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hotchnisslvr · 23 days

Text

through love and loss

~for riv, happy birthday angel <3 thank you for letting me tell this story~

pairing: hotch/reader

rating: t

word count: 9.5k

genre: angst, hurt/comfort with a happy ending

summary: after witnessing your long-term friend and colleague profess his love for you moments before dying in the field, you struggle to cope with the grief and trauma of his loss. through his own experience with traumatic loss, day by day, Hotch aids in your healing and the feelings you begin to catch for him as time goes on scare you just as badly. Will you be able to move on and start again? Or will your grief be too much for you to bear?

“You’ve been one hell of a partner,” he says. His fingers gently clasp over yours and your panicked eyes glance up from the gaping wound in his abdomen to lock onto his. They’re surprisingly clear, the lights of the street lamps reflecting back at you in them. His blood paints your now intertwined fingers. Your gaze flickers between them and his eyes, the soft smile on his lips.

“Don’t say that,” you bite, your voice thick with tears. “Garcia!” you cry knowing she can hear you through your earpiece.

“Honey, they’re coming as fast as they can! Hotch is leading the charge, EMS is with them.” Her voice wavers as it crackles through the mic. “Just hold on.” You don’t know if she’s saying it to you or to him. His earpiece hadn’t fallen out when he caught the bullet and hit the ground.

“They won’t make it in time.” He says, choking out a pathetically weak laugh. “I always knew it could end like this. Can you make sure they use a good photo of me at the funeral? Maybe that shirtless selfie I took in Miami?”

“God, can’t you just shut the fuck up for once?” you snap as you apply more pressure to his abdomen. “You always have some kind of joke, some one liner.”

His smile cracks as you press down, a small “oomph” passing his lips. “You,” he takes a shuddering breath. “You love my jokes.”

“Yeah,” you bite as you blow a strand of sweat drenched hair out of your face, “and you can keep annoying me with them after you get to a hospital.”

“Humor me, will ya?”

Hot tears brim along your lash line as you paint on a smile. “Okay,” you answer tightly.

“My ma,” he starts. He coughs and a trickle of blood spills from the corner of his lips. “Tell her I got him, ok? She’ll need to hear that. And, and tell her I went laughing. That’ll help.”

You can’t help the sob that erupts from your throat, but you try your best to stifle it. His hand tightens around yours and you know it’s taking all of his strength to do that.

“Can you do that?”

You nod as tears stream down your cheeks, etching soft lines into your skin.

“And,” he coughs again as he struggles to breathe. “I can’t—” he rasps. “I can’t go without telling you.” His fingers shake as he withdraws them from your hand and reaches up to touch your cheek. Instinctively, your hand reaches up to support it, cradling the warmth of his palm against your face. He smiles as he winces. “I love you. Since the first day I saw you, I’ve loved you. I shouldn’t—” His features twist as a shudder racks his body and a sob breaks free from his lips. “I shouldn’t have put this job above that, what the Bureau would’ve thought. It’s all too short, ya know?” A bitter laugh tumbles free as he takes a deep breath.

You can hear the sirens now. They’re close, but not close enough. They won’t make it.

“Promise me,” he says, his voice wavering. His gaze locks on yours though you can hardly see for the tears blurring your vision. “The next time you feel love, you really, truly start to feel that hint of desire, those, those butterflies in your stomach, goddammit chase them, Catch that feeling, bottle it up, and don’t let it go for nothing. Promise me.”

You shake your head as you hold desperately onto his hand against your cheek. You feel his thumb weakly stroke the skin there.

Cars screech to a halt. Doors slam.

“I promise.”

His hand goes limp in yours.

The scream that tears from your body is primal and unearthly. This isn’t happening. It cannot happen. You scramble to check his pulse, to hope beyond hope you’ll feel the faintest of beatings; something, anything to signify that he’s still there. There’s nothing. Naturally, you move to begin CPR. Or at least you try to before two big arms thread through yours from behind, hooking you against the plane of someone’s body as they pull you away. You thrash and scream against their hold, fighting to get back to him.

“Let the medics do their job,” a voice says in your ear. Morgan. His grip tightens around you, not in a way that’s painful, but grounding. “Let them try.”

There’s a ringing in your ears, growing louder as you watch the two medics crowd around him. One cuts away the fabric of his shirt while another begins CPR. You watch on in silent, stunned horror.

“What happened?” another voice you recognize says sternly, though his voice sounds far away, like you’re underwater and he’s up above the surfaces.

The medics exchange a grim look after a couple of minutes. The one performing CPR’s rhythm slows until she’s doing nothing at all. She shakes her head.

Your knees buckle and you’re falling. Morgan responds immediately, trying to balance your weight against his own as you go to the ground. Though you're prepared to hit the asphalt, it never rises to meet you. Instead, you fall against the scratchy fabric of a Kevlar vest. Arms cradle you into the plane of a wide chest, your body spasming against their frame as uncontrollable sobs wrack your body. Harsh, guttural screams tear from you, your breathing uneven and irregular as you struggle for air between sobs. Black spots dot your vision.

“You have to breathe,” a faraway voice says. His tone is even, modulated. “Listen to me.” He says your name. Your name. Your name. You latch onto that. You try to, but oh my God. He’s dead. You watched him die. You felt his life leave his body. He loves you…loved you.

“I think she’s going into shock. Medic!”

Everything feels detached, like your limbs are not your own. A light shines in your eyes, but you don’t flinch away. You see the stars. You’re on your back? Your fingers buzz and shake involuntarily, numbness creeping in as you fight to inhale a full breath. A hand clasps yours. It's warm. Something slips over your nose and mouth, a mask? Breathing feels easier, but not by much.

“She suffered a blow to the head—”

Had you? Yes, wait. The fight before. The scramble for the gun. The unsub had wrestled it out of your hand and struck you over the head with the butt of the weapon and then…then two shots rang out.

White stars explode behind your eyes, blinding you. There’s a ringing in your ears.

“He loved me,” you whisper as your vision blurs.

Someone’s calling your name.

“He told me he loved me.”

And then it’s dark, and there’s nothing. And you don’t have to feel anymore.

•

“I can walk you inside.”

“I’m fine, Hotch. Just—” You close your eyes and inhale slowly. You’re not fine. You don’t know if you’d ever be fine. You smooth down the black fabric of your dress, the silk wrinkled from how tightly you’d held onto it during the service. Your knuckles ache from clenching them so hard and your palms sting, littered with half moon cuts from

digging your nails into them; any external stimulation to distract your mind from what was actually happening. Anything to keep from breaking down in front of everyone.

“Just?” he hedges.

You blink out of your stupor and stop staring at the dash. “Thank you for the ride,” you say curtly. Without meeting his gaze, you hastily exit the SUV and step into the rain. You clutch your arms against your chest, holding your double breasted trench closed over your body as you tuck your head and slip through the double doors into your apartment complex, hardly registering the motions of entering your code into the keypad.

God knows how many times you’ve walked this path to your apartment, but today it seems longer. You feel the pressure of each step in these uncomfortably tall, but not too tall, heels. Your purse bounces against your leg as you walk, each step heavier than the last. The ride to the top floor takes longer than ever and when you arrive in front of your door you almost can’t recall which key on your ring will unlock it.

The door to your apartment yawns open to greet you, yet you kick it shut, clamping its lips together to envelop you in darkness once again. Everything is the same, yet it’s all different. You stand there on the doormat staring down the short corridor you cross through day in and day out. Did he know he’d leave his apartment for the last time that day?

The hall leads to the open concept shared living room and kitchen areas. Despite all of the shades being drawn, the wide rectangular sliding glass door ahead emits shrouded gray light from behind the curtains. Without clear thought, you move toward it, dropping your keys and purse on the ground at the door. Mindlessly, your fingers move to the buttons of your coat. Shrugging out of the bulky layer, it falls to the floor in a ripple of fabric as you push the curtain open and unlock the door. The dull pitter patter of raindrops crescendos as you slide open the door, the thick glass no longer dampening the sound of the downpour. You breathe in the crisp November afternoon as a wall of cold air slams into you, eliciting goosebumps across your exposed flesh. You don’t think as you step out into the rain, the wind blowing sideways.

Standing still, you let the rain pelt you and the wind throw your hair. It doesn’t take long for it to soak through your dress, which now clings to your figure. Your hair sticks to your face and neck, a tangled mess of mother nature’s finest. The cold seeps in just as fast and before long your lips are quivering and your teeth are chattering. You feel it bruise down to your bones, yet you don’t move. You feel the icy sting because anything is better than feeling his loss. Anything is better than feeling the raw agony of grief as it digs its fingers into your chest and holds your beating heart in its hand and mocks your pain, never letting you forget a second of that night.

There’s your name on the wind, wait, no. It’s behind you. Your instincts have slowed, like deadened nerves, they don’t react the same.

“What are you doing out here?”

You blink and Hotch is standing just outside of your back door, his hand shielding his eyes from the rain. Your lip quivers in response as he steps forward and pulls you inside. He immediately shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it over your shoulders before guiding you to the couch.

“God, you’re freezing,” he says as he drops your hand in your lap. “I’ll get some towels.”

You stare at your hands in your lap as he stands, his footsteps echoing down the hall. He returns with two. The first, he passes to you and you just hold it. The second he uses to blot your face before draping it over your shoulders and pulling your hair off your neck and face, smoothing it over your ears and shoulders so it falls over the towel.

When he sits, his eyes meet yours. They’re a deep brown, like coffee, coffee without milk. They’re warm like coffee, too. Just looking into them begins to just barely chisel at the ice you’ve let burrow deep into your bones.

His brow pinches. “God, what the hell were you thinking? You’re going to get sick standing out there in the rain and cold like that.”

Your fingers curl around the towel in your lap, your gaze fixed on the coffee table. “I needed to feel anything else,” your voice cracks as tears well along your lash line. “Because if I don’t, all I’ll feel is the hurt and it’s so deep, and I’m so scared that this is all I’ll ever feel.”

Hotch’s features soften, his lips parting. He knows the feeling all too well. “It seems like that now.” His voice is soft. “When I lost Haley, even though we’d been divorced for some time, it felt like my world had crumbled out from under me and I wondered if I’d ever be able to rebuild it.”

A strangled sob escapes your lips and you hug the towel to your chest. “How? you ask, voice pleading. “How do you do that? I want to do that. I need to start, because I can’t…I can’t live with this pain, Hotch.”

“It’s not immediate,” he answers. “It’ll take a long time for the pain to subside to where it’s only a dull ache and then one day, you’ll wake up and it won’t hurt anymore. You have to give yourself grace and let yourself feel the agony of his loss. Stop trying to push it down. You don’t have to save face for anyone.”

Your voice is small when you speak. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” Hotch responds empathetically. “Grieving is the hardest part.” His hand reaches for yours. It’s warm against your icy skin and you remember this feeling. He’d been the one to hold your hand as the paramedics loaded you into the ambulance that night. For the first time, you raise your eyes to meet his.

“I don’t think I can come back,” you say, “not now.”

Hotch nods. “I wouldn’t expect you to. Take the bereavement. I’ll pull some strings to grant an extension on it. When it runs out, we can revisit a return to work.” He squeezes your hand and inclines his head to really look at you. “I understand what you’re going through more than anyone. I know how easy it is to want to isolate and shut the world out. When you feel that darkness calling you? I want you to call me instead. I’ll help guide you out of it. Can you do that?”

You pull your bottom lip into your mouth with your teeth to stop its trembling and nod. “I can do that.”

•

Your heartbeat echoes in your ears as the elevator slowly climbs to the floor where the BAU works from. Your fingers twitch along your side as you watch the numbers light up with each passing story. When the elevator dings, signaling it’s your turn to face reality, you square your shoulders and stride through the doors as they part.

A shock of blonde and pink hair greets you immediately. Arms are around you, squeezing you against a fuzzy green cardigan that smells faintly of jasmine.

A small smile tugs at your lips and you're surprised to hear laughter from your lips. “It’s nice to see you, too, Penelope.”

“I missed you!” she says, a wide smile on her pink lips.

“I’ve missed the team,” you say, peering around her. “Is everyone here?”

She shrugs, “It’s Monday morning so everyone is filtering in. You know how it goes.” She turns toward the double doors leading inside. She points over her shoulder with a pen topped with a purple pom pom. Her lips press together. “Are you ready?”

You inhale slowly and swallow.

You know this is going to be hard, but it has been a month. You were sleeping through most nights and had begun seeing the Bureau appointed therapist to cope with the trauma and loss. Hotch had kept his word too. When you had holed yourself away in your room; takeout containers barely touched, forgetting to take showers, and had laundry piled so high it threatened to bury you in an avalanche of fabric, you called him. That’s all you’d done. You couldn’t speak when you did. It had taken all of your strength just to find his contact and hit ‘dial.’

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” was all he’d said before hanging up.

Penelope had given him the spare key to your apartment that she’d still had from when she watered your plants whenever a case kept you out for longer periods of time than usual. He’d figured you’d not have the strength to pull yourself out of bed. He hadn’t even come into your room when he’d first gotten there. He announced himself when he’d entered, not that you’d have reacted if it were an intruder. Ok, that might have been bullshit. At your core, you were still an agent and those instincts would’ve kicked in. You’d stayed in your blanket cocoon as the sound of dishes clanking and water splashing echoed from the kitchen. He’d knocked on your door and entered with a trash bag, collecting takeout and emptied the rather gross and overflowing bedroom trash can by your bed that you’d filled with tissues from the sporadic sob sessions that would overtake you. Silently, he’d pulled your clothes up off the floor into the hamper and started a load of wash. Only when things were clean did he sit on the edge of your bed and let you fall into him and fall apart all over again.

“Rossi sent me with a home cooked lasagna. It should last the week and then he’ll send another next week. I stocked your fridge with Gatorade. You’ll get sick if you dehydrate and trust me, you don’t want that to happen.” It had sounded like he’d spoken from experience.

When you’d managed to stop crying, you’d sniffed and looked up at him. “Did I hear you humming the “clean up” song?”

“It helps Jack stay on task at home,” he’d said, a soft smile and blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Sweetie?”

You blink. Penelope is looking at you, the concern clear on her face.

You clear your throat and nod. “I’m ready.”

As you enter the bullpen, you don’t miss the way people pretend not to stare as you pass by; watching for cracks in your face and your body that might fracture leaving them to pick up the pieces. There’s a tension in the room as you pass his desk, a pregnant pause as they await your reaction but you’d been preparing for it. You feel the pain flow through you and take slow, measured breaths. The dread passes. The room breathes a sigh of relief.

It isn’t until later in the day that you’re passing the briefing room to deliver a file to Hotch in his office that you notice his photo on the wall honoring fallen heroes within the Bureau; his name embossed on a golden placard and eager, bright face smiling back at you.

Your ceramic coffee cup shatters as it hits the tile. Heads turn in your direction and Hotch is quick enough to react, stealing out of his office and reeling you back into it before you crash onto your knees unable to breathe.

•

Work gets easier. The routine becomes familiar again. There are good days and bad days. You don’t break down again at work after the initial shock on your first day back. Aaron checks in with you regularly as does the rest of your team. Hotch seems to pay extra attention, though, and you wonder if the team notices just how close you’d become over the last few months.

It started out simple enough; an extra “how are you?” or bringing you a cup of coffee in the morning. On your first week back, he’d only brought you decaf. “I don’t want to increase any anxiety you might be feeling,” he’d said.

You weren’t cleared to return to the field for two months, so you’d stay behind when the team left; helping remotely from the office with Penelope. You’d missed Hotch during the cases that took them far away from home. At first you told yourself, you were only missing how within reach Hotch had been when you were having a harder time making it through the day. You’d chided yourself and told yourself that it's time to cut the cord, that you had to learn to stand on your own two feet again sooner or later without him there to be your crutch. But was that all you missed?

Having him around made breathing feel easier. It made waking up in the morning seem worth it. He reminds you why you face each day and of the important work you do for the community and country at large. He reminded you why he wouldn’t want you to suffer like this months after the fact.

As you sit at your desk awaiting a phone call from Spencer to get you that update from the morgue, you lean back in your chair and close your eyes. Your ears pick up on the rustling of papers, the gentle whir of the copy machine, phones ringing, and people talking. It’s all so normal. It feels like any other day at the office, yet it feels hollow still.

Hotch had been working on it with you, though. He knew that you’d been withdrawing, despite having come back. You still weren’t taking people up on their offers to go out on weekends or getting a drink after work. It was all too exhausting. So, he started slowly with you. At first, it was really just making sure that you were meeting your basic needs. He’d schedule a time with you at the weekend to go out and get groceries; easy grab and go items because you still didn’t have much energy to cook. He’d help you unpack them and then head back home, not before giving you a hug and telling you how proud he was of you. Eventually, as you’d been able to handle more, he invited you on outings with him and Jack. You’d go watch one of his soccer games or go to the park. Seeing someone so carefree and innocent brought real joy to your heart and it suddenly didn’t seem so unnatural to smile and laugh. And during all of this Hotch had even shared his own experiences with how he’d handled his grief when Haley died. He’d done it all alone though. He’d confided this in you one night over a glass of wine and Thai takeout in your living room.

“I wish I’d had someone to help pull me out of the thick of it, the grief.” he’d said and you’d stopped chewing your food.

“You went through this all on your own?” you’d replied, stricken by the thought.

He’d nodded as he’d wiped a napkin over his lips. “Haley’s sister would keep Jack for a week at a time because I could hardly take care of myself, let alone my own son. It felt terrible, like I was failing him and failing Haley all over again. I would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, pouring over every little detail wondering what I could’ve done differently, how I could’ve changed the ending.”

“Then what?” you’d asked, because you’d been plagued by the same nightmarish loop of that night.

A soft smile had graced his lips then. “I finally accepted that there’s no way I can change the past. I can wish and hope and beg and plead for a do-over, but that just doesn’t happen. I could either live in that painful memory forever or be grateful I got to have the time with her that I did and do everything in my power to honor her life with my own. I chose to keep living.”

Your phone rings, pulling you out of the memory.

“Hey Spence, any update from the morgue?”

“Mm, not Reid.”

You sit up straighter. “Oh, Hotch. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, I’m leaving the station now to go interview the victim’s wife and wanted to check in.”

“Oh, sir. You didn’t have to do that. Things are fine here. Penelope and I are holding down the fort.”

“You know that’s not what I’m calling to check in about.”

Your brow furrows. Is that a smile you hear in his voice?

You lower your voice. “I’m fine.”

“If being back in the office is too much, too soon I can petition—”

“Really, Hotch,” you say, keeping your voice down. “It feels good to be busy again. If I’m caught up in work, my mind can’t dwell elsewhere. I’m right where I need to be.”

“Well, not right where you need to be,” Hotch comments.

There’s an immediate silence that follows, his words hanging in the liminal space between you and him over the line.

You open your mouth to speak when a beep hits your line. You pull your phone from your ear and see an incoming call alongside Spencer’s photo illuminating your screen. “That’s Spencer on the other line. I uh, I gotta go.”

•

You startle awake, heart hammering inside your chest. His name leaves your lips in a jagged, anguished cry. Cold sweat trickles down your face as you bolt upright, digging your fingers into the mattress to steady yourself.

The door to your room swings open and Hotch hurries to your bedside. You blink hard following the intrusion but quickly remember why Hotch is even here in the first place.

Jack had had a sleepover party at a friend’s house nearby, so you’d asked if he wanted to come over and have a Lord of the Rings marathon. It was playing on cable all evening and you did love those hairy footed hobbits. Hotch had smiled and said something about it having been years since he’d seen them. You’d started to doze three quarters through The Two Towers and he’d encouraged you to go to bed. You told him that he was welcome to stay and keep watching and he’d made some crack about you having a comfortable couch to fall asleep on. Your apartment was closer to Jack’s sleepover party than Hotch’s apartment, so it just made sense for him to stay. Or at least that’s what you’d told yourself.

He smooths back the hair that’s stuck to your face and the feel of his fingers on your skin helps ground you back to reality.

“Deep breaths,” he soothes. “Here.” he passes you the glass of water off of your nightstand and you mutter a thank you as you gulp it down.

When you finish, he takes the glass from you and replaces it on the nightstand. His other hand curls into yours.

“Hey,” he says, inclining his head to intercept the trajectory of your blank stare. Your eyes shift to meet his. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You press your lips together and shake your head. “It was all the same. Just that night in high definition except,” you swallow and shake your head, hoping it clears the image away like when you’re a kid and shake your Etch A Sketch when you want to create a new picture, “the unsub was laughing. From where he lay, dead on the ground, he was laughing. Blood bubbled up through his teeth as he did so and he just kept laughing.” You drop your head into your hands and rub your temples. “I swear I can still hear it. I can still see his open eyes, unseeing, while he laughed.”

Hotch rubs small circles on your back. “I know how scary it is, how unsettling it can be. It’s only a dream. The unsub is dead. He can’t hurt you or anyone else anymore.”

“How long?” you ask, exhaustion heavy in your voice.

“How long, what?”

“How long do the dreams last?”

Hotch sucks a breath in through his teeth. “I wish I had an answer for you,” he says. “There are some nights I still wake up in a cold sweat just like you, Haley’s name on my lips. There are nights I dream that I saved her, nights where I got to Foyet before he got to her. There are nights I dream of Foyet standing over me, of his knife—”

Your hand slips into his and this time it’s Aaron’s turn to lift his eyes to meet yours. “I understand.”

A small smile turns the corners of his lips. “They get easier to live with.” He pulls you into his arms. You close your eyes and let yourself mold against his frame. The smell of cedar and teakwood has become familiar to you, comforting too. You inhale deeply as he squeezes you against him.

“I should let you get back to sleep,” he says as he pulls away.

“Stay?” you blurt awkwardly, voice smaller than usual.

Aaron’s brow arcs in response. “I’ll be right outside.”

“With me,” you say, gesturing toward the bed. “Just,” you breathe out slowly. You feel vulnerable. Your voice cracks despite how hard you try to keep it steady. “Can you just hold me? For a little while? I’m afraid to close my eyes just to see that smile again.”

“I—” he starts and stops. You feel your lip begin to quiver and you wish you could stuff your words back inside your mouth. He is still your boss. What the hell kind of request was that for you to make? Before you can tell him to forget it, he speaks again.

“Of course I can.”

You shift awkwardly, heart hammering now for an altogether different reason, as you make room for him to slide in next to you.

He eases onto the bed, stretching his legs out in front of him atop the covers and crosses one over the other.

He stretches his arm nearest you, “Come here,” he says softly and almost hesitantly, you lay your head against his chest. His heart beats evenly, if not a little quicker than what you imagine his resting heart rate ought to be. Was he nervous too? Was this crossing a line? Before your mind can run away with anxious thoughts, he wraps his other arm across your body while his hand finds its way into your hair, his fingers gently combing through it in slow, soothing movements.

You feel his eyes on you and you want to tilt your face up to look into them, but something holds you back. Instead you let your lashes flutter close and mutter something about only staying until you fall asleep. If you weren’t lying right beneath his lips, you might’ve missed the whisper of laughter that tumbles from them.

“Don’t worry about me,” he says as he drops his hand to your shoulder and strokes deliberate, gentle lines up and down the skin there.

He talks then; about work, about Jack, just about anything until his voice sounds further and further away and you’re fast asleep. And for the first time since you can’t remember when, it’s dreamless.

•

The hum of the jet’s engine should lull you to sleep at this hour yet you continue to scratch notes into your legal pad, not wanting to forget any details to add to your case report. You’d had trouble concentrating when you’d departed from LAX and had spent the first few hours of the flight lost in your thoughts.

The case had gone well. Within 72 hours, you’d delivered the profile and successfully captured the unsub. Richard Pyre, aged 32, had been kidnapping young women and strangling them, leaving their bodies in public places. Local PD had done an excellent job of canvassing the streets. The team came in and connected the missing pieces they’d not been able to decipher and together, you all had caught the bad guy. It was a slam dunk case. So, it shouldn’t be taking you long to compile notes for your report.

You just couldn’t get him off of your mind. It had been a month since Hotch had stayed over at your place, since you’d wept in his arms and begged him to hold you until you fell asleep. The memory alone brings a hot, embarrassed flush to your cheeks. Why? Because Hotch had fallen asleep in bed with you. His phone alarm that he’d set to remind him to pick up Jack from his sleepover had gone off in the living room. When it continued to beep, you’d stirred awake. At first you’d been confused, not remembering having set an alarm as it was Saturday, but then you’d felt the rise and fall of a chest underneath you. Aaron Hotchner was still in your bed, arms around you. He’d pulled the throw blanket from the end of your bed up and over his legs at some point during the night and just fallen asleep too.

For a moment you’d been scared to move, afraid of what lines had been crossed despite not having engaged in any sexual activities. That was your boss in your bed, for Christ’s sake. Yes, the pair of you had been blurring the lines with friendship lately as he’d become so integral to your life. But then again, everyone in the BAU kinda sorta blurred the lines between colleagues and friends. But you’d never woken up in anyone else’s arms.

You’d tried to slip out of his arms without waking him, but between the movement and his alarm going off in the other room you’d never stood a chance. He stirred awake and rubbed his eyes.

“Good morning,” you’d said awkwardly.

He’d immediately dropped his arms from around your body and cleared his throat. “I, uh,” he breathed in deeply and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I must’ve fallen asleep, I’m sorry.” He’d quickly exited the bed and scurried into the living room, where he’d swiped his alarm off.

He’d quickly collected his belongings, muttering about needing to pick up Jack. He’d averted your gaze and apologized again before giving you a quick hug and making a rather hasty exit from your apartment.

You didn’t talk about the incident afterwards, but something had definitely shifted between the two of you.

You drop your pencil onto the table and angle the reading light more towards yourself to not disturb Reid who breathes deeply as he sleeps across from you, arms cuddling his beloved satchel to his chest. As you reach for your coffee, you exhale a heavy sigh when you notice it's empty. You don’t even remember finishing it. You check your watch: 1:22AM. You really ought to try and sleep, but instead you rise to fix another cup.

Walking on the balls of your feet to not disturb the rest of the sleeping team, you make your way toward the back of the plane where the restroom and bar are situated. The red light still blinks on the coffee machine, signaling it’s been keeping the half-full pot hot all this time. As you lift the pot and begin to pour, someone speaks.

“Another cup? Really?”

You startle at the sound of Hotch’s voice, causing you to miss your cup and spill coffee on your hand. You hiss quietly and shake your hand, flinging drops of coffee across the counter.

“Shit, I’m sorry!” Hotch whisper-shouts as he withdraws his pocket square and dries your hand. He moves, bringing your hand under the bar’s lighting to inspect for injuries. Fortunately, it’s just a few blotchy red spots that ought to go away in a couple of hours. His thumb gently strokes the skin around it and your breath catches in your throat. You watch for a few moments, feeling your heart slowly start to beat its way into your throat the longer he holds onto your hand. A part of you wants to draw nearer to him, but instead you clear your throat.

“You should sleep,” he says, finally, dropping your hand. You miss the feel of his fingers immediately.

“Hi Pot, I’m Kettle, you reply snarkily.

Aaron’s lips twitch into a smile. “Yes, well. Typically, I’m working on a lot more than you’ve got to worry about as Unit Chief. I’m usually up at this hour anyway. You, on the other hand, are usually asleep with everyone else. Are you still having nightmares?”

You swallow and turn away, ripping open a packet of Splenda and stirring it into your coffee. “No, actually. Not since—”

“Since?” he presses.

You pick up your mug and turn back around to face him. “Since you stayed the night at my place.”

You don’t miss the way his eyes widen just slightly. He swallows and fidgets with the buttons of his suit jacket. Aaron Hotchner is fidgeting, a clear sign he’s nervous and holding something back.

“It scares me too,” you whisper after a long stretched out silence, hardly discernible.

“What’s that?” Hotch says, tone shifting.

You focus on the heat of the coffee mug in your hands as you press your thumbs into the ceramic to try and fight the heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Whatever this is, these feelings. I’m not stupid, Hotch, and neither are you. We’ve clearly crossed a line and I don’t know how to uncross it.” You take a deep breath, feeling like you’re rambling. “I don’t know how to think around you anymore. Everyday I wake up and get excited because I know I’m going to see you. You bring Jack over on the weekends and it fills me with so much joy I don’t know how to cope with it. And then I feel guilty because I’ve toed this line before. I toed the line and was too afraid because of my job and protocols and it left my heart so broken I didn’t think I’d ever get to put it back together again. Then you come along with your tapes and your glues and you find a way to turn the fractured pieces of my heart into this mosaic of something capable of beating once more.” A tear slips from the corner of your eye and drips down your cheek, falling into your coffee with a soft plop. You raise your eyes to meet his, “Now you tell me what I’m supposed to do with that.”

At this point, your heart is slamming in your chest. Afraid of triggering a panic attack, you turn around and dump the coffee into the small sink carved into the small bar. You don’t need it nor want it anymore.

Hotch says your name and reaches for your arm but you pull away, turning and moving back to your seat at the opposite end of the jet. He could follow, but he won’t. Fortunately for you, Reid being asleep in the seat across from you and Derek being sprawled out across the way didn’t leave much room for Aaron to follow through on your conversation.

•

When the plane lands, you pull your go-bag down from the overhead bins alongside your gun case and cut out as soon as the doors open and the stairs descend.

Emily calls after you, but you duck your head and push ahead off the tarmac and onto the path leading back to the office. You’d finished your report on the plane. Once inside, you drop the manila envelope in the box affixed next to the door to Hotch’s office and dip back out through the main office doors. The elevator dings, alerting you that the rest of the team is about to walk through those doors. Not feeling up to facing anyway you move swiftly to the staircase and push the door open, sliding your body through as the whoosh of the elevator begins to open.

Your thoughts move too quickly as your feet slap against each step, your footsteps echoing in the empty chamber of the stairwell. When you reach the ground level, the parking garage, you fish your keys out of the front pocket of your bag and press the key fob, unlocking your car. Opening the trunk, you toss your go-bag in and place your gun case beside it before slamming it shut. After sliding into the front seat, you put your seatbelt on and back out of your space. As you shift your hands to cut the wheel to the right, someone jumps in front of your car with their hands up.

You slam the breaks and curse. You roll your window down. “Christ, Spencer! What the hell are you doing?”

He lowers his hands and moves to the driver's side window, awkwardly adjusting his satchel on his shoulder as he does so. He swallows and tilts his head to the side, brow furrowed. He takes a few deep breaths. He’d clearly been rushing to follow after you. “I was uh, wondering if I could get a ride home.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “JJ was going to give me a ride, but something with Henry—”

“Just get in,” you say, too exhausted to care.

“Thank you, thank you.” He rushes around the car and clambers into the passenger seat.

For a while neither of you speak. When you pull out of the garage, the sun hurts your eyes. You cuss under your breath as you reach for your sunglasses.

“Why’d you rush off the plane so fast?” Spencer asks as you turn onto the main road. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone disembark the jet that quickly.

You press your lips together, not really wanting to have this conversation. “Maybe I just really want to go home. I’m pretty exhausted, aren’t you?”

He nods quickly, considering. “See, I think this has more to do with the conversation you and Hotch had on the plane.”

You jerk the wheel to the side, causing Spencer to cling to the handle above his seat. The sound of your tires screeching to halt echo as a car swerves and honks.

“What the hell, Spence?” you shout, pulling your sunglasses off to look him in the eye. “Did you lie to me about needing a ride just so you could trap me in this conversation?” You point a finger at him. “That’s fucked up. I don’t like lying. We’re friends.”

He tenses, flinching under your hard stare. “And that’s exactly why I’m doing this,” he says, voice tight.

You lower your finger, posture relaxing only slightly. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve been paying more attention to dynamics across the team over the last eight months. I read a study on how shared trauma can impact working relationships; some for the better and some for worse. Fortunately, our team seems to have stayed relatively strong following—” He pauses, eyes shifting to yours and then back to his hands in his lap. “His death. Anyway, obviously you took it the hardest, what with having worked closest with him and the lines you walked between colleague and romantic partner.”

You feel your heart squeeze inside your chest, yet Spencer continues on.

“I didn’t see it at first. I thought Hotch was just checking in on you as is his duty as Unit Chief and having to make sure we’re all fit to be in the field. However, as time progressed I started to notice shifts in the way Hotch spoke to you and even his body language around you, even when you weren’t in the office.”

That strikes a chord deep within you. “Okay, and?”

He sits up straighter, lips pursing as he decides how to continue. “It started quite small. I’d catch him end a call with you while out on a case and he’d be smiling, other times his nostrils would flare and he’d wipe his hands down the fronts of his pants, likely because they were clammy, much like you’re doing right now.” He indicates toward you and you clench your hands into fists.

“So, what?”

He laughs exasperatedly. “So, what? You don’t have to be a behavior analyst to see these are all behaviors in line with burgeoning romantic feelings for someone.”

“I don’t—” your words falter as you fail to come up with an excuse.

“You’re scared,” Spencer states. “Moving on is the scariest part. There’s so many feelings attached to it: guilt, remorse, anger, fear, relief, joy. It’s normal to be afraid, but don’t let that fear hold you back from allowing yourself a chance at happiness.”

You swallow thickly as you feel the familiar pressure of tears burn the backs of your eyes. “It’s only been eight months. It feels wrong.”

“I miss him too, you know?” Spencer says after a minute. “I know I might not have been as close to him as you were. You two were in the Academy together after all.” He reaches across the center console and takes one of your hands in his. “And I know that once upon time you and him considered taking your relationship further but decided not to because you were just starting out with the Bureau, but,” he says your name and smiles. “His profession of feelings for you doesn’t mean he’d never want you to find that for yourself. He just wanted you to know that while he was a part of your life, he loved you for all of it. I don’t think he’d want to see you hurt like this. I really don’t.” His clear eyes search yours as he smiles. “For as short a time together as we had, I loved Maeve every day I knew her.”

“Spence—” he cuts you off with a wave of his hand.

“I miss her every day and it’s been two years. I’m not really a guy that goes on dates very often. I’m awkward and weird and I know this about myself. I do know though, that if I am lucky enough to find someone again that loves me, that she would want me to be happy. At least, I’d have wanted her to if our situations had been reversed and I’d been the one to die that day. I wouldn’t have wanted her to put her own happiness on hold.” He squeezes your hand. “You don’t have to put your life on hold. That doesn’t mean you’ll forget him.”

He drops your hand and points to the road. “I’ll buy you breakfast by the way, to make up for the lying.”

You unbuckle your seatbelt and lunge over the passenger seat to pull him into a hug. Spencer wheezes as your body weight collides with him, but his slender arms snake around your back to return the embrace.

“Thank you, Spence.”

•

Usually, after a case, you have a shower and immediately go to bed. Not this time though. Spencer’s words play over in your mind again and again as you pace the length of your apartment floor.

You’d picked up your phone a dozen times to call Aaron, but each time you’d dropped it back onto the counter.

Eventually, you just plop down onto the couch and drop your head in your hands. “Why is this so hard?” you mumble to yourself.

You look up and make eye contact with the picture of you and him from the office Christmas party two years ago. He’s wearing a Santa hat and you’ve got on a headband giving you a pair of reindeer antlers. He holds a Solo cup in the air (Rossi had definitely spiked the eggnog) and the smiles on both of your faces are so genuine. A pang of guilt shoots through as you pick up the frame and cradle it to your chest, as if that was anywhere close to what a hug from him would feel like.

“I wish you were here to tell me what to do,” you whisper.

Spencer’s words move through your mind again, especially what he’d said about Maeve. God, this team has dealt with more love and loss than any normal group of people ought to deal with, but then again you all weren’t exactly a normal group of people.

Spencer had a point though. Rationally, you know he wouldn’t want you to hold yourself back from the possibility of love and happiness with someone. You smirk to yourself because you can picture him sitting next to you making some crack about not ever thinking that man would be Hotch. He’d probably point out that Hotch was at least ten years your senior and make some dumb joke about being a gold digger. You’d never really thought about how much Hotch made compared to the rest of you, but with his title and tenure at the Bureau, it probably was up there.

If you are to do this, pursue whatever is going on between you and Aaron, presuming that that was also something he wanted, it won’t be easy. There’s enough red tape as is, let alone throwing relationships and romance into the mix. However, Rossi and Strauss had been together for a year prior to her untimely death. Again, this team had been through too much. She was his superior and there hadn’t been any problems that you’d been aware of, though no one had really been aware of their relationship until it was too late.

God, you wonder. Even Rossi hadn’t been afforded a chance at long term happiness with her. Is the BAU team just destined for trauma and loss? Maybe you should put a stop to this before it has the chance to go any further…but on the other hand you know Spencer would give his left arm if it meant having one more day with Meave. David would probably do the same to be with Erin. So, what were you doing? Why was it even a question?

You place the photo frame back in its place on the side table and grab your phone and keys off the counter. You know you look a bit disheveled. You’d not bothered to change or shower since getting home. You probably still smelled like plane funk too, but if you didn’t go see him now, you probably never would.

You pull open your front door and nearly trip over yourself as you force stop to keep from barreling into Hotch.

His hand is raised, like he is about to knock on the door no longer between you two. He licks his lips nervously and drops his hand after a

moment of you two staring at each other in stunned silence.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry to barge in like this.”

An uncomfortable laugh flits between the two of you as your voices overlap.

“Do you want to come in?” you say, gesturing behind you.

Hotch nods, “Please.”

You shuffle to the side and he steps into your apartment, eyes bouncing around the space. “You’ve managed to keep up with the place, that’s good.”

You cross your arms over your chest, hugging your biceps with your hands. “I find that humming the ‘clean up’ song helps.”

A pink blush sparks across his cheeks at your jab. “I’m glad that’s now a part of my legacy.”

There’s another awkward laugh followed by an even more awkward silence.

You rub your hands up and down your arms, suddenly finding yourself not as brave as you were feeling minutes early.

“Aaron, what are you doing here?” you manage to say after a few more awkward moments of silence.

Hotch presses lips together before taking a deep breath. He sweeps his thumb across his lips, suddenly looking very determined as he meets your eyes. “What I should’ve done on the plane.”

It takes seconds for him to cross the space between you. His hands clasp the sides of your face and then his lips are on yours, kissing you with such fervor you’re surprised that you don’t see stars. At first, you don’t even react, too stunned to believe this is happening. And then your arms are looping around his neck and you’re deepening the kiss, tasting the coffee on his lips as your tongue slips between them.

After a minute, he pulls away and you’re both breathless. He presses his forehead to yours and gasps. You look up at him from beneath your lashes and his eyes are wild and searching.

“We’re doing this, then?” you say between breaths.

Hotch nods and brushes his nose against yours. “I don’t think it’ll be easy.”

You twist your fingers into his hair, your lips brushing his as you speak. “Nothing about our lives is easy.”

He kisses you once, quick and brief. “So, we’re doing this?”

“We’re doing this.”

•

*Two years later

“Penelope is really excited about it,” you say as you pull your knees to your chest. The sun is shining brightly, but the crisp fall air is still chilly enough to warrant a scarf and light jacket.

“She wants it to be bright and colorful, with peonies and baby’s breath everywhere. There’s a board in her office with enough strings and photos connected you’d think it was a case.” You laugh to yourself and smooth a hand across the gingham pattern picnic blanket beneath you.

“There will be a chair for you,” you say wistfully. “It’ll be next to ones for Haley, Erin, and Maeve.”

You reach out and brush your fingers along the perfectly etched letters of his name. “I hope you’ll be there.”

The sun glints off of the circular cut engagement ring on your left hand, casting a dazzling rainbow across his tombstone.

“I think about the promise I made you,” you say as you adjust the bouquet of sunflowers and roses you’d propped against his grave and smile to yourself knowing he’d probably make fun of you for the way you diligently make sure there’s always some fresh arrangement to decorate the space. “I was scared when I first started to feel things for him, scared of what that meant. It took me a long time, and an oddly sentimental conversation with Reid to start chasing the feeling.” You laugh to yourself then. “I felt the butterflies though, and though it took a while, I did finally chase them.”

A small gasp escapes your lips then as a Monarch Butterfly lands on top of the stone. You don’t know a ton about their migration patterns, but you know it’s late enough in the Fall that they should all be gone. JJ had said something to you once long ago about how butterflies can be signs of your loved ones from beyond the grave, their way of visiting when they can.

There’s the pitter patter of small feet whooshing through the grass as Jack’s laughter echoes throughout the field as he races toward you.

“Daddy and I finished visiting Mommy,” he says as he throws his small arms around you. Haley had been buried at Quantico National Cemetery too given Aaron’s position within the Bureau. You wrap your arms around Jack’s and look up to see that Hotch is smiling down at the two of you. He asks you if you’re done with your visit, referring to him as uncle. You palm Jack’s small cheek in your hand as your lips curve into a small half smile and tears fill your eyes.

“Just about,” you say.

Aaron stretches a hand toward you and you take it, letting him pull you to your feet.

You glance down at his grave once more and watch the butterfly sit atop the stone gently stretching its wings. It lifts off after a few more beats, fluttering around before landing on your sweater, its small leggings hooking onto the threads of your sleeve.

You gasp in disbelief as you watch it climb a couple of inches before it takes off toward the clouds.

A tear slips down your cheeks as a bubble of laughter erupts from you, though there’s something of a sob there too. Aaron curves an arm around you and pulls you against the planes of his body that you’re now all too familiar with. He says nothing and kisses your temple as you watch the butterfly disappear into the sky and you can’t help but entertain the thought that maybe there is a heaven and that maybe, just maybe, he was checking in to let you know everything is okay.

You wrap an arm around Aaron’s torso and hug him tightly. Jack scoops up the blanket and bunches it into his arms.

“Well Soon-to-be Mrs. Hotchner,” Aaron says, rubbing your arm. “Are you ready?”

You take one last look at his grave and the flowers you’ve left there for him.

“I’m ready,” you answer with finality. And when you say those words, you mean them. You’re not just ready to leave for the afternoon, you’re ready for this next chapter of your life to truly and fully begin. It doesn’t mean you’re leaving this part of your life behind, the grief will always be a part of you and you know you’ll miss him and feel his loss until the day you die. And you know that Aaron feels the same about Haley. They’re integral parts of both of your stories, and through the healing you found one another. It’s that that carries you through to each new day, to each tomorrow. You’ll spend the rest of your lives honoring their legacies through the work you do and through the love you share with one another and all of your loved ones.

And that’s an encouraging thought.

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htchnr · 6 months

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★ gentle hands ❥ A. HOTCHNER.

➻❥ masterlist. ➻❥ patreon.

CW ➥ reader has issues with eating ⋆ very brief mention of an alcohol problem ⋆ mention of binge eating or not eating ⋆ sweet and sappy comfort fic ⋆ if i missed anything, lmk!

WC ➥ 1,3k. SONG ➥ chocolate mint , duster.

SUMMARY ➥ you've always had issues with food, you either eat too much, or not enough, or not at all. you've always struggled with it yourself, but now that you live together with Aaron it's a little difficult to avoid or hide. so when you tell him about your struggles, he comforts you. as requested by an anon, but i lost the ask 😭

AUTHORS NOTE ➥ i'm getting a little bit better! still feel like i've got the flu, but i've atleast been able to concentrate on writing a request! 😁 i'm gonna try my best to finish up the remaining Kinktober posts, those will at the very least be all done before the end of November!

you rolled on your back, eyes glued to the ceiling as you tightened your jaw. the clock had briefly flashed 3:28AM when you moved. your hands clenching and unclenching at your sides.

the urge to eat something was so overbearingly painful. you weren't necessarily hungry, you just need something to eat. you've tried explaining it to therapists before, but it never came out the way it needed to. you've briefly talked about it with Morgan once, though ended up not continuing the conversation after you got a call about a case and left.

and you didn't want to bring it up with Aaron; he already worried about the smallest things, the tiny bad habits you had. Aaron was one of the best people you've met, but you felt like you only burdened him with your flaws. though if Aaron ever heard you say that, he'd crush you in a hug and force you to apologise. to yourself, for ever daring to think that you were a burden to him.

your fists clenched one more time before you sat up, rubbing your hands across your face in frustration. some nights food was comforting, other nights; like this night, it was a nuisance and it frustrated you so much, your self image took the bullet for it.

you carefully moved the blankets off of you, letting your feet quietly hit the cold wood floor of your bedroom. you glanced behind you at the figure in your bed; Aaron laid peacefully, the deep creases in his face looking more relaxed as he slept.

you brushed a hand through your hair as you quietly left the bedroom and walked towards the kitchen. you yawned as you pulled open the main cupboard where you kept most packaged foods like crackers, cookies, cereal etc. one hand holding the door, the other on the bare skin of your waist, you hadn't bothered putting anything else on beside the bralette and the pair of pyjama shorts you had worn to bed.

you hesitated, i should shut the door and just go back to bed, you thought to yourself. but your body moved on it's own accord, grabbing a box of cereal and two granola bars. your hold tightened around the bars, plastic crinkling in your grip before you set the items on the counter. you pulled open the fridge to grab the milk, and pulled out a rather large clean bowl from the dishwasher. you made a mental reminder to empty that out after you were done eating.

you poured the cereal into the bowl, hoping the sound didn't trigger Aaron and then twisted open the cap of the milk before pouring it in, the quiet 'crackle' of the cereal filling your ears.

you cracked open the dishwasher once more, grabbing a spoon and shoving it in the bowl, stirring and coating all the cereal in the milk. you took a bite, your tense form almost instantly relaxing a smidge as you chewed on the cereal. see? eating was a good idea. you stood facing the counter while you ate, stuck in your own headspace.

so much so that you hadn't noticed that Aaron had left the bedroom. you rather quickly finished the bowl of cereal, putting it down on the counter beside the sink. as you grabbed for one of the granola bars, a pair of warm, gentle hands slid around your waist and their fingers splayed across your stomach, followed by a pair of lips pressed against your bare shoulder.

"what are you doing up honey?" he asked quietly. he noticed the atmosphere the second he entered the kitchen. your hand tensed around the granola bar, before shoving it against the counter and letting it go. your frame was still tense, even against Aaron's warm body. you don't need the granola bar, you eat enough as it is.

you shook your head a second after Aaron's question. "it's nothing, i was just-" you paused. don't tell him, you'll just give him more to deal with. one side spoke. while the other side encouraged you to open up to him about this. "what's wrong? i can hear those brilliant gears turning. talk to me dear." he spoke endearingly, a slight tease to his tone, that left as soon as it came. you turned in Aaron's arms, your lower back now against the counter, the granola bars behind you as you faced Aaron's bare chest.

"it's nothing Aar, go back to bed.." you insisted, still not meeting his eyes.

Aaron's hold tightened a little on the swell of your hips before lifting one hand to tilt your chin up to face him. "i know when something's wrong, please just talk to me about it." he spoke in a tone a little higher than a whisper. he leaned in and placed a gentle kiss against your forehead.

"it's just that," you paused. are you doing this right now? "i," you suck in a breath. you couldn't seem to find the words now.

Aaron stroked your cheek. "hey, take your time." you encouraged you gently, a reassuring smile on his lips.

you nodded, looking down at your hands. do it, come on. "i have a problem with eating." there, it wasn't that hard, was it? Aaron nodded lightly, prompting you to continue. "i, i either eat too much or nothing at all." Aaron's hand returned to your waist, his thumbs rubbing reassuring circles into the soft flesh.

this wasn't as hard as you made it out to be. "some nights i feel like the urge to eat is so strong, that it eats away at me until i eat. though i'm not always even hungry, i just, have to eat. that doesn't make sense does it?" you chuckle sadly, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his warm chest, your arms still hanging at your sides. "and some days, i just avoid food all together. it's like the feeling of eating makes me feel so sick? not necessarily physically sick, but mentally." you continue, a slight crack in your voice.

Aaron's heart breaks at your confession. he knew something was going on, but not that it ran this deep. "and some days, i just drink all day. being drunk blocks out all the issues with eating. either i eat a normal amount, or i don't really eat at all, but it takes the bad feelings about each away." you mumble. this is embarrassing. Aaron lowers one of his hands down to one of yours, intertwining his fingers gently with yours. your thumb fiddled around with his thick fingers.

"i'm sorry i'm laying this all on you i know-"

"hey, don't." he speaks, his voice still gentle and quiet, but more assertive. you look up at him. "don't be sorry about something you can't control. as for not talking to me about it, i'm not mad at you, i just wished you'd come to me with these things more often. i know you're struggling, but i have no way of helping you, or even just being there if i don't know what's going on in that gorgeous mind of yours."

tears well up in your eyes. Aaron's thumb coming up just before a tear rolls down, gentle wiping it away. "come to me when you feel like this okay? come to me when you're having one of those days where eating pains you, or when you crave to eat the whole day. i'm here for you okay honey? i'm here for you, no matter what." he's here to help you, so let him.

you nod, licking a tear off your lips. he wraps an arm fully around your soft bare waist, the other one wrapping around your shoulder as he pulls you against him. your arms wrapping around his waist as you hold him tight. "thank you." your voice is muffled by his skin, but Aaron hears it. "i love you." you hold him tighter, pressing your face against his warm chest, the feeling of being held by him calming down any negative thoughts or feelings.

"i love you too." he whispers back, placing a firm kiss on the top of your head.

he pulls away, his thumb wiping away some tears. "do you want to eat something before we head back to bed?" he asks you, he had already spotted the granola bars behind you. you think for a second before nodding.

Aaron nods along, reaching for one of the bars behind you. he opens it, leaning away from you for just a second as he throws away the wrapper and hands you the bar. his hand wraps around yours as you take the bar from him, his thumb rubbing brief but gently against the back of your hand.

you eat the bar slowly, having Aaron stand in front of you calms the intensity of the craving. and when you're finished with the bar Aaron smiles. he leans down and captures your lips in a soft kiss. you wrap your arms around his neck as you lean into it. Aaron leans down, his warm gentle hand sliding down your waist and hips until they reach the back of your thighs, pulling you up and into his arms. you wrap your thighs around his bare waist and lean your head on his shoulder as he carries you back to the bedroom.

tonight might've been conquered, but there's still many more nights and days to go. though, now they don't seem as dark and daunting..

#⋆୨🩷©2023 htchnr #⋆୨⭐️aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner comfort #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner angst

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yuly · 1 year

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↬ To Be Loved and To Be in Love ↫

Aaron Hotchner x chef female reader

Summary: You drop by the BAU to bring the team a homemade lunch while Beth returns from Beijing to visit Hotch

Warnings: none, angst and fluff, Beth and Hailey are mentioned.

WC: 2K

Pic credit: Pinterest

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Five months ago, your dear neighbour David Rossi asked for a favour, he was having his friends over and wanted your help to cook for them. Dave is not known for sharing his kitchen, but this is something you and him did regularly. Living next door to a pro chef with a successful catering business was a win for Dave. You obliged, with more than a few ideas in mind to try out.

He invites you to stay, you decline, not wanting to intrude and be the odd one out. But Rossi is a man with a plan, he invites them earlier than previously stated, effectively forcing you to meet the team he speaks so fondly of.

You’re a person who often needs at least a couple of interactions to accurately recall a face. This evening was no different. You fell into easy conversation with the team, they were interested to get to know you, listening eagerly about your work as a chef, a welcomed distraction from their own line of work. You indulge them graciously, careful not to press them about the details of their own work in return.

One person in the group does not contribute much. Dave enthusiastically introduces him to you as, “Aaron, the boss man,” he was quiet, face mostly unreadable but outrageously handsome. The few times he does speak, you nearly melt at his soft yet dominating voice. He is a man of few words, that much is clear. He smirks a handful of times throughout the evening. You were dying to get a better look at his beautiful face, but too intimidated to ogle at the older man. At the end of the night when everyone said their goodbyes, he came up to you on the balcony, thanking you for the delicious meal. His tone while speaking to you was different, good different. It was softer, more gentle, he was warm and kind, the epitome of a gentleman. He had called you beautiful before he knew what he was doing and began to fluster, tripping over his words as a soft blush graced his cheeks. That did you in, seeing the ‘boss man’ get all blushy and shy, and for you no less. You exchanged numbers that night and went home with a clear image of his face imprinted on your mind.

The two of you have been inseparable since. He loves everything last thing about you. Your aura, the way you speak, the way you carry yourself, the way your eyes twinkle when you’re trying to concentrate, the small adjustments you’ve made in the kitchen to allow for Jack, your self appointed sous chef, to maneuver safely.

And you love everything last thing about him. His beautiful face, his kind gestures, his ability to know exactly what to say to comfort you, his pure heart, his eagerness to learn everything about you, the love he has for his son.

You learned that his two love languages are physical touch and words of affirmation. He craves your touch, always reaching out to hold onto you in any way he can. It brings him a sense of comfort he can’t quite find elsewhere. And your words mean more to him than you’ll ever know. The words of encouragement you offer him every morning, whenever you stop to tell him how proud of him you are, when you make it a point to verbalize your appreciation for the things he does for you. It’s hard to miss the effect this has on him. It blankets him with a sense of warmth and belonging, making his heart skip a beat. It makes him smile, a real smile and not a sly grin. Your words make him feel loved, wanted, heard, and appreciated. Your love slowly brings the colour back to Aaron’s life.

Acts of service are your love language. You often take some time out of your day to bring the team something to eat. You can't help yourself, you’ve grown fond of them. Truth be told, you're putty in their hands. It was a surprise each time, southern style banana pudding that Spencer literally went bananas over, mango salsa chicken tacos with homemade fries that made Garcia shed a tear, afghan rice and beef kebabs skewered to perfection that had even Strauss drooling. They were blown away every time. Derek and Emily were quick to accuse Dave of purposely hiding you from them all this time. Hotch laughed at that.

Today, you made beef gyros with homemade tzatziki that you were very proud of. You even brought a complementary raspberry lemonade. Feeling content, you walk into the BAU excited for their reviews.

“Our saving grace, and she comes bearing gifts!” Garcia squeaks excitedly, rushing to help you with the containers. Spencer launches into a speech about the value and history of food sharing in various cultures around the globe, eliciting a loud groan from Derek.

You shake your head at them and laugh, turning to ask Emily where Aaron was when you notice her smile start to fade. You follow her gaze to a brunette that hops out of the elevator.

“Hello! How is everybody doing?” she chirps, quickly joining the rest of you. The team looks surprised to see her, muttering pleasantries and stealing awkward glances at one another. You feel lost, something is up and you are the odd one out.

She could be Emily’s girl, but she’s barely acknowledging her, and besides, I swear Em likes blondes….

“I don't think we’ve met! Hi, I’m Beth!” she gushes, extending her hand. You politely introduce yourself, “Very nice to meet you agent Y/N!” you don't have time to correct her as her next words strike something in you.

“How's Aaron? I came to say hi, God it's been so long, is he in his office?” her bubbly tone and never fading smile were starting to get on your nerves by now.

Woah hold on, Aaron? Who is this and how is she on a first name basis with him? And why have I not heard of her?

You stand still, lost in thought as someone responds and she all but skips over to his office.

“Hey, are you ok?” JJ sits you down, Emily close behind. The two of them fill you in on this Beth character. She’s his ex, they had broken up about a year ago when she took a job in Beijing.

That hurt, you tried not to let it, but it hurt. His ex who you never knew about. His ex who he only broke up with out of necessity. The one that got away…

“Listen, honestly Y/N, I wouldn't worry about it too much, she was his first anything after Hailey and he loves you. I mean, the man worships the ground you walk on, you have nothing to worry about,” Emily sounds sure of herself, you don’t share that sentiment. JJ hands you a water bottle that you graciously accept as you excuse yourself, gyros and lemonade long forgotten.

You ignore Aaron’s calls for the rest of the day, burying yourself in your work and falling down a rabbit hole of self doubt. You are not all the way present as your assistant goes over the details for an upcoming catering event in New York. Your thoughts are all consuming. If Beth didn’t have to move away, he would’ve never broken up with her, that much was clear. They broke up out of necessity, and you suspected that Aaron had encouraged her to go forth and pursue her dreams. He did it out of love, so surely he still has some feelings for her. You convince yourself that you’ve been nothing but a placeholder all this time. That hurt like hell. You’ve never been one to compete with another woman for a man to pick you, so you would make it easy for him.

A few hours later, Aaron shows up to your workplace, clearly flustered. He looks out of place in his ultra-formal black suit and tie, a stark contrast to the soft pastel coloured walls and the lilac flowers that welcome him at the front desk. A frown is etched onto his face as he searches for you, “Y/N, hi, I’ve been trying to reach you all day angel, are you ok?” you look up at him with a blank expression, the endearing pet name does nothing for you at that moment.

You excuse yourself, allowing him to follow you into a small room for privacy, the two of you sit across from each other. A small coffee table sits between you.

“I know you came by the office today,” he begins softly, “I heard that you ran into Beth, I’ll explain everything sweetheart, but please know that I love you, you mean everything to me Y/N.” You let him hold your hand but stay silent.

“Please say something, please talk to me Y/N,” he pleads, eagerly trying to reach your eyes. “You go first” you croak, your voice giving you away. He sighs, his heart feels heavy, he’s afraid what this conversation might lead to, what it could mean for your relationship.

“Beth and I dated for a little over a year, she was my first relationship after being married. I was alone for a long time, even in my marriage. I didn’t expect to meet a woman, to take her out on dates, all of it was foreign to me, the last time I had done anything remotely similar, Jack wasn’t born,” he pauses, taking in a deep breath. Your eyes finally meet his and you see each other’s pain, you will yourself to hold it in, to hear him out.

“Our relationship was unexpected but nice. I didn’t know what I was doing half the time, but I decided to give happiness a chance, for my own sake and for Jack. After a while, it felt easy, and comfortable.”

In that moment, you desperately want to reach out and hold him. Despite everything, you're proud of him for choosing happiness.

“When she got the job in Beijing, I was sad to see her go but ending it was not a difficult decision. I was not willing to uproot my life and my son for her dreams. I just wasn’t ready to compromise on that level for what we had. And she understood, she wasn’t willing to compromise her dreams for what we had either. And that was ok.”

He gives you a wobbly smile, soft brown eyes trained on yours as he continues, his hands never leaving yours.

“Sometimes people come into your life only for a season and that's ok. She came in today asking if we could rekindle things, I said no because I’ve found my forever person,” he looks up at you with teary eyes now, clinging onto your hands, silently begging you to accept him, to stay.

You let out the breath you've been holding in since he walked in, shoulders finally relaxing. Out of everything he had to say, the most important thing to you was that he did not try to discredit her or their relationship in an effort to defend himself. Instead, he was honest with you and allowed himself to be vulnerable in the moment. It makes a world of a difference to you. You respect him for it.

You pull him into a deep embrace, it's your response to him pouring his heart out. It's a warm, tight hug, one that screams relief.

You pull away to stare up at him, “I’ve found my forever person too.” You sit there for a while, foreheads touching, arms around each other. It feels nice. He apologizes for not telling you about her, but you’re past that. You know him, it always works best when you allow him to share at his own pace. You understand him, you accept him, and he loves you for it.

Being with Aaron has shown you the beauty of being in love, and how equally beautiful it is to be loved.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

I really hope you enjoyed!! Your support & feedback is greatly appreciated ♡

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ssaaaronmontgomery · 10 months

Note

Can I get Hotch accompanying a very nervous/anxious reader to the hospital? Either they’ve fallen sick at work or had an accident in the field but basically they shyly ask hotch to come with because he’s so sweet and kind and good at holding their hand when they need it ♥️

Hospitals

Warnings: Hospitals, injured ankle, reader feels a bit anxious, Hotch being sweet 🤭

Word count: 568

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!reader (no pronouns used)

A/n: Hehe yes my love<33. I'm not entirely happy with how this came out but I'm not entirely disappointed in the outcome either 😂. This was not proofread so there may be some mistakes.

Forever tags: @greg-montgomery @boredelle @hotchsdoormat @ssahotchnerr @criminalskies @beardedhotchh @hotchnerbau (I think I got you all 😂🩷)

The unsub had been successfully caught. The only issue was that you'd stumbled when you tackled him and twisted your ankle in the process. And it hurts like hell. No one had really noticed it during the take down.

Hospitals sort of freaked you out a bit. You didn't really like the idea of going to the hospital in the first place, let alone going by yourself. So who better to ask than Aaron Hotchner? Someone you've always been able to rely on since starting at the BAU and has for some reason always had a soft spot for you.

You'd been limping and wincing as you made your way over to Hotch. He was talking to Rossi about something so of course you waited patiently. Even though this definitely does not call for patience on your end.

Dave notices you first and points to you, causing Aaron to turn and face you. "Hotch uh, I sort of fell and um...could you come to the hospital with me please? I think I messed up my ankle. I don't want to go by myself." You mumbled it shyly. Upon hearing this, Hotch immediately had concern written all over his features. He moved closer and put a hand on your lower back then looked to see which leg you were currently favouring over the other. Supporting most of your weight on one foot. He moved your arm around his neck and helped support you with his arm now wrapped around your shoulders.

"Of course. Can you walk to the SUV?" You give him a small nod. Neither of you thought it really called for using the ambulance when there was at least one injury that was far worse than yours.

After telling Rossi to inform the team of what was going on, Hotch helped you get in the backseat and into a good position before driving you to the nearest hospital. It was a local case so he knew exactly where he was going.

Once you'd made it to the hospital and you had been placed in a room awaiting the results of the x-ray, Aaron could see how nervous you were about being there. He didn't know why and he didn't want to pry for information. So instead he gently grabbed your hand and squeezed it, offering a small smile.

"How are you doing? Apart from the ankle."

"I'm alright. I'm just nervous. Hospitals...they aren't really my thing, you know?" Hotch gives a sympathetic nod and another gentle squeeze. "I understand that. Is there anything I can do to help?" You look away for a moment as you think and then turn back to him. "Could I have a hug?" He gives you a slightly bigger smile this time and leans in close to wrap his arms around you. "You can always have a hug, y/n." You both stay like this for a few seconds and then he pulls back, taking your hand in his again.

"Any better?"

"Very much. Thank you, Hotch. For coming here and sitting with me. And putting me at ease. You didn't have to but thank you for doing it anyway."

"I didn't have to, but I wanted to. I'm glad to."

Exchanging smiles once again, you're feeling much better now. Aaron has a way of calming you down and you're always grateful that he's willing to do so without hesitation.

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aaronhotchnersworld · 3 months

Text

“Emily”

aaron hotchner x bau wife reader

——

It had been 2 months since you lost your best friend.

2 months since you first broke down into the arms of your husband at the hospital.

“no no no,” you shout as you storm off after JJ tells you all that Emily didnt make it. Aaron quickly following you. He wraps his arms around you and collapse into his embrace. You sob into his suit, drenching it in your tears. “A- Aaron,” you cry out. “l know baby, I gotcha,” he told you as he stroked your hair.”

Today is October 12th, Emily’s birthday.

You wake up, feeling extremely depressed. You look at the clock, seeing it’s already 12pm.

Aaron walks into the bedroom a few minutes later, “why don’t you get up and i’ll make you something to eat.”

“i’m not hungry,” you tell him, already feeling the tears well up in your eyes.

Aaron kneels down next to you and strokes your cheek, “i know, but you still need to eat honey.”

“Aaron I- I can’t do this,” you whisper as tears begin to fall down your cheeks. He gently wipes them away with his thumb and pulls you in for a hug.

“I miss her Aaron,” you sob out.

“I know honey i’m so sorry. Just let it all out. I got you y/n,” he tells you softly as he rubs your back.

You don’t know how long you sobbed into his chest for, but you cried until you had no tears left to cry.

“come on let’s go to the living room,” he tells you. You both walk into the living room and you sit on the couch. He turns on the tv and softly gives you a kiss on your forehead before walking towards the kitchen.

He returns a few minutes later with a grilled cheese on a plate.

He sits down next to you before speaking, “why don’t you just have a few bites, that’s all i’m asking for honey,” he says in his soft voice.

He wraps an arm around you and hands you half of the grilled cheese, you take a small bite of the grilled cheese and lean your head on Aaron’s shoulder.

You finish the first half and he tries to hand you the second off but you shake your head. “okay that’s okay. I’m glad you ate something y/n.”

“I love you sweetie.”

“I love you too Aaron.”

——

It has now been 4 months since Emily’s death. It had gotten easier but was still extremely difficult. You and the team were all sitting in the conference room, waiting for Aaron.

He walks in a few minutes later, an anxious look on his face. “4 months ago I made a decision that affected our team, the fake death of Emily Prentiss. This choice was made to ensure the safety of Emily until Doyle was found. I know this is a lot to process but this was made for the safety of Emily and our team. I couldn’t risk any of you finding out, JJ and I were the only ones to know. I take full responsibility for the choices made and any issues should be taken up with me. She’ll be arriving here on friday.”

Everyone’s faces drop in shock. “She’s alive,” Penelope says in shock.

“any issues? yeah I got issues with this,” Derek says in anger.

“we buried her,” Spencer says.

You stand up and storm out of the room. “Y/N,” Aaron shouts as he follows you.

You can’t even stand to look at him.

“y/n please.”

You turn around to face him. “I trusted you Aaron. I was miserable. You just let me cry everyday. Why didn’t you fucking tell me Aaron? You could have told you. You should have told me. I can’t even fucking look at you,” you scream at him.

“y/n I didn’t have a choice I did it for the safety of Emily and our team. If Doyle would have found out about Emily, everyone who knew would be in danger. I couldn’t risk putting you in danger.”

“why the fuck did JJ know then?”

“We had to have someone who was close with her but not too close. JJ had to meet up with her to give her some things and we couldn’t let it get personal. This was both JJ and I’s decision but I still take full responsibility. You don’t like keeping secrets from the team and I don’t believe you could have kept it a secret y/n.”

“I trusted you Aaron. I cried to you everyday. How could you do this to me?”

“y/n i’m sorry I couldn’t tell you.”

“fuck you aaron. I’m going home. I hate you,” you say as you storm off. “y/n please,” he says but you don’t care to turn around.

——

It’s about 10pm when Aaron arrives home. You’re laying in bed and don’t bother to get up.

“y/n can we please just talk?”

“why should I talk to you,” you snap back.

“because i’m your husband and I care about you.”

You sit up and look at him, tears running down your cheeks. “I trusted you Aaron. I deserved to know what happened to my best friend.”

“i know and im so sorry but you have to look at it from my perspective. As unit chief, I have a responsibility to protect everyone on my team. The choice to have JJ know was because I knew that she could 100% keep it a secret. You would have wanted to see her and keep in contact with her and I couldn’t allow this to happen. Although JJ and I wanted to reach out to Emily, we didn’t.”

“I understand why you did it Aaron. I- I just wish I could have known.”

Aaron sits down next to you. “i’m sorry y/n. Please understand that I didn’t want to keep this from you but your safety and the teams safety is most important to me.”

“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t mean what I said before. I was just angry. I don’t hate you, I love you so much Aaron,” you say as tears fall down your cheeks.

“I love you too y/n, so so much,” he says softly as he wipes your tears away with his thumb.

You wrap your arms around him and bury your face into his neck. He rubs your back, happy to know that you have forgiven him.

You fall asleep that night in the loving arms of your husband.

#criminal minds #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fluff #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner x bau!reader #comfort #aaron hotchner comfort

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reidscanehand · 8 months

Text

The Goodness, Love

Song Fic Inspired by the line: "Do you know I could break beneath the weight of the goodness, love, I still carry for you?" from 'Unknown/Nth' by Hozier Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x BAUfem! Reader Category: Angst/Fluff TW: mentions of when Hotch and Jack were in witsec due to threats from Mr. Scratch, insecurities, cursing, consumption of alcohol by legal adults

~ "Do you know I could crash beneath the weight of the goodness, love, I still carry for you?" - Hozier ~

Having to stay in hiding due to the threat of Peter Lewis wasn't the ideal way to go about it, but it did mean that Aaron Hotchner got to finally be a stay-at-home dad to Jack. And, despite the fact that Peter Lewis was no longer a threat, the benefit of the time in WITSEC meant that Aaron was able to realize that that was exactly the life that he wanted to be living. Fortunately, his team being the amazing family that they are, completely understood. In fact, David Rossi insisted upon throwing him a going-away party. Rossi's house is stunning, as always, and the team really loves any opportunity to dress up and celebrate.

"Proud of you, you know?" Rossi says as he hands Aaron a whiskey soda.

"For finally retiring?" Aaron asks, smiling and taking the drink.

"For recognizing when it's healthy to step away," Emily Prentiss answers for Rossi, stepping up to the two of them.

"You're just saying that because you're in charge now," Aaron jokes.

Emily laughs and grins, "A little bit, but, no, really, boss. It's good for you. You look healthier than you have in years."

"Yeah?" Aaron nods. Emily is called away by Will and Aaron mutters to himself, "I wish everyone thought that."

"She definitely does, Aaron," David replies quietly, glancing as nonchalantly as possible over to you.

You, who hasn't yet spoken to Aaron other than a small wave and a "hi" when he'd gone into the office to formally resign. But you haven't spoken, not really. You'd entered the party - looking, in Aaron's opinion, rather ridiculously stunning in a deep, crimson summer evening dress that fits you just right, the just above ankle length skirt's ends fluttering in the breeze every so often - and murmured a shy and deeply impersonal, "congratulations, Hotch" before moving to the drinks table with JJ and Will. And this would've been entirely innocuous if you hadn't called him "Hotch".

Hotch.

Not what you'd typically call him. Not what he wants you to call him. No, he wants to return to the fondness and closeness the two of you had when he was on the team. But he doesn't know how to do that. And it seems as though you might not want to. He wasn't your boyfriend...he wasn't even close to that, but GOD he'd wanted to be. He still wants to be. He'd be happy to hold you in any capacity you'd be comfortable with, but this? This awkward and uncomfortable avoidance...this abject silence on which you've landed... It's almost too much to bear. Ever since they’d gone into WITSEC, Aaron’s heart had felt heavy. He’d thought it was because of Peter Lewis, but it’s still heavy now that they’re out of hiding. He's thrilled - beyond thrilled, really - to become a stay-at-home dad, but he knows he's leaving a whole lifetime of things behind. And if that includes you? He's not sure he'll be able to live with it.

"Hey," Spencer says, entering Dave's backyard. "Sorry, I'm late." Spencer gives Aaron a small hug and hands Dave a bottle of wine he brought.

"No worries," Dave assures him. "Tara's still running late."

"I'm sure," Spencer nods knowingly, straightening his navy blue cardigan, "traffic's dreadful."

"Hey, Spencer," you call jovially, waving to him from next to JJ. He beams and crosses to you, wrapping you in a huge hug.

And the ever so slight intimacy of this, the fact that he feels as though he could kill for a greeting like that from you makes Aaron almost throw up.

~~~

"Wondered where you'd run off to," your voice interrupts his thoughts. Aaron turns from where he's sitting, poised on the end of Dave's desk, staring out at his gorgeous view. The lawn, where the rest of the party was still taking place, wasn't visible from this window, which meant no one could see Aaron either, as he intended.

"I just, um, needed a breather," he lies uncomfortably. He feels like a coward for running away, but he could almost feel himself turning green as you greeted Spencer and then Tara with more affection than he dared to hope for since your slight coldness toward him had started. And a lawn full of profilers was hardly the audience to attempt to hide from.

"Sure," you say, and he tries not to take in your every move as you cross into the room, sitting down at Dave's desk, Aaron's back almost entirely to you. Neither of you says anything and it's just long enough that it would be almost more uncomfortable to break the silence.

Still, the silence feels like drowning. He wishes you could anchor him somehow. He can feel you staring at him, but can't bring himself to turn and face you. He needs you, but he almost can't bear it. He can't remember an uncomfortable silence with you because there never were any. Moments between the two of you were filled with work - he honestly had felt as though you could read his mind when the two of you were solving cases together - or easy conversation and laughter - he'd never known such a simple, straightforward comfort with anyone - or comfortable, companionable silence. Completely unlike this.

"It's a little odd, though," you break the silence, your voice, if Aaron's not mistaken, nearly cracking with the effort.

"What is?" he asks, barely looking over his shoulder, not sure his heart can make it if he sees you.

"You needing a breather from the people you're leaving behind," you almost whisper.

His brain is fully in control, ignoring the panging of his heart as he stands and turns to face you.

"Leaving behind?" he almost sputters.

You look away from him, biting your lip. You look almost ashamed, "Sorry, that's unfair."

"I'm not-"

You continue like he isn't speaking, standing from Dave's desk, still not looking Aaron in the eyes, "I know that Peter Lewis was...beyond anything really. And I know that Jack is the most important thing in the world and should be that's not wrong of you, and-"

Aaron crosses to your side of the desk, trying to "I'm not leav-"

"And I know that you have always gone above and beyond in this position and I know that you have lost...you have lost so much more than you deserved to lose, but-"

He steps closer, "I'm not leaving-"

"But...it's so terribly, terribly selfish of me, but Hotch I can't bear the thought of the BAU without you and...and while you were gone, it was hell. I was so worried about you and...and..."

You stop, taking a staggering breath. Aaron stops, just a breath away from you now.

"Aaron," he whispers when you don't start speaking again.

Your eyes, previously determinedly staring at his shoes, immediately jump to meet his own, "What?"

"You call me Aaron," he explains. "Not Hotch, never Hotch. Not from you, I can't...I can't bear it from you."

You swallow, but don't look away, "I...I couldn't call you Aaron. Not while you were gone."

"Why?" he asks, his hands itching to pull you to him, to take your hands, anything.

"Because," you rasp, a small tear falling down your cheek, "if something bad happened to you, I would never have to say that something bad happened to Aaron...to my Aaron."

"Your Aaron?" he asks, his voice barely above a breath, reaching up and wiping another tear as it rolls down your cheek, his hands awkwardly returning to his sides when he’s done.

"Yes," you reply. "And...now that you're leaving I can...it's so stupid, but I don't have to goodbye to...to my Aaron."

He stares down at you, not quite sure how to say what he needs to and knowing full well he can’t get through it without crying.

“I’m not leaving…” he starts, trailing off because he is leaving the BAU, but he begins again fairly easily, shocking for how heavy his heart feels, “I mean I’m leaving-I’m leaving the BAU. But I-I’m not leaving you. If you don’t want me to, that is.”

You stare at him, eyes wide as though you hadn’t expected it. Aaron doubles down, finding the strength to take your hands despite the shaking of his own.

“Because the thing is,” he continues, his voice barely above a whisper, so quiet he almost can’t hear it over how loud his heart is beating. “The thing is…is that I-I really rather like the idea of being yours. A-and if it suits you…I want you to be mine, too.”

You’re quiet still for only a moment before a tiny smile breaks over your lips, “Really?”

“Of course,” he sighs, his hands rushing to cup your jaw, “I-I’m so sorry I didn’t make that clear, but I would…I don’t think I’d be happy without you in my life.”

“I thought you…” you trail off, looking slightly embarrassed. “I was sure you’d forget about me.”

“Forget about you?” Aaron nearly laughs. “Oh, oh my girl, my heart would never let me forget you. It’s been carrying on without you for too long.”

You stare at him, a huge smile growing on your lips, “Well, then… I guess we’ll have to fix that.”

And as your lips brush against his for the first time, it’s as though the weight is finally lifted and Aaron’s heart feels lighter than it has in months.

~~~

~ You were like an angel to me.” - Hozier ~

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#aaron hotchner #hotch #ssaaaronhotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x BAUfem!reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner comfort #aaron hotchner song fic

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piqtescue · 7 months

Text

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hotchaways · 2 years

Note

“just to clarify: me holding your hand doesn’t, like, mean anything, by the way. not in that way, at least. unless you want it to mean something. i don’t mind. that’s cool.” and “this sounds like you’re flirting with me.” “...i have been trying to do that for three years now.” (bc i cant choose just ONE helppp) for comfort with aaron hotchner pleassse because im a sucker for a story that's involve yearning and pining thingy w him lol thank youuu!! (and good luck for the exam!)

hello!!! sorry this took a while, was busy even after school ended and i just got sick recently :( i hope you like it anyways 💓

“Hey, (Y/L/N),” Emily called out as she threw a piece of crumpled paper over at your desk, which made you look up at her and frown in response to her, “You’ve got little feet incoming to see you again.”

Standing up from your chair to turn around to the doors of the BAU, you were smiling from the sight of little Jack Hotchner running towards you with Aaron trailing behind him with a laugh. You knelt down on the floor to welcome him with a tight hug, “Jackers! Be careful!”

Jack giggles as you stand up to spin him around and he wraps his little arms around your neck, “Ms. (Y/N)! I’m going to get dizzy!”

You scrunch your nose up at him and poked him in his tummy, “What brings my little best friend here at the BAU today?”

“Really? I’m your best friend?” Jack beams at you while you nodded in confirmation, “Daddy thought I could stay here a bit, so we can go to the bookstore after he gets off work! Can I stay with you, Ms. (Y/N)?”

“Jack, Ms. (Y/N) might be busy,” Aaron smiled as he ruffled up his son’s hair, “You could stay with me in my office. There’s a comfy sofa there, buddy.”

“No!” Jack frowned as he turned around to bury his face in your neck, “I want to stay with Ms. (Y/N), I’ll behave, daddy.”

You smiled and rubbed Jack’s back as you sat back down on your chair, “It’s alright, Hotch. I’m going to need a little company while I drown in this paperwork. Plus, how can I ever say no to this little face?” Turning him to face you to squish his little cheeks, which elicited giggles from the little boy, “I want to know all about your school escapades, little buddy.”

“Ms. Turner brought in her bearded dragon today, it was so cool!” Jack animatedly talks as he makes himself comfy on your lap, “His name was Eustace, she made me hold it and he was really nice! She told me I was very brave!”

Aaron walked back to his office with a small smile on his face as he saw how happy his son was around you. He was certain that you had this magic that made his son favor you over the other members of the team, but maybe it was your kindness. There was no denying that was the thing that made him fall for you three years ago.

“Hey, Hotch, got some things for you- are you smiling over (Y/N) again?”

Clearing his throat quickly and shaking his head, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, JJ. Just leave the folders here.”

JJ laughs softly and shakes her head, “You know…I get it, you’re scared that she doesn’t feel the same way but I can reassure you that you don’t have to worry about that.”

Before Aaron could say anything else, JJ smiled softly before she stepped out his office, “Take the leap of faith, Hotch. I think it’s time the BAU has its own power couple, hm?”

Aaron laughed softly as he shook his head and bid JJ goodbye. Maybe he’ll take that leap of faith today. Maybe he’ll stop running this time.

It wasn’t long until you knocked with Jack on your hip and a big smile on both your faces, “Hey, Hotch. Uh, Jack wants to get some snacks at the nearby coffee shop. Is that fine?”

Aaron looked over at Jack, who was nodding excitedly and had his hands clasped together, and smiled, “Yeah, that’s fine. Let me just grab my wallet and we can head on over.”

“Oh, it’s okay! I can take him there,” You smiled as Jack gently bumped his head on you, like Crush and Squirt did in Finding Nemo and got down from your embrace and held your left hand instead, “You must be busy and I insisted he stay with me, so it’s no worry at all.”

“(Y/L/N), you’re rambling,” Aaron chuckled lightly and led you two out his office with a hand on your back, “I’ll come with you both and it’s no worry, I’m not that busy.”

You nodded as you blushed lightly from the action, which definitely did not go unnoticed by the team. Emily whispered over to Derek and winked at you while she made a small heart in the air and mouthed, ‘Happy family.’, which definitely got you glaring at her in response.

“Ms. (Y/N), will you be coming with us to the bookstore later?” Jack looks at you and smiles, “There’s lotsa books about dinosaurs there!”

“Buddy, Ms. (Y/N) has to rest after work,” Aaron reached over to ruffle his son’s hair as the three of you walked to the coffee shop, “Maybe nex-”

“Sure, Jack, I’ll come with you,” You smiled and scrunched your nose down at him, “It’s okay, Hotch.”

“You sure, (Y/L/N)? I don’t want to force you or anything, if you’re busy, I- I mean, Jack would understand. There’s always a next time.”

“Hotch, I love spending time with this little guy right here, maybe you too,” You lightly teased him with a smile, “Plus, it’s a nice way to get my mind off everything we see at work, you know?”

Aaron held back a smile from your admission, maybe JJ was right. “You’re right, a little break does us good sometimes. For the record, I do enjoy being around you, too.”

The two of you looked into each other’s eyes with a smile on your lips and continued walking together, until Aaron took a deep breath and intertwined his fingers with your free hand. You looked up at him with your mouth agape, trying to find the right words to say.

“Just to clarify that me holding your hand doesn’t, like, mean anything, by the way. Not in that way, at least. Unless you want it to mean something,” Aaron cleared his throat as a light blush spread across his cheeks, “I don’t mind. That’s cool.”

“Hotch, you’re rambling,” You laughed lightly as you teased him and held back his hand tighter, “Also, this sounds like you’re flirting with me, hm?”

The three of you stopped walking as Aaron looked at you and mumbled, “…I’ve been trying to do that for three years now.”

Jack giggles and joins in the conversation while pulling on your arm that causes you to kneel down to his height, “Daddy always talks about you, Ms. (Y/N). He tells me how you’ve always been so kind.”

“Jack, buddy, don’t need to push me out in the open,” Aaron laughs nervously and rubs the back of his neck, “I hope this isn’t awkward or anything. I mean I’m not fo-”

You stood back up and tiptoed to kiss him softly on his cheek, which caused your usually grumpy unit chief to blush, “Not awkward at all, Hotch. For the record, I probably liked you first more than you did.”

Aaron smiles and laces his fingers with you once more, “Maybe. But either way, I’m pretty sure that I fell harder.”

hotch taglist: @sbeno22 @skyler666 @izbelross @gillysoldlady @malindacath @katieslotherford @blondekel77 @alexxavicry @jareauswife @singinginacargettinglostupstate @aaronhotchy @criminalmindsandmarvel @captainamericasmotercycle @SSAhotchnerswife @twilightlover2007

let me know if you want to be a part of my taglist here!

ps. sorry im taking a while getting to requests :( i didnt expect id be sick and im still recuperating :( but ill get to it all, thank you all for understanding 💓

#riley’s blurbs #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner imagine #one shot #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner comfort #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #hotch #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner headcanon

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14buddy22 · 9 months

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Someone please send in some Hotch requests!! I am begging you all… I want to put out something YOU all want to read 🥰🥰

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fluff #jack hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner x single mom!reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner comfort

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sleepyangelkami · 1 month

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smut's fun. have you ever read soul crushing, heart aching, head throbbing comfort that makes your eyes burn out of your head to the point where you just have to crawl into a ball because your inner child feels so safe? haha... yeah smuts fun.

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hotchnisslvr · 1 month

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drunk dial

pairing: platonic aaron hotchner/reader

rating: t

word count: 8.1k

tags: implied sexual assault, referenced sexual assault

summary: when you drunk dial your boss in need of rescuing from a night club, aaron hotchner doesn’t hesitate to respond. the only problem? you thought you’d called emily. hotch insists on you letting him take care of you for the night as you’re in no state to be on your own. as the night progresses, you find that you’re finally able to disclose a trauma you’d kept buried for years.

“Hotchner,” he answers groggily.

A harsh sob echoes through the receiver and he sits up, bringing the phone down to view the caller ID. The dark slash of his brow furrows as he views your name and photo.

There’s concern in his voice as he says your name, but you don’t seem to hear it.

You heave another sob through the phone. “My friend left with some guy. And now this one, he won’t—” Your voice suddenly sounds far away the music pounding in the background overtakes your words. He’s missing information as your voice becomes clear once more. “He wants more than I’m willing to give Emily and I just want to go home.” Your words are slurred. “I just,” another choked sob, “I need he—” The line disconnects.

“Hello?” Hotch questions and tries your name again. He redials your number and curses as it goes to voicemail. Throwing back the sheets, he climbs out of bed and dials Prentiss’ number as he pulls a hoodie over his t-shirt.

She laughs as she answers, “Hotch, it’s past midnight. Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

He cuts her off and curtly explains the call he’d just received. “Where is she?”

“Oh, um, The 930 Club. She’s—”

“Thanks, Prentiss.” He hangs up and shoves his phone in his pocket. He grabs his raincoat and keys and swiftly exits his apartment.

The club isn’t far from his complex, but with Saturday night traffic in the heart of DC combined with the summer storm raging on, it seems to take ages. He lays on the horn as someone cuts him off and curses as he slams on his brakes. Briefly, he considers throwing the red and blue lights on, but thinks better of it. He’s not far now and after making it through the next red light, the club comes into view. Disregarding the no parking signs out front, Hotch pulls up alongside the curb and throws the SUV into park.

Despite the rain, a line stretches out the door. Couples and groups of friends clad in leather, satin, high heels, and sleek accessories huddle under wide umbrellas to protect themselves from the storm. Hotch approaches the door and a bouncer stretches his arm across the way.

“There’s a line, old man.” The bouncer inclines his head toward the line of anxiously waiting club goers. “Get to the back before I put you there myself.”

Hotch is unfazed by the bouncer and the sense of power his job provides him. Standing toe to toe with the man, he stares him down, his eyes hard. He reaches into his pants pocket and retrieves his badge. With two fingers, he flips it open and pushes into the bouncer’s face. “Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner,” he states flatly. “I’ve got an agent in trouble in there, so get the hell out of my way before I have you in handcuffs.” He’s bluffing, obviously, the bouncer has done nothing wrong. He doesn’t know that though, given how wide his eyes open in fear. He says nothing and steps aside, granting him entry.

“Thank you.” For good measure, Hotch drives his shoulder into the bouncer as he shoves his way into the noisy nightclub. His eyes dart around, scanning the scene. There are two long bars on opposite walls, a DJ against the short wall where dozens of people bump and grind against one another on the dance floor, and two levels of tall tables and booths for people to crowd around or sneak into to get away from the music.

On the phone, you’d sounded distressed. Your words were slurred and he could only hope and pray that you’d not been drugged by whatever “he” was with you at the time of the call. God, he could only hope that you were even still here. If he knew creeps as well as his job had accustomed him to, if a man was trying to procure a woman under the influence, he’d either leave immediately and attack her in a secondary location or he’d take her somewhere more private within the environment.

Pushing through the crowd, he shouldered past couples who shot dagger sharp glances at him and took the stairs two at a time up to the second floor. The music still pounded over the speakers up here, but this was clearly where people went to escape the bustle of the crowded dance floor and get away to drink or order food or conversate more

privately. He calls your name and begins scanning tables. Patrons dining or trying to steal a romantic moment glare at him. Some curse and tell him to fuck off. He pays them no mind. As he winds around tables, he begins losing hope despite there being much more of the club to explore. He has half a mind to shut the whole place down and call in the team, but that would be a gross overreaction. There is no evidence that you’re actually in danger or missing aside from a drunk misdial. Still though, his heart pounds erratically as he calls your name over the music.

He reaches the end of the second floor and at first doesn’t see that there are people in the booth they’re that far tucked into it. The man’s hulking frame blocks the girl from view and he knows it’s you.

“Hey!” he barks over the baseline.

“We don’t need anything,” the man says without looking back.

Fury floods his veins. Without a second thought, Hotch reaches for the man and grabs him by the back of the neck. He reels back, pulling the man to his feet. Catching his balance, the man pulls his fist back. As he aims to deliver a punch, Hotch ducks and sends his fist into the man’s gut. As the air vacates his lungs and he doubles over, Hotch fists his hands into his shirt and slams him back into the table. With the man immobilized, he looks up at you. A strap on your dress falls over one shoulder and your hair hangs limply, having fallen free of whatever style it had been in. You look at him from half hooded eyes, blinking slowly. The scene is spinning and your temples are throbbing.

“Are you okay?” Hotch asks. His knuckles blaze white as the man struggles beneath his grip.

“Stop moving!” he barks.

“Can somebody help me?” the man calls.

Someone is saying your name, asking if you’re ok. The music is loud and your ears feel like they’re plugged with cotton. Things seem to move quickly and slowly all at once. Where are you? You’ve not left the club yet, but where did Mariah go? There’s your name again. God, you’re really out of it. Mariah left, you remember. She left with Andrew’s friend and Andrew, God, he wouldn’t leave you alone. When was Emily going to get here? There’s your name again. You blink hard and try to get your bearings. Though things are hazy and tilted through your alcohol laden senses, a picture starts to form in front of you. Aaron Hotchner, your boss, has Andrew pinned against the table in front of you.

“Sir?” you question, though the word feels far away and unfamiliar on your tongue.

Hotch raises his eyes from Andrew, concern reflecting back at you in them. Your eyes widen as you take in Andrew’s form beneath him. You glance down at yourself and see your dress straps pulled down, exposing the lace of your bra. What the fuck had he been trying to do before Hotch got here?

Two bouncers approach as a crowd begins to gather, people are always hungry for drama after all.

“Is there a problem here?” the first bouncer asks. He’s tall, built, and wears sunglasses despite it being dark inside. His ginger beard is bushy and his brow is pierced. He looks pissed as all hell that he has to be up here breaking up a fight. Hotch recognizes the other bouncer from the door. When they make eye contact, his eyes widen.

“Yo, Liam, that’s that FBI agent I was telling you about.”

Liam arches a brow, but his expression softens. “What’s going on, officer? Or should I call you Agent?”

Hotch ignores him and pulls Andrew to his feet, pushing him toward the bouncers. “Get this guy out of here,” he orders. He looks toward you again, his eyes searching for signs of further harm. He turns his attention back to Andrew.

“Did you slip her something?”

Andrew’s face screws. “What? No!”

Hotch steps forward, his face inches from his, and repeats the question louder, “Did you give her something?”

Andrew flinches. “No! I don’t do that shit, man. She took a bunch of shots with her friend. Guys were buying them drinks all night. I just—”

“You just what?” Hotch questions, his voice low and dangerous. “Wait for a woman that can hardly stand, take her upstairs, hide away, and see just how far you can take it?”

“Hey, she was into it!”

Hotch grabs him by the jaw. “Look at her!” he says. “She can barely keep her eyes open! That’s not consent, idiot!”

Andrew swallows and he looks like he might wet himself.

“Hotch,” you say and try your best to sit up, the world spinning as you do so.

Hotch releases him, but first leans in close to his ear. “If you ever, and I mean ever try this again, with anyone. I will have you arrested and will personally make sure you never see the light of day ever again. I was a federal prosecutor, so I know how to make charges stick. Do I make myself clear?”

Andrew nods vigorously and a tear slips from his eyes. “Not so confident now, huh?” Hotch whispers, disdain dripping from his lips. “Get him out of here.”

He watches as the bouncers lead Andrew down the steps. Hotch immediately turns his attention on you. He slides into the booth beside you. “Did he hurt you?” he asks.

Your brow furrows as you try to make sense of what’s happening. The music is so loud. Hotch looks around and then back at you. “Let’s get you out of here, come on.” He stretches his hand out to you and you take it, letting him pull you out of the booth. When you find your feet, you stumble and he catches you, his arm bracing around your lower back.

“It’s raining,” Hotch says as he shrugs out of his jacket. “Take this.” He drapes it over your shoulders, his little finger curling under the strap of your dress and pulling it back into place as he does so. The smell of cedar and teakwood reaches your nose, a severe contrast to the club’s overarching scent of vodka, sweat, and the amalgamation of various perfumes and colognes sprayed in earnest.

The second you exit the club your head feels a fraction clearer. The air is muggy, the humidity amping up with the cold rain coming down after a week of intensely high temperatures.

Aaron reaches into his pocket and fishes out his car keys. He clicks the unlock button and the car beeps in response. He opens the door and helps you inside, his eyes lingering on you for a moment as you clumsily buckle your seatbelt to make sure you can get it on alright. Once secure, he gently shuts the door and jogs around to the driver’s side.

He slides into the driver’s seat and twists the key in the ignition. He places his hands on the wheel, but before shifting the car into gear, he looks at you, intensely. When he says your name, it’s gentle. It’s not the tone he uses in the office when he’s calling the team for a briefing or to review something you’d written in a report. There’s a warmth in his voice, and there’s real concern there too. “You don’t have to tell me,” he starts. “Just know that you can.”

You nod, squeezing your eyes shut as the world tilts on its axis. Your stomach roils and for a moment you’re afraid you might be sick. You take a deep breath and manage to hold it down. Hotch tilts his head, regarding you. “Is there anyone at home that can take care of you?”

“No,” you answer and this time you don’t shake your head to avoid aggravating the nausea. “My roommate is out of town visiting her family,” you speak slowly but your words still come out slurred.

Hotch nods and shifts the car into gear. “You can stay with me then, tonight.”

“No, sir I can’t let you do that. You’ve got Jack and—”

A smile cracks his stern visage as he pulls out into traffic. If you had your wits about you, you would’ve taken a mental snapshot as you don’t think you’ve ever seen such a genuine expression of mirth cross his face. “Jack is at his aunt’s. I wouldn’t have exactly been able to come out like this if he wasn’t. Beth has an event for work this weekend, which is why I’ve stayed back in DC. It’s no trouble at all.”

You sink back into the seat, a part of you unable to believe that this is happening while the other part of you is still trying to fully process what all had transpired in the last fifteen minutes.

“Hotch, how did you know—”

His eyes are on the road as he speaks. “You thought you’d called Emily. You called me.”

“Oh my God,” you groan, drawing out the last letter. A scarlett heat creeps into your cheeks and you cover your face with your hands. “So you heard—Jesus Christ. Oh my God.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hotch says, his words genuine. “I’m glad I can help.”

The rest of the ride passes in silence. It’s not long by any stretch of the imagination, but the constant stop and go traffic of late night DC has your stomach doing somersaults. You squeeze your eyes shut and rest your head against the cool glass of the window hoping it’ll quell the churning in your belly.

A quiet groan escapes your lips as Hotch pulls into his designated parking spot at The Langham. It stopped raining. As soon as he shifts the car into park, your stomach feels as though it’s just been bounced around like. ping pong ball. “Oh god,” you moan and fumble with the door handle. Somehow you manage to undo the lock and fling open the door. As soon as your feet hit the pavement, you rush over to the nearest bush, the vomit you’d staved off finally forcing its way up and out of your body. It’s vile, the way the alcohol and stomach acid burns your throat.

Footsteps rapidly approach and there’s a hand at your neck, gathering your hair. “Alright, ok,” Hotch says soothingly, his other hand rubbing up and down your back. “Get it all out, oh yeah, yep. There you go.”

When your body stops purging itself, you gulp down a fresh breath of air before spitting the acrid taste of bile from your lips. You stay like that, hands on your knees, and take a few deep breaths. “Do you have your gun?”

Hotch releases your hair as you stand, but keeps a steadying hand on your arm. His expression is puzzled, his brow arched. “No, why?”

You roll your eyes and turn toward the sidewalk leading toward the front entrance to his building. “To kill me now so I don’t have to live with the embarrassment of knowing my boss just saw that happen.”

Something between a laugh and scoff escapes Hotch’s lips as he catches up to you in two long strides. Him and his long ass legs, you drunkenly muse.

The lights hurt your eyes and your temples continue to throb as you let Hotch navigate your way through his complex. The walk feels excessively long and you wonder if all apartment complexes are this maze-like. As he fishes his keys out of his pocket and unlocks the door to his apartment you realize you’re actually at Aaron Hotchner’s apartment. You’ve never been to his apartment. You’ve been to Emily’s, Penelope’s, and Spencer’s apartments; Rossi and JJ’s houses, but Hotch? Definitely not. Suddenly you feel like you are about to encroach upon the shadowy place Mufasa warns Simba about in The Lion King.

You blink and that clears the weird image forming of Hotch as a cartoonish fatherly lion from your mind. You stumble through the threshold as he pushes the door open and curse as he catches you again. “These fucking heels,” you grumble. As you reach down to work out the straps your stomach flips and you groan.

Hotch’s eyes flare slightly. “Why don’t you stay up there?” he cautions. “Let me help you.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” you respond, voice tight as your stomach threatens revolution once more.

He bends down on one knee and begins to undo the straps from around your ankles. He holds the back of your calf as he pulls the heel off and places it against the wall. You have to catch yourself on his shoulder to keep from falling but as soon as your foot falls flat on the floor, a languid moan leaves your lips.

“Good God, that feels so much better.”

He helps you slide out of the other high heeled shoe and stands. Without the heels on, he has a decent amount of height on you. You have to look up to meet his eyes, those eyes still shining with concern.

“Let me take the coat,” he says, lifting his hands toward you. You turn and shrug out of it, your limbs feeling awkward and heavy as you do so. He hangs it on a hook on the back of the door and gestures down the length of the hallway.

“It’s just the one bedroom,” he explains as he leads the way toward the main room. “You can sleep in my room. I’ll take the couch.”

“No!” you blurt. “No, no, no you don’t have to do any of that oh my God.”

Hotch chuckles in response. “I think you’ll thank me in the morning if you do.” Wordlessly, you follow as he leads the way to the aforementioned bedroom. He flicks the light switch on and the lamp on his bedside table illuminates the room. It’s simply decorated with store bought abstract paintings and dark blue linens on the queen sized bed. A framed photo of Jack sits on the nightstand, angled toward the bed. The idea of Hotch lying there looking at the image of his son tugs your heartstrings. You move past Hotch and plop down on the bedspread before reaching for the photo. You smile as you look at Jack’s crooked smile.

“He’s so precious,” you muse and poke Jack’s nose through the flat plane of glass. You look up at Hotch from where he stands in the doorway. “He’s lucky to have a dad like you, sir.”

Hotch smiles softly and crosses the distance to sit beside you, the mattress sinking beneath your combined weight. “Thank you,” he says. “I’ll be honest, it's hard to feel like a good dad some days with our job.”

You bump him with your shoulder, or at least that’s your intention.You more or less use your entire arm to nudge him just barely. “You give him all the time you’re able, we all see that. If we do, Jack definitely does.”

You pass him the picture frame and smile. Hotch smiles in turn, his lips together. “Thank you,” he says as he places it back on the nightstand. “I hope he grows into a good man.”

“With you as his father, there’s no doubt. There ought to be more dads like you out there to teach their sons how to be men.” Your smile falters and your voice grows small. “Maybe then they wouldn’t try to see just how far they can push the envelope.”

Tears spring to your eyes and you use the back of your hand to clumsily wipe them away. Turn off the waterworks, you chide yourself. Your temples already throb from how much the alcohol, first round of tears, and vomiting dehydrated you, no need to compound it now with more tears.

Hotch says your name quietly. “You can talk to me, you know.” He pats your hand that rests atop the bedsheets. “I’m not your boss right now, I’m your friend.”

Your lip quivers as you stare blankly at the wall ahead. “If I talk about it, that means I let it happen. I’m a fucking FBI agent, Hotch. I should know better than to drink that much. I should—”

Hotch’s brow pinches. “Woah, woah, woah,” he starts, “where is this coming from? You know better than anyone that how much you drink doesn’t matter, that doesn’t entitle anyone else to you or your body. And fuck if you’re an agent, you’re allowed to go and enjoy drinks and a night out without worrying if some asshole is going to try and take advantage of you. I think I scared him within an inch of his life, too. You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

But it’s not about Andrew. It’s not about tonight anymore. Tears slip over your lash line.They’re hot and fat and you hate how they have little minds of their own, dropping freely down your cheeks. You know what he says is true. Hell, you preach it to everyone, especially when you teach self defense at the local university. What you wear is never an excuse for someone to touch you. How you dance isn’t an excuse for someone to grope you. How much you drink isn’t an excuse for someone to lay claim to your flesh. The only thing that means yes is explicit, enthusiastic consent. You know this. You teach this.

But right now, it’s so hard to believe because that’s what you had to fight so hard to teach yourself when you first had to learn what happened wasn’t your fault.

You drop your head into your hands and stifle a sob. “God, it was nearly ten fucking years ago.”

“What was ten years ago?” Hotch asks, his voice soft and kind.

Oh God. You’d said that out loud.

You scrub your hands over your face and curse as you smear mascara into your eye. “Fuck!” you exclaim as your hand flies to your eye instinctively.

“I’ve got something I think can help,” Hotch says as he rises from the bed and darts out of the room. From your point of view, you can’t see anything but you hear bottles rummaging around from where you imagine is the bathroom out in the hall. When he returns he carries a small green package in his hand. He crouches in front of you and peels back the plastic film on the container. With two fingers he extracts a wipe and folds it in half. As he reaches for your face he hesitates, wipe paused in mid air above your cheek. “Is this alright?” he asks.

Sniffling, you nod. With one hand, Hotch gingerly wraps his fingers around your wrist. As he pulls it away, he uses his other hand to place the cool moist towelette against your eye. He holds it there for a moment before he begins to wipe and blot at the black swirls of mascara that had dried in tear stained patterns around your eyes and cheeks and whatever vestiges of eyeshadow remained. Once that wipe is fully soiled, he retrieves a fresh one; repeating the gesture on the other eye before moving on and clearing away what remained of your face and lip makeup. You don’t speak while he does this, and you don’t have to. You needed it. You needed that. You needed someone. You needed him. A friend. Someone that would ask no questions and just show up for you when you needed them most. No questions asked. And when he did ask questions, when Hotch did, there was no expectation to answer. But right now, in this strange moment, in Aaron Hotchner’s apartment, in his bed no less, you felt like you could finally tell someone.

“I was a teenager,” you say as he takes one final swipe at your cheek.

His hand freezes along your jawline and his eyes lock on yours. “You don’t have to do this,” he says gently, lowering his hand.

“If I don’t say it now on what courage the alcohol left in my system is giving me, I’m afraid I never will.”

Hotch sits back on his heels. “Alright.”

“I was dating an older guy at the time. I was a freshman in college. He was a senior; vice president of his fraternity. He came from a wealthy family, too. I was naive and so excited to be dating someone like that, someone with status. I grew up comfortably, but not that well off. He took me to nice dinners and bought me expensive gifts. We had a physical relationship, and it started out fine enough.” You pause and take a deep breath. “But we started fighting. He wouldn’t,” you pause. “I couldn’t get him to talk to me or communicate in any way that led to resolution when we did. He’d just keep apologizing and told me that he’d do better next time. He’d start kissing me to interrupt and then his hands would be in my pants and I just,” you stop and shake your head. “I thought if I could just deal with what he did physically, that things would be fine again if I just pretended I liked what was happening and got it over with. I thought that we’d go back to the fun, happy go lucky couple everyone knew us as. Until it happened again, and again, and again. When he graduated I finally felt safe enough to break things off once there was distance between us. I knew something had felt off about those experiences. It never occurred to me that that was assault.”

“You suffered through numerous unwanted physical advances because he emotionally manipulated you through stonewalling.” Hotch says quietly. It’s not an explanation, but validation of your experience.

A choked laugh escapes your lips. “I know that now. At the time, I thought assault was like what you see on TV. That it’s some stranger in an alley that blitz attacks you. I never thought it could be someone you knew, let alone someone you were in what you believed was a loving and committed relationship.” You shake your head again, a wry smile playing on your lips. “Imagine my surprise when I learned that the perpetrators were almost alway statistically someone the victim knows.”

A warm hand slips into yours. You look up and Hotch is looking at you intently. “What happened wasn’t your fault.” He says, squeezing your hand.

You lick your chapped lips and drop your eyes, nodding. “It took a long time for me to learn that.”

“I can’t imagine how hard that must have been,” Hotch says. “To have gone through that alone,” he shakes his head. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” you reply, because what else was there to say? “I wasn’t completely alone. I did go to counseling throughout the remainder of my time in school, they had services for the students. There was a support group, too; one for people who’d experienced sexual violence. It was there I really learned that things weren’t my fault. Other people had experienced similar things. Without that, I don’t think I’d have made it through honestly. I definitely wouldn’t be here.”

His hand squeezes around yours once more. “I’m glad that you are.” He smiles and a dimple forms in his cheek. “I know I'm a better man for having known you. The team, hell, the impact you have on the lives of those going through the worst possible moments of their lives in these cases we work…you have touched so many lives for the better. Please never, ever forget that.”

You smile crookedly and it feels somewhat genuine. “What do you think gets me through the day?”

The throbbing in your temples intensifies suddenly and you screw your eyes shut, your hands moving instinctively to rub them. “God, I’m going to be so hungover in the morning.”

Hotch claps his hands together. “Let’s see if we can’t get ahead of that.”

He leaves the room and when he returns he has a glass of water. “Here,” he says and passes you the cup.

You graciously accept it and take a long drink, the cool water soothing your throat, raw from crying and vomiting. “Thank you,” you murmur.

“It would probably help if you got some sleep. Do you feel up to taking a shower?”

You scoff, “Ok, Hotch. I threw up and it helped a little bit, but I’m not that sober.”

He chuckles and puts his hands up in surrender. “Fair enough. Let me at least get you some clothes. I know sleeping in a cocktail dress won’t be too comfortable.”

“Do you know?” you tease.

He presses his lips together. “Let me go see what I can find.”

You exhale a short laugh as he disappears from view and you fall back onto the mattress, a dull thud echoing as your body hits the sheets. You heave out a big sigh and stare at the ceiling. “This is a weird fucking night.”

You close your eyes and behind closed lids, it feels like you’re spinning. Yep, definitely not sober. You open your eyes and lazily reach up to start pulling bobby pins from your hair.

“Alright, I’ve got a pair of sweats and an old academy hoodie that should fit you.”

At the sound of Hotch’s voice, you let your head loll to the side. “You look absurdly tall from this angle,” you muse.

Hotch chuckles, “Spoken like someone desperately in need of sleep.” He steps into the room and drops the clothes onto the bed.

“Hotch?” you question, ignoring his last comment.

You roll onto your side and push yourself back into a sitting position. He arches an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Why is it you’ve got makeup wipes in your apartment?” You inhale sharply. “Ooo, are you secretly a drag performer?”

Hotch laughs. “I am not a drag performer, though I do think Anderson does drag brunch on Saturday mornings if I remember right.”

You blink twice. “I’m sorry, and you’re only telling me this now?”

Hotch shrugs. “I’m surprised you don’t know about it. Garcia does.”

Your jaw drops. “Garcia knows?? Oh, when I get my hands on her—”

“To answer your question though,” Hotch butts in, an amused glint shining in his eyes. “They’re Beth’s.”

A smile pulls at your lips. “Beth keeps things at your apartment? What are we talking, like, a couple of things on the counter? A drawer?”

Hotch’s eyes drop to the floor as a scarlet blush creeps up his neck and spreads across his cheeks.

“Oh my God, this is serious isn’t it?” You feel the apples of your cheeks as your smile widens. “Spill, Hotch! Should I be looking at outfits for the wedding?”

To that, Hotch raises his hands as a smile splits his lips. “Calm down,” he laughs. “We’re not quite at wedding bells, but we do see each other almost every weekend. With the commute on the train, it is easy to have a drawer or two at one another’s apartments.”

You feel like kicking your feet, you’re so happy. If anyone deserved this kind of joy and love in their life, it was Hotchner. God knows he deserved it after all the hell he’d been through, all the trauma he survived.

“I’m really happy for you,” you say. “Beth is a remarkable woman”.

Hotch nods, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. “She is.”

You reach over and pull the clothes onto your lap. “Thanks, again, Hotch.” You toy with the sleeve of the hoodie in hand. “As horrified as I was when I realized I’d called you instead of Emily, I’m glad you came. I’m glad it was you.”

“We’re a team. We’re family,” Hotch replies. He leans against the doorframe. “Hell, I’m old enough to be your father. Maybe that’s why I’ve always felt a bit more protective of you, anyway. So, when I heard your voice on the line, there was no hesitation. I’d like to think if I had a daughter and she were in trouble, that someone in her life would do the same.”

You spring off of the bed, a little uncoordinated due to alcohol still gently buzzing in your veins at this point, and throw your arms around him. You bury your face in his neck and though, muffled, you say, “Thank you, Aaron. Thank you so much, for everything.” You don’t need to say what for, he knows. Your gratitude extends far beyond just rescuing you from the night club.

His arms snake around you, his palms pressed flat against the middle of your back as he squeezes you tightly.

“You’re so welcome,” he says into your hair. “I’m so proud of you, you know. Don’t ever forget that.” He pulls away just so and presses a fatherly kiss to your hairline, “I’ll be on the couch if you need anything. Don’t hesitate to wake me up.”

You nod and brush away a stubborn tear. God, you’d think you’d have nothing left in the tank at this point. You stifle a yawn as you close the door. The clothes Hotch left you fit well enough; the warmth and coziness of the fleece lined fabrics acting as security blanket as you tuck yourself in between the sheets. You barely remember to flick off the lamp on the bedside table before crashing onto the pillows where the heaviness of sleep finally drags you under to the sweet realm of nothingness.

Three things are incredibly clear the second you wake up: one, it’s too bright and you have to squint against the white rays of sunlight cutting through the slats in the blinds; two, your mouth feels like it’s stuffed full of cotton balls, you swallow but there’s not even an inkling of saliva to wet your dry throat; and three, it feels like someone has been slamming on a timpani inside of your skull.

You exude a long, slow groan into the pillow before rolling onto your side to get a glimpse of the alarm clock on Hotch’s nightstand. The red numbers blink back 10:23AM. There’s a fresh glass of water on the nightstand alongside two tablets and a folded piece of paper.

Your brow furrows as you prop yourself onto your elbow and reach for the note. You unfold it with one hand and in Hotch’s tight, neat scrawl it reads:

Ran out to grab a few things. I left some aspirin there on the table. You should probably take them.

-Hotch

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” you mutter as you toss the paper onto the bed.

You try not to gag as the pills start dissolving on your tongue and quickly chase it with the glass of water. After washing them down, you make a rather unattractive display of gulping down the remaining water. You drink it so quickly that some spills over the glass and you have to use the sleeve of your sweater, well Hotch’s sweater oops, to wipe off your face.

It doesn’t sound like anyone else is home. Pushing back the sheets, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand and for the first time, the room isn’t spinning. Even though Hotch is out, you still walk on the balls of your feet as if you need to be quiet. It feels strange to be stepping out into the hallways and walking into his bathroom. Sure, you’d swung by his apartment a few times to drop off a file or other work necessities. You’d never been in his house though.

Walking in and using his bathroom feels so strange, like an invasion of privacy. Like his bedroom, it’s simply decorated. A shower curtain decorated with blue and green swirls lines one wall. Plush bath mats of a similar blue line the area in front of the shower and sink. His very few toiletries sit in a neat row to the left of the faucet on the sink. He’s a Gillette guy, interesting. You’d always taken him for an Old Spice sort of man. You hear the front door and stop profiling his bathroom, instead, quickly using it for its intended purposes. You can’t help yourself though as you dry off your hands. You pull open the two drawers beneath the sink and smile to yourself. The one holds all of Hotch’s things: razor, comb, toothpaste, the usual; the other is clearly Beth’s: makeup, hair elastics, and the green makeup wipes sit neatly inside among other items. You bump the drawers closed with your hips before making your way back out into the hallway.

“Hey, Hotch,” you say, “Thanks again so much for—” Words fail you as you look up and see JJ and Prentiss in his living room.

Wide smiles spread across their faces. JJ spreads her fingers and holds her hands in the air, “Surprise!”

Brow furrowed, you cross the room and let them pull you into quick hugs.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you all, but what’s going on? Where’s Hotch?”

Emily’s perfectly manicured eyebrows arc toward her hairline as she tilts her head, “He thought you could use a pick me up.”

“So, he called you guys?”

JJ nods. “We’ve all had rough nights, followed by even rougher mornings.” She inclines her head toward Emily. “Remember the morning Hotch ran that triathlon?”

Emily cringes. “God, don’t remind me!”

“Where is Hotch, anyway?” you ask, craning your neck around Emily and JJ.

“Oh,” Emily says, her lips forming the shape of the word. “He should be right behind us he—”

Just then, the front door swings open and it’s not Hotch.

“There she is!” exclaims Penelope. She waltzes into the apartment, adjusting the massive purse on her shoulder as she does so. Her knee length pink skirt swishes around her legs as she crosses the room to pull you into an embrace. The smell of jasmine clings to you as your face is buried in her chest and neck. She pulls away after a long moment, though her hands don’t drop from your shoulders. Her eyes scan your face. “Oh, sweetheart, look at you. Do not fret! Penelope is here to help get you feeling refreshed and revitalized!”

You look to JJ and Emily for help. “I look like shit, don’t I? Be honest.”

JJ shakes her head. “Noooo.”

Emily presses her lips together and tilts her head back and forth, “Well—”

JJ slaps a hand against her stomach and Emily winces. “What?!”

“Drink this,” Penelope says. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a bottle of yellow liquid. You take it and turn to read the label, Crisp Lemon Berry Pedialyte. “It’s got electrolytes. You need those!”

“Yes ma’am,” you say agreeably and crack open the bottle. The label makes it seem like it’ll be better than it is, but the taste is bearable. You need as much hydration as you can get at the moment, so you don’t complain.

“Sorry I took so long!” Hotch’s voice fills the room as he enters carrying a drink tray of coffees and an extra one in his free hand. “Line at the cafe was nearly out the door.”

“Oh my God, is that coffee?” you ask, salivating at the thought.

Penelope points a purple polished finger at you. “Finish that, then you can have coffee.”

He sets a cup down on the kitchen table before approaching them in the living room. “Non-fat, vanilla latte for you,” Hotch says, passing a cup to JJ. “London fog for Emily, can’t quite shake England there, can you?” he teases as Emily accepts the cup, not before flicking him off though with a cheeky grin playing on her berry red lips. Iced matcha green tea latte—”

“With soy?” Penelope questions, eyeing the cup suspiciously.

“With soy,” Hotch confirms and she accepts it happily.

“Last but not least, almond milk mocha for you.” He holds the cup out and smiles warmly. You hold his gaze for a moment, the exchange carrying more than a simple ‘thank you’ would allow for. He dips his chin just slightly in acknowledgment. As you reach for the cup, Penelope’s hand shoots out to intercept, her bangles jangling against her wrist.

“I’ll take that!” she chirps before taking a long sip of her own drink.

“Hey!” you whine.

Penelope gestures toward the Pedialyte with your coffee. “Finish!”

You roll your eyes and reluctantly chug the remaining liquid. “There,” you say and shake the empty bottle. “Happy?”

“Very!” pipes Penelope. “Oh! Here!” she reaches into her bag and withdraws a drawstring bag. Did she own the Mary Poppins bag? How did all of this fit inside of her purse? “I stopped by your apartment and grabbed a few things. Toothbrush, deodorant, change of clothes, the works.”

“Oh, Penelope Garcia, you are my angel!” You gratefully take the bag into your hands and disappear down the hall into the restroom.

The aspirin has started to kick in alongside what attempts you’ve made to rehydrate and the throbbing in your skull has dwindled to a soft drumming. Searching through the contents of the bag, you praise Garcia’s name as you find your skincare and toothbrush.

It takes all of ten minutes for you to brush your teeth, wash your face, and style your hair up and out of your face. Garcia had packed you two different styles of underwear, (leave it to her to give you the choice of thong or bikini styled undergarments. She’s probably also one of the only people you’d feel comfortable rummaging through your underwear drawer if you’re being honest) a pair of leggings, and a cropped Fleetwood Mac t-shirt. You change quickly and fold the sweats and sweater Hotch had lent you. You throw all of your toiletries into the bag and shrug it over shoulder before scooping Hotch’s clothes into your arms.

Hotch and the girls are sitting around the coffee table on the couch and recliner, enjoying their beverages. Penelope smiles widely when you emerge.

“There she is!” she exclaims. “I brought your Birkenstocks too. They’re by the door. Hotch said you’d worn heels out and I knew you definitely wouldn’t want to be in those.”

“Good call,” you say and take your coffee from Penelope. You take a slow sip of the warm mocha and moan.

Everyone laughs. Emily checks her watch and shoots up. “We better get going if we’re going to catch Anderson’s performance.”

Your eyes widen at that. “Wait.”

Emily smiles and nods. “Yep. He comes on in about an hour. We figured you’d need a nice greasy brunch after last night. The place he performs at makes a mean breakfast sandwich.”

“And potatoes with sausage gravy!” Penelope adds. “Though I’m more partial to mushroom gravy because precious baby piggies should not be slaughtered for my breakfast.”

“Okayyy, Penelope,” JJ teases as she loops an arm around her shoulders. “I’m pretty sure they added veggie sausage to their menu just for you.”

“Yeah,” Emily agrees. “They were probably afraid she’d hack their system and mess with their food shipments otherwise.”

Penelope looks over her shoulder as JJ guides her to the door. “I could do that!”

“Gonna pretend I didn’t hear that!” Hotch calls after them as JJ and Penelope leave the apartment.

“I wonder if they remember I’m the one with the car keys,” Emily says, her lips drawn into a warm smile. “Meet you downstairs?”

You nod. “Yes, I’ll be there in a second.”

Emily nods and leaves. You cross the living room toward the door where Hotch stands, one arm holding it open.

“Hotch I—

He shakes his head. “Don’t.”

“No, Hotch. I’m serious. What you did for me last night, I can’t even begin to thank you.”

“And you don’t have to,” he says, his tone firm. You look up and meet his unwavering gaze. “I would do it again without question. Like I said last night, we’re not just a team, we’re family. We look out for each other. We pull each other up when we’re at our lowest. In fact, I should be the one thanking you.”

You can’t help the quizzical expression that pinches your features. “For what? All I did was wake you up in the middle of the night, throw up in your bushes, and kick you out of your own bed on a Friday night.”

Hotch laughs and shakes his head. “Okay, well when you say it like that, it definitely doesn’t look good. What I was going to say though, is thank you for trusting me. I know that I wasn’t who you expected last night, but I’m glad I could be the one to help you when you needed it. Furthermore, I’m incredibly grateful that you felt as though you could trust me to tell me about your past. I know that can’t have been easy. And if you ever need someone to talk to, I hope it’s clear now that you’ll always have a listening ear with me.”

A surge of emotion courses through you in that moment and you can’t help but launch yourself at him. You loop an arm around his neck and awkwardly attempt to hug him with the other arm that stills holds his clothes, the bundle of fabric creating an odd wedge between your bodies. Hotch is taken aback by the gesture, but his arms comfortably fold around your back and he squeezes you gently.

“I could’ve used someone like you, you know.” You say after a moment. “I didn’t really have any older male figures I could talk to at the time it happened.”

“Well, I’m here now,” he assures you. “And I’m not going anywhere. That is, until Strauss gets sick of me.”

You pull back and scoff. “Yeah, like that’ll happen any time soon.” You hold the clothes out to him. “Here! Before I walk out with them.”

“It’s actually a bit breezy out there,” Hotch says as he takes the bundle and passes you back the sweater. “Why don’t you take this?”

You reach out and accept it, pulling it back into your chest. “I’ll bring it with me to the office on Monday.”

“Sounds good,” he says with a smile. “Oh! And you’ll probably want these.” He walks away and while he’s off grabbing whatever it is he’s talking about, you scoop your heels up off the floor and slide into your Birkenstocks.

Hotch returns with a pair of black Ray Bans. “If I know one thing about hangovers,” he says as he passes them to you. “It’s how horrible a sunny day can be on the eyes.”

He reaches for the door knob and pulls it open for you. “Enjoy your weekend. I’ll see you at work on Monday.”

As you slide his sunglasses up the bridge of your nose, you curse. “Shit! The report on the McPherson case. I was going to work on it today. I’ll email it to you first thing tomorrow.”

“It’s already taken care of,” Hotch explains. “Emily and JJ took care of it for you before coming over this morning.” He’d orchestrated everything with them as soon as he’d woken up to make sure you had nothing to worry about today except for fighting your hangover. He’d not told them everything of course, he’d never betray your trust like that. Some things the team didn’t need to know, and that was okay. If you were ever ready to tell them, he knew you would in time. For now, he just told them that you’d had a tough night and would need some TLC from the girl gang. They hadn’t even bothered with follow up questions. The three girls were ready to drop what they were doing and change their plans to be able to bring comfort and fun to your Saturday morning. He’d have done the same thing for any of them if they’d been in your shoes.

Your lips quirk into a small smile knowing further words weren’t necessary to convey your gratitude and appreciation for all he’d done and continues to do. “I’ll see you, Monday.”

He smiles in turn, “See you, Monday.”

#aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #f!reader #aaron hotchner comfort #aaron hotchner hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #hotch #aaron hotchner x female reader

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htchnr · 9 months

Note

Hi! I have a request for Aaron x reader. Reader can be gn or f, it’s totally up to you.

Aaron comes home after a rough case — maybe he was injured, maybe it just took everything out of him emotionally. He goes to reader, who’s laying on the couch, and traps reader by lying on top of them, his head on their chest or tummy, and he just fully relaxes around them. Reader comforts him or talks about what happened while he was away while playing with his hair/rubbing his back/etc. idk, just something that you can do whatever you’d like with :)

★ the scent of home ❥ A. HOTCHNER.

➻❥ masterlist. ➻❥ patreon.

CW ➥ not proofread, sorry for any typos! ⋆ bruises ⋆ vague vague mention of a really heavy case ⋆ Aaron really needs a hug ⋆ extreme hurt/comfort ⋆ nudity, but it's not a focus ⋆ slight hint of ptsd, though not explicitly mentioned ⋆ if i missed anything, lmk!

WC ➥ 1,7K. SONG ➥ i want you, mitski. (you know the hurt/comfort is gonna be good when i break out Mitski 😈)

SUMMARY ➥ Aaron comes home broken, so you do what you do best, you take care of him. slowly piecing him back together.

you're barely focusing on the tv at this point, the movie or show that came on half an hour ago was not enough to keep your eyes from slowly closing, your head nodding every few minutes as you almost fell asleep.

you almost miss the sound of the front door lock clicking, almost, as it then creaks open. it closes with a barely audible creak, heavy footsteps making their way to you.

you move a little on the couch, your head leaning against the armrest and your legs ever so slightly parted as they remain bent at the knee, as you try to get a look at who came in. "Aaron?" you call out, the slight panic subsiding as you see his tall frame make it's way to side of the couch where he drops his bag.

he's wearing a simple light striped dress shirt today, a dark blue tie rests loosely around the collar, the top two buttons of the shirt unbuttoned. the short glance you were able to steal showed you some dirt smudges across the shirt, some small tears as well. "Aaron, what's going on?" you quietly ask, voice showing your concern clear as day.

he ignores your question, sinking down into the couch as he settles his torso between your thighs, his big arms wrapping themselves around your waist as he presses his face into your stomach. the homey smell of your perfume flooding his senses as he takes deep breaths.

you lay there, completely still for a second as you process this — only to snap out of your concerned trance as you move your hands to comfort him, one hand gently tangling it's fingers in his hair, the other massaging his upper back as much as you can reach.

your heart sinks, brows almost as furrowed as his are on the daily as you let him hold you tightly. by the silence when he came in you already knew it had been tough at work, he rarely came in without announcing himself.

he nudges his face further into your stomach, so much so you're almost worried he won't get enough air. "honey..? can you look at me please?" you try again, a gentle hand moving to cup his cheek, try to lift his head.

it takes him a minute or two, before he leans into your touch, looking up from your stomach — had he been crying - ? he watches with wet honey eyes the way your eyes focus on his tears, thumbing them away with gentle strokes. "do you want to talk about it?" you whisper, slight tears threatening to prickle at your own eyes.

his brows twitch, and with a short shake of his head, he lays it back down against your stomach — his arms tightening around your waist.

okay, you think. and so you let him hold you as tight as he needs, your soothing fingers playing with his hair and gently massaging his scalp as he breathes in the safe scents of home. he's home, he's safe.

it feels like an eternity passes, Aaron laying face first still against your shirt, silent tears soaking the cotton. and you, tired fingers never once stopping their massage against his scalp. your hand slides down, your gentle thumb finding purchase against his cheek once more. "Aaron, love?" you whisper, your voice a little raspy from exhaustion.

he nods against your stomach, nudging his cheek against your thumb. a sad smile finds it's way onto your lips at the motion. "do you have the energy for a bath?" after a few seconds he nods again. "let's go upstairs then, okay?" you gently offer. another nod.

you slowly sit up, Aaron moving himself along with you. it had really gotten that bad, huh? "come on handsome, let's get you up." you gently smile, both your hands holding his face now as he lifts himself up to face you. "there's he is," you smile sweetly, thumbs stroking his strong cheekbones.

⋆⊹✮⊹⋆

the trip up the stairs was slow, and gentle — taking all the time he needed to make his way up with you by his side, your arm never leaving his waist. he looked sore, that was for sure. flinching a little with each step until your both reached the top.

you turn on the faucet and plug the drain before you gently sit him down on the edge of the tub, you move to stand between his thighs, carefully pulling his jacket off his shoulders and off his arms and hanging it over the door. your gentle fingers untie his tie, letting it hang as you unbutton his shirt, brows furrowing more and more as a series of bruises are revealed when you pull his shirt off his shoulders.

"oh honey.." you mutter sadly, hanging his shirt and tie with his jacket before kneeling down to untie his shoes. you gently pull them off, setting them by the door, then pulling his socks off and bawling them up and tucking them in one of the shoes.

"okay, i need you to stand up now." you whisper, nothing but the gentlest eyes watching him. he nods, grimacing as he stands up. your smaller hands unbuckle his belt, unbuttoning his slacks as well as you pull them down along with his boxers to his ankles. he steps out of them, a hand on your shoulder for balance before you hang everything over the door.

before turning the water off, you catch a glance of his lean, bruised body. he had plenty of new bruises scattered across his pale skin.

the tub has been mostly filled, and you help Aaron into the warm water, hearing him audibly sigh as he sinks into the comforting water. you kneel down beside the tub, reaching for a washcloth and some soap. you lather the washcloth in soap, gently dragging it along Aaron's sensitive skin. "does that feel okay?" you hesitantly ask, not knowing if it hurts more than it comforts.

but he nods nonetheless, almost pressing his arm into the washcloth. the sad smile returns to your lips as you sit up on the edge of the tub to reach his back better. your heart sinks however, as your eyes trail across the plethora of bruises on his back, his muscles flexing as he feels you eye them.

and for the first time that night, he speaks up — a large, bruised-knuckle hand, reassuringly reaches to hold one of yours. “i’ll be okay,” he rasps. his voice sounded like it was sore.

you took a deep breath, continuing the gentle massage of the washcloth, careful to avoid as many bruises as you could. after tenish minutes you find yourself done, every inch of his body now clean and gently massaged — his head laying in your lap as you sit on the edge of the tub, fingers combing through his hair.

you let him rest like that for a few more minutes, then gently lifting his head from your lap as you move to pull the drain plug. he takes a deep breath, before lifting himself from the now room temperature water. you hand him a towel, before opening the bathroom door. “i’ll go grab you some clean things,” you speak up, gentle eyes searching his tired and pained ones for a second. he nods, drying himself off.

he's all dry by the time you return with some clean boxers and soft sweatpants, helping him step out of the tub before handing them to him as you take the towel from him.

he gets dressed, sighing when he pulls up the soft sweatpants up his legs. you continue to watch him, leaning against the counter until he's done. you hold out your hand, threading your fingers with his as his larger one engulfs yours. you slowly lead him to your shared bedroom, sitting him down before getting undressed yourself.

his tired eyes watch you carefully, as you pull your shirt over your head, tossing it in the laundry basket. his eyes are glued to your form as you shimmy out of your jeans, chucking them with your shirt. you're here, he's safe. and you're safe.

you turn around, finding his eyes on you as you make your way to the bed, sliding in under the covers as you hold out your hand for him. he sighs tiredly, painfully moving until he's between your thighs again, head resting against the warm skin of your stomach and his hands holding your waist desperately.

your fingers find themselves in his hair once again, tangling and untangling themselves as you hold him against you. “we’ll be okay,” you whisper, leaning down to place a kiss to the top of his head. his heart throbs as he presses his head up into the kiss, the contact sending sparks down his spine.

he nods, his muscles untensing the more he winds down. he's home, he's safe — but most importantly, you're safe.

#⋆୨🩷©2023 HTCHNR #⋆୨⭐️aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner comfort

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pathologicalreid · 6 months

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buried alive | S.R.

in which the BAU races against the clock to rescue you from a killer team

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category: angsty

content warnings: kidnapping, case stuff (murder yk), suffocation, being buried alive, hospitals, blood, nausea, CPR, funerals, use of pet names, guns, and drugs. i think that's all.

word count: 2.9k

a/n: okay, so i've been reading so much spencer fanfic and i started writing it and yesterday i realized i have 20 fics written and they're doing no one any good just sitting on my computer. i decided to finally try posting one. i wrote fanfic in high school (so like seven years ago) but this is my first time writing for a TV show. i've also never really posted on tumblr so please bear with me while i try to figure out formatting. tysm for checking out my post.

part two part three

You walked into the conference room and dropped the file on the table, allowing it to land on the wood with a satisfying splat. “The unsub’s burying them alive,” you said, letting the rest of the team know the conclusion you had come to with the medical examiner. “The M.E. found metal shavings and satin threads under the nails of our last victim. The most common materials to make up a casket.”

“There’s no way someone could bury someone alive in a casket alone, we’ve got to be dealing with a team, at least three people,” Emily concluded, standing in front of the evidence board.

It was the team’s third day on a case in Nebraska, four women had been discovered dead. Asphyxiation by hypoxia. Carbon dioxide poisoning.

“Approximately 420 people in the United States die from accidental carbon dioxide poisoning every year,” Spencer said, grabbing the file off of the table and flipping through it, taking a few seconds to read through it.

Rossi looked over Reid’s shoulder to look at the file, “but there’s nothing accidental about these deaths. Who would have access to these caskets?”

You shook your head, placing a hand on the back of Spencer’s chair, “A funeral director seems most likely.” You looked around at the Omaha field office, different agents running about in an attempt to solve these very murders. “They’d have the most access, write it off as displays. It could be hard to match the materials since they’re so common.”

Hotch leaned over the table and pressed the conference phone, “What can I do you for?” Garcia’s bright voice rang through the speaker.

“Garcia, I need you to look into funeral homes within the comfort zone. Look for a director who’s ordered more caskets than they’ve had funerals. Find anything, nothing is too small.” He told her.

“Absolutely, I’ll hit you back when I’ve got something,” she said, hanging up the phone.

There ended up being four funeral homes in the unsub’s comfort zone, so the team split up. You went with two locals to a family-owned business, Garcia had sent you all of the files you’d need on the location. “It looks like the Varn family has been in the funeral business since the seventeenth century,” you read aloud to the two agents you were in the car with.

“Does it mean they’re more or less likely to be the killers if they’ve been in business for so long?” One of the agents asked you, a younger man named Harrison.

You pursed your lips as you continued to look over the files, “I’m not seeing any glaringly obvious stressors before the murders started, but over the years I’ve learned that’s no reason to write someone off. Psychopaths can be tipped off by the slightest thing. Things none of us would bat an eye at.”

Harrison nodded in the passenger seat, looking over to his partner Jimmy, “You and your guy sure do make an interesting pair.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment, so thank you.” You and Spencer never explicitly stated to the field office that you were dating, but you walked into the precinct this morning holding hands. The agents must have drawn their own conclusions.

The younger officer cleared his throat, “It is a compliment, ma’am. The two of you are very impressive, your whole team is.”

You smiled, “Thank you, Harrison.”

The funeral home was run by a mother and her two sons, you held up your credentials for the mother when you knocked on the door. “Are you Sheila Varn?” You asked her, raising your eyebrows.

“Yes, what’s this about?” She inquired. She didn’t really look the part of a serial killer, a middle-aged woman who was running her family business.

Pocketing your credentials, you spoke, “We’re investigating the recent murders in the area and we were wondering if you had samples of the materials your caskets are made out of. Might we be able to come in?” You asked, adding a charming smile for effect.

Something flashed across her face before she returned your smile, opening the door and welcoming the three of you inside. “Hold on, let me get my boys up here. They’re so much more versed in the goings on of the town than I am,” she said, opening the door and calling for her sons. Felix and Joss came up the stairs from the basement, now they definitely had the physique to load dead women into caskets and bury them alive.

“Why don’t you two men come with me? I’ll get you those samples,” Sheila said, motioning for the agents you were with to follow her. To your horror, they followed her around the corner. “Felix, Joss, show this young lady what you know,” she instructed.

You took a deep breath before you looked up at the two men.

They were tall, maybe Spencer’s height, but they were built like wrestlers. There was no way you could physically subdue them on your own.

You passed out before you even had the chance to pull your gun.

Hotch was in full Unit Chief mode, Spencer watched from the corner of the room as he separated people into groups and gave them specific instructions. JJ and Morgan walked into the precinct, “What’s going on?” JJ asked looking around the room.

“The Varn Family is the team; two agents were found drugged on the side of the road and when we went to the funeral home Y/N was missing. Her badge, gun, and phone were all there, covered in blood,” Spencer said morosely, watching as Hotch finished giving orders and called the rest of the team over.

Your picture was up on the evidence board with the word “missing” written in bold letters beneath it. All of your belongings had been put into evidence for the time being. “Reid?” Hotch said his name, causing his head to snap up. “Are you okay to keep working?”

Spencer nodded affirmatively, “Yes.”

“Good, I need you to estimate how much time we have, I want a clock on these screens,” he ordered.

Morgan turned to Reid, “What do you think she has, kid?”

“The tidal volume for the average adult is point five at rest. That ends up being about six liters per minute. The average casket is approximately 886 liters in total volume and the average volume of the human body is 66 liters, leaving 820 liters to be filled with air for her to breathe. If she’s been gone for half an hour already, I’d estimate she has less than five hours of breathable air left.” Spencer explained, doing all of the math in his head while Emily put a timer on the screen next to the evidence board.

After a moment, Hotch continued, “Rossi, JJ, go back to the funeral home. Tear it apart, there has to be something there we haven’t found yet. The rest of us will split the list of cemeteries in the comfort zone and search them.”

“That’s a lot of ground to cover, we don’t have anything else to go on?” Morgan asked, looking at the list of burial sites he had been handed.

Hotch looked at Spencer, but Spencer stayed silent. “That’s all we have right now,” Hotch responded, “hopefully we’ll come across leads as we go.”

It smelled like a garden around you. The memory reminded you of spring with your mother, tending to the vegetable garden.

The only difference was that instead of the sun beaming down on you, it was pitch black. The space surrounding you was so dark that you weren’t totally sure your eyes were open.

Your head was throbbing just above your right temple, and you observed your surroundings. Slowly, you lifted your arm until it hit a ceiling.

Not a ceiling. A lid. You were in a casket. You pressed one hand to your chest and tried to slow your breathing. Chances were that the casket was already buried beneath the surface of the earth, trying to open it could be catastrophic. You patted the pockets of your jeans, only to find your phone missing, so the team wouldn’t be able to trace the location.

Even if you had it, there likely wouldn’t be service six feet under.

Your team would find you. They had to find you.

They found Spencer, they found Emily, and they would find you.

Spencer shifted in the passenger seat of the SUV, “You know, carbon dioxide poisoning is a rather peaceful way to die.”

“Reid,” Morgan said, turning the vehicle onto the main road, they had just finished scouring over another cemetery with still no sign of you.

He sighed and stared at his hands, “No, it’s good. We see so many people killed in so many different ways that it’s good that she won’t be in pain when she runs out of air.” He tried to convince himself.

Morgan cleared his throat, “We aren’t out of time yet, kid. We can still find her. Y/N’s smart, I’m sure she found a way to make more air or something.”

But they were running out of time, less than an hour remained on the timer set on all of their phones.

They pulled into the next cemetery, “There’s some fresh dirt over there, what are the names on the graves of people who were actually recently buried?”

Spencer starts to recite the names, and the two of them start to comb through the cemetery.

You had done enough research on this case to understand what was going on. The light-headed feeling had started not long ago, but now you felt like you were spinning, despite the knowledge that you were stuck in place.

It was a high. Not unlike the good kids high. Except instead of trying to chase a feeling, you were dying.

The timer went off when they were still scouring graves, shovels in hand. Derek stopped in his tracks, but Spencer kept going.

“Wait,” Spencer called out, reading the name on the card next to the fresh grave he was standing at, he moved to start digging. “Essie Dunbar was a thirty-year-old woman who was mistakenly buried alive in 1915,” he said, digging. “This has to be it.”

Derek called Hotch, putting the call on speakerphone so he could help Spencer dig. “Hotch, we got her, but she’s buried.”

“We’re on our way, Omaha police have one of the brothers in custody,” Hotch told Emily to have an ambulance dispatched.

What Reid knew that Derek didn’t was that it could take four hours to dig a grave by hand. The soil had been overturned, so maybe call it three. Your odds were still negligible. He didn’t stop, he didn’t stop when a caretaker came running at them, and he didn’t stop when Derek told him to get his digging equipment out here now.

Derek flashed his FBI badge to get what they needed. He had to physically pull Spencer back from the grave so the backhoe could dig, only going until there was less than a foot between them and the casket.

Spencer crudely attached a chain to the casket and the caretaker's vehicle. Carefully, the caretaker dragged the white container out of the earth and up a slant they had dug. It was locked shut, “Reid, move,” Derek ordered.

He leaned back and Derek fired at the lock, taking it off and opening the casket. Spencer gasped, there was blood on the side of your head, dried and raked through your hair. He was vaguely aware of Hotch and Emily arriving as they pulled you out of your satin prison. You had no pulse, but you were still warm. Immediately, Spencer started CPR.

“Reid let me do it,” Derek insisted.

What he was trying to say is that he shouldn’t have to be the one to try to save your life.

Morgan repeated himself and Spencer pulled away, allowing the other agent to immediately take over. There was a siren in the background, an ambulance. More people showed up, Spencer heard their voices, but he just kept watching you. CPR was effective if it was done shortly after your heart stopped, and even then, permanent brain damage was likely.

It had been eight minutes since they pulled you out of the ground. Clinically, you were dead for eight minutes before you gasped.

Spencer smoothed your hair back, away from your face, while you desperately tried to catch your breath. You weren’t moving, and Spencer started running through symptoms of hypoxia. His biggest fear was brain damage, that they had done more harm to you in bringing you back than they would have had you died.

The EMTs came running over to where everyone had gathered, dispersing the crowd, and placing an oxygen mask over your face. As they were loading you on the stretcher, you started trying to talk, reaching your arm out to your side. “Wait, what’s she saying?” JJ asked.

“Sometimes it’s hard to talk after CPR,” the male EMT said as they moved you closer to the ambulance. He listened to what you were saying, “It’s not coherent.”

Spencer didn’t move, all of the adrenaline that had been coursing through his body all day was leaving.

Aphasia. They were saying the lack of oxygen to your brain was causing aphasia. “No,” Emily said, realization dawning on her features as she strained to listen to you. You were whispering, rasping the same word over and over again. “She’s saying ‘Spence.’”

He stood quickly and looked at you, sure enough, you were reaching out your hand and whispering, “Spence, Spence.” Your voice no more than a whisper.

Grabbing your hand, Spencer squeezed it, “I’m here,” he answered. “It’s okay, it’s over,” he told you, moving your hair out of your face. Spencer secured your oxygen mask over your face as you tried to take it off, “You have to keep this on, angel.”

To his relief, you squeezed his hand back.

You had been instructed to get some rest, but you couldn’t close your eyes. You asked Spencer to go back to the hotel and change his clothes because he smelled like dirt, and it made you nauseous. Your head had been bandaged, you’d been run through an MRI, and you did an EEG, so far, the only brain damage that had been incurred seemed temporary.

According to the doctors, the nausea and fatigue should wear off, but they hadn’t been able to fully assess if any permanent damage was done. At this point, the worst of your injuries had been caused by being given CPR, resulting in cracked ribs.

Despite your headache, you kept most of the lights on in your hospital room, not quite ready to be left in the darkness again. “Hey,” a voice called from your doorway, Spencer stood, waiting to be invited in. He was wearing different clothes, a button-up with a green cardigan thrown over it, and clean pants. “How are you feeling?”

A nasal cannula slightly restricted your movement, but you were sat up in the hospital bed, “Better than I was, but not perfect.”

He shook his head, walking in and taking a seat next to you, “No one expects you to be perfect right now.” Gently, he reached out and took your hand, skimming the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. “They found the mother and the other son, and all three of them are going to go away for a long time,” he told you, speaking in the kind of hushed, reverent tones that are reserved for hospitals.

You sighed and tilted your head back, “Good,” you maundered. “That’s uh, good,” your voice was barely audible.

“So why do you look so worried?” He asked, leaning in closer to you.

In an attempt to dismiss his concern, you joked, “I think I owe Morgan some sort of life debt now.”

Spencer offered you a soft smile, “The two of you tend to trade those off, I’m sure you’ll find some way to make it up to him.” He inclined his head towards you as if to silently say, So what is it really?

You swallowed thickly, “I’m scared to close my eyes, Spence.”

His shoulders dropped, “oh, Angel,” he breathed. “Is there anything I can do for you?” He asked, looping a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “Wait, what are you doing?” He asked, watching you as you lifted yourself, so you were on one side of the bed.

Shyly, you patted the new empty half of the bed, inviting him to sit next to you.

He had no choice but to comply, he had the hardest time saying no to you. Leaning the bed back slightly, Spencer kicked off his shoes before he laid down next to you, wrapping an arm around you as you set your cheek on his shoulder.

Your body relaxed into his and you sighed, “Spence?” You murmured.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, “Yes, angel?” He whispered back to you.

“Thanks for coming to save me,” you mumbled, slowly relaxing enough to fall asleep.

Spencer exhaled, “I’m always going to come to save you.”

part two

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #derek morgan #penelope garcia #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid x you #h writes (hypothetically)

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ssaaaronmontgomery · 8 months

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Sooo i saw those promts and immediately fell in loveee. Just imagine a heated argument between hotch and reader with “why do you even care?” and “because i care about you, okay!?” Like inagineee the feelings😩😩

Caring

Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, mentions of sweet Jack bug, Aaron feeling bad :/, some pining?, nothing past friendship though, happy ending!, I think that's all!

Word count: 2k

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!bau!reader

A/n: Ohhhhh yes!! Yes yes!! I wrote this about Aaron feeling like he's not there for Jack enough as he grows up so I hope that's fine! I'm not really sure I made it angsty but more hurt/comfort maybe? I hope you like it 🫶.

Forever tags: @greg-montgomery @boredelle @hotchsdoormat @ssahotchnerr @criminalskies @beardedhotchh @hotchnerbau @ssamorganhotchner @mrs-ssa-hotch @canuck-eh @luvehotch @callm3c0nfus3d @ivyflowers13

Hotch: @14buddy22 @pastanoodles11 @htchnr

Let me know if you want to be added to my tags🫶.

Aaron has a tendency to keep everything locked inside. Everyone knows it. You wish he would talk to you, or at least talk to someone, but to your knowledge he never really has.

You know he's not okay. The entire team knows it. You don't know what exactly is eating at him so badly but you know there's something going on whether it's his home life or his work life. The last few days he has come into the office only to shut himself in and not talk to anyone unless he really had to. When he did talk he kept the conversations as short as possible.

Rossi tried to talk to him but Aaron shut him out just the same. You decided you would try. You had always been closer with Hotch when it came to understanding each other whether words were spoken or not. It was always easy to tell when the other wasn't alright. Not that he ever talked to you when he wasn't, but you always let him know he could if he wanted or needed to. You would pat his shoulder or squeeze his hand. Once you even hugged him and he was tense during it but still welcomed the embrace and managed to relax into it slightly.

You planned it out a little. You would stay late, or at least until everyone else left aside from Hotch of course, and then you would go to him. You would try to console him and help him through whatever was going on inside that head of his.

Once everyone has gone home for the night you make your way to Hotch's office and knock which, as always, is met with a 'come in' that is muffled by the closed door.

You open the door and step in then close it behind yourself. He immediately looks up from the papers on his desk and meets your eyes. He wasn't really working. You don't know exactly how you knew but you just knew. It almost looked like he had been crying before you came in, but you couldn't be sure about that. It was darker in the office than he normally kept it. He looks a little...lost. He just looks sad or like he's carrying something inside that he doesn't know how to deal with.

"How can I help you, y/l/n?" His voice is cold as it usually is.

You walk closer and sit down in the chair across from him. You don't hesitate. You want to know what seems to be tearing him up inside. So you ask him.

"Hotch, what's going on? What's wrong?" Your voice is soft but you're direct about this.

"Nothing is wrong, y/n. I'm fine. Everything is fine." It's empty. The words are empty. He doesn't mean them. You always know when he doesn't really mean what he says and he knows it. Why he still chooses to do it, to lie, you're not entirely sure because you both know it is pointless to lie to the other.

"Hotch, you're shutting everyone out and shutting yourself in. You've been short with everyone, even Penelope and you almost never get upset with her. You are staying even later than you normally do, which definitely says something because sometimes it already seems like you never leave. You yelled at Derek and Emily for joking around like they always do, you never yell at them you just tell them to focus but it is always calm and stern. This time you yelled. You couldn't be more obvious about this, Aaron." You always use his first name when it's something personal and between the two of you. You both use each other's first names when you're trying to get a point across. Neither of you are sure about when that started.

"Y/n, I'm fine. Really. I just have a lot of extra work to do right now. That's all." Once again, he's lying. Every word right there was a lie.

"Aaron, come on. Stop lying to me."

"Stop profiling me."

"Why won't you let me help you?"

"I don't need your help." That hurt you for some reason you're not sure of right now. You brush it off for now.

"What is going on? Aaron, you're not okay and we know it. You need to talk to us, to someone. Let me help you, please. I want to be here for you."

"Why do you even care?" He shoots back harshly.

"Because I care about you, okay?!"

All of these words were rushed between you both and hardly thought out before being said. You just yelled at him and that was the last thing you meant to do. He yelled first, but he's hurting and you understand that. You're excusing him raising his voice but you are internally scolding yourself for raising yours. All you want is to help him. You divert your eyes from him and look down.

"I care about you, Aaron. I'm sorry I yelled." It's a whisper.

When you look back up at him, his gaze is soft and gentle. "It's okay. I shouldn't have yelled either. You're just trying to help and...I'm being stubborn." You chuckle at that. "That's nothing new, Aaron." He smiles a little at you. You were known to joke about his stubborn and cold attitude around the BAU from time to time, he knows it but he doesn't mind.

"Aaron, please? Talk to me? I do care about you and I just want to help you or at least do what I can to try." Your voice is no longer a whisper but it's still soft and more on the quiet side. Aaron sighs and rubs his eyes a little. "It's about Jack." That immediately raises alarms in your mind and you're more concerned now.

"What's wrong? Is he okay?" Aaron can see the worry etched into your face and he understands that maybe he shouldn't have started with that.

"Jack is fine. It's more about...I feel like I'm not a good father to him." Another sigh escapes Hotch and he is now holding his head in his hands. You think you can understand why he would be thinking this. He is away very often, but you know he's still an amazing father. You've been around them both enough to know that.

"Aaron, why? You're a wonderful father. You love him so much and he knows you do. We all know you do. You do everything you can for him. I'm sure he knows that." He looks back up at you and he seems defeated. He still looks sad and lost with himself.

"But I'm hardly ever home with him. I'm not around as much as I want to be. I want to be able to help him figure life out as he grows up. I've missed important things in his life. I don't want him to grow up feeling like he had an absent father." You think you see tears in Aaron's eyes, something you've seen a few times during a few cases. It breaks your heart to see such a good man feeling like such a terrible dad.

"I think Jack understands. You've explained it to him, that the job takes you to many places. And he won't see you as a failed father. He sees you as his hero, Aaron. He looks at you like a real-life superhero. He understands that your job helps save people and even though he's just a seven year old boy, he supports it. He loves being able to talk about how awesome his dad is for saving people all the time." You offer Aaron a smile but he doesn't return it.

"How do you know all of this? He's never said all of that to me. Once he said I was a hero on Halloween, but not everything else."

"The playdates I've been over for and the dinners at Rossi's where the BAU kids were invited. Aaron, Jack loves you so much and he looks up to you." He smiles at that. Jack loves you too and often asks for you to come over to watch Spider-Man or to play with his action figures with him. He's a wonderful kid to be around.

"That's...that's really nice to know. It does help. But it doesn't change that I still feel like I'm missing out on more than is acceptable." He frowns again and looks down at his desk. You think for a moment and an idea comes to mind.

"I know it's hard to have a home life with the job we have and I also know that for you it's hard to get everything done in a reasonable amount of time because you have more to do. So I want you to let me help you a little more. A couple nights a week when we don't have any cases and I've finished my work for the day, I can stay a bit later and help you finish enough work to be able to go home to Jack before he's already asleep. How does that sound?" Your tone and expression are so kind and hopeful. You hope he takes you up on your offer, but you wouldn't be surprised if he didn't.

Aaron stays quiet for a moment and you can tell his mind is letting loads of throughts fly through it. Probably about how he shouldn't take advantage of you offering this or maybe how he thinks it's unfair to you. He wants to say yes but another part of him clearly wants to decline because helping him with some of the extra work he has isn't part of your job.

After about a minute of him considering what you've said he finally speaks. "Y/n, are you sure? It's not your responsibility. You really don't have to do this. I'm sure I could find a way to do this without taking up your time." "Aaron, I don't have anyone or anything to go home to at night aside from my bed and my TV. I'd rather stay a little later and help you go home to see Jack." He finally cracks a small smile and takes another moment to think before ultimately nodding.

"Okay. But only a couple nights. I don't want to take you away from your time to relax." You nod in return before responding. "I think we'll all be able to relax as long as the boss man isn't snapping at people or shutting himself in all the time anymore." His smile widens when you call him 'boss man'. He's always thought the nickname was a little funny but he wouldn't tell anyone that. "Don't worry. I won't be yelling at anyone as much, I'm sure."

"You might want to apologise to Reid for when you went off on him about his physics magic the other day. I think you hurt his feelings." He chuckles and it's such a sweet sound to hear. "Yeah, I do feel bad about that. He really is starting to get some distance on those. He almost hit Strauss with one so I think that's why I yelled." You snort a little. "Would that have really been bad if he had hit her with one?" Aaron grins at you. "No, I think it really would've made everyone's day actually. Erin would have come down on me for it but I guess now that I think about it, it would have been worth it to see her expression and confusion about physics magic." Both of you laugh a little at the thought.

The deal you made started and you stayed later to help Hotch finish the extra work he had left to do. That night you were also invited to have dinner at the Hotchner house and you're pretty sure it was the best meal you had ever had. Filled with laughter and smiles. It was something that made your heart flutter. You're happy to help Aaron, especially when you know it means he and Jack both get to be much happier.

#anon🩶#prompt list #angst prompt #aaron hotchner #hotch #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x gn!reader #aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x reader #hotch x gn!reader #hotch x gender neutral reader #hotch x you #hotch x y/n #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner comfort #hotch🌜#mon answers 🩷

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