#hotch angst

[uranometrias]

✮ꜜ : ❛ long time coming : aaron hotchner x fem! reader

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau! reader

summary: after getting hurt out in the field, you're on leave for a month. coming back felt long overdue, that is until your plans with the team lead you to a situation that feels a bit too close for comfort after such a traumatic time. what's worse, your feelings you've harbored for your boss have no choice but to come to light when he makes the odd choice to address you as 'agent' rather than your name after one month of being apart, and years and years of back and forth will-they-wont-they.

content warnings: making out. allusions to sexual assault + r4pe (but only in the context of the case). reader has slight signs of PTSD. anxiety/panic attacks. reader runs into a few pushy men while out at the club. drinking / drunk confessions. reader has a crush on her boss, it is also implied that reader finds derek attractive, and he reciprocates these feelings. hotch is very good at calming reader down. no usage of y/n. reader is described as having shoulder length hair (can be read as a wig/weave) angry/disappointed hotch! reader has been hiding her anxiety / nightmares / memory issues from the team. mentions of vomiting. kissing. mentions of elle & the events of the fisher king. no distinct timeline, but can be read as s7 with the iconic team (hotch, emily, derek, jj, penelope, rossi, & spencer)

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"Okay, I didn't know we were going all out. I would've prepared better." you smile shyly as Jennifer pulls you into a tight hug. When Penelope had called you early that morning with an excited decree that you'd been cleared to return to work you hadn't been sure how to feel. You hadn't bothered to ask how Garcia of all people was privy to information you hadn't received from your bosses yet, there was no getting a straight answer when it came to the Technical Analyst.

It had been her idea for the entire team to get together. You'd been out of the office for a full month, and in that time you'd tried your hand at maintaining your bonds with the rest of the group. It of course wasn't the same, but you knew that you'd needed the time. The last time you'd joined them on a case things had gone horribly wrong. You shudder at the thought, you had been doing so good at forgetting about it all, but seeing them again made it all come back.

The unsub had been your run-of-the-mill anger excitation rapist, a creep that had been using an elaborate ruse to entice and entrap women. It had been Emily's idea for the two of you to go undercover, the unsub had been killing two women every week, women who in many ways were polar opposites of one another, a trait that you and Emily shared. Long story short, in the midst of your plan to lure and trap the Unsub, you'd been separated from Emily and cornered.

You’d been carted off by the creep who kept you stuck for three hours before the team used his mistake to find you. By then though, the damage had been done. You remember the look on Rossi's face when he and Hotch came busting in, and found you looking bruised up with a bloody face, and a gun barrel to the side of your head. You'd never seen Hotch quite as scared, at least not since everything with Foyet nearly three years ago when he lost Haley and almost Jack.

You'd been too out-of-sorts to hear the way they'd tried to reason with the Unsub. And you hadn't realized your abdomen was losing blood until a gunshot rang out, bullets whizzing past your head as the unsub curled into himself before falling to the ground. You didn't know much, you thought maybe your eardrums had exploded with the way they were ringing, and you'd half expected to smack your head against the ground and end up with an annoying concussion.

Instead, you'd been met with the sight of your boss. He'd yelled something you weren't privy to, mouth moving as he seemingly forced the rest of the team out of their stupor long enough to get a medic inside to look you over. It was like you said, the details were fuzzy, but nothing had managed to wipe Hotch's worried expression as he fussed over your safety, out of your mind. However, if you were honest with yourself for one measly second, that was nothing new.

Nothing seemed to fill up your mind the way your boss did, and it was stupid, and deplorable all things considered. But it's not like it had even been something you'd asked for. It just happened one day. You shake these thoughts of your near paralyzing emotions away, pulling yourself back to the present as you took in JJ, who despite her perceived candor looked great. "Oh come on Jaige." you huff, and you appraise her more openly. "You look amazing, as usual."

She grins, albeit shyly, and she's waiting, maybe for your approval maybe for something else. She's trying to be discreet as she sweeps your for obvious reminders of what happened, and you feel nervous. Most of your injuries had healed up well enough, and the scratches that littered your face had been covered in a smattering of makeup. You felt comfortable in your pretty girl cocoon, all done up with a bright smile on your face that was surprisingly believable.

"Can I hug you?" she asks, and you can tell she's been holding it in, waiting to ask. You nod your head, a quiet chuckle escaping you as the blonde seems to scoop you into her arms. She's careful not to squeeze too tight, but the love is felt all the same. "God, it's been so weird without you around." she hums, and while the rest of the team is already huddled inside, probably in a booth Penelope picked, you're so happy she's the one here telling you this now.

"Now you know how we all felt when they sent you to the Pentagon." you whisper back, and you hear her bemused giggle as she steps back, and she takes you in again. Your red minidress was a stark contrast to the usual business-casual attire you wore everyday to work. Your hair was curled, pinned back with a gold claw clip, hair just barely ghosting over the divots of your collarbones. You'd opted for a shorter do' following everything with the unsub.

"Never leave us again." she pleads, and you feel this warmth blossoming in your chest at the way she's staring at you, almost like she really means it. You'd joined the team back when Elle and Gideon had still been around. At one point you'd been the rookie, the new girl nobody knew what to expect from. JJ had been right there beside you, even back then. She had been sweet, assertive, your first real friend on the team. She'd welcomed you before anyone else.

In time of course, things had changed, JJ had a husband, kids, a hoard of other units that were plotting on her skills at all times, but she was still JJ. Still that same first friend that helped you to see the Behavioral Analysis Unit was the only place for you. "I'll do my best." you promise, and she grins. She links arms with you before you both head inside the bar. There was music playing, some alternative indie song that wasn't half bad.

"Here's the girl of the hour now." Emily exclaims, and it's clear they've already started tossing back shots. JJ's head is instantly shaking in mortification. So it was going to be one of those nights. Penelope meets you both, pulling JJ from your arms and leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek sweetly, before she's turning to you. She's got tears already brimming in her eyes, and you can't help but giggle at the dramatics of it all.

"I'm so happy to see you." she squeals, and you find yourself hugging back despite the sting of your abdomen. "You look so beautiful." she adds a second afterwards. "What are you looking to get lucky?" she asks, as she uses her hands to push you away slightly, hands resting gently on both of your shoulders. You feel your face growing hot at the implication, and you see the way she's looking at your facial expressions for a signal of your lies. Curse her proximity to profilers.

"I just wanted to look nice." you reply and Penelope lets you off the hook. She leads you to the table, and you're just in time to hear the group finish up their hellos to JJ. She's sitting next to Morgan, who's bright-eyed as he looks up at you. You find yourself fussing with your hair, playing it cool as you press your lips together, re-smearing your lipstick as you waved your hand.

You weren't sure why you felt like the new kid all over again.

"It's good to see you, pretty girl." he croons, and you grin. Morgan was flirty, had been since you met him, and if you weren't so disastrously into Hotch, you think he'd be all on your mind. Well, you know... more than he was. There had been times where you'd been partnered together, and it almost felt like the tension was going to cut you in half. Sexual tension aside though, Derek was your friend.

They all were, and despite what your mind tried to tell you as you sobbed yourself through nightmares during your break from work, they were genuinely happy to see you. "I'm glad you're okay." your eyes flit over to the youngest member of the team. Spence is looking relieved as he too looks up at you with eyes full of relief. He's next to Emily, and she's already downing another drink. She'd be complaining about a migraine the next day, you could hear her now.

"Thanks, Spence." you coo, and you offer him a wink as your eyes fall on the only present member of the team that hadn't addressed you. Rossi had made a point to send his hellos, but due to a previous standing appointment, he wouldn't be joining tonight. You couldn't hold it against him, Rossi was scoping the prairie for wife number four. He offers you a faint smile, the group instantly falling into chatter.

"H-Hey Hotch." you mumble, and he's closest to you, sitting on the outside of the booth as the rest of the team tried their hardest to pretend they weren't expecting this. He doesn't say anything for a moment, instead he takes you in. He wasn't blind, he'd seen you before, you'd always been beautiful, but there was something about you done up like this. Red dress, red lip, bold makeup, and heels that showed off your legs, and accented your model-esque posture.

It was obvious that you were still a bit nervous about being out and about, and you were out of practice with being around the team. He imagined after a bit though you'd be back to yourself. You, and the rest of the girls would be falling into a rhythm in no time. He stands to his feet, much taller than you, as you take a small step back to give him space. "It's good to see you up and about, Agent." and his voice is low, clearly as a courtesy to the bustling of conversation behind you.

"Agent?" you repeat, and the word is so foreign. It makes you take another step back, the bottoms of your Louboutin's clacking against the ground. You looked a bit hurt, but you played it off quickly. "Come on, Hotch. I think we're a little past those formalities." you chuckle awkwardly, and you find yourself looking towards the bar. Yeah, you were definitely going to need a drink. He seems to curse under his breath, but you're not sure if that's due to you, or some internal conflict you weren't privy to. You don't wait to figure it out either.

He doesn't have the opportunity to reply to your correction, because you're looking to Emily, JJ, and Garcia. "Wanna get some shots?" you ask, and you sidestep Aaron, making sure you don't look his way again, as the girls immediately exclaim their agreements. Penelope's sliding out of the booth first, Emily and JJ following her example as they head straight towards the bar. JJ's shooting you a knowing glance as she looks between Hotch and yourself.

"You coming boys?" you extend the invite to Derek and Spencer, who are quick to nod along, both men trailing after the others as they head to the counter to order more drinks. You prepare to follow after them, ready for the welcome respite from your mind swimming in circles.

"I didn't mean to offend you." you stop short, spinning on your heel to meet the gaze of your Unit Chief.

"Well you did." you reply, and your voice is small. "I've known you for almost seven years, and here you are treating me like a stranger." you mumble, and you find yourself tugging at your dress. "I mean, I know it's been a while, but geez Hotch, it's still me." you say and he winces. You're not sure what the last month has been like for the others, but you know what they've been like for you. Torturous. It's been Hell.

"I know." he says, and your eyebrow raises, unmoved by his words. "And again, I didn't mean to offend you." he promises, and he clenches and unclenches his fists by his side. "After everything that happened, I guess I just assumed you'd prefer a more professional approach." he mutters, and you scoff quietly. Classic Aaron Hotchner, running away from interpersonal conflict with his tail tucked between his legs. "You don't even seem comfortable with us tonight."

You blink. Okay well he had a point there, but you were trying.

"It's not that I'm not comfortable." you mutter, and you look over your shoulder at the rest of the team. "I guess I just didn't expect to feel so out of place being out and about." you shrug your shoulders bashfully. "Everyone's normal, everything seems the same." you continue, and you notice the way that Hotch's lips have pressed into a hard line. "And it's like no time has passed at all for anyone else, but for me it's like I never moved." you blink, shivering at the thought.

Hotch's eyebrows furrow inwardly as he takes in your words. "I still feel like I'm-" you trail off, feeling a wide lump growing in your throat. "It's like I never left." you course correct, eyes shutting briefly, lashes brushing against your cheekbones. "Like no matter how much time passes, it still feels like I'm there with him and I'm-"

"I understand." he cuts you off, you think maybe to salvage your pride or to keep you from having a panic attack at the thought. "And you're certain you're ready to come back to work? You know you can take all the time you need." he reminds you, and you are immediately nodding your head as you wave a tired hand his way.

"I can't stay cooped up in my house anymore." you mumble. "It's becoming counterproductive." you huff. "I'm ready." you add a second later. "Apart from this awkwardness, I'm also perfectly fine." and it's a lie, you'd been having nightmares every night. Restless, sleepless evenings full of dread, and jump scares of your own creation. "I mean, I'm here aren't I?" you offer a tight smile as you reach out and tap Hotch's shoulders twice, a tense little conversation ender.

You don't want to stay huddled up with him anymore, not while he was looking at you like he was trying to see into your soul. You turn on your heel, dress swishing side to side as you head for the group. You find yourself in between Emily and Penelope, the blonde to your left immediately sliding a drink in front of you. You down it in a second, the intense burn as the alcohol rested in your chest was a welcome reprieve from the anguish and anxiety you'd been feeling.

You forget about Hotch, and all your heavy feelings by the time you're on your third drink. Your heels feel much too heavy under your feet as you stumble into Emily, the brunette chuckling vibrantly as you hang off each other, the music playing overhead lulling you into a false sense of security. It was nice being like this again after so long, laughing at the dramatic banter between Derek and Penelope. You wondered if they'd remain purely platonic forever.

Trading gossip back and forth with Emily and JJ was always a treat, especially as Spencer tried to keep up with eyes wide as saucers while Emily finally cracked the secrets of her coveted Sin-To-Win weekends. You weren't sure what was funnier, the peeks into Emily's life outside the unit, or the horrified looks that crossed Spence's face with every new tidbit of knowledge he learned about his coworkers. You found your eyes flickering over to Hotch again.

He was stoic as ever, but looser than he would be in the office. He seemed to enjoy being a quiet observer much more than he preferred to be in the mix. He leisurely swirled his glass of scotch, and you felt that familiar buzz of warmth in your chest when you managed to catch him smiling as he quietly passed conversation back and forth with a newly drunk Penelope, and Derek, who looked exasperated.

"Are you just gonna stare at him all night?" you jump a bit, turning to face Emily with surprise swirling in your irises. "If you keep it up, he's gonna catch you." she adds a second afterwards and you tense, head nodding as you scold yourself. You peel away from the bar, drink clutched in your hand. You had to get away from the bar for a second, maybe the cluttered dance floor would be the best distraction.

"Sorry." you mutter, and Emily offers a airy laugh. "He's just usually so serious." you lean into Emily, who nods along. She'd met Hotch after you, but still she'd managed to become so close to him it was almost surreal. She seemed to always know what he was thinking, they were in sync. Unlike you, who seemed to always be on the other end of a hard stare from the man. For a while you just began to assume he hated your guts. Or better put, he was indifferent to your existence.

That was why his look, that look he'd given you as he cradled your head while he waited for backup had been burned into your skull. All that went out of the window the second he'd labeled you 'Agent' though. God, how stupid were you? Emily's amusement makes your eyes roll. "Can I be honest?" she asks, and you nod. Penelope and JJ have migrated to the dance floor, JJ grabbing the good doctor and bringing him along with them. He looks incredibly uncomfortable.

"Sure, Em. If you think it will help." you reply audibly.

"I haven't seen him this relaxed since everything went down." she admits, and you're surprised. As if somehow your presence had been enough to set the stone-serious man at ease. "The first few days after your accident he was a mess." she adds, and she's got a surprising about of stability to her tone to be as inebriated as she was. She lowers her voice some as she leans into you, "He showed up late." she mutters this like it's some sworn secret just meant for the both of you.

"I'm sure Strauss was just riding him about another mishap in the unit." you try, and Emily looks unconvinced and unimpressed with you. "He's our boss, it's kind of his job to worry about us." you finish.

"Yeah, I guess so." Emily concedes, and she looks like she's done talking about it, so you find yourself relaxing. "Still. I've never seen him go that hard against an unsub, maybe you're not the only person that's feeling something." she leaves you with that, trying to keep from tipping as she marched towards the group. You chuckle quietly to yourself, ignoring Emily's words as you focus on finishing your drink. It seemed you'd inadvertently been trying to be alone all along.

You felt some of the tension melt from your shoulders now that you were standing at the bar, away from those prying eyes you couldn't lie to. There's this sound of heavy footsteps, and then the clearing of a throat, as you turn to be met with the sight of a man. He looked to be about your age, cheeks and nose covered in a little smattering of freckles. He's got a head full of shaggy hair that hangs in his face. He takes a quick step, sliding up against the bar beside you.

Way too close.

"Hey." he mumbles, and you appraise him boredly. It's not like he was ugly or anything, but despite Penelope's words you were not looking to get lucky tonight.

"Hi." you offer a dry greeting, shuffling your weight from one foot to the other as the bar seemingly became a beacon for thirsty men. Just as you were politely stepping away from the freckled man, you found yourself bumping into another man who'd slithered up to the bar, your ass pressing against his crotch as his hands wound around your waist. A sleazy chuckle escapes the man's mouth as you gasp. "I'm so sorry." you exclaim, and you're quick to peel away.

You feel trapped though, there were at least four guys, they all seemed to be friends, they all seemed to be in kahoots.

There's a third and fourth man joining the fray, they all looked to be about the same age, height, and weight class. This was probably their routine: approach and overwhelm whatever drunk girl they might have happened upon. It looked like you were tonight's target. "Hey, what's the rush?" the guy closest to you drawls, and you wonder where all your years of training have gone. His arm raises, and it feels like he might hit you so you flinch way too violently.

"Stick around, we'll order the next round." the next demands, and his breath smells like booze. It stinks, and it's hot as it puffs across your face. You almost break your heels backing away from them, suddenly feeling self conscious a`nd way too vulnerable in your short dress.

"No, it's alright, really." you try, and you stumble again. "My friends are right over there." and you point in their general vicinity. "Have a great night though." you offer politely, and you're trying to make your grand escape. One guy, a shaggy blonde haired man is quick to grab you by your forearm, and it's like you're back to that day. Your bureau appointed therapist had been talking to you about your anxiety, how a range of things could become triggers and transport you mentally.

"That wasn't a question. Stay a while." You're stuck, absolutely frozen in place as your entire body tenses up. Some Special Agent you were, the bureau would be so disappointed in you. Your team would be so disappointed in you. All it took to turn you into a pile of nothing was a bit of confrontation. You could remember a stronger version of you, that girl would've had these men on their knees for even thinking of laying hands on you. God, you missed that girl.

His grip on your arm tightens, fingers digging into you harshly as you find yourself surrounded on every side.

"L-Let me go." you huff under your breath, and you crane your neck. You spot JJ, the blonde's eyes locked on yours as the reality of what's going on forces her to sober up. "I just-" and you jerk away, stumbling back completely. You're surprised you don't scream as your glass drops to the ground shattering as glass sprays in every which direction. You feel like your ankle's twisted as you fall back on your ass. You expect to feel the embarrassing thud that came with smacking your ass on the hard floor of a bar, but it never comes.

Instead you feel cocooned by a familiar scent. Strong arms are looped around you, but you suppose your lack of disgust at the action is just a testament of your comfortability. "Are you alright?" it's mumbled against your ear, and the low tone of his voice makes you shiver. All you can really offer is a tight nod as Aaron's guiding you behind him. You don't get to see Hotch in action, not when JJ, Penelope, and Emily are flocking you like Charlie's Angels.

You feel the first signs of the need to barf pricking at you, and you know that you need to get some air. You needed to breathe.

"God, are you okay?" Penelope asks, and you're not sure if you are being dramatic. I mean, it wasn't like they'd done anything really. Now you were gonna look like the freak that ruined a fun night.

"I'm sorry." you chirp, and you miss the way Jennifer and Emily share a hard glance. It's not until you're feeling brisk air whipping around your face that you realize they've taken you outside, and you haven't stopped apologizing. I'm so sorry. Penelope's got wide eyes, quickly brimming with tears as you find yourself crumbling to the ground. Your hand's quick to clutch around your chest as you try to inhale. The dramatics of it all made you even more nauseous.

You should've stayed at home.

"Hey, hey, hey..." Emily's cooing, and it seems being out like this has sliced through her tipsy stupor. She's focused just like she would be on any regular sort of day. "I need you to breathe." she instructs, and JJ's crouching down in front of you, brown eyebrows draw inwardly as she takes in your clearly frantic state. Every puff of air that escapes you is tight and sounds like it hurts. You can just barely hear the sound of a commotion taking place inside.

You do hear JJ's quiet exclamation of "I'll stay with her, go check on Hotch and Derek!" before Penelope and Emily are heading back into the packed building. She calls your name, and it takes a while for you to regain your voice. She's devoid of pity, which you appreciate. JJ knew more than anyone how much you hated being seen as a burden, or someone to be sorry for. Pride was a killer. "Can you try and take a deep breath for me?" and it's then you realize your choppy little intakes of air weren't doing you any favors.

It takes a great deal of effort for your vision to be less blurry. Your ears were full of cotton, and your head was swimming. You feel bile again in the back of your throat, and you jerk away from JJ's reach. You feel like you're suffocating, transported away from the random bar in the middle of Virginia, and back to a place you'd fought so hard to escape. You were certain you'd remember that unsub forever. His evil eyes, the way he tried to use your entrails like paint.

You remember how Elle had changed after she'd been attacked by Garner. How she had changed so much that she had no choice but to step away from the Unit. Would that be your life? You didn't want that life, but it was clear you needed something, you needed help. You couldn't focus on anything else, but what had happened. You'd ruined a night out because the act of being cornered was enough to transport you back.

JJ's still peering at you as if she's waiting for you to start panicking, and maybe you were. "I'm sorry." you huff again, and JJ's shaking her head at you.

There's a deep frown etched into her face as she sighs herself. "Stop apologizing." she insists, and your lashes are wet with unshed tears. "You didn't do anything wrong. Those assholes should've never put their hands on you." she proceeds. "You know that don't you?" she continues, and you don't know how to respond, so you don't. JJ reads you like an open book, and she smacks her teeth. "Well now you do." she says this firmly. "And I'm sure Hotch and Morgan are teaching them that lesson right now." you tense up again.

"I didn't mean to ruin the-" JJ's offering you a hard glare that shuts you up. Another bad habit you'd picked up since the incident. You were working on it, trying not to blame yourself for things you didn't cause. "I'm sorry." and this time it's not because of tonight. "I was so nervous about tonight.-" you take in a hiccupped breath. "I just wanted to prove that I could bounce back." you explain, and it's the first insight you've allowed anyone. "I figured if I pretend everything's normal, soon enough it would be, but it's too much." you huff.

"And that's okay." she promises. "What you went through isn't something anyone's expecting you to forget about in a month, alright? It's gonna take time, and there will be days where it'll hurt a lot more, and there will be days where you're feeling like your old self again." she promises. "What you need to understand is that we-" she pauses as you take it in. "are your family." she finishes, and your lips start to twitch, you're not sure if you'll smile or cry.

"I know-" you proceed, and she holds a hand up in front of you.

"Let me finish." she pleads, and you inhale before nodding. "I don't- none of us want a repeat of what happened with Elle." she says quietly. "None of us want to show up to the unit one day and see your badge and gun sitting on your desk." JJ sighs. "So if you ever start feeling anxious, or terrible, or just like you're back... there." and you wince at the mention. "I want you to call me, call one of us. Don't deal with this alone, alright? Not when you don't have to."

JJ hugs you before you have time to respond, but her words sink deep and make you feel warm inside. "Thanks, Jaige." you mumble against her hair. She squeezes you tighter, and you believe it's to make up for her shyer hug earlier.

"You're welcome." she mumbles back, and then she's pulling back. You don't have much respite, Penelope practically tackling you in a hug of her own. You hadn't even realized the rest of the team has left the bar, you were sure the mood of the night was much lower.

"I'm so glad you're okay!" Penelope exhales, and you do too, breathing fine again, save for a few hiccups that escaped you every so often. She lets you go after a beat, and you're quick to take a small step back, suddenly feeling anxious once more.

"Yeah, I'm fine now." your eyes meet Derek and Emily's. "Thank you." and you're chuckling quietly as Derek pulls you into his side. He plants a kiss on the top of your head, and you warm inwardly. Spencer does hug you, and it's a shock. One of those hugs that you never take for granted, because it could be a while before you get another. Once he's pulled away you find yourself still hovering, listening quietly as they all decide the night's not over.

You respectfully bow out, you'd had enough for one day. It's then you notice that Hotch is all by himself. You quietly excuse yourself, but you find that they're not really listening now that you were safer. "Are you alright?" you ask, and your voice is very quiet. Hotch looks up from his phone as if he's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. You take in his face, and it's clear he's been in some sort of scuffle. Most notable due to the fact he's got blood smeared under his nose.

"I should be asking you that." he retorts, and your eyebrows furrow in.

"Y-You already did." you remind him, eyes darting away. "Why are you over here by yourself?" you shoot off a round of questions, the wind whipping around, and making you crave the comfort of your bed. You maintain a respectful balance, you weren't in any rush to be all up in someone's space.

"I think I've had enough of crowds for the night." he retorts. You don't realize until it's happened though, your hand reaching up to swipe at the blood that's slowly drying on his upper lip.

"Get into a bar fight?" you ask, and you hold your breath for the answer. Hotch looks down at you, and there's this unreadable expression on his face. You realize that this is nothing new. Hotch had never been easy to read, he was one of the greatest profilers you'd ever met, one of the greatest people. But he'd always been an enigma. His emotions were an Alcatraz all on their own.

"You should see the other guy." the classic rebuttal to a question like yours. It doesn't make you smile, mostly because he's not smiling either. "Are you okay?" and he's got you by your wrist, eyes zoned in on the harsh mark the guy from the bar had left behind. "He never should've touched you." his voice lowers, and there's an annoyance attached to his tone. "I'm so sorry." you find yourself huffing.

"You shouldn't have fought him." you say matter-of-factly. Your fists fold up at your sides, your lips pulling down into a frown. "It'll give everyone the wrong idea." you say, and you wrench your hand away from his grasp.

"Everyone?" he repeats, and he looks confused, classic Hotch.

"Me." you correct, "I'll get the wrong idea." you whisper. "I might actually think you like me." you admit quietly.

"We wouldn't want that." he replies, and his tone is far from mocking. You hate that it makes you crack a smile. You hate that he's always the one that manages to get that reaction out of you.

"Hey, are you two coming? We're all heading to Mo's." Emily calls, and you snort at the fact that their alcohol riddled mind had caused them to forget you'd already declined. You take a step away from Hotch, and you hate that you stumble. You were hating a lot of things tonight. Maybe you weren't as sober as you'd thought.

Aaron looks to you as if he's waiting to see your answer before giving his own, and maybe he was. The second you're politely explaining that you're ready to head home, Aaron is offering to drive you. Derek is whistling, Emily and JJ offering you smug little smirks. Penelope is trying to keep herself secured to Earth. "He's gonna take her home." he whispers to no one in particular, and it's a horrid attempt.

"We all heard, babygirl." Derek replies to her, and you find yourself a bit stuck. The thought of spending the eighteen minute car ride with your boss make you want to scream, but you'd taken a cab. Your own car was parked in the driveway of your place. And he doesn't look like he' taking any goodbyes either way. Rounds of goodbye and see you laters are soon offered. "Take care of our girl, Hotch." Derek calls, and you hear Spencer as he starts to rant about Derek's turn-of-phrase.

Our girl. Hotch finds that the words repeat in his head like an obnoxious echo. "Why are you doing this?" you question quietly. "If you're just trying to make up for the whole Agent thing, there's no need." you proceed, and you take a small step back.

"I'm not trying to make up for that." he replies quickly. "But, you're drunk, and you've been through a lot tonight." he reminds you as if you're ditsy or something. "It wouldn't be smart to leave you by yourself." he continues, and he inhales deeply. He watches the way you watch him, like you're unsure, like you're suspicious. "That isn't a testament of whether or not I think you can handle yourself... and neither was fighting that man at the bar." he promises, and you blink.

"No?" you ask, and your tongue feels extra dry. Like you've licked a stripe of sandpaper.

"No." he reaffirms. "You mean a lot to the team. We wouldn't be the same without you." he says this bit like he means it, and you can't find any trace of a lie residing in his face. He does mean it.

"Thank you, Sir." you reply under your breath, exhaling the word. The chill of the night finally gets to you, and you shiver.

"Can I take you home?" he asks, and you know you're reading into it more than you should. You know what he means, what he's really asking, but delusion was healthy every now and again, right?

"Y-Yeah." your head nods, voice wavering slightly as you take hold of the bottom of your dress. "Yes." you say more firmly.

"Okay." you stand there for a few moments more, passing charged glances back and forth. "You never answered my question earlier." is what he says to break the moment. "About how you were doing..." he proceeds. "I've asked you twice, and both times you-"

"Deflected?" you offer, and his head nods. "I guess I'm just scared you'll see right through whatever my answer is." you admit, and you cross your arms, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. "Emily and JJ will at least humor me." you explain. "Penelope won't ask... mostly because she's scared of the answer." you chuckle awkwardly. "Derek and Spence, well I guess they're like you too... but you're here, and they're not... so here we are."

Hotch appraises you for a second, but he doesn't say much else. You're grateful for that, but equal parts annoyed that he wasn't leaping to tell you that you were harder to read than you thought. No such luck. Still, you're surprised when Hotch grabs you by your arm, much gentler than earlier, and he's slowing his stride to be in step with yours. You don't realize you've leaned fully into his side until you feel him tense up. He doesn't say anything though.

A win is a win.

You didn't know much about the inner workings of Aaron Hotchner's mind, but you did know that if he was uncomfortable with your proximity, he would have said so. The walk back to Hotch's car is silent. At least outwardly, inside you were panicking. He opens the passenger side for you, and you imagine a world where this was normal. Where it didn't take you being hit on by sleazy men at a bar to be having these moments with Hotch. But it was impossible.

"Did it hurt?" you ask, once the car is moving. He's adjusted the temperature, a soothing warm pooling from the vents. You're surprised at how quickly he drives, you'd half expected him to be one of those slow as molasses drivers. Hotch looks over at you incredulously, his eyebrows raise, but he doesn't look agitated nor annoyed with you breaking the silence again.

"You'll have to be more specific." he replies, and you hum. You pause for a second, trying to find the right words. At the last second you decide saying it straight would be just as good as anything else.

