#aaron hotch x f!reader
Note
heyy love, could you do an aaron hotchner x fem bau reader where they dated in secretly for a while but then he broke up with her. the reason he broke up with her is because he is her boss and that always was something that made him feel doubtful about their relationship. it’s up to you if you want to end it with an happy ending.
thank youu
𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐀𝐭 𝐌𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 ♡
Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader || Main masterlist || Spotify
Thank you so much for the request, dear anon! Such a lovely one and I was so happy to write for Hotch! mwah <3
summary: You suspect that you've been in love with Aaron Hotchner since you first laid eyes on him three years ago. Now you're on your way to Idaho to go on your first case together since he broke your heart two weeks ago.
word count: 4.5k
warnings/tags: Angst and fluff. Boss/employee relationship. Hurt/comfort. Heartbreak. Kissing. Sharing a bed. (first time I write for Hotch, so please bear with me) Haven't proof read yet. I don't know if I really like how it ended up tbh, but maybe it's just because I was really tired while writing it..?
You keep your gaze on the pages of the book, despite the words keep blurring together and after having read the same paragraph four times over, without even having registered what you have read. You’ve given up on actually getting any reading done, but you don’t want anyone talking to you right now and you still have almost four hours left before you land in Idaho. So you keep eyes glued to the book, hoping that the act of pretending to read will deter any unwanted conversation.
You can feel his eyes on you, not all the time, but you feel how his gaze occasionally lingers on you. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but you sense his presence nonetheless.
Taking in a deep breath you look up from the book to steal a glance in his direction, catching his eye for a brief moment before he looks away. There’s a flicker of something in his expression, a hint of longing that mirrors your own. But just as quickly as it appeared, it’s gone, replaced by the stoic mask he wears so well as he continues his conversation with Derek.
The last two weeks have been painful, filled with a whirlwind of emotions and unanswered questions since Aaron had ended your relationship, before it even had a chance to really begin. It’s been three years since you joined the BAU and from the very beginning you had felt drawn to Aaron Hotchner in a way that defied logic and reason, like there was a connection between you that transcended the professional boundaries of boss and subordinate.
A silly crush is what it had started as, but the more you got to know him, the more you realized that what you felt was far more than just that. It was a deep, undeniable attraction, a connection that went beyond the surface level. And as time passed, that initial spark grew into something more profound, something that stirred your soul and filled your heart with warmth.
Sometimes you had let yourself hope that he felt the same way, that the moments of shared glances and unspoken words between you held a deeper meaning, but you had never dared act on it, or let yourself get your hopes up too high. The reality of Aaron’s position as your boss and the boundaries it imposed had always stood as a barrier. The unspoken rules of professionalism, the fear of risking his or your career and the harmony of the team had kept your feelings hidden, buried beneath layers of duty and obligation.
It was three months ago that things had changed between you. It had been a moment of vulnerability, a shared confession during a late-night conversation with the raw emotions of the aftermath of an exceptionally harrowing case that had laid bare the depths of your emotions, and the longing that had simmered beneath the surface for so long had reached a point of no return.
He had kissed you that night and it was sweet and tender, yet charged with unspoken desire and desperation. It was a moment of surrender, a brief glimpse into a world where the barriers between you could be broken down and the feelings you had both been suppressing could be allowed to flourish.
The next couple months had been a whirlwind of stolen moments and whispered confessions, each one deepening the bond between you in ways that words could never fully capture. There were secret meetings in secluded corners of the BAU office, stolen kisses in the quiet of the night, and shared glances that spoke volumes without a single word being uttered.
But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, a shadow began to loom over your newfound connection. Aaron had started to act distant and reserved, his once warm and affectionate demeanor now replaced by a noticeable aloofness. And two weeks ago on a night where the both of you had stayed late to finish some reports he had told you that it all had been a mistake, and that the two of you should maintain a strictly professional relationship moving forward.
His words had cut through the air with a sharp finality and landed like a heavy blow, shattering the fragile hope that had still lingered within you. Aaron’s eyes had been averted, unable to meet your gaze as he spoke the words that shattered your heart.
You steal another glance at Aaron, watching as he maintains his composure in conversation with Derek, his mask of professionalism firmly in place.
You turn back to your book, the words still a jumbled mess on the page. You can’t pretend to read anymore, not when your heart is heavy with memories and unspoken words. With a sigh, you close the book, making Emily, who is seated across the aisle, glance up from the case file she is reading with a questioning look.
You offer her a faint smile, attempting to convey a sense of normalcy despite the turmoil swirling within you.
“You okay?” she asks as she sets aside the case file. You appreciate her gesture, knowing that Emily’s intuition often went beyond words.
You take a moment to collect your thoughts, the weight of unspoken emotions pressing down on you. With a small nod, you offer Emily a reassuring smile, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.
“Yeah, I’m okay. Just a lot on my mind,” you reply softly, the words carrying a weight that belie their simplicity.
Emily nods in understanding, her gaze holding a sense of sympathy. “He’s an idiot, by the way,” she says with a wry smile, and you feel how your heart stops for a second, panicking at the thought of Emily uncovering the truth of what has unfolded between you and Aaron.
“What do you mean?” you stammer, the words tumbling out before you can stop them, your heart pounding in your chest as you wait for Emily’s response.
Emily just smiles at you as she picks up her file again. “We’re profilers, it’s not hard to read between the lines,” Emily says with a knowing glint in her eyes, her smile reassuring and understanding. “And you’re not as hard to read as you think, it’s clear that you have been dating someone, you have been looking like a smitten kitten for months, it’s been really cute to see, by the way, but something has changed recently. You’ve been distant, and often lost in thought sulking,” Emily continues, her tone gentle yet perceptive.
It’s not like it really surprises you, given how perceptive Emily is, and how deeply you’ve been feeling the shifts in your relationship with Aaron, but you had still hoped that you could have hidden your feelings from colleagues.
“So, yeah, whoever he is that has you feeling like this is an idiot, you’re clearly a catch,” Emily says with a reassuring smile, her words carrying a sense of warmth and understanding.
You feel relief wash over you, though Emily has sensed that you’ve been heartbroken, she hasn’t figured out that it is our boss that has been the course of it.
“Thanks, Em,” you say, offering the dark haired woman a tired but grateful smile.
Emily returns your smile. “If you ever need to talk or just... not talk, I’m here,” she offers, her voice warm and reassuring.
“I appreciate that,” you say, and you do really mean it, but you know that you’re not ready to talk about any of this yet. “But I think I’ll try to take a nap first, hopefully clear my head a bit before we land.”
“Mm, sounds like a plan,”Emily responds with a soft chuckle.
Grabbing the blanket from the empty seat next to you, you lean back in your seat, engulfing your body in the soft, fluffy material.
Before closing your eyes you cast one last glance at Aaron, his profile etched against the soft glow of the cabin lights. The memories of stolen moments with stolen kisses floods your mind, mingling with the ache of his recent rejection. You feel a pang in your heart, a mix of longing and sorrow, as you turn away, curling up in your seat, closing your eyes to the world outside.
You pull the blanket closer around you, the soft warmth of the blanket envelops you, cocooning you in a sense of comfort and security, providing a shield against the turmoil of your heart. The gentle hum of the airplane engines lulls you into a state of relaxation, the rhythmic sound serving as a soothing backdrop to your thoughts and emotions.
As you feel yourself drifting further into the realm of sleep, your senses start to weaken, the sounds of the airplane cabin fading into a distant murmur and you barely register the tears gently sliding down your cheeks before you drift off.
· · · · ·
You’re softly pulled out of sleep by the gentle touch of a hand on your shoulder. As you slowly flutter your eyes open, the soft glow of the cabin lights illuminates the figure beside you.
“Hey, sleepyhead, we’re about to land,” Derek’s voice is warm and filled with a hint of amusement as he gently rouses you from your slumber.
You blink a few times, the remnants of sleep still lingering in your mind as you adjust to the reality of the present moment. With a small smile, you offer Derek a nod of gratitude. Slowly, you sit up in your seat, the blanket slipping off your shoulders as you get ready for touchdown.
As the plane begins its descent, you feel a mix of emotions swirling within you - longing, sorrow, and a hint of resignation. The turbulence of your heart echoes the turbulence in the jet cabin as you start dissenting onto a lower altitude.
As the cabin lights dim in preparation for landing, you look up to find Aaron’s eyes looking in your direction, his gaze briefly meeting yours before he looks away, a shadow covering his features in the soft glow. This would all be so much easier if he would stop looking at you all the time.
You take a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions as the plane continues its descent. The mix of longing and sorrow in your heart feels almost suffocating, but you push it aside. You have to focus, have to keep your head clear for the sake of the case, you are a professional and you are not going to let your emotions cloud your mind. As the wheels touch the runway with a slight jolt, signaling your arrival in Idaho, you
And as the team disembarks from the plane and makes their way to the awaiting SUVs, you feel a sense of resolve settling within you, happy to no longer be confined to the limited room of the jet cabin and as you step out into the crisp evening air, you release a sigh of relief.
You watch Aaron walk ahead of you, his posture rigid and his expression unreadable as he walks to one of the cars and you beeline for the other. You keep your gaze fixed outside the window for most of the car ride, watching the landscape pass by in a blur as the car speeds towards its destination, a little sleepy town about an hour away.
As you and the team arrive at the local police station, you can feel the tension between you and Aaron simmering just beneath the surface. The case at hand requires your full attention, and you push aside the turbulent thoughts and emotions that threaten to consume you as you focus on the task at hand.
Throughout the evening and early night, you work alongside the team, profiling the unsub and piecing together clues to hopefully catch the unsub before they strike again. The familiarity of the work, the rhythm of profiling and investigating grounding you in the present moment, making you go into a state of laser focused professionalism. You find a sense of purpose in the work you do, a reminder that you are more than the turmoil of your emotions.
But as the night wears on, the team regroups at the hotel to get a few hours of sleep before continuing the investigation in the morning. You find yourself standing outside the small hotel, looking up at the dark, star lit sky and as you turn to head inside and join the rest of the team, you feel your heart do a little jump in your chest as you see Aaron standing a few feet away, his gaze fixed on you, his usual stoic expression faltered, his brown eyes softening as they meet yours.
For a moment, the world around you seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you standing in the quiet night, and suddenly, you know that the decision you have made to the hard choice you’ve struggled with for the past two weeks is the right one.
Without saying a word, you walk towards him, a mix of uncertainty and determination coursing through you. As you come to a stop in front of him, he opens his mouth to speak, but you raise a hand to silence him. “Not here,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper, and you gently take his hand, leading him towards a secluded corner of the hotel grounds.
As you come to a stop, you turn to face him, the dim light of the night casting shadows across his face. With a heavy sigh, you search his eyes for any sign of the man you once knew, the man who had kissed you with such tenderness and held you with such care, for the man you think might’ve even loved you. You had loved him, had long before he kissed you, and you still love.
“Aaron, I…” you begin, trailing off as you feel all the words in your head leave you as you look into his eyes, remembering that night he had kissed you for the first time. It had been a late night just like this one, it had been the first time you had ever called him by his first name.
“Let’s sit,” he says, his voice gentle yet strained, as he guides you to a nearby bench. You both sit in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily between you. Finally, Aaron speaks, his voice raw with emotion. “I’m sorry for hurting you, for leading you on, for... for everything.” His words are filled with regret, and you can see the pain in his eyes, a pain that mirrors your own.
He reaches out his hand, hesitating before resting it on yours. His touch is soft and hesitant but filled with unspoken longing and you feel how your heart skips a beat, how you have missed the feeling of him touching you, even if it’s just the slightest of touches.
“I never wanted to hurt you,” he says, his voice now barely above a whisper.
