribing what people are saying.”

“its really hard to see that we’re going to be the lucky ones in this situation.”

it was silent between the two for awhile, with aaron trying to decide what to say, and y/n waiting for his response. he knew that she was right, not everyone could leave something behind like rossi did with his books, but also knew that the two of them wouldn’t just be some names on a plaque hanging in the hallways.

“we will leave a legacy behind.”aaron finally spoke up, his eyes matching e/c ones, “and a damn good one too.”

“we won't just be known as two agents who went out and solved cases. hell, even if we are, its the legacy we leave behind outside of the bureau with the victims families and the amount of lives we change.”he explained, with y/n grasping onto what he was saying, “you might not see it, but the rest of the team does. the way you interact with the families, and help them through the tragedies they have gone through.”

“and even if we don’t, ill love you til all that we are,”aaron started, before a small smile spread across y/n’s face.

“is background music.”she finished for him, knowing it was one of their favorite songs, one they deemed as ‘their song’ due to the meaning of it.

“until we’re background music.”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #criminal minds #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner angst #spencer reid

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headkiss · 5 months

Text

something more

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader

summary: you and aaron are friends with feelings more obvious than you think. or: 5 times the team suspects you and hotch are dating +1 time they know it.

word count: 6.6k

warnings: friends to lovers, the team being a little nosy, pining idiots!!!, probably inaccurate descriptions of bau jobs (for the plot!), a very small injury, a birthday, a first kiss, and fluff!

a/n: hiii this one has been a long time coming so thank you guys for being so patient with me!!! and special thanks to the anon who requested this one! i hope u guys enjoy it and please please let me know what you think <3 ily

༄

Aaron Hotchner was never someone you thought you could be this close to.

Coming to the BAU, you’d been intimidated more than anything. As Unit Chief, he’s got a reputation that’s hard to ignore. Professional, brave, cold when he has to be. His success and talent were undeniable, and all you wanted to do was prove that you belonged there, too.

Then, you really met him, and he surprised you in a way you hadn’t expected. Hotch was kind right off the bat, welcoming you to the team with a smile that felt like some sort of prize.

He was an excellent boss. Understanding and protective, quick to defend anyone on the team like they were his own family. Except, he was so much more than just your boss.

Now, you’d call him your closest friend, someone who’s number you’d call if you were in trouble. He’s your closest friend and yet you feel so much more for him.

It started slow, a friendship blooming the way a plant does with just enough sunlight. It was a shared smile here, a nudge of the shoulder there. It grew to be a seat next to him reserved for you on every plane ride.

Today, it’s eating lunch with him in his office.

Aaron usually works through lunch, more eager to get things done than he is to worry about skipping a meal. Somehow, with two tupperware containers in your hand and a sweet smile, you’d managed to get him to take a break.

“Whatcha doing?” You’d asked.

Hotch looked up from his paperwork then, dropping his pen because you were in his doorway. “You know, Unit Chief business. Reports.”

“Sounds like you have time for lunch, then.” You set the containers down on his desk, making sure to avoid the papers he’d just been working on.

“I should really get this done-”

“Hotch,” you stopped him, “you and I both know that you’re always ahead on this stuff because you stay here so late. Lunch won’t set you back.”

With a shake of his head and the biting back of a smile, a simple twitch at the corners of his mouth, Aaron agreed and stacked his paperwork off to the side.

That’s how you’ve ended up in the chair that’s usually on the opposite side of his desk, only now it’s tugged to be next to his. Your knees touch every so often when one of you shifts, and the warmth stays with you even when the contact is gone.

“Sorry it’s nothing fancy,” you say as he opens the container you brought for him.

“Don’t apologize. It’s great.” Hotch has a way of saying things that make them sound true, no matter how few words he uses, so you accept it.

“Okay, good!” There’s a small silence, a lull as you both take your first bites. “Can I help with anything?”

Aaron looks from the paperwork to your face, your eyes already on his. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” you reassure him. “I think sometimes you forget that you aren’t the only one who can do this stuff.”

He knocks his knee against yours. Purposeful this time. A silent ‘thank you.’

“Like you said, I’m ahead anyways. I’ve got it.”

“Come on, Hotch. I’m already done with my report from our last case. I’ve got time. Let me help.”

He’s always been reluctant to accept help, to ask for it, but when you’re asking so sweetly, when it’ll give him an excuse to spend more time with you, it’s hard for Aaron to say no.

“Alright. You help for an hour, that’s it.”

You grin at him, like his acceptance of your offer was some kind of gift he’d given you. Your nose crinkles a little with it, and his hand flexes in his lap, like he’s fighting not to reach out to you.

“Okay, put me to work, boss.”

“We just started lunch,” he says, a little chuckle puffing out.

“Have you ever heard of multitasking, Agent Hotchner?”

Aaron laughs, shaking his head as he reaches for one of the files in the stack he’d made and hands it to you. He’d call everyone at the BAU a friend, but there’s something different, something more about how he’d describe you.

He’s grown closer to you than he usually lets himself get to people, like you’re the only one with the right tools to break through walls he’s put up. You see each other outside of work (on the rare days you aren’t working), and still, he feels like it’s never long enough.

Hotch briefly wonders if he could just move your desk into his office. He shakes off the thought and what it might mean.

Head bent, you’re now focused on the work he gave you, and Aaron takes the chance to admire you. His eyes flick over your profile, the light hitting your cheeks, the flutter of your eyelashes every time you blink.

As if you could feel his gaze on you, you turn towards him and smile—a small, closed-mouth smile, but a smile all the same—before turning your attention back to the page.

When you take a pause and take another bite of your lunch, a small drop of sauce lands on your thigh. “Oh, shit.”

Aaron grabs a tissue from the box on his desk, wrapping it over his fingertip before wiping the small spot from your leg, his finger a spark against you even through your pants.

“Good thing you wore black,” he says, tossing the tissue in the garbage. His hand, however, stays on your leg, and though the touch is light the weight of it feels the opposite. Heavy, huge.

“Good thing you’re here to clean up after me, more like.”

Your eyes meet, and you share a smile with Hotch the way you often do. Mid-conversation, across a room, it’s a smile you sort of reserve for each other.

In the main office below, Derek, Spencer, and JJ stand together, watching the interaction through the window into Hotch’s office. You and Aaron seem to be in your own bubble, completely unaware of your small audience.

“They’ve gotta be together,” Derek is the first to speak, waving a hand towards the office where you and Hotch are talking. “I mean, come on.”

“I don’t know,” JJ shrugs, “they both seem kinda clueless.”

“We probably shouldn’t speculate about them,” Spencer, always the sweetheart, says. “But, statistically, Hotch never eats lunch. Just saying.”

JJ pats Reid on the shoulder, huffing out a laugh before she heads back to her desk.

You stay in Aaron’s office much longer than an hour that day.

Punctuality is important in the BAU. Really, if you’re not early, you’re late. You’ve always got to be ready, wheels up in ten, or five.

You suppose that doesn’t really apply to outside-of-the-office parties at Garcia’s.

It’s rare that you’re all available at the same time, from late nights at the bureau to families, it’s tough to make your schedules line up when you aren’t working, which is why whenever she can, Penelope likes to host drinks for the team.

You’re on your way there now, or, you should be. Instead, you’re getting ready in your bedroom while Aaron waits in your living room.

Hotch has offered to drive you to these things every time, and with every offer, comes your easy answer of ‘yes.’ He’d been outside in his car for five minutes before he decided to call, because you’re usually in his passenger seat within seconds of him pulling over by your building.

The ringing of your phone had your eyes blinking open, squinted against the sudden brightness of your TV. You’d accidentally fallen asleep, and, still disoriented, picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, everything okay?” It’s Aaron’s voice on the other line, and you pull your phone away for a second to check the time before sitting up quickly.

“Shit, Hotch, I must’ve fallen asleep. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, I can wait for you.” He’d wait as long as you need, he thinks. The thought passes through like a leaf blown in the wind, freely, randomly.

“Have you been waiting long?” You ask, fingers tugging at a loose thread in your pants.

“No, don’t worry. Barely five minutes.”

And he still wanted to check on you.

“Why don’t you come in? My couch is probably more comfortable than your car, right?”

“You sure?” He checks, like he hasn’t been to your place before, like you’d ever not want him there.

“Get in here, Hotchner.”

You hung up before he could reply, and he laughed to himself in his car before shutting it off and doing exactly what you’d told him.

So, now, you’re rushing to find an outfit while Aaron sits on your couch by himself.

Even though he’s in the next room, you can feel his presence around you, the steady security he gives you, the warmth that seeps out of him even when he tries to hide it.

You settle on a knitted sweater, a skirt, and some tights, which you realize as you tug them on aren't the speediest of options, but it’s too late to change your mind now. With your hair figured out and the mascara that had smudged during your nap fixed, you step back out into the living room.

Aaron made himself at home while you were gone (he often feels that way with you, at home), sitting on your couch with his arms spread across the back. He looks better than he should there, suit stretched across his shoulders, and you have to clear your throat to snap yourself out of it.

“Okay, sorry again for the delay. I’m ready to go.”

He looks up as soon as you walk in, eyes skimming over your legs and the tights wrapped around them, your waist, up your neck. His gaze lands on your eyes the way it often does, like magnets.

He shakes his head, “don’t be sorry. We’ll be what they call ‘fashionably late.’”

You laugh, because who would’ve thought that the words ‘fashionably late’ would ever come out of Aaron Hotchner’s mouth.

“Who taught you that one, huh?”

“I like to keep my sources anonymous.”

“Well okay, then. Let’s go be fashionably late, Hotch.”

He lets you lead the way to the car, only jogging up ahead to open your door before you can reach it yourself.

During the drive to Penelope’s, you take control of the music with little objection from Aaron, and when it gets to a song you know he likes, you sing along, encouraging him to do the same.

“Let’s hear it, Agent Hotchner.” You hold your fist out like there’s a microphone in it, looking at him with a grin on your face.

“I can't sing.” Aaron’s fighting off a smile, because you’re sitting beside him, not too shy to sing along, being all cute and, briefly, he thinks about reaching out and grabbing your hand and holding on.

“Sure you can! Everyone can sing, come on.” You unfurl your faux microphone-holding fist and tug on the knot of his tie, “loosen up a little.”

And, because you have some way of convincing him of things—first lunch, now this—he humors you by joining in for one chorus of the song. When your eyes light up a little, and your grin only widens, he can’t bring himself to be too concerned of how bad he probably sounds.

By the time you’re at Garcia’s door you’re a solid hour late, yet you and Aaron walk up to the door with matching smiles all the same.

“I’m getting you to do that every time I hear that song now, I hope you know.”

“That was a one time special,” he says. He reaches over your shoulder to knock on the door. His hand brushes against you, featherlight and quick, a crackle over your skin.

On the other side, Morgan says, “must be the lovebirds” when he hears the sound.

You and Aaron don’t hear him, only broken out of your little shared bubble when Penelope opens the door. “There you guys are! I made your drinks but the ice might be melted by now. You know, ‘cause you’re late.”

You know this is directed towards you more than it is Hotch, because Garcia’s a little intimidated by him still. You also know she’s only joking, and greet her with a hug before stepping in.

Aaron isn’t far behind you, though at these things, he never is.

You’re met with warm greetings from the team when you walk in, and you chat for a bit, but it isn’t long before things split off into smaller conversations. They all know that Aaron drives you to these things, and, as profilers, they’re also all able to see the way you look at each other, the way the knot of his tie sits lower than usual.

In the corner, Emily leans over to Derek, saying, “usually it takes at least two drinks for Hotch’s tie to look like that.”

“I told you, they’re together,” Derek shrugs.

“I don’t think they know that,” Emily replies.

This time, Aaron hears them, and he can’t help but look towards you in the room the rest of the night, thinking and thinking and thinking.

He ends up deciding that they might have a point. That maybe, that shift in his heartbeat when you’re around isn’t nothing, isn’t just friends.

The flight home from a case always feels the longest.

On the way there, you’re packing every hour with information about what’s going on, talking to Garcia, reading police reports. You’re all on edge, eager to get out there and help and do your jobs,

Then, on the way home, with another case solved, all you’re thinking about is going home, sleeping in your own bed, and time seems to go slower.

If your name happens to be Aaron Hotchner, you’d spend the plane ride home doing paperwork that actually can wait.

You and Aaron sit next to each other on pretty much every flight, though the seats have never been assigned. It’s an unspoken thing, like your names are written on the fabric of the same two seats on the jet and that’s just the way it is.

The first time was early on in your time on the team. It was a tough case for you, and Hotch seemed to know it without you having to say anything, so, when you got on the jet to come home, he smiled that small, twitch of his lips smile at you and nodded at the seat next to him. You’ve been sitting there ever since.

Today, your flight is on the shorter side, but feels long the way it always does. Trying to keep yourself occupied, you pull out your earbuds and shuffle your playlist, hoping that the songs will speed things up.

“Sick of me already?” Hotch speaks up when he notices your headphones.

You tilt your head to look at him. He looks tired, the way you’re sure you do, too, but never any less handsome. His eyes are soft where they meet yours, paired with a hint of a smile that you’re always able to catch.

“Sick of you, Hotch? Never.” You nod at the file he has open on the small table, “just didn’t want to distract you.”

“I thought you enjoyed distracting me. Always telling me I work too much.”

“‘Cause it’s true,” you say. “That doesn’t mean you listen.”

“I listen to you more than I listen to most people.” Aaron’s voice is gentle when he says it, the words sinking in and melting you just a little, sugary sweet. It could mean absolutely nothing, but with the way he keeps his eyes steady on yours, you don’t think it does.

“Listen to this, then,” you hand him one of your earbuds, and his fingers brush yours when he takes it from you. “But you can’t make fun of me if a musical soundtrack comes on, okay?”

“Okay,” he huffs a small laugh, and you feel a little brighter. “I promise.”

You’re aware of the team having their own conversations in the rows in front of you and Hotch, but you can’t bring yourself to join in, because you and Aaron are sharing your earbuds and his head is bent just a little closer to yours. It’s delicate, and you’ll do your best not to break it.

You talk a little longer, until it naturally fizzles out and Hotch is back to working on his files and you’re bobbing your head along to your songs. Only now, Aaron sits closer to you, his arm against yours.

He’s not sure what to do with his newfound realization that his feelings for you run far deeper than friendship. All Aaron knows is that he likes the feeling of you beside him, and that he’s planning on keeping you there as long as you’ll let him.

It’s quiet between the two of you aside from your occasional ‘this is a good one,’ and his hum of acknowledgement.

Eventually, you’re relaxed enough that your eyes grow heavy, the sleep you’ve been lacking suddenly catching up to you, and when you hit a patch of slower songs you’re fighting to stay awake.

When your head lulls onto Hotch’s shoulder, you jerk your head up, “sorry, Aaron.”

His chest does something funny. A jump. It’s not often you call him Aaron, and he’d listen to the sound of his name on your lips on a loop if he could. Because he can’t help himself, he scooches himself even closer to you.

He decides to call you something different, too, saying, “it’s alright, honey.”

You’re too sleepy to really read into that one, all you feel is the flutter in your stomach and Aaron’s hand on your head, gently guiding it to his shoulder.

When he’s sure you’re asleep, Hotch looks away from his files and over to you. Your cheek is squished against his shoulder, your lashes fanned shut. He thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.

Aaron doesn’t even feel the smile that spreads over his face as he reaches up and pushes your hair away from your face. He’s completely unaware of the eyes that catch him, far too focused on you.

Emily turned around when she realized she hadn’t heard your voice in a bit, and she did it just in time to catch Hotch’s movement. Instead of saying something, she turns back around and shakes her head to herself.

Hopeless, she thinks.

Sleep doesn’t come so easily with this job, with the things you see, so Aaron can’t help but try and stay steady for you, and if that leads to him letting his eyes close and resting his head on yours, then so be it.

It’s not until the end of the flight that the team checks on the two of you. As everyone stands and grabs their go bags, they notice the two of you, asleep next to each other, earbud wires hanging between you.

“Should we wake them up?” JJ asks.

“Hotch doesn’t get enough sleep as it is,” Spencer chimes in. “Neither does she, actually.”

Of course, Derek finishes with, “let’s leave the lovebirds to it,” before the team gets off the plane.

It’s only about twenty minutes later that Aaron does wake up, but he feels more well-rested than he has in a while, even with the kink in his neck.

Blinking his eyes open, he’s met with an empty jet and the comforting weight of your head on his shoulder. “Shit,” he sighs.

He debates waking you, ultimately deciding that you’d probably rather sleep in your bed rather than the seat of the BAU’s jet. Reaching up, he pulls your earbuds away, setting them on the table. With a brush of his fingertips to your cheek, he coaxed you awake.

“Hey, honey,” Aaron’s nearly whispering, like he’s afraid to scare you. Or, maybe, he’s convinced that if he moves too quickly, too loudly, this whole thing will fade away as if he’d been dreaming. “Wake up, we’re home.”

“Hm?” You grumble, scrunching your nose when he brushes your cheek again.

“We fell asleep, but we landed.”

“Oh, god.” You sit up properly, lifting your head. “I’m sorry, Aaron. Hotch.”

“Aaron is good,” he eases you. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”

Sleep-hazed, or maybe just happy that he can be Aaron to you, you agree easily and take his hand when he offers it, letting him lead you to his car.

You’ve been spending more time at Aaron’s ever since that flight. In the car, he’d convinced you to stay over at his place in the guest room, since it was closer. With your go bag already in his car and heavy, sleepy eyes, it was hard for you to do anything but agree.

It’s another slice of his life that he’s let you see, and you can’t help but feel like it means something, like you’re stepping further and further away from being coworkers who are friends and towards something different. Something more.

That flight feels like the catalyst, the thing that caused things to shift into what they are now.

Aaron’s couch is much more comfortable than yours, and though you’ve yet to spend the night again, you’re sitting there with him at almost every chance. The time off you get is rare, and Aaron wanting to spend it with you sends flutters to your stomach whenever you think about it.

You feel like you know him better, getting to see his space, how he chose to decorate, what colors he likes, which ones he doesn’t. You also know what temperature he likes to set his thermostat.

“Do you enjoy living in a refrigerator?” You ask, hands tucked into your sleeves. “Just wondering.”

Aaron laughs, a small huff, “I think you just run cold, honey.”

He’s been calling you that a lot, too. Honey.

“No way, Hotchner. Your house is what runs cold. Or maybe you’re cold-blooded.”

Not with you, he thinks. Years and years of doing what he does, Hotch might even call himself cold when he’s thinking a little too hard. But never cold with you. He thinks that might be impossible for him.

“Shhh, don’t tell anyone my secret,” he says, his arm brushing against yours from where he sits next to you on his couch. “Where are you cold?”

“Can’t feel my toes, Aaron. I might be out of commission for the next case.”

“Well we can’t lose our best girl, can we?” Best girl, he says. Like he means it, like it’s simple. “I’ve got some thick socks you can grab. Bottom drawer.”

Just like that, he’s cracked another wall of his down even further, giving you permission to go into his bedroom as if you’ve been in there a thousand times.

“Really?”

“Unless you’d rather not feel your toes-“

“Okay, okay,” you stop him, unable to fight your smile. “Thanks, Aaron.”

When you stand and head towards his room, Aaron can’t stop himself from thinking that you belong there, in his home, his room, his life. You fit in so seamlessly he wishes you’d never leave.

He stands up too, because the couch suddenly feels sort of empty without you beside him, without your warmth. He walks over to his thermostat on the wall and turns it up for you.

You’ve always thought that you can tell a lot about a person from where they live, and seeing Aaron’s bedroom now solidifies it. His place does too, but there’s something about his bedroom that feels much more personal.

Here, there’s more of him, little bits of his life scattered around. A picture of him as a kid with his parents on the dresser, the newspaper’s crossword sitting completely finished on his nightstand, his bed neatly made.

You smile at the framed photo before slipping the top drawer open and finding the pair of socks he’d been talking about. As much as you’d love to snoop, you don’t want to invade his privacy in any way. Besides, from Aaron, even a glimpse of his space feels special.