"Punching that guy?" you ask, and Hotch's lips quirk upwards, he was amused with you. In truth, he had no idea what he was thinking. As soon as the girls had ushered you away, he'd found himself swinging before he could think of the repercussions. All he knew was that you'd sounded scared, you'd sounded unlike yourself in a way that made him angry. Everyone saw how you had changed, the elephant in the room was hard to ignore. But you were trying, he could give you that.

"No." he mumbles, and that likely has a lot to do with the fact that he hasn't come down. He's still on edge, still watching you like you might at any moment start spiraling. "Besides, it was worth it." and he says this a bit under his breath, you hear it all the same. "I doubt he'll try it again." he admits, and you feel liberated. It was nice to have someone fighting for you, fighting the fights you weren't capable of.

"Thanks, Hotch." you hum, and it triggers a yawn.

"Back to Hotch?" he asks, and you look over at him confused. You kick your feet back and forth, careful not to dig your heels into the plush of the car's floor.

"Would you prefer I call you sir?" you ask, and he is tapping on the brake, the car slowly peeling to a stop as you come up on a red light.

"No." he answers sternly. "It's not like you." he admits, and the light is turning green again. He steps lightly on the gas, the car surging forward "Especially if you're only calling me Sir, as payback for me calling you Agent." he says, and even though you had tried your hand at pretending the greeting hadn't bothered you, it was obvious he had read right through you.

"Why'd you do that?" you question and your tone is a lot more clipped than you had intended.

"So it did offend you?" he retorts, and you feel anger flaring up. You swallow this feeling, hands balling up by your side.

"Hotch." you snap, and he smirks fully, eyes back on the road. "Can you be serious, please?" you ask, and you probably sound pitiful.

"The last month I've just been..." he trails off momentarily, and you wonder if he's emotional, or just being dramatic. "I should have known better." he expresses. "I should've been there to make sure that what happened didn't." he says, and you tense up. "He never should have gotten the chance to get close enough to cart you off." he completes his thought, and you're shocked. You never would have guessed Hotch blames himself for what happened to you.

"That wasn't your fault." you promise, and you mean it. You'd never once thought of blaming Hotch for what went down. "You were confident in the plan, you were putting your faith in the team."

"There is a very thin line between confidence and arrogance." He rebuttals instantly. "We got cocky, and you suffered because of it." he looks so destroyed as he says this. "And then you showed up tonight, and tried to pretend everything was fine." he notes as you remain silent. "It just reminded me that we're too close." he tightens his grip on the steering wheel. "The longer you stay in the unit, the more you become numb to the things we see. You start to ignore the signs that you're not alright." he says, and you'd never thought of it that way.

"Hotch..." you exhale.

"I called you Agent to set up a boundary, or at least I tried." he says this like he's beating himself up. "But then I saw the way it hurt you." and he looks ashamed. "And I never want to be someone who does that to you." you're warring with your heart then. "So I wont do it again." he promises, and he looks to you briefly. "I'll call you by your name, I won't deflect." he adds as your mouth drops open just briefly.

"But, it's not right for someone your age to be so closed off. It's not right for you to pretend to be okay just to keep up with the people around you. If you weren't up to being out, you should've stayed home, our opinions don't outweigh your safety." he lectures you. "They never will." he adds a second after, and he's so sure as he says this. He's slowing down, coming up on your place.

Your leg is shaking slightly, that pesky feeling of anxiety creeping back up on you. "We're here." he says under his breath as if you weren't aware. You don't budge, you can't. You have so much to say, but where do you start. Hotch has shut his car off, almost like he too has a lot sitting on the tip of his tongue.

"I just wanted to prove I could handle it." you admit, and you're crying. "I didn't want to be another Gideon or Elle... or Spence." you cringe at the memories. "I didn't want you guys to handle with me with kid gloves. I didn't want you to see me as the girl who needs the kid gloves." you express honestly, and now your tears are falling in quick precession. "I'm sorry..." you swipe at your face. "I don't know why I'm crying, this is so stupid." you hiss at yourself.

"No, it isn't." the response earns him a surprised glance. "It's good... this is good." Hotch is quick to use a hand to swipe at your tears. He hates the sight of them, but loves what they mean. Your heart's still soft, pliable. You haven't fully succumb to the horrors of the job. "Consider this me atoning." he prompts. "You have my ear, say whatever you need to say." he looks over at you again, and seems to mentally backtrack. "If it'll help you." he adds.

You sniffle audibly, hands clenching and unclenching as the car suddenly feels much too hot. "It's not your fault, okay?" you repeat, and you say it with more certainty. "I just need you to know that." you sniffle again, but your tears keep falling, even as you try to blink them away. "Hotch, you're our leader for a reason, and you were there to save me that night, and you were here to save me tonight." you remind him. "I don't want you to pull back, not when I'm finally making some progress with cracking that hard exterior of yours."

Hotch's lips quirk at your words, and he looks down at his lap. "I've never meant to pull back from you." the inflection with the last words sticks. "I thought I was doing right by you... pulling the band aid off before you got in too deep." he says. "But that was wrong of me, I can admit to that. I'm sorry." and his apologies are like kisses. They wash over you, and force you to believe him.

"Don't apologize to me." you plead, "Just promise not to leave me behind, treat me like an outsider again." you continue as his head nods, and you can trust that he's listening.

"I can do that." he promises.

That seems to be the key to unlocking the dam of your emotions. You choke on the feelings, a quiet sob escaping you as you clasp a hand over your mouth. How dramatic, and pathetic, and God awful were all these feelings. But they'd been years in the making, right?

"Are you alright?." he asks under his breath, worry palpable.

"Do you know that the only thing that kept me from losing it that day was you?" you ask, and your boldness won't leave you, clearly it was now or never. "You told me to 'keep breathing'... you said it over and over and over, and I listened." you explain, and he remembers the day too well. "Even though everything hurt like hell, and there was so much blood." you reminisce. "And I don't know, maybe I'm just crazy, but there was this look." you exhale sadly. "This look you had on your face that made me think... 'maybe it's not just me'"

It isn't. He knows that instantly. You've plagued his mind so severely for so long that he can just barely remember a time where you weren't one of the only things he thought about, worried about, cared about. But he had his post to think about, he was the Unit Chief, your boss, your superior. What would the team think? What would Strauss think? Did it matter? In the grand scheme of things, did those worries outweigh his need, his innate desire to see you safe and protected from harm? Absolutely not. So what was the real problem?

"Hotch..." you inhale deeply, voice cracking distractingly as he gives you his full attention. Something you'd dreamed of, wanted more than anything since the first time you'd ever laid eyes on him. "Aaron." you correct, and you breathe again. "I've been thinking of how to say this... i've been rehearsing it over and over again, because I wanted to get it right, and I just knew tonight would be the night I'd have to have the balls to either say it or let it go forever." you admit.

"Say it..." and he's rushing you, but you suppose that's deserved. You were still stalling, dragging this out way more than you needed to.

"I'm in love with you." and it was out there, and you couldn't take it back. You stare him down, worried about his reaction, about how he would respond. "And it took me getting hurt, and being sent home, away from the team for me to realize." you inhale shakily. "I kept having these-these dreams about that night. All these different scenarios about how things could've turned out different, how I could've died had one thing been out of place." you process.

"You're the reason I'm still here, you're the reason why this team can function, and you're the reason why I- why I came tonight even though my anxiety told me it wasn't safe. Because, somehow I knew that as long as you were here... I'd be okay, and I am." you say, and it's a lot, too much maybe. His reaction is hard to read at first, face just as stoic as most times, but his eyes.... his eyes hold the truth. They melt, pools of warm honey dancing in the darkness residing there.

"And it's inappropriate... and wrong... and silly... but- I couldn't go another day without you knowing, without you hearing from me." you explain. "When you came up to the bar tonight I just... I've never felt this way before... lucky, protected, safe.... and-and I'm not asking for anything from you... I'm not expecting something in return, I just wanted to get it out there... I think we both know it's been a long time coming..." and your words are being swallowed as Aaron leans forward. The middle console is a bridge, a roadblock.

It doesn't deter him though, not from using a hand to gently cup your face, mouth slotting against yours as if it belonged there. You're dizzy, shocked, surprised, but you don't let this mess you up. You can't possibly allow anything to mess up this moment. Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two... the seconds tick by with neither of you moving to break the kiss, hands and tongues and breaths fanning over one another as you get acquainted in the most perfect way.

Still, life dealt lots, and yours consisted of a need for oxygen. It's the only reason why you break apart with heady gasps, eyes dilated and fogged with emotions much too heavy to really explain. "Oh, you can't do that." you explain, and Hotch's bemused, eyebrows raising upwards, as his thumb brushes over your cheekbones.

"I can't?" he asks, and he sounds so much lighter now.

"No, you can't. I'll get the wrong idea, you know." you explain, and he smiles brazenly at your callback to earlier. "I'll actually believe you're in love with me or something." you say, and Hotch is slow as he leans back in, a peck being placed right on your lips as your eyelashes flutter, and your heart beats out of control.

"We can't have that, can we?" he's following your lead with the callback, and your cheek presses into his palm.

"I don't know." you answer, and your voice is faint. "I'm scared this'll be a dream." you proceed as Hotch's eyes scan over your frantic face. "I'll wake up and find out that this was all in my head, and the only memories I get to hold on to are from that night." Hotch's lips purse, head shaking in denial as you inhale shakily.

"No, not this time. an ambitious remark. "This time it's real." he promises. "This time I'm here with you to make sure that all those things you felt that night, and earlier by the bar, are how you keep feeling about me." he answers truly. "I'm here to love you back for as long as you'll have me. Is it alright for me to feel that way?" he asks, and your hand jumps up to keep his squished in place against your face.

"You can feel however you want." you reply, and he laughs, a full blown chuckle escaping him as his face seems to light up like a thousand suns. His eyes glisten, twinkling as he looks down at you, like everything was right in the world. And to him it was. Nothing and nobody could hurt you here.

"Good. Then I choose whatever this between you and I leads to, I choose the feelings that come with that." You smile grows to an almost blinding brightness as you reach across the console to hug him, and pull him into your arms. He's quick as he presses a peck to the top of your head, eyes still dancing over you as if he was seeing you for the first time. And maybe he was, that part wasn't your business, all you knew was that loving Aaron was easy, it could be.

A long time coming, but a wait well worth it. Lucky you.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds angst #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch #aaron hotch x reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch x y/n #hotch imagine #hotch smut #aaron hotch hotchner #ssa aaron hotchner #thomas gibson #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch angst #criminal minds scenario #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x you #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fic

[heaven4lostgirls]

I deserve better (A.H)

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader

warning: angst, breakups, mentions of haley's death, reader is compared to haley, breakdowns, aaron has healing to do</3

summary: aaron comes home from a hard case with his decision already made, he's in for a very rude awakening when reader sees right through his bs.

word count: 1.5k

There was a loneliness in the air that felt almost palpable after your breakup with Aaron. It felt like an amalgamation of every broken promise and empty silences you both sat in, trying to grasp onto invisible strings surrounding your love. If you thought hard enough, you could almost clearly imagine what used to be his breathing when he used to lie on the now cold side of the bed. His presence haunted every empty corner of your now prodigious apartment.

You closed your eyes in the dark as your mind unwillingly drifted to the conversation with your now ex-boyfriend.      The sound of the door opening to Aaron’s home made you look away from the television as you waited with bated breath and a smile to see your boyfriend, only the expression he held on his face when your gazes met was one you knew you would commit to memory. Guilt, anguish. Probably worse if you had bothered to push deeper but you knew that you couldn’t do that yourself.

“Aaron?” your voice echoes in the living room and all he can do is hesitate, you watch as his hands shake as he places his badge, gun and bag down before making his way to you, his steps purposeful yet cautious and deep down you knew that whatever he was going to say was going to change the trajectory of your relationship.

“Hey” he whispers as he sits on the opposite end of the couch which only cements your worries, maybe he’s finally decided that him and Jack didn’t need another addition to their family, maybe he’s decided he’s had enough of you. “We need to talk” he starts, and your only response is a small nod as your underlying anxiety bubbles under your skin like a festering wound.

 “This- This case, it really made me realise something.” He starts and you can already feel your expression shifting from worry to confusion, he must recognise your own emotions as you do his as he continues swiftly. “The unsub mentioned you when we caught him, he knew your name” he says harshly and you look at him shocked, why hadn’t he told you any of this when you’d called him after he had wrapped up the case? “I promised myself when Haley passed away that I would never put someone I cared about in the position to be used against me” he says and your heart drops.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask out of genuine curiosity. He closes his eyes and clenches his hands into fists, “I think you know.” He croaks out and you scoff which only causes him to look at you  in confusion, “You’re being selfish” you bite out and he looks alarmed at the harsh words. “You’re not even letting me choose what I want to do about my OWN safety?” you ask harshly but soft enough as to not wake Jack up.

 He’s shaking his head before you can even finish your sentence, “you don’t get it!” he insists as he implores you understand what he’s saying. “you-you’ve never had to hold your d-dead wife’s body in your hands, wishing for her to come back, wishing you could tell her how much she means to you” he insists as his eyes well with tears and your heart drops at his confession.

“And I hope I never have to feel that, but Aaron you can’t keep taking your grief out on our relationship, I  know it hurts, but how  am I supposed to think you’re ending this for me when you’re putting Haley first even in death?” you whisper and against your own better judgement, you feel a few tears fall from your eyes.

“That-That is NOT what is happening.” He says again and you can see the frustration boiling over for him, “That’s not fair to me Aaron, you know that” you say, and you watch as confusion shifts on his features, “Wait no hold on, I didn’t mean it like that-”

“You didn’t have to. I always thought you’d meant in a constructive way for me, consistently telling me when I make Jack’s meals that it’s not the way Haley would’ve made it, when you tell me not to buy certain perfumes and body washes because it reminded you too much of Haley. But now I realise that you’ve been carrying this dead weight after her death, and it’s not fair for me to be carrying it with you. I will never replace Haley, but I do know that I deserve a lot more than being compared to her everyday just because you haven’t dealt with your grief.”

“Honey, hold on, just wait please-”

“I was going to fight for you Aaron , truly.  I came into this conversation thinking of ways to help you not give up on us, but I can’t do that when the one thing pushing you is a woman I can never compete with.”

Aaron looks distraught and your heart feels simultaneously lighter and broken at the same time, His healing needed to take priority and you knew that his journey didn’t necessarily have space for you. And that was okay, at the end of the day the one thing you had always wished was to see Aaron Hotchner happy, and if that meant he had to do it without you, you would deal.

“I love you” he says, his eyes begging you to believe him, and your lips lift at his statement, as they’ve done a million times before, a force of habit. You shift closer to him and grasp his hand in yours as you place your other one on his face. His eyes close at the contact and he starts shaking his head, “Don’t- don’t do this right now. Please don’t do this Y/N.” his voice cracks.

Your lips quivers and you attempt to move your hand to smother the sob building in your chest but as your hand lifts off of his cheek his eyes are open wide, alarmed to feel you slipping away and he grasps you closer to him, looking into your eyes wildly as you look into his eyes, hoping all of your love is shining through them. “You know I have to.” You whisper and his expression is pained as he feels your hands run through his hair.

“I  can’t do this without you” he confesses as he chokes on his tears, his hands grasping to your hips and arms as though you’d disappear if he looked away. “You’re going to be just fine, I promise” you say, and he shakes his head before the sobs escape him and he leans his head into your body as sobs wrack through his body. Warbled cries of “I’m sorry” flood from him and all you can do is hold him through it, hoping it  brings him some form of comfort.

You console him until he tires himself out, he looks so much more peaceful when he’s asleep, his furrowed brow is smoothed out and if not for the tear tracks running down his cheeks you would never be able to know how much pain he was just in. You manoeuvre him to lay on the couch, a suitable enough pillow under his head and a soft blanket covering him. Your hand still lays outstretched in his grip, and you bite your lip as you try to let him let go.

As  soon as your hand leaves his grip, he’s  whimpering and grasping for some form of contact from you, you quickly snatch one of Jack’s teddy bears from the floor and you place it within his grasp, he grasps it almost immediately and holds it close to his chest. Your eyes mist over and you take a few minutes to breathe deeply and once calm, you quickly plan.

You take an old overnight bag you used to use before you started staying for weekends, such as this one. You pack the clothes you use the most and some work essentials before packing up your toiletries and everything else that can fit in your car. Everything looks so immensely empty when all your stuff is gone, with a quick little kiss to Jack’s cheek, you switch on your car, and you drive the route to your apartment.

In the silence and solace of your car, you allow yourself to break, sobs wrack through your body and your scream and cry as you make the drive to your place. You break again when you see the emptiness and coldness of your apartment, there’s none of Jack’s drawings on the fridge, none of Aarons past case files on the dining table, none of their shoes at the entrance and none of everything of what you loved and missed dearly.

Which brings you to now, in your bed, unable to look at the other side usually occupied by an Aaron sized lump. You don’t sleep, when the sun starts rising and coming through your room, you don’t move. When your alarm goes off at 7AM, you don’t move. When Aaron’s name flashes on your screen with multiple unanswered calls, you don’t move. You eventually get  up to go to work and exist throughout the day.

Nobody asks you what’s wrong and you don’t divulge, you know it will take you a long time to feel okay enough to even see Aaron again but for now, you can mourn and think of what could have been as you learn how to live without half of yourself.

#juliwrites #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds angst #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch #aaron hotch hotchner #hotch x reader #hotch angst

[honeypiehotchner]

gold star (Hotch x Teacher!Reader) -- one shot

Been working on this one for a hot minute oops. Just wanted to say thank y’all for being patient with me always (and we literally hit 5.7k followers even while I’ve been so inactive???? what????). Here’s a longgg dose of fluffy angst <33

Edit: I’m a dumbass and queued this for the wrong day

Summary: You’re Jack’s teacher and Aaron is basically your nemesis. Until he’s not. (Kinda enemies to lovers?)

Warnings: angst! talks of parent death, therapy, bad parenting/emotional neglect, y’know the works. Lots of fluff tho to make up for it. And a happy ending!

WC: ...5.7k-ish

I love my job. I love my job. If you say it enough, you’ll believe it. I love my job. You glance at the clock and see your next parent is late. I love my job.

You do love your job, you really do. What you hate are parent-teacher conferences that you’re required to do. Especially when the parent is late. After having to reschedule at the last minute. Twice.

If you didn’t have a genuine concern to discuss with Jack’s father, then you wouldn’t be here still. But alas, you care for Jack more than your annoyance at his father.

Jack Hotchner is a sweet kid. Genuinely wonderful. After his mom’s sudden death a few years ago, everyone worried about him. You’re friends with Julia, who was his kindergarten teacher just a few months after it occurred. Despite being a teacher for almost a decade that year, Julia had never encountered this situation, so she looked to you for help. You lost your mom when you were in first grade, so you were able to give her more helpful tips that actually work.

Now, you have the pleasure of having Jack in your second grade classroom and he truly is an amazing student. You only wish you could share this information with his father who seems to be on another plane of existence every goddamn--

A knock on your classroom door frame makes you jump.

“I’m sorry,” Aaron Hotchner rushes out, quickly dropping his hand. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine, Mr. Hotchner,” you say, standing up from your desk chair, putting on a smile. “Come on in.”

“Thanks, and please, it’s Aaron,” he smiles sheepishly, walking over. He towers over the tiny desks as he maneuvers past them to yours. He sticks out his hand for you to shake. He has a firm grip, but his hands are soft. “I’m sorry I’m so late. I got caught up at work--”

“I figured,” you reply, sitting back down. You pull up your laptop and begin typing in your password. “Unfortunately, I’ll have to make this quick. I should’ve left an hour ago.”

“Oh, sorry, am I that late?” he flicks his arm to look at his watch. He sighs. “I apologize.”

You hum. “Our conference was scheduled for 4:15.” You glance down at the clock on your screen. “It’s almost six.”

“I’m so sorry,” he says again. “Would it be better to reschedule?”

“Nope,” you shake your head. “You’re already here.” And if you reschedule, then this might happen again, so you’d rather do this now while you’ve got him here. “Fortunately, Jack is doing really well. He’s struggling a little with math, but he’s not the only one, and we’re working on it. He’s made a few friends, I know we discussed that last time. He’s breaking out of his shell, I think.”

“That’s good,” Aaron says, smiling a little. “That’s really good to hear.”

“Is he doing any extracurriculars?” you ask. Last time, when you voiced your concerns to Aaron about his son being a little too quiet and shy, you suggested asking if he’d like to do a sport, or play an instrument.

“He’s doing soccer,” Aaron says.

Your eyes widen. “Oh!”

“You look surprised,” he presses.

“I guess I didn’t expect Jack to…want to do a sport,” you shrug, checking your notes for the conference to stall.

What you really wanted to say is that you didn’t expect Aaron to listen to you. Given his track record, it seemed highly unlikely that he’d follow through and actually ask his son about trying a sport, let alone go through with signing him up for one.

“Do you have any questions for me?” you ask, closing your laptop lid. Aaron has been studying your face in this lull of silence, and it’s unnerving.

“I don’t think so,” he finally says.

“Okay,” you nod, not surprised. “I did have one more thing. I know I said Jack is breaking out of his shell, and he is, but he seems…down. Is something going on at home?”

Aaron sighs. “It’s getting closer to the anniversary of his mom’s death.”

That tugs on your heart. “Oh, I see. Alright.” You pause. “Uh-- If you don’t mind me asking, is he seeing a counselor or a therapist or anything?”

“He’s not, not currently,” Aaron says.

You blink. You shouldn’t really be surprised, but you are. “Has he at all since his mom’s death?”

“Briefly, right after she died.”

“Okay.” You clear your throat. You cannot yell at a parent. That’s unprofessional. “I know it’s not my place, but I’d highly suggest finding him someone. Especially right now as the anniversary is getting closer, and as Jack gets older. I would suggest our school counselor, but I think Jack would do better with someone better equipped for his situation.”

Aaron stares at you, nodding slowly. “Alright.”

You lean over and open a drawer, grabbing the handout specifically for times like these. Given the area the school is in, parents are typically able to pay for services like these, and are more willing. You know it’s because they don’t have the time to deal with their children’s emotions, so they pawn them off on someone else, and claim it as a good deed.

In a way, you’re grateful the children are able to receive help that you didn’t because your dad couldn’t afford it. You just wish the kids also received support from their family, not just from doctors.

“Here’s a list of great pediatric psychiatrists and therapists in the area.” You hand Aaron the packet and he takes it gently, his expression unreadable. Parents are always so weirdly defensive about this. “Many of our students see someone from that list, so I trust that one will be a good fit for Jack. If you want some help narrowing it down, I can help.”

“Thank you,” he says quietly. “I’ll look into this.”

I hope so, you want to say, but he doesn’t sound too sincere. “Okay,” you smile softly instead. “That’s all I have, unless you have any other questions?”

He shakes his head. “No, I think-- I think this is good.”

“Alright, well,” you pause, opening Jack’s folder. “I just need you to sign here, so the school knows we met.” You slide the form and a pen across the table.

Aaron signs swiftly, a signature born from frequent piles of paperwork. You know he does something in the government, you’re just not sure what. Nearly every parent here works in the government, though, so that’s not a remarkable conclusion to have made.

“Thank you,” you say, taking the signed form and sliding it back into Jack’s folder. “I hope you have a good rest of your day.”

“You too,” Aaron says, standing up to shake your hand again. He’s so formal, you almost forget. He clutches the packet in his free hand, and you wonder if it’ll end up in the recycling bin at the end of the hall.

After shaking your hand, Aaron apologizes again for his tardiness, and then leaves your classroom. The clock on the wall says it’s just past six. A record for one of the latest nights you’ve been here.

Gathering your things, you do some last minute checks around the classroom before heading out, locking the door behind you.

As you reach the exit doors at the end of the hall, you peer into the trash and recycling bins. Both are empty, no signs of your pediatric psychiatrists packet.

At least that’s a win.

+++

A month or so later, you’re waking up early to go to a soccer game. If it weren’t for your kids asking you (loudly and enthusiastically) to come to their game, then you wouldn’t be awake right now on a Saturday.

Julia, at least, is coming with you, and so is Kate, a fellow second grade teacher whose classroom is across from yours. Julia is coming to see Jack, and Kate also has a few students who asked her to come.

The three of you stop for coffee before going to the park where the soccer games are held. Walking across the field, you find an empty space on the bleachers and sit down, looking around for your kiddos.

To your complete and utter surprise, you spot Aaron Hotchner -- of all parents.

You quickly avert your eyes, looking around some more. You haven’t seen or spoken to Aaron since the parent-teacher conference as Jack is usually picked up and dropped off by his Aunt Jessica. Jack has seemed a little more present and happy, but you have no idea if that means that Aaron actually sought help for his son.

Even more embarrassing, you’ve worried about your job since that conference. It’s always a gamble, offering parents advice. You never know what will cross a line and equal an angry phone call to the principal followed by a swift withdrawal of their child from your class. Not every parent has always been so keen on your attention to your students’ emotional wellbeing.

“Don’t look, but one of the dads cannot keep his eyes off of you,” Julia whispers.

“Which one?” Kate asks, then she spots him. “Oh, him-- He’s tall. Wait, is he…?”

You glance over and sure enough, the one in question is Aaron. He can’t tell that you’ve looked at him, though, thanks to your sunglasses. “That’s Jack’s dad,” you say, looking away again.

“I knew he looked familiar,” Julia murmurs. “I’m not used to him out of the suit. His hair is longer too, isn’t it?”

“Why would I know?” you counter, taking a sip of your coffee.

“Is he the one you mouthed off to?” Kate asks, nudging your arm.

You scoff defensively, “I didn’t mouth off--”

“She told him to put his son in therapy,” Julia explains with a prideful smirk. “Rightfully so, too. I would’ve done the same if I ever saw him.”

“Damn,” Kate chuckles. “Let’s hope that he took your advice.”

“And that he isn’t pissed at me for it,” you mutter. “I haven’t heard anything since.”

Kate and Julia share a look before Julia says, “He’s definitely not mad.”

Finally, you give yourself the chance to look over at him, and to let him see you looking.

You’ll admit, it is weird seeing him out of the suit, let alone in short sleeves. You’ve never seen his arms. They’re…nice. Muscular, more than you expected. Not that you’ve wondered about his arms, though. Or any part of him. Because he’s Jack’s dad, so you should not be thinking about him this way.

Still, you indulge, just for this moment. He keeps your eyes only for a minute before his attention is drawn elsewhere to the screaming kids practicing their warmups (if that’s what those can be called). He’s smiling from ear to ear, something you’ve never seen. The tiny smiles you managed out of him during conferences hardly ever looked genuine. This, though, this one is.

“You should talk to him,” Julia whispers, nearly scaring you shitless. You completely forgot where you were for a minute.

“No,” you shake your head, tearing your eyes away. “That’s practically asking for him to yell at me.”

“He won’t do that,” Julia chides.

“Well, I don’t know,” Kate grimaces. “Parents are finicky. I got yelled at last year by one who I thought was the sweetest ever. Until her kid didn’t pass a science test.”

“See?” you say, gesturing to Kate. “We have no idea what he’ll be like.”

“Besides that he’s looking at you again,” Julia says. “So he’s clearly interested in talking to you.”

“Then he can walk over here himself.”

Julia raises her eyebrows, shrugging. “Be careful what you wish for.”

You roll your eyes. Aaron is too busy with the kids and their game is about to start, so there’s no way he’ll walk over. Even if you speak after, Jack will be with him, so nothing will be said. It’s fine.

+++

Aaron’s mouth is dry. He feels like he forgot how to breathe properly.

He didn’t know you’d be here, and here you are. Beautiful. Except he shouldn’t think that, because you’re his son’s teacher. It’s inappropriate. But the way the sun hits your skin…beautiful. You’re beautiful.

He needs to focus. He’s supposed to be coaching the kids, not gawking at a teacher like some idiot.

To make matters worse, Rossi notices, and only silently raises his eyebrows.

Aaron told Rossi about your parent-teacher conference, and how he should’ve put Jack in therapy sooner -- along with himself. Rossi asked him if he thanked you for your advice, but Aaron never found the right time. He half-heartedly thanked you at the conference, but it wasn’t as genuine as it should’ve been.

He meant to call you, or send an email, but he never did. Truthfully, he’s been terrified. He feels incredibly stupid to have not gotten Jack help sooner, and even more stupid that he finds you as attractive as he does. Can he be any worse of a person, seriously?

And now, you’re here. At Jack’s soccer game. Which, he guesses he should’ve realized sooner that a lot of Jack’s classmates are on this team, too. And others from different classes, but still in his grade. It was only a matter of time before one of the kids asked a teacher to come. It would only take one, and clearly it did, and he’s unprepared.

Wildly unprepared. And wishing he put on a better shirt.

+++

The soccer game is a disaster, but a wonderful one.

The kids are too young for points to be counted, so it’s just a game of fun chaos. Teams are blurred and never really followed. But they looked like they had a blast out there, so that’s all that mattered.

You, Julia, and Kate split up to see your kids and give out as many high-fives as you possibly can. You listen to their rambles and congratulate them on playing so well. The parents stand by with smiles, occasionally one piping up to thank you for coming.

Aaron is there, too, surprisingly. He’s still smiling bigger than ever.

There’s a man with him, too, who Jack calls Uncle Dave. Jack has mentioned him in class before, and he’s actually Aaron’s coworker. He’s smiling, too, just not as wide, and he keeps glancing between you and Aaron.

Just when you think you’re in the clear, Aaron tells Jack to go with Uncle Dave because he needs to talk to you about something.

You catch Julia and Kate’s eyes when Aaron is left alone with you, and your stomach turns. He doesn’t look angry, but then again, the parents never look angry at first.

“I just wanted to thank you,” Aaron begins, turning so the sun isn’t in his eyes as much. He’s still squinting, and it’s adorable. You wonder why he didn’t wear sunglasses. “I picked a therapist from the list you gave me for Jack, and it’s really been helping him. A lot, so, I just wanted to thank you for giving that to me.”

You blink, stunned. “You’re welcome,” you say slowly before you gain your composure. “I’m very glad that it’s been helping. And to see him playing soccer,” you gesture to the field with a smile. “He seems to really enjoy it.”

“Oh, he does,” Aaron chuckles. “He can’t get enough of it. He talks about it all the time.”

All the time. So maybe he’s spending more time with Jack, then. “Good, I’m really glad to hear that.”

You pause, waiting for him to say something else. The awkward silence lingers for a little too long, and you know what’s coming next.

“I was wondering,” he starts, and lowers his voice a little. “I was wondering if you’d like to get dinner sometime.”

As much as you’d love to say yes, you can’t let yourself. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hotchner, that would just be inappropriate.”

“No, no, not as a date,” he backtracks, confusing you. “Just to thank you for-- For helping me get Jack in to see a therapist.”

You raise an eyebrow. “To thank me…for telling you what you should’ve done in the first place?”

He sputters for a moment, clearly losing his bearings. “No, I mean--”

“Listen, Mr. Hotchner,” you smile sweetly, trying to contain yourself. “What would you like? A gold star? For getting your son a therapist after he went through an incredibly traumatic event?”

He doesn’t say anything, and somehow that makes your anger and annoyance worse.

“Listen. The fact of the matter is that you should’ve kept your son in therapy since he lost his mother. And continue to keep him in therapy until he’s old enough to decide if he wants to continue seeing one or not. Because when my mom died, I didn’t get to have a therapist. We couldn’t afford it, and my dad was too out of his mind to even care. It nearly killed me, and my siblings. So don’t tell me that you want to thank me for something that I never should’ve had to do in the first place. You should’ve paid more attention to your son’s needs. Especially since you can afford services to genuinely help him.”

Your voice stayed quiet, thankfully, because you didn’t need everyone to hear you mouthing off to Aaron once again. You realize only halfway through that maybe you shouldn’t be saying these things in a setting such as this, but you’re too into it to stop.

Julia and Kate heard all of it, though. You can see their jaws open, eyes wide. Did you go too far? You don’t know and part of you doesn’t care. It’s the truth, and it hits far too close to home for you to say nothing at all.

Still, to cover your bases, you add one last thing. “I apologize if that was harsh, but it needed to be said. I want what’s best for my kids. And sometimes, that means getting their parents to see that they need to do better.”

You pause, and he nods, and says another quiet “thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you murmur. And to keep things from stinging any more, you walk away.

Julia and Kate catch up with you on the way back to your car, both too stunned to say a word until you’re inside.

“Damn,” Julia whispers. “Damn.”

“Holy shit,” Kate says with a small laugh. “Tell ‘em.”

“Yeah,” you exhale loudly. “Let’s just hope I still have a job by Monday.”

+++

You do still have a job come Monday, with surprisingly no meeting with the principal, either. Or a phone call.

You’re suspicious, but trying not to be. Maybe it’s all fine.

You convince yourself that it’s completely fine until it really is. Until you start seeing Aaron occasionally, picking Jack up from school. You aren’t sure how often he’s been doing it, because the only reason you saw him is that you were forced into car rider duty. You’ve always been on the bus lane, but they needed another teacher out front, and that’s where you saw him first.

It caught you off guard the first time, honestly. It had been three weeks since the soccer game, since you told him off in front of everyone. And what did he do this time when he saw you?

He waved. He smiled. And then he scooped Jack up into his arms.

She won’t own up to it, but you’re positive Julia saw the interaction because you haven’t worked the bus lane since. Because Julia suddenly volunteered for it, taking your place.

Now, it’s a bit of a routine. Aaron picks Jack up almost every day, although sometimes there are a few stretches of three to four days where he isn’t present. Those days, you see Jessica, and she smiles at you as well, but it’s different. You got so used to seeing Aaron those days, that when you see Jessica, it feels strange. It begins to feel the way it used to feel when you saw Aaron picking Jack up.

It makes you smile. You’re glad to see Aaron taking the time to see Jack, to put in the time — finally — knowing he has the means to be able to do this.

+++

For the rest of the school year, this is how you see Aaron Hotchner.

Neither of you say a word to each other, except for the final parent-teacher conference — which he arrives early for. The conference is entirely professional, and he doesn’t mention the past. Neither do you.

The final week of school fast approaches, and you’re looking for decorations to put up in the classroom. You try to make the last week special because you know they’re just as ready for summer break as you are.

Part of your “decorations” consists of candy that you’ll put on their desk every morning, which means you’re in the grocery store, in desperate need of candy to entertain your kids. Five different kinds. Something extra special on the last day, though. They’ll get out two hours earlier, but they don’t know that yet (the parents do).

Right as you turn down the candy aisle, you stop dead in your tracks, your cart nearly smacking into someone else’s. When you look up, you realize who it is.

“Mr. Hotchner!” you blurt.

He smiles that soft smile. “Please, call me Aaron.”

You’re not used to calling parents by their first name. You know he’s tried to get you to call him Aaron a few times, but you can’t ever bring yourself to. Instead, you change subjects, peering into his cart.

“Grocery shopping? For…” You raise an eyebrow. “I don’t even have a good joke. Why do you have so many marshmallows?” He has like…six big bags. Of varying sizes, too.

“Long story,” he says, sheepish. “Jack wants to build something out of marshmallows.”

“Does he want to build a whole country?” you chuckle.

“Sort of, yeah,” Aaron laughs. “He said he wants to build a whole city, then eat it. His words.”

“Wonderful,” you grin. “Sounds like a blast.” And a good idea. You might steal that for next year.

“What are you here for?” Aaron asks, nodding toward your empty cart.

“Candy, for the kids,” you reply. “I want to give them a different kind every day for the last week, just to make it more fun.”

Aaron smiles wider this time. “They’ll love that.”

“Thanks,” you say, mirroring his smile.

You don’t know what’s gotten into you. Or him, quite frankly. Building marshmallow sculptures with Jack? Unheard of. But you leave it alone, just glad he’s spending more time with his son.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to shopping,” Aaron says, gesturing down the aisle. “See you on Monday.”

Baffled, you blink, then nod. “Yeah. See you Monday.”

You see Aaron every day of next week to pick Jack up, and you get to see Jack’s smile grow every day.

On Friday, you head back inside to your classroom, ready to pack things up. Thankfully, you’re returning to this room next year, so you don’t need to pack everything up.

As a tradition, you, Julia, and Kate go out to celebrate the end of the year, so you have to go home and get ready for the night ahead.

+++

Aaron doesn’t know why he let Rossi convince him to come out tonight. Jack’s at a sleepover at a friend’s house, so Aaron has nothing to do — theoretically. Until Rossi decided to drag him out.

Now, he’s sitting in a booth at a bar with a jazz band playing, and he’s wondering how many people Rossi can possibly know. Four people have already stopped to say hi, and they’ve barely been here for half an hour.

As Rossi talks with another friend, Aaron lets his eyes wander around the place, spotting the door when it opens. And you walk in.

He quickly averts his eyes, shifting in his seat. It’s enough to catch Rossi’s attention, and he gives Aaron a strange look, until he sees you at the bar with your two friends from Jack’s soccer game.

Aaron keeps his eyes trained on his whiskey, nodding absently when Rossi says he’s heading to the restroom.

What Rossi is actually doing is heading to the bar to intercept you and your friends, putting all three of your drinks on his tab.

“Thanks,” you chuckle, never one to argue with a free drink.

“You look familiar,” Julia blurts out.

“Dave,” Rossi introduces himself. “I’m a friend of Aaron Hotchner’s. I went with him to a few of Jack’s soccer games last season.”

“That’s where I’ve seen you,” you say.

Dave smiles. His back is turned to Aaron, so he can’t see Aaron glaring at him, wondering what the hell he’s doing up there talking to you.

“Aaron’s here with me, actually,” Dave says casually. “He’s at the booth just behind us if you’d like to see him.”

Kate nudges your arm harshly. “She would.”

“Actually, I don’t know if that’s—”

“Go,” Julia urges. “Why not?”

You give them both a look. “Fine,” you cave. “I’ll be right back.”

Kicking yourself for caving so easily (because you really would like to see him), you walk over to the booth where Aaron sits. Thankfully, his back is toward you, so he doesn’t see you coming.

He beams a smile when he sees you though, standing up to greet you. “Hey, what are you doing in here?”

“Kate and Julia drug me out,” you confess, idling for a moment as you both try to decide if you should shake hands, hug, or just stand here. “You?”

“Dave,” Aaron nods, chuckling. Just standing here it is. “Did he send you?”

“They all did,” you nod toward the bar, where they’re all watching like hawks, no doubt. “Mind if I sit?”

“Not at all,” he gestures to the empty space. “How are you?”

“Good, we’re out celebrating the end of the year,” you reply, walking around the table and sitting down on the plush booth cushion. This place is fancier than you would’ve chosen, but Julia heard good things about it from a friend, so you ended up here anyway. “How are you doing?”

“Good, although Dave drug me out for drinks because apparently,” he lifts his drink, “I don’t get out enough.”

“Y’know, that’s funny, my friends tell me the exact same thing,” you laugh. “Dave bought our drinks.”

“I knew he was doing something suspicious,” Aaron jokes, glancing back toward the bar. Dave and your friends have taken over three stools, clearly set on giving you and Aaron some time alone. “Sorry again if he forced you over here.”

“No, he definitely didn’t. My friends did,” you assure him, rolling your eyes. “Oh, I have to ask, how did Jack’s marshmallow city building go?”

Immediately, Aaron digs his phone out of his pocket. “I have a lot of pictures, I’ll just show you.” He unlocks his phone and goes to his camera roll, already smiling at the thought of them. “He had a blast. We went through so many toothpicks. We both had stomachaches by the end of it from eating so many marshmallows.”

He turns his phone to show you the pictures, and without thinking, you scoot closer to him. To get a better look at the pictures, you tell yourself, but you know that isn’t the full truth.

“Oh my god,” you laugh, grinning from ear to ear. “This so huge!”

“It covered our entire kitchen!” Aaron laughs with you, a sweet sound you wish you heard more often. “I didn’t tell Jessica about it, so she had a heart attack when she came over the next day.”

“I bet,” you nod seriously, swiping on his phone as he holds it toward you. “Goodness.” You look up at Aaron. “Did you guys eat all of them?”

“We’ve had a lot of hot chocolate.”

“It’s May.”

“I know,” he deadpans, feigning annoyance, but then he breaks into a smile. “I’ll admit, I’ve been snacking on them maybe a little more than I should every time I go into the kitchen.”

“I would do the same,” you chuckle. “No judgment here.”

He smiles at you and tucks his phone away back in his pocket, and neither of you move from how close you’ve gotten.

“How are you planning to spend your summer break?” he asks, taking a sip of his whiskey. You try not to stare at him too much.

“Lots of getting ready for next year,” you reply, rotating your glass in your hand, focusing on it instead. “Mostly reading for fun, I don’t get to do that a lot during the school year when I’m reading for my kids and grading and such. I plan to do a lot of nothing, basically,” you laugh. “What about you?”

“The same, hopefully,” he says, which surprises you. And he can tell, because he elaborates. “I took a lot of time off from work. I work from home now, essentially. If I absolutely need to go in, then I do, but so far, Dave’s been able to handle it.”

You knew a big change had been made, especially since he’s been picking Jack up from school everyday. But hearing the confirmation makes your heart warm. “I’m really glad to hear that.”

“Me too,” he says. “I know we’ve been over this, but I wanted to thank you for what you said, at Jack’s game—”

Mortified, you interrupt him. “Oh god, I hoped you had forgotten about that.”

“I didn’t forget—”

“I was rude.”

“What you said needed to be said and I’m glad you did,” he protests sincerely. “You shouldn’t have had to say anything, but you did, and I appreciate that.”

His sincerity stuns you. You blink, no words able to come out.

“We can move on from it now,” he says, noticing your hesitation. “I just wanted to be clear that I’m not angry with you for what you said, I’ve actually been the complete opposite.”

“Well,” you chuckle, trying to make light of this. “You didn’t call the school demanding I be suspended, so I knew you couldn’t be that upset with me.”

He stares at you, eyes widening. “Do parents do that?”

“Some, yeah,” you nod. “They don’t exactly like being told by a single teacher with no kids of her own that their parenting skills are shit.”

He laughs, taking a sip of his whiskey. You watch him raise the glass to his lips, but look away before he can catch you. You smile down at your own drink. This is embarrassing.

You thought this little crush -- or whatever it is -- had gone away since you hadn’t spoken to him since the soccer game. Sure, you started to look specifically for him in the pickup area, but that was for Jack. That wasn’t for you. Or, at least, that’s the story you spun for yourself.

“What’s on your list to read this summer?” Aaron asks, bringing your eyes back to his. He’s smiling. “I’ve been meaning to read more -- outside of the books Jack and I read.”

You remember Jack telling you about The Magic Treehouse series that Uncle Dave got him for Christmas, and how his dad was reading them with him.

“What, The Magic Treehouse isn’t enough for you?” you tease Aaron, and he laughs, that sweet sound you can’t get enough of.

You tell him about the books on your shelf at home, the ones you got years ago and have yet to read, and the others that you got this year because you couldn’t resist. He listens to each one, never once taking his eyes off of you.

“I am not going to remember all of these names,” he chuckles.

“I can text them to you,” you offer, a grin creeping up your cheeks.

He mirrors your expression. “You stole my line.”

“Oh, that was your line?” you ask, laughing as you pull out your phone. “Fine, fine, you can have it back.”

“No, you said it first,” he says, still grinning. He hands you his phone as you give him yours. “I’m bad at this anyway.”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, typing in your contact information before handing his phone back. “I’ve had a pretty good time.”

He waits a moment, just basking in your smile, the feel of your fingertips brushing against his when he returns your phone. “Me too.”

The night doesn’t end there, as the two of you continue talking. Another round of drinks is sent to your table by Dave and your friends who wave enthusiastically when you and Aaron look over at them.

“Free drinks, at least,” you shrug. “How much money does Dave have?”

“Don’t ask,” Aaron shakes his head. “He’ll never tell.”

As you both finish your first drink and head into the second, you scoot even closer. You bring your legs underneath you on the booth, getting comfortable as you and Aaron start to talk about your favorite movies. He tries to be sneaky and put his arm around you, but you notice and can’t help the giggle that escapes you.

“I told you I’m bad at this.”

“No, it’s sweet!” you protest, leaning into his chest. “It’s very nice, I don’t mind.”

He moves his arm from the back of the booth to your shoulders then, his hand resting on your arm. “This okay?”

“It’s perfect,” you smile softly, turning your head to look up at him. “What movie were we on?”

He stares so intently, searching your face. You watch as his eyes gaze over every inch, dropping to your lips, then back to your pupils. “I have no idea.”

“Me either,” you murmur, silently hoping for a kiss. Silently hoping that he’s hoping, too.

And he is. “I know our friends are watching us,” he whispers. “But can I kiss you right now?”

“Yeah,” you grin. “I was about to ask.”

“Well now we’re even,” he says, leaning closer as he smiles. You tilt your head, meeting his lips halfway, not wanting to wait any longer. You’ve quieted these feelings for far too long.

He kisses you long and sweet, his free hand coming to cup your face as yours search for stability in his shoulders. He knocks the breath out of your lungs, literally, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Aaron pulls back for just a moment, just far enough to say, “Was that worth a gold star?”

You laugh, playfully swatting his chest. “Yeah, Aaron,” you say, looking up at him. “It was.”

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[hotchfiles]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ [CHOICELESS HOPE] ❞ — one. the drumroll.

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader. summary: the moment leading up to the kiss, the drumroll, is as good as the kiss itself. it's certainly more innocent. it's completely harmless. content warnings: very canon divergent because criminal minds timelines fuck me up. emotional cheating (not on reader). no happy ending (for now). angst. right person wrong time. no use of y/n. word count: 1,5+k. a/n: summary based on himym's victoria and her theory.

laughter fills the room and you feel your cheeks grow warmer, the scotch you told him earlier you were not going to drink burning your throat as hotch called you a weak drinker, “this is supposed to be a celebration, hotchner, why would i want this hellish thing burning my insides?” you complain even though it’s the third time he refilled your cup already. 

“burning insides is not that bad of a feeling.” he probably doesn’t mean it to sound as dirty as it does, but the proximity, the alcohol and the attraction you can’t help but feel for him turn almost everything that leaves his lips into an invitation you just can’t accept. 

still, you laugh and raise an eyebrow, “it depends of the cause of the burning, sir, would rather something else warm me up, scotch isn’t my first choice.” his own laugh is more contained, air leaving his nostrils and cheeks flushing at the path the conversation was taking. 

unconsciously, or you both rather believe it was, you scooched closer to him, his hand landing on your thigh and suddenly none of you two were laughing. his hand felt like fire ablaze on you, a fire only aaron himself could extinguish and it was obvious he felt the same, his eyes glued to your lips and breathing heavy as the drinks on your stomach. 

you close your eyes, that feeling of anticipation running over you and you sense his other hand lift, cupping your cheek affectionately, you lean on it and the cold feeling makes you come back to reality, opening your eyes and getting up quickly. 

his wedding band. 

he was married. recently married to his high school sweetheart. 

this could not be happening.

you were both in the hotel room you were sharing as rossi and gideon shared other, alone, drinking.

this could not be happening.

aaron shakes his head, trying to get rid of the thoughts of you filling his mind, a pained expression as he did so. "that's enough scotch." it's merely a whisper but to you it sounds loud as a drum, ringing right through your ear.

"yeah, i–i'm gonna take a shower." you take your whole bag, no time to sort through anything and lock yourself in the bathroom, banging your head to the wall a few times softly.

this could not be happening.

the sun does nothing but upset his pale skin, doesn’t matter how many times you’re both burning under it looking through a crime scene, he never gets even slightly tanned. his neck is starting to get red but you can’t help but love the las vegas desert for forcing him to wear sunglasses that give his boyish features more edge. 

“stop staring at me, i’m red as it is.” caught. he doesn’t look at you to call you out, feeling your eyes on him whenever you got lost on his features. he never gave you the grace of not calling you out on it, like you did whenever you caught him staring at you. truthfully, you were too afraid he would stop looking for good if you did. so you let him stare at your profile, your hands, and even your ass when he thought you weren’t looking. he’s a guy, if someone else caught him it wouldn’t be too damaging. 

“i’m not staring, did you even put sunblock before coming?” by now you’re both just walking back to the car, parked way too far from the scene not to disturb it. 

“you know i don’t like the feeling of it on my skin.” you do know it, as he knows you like when your chapsticks taste fruity instead of sweet. as both of you share the knowledge of the smallest and biggest things about each other. 

“you’re gonna look like an old man in less than five years.” 

“and you’re still gonna love me.” the nonchalance of his voice is what kills you the most. he knows he shouldn’t be saying these things. he knows he shouldn’t smirk like that when he does it. but by keeping it light it gives the feeling of innocence. just banter between two co-workers who spend way too much time together.

“yeah, sure…”

stuck between a rock and a hard place would be the perfect explanation for the conundrum you were put in. taste of the last beer you mouthed down in one go still on your tongue as you took the hand aaron so willingly offered you. 

haley was just some steps away, graciously dancing with dave, nothing weird or suspicious about it, as it had been when you danced with him, gideon and other people from the bureau that night.

when aaron got to asking you for one you couldn’t tell him no without being suspicious, but even though you two had never crossed any physical lines, the uneasy feeling by the pit of your stomach made it seem like everyone around knew how you shivered whenever he touched you. 

it was a slow song, purposefully so as he waited anxiously for one so he could dance with you, his eyes looked like flames as they burnt holes into your skin before turning away. no words come from you nor him, his hands gripping on your waist as yours delicately stayed on his shoulder desperately trying to look normal was enough for you two to know exactly what was going through each other’s minds. 

how he wished he could be like that forever, feeling your warmth and your trembling under his fingers, and how he knew he shouldn’t feel like that.

he loved haley. she was his best oldest friend. his high school sweetheart. she brought him back to earth whenever he was too into the horrors of his work. his beautiful caring wife. aaron would never do anything on purpose to hurt her, he wouldn’t cheat, even if working with you made him think about it every single day. 

still, you felt like the mistress. the other woman. you felt your morals twirl inside you as if they were stored in your stomach ready to be thrown out any time he was close–which was all the time, it was the job. 

the way you tethered between the acceptable and the borderline cheating with the lingering hugs to feel each other and each other’s scents, the late night talking that began with just work but always ended in something completely different–how he loved the beatles and the white album and you loved telling him each time a different album of theirs that was better, simply to piss him off. abbey road gave us come together and here comes the sun, hotch, white album has nothing on it. that was the last one, but once it was revolver, then rubber soul, you just had fun seeing his brows furrowed for something other than work.

haley got him out of it, but you embraced him for his full self. the nearly obsessive fbi agent and the nerd who used to collect coins. you would put your hand on his shoulder and sit by his side, take half of the files and go hours and hours on end analyzing it with him, even when the case was classified inactive. if he didn’t give up on it, neither did you, and it always went both ways. 

for him, truly, it was nearly impossible to give that up. and it was impossible to bury his feelings too deep, it was always bubbling up at the surface, like a finger always brushing a against a trigger but never pulling it. 

the song ends after a mix of eternity and seconds, and the beat of the next one pulls you both back to reality, your hands leaving his strong shoulders as if they were filled with thorns ready to hurt you. “i need a drink.” you say more to yourself than to him. 

he doesn’t reply, but his eyes tell you the only thing he wants to say. 

i’m so sorry this can’t happen.

he’s the one to take you to the airport, and he won’t cry or ask you to stay, he tried already when you told him about transferring to the crisis negotiation unit. but his eyes do water at the thought of not having you by his side at arms reach, even if you were just a few miles away in washington. it was far enough to cut the cord. to put an ending to whatever it was that existed between you two and had been brewing for the past two years. 

instinctively he holds you as if there was nothing to come between you, his forehead touches yours and you both close your eyes. lips so close they could touch. that doesn’t happen. 

it won’t happen. 

shamelessly you let your tears fall and aaron soaks it up with his thumbs, “no crying. i’ll always have your back, understand? anything you need, call me.” the underlining of it is a silent prayer, begging you to call either way, to not forget him. you won’t call, he knows it, still, he begs. 

you won’t forget him, and still, you won’t call. 

the last glance you share say it all. 

i wish this could’ve happened.

#lari writes sometimes #aaron x reader #aaron x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds x reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch imagine #hotch scenario #aaron hotchner angst #hotch angst

[criminalskies]

Not Alone. Aaron Hotchner x GN!reader

Hi all! so, this is actually a birthday gift to a beautiful friend and mutual who has been struggling recently. I heard him say that Aaron would not be proud of him at this very point in time, and well. I just couldn’t disagree more. So! That sparked this. I hope all of you reading can hear the message I originally intended to shine through the words. <3 And Happy Birthday, Casper!!!!! @softhairedhotch

word count: 3,400.

THIS IS HEAAAAAAVY ON THE HURT AND HEAVY ON THE COMFORT SO PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS!

This fic contains: graphic depictions of depression/depressing imagery. Brief mentions of alcoholism/alcohol as a coping mechanism. Some allusions to suicidal thoughts and loneliness/bullying. Mentions of reader shaving and accidental cuts (no mentions of where on their body). Mentions of caffeine consumption.* *not tagging due to the heavy themes in this particular fic, I don't want to pressure anyone into reading if they aren't completely comfortable*

Numb. The only way to describe the way you’ve been feeling, or rather, unfeeling lately. What you know to have been weeks, feels like months, could have been years stretching on and on feeling this way. You have, of course had moments of joy and happiness, seemingly outnumbered by those where you’ve felt a kind of misery seeping in through the windows at night, staining your carpet with its seething despair. You’ve been trying and trying and trying to avoid it, standing on the furniture as it rises and rises. Now you must be clinging to your raised curtain like a cat, trying still to escape the dreary fog. 

Of course, you wake up every morning, noticing there is no stain at all. The sunny daylight bleaches every fiber in sight and washes away all your signs of last night’s struggle. You turn off your blaring alarm, wipe a restless sleep from your eyes and have to get on with your day. Every. Damn. Day. You throw on your uniform and you begin the endless trudge to Quantico. You can’t help but look around on your long commute, wondering if every other train passenger feels the same way you do. You see the same faces appearing time and time again, expressionless on their way to their same mind numbing 9 to 5. But surely, not everybody feels this weighed down. Not everybody feels like their boots are packed with lead and every step is in the wrong direction. They can’t all have been pushed to their last limit, violating every rule they set for themselves because they just can’t deny themselves a moment’s pleasure. A moment’s reprieve in a world that is otherwise frankly draining. 

Looking around, you note the absence of a particular man you’ve labelled Hat Guy. Until two days ago, you saw this man every morning on the same commute. He’ll often share a row with Newspaper Dude and sit in their comfortable silence. They never greet each other, though. In fact, you wonder if any of these people find the same brimming sense of familiarity and calm that you feel seeing the same faces each day. Actually, do any of them even know you? Would they notice if you stopped riding this train? If you were here every day for the past who knows how many months and then you weren’t?

Luckily, that crisis is cut off by the shrill sound of the doors grating open, you’re finally at your stop. You pick up your daily energy drink from the corner store before beginning your short hike to Quantico’s FBI Headquarters. Greeting the guards at the security checkpoint, you’re predictably asked to remove your bag and belt, putting your drink aside while you make your way through the scanners. The metal alarm sounds as you rush to explain to the guards you have a plate in your arm from an injury as a child. The guards seem equally surprised by this every day. Every day the same. You’re starting to wonder if you’re actually living the plot of groundhog day as the younger, more by-the-books guard picks up the metal detector wand, waving it over your body ‘Just to be sure’. You narrowly avoid telling him, like every single morning. that you’re quite literally one of a few people entering this building without a gun on your hip. There are about a thousand armed agents he should be more concerned with than you. 

You take the elevator up to the sixth floor, barely needing to glance ahead of you to know the path towards the BAU doors like the back of your hand. You push through the doors, the ever predictable Dr Reid being the first to turn and notice your figure trudging past his desk. 

“Morning.” He offers you a tight lipped smile as you note that he’s never even greeted you by name. If he didn’t have an eidetic memory you’d be convinced he didn’t know it. 

“Morning, Reid.” You offer him a similarly forced little smile as you trudge by the other familiar faces of your coworkers, all too absorbed in their work or in quite literally anything more interesting than you, you suppose. You set down your things with a sigh, shedding your jacket over the chair and looking over to see your three fellow evidence technicians deep in conversation, all sat around your ex-partner’s desk, laughing about how much they enjoyed going out for karaoke with the team’s field agents last night. None of them seem to notice your presence as you wake your computer and start rummaging through your desk drawers for your notepad, yesterday’s nearly finished evidence logs, pens and a calculator. 

One of your peers laughs so hard at a joke the infamous Derek Morgan made that she tips backwards, her hand flying out to catch her as it collides with the cold metal of your energy drink, spilling it all over your desk. The fizzy liquid quickly soaks into the loose pages of your entire week’s work as you just watch the can gulp more and more sticky drink over your things. You raise your hands to your head, taking a moment to breathe and tell yourself that you can redo the work. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. Things can be replaced. It’s just useless. Seriously, what’s the point of trying anyway if everything is just ruined in the end? This is always the way it goes. You feel before you see the now empty can picked up and placed gently into the wastebasket by your desk, a long set of legs planting two shiny soles beside your chair as a throat clears, loudly beside you. 

The room comes to a grinding halt, your coworkers piling off the desks around yours, clambering to their feet to face their very unimpressed boss. 

“Agent Summers.” You hear a cold but familiar tone directed at the particular ass which collided with your morning caffeine. 

“Yes? Um, sir.” She stutters, clearly surprised to be greeted at 9:02 sharp with such a directed reprimand.

“Clean this mess up, please. This is furniture, not a playground. We don’t go swinging beverages over important documents. Although, I expect since you and your colleagues were meeting in your paid hours, you guys can come up with some plan to make up for this lost work? I trust you can make out which documents you just carelessly ruined on your own?”  

“U-Um, yes, sir. I’m sure we can, We can fix these-” She began peeling the dripping messes of paper off the desk as Agent Hotchner carefully wheeled your chair back just out of the splash zone. 

“Good. And don’t let this happen again.” He gave one last icy stare to the group of fools you once called friends as he carefully moved a hand to your shoulder. He bent down closer to you as his tone turned to one of delicate care. “Come with me.” He offered you a very neutral, soft expression as you pulled yourself to your feet, willing to just move one in front of the other, like always, and stay calm. Whatever he’s about to hit you with, you probably deserve it. 