‘But it did hurt, it hurt so, so much’, is what you want to say. But as you look into Aaron’s eyes, filled with regret and vulnerability, you find yourself unable to form the words, the intensity in the warm, chocolate brown depths of his gaze rendering you speechless. You see the conflict within him, the turmoil of emotions swirling beneath the surface, and you feel the need to avert your gaze.
You look down at his hand on yours, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down your spine in the balm night air. For a moment, you allow yourself to savor the familiar sensation, the connection that still linger between you despite the circumstances.
Aaron’s hand tightens slightly around yours, a silent plea for understanding. “You deserve so much better than that,” he murmurs, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand.
You take a deep breath, the words forming in your mind before you speak them out loud. “Maybe I don’t want you to decide for me what I do and don’t deserve,” you say, looking up at him again, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling within you. Aaron’s eyes widen slightly at your words, a mix of crossing his features.
It seems like it’s his turn to be lost for words, which for some reason seems to give you a bit more courage. You fill your lungs with another deep breath before opening your mouth.
“I’m quitting,” you declare, your voice firm and resolute. You’ve been struggling with making the decision, but as you look at Aaron now, face lit up by the soft moon light you know that it is the only decision for you, you are never gonna be able to let him go if you keep working for the BAU. “I’m turning in my resignation letter when we get back from this case.”
Aaron’s eyes widen in shock, his grip on your hand tightening even more as he processes your words. The weight of your statement hangs heavy in the air between you, the unspoken implications of what this means for both of you settling in. You can see how a myriad of emotions flicker across his face – surprise, concern, and perhaps a glimmer of something else that you can’t quite place.
“You can’t do that,” Aaron’s voice is firm but filled with a mix of concern and resignation, his gaze searching yours for any sign of doubt
You can’t help but feel a pang of hurt at his words, it’s not like you had expected him to be happy about your decision, but a little, and probably naive, part of you had hoped that he would acknowledge that it would be the solution to how the two of you could be together, hoped that he still wanted that. But you’re not leaving the BAU for the slim chance that you can be with Aaron. You’re quitting because it’s become clear to you that it is the only solution. If the only time you can push aside the pain of being around him is when you’re actively investigating a violent crime case, you have to let him go, and you can only do that by leaving the BAU.
“Yes, I can… I have to, I think,” you say firmly, yet you feel your heart breaking a little by the thought of leaving. “I need to do this for myself. For my own well-being,” you continue, your gaze unwavering as you look into his eyes. “I can’t keep pretending that everything is okay when it’s not.”
Aaron remains silent for a moment, his expression unreadable as he processes your words. Finally, he sighs, a hint of resignation in his voice. “I never wanted it to come to this,” he admits, his voice heavy with regret.
“I know,” you reply softly, a tinge of sorrow coloring your words. “But we both knew the risks when we started this.”
“I should never have put you in this position,” Aaron says, his gaze dropping to the ground as he speaks. “I should never have kissed you that night. Ilet my own feelings cloud my judgment, and I hurt you in the process. I’m your boss, and I took advantage, and I-I hurt you, and…”
“No, look at me, please.” You reach out and gently cub his cheek in your hand, making him meet your gaze. “Aaron, it wasn’t just you. I wanted it too, I wanted to be with you,” you confess, your voice breaking slightly with emotion. “I wanted to take the risk because I thought it was worth it. And maybe it was, for a while. But we can’t keep going like this, Aaron. It’s not fair to either of us.”
Aaron’s eyes search yours, a mix of emotions swirling within their depths. “What are you saying?” he asks softly, his voice filled with a hint of desperation.
“I’m saying that I need to let you go,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need to let go of this hope that maybe someday we could find a way to be together. I can’t keep holding on to something that’s only causing us both pain.” Tears gather in the corners of your eyes as you speak, the weight of your decision pressing down on you. But despite the pain, you feel a sense of clarity wash over you, a sense of liberation in finally speaking the truth.
Aaron’s eyes soften, his hand coming up to gently grasp yours that’s still cupping his cheek. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice filled with regret and sorrow. You offer him a sad smile, tears finally spilling down your cheeks as you lean forward to press a soft kiss to his cheek before pulling away.
“Me too, Aaron,” you say softly, your voice filled with a mix of love and heartbreak. As you stand up from the bench, you turn to walk away, the weight of your decision settling in your heart. But before you can take a step, you feel a hand grasp yours, stopping you in your tracks. You turn back to see Aaron standing before you, his eyes filled with determination and a hint of something you can’t quite place.
“I...I can’t let you leave without saying this,” Aaron begins, his voice wavering slightly. “I’ve been a fool. I’ve let my own fears and insecurities cloud my judgment, and in the process, I’ve hurt you. But I can’t let you go without telling you that I love you. ”
Your heart skips a beat at his words, the depth of his confession washing over you like a wave. For a moment, you feel a flicker of hope ignite within you, a spark of possibility that maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance for the two of you. “But what does that mean, Aaron?” you ask softly, your voice filled with a mix of hope and trepidation. “What are you saying?”
Aaron takes a deep breath, his gaze unwavering as he speaks. “I’m saying that I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to live with the regret of letting you slip away. I want to fight for a future where you are a part of my life. I know it won’t be easy, I know there are risks and complications, but I can’t let you go without at least trying cause I love you.”
Tears stream down your cheeks as you look into Aaron’s eyes, the sincerity and love shining within them filling your heart with warmth and longing. Taking a step closer to Aaron, you reach out to cup his face in your hands, meeting his gaze with determination.
“I love you, too. I think I’ve loved you from the moment I met you.”
Aaron’s eyes widen in surprise, a mix of emotions flickering across his features. Without another word, he closes the distance between the two of you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss filled with passion and longing. The world falls away as you melt into each other, lost in the moment of shared love and desire as the man you love kisses you under the moonlight.
The kiss deepens, becoming a promise of the future you both want to fight for, a pledge to overcome the obstacles that stand in your way, a balm for the weeks of heartbreak. And as you break apart, breathless and filled with emotion, you feel how your entire body shivers, already missing the feeling of Aaron’s warm lips against yours.
“You’re freezing,” Aaron frowns, quickly shredding himself of his suit jacket and draping it around your shoulders before wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. “Let’s get you inside.”
You nod, your heart swelling with hope and love as he takes your hand in his, leading you back to the hotel. Hotel might be a little generous; it’s more of a bed and breakfast, with so few rooms that the team had to pair up and share, but it was the only accommodation in town and it is not like you and the team aren’t used to having to share rooms from time to time.
It turns out the rest of the team has already paired up and hit the hay, leaving only one room since you’re the last two to arrive. “Looks like you and I’ll have to share a room,” you say, a small smile playing on your lips, an hour ago you would be horrified by it, but now you’re absolutely thrilled about it.
“Yeah, looks like it,” he says with a soft smile on his face as you get your keys before taking your hand in his again and leading you to your shared room.
As you step inside, the warmth of the room envelops you, melding with the warmth of Aaron’s touch as he pulls you into his arms, his lips finding yours once more in a sweet, tender embrace. In the dim light of the hotel room, with the moon casting a soft glow through the curtains, the emotions swirling within you are no longer suffocating, but freeing, as you surrender to the love that has bound the two of you together.
As you finally break apart and look around it turns out that the room is a twin room, with two beds divided by a bedside table. It makes sense that your coworkers didn’t leave you to share a room with a shared bed.
You share a knowing look with him before the both of you start to quickly get ready for bed, it’s late and you’re both exhausted and there is only a few hours till you’ll need to get up again.
You share one last kiss before moving to your respective beds, but as you lay there, the distance between you feels unbearable. The man you have been pining over for three years has just a little while ago told you that he loves you after weeks of heartbreak and he lies so close yet you can’t even touch him? That’s ridiculous!
“I can’t do this,” you whisper, your voice filled with longing as you look at Aaron.
“I know,” he replies, his voice just as filled with yearning as he pulls his covers to the side letting you slip into the bed with him.
You settle into his arms, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, and you feel as if you’re finally coming home. The walls that had been built between you are crumbling down, allowing you to embrace the love that has always been between you.
As you snuggle closer to Aaron, his arms wrapped tightly around you, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. The turmoil of the past weeks fades away, replaced by a deep sense of contentment and love.
“I’m never letting you go again,” Aaron whispers, his breath warm against your ear, and you know that he means it. And you know that you never want to let him go either.
With a smile on your face, and your heart full of love and hope, you drift off to sleep in the arms of the man you love, knowing that no matter what challenges lie ahead, you will face them together.
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“Power Struggle”
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Reader
Rating: M
Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Word Count: 7.2k
Summary: For months, you and SSA Aaron Hotchner have been toeing the boundary between romance and your careers. When the unsub that's been killing women in Michigan by way of replicating Zeus' punishments from Greek mythology takes you as his next victim, it's up to Hotch and the rest of the BAU team to find you before it's too late. Hurt/comfort and angst with happy ending.
Tags: graphic depictions of violence, reader kidnapped by unsub, blood, implied SA, nudity, electrocution, scarring, hospitals
“You’re telling me someone is out here killing people to recreate, what? Greek legends?” Sheriff McCullen’s brow pinches as he shakes his head.
“Legends are stories often loosely based on a real person or event to teach us a lesson. Mythology is based on supernatural or sacred lore and explains why things came to be. It’s a common mistake.” Reid speaks quickly and methodically, as if reciting from a textbook. “It’s straight out of the mythos,” he explains, his voice tinged with something akin to excitement as he approaches the whiteboard where photos of the victims had been pinned up for review. Using a ballpoint pen as a pointer, he taps the first image of the first victim. “Regina Manford, she was found tied to a boulder in Craig Lake State Park with her liver removed. Animal predation showed birds had pecked at her while she was still alive. In Greek mythology, Zeus did this to Prometheus to exact revenge on him after he stole fire to give to man.”
Reid moves on to the next victim, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he did so. “Sarah Walters was found bound to an old water wheel that had been set on fire. Greek Mythology suggests this is a copy of Zeus’ punishment for Ixion.”
“And what did he do to deserve that?” asks the sheriff.
Reid’s lips form a tight line. “He was invited into Zeus’ home on Olympus. After attempting to seduce his wife, Hera, Zeus punished him by binding him to a wheel of fire cursed to spin forever toward the underworld. She might’ve smiled or even looked at him, and in his delusion believed she was a seductress deserving of punishment.”
“So, what? This guy sees himself as some sort of god?”
“We believe that is his delusion, yes,” answers Emily. “Each victim also bore signs of sexual trauma, this is something Zeus is also renowned for in the mythology. Our unsub thinks he’s infallible and that these women’s lives and deciding when and how these women live and die is his divine right.”
“Do we know if there will be more victims?” asks one of the detectives.
You step forward from your place between Morgan and Hotchner. “Given the number of victims Zeus punished within the mythology, we can assume he is not finished. These kills are two weeks apart. It’s been twelve days since the last body was found. We can only assume he’s currently hunting for his next victim. And when he finds one, he convinces her to go to a second location. It's once they leave the primary location that he attacks. In each case, the victim suffered a blow to the head, leaving a uniquely shaped gash in her forehead. This suggests that he strikes them with a distinct blunt object or even a ring that’s on his hand.”
“We need every man out on the streets,” Hotch states, his eyes hard as he scans the group of law enforcement gathered to receive the profile. “He stalks his victims in the city, often on the weekends when night life is busiest. He’s charming. He has no problem approaching women because he views himself as a deity and carries himself with the arrogance and confidence of one. He’s white, in his early to mid 30s, good looking, charming, and likely has a career that would’ve provided him with medical training.”
A female detective with short blonde hair sticks her pencil in the air. “How do we know that?”