You slip on the socks before you leave his room, letting them bunch at your ankles.

As soon as you walk back into the living room, Aaron’s phone rings. Glancing at you softly, almost apologetically though he’s got nothing to be sorry about—you work with him, you know how important a call can be—he picks it up.

“Hotchner,” he says, holding it to his ear. His voice is different this way, more professional, controlled. Never any less pleasing to hear.

He’d wanted to say something about how good you look in his clothes when his phone rang, Garcia’s name flashing on the screen. Aaron wishes it was someone else, only to spend more time with you this way.

“Sorry to call late, sir,” Penelope says. “We’ve got a case. Missing kid; it’s urgent.”

“Don’t be sorry, Garcia. We’re on our way.”

“Wait, we?” She asks, curious as always.

“What’s going on?” You ask Aaron.

“Got a case. I’ll drive, honey.” He lets the pet name slip, like it’s a habit.

On the other line, Garcia’s grinning to herself in her office. She’d had a suspicion of who on the team Hotch would be with outside of work, and hearing your voice, and his use of the word ‘honey’ all sticky sweet, she knows she’s onto something.

“Oh, that’s ‘we,’” Penelope’s voice teases. “Tell her I’ll see you guys soon!”

Aaron shakes his head, fighting his smile. “Bye, Garcia.”

He hangs up and looks from his phone to you, your eyes already on him, corners of your mouth tugged up just a little like you’d heard what Garcia said, heard the lilt in her voice. Like you liked the idea of you and Aaron being a unit. We.

He likes that idea, too.

Back at the BAU, Garcia calls Derek next, who picks up with his classic, “hey, babygirl.”

First, she tells him that he needs to come into the office, that they’ve got a case, then, “you’re never going to believe this.”

Penelope loves to talk, and Derek’s happy to listen, so she tells him about how you’d been with Aaron when she called, and that you were on your way together.

“I give them another week, max, before they’re holding hands when they come in.” Derek laughs, because he can see yours and Hotch’s feelings so easily, plain as day, and he loves to be right about things.

“How mad will Hotch be when he finds out that we talk about his relationship?” Penelope’s mostly joking, only a fraction concerned.

“If the boss didn’t want us talking about it, he shouldn’t be so obvious, sweetheart.”

Once you arrive at the office, you don’t catch Penelope and Derek’s shared looks behind yours and Aaron’s—who happens to be carrying both his and your go bag—backs.

And if anyone notices the loose socks around your ankles, they don’t say anything about it.

You’re not supposed to go off on your own unless it’s absolutely necessary. You know that, the team knows that. Aaron, who is always trying to keep you as safe as possible, enforces it.

You guess that this time might be up for debate.

When it comes to what you do, you have to trust your instincts most of the time. And today, your gut told you to make a decision that might not have been safe, but to you, it felt like what you had to do.

Aaron had been on the phone with you, trying to figure out a way to make the car drive any faster to get to you. He’d heard it in your voice, in the tone of it, that he couldn’t convince you to wait for someone else to show up.

“I have to do this, Aaron,” you’d said. While the team would normally probably tease him about you calling him Aaron, as if it isn’t his name, they’d known not to interrupt this time. “You know I do.”

“You don’t have to.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he spoke. “We’ll be there soon, alright? Just-”

“I’m sorry.” And then, you hung up.

In the end, going in when you did had been the right move. A life had been saved, and you’d slowed the guy down enough that the police were able to arrest him when they arrived. All it cost you was a cut and a bruise on your cheek.

So, your instincts weren’t so bad.

Aaron, however, disagrees. Logically, he knows that he would’ve done the exact same thing you did, knows the rest of the team would’ve, too. But when it comes to you, he has a hard time thinking logically.

After you hung up on him, all he could do was breathe and breathe and breathe over the heavy thumping of his heartbeat and the worry spinning in his head. He drove the quickest he could manage, the car silent inside. A static.

It’s not that he doubts your abilities—he’s always thought you were incredible, even before the friendship, even before now—only that the idea of you being alone with such a bad man makes him feel sick.

He’d take your place in a heartbeat, if he could, just to make sure you’d be safe.

By the time he and the rest of the team get to the scene, you’re walking out of the building with a hand pressed to your cheek and a paramedic leading you to a nearby ambulance.

Aaron spots you right away, his eyes scanning the small crowd through red and blue lights and conversations surrounding him. When he spots you, everything goes quiet.

His first thought is, thank god she’s alive, then, it’s fuck, she’s hurt.

Without a word to anyone, he heads over in your direction right away. He meets you at the ambulance, where you sit on the small bench inside while the paramedic presses your cheek with gauze.

“Honey.” It comes out in a breath. Relief and pain all at once.

You look over to him, his hair a little messy, his eyes wide and roaming all over you like he’s checking for any other injuries. He cares about you, and it’s written all over him.

“Aaron. I’m okay.” You hold a hand out, and he grabs it, sitting beside you on the bench in the ambulance. “Promise.”

For now, he nods, letting the paramedic do their job bandaging up your cheek. When they’re finished, they hand you a spare bandage saying, “it’s gonna bruise, and it might feel sore for a bit, but you’re all patched up.”

The paramedic leaves after that, probably going to check on other people. The lights inside the ambulance seem to cocoon you, a bright difference to the darkness outside.

The first thing Aaron says is, “let me see.”

His hands reach for your face, rough fingertips gently holding your jaw, tilting you so that he can look at your cheek. It’s a little swollen, discolored where you must’ve been hit. There’s a furrow in his brow, something that looks like a pout on none other than Aaron Hotchner.

“Hey,” you grab his wrists, but his hands stay on your face. “I’m fine.”

Aaron’s always worried, he’s always cared about you and about everyone on the team, but this is different. He was usually able to hide things much better than this. Much better than with you.

Now, all he sees is the tiny bloodstain on your shirt and the bandage on your cheek. All he feels is your hands squeezing his wrists and your eyes locked on his.

“You should have waited,” he says. “I could have been there.”

“Hotchner,” your deadpan tone is intact, which he’ll take as a win, even if it’s directed towards him. “You and I both know you would have done the same. I had to.”

One of his hands shifts to cup your non-injured cheek. Normally, he’d be much more composed while working, but he can’t bring himself to care about how he must look right now.

“I know you did,” he tells you, because he does. “I just wish that you didn’t. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Your stomach is tumbling, rolling, your heart doing silly things in your chest. You can hardly feel the pain of your cheek anymore when his hand is on the other, his palm warm against your skin, his gaze even warmer.

“I’m hardly hurt, Aaron. Just a scratch.”

“Right. One that required medical attention. That’s more than just a scratch, honey.”

“If you say so, Hotchner.”

He shifts his hands so that they fall into your lap, palms up and fingers instantly finding yours, tangling together perfectly. Like puzzle pieces.

“Good job, by the way.” Hotch rubs his thumb over your skin once, back and forth. “You did the right thing.”

“Learned from the best,” you say.

You’re both oblivious to the fact that the team is watching from a distance, and that the two of you look so lovesick it’s ridiculous that you haven’t spilled your feelings yet. You’re both absolutely fucked.

Where she stands with the team, Emily shakes her head, “I haven’t seen Hotch like this since… ever.”

Beside her, JJ merely shrugs, like it’s obvious, “yeah, they’re in love.”

Spencer looks at you and Aaron in that ambulance with a smile. “The odds of you guys being right are very, very high.”

Aaron Hotchner was never the biggest fan of birthdays. Was never big into the cakes and making wishes, the song and the presents and the fuss of it all.

When he started at the bureau, it stayed that way. Days off were rare enough as it was, so he’d always work on his birthday. And while he kept the signed cards from the team, he treated it as any other day. Nothing special.

This year, you’re on a mission to change that.

While it isn’t the first of Aaron’s birthdays you’ve spent with him, it’s the first one since the two of you have grown as close as you have, since you’ve felt the way you do. You’re just hoping to make it a good birthday for him.

You’ve roped the whole team into it. Decorating the conference room with streamers and balloons and a sign that hangs crooked on the wall, bringing in a cake that reads ‘Happy Birthday Hotch’ in frosting, and keeping it all a secret.

Of course, you’ve all already said happy birthday to him, and you’ve got a present stashed under your desk for later, but you’ve been doing your best to act natural even when the anticipation of your surprise for him eats at your stomach a little.

Surprises are a tricky thing, and there’s no way of knowing whether he’ll like it or not. You’ll just have to wait and see.

While in his office, the team had made it seem like they’d all left for the day, saying their goodbyes to Hotch. Instead of leaving, though, they’ve been hidden in the conference room waiting for you to bring him in.

“Aaron,” you say, knocking on his office door. “I think I lost an earring. Do you think you could help me look for it?”

Because you’re the one asking, Aaron says, “‘course, honey. Where do you think it is?”

You smile, because he’s fallen into your trap easily, because you know that he probably would search for an earring with you if you’d actually lost one.

“I remember having it on in the conference room, so maybe there.”

He stands from his desk, gesturing for you to lead the way with his hand held out. You grab onto it before he can drop it, tangling your fingers and leading him behind you.

Aaron lets you guide him, and when you open the door to the conference room and flick on the lights, he’s met with the team’s grinning faces and a chorus of, “surprise!”

For a moment, he’s speechless, frozen in his spot in the doorway with your hand in his.

No, Aaron’s never been the biggest fan of birthdays, but maybe that’s because nobody’s ever done something like this for him. You came into his life all sweet smiles and now you’re throwing him a surprise party? He’s never ever liked someone the way he likes you.

So much that like is spilling into a four letter word and he’s happy to let it.

You know him well enough to know that he doesn’t like being the center of attention too much, so the only people in the room are those of the BAU. His closest friends. And you, his favorite person.

Before he can say anything he’s being spoken to by the team, getting a ‘happy birthday, boss,’ from Derek, a spill about how hard it was to keep this a secret from Penelope, a grin from Spencer, a tip about how you’d organized all of this from Emily, a squeeze to the shoulder from JJ.

When he finally gets the chance, the others split into their own conversations, Aaron tugs you aside to the corner of the room.

“You did all of this for me?” He asks, head bent to catch your eye.

Although you’d caught the signature Hotchner smile—closed-mouthed and quick—when he saw the surprise, you’re nervous about what he might say. You worry that you’ve done too much, that he’d been pretending to like it for your sake.

“I’m sorry if it’s a bit much,” you start, anxiously tugging at your sleeves. “I wasn’t sure if you liked surprises, I know not everyone does, but I wanted to do something for you because I care about you. A lot. And birthdays are meant to be celebrated, you know?”

Aaron can’t help but let a smile spread over his face as you speak; a real smile. His heart is light, his feelings for you melting through him like the soft pink of cotton candy. He doesn’t think you could ever do anything that he wouldn’t like.

“I’ll clean it all up, too, I prom-”

Your rambling is cut off with his lips on yours. He’s kissing you.

It’s soft, the press of his mouth against yours, and it takes you a second to push back. It stays delicate, a dance between the two of you like you’d practiced a million times before.

His hands skate down your arms to hold your hands, weaving his fingers with yours, squeezing like he’s making sure you know this is real.

You feel it all over, your stomach tumbling, your heart beating in a rhythm that thumps his name. Aaron, Aaron, Aaron, over and over.

It’s a kiss worth a thousand words that you haven’t said yet, a kiss full of feelings and meaning and you know it, just by the way he does it, because you know him and he knows you. It’s you and Aaron, and it feels like the beginning of something huge. Of the rest of your life, maybe.

When he pulls back, Hotch rests his forehead against yours, giving your head a gentle nudge, locking his brown eyes on yours.

“It’s perfect,” he says.

The next thing you hear is Derek Morgan cheering, “I knew it!”

Similar words come from the rest of the team.

“Finally,” from Emily.

“About time,” from JJ.

“This isn’t surprising,” from Spencer, who smiles while saying it.

A sweet, “yay,” from Penelope.

Distracted by Aaron kissing you, you’d sort of forgotten they were there. Bashful, you tuck your head beneath Aaron’s chin, forehead against his collar. He simply tightens his hands around yours.

And when it’s time for cake, this year, Aaron Hotchner makes a wish on his birthday candles. He wishes to spend every other birthday just like this. With you.

༄

thank you so so much for reading!!! if you liked it, please please please consider reblogging/commenting and letting me know what you thought! love you <3

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thewulf · 24 days

Text

Bulletproof Bonds || Aaron Hotchner

Summary: Request - Maybe a husband!Aaron x Long Time BAU!wife and how there’s a new member to the BAU and she keeps trying to flirt with Aaron but he keeps turning her down🥲 but the new member doesn’t know that Aaron and reader are married, and new member just thinks of reader as competition to get with Aaron, eventually leading to reader getting really mad cause new member does something really stupid on a case that leads to reader almost getting seriously injured??... Read Rest Here

A/N: Really loved writing this one. Hope you all enjoy! Thank you for the request @viscade !

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader,

Word Count: 3.1k

TW: Yelling, gunshot (non wounded)

In the bustling chaos of the BAU bullpen, Aaron Hotchner sat at his desk, his brow furrowed in concentration as he sifted through the multitude of case files scattered before him. A usual sight for the unit chief. The harsh fluorescent lights cast stark shadows across his features, accentuating the lines of exhaustion etched into his face by years of chasing monsters in the dark.

You sat by his side, a silent sentinel amidst the whirlwind of activity. Your own workspace dedicated beside him cluttered with documents and crime scene photos. The faint aroma of stale coffee hung in the air as you both delved into the intricate web of clues left behind by the latest serial killer to plague the streets. It was always so easy with him, your husband. The way the two of you were able to bounce ideas off each other was like none seen before.

The tension in the room was palpable, a heavy weight pressing down on everyone present as they grappled with the enormity of the task at hand. Each unsolved case seemed to loom over them like a specter, a constant reminder of the lives lost and the justice yet to be served. Amidst all the usual chaos, Agent Sarah Miller made her presence known. Her arrival heralded by the soft click of her heels against the linoleum floor. She moved with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, her youthful exuberance a stark contrast to the world-weary countenances of her colleagues. She had no idea what she was getting herself into.

Sarah's eyes lingered on Aaron as she sauntered past his open aired desk, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of her lips. She was young, ambitious, and hungry for success. Her gaze fixed on the formidable figure of the BAU's leader like a moth drawn to a flame.

Despite Aaron's cold indifference, she persisted in her attempts at flirtation, undeterred by his lack of response. Her tactics were shamelessly transparent, her words dripping with false sweetness as she sought to capture his attention. Agent Sarah Miller yet again walked past Aaron's desk, her gaze lingering on him for a moment too long before she turned her attention to you. There was a subtle flicker of annoyance in her eyes as she took in your presence, her lips curling into a barely concealed sneer.

"Hey, Hotch," she purred, leaning against the edge of his desk with practiced ease. "You must be tired of staring at all those files. Why don't you take a break and grab a coffee with me?" Her eyes kept looking back to you in brief flashes to gauge your reaction. You decided early on after her brazen attempts that you would give her none. A layer of disgust masked on top of the doe eyes she was attempting to give your husband was meant for you. She was very forward, you had to give her that one.

Aaron's response was polite but firm, his tone devoid of any warmth. "I'm sorry, Agent Miller, but I have work to do," he replied, his eyes never leaving the papers in front of him.

Undeterred, Sarah flashed him a flirtatious smile, her gaze lingering on him expectantly. "Maybe some other time, then," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness before she finally strolled away.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at her blatant display of interest, the subtle scoff escaping your lips as you returned your focus to the files sprawled across your desk. "Some profiler she is," you muttered under your breath, the sarcasm dripping from your words like venom. It was a small act of defiance, a way to vent the frustration bubbling just beneath the surface as you watched Sarah's failed attempts at seduction.

Your comment earned a small smirk from Aaron, his lips quirking up in amusement as he glanced up from his work. His eyes met yours, a silent acknowledgment passing between you, a shared understanding of the absurdity of the situation. In that fleeting moment, you found solace in the unspoken reassurance that he was not blind to Sarah's antics, nor was he unaffected by them.

As the tension in the room continued to get heavier, you exchanged a knowing glance with Aaron, the unspoken bond between you speaking volumes. It was a silent reminder of the unbreakable connection that bound you together, a tether grounding you amidst the disarray swirling around you. In that moment, you drew strength from the knowledge that no amount of flirtation from the new agent could ever hope to rival the deep-seated love and loyalty that defined your marriage.

But beneath the surface, resentment simmered, fueled by the blatant disrespect for the boundaries of your marriage. Each lingering glance, each flirtatious comment served as a reminder of the fragile line Sarah was treading, unaware of the storm brewing beneath the calm facade. Yet, as frustrating as her antics were, you knew that the true test of your marriage lay not in her misguided advances but in the unwavering trust and devotion you shared with Aaron. A bond that would withstand any challenge thrown your way.

You had to give the girl credit. She certainly didn’t stop. It was not even an hour later that the girl came crawling right back to him. In the dimly lit bullpen of the BAU, the seasoned agents huddled together, their eyes darting furtively around the room as they exchanged knowing glances. Reid, Garcia, Morgan, and Prentiss stood in a tight circle. Their voices hushed as they leaned in conspiratorially.

"So, who's going to crack first?" Garcia whispered, her eyes sparkling mischievously behind her glasses.

Prentiss smirked, crossing her arms over her chest. "My money's on Y/N. She's got that poker face down pat."

Reid nodded in agreement, adjusting his glasses. "And she's got a wicked sense of humor. I don't think she's sweating it."

Just then, Morgan, ever the observant one, interjected with a grin. "You know what, I'm with both of you on this one. Y/N's handling this like a pro. She's probably just waiting for the perfect moment to drop a witty comeback."

The others turned to look at you, noticing your bemused expression as you observed the scene unfolding with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. The new agent, eager to impress, leaned in a little too close to Hotch, her voice dropping to a suggestive whisper. "So, Hotch, any plans for dinner tonight?"

Hotch glanced up from his paperwork, his expression remaining impassive. "Just finishing up some reports, Agent. Nothing planned."

Undeterred, the new agent persisted, fluttering her eyelashes coyly. "Well, if you change your mind, I know this great Italian place down the street."

Hotch merely nodded, returning his attention to the file in front of him. "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you, Agent."

Behind his back, the BAU members couldn't contain their laughter, stifling their giggles as they watched the new agent's attempts fall flat. It was clear that Hotch was immune to her charms, his focus unwavering even in the face of relentless flirting.

As Sarah retreated, finally somewhat defeated, the BAU members exchanged triumphant looks, their silent bet settled. Hotch may have been unflappable in the field, but when it came to dodging unwanted advances, he was truly a master of his craft. And you, well, you were just enjoying the show, your amused smile barely masking your annoyance as you watched the scene unfold.

The breaking point came during a particularly intense case, where the unsub's erratic behavior had everyone on edge. You felt the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you moved cautiously through the dimly lit corridors of an abandoned warehouse, every nerve on high alert.

In the heat of the pursuit, Sarah's impulsive decision shattered the fragile equilibrium you had struggled to maintain with your team. Ignoring protocol and disregarding the safety of the team, she charged ahead recklessly, her actions sending shockwaves rippling through your ranks. Bullets flew past you like angry hornets, the deafening roar of gunfire echoing off the walls as chaos descended upon you.

It happened in the blink of an eye, a split-second decision with far-reaching consequences. A bullet sliced through the air like a deadly whisper, its trajectory aimed straight for your chest. But thanks to the protective barrier of your bulletproof vest, the impact was nothing more than a forceful shove, the fabric absorbing the blow with a sickening thud. The impact knocked the wind out of you, pain searing through your body as you stumbled backward, clutching your chest.

As the adrenaline faded and the reality of what could have been sunk in, fury ignited like a wildfire within you. You rounded on Sarah, your voice a crescendo of anger as you unleashed the pent-up frustration that had been building for weeks. Each word was a dagger aimed straight at her heart. Your tone laced with a venomous ferocity that mirrored the intensity of the emotions raging within you.