It’s worth noting that you and Agent Hotchner had been in a sort of dance for months now, both of you had clearly been harbouring feelings for one another but each time one of you took a small step forwards, the other was nearly sent flying back. It was torture. His unwillingness to just be seen as even a little bit unprofessional even once in his life made it impossible to read him as anything other than neutral, if not even a little off-put by your continued presence in his life. Your building anxiety over his indeterminable feelings for you eventually led to the mounds of dead weight you’re now forced to carry with you day to day. The notion you weren’t enough for him to risk his reputation for and the nagging feeling that he only ever did what was right or polite of him to do towards you, and no feelings ever really existed for you continues to burn your throat where your loving words had once died trying to work their way to him. In any case, you’ve been actively avoiding him ever since your strong feelings of regret towards him began following you around like a bad smell. 

You follow him up the stairs to his office where his blinds are already drawn, his hand resting on the door as he allows you in before shutting it behind you. You walk towards the chairs opposite his desk, ready to be fired honestly for someone finally noticing your sluggish and lazy work ethic these past few months, only to be stopped in your tracks. 

“Not there. Over here, please.” You turn and see Aaron gesturing to the small couch by the window. You take a seat, pointedly staring at your now stained work pants as you feel Hotch lower himself onto the couch next to you. You sit for a moment, hand fiddling with the seam of your pants at your side while you await your doomed fate. 

“Y/N. Please, try to look at me when I say this.” Your head turns towards the more seasoned agent, but your eyes stay glued on your reflection in his overpolished shoes. “I’m worried about you.” You’re caught off guard by this, fully expecting the reprimand of the century for your lackluster job performance. You turn to him fully now, a frown pulling at your features as you try to think of what to say next. 

“You mean… like, worried about my job performance, or?” He doesn’t care. Mister professional, mister perfectly fine can only care about one thing and it’s this unit. 

“No. I mean you. Come on, Y/N. You think a seasoned FBI Profiler can’t notice when somebody is clearly struggling?” You resent that he had to say clearly, as if all of your efforts to hide your anguish and your pain have been for nothing, if it’s as clear as day anyway. “I don’t say this just to hurt you. I want to help you. I’ve seen you shrugging off every person who tries getting close to you recently, and I don’t want to let that happen here. I can’t let you push me away.” The gentle tone of Aaron’s voice drifting through the narrow space between the two of you almost moved you to tears. His offer to help you hanging in the air while you took a deep breath, trying to keep the beads in your eyes at bay. 

“I don’t know how to fix this, Hotch. Even if I wanted to let you help. Everything I’ve tried has only made this worse. I can’t get out. I come close but then each time I think I have a handle on my senses, I end up sinking further from the surface again.” You hear your boss actually take an audible gulp. His throat is tightening hearing you admit you’ve been struggling this much. The way your voice keeps wavering mid sentence is making his chest feel tight. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep treading water, Aaron. I’m tired. I’m so, so tired. There’s just no end to this.” You bury your head in your hands, only when your palms meet your cheeks do you realise they’re wet with tears you’ve held back for too long. The dam has burst.

“You start by admitting you’re not okay. You start by talking to a friend, or even just someone you can bear, and you admit that one person cannot move this mountain alone. You just did that.” A warm hand lands on your shaking shoulder as you move to sit more upright again, finally turning to look at the kind soul seated next to you. ‘Someone you can bear’ you note that this must be the sentiment aaron thinks he holds in your mind. God you’ve made such a mess of things. “It’s hard. I can’t pretend that reaching the other side of this is easy, or even that it’s fast… or linear. There are a dozen ups and downs and it’s so so slow going, but one day, you look up and it dawns on you that you haven’t been carrying such a weight around for a while. You realise it’s lifted. Little by little, without you even knowing, it got better… It does get better, Y/N. It did for me, at least.” 

You face the older man fully now, searching those deep, soulful eyes of his for the slightest hint that he’s lying. That he’s making this up just so you won’t stop treading water. 

“And I was like you. I won’t lie. I thought I was handling it, and I was handling it, and even as I lost my handle on it, I refused to let people in. To let them even see how bad things were. I couldn’t face my own employees knowing they’d seen me so weak or so vulnerable. I thought they’d all be disappointed to learn their unshakeable unbreakable boss was exactly as terrified and shattered as a person can be. But, you start with a conversation, and then you start changing the way you talk to yourself. The way you treat yourself. If we treated ourselves half as well as we’re willing to treat other people, I really think we’d live an awful lot longer. Fuller lives, too. But, I digress. I just wanted to say that I’m in no way disappointed in you. In fact I’m proud of you. Every day, no matter how bad you’ve been feeling, you have walked through that door and you have tried, even for a second, greeting this unit with a smile. Every day you’ve tried. Even if there was a whiff of alcohol on your breath from the long night before, or if you had to take home half your work for the day, trying to complete a respectable amount even though your brain is so clouded with shit that you can’t even find the lead end of a pencil. Even the mornings you’ve come in with fresh nicks and cuts from shaving yourself with shaking hands. I have been proud of you. You’ve never quit trying.” 

You swear you must be staring at Aaron like he has three heads by now. He saw everything. He saw right through you, all of your greatest faults and flaws, and he felt… pride? You feel a gasp rip through your chest, your now thick lens of tears in your eyes making it hard to tell if this is a dream, finally, the sweet dreams you’ve been hoping would interrupt the endless cacophony of hurt you’ve felt every night as you tossed and turned in restless sleep. Aaron’s weight shuffles closer to you on the couch as he moves to wrap his arms around you. Seeing your trembling form blubber beside him was beginning to make his chest physically ache as he saw himself in you. He thinks maybe that’s why he’s so inclined to help you. You helped him. The part of his story he didn’t disclose, was that the moment he realised the weight had long since left his shoulders, was the same moment he saw you setting down your things at a desk in the bullpen. Your quirked smile as you bounced from foot to foot, shaking your new colleagues hands had cut through the ashy gray of his known world like a beam of light. He had only then noticed that his back had stopped aching from carrying all of his grief with him. 

Right now, he pulls you into him as your fists ball in his neatly pressed shirt in the back, his cupped hand finds the back of your head and he instinctively rocks a little, side to side, his hand smoothing over your mess of hair so gently. The two of you feel yourselves drifting slowly apart from the flow of time as you sit there, heart to heart. All of your months of stress and heartache and dread finally move away from the forefront of your mind, drawn to the back for once, out of the spotlight. You can’t help but wonder if Aaron’s hand is a magnet for negative thoughts, but surely that is a thing of fiction. His smoothing motions over your slowing mind sure are dulling the terror and sadness that usually run rampant through your every synapse, though. Your mind feels almost clear when you pull back from Aaron, sniffling and removing your hands from his now very wrinkled, tear stained shirt as his arms loosen their hold around you. 

“I’m sorry, I-” 

“Don’t be. You are more important to me. Okay?” 

“Okay… then can I at least apologise for being such an ass every time you tried asking me out?” You look at the wonderful, sensitive, caring man before you and cross your every finger, toe and hair follicle that he’ll let you express your regret for the way you acted towards him. He clearly doesn’t deserve to be treated so hot and cold. 

“Pfft, only if you let me apologise for your probable whiplash the morning I scolded you for trying to take everyone’s coffee orders in a classified briefing right after I’d told you I had feelings for you the night before. I think I was trying to appear impartial to you but I very, very badly overcompensated and swung the other way towards disdain. If anyone should apologise for you not meeting me on the roof for dinner, it’s me. That was my own doing.” 

“Wait, that was you going for impartial? You threatened to charge me with Unauthorised Disclosure if you saw me even blink at Morgan’s open casefile again.” Now it’s Hotch’s turn to bring his hands to his face and groan. 

“God. Maybe impartial isn’t my strong suit. Actually, maybe dating isn’t my strong suit. But, dating or not, I really want to make sure you have someone in your corner for this. Even if you’d rather that’s Garcia, or, or Rossi. I just need to know you’re not alone. That you know you’re far from alone.” 

“I think you’re about the only person who’s been able to draw me out of my own head in months, Aaron. I really think you’re the best person for me to turn to here. Besides, it sounds like however far you’ve come since you were, um, treading water, you could maybe use somebody in your corner too. I’d like to do that for you.” You only notice now that the other agent had let go of you completely when he relented his role to the other agents in the unit. You make the move this time to be the one to put a warm hand on Aaron’s shoulder. Letting him know he’s also not alone. “Deal?” You offer your spare hand for him to shake. You think for a moment you catch sight of the stone-faced agent’s chin wobbling as he steadies himself in your grasp and moves to hold your hand, not shaking it. Interlacing both of your fingers between your laps where your bodies are exchanging the same warmth. 

“Deal” He offers you a shaky smile, letting a moment pass before he turns, checking the blinds are still closed and that time isn’t really at a standstill since you two fused with this couch. “Now, let me try look up what can get Mango Loco Monster out of cotton workpants.” He stands, moving to his desk too swiftly to peel open his laptop. You don’t miss the moment where he brings a knuckle up to his eye, wiping a stray tear onto his own pants as he rounds the desk. 

In that moment, you decide that you don’t particularly care if none of the other commuters, none of the other evidence technicians or even the field agents know you exist or notice your absence. You know now more than ever that you’re not nearly as alone as you thought you were. Once Aaron Hotchner is in your corner, he’s immovable. Destined to remind you that you’re worthy of love and of pride, even in your darkest moments. And you, in his.

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#rome's writing! #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x gn!reader #aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner hurt/comfort #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotch hotchner #hotch x reader #hotch x gn!reader #hotch x gender neutral reader #hotch angst #hotch hurt/comfort #hotch fic #hotch fanfic #hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x y/n #hotch x you

[emberfrostlovesloki]

Unwanted Attention [Hotch x Reader]

Prompt: Having to travel to the middle of nowhere Ohio for a serial killer was bad enough, add to the fact that the local LEOs are looking a little too hard at JJ, Emily, and _y/n_ was seriously testing Aaron’s resolve. Lots of protective Hotch here! This is another @imagining-in-the-margins inspired fic for her Meet Cute Writing Challenge. I’m using the dialogue prompt: “Watch where you’re going!” “… You ran into me?!”

Category: Angst/comfort - (mostly comfort I think).

Word Count: 5.8K

Content Warnings: Canon typical violence (serial killer - kills via strangulation but nothing explicit) unwanted physical touch (groping of the behind and pubic area) misogyny, sexism, the U.S. police, language, brief mention of intimacy. 

A/N: Hi friends! I am very pleased with this one. I love writing Hotch with righteous anger. It just looks too damn good on him. I also love the duality of this man because one moment he is ready to bite someone’s head off and the next he only has eyes for you and he’s checking in and feeling guilty. You could read this story as a standalone or as a prequel to my story, Life can be Terrible, but At Least You're In It. (linked). I want to shout out @criminalskies for hyping me up while writing this. Last, if you enjoyed reading this, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! - Levi 

List with all stories 

_y/n_ = your name 

_f/c_ = favorite color 

_l/n_ = your last name

_y/h/c_ = yuur hair color 

Walnut Creek Ohio, who on the team had heard of it? Well apart from Spencer, because apparently he’d read a United States Atlas Map one night when his insomnia was bothering him, and he had retained all the information about nearly every tiny town that existed in the States. Spencer was rambling off facts about the tiny town stating, “There are 908 residents in the town as of 2017. It’s shocking that a serial killer would target such a small community where everyone has to know everyone else.” _y/n_, JJ, and Reid were all at the coffee station filling up cups. _y/n_ pulled out her _f/c_ thermos. She always made sure that anyone who wanted coffee got to go first because her reusable metal container took about half the pot. _y/n_ had finally wisened up after Emily and Spencer kept complaining about the coffee getting lukewarm, or worse, cold while sitting on the plane. Now her coffee stayed hot for hours if need be. She had bought the teammates that relied as heavily on caffeine as she did as Holiday or birthday gifts and the thermoses were stored away in one of her closets of her apartment, ready to be taken out and wrapped at the right moment. Spencer’s comment pulled her back to the present moments and she replied, “Nothing can stop a person going bad I guess. Not even a small town.” This stopped Spencer's comments on the location of the team's most recent case, and he shifted gears to talk about the psychological development of those raised in rural environments versus those raised in urban areas. _y/n_ continued to listen to Spencer as he spoke, even if she couldn’t always keep up with his mile-a-minute commentary. She listened because Reid was a fount of knowledge and often a comment he made and maybe didn’t even remember would be helpful later on in the case. She also listened because sometimes the other members of the team didn’t when he spoke. It wasn’t that they didn’t think that what he was saying was important, it was just that they were trying to come up with their own thoughts and theories about the case. _y/n_ was also guilty of tuning Reid out sometimes, but when she could listen to him, she did. 

_y/n_ had always been more of a listener than one to contribute to the conversation early on. _y/n_ felt better about talking once she had more information and that normally wasn’t until the team arrived at the case's location or even saw the first crime scene. Once _y/n_ had the bigger picture, she was ready and able to hope in and give her thoughts. Before that time came, she would listen and think about her prior knowledge. Although it might be less exciting than guessing and formulating theories, she found that often some basic information or past cases or criminals was useful when leads dropped or the case seemed to go cold. In her process, she was thinking about the future. As she had integrated into the team full-time at the beginning, Derek teased her for writing so much down in a notebook. She highlighted any relevant information the team stated or facts that seemed relevant. Morgan had joked in good humor but as the first few cases came to a close, the whole team slowly realized that she was approaching these cases from another angle, one that proved to be highly valuable at important points.  

_y/n_ settled next to Emily at her desk and pulled her go bag from underneath the space. The sound of Aaron’s door closing caught _y/n_’s attention. He was wearing that maroon tie she liked so much. She hadn’t told him that yet, it felt too trivial, but she really liked that tie on him. Aaron caught her eye for a moment and there was a small twinge in her chest before they quickly, discreetly looked away. Nobody knew that they were spending time together outside of work. They had to be discreet because it was mixing work and pleasure and in a place like the FBI, that didn’t just fly. _y/n_ was sure Hotch knew everything about the rules and consequences of breaking those rules, but he hadn’t filled her in on those details. She had looked at the employee handbook but it was all legalese and it hurt her head. If she and Aaron did become more serious, and committed, she would ask him to interpret the confusing language for her. Thankfully they weren’t having a hard time keeping their work and private lives separate, yet. 

Aaron felt the normal thrill of heading out to a new case. He considered the word, ‘thrill,’ thinking it wasn’t the perfect synonym for the arrival of yet another slew of murders, but it certainly wasn’t excitement either. Excitement meant something happy, something to look forward to. ‘Energized,’ his brain offered. Mentally Aaron nodded along, That would work for now. He had to be energized for this work. He wasn’t a young man anymore but there had to be a strength and calmness with him. He was the leader and even with Rossi being on the team for over a year, his agents still looked to him to make this all work. His eyes found _y/n_’s and there he found the look of thrill. This was still so new to her, even though she had been on the team for a while. He looked away as always, not giving into any desires that lingered when he was paying attention to his newest agent. He was grateful that _y/n_ was professional and polite and had the utmost decorum even though outside of work they hadn’t been entirely professional. The thought of their last non-work meeting at her apartment and her heavy breathing and soft sounds on her lips, as he worked over her clothed body with his hands brought a momentatry flush to his face. 

Hotch sobered as quickly as he had flushed as Dave came up beside him and said, “You ready for this?” Aaron looked over to his friend and bluntly replied, “As ready as possible, but it's still never easy.” Rossi nodded along as they both moved down the stairs and toward the parking lot. This line of work wasn’t easy. Aaron knew that every time his team left for a new case there was a chance that someone might get hurt, or even killed and no matter how good everyone was at their job, that possibility still worried him. _y/n_’s face popped up in his mind as he found his seat in the jet and he pushed away the thought. His relationship with her had shifted to something he wasn’t entirely sure he had under control. They hadn’t made anything official and hadn’t even said, “I love you,” yet. However, Hotch wasn’t a man who moved quickly, but as long as he and _y/n_ had an open, honest conversation about where their feelings were headed, he wasn’t going to fight it. He had fought so many things, and people in his life that he didn’t have the desire to fight this too. Being around _y/n_ felt good. It felt safe and he rarely got that in his life, so he was embracing it where he could. As JJ went over more of the facts and details regarding the case involving a serial killer wreaking havoc in the tiny town in Ohio, he shifted his full attention to what his media liaison was saying. 

As the jet landed on the tiny airstrip, everyone got out and into the waiting SUVs. Aaron drove with Emily, Spencer, and JJ while Rossi took _y/n_ and Derek. Spencer and Emily were discussing the need to work well with the law enforcement in the town as they were likely ingratiate into all aspects of the community. Meanwhile, JJ was preparing a statement for the media. In the other car, Derek turned from the front seat and asked, “So what are we thinking in terms of prior knowledge _y/n_?” _y/n_ turned her gaze to Morgan’s and said, “Well strangulation is such a common signature that we’re going to have to look for something more specific to get traction here. The photos do look like this guy is strangling people from behind and the unsubs killing fit men someone who doesn't want to face what they’re really doing? Or it could be that they despise their victims so much they can’t stand to see them again, even while killing them?” Morgan nodded and elaborated on the idea that the killer might see these men as a competition of some kind. As having something the unsub lacked. This information allowed those in Rossi’s car to start to form a physical profile of the unsub. As the team made it to the small local police station, everyone got out of the parked cars and a man who appeared to be in his fifties who was balding badly came out to greet them. 

Aaron stepped forward and extended his hand. The man took it and gave it a firm shake, saying, “I’m Officer Bronson. Thank you so much for you folks from coming out here.” Aaron nodded, replying, “I’m Agent, Hotchner and this is my team.” He indicated to the team, quickly introducing them. First, he gestured to JJ stating, “This is our media liaison, Jennifer Jareau.” JJ stepped forward and took the man’s slightly sweaty hand. Aaron moved through the rest of the team quickly, wanting to get the introductions over with and the real work started. He motioned to each of his agents saying, “This is David Rossi, Derek Morgan, Dr. Spencer Reid, _y/n_ _l/n_, and Emily Prentiss.” Each member nodded as Hotch said their name and Officer Bronson replied, Well welcome to Walnut Creek. I wish it was under happier circumstances. I’ll let you all get inside and out of this heat.” As the team moved into the small building, Aaron asked, “Is there a space where we can get organized and look at the evidence more easily?” Bronson nodded and led the team to a table at the back of a very small station and said, “Sorry it’s nothing fancy. I’ll have someone clean off the files and stuff off for you.” The man turned and semi-shouted, “Anderson, can you clear your junk off this table?” Anderson, a thirty-something-year-old moved around the team and got his things saying, “Sorry Chief.” Bronson looked to Aaron, almost for approval, and asked, “Will this do?” To which Hotch simply replied, “It’s fine.” 

As the team settled a little _y/n_ looked at JJ with a ‘Are you kidding me?’ expression and then looked at Anderson who was placing his numerous files on another table. JJ rolled her eyes in return. The fact that one of the officers had open files possibly containing sensitive or private data out on a table for anyone in the room to see displayed the station's lack of professionalism. The team worked up a preliminary profile and Aaron told Officer Bronson that they were ready to address his unit. Bronson called his team to the side of the room and as the officers sat down, Aaron moved forward saying, “Good afternoon, everyone. Thank you for your attention. My name is Aaron Hotchner and I’m the Unit Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. This is my team, and we’re here to coordinate with you to try and stop these killings as quickly as possible. If you have any questions please hold them to the end. We appreciate you working with us, and now I’ll let Derek Morgan deliver our preliminary profile to you.” 

Aaron stepped aside to let Derek deliver the profile. Hotch had asked Morgan to deliver the profile because something about the officers sitting in front of him didn’t seem like they were convinced that they needed the team's help. Given the fact that Derek was the closest in age to many of the officers, and he could be just as intense as Aaron if he wanted, Aaron thought that the men would respect Morgan over someone like himself or Rossi. It helped that Morgan also looked more like the policemen now listening with unveiled trepidation about the profile. This was another part of the job that Aaron disliked. He not only had to profile the unsub but the law enforcement officers as well. His team and the local authorities had to work together due to bureaucratic rulings and sometimes the officers didn’t want the Bau's assistance. The idea that the team was ‘taking over’ or ‘standing on their turf’ often caused conflict. Aaron always tried to nip this conflict early. His team didn’t need to worry about that and quite frankly they all had better things to do. Aaron looked at the ten seated men, as he listened to Morgan. Most of the officers were looking at Derek, but one or two were consistently looking over at JJ, _y/n_, and Emily. Aaron clenched his jaw and resisted the urge to sigh. He could tell whatever conflict his team and this police unit were going to have would be an uphill battle. 

Hotch noticed when the men he was working with paid a little too much attention to members of his team. Hotch couldn’t deny that _y/n_, JJ, and Emily were all beautiful, intelligent, and capable and that combination was attractive. However, that did not give these men a right to act lewdly or leer at them. As Derek wrapped up the profile, he fielded a few questions from the assembled crowd. With that, Chief Bronson dismissed his men. Aaron gathered the team and they broke into smaller units to look for any clues that might bring them closer to finding the unsub. Aaron, Spencer, and _y/n_ were headed to the high school which was the scene of the latest killing. Rossi and Morgan were headed to the hospital to see the bodies of the victims to determine if there was more to the signature than just strangulation. Lastly, JJ and Emily were going to go to the press to provide a statement for the townspeople who were panicking and holding up the police phones making those who really needed help unable to get it. 

In the evening as the team regrouped at the station, there was the kind of frantic energy they got once the case had really started. _y/n_ had lots of thoughts and was ready to see what the rest of the team had discovered. She knew she wasn’t going to see much sleep tonight, so she moved to the break room where the coffee pots normally were in police stations. As she approached the room she began to overhear a conversation going on inside. The snippet she heard was, “So who are you picking, Blondie, Brunette, or _y/h/c_?” There was a laugh before the other man in the room began saying, “What about all three?” There was more laughter at this and as the unseen man began saying, “But if you’re really making me choose…” _y/n_ walked quickly away before she could hear the answer. As she moved back to the team she thought, ‘These guys really have no standards.’ She felt slightly repulsed but did her best to ignore the feeling. As she stepped back to the table, and Aaron looked over at her, he could see that something was wrong. A few minutes later, when he was finished listening to Spencer’s geographic profile, Hotch moved to stand next to _y/n_. In a quiet volume, he asked, “Is everything okay?” _y/n_ looked up at him. His expression had the smallest hint of worry,  and she alleviated that fear by saying, “Yeah. It’s nothing.” Aaron nodded and said, “Okay. Tell me more about what you were saying to Derek about the point of impact, we might be able to get a height on the unsub with that information.” _y/n_ nodded and jumped into the conversation. Aaron could tell that something was off about _y/n_, but he wouldn’t push it. He trusted her to handle things herself and if she needed to, he knew she would ask for help. 

The night wore on and eventually, the team moved to the tiny hotel the town had. There were barely enough rooms to fit them all. The town was very cozy and picturesque in its quaintness. _y/n_ thought about this as she drove Derek and Rossi to the hotel. She assumed it was a nice place to grow up in. To grow old in. _y/n_ wasn’t sure where these thoughts were coming from, but she chalked it up to tiredness and the case. Because for seven men there would be no growing old here or anywhere. The sadness of that realization only made her want to solve this case more badly. There were always a lot of emotions tied to the cases they worked on, and to protect herself, she had to try and stay disconnected from the pain and hurt that the victims and the victims' families went through. But she couldn’t always hold back those emotions and now was one of those times. As everyone settled in for the night and said their goodnights, which just meant ‘I’ll be sitting up in bed reading over the same evidence as you one door down,’ Aaron walked over to _y/n_ and said, “Goodnight, _y/n_.” His brief interaction with her at the precinct from earlier in the day flashed in his head. He didn’t like it when she looked upset. It made him feel nervous, so he asked, “You’d tell me if something was wrong? Wouldn’t you?” The question came out of left field and _y/n_ blinked for a moment, not really knowing why Aaron was asking. At this point, she had sort of forgotten the rude comments being made by the officers, so she replied, “Of course I would Aaron.” At her response, Hotch infinitesimally relaxed and the two headed for the elevator together. Rossi had seen the interaction between them. He didn’t hear what they said, or that _y/n_ had used Hotch’s first name, but he couldn't help but feel that something was there between the two agents. Perhaps it was the way Aaron leaned down a little bit to be in earshot, or the way _y/n_ looked at his friend like nothing else around her mattered. David wouldn’t say anything yet, but he was sure he was going to start paying more attention to Aaron. Rossi wasn’t against whatever was happening between his coworkers. Aaron had had a rough few months, and he thought the man deserved some comfort.

In the morning most of the team was out hunting leads. Derek and _y/n_ had stayed back for a minute because _y/n_ thought she had seen something new in the geographical profile. They would both head to the sight of the first body once she had looked at the board again. _y/n_ was standing, looking at the map, engrossed in the pins Spencer had pushed into all the significant locations thus far. She just barely acknowledged when Morgan said he was going to use the men’s room. She also didn’t notice when one of the officers came up behind her. The man extended a hand and grabbed her ass giving it a squeeze. At the unwanted touch, _y/n_ whipped around saying, “Hey!” The phrases echoed around the nearly empty office. She looked at the man, clocking his name on his badge, Monroe. There was a moment of silence before _y/n_ incredulously said, “What was that?” Monroe gave a laugh and said, “Sorry, babe. I thought you were interested.” With that, the officer quickly left, as he noticed Derek coming back from the bathroom. Monroe nearly brushed shoulders with Morgan as they both tried to fit through the door at the same time.

When Derek got into the room, he noticed that something was off about _y/n_. She was standing still with a  look of shock and disgust on her face. _y/n_ tried to fix her facial features back to normal, but Morgan had seen and quickly strode into the room next to her. Derek looked her over quickly and asked, “_y/n_, what’s wrong?” _y/n_ looked to the floor for a second, biting the inside of her cheek. She couldn’t really believe what had just happened. For a moment she thought about lying but knew that Morgan would keep asking until she gave in. She sighed and looked up at Morgan’s worried face, saying, “That guy just groped me.” At hearing this, Morgan turned on his heel, but Officer Monroe was halfway out the door with Officer Anderson. They were both laughing at some unheard joke. It took everything in Derek to not go over to the two men and give Monroe an unadulterated piece of his mind. However, he knew that wasn’t his place really. And he wanted to make sure _y/n_ was okay. He turned back to _y/n_ and asked, “Are you alright? Did he hurt you?” _y/n_ nodded her head no, saying, “No. I was just shocked, I guess.” Morgan nodded along and said, “It shouldn’t have happened, period. You need to tell Hotch.” _y/n_’s widened at the suggestion. It made sense of course. Issues like this were under his purview, but for some reason telling him about this made her hesitate. Before she could think about it too much Morgan repeated himself saying, “Hotch would want to know.” _y/n_ put her palms up and said, “Fine, fine. I’ll tell him when he gets back.” Morgan gave her a look that made her say, “I promise I’ll tell him.” After a second of picturing that uncomfortable forthcoming conversation _y/n_ said, “He’s gonna be so mad.” Derek could understand what _y/n_ was saying but noted, “Maybe, but not at _y/n_.” There was another awkward silence before Derek finally said, “Do you need a few minutes, or would you like to head out?” Desperate for a distraction _y/n_, almost too quickly replied, “No. let’s go.” 

At the supermarket where the first victim had been found. Morgan and _y/n_ took notes and got the security footage. It seems like they had a real lead by finding the license plate of the van that had dumped the deceased man in the alleyway near the store's load bay. However, the footage was too grainy to make out. After finishing watching the video, _y/n_ moved to call Garcia and see if she could enhance the video quality while Derek asked the security guard who had found the victim in the morning some questions. When she wrapped up her call with Garcia, _y/n_ briefly slumped against the outside wall; closing her eyes. She tried to think about why talking to Hotch about what had happened with Monroe was bothering her so much. She knew that Derek was right. Hotch wouldn’t be mad at her, at all. Maybe it was a feeling of embarrassment? _y/n_’s logical side of her brain said that she didn’t need to be embarrassed. She hadn’t groped anyone, but the feeling persisted. Maybe because talking about the incident meant being vulnerable in front of Aaron which was all fine and good when they were alone in her apartment. But having to do so at work was entirely different. _y/n_ let out a breath deciding to push all her feelings back for a moment. She would deal with it later. For now, she moved back inside the rendezvous with Morgan. 

‘Later’ came as it always did. It was around five o’clock and the whole team was reconvening at the station. As the SUVs arrived one by one in the parking lot, everyone got out. _y/n_ looked over the team. They all looked a little tired, but when didn’t they on a case? _y/n_ felt the fatigue pull at her, but she knew she would find a second wind once she heard what everyone else had found out. She knew this unsub was here lurking in this little town, ready to kill again. She looked over to Aaron who was speaking to Emily about something. _y/n_ desperately wanted coffee and she walked toward the front door as she got close, Officer Monroe walked out the door. His badge was off and it was clear that he was headed home for the day. _y/n_ wondered if the man had a wife? Kids? The idea of it only made her more disgusted. As they neared each other she refused to make room for him on the sidewalk. She’d make him move aside for her. She wasn’t, however, going to look at him. _y/n_ planted her gaze on the sidewalk. Much like Monroe’s unwanted touch that morning, she didn’t expect to walk into him full force. When she turned her face to the man he said, “Hey, watch where you’re going, sweetheart.” _y/n_ could see that Monroe was actually enjoying this and she replied, “You ran into me!” Monroe smiled at seeing this woman like this -- uncomfortable. He had enjoyed the rush of her skin under his hands, and now he hoped for a repeat performance. Hardly thinking that there were others looking on, he quickly and forcefully placed a hand on her navel and then brushed downward. _y/n_ stood stock still as this happened because she thought that it couldn’t possibly be happening. Not here in public, in broad daylight, in front of the whole team? It just couldn’t be happening. 

Aaron was chatting with Emily about the profile as he looked over the team to see how they were doing. As he looked at Morgan, and Morgan returned his gaze with a facial expression that said, ‘We need to talk.’ Aaron gave the man a nod and Morgan looked over to_y/n_ who was walking forward the precinct. Her shoulders seemed pulled tight under her shirt but in a way that hid that she was trying to hide her stress. He watched as she walked into one of the police officers from yesterday who had been overly enthused by _y/n_, Prentiss, and JJ’s presence.  Aaron could barely hear the brief conversation between the two and as the word, “Sweetheart,” was thrown out, Aaron stiffened. And then it happened. He couldn’t fully see where or how far down the officer’s hand had landed because _y/n_ was blocking his view, but Aaron observed _y/n_ stiffen and that told him all he needed to know. 

Before _y/n_ could find her voice and tell Monroe to ‘get the fuck off of her,’ Aaron’s clear sharp voice addressed the officer like a whip. Like a wound aimed at the man that dared to touch _y/n_. Aaron was over to _y/n_ in an instant. He placed a hand on her shoulder, firmly but gently pulling her frozen body back and behind him. Aaron towered over Monroe, and he felt his blood boil. Aaron let a harsh breath out and said, “If you value your job, and your pension you will get your hand Off. My. Agent.” Aaron highlighted each word that evinced his anger. Behind him, _y/n_ felt a wave of relief from being pulled out of that situation. Quickly Spencer and Emily were pulling _y/n_ farther away from the scene, but she could distinctly hear Hotch say, “Get in your car and leave. Now.” Derek watched as Monroe slinked away to his car looking defeated and small. Spencer and Emily walked with _y/n_ into the precinct, asking if she was okay, and the team as a whole huddled around her to make sure she was really alright. When she had reassured them, everyone except for Hotch moved away from _y/n_. Aaron placed a hand on her forearm and led her to a chair. She sat and let the exhaustion of the case, disgust at Monroe's actions, and the feeling of his hand on her body overwhelm her for a moment. A shiver ran through her. Aaron knelt down on one knee to be more on eye level with _y/n_. If his words before had meant to intimidate and accuse, his tone now was one of reassurance and comfort. Aaron spoke professionally but with a hint of something more that spoke to their relationship outside of work. He asked, “Be honest with me. Are you okay? Are you hurt or bruised?” Aaron’s voice helped still her thoughts and she assessed her body before saying softly, “I’m not in any pain.” She didn’t answer his first question because she didn’t particularly feel alright, but she knew she was safe now. Especially now that she was with Aaron. Aaron registered this and asked, “Has this happened before while we’ve been here?” _y/n_swallowed and replied, “Yes, this morning right after everyone headed out for the day.” Aaron gave her that look that said, “Elaborate please.” _y/n_bit her bottom lip, wondering how to phrase what had happened. Not finding any more polite or dignified terms, she said, “Morgan had stepped out and I was focusing on the bulletin board and he, um, came up behind me and grabbed my ass.” She could see the anger, the controlled rage fire through him again and she wanted to say something to reassure Aaron that she really was alright, even if she wasn’t. However, he stopped her as the Chief of Police entered the building. Aaron turned his head back to _y/n_ and said, “Excuse me for a moment.” Then with a tone of reassurance, he said, “This conversation isn’t over.” Hotch stood and looked at Emily who understood that he was asking her to sit with _y/n_. Prentiss moved to sit next to _y/n_. When this was done, Aaron turned his attention to the officer who had just entered the building and said, “Chief Bronson, your office, now.” His intonation left no room for questions or delays and the older man nodded and walked into his cluttered office with Aaron on his heels. Once the door was closed Hotch turned and he felt the anger bubble up to the surface again. As Bronson asked, “What seems to be the problem?” The man sounded nervous. 

From outside the glass-walled room, the team listened as their leader said, “One of your officers just assaulted a member of my team.” Bronson’s response was inaudible, but Hotch’s reply of, “What do I mean?” Could be heard clearly. At this, the team flinched, knowing that the man inside with Hotch was about to have his soul ripped from his body and handed back to him. Everyone listened as Aaron said, “What I mean is that just a few minutes ago, Officer Monroe had his hands on a member of my team in a private area. And that wasn’t the first time this has happened today.” Aaron took a steadying breath before continuing, “As much as I respect law enforcement and what you do, I’m highly concerned about what’s just happened. If someone under your authority thought they had the right to touch a federal agent, I fear what’s happening with normal residents of this town.” Bronson stumbled to find words and said, “Well I certainly don’t condone that behavior.” Aaron let out a harsh scoff, not truly believing the man saying, “Perhaps not, but that doesn’t change the fact that your officer felt entitled to do what he did. And I don’t think Monroe thought he was going to face any consequences, and I can only imagine that he assumed that because you’ve let him get away with behavior like this before.” After this, Hotch’s voice dropped lower so the team outside could no longer hear him. Derek said, “Well I think Officer Bronson has had his ‘Come to Jesus’ moment.’” That comment actually made _y/n_ laugh and she felt a little better now that she could laugh at this whole situation. Hearing Aaron stand up for her like that made her feel warm inside in a comforted sort of way. Aaron finished unloading with the warning, “You’ll be receiving an ethics complaint from the Department of Justice as soon as I’m back in Quantico. You might consider cutting your losses before then.” With that, he got up and left the office. 

Later that evening in _y/n_’s room, she and Aaron sat. She was sitting on the edge of the bed facing Aaron who was in the only chair in the lamplit space. This was to be a continuation of their conversation from before. _y/n_ looked over at Hotch and saw how perturbed he looked. She felt a tug in her chest seeing him like this. He already had to deal with so much and now there was this. She started the conversation in an attempt to soothe this new hurt by saying, “Hotch, it really wasn’t that bad. He didn’t hurt me, it was just unexpected.” At her words, he dipped his head and said, “It never should have happened, _y/n_. He touched you without your consent twice, and I couldn’t prevent it.” _y/n_frowned and felt that Aaron had to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders with this job. She said, “It’s not your fault, Aaron. I know you see how they look at JJ, Em, and I.” Hotch lifted his head and placed a warm hand on her knee saying, “Of course I see, and it bothers me more than I can say. Having these men look at you is bad enough, but when one of them starts to act on those feelings, it's unconscionable.” _y/n_ saw that she wasn’t going to make him feel any better, so instead she put her hand over his and gently rubbed over his knuckles with her thumb. She said, “I’m going to be okay Aaron. And if I’m not, I’ll let you know. Thank you for looking out for me.” Hotch let out a breath at her touch and words, simply replying, “Always, _y/n_. I’ll always be here.” He wanted to lean in and press his body to hers. To cover her from unwanted attention and hands. But there was still a case, and she looked tired, but he promised himself when this was solved that he would be spending a considerable amount of time either on his or her couch with _y/n_ on his lap and his arms settled around her; as long as that was something she wanted of course. 

The case wrapped up a few days later and the team headed home. On the plane ride back, _y/n_ crashed on the couch facing Spencer. Emily, Rossi, and Morgan watched with a small amount of surprise,  then a soft understanding as Hotch quietly took off his blazer and placed it over her curled, sleeping body. And when Rossi left his office and walked toward his car he stopped and made sure Aaron and _y/n_ didn’t see him as Hotch held _y/n_ and leaned down to kiss her forehead. As Hotch wrapped her in his arms, _y/n_’s hands moved to his chest, and after everything that had happened on top of the case, at least she knew that she was always safe with him.

#criminal minds #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotcher #criminal minds x reader #hotch x reader #fanfiction #reader insert #reader x hotch #angry hotch #protective hotch #derek morgan #emily prentiss #hotch blurb #comfort fic #hotch angst #i made this for you #spencer ried

[cupidddd-d]

i was doing fine without you

in which aaron hotchner waltzes back into your life like he hadn't previously shredded it apart

pt. 1

it had been exactly 343 days, 14 hours, and 32 minutes since you broke things off with aaron.

and you knew because you had been counting every single miserable second, thinking, 'what if i let things continue?' and it tore you apart, but just when you were starting to put yourself back together, there he was. walking in the same grocery store as you, being such a doting father to jack.

at one point, there was a time when you fit into their perfect little puzzle, pushing the cart and entertaining jack as he walked beside you. he would tug on your shirt, begging you for some sugary cereal that would inevitably lead to a horrible sugar crash. aaron would laugh and shake his head, lightly pushing jack to move on.

jack would plop himself into the cart, giggling loudly as you'd race him down the aisles. aaron would stand there and smile indulgently, crossing his arms and profusely apologizing as soon as he realized he was in someone's way.

jack would grab all the bags as soon as you left the store, proudly puffing his chest up as he crowed about how big he'd gotten, how strong he'd become since the last time you saw him. he didn't know that you and aaron had loaded his bags with the lightest items such as cereal boxes or chip bags. he didn't need to know that.

you didn't even want to think about how jack had reacted when you suddenly left. did he cry? did he miss you? was he sad? you hoped that he had quickly forgotten about you, because as much as it hurt to imagine that you had left no impact on his life, even the thought of his despair over your abandonment was too much to handle.

and the worst part was, all of those happy memories had happened in the same grocery store you were in now. maybe it was some sort of pathetic, self-destructive behavior you were indulging yourself in, torturing yourself with the ideas and memories of what you could have had if you stayed, if you hadn't opened your mouth.

aaron was wearing the same outfit as he did on the day where you bought movie night snacks for jack's sleepover with his friends. he looked so comfortable, so soft in a worn t-shirt and gray sweatpants. his hair still fell messily over his eyes, his movements were still lazy as he tiredly pushed the cart around. he truly hadn't changed at all.

your heart twisted as he gently interacted with jack, patiently letting him run around his legs and tug on his shirt. the sight before you was so painfully familiar, and all you could do was watch and mourn the life you used to have-- the life you could have had.

you wanted to run away, to cry or yell or beg aaron to take you back. but your feet felt rooted in place, your throat dry. it was so easy to forget about aaron when you were away from him, so simple to just distract yourself with other activities. it was easy to pretend you were okay, easy to deny how much you missed him. you could tell yourself that it was the best decision for the both of you, but you'd be lying.

after all, how could it be the best decision if here you were, reminiscing about days that never really belonged to you in the first place?

people that asked for a pt. 2: @adhdannieedison @evansflowers

#aaron hotchner x you #gender neutral reader #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #bau #gn reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner angst #angst #hotch angst #hotch x reader #hotch

[film-bro-hotch]

I'll Cowboy the Best - Hotch x Fem!Reader - one shot

I have been working on this one for a little bit, but it has been so fun. This is 100% self-indulgent (like most of my stuff), but I really hope you all like it. I have to give credit where credit is due, though, because I used to despise the holidays. It wasn't until living with @honeypiehotchner that I have maybe started to like them a little. What was supposed to be a funny cowboy!Hotch fic has now turned into a Holiday Season cowboy!Hotch fic. Thanks, K. The month of December is a bit more tolerable because of you ;)

Synopsis: You are visiting family on their Texas farm for the holidays and decide it's time your boyfriend meet your parents. One of your problems, though, is that your family isn't too fond of him. There is nearly a 10 year age gap between the two of you, and worst of all, he is your boss. Hotch is determined to make them like him, even if that means saddling up and playing the part of a cowboy.

Warnings: This is an age-gap relationship, but these two are both consenting adults. Reader is near 30 - we don't do that huge age gap stuff. Also there are discussions about the inherent power dynamics between you and Hotch with him as your boss. But mostly this is fluff! This is a happy story!

WC: 8.2k

Find me a horse that I can cover Find me some stars to sleep under Find me a train, I’ll hop out west If she wants a cowboy, I’ll cowboy the best

You watched his hand flex as he gripped the wheel a little bit tighter. Usually this kind of behavior was reserved for when you were in a high-speed chase trying to catch an unsub and Hotch was about to pull some stupid move and drift an SUV in a way that it certainly wasn’t made to do. 

But that wasn’t the case. You were on day two of your trip down to visit family, and you had switched off drivers a few hours ago. You had offered to drive the rest of the way since you knew the town, but Hotch insisted for some reason you couldn’t quite figure out yet. Driving instead of flying was your idea in the first place anyway. 

He looked less than enthused, but you somehow managed to talk him into it. You only had about 30 minutes before you were supposed to make it to your family’s Texas ranch, and he seemed to be getting more stressed by the minute. 

“Aaron, are you good? You’ve been tense for the past hour, and we aren’t on a crowded interstate.” Truth be told, you had only passed maybe 5 other cars in that time.

“I’m okay, really. I’m just…a little nervous.”

It was something that you hadn’t really thought of. It would make sense, though. Meeting the parents was something nerve-wracking anyway, but Hotch probably hadn’t had to do it since high school. And your parents were already…not exactly thrilled with him. He was almost ten years older than you, and he was your boss. Both your mom and your dad were quick to point out the implications, and the trouble both of you could get into for dating. You had mostly brushed it off, changed the subject or made an excuse to hang up the phone, but being there for the holidays made it much more difficult to ignore. 

You were gentle as you placed a hand on his shoulder, rubbing your thumb along his muscle. “It’s going to be okay, I promise. Once they get to know you, they are going to love you just as much as I do.”

He played off a laugh and muttered, “Well I hope not that much,” to which you promptly slapped the arm you had just been caressing. 

“You know what I meant,” you said with a pointed gaze, but that smirk on your face let him know you weren’t actually mad. 

The rest of the ride was uneventful, the majority of your scenery being flat, snow-covered farmland and the occasional herd of cows. Your family’s ranch was one of the closer ones to town, meaning that it was still a good 20 minutes to any store. You could tell that Hotch was analyzing everything as they entered the driveway, committing all of it to memory. The driveway was still gravel, the familiar sound of tires crushing and compacting the rocks and snow beneath settled your nerves a little. The house you grew up in was the exact same as the day you left to move to Virginia. A one story brick home, classic white shutters and a porch that looked like it needed to be restained. Your mother had her Christmas lights on the porch, though it was more because she never took them down than her getting into the holiday spirit. 

The farm was mostly corn, some pole beans and cucumbers planted throughout to help with the soil, though none of that was planted now with the cold. The other half of the land was grazing for the cows, goats, and chickens, and a small barn kept the few horses your parents still had around. 

“You didn’t tell me it was a farm,” he said with a cocked eyebrow. You might have fibbed a little and just said you lived on a lot of land growing up, which wasn’t untrue. 

“You never asked,” you said simply. You were already out of the car before he could say anything more. It was the perfect kind of cold outside. Just a little nippy to wake you up, but no harsh wind feeling like it was cutting your cheeks open. You had only grabbed one bag of your luggage when you heard the screen door open, followed by quick steps on the gravel as your mother called your name. She pulled you into a hug, kissing the side of your head and then your cheek. 

“It is so good to see you! I was just telling your daddy, I can’t believe the two of you drove all the way here!” she said. You looked over at Aaron, offering him an encouraging smile.

It didn’t last too long, though. You hadn’t even heard the screen door open, but your dad had found his way outside at some point and was leaning against the porch railing. “He could have easily bought y'all tickets.” So this was how the trip was starting. 

Aaron may have had so much experience with confrontation, but you could still see his tells, his little ticks that gave away his nerves. Usually his shoulders were relaxed and he stood at his full height. You could see the tension even through his winter coat. He was slouching a little, perhaps bringing himself a bit lower. Even with that, he towered over your dad. You were about to defend him, tell your dad it was your idea, but Aaron spoke first, talking as he walked over to your dad.

“Good thing we didn’t fly. That front coming in has delayed or canceled almost every flight out of D.C. Besides, I wouldn’t want to hassle you with having to pick us up at the airport,” he started, offering his hand to shake. “Aaron Hotchner.”

Your dad wasn’t the most cheery person anyway, but you could tell he wasn’t exactly thrilled at having Aaron here. He did, however, pride himself on being a gentleman, so he shook his hand. “Curtis L/N. Good to finally meet you in person.”

“You too. Y/N has told me so much about you and your wife. I’m curious to see how much of what she told me is true.” He was taking a risky move joking like that, but at the very least it got a huff out of your dad, which was better than the blank stare you would get sometimes when you made a joke. 

“Come on, let’s get inside! I don’t want to freeze my ass off,” you said, earning a look of disapproval from your mother for the curse, but the two of you grabbed the bags from the car and followed the men inside. 

Your mother, being the gracious host she always had to be, left the bags by the door and pointed down the hall. “Now at the very end is the spare bedroom that you can sleep in, Aaron. It’s got a little bathroom attached to it,” she then turned to look at you, “you can just use our bathroom, sweetie.” Oh, you should have expected this. You knew your parents were traditional, so of course there was no way they were going to let you share a room with him unless you had his last name. 

While you loved your parents and were happy to see them after living in D.C. for so long, you were quite tired, and there was only so much of them you could take. “Thanks, mom, but I think Aaron and I are pretty tired. We’ve been driving all day, so we might turn in a little early.” You look at Hotch, expecting him to agree, but he seemed quite determined to get your parents to like him. 

“I can stay up and talk a little longer,” he started, but your dad was already waving his hand dismissively.

“I’m usually out like a light before 8:00. I ain’t got much socializing left in me today,” he said, to which Aaron gave a quick nod, wished your parents good night, and went to the guest bedroom. If you were able to follow him, you would joke that your dad sounded a little like him. He may pull late nights at the BAU, but if he could keep from socializing, he would.

You may have been in your childhood bedroom, but you found it incredibly hard to sleep that night. Perhaps it was because you had been away so long that the place felt foreign to you now. Maybe it was the anxiety of your parent’s approval, or maybe it was the fear that after meeting your family, Hotch wouldn’t want to stay in the relationship. You chastised yourself for that one. You knew it was a stupid thought. You grabbed the phone on your nightstand, deciding to text him.

Maybe it’s a good thing we didn’t get to share a room. We wouldn’t have been able to get away with anything with that squeaky mattress. I can hear you every time you turn

His reply was quick, almost like he had been debating texting you as well. I feel like I’m sixteen again.

I told you I would make you feel younger

Not exactly the way I thought you would do it.

You stared at the message for a moment, knowing he probably felt some of the same anxieties, which was saying something considering Aaron Hotchner was not an anxious person. You should go ahead and get some sleep. They will probably be up early working

I love you.

I love you too

—

You woke up the next morning a little earlier than you usually would have, though you attributed it to the fact that you went to bed pretty early, and you were dealing with a time change, so it was really closer to 9:00 back home. You could smell breakfast in the kitchen, likely cooked a while ago and your mother left it out for you to reheat whenever you got up. When you walked out, you could see the door to the guest room open, but when you peeked inside, Hotch wasn’t there.

Going down the hall to the kitchen, he wasn’t in there either. You went about your business, fixing a plate of eggs, bacon, biscuits with gravy, and a little bit of grits. Coffee had been brewed probably an hour ago, but you fixed yourself a cup, stirring in sugar and cream before heading outside to the porch where you knew your parents were probably sitting and drinking their coffee. They had probably already worked this morning, feeding the cows and chickens and horses.

It was still cold, but most of the snow had melted, and your dad had put heaters by the porch for this very reason. Your mom does this every morning and still complains that it’s cold, so I had to fix something, he had said to you on the phone one night. A heater didn’t sound too bad right then.

“Mornin’ sweetheart,” you heard the moment the screen door creaked open.

“Morning,” you replied, taking the rocking chair on the other side of your mother, “Have you seen Aaron this morning?”

“He went out into town a little bit ago. Said he forgot a couple things and needed to run to the store. I’m having him pick up some more Folgers while he’s out,” she said, cradling her vintage coffee mug in her hand with a smug smile. You know that partly why she missed you was because she missed sending someone else into town. But what could Aaron have possibly missed? He was so particular when it came to packing. He had lists for his lists, and he went over everything with a fine-toothed comb. 

You were about halfway through your breakfast and cup of coffee when you heard the sound of tires against the gravel. You cradled your cup, watching as Aaron stepped out of the car, going to the back and picking up a few grocery bags, a hand behind his back. He swiftly moved up the steps to the porch, kissing your cheek and whispering, “Morning.” He revealed his arm and handed a bouquet of flowers, blue hydrangeas mixed with baby’s breath. The second bouquet he handed to your mother along with a comically large red tin. “I didn’t forget about you. Sunflowers and a value-sized Folgers classic roast for you.” You knew what he was doing, and it was totally working on your mom.

“Aaron, you shouldn’t have,” she said as she took the flowers, inspecting each petal carefully.

“In the Christmas spirit already, St. Nick?” you teased, looking up at him from behind your mug. He had a half grin on his face, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Maybe for some people,” he joked dryly.

He made his way inside, presumably to go about putting the groceries away.

Your mother started a little conversation, asking you a few things about your job, D.C., and about Aaron. It wasn’t long before that conversation turned into your mother going on about the town gossip. How Claire that you went to high school with was married and had two kids with her highschool sweetheart, how they still lived down the road from their parents. You loved yours, but you could not fathom staying in the same zip code as them as an adult. She told you about her hairdresser and how “Bless her heart, she’s new, so she doesn’t quite know what I like yet.”

At some point during the conversation, your dad had made his way inside, his cup of coffee gone as well. It was when you made the realization that your boyfriend was now left alone with your dad that the door opened, both men walking out and heading down the porch steps. 

“Where are you guys going?” you asked, trying to hide the concern in your voice.

“I’m just going to show him around the farm,” your dad said, but there was a glint in his eye that told you he was going to do much more. Aaron looked back at you with a look that screamed help me and was perhaps the most boyish you had seen him in your relationship. As much as you wanted, you couldn’t really do anything, so you watched them walk down the gravel drive toward the barn and said a silent prayer that your father wasn’t planning on killing a federal agent. 

--

“And this right here is my 57’ Thunderbird. I don’t take her out much, only on special occasions.” Curtis had been showing Hotch around the barn for about thirty minutes, telling him all about how it worked, how the hay was kept in the loft which had holes to the feeding troughs in each stall. He seemed the picture of calm, but Hotch could tell he was just waiting for the right moment to talk about the elephant in the room. The older man turned to Hotch, and he expected it to be then that he asked him why the hell he was messing with his daughter.

“You ever rode a horse, Aaron?”

He was taken aback by the question. He had been prepared for anything - for accusations, for an interrogation, for some kind of psychoanalysis, but this…

“No, I haven’t,” he replied hesitantly. “Why are you asking me this.”

“Because you are going to ride a horse today, boy.” 

Hotch had decided that this was worse than any kind of interrogation he was expecting from your father. No, this had to be some kind of divine punishment for a wrongdoing he couldn’t fathom. He should have been offended that your dad called him “boy.” He hadn’t been called that in decades. 

Curtis had already left him by the vintage car and was walking toward a section of the barn to the side with concrete floors. One half looked to be open stalls for grooming, and the other side was filled with saddles, blankets, different ropes and metal chains. He had no idea what was used for what, and part of him was terrified your dad had a murder weapon hidden amongst everything. What should have been the trim by the ceiling was covered with award ribbons of various colors, but an overwhelming amount seemed to be blue. Upon further inspection, it looked as though they were organized by year. The wall closest to the stables held a corkboard with no more room for pictures or trinkets. Tickets and newspaper clippings covered each other, a cluster of memories dating back to around the same time as the ribbons on the wall.

“How much did she tell you? About all this?” Curtis asked, motioning to the board and ribbons.

“She would bring it up sometimes. Always fondly. She told me the family showed livestock and raced horses.”

Curtis crossed his arms, an almost sad sense of nostalgia filling his tone. “Not so much anymore. It’s not as big as it used to be, and I’m getting a little old for hog-tying a calf.”

Hotch found himself laughing, a little surprised he actually cracked a joke.

“There was one time we were in Montana for a case. We were in the middle of nowhere in the mountains, and the local police helping us were all on horses for our search. She joined them like it was nothing. One of our coworkers asked why she never told us she could ride, and she just smiled and said we never asked.” The more Aaron thought about it, the more he realized in that instance you sounded a bit like your dad. He could see now why you put up with his dry sense of humor, and why you had a bit of it too.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you today,” Curtis started, grabbing a saddle. It was an older one compared to the shiny, brighter ones displayed on the wall. This one was still a deep reddish brown but had discoloration in the most well-loved spots. Decorative etchings lined the leather, and silver pieces whose design was near flat adorned places where leathers met. Curtis handed him the saddle, picking up a blanket and a few other roped materials for the horse.

The two walked back into the stabled area, and Curtis stopped at one of the few stalls that actually had a horse inside. “Now most of them go out in the pasture, but Ole Handsome here likes his solitude.” The horse was like salt and pepper, a white sprinkled throughout with gray and black. It was hard to tell exactly what was his color and what was dirt.

“Ole Handsome?” Hotch asked, raising a brow. 

“We got him when Y/N was about 15 I think. Even for a colt he was a scrawny little thing. Looked just pitiful, but she loved him. I started callin him Ole Handsome as a joke, and it just stuck. Now he fits the name.” 

It was an odd moment for Aaron, looking at this animal, a tangible piece of your past that you rarely shared. It made him smile just a bit.

Hotch stood back and watched as your father led the horse out of the stable, slipping the bridle onto the horse with an ease that showed that had both done it a million times before. He went along with the blanket, adding the saddle on top and tightening it with expert hands. Your dad looked back at Hotch, motioning him forward. He wasn’t going to admit it, but the fact that this creature was nearly as tall as him and could easily crush him scared the shit out of him. 

“Now what you’ll do is put your left foot in the stirrup, yup, that thing right there,” he pointed as Hotch followed his words. “Now grab a little bit of his mane.”

“His hair?” Aaron asked, unable to hide his shock. Was he trying to trick him? Would this horse not just bolt the moment he tugged on its hair?

“Well you don’t put all your damn weight on it,” Curtis said, motioning to the other side of the saddle. “You’re gonna hold on to that with your other hand and push yourself up with the stirrup. Holding the mane is just so you are holding on to something else. It ain’t gonna bother him if you pull just a little. It’s like brushing hair with a knot.”

Aaron was hesitant, but he gently placed his left hand on the horse’s mane, taking a fistful while trying to be gentle. He wasn’t sure why he was surprised by the texture. It was much more coarse and wiry than he had been expecting. “Don’t kill me,” he breathed to the horse before placing his other hand on the other side of the saddle and pushing himself up, swinging his leg over and finding the other stirrup.

Curtis looked half surprised, half impressed. “Wasn’t so hard, now was it?” he asked, taking the reins and pulling them in the front so he could lead the horse. “Now you’ll want to sit up straight when you’re riding. Put your hands on the pommel of the saddle. I’ll just walk him around a few circles so you’ll know how it feels.” He made a soft clicking sound with his mouth and gave a gentle tug on the reins, and Ole Handsome gave a snort before moving forward. The motion at first was a little jarring. Hotch felt like he had to fight to keep balance, though he attributed that more to his nerves than anything else. 

The motion of the saddle almost reminded him of ocean waves, a rocking that sent him forward and back. It was a rhythm that was jarring at first, but after a few circles became welcomed. 

“See, not so bad,” Curtis said. “Want to take it up to a trot?”

To be honest, Hotch didn’t know exactly what that entailed, but he was willing to try just about anything to win your dad’s favor. “Sure,” he said, finding himself holding on to the saddle a little bit tighter.

—

You and your mother had been watching the boys from inside the house as the two of you cleaned up breakfast. It started as fearful glances to the barn, making sure you still saw his figure standing by your father in the hopes that your dad hadn’t killed him and hid his body. You could see the two of them talking by your dad’s vintage car, but between drying a few dishes, they had left and weren’t in your eyesight. You were watching out of your own fear and anxiety, your mother was watching because she found it incredibly entertaining. 

You tried to tell yourself to calm down, that you were overthinking and working yourself up, and you did manage to calm down a little bit. You had fixed yourself a hot cup of tea and had joined your mother by the heater on the porch. It was upon sitting down in the rocking chair and looking into the barn that you saw your boyfriend riding your horse.

“Holy shit,” you said, not even bothering to censor yourself for your mother’s sake. “What the hell is dad doing?”

“Language,” your mother said with a pointed gaze, sipping on her second cup of coffee. “Evidently your father conned your poor boyfriend into getting on Ole Handsome. I’m just keeping an eye on the two of them.”

So much of you was terrified for Hotch, but part of you was shocked your father even managed to get him on, and another part was impressed because Aaron was actually doing well.

“Don’t look so scared. Your daddy won’t kill him, at least I don’t think,” your mother had said, moving back and forth in her rocking chair, a fuzzy blanket in her lap, covering her lower half. 

Later your father would swear that it was a barn mouse that scurried in front of your horse. You thought it was a little more intentional, but either way, something scared Ole Handsome, enough for your father to lose grip on the lead as he sprinted off towards the pasture, Aaron holding on surprisingly well. You practically skipped the steps of the porch in your haste, running through the barn to chase after the two. When you caught sight of Aaron, he was off the horse, pulling himself up from the ground, dusting off an arm of his jacket. 

“Are you okay? I just saw Handsome bolt,” you said, taking him by the shoulder and looking him over.