“The incisions made on Regina’s body were clean, precise, and showed no signs of hesitation,” explains Rossi. “The M.E. also informed us that the hepatic artery was clamped off, meaning,” Rossi hesitates before continuing on, “meaning Regina Mansford was alive as her liver was being cut from her body.”
An uncomfortable murmuring breaks out. Hotch raises a hand, silencing them. Your mouth goes dry and you swallow, hoping your team doesn’t notice the way your eyes dilate when you look at him and the silent way in which he can command a room.
“This is why we need every available officer on the streets. Increase units in the downtown area. Have plain clothes officers on the streets. That’s where we’ll be. Thank you.” Hotch tucks his head and sweeps out of the bullpen, the rest of the team trailing after him into the conference room.
“Where do you want us?” asks Morgan as you shut the door to the conference room.
“Reid, I want you here working the geographical profile. See if there’s anything we missed that could bring us closer to a precise location where he’s kidnapping his victims. Rossi and JJ, I want you to go back to Sarah’s apartment and see if we missed anything that tells us where she was exactly on the night she was kidnapped. Derek and Emily take the north side of downtown.” He inclines his head toward you. “You and I will take the south side.”
His eyes linger on yours a moment longer than they ought to have. You dip your head and swiftly exit the room, jacket in hand as you prepare to brave not only the frigid Michigan cold but working one one-on-one with Hotch. This had been going on for months; subtle looks, brief touches where his fingers would slide over yours while passing off a case file…yet a part of you still wasn’t sure if it would ever go any further than that. You spend so much of your time with the team, it would be so easy to mistake one gesture for something that it wasn’t. Yet you knew that wasn’t true. You know behavior. You’re trained to recognize the subtlest of shifts in demeanor and body language and you know exactly what is going on.
You jump as someone pushes through the front door of the precinct. Emily’s gentle laugh disrupts your rumination. “Sorry,” she says, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She moves to stand closer to you as she zips her jacket. “The guys went to grab the cars.”
You nod and shove your hands in your pockets.
Emily arches a perfectly manicured brow. “What’s up?”
You school your expression and feign nonchalance. “Nothing, I just want to catch this guy before he hurts anyone else.”
Emily’s brow furrows and then straightens, a glimmer of knowing in her eye. “Something tells me there’s a different guy on your mind.”
Your heart skips a beat and you nearly choke on the crisp winter air. “What? I don’t—“ Your words falter as Derek and Hotch arrive, the SUVs humming to a gentle stop at the curb.
Emily eyes you, a sly smile curving one side of her red lips. “We’ll talk later.” She winks and steps forward to open the passenger side door, sliding inside and disappearing into the dark interior.
As you turn to move toward the SUV, Hotch is there, opening the door for you. The gesture surprises you, but it shouldn’t. He’d been doing little things like this for weeks now. You nod your head in thanks and as you turn your body to slide past him, his hand catches your hip. Your breath hitches in your throat as his fingers glide against the small of your back, guiding your movement into the vehicle.
His hard eyes meet yours as he shuts the door and you’re grateful for the shadows inside the car as you feel your face flush bright red. Hotch slides into the driver’s seat with ease. He shifts the car into gear and pulls onto the road, heading in the direction of downtown.
After a few minutes, you open your mouth to disrupt the silence, but his cell rings. Hotch answers and places it on speaker as JJ’s voice floats through the receiver, “Hotch, we think we’ve got something at Sarah Walters apartment.”
“What’s that?” you ask.
“There’s a sticky note in her trash can,” a garbled sound echoes through the speaker as she shifts the phone. The sound of paper crinkles as she reads, “Tony’s at 9, does that mean anything? Has Garcia come across a Tony in any of her research into the victims’ lives? Maybe an Anthony?”
An image of a neon sign flashes across your mind’s eye. “It’s a bar,” you say matter-of-factly.
“A bar?”
“I remember seeing the sign on our drive-in. It’s a bar on the south side of downtown. That could be where he’s meeting these women.”
“We’re only a few blocks away, we’ll head there now. Thank you, JJ.” He hangs up and slips the phone into his jacket pocket.
“How do you want to play this?” you ask.
“We go in, make observations, see if we can identify anyone that matches the profile.”
You smirk and a small laugh escapes your lips.
“Something funny?” Hotch asks, his voice low in his throat.
You purse your lips, pausing before you proceed. “If we go in looking like feds, we’ll scare this guy away.” You tilt your head, considering. “Well, one of us anyway.”
A slight twitch in his brow is the only indication your words have just barely gotten under his skin. “Touched a nerve, sir?”
As the traffic light ahead blinks red, he eases the car to a stop. He breathes out slowly, the amber glow of the stoplight reflecting in his eyes. In less than two heartbeats, he thrusts the car into park and with both hands clasps your face, drawing you in to kiss you with such fervor white spots dot your vision. It takes a moment to process the heat of his mouth on yours and the way his tongue slides between your lips, and before you can truly reciprocate the light turns green and he pulls back, his breathing ragged against your mouth as his forehead touches yours. “Be careful when and how you choose to call me sir.”
Before you can exhale, his eyes are on the road again and you’re driving deeper into downtown.
“Understood,” and then you add, almost imperceptibly, “sir.”
A small smile quirks at the corner of his lips, but he says nothing more as you approach your destination.
It's nearing 9:30pm when you pull up on the street parallel to Tony’s. People trickle in and out of the bar in groups of twos and threes; most are young, in their mid to late twenties.
“Right,” you say as you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to exit the vehicle. “Stay here.”
“Excuse me?” Hotch asks, reaching over your lap and grabbing your wrist to stay your hand from popping the door open. Your breathing stills and he just barely turns his face toward yours. “Since when do you give me orders?”
Unsure where the confidence to challenge him comes from, you lean in near his ear. You swallow once before speaking. “I think you like taking them.” Feeling incredibly brazen, you nip at his ear once and as the unexpected gesture disarms him; flick your wrist out of his grasp and pop the door open. You slide out of the car and are immediately greeted by the frigid January air eliciting goosebumps up and down your arms. Extending an arm overhead to hang on to the frame of the SUV; you lean down into the cab of the vehicle. “I’ve got you right here,” you say as you tap the hidden earpiece. “Let me know if you see anyone from the outside that fits the profile.”
Hotch eyes you and there’s a fierceness in his gaze. You wonder if he’s thinking of how he’ll ultimately retaliate for your little role reversal now that he’s gone and upped the ante in this little game of cat and mouse. “See you soon,” you wink and slam the door shut.
As you approach the bar, you make sure your coat is buttoned in a way that hides your sidearm and credentials from sight. The bouncer doesn’t even pretend to ask for an ID as you approach and move through the front door with ease. As you cross through the threshold, your senses are assaulted by the smell of beer on tap, the sharp tang of liquor, grease, and an amalgamation of perfumes and colognes.
Immediately you begin scanning the room. You note the layout of the bar: three exits for patrons, the one you just came in through, one near the bathrooms for cigarette smokers, and an emergency exit on the far right wall near to the kitchen. There are three pool tables all of which are occupied as well as three dart boards along the far wall. Groups of friends engage one another and dates carry on without a hitch. You approach the bar, which is centered along the far wall. Stools line the high countertop and behind the bar, two women work to fulfill the never-ending drink orders. You approach the bar and slide into one of the empty seats, relaxing your shoulders as you do so, and order a rum and coke that you don’t plan on drinking.
After a moment the bartender drops a cocktail napkin in front of you and places the drink on top. You thank her and stir the contents of the drink with the swizzle stick popped inside.
“Is this seat taken?” an unfamiliar voice causes the hair on the back of your neck to prickle and you know immediately that it’s him.
Painting on a saccharine sweet smile, you turn toward the voice. A white man, standing at about 6’2”, is smiling down at you. The neon lights behind the bar reflect in his blue-gray eyes and his honey blonde hair falls in soft waves to his shoulders. “Please,” you say demurely and gesture toward the seat. You tell him your name and continue smiling.
“Ronan Carlson,” he introduces himself as he slides in beside you and adjusts the lapels on his leather jacket, a fake Rolex peeking out from his sleeve. He’s preening, you think to yourself. The bartender approaches from behind the bar and he smiles, the curve of his lips the opening act of his charming performance. “I’ll have what she’s having, thank you.” He pulls a roll of cash from the inner pocket of his jacket, flips through several bills, and pulls a $100 bill free before sliding it across the counter to her.
The bartender’s eyes widen in surprise and he winks at her. She nods her thanks and turns to make his drink.
“That was very kind of you,” I say, stirring my drink for the thirteenth time.
He shrugs and tips the baseball cap he’s wearing down over his eyes and you know it’s to obstruct the view the cameras have of him. “It’s only money, and I think I may have made her night.” He inclines his head toward the bartender whose head is bent close to the other woman’s. She’s smiling wide and shows her the $100 bill.
Internally, you roll your eyes hard, but externally you smile and look at him from beneath your lashes. “You must have a great job, what do you do for work?”
His hand flexes as he sets his drink down on the counter and you note the two chunky platinum rings he wears on his right hand. There are symbols etched into them offset by different colored stones, but you don’t want him to catch you staring as he answers, “I’m in business for myself these days,” he says with no further explanation. “Though I used to be in the military.”
You feign surprise, though you were hopeful he’d continue to divulge information. “The military, wow. Let me guess,” you pause and allow your eyes to slowly scan him from head to toe. You remember the profile. “Army…medic.”
“Reign it in,” you hear Hotchner’s voice through the earpiece. “Be mindful of how much you reveal to him. Don’t let him know you know more about him than he’s letting on.”
You watch him assess you and your read into him. One blonde brow creeps up toward his hairline and that wicked smile curves his lips again. “Excellent guess, how do you figure?”
Leaning on to your forearms, you push your drink aside and slide your hand over his and you don’t miss the way his fingers tense at your touch.
“It’s the hands,” you say coyly. “You look like you know how to handle yourself.” He relaxes under your touch and a heat ignites in his eyes that makes your stomach churn, but you don’t let it show on your face. “You look like you know how to handle a lot of things.”
He licks his lips and turns the ring on his finger. “Tell you what,” he says as he picks up his drink. He places the glass to his lips and downs its contents. “Why don’t we get out of here?” He looks down at you from beneath dark lashes. “And I’ll show you just how much I can handle.”
You stand up and flash him a grin. “Let me quickly freshen up and I’ll meet you out front.”
His lips quirk into a smirk, “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”
You smile as you slip away toward the bathroom. As you push through the crowd you inform Hotch that the unsub is on his way out.
“There’s a line growing out the door,” he answers over the earpiece. “Does the description match the profile?”
“To a T,” you answer as you push past a couple with their tongues in each other's mouths. The amount of patrons has increased dramatically over the last hour. The volume of the music makes it hard to hear through the earpiece. You push your way into the restroom and are surprised to find it empty. Fortunately, the outside noise is muffled. You begin to describe Ronan’s appearance and note the jacket and hat he’s wearing. “He’s wearing two oddly shaped rings,” you add. “I think it’s what’s caused the unusual injury to the victims’ faces.”
“I’ve got him. He’s cutting through the line toward the parking lot.” You hear the car door open and slam.
“Got it, I’ll be right there.”
“Good work,” Hotch says over the open line.
You smile to yourself as you unbutton your jacket, glad to be on the receiving end of his praise. For a split second you wonder what else you could be on the receiving end of if you continue to play this game with him. After the case, you remind yourself. Priorities. Priority number one is getting this sick bastard off the street, and he’s right here within your grasp. You shoulder the door as you reach for your gun, positioning your thumb over the rotating hood to dislodge your weapon from its holster.