Coughing up blood, your vision blurred as you struggled to make sense of what had just happened. Anger surged through you like a tidal wave, drowning out the pain as you staggered to your feet. With a primal roar, you lunged at Sarah, grabbing her by the collar with a strength born of desperation.

"What the fuck was that?" you yelled, louder than you ever had before. And certainly not in front of the team. Your voice raw with fury. Each word was a thunderclap, reverberating through the warehouse like a warning shot. "You could have killed me! Or them! Do you even realize what you've done?"

But Sarah's response was a defiant sneer, her gaze unwavering in the face of your righteous indignation. "I did what needed to be done," she spat, her voice laced with arrogance. "I'm not afraid to take risks to get the job done."

The words were like a slap to the face, a cruel reminder of the recklessness that had nearly cost you everything. With all your rage, you shoved her away, your hands trembling with anger as you struggled to contain the tempest raging within you.

"You're a liability," you growled, your voice a low, dangerous whisper. "And if you ever put my life, their lives,” You pointed to Spencer and Emily behind you, “in danger again, I won't hesitate to take you down myself."

As you stood there, trembling with fury and pain, the rest of the team made their way over. You still hasn’t seen Aaron yet but the rest of them looked on in shock and disbelief. Derek surged forward, his strong arms wrapping around you as he pulled you back from the confrontation. "Easy there Y/N," he said, his voice low and soothing as he tried to calm the storm raging within you. "Cool off."

Emily and JJ exchanged worried glances. Finally, Aaron found you after too many moments of losing it in front of everyone. His eyes widened in alarm as he took in the sight of blood staining your lips, his heart clenching with fear at the sight. "What happened?" he demanded. His usually calm voice was laced with urgency as he reached out to gently touch your arm. His fingers trembled against your skin, his touch a comforting anchor in the swirling chaos of the moment.

Still reeling from the confrontation and the shock of narrowly escaping serious injury, Spencer stepped forward, his voice calm but tinged with urgency. "Aaron, Sarah made a nearly fatal mistake," he said, his words cutting through the tension like a knife. "Her impulsive actions endangered everyone on the team, especially Y/N." You were thankful he was willing to step in because you weren’t quite sure if you had the right words.

Aaron's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching with barely contained fury as he turned his gaze on Sarah. The air around him crackled with palpable anger, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive. "Is this true?" he demanded, his voice cold and steely as he pinned her with a hard stare.

Sarah shifted uncomfortably under his intense scrutiny, her bravado faltering in the face of his unwavering gaze. "I...I was just trying to apprehend the unsub," she stammered, her voice wavering with uncertainty.

But Aaron's patience had worn thin, his temper flaring like a raging inferno. "You made a reckless decision that put the entire team at risk," he snapped, his voice echoing off the walls of the warehouse. "Until you can prove that you're capable of following protocol and putting the safety of your teammates above all else, you will not be back in the field."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the consequences of her actions. Sarah's expression fell, her defiance crumbling under the weight of his judgment. It was a harsh lesson, but one that she would need to learn if she ever hoped to earn back the trust of her colleagues and prove herself worthy of wearing the badge.

As Aaron turned away, his attention returning to you with a renewed sense of protectiveness, you couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for the unwavering support of your team leader and husband. But as you tried to catch your breath, a sudden coughing fit wracked your body, drawing Aaron's attention back to you. Concern flashed across his features, his eyes narrowing with worry as he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to steady you.

"Hey sweetheart," he murmured softly, his voice a gentle caress against your ear as he brushed a strand of hair away from your forehead. "Let's get you checked out, alright?"

You attempted to speak, but the coughing fit continued, leaving you gasping for air. So, you shook your head in protest. You were fine and you knew it, but the damn bullet hit you right in the lung leaving you gasping for air. Aaron's worry deepened, his brow furrowing with concern as he knelt down beside you, his hands hovering anxiously over your shoulders.

"Honey, just breathe," he urged, his voice filled with tenderness as he placed a comforting hand on your back. "We'll get you to the hospital, and they'll take care of you. I promise." It wasn’t usual that he dropped those sweet terms of endearment to you in front of the team, but he couldn’t really care. Not when he could’ve lost you.

Despite your protests, Aaron's determination remained steadfast. With gentle insistence, he scooped you up in his arms, cradling you against his chest with a strength born of love and concern. "You're going to the hospital," he declared, his voice unwavering as he carried you towards his SUV. “I’m not taking no for an answer sweetheart."

As Aaron settled into the driver's seat beside you, his eyes flickered with concern as he stole glances, his hand reaching out to brush against yours in a silent gesture of reassurance. But despite his unwavering determination to get you to the hospital, you couldn't help but feel a stubborn sense of resistance bubbling within you.

"I'm fine, Aaron," you insisted, your tone tinged with frustration as you crossed your arms over your chest. "This is incredibly dramatic. You’ve been hit in your gear too."

Aaron's expression softened at your words, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Maybe I am," he admitted with a chuckle. "I also know what it feels like honey. I’d rather be safe than sorry."

You shot him a playful glare, unable to suppress the teasing smile that danced on your lips. He cared for you, truly. Every inch of himself loved you more deeply than even you could have fathomed. You also knew that love bore stubbornness and there was no talking him out of what he knew he had to do. You were just along for the ride now. "You just can't resist playing the hero, can you?" You spoke up after a moment of silence between the two of you.

Aaron chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he glanced over at you. "Guilty as charged," he replied. "Always remind me never to get on your bad side," Aaron quipped, a lighthearted smile playing on his lips as he attempted to alleviate the tension that hung heavy in the air.

You managed a weak laugh trying your hardest to hide the pain radiating from your chest. However, so grateful for his attempt to lighten the mood. "You looked like you were about to take matters into your own hands back there," he teased gently, his voice laced with affection.

The image of you, ready to throw down with the new agent, brought a genuine laugh bubbling up from deep within you this time. "Well, she did have it coming," you admitted with a mischievous grin. "But I guess I'll let you handle the heroics this time."

As the laughter subsided, Aaron's expression turned more serious, a hint of regret flickering in his eyes. "I'm sorry things got so heated," he said softly, his voice tinged with sincerity. "I should have stepped in sooner. I thought she was harmless. Dealt with her type so many times before." He sighed, running a hand through his hair before finding your hand and lacing his fingers within yours.

You squeezed his hand, a warm smile spreading across your face. "It’s not your fault you’re such a silver fox," Tossing him a wink you couldn’t help but to tease him right on back. It’s how you knew everything was going to be just fine. The two of you had dealt with so much worse and come out even stronger, this would be nothing but a minor blip on your journey together.

Aaron laughed at your playful comment, a warmth spreading in his chest at your familiar banter. "Ah, so you're saying my charm is both a blessing and a curse," he retorted with a grin, his gaze softening as he looked at you.

You nodded, a fond smile playing on your lips. "Something like that," you agreed, feeling a surge of gratitude for the ease with which you could navigate even the toughest moments with Aaron by your side.

As the car glided through the streets towards the hospital, a comfortable silence settled between you, punctuated only by the gentle hum of the engine. Despite the events that had unfolded, you found solace in the quiet intimacy of the moment, knowing that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together. With each passing mile, you felt the weight of the day begin to lift from your shoulders, replaced by a sense of reassurance that only Aaron could provide. His unwavering love and support was everything you needed. He guided you through the darkness, illuminating the path forward with hope and determination.

As you arrived at the hospital and Aaron helped you out of the car, you knew that this was just another chapter in your life together. You couldn't help but feel a profound sense of gratitude for the man beside you, your literal partner in crime, your rock, your everything. Together, you were truly unstoppable.

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dudeitiskarev · 25 days

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I Want to Hold Your Hand | Aaron Hotchner

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x bau female reader

Summary: Hotch sends you home and you almost die, which only makes him realize how much he truly loves you.

Word count: 2.4k.

Tags/warnings: hurt/little comfort; season 1 Hotch my beloved <3; canon typical violence; Haley and Jack don’t exist in this universe oopsies; angst with happy ending; Hotch is a baby; probably very inaccurate medical talk bc all I know is from Grey’s; not beta read + English isn’t my first language so good luck with that.

Author’s note: remember when I said I was probably done writing for a Hotch? Turns out all I had to do was stop taking my antidepressant 🙄 anyway, don’t get your hopes high. I just needed to take a break from my never-ending Spence fic so I wrote this. Which is basically a rewrite of what happened with Elle. I just wanted to make Hotch suffer a little so I hope you like it!

MASTERLIST

A few hours ago, Aaron kissed the top of your head and sent you back to the hotel with a police officer.

Now, he was in a hospital waiting room with his heart in his throat, hoping the doctor would show up with good news.

You’d been attacked in your hotel room, and it was his fault.

“They’re gonna set up a bed for you in her room.” Jason walked in with a cup of coffee for Aaron. His fourth one already.

“She’s… not out of surgery yet,” Aaron shut his eyes. “We don’t know if —”

“The hospital chief, I know him.” Gideon sort of smiled. “I asked him if he could go check on her. All I know is that they’re closing her up now.”

The words began to sound far and faded as if Aaron was underwater. His vision blurred and his legs would’ve given up if he wasn’t sitting down already.

It was his soul returning to his body.

He didn’t want to get his hopes high, though. If they were closing you up it meant you were alive, but nothing else. There could be a hundred things wrong with you while being alive.

All he could do was nod and put his hands together over his lips like a prayer.

You were alive.

“The doctor should be here with the updates any minute now.” Jason sat next to Aaron and gave him a gentle tap on his back.

Gideon knew. Even when Hotch hadn’t told anyone about his feelings—not even you—he spent most of his day with profilers so of course the best one in his team knew about it.

“I’m heading back to the hotel soon,” Gideon continued. “See what the hell happened. Why… How did they let the unsub enter her room. Garcia should be landing soon. We need to check every security camera.” He smacked his tongue in disappointment and shook his head.

Aaron rose from his seat and tried his best to at least let his shoulders relax but every bit of him had turned into concrete.

“Where are Reid and Morgan?” He asked, pacing back and forth and stretching his neck from one side to the other. Even in moments like this, he needed to know where the rest of his people were. Especially in moments like this.

“Back at the local PD,” Gideon answered.

“JJ?”

“She’s talking to the hotel manager, making sure none of the employees makes any declaration to the press before we catch the guy.”

Aaron nodded, and soon, the doctor walked into the room with the updates.

“Surgery was a success,” he began. “We managed to repair all the damage and save her lung. Now, she flatlined once in the ambulance and then again during surgery so her brain has been through a lot.”

It wasn’t the time to profile anyone, but the way the doctor couldn’t keep eye contact for longer than two seconds told Aaron he was aiming at something more serious.

“Just tell us.” Aaron rubbed his thumb with his fingers.

“She’s not breathing on her own yet and according to her EEG, her last exam, her brain is swollen. It may take her a while to wake up.” The doctor gulped. “If she wakes up.”

Aaron’s entire world crumbled once again. He pinched the bridge of his nose and walked to a corner to pull himself together.

This was his fault. You might never wake up and it was his fault.

“When can we see her?” Gideon asked for him.

“You can see her now but… you need to be prepared. A machine is breathing for her. There’s a tube down her throat and it might be a lot to look at.”

Just picturing you like that turned his stomach upside down.

God, if you don’t ever wake up—

“She’s gonna wake up.” Penelope’s voice entered the room and so did the light she carried everywhere.

She was one of Aaron’s comfort people. If Penelope was there, there was hope.

“Garcia,” Jason said in a don’t tone.

“She’s strong.” Penelope walked up to Hotch anyway. “And people wake up from comas. Miracles happen and—” Her eyes filled with tears once she touched Hotch’s arm to get his attention. “She needs us, she needs you. And we need her.”

Garcia also knew, apparently. And if she knew without being a profiler, everyone else knew.

“I found this.” She handed Hotch a Polaroid picture of you. You were leaning on Garcia’s desk, your arms folded over your chest and with your sweet, sweet smile. There was the hope. “I took it a while ago and kept it on my desk along with the others but…”

Aaron took it with a shaky hand. You were mesmerizing.

“García,” Gideon insisted.

A nurse interrupted to let them know they could see you now.

“You go,” Gideon said to Hotch, taking a step back. “Just call me if anything changes. Garcia, you’re coming with me.”

“Yes, sir.” Penelope gave Hotch one last hopeful smile before following Jason out.

Aaron looked at your photo again and took deep breaths to gather himself as walked to the endless hall that took him to you.

“We’ll set up your bed in a few.” The nurse smiled at him, gesturing for him to go in. “She looks good. It might not look like it because of all the machines but she’s doing good. She’s a strong woman.”

Aaron said a quiet thanks before the nurse left.

It was just you and him.

The steady beeping of the machine brought him a sense of comfort—it meant you were alive—yet his feet were hesitant to take him next to you. He stood at the door for a moment, watching you from afar.

As the doctor had said, it was a lot to look at. It reminded him of the last time he saw someone close to him like this: his father. The difference was that back then, he couldn’t wait for his dad to die.

Today, he’d found himself praying multiple times to a god he wasn’t even sure existed most times.

He dared to move and when he reached your side, he almost crumbled. You had a few bruises on your left cheek, your knuckles were split—you even had a broken finger, and you looked beautiful as ever. He wished he could see the twinkle of your eyes, hear your voice, catch you smiling at him.

Guilt brewed at the pit of his stomach again. He should’ve gone with you. He should’ve been with you.

He lifted one hand to stroke your head and tears welled up as soon as his skin touched yours. His chin quivered and he sniffled quietly as tears threatened to spill. He used the heel of his hands to dry them away. He couldn’t cry, even if you were in a coma and couldn’t see him like this—broken. You believed people’s energy had effects on others, and you needed him to be strong. He needed to be more like you.

His bed was set soon after, right next to you. His eyes were heavy, and his muscles were sore. Even then, he couldn’t bring himself to lie down. He was scared to close his eyes. What if you died while he was asleep? He stayed sitting down, holding your hand and never losing sight of you.

“It’s raining,” he said out loud, talking to you. “Every time it rains I think of you.”

He smiled at the memories. You’d shown up at his office for your interview drenching, and he was smitten from the very first moment he laid eyes on you.

“Agent Hotchner,” your perky voice caught him off guard. No one inside the BAU building was perky—besides Garcia.

You stood by the door, both hands behind your back waiting for his signal to come in.

“Please.” He gestured with his hand to the seat across from him.

He took half a second to study you quickly. Raindrops were gathered over the shoulders of your blazer and your mascara was a bit smudged under your eyes.

“Forgot your coat, agent?” He commented, peeling his eyes off you and reading through your resume.

“Didn’t think I’d be raining by the time I arrived, sir. I don’t keep an umbrella in my car either. I apologize for my… appearance.”

It wasn’t your appearance that got you on his team, it was your outstanding resume. It made him wonder why you chose to apply to the Behavioral Analysis Unit instead of staying at ViCAP. Your performance there was impeccable.

“I wasn’t feeling comfortable there anymore,” was your answer. “And I want to seek other paths, sir. And I know I’m a good fit for your team.”

You started the very next day, and he partnered up with you to keep an eye on you during your first cases. You were a quick thinker, were fast on your feet, and stayed calm under critical situations.

Not once he felt at a disadvantage in the field for working with the new kid, which only showed him how good you naturally were. He was drawn to you and it wasn’t just because of your professionalism.

It was your fast food order. It was the first joke you ever made that only made him laugh. It was your perfume, the way you spoke with your hands, and how you raised your brows when making a point.

Everything about you made him take a deep breath. You made him dizzy. Lightheaded. Drunk.

Exactly how he felt right now while holding your hand, except that now, the room was spinning at the mere thought of losing you.

“I love you,” he murmured, bringing your hand up to his lips and kissing your bruised knuckles with shaky lips. “I love you.”

He’d never said it before. He didn’t know he did until now.

“God, I love you so much. From the moment I saw you, you lit up my life. You made it better, made me better.” He kept talking to you, hoping that his voice would heal everything inside you. “I can’t lose you. I won’t make it.”

Please wake up. Please wake up. Please wake up.

The rain stopped, the hours passed, and the sun never came out.

It’d been two weeks and he’d already made the habit of reading you at night.

“Studies have shown that playing music they really like and talking to the person in a coma increases their chances of waking up,” Spencer had said the day the entire team came to visit you.

Most nights he read case files. Others, he liked to read poetry.

You still hadn’t woken up, but the music, the poetry, and the flowers didn’t stop.

“I hope you don’t mind if I read something by Neruda,” Aaron said as he sat on the chair next to you. “Maybe not Neruda.”

It was one of those nights where hope had watered down with his tears.

He put the book down next to you and held your hand. He hadn’t stopped holding your hand; he hadn’t stopped kissing it either. He sighed deeply and stood up to draw the blinds, turning his back to you.

A loud smack against the floor startled him, making him turn around. The book he’d left next to you had fallen. He didn’t think he’d left it at the edge of the bed, but he picked it up without much curious and went to put it where it was.

Your hand twitched when he grazed your knuckles casually.

Then it twitched again—harsher—and a soft whimper came from your chest. That sound definitely came out of your body.

Aaron was quick to check on you, towering over you and watching you closely. Your eyelids started to move and the next thing he knew, he was making eye contact with you.

Those beautiful twinkling eyes took his breath away.

“We need a doctor in here!” He was quick to react, pressing the call button.

Nurses stormed inside and moved him out of the way to assist you.

“She’s awake. She’s fighting the tube,” was all he heard before a thousand tingles rushed through him.

You were awake.

Your doctor arrived soon after to examine you and Aaron stood there as they took the tube out.

You coughed and writhed with discomfort.

“Can you tell me your name?” Your doctor moved a small flashlight in front of your eyes.

You blinked a few times and searched around the room. Your eyes landed on Aaron. “Hotch?”

Your soft voice traveled to him and enveloped his heart, mending every bit that was broken.

“Hi,” he merely said.

You shook your head and said your name instead. Your doctor asked some more questions like your birthday, where you worked at and what was the last thing you remembered, and the entire time your eyes were trained on Aaron.

“It’s vague.” You took a sharp breath. “I think I was attacked but I don’t know how. I can assume by this unglued scar, though.” You put your palm on your chest.

“We’re still going to do some tests,” Your doctor said. “But you’re great. Pupils are responsive, your lungs sound healthy and there are no signs of brain damage. No memory loss. No speech loss either.”

“How soon can she go home?” Aaron asked, taking another step closer. He finally stood by your side, and you reached for his hand.

This was you. Sweet and caring even at your worst.

“I’d like to keep her under observation for a couple of days, then she can go. But just so you know, you can’t fly for at least two weeks after open-chest surgery.”

The doctor gave you some other indications before leaving, then it was just the two of you as it’d been for the past two weeks. Though now he got to see the twinkle of your eyes, hear your voice, and catch you smiling at him.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, tilting your head to the side like a puppy.

“I sent you away and—“ he raised his brows.

“Don’t.” You squeezed his hand. “Don’t do that. Don’t… blame yourself.”

“I should’ve come with you. I should’ve— god, you almost died. You almost died,” he repeated in a whisper, shutting his eyes with pain.

The guilt was still there.

“But I didn’t.”

“I was so scared,” he admitted, daring to look back at you.

“I… don’t remember much. Just bits and pieces but I do remember that I wasn’t scared. I think. I… channeled you at that moment.” You laughed. “I remember thinking, Hotch wouldn’t be scared, he would put up a fight, so I did. I fought the guy, which got me almost killed but I wasn’t scared.” You lifted your hand and cradled his face, rubbing your thumb over his cheek. “You have a beard.”

He chuckled. “Barely.”

“It looks good. I like it.”

He didn’t like it much, but he was grateful it was there so you wouldn’t see how hard he was blushing. He poured you some water and handed it you to distract himself from it.

“Where are we?” You then asked, taking a sip from the straw.

“Seattle.” Aaron raised his brows while licking his lips.

Last time you two were in Seattle, you’d kissed for the first time.

“Oh,” you mirrored his smirk. “So that’s gonna be like a three-day road trip back to Quantico?”

“It’s either that or two more weeks in Seattle until you can fly there,” he responded.

“Both sound amazing, don’t you think?” you scanned his face up and down and heat rushed to his cheeks again. “Thank you for staying with me, Aaron.”

I love you, he thought.

“How could I not?” he said instead.

Never said there would be a love confession now did I 🤭 But don’t worry, hotch confesses his love during the road trip <33333 also the title is a The Beatles song bc he played The Beatles a lot while reader was in a coma. And bc he held her hand a lot.

I hope you liked it!!!!

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner x fem reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner x female reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction

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irndad · 1 month

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won't you be my sunshine-a.h.

a/n: runner!hotch x sunshine!reader !! sooooo fluffy, first hotch fic of mine so be gentle with me! lots of pining and happy end <3 happy to continue with these two in an au!

Aaron Hotchner is not a particularly emotive man.

This is a skill he has honed, a cherished quality that was not born of luck or of natural ability, but a skill that he has honed down to a fine tip point. He needs to be, in this job. It’s cost him things, of course, but for the most part, Aaron is happy with his choices. He takes a firm line with people he works with, and does not always let up in his personal life.

The only time this sometimes causes a hitch, is in his romantic life.

Which isn’t to say that he has one.

There is a woman who reads in the park every morning. Aaron affectionately thinks of this bench as her bench, as it is marked by wisterias and hyacinths on either end of it. It’s something of a ritual, after his runs, that they talk.

It’s fun. He doesn’t have a lot of space for fun. He’d collapsed on the bench one day after siphoning his anger at a particular case into a difficult run. He’d crashed onto the bench, sweaty and exhausted and hadn’t even seen her there. Which is a bit impressive, as she’s hard to miss the sight of. It is also in equal measure embarrassing. It’s not every day you collapse in front of a gorgeous woman, disturbing her from what is likely a lovely afternoon in the park.

That’s how it started, anyway. She doesn’t run, so each break is punctuated by her company. He’s actually not sure if they’re flirting. He’s not very good at that- the last time he has to he was 17 and so full of unearned confidence, he lucked into a partnership.

Now, he’s a bit older and a lot more scarred. She’s younger than him, not by much. She laughs with her whole chest at his dry, glib humor- and this is something Aaron had forgotten. The joy of a beautiful, wonderful woman’s company beside you.

He feels a little out of place next to her. Romance is not something he does. Ever thought he’d do again, really. That’s not to say that this is romance. Their romance is almost entirely hypothetical. He thinks of her at work, which is a monumental development in and of itself.

“So, how was the paperwork? I know you’ve been taking a little more on since your colleague had a baby. It’s so kind of you to do it.” She asks him on a beautiful August morning.

He fights off a blush that she remembers what he’s done for JJ. He’s not big on mentioning his own good deeds. Aaron believes that this would cancel it out. Still, her praise is a warm balm to the exhaustion that plagues him. It’s hedonistic, the way he wants her to say more about him. He wonders absentmindedly if she knew everything about him that’s hard to love, she’d still paint him with such a light and warm glance. She’s bright enough, he’s tempted to tell her everything about him just because she asks.

“It was…alright. My team is excellent. I’m lucky to work with people like them, it makes the process better. I couldn’t ask for more.”

She giggles a little at this, and there’s that roar of affection.

He feels a sense of ease around her, one that is suspicious for him. He tries not to romanticize, but this connection is hard not to. She’s beautiful- this is obvious to anyone who meets her, a simple truth of her. But Aaron is trained to notice things little factors that show the truth of someone.

He likes to watch her- it’s a pleasant thing, getting to be in her presence. It’s a little addicting, the way she looks at him. It makes him feel like all of the things he knows to be true of himself- his relative failures, the closed-off nature of his demeanor- are things that not only can be overlooked, but don’t seem to be in her line of sight at all. It’s an honor, to have her doe eyes rake over the sight of him, to meet him with gentle conversation.

He tries not to notice that she is gorgeous. Aaron has been around beautiful women, of course- this is not something that should surprise him. But there’s something effervescent about her, something that his him wondering if it’s possible that she might feel the same way about him. He knows that he used to be a more attractive man, but now. Well, he’s a bit bruised, both metaphorically and physically.

It feels odd to even think of this happening. She’s just got a warm, sweet tone and he replays what it’s like when she greets him. She smiles her brilliant grin and sometimes hugs him. It’s embarrassing how much he likes the feeling of it- soft curves against hard muscle and scarred skin. She always smells wonderful, and he wonders how nice it would be to have more of this.

“I like your new shirt, by the way.” She smiles at him, and his heart jumps. It feels juvenile, but- she’s wearing a new lipstick, it seems. Her beautiful pout looks awfully tempting.

“I like the lip color,” he tries to compliment back amenably, but that doesn’t stick. Instead, it comes out too earnest. He’s hyper aware of the fact that she’s right by him. She flushes, and Aaron feels a surge of pride.

“Thank you,” she says, voice softer and flattered, and isn’t that a pretty sound? He’d love to do that for her, make her feel seen, make her feel like she’s as beautiful as she is, “I thought you might like it.”

It’s her directiveness that breaks the seal, he supposes looking back. Because she wore the lipstick for him. That’s just about the only thing it can mean, and he is struck with a particularly sensory fantasy of what it would be like to slot his mouth against hers- he gets the feeling it might be worth it even if he gets the color on his mouth.

He’s a gentleman, though, he decides after a decidedly ungentlemanly amount of time spend staring at the gorgeous curve of her lips.

“Would you want to get dinner with me?” He hears himself say it before he’s processed it, and then it’s out into the world. His heart is hammering and he’s blaming on the run, when god, it’s absolutely about how breathtaking she looks, the sunlight reflecting off her hair like a halo. When she beams back at him, she looks particularly angelic.

It’s then, she leans over and kisses him on the cheek.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

(Months later, when she is sitting on his kitchen counter and he is standing between her legs, gazing down at her with unabated fondness because he is entitled to that, he reflects on this moment and thinks god, how lucky am I, that I ran past that bench?)

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zvdvdlvr · 4 months

Text

— I Love You

— 🧠 synopsis. A tough case leaves you in the more than willing arms of SSA Aaron Hotchner.

— 🧠 word count. 2,409

— 🧠 warnings. Foul language. Idiots to lovers. Friends to lovers. Weird plot. Possible jealous!Hotch.

Maybe it was the children that hadn’t been saved in time. Maybe it was the pitying glances from not only the team, but the police officers. Maybe, even, it was the way Aaron’s eyes flitted away any time y/n looked up.

No, y/n was mad. Angry, spiteful, defiant- any other synonyms for angry. The fact that the unsub had been completely fooled by y/n’s act until he had promptly decided he didn’t believe y/n’s promise to help in any way she could to lower his prison sentence. That’s the thing with schizophrenics: they’re extremely paranoid.

Y/n was so infuriated, she refused to talk- a habit that she had learned from childhood. If she didn’t say anything, she couldn’t get in trouble. It was a bad habit that y/n had eventually stopped by the time she went to college because the anger she kept inside of her without any kind of release would always find a way to rot her from the inside out.

So now, even on the flight home, y/n still hasn’t said more than two sentences in a row.

— 🧠

Aaron Hotchner was a man with excellent observation skills and the ability to adapt. He knew y/n’s habit of reserving herself to silence due to the amount of time they have worked together, but Aaron felt like something was different this time.

Instead of starting the pile of paperwork he already had, Aaron instead found himself watching y/n. She was always extremely sensitive to cases that dealt with kids, but this seem to hit home, adding to the fact that their unsub had blown his brains out within a five foot radius of y/n and the seven-year-old girl that had been the last victim.

When the team had gotten to the scene, they watched the little girl dissolve into y/n’s arms, brain matter and blood on the latter’s face. The look in y/n’s eyes when Derek had immediately rushed to the two of them was one of complete despair. Aaron watched, paralyzed, as you picked up the little girl and let her scream and wail near your ringing ears. You turned, pressing her head down so she wouldn’t look at the dead body and look Aaron dead in the eyes and took the child to the ambulance.

Something in your eyes had provoked worry in Aaron. Did you feel guilty? Were you not allowing yourself to break down when you needed to be strong for the little soul in your arms? Was there something you were trying to tell him?

“Hey,” Hotch murmured. He sat down as carefully as he could (which wasn’t too impressive seeing as it was 1 in the morning on a plane).

When you didn’t say anything, Hotch sighed. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I need you to know you did what you had to do. What he did… that wasn’t on you, y/n.”

Then you looked up at him with tears in your eyes and Aaron felt his heart sink. “Oh, honey…” he whispered.

And then you were in his arms, crying, while trying not to wake up the others. “Hotch, I-“ you started, sniffling.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” Aaron all but cooed, lightly carding his fingers through your hair. He knew you blamed yourself because that’s how you are. You always strive to do the best you possibly could, oftentimes resorting to neglecting yourself whenever you did something that you knew you could have done better or simply because you forgot.

“It’s all my fault, Aaron, I- I could have saved him but- I… I messed up and I- I don’t even know what I did! And that little girl…” you trailed off, another wave of tears threatening to overtake your ability to speak.

Aaron’s throat bobbed as he struggled to find the words to comfort the woman in his arms. Long ago had he resigned to simply being y/n’s boss/borderline friend because he accepted the fact that- as much as he hated to admit it- he was older, not your type, or just simply unattractive. But he would do theoretically anything you asked him to do even if it caused him heartbreak in the future.

“You saved that little girl, angel. *You* did. If you save one of them, you save all of them. Focus on the good, honey, not the bad. If you can do that then you can do anything, and believe me,” Aaron smiled, “I have no doubt in my mind you can do anything.”

Aaron held you and prayed to God that you didn’t hear how fast his heart was racing. He brushed your tears away and let you sleep on his shoulder, happy that he had hopefully gotten you out of your funk.

— 🧠

Later, Aaron woke up to Derek tapping his shoulder. “Do you want me to take our golden girl home?” Derek asked, with a softness to his voice that he had whenever he talked to you.

Blinking away the tiredness from his eyes, Aaron shook his head. “No. No, I got her. Tjank you, Derek, but you need to go home and get some rest.”

Derek nodded. “Get home safe,” he said to Hotch, a small smile in his face when he heard you sigh a little in you sleep and bury your head even further into Aaron’s neck.

Derek patted Aaron’s shoulder before taking his leave.

“Wake up, y/n,” Aaron murmured, heart swelling in his chest when he heard you mumble incoherent words.

Slinging his own go-bag and yours over his shoulders, Hotch helped you stand up.

“Hotch, lemme take my-“ you started, being cut off with a yawn.

“I got it, y/n,” Aaron chuckled. He let you slip your arm in his and all but lean on him as he made his way to his car.

When he got you settled into the passage seat, Aaron tossed the bags in the back and started the drive to your house.

“Aaron?” You asked, voice small.

He looked over at you. Despite the lack of light, Aaron watched you pick at your fingers. “Yeah?”

It took you a minute before saying something. You wanted to ask him why he kept calling you ‘honey’ and ‘sweetheart’. It’s not that you didn’t like it (you loved it), you just don’t think he could keep calling you that if he didn’t have any kind of attraction to you. You, though, you’ve been enamored with Aaron Hotchner since the day he shook your hand and offered you a job.

Similarly, you wanted to ask him what he did when he got lost in his own mind; when he himself couldn’t pull himself out of his thoughts.

So you settled on a breathless “Thank you”.

Silence reigned once more as Aaron tried to pick out the meaning of your thanks. Where you thanking him for driving you home? For letting you fall asleep on him? For… being one of the best friends you’d ever had in your life without saying it?

When Aaron carried your bag to the door as you unlocked the it, he wondered if there was another universe where he was taking you home every night, going to bed with you, waking up to Jack begging for pancakes with you, dropping Jack off at school with you, and then going to work with you. Maybe, Aaron thought, somewhere in another universe I’m watching the woman I love fall asleep with my child in her arms.

“Do you… need anything else?” Aaron asked, holding out y/n’s go-bag for her to take.

Aaron kicked himself. He felt like a school boy whenever you’re around, and the fact that he’s standing in front of you and your home isn’t really helping his nerves.

“Would you maybe want to, uh… stay? For tonight?” Y/n blurted. Aaron’s eyes must have widened because he saw y/n become flustered. “I- you know, just for tonight. I need a ride to work tomorrow anyway… You- You might as well just stay.”

“If you want me to-“

“Please?”

Aaron stepped into y/n’s house and immediately toed off his shoes. “Where do you want me to put this?”

“I’ll take it.” She accepted the bag and walked to her room.

Aaron walked around the kitchen. Your house was clean and colorful. You had quite a few photos of the sunset framed by your television, but there were a lot more candid shots of the BAU then of your family. Hm.

“Come here, A,” you called from your room (?).

Dutifully, Aaron followed the sound of your voice, pushing your door open slowly and entering your room. Where you sleep. Where you get dressed and undressed. Where you live.

You walked over to Aaron and handed him a little pile of clothes. “These should fit. I guessed your size. If those don’t fit I have more men’s clothes.”

“Why do you have men’s clothing?” Aaron asked, a smile toying at his lips.

“Brothers, boyfriends… they’re comfy,” y/n shrugged. “Does it matter, Aaron?”

Aaron watched you tilt your head, smirk widening.

“Just curious.” He defends himself poorly, red tinging his cheeks as he scratches his head.

“Bathroom’s right in there,” you say, pointing to the door attached to your room.

Aarom walks to your bathroom and shuts the door. He immediately releases a breath of air he hadn’t realize he had been holding. After turning on the lights, he changes into the clothes you gave him. Both owns smelled exactly like you, something that made Aaron smile.

He shut off the light and closed the door. “Thank you, y/n. I appreciate it.”

You looked up from your dresser. “You’d do the same for me. There’s nothing to thank me, Aaron.”

“What are you doing?” Aaron asked, approaching your figure.

“I don’t think you would want to see me walk around in just a bra and boxers, A,” y/n laughs.

The bluntness of your answers smacks Aaron in the face with a metal bar. “Boxers?” He finds himself asking.

You just laugh. “They’re comfortable.”

“You don’t have to change your sleeping routine for me,” Aaron says quietly, eyes looking directly into your own.

“Are you sure?”

“We’re just sleeping,” Aaron shrugs. “So there’s nothing to worry about.”

Your eyes flicker between your boss’s and suddenly your wondering how you got here. The line between boss/employee and more-than-friends/not-quite-dating was blurred and you didn’t even remember putting your thumb on how you felt about your boss.

“Okay,” you say slowly. You close the drawer, holding a sports bra and boxers. “I’m gonna go change and go to sleep… Do you want me to set up the couch or just sleep in the bed with me?”

“What do you want, y/n?”

You direct your gaze to the floor. “I don’t care, honestly.” You weren’t just gonna tell your crush you feel safer when his touch is what lulls you to sleep, that you’ve been in love with him since practically the beginning of time, that you wanted more than just a night (of PG activities!) with him.

“I hear your brain going 200 miles an hour over there, sweetheart. What’re you thinking?” Aaron teases.

“Will you hold me, Aaron?” You ask, urging yourself to look into his eyes. Moment of truth, you think, he’s either gonna laugh in my face or I’m gonna fall even deeper in love with my boss as we cuddle.

Aaron feels winded at your tiny voice. Yes, he wants to scream, yes! “Go get changed, honey. I’ll be right here.”

Then that smile is back and all Aaron wants to do his pick you up in his arms and kiss you, maybe spin you around the room. His heart swells in his chest again (it’s been doing that a lot lately, he notes) as you pat his arm in thanks as you pass him to head to your bathroom.

Aaron climbs into your bed, setting his essentials (badge, keys, gun, etc.,) on the nightstand.

You flip off the light switch and pad over to the bed and slip under the covers.

For what felt like a millennium, Aaron held his breath and waited.

“Aaron, I have to tell you something. It’s been on my mind and… just hear me out. Please. You don’t have to say anything back and I understand if-“ you babble.

“Take a breath, y/n,” Aaron soothes. “What’s up?”

“I’m in love with you, Aaron Benjamin Hotchner. Like, if I had to choose between you over breathing I would literally spend my last breath telling you how much I love you. You are always on my mind, Aaron, and it hurts because I can’t do anything about it. I know I’m not your type, I know I’m just your co-worker, I know you probably aren’t looking to date anyone, but I just… I want you to know,” you ramble, words tumbling out of your mouth like Reid when he get’s started on some random fact.

Aaron blinks, pupils widening. “Do you seriously think you’re ‘just a co-worker’ to me?”

You swallow. “Yeah?”

“Do you think I would let just anyone call me Aaron? How often to you see me taking out Morgan for coffee when he gets cranky? Do I almost always end up sitting by Emily on the flight home after a case? Do I call Spencer ‘sweetheart’ and ‘honey’?” Aaron asks quietly, hand resting on your cheek while he tucks a loc of hair under your ear so he can see your eyes better. “Jack loves you. I love you.” Aaron laughs at how comically large your eyes get.

“Jack loves me?” You ask.

Aaron laughs. “He loves you ‘to the moon and back’.”

“He loves that book, Aaron, don’t laugh at your baby boy,” you scold playfully.

“I outdo him though, because I love you to Saturn and back.”

You turn to the nightstand and shut the light off before turning back to face Aaron. “Will you hold me, Aaron? Please?”

“C’mere, sweetheart,” Aaron says, opening his arms to welcome you into him.

And then that’s when you know his words are true. His heart rate is definitely elevated, but so is yours. “Will you tell me you love me, again?”

Aaron, now lying on his back with you clinging onto him like a weighted blanket, complied. Carding his fingers through her hair, Aaron lulled her mind off to a quiet, safe place. “I love you, angel,” Aaron whispered, pressing a soft kiss to y/n’s forhead.

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ddejavvu · 7 months

Note

Wait Omg the thought of bau!reader and Aaron being secretly married but reader forgetting to take their ring off?? (Opposite to Spencer’s LOL). Everyone instantly zeroes in on it like ?????

You're not sure why you're on the receiving end of Prentiss's cheshire cat grin, but she's somewhat of an office prankster, so you assume that when you open the top drawer of your desk, a rubber band will fly out and whack you in the forehead. When no such thing happens, and JJ greets you with her own wide-eyed smile, you know something's wrong.

You retrieve the handheld mirror that you keep stashed away in your purse, trying to appear nonchalant as you glance over your face for any possible makeup smears. There's no smudges of eyeliner down your cheeks, mascara isn't dotted on your eyelid, and your lipstick is perfectly lined around your mouth; nothing is wrong.

You reach up to flick a wayward strand of hair away from your eyes, nothing big enough to attract the stares you're getting, but undesirable nonetheless. When you do you catch the glint of your wedding ring in the fluorescent lights of the bullpen, and your stomach drops.

That's not supposed to be there.

You snap the mirror closed and slide the ring off of your hand but it's too late, and both girls are snickering at your piss-poor attempt at concealment.

"Sooo," JJ hums, leaning over her desk with her chin propped on her hand, "When were you gonna tell us about that?"

"It's just a ring," You scoff, shoving it into the depths of your purse. You'll regret that later, when you're digging through napkins and lotion to find it, but for now evasion is key.

"Please," Emily scoffs, "That rock looks like it could pay my rent five times over. Are you seriously married?"

"No!" You gush, and you're sure they regret phrasing it as a question, because it gave you the opportunity to lie in answer, "No, I am not married, it's just a regular ring."

"Yeah, that's why you hid it from us," JJ drawls, "Morgan, did you know about this?"

"What?" The man's head pops up from his desk, "What do I know?"

"JJ, please-" You beg, but Prentiss is the one who answers, "Y/N's hitched!"

Derek's brows shoot comically high on his face, "Married-hitched?"

"No! I just wear rings sometimes," You insist, "Guys, I'm not married, this is ridiculous!"

"No one wears a ring that big unless it comes from a man who's equally endowed," Prentiss winks, that devilish grin on her face ever-present, "Come on, don't make Penelope deep dive, who's the lucky man?"

"What am I deep-diving for?" Garcia peers around the corner of the kitchenette, and you shoot Rossi a pleading look where he stands behind her. He'd been on his way back to his office, but apparently your drama has piqued his interest.

"She's married." Derek jerks a thumb at you, and it actually drops Garcia's jaw; you've always delighted in how cartoonish her reactions could be. Now, though, it provides enough silence for Rossi to speak, setting one of his hands on Penelope's shoulders.

"Don't waste your talents, Penelope. You don't need a deep dive to figure it out."

"Dave," You start, your voice sharp, but JJ cuts you off.

"Come on, you told Rossi before you told us?"

"She didn't tell me," Dave shakes his head, amusement glimmering in his eyes. You know he's absolutely ecstatic to be the one to let the cat out of the bag, and you resign yourself to slumping back in your chair as he changes the BAU forever more with two meager words: "Hotch did."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction

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inkdrinkerworld · 11 months

Note

aaron seeing reader in one of his old law school shirts and he’s like yeah this is heaven

all the air releases from his lungs as he comes home to find you lounging on the couch in his harvard hoodie.

“you’re back early,” you say, eyes shining with love as he makes his way to you immediately.

“mhm, as bad as it may sound, we had an easy case to solve today.”

aaron smushes his lips to your forehead before laying in your lap- trying for covertness but his hands tugging on the soft cotton gives him away.

“can i help you?” a giggle takes over your voice as your boyfriend’s hands climb up your torso.

“you’re wearing my shirt,” he says, a dreamy tone to his voice as he blinks up at you. “or rather, my hoodie.”

you nod, “i ran out of shirts,” you were on day number ten at his house and you’d only packed for a week. “stole the comfiest looking one.”

he places a kiss to your stomach, “you look good in it,” a second passes. “better than good actually.”

your belly heats up from his affection and you risk a small flick of his nose as you say rather bashfully, “stop.”

her only laughs, kissing your palm before pressing it to his cheek. “come to bed, honey. we can finally have an early night.”

#aaronhotchner #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner x black!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x yn

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junipers-archive · 1 year

Text

Dating Aaron Hotchner Headcannons

Short-ish and sweet headcanons about dating hotch

Warnings: none (sfw)

he treats you like a princess

im serious, date nights take place with dinner reservations and gifts

he's obsessed with treating you

Also has an obsession with being your first *for everything

This includes taking you to new places and gifting you the most outlandishly sweet gifts

One time you guys were heading home and he sprung tickets to your favorite band on you and you both almost crashed when you reached over to hug him

He's a total hover-boyfriend, he checks up on you constantly to make sure you're safe and you're comfortable

You were the first one to ever have him send a selfie that wasn't his work mandatory profile photo

You're photo is in his wallet

He'll never admit it but his favorite date to take you on is coffee mini-dates when you don't have time to do much else before he goes on a case-related trip

He's particularly fond of the burst of energy the coffee invokes in you because he gets to listen to you ramble about your favorite subjects

When he gets sick its your turn to dote on him and he takes with absolutely zero dignity, he is a gianormous baby when he gets sick and will 100% over exaggerate any symptoms of a cold

On your anniversary he rents out a movie theatre for the two of you to watch your favorite movie in private

Absolute romantic, im telling you once he gets past his emotional restraints he dotes on you like theres no tomorrow

You're the only one he'll dance with, slow dancing isn't his best skill, but he tries and he'll never admit it but if a faster-paced song comes on and he's had a little too much to drink he's not too bad

If he has to leave on a case really early and not wake you up, he'll leave you a letter telling you all details possible

Makes you breakfast before he leaves out of guilt most of the time

Constantly apologizes for leaving so quickly especially if you're on a date when he's paged, but ultimately makes up for it with hundreds of calls

Tries to break it of with you after a year because he doesn't think he gives you enough attention and believes you deserve better

Takes a long time to convince him otherwise, afterwards you move into together

literally loves you more than himself its alarming, and you try to accept his love without taking advantage of him

He'll also never admit to the fact but everyone see's how fond he is about being pampered

You take notice when he smiles-more-than-his-upside-down-hotch-smile as you gift him a new tie that you just had to get him while out shopping

You're each others favorite people

Your favorite past time is when he took you on a spontaneous date later in the day after a case that ended better than most

He took you to get ice cream and then up to an observatory near the airport to watch the planes take off and land as the sun set

Sometimes when you can sense him drifting after harder cases you pull him back with these types of dates (initiated by you) especially when he doesn't feel like talking

Also after you guys are together for a while you start testing out nicknames, you try all of them in the book before finding one he's fond of

You find he blushes the darkest shade when you refer to him as "hot stuff" but ultimately settle on bear

He likes to call you sweetheart when he's feeling loving, honey when he's doting on you and sunshine when you've done something very very right or very very wrong

All in all dating Aaron Hotchner is the dream

Or at least thats what you tell everyone when they catch you in the lobby on your way to pamper him

Also when Derek finds out you call him "hot stuff" on the down-low Hotch never hears the end of it

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soulofapatrick · 2 months

Text

Wheels up in thirty - Aaron Hotchner x Female reader

Summary: You and Hotch finally get physical and its so much better than you had ever thought it could be

Words: 1.9K

Warnings: smut; p in v; somewhat rough; dom/sub; kinda porn with no plot; plot if you squint

Notes: I need to be stopped, Hotch needs more fiction

Y/N's POV

I’m not sure how I ended up here again, straddling Hotch’s waist in just my panties and him in just his boxers. His hands are gripping my hips hard enough to leave bruises as he guides me along the length of his clothes crotch. The tip has escaped his waistband, red and angry and dripping precum that I want to lick up but I can’t move.

“H-Hotch.” I choke out in frustration when his phone starts ringing, mine buzzing across the room in my to go bag that was thrown haphazardly across the room somewhere.

He surprises me by ignoring it, instead choosing to make me rise to my knees to he can shimmy out of those black boxers, dick springing up and I think I almost come right then and there at the sheer size and girth of him. His left hand goes back to my hips, slotting in the dip as if my body was made just for him. His right pushes my panties aside so grip the base of his girth, lining myself up before slowly beginning to sink down. The stretch burns but it’s oh so beautiful, this being the first time we’ve gotten this far.

I still remember Hotch admitting his feelings for me one night after a particularly stressful case, both of us sat in his office on the sofa. Everyone else had gone home but I had nothing to go home to so I sat there with Hotch, the heat of his skin searing as he turned and kissed me.

“Hotchner.” My head flies down to see Hotch has finally answered his phone, his hand on my hip not haltering its gentle push and pull. It has my jaw falling open at the pure scandal of what Hotch is currently doing when he says, “JJ, we’ll be there as soon as.” He swallows hard when he realises he said ‘we’ “Yes. Alright see you soon.”

His head falls back into the pillow when I rock my hips gently, hanging up and throwing his phone in the top drawer of his bedside table, cognac eyes fluttering open to meet mine, darkening so much they’re almost black. He sounds so wrecked already, a light sheen of sweat over his skin, his dark hair pressed against his forehead and the sight of him alone has me rocking my hips even more slowly, grinding into him.

A surprised sound leaves my throat when one of his hands tangles in my hair ad tugs as he’s suddenly flipping us over. My nails are digging into his biceps until he moves one hand between us to rub circles into my clit to distract me from the new angle that has him buried to the hilt. I swear I can feel every bump and ridge of him against my fluttering walls as I find his now damp messy hair and tugging almost harshly but he just moans, loud and dirty, “C-Can I?” He sounds like he’s choking, trying to keep his hips as still as he can as to give me time to adjust to the new angle.

I don’t reply, just wrap my legs around his waist, heels digging into his lower back and he gets the hint. He pulls out until just the tip is in before slamming back to the hilt, dragging such loud moans from both of us, his lips move down my chest until they’re enclosing around one of my nipples, one hand finding my hand and intertwining our fingers while the other hand digs into my hips to stop me shifting up the bed as he sets an almost brutal pace. It adds to the almost overwhelming pleasure and I don’t think I’m going to last long with how I’m already clamping around him and my thighs are shaking and Hotch can tell as there’s a smile etches into my skin as he moves his lips back to the soft spot just below my jaw.

“Come for me princess.” His thumb rubs along my bottom lip and I’m sucking it into my mouth, tasting the saltiness on it and without warning my back is arching, yanking him into a bruising kiss as my body writhes and tries to move away from him as he continues to pound me into the bed, my eyes rolling into the back of my head, “That’s it darling, I’ve got you.” Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes as I come down from my high almost too quickly, body trying to wriggle away from him but his hands are flying to hold me in place as he continues to whisper lovingly into my skin, “One more princess, just one more.”

“Aaron,” I choke out, “P-phone-“ His phone is buzzing frantically in the bed side table but he ignores it so I do too, wanting everything Hotch has to offer me. My nails are raking down his back as another builds so quickly, my legs trembling and he’s picking up the pace, hips slamming into mine hard enough to bruise but it just adds to my heightened overstimulation. His every touch is like fire against my skin and his kisses are messy with lips crushing and teeth clashing but it’s perfect. I get lost in the heat of his body flush against mine, the smell of arousal and sweat heavy in the air and the salty taste as I reciprocate the hickeys all over his neck to try and stave off my second orgasm knowing I’m not going to last, knowing I’ll have to worry about the hickeys covering both of us later.

Apparently it’s too much for Hotch as his hand that was holding my hand moves to lightly grip my throat, his breath hot against my shoulder as his thrusts get sloppy. He’s hitting that spongy spot every time and suddenly, without warning his hips are slamming into mine once more and I can feel him shoot thick rope after thick rope against my walls, filling me up. The feeling mixed with the pressure on my neck has my vision whiting out and I think I can hear myself almost screaming Hotch’s name as wave after wave of pleasure rolls over me and I think I pass out fro a moment or two.

My eyes are fluttering open to Hotch stroking my hair, “There you are sweet girl,” he’s cooing, lips pressing sweet and gentle kisses to my skin, “I’ve got you, come back to me princess.” He’s gentle with every movement as he slowly pulls out, both of us wincing a little and I try to raise myself to my elbows but they give way almost immediately and he feels it as he’s chuckling, “Stay right there, let me grab our clothes. You can rest in the car.”

Oh god, the case. I must look just as much of a mess as Aaron looks as he climbs off the bed. I can feel his seed leaking down my thighs and staining the sheets but I’m too spend and sated to care, groaning weakly when Hotch's hands are back on me, the fabric of a damp cloth wiping away as much of the mess as he can before his hands are guiding my legs into my panties and jeans. He’s then pulling me to my feet. Bad move as my legs are shaking so much they give way and he’s catching me, wrapping his arms around my waist as he buttons my jeans up with one hand. A sweet kiss is pressed to my neck as he sits me back onto the bed, in the spot that isn’t soiled before he’s fumbling around the room again then my bra is being put in place and clasped with ease.

“I’m so proud of you princess.” Hotch praises, a soft sound leaving him when my thighs clench together involuntarily at the praise despite my body not being able to take another orgasm, wanting to snuggle into his strong and safe arms and sleep. But his famous Hotch jumper is being pulled over my head and I’m weakly pulling my arms through the sleeves as he cleans himself up and gets into a fresh pair of boxers and suit trousers.

My jaw drops when take a proper look at Hotch as he reaches into his bedside table to answer his phone that is buzzing again. He’s standing there, phone to ear, listening to who I’m guessing is Emily telling him off for not answering their frantic calls. I currently don’t care, unable to take my eyes off the hickeys of varying sizes and colours all over his neck and chest and the raised and raw scratch marks going down his back, some of them speckled with blood. It’s a mixture of embarrassment and pride that fills me, knowing that we’ve left physical marks on each other.

“Yes Emily, I have Y/N. We’ll be there in twenty minutes. We’ll meet you at the jet.” With that Hotch hangs up, cognac eyes landing on me again and darkening slightly as he takes me in, my legs still shaking a little before he has to shake his head and find a suit shirt and jacket.

We make it to the runway with three minutes to spare and the hickeys and marks still very visible as it was cover them and miss the jet or make it and ignore everyone’s comments.

As we step into the cabin, the atmosphere shifts. Eyes dart towards me and Hotch, lingering on the conspicuous mark adorning both our necks and the fact I’m wearing Hotch’s jumper. Whispers flutter through the air like wayward butterflies, tinged with curiosity and amusement, as the team members look at the scene before them.

Morgan’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he exchanges knowing glances at Emily who sighs and hands him some money as JJ attempts to stifle a giggle behind her hand across from them. Garcia, ever the theatrical, widens her eyes in exaggerated shock, her hand flying to her mouth in an ever so theatrical gesture of astonishment.

Rossi, ever the observant one, arches one eyebrow in amusement, his lips quirking into a sly smile as he takes in the sight of us. His gaze holding a mixture of amusement and approval, silently acknowledging the feelings finally accepted between me and Hotch even if it was done in a very unprofessional way.

The comments come in a flurry, a blend of teasing remarks and playful backer, laced with the underlying affection shared among the members of the team. Despite the teasing, there is an unmistakable sense of camaraderie, a bond forged through countless missions and shared experiences, that holds everyone together even in the most unconventional of moments.

Hotch presses a gentle kiss to the side of my head, moving his hand from the small of my back as I smack Morgan’s arm lightly, passing them all to fall into the seat next to my best friend - Spencer - who hasn’t said a word. I rest my head on his shoulder and smack his leg as I feel his shoulders moving with silent laughter, everyone going back to teasing me and Hotch as the case can wait until we get there.

Criminal Minds Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

@guacam011y @rosaliedepp @kajjaka

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luveline · 1 year

Text

𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐚 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

Hotch touches your face much more than a boss should. Or, 5 times you have a nosebleed +1 time Hotch does.

8k words, a slightly bloody coworkers to lovers, fem!reader, nosebleeds, reader works in the BAU but isn't a profiler, jack is a sweetheart, hotch has game fr, fluff + hurt/comfort

༺༻

You like your desk job. You handle paperwork primarily, and act as a sort of assistant unofficially. Anything to be useful — you get paid either way. It's why you don't mind trying to be helpful in the office and take on some of the office administrator's overflow.

Today, that's fixing the coffee machines. The office can function on one at a stretch but both being broken means an entire roster of grumpy agents and all of them are on your back. And when they have to see all the stuff they say? You figure fixing the coffee machines is the least you can do.

You're ignoring the weight of their waiting, elbow deep in one of the machines. The instruction manual had mentioned a little spout that can get clogged with detriment. Hopefully, you can clean it out and get at least one machine working by midday.

"Oh no," you murmur.

The piece you're trying to unscrew is tightly wound, too tight for your fingers to work behind. You're probably going to need a small tool, like an allen key.

"No luck?" Agent Prentiss asks, sounding defeated.

You look up from the machine and smile quickly. "I need smaller hands," you joke, letting the machine sit back on the counter and pulling out your aching fingers. "I'll have one working by the end of the day, Agent Prentiss. Scout's honour."

She shrugs and waves a hand at you. "It's alright. What's one day without caffeine?"

You laugh at her good-natured sarcasm and go back to your machine. When you're certain you can't jimmy it you turn your attention to the second machine and run through the steps. You're too determined to lose. Your coworkers depend on you.

You start by changing the filter and are unsurprised when that doesn't work. You check the button connectivity, the fuse, and then you turn again to that small piece that needs to be washed.

"Yes," you cheer under your breath, pulling the piece from its home to assess the problem.

It's a tiny pipe with a piece of mesh that acts as a sieve to trap dust. Maybe. Whatever it is, it's full of caramelised coffee grounds. You move to the sink basin and turn on the faucet to clean it, washing with anticipation as the burned coffee trickles down the drain.

You're pleased enough to feel a mild adrenaline rush, and your excitement leads to butter fingers: you drop the prized piece of pipe and it rolls out of sight.

This is not a good time for business casual.

You tug your too-tight pants from your thighs and bend down in search. When it doesn't reveal itself you get on your knees and run your hands along the seams of the kitchen cabinets, face lowered.

"Is everything okay?"

You wince at a very familiar, very unfortunately timed voice.

"Yes, sir, everything is perfect," you say, looking up to meet the eye of your boss' boss, unit chief SSA Aaron Hotchner. "I've misplaced a piece but I'll have the coffee machine working again in no time. I'm sorry."

He raises his eyebrows at you. It's a very nice expression on him, his eyes light with an emotion you don't often see on him. "Is fixing the coffee machine in your job description?" he asks.

You think it might be a polite reprimand. You won't insult him by insisting you're always on time with your actual delegated workload because he and your supervisor have to send you emails asking for missing paperwork all the time, so you try to disarm him.

You beam.

You're not a supermodel but everybody is pretty when they smile. "Sir, I thought I could sacrifice my lunch break for the good of the Bureau."

"Yes, well." He looks like he wants to smile back. You might be seeing what you want to see, though. "That won't be necessary. Take your time."

Your smile falters as you feel a telling heat at the back of your nose. "Thank you," you say quickly, covering your nostril with the pad of your index finger.

You're hoping your swift words will send him on his way, but he's literally the lead profiler of the BAU. He knows suspicious activity when he sees it.

"Is something wrong?"

Blood starts to trickle down your palm. You slide your hand up to cover your nose the best that you can. The alarm on his face when he spots the blood sliding down your bare forearm can't be understated.

"It's just a nosebleed," you placate, sounding stuffed up.

He's a quick thinker, tearing a wad of paper towel off of the dispenser above the microwave and offering it to you.

If you weren't so distracted by your current predicament you'd say thank you.

He turns back to the paper towels and tears off another wad. To your horror, Hotch bends down right there in the kitchenette and waits for you to open your palm, feeding the towels into your spare hand.

"Should you tilt your head back?"

"I think that's a myth," you say.

Your skin starts to scrawl with embarrassment, the itchy, awful feeling of being pinned by his eyes.

"How long do they usually last?"

"Not very long, sir. I'm sure you're busy."

He tilts his head slightly to one side as if conceding your point. "Let me help you up," he commands.

You can't make yourself reject his help. Honestly, it's nice to have somebody care even if the nosebleed is purely superficial. His fingers curl around the crook of your elbow and he helps you onto your feet just in time for Agent Prentiss to return.

"Hotch, what did you do?" she asks, bewildered.

You try not to laugh too much, worried you'll force another burst of blood.

—

Confidential information. You hear it, you ignore it. Harder to ignore the whiteboards in the conference room that are currently choc-a-block with prints of crime scene photos.

You don't mean to gawk at them. It's severely unprofessional and you shouldn't really be in here to begin with. The electronic screen is off, as are the monitors, so you know the room isn't in use.

That could change any second, and it does.

You hide your clammy palms behind your back at the sound of footsteps and try not to rush obviously toward the mug you'd come in here to collect.

The door creaks open as you're leaning over the table.

"I'm sorry," you say without looking.

"You don't have to clean up after anyone."

"Actually," you say quietly, abashed at having been caught, "this is my mug."

You turn to face him.

Agent Hotchner is tall and handsome. These are two undeniable facts and yet every time you see him it feels like a surprise. It might have something to do with how composed he is, how deliberate his movements are, or it might just be 'cause you have a crush on him.

It's anybody's guess.

"I can make Reid wash it," he says.

You're so whipped that your chest confuses his offer for something much worse. Like, he's on your side.

"That's okay, I don't wanna punish him for my own fussiness." You cover the mugs printed sides subtly, or as subtly as you're able.

"What's special?"

You smile at him, lips pressed together tight and eyes squinting slightly. You know what he's getting at but you ask anyways, stalling now he's caught you. "About what?"

"About the mug."

You peer behind him.

"You can't tell anyone," you murmur, rounding the table to stand by his side with your shoulders to the door. "I'm not sure anybody knows it's mine."

The mug is a corn-husk yellow and printed with a scene from a vintage Peanuts comic, dark-haired Lucy standing behind her lemonade stand that boasts 'Psychiatric Help 5¢'. Charlie Brown sits in front of it looking morose.

It's hard to describe why you like it so much.

"I see," Agent Hotchner says.

It's become something of an office joke, offering each other five cents on bad days, calling someone Charlie Brown when they look lost. You doubt very much that anyone is making fun of you, you're just hiding that it's your mug because that's part of the fun. The mystery of the Peanuts mug.

"I can't drink out of anything else," you confide, turning your face to his.

He's definitely smiling this time. "Why would you?"

You nod in genuine delight. "Exactly! Vintage Peanuts, and I searched so much for this because they used to use lead in glassware paint, and-"

The nosebleed comes on suddenly. There's a drop of blood running down your lips before you've even realised. Agent Hotchner's eyes follow it all the way down.

"Oh, no," you say, blood dripping to the hill of your chin.

You use the back of the hand that's holding the mug to catch what's rolling down your neck and the other to pinch your nose closed, bending forward on instinct to hide your face. You're seasoned in nosebleeds. You know how you look — scary. Ridiculous.

"Here," Agent Hotchner says.

His hand comes into your eyeline, offering a dark square of fabric. You cringe at the idea of marring his likely expensive handkerchief but you can't not accept, pressing it haphazard to your bloody nose.

"What were you saying about lead?"

You're so frazzled about the blood you don't realise he's made a joke until it's too late to laugh.

"Do you know what causes them?" he asks.

"I'm not really sure, sir. I used to get them all the time as a kid, um…" You pull the handkerchief away from your nose to check if it's still bleeding. When it doesn't continue, you say, "They're pretty harmless. It's done already."

"If you need time off for a check-up, I'm sure the office administrator can find a sick day for you."

You smile at him, and then remember the blood and grimace. I must look like Carrie right now, you think morosely.

"That won't be necessary, sir, thank you. It's apparently the dry air." You're starting to feel more and more warm under his serious gaze. There's a startling amount of concern there. "I'm gonna go clean up now. Excuse me," you say, face glowing with heat.

"Of course."

You cover your bloody face with the back of your hand, his handkerchief held in red-stained fingers. You pass Agent Prentiss on the stairs, hurrying past her with an I'm okay smile.

"Hotch, again?" you hear Agent Prentiss ask incredulously. "Where do you get off?"

—

You can't return Hotch's handkerchief, it's a biohazard, but the fabric had felt so soft and the monogram in the corner had cued you in on how expensive it must have been. Your guilt manifests itself into three new handkerchiefs with the embroidered A.H. They aren't half as nice as the one he'd let you ruin. You leave them on his desk — or rather, you get Dr. Reid to leave them on his desk, as walking into his office doesn't feel like something you're allowed to do — and try to forget about them.

For a week, you do. Agent Hotchner doesn't visit his office, Agent Jareau apprehends him on his way in that morning and the profiling team gather around their round table, and you don't see any of them for four days. The Friday they return, you're already on your way home.

That's why his actions the following Monday shock you.

It's unusual that he walks anywhere that isn't a straight shot to his desk. You're doing paperwork for once in your life, sitting awkwardly with your foot hooked under your thigh and a pair of wired earphones in. It's not technically allowed but he really doesn't venture over to you often. You've become complicit in your unsupervised nirvana of a desk job.

You snatch your earphone out and struggle into a normal position. "Agent Hotchner," you say, wondering if you should call him Special Supervisory, or maybe something cooler, like your Highness. Your grace. He's intimidating in his accomplishments at the FBI, and he's super handsome.

"Can I see you in my office? Ten minutes."

You nod brainlessly.

Your desk buddy doesn't wait long after he's left to investigate.

"What did you do?" they ask from across the short partition.

"I really don't know," you say, though you have your suspicions.

"Were you reading on your computer again? I told you, read under the desk like a normal person."

"No, I learned my lesson with that one when Agent Morgan started reciting Pride and Prejudice from over my shoulder."

You check your face in a compact before you report to Agent Hotchner's office. Your heart beats in your throat as you knock his open door.

"Come in," he says without looking up.

You take a cautious step.

He finishes off quickly and lifts his chin. His eyes are dark in the early morning light, his hair in mild disarray from the wind and drizzle.

"Come in," he says again.

You wish there was a word that could describe his voice accurately. He talks in the peaceable kind of cadence that comes with hushed tones without truly being hushed.

"Sir…" You bite the bullet. "If this is about the macadamia cookies, I promise I'll replace them. I didn't actually eat any of them. They kind of fell out of the cabinet and exploded, it was a freak accident."

He holds up his hand. "Thank you. For the handkerchiefs. They were unnecessary."

He says 'unnecessary' with a smile.

"Actually, sir, I think they were entirely necessary." You just disagreed with your boss. "Sir. I couldn't return the first, I ruined it and I- I didn't think you'd want it even if I got it dry cleaned."

He raises his eyebrows. "It was unnecessary," he repeats, the word drawn out carefully. "But, I appreciate the gesture. Thank you."

Two thank you's. You stop while you're ahead. "You're more than welcome, Agent Hotchner, sir."

You share an amicable glance and turn to leave.

"L/N?"

You stutter to a halt. "Sir?"

"Hotch is fine."

You try not to swallow your own tongue. "Hotch," you say, and then worry that's something people only do in movies.

A few days later, your humming along to your earphones and wading through the chaos of the bullpen feeling pretty happy. The office has been busy but not in the scary, suffocating way, and you're happy to be here. The BAU can be hard (and that's as someone who isn't on the front line). Times like this are cherished.

You pause a foot from your desk, eyes creasing into a suspicious squint.

There's a small box on your desk.

"What is that?" you ask your desk buddy.

"What?" they ask.

"That. There's a thing on my desk."

"Nothing to do with me."

"Think I should call the bomb squad?"

"I'm sure you'll be alright. Maybe read the note before you raise the alarm."

"There's a note?" you mumble, caution swiftly overrun by a burning curiosity.

You'd be sincerely worried about a bomb, only this is the FBI. If a bomb got this far into the building half the people in it would lose their jobs. You kick your bag under the desk and drop your ipod onto the desk, tinny music blaring from your earphones.

"What are you?" you ask under your breath.

The box is wrapped in crepe paper and a yellow sticky note has been attached to the top.

Rest assured, made without lead.

That only confuses you more. You're hesitance has your desk mate sitting up in their chair. "Wait," they say, peering over the glass partition, "should I raise the alarm?"

You slide a trim fingernail under a neat stripe of tape. "No, I think we're good," you mumble.

And lo and behold, a mug is homed inside. A Peanuts mug no less; the mug has been printed with a Peanuts comic panel. Charlie Brown lays on the floor in a straight plank, and standing overy him is his friend Linus, who says, "I have been asked to tell you that your cries of anguish are keeping the whole neighbourhood awake!"

You laugh loud and instinctively, shrill enough to attract the attention of half the office. Slapping a hand over your mouth, you slouch down as low as possible in your desk chair. Heat pools in your cheeks.

"What is it?" your desk mate asks.

"A present."

And hence your new favourite mug is brought into life. You write your name on the bottom with black sharpie and continue to deny all knowledge of the first, which you retire to the drawer of your desk.

For a while your nosebleeds go away. You know exactly who left the mug on your desk, and you remember the joke he'd made. Maybe Hotch had been on to something, and you'd inadvertently poisoned yourself.

You smile practically every time you see your new mug, and you're unsurprised when others appreciate its humour.

You're not sure how to explain it to an eight year old, though.

You're slumped over, nose to the desk and hand working diligently across your notes. Having a crush on your boss makes doing your work easier because you're constantly trying to impress him — an impossible task, but trying all the same. Your earphones bump a soft love song, something sweet to cut through the unhappy details of the case file you're working on.

"What are you listening to?" a small voice asks.

You drag your gaze up slowly and find Jack Hotchner standing beside your desk. You've seen him in person a few times, and once as Hotch's phone wallpaper, but he grows so much between visits you almost don't recognise him.

"I'm sorry," you say, pulling your earphone out, "what did you say?"

"What song are you listening to?" he asks, hands creeping up over the lip of your desk.

You sit up and smile at him. You can't say he looks like Hotch, though maybe you can see it in his tiny grin, that hint of cheekiness. "I'm listening to a song called At Last. It's a love song. Do you… want to listen?" you offer quietly.

He nods.

You push your chair away from your desk and turn down the ipod's volume so it doesn't damage his hearing. "Here," you say, offering one of your earbuds. "Don't push it in, okay? I don't want it to hurt your ears."

Jack takes the proffered earbud but doesn't seem super interested. "Do you have The Beatles?" he asks.

"The Beatles! Is that what you and your dad listen to?"

He nods, pleased, and you nod yourself, flicking through your songs in search of what he wants.

"I have Here Comes the Sun. Do you like that one?"

He beams. "Yes! Me and dad sing that one in the car."

That's a really nice image, Hotch and Jack belting happy lyrics together in the busy mornings. It's also odd. Hotch singing isn't an image you can say you've ever thought of before.

"I love this one," you tell him, letting your elbows dig into your thighs so the two of you are eye level with one another.

"Me too."

You share the earbuds, Jack combing your desk for something interesting no doubt. You cover a case detail that involves some gory images and almost knock over your mug in your haste.

"What does that say?" he asks, pointing.

Jack looks between you and the mug for answers.

You lick your lips. "Uh, do you want me to read it to you?"

He thinks about it. "Can I try?"

"Of course you can."

You clear a path for the mug and place it in front of him.

"I have been asked to tell you," he begins confidently, "that your cries of an-" He frowns. "Anguish are keeping the whole ne… I don't know that."

"I'm sure you do, it just looks weird. Neighbourhood."

"Neighbourhood," he repeats. "Keeping the whole neighbourhood awake." He huffs a boyish, gentle laugh that makes your heart spin.

"Good job, buddy."

He melts under your praise. He's a cute kid, and his hair shines golden under the office lighting. It flops to one side as he tilts his head. "What's 'anguish'?"

"Anguish. Uhm, it's like sadness."

"Oh." He takes this in. "Do you have Let It Be?"

You eventually give up your chair and let Jack sit with your ipod in his lap, playing through all The Beatles songs that you have. Nobody seems to be watching you and Hotch has yet to come out of his office and tell you off for supplying his son with technology, so you work around him, leaning over the back of the chair to fill in what's missing from your reports.

Jack leans back in his chair, his adorable singing coming to a stop. "Do you have movies on the computer?"

Yes, but should my boss' son know that? "It's for work," you say regretfully.

"Not even FernGully?"

"I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "It's okay, it's not your fault."

"Do you like to draw? I don't have many colours, but we can play a game."

He smiles for a moment, then hesitation crawls over his features. "Dad says not to disturb anyone."

"I'm on my lunch break," you assure him. You hadn't been, but you don't mind taking it now. "Are you hungry? I have oranges."

You and Jack end up sitting under your desk. You really don't mean to end up like that; you sit on your knees because your back has started to ache and Jack wants to sit with you. You can't say no to him. (You could, you just don't want to.)

"What did she say after that?" you ask, fingers digging into two orange segments to pull them apart. You shave off all of the strands of white pith before you pass it to Jack, who says thank you every time.

"She said to ask Stacy who said to ask Morgan P who said to ask Joan. And Joan said she didn't wanna know, but then she changed her mind after I told her abd she said to ask Cooper."

"What did Cooper say?"

"Cooper says he doesn't think he knows where it is."

You nod, chewing your own orange slice slovenly. "Well, what did your dad say?"

"I haven't told dad."

You lift your head from the paper where Jack has drawn an impressive house with five windows. "You haven't told your dad?"

"He worries about everything."

"That's his job, Jack. He has to worry about you."

"He worries about everybody."

"Some people do." You clean another orange slice for him, and he says thank you again. "You're welcome… Jack, I really think you should tell you dad. It sounds like somebody might have taken your pencil case on purpose. And even if he can't find out who did, he can get you some new pencils for school."

"I told mom but she hasn't done anything yet."

Your stomach hurts.

"Well," you murmur, picking up the green pen, "I'm sure she's trying her best, baby. Can I help colour in these trees?"

You and Jack fall into a companionable silence, his head bobbing to You Make My Dreams (Come True) the cutest thing you've ever seen. You're not sure how long you sit there, but all good things must come to an end, and your half hour for lunch draws to a close.

"Hey, Jack?" you say, straightening where you kneel and preparing to stand. "I have some stuff I have to do but you're welcome to stay there."

Unfortunately, you don't manage to grab his attention. Double unfortunately, somebody else does.

"Morgan, where's Jack?"

You peek past your desk chair. A little ways away, Hotch stands looking sick to his stomach, and Agent Morgan looks lost.

"I didn't have him?"

"I asked him to sit with you," Hotch says miserably, throwing his gaze over the office. "Jack?"

Jack hears that loud and clear. Something in his dad's tone must spark some urgency, as he stands in a rush and trips on his own shoelace, smacking the top of his head into your nose.

You gasp.

"Ouch," Jack moans.

Blinking, you shake off your disorientation. "Oh no, are you okay? Here, sweetheart, stand up," you encourage gently, "I'm so sorry, have I hurt your head?"

Jack's gaze to the floor, he rubs the top of his head with a clumsy hand. "It's okay, Miss Agent, it wasn't you and-" He stares at you.

"What?" you ask.

"Dad!" he shouts, backing away from you. "Daddy!"

Jack runs out of your little alcove and straight into his father's legs, almost bowling him over. Hotch drops two relieved hands down to his small shoulders. "What?" he asks, startled, "What happened?"

Your nose stings, admittedly, but you've felt worse. It's a light throbbing that distracts you entirely from the blood racing down your lips until you taste it.

Shit, you think, crawling out from under the desk with one hand, the other clamped over your bleeding nose. Your movement draws Hotch's attention, which in turn gathers at least a quarter of the office's.

"I didn't mean to," Jack says shrilly.

"It's okay. It wasn't your fault," you say stuffily, clambering onto shaky legs.

You turn your head away from the collective gaze of the office and start toward the kitchen and hear at least three different people say, "Wait!"

You ignore them, using your elbow to help tear off a paper towel from the roll and pushing it without finesse against your face. You squirm under the weight of tens of eyes, more embarrassed than anything else, worse when a warm hand turns you by the shoulder.

"He really didn't mean to," you say, looking up into Hotch's concerned face.

"I know."

"Is he okay?”

"He's not the one with a nosebleed," Hotch says, neither kind nor unkind.

"I honestly didn't even feel it."

His fingers curl around your wrist, a slow tightening. "That doesn't surprise me, Y/N."

You bite your tongue to stop from laughing. “He bumped his head into me."

"Mm. Just a red mark. It won't even bruise."

You deflate in relief. "Oh, good."

Hotch's hands have found their way onto yours. He pulls one from your nose, gaze hardening at the strong river of blood that makes its way into the dip of your cupid's bow.

"I'm sorry, sir."

He shakes his head and gathers another wad of tissue paper, a light blue that quickly turns to a wine dark when he presses it to your face. Your heart hammers at his proximity, a thousand and one nerves aflame.

He's close but not too close, nothing anyone could mistake for something else, and still it feels like a strangely intimate moment. His careful touches. He directs your hand to hold a fresh paper towel to the stream of blood and discards the bloody tissue. You watch him push up his sleeves carefully and give his hands a quick rinse in the sink before he dampens another paper towel.

It's cool against your neck.

"I think your shirt is ruined," he says, dabbing at a line of dried blood.

You shiver at the feeling of cold water dripping under your starched collar.

"Does it hurt?" he asks, moving up to your jaw.

You don't know how to admit it to him. No, it doesn't hurt. Your hands are really warm, and you're touching me so gently I can barely feel it.

"A little."

"Well, Jack is very sorry."

"He doesn't have to be. He tripped, he…" You fade off as Hotch lays his hand across your cheek, thumb lifting your head slightly so he can clean your chin.

"How are you faring?" he asks.

You pull your tissue away and wait for the tell-tale heat of continued blood flow. You're ashamed to admit it but you're almost glad it hasn't stopped, Hotch's hand warm and large and impossibly comforting. Nosebleeds don't stress you out, exactly, but it's not fun to be covered in your own blood at work where everyone can see you. It's nice to have somebody wiping it away.

"I think I'll live," you say.

—

Jack sends you an apology card.

It's hand delivered. Hotch is coming up to the BAU main floor as you're heading out. Like a rock dividing a river, his teammates stream from the elevator around you and Hotch remains inside.

"I'll catch up," he promises.

Agent JJ raises her eyebrows. Agent Morgan chuckles.

You draw in on yourself self-consciously. You don't dress as nicely when he isn't here, and today you're rivalling Dr. Reid for most lovable dork in a pair of brown pants and a big sweater. Teetering the line between professional and unprofessional.

"Sir," you greet, stepping into the elevator.

He presses the ground floor button. "I have something for you."

Your eyebrows jump up high. Hotch unzips the main zipper of his duffle back and threads between clothes and papers for a smaller envelope.

"It's for you."

You accept, careful not to tear the thin sheet of folded paper as you pull it free. You're thrilled to see a drawing of Charlie Brown on the front, crudely drawn but clearly him with his head-wrapped in bandages. His puppy Snoopy sits beside him with something in his hands. You're not sure what.

The inside is even sweeter.

To Y/N

I am sorry if I made your nose angwished. Please feel better soon

Love, Jack Hotchner.

"Oh, I love it," you say, rubbing your thumb over a heart drawn in red crayon. "He's really something else, Hotch. He's brilliant, and so smart. I mean, anguished."

He laughs and it twists your chest in five different directions. "He is."

"It wasn't his fault though. If my nose weren't so sensitive it really wouldn't have bled at all, I didn't bruise. How is he? Did his head feel better?"

The doors open. You hesitate, waiting for his reply.

"Children are made of harder stuff than we are," he says.

You step backwards out of the elevator. "I felt so bad. I don't suppose he'll want to come and sit with me again."

"Actually," Hotch says, stepping out of the elevator just as the doors close again, "he thinks you're, uh, in his own words, the 'coolest friend' I've ever had."

"Friend," you repeat with a smile.

You've focused on the wrong word, and you worry an awkward silence will ensue, but Hotch steps up to the plate and says, "Yeah. He wouldn't stop telling me about all the cool songs you have on your ipod."

"Purely for non-working hours."

"Right." His smile says that he's seen straight through you.

You're thinking maybe he likes what he sees.

"This is really amazing," you reaffirm, pressing Jack's card to your chest.

"He felt guilty."

"He doesn't have to. Please, tell him I said thank you. And that he's amazing. And that my nose was being dramatic." You smile softly. "He can sit with me whenever he likes."

"Maybe at the desk, next time, rather than under it."

"Yes, sir."

You nod at him and he nods back, and you take it as a dismissal, turning on your heel. You've barely walked a metre when he's speaking up.

"Y/N?"

You look at him from over your shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Are you hungry?"

You bite your cheek in a hurry to answer, “Yeah. I’m starving.”

Your heart is basically a ticking time bomb in your chest as you and Hotch make your way into the heart of the city. He's a fast walker with long legs and you rush to keep up. That’s totally why you’re breathless. Not because he makes you nervous.

Hotch is a really surprising guy, though maybe he isn’t surprising at all, you’re simply unversed in how he is outside of work. He talks more and his voice grows louder the further into the city you go, more expressive.

You’re no profiler, but you’d bet money on Aaron Hotchner being nervous.

Good thing you’re nervous, too.

“It’s not far now. You like Thai?” he asks.

“Yeah, of course. Have you ever had Tom Yum?”

“With shrimp?”

“Exactly.”

“I think I’ve tried it. I lived off of pad Thai when I was a prosecutor,” he says, head tilting back very slightly. His Adam’s apple works under the skin.

He looks back down, a sheepishness to his voice as he continues, “A lot of late nights.”

“More than now?” you ask skeptically.

His laugh is low and warm. “No. The firm was much closer to the city than the bureau. It’s a long walk.”

“It is,” you say, taking a small step closer to his side to share a secret smile, “but it hasn’t felt that way tonight.”

You try to keep it light. You don’t want to scare him off.

“No,” he agrees. “It hasn’t.”

You duck into a fragrant Thai restaurant and order fast, the two of you knee to knee in the very corner. A potted plant threatens to blind him every time he moves, and so he endeavours to stay very still.

The food's a little on the spicy side, and while you're laughing you can't find it in you to feel embarrassed about your runny nose.

"You didn't like Seinfeld?" you ask, and how you got here's a mystery, but Hotch is extremely passionate about it in the best way.

"No, of course not. How could you? George was always worrying about something, he was the definition of a self-fulfilling prophecy and he never learned!" he debates, all in a rush, chopsticks moving in emphasis.

You snort and wipe your nose again. "It was like a relief, though, that it was happening to him and not to you, you know? You might be having a bad day but George Costanza's having a worse one."

"Oh, honey," he says.

It takes you a second to realise that he's talking to you.

"What?" you ask, perplexed.

Hotch stands up though there's no space for it, chopsticks ditched and hand pushed into the recesses of his pocket swiftly. He pulls out a small packet of tissues, and he lifts his chin, a jut. You lift your own, and he's quick to press the tissue to your nose.

"It's bleeding?" you ask, startled.

"Just a little."

"Sorry."

"No, no," he says, bent down, a comforting hand around your shoulder, "don't be. It gives me an excuse."

"To do what?"

"To be this close."

Your smile is a slow, molasses thick thing. You can't get a handle on it, and Hotch's answering one is worse. He looks so happy to be here with you, to be wiping your bloody nose.

It's only a small nose bleed. Hotch pulls the tissue away once or twice to check, wiping at it tenderly and giving you a comforting squeeze each time. The silence feels natural as breathing.

"There," he says eventually, pulling the bloodied tissue away with a smile. "All done."

"Thank you, Hotch."

"I'd think you'd better start calling me Aaron, considering."

"Considering what?"

His hand climbs from your shoulder to the column of your throat. He doesn't make you wait any longer, leaning down with a sure, brave deliberateness. He presses his lips to yours.

A sweet kiss but too short — barely two seconds and he's taking a half-step away, your lips tingling in want.

You go to stand and he pushes you down into your seat, not unkindly. "I'm gonna go see if I can get some hot water for you," he says, placating your gutted look with a kiss to your cheek.

He wipes it thoughtlessly with the pad of his thumb before he goes.

You're genuinely surprised your nose doesn't start bleeding again at the look he gives you as he turns the corner toward the restaurant's kitchen. Protective, knowing. Your heart races in your chest.

You probe at your face, elated. Your sensitive nose is good for something after all.

—

The first time you sleepover with Aaron is an accident. You don't "mess around," as you'd crooned over the phone, joking but with enough salaciousness to make him smile. The gas and hot water had stopped working in your apartment, and though the landlord had promised they'd fix it the very next morning, Aaron couldn't stand to think about you cold and alone when you could easily be warm and with him.

So here you are.

"Are you sure this is okay?" you whisper, peering over his shoulder at Jack.

His son stands in the living room in his pyjamas.

"It's okay," he says, "I asked him, and you know he's obsessed with you. His one condition is that you watch FernGully."

"FernGully," you say, enthused.

"You'll like it."

You actually really do. Showered and dressed in your own pyjamas, a little shy but not too much to stop from laying against his side on the sofa. He's got one arm around you and one around Jack but he might as well be invisible, the two of you talking in murmurs across his chest.

"And that's-"

"Pips," Jack supplies helpfully.

"Pips," you say, hand spread over Aaron's chest.

If he didn't know better he'd think this was a slice of heaven.

"So many people," you whisper in Aaron's ear.

"More in the second one."

"There's two?"

After the movies finished — "It was better than you said, Jack," — and dinner’s been eaten and cleared away, Aaron takes Jack to bed.

"Do you want a story?" Aaron asks, flitting around the room in a half-hearted attempt to square away the mess.

"No."

"You sure?"

Jack's eyes are heavy, and they have been since dinner. "Yes," he mumbles, face turned into his pillow, hands lax on top of his blanket.

Aaron smiles and makes his way to Jack's side. He kisses his son's cheek, and strokes the soft hair from his face. He smells like strawberry toothpaste and kids shampoo.

You're sitting on the end of the bed when he gets to you, face damp with skincare and shining in the light. Aaron kisses you without touching it, worried he'll mess it up.

“He’s wiped. All the excitement,” he says.

“Excitement- From me?” you ask.

“From you.” He puts his hands carefully either side of your neck.

You haven’t been dating very long, and still he knows how easy it is to fluster you. And while he loves to see it, see you giddy and shy, blinking at nothing like there’s a light shining in your eyes. He’d once pressed his thumb with the very faintest of pressure into your windpipe while kissing you, and you hadn’t been able to look him in the eye for three days.

He loves that, but he’d prefer if you slept facing him. He wants to see what you look like asleep, as odd as it sounds, he assumes you’ll be beautiful. He wouldn’t be surprised if you were more.

“Aaron,” you whisper.

“What?”

“Want me to massage your bad shoulder?”

He wonders, as he thinks is more than allowed, if that’s a seduction trick, but you genuinely just give him a massage, as you have a couple of times in his office after noticing how sore it gets now the weather’s cold.

You rub into the problem spot carefully, sighing with sympathy. “Oh, baby,” you say, more to yourself than him.

He fucking loves the way you say it. Aaron’s never been called baby like that — like it’s his name, and it’s sweet to say. Your tired yawns warm the back of his neck as you go. He doesn’t think he’s getting lucky tonight, and he doesn’t care one bit. He feels pretty lucky just having you near.

He gets you under the covers before you can fall asleep against his back and makes sure you know how grateful he is for the massage with two kisses. The first is a genuine thank you and the second is to make you laugh, nipping and playful under your jaw.

Aaron falls asleep thinking about it.

He wakes to something much less idyllic.

It’s that strange feeling. Being a dad has honed it, but he’s always had it. It’s one of the things that makes him so good at his job, a prickling at the back of his neck. At first he can’t pin it down.

Your waist rises under his hand with your breathing. He remembers that you’re there and smiles contentedly, hand sliding behind your back to pull you in. You’d fallen asleep on your back, and you’ve turned toward him in your sleep.

The metallic stick of blood is sudden and sharp in his nose. He knows what it is before he opens his eyes. The room is dark, lit only by the red light of his alarm clock on the nightstand. His eyes ache with fatigue, and he knows in his gut that it’s too early to get up.

Blood pools under your nose. Not a lot, nothing to panic over, but blood all the same. He sits up, quickly turns on his bedside lamp, and rouses you as gently as he can, a hand slid under your shoulders to drag you up.

You blink blearily. “What?” you ask, voice scratchy.

“Nosebleed,” he informs, pinching your nose before blood can slink down your neck and ruin your pyjama shirt.

You wince and he hates the way you flinch away from his touch, your clouded confusion. It’s only a second but it doesn’t sit right with him.

“Sorry, honey.”

You catch hold of his bicep and blink some more.

“You okay to pinch it yourself? I’ll go grab some tissue paper.”

You nod robotically and replace his light pinching with your own, much less kind. He rushes to grab a roll of toilet paper from the bathroom, and when he returns you've pulled yourself into an alert sitting position, awaiting his return.

He tears you off a wad of paper. “Here, honey.”

“I think it’s stopped.”

“Yeah? Let me grab you a towel.”

Back to the bathroom. When he returns for the second time you’re holding his given toilet paper against your face. He’s alarmed to find your eyes glassy with tears, shimmering in the bedroom light.

“What’s wrong?” he asks softly, sitting across from you.

He’d been right about sleepy you. You look lovely, a little funny with your rumpled pyjamas, and now quite sad because of your tears. “Honey,” he says again, pulling your hand from your face so he can assess the damage, “you’re okay. Is it hurting?”

You’ve told him before the nosebleeds are painless, but maybe they’re a symptom of something, maybe you’re sick—

“I ruined your pillow,” you mutter.

Ah. That’s much better than your being sick. He can work with that easily.

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

He takes your chin between his thumb and his forefinger to lift your head. The blood has stopped already; your nosebleeds are often a whirlwind, over by the time you’ve started panicking.

“I’m sorry.”

He drops your bloodied tissue into his lap and brings the dampened towel to your face. He’s cautious. Your nose gets irritated and any roughness could disrupt the blood clot or agitate the anterior blood vessels inside.

“You think I’m mad over a pillow?”

“No, of course not.”

You sound stuffy. It’s adorable. Adorable and sad. He rubs the hill of your chin in a show of affection.

“Then why?”

“Sorry, I think I’m just tired. I- I was trying to make tonight perfect because,” — a small tear bumps down your cheek — “it’s our first night together even if it was accidental.”

He dabs at your upper lip and the wet blood there with a smile growing. “It was perfect. It is perfect. You getting a nosebleed on a seven dollar pillow doesn’t change that.” His hand moves to your cheek, squashing your baby tear. “You know I love any opportunity to touch you… Now, do you want a glass of water?”

You close your eyes and lean your face heavily into his palm. “Can I have one of those kisses from earlier?”

“Can you keep your blood inside your body?” he asks with a smile, rubbing your cheek with his thumb.

“Depends how hard you bite me.”

He’s very, very gentle.

—

Aaron breaks his nose. You are not supposed to know that he breaks his nose, only he breaks it so bad that he has to go to the hospital to get it set, and he decides he’d like you there.

Technically, somebody else broke his nose. The details aren’t important. What matters is that Aaron makes a rookie mistake and he has to deal with the consequences, which is a biting, aching pain behind his eyes and a trip to the ER. He does not let them take him in an ambulance, and it really isn’t urgent. He sits in a waiting room chair with a stiff back and it doesn’t take long before you’re striding inside looking terrified.

“Hey, baby,” he says, testing it out. He doesn’t really like it.

“What did they give you?” you ask, bending at the waist to take his face into your kind hands.

“Vicodin when I got here.”

“Lucky you.” You turn his face in your hands.

“You look beautiful,” he says.

“I wish I could say the same, but somebody messed you up bad.”

He laughs and takes your face into his hands, the two of you smiling way too much for the situation that you’re in. “I was so worried,” you say with a little laugh.

He kisses you soundly. It hurts, but it’s worth it.

They call his name not long after and a nurse takes you both into a grey examination room. The doctor is a short, stern woman who has to use a stool to reach Aaron’s face, and she sets his nose with a swiftness that even he manages to recognise for the brutality that it is in his drug haze.

You hold his hand. He has to try very hard not to crush your fingers.

It starts bleeding immediately.

Aaron meets your gaze over the doctor's head, eyes wide and in similar fashion as your own, and he knows it’s an adverse reaction to shocking pain but he starts giggling. Aaron Hotchner doesn’t giggle, really. He laughs, and sometimes when he’s with Jack that laugh can get super loose and high, but this is a bona fide giggle.

You try to gasp in shock but you’re laughing too. “Aaron,” you reproach.

He holds his breath as the doctor presses gauze to his face.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he says.

You snicker behind your hand. The doctor presses gauze to his face and rolls her eyes. She likely does not get paid enough.

“You’re still handsome,” you say giddily.

“Oh, well that's good.”

There’s a small silence rife with tension, and when it breaks it bursts like a dam. You laugh so hard you end up clinging to his arm, chest pressed to his bicep. He strokes the back of your head with a wobbly hand, wondering how miserable he’d be if you weren’t here with him right now.

“What happened to keeping all your blood inside your body, Hotchner?” you ask, delighted.

He beams at you dopily. “I’ve never been any good at that.”

You kiss his forehead. The doctor is furious.

༺༻

6K notes · View notes

headkiss · 1 year

Text

steady hand

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader

summary: hotch catches you at the worst times, but you’re not mad about it. or: 4 times you need hotch’s help +1 time he needs yours.

word count: 6.1k

warnings: probably very inaccurate descriptions of r’s job (it’s for the plot, okay??), shy!reader, a very small injury description, yearning (?), first kiss, fluff !!!

a/n: hiiiii this is my very first hotch fic (gasp) so i hope i did okay!!! i’m excited to be writing for him and i have enjoyed it so far and i hope you will too!!! please please let me know what you think and if you’d want to see more of him from me <33

༄

People are usually impressed when you tell them you work at the BAU.

Which, you won’t lie, is something to be proud of, but their first thought is always that you’re doing something big and solving cases. They ask you if you were there when this case was solved or when that killer was caught.

Then there’s the nodding and dissipation of their excitement when you explain that you work a desk job there. Organize files, write reports, that sort of thing. That is a lot less impressive to most.

You’re no Agent Morgan, or Dr. Reid. Certainly no Agent Hotchner or Prentiss. Instead of being on the field, you spend your time fighting with a printer.

Getting the papers you needed should have been simple, a quick in and out that would have you back hiding behind your desk in minutes. Of course, the universe or something must be against you, because instead, you’ve spent at least twenty minutes trying to figure out what’s wrong.

It isn’t jammed (you’ve checked about five times to be sure) and you’re not educated in printers enough to know how to fix whatever’s going on. You’re just lucky nobody else has needed it yet.

“Come on,” you mutter, trying to pull it away from the wall to get a better look.

You’re sure there’s stress sweat building on your forehead. The last thing you want to do is ask someone for help, to make yourself too visible in this place full of important, intimidating people. You’d rather struggle on your own for now.

You make sure that the thing is plugged in (it is) and then check if it’s jammed. Again.

“Piece of shit,” you’re mumbling at the thing, leaning over it looking for anything out of place.

That’s when you hear someone clear their throat behind you. The sound has you jumping, your knuckles smacking against the wall where your hand had been wedged between it and the printer. You turn around to find Agent Hotchner.

He’d been walking by the printer room when he heard the grumbled curse words. Peeking inside, he’d been pleasantly surprised to find you fussing over the printer. He bit back a chuckle before making his presence known.

You tug your skirt down where it’d ridden up, fiddling with the hem as you try to push down your embarrassment. Of course he’d be the one to see you, in his crisp suit and all. He’s leaning a shoulder against the doorframe, his arms crossed loosely. You swallow and try not to look at his biceps.

“Sorry, sir. The printer doesn’t seem to be, um, printing.”

“I’m assuming that’s why you were fighting with it.”

You fight a wince, “you heard that?”

“Heard what?” He asks, though by the twitch of his lips, you know that he’s well aware of what you’re talking about. He then gestures at the cause of your issues behind you, “it’s not jammed, is it?”

“I don’t think so. It wasn’t when I checked, at least.”

You’re trying not to act as nervous as you are. You don’t think you’ve ever really spoken to Agent Hotchner, save for small ‘hello’s and that one time you apologized for bumping into him. He’s handsome—you’ve always thought so—and, more importantly, he’s basically your boss.

“Let me take a look,” he says, walking over. You step aside, staying out of the way.

“It’s alright,” you start as he looks over it, “I’m sure you have much more important things to do than fix a printer, sir.”

Hotch’s eyes flick over to where you stand, a hand still fiddling with the hem of your skirt, your hair a little messy, your eyes a little wide and worried. You look pretty, he thinks. And sure, he does have things he should be doing instead of trying to fix this printer, but he doesn’t really care.

“Don’t worry about that,” he tells you.

He looks back to the printer, and he seems pretty convinced about trying to help, so you drop it.

While he’s distracted, you take the opportunity to look at his profile. The slope of his nose, the cut of his jaw, the way his brows are pinched a little in focus. It’s unfair, you think, for him to be smart and brave, and be so good-looking on top of it all.

Like he’d heard your thoughts, felt your gaze, he looks over at you again. You turn your eyes toward the floor quickly.

It’s a couple of minutes before anyone speaks. You, staring at the carpet until your vision goes a little fuzzy. Hotch, pushing buttons and flicking switches trying to figure out whatever was going on with the damn printer.

Then, the sound of the ink swiping over the pages, the papers spitting from the printer. You look over at it, mouth slightly parted. What can’t he do?

The sound of your name has your eyes snapping up to his. It’s yet another surprise, him knowing your name. You’re not that important, in the grand scheme of things at the BAU, in the world, really. Someone meant to stay hidden in the background. And still, he knows your name.

“It should be fine now,” he says, grabbing your papers from the cartridge and handing them to you as he stands up straight. “Let me know if it gives you trouble again.”

You grab the pages from him slowly, still shocked at the whole exchange. Your fingers brush against his as you do. “I- Thank you, sir.”

He nods, moving towards the hall. He pauses in the doorway, turning back towards you. “Hotch is fine.”

“Sorry?”

“You keep calling me ‘sir.’ You don’t have to. Just Hotch is fine.”

“Right. Sorry, sir- I mean, Hotch,” you test it out. “Thank you again.”

Yes, Hotch thinks, he likes you saying his name a whole lot more. He sends you a kind smile, “no problem.”

Hotch walks away, probably towards his office where he has very important things to do. Stuff that was surely delayed because he paused to help you. You stare at the doorway for a minute, until you give yourself a papercut and look down at it.

Aaron Hotchner knows who you are.

You’re two shitty coffees deep so far, your report open on your desk, the typing bar blinking on the screen of your computer.

There’s pages to go, though you’re not sure how many. You’ve been doing the sort of mindless, robot typing you do when you’re tired. When you’re preoccupied with trying not to glance in the direction of Hotch’s office.

The team got back sometime last night, long after you’d already gone home. From somewhere in Indiana, you think. You’re not sure how they do it, flying about and still coming into the office. You’re tired and you can’t even remember the last time you’ve been on a plane. Add the crime fighting and you’d be a goner.

Blinking yourself from your thoughts, you look back at the blank pages spread out in front of you. It’s not unusual for you to be missing pieces that you need to complete things, it’s just inconvenient. You always end up having to ask someone for the files you need, and then you feel like a burden.

It’s stupid, but in a place full of important people, it’s easy to feel like you’re just in the way.

Anyway, it’s your job, so you push away from your desk and stand, tugging the sleeves of your sweater over your hands.

Your first thought is to go to Reid. As far as friendship goes, you’d consider yourself closest to that definition with him. He’s also the least intimidating of the bunch, probably because you see the most of yourself in him.

You find him in the kitchen with Agent Jareau, both holding their own mugs, probably filled with the same coffee as the one that sits on your desk. You knock gently on the door even though it’s open.

“Hi, sorry to bother you. I was just wondering if either of you have the files from that case you worked a couple weeks back. The one in Ohio,” you shuffle on your feet under their gaze. “I need them for this report.”

“Hey,” Reid speaks first, smiling kindly, “I don’t remember keeping them, but I can double check in my desk if you would like.”

“Oh, that’s okay. You don’t have to do that, I’m sure I’ll find them somewhere.”

You’re about to head out the door when Agent Jareau stops you, “wait, I’m pretty sure Hotch has them. I can go ask him for you.”

It’s silly to feel nervous talking to them, especially when nobody’s ever been anything but nice to you. A little bit of the twist in your gut comes undone.

“No, no. I’ll go ask him if he isn’t busy, thank you though.”

“You should be fine, the door’s open,” she tells you.

You nod, sending the both of them a smile you hope doesn’t look awkward. “Thanks again.”

Their voices picking up their conversation follow you out the door. You cross the space, saying small ‘hello’s to Agent Morgan and Agent Prentiss when they greet you. You try to ignore the prickle of eyes on you as you climb the steps and head to Hotch’s office.

His jacket is draped across the back of his chair, his sleeves rolled up on his forearms. It’s probably the most disheveled you’ve ever seen him, and he’s only missing a single layer. You look away from his arms when he says your name.

Hotch had his head bent, looking over a case when he’d heard footsteps, and he’d been glad to find you standing in his doorway. You work in the same place, yet he barely sees you. That’s probably why something lightens in his chest every time he does. The rarity, that’s all.

“Is this a bad time?” You ask.

“Not at all,” he leans back in his chair, “what can I do for you?”

“I’m really sorry to bother you, sir-”

“Hotch,” he reminds gently. His voice is easy, a hum that you think would sound good no matter what he was saying.

“Right, sorry. Hotch. I was just looking for some files that I need from a case you guys had for this report.”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

Then, he smiles in that way that Aaron Hotchner so often does. A small twitch of his lips, a lift in the corners. One that you probably wouldn’t have caught if you weren’t paying so much attention. One that feels sort of like a gift.

You shake your head at yourself and elaborate, “the Ohio case. Three weeks ago, I think. I asked Agent Jareau, but she said you had them, so…”

Hotch wants to reassure you, but he’s not sure how to do it without standing up and letting himself grab your hand and squeeze it the way he’d like. And he can’t do that, not when you’re already nervous. Not when he’s not sure he could hold back after one touch.

“It’s no problem,” he opens one of his drawers, flips through folders until he finds what you’re looking for.

He stands up and walks around his desk until he’s in front of you, and he lets his gaze flick over your face while he has the chance. Your eyes find his easily, and you hope he can’t hear the catch in your breath.

Aaron isn’t usually so quiet with his affections, but that’s because he’s never found himself feeling this way at work. He wishes your desk was on his way to his office, just so he’d have an excuse to stop and talk to you. He makes sure never to use your favorite mug from the cupboard, just so you’ll be more likely to have it.

Hotch clears his throat, “here they are.”

He holds up the folder between you, his hand holding it loosely, the other hanging by his side. His fingers twitch.

You’re embarrassingly distracted by his exposed forearms, eyes trailing from his hand to the skin of his arm, to the way his shirt is tight where the sleeves are rolled. Then, it’s the color of his tie today, the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows.

His hand reaching for yours is enough to erase everything else. He lifts it and places the folder in your hold for you. Your skin burns even when he pulls away.

“You alright?” He asks. Probably because you’d been staring at him like a weirdo.

Get it together.

“Yeah. Yes, sorry. Just sort of spacey today, I guess.”

When you look back to his face, there’s nothing but a sort of softness in his eyes you can’t identify. He smiles at you, and for the second time, you feel like you’ve won something.

“Is that what you needed?” He asks.

You open the folder and peek inside. You find exactly what you’d been looking for, not that you’re surprised. Hotch knew what you’d meant and you didn’t doubt that.

“It is. Thank you, Hotch,” you grin lightly when you get that part right. “I’ll get out of your way.”

“You’re not in my way.”

Hotch says the words like he’d known you needed to hear them, like he’d known what runs through your mind so often, like he can read you. He probably can, you think. He is a profiler after all.

Still, the words make your heart do a stupid little jump.

“I’ll bring them back when I’m done,” you say.

“No rush. They’ll just be going back in the drawer anyway.”

“Well, thank you again.”

“It’s no problem, really.”

Hotch watches you walk back to your desk with your head down. Looking at the folder in your hand, he thinks, at least it’s an excuse for you to come see him again.

Hotch isn’t in his office when you return the files.

Since you can’t thank him in person—assuming he’s off with the team somewhere saving lives—you leave a sticky note on top of the folder. You drop it on his desk and leave before you second-guess yourself and rip the note off.

You can’t help but think that the office feels sort of empty without the team there. Without Hotch there. It’s how it is most days, so you’re not sure why the absence feels so present now. You shake it off.

The day passes by, then your drive home, and the rest of your night, too. Through it all, you can’t stop wondering what Hotch is doing, wherever he is. Hoping he’s safe.

You’re certainly not expecting to see him the next day, back so soon, but you can’t say you’re upset about it. It’s a brief glance, him walking into his office, the rest of the team and their chatter following, but it’s enough to make your work seem less tiring for some reason.

It was a quick case, and Aaron was glad to at least get a couple of hours of sleep in before coming into the office. When he sits at his desk, the first thing he notices is the folder you’ve left there. The small note in your handwriting.

‘Thank you :)’

He peels the note away and folds it up. Without thinking, it ends up tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket. It’s a simple piece of paper, but it’s heavy where it sits. He rubs a hand over the pocket where the note is and gets to work.

It’s not until a couple of hours later that Hotch ends up leaving his office. Conveniently, in the direction of your desk.

You’ve been burying yourself in your work, your leg bouncing nonstop, your nose inches away from the pages on your desk, your chair pushed in as close as it’ll go. You have to, because if you take a break, if you look away, your eyes will search for Hotch, and you don’t really want to think about what that means right now.

About the ache in your chest when he’s gone, the urge to go ask him a stupid question just to talk to him. It’s awful.

The pen you’re using suddenly runs out of ink, and it makes you pause long enough to feel a cramp in your hand. You sit up and huff, pulling your drawer open and digging around for another pen. Your name in Hotch’s voice has you shutting the drawer and spinning quickly.

It’s just your luck that your shirt gets caught, that the sound of the rip is too loud to play off or ignore.

“Oh gosh,” you whisper, looking down at the damage.

It’s a cheap shirt, you shouldn’t be surprised, but it’s worse than you’d expected. This is what you get for sitting so damn close. The side seam is split, and if you move too much, your bra would probably be visible.

“This is so embarrassing,” you say, holding the rip shut with one hand and holding the other on your forehead. Of course this would happen to you in front of him.

Aaron’s eyes hover where your skin had been exposed, even now that you hold your shirt shut, wondering if it’d feel as soft as it looks. He can’t even remember what he came over to do or say.

He swallows and looks at your face, “do you have another?”

You shake your head, still hiding behind your hand, “no. I really, really wish I did, though.”

“I have an extra one in my go bag. If you’d like?” He hears himself say the words, and he doesn’t regret them, necessarily, but it’s clear to him that you mess with his brain. He doesn’t think straight where you’re involved.

You peek up at him, dropping your hand to your side. “Are you sure? I could probably just use some paper clips, or something.”

“Nonsense. I’ll go get it, okay? I’ll bring it to the bathroom so you can change.”

“You don’t have to-”

Your name leaves his mouth again, gentle but firm. “I’ll grab it.”

“Okay.”

You speed-walk over to the washroom and walk in, closing the door only to block out the rest of the office, who surely noticed what just happened. You’re probably never gonna live this down.

Your overthinking doesn’t get very far, because after only a minute, Hotch is knocking on the door.

“It’s just me,” he says. ‘Just,’ like that word could ever be used to describe him. “You can just open the door a crack and I’ll pass the shirt through.”

You do as he says, tugging the door open until you can see a white dress shirt (of course) in his hand. You reach out and he hands it to you easily.

“Thank you, Hotch. I’ll wash it and give it back, I promise. Sorry for this.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You can’t see his face, but you can hear the sincerity in his voice. “I mean it.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly, closing the door.

His shirt is wrinkled from being packed in his bag, and the sleeves are long when you put it on, but it smells like him and isn’t ripped so you really can’t complain. You roll the sleeves and tuck the bottom into your pants, looking in the mirror to make sure you look at least a little bit put together.

Holy shit, you think. I’m wearing Aaron Hotchner’s shirt. What world have you been living in recently? To be interacting with him more often, to be feeling this sick skip in your heartbeat whenever you do.

You toss your ripped shirt in the garbage, look up, and huff out a breath before leaving the bathroom. You’re surprised to see Hotch still standing there.

“Oh,” you nearly bump into his chest when you walk out the door, but the warmth of his hand on your shoulder steadies you. “I didn’t know you were still there, sorry.”

“You don’t need to say sorry so much, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. You’re dreaming, surely. You pinch yourself on the inside of your arm, just in case. You don’t wake up.

“I- um,” you’re fumbling for words because he’s standing there, looking at you softly, calling you ‘sweetheart’ in that voice of his.

Aaron doesn’t know where that came from, but he’s said it and it’s happened. With the way he thinks about you, how often he does, he can’t really be surprised. Besides, seeing you get flustered because of him is absolutely worth it.

“I wanted to thank you for getting those files back to me so quickly.”

Your eyes flick over to his arm, and it’s then he realizes that his hand is still on your shoulder. He pulls it away and stuffs it in his pocket. He’s probably imagining it, but he swears his palm is tingling.

You wipe your hands over your thighs, “right. It was no problem, really. I was mostly done with my report, so… Thanks for giving them to me.”

“I’m glad to be able to help,” he says. Then he walks back to his office.

You’re standing in front of the bathroom for what’s surely an odd amount of time. Even back at your desk, you can’t shake the haze you feel, a pink tint to your vision, a flutter in your gut.

You spend the rest of your day with your nose buried in the collar of Hotch’s shirt, avoiding the gazes of your coworkers around you.

Aaron spends the rest of the day thinking about how you looked in his shirt. About how you’d look in it and nothing else. He drags a hand over his face when that pops into his head.

“You good, boss?” Morgan asks from the doorway.

“I’m fine.” He doesn’t miss the knowing smirk on Morgan’s face.

It’s very rare that Aaron leaves work at a reasonable time. So rare that he can’t remember the last time he wasn’t the last person there.

He’s used to the late nights, the empty spaces, deserted desks. Even so, it’s nice to finish up earlier than he’d expected. He looks forward to the extra sleep he’ll get, the longer time frame to decompress.

Leaving work early already felt like a small victory for the day, and he feels like he’s won something bigger when he sees you in your car, still in the parking lot.

You’d left maybe twenty minutes before Hotch, though you’d assumed he’d be leaving hours after you like he usually does. Everything was fine, normal as you bid your goodbyes to your desk neighbors, as you rode the elevator down.

The sun has started setting, and the air gets cooler as it sinks. You fish your car keys from your bag and unlock it, getting in quickly and tossing your bag onto the passenger seat.

You like your job, sometimes you love it, even, but you look forward to going home either way. You think about the warm shower you’ll take, the shitty dinner you’ll end up eating. Your lonely plans are ruined as you twist your car key in the ignition, it sputters and doesn’t start.

“No, no. Come on,” your head falls back, you huff and take the key out.

You try again, and still, no luck. And again, and once more until you’re fed up with it and drop the keys in your lap. Your head is dropped against the steering wheel, allowing yourself a moment of dramatics from your defeat.

A knock on your window startles you upright. Your heart races for reasons other than fear when you look at who it is.

Hotch stands outside, leaning towards your window with a scrunch in his brows. When he catches your eye, he steps back from your door and gives you room to open it and step out.

You shut your car door behind you and lean your back against it, “hi.”

“Hi. Sorry to scare you, but I wanted to check that you were alright?”

“It’s okay,” your arms are folded behind your back, your hands twisting. “Um, it’s nothing, just some car troubles.”

“That doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“I guess not. It won’t start for some reason. I don’t know.” If he wasn’t standing right there, you’d probably smack yourself for how unsure you sound. “You keep catching me at the worst times, Hotch.”

He disagrees. Aaron can’t think of a time where seeing you could ever be a bad thing.

“You’re fine,” he says, his voice suddenly softer, “trust me.”

Despite the bite of the wind outside, the way he speaks warms you. He’s so honest in the way he speaks, in the sense that he sounds sure, even if it isn’t necessarily vulnerable. You don’t know how he does it.

A small smile spreads on your face before you can stop it, “okay, good. And thank you for checking on me. I’ll just call a cab and figure this out tomorrow.”

There’s no way he can let you take a cab. It’s obvious that with what he does, the things he sees, he’d rather know for sure you’d be safe getting home. But then, there’s the sort of floating feeling he has when he’s around you, one he’d like to feel for a little longer if he could.

“Let me drive you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, really. I’ll be fine.”

He ducks his head a little, catches your eye and holds you with that soft gaze of his. “Please, it’s not a problem. For my peace of mind.”

It doesn’t take much convincing, really. You’d much rather sit in a car that probably smells like him than in the back of a cab that smells like sweat.

“For your peace of mind, then. That’d be great.”

You grab your bag from your car before following Aaron to his, where he opens the passenger door for you and makes sure your legs are tucked inside before shutting it. He jogs around the front of his car and gets in.

“Where am I taking you?” He asks, starting his car. The radio hums softly through the speakers, and Hotch reaches over to turn on the heating when he catches you shivering a little.

You tell him your address, “you don’t have to drive me if it’s out of your way, Hotch. I mean it.”

“It isn’t out of my way,” he assures you, and he could easily be lying, but you accept it anyway.

It’s quiet for a little bit, besides the odd question from Aaron for which way to turn. You take the chance to look at him as he drives, his hands on the wheel, the street lights hitting his face. Your head lulls against the seat.

“You’re finished earlier than usual today,” you say. “Not that I know your schedule, or anything, I just-”

“Sweetheart,” he stops you, a smile spreading. It’s wider than what you’ve seen at work, unguarded enough to show his teeth. It’s really pretty. “It’s alright. It’s work I can be doing at home.”

“That’s good. A change of scenery, at least.”

“Exactly.”

You’re not sure what it is that feels different now, in the car. Maybe it’s because it’s only you and him, no prying eyes in the office, no concerns about what this is, what’s allowed. It might only be you, that feels this sort of spark with him, fizzing i’m the air between you. Either way, you’ll soak it up for the duration of the ride to yours.

Maybe that’s why you’re saying, “you know, I always thought you didn’t even know who I was. Until the printer thing.”

Aaron peeks over at you, leaned in his passenger seat. You look like you belong there, like there’s always been a spot for you in his life. Even when you’d started at the BAU, when he first saw you, he felt like it was right that you were there.

Hell, he’d asked Garcia who you were and has had your name in the back of his head since.

“I’ve always liked you,” he admits. He doesn’t say he’s always known you. Liked.

“Really?” You can’t help but ask. Someone like him even noticing you seemed unfathomable. But liking you? He’s gotta be lying.

“Really. Even when you were bumping into me.”

“You remember that?”

“Yeah, I do. You were looking down at the ground, walking like you were being timed. And you had on this light pink sweater.”

Your eyes go wide, focused on his face. You had been wearing a light pink sweater that day. And he remembers all of that? You think, if you looked at yourself in the mirror right now, your eyes would be in the shape of hearts, pulsing in your pupils.

“I can’t believe you noticed all of that.”

“I notice a lot of things,” he says.

Aaron has always had his guard up around new people, has always made himself more serious at work than anywhere else. Then you came along and he had to fight to keep things that way. It makes sense that the minute he sees you outside of work his walls would crumble to dust.

It was inevitable, really.

“I’ve always liked you, too.” Then, before he can say anything, you point at your building, “it’s this one here.”

The car rolls to a stop slowly, his turn signal flashing as he pulls over by the entrance of your apartment building. He puts the car in park and turns to you fully.

“Thank you for driving me.”

“No problem, sweetheart.”

His hand reaches out before he can really think about it, fingertips featherlight over your cheekbone, sliding over to tuck your hair behind your ear. Then, like it was never there, he pulls back. There’s a glow in his fingers where they’d brushed your skin, golden.

It matches the one you feel on your cheek, sparkling.

“Get in safe, okay?”

“It’s a few feet from here to the front door, Hotch. I’ll be alright.”

He huffs softly, twin smiles on your faces. Lovesick and shy, nervous and pink-hazed all at once.

“For my peace of mind,” he says.

“Fine, then. Your peace of mind,” you reach for the door handle, tugging it and pushing the door open. You look at Hotch again, like you can’t get yourself to stop. “Thanks again.”

“See you, sweetheart.”

“Bye.”

You step out and head to your door, turning around before walking inside to give him a wave. Aaron grins and waves back, watching you walk inside.

He stays parked by the curb until he sees a light flick on a couple of floors up.

There’s a reason that Hotch is Unit Chief. He thinks quickly, keeps his head straight even with what he deals with every day. There’s also a reason his leadership has been questioned before, but never revoked.

He can be reckless, throwing himself into situations when he knows he probably should’ve waited for backup. This time, it only got him a split eyebrow and a few stitches. It’s been worse; this is nothing.

It is, however, proving to be an inconvenience. He’d gotten stitched up in the ER of whatever hospital was closest to where the team had caught their unsub. It had to be quick, from the hospital straight to the jet.

They’d told him to clean it up again and put a new bandage on it when he got back, which is what he’s trying to do now, in his office, with his laptop’s grainy camera as a mirror. He has the supplies the hospital gave him on his desk, but he can’t really see what he’s doing, and the task is taking much longer than he’d like.

His hands are a little shaky from the adrenaline of his day, and every time his arm comes up to reach his stitches, it blocks his view.

Then, he sees you walking up to his office.

Usually, you’d already be home by now, but you’d been yourself and messed up some of your paperwork, so you had to stay late to re-do it. When you catch sight of Hotch in his office, you’re not so annoyed with yourself.

You notice the things on his desk, the blood on the front of his shirt. Your feet carry you to his doorway easily. Last time you’d really spoken to him was that night in his car, and ever since, there’s been something boiling, a noticeable shift.

You tap your knuckles on his open door twice, “you okay?”

He gives up on dealing with his cut and looks at you instead, the slightly rumpled state of your clothes from a long day, the smile you wear that doesn’t exactly hide the concern in your eyes, the light from the hallway a halo around you. You’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

“I’m alright. Just can't seem to do this right,” he says, gesturing to his eyebrow.

“Do you need help?”

Aaron has never been one to accept help easily, always one to do things on his own. But, when you’re offering so sweetly, when your help means your hands on his skin, how could he ever say no?

“That would be great.”

He pushes his chair back to give you room to stand in front of him. Your legs between his, leaning against the edge of his desk. His knees bump into the sides of your legs, little bursts of the kind of warmth sunlight emits on skin.

You reach for the wipes first, holding them in one hand and reaching up to his eyebrow, the other grasping his chin gently to keep his head steady.

His hand reaches up to hold your elbow. It could so easily be innocent, be almost nothing, but it feels like more. His thumb running back and forth, your face close enough to his to have your breaths mingling. It really feels like more.

“You’re here late,” he says, low and quiet.

“Spilled coffee all over my work. Had to start over. Can you believe it?” You speak just as quietly, eyes flicking from his cut down to his, just for a second.

“I can, actually. You’re sort of clumsy.”

“Hey!” He’s right, of course, but the warm chuckle he lets out is worth your dramatic gasp.

“It’s not a bad thing,” he assures you, squeezing your elbow. “I think it’s cute.”

“Well, thank you, then.”

You set the wipe aside and reach for the bandage next, placing it over his eyebrow and smoothing down the edges with a light touch. When you’re done, you pull back but don’t go far. Your hands fall from his face to grasp the edge of his desk instead.

“All done,” you say.

Aaron’s hands have shifted to your waist. His touch is so delicate, but you’d never ignore it. It might as well be bruising, the way his hands affect you.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Hotch.”

Now would be the time to walk out the door, to say ‘goodnight’ and head home, but you’re in no hurry. Not when his eyes are shining in the dimmed light of his office, soft and practically melting.

They seem to beckon you closer, and though you don’t have a reason this time, your face ends up near his, noses almost touching. It’s as far as you go, afraid you’re misreading things, afraid you’ll be wrong about this.

Hotch closes the space for you.

His chin tilts up, his mouth catching yours softly at first. His hands tighten on your waist, his lips slightly chapped and completely perfect against yours.

You think your knees might buckle, so you put your hands on his shoulders, thumbs digging into his skin, like you’re trying to make sure he’s real. You’re not sure how you manage to kiss him back but you do, and you hear the sharp intake of breath he takes when you push back.

The kiss doesn’t deepen, but it doesn’t have to. You can feel plenty in it already.

It’s not long before Hotch pulls away, leaning back in his chair and tilting his head to look up at you. He removes one of your hands from his shoulder and holds it in his.

“We shouldn’t do this here,” he says, his thumb running over your knuckles.

You look down at your feet, at his legs next to yours. The hand still on his shoulder falls to your side, suddenly feeling nervous.

“You’re right, I’m so-”

“But,” he stops your apology before you can say it. As if you’d ever need to apologize for kissing him. “I’d like to take you to dinner sometime. If you’d want that.”

You look back at his face, eyes searching. He smiles so softly at you, it’s the kind of smile you could only ever give someone you like in this way. Someone you like enough to kiss.

“I’d really like that, Hotch.”

“Good,” he stands, but his hands don’t leave you. “And sweetheart?”

“Hm?”

“Call me Aaron.”

When you test it out, he’s sure of it; his name on your lips is his absolute favorite sound.

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thank you so much for reading!!! please please consider reblogging if you enjoyed, it helps a whole bunch more than you’d think and would mean a lot!! <3

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