He brushed your hand off, somehow having good spirits about the whole thing. Did he get a concussion? What seemed to shock you the most was that he actually started laughing.

It took him a moment to actually stop laughing, and you could have sworn you saw a tear in the corner of his eye. “In all my career, I’ve been shot at, I’ve gotten my ass kicked, I have been in multiple car chases and accidents, but nothing has scared me as much as when that thing started to run.”

You heard your dad’s jogging footsteps behind you, calling out, “You okay, Aaron?”

Hotch gave him a breathless thumbs up. “Never been better, Mr. L/N.”

And you had never heard a more obvious lie. Yesterday’s snow had mostly melted away by then, but you knew it was still cold. The ground was still frozen and hard, and Hotch was sure to have a mark wherever he landed. 

“Y’all go on inside. I’ll go fetch Handsome before he tears down one of my damn fences again,” your father said, giving Hotch a quick pat on his arm, the one you hoped he didn’t fall on. “I gotta admit, you did a hell of a lot better than I thought you would.”

Aaron gave a little half laugh, something between finding a genuine humor in the situation and not knowing what else to do. “Thanks,” he said. You could hear the edge of a question in his voice, something that told you he wasn’t quite sure if he meant it or not. As the two of you walked back, your arm locked with his, you reassured him that your dad wasn’t one to give out compliments. Hotch joked and asked if that was considered a compliment, and you couldn’t help the smile that came to your face.

“In his own little way, yeah. And right now we are going to take what we can get.”

--

You took care of Hotch for the rest of the day, coddled him really. He tried to tell you that he was fine, that it didn’t hurt more than anything he had gotten on the job.  You pointedly told him that was a terrible scale considering most of the BAU had been shot at some point in their career. He only agreed a little, but you think he enjoyed the peace the day brought after his hectic morning.

The two of you sat on the couch most of the day, curled up against each other with a blanket as you kept the Hallmark channel on. Your mom joined for one of the movies considering these were her favorite things to watch during the holiday season. You may have inherited a love for their cheesy, cliche nature from her. Meanwhile, Aaron would point out plot inconsistencies or try to psychoanalyze the characters. You would throw a piece of popcorn at his face when he would, rolling your eyes and saying, “Aaron, babe, these movies aren’t supposed to be that serious. Now shut up and watch the successful journalist find her true love from high school in her hometown coffee shop.” 

You weren’t sure what movie you were on when you dozed off, your head on Aaron’s shoulder and his arm around you as he suffered through the cheesy movie you weren’t awake to watch. Your mother had gone to bed not too long ago. You were beginning to nod back into reality, and you noticed your side was colder than before, whatever body heat Aaron had given you was gone with him. You were starting to tune into a conversation in the kitchen.

“You really want to help out? 5:00a.m. I want you up and ready by then. I’ve got to feed the animals, and one of the fences needs repair.”

Was your dad really trying to get Aaron to help around the farm? You started to stir on the couch which quickly hushed both voices. When you looked up, Aaron was taking steps toward you. 

“Sorry if I woke you. The couch was starting to kill my back a little. Maybe an actual bed would be better to rest on after getting thrown off a horse.”

You gave a soft nod, still half asleep. “Yeah. Are you going to bed?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding towards your dad in the kitchen, “early morning tomorrow.”

--

Aaron was no stranger to waking up early, though he hadn’t exactly planned on getting up that early during his time off. It’s okay, this is all for her. Just get him to tolerate you, he told himself. Your dad didn’t need to become his biggest fan. He just needed to see that he cared for you. And if that meant getting up before the sun and shoveling frozen shit in the snow, he would do it.

--

Five in the morning came much sooner than Aaron wanted it to. The sun wasn’t even up, so he found himself yawning much more than he would have cared for. At the very least, his new purchases would come into use. When he went out into town the day before, he did stop by the grocery store for flowers and coffee, but he also stopped by one of the stores that were tailored for western and work wear. The amount he spent buying work boots, cowboy boots, even a high-quality hat…Rossi would have laughed in his face if he ever found out. 

He pulled on the steel-toed boots, a slick design that he at least could find a way to style later. He didn’t want to drop nearly $200 on shoes he was just buying to appeal to your parents - he already did that with more traditional boots. Hotch pulled his puffer jacket a little closer and made his way to the porch where Curtis was already sitting with a cup of coffee. Of course.

As he opened the screen door, Curtis looked down at his watch, raising a brow. “Couple minutes late, but to be honest I thought you would have slept through morning chores,” he said, his eyes finally meeting Hotch and looking him up and down.

“What the hell are you wearing?” Curtis asked, his eyes specifically pointed down at his shoes. Well shit, Hotch thought, these clearly weren’t the right boots.

“They are work boots…with the steel toe,” he said, tapping the porch with the end of his boot.

“They are Blundstones,” Curtis said bluntly.

What did that even mean? “Is that not good?”

“Well for one, that’s the cleanest work boot I’ve ever seen. Second, Blundstones are what the frilly boys down in Houston wear when they want to look the part. Any real worker is wearing Ariat or Carhartt. Simple as that.”

Yes, the hierarchy of work boots. Simple as that.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Let’s get to work.”

It had snowed when they arrived, and though most of it had left yesterday, sometime during the night it started again. There wasn’t much on the ground, but it was still falling. He figured they would have a decent bit by the time you and your mother were up. While it was still relatively dark outside, the whiteness of the snow seemed to give just a little more light.

“First order of business, it’s cold enough that the top of the water in the horse’s trough might be frozen,” he continued on as he handed Aaron some kind of metal rod and gloves, “Just break it and get the chunks of ice out for them. Once that is done, you can get the feed out of this bucket here. Two scoops should do the trick, and if the goat that hangs out with the horses cries for more, don’t listen.”

Aaron followed the orders dutifully, feeling like he was back in training when he first joined the FBI. Sure enough, like Curtis said, the water at the top was frozen, but it didn’t take much to break it apart, tossing the glass-looking shards of ice to the side. He turned the buckets over, ridding them of the snow that had accumulated during the night and started to fill them with food. He had only put one scoop in when he heard a sound like thunder, a group of horses making their way to the edge of the fence, crunching snow beneath them. A little goat, white as the snow and with stumps on his head where it looked like horns should have been, followed right behind them.

Hotch continued to fill the buckets, putting two scoops in like Curtis had said. The horses had started to eat, and when he approached the last one, the goat seemed to be waiting patiently like some well-trained golden retriever. He placed the two scoops in and turned to leave, stopping only when he heard a loud bleating sound from the goat. 

“I’m not giving you anymore,” he said dryly.

The goat bleated again. 

“No.”

It cried again, an awful wavering sound with a touch of an attitude behind it.

“For God’s-”

“Hotchner, are you yelling at the damn goat?” Curtis called from the barn.

“No, sir,” he called back, his jaw setting as he looked back at the animal. “No more food,” he whispered, walking back towards the barn.

Curtis was already putting gloves on, a roll of barbed wire by his side. He handed Hotch a shovel and what looked to be a metal fence post. “Handsome wasn’t very kind to my fence after he threw you off yesterday,” he muttered, though he seemed rather unphased by it all. The more he spent time on the farm, the more he wondered how anyone could see these animals normally. Yeah, the five-foot-tall, nine-hundred-pound thing running and ripping your fence out of the ground is pretty normal.

The two men walked along the fencing and frozen ground, soon enough coming up to the post and wire that needed replacing. Even with the gloves, Hotch’s hands were freezing. The kind of cold where it almost feels like they are burning. “Let’s get this over with so we can go inside and get some coffee,” Aaron said, earning a raised brow from your father.

“Chickening out already?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well then get to diggin’.”

The ground was much harder to break than he thought it would be, but the physical work at least warmed him up a little. After a few hard strikes with the shovel, he finally had enough depth to where he could push the post in securely. Once the post was in, repairing the fence didn’t take long. Curtis connected it to the rest of the fencing and checked the stability before he called it a day and said the two of them should head inside. 

Hotch was happy to take off his coat and start brewing the coffee. The sun was just starting to appear, though it seemed that neither you or your mother were up yet. Curtis walked into the kitchen, grabbing a cup for himself. “You know, Aaron, I’ve got a confession to make.”

Whatever followed those words was never good. “Okay.”

“Usually I don’t make guests do farm work like that, you know. But after seeing you get on that horse yesterday…I kinda just wanted to see how far you would go. You seemed committed to trying to impress me, so I thought it would be fun to test it, and I believe I was right.”

Hotch leaned against the counter for a moment, listening to the coffee maker groan as the pot filled with the steaming liquid he hoped would get him through the conversation to come. “And? Are you impressed?”

“I suppose for a fed I shouldn’t be surprised by your dedication. I guess what I am still trying to figure out is why an older man like yourself, with a son, would want someone like my daughter. The answers to those questions are never something a dad wants to hear, but you can figure why I wanna know. Not to mention that you are her boss, and I won’t have you screwing up her career. I hate not to have her home, but that job makes her proud, and I won’t have you fuckin’ it up for her.”

Aaron didn’t want to admit it, but all of those were valid points. The optics of your relationship were…questionable at best. He knew that the moment you started your relationship. It was still something kept on the down low, even though you were practically living together. No one else in the BAU knew…except Rossi. He knew Hotch a little too well and connected the dots. And he caught the two of you having dinner out one night. Being aware of the faults didn’t get rid of the inherent power dynamics, though. Aaron was in a position of power over you, and the thought that you could have felt pressured at all made him sick.

“I know there is not much I can do about our age differences or the fact that she works under me, but I want you to know that there is nothing I wouldn’t do for your daughter, Mr. L/N. If need be, I have paperwork ready for a transfer. I would rather lose my job than lose her.”

It was the first time Hotch saw genuine shock cross Curtis’s face. “So you have actually thought about this?”

“I have…a lot. And I know that your daughter makes me the happiest I have ever been, and I hope I do the same for her. It’s why I got up this early on my time off to help, it’s why I agreed to ride that stupid horse and not complain when he threw me off. It’s why I dropped nearly $700 dollars on boots and a hat.” That last part kept the shock on Curtis’s face. “I did it because you are important to her, so I wanted you to like me.”

Curtis seemed to process all that he said, crossing his arms and starting to quietly fix his cup of coffee. Was he just going to leave the conversation there? He could see a slight rise and drop in his shoulders as he fixed the drink, and it took Hotch a little too long to realize he was laughing at him. 

“You’ve gotta be some special kind of stupid if you thought spending that much money on boots and a hat was gonna make me like you more. You really are a fed…but you’re alright, I reckon.”

He was alright. It was much better than any other outcome that has run through his head. “Thank you, sir.”

“Ah, now don’t get ahead of yourself. I’m still not exactly fond of your relationship…but you make her happy, and it’s pretty clear she’s doing the same for you.”

In the end, that was all that mattered to Hotch. That you were happy, and that he was the reason.

—

Like the morning before. You woke up more from the sun being in your eyes than your body telling you to wake up. The snow made the reflection of the sun much brighter. You groaned as you made your way out of bed, throwing on sweatpants and walking into the kitchen to find a sight you never thought possible.

Aaron and your dad were in the kitchen. They had both borrowed your mother’s aprons and were in the process of finishing up making breakfast. 

“Did Hell freeze over while I was asleep?” you asked, unable to hide just how baffled you were at the sight. You were sure your dad hated him.

“Sweetie, sometimes Christmas miracles do happen. Best not balk at them,” your dad joked. Aaron just gave a shrug that said something along the lines of “take what you can get.” Most of the food was already on the table and ready, the sunflowers Aaron had given your mother yesterday were in a vase at the center.

The spread on the table was a lot like the day before. Eggs, bacon, grits, and all the fixings. What was new, though, was the addition of pancakes that seemed to have something in them. “Are those pancakes with pecans?” you asked, a little more excited than you meant to sound.

“Just for you,” Aaron added, placing the bottle of maple syrup by them. The two of you would often make these at either of your apartments, usually listening to The Beatles’ white album from front to back. Sometimes you would even catch Aaron using the whisk as a microphone when he thought you weren’t looking.

You couldn’t help the feeling of peace that a breakfast like this gave you. Having your parents there reminded you of when you were a kid, but the kind of domesticity that was Aaron Hotchner making pancakes with a stupid apron was something that just couldn’t be replicated. It was simple, but it was perhaps what made you happiest.

After breakfast, you decided to take Aaron out for a walk, wanting to see how he was holding up with the pressure of your father. Selfishly, you also wanted to see if maybe he was thinking the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

The snow under your feet was near perfect. Fluffy, not too frozen or mixed too much with water that hadn’t turned to snow. Each step it crunched under your boot with a satisfying sound. You forgot how beautiful the farm looked in winter. Icicles dangled from the gutter of the barn and little beads of melting ice clung to the trees like they were ornaments. The sun was out and heating up the land just a little to start to melt the snowy landscape, but for this moment it gave a bright sheen to everything.

Somehow in this snowy place, Aaron looked even better. The sun gave his black hair the lightest hints of a ruddy brown. The cool, nippy air gave his cheeks and the tip of his nose a dusted red hue. You were sure the tips of his ears looked that way too, though you couldn’t see for his beanie. He looked softer, more at peace than the supervisory special agent you knew at the BAU. This wasn’t Hotch. This was Aaron. This was the man you had fallen in love with. Even in the cold, bundled up like this with him felt like home.

“You know, this is the perfect snow for building stuff,” you said casually, looking at him out of the corner of your eye.

“Hm?” he raised a brow, seeming to wonder where you were going with this. You pulled away from his arm, leaning down and grabbing a handful of snow.

“You know, it’s perfect for snowmen and forts. When I was a kid I would make a snowman and then try and make snow farm animals,” you said, continuing to pack snow into a tight little unit. “Hey, Aaron?” you mused, waiting for him to look over before taking the compressed ball of snow and chucking it right at his face. It exploded right at his forehead, taking his beanie off. Flakes of snow clung to his hair, his eyebrows, his lashes. You could see a scowl starting to form on his face, and you were worried if you actually had hurt him or annoyed him. 

“You know, that was really immature of you,” he started, leaning down to pick up his beanie. You took a step forward, opening your mouth to apologize and instead having it filled with snow as Aaron launched some at your face. You took a step back, nearly losing your balance as you tried to spit out the cold. When you looked up, Aaron was doubled over, laughing and wiping the snow off his brow.

“Oh, that was a dirty move,” you said.

“I didn’t realize we were playing fair,” he said, breathless from his laughter, the clouds of his breath visible.

“We certainly aren’t now.” At the same time you both went for the ground, trying to craft an arsenal of snowballs as fast as you could. You were the first to throw, but he was quick on his feet and dodged, throwing one toward you and pelting you in the shoulder.

You weren’t sure how long this went on for, the two of you running around in the snow like little kids again. The way when you finally made it to his side, you tackled him to the ground. He rolled over, tossing snow in the air, in your face, in both your jackets. It was impractical, and childish, and stupid, and you hadn’t seen a smile this wide on his face in a long time.

--

The rest of the day was spent much like the day before, sitting at the television with the Hallmark channel going. It was sometime around 4:00 that Aaron spoke up and asked, “How long would it take you to get ready?”

You had an odd look on your face, your brows scrunched as you tried to understand what he could possibly have planned. “An hour, give or take a few minutes. Why?” 

He smiled a little, a curl of his lip that didn’t yet show his teeth. “Just get ready. Don’t be too fancy. Pants might be preferable,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before leaving the couch. “I’ve got to get a shower before we go.”

You wanted to call after him ‘go where?” but he was already down the hall. He had that look in his eye, the one that showed up when he had a plan for a date night but didn’t want to tell you. Usually he was pretty bad at keeping secrets like that from you, but this time…you really had no clue what he had planned.

It wasn’t until a little over an hour later you sat in the kitchen, flipping through one of your mother’s worn cookbooks that you started to put the pieces together. You had dressed somewhat casually. Jeans, boots, and a nicer top, a jacket hanging on the chair beside you. When Hotch came out from the always, though, you weren’t sure whether you should laugh or find it a little hot.

At his feet were boots. Real boots with the pointed toe, though most of the design was hidden by his jeans. They were…different from the jeans he normally wore. A little tighter and actually showed off his ass a bit. You tried not to stare as he did a little spin, hands on his hip asking if you liked it. The belt buckle was huge, one you couldn’t tell the engraving of from this far away. His shirt was tucked into his jeans, a of type western-styled button-up, each button even up to the very top, done. And the cherry on top of it all was the cowboy hat. His fucking cowboy hat. White, clearly of well quality, and fitting him just right. You didn’t think cowboys were your type, but Hotch as one…you could get behind this.

Your silence seemed to worry him, though, as his face fell a little. “You don’t like it, do you?”

You shook your head, taking a few steps his way. “No, I like it,” you said and unbuttoned the top two buttons. “But now I love it.” You smiled against his lips as yours met his, lingering with your hands on his chest for a moment longer. “Should I even ask how much you spent on all of this?”

“When I let it slip to you dad, he compared me to a frilly Houston boy.”

“Oh, so what I’m hearing is I’ll be paying for food tonight?”

“Now, I never said that. Besides, if I have learned anything about your father, it’s that he liked tradition. So I will be paying, and driving, and dropping you off at a reasonable hour.”

You rolled your eyes a little, but you still had a smile on your face. Your dad and Hotch…you never actually thought the two of them would get along, but somehow he actually managed to win your dad over. Aaron wrapped your coat over your shoulders, your arm holding his as the two of you walked to the car. “Hey Aaron?” you mused, “Could you wear this a little more often?”

“Only for you - and only when we are far away from Virginia.” You gave your cowboy one more longing kiss before the two of you rode off into the night.

#aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x fem!reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch angst #hotch fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner one shot #one shot fluff #cowboy hotch #aaron hotchner fic #criminal minds fluff

[honeybrowne]

𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 — 𝐀𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐄𝐑

— summary: after forgetting your anniversary, aaron is consumed with guilt and can't help but feel like he doesn't deserve you or the gift you gave him. you prove to him that he does.

— pairing: aaron hotchner x reader (no pronouns)

— content: angst with a happy ending; hurt feelings [1.6k words]

— author's note: this was requested and meant to only be a blurb, but it quickly got out of hand… so here we are lmao. i hope this is what you had in mind, anon!

navigation . masterlist

9:37 p.m.

That's what the clock read when you looked at it for the fifth time in the last ten minutes, wondering if your boyfriend would ever come home.

At this point, you had been waiting for almost five hours. The dinner you made for your anniversary already stored in the refrigerator.

Part of you hoped the team had been called away for a case, and Aaron was too swamped with responsibilities, trying to save yourself from the sorrow that he simply forgot. But deep down, you knew he would've made time to call you, texting Penelope to know for sure.

Once you got the confirmation from her that they didn't have a case, and he was still in his office when she left, you couldn't stop the tears from rolling down your face.

Maybe it was your fault for not reminding Aaron of what today was, but you didn't think you had to. You thought he'd remember on his own, considering he referred to the day you agreed to be his partner as the second best day of his life, only coming second to when his son was born.

Knowing it wasn't as important to him as you thought stung, probably just another day that he didn't think was worth celebrating when it meant everything to you.

After another twenty minutes, you decided there was no point in waiting anymore. You turned off all the lights, blew out the candles you lit, and left his gift on the table for him to find.

When Aaron got home an hour later, he wasn't surprised to see all the lights out, but he was surprised to see a card and a small box wrapped beautifully in wrapping paper sitting on the kitchen table. He looked down the hall to check if the bedroom door was open and you were awake, but it was closed, and he flicked the lights on to get a better look at it.

His stomach sank when he read his name in your handwriting on the pale blue envelope, a tiny heart doodled at the end.

That's when it dawned on him.

He ran a hand down his face at the realization, cursing under his breath as he carefully opened it. It was a card for the anniversary he had forgotten, resulting in you spending it alone because he stayed late at work for the fourth time that week.

What hurt even worse was what you had written on the inside:

Happy anniversary, my love.

I know one year of being together might not be the most significant milestone you've accomplished, but getting to love you for that long has been the most significant one of mine. To this day, I still can't comprehend how I got lucky enough to share this life with you and be the one you come home to every night you're not away saving the world.

There's so much more I wish I could say, but there aren't enough words to express how much you mean to me, so I hope this is good enough.

Forever yours, Y/N.

With a shaky hand and a few stubborn tears, Aaron set the card down and reached for the box beside it. Carefully, he slipped the ribbon off, removing the paper as neatly as possible. Just by the emblem on the packaging, he knew what it was.

A few months ago, he had mentioned a watch he wanted but didn't think it was worth spending that much on something he could get for cheaper. Of course, you had gotten it for him anyway, a gift to prove you listened and wanted to do whatever you could to make him happy. He tried not to get more choked up about it, but the lump in his throat proved that to be useless.

Opening it confirmed his suspicions that it was the silver Submariner Rolex he had shown you, and he couldn't help but feel like he didn't deserve to touch it, much less put it on.

He closed the lid and left it on the table where he found it but took the card with him before making his way into the bedroom.

You were fast asleep, the bathroom light on and the door cracked open because you hated sleeping in complete darkness without him. Aaron quietly removed his suit and shoes, hanging his jacket and pants up in the closet so he could take them to the dry cleaners at the end of the week.

Before getting in bed with you, he placed the card on the nightstand next to the picture of him and Jack you gifted him for his birthday. You didn't move when he slipped under the covers, either in too deep of sleep to notice or refusing to give him any of your attention.

If the latter were the case, he wouldn't have blamed you.

"Sweetheart," Aaron said softly, gently rubbing your arm, trying not to startle you.

"Not in the mood," you murmured as you moved away, followed by a faint sniffle.

There wasn't a doubt in his mind that you spent all evening crying, which broke his heart. It was already bad enough that he had stupidly forgotten your anniversary, but to know he was the reason for your tears made him feel like the worst boyfriend in the world, and all he wanted to do was fix it.

"Baby, please look at me," he begged, refraining from touching you again.

Your breath was unsteady as you inhaled deeply, slowly turning around to face him. Even with the tiny sliver of light coming from the bathroom, Aaron could see how puffy your eyes were from crying.

"How was your day?" you asked quietly.

He sighed. "Don't worry about that right now. I want to apologize to you."

"Aaron, it's fine—"

"No, it's not," he denied. "It's not okay that I forgot our anniversary and left you here waiting for me all night. It's not okay that you went out of your way to make this special just for me to not show up." Tears began to well in your eyes again, and he tugged you towards him, cradling the back of your head as you buried your face in his neck to quiet your sobs. "I'm so sorry, baby."

He wished you would say something, even if it was to tell him how angry you were at him, but you weren't. You were crying because you were upset, and that was even worse.

"I know I don't deserve it, but talk to me. Please," he murmured.

You forced yourself to look at him, his hand coming up to wipe your tears away. "I'm sad," you said. "I get that your job is important, but I really thought I meant more to you."

Aaron closed his eyes as he processed your words, wrapping his arm around you tighter. "Sweetheart, you mean everything to me. I'm not trying to make excuses, but the last few weeks have been hectic, and it just slipped my mind."

Despite him saying he wasn't trying to make excuses, he was. You didn't want to think about this anymore and would rather go to sleep so you could pretend like this day never happened.

You didn't want to be mad at him over something that was already done and you couldn't change. It was already a miracle that he came home at all with how dangerous his job was; that's what you wanted to focus on and be grateful for.

"I know," you whispered. "Can we just go to bed, please?"

Even though fights between you happened rarely, he never liked going to bed with either of you upset. However, it wasn't his place to be asking for things from you right now, so he agreed.

You turned over to face away from him, but you let him keep his arm draped over your side.

After a few minutes, you managed to fall asleep, but Aaron laid awake all night.

The following morning, he tried not to disturb you when it was time for him to get up. Thankfully, you rested peacefully as he disappeared into the bathroom to shower. It wasn't till he was putting on the final touches of his outfit that your eyes blinked open.

Aaron smiled at you, and you returned the sentiment as you watched him adjust his tie. You frowned when his old watch peeked out from under the sleeve of his suit jacket, wondering why he wasn't wearing the one you got him.

"Wait, did you not see your gift on the table when you got home?" you asked, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

"Oh, I did," he nodded, "but I didn't think I deserved to have it."

The tone of his voice was self-loathing, and he looked at you curiously when you moved to get off the bed. "I'm gonna go get it. I want to see what it looks like on," you explained, and he stopped you.

His mouth opened and closed like he was going to say something, but he just smiled and kissed your forehead. "I'll get it. Stay here."

You brought him in for a kiss before letting him go, adjusting your pillows so you could sit comfortably. He returned a few moments later with the Rolex still in the box, turning the light on and handing it to you to do the honors.

When you bought it, you couldn't believe how nice it was, but as you placed it on his wrist, it was a thousand times better than what you remembered.

It fit him perfectly, the silver looking sharp against the black of his suit.

"What do you think?"

Aaron blinked at you a few times, at a loss for words. "Honey, I love it. I'm sorry I don't have anything for you yet, but it's... wow. Thank you."

"You're welcome," you grinned, the expression on his face better than any anniversary gift you could ever receive.

He stood between your legs and tilted your chin up, bringing you in for a kiss so sweet you almost melted right then and there. It was everything you both needed, a silent apology from him and a reminder that he loved you more than you could imagine, but it didn't hurt to say it out loud, too.

"I love you."

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x gn!reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner angst #hotch x reader #hotch x gn!reader #hotch x you #hotch x y/n #hotch angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch fanfiction #.writing

[hasu-ko]

belladonna of sadness

Content: hotch x reader, unrequited love, pure angst, like pure pure angst, no happy ending, rossi being the greatest father figure you ever had, 3k.

A/N: Bruh, I'm so into Hotch these days that I've decided to write a fic about him after being on hiatus for almost 3 years. I just had to get these feelings out of my system. You people don't understand the intensity of my feels rn. I considered ending it on a happier note but then I decided that the angst is just so much better. Yes, my mother Stevie Nicks just had to be in this one.

"I'm leaving BAU, Dave," you finally breathed out the words that had been gnawing at the smooth walls of your stomach for what felt like an eternity.

It was a windy Friday night, and everyone from the team had already left after a particularly tiring case. Their thoughts were heavy, and their bodies yearned for rest and relaxation. You, on the other hand, dreaded going home, knowing that nothing but a cold bed awaited you there. It was a feeling that had haunted you for the past few years.

So, you did what you do best and immersed yourself in your work, catching up with everyone's paperwork and going through potential case files. Rossi decided to help you despite your stern protests.

The older agent's head snapped in your direction, utter confusion written all over his face.

"Why?" was all that he could muster.

"They offered me a teaching position at Cambridge. Maybe you don't know this, but I've always wanted a career in academia," you tapped your pen against the case file spread out in front of you as a lie passed your lips ever so nonchalantly.

"Don't even bother with petty lies, kiddo. It's because of him, isn't it?" Rossi sighed and ran his fingers through his colored hair.

You bit your lip anxiously, finally dropping all of your defense mechanisms. Despair that had been lightly simmering within you started boiling, burning your insides in a way that you had almost grown accustomed to over the past few months.

You let out a choked "yes," and all of a sudden, violent shakes overtook your tired body. All of the emotions that had been bottled up for ten years spilled out and wrecked every fine fiber of your being. You didn't know why you chose to tell Rossi everything that night. Maybe because he was the closest thing you ever had to a father, or maybe because you secretly hoped that he would make everything all right, like he always did.

"I just can't stand seeing him so damn happy with her, Dave. I know how selfish that sounds, but I've been nothing but selfless all these years. I've been there for him when he lost Haley. I've done everything I could to help him heal from that tremendous wound, and yet he still chose Beth. Don't get me wrong, I don't regret anything, Dave, but I'm just tired. He chose that stranger over me," you broke down completely, sobbing uncontrollably.

Rossi said nothing. For the first time in his life, he was rendered speechless. He knew you liked Hotch, but he never thought it was this deep and serious.

Now that the dam holding your emotions was shattered to dust particles, you continued.

"It hurts to be in the same room with him, David. It hurts so damn much. That man has brought so much pain and misery into my life, but I still love him as much as I did on the day that I first met him. It was easier when he was with Haley. I never had any hopes, but when she died, I thought..." you let out a bitter laugh, unable to finish that thought.

"You must think I'm an awful person."

Rossi just shook his head gently.

"Darling, you're just a human being."

"What is wrong with me, Dave? Why didn't he choose me?" you lifted your knees to your chest and buried your face in them.

Rossi stood up and wrapped his arms around your quivering form. You looked like a little child, so small and vulnerable. He wanted to scoop you up, kiss your forehead, and make things right, but he knew he couldn't. This was out of his control.

"Nothing is wrong with you, sweetheart. He just can't control whom he falls in love with. These things happen. You could be the most beautiful, the most brilliant, the most wonderful person in the world, which you are, but even that is not enough when it comes to love," he whispered in your ear.

"You know, I always tell people my job is the reason why I never got married, but the truth is, I love Aaron too much. The thought of loving another man twisted my insides in a way that no case could ever. I was so hopelessly loyal to him all these years, Dave. I wasted my life dreaming that one day he would love me back," you hurried to spill those words from your mouth, scared that your vocal cords would betray you before you could confess your deepest secret to someone.

For some strange reason, you looked for pity that night. You were so miserable by that point, and you just wanted someone to acknowledge your misery. People always sought the validation of their pain. They wanted to make sure that their problems were real, that they were not overreacting or imagining things, thinking that compassion and pity would do them some good. They never did.

Rossi took your head in his hands and forced you to look at him.

"We love to be in control; we love to think that our actions will somehow affect the outcome of our lives, but oh, how wrong are we. Sure, you can control certain aspects of your life, such as your career or hobbies, or any other man-made field, but we are helpless when it comes to things that matter. Maybe that is why we value love and friendship so much; because we can't choose who we fall in love with or which people we meet. All of those things happen naturally; one day you just wake up and realize that you've become best friends with someone without being able to pinpoint the exact moment in which the strong bond was created. Perhaps there is someone somewhere on this planet who could understand you better and love you better, but you will never meet them because you were not destined to meet them. Your love for him matters. Don't think that it was all for nothing because you did help him. You helped him a lot," he spoke slowly.

"The pain is unbearable, Rossi," you muttered lowly, tears finally ceasing.

"Until one day it gets bearable, and then it gets lighter, and then it turns into a shadow, and one day you wake up and it doesn't hurt anymore. You need time to heal. You need to do everything you can to help that process, even if it means moving halfway across the world," he got up and poured himself a glass of whiskey, visibly shaken by your sudden confession.

"Thank you. I appreciate everything you did for me," you stood up, legs still shaking.

"You are welcome. I'm always here for you," he smiled a pained smile.

"Actually, I have a favor, or two to ask."

"Anything."

"Promise me you won't tell him or anyone else on the team what you heard tonight in this room. Ever," you stared at him firmly with your puffy eyes filled with pure determination.

"I promise," Rossi didn't hesitate for even a second.

"Also, can you please host one last party for me? I'm leaving on Monday. Everything has already been settled with the higher-ups, so Aaron won't bother with that. I just want to see you all for one last time," you genuinely smiled at him.

"I'll make sure to gather them all on Sunday evening."

"Thank you, Dave," you walked up to him and kissed his cheek.

Before he could reply, you were already at the door.

~

You watched the people you considered your family lounging carelessly in Rossi's living room from your spot on the kitchen counter and hummed lightly along the tune of "Summer Wine" that played softly in the background. The chain of anxiety and guilt that wrapped itself around your lungs constricted just a little bit tighter at the mere thought of the task ahead of you.

They all looked so happy, and that made you doubt your decision, but one look at the man responsible for your current state reminded you that you had to do it.

Garcia laughed at something Morgan said, and you couldn't fight back a smile of your own.

"Better sooner than later," you heard Dave's whisper as he closed the wine cabinet after finding what he was looking for.

"I'm not telling them, David. I don't have it in me to watch their hearts get broken," you sighed softly, tracing soft patterns on a cool glass filled with orange juice.

"I know it's not my decision to make, but" Rossi started, but you quickly interrupted him by pushing yourself off the counter and walking toward the grand piano next to a huge window.

You smiled fondly at all of the memories created in that very spot. Ever since Dave returned to the team, you had a habit of dining at his place at least once a month. That's how the team found out about your affinity toward music. Playing for them brought you joy you hadn't felt since you played at your mother's parties.

You ran a finger down the keys, and as if on cue, they all gathered around you. The ability to bring happiness into your team's difficult lives kept you going for years. Now, it just wasn't enough.

Morgan and Garcia sat on a small sofa close to the grand piano. Emily, JJ, and Reid leaned against the kitchen island with drinks in their hands. Rossi stood behind you with worry written all over his features. He didn't even hide it anymore. Hotch must have picked it up as he furrowed his eyebrows, watching both of you from his spot in the living room.

Sitting down with a heavy sigh, you spoke.

"You know, it occurred to me that I never played you guys my favorite song. I was saving it for a special occasion, but what the hell."

As soon as those words left your lips, an interlude for "Has Anyone Ever Written Anything for You" started playing.

This song was a central piece of your most grandiose dream - marrying Hotch. You imagined playing it for the guests at your reception. As your fingers gracefully glided across the piano keys, the music filled the air with a sweet melody that resonated with the emotions of the day. Hotch's steps were gentle and deliberate as he approached you, a smile on his face, and love in his eyes. You, lost in the music and the joy of the occasion, were momentarily unaware of his presence. As he wrapped his arms around you, you felt his warmth and presence, and your heart skipped a beat. Your embrace was a symbol of your unity, your journey together, and the promise of a lifetime of happiness.

You squeezed your eyes shut as tears threatened to spill at any moment.

Has anyone ever written anything for you?

In all your darkest hours,

Have you ever heard me sing?

The pain in your chest multiplied by a thousand and stood as a stark reminder of the deep connection between mind and body. It was a physical manifestation of the emotional damage you had endured for too many years, a silent cry for help that demanded acknowledgment and healing. Your voice cracked. Ignoring it, you opened your eyes, which immediately found him, and carried on.

Listen to me now

You know I'd rather be alone

Than be without you

Don't you know?

No matter how painful his gaze filled with pity and fatherly compassion was, you didn't stop. Tears blurred your vision, but you knew you had to do it. This was the only way. The right way.

Has anyone ever given anything to you?

In your darkest hour

Did you ever give it back?

Well, I have

I have given that to you

If it's all I ever do

This is your song

A pair of hands wrapped around your shoulders in the gentlest of manners, and you felt Emily's ragged breath on top of your head. You leaned back against her warm and protective chest.

And the rain comes down

There's no pain and there's no doubt

It was easy to say, I believed in you every day

If not for me, then do it for the world

But there was pain, and it filled the whole house. It seized the hearts of your teammates as well. Garcia's loud sob managed to reach your ears even through the music. You didn't look at her. Even if you wanted to, you couldn't tear your eyes away from a single tear that traveled down Hotch's beautiful face.

You managed to rasp out the final words.

So if not for me, then do it for yourself

If not for me, then do it for the world

Suddenly, the air in the living room became incredibly heavy, suffocating you to the point where you thought your whole body would snap in two. Before anyone could react, you jumped out of Emily's arms and ran toward the door that led to the backyard.

Crisp October air filled your cramped lungs instantly, and you allowed yourself to breathe. Goosebumps formed under the long, flowy chiffon sleeves of your dress of choice for that night, and you couldn't tell if it was from the cold breeze or the whirlwind of emotions wreaking havoc inside of you. Your gaze climbed up and steadied itself on the full moon stuck to the heavens above. The moon had been your best friend for such a long time, and you pitied her for having to listen to your hushed secrets and anguished cries. The tears had dried along the way, and you looked at her with wide and watery eyes. You wanted nothing more than to climb up there, hide yourself in whatever hole she offered you, and wither away.

A presence next to you disturbed you from your train of thought, and soon after, Hotch's scent empowered every one of your senses.

"Beautiful. Isn't she?" you broke the silence, your tone of voice back to normal.

"Yes. I haven't looked up at the sky in such a long time," he crossed his arms over his chest.

You hummed mostly to yourself as you took another step toward the edge of Rossi's porch.

"How is Jack doing? With so much work at our hands, I haven't been able to visit him in what feels like months," you placed your elbows on the wooden fence in front, leaning at the same time in a desperate attempt to create more space between the two of you.

"Good. Great, actually. He's been asking about you, wondering why you don't stop at ours as much as you used to. I've been asking myself the same question for quite a while," he didn't miss a beat and mimicked your movements, letting his forearm brush against yours in the process.

In an instant, the ache soared in your chest again, and you let out a strangled breath.

"How is Beth doing? Jack seems to be in love with her as much as you are," choosing to ignore his remark, you shook an invisible knife penetrating your very soul, driven by a masochistic urge to wound it even deeper.

"I was planning on dropping by her place after the dinner. We haven't seen..." before he could finish, he was cut off by your shrill voice. You just couldn't take it.

"Stop it. I can't take it anymore, Hotch. I'll die if you finish that sentence," you haven't realized that teardrops started painting your face again.

"Darling, please. Don't do this," came in the form of a hoarse croak.

"No, Aaron, you broke my heart, you broke my entire life. You are the one who practically raised me long before Rossi came along. I built my life around you. Look at me, Aaron," you sobbed while turning to face him.

"I'm a pale shadow of a woman that I once was. Look at my face, look at these lines between my brows. Look at this hair falling out. Look how old my hands look, my skin almost see-through, frail."

He said nothing and just looked at you through his tears.

"You want to know the worst part of it all? You are so worth it, my love. You are so worth it. I would choose this life with you amongst all of the happier versions without you in it. I would go through all of this immeasurable pain over and over and over again just to see you smile that rare smile of yours that sends me into rapture. I would choose you even if you don't choose me. Always and for as long as I live," you poured your heart in front of him, watching him for what you knew would be the last time, trying to memorize every feature of his handsome face.

"I'm so sorry, I truly am," he finally wrapped his limp hands around your smaller form.

He couldn't help but notice how perfectly your body was snug against his, how warm you were, and how you smelled like oranges and vanilla.

"It is okay, baby. There is nothing to be sorry about; it's not your fault. You can't choose whom you fall in love with," you repeated Rossi's words in his white shirt, forever ruining it with whatever makeup was left on your face.

His grip around your shoulders tightened as if he was trying to push you into his ribcage in a desperate attempt to get even closer to you. Hotch's hot tears trickled down your neck and ended up being soaked into the fabric of your dress. You finally relaxed in his warm embrace, all of the intense feelings making you slump against him.

"I'm so sorry that I can't give you what you deserve," he whispered against your ear and proceeded to kiss your temple.

At that moment, something just snapped inside you, as if someone cut the electric wiring in the middle of a rave party. Darkness painted your insides and numbness finally settled in.

You pulled away from him and cupped his face in your small hands.

"Here's what we're gonna do, Hotch. You and I will wipe away these tears. Then we will go inside, and we will pretend that this never happened, just like you pretended that my feelings never existed for the past 10 years. We are going to play and sing and laugh with our friends. Then we will come into the office tomorrow, and JJ will brief us on our latest case, and life will go on," your voice was utterly devoid of any emotion as you lied to him in the most blatant and shameless way and wiped his face with the fabric of your sleeve.

The dullness of your eyes frightened Hotch more than anything he had ever seen in his life, but before he could respond, you started dragging him back inside with a fake smile plastered on your face.

"Let's go back inside, my love. Tomorrow is a new day."

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #ssa hotchner #hotch x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #ssa aaron hotchner #david rossi #emily prentiss #derek morgan #spencer reid #bau #hotch angst #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch imagine

[kleftiko]

❦ OUR BITTERSWEET MOMENT PT. 2

cw: mature, fem!reader, angst

part 2 (dedicated to @cherriesx cause they just GET this)

PART 1 | PART 3

you’re home from a case.

“this calls for drinks!” rossi smiles. “on me.”

“can’t say no to that.” morgan agrees, followed by emily’s “count me in.”

with the promise of free drinks, the team consents to a laid back night in a bar, and one by one, they all file out to the elevator, waiting for their unit chief to speak.

“one drink.” hotch nods and the team immediately relaxes into off duty mode.

penelope loops your arm in hers, talking about the time she had too much tequila and tried to convince her shoes to be a different colour.

emily drove you two, because you didn’t have a car, and penelope was planning on getting wasted.

and wasted she did get.

her bubbly mood is a contagious disease that tricks you into having drinks in too quick a succession. you know your limits and pace, but all logic of it flies out the window when with garcia.

“i think i’m done for the night.” you told jj when you felt the drinks.

“i’ll take you home.” hotch mentions from the other side of her, already having his coat on.

you’re glad you cut yourself off right before tipsy.

“thank you, sir.” you mumble, grabbing your jacket and saying your goodbyes.

hotch walks you to his car, where the first few minutes of the ride are silent except for you reminding him of your address.

you’re thankful you didn’t do anything stupid, the thought of saying something to your boss while tipsy gave you too much anxiety.

“so how are things at home?” you ask.

“quiet,” he responds, “haley took jack to her sister’s, and i moved into an apartment.”

crap.

you forgot he just got divorced.

you were almost home free without saying anything stupid.

“oh.” you muster. “it’s quiet at my place too…except when my neighbour starts screaming at her son to move out.”

you catch a small smile on hotch’s face through the rearview mirror and let out a silent sigh of relief.

and it’s quiet after that.

he pulls up at the corner of the block and you thank him for the ride.

“i’ll walk you to your door.” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt. “i want to make sure my team members are safe.”

your heart flutters a bit at his words, even though you know this is standard for hotch and he’s walked penelope to her door hundreds of times when she’s been drinking.

“thank you, sir.” you say and lead the way.

not another word is spoken until you reach your front door.

“you don’t have to call me ‘sir’ out of the office.” hotch says as you pull out your keys. you turn away from him to unlock your door, not knowing what to say.

“Y/LN.” he catches your attention, you turn on habit and he’s right in front of you. your eyes are met with his coat until you physically tilt your head. “what’s going on?”

“what do you mean si—what do you mean?” you correct yourself.

his eyes are boring into yours. you find yourself apathetic in this moment. you want to say you blame the alcohol for the thoughts coming to your head. but you know deep down an experienced profiler like hotch would find out something was wrong eventually.

so instead of speaking, you drop your jacket, bag, and keys to the floor without breaking eye contact.

this man’s presence has caused you countless pain simply for the fact that he existed and was not yours.

in this moment you just didn’t care.

you grab the side of his face and pull him into a harsh kiss. you pour everything into it—body melting, lips locking—and you find hotch grabbing at your hips to stabilize you.

his demeanour changes, pushing himself into you, and in turn, you against your door. bodies are flush against one another, and his presence seems to dominate as he takes over in a hunger. enveloping you into him, because even though you initiated, he is kissing you. and you allow this, craving every part of this man just like you have for so long, one hand into his short hair, one to grasp at his coat covered chest.

his grip on your hips turns painful in his desire to have you, his leg slipping between yours as he presses into the one place you need him most. you moan quietly.

and he freezes.

reality seems to hit him like a brick when he comes to, lips detaching in an instant as he stills like stone.

you look up at him in fear to find his jaw clenched, eyes screwed shut, face just in front of yours. his hand comes up from your hip and hits the door behind you with his fist. not enough to scare you, but enough to see that this took a lot of self restraint.

he wanted you too.

and he stopped.

“we can’t do this.” he whispers harshly.

you want to say something—anything—but he releases you and turns around in a second. you register his back fading as he turns a corner and is out of sight.

he leaves you at your front door with a sea of emotions.

desire, guilt, fear, lust.

there’s no telling what would happen on monday.

✧—place an order—✧

#criminal minds #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch x reader #hotch angst

[ssahotchhner]

untitled little snippet based on high infidelity by taylor swift

hello again, it's me i have returned from war i am working on something and am just curious how interested people will be so the below is a tiny baby snippet that I don't think spoils anything. pls let me know ur thots, i miss y'all. if you want to do it anonymously that's totally fine. love you besties (also happy speak now tv eve to all who celebrate)

On the jet, the pain in your arm is really starting to set in. You lean your good arm against the window of the jet and rest your head against the wall. About twenty minutes into the flight, Hotch approaches and sits across from you.

“When this plane lands, I intend to tell Erin Strauss you’ll be transferring to the BAU effective immediately, unless you have things to wrap up in white collar. If that’s still what you want.”

You sit up and face him fully. No one on the team is listening, all immersed in their own conversations or activities.

“Is that what you want?” You ask quietly.

He sits back in his seat, contemplating. “I think that you would do well here.” He says after a moment.

“You know that’s not what I asked.”

He sighs, “I will learn to cope. My job is to do what’s best for this team and that’s adding you to the unit. So that’s what I’ll do, regardless of my personal feelings on the matter.”

You’re not sure what you were expecting him to say, but his answer stung. “I don’t have anything open in white collar, I can start with the BAU now.”

“Great.” He says, though he sounds anything but enthusiastic, “Welcome to the team.” He adds, and then returns to his seat next to Rossi.

***

He collapses to his seat in front of Rossi with a heavy sigh. Rossi has a book open in front of him, “Did she accept?” He asks without looking up.

“Yes.” 

“Good,” Rossi smiles, “She’s a good agent.”

“Yes.” Hotch agrees, still stoic.

“Come on, Aaron. Don’t look so down about it. So you slept together once, so what?”

“Did I mention she’s engaged?”

“I saw the ring.”

Aaron looks out the window stubbornly, knee bouncing up and down anxiously, “Do you remember what I said at the bar? How I wasn’t sure I could have casual sex without wanting something more?”

For the first time, Rossi grows serious, “You have feelings for her?”

“I haven’t felt anything this strong since Haley.”

Rossi closes his book and folds his hands carefully in his lap, thinking. “It’ll pass, Aaron.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“It will,” He says, “Trust me.”

Aaron has never been one to waver on much of anything, especially his feelings and opinions on other people. He was fiercely loyal to a fault. Even when he and Haley divorced, he couldn’t imagine a time when he wouldn’t love her. Rossi was wise and had about a decade of experience on him, but he still knew Rossi was wrong about this. He would convince you and Rossi that he no longer felt anything, but from here on out, he’d have to fight himself every day to make sure he didn’t act on his feelings. He wasn't sure it was a war that he would survive.

#mine #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #hotch #hotch fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #hotch fluff #hotch angst #hotch x reader

[eldrai]

Could you write autistic Hotch who hides his autistic traits and gets confused when Spencer joins his team and does not do that one bit as in he is barely masking around his new colleagues?

Thank you in advance, no problem if not!!💗

Can you write autistic Hotch - yes, yes I could. Thank you for the prompt, it was fun to write!!

3.8k (somehow). There's some unintentionally ableist comments and internalised ableism in here, about what you'd expect from the prompt. But otherwise, enjoy a dash of mild angst for Reid & Hotch.

ao3 here

Spencer Reid is most definitely something.

He hadn’t wanted to presume and, as Jason hadn’t elaborated other than the man being a genius, hadn’t asked. The flustered manner in most conversations can easily be a result of being fast-tracked through school; the confidence overwriting it when he begins to talk about a subject that interests him – Aaron’s quickly realising that constitutes most topics – is hardly irrational. Keen to prove his worth, no doubt exacerbated by his young age, Reid’s eager to make a good impression.

The exaggerated edge to his facial expressions and the little movements Reid’s forever engaged in – never can he sling his bag over his shoulder without fiddling with the strap, nor sit straight on a chair without spinning, and that’s what Aaron has picked up on just a fortnight in – are harder to explain without wishful thinking. Sure, maybe he’s anxious and it’s the accumulation of nervous energy and Aaron is overthinking it here. It wouldn’t be the first time.

The signs start to really stack up after they’ve been on their first few cases with him. Reid misses the sideways glances from the others when he’s been speaking for a long time. Jokes go over his head, not all the time but enough for Aaron to notice. He catches himself focusing on Reid and kicks himself each time. Reid is eccentric because he’s a genius. He talks so much because he knows so much and talking with his hands is simply a product of trying to get it all out so fast.

There’s nothing more to it and, frankly, he can’t help but feel a little guilty for considering it; it’s not his business. Aaron has almost convinced himself of this by the time an unsub mentions the autistic leanings of Dr. Spencer Reid.

The insult (as it undeniably is) isn’t even directed at him but Aaron’s heart skips a beat. Not a good thing to be called in front of everyone. Reid frowns. As soon as he notices Aaron looking at him he dips his head and breaks the eye contact, staring down at the pencil he’s spinning in his hands. Embarrassed is his best guess.

And it begs the question whether that’s because he isn’t autistic or because he is.

As he watches the team carefully for any kind of disdain, disgust, Aaron pushes the question to the back of his mind and focuses on the case. They have an unsub to catch and a teenage girl to find—the rest is secondary.

Jason hangs up on the man and from there things are a practiced blur.

“…think he is?” JJ says.

“Nah, he’s awkward,” Derek says. “He’s a genius, he’s bound to be a little out there.”

Aaron moves to let a local officer through the door and stays where he is, barely within earshot. There’s a quiet unease in his chest.

“Would he—” Elle hesitates. “Would he still have a 187 IQ if he was?”

Why would it matter?

Derek shrugs. “They say it’s the brain wired differently. He’d still be like that, just more different.”

“Shyer doesn’t even know him,” JJ says. “And he can’t be, anyway.”

“Why not?”

“You’ve seen how much he feels things.”

Well.

At least it’s not intended maliciously, though the intent does little to dull the sting. It’s a shame he can’t correct them, not without coming across as suspiciously defensive. Aaron puts his hands in his pockets and goes to find Jason; if anyone does know, it’ll be him. The conversation quiets down as he walks past and he doesn’t care to stick around to hear if they continue.

-

They continue. They’ve at least got the grace to wait for Reid to fall asleep – Aaron’s almost certain he’s genuinely asleep – before they pick it up again.

“How are you supposed to profile if you don’t understand facial expressions?” Derek says. “It doesn’t even make sense for him to think that.”

You learn, Aaron doesn’t say, because you’re neither clueless nor able to survive without learning. Instead he tries to blot out their discussion as he works on the paperwork. The jet’s a privilege, yes. It’s also very small.

“It would explain why he reads so much,” Elle says.

“He can make eye contact,” JJ adds.

Aaron clenches his jaw. It’s not as if having to hold his tongue is new to him but it’s something else when it comes from the team, and he glances over at Reid. Hopes he’s not a convincing faker. You’d be surprised.

“Hey, Hotch,” Derek says.

He tilts his head.

“It really doesn’t make sense what Shyer said. What do you think?”

Aaron stops writing and chooses his words carefully. “I think Reid would appreciate it if we weren’t speculating.”

“We’re not,” Elle says quickly. “It’s just that if he was, it wouldn’t make him any good at profiling.”

He sends an imploring look at Jason but the man gives him a faux quizzical look back. For god’s sake.

“How come?” Aaron says. He shouldn’t, he knows he shouldn’t, but something inside him is wound up tight and tense.

“Well, eye contact and everything,” JJ says.

“And he’d look like it,” Derek says. “I don’t have a problem with it—” How charitable, he thinks, irritated. “—but some people wouldn’t really… trust him.”

“Theory of mind,” Jason adds. “It’s lacking in autistic brains but it is vital for empathy and social interactions. He’d struggle to understand unsubs.”

Aaron likes his team. He values their inputs. He also wants nothing more than to tell them to please shut the hell up.

(Nobody’s ever questioned his ability to get into unsubs’ heads but the lacking in empathy… they might be able to see him like that. Is that what they think of him? Unfeeling, unempathetic?)

“Whether or not it would affect his profiling abilities,” Aaron says, “it’s a personal matter and if Reid did want us to discuss it, he would let us know. Until then, leave it.”

All of them. Even Jason.

Aaron flicks his thumb over his fingers absentmindedly as he picks up his pen again and reminds himself not to question whether he’d made the right choice. He has. It proves itself every damn day.

(And pattern recognition and an atypical perspective and an ability to be a better interrogator if the deviation from social norms doesn’t bother him would make him better, actually—)

-

Reid never mentions it again. The rest of the team might, but not within Aaron’s earshot and presumably not within Reid’s. Stamping down on the speculation too hard will only have the opposite effect so he settles for that, hoping he’s done the right thing. Hoping they’d think he agreed with them.

His list of ASD traits in Reid gets longer. The idea has taken root and it’s growing with the more time he spends around him. Reid’s odd socks he is insistent upon. His leg bouncing and chair spinning and pen drumming. The clumsiness which makes Aaron understand the childhood nickname. Learning to shoot frustrates Reid, because it’s a dexterity-based task, and Aaron, because he can’t let on that he understands why Reid is so frustrated in case he’s misjudging it. He offers to take over from the guy teaching him (and receives a grateful, if slightly disbelieving, look and a grumpy ‘good luck’ which makes him dislike the man immediately) and talks Reid through the process step by step. Reid needs to know why he does things, needs to know the mechanism. Aaron is more than happy to oblige. His brain works the same.

He's glad Reid has integrated so well with the team. Really, he is.

It’s just strange.

Though Reid doesn’t explicitly mention autism, he doesn’t need to. It’s there if someone knows the signs—and someone had—and Aaron can’t understand why he puts in no effort to hide it. Not even a case of masking it badly, Reid… doesn’t.

Aaron hates the feeling with a passion but some small part of him is jealous that Reid gets away with it. That Reid doesn’t have to worry about seeming strange or out of place or autistic, because it’s all explained by his intellect. It’s irrelevant.

And if it’s irrelevant in Reid, what makes it so important in everyone else?

He’s happy for him beyond what he could express, for the step forwards that’s evidently been happening around him over the years to make it acceptable. The bad days, though, when Aaron can hear too much and smell too much and think too much and has to rethink everything he says before he says it so he’ll be normal, those days the jealousy is an ache in his bones.

Blaming Reid is unfair. Reid had no hand in this. It’s not his fault that Aaron has trapped himself here, unable to stop masking and, frankly, exhausted with doing so. He didn’t build up those walls, those expectations, that personality. That’s all on him.

-

The knock comes about half a second before Derek barges into his office anyway and says, “Hotch?” in the same tone he’d use to tell him there’s been a major incident or something of the sort.

“What is it?” he asks, out of his seat already.

“Reid’s freaking out,” Derek says, “and we can’t figure out how to help him.”

That’s better and worse than what he’d expected. Aaron hopes he’s wrong. “Freaking out how?”

“He was crying when I left,” Derek says, “and he was trapped where he was, kind of? He wouldn’t move and he keeps saying stuff back to us that we said to him.”

Aaron lets Derek’s hurried footsteps lead the way. He hasn’t told anyone else about his thoughts and somehow it feels like his fault regardless.

They’re holed up in a conference room a little way along the hall from the bullpen, where the ambient sound is muffled and there’s less of a likelihood of new people coming by. He doubts that’s much of a benefit to Reid given that their whole team is also here, well-meaningly crowding him.

Reid himself is standing with his eyes screwed shut and his hands alternating between picking at his clothes and flapping. He feels sick at the secondhand embarrassment that it gives him to see him like this in front of everyone.

“Thank you, Derek,” he says. “Can you – yes, all of you – give us some space, please?”

Light bothers Reid even more than it does him—that’s easy, lights off and sunglasses if he needs them—and it had taken him quite a while to get over the sound when shooting, even with the ear defenders, so noise level probably factors in. Aaron’s not very fond of that aspect of field work either; it leaves him with a headache most of the time. There isn’t as much he can do about that but getting the team out is a good step. Other sensory issues aren’t his forte, though he’s not sure if Reid’s clothes are actually bothering him or the fidgeting is an outlet for his stress.

The others are hesitant to leave so Aaron turns to Reid. “Would you like any of us to stay, or would you rather be alone?”

He can’t see any visible injury and he trusts that Derek would’ve mentioned it if there is, so Aaron is all right, if not completely comfortable with, leaving Reid to calm himself down.

“Stay,” Reid says.

“Who do you want to stay?”

“Stay.”

“Me?” Aaron confirms. Reid nods.

It’s a relief in some ways – the others don’t need to see more than what they have already – and very much not in others. He hasn’t dealt with Reid’s meltdowns before and he doesn’t know what helps. Hell, if this isn’t a meltdown but something else, he’ll be utterly unprepared.

Once the team has left, Aaron flicks the light off and some of the tension in Reid’s face lessens immediately.

“What do you need?” he asks quietly.

Reid’s skinny arms wrap around himself as he rocks on his feet, ball to toe. “Stay,” he repeats. “Please can you stay?”

“I’m here, Reid.”

Aaron gives him his space but Reid stays where he is, seeming to hug himself harder each time he adjusts his arms, glancing periodically over at him then dropping his gaze.

“What is it?” he asks the fifth time Reid does it in a minute.

“Nothing,” Reid murmurs. “It’s nothing, I’ve just got a blanket at home – a weighted one – and that helps and I won’t be home until six and it’s a bad day and I wish I had it.”

He says weighted blanket like it’s something Aaron should know what it is, and he’s alarmed, slightly, that Reid is so openly giving him that information. That leverage, if it was in the wrong hands. It’s good to know pressure helps him.

“Can I do anything to help?”

Reid bites his lip and edges closer. He’s talking with his hands again, even if his eyes stay fixed on the floor. “I, uh, before I had that, I’d get pressure sometimes from, um. Hugs? But that’s – stupid, can you forget I said anything, never mind. I’m okay.”

And again, Reid’s so open with it all. Aaron is certain he’d have to have his own needs pried out of him to ever actually reveal them but the man in front of him has no such qualms.

“I… I can,” Aaron says, and there’s no way to say it which doesn’t sound awkward but he supposes they’re both past the point that’s a concern. Mainly he’s hoping for Reid’s sake he says no because he’d like to be able to look him in the eye – so to speak – after this.

Reid moves tentatively, like he’s not quite sure he’s really meant to be doing this, and maybe they’re not; god knows what it’d look like, the two of them embracing in a dark room where Reid’s obviously been crying. Still, Aaron pulls him in and wraps his arms around him, feels hands grasp the back of his jacket.

“Tighter? Looser?”

“’S good,” Reid says, his head turned and words muffled into Aaron’s shoulder.

“Good.”

Despite the strangeness, it does seem to help Reid calm down faster and it’s not long before he pulls away and wipes his face. Colour rises in his cheeks as he laces his fingers together, fidgeting with them.

Reid clears his throat and, for the first time since Aaron has walked in, forces himself to make eye contact. “I’m sorry.”

Oh, this part he’s more familiar with, the shame and the guilt—for all the jealousy, he’d hate to be in Reid’s shoes at this moment in time.

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Aaron says. Despite it being the truth, it feels like a lie on his tongue. There really isn’t cause for it. But something in him is just as embarrassed for Reid’s sake as Reid is. He pushes it away. “Nothing.”

“I can explain,” Reid says, giving him a wide-eyed pleading look, slipping back into the larger than life calibre his expressions can sometimes take. He’s already got countless explanations, no doubt. “Preferably not this instant but if you wanted, I, um, I could.”

“I’d like to know if we can prevent this from happening, but not because I’ve forced you to tell me. It’s so that you don’t reach this point in the future,” Aaron says. Lets Reid hear the assumption in it, that ‘this’ is not a one-off like some people might think, that it’s something they can manage with adjustments. That it’s perhaps a condition.

“I won’t,” Reid assures him, a beat too quickly.

“For your sake,” Aaron clarifies. He still looks thoroughly unconvinced. “You’re not in trouble.”

(Aaron can’t imagine what this kind of thing would’ve earnt him way back when. Certainly more than just embarrassment. He’s not sure what punishment he’d even give Reid for it, if he was going to be vindictive about it—he’d like to think he couldn’t but he’s not optimistic about the policy for incidences like this.)

Reid drags a hand across his forehead and massages his temple.

“Go home and rest,” Aaron says. He opens his mouth. “I’m not sending you home officially, you’re ill.”

Though the faint glimmer of suspicion in Reid’s face is nothing personal, Aaron feels a twinge of guilt.

-

Two weeks later, Reid comes into his office in the morning and spends a painful five minutes – for both of them – beating around the bush. When they truly exhaust all other reasons for his being there, he lowers the papers he’s kept held to his chest and slaps them on Aaron’s desk.

“I’m autistic,” Reid announces, his leg bouncing.

This is not news to Aaron. This is probably not news to half the BAU. There is no reason why it should catch him off guard as much as it does, yet hearing Reid outright state it gives the atmosphere between them a strange tension.

Reid shouldn’t have told him.

And he supposes he can understand that it’s easier than when he joined, that the culture has changed and being more open has less of a chance to damage Reid’s career, but less of a chance is nowhere close to zero. On a more personal level, Aaron can’t imagine ever admitting it to any of his higher-ups and expecting them to regard him as just as competent as he was before.

But Aaron wants to ask him what the hell he was thinking, didn’t he have the faintest sense of self-preservation? Warn him that it’s not something he wants to be common knowledge, and that the secrecy is a necessary evil. Just something to help him reconsider. He doesn’t think everything has changed enough to take that risk. Reid evidently does, and there’s the pull of jealousy and relief all again.

In all the time he’s thought about Reid being autistic he’s never thought of Reid actually telling him, or what his response would be, and he realises belatedly he’s probably been silent for a little too long.

“Right,” Aaron says, feeling surreal. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.”

Reid’s shoulders drop and the tension bleeds out of him.

“It wasn’t on your personnel file,” he says. “Would you like it to be? You’d need a formal diagnosis—”

“I don’t,” Reid says. “I wanted you to know in case I had another meltdown. That’s what the other day was – the triggers can vary from person to person but mine are mostly set off by sensory overload, and it’s not usually that bad, I can keep it under control.”

“I’m not concerned about your ability to do your job, Reid,” Aaron says. “Like I said, if there’s anything I or anyone else can help you with to stop it getting to that point, let me know.”

“You can do that?” he says.

“Accommodations?”

“None of my teachers ever listened until I got my IEP,” Reid says. “And even that was only so I could skip grades.”

“I’m sure unofficially we can find ways of managing it,” Aaron says, “but if you did want access to official accommodations you would have to have ASD on file.”

“What would the accommodations be?” Reid asks.

It occurs to Aaron that he’s never checked, not even for himself.

“I’ll have to get back to you on that,” he says. “If you don’t want that, it’s perfectly fine to keep it between us. I’m assuming it is between us?”

“I think I do want the others to know,” Reid says, surprisingly certain. “Just not right now.”

Aaron nods. He’s torn between encouraging him and letting him know that it may not be the best idea, all things considered; not wanting to hurt him but not wanting to hold him back. Reid is an adult and responsible for his own decisions. He just can’t understand how Reid doesn’t see the other side of it all, doesn’t seem to care about the consequences of being so exposed. Autistic. Walks around as if the burden of judgement isn’t a weight on his shoulders at all.

Perhaps Aaron has it wrong. Reid might not care about judgment because he doesn’t mask—he’s set no precedent for himself other than who he is. Hell, he’s walked in here and told his boss he’s autistic. That has to count for something.

-

Reid does it when they’re together after a case. Derek’s been watching him wind the blanket through his hands for a good ten minutes, unmoving.

“You okay, kid?”

“Yeah. I’m fine,” he says. The sudden break in the silence has drawn the attention to them, briefly, and he glances at them. Meets Aaron’s eyes for a second. Says, like ripping off a bandaid: “I have autism.”

The stunned silence shatters just as quickly.

“Congratulations?” JJ says, sounding more sure of herself with each syllable she doesn’t get interrupted on. “Sorry, I don’t know what I’m meant to be saying but that’s – it’s a good thing, right?”

“Yeah, thanks for sharing,” Derek says.

Little by little, Reid relaxes, continuing to savour the texture with a bashful smile.

“Good to know,” Elle says.

And he’s not jealous, he’s not, he’s proud of Reid and happy for him but you’ve seen how he feels things and some people wouldn’t really trust him and none of this is about Aaron, so he forces a small smile and gives Reid a polite nod and that’s that.

-

Things have changed.

It’s in the little habits they’ve acquired, mostly accidental: Derek tossing Reid something to fiddle with when he’s wringing his hands anxiously. How Elle tips him off to the rhetorical questions he’s not entirely sure about being real or not. JJ switches from brushing him off to asking if he can tell her about his special interests later – and Reid comes out of his shell even more, regaling them on the jet with the sheer depth of his knowledge on the most obscure of things. Jason doesn’t mention it but he’s known Reid for the longest so it’s hardly surprising.

Reid has a list of good books on the topic he’s happy to talk about; Aaron skims one that he already owns a copy of, pausing to read the pencilled observations and corrections, glimpses of his thoughts. The astuteness manages to surprise him even after months of working together.

Aside from keeping an eye out for potentially overwhelming situations, Aaron finds he doesn’t need to do much for Reid at all, that the team have so effortlessly slotted into place accommodating him. And when, at Reid’s request, he filed his condition and accommodations as official he’d even gotten away without any comment from Strauss.

Reid’s got leeway for his genius and Aaron isn’t any closer to willingly letting people know about him but… well, it’s better than it used to be. A damn sight better. No small part are the people. His team. They’re more than he could’ve ever asked for and he’s never been so proud of them for learning.

#answered #cm fanfic #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #autistic reid #autistic hotch #criminal minds fanfic #angst #cm angst #reid angst #hotch angst #mine

[honeypiehotchner]

Recompense (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- one shot

My suitemate made me write this /hj

Also talk about returning to Hotch fics with something completely out of left field 🤪🤪

Warnings: 18+ only pleaseeee y’all know the drill, slight sub!Hotch/dom!reader, light bondage, grinding, angst, MAYBE dubcon if you absolutely squint

WC: 2.1k

Hotch had been gone for weeks, which isn’t unusual, but still takes its toll. To combat it, you and Hotch have been planning a dinner for when he gets back.

“Should we go out or stay in?”

“Stay in,” Aaron said, exhaustion laced through his words. “I’m so tired of eating out.”

“I know you are, babe,” you murmured. As much as Hotch loves his junk food, he hates eating out so often. He misses your home cooked meals, homemade lunches. He misses running every morning, coming back to your sleepy eyes as you fix coffee for the both of you. “We’ll stay in. I’ll cook.”

“No, no, I’ll cook, you’ve been cooking a lot.”

“I actually haven’t,” you admitted sheepishly. “Cooking for one is hard and I’ve been too lazy anyway.”

“Honey…” He knows when you say ‘lazy,’ you really mean you’ve been missing him and it’s been getting to you. “I’ll be home soon.”

“I know you will.”

Every night he called, and every night a new facet of the date was planned. The menu, the table setting, the music.

If this hadn’t been the fourth case in a row that the BAU was called on, this feeling of missing him wouldn’t be as bad. But he barely had six hours of sleep before he was called out on the second one, and he didn’t even get to come home before the third. With the fourth one, he was home for a blissful twelve hours, but he was exhausted and slept for eight.

Needless to say, it’s been a while since the two of you have really seen one another.

The day that Hotch texts you that he’s coming home can’t come fast enough.

You haul yourself out of bed immediately, flipping lights on and throwing clothes over your body to get ready for the day. There’s a lot to be done, and you can’t wait to get started.

You have all day because it’s a long flight and they haven’t actually left yet, but still. There’s no time to waste.

+++

Hotch doesn’t know how time got so far away from him.

He texted with you when the jet landed, but you weren’t quite ready for him yet, so he went to the office with the rest of the team. His plan was to do paperwork for a few hours, then check back in with you.

Well, he worked for more than a few hours. And forgot to check in.

By the time he looks up, it’s well past the time when he was supposed to text you. It’s dark outside, for Christ’s sake.

He immediately calls you instead, but you send him straight to voicemail. He forgets all about the work he was doing and grabs his coat and keys.

He makes it home in less than half the normal time, but you’re not there. You’ve left a note on the counter, telling him you’ve gone for a drive to get a milkshake, and you don’t know what time you’ll feel like coming back.

He calls you again. Voicemail again.

This time, he leaves one for you. Telling you to come back -- begging, more like. His only hope is that it works, and that you’ll be walking through that door tonight.

+++

The sight before you makes your mouth water. And you hate it because you’re supposed to be angry, but you can’t be when your partner is sitting in front of you with his hands tied. Literally.

He took one of the chairs from the dining table and placed it in the middle of the living room. He’s out of his tie and has it tightened around his wrists, palms facing each other, fingers curled into fists.

“How did you even do that?” is the first question out of your mouth.

He chuckles. “You think I’d do something to you that I haven’t tried on myself?”

“Oh,” you squeak, but really, you’re thinking, that’s hot. “Right.”

You set your things down and lock the door behind you. You’re not sure exactly what to say. If you weren’t mad at him, you’d be on top of him right now. You’d be all over him. But you’re resisting, and you’re keeping your feet planted firmly here, by the front door.

“I’m sorry,” he says from his place in the living room.

“Is this your apology?” you deadpan, gesturing to his self-made predicament.

“Part of it,” he admits. “Do you want me to get up?”

You’re not sure what happened exactly to flip the switch, but something did.

You shake your head, lifting it to meet his eyes. “No. I’ll tell you when I want you to do something.”

He hears the shift too and he nods. “Yes ma’am.”

You like the sound of that.

With a heavy sigh, you cave.

Slowly, you strip your jacket from your shoulders. “Why weren’t you home on time?”

“I-I got caught up in paperwork--”

“We’ve talked about that, Aaron.”

“I know,” he replies, shameful.

“What should you have done?” you prompt him, hanging your jacket on the hook by the door. You spin around and cross your arms over your chest, waiting.

“I should’ve set an alarm,” he says. “Or three. To check in and keep myself aware of the time.”

“Mhm,” you nod. “Why didn’t you?”

“I forgot.”

You click your tongue. “Not a good enough answer.”

“I know,” he says quietly, hanging his head.

His head remains hung in shame as you walk over toward him, toeing off your shoes by the couch. Aaron registers the noise, but doesn’t lift his head until you tell him to.

“Look at me,” you murmur, standing in front of him, but not touching him. His hands are mere centimeters from your legs where they rest on his knees. You see him tighten his fists and you know he’s fighting the urge to reach out and touch you. “Lift your arms.”

Aaron does as he’s told, albeit confused. Until you sit down on his lap.

You face him, your breath caressing his lips. You reach up and guide his arms back down, looped around your neck.

“I would’ve had you tie them behind your back,” you comment, “but since you’re already like this, we’ll make do.”

He nods, looking into your eyes intently. It’s been so long since he’s kissed you. It’s torture for the both of you to have your faces this close, but not touching. It’s hurting you just as much as it is him, but you are determined to take your time.

You can feel him hardening beneath you, much quicker than you expected, but still it doesn’t surprise you. It’s been a while since the two of you have had sex, too. Not over the phone, at least.

You roll your hips, earning a low groan from the back of his throat. You smirk.

“I’m not sure what I want to do,” you muse, letting your fingers wander to the buttons on his shirt. You begin undoing them, one by one, while you speak. “I could take something that I’ve wanted for weeks. I could refuse to let you cum while I do it. Or,” you finish the last button and snake your cold hands over his warm, toned chest. “Or I could let you cum, on one condition.”

“What is it?” he asks quickly, already breathing hard. Between the way you’re sitting, straddling him, your scent, and your hands, he’s ready to burst. “I’ll do it.”

“You don’t even know what it is,” you chuckle. “It could be something you hate. Or not necessarily hate, but something you prefer not to do.”

At that moment, Aaron knows what you mean. And he doesn’t like it. But he also doesn’t like the alternative.

“Okay,” he says.

You grin. “Someone’s desperate.”

“You have no idea,” he replies.

“Believe me,” you snap. “I do.”

He frowns. “I’m sorry--”

“Be quiet,” you tell him, removing your hands from his chest, to instead work on removing your pants. “Lift your arms.”

He does, and you step back, stripping yourself of your pants and panties, kicking them away. He watches them wistfully, and you have to snap your fingers to bring his attention back to you.

You take your shirt off as well, loving the way his eyes darken when he sees you aren’t wearing a bra. And knowing that he can’t touch you.

You straddle him once more, noticing his bulge has gotten considerably larger.

If there’s one thing Aaron hates, it’s cumming in his pants. Especially when he could be touching your skin.

It makes a mess, sure, but the mess is always the least of his worries. He has them dry cleaned regardless. But it’s the pain. The agony. Being confined when you’re right there, stripped naked for him -- for yourself, really, because you’re angry with him right now. None of this is for him. This is all for you.

You guide his arms back around your neck, wanting to feel them there as you begin rocking your hips. You feel his muscles flex, the physical sign of his internal strife.

You’re sensitive on most days, but it’s especially bad when you haven’t felt him in a while. Just the feel of his dress pants against your core sends sparks through your entire body. Not to mention when you clit brushes against his belt.

You can’t stand it anymore, so you kiss him, hot and heavy, moaning into his mouth. He stretches his arms straight out, desperate for some relief. You pull him toward you by the back of his neck, your nails scraping his scalp.

His tongue easily finds yours and takes control. You let him, at least in this aspect, knowing he’s dying for it. You like it when he does, anyway, so this is an easy concession.

Your first climax comes soon, but it isn’t enough, so you don’t stop.

Without needing to be asked, Aaron goes for your neck, sucking and biting as you ride out your high. You keep his lips there, pressing your hand on the back of his neck. When the pressure is a little too hard, you hear him groan, and that’s enough to make you wild.

His hips jerk every now and again, the movement difficult on its own with the way he’s sitting and the way you’re grinding against him.

“I know you’re fighting it,” you murmur against his ear, sending chills down his arms. “You’re going to give in.”

The truth is, it is harder for him to climax when he’s constrained, but at the same time, he is fighting it right now. He hates that you noticed, that you know him well enough to catch it, but he doesn’t know why he’s surprised. You know him as if he is you. And the same goes for the way he knows you.

“Come on,” you press, lifting his head from your neck to look him in his eyes. Your lips brush against his as you say, “I want to hear you.”

He closes the gap between your lips with a fierce growl. The sound alone sends a wave of heat over your body, like molten lava poured overtop of you. You spread your legs wider, chasing your next climax, noticing for the first time how wet you’ve made the fabric of his pants. Or maybe some of it is from him, too.

“Let go,” you demand, lowering your hands to rake your nails over his chest. He shudders at the movement, his head falling onto your shoulder. His moans are broken, almost sobs. “Let me hear you, baby.”

You reach down and rub your clit, desperate to reach your climax at the same time as Aaron. Your sounds drive him over the edge.

He tenses, cries. His hips jerk in sync with yours, and you feel him twitch beneath you -- a harsh movement for you to be able to feel it through the layers.

You drive your hips down toward his, already cumming when he finally breaks, and climaxes with a shout. It lasts much longer than normal, purely because of how constricted his movements are.

“That’s it,” you murmur, pressing your chest against his, relishing in the sweet pleasure of your simultaneous highs. “That’s it, baby.”

He rests his head on your shoulder, his chest heaving.

“Are you okay?” you ask, chuckling a little when he nods.

“I’m great, I’m— Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Here, let me.”

“No, I got it,” Aaron flexes his wrists and the tie comes off, falling to the ground.

Your eyes widen. “That’s hot.”

“Really?” he laughs, smoothing his hands down your arms.

“Oh yeah,” you nod, holding his face. He’s still hard beneath you. “Continue in the bedroom?”

His only response is standing up, with you in his arms, carrying you down the hall for more ‘apologies’.

#aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader smut #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch fanfic #hotch x fem!reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch smut #hotch x fem!reader smut #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds smut #aaron hotchner angst #hotch angst

[hotchs-bitch]

Breaking Up Slowly Masterlist [completed]

Summary: You and Aaron have very different ideas of a perfect future together. Is there any way you can both be happy?

Pairings: Hotch x blank slate Fem!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 33k

Warnings: angsty angst, mentions of Haley, mentions of not wanting children, graphic breakup + general pain. Specific warnings on each part! Eventual happy ending

Disclaimer: Jack’s age is super duper ambiguous throughout the different parts because 1) my experience with children is minimal 2) this was supposed to be a one & done, not a series where aging presumably happens. Just assume he’s stuck at the same age like a vampire or something pls

Breaking Up Slowly

You and Aaron are happy, but it turns out that you have very different dreams for the future. When you try to discuss what your life together looks like, it’s the beginning of the end. (Wc 11k)

Alternate ending blurb

Love You Anymore

2 years after the breakup, you’ve managed to pick up the pieces of your broken heart. It hasn’t been easy, but you know that you did the right thing… right? (Wc 8k)

Intro/teaser

Hold On

When a case hits a little too close to home, it’s time for Aaron to face the music and be honest about his feelings after the breakup (Wc 13k)

Intro/teaser

Epilogue- I Will

A year and a half after the New York case, you and Aaron are finally home (Wc 1k)

Bonus blurbs

Fluffy Feb Day 14- Valentine’s Day

Fluffy Feb Day 16- Washing Hair

Cardigan [angst]

In The Kitchen [angst, hotch POV]

Glimpse Of Us (Her Perspective) [angst, Beth POV]

#masterlist #hotchsbitch masterlist #aaron hotchner x fem reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x fem reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x you #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch fanfiction #hotch fanfic #cm fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #aaron hotchner angst #hotch angst #hotch x reader angst #Aaron hotchner x reader angst

[criminalskies]

To Catch a Profiler - A Parent Trap Story.

Hi there loves! So this was originally posted on my old blog, but like everything else on there, it got thanos snapped along with my heart :( anyways, I thought i'd repost it because I thought this was really cute. I really enjoyed writing it, however, the longer i sat down and tried writing this a part two, the more I felt like I couldn't do it. So for now, this is a standalone fic. Hopefully you can still enjoy it for all that it is <;3!

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader. warnings: mentions/descriptions of sex (nondescript), MINORS DNI, pregnancy, nausea, vomiting, not the happiest of endings, but a sweet love story nevertheless. w/c: 2.5k

New Year’s Eve, 2012. As the crowd outside in the streets around your New York apartment counted down to midnight, you were overcome with joy, your arms and legs tangled with those of your lover. He held you close to him and as the clock struck midnight, the two of you celebrated in the most passionate way two lovers can, your souls intertwined as you worked together to chase your highs. By the time the clock struck one, the two of you were spent, choosing to lay in bed watching the remaining fireworks and balloons drifting through the night sky. Little did you two know, this was just the beginning of your story. 

Two months went by, you were living in quiet serenity with the one you loved, when you began feeling very strange. Not like any sickness you’d ever encountered, you were eating twice the amount you used to, you were having strong heartburn in bed every night and you would have to get out of bed to use the bathroom almost every hour. You didn’t feel anything like your normal self, so Aaron took you by the hand to the hospital to get checked out. That was when you learned what the New Year had really brought the two of you, a gift unlike any year before. You were expecting. You can still remember the shock you felt through your body when you heard the words. But more than that, you can remember the tears glistening in Aaron’s eyes, his grin spreading across his face as his cheeks burned red. His dimples were deeper than you’d ever seen them and you knew he was going to be the best father to your baby.

Only three weeks later, at your very first ultrasound, Aaron was sadly tied up in court, in what he would later call ‘the longest preceding of his career’, the sonographer let out a quiet gasp, offering you a smile of their own as they completed your baby’s scan. You knew they weren’t allowed to offer you any results, but when they fetched the doctor, she was offering you the same warm smile as she took you by the hand and showed you the two little blobs on the screen, “Twins?” You asked, beginning to tear up at the thought of your beloved Aaron, a baby on each arm. Your heart suddenly felt so full you could just fall down, luckily you were still seated on the exam bed when you found out. 

You spent that night pacing your small apartment, waiting for Aaron to return from work. You couldn’t wait to tell him your wonderful news that your beautiful family was just about to double in size. It wasn’t until you checked the time at 11:41 pm that you realised just how many times you’d found yourself in this situation lately, waiting for your lover to come home, hoping every sound out in the hall will be followed by his keys jangling in the lock. He was doing great work, putting awful people behind bars, you know that. You try not to hold it against him how hard he works to make money for you and for baby, but it’s getting harder and harder to be alone now that you’re entering a new endeavour for the both of you. You decided to head to bed, your ankles swelling and your body drained from pacing your apartment all night. His dinner was staying warm in the oven, and you needed to sleep. You heard him come home, quietly moving around the apartment at 1:30 in the morning but your overworked body was too tired to pick yourself up and go to him now. He showered and finally joined you in bed, wrapping you in his arms and splaying his big hand over your stomach, trying to hold you and your baby in his arms. 

You woke up so excited to tell him in the morning, your printed ultrasound in your purse waiting to deliver him the great news, and you came out into the kitchen to see a very exhausted Aaron making you breakfast on a tray. 

“Sweetheart, I was just going to bring you breakfast in bed. I didn’t mean to wake you, I just wanted to make sure you and baby are fed before I head into the office.” He walked around the counter to you, looking so delicious in his apron that you took back every negative thought you’d had of him the previous night. You took him in your arms, kissing his beautiful cheeks. 

“Morning, hedgehog. I have something for you too! Not to brag but it is far better than breakfast in bed. Wait here!” He scowled a little at the nickname, knowing his infamous bed-head always left him looking like the most adorable little hedgehog. 

“Always have to one-up me, huh?” He remarked, as you skipped back into the kitchen with his gift. 

“Here, look at who I got to meet yesterday.” You handed him the ultrasound with a shaking hand, the anticipation of his reaction eating you up inside. 

“Oh! The ultrasound, oh angel I am so sorry I missed it. This case is just chewing away at my time, I’m sorry. I’ll cut back when baby is coming I swear. I’ll be here to help you, every minute I can.” He looked so apologetic, scanning your face for any sign of disbelief, but you believed him. You always trusted him to follow through with his word.

“Look, silly!” You lightheartedly yelled at him. He peers down at the printout, peering at it with that exaggerated look of focus you find so adorable on him.

“Wait, which end is the head? I’m lost.” He turned the photo to you for help.

“This is a head,” you pointed at the first little blob. “And so is this.” you pointed at the second one. Aaron turns to face you immediately, dropping the card to pick you up and swing you around, looking up at you as he spun in the kitchen.

“Twins! We’re having twins, are we? Oh my god. Oh my god! Wait we are having twins right, or one two-headed little baby. Oh I don’t even care, I will love them with all of me either way!” You had never seen him so happy, as he put you down just in time, the two of you starting to get dizzy.

“Well, I think it’s two one-headed babies, but with your genes who knows, baby?”  You tease him, always commenting on how his head had to be bigger to make room for all his knowledge. You’re kidding, of course, you love how well-read he is. His reading habit has only increased tri-fold since you learned you were pregnant, he has taken home a copy of every book on pregnancy, parenting and how to be a helpful teammate throughout the trimesters. He is going to be the greatest  father to your children, you have no doubts. He wants so badly to end the generational stoicism and hatefulness his father tried imbuing onto him in childhood. He will foster love and openness in your home and you know he will never cause your kids harm. You think that’s even why he’s been working more recently, too, wanting to make the world just that much better for your kids before they arrive and he has to take a step back from prosecuting.

The next few months fly by, all in a blur of morning sickness, twice the little kicks, your life feels like a revolving door of going to the bathroom to pee and living the rest of your life outside the confines of a toilet stall, but you and Aaron push through. You pick out baby names, paint the nursery, build cribs and baby proof your whole apartment, however temporary this home may be. You get it ready for your little family, for a new chapter. But you realise as time goes on that you’re doing more and more of this parenting and planning stuff alone. It isn’t that Aaron isn’t doing everything he can for your babies, it’s that he’s doing it all for them and all the things he used to do for you seem to have stopped. No breakfast in bed or foot rubs or the things that make your life feel more supported and easy, he puts all of his energy into being a prepared father and providing for your babies. As you have to leave your job, in your last trimester. You’re bed-bound for the last two months of the pregnancy which feel like forever. 

Aaron is still trying so hard to make the world a better place for your babies which means he is putting in seemingly endless hours at the office and in court, which you feel so proud of him for, but simultaneously you begin to feel very very alone. 

When you go into labour, it is unexpected and much too early for your little ones to be ready to meet the world, but here they come. You have to call your neighbour over to help you get to the hospital, and your best friend meets you there, holding your hand for hours until Aaron gets out of court for the day and finally finally checks his phone. He barely avoids landing himself in court for his driving on the way over but it’s all worth it when he arrives and takes over for your friend, helping you breathe through the waves of overwhelming pain as you prepare to bring your twins into the world. 

When your two little ones are born, tiny and screaming, Aaron follows the doctors and nurses to the warming stations where they determine that the babies are three weeks premature, but growing nicely and will need to spend just a little time in the NICU before they’re ready to come home with the two of you. 

You saw it happen, right before your eyes. The moment your little girls wrapped their sweet tiny little hands around the tips of Aaron’s fingers, you saw every ounce of love he once held for you transfer to them. You saw how the sparkle in his eye could only be seen when he could hold the twins near him. He looked at you still with pride and with admiration, nested deep within him, keeping you both warm. But it wasn’t the same, you used to make his world turn, put the stars in his sky. Now you were just the vessel that delivered him the true centre of his universe. 

You thought it might pass, that as time and closeness and shared efforts to calm your screaming daughters would bring him back to you. You had hope. 

The two of you settled on names that day, choosing to name the first twin Charlie and the second twin Hazel. You were allowed to hold them on their second day of life, and you felt the gravity of your unwavering, unconditional love for them blossom through you as they squirmed in your arms. 

Aaron must have taken a thousand pictures of you all that day. He was so proud of his girls.

When you were finally able to bring the babies home, your house was all ready, Charlie’s side of the nursery decorated with vines and happy little forest creatures nestled in amongst the flowers. Hazel’s side of the room was decorated with clouds and sunbeams, with butterflies fluttering about the space.

It was perfect. The two of you had made the most gorgeous home for your girls, only it wasn’t enough.

As the months went on you and Aaron, both equally enamoured by your twins adorable little faces and squishy cheeks and happy smiling faces, grew apart. You had felt the shift in the air that day when Aaron met your girls and you had been right. His heart really was too full, he seems to have pushed you ever so slightly out of it to make room. It wasn’t one big change, but lots of tiny subtle actions that made you realise he didn’t love you like he used to. He didn’t have the room to. 

This drove you crazy, as you tried and tried being a better partner for him, a kinder person. More loving, spontaneous and more thoughtful. But nothing could bring him back to you. Nor could you bring yourself to hate him for it. 

You began fighting. Little things like who was responsible for bringing the girls’ diaper bag out to lunch or who should be able to return to their workplace first. Until one day, you were standing in your living room trying to decide what to watch on TV and Aaron was refusing to compromise for what you wanted. He always used to adjust for what you wanted. You blurted it out, in the blink of an eye.

 “I think we should break up.” His jaw fell open at your admission but he looked solemnly at you, more in relief than in surprise. He was happy you were the one to say it first. “The girls both deserve parents who love each other as much as we love them, Aaron, and while we used to and it was beautiful. I think it’s clear we just aren’t meant for one another any more.” 

“What about the girls?” Aaron was quick to ask. He knew your parents had split up when you were younger and being torn between two homes had almost killed you. You had hated your parents for making their marital problem your life problem, always living out of a suitcase at one house or another. “I don’t think we should make this their problem. They should never have to know.”

The two of you decided, then. Your loving little family would have to split down the middle. Hazel would live with you, and Charlie with her Dad. It was easier this way, while they were young enough to never have to know the burden of a home built on lies. They would not have to watch their parents fake smiles and not-so-happy marriage drive them crazy. You could all be happy, this way. You knew Charlie would never need any more love than Aaron could give her, and the same with Hazel, getting more than enough love from you. You would both treasure them. 

For eleven years, you both lived different lives in different states. You moved to California and Aaron to Virginia. You only knew where he was for the sake of absolute emergencies, the two of you hadn’t spoken in years. It’s better for the girls if they never know what’s missing from their lives. You’re both living perfect, happy little lives, thousands of miles apart. 

Until…

again, I'm sorry to say I lost myself in this, and at this moment I'm not sure how to even progress with a part two, but maybe that'll change in future. I hope you all enjoyed!

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