Over the speakers, an employee is calling to celebrate someone’s birthday. The crowd is distracted and pushing toward the source of celebration. The bar erupts into an off key rendition of Happy Birthday but you don’t hear it as 30,000 volts of electricity course through your veins. Your muscles spasm and lock up as you fall forward. Pain radiates from your abdomen in waves that crash over you again and again. You try to tell your body what to do as strong arms catch you and pull you into a chest that smells like cigarette smoke, but your limbs don’t cooperate. You feel his nose root into your hair as his lips find your ear. “How’s that for capable?”
As he shoulders your weight and steers you out through the emergency exit you hear Hotch’s voice in your ear. “It’s not him!” There’s an edge of panic in his voice as he says your name. “Do you copy? It’s not him. He gave another man $500 to wear his hat and jacket into the parking lot. It’s not him. Do you have eyes on him?”
Dark spots the edges of your vision as he drags your dead body weight. You try to focus all of your ability on getting out any words that can signal to Hotchner what’s happening, any at all but your mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton.”
You hear the tinkling of keys and a door slide open. Pain rattles through your skull as he throws you into the back of whatever vehicle he’s operating. Pain slices through your wrists as zip ties slice through the skin there. Through tunnel vision you see him leering at you. He’s backlit by the streetlights.
As his fist flies toward you, you finally manage one word.
“Aaron.”
•
When you come to, the first thing you feel before the splitting pain in your head threatens to cleave your mind in two, is cold.
Your mouth is dry, but as you move to lick your lips you realize you can’t because there’s a gag in your mouth. You try to move your hands, but they’re bound too. Zip ties cut into each wrist, securing them at your sides on the legs of a wooden chair. When you try to shift the chair, you learn that it’s bolted to the floor and your legs are spread open; zip ties at your knees and ankles keep them apart. Except for your bra and underwear, you’re naked. He undressed you. You feel the wound from the stun gun before you glance down at your stomach and see the two bloody pinpricks in your abdomen. You feel your heart rate increase as panic begins to set in. Do not panic , you tell yourself as you take a steadying breath. The minute you start to panic, you’re dead. You close your eyes and piece together the last dredges of your memory.
Tony’s. Sitting at the bar. The unsub. Ronan. Hotch was in pursuit. And then there was just pain.
Hotch.
The pain in your skull is overwhelming and you’re not sure if you can feel the earpiece anymore.
“Hotch,” you attempt to say through the gag. “Hotch, do you read me?”
You close your eyes as hot tears brim along your lash line when there’s no response. The signal is out of range or the unsub found the earpiece and removed it.
A door creaks open on squeaky hinges and your eyes dart toward the source of the sound. Ronan walks through the door with a sick smile on his face. As he saunters toward you, he rolls the sleeves of his flannel up to his elbows. Without looking away from you, his arm drops to his side and he scoops a folding metal chair with one hand, carrying it with him as he edges closer to you.
You flinch as he cracks the chair down in front of you, forcing it open. He chuckles as he takes a seat. His eyes skirt the length of your body and you wish any limb were free to deliver a blow to his smug face.
He reaches into his back pocket and withdraws your badge. He flips it open and holds it up to your face, the way his eyes flit between you and your credentials makes your lip curl.
“An FBI agent,” he says slowly. He slaps your credentials shut against his denim-clad thighs. “Hot damn!” he shouts and whoops. He throws your badge to the wayside and it clatters against the cement floor. “I’m going to take my time with you.”
It could’ve been hours. It could’ve been minutes. The torture is unrelenting and the pain is unending. Your chest heaves as you brace yourself for the next surge of electricity. Ronan, if that’s even his real name, twists the knob on the amplifier and taps the jumper cable clamps in his hands together. He smiles when he hears the buzz of electricity between them. As he presses them into your thighs, you cry out in pain as the shockwaves paralyze your body and mind and the pain overwhelms you.
“YES!” he roars as he pulls them away from you. He’d taken his flannel off, but now he peels off his t-shirt, balls it up, and uses it to wipe the sweat off of his face.
With the voltage no longer coursing through your veins, you slump forward, chest heaving as your scrambled brain fights to stay alert.
He drops the cables and clasps your face in his hand, forcing your chin up to meet his wild eyes. “You just don’t quit, do you? You're special.” He strokes your cheeks with his thumbs as if he cherishes what he’s doing to you. “You are worthy of a god.”
When you come to Ronan is watching you. He’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, chin resting on his clasped hands.
“She wakes,” he muses.
You glare at him and his brow pinches. He purses his lips together like he’s been stung, but his eyes are alight with amusement.
“You,” he says, gesturing up and down your body, “look beautiful.”
You don’t need to look down to know the number of bloodied burn wounds spanning the lengths of your legs. If you couldn’t keep track of any other thought, the count was all that kept you grounded. There were ten. Five on each leg. Your wrists and ankles bled from the way you’d pulled against them with every shock he delivered.
He reaches forward and this time you don’t flinch. He hooks two fingers into the gag and pulls it down over your chin, his fingers trailing your lips as he does so.
“Here,” he says, bringing a bottle of water to your lips. “Drink.”
You clamp your lips shut and turn your face away. He laughs and shakes his head. “Come on now, don’t refuse me. That’s not how you show gratitude when a god shows you mercy.”
You muster as much hatred into your stare as you focus your attention back on him. “Mercy?” you hiss, and your voice is hoarse from screaming against the gag. It hurts to speak. You pull against your restraints. “This is what you call mercy?”
“I’m only testing you to see if you’re worthy,” he says by way of explanation. "You've lasted longer than the others."
“Worthy of what?” you ask, but you already know the answer.
“To be my Hera.”
“How is what you’re doing to me, what you did to those other women, going to help you find her?”
“They weren’t worthy,” he answered. “They couldn’t take my power like you could, my lightning. They were false. They needed to be punished.”
He leans in, his lips close enough to yours that you can feel his smoky breath on your skin. “But you, you deserve to be rewarded.” Your skin bristles at his words. His lips find your jawline and you grimace as he drags them up the side of your face. When he pulls away, dried blood flakes onto his skin.
“Don’t be afraid,” he soothes as he smoothes your sweat-drenched hair away from your face. “You’ll enjoy it.”
Unable to suffer any more of his poisonous bullshit, you rear your head back and slam it forward. Pain explodes behind your forehead, but it’s worth it to hear the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking. He roars in pain and clutches his bleeding nose. White light blinds you as he backhands you and curses your name. His ring splits the skin of your cheek open. The force of the blow causes you to bite your lip and you feel your teeth cut into the chapped skin there. You spit blood at him, angering him further.
“You are false!” he screams, spittle flying from his mouth as he shoves the gag back into your mouth. “You are not her!” He moves to pick up the jumper cables, twisting the knob of the amplifier all the way up causing the bulbs overhead to flicker. You know this is it. If he touches you with those, it will kill you.
Bracing yourself for the killing blow, you go to the grave knowing you did not give in to this bastard.
It never lands.
Instead, three shots ring out and he’s falling to the floor dead at your feet. As the unsub’s body falls, Hotchner’s frame comes into view and a choked sob escapes your lips. He holsters his weapon and runs to you. Emily and Morgan are right behind him. Morgan passes Hotch a Swiss Army knife from his pocket and he makes quick work of the zip ties binding you to the chair. From the corner of your eye, you see Emily turn off the amplifier and check Ronan’s pulse.
Unable to hold yourself up, you fall forward into his ready arms, letting yours fall over his shoulders. Hotch drops to his knee to support your weight. “You’re okay,” he says as he pulls the gag free from your mouth and you sob into his chest. He smooths your hair back from your face, his eyes assessing the damage done to you. Blood stains his shirt, your blood.
“Morgan, your jacket.” Hotch orders.
Without hesitation, Morgan unfastens his bulletproof vest and unzips his jacket. He passes it to Hotch who drapes it around your shoulders in an attempt to preserve some of your modesty.
“I need a medic!” he shouts before directing his attention back to you.
Your eyes waver as you try to keep them open. You lock in on the depths of his warm brown eyes. “You’re going to be fine,” he says but his voice sounds far away.
“He wanted someone to be his Hera,” you say weakly.
“Don’t worry about that right now,” Hotch soothes.
You swallow and it hurts your throat to do so. Your lips crack open, “You found me.”
Hotch cradles your head against his chest. “Of course I did.”
You wince as the sound of a gurney crashes into the room, the metal wheels squealing as it draws near. Your head swims as you’re swept into the air and laid out on its cushiony bed. A light shines in your eyes and voices are overlapping. Blindly, you use what strength you have left to drop your hand off the side. Unable to focus your attention on where he is, you know he’ll hear you. “Don’t leave me.”
And as you lose consciousness, you feel his hand slip into yours.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
•
A steady beeping fills your ears as you slowly come to. Your eyes feel bruised and you don’t think you have it in you to open them, but you feel something around your wrists and bolt upright. Pain crashes over you in a wave. It was a dream. You’re still bound in that basement. The beeping increases, growing louder and faster. Someone says your name and you feel hands on your shoulders. You try to swing your fist and are surprised when your arm follows through and makes contact with flesh. Did you break through the zip ties? You hear your name again, clearer this time. A man. He’s asking you to stop, to relax.
“It’s me,” he repeats and says your name again. “You’re safe. You’re in the hospital.” He says your name again. “It’s me, it’s Aaron.”
You stop fighting and blink hard. Hotchner’s stern face comes into view, except there’s concern wavering in the depths of his brown eyes. His brow softens as you relax. A small smile turns the corners of his lips. “Hey there,” he says. A nurse rushes into the room and he raises a hand, “We’re fine, here. Thank you.”
The nurse looks at you and you nod. She looks unsure about leaving but ultimately relents. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake.”
Aaron cups the back of your head in one of his hands and gently begins to lower you back down onto the pillows behind you. You allow him to guide you and feel the tension ease from your muscles as your back sinks into the surprisingly plush hospital pillow.
As the adrenaline wears off, you’re finally able to take stock of your injuries as the pain quickly makes itself known. You feel your pulse beating in your skull, pounding at your temples, eyebrow, and cheekbone. With shaky fingers, you touch the places where you remember the unsub striking you. You feel a thick bandage taped over your right eyebrow and steri-strips over your cheek. Your lip is swollen from where you bit it.
Bandages encircle your wrists and there’s an IV stuck in your hand. You’ve been dressed in a hospital gown and the sheets are drawn up to your waist covering the burn wounds. You don't have to see them to know how bad they look. The pain is telling enough.
“Is he dead?” you ask, lowering your hand back down to the bed.
Hotch’s lips form a tight line. “Yes.”
You blink back tears as that information sinks in. “Good,” you whisper in a choked voice. You blink and allow your head to loll to the side. A colorful bouquet of roses and carnations dotted with plastic ladybugs and butterflies sits in a clear vase on the side table.
You smile, “Garcia?”
Hotch smiles in turn. “It was tough to convince her to go home and get some sleep, but I promised her I wouldn’t leave you alone. Even then, it was still a hard-fought battle.”
You chuckle and wince as the movement irritates your injuries.
Hotch telegraphs his next move, and you know it’s to avoid startling you. He cups his hand over your uninjured cheek and strokes the skin there with his thumb.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he says, and his voice sounds tired and pained. “I should’ve gone inside with you.”
“Hotch, don’t.” You reach up and wrap your fingers around his wrist. “Don’t do that to yourself. He didn’t know I was with the FBI until after he took me. If you’d been there, he might’ve pegged us as law enforcement and taken off. He might still be out there and we’d be finding another dead woman in a matter of days. You know I’m right.”
Hotch closes his eyes and heaves a heavy sigh. “I could hear you.”
“What?” you whisper. You try to sit up and wince as the movement stings the wounds in your legs and abdomen. Hotch stands and helps adjust the pillows behind your back before sitting back down in the chair at your bedside.
“Not for very long. He drove out of range, but I heard him speaking to you. I heard the blows land. I heard your head smack against the floor when he threw you in the van.” He stops and shakes his head. “I felt so helpless. I was afraid. I couldn’t get to you, just like,” his voice catches in his throat. “just like I couldn’t get to Haley.”
Your heart breaks for him as he speaks. You reach for his hand and take it, squeezing it. “Aaron, you did get to me. You saved my life.”
He clears his throat and swallows. “Yes, but we were almost too late.”
“But you weren’t,” you state, your tone firm. “Aaron, look at me.”
He hesitates and inhales deeply before lifting his gaze to yours. The corners of his eyes soften as he meets yours and you smile. You gently tug his hand, “Come here.”
Hotch glances toward the door and then back at you, “The doctor—“
“Isn’t going to do shit,” you finish. “I’m the one that endured hours of torture. Pretty sure I’m allowed some close comfort.”
He lets out a shallow laugh. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Standing, he shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair. With one hand he loosens his tie until he’s able to pull it up and over his head. He tosses it onto the chair and circumnavigates the bed, assessing the best way to join you on the small mattress.
You groan as you slide over. Hotch reaches out to stop you but you silence him with a pointed look. “Mind the IV,” you say as you pat the space beside you.
Hotch acquiesces, using the tips of his fingers to raise the IV drip enough for him to slide into bed beside you. He slips an arm around you and drops the feed. It falls across his torso. The feel of his arm around you is comforting, like a security blanket, like safety. You relax into him, and rest your head on his chest. His lips brush against your bandaged brow.
“Not quite how I imagined we’d first be sharing a bed,” you joke softly as you nuzzle in deeper against the wide plane of his chest.
You feel him smile against your hair. “Only you could joke at a time like this.”
“If I can’t laugh at what’s happened, I’ll never be able to close my eyes at night.”
“Well, if that’s the case.” He rubs the bare skin of your arm in small circles. “I’ll be there until you can.”
You turn your head to look at him then, your heart full. This is happening. His eyes are on yours and you push yourself toward him ever so slightly. He closes the small gap between you and presses his lips to yours. It wasn’t hungry and primal like the kiss in the car. There would be plenty of time for that later. This kiss was light, tender…healing.
“Sir, I’m sorry. I tried to go home, I really did but as soon as I got there I—” Garcia’s voice abruptly cuts off. You look up and her initial look of surprise turns to one of abject joy.
You feel your cheeks flush as Emily and Morgan appear in the doorway behind her. Morgan’s eyes widen and Emily’s brow arches as a smile curves her lips.
“I, uh, brought backup.” Penelope giggles. She remembers she’s holding something. “And cookies! I couldn’t sleep, so I baked. I figured I could bribe you into going home and getting some sleep.” Her words leave her mouth at a mile a minute. “I thought you’d fight me on it, so I brought some muscle.” She gestures with a tilt of her head. “They’re the muscle.”
Morgan exhales and points a finger at you and Hotch. “Can someone explain to me what’s going on here?”
Emily elbows him and he drops his arm. She takes the tray from Garcia and walks it over to the side table where she places it next to the flowers. She winks at you as she turns back to Garcia and Morgan. “It’s about time,” she says.
Penelope laughs as she hooks her arm in Emily’s. “What's it been? Two, three months?”
Morgan guffaws. “Months?”
Penelope pats his face with a ring-adorned hand. “My sweet oblivious profiler. Come on, hot stuff.” She takes him by the hand and leads him from the room. Emily shakes her head and laughs. “Men.”
“Safe to say the team knows.”
Hotch releases a breathy laugh and kisses your forehead again. “I know what will be the first thing on the agenda at tomorrow’s debriefing.”
•
6 weeks. It had been 6 weeks since you’d pressed the elevator button that would bring you back to the office. The weight of your gun feels right where it sits upon your hip, your gait more familiar to you now than when it wasn’t holstered to your side. You nervously adjust the grip on your go bag. You’d packed and repacked it the night before.
This morning as you were getting out of the shower, you stared at yourself in the mirror. Your cheek had healed nicely though the skin on your brow that had been split by the unsub’s ring had scarred, severing the tail end of your eyebrow from the rest of it. The ligature marks around your wrists and ankles had healed and the skin was smooth once more. The stun gun had scarred your abdomen, but all that remained were two purple pinpricks of scar tissue no bigger than the size of an infant’s thumbnail.
Your legs are a different story. The front of your thighs are an array of mottled scar tissue. One burn had gone so deep that they’d needed to graft skin from your calf to salvage it. The wounds no longer hurt physically, but you’d woken up from nightmares on more than one occasion.
You were never alone though. Garcia worked remotely on secure laptops with VPNs as often as she was able. Rossi brought you home-cooked Italian at least twice a week and talked with you over numerous glasses of red wine. Reid brought black-and-white foreign existentialist films that you didn’t understand, but his enthusiasm as he watched made you happy all the same. Emily and Morgan brought coffee and donuts as often as they could and Hotch…if he wasn’t at the office or visiting Jack, he was with you. On several occasions, he brought Jack. Jack would sit on the bed beside you, playing with his toys, narrating the adventures of his action figures as Aaron stood in the doorway, smiling. At night, when you had woken in a cold sweat, Aaron was there with a washcloth to wipe it away. When the bandages had stuck to your burn wounds and it felt like your skin was being peeled apart, he got your pain medicine and helped change the dressings, holding you until the pain had passed.
You blink as the elevator dings, signaling you’ve reached your destination. You take a deep breath and smooth down the front of your blouse as the door opens wide. Everything looks the same, yet everything feels like it's changed as you approach the desk you occupy perpendicular to Emily’s. A smile crosses your lips as you see the Welcome Bac k card on your desk. Two vases of flowers sit behind the card. One is almost exactly like the one from the hospital so you know it’s from Garcia. The other, a bouquet of purple tulips, has a note attached to it. You open the note and read it.
Glad to have you back. Things haven’t been the same around here without you. -AH
Hotch. You should’ve known. You smile and tuck the note into your purse.
“Hey, hey, look who’s finally decided to get her ass back to work.” Morgan’s charming laugh is followed by Emily chastising him.
“Ignore him,” she says as she places a steaming mug of coffee on your desk.
“You’re a godsend,” you say by way of thanks and take a long drink. Two sugars, no milk, just the way you like. “Wow, Emily, that’s perfect. I needed this.”
“How come you don’t remember how I take my coffee?” Morgan asks pointedly.
She shrugs, “Chicks before dicks, Derek.”
You sputter and choke on your coffee.
“Look,” he says as he pats you on the back. “Her first day back and you’re gonna kill her.”
At that moment JJ passes by with a file in hand. She raises it in the air and gestures to the conference room. “We got a case.” She smiles at you warmly. “It’s good to have you back.”
Together, you, Morgan, and Emily enter the conference room where Reid, Hotch, and Rossi have already gathered. Once you’re all sat, JJ begins presenting the case. You review current victims and why the Sacramento Police Department has invited you onto the case
“Sacramento PD is expecting us this afternoon. We’ve got a long flight ahead of us. Wheels up in thirty, understood?”
A chorus of ‘yes sirs’ echo throughout the room. As the team gathers their belongings and moves to leave, you wait for Hotch to catch your eye. You wink at him before mouthing, “Yes, sir.”
#aaron hotch x you#aaron hotch fic#aaron hotch fanfiction#aaron hotch x reader#aaron hotchner#aaron hotch angst#aaron hotchner criminal minds#aaron hotchner x female reader#f!reader#bau reader#behavioral analysis unit#criminal minds fic#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds#aaron hotchner headcanons#aaron hotchner hurt/comfort#angst with a happy ending#hurt/comfort#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x fem!reader#aaron hotchner x y/n
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NIGHT GUARD
f!reader x Spencer Reid (18+)
summary : You were getting out of jail one way or another, you just needed a coat to ride in. Lucky for you, you fucked the night guard every chance you got.
warnings : manipulation, dom!spence, guard x prisoner, abuse of power, minor spanking, dirty talk, talks of impregnating, squirting
“Lights out!”
Being in prison was no joke. Doing the same things every single day drove you crazy. Not to mention the literal bullying of some inmates. You had a friend or two, they had your back. You mostly stood up for yourself though. You were quite intimidating once talked to. You stayed to yourself and watched out for yourself. You were sick of it.
And now this week you’re in solitary. “Y/N?” You hear your name being whispered from the other side of the door. A voice you knew all too well. “Pretty Boy.” You smile, “Get me out of here huh?”
“Not tonight.” He quickly shuts you down, but opens the door. Spencer Reid worked the night shift for the prison, being the night guard in your ward. Everyone wanted him- some people tried, many, many failed. But you? Tch. He leans in to kiss you softly on the lips, you moan into the kiss, tasting strawberry on his lips from his lip chap, your favorite. “Double Security tonight.” He murmurs.
His hands are on you in an instant, fumbling to undo the orange jumpsuit you made look so beautiful. You moan softly at Spencer’s lips on your neck, biting as he trailed down to your hardened perky nipples through the white tank top. “Fuck Spence-“ your body’s being pushed up against the wall, kicking out of the shoes and jumpsuit. He takes a moment to admire your frame, standing there in a tank top and underwear. “Well? I don’t have all night.” You breathe. He smiles softly and starts taking off his belt, walking towards you.
“You’re right.” Spencer looks over your body before you’re shoved against the wall. “You know what to do.” He says. Smirking, your body moves to bend over, touching your toes. Spencer moans at the sight of how wet your panties were. The spot only growing larger as he neared, cock hard and waiting….
“Have you heard the rumors going around?” thrust. “Guards are being fired, transferred for having sexual relations with the prisoners.” thrust. “It’s crazy out there- ah fuck..” Spencer’s cock was buried deep into your heat. Your eyes were shut tight, taking the large shaft with pride. You’d get out, you’d.. moaning quietly as he slapped your ass you felt yourself tighten around him. He curses lowly, speeding up. “Oh shit..oh fuck..f-fuck-“ you tremble, cunt squeezing around his thick cock. the grip around your ankles tightened as you held on. You felt dizzy, blood rushing to your head from the position.
“If you weren’t locked in here I wouldn’t have to be so-fuck- careful.” your eyes watered as your legs started to hurt. “How many times have I wanted to fill you up.. ah, how much I wanted to see you full with my cum until your belly’s all swollen.” Another smack to your ass brings you to a quivering halt. your cunt gushes against Spencer’s cock, juices running down your legs while he kept fucking you. “Mgonna cum- I’m gonna cum Spence- I’m..fuck fuck!” You cried out, not caring who heard. Spencer fucks your through your orgasm, his own cum coating your walls shortly afterwards. Slowly, he fucked his cum back into you, pulling out messily while it dripped down your wet cunt with your juices.
“Tsk, tsk.. You weren’t quiet at all angel. Now what if they transfer me hm? How are you gonna get out now?” Spencer daunting voice was loud in your ears, but you couldn’t focus on anything but the sound of your heart beating before your eyes closed.
#criminal minds#spencer reid#mgg#gender neutral reader#mgg x reader#spencer reid x reader smut#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x y/n#aaron hotch#aaron hotchner#spencer#reid#top reid#cm#spencer reid headcanons#fem reader#reid x reader#spencer reid x f reader#guard x prisoner
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With Neighbors Like These
Summary: Jack goes away for the weekend and Aaron and Reader can finally have some alone time (inspired by this concept)
Pairing: post season 12 Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader
Category: smut (NSFW, 18+, MDNI)
TW/CW: kissing, mutual masturbation, moderate dirty talk, penetrative sex, protected sex, established relationship, unspecified age gap, Hotch dealing with parenting issues, Jack is mentioned but not present
Word Count: 2k
The house was unusually quiet as you walked in, leaving your shoes at the entrance to proceed barefoot towards the small office Aaron had arranged for himself with a few retouches to the spare room in the back.
Despite having a key in case of emergencies and whatnot, like a very good neighbor, it was a common decision you’d only use it on specific occasions and mostly when Jack wasn’t around. A single soccer cleat lay abandoned in a corner in the living room; were it to happen on a regular day you knew the mere sight of it would have sparked a fierce argument, but this morning was different.
The evening before a very concerned father had driven his fourteen-year-old son to the arranged meeting point, camping gear in tow, and Jack was now enjoying a two nights excursion somewhere in the local woods. You had a feeling that, conversely, Aaron wasn’t getting a kick out of the child-free weekend - confirmed by his rapid typing on the keyboard when you knocked on the wooden frame of the French door to catch his attention.
He looked at you and cracked a smile, still too focused on what he was doing. “It won’t take too long. I promise.”
You dropped your purse under his chair and hugged him from behind, the scent of his aftershave filling your nose with pure delight.
“Feeling lonely, already?”
“Why?!” he enquired. “I didn’t have to shout five times to turn off that damn videogame, last night… and nobody guzzled down half a gallon of milk directly from the bottle, at breakfast!”
“You’re also worried, I can tell,” you added and he shrugged, defeated, then went back to focusing on the screen.
He’d been working part-time as an FBI consultant for a law firm for about a year and you had never seen him putting his job before his kid: he was an active member of the PTA and even volunteered to chaperone whenever he could (something that many moms and other dads found incredibly hot, without a doubt). If he was working on a Saturday he was a hundred percent desperate for a distraction.
Your palms brushed over his shoulders and a delicate touch soon turned into a proper massage, kneading his muscles through the polo shirt he was wearing.
“Relax. You’re too tense,” you mumbled. He had only shared a few unpleasant details about his life as a member of the Behavioral Analysis Unit in D.C. before he and Jack moved into the neighborhood; nevertheless, it didn’t take a genius to figure out his former employment as an FBI agent had taken a huge toll on both of them.
“I’m not sure I should have signed that consent form,” he confessed.
“His entire class is with him and his teachers all have cell phones, nothing’s going to happen. Save for a few mosquito bites,” you replied. “And don’t get me wrong... but aren’t you being just a bit overprotective?!”
“Jack told me the same thing when I said I wanted to think about it. Except, he didn’t phrase it so nicely,” Aaron grinned and shook his head while he rose to his feet. “Sorry, enough with the family issues,” he apologized, “it’s a lovely Saturday morning. Have you got any interesting plans?”
“I have. And they don’t involve homework,” you declared, and as you pushed his laptop to the opposite side of the desk he locked an arm around your waist, his expression reverting to a serious one.
“... so you’re a bad influence.”
The intimidating attitude he could pull off with a single stare never failed to make your legs turn into jelly.
You lowered your voice to a purr. “You don’t even kn—”
His soft lips pressed onto yours stopped you mid-sentence. The fact he had a teenage son registered in your mind only as a foggy thought and the power he’d had on you since the instant you saw him jogging around the block was almost inexplicable.
“You’re right, no more homework. How about I take you out for lunch?” he proposed and the warmth of his breath on your skin ignited a fire you weren’t at all convinced you could control. Or would.
You hugged him tight, your bodies finally making contact. “How about we take care of something else, first?”
Aaron’s attitude towards romantic relationships exuded manners and consideration, the portrait of a gentleman from a different era, so the response to your suggestion came as a surprise: he’d always shown a preference for the intimacy of his bedroom, even though his palms stroking over your breasts to make your nipples grow stiff and visible through the fabric was the perfect sign he had no intention of wasting any time to move the action upstairs.
Your tongues lustfully met in a second kiss, prompting you to let out an excited sigh as you blindly undid and removed his belt before letting it fall on the floor with a loud clunk. You reached for his zipper and he sighed in return but gasped a second later when you gave him a light push that forced him to sit down again.
“Show me how you do it when we’re not together.”
Aaron’s eyes widened - confusion and stupor at the beginning, then the sheer thrill of the idea lit up his gaze. And made him hard entirely.
He sank into the cushion behind his back to finish unzipping his pants and pulling them down his hips so that his swollen erection was only contained by a thin layer of underwear.
“You’re just going to watch?” he asked, locking eyes with you. You could have sworn that look alone increased the temperature in the room by a couple of degrees. “Doesn’t seem fair.”
You reached under the flowy dress to roll your panties along your thighs, letting them crumple around your ankles; you sat on the desk and lifted the skirt up to your waist, your feet resting on Aaron’s parted knees.
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
He swallowed nervously but didn’t miss a movement of your fingers starting to draw circles around your most sensitive spot, guided by the aching tension in your belly; your mouth watered at the sight of his cock whipping free and he noticed, so he took his time to wrap his right hand around it.
You knew how to work his length, moving up and down in slow and long strokes as foreplay, nevertheless witnessing such a handsome man masturbating for you proved to be one of the most lascivious experiences of your life.
“I always think about you when I touch myself…” you confessed, and he held on to your ankle with his free hand while you rubbed your clit.
“Are you trying to make me lose control?”
You nodded in confirmation and he growled.
He was now coating his shaft and palm with the leaking precum, using only his index and middle finger to collect some of the slickness and spread it over the bulging head, the exposed glans glistening in the process. That was when he usually begged you to move faster, since his delicate skin was lubricated enough and increased friction meant pleasure - not pain.
“I’m really wet for you,” you teased him, your own desire pooling at your core, but his reaction threw you off balance.
“Stop, please… stop,” he whimpered, “this is not…”
His ragged breath made it difficult for him to articulate his words. “I need you.”
You gestured at the purse that was still under his chair and he handed it to you; sharing the house with a teenager meant Aaron had grown accustomed to some of his clean t-shirts randomly disappearing from his drawers and wardrobe, so you both knew nothing out of the ordinary could be hidden among his personal stuff.
He stared at you, entranced, as you retrieved the small box you’d carried with you and tore one of the foil packages open.
“A little closer, maybe…?” you joked, and when he stood up you bit your lower lip in anticipation. He kissed you lightly on your forehead as you unrolled the latex down his hardness, then you pinched his chin and smiled at him.
“Better?!”
He whined again. “Not exactly.”
You grabbed him by the nape of his neck, speaking softly to his ear. “Make me come. I can’t wait anymore.”
The uninhibited request seemed to have flipped a switch in him: the sound of a pencil holder spilling its content made you laugh as Aaron enthusiastically raised your legs in the air and held them to his chest, so he could start rubbing the tip of his cock up and down your folds.
It was torture but he was damn good at it.
When he managed to get himself covered in your arousal he slipped the bulbous head past your entrance. “It’s so big…” you muttered.
Truth be told he wasn’t that well-endowed and you had nothing against it, since you’d never been keen on painful sex, still you welcomed him with a loud moan once he buried himself inside of you. Even a gentleman from another era didn’t mind a bit of flattering and appreciation of his manhood.
He wasn’t as vocal, though, but his deep groans reverberated in his throat in a manifestation of primal, untamed passion; he looked so solemn it drove you insane, his brows furrowed and tiny droplets of sweat trapped between his short hair, almost as if he was directing all of his energies into screwing your brains out.
When his thrusts grew slower but more intense you wriggled your legs free and locked them around his waist: with a last, fierce grunt he twitched several times and you closed your eyes to enjoy the moment, which was always the biggest turn-on for you.
With your eyes still closed you welcomed the pressure on your lips, a not-so-subtle invitation to take his index and middle finger in your mouth; you sucked on them alternately, happy to oblige, tasting traces of the salty precum. You clawed at his forearm when he brought the wet digits to your clit, rubbing and drawing circles just like you’d shown him before.
“Aaron… I’m…” you mewled, grabbing a fistful of his hair as you - indeed - came with his throbbing cock still inside you, lungs pleading for air and inner muscles clenching around him.
He collapsed on top of you, the additional weight making you realize how harsh the desk’s smooth surface was on your back, yet you cupped his face and stroked his flustered cheeks with your thumbs.
“I missed you so much,” you breathed out as soon as you were able to.
He pulled out and started to fix his clothes, and before he got rid of the condom he planted the sweetest kiss on your lips. “I’m sorry about the other weekend. Jack wasn’t supposed to play, last minute change of plans—”
“Don’t be sorry, I know you love going to his games,” you said, propping up on one elbow to straighten yourself as he stood in front of you. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to disappoint your biggest fans, would you?”
He was still heaving a little and looked at you with a pensive pout. “... what?!”
“I mean, you’ve seriously never noticed…?” you locked your hands behind his neck as you tried to come up with a good imitation of the cooing voice of the soccer moms who you knew swarmed the sidelines every time he was present.
“Aaron, can you help us move the coolers? Aaron, we need to rearrange those chairs! Aaron, come here and have some cake! We made it for you ‘cause you’re such a good dad and it’s soooooo hot!”
He laughed, the vibrations in his ribcage making your breasts jiggle, then he gave you his best smile to date. “You’re jealous?!”
You shrugged, holding him closer. “No. To be honest I don’t even blame them, you are a good dad. Which is very hot, by the way.”
“Thank you,” he laughed again as he wrapped you in his arms to kiss you one more time, forcing you to close your eyes and get lost in his tender embrace. You muffled a surprised gasp when he playfully nipped at your earlobe with another heart-stopping smile.
“But just to be clear…” he added, his voice dropping to a whisper, “it’s usually cookies, not cake!”
@hornyhornyhimbos
NB: I don't really have an Aaron Hotchner fic taglist 'cause I usually write about Spencer Reid but if you wish to be tagged in future Hotch-centric works (SFW or not, who knows?) you can either send me an ask or leave a comment below.
#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x fem!reader#aaron hotchner smut#post season 12 aaron hotchner#criminalminds#criminalminds fanfic#criminalminds fic#criminalminds smut#smut#mdni#minors do not interact#not beta read#my gifs#hotch is a dilf#also i hate the title but who cares we're here for the smut#milla writes n*s*f*w*#or rather... milla doesn't know why she's writing hotch stuff#i have a strong suspect someone is brainwashing me with all that talk about him#not naming names you know who you are
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life with aaron; because i’m feeling soft and i love him i love him i love him
MAIN MASTERLIST
DOMESTIC LIFE with aaron where you’re married and you’re raising up children in the home that you share. Each and every morning the privilege is yours to wake up in his arms, and watch his face as he wakes; to have those lingering touches, soft groans at the sound of the alarm although you wouldn’t change your routine for the world.
He’ll gladly — and does — sacrifice those extra five minutes asleep to bring you coffee; he tries his hardest not to burn your toast and succeeds. It was an art form, after all, and his favourite.
He's your provider, and one look from him has you steadied, one touch has your body weighed down; anchored at last to the life you’d been given but wasn’t quite sure you deserved until him. You get his first laughs of the day and how his hair looks when he's just woken up, and pretences be damned. Before he dresses for work, you alone — and your babies — get him when he's unguarded, half dressed, voice all groggy.
You get the quick hurried morning kisses, and the slow ones at night in the dark, searching hands. And you’ve had years of this, years of learning his body well enough to recall every single place where he aches.
The smell of his shampoo, his smell on the pillows. All of this is yours every day. The sweat of his shirts when he’s been on a run and the gentle, slow masculine touch of his hands.
The aaron that’s soft, drinks wine, does the crossword, wears “old man glasses” you can’t not tease him for.
The man that you married, who you watch from the doorway as he rocks his baby daughter to sleep in his arms; who cooks, who cleans, who provides, whose voice is the home that you’ll always live in.
The man who, when the light is low and your wedding band catches the dim orange light, you cling on tight to, hands curled in the fabric of his shirt, and swear that you’ll never, ever let go of.
#fanfic#fanfic writer#aaron hotch fluff#aaron hotchner#aaron hotch hotchner#ssa hotch#ssa hotchner#ssa aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner imagine#agent aaron hotchner#aaron hotch x reader#aaron hotch imagine#aaron hotch x you#aaron hotch fic#aaron hotchner x y/n#hotchner#hotchner x reader#hotch x f!reader#hotch x fem!reader#hotch x wife!reader#hotch x female reader#hotch x y/n#hotch x you#hotch x reader#criminal minds fic#agent hotch#hotch#aaron hotch fanfiction
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For the Rest of My Life
Words: 1.5k
Reader has an anxiety attack at work, and Hotch helps her through it. Very soft Hotch.
You knew today was going to be a hard day. You woke up, hair caked to your forehead and your legs felt like jelly, like you were not meant to be walking on them. As you sat up, your entire room spun around and it took more than a couple minutes to ground yourself. You knew what to do in times like this, you had your useful skills learned over the years tucked away in the folder in your brain, but today it felt like the cabinet holding them was locked.
You walked into the bullpen, eyes foggy and head down. Usually, you greeted everyone with a happy and hopeful smile, but today that felt too hard. The muscles in your face felt like they would snap if you tried even to talk. Derek looked up at you, and over at Emily trying to gauge the problem, but Emily just shook her head no and let you sit at your desk, forget about all that was going on in your brain, and throw yourself into the reports that were due. You sat there for a few hours, with no one bothering you and your focused workspace. It was very easy when everything felt like this to throw yourself into work or a project because it makes the mind stay busy. It’s when you have nothing to do that everything feels like it's going to come crashing down around you. It’s when you have nothing to do that it creeps up to the surface and begins to slip out, mostly without your control.
You were so focused you didn't hear the familiar sound of steps creep up behind you until an arm was placed gently on your shoulder.
“Hey, I know what you’re doing, and I would like to see you in my office ASAP,” Hotch said to you, he leaned down to say it in your ear so no one else could hear. He knew that allowing everyone to hear what he said would make this all worse on your end.
You didn’t think twice, you got up from your workspace, pushed the chair in behind you, and followed closely behind him. You realized as you walked behind him how tall he was, and how well fitted his suits always are. You start to wonder where he buys them before you realize how far your mind has wandered in the minute it takes to get to his office.
“Have a seat, and tell me what's on your mind.” He sits in his chair and motions for you to sit down in the chair across from him. You feel the tears slip out before you even hit the chair. You knew this would happen at some point today, but Hotch actually taking the time to pay attention to you, to realize something was wrong enough to come out of his office and grab you, made the tears sting just a little bit more.
“Oh no, sweetheart what is going on?” He immediately jumped up and rushed around his desk to you the minute he saw the tears falling from your eyes.
“It's just… it's just a hard day for me is all.” You sniffled and tried to wipe your tears but he brushed your hand aside and wiped them for you. He placed his hand on your knee as he bent down beside you, looking up into your eyes.
“Is it your anxiety?” He asked, you could tell his voice was laced with concern. He would do anything to protect you, but it is hard to protect a person from their own mind. No matter how much he had tried to.
Your palms had started to become clammy, and you were shaking. The entire time you were trying to throw yourself into your work you had ignored what was going on inside your brain. In hindsight, that was a bad idea because now every little thing that happened alongside your anxiety was fighting its way out. You started to cry a little harder, your shoulder bobbing up and down as the sobs tormented you.
“What can I do honey? I’ll do whatever you need me to do.” Hotch was speaking in a soft, gentle tone. This was not the first time he had helped you through an anxiety attack. The second night you spent with him you realized you had forgotten to submit a report on the case you all had handled that week and started to panic. He calmed you down then by reassuring you that he was in charge of when they were due, and he absolutely believed you that it had been done you had just forgotten to submit it. You have never been one to turn something in late, even at work. The only thing about now, this was the first time you had an anxiety attack at work, and you have no idea why it was happening.
“Just stay with me, hold me.” Hotch grabs you, lifts you up, and takes you over to the couch in his office. He sits you down and runs over to his desk where he grabs tissues. He sits down in front of you on his knees, takes the tissue, wipes your eyes, under your eyes, and gives you a new one to blow your nose with. After you do this, he takes them all to the trashcan, returns to you sits down, and guides you where your head is on his lap and he is stroking your hair. He knows that laying down and having your hair stroked is one way to easily ground you, so you can return back to your normal state and are able to function again.
You clear your throat and ask, “How did you know something was up?”
He lets out a small laugh, “When you walked in. You didn’t look at anyone, you didn’t wave, and you didn’t even lift your head up to check if I was in my office like you always do. I let you have a little while, hoping you’d be able to pull yourself out of the trance you were in, but once I realized you couldn’t, I intervened.”
You shift, rolling yourself over, so you can get a solid look at the man. His forehead is creased, meaning he’s worried about you, and his hand hasn’t moved from your hair. He uses his other hand to rub your cheeks with his thumb and he hums your favorite song.
“Do you know what caused this anxiety attack?” He looks down at you with a half smile as you smile back at him, letting him know everything is getting easier. The pounding in your chest has started to ease up, but you can still feel your heart rate is pretty fast. If you got up now, you’d probably either pass out or your eyes would go blurry for a minute, preventing you from moving.
“Honestly, no. I woke up and felt very groggy and focusing to even get myself out of bed was tough. I haven’t had one of these episodes in a while, so I thought if I just worked through it, I could ignore it enough that it’d go away.” You now, roll your eyes at the thought. You had been dealing with anxiety since you were eleven years old. You had dealt with these types of episodes before, you had to face it head-on or it would just get worse. You learned your lesson this time.
“You could’ve just come to my office. You know I am always here for you. Always. I would have helped you get through this. You didn’t have to let it build up this badly.” He jokingly waved a finger in your face to symbolize you had been bad. This brought a hearty chuckle out of you, which in turn made him smile. Seeing Hotch smile could cure most things for you. He was a great man, a great dad, and a great boyfriend. He would do anything if it meant that you would be okay. You had just thought this one wouldn’t be as bad.
“I know, it’s just embarrassing to have to deal with this. I wish, I just wish I could be normal.” You let out a heavy sigh, as he looks at you.
“Hey, if having anxiety makes you not normal, what does having nightmares related to the things I’ve been through make me? We all have our demons, and we all have things that make us different from the people around us. There is absolutely no such thing as normal. Who you are, and I mean this, and everything about you makes you perfect to me. Anxiety included.” He says, completely serious.
You look up at him, sit yourself up, and place a soft kiss on his lips. He returns it, grabbing the back of your head to emphasize how much he means it.
“I wouldn’t have made it through this without you, Aaron Hotchner.” You smile, your mouth inches from his. He kisses you again, and bites your lower lip. You laugh.
“I wouldn’t have made it through a lot without you, if this is the way I can repay all you’ve done for me, I’ll do it for the rest of my life.”
#aaron hotchner#hotch#hotch x reader#hotch x you#soft hotch#anxiety#anxiety attack#hotch fic#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotch x reader#aaron hotch fanfiction#aaron hotch x you#aaron hotch fic#x reader#female reader#fanfic#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#drabble#bau team#bau reader#marchhotchness#f!reader#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner headcanons#tooth rotting fluff
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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!
#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner fluff#aaron hotchner angst#aaron hotchner fanfiction#aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner x f!reader#aaron hotchner x fem!reader#aaron hotchner x female reader#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x y/n#aaron hotchner x you#hotch x reader#hotch x f!reader#hotch x fem!reader#hotch fanfic#hotch imagine#hotch fluff#hotch angst#hotch x you#hotch x y/n
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MAIN MASTERLIST
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Here's the link to my Ao3 also
- Joel Miller Stories -
Latching On To You (finished)
| Joel Miller x F!reader
Series summary: What happens when, after thirteen loving years of being with Joel, you start to feel like he’s slipping away from your grasp? How much of yourself will you lose because of the trauma your father put you through at such a young age? You could be wrong about Joel, but something is telling you otherwise - or are you just not healed enough to see past your own insecurities?
Is Leaving Even An Option? (finished)
Joel x F!reader
EXTREME TW: Extreme domestic abuse (verbal and physical), PLEASE READ WARNING BEFORE READING!!
Summary: Your days have become one in the same - even with the terrifying reality of death right outside the walls of Jackson, being home is evidently worse. You never thought you’d be in the situation you’ve been stuck in for seven years now, the daily abuse you endure has become an expectation. You take whatever your husband throws at you, literally and figuratively, because you’ve been trained to believe this is normal. But a new man, Joel, moves next door and happens to be friendly towards you, this causes your husband’s anger to worsen. Your mind starts a gruesome war with itself - can you leave him or do you stay until the inevitable happens?
One Door Closes & Another One Opens (ongoing)
Joel Miller x OFC! Divorce Attorney
Summary: She’s a divorce attorney and he’s a husband looking for help to save his daughter, and himself, from his gambling addict wife. Renae Russo is a woman who fights for her clients and wins. She’s satisfied with her life and what she does - but she wishes she could have a little more. What happens when Joel Miller becomes her client and she gets to see this man fight for the safety of his ten year old daughter, Sarah. Will she be able to keep it professional? For her sake.
Christmas Getaway (One-Shot)
| Joel Miller x Softball Coach!F!reader
Summary: You met Joel by coincidence. You picked up a little side job to be a high school softball coach for fun, and Sarah was one of your top players. Sarah introduces you to Joel after the first game and both of you hit it off immediately. The three of you grow closer throughout the year and end up spending the holidays together on a getaway trip. Joel treats you to a nice night.
Three, Two, One - Draw! (One-shot)
Cowboy Joel x F!reader
Summary: In Tombstone, you’re the bartender at Wyatt Earp’s saloon, a favorite actually. You’re one of the fastest shooters in the west, having learned from the best - your brother, Doc Holiday. One night after your shift at the saloon, your husband Joel Miller, tells you he wants to practice your draw speed. However, he’s not talking about guns.
New Traditions // Valentine’s Day (One-shot)
Joel Miller x f!reader
Summary: The last Valentine’s Day two years ago has shattered your view of the so-called holiday. When Joel brings up the idea, you shut him down immediately, but he doesn’t listen. He hopes he can change your opinion on the holiday of Love.
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- Aaron Hotchner Stories -
They Always Come Back (Ongoing)
Aaron Hotchner x f!reader
Explicit, 18+
Summary: You and Aaron met in college, Criminology Major, funny enough. Throughout your five years at George Washington College, you and Hotchner had this on and off again relationship; it was all fun until you started to realize that you loved him. After graduation the two of you cut ties and left it as dumb college love, going your separate ways. After a couple decades you finally land your dream job, a seat at the BAU; however when you notice the name copied on the email, you can’t believe your eyes.
#joel miller#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfic#latching on to you#joel miller series#pedro pascal#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner fanfiction#aaron hotch x reader#aaron hotchner#aaron hotch x you#criminal minds#one shots#series#joel miller imagine#joel miller au#joel miller fic#joel miller and OC#joel miller x oc#joel miller x original character
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Do you have a link to your master list of all your writings?
I do now that you have asked me! 😅😅 I never thought I would get to the point of having Master Lists and it has made me emotional on top of seeing that I now have over a thousand followers 😭😭😭😭
All of you are amazing for making me feel like I can actually write something worth while!!!
The Complete Collection: Apollyon’s Master List
#smut#apollyonsdarksecrets#joel miller smut#aaron hotch fanfiction#criminal minds x reader#hbo the last of us smut#hbo the last of us#the walking dead smut#the walking dead#daryl dixon x y/n#stranger things smut#eddie munson st4#billy hargrove x f!reader#aaron hotch smut
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i can see you
pairing: aaron hotchner x f!reader
summary: "here i was thinking that i was special because you would only look at me with that desperate look on your face, but i see that you give any old man that look, right?”
content warnings: jealous!hotch, reader is a panther (aren't we all), bathroom sex, mirror sex, p in v, sexual tension, unprotected sex (r mentions being on birth control but wrap it before you tap it!), rough sex, dirty talk, size kink if u squint, spanking, hair pulling, choking, dom!hotch, sub!reader.
word count: 3.9k (y’all this was not supposed to be this long lmao)
notes: day 18 of @hotchfiles marchhotchness 'self-image' but also HEAVILY inspired by this post from @softhairedhotch because it made me go FERAL and i love jealous hotch (but pls lmk if taking inspo was okay!!) this is also my first hotch fic ever so pls lmk ur thoughts or any other feedback <333
aaron hotchner was not a jealous man.
he had no right to be jealous over something that technically did not exist or someone that technically was not his.
and although he only had himself to blame for that, he really did wish that you were his. and as much as he was telling himself not to be, he was jealous.
but it wasn’t the typical jealous where he watched you be approached by someone much younger than him—someone your own age instead of his—and by someone who already had him beat in reciprocating that flirtatious energy you often used on aaron himself.
no, this type of jealousy was one that was boosting his ego and making him feel lightweight, albeit the fact that it still made him see red.
it was a typical night out with the rest of the team, all of you having agreed that the eight of you were in need of a couple of drinks after some long weeks of paperwork and back and forth cases.
you were all engrossed in the conversation, but you had left the table to get yourself another refill on your drink and had taken far too long than it normally would have, the rest of the younger members—all besides reid—having decided on hitting up the dance floor throughout the time you hadn’t returned to your seat.
it was practically natural for aaron to look for you in a crowd, but what he hadn’t expected to find was you, sitting in a bar stool on the right side of the bar, being hit up by a man who had to have been a couple of years older than aaron himself.
the front hairs of the man’s head were peeking of several grey hairs, paired with a matching grey beard and an overall radiance that screamed of that older man type that you were apparently into.
the sudden revelation made aaron feel dizzy, the confirmation of your attraction towards older men making his pants tighten as he watched the way you stared up at the man with that sultry look of yours—the one where you were somehow able to perfectly mix mischief and innocence seamlessly together.
while you had used that look on aaron countless times before, times where it had been only you and him alone in his office, way past working hours, he had never done anything about it. but, god, as he watched you do it to someone else, out on the open, there was nothing he was currently regretting more.
aaron’s train of thought was interrupted as he felt someone kick him from underneath the table he sat at, whipping his head to the person in front of him only to find rossi staring at him with a smug look on his face.
he cleared his throat, “what?”
aaron mentally cringed at the way his voice wavered.
“you gonna be done being jealous anytime soon and make a move or are you just gonna sit there throwing daggers at the guy?” dave asked, brows raised.
he took a long sip from his drink, trying to avoid the question for as long as he could as he tried to compose himself, “i don’t know what you’re talking about,”
rossi rolled his eyes, “oh, please, aaron. you don’t have to be a profiler to notice the way you can cut the tension that’s between the both of you with a butter knife,”
aaron’s brows furrowed.
“you have all the confirmation you need right there,” dave pointed his thumb behind him, signaling at you and the man, “if that’s not enough for you, then i’m declaring you helpless at this point,” he let out a sigh, standing from his seat, “i’m going to get another drink and if i find you still sitting here, wallowing in your thoughts after getting my refill, i’ll go up to them and encourage her to go home with the man.”
aaron’s fists clenched at the thought. at the thought of you sprawled on the bed of another man, wearing that same look you had on just now and staring up at him as you—
his body acted faster than his brain did, and before he even had the chance to process what he was doing, he stood from his own stool, not allowing for another moment to pass by as he stormed over to where you and the man were sitting.
from your side of the room, you can see aaron make his way over to you through the peripheral of your vision, the excitement of finally getting a reaction out of him making your heart skip and your thighs press together as you took into count the way his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.
the pressure you put on your thighs didn’t do anything to relieve the ache you felt in your core as he reached where you sat, coming to stand behind—was his name michael? although the stranger you had began talking to was definitely older than him, aaron was a good several inches taller, towering over the both of you.
he cleared his throat, cutting michael off from whatever he had been talking to you about as he turned around with a raised brow. aaron’s expression didn’t falter, not sparing a single glance at the man as his eyes landed on you, “y/n, can i speak to you for a moment?”
you mentally rolled your eyes. ever the formal one.
michael scoffed from in front of him, angling his body so that he was able to properly glare daggers at your boss, “we were in the middle of a conversation here, if you don’t mind?”
although your attraction for aaron skyrocketed in comparison to the man you had just met, you were thriving off of the jealousy radiating off of the one you wanted the most, the ache in your stomach only growing.
before aaron had the chance to shoot out a reply, you set your hand on michael’s forearm, giving him a small, but sad smile, “i’m sorry, michael,” you butted in, jumping off of the bar stool, “i’ll be right back, okay?”
another scoff comes from michael’s direction, “whatever,” he grabs his drink and rolls his eyes, “don’t even bother coming back,”
ew.
this time you actually rolled your eyes, grabbing at your drink and drowning the rest of it. you shrug, “older men are always a hit or miss,” you mumble, setting the glass down.
aaron’s hand comes to wrap around your wrist, a firm but gentle grip on it as he pulls you close to him, “let’s go,” he seethes in your ear.
you hide a smirk as you follow behind him, letting your body practically flail as you struggle to keep up with him. when he notices your staggered pace, he matches his footsteps with yours, moving his hand from your wrist to your waist as he guides you through the crowd and towards the hallway that lead towards the bar’s restrooms.
the both of you gave a silent thanks at the fact that there was no line, the hallway scarce and dimly lit with the exception of a few people standing together against the walls, either flirting or talking.
“what are you doing?” you ask, standing behind him as he knocks on one of the doors, his grip on your waist still very much present.
“you’ll see,” he mumbles, yanking the door open by the knob after no one replies and pulling the both of you inside before slamming the door shut behind him.
you try to take a good look at the interior of the bathroom, trying to guess if it was a good enough place to do whatever the two of you were about to do.
a faint gasp escapes your lips as you feel something hard press into your ass, immediately melting as one of aaron’s big hands comes to rub at the side of your leg, right below your hip. his whole body comes up behind yours, his other free hand coming to your stomach to press you into him.
“aaron—” you try to speak but get cut off as you let out another gasp, one almost like a sigh, as the hand that was rubbing at your leg sneaks further up and wraps itself around your hip, aaron’s thick fingers digging into your skin despite the material of your shorts that blocked his hand.
aaron dips his head so that his mouth is right next to your ear, his breath and the faint touch of his lips against the lower part of your jawline sending shivers down your spine.
“is this okay?” he asks softly, a total contrast from the vice grip he had on both your front and hip.
you nod quickly, your hand coming up to your right where he held your hip to wrap around his own.
“use your words, honey,”
the pet name makes you whimper and your thighs clench in spite of the fact that you were standing up. you let out a ragged breath as he awaits for your answer, the hand that was pressed to your stomach furthering down until it was right above your pelvis but below your tummy, pushing you further back until you could feel how hard he actually was.
you whine, your other hand coming to wrap around that one, too, “yes,” you sigh, “it’s okay,”
aaron presses his lips into that same spot below your jaw, gently and lovingly before whipping you around so that you were facing him and pushing you up against the counter.
not even giving you a chance to process what he had just done, his lips crash onto yours roughly, making you moan directly into his mouth. your bring your arms up around his neck, running your fingers through his hair and tugging.
aaron hisses, slapping at your thigh in a firm way that had you let out another moan.
“aaron,” you whine, pushing up into his chest out of desperation.
he hums, “do you want my attention now?” he asks through the kiss, “don’t wanna go back and talk to that guy you were all over just a couple of minutes ago?”
“no,” you mumble, huffing as he breaks away from you to wrap his fingers around your chin.
he chuckles as your lips form into a puffy pout, “here i was thinking that i was special because you would only look at me with that desperate look on your face, but i see that you give any old man that look, right?”
“no!” you whine again, your arms dropping from around his neck to wrap around his bicep, squeezing at the muscle to try and pull him closer to you, “just you!”
his confidence was beyond what it normally was, feeling you squirm from against him yet still wanting his touch, “really? so you weren’t planning on going home with that man? all those times you touched his shoulder or the times he would touch your thigh meant nothing?”
“yes, they didn’t mean anything!” you huff, “you’re the one i want to go home with all the time!”
aaron’s heart clenched at your confession, knowing that deep down you really did mean all the time. he had just never been sure if you truly were interested in living a joint life with him. up until now, that is.
he brings his hands to your back, right by your shoulder blades as he connects your lips once more. your shoulders relax and you lean into him with earnest, squeezing at the muscle from his bicep.
you hum, satisfied as he begins to run his hands up and down, resulting in the fabric of your shirt lifting with every time he went up, eventually ending up in nothing but rolled up fabric under his palm. he breaks the kiss once more to toss your shirt over your head and near the sink’s counter, leaving you in only your shorts.
aaron stared at your bare breasts, not expecting you to have not been wearing a bra despite the tight shirt you just had on.
you shiver under his gaze, opening your mouth to say something before he lowered himself and quickly attached a mouth to one of your breasts, the other one coming up to grab and squeeze at it. you moan, gripping onto the marble counter for support as he presses sloppy and wet kisses to each breast.
his fingers come to undo the button of your shorts, hooking them inside your panties before shoving both articles of clothing down your legs, signaling you to kick them off of you. you toed your shoes off as well, leaving you completely naked and bare for him while he remained fully clothed.
he turns you around gently, bringing you face to face with the sight of you completely stripped in the mirror, the image making you clench your thighs together once more as you stabilized yourself on the sink.
aaron’s hands soothed all around your body, a whimper leaving you at the feeling of his calloused hands groping at your breasts before moving down to your soaking pussy.
as if on instinct, you spread your legs open for him, practically inviting him to dip his fingers into your folds and inside your entrance. the thickness of both his index and middle fingers stretching you out. you knew you had always loved his hands for a reason.
a moan bounced off the walls as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, moving torturously slow before he began to pick up the pace. you could feel your slick drip onto the floor and probably onto the rest of his hand, but all you could focus on was shamelessly bucking your hips into your hand and spreading your legs for even more access.
“you’re soaking, honey,” aaron says, hand coming back around to squeeze at your breast again, leaving you gasping as he pinched your nipples.
you whimpered, “just for you,”
“‘just for me?’” he repeats, “not for anyone else, right?”
you shake your head no, pussy clenching around his fingers, “j-just for you, aaron,”
his hand left your breast to smack at your ass, making you jump, “good girl,”
with that, he takes his fingers out of you, a throaty whine leaving your lips at the empty feeling. you arched your back into him, but immediately stilled at the sound of him removing his belt filled the room. you watched from the mirror in front of you as he undid his pants button, reaching past his boxers to pull out his cock.
oh shit.
your mouth dropped at the sight of his dick spring out from where it had been confined, your slick hole clenching at nothing at how big he was. you knew that aaron hotchner was definition of big dick energy, always wondered what he was secretly packing, but now you wondered if you were going to be able to take it all.
he was thick, veiny all around with girth too thick that it hurt just looking at him. as much as you could tell you wouldn’t be able to walk after this, it excited you far too much.
you gulped, meeting his eyes in the mirror, landing on his hungry gaze, “is it going to fit?” you ask quietly, trying to bring your legs back together.
“we’ll make it fit,” he says, sounding confident of himself, a hand coming to stop you from closing your legs, “will you let me know if it’s too much?”
you take another look at his cock before giving him a determined look, “i will,” you nod.
he nods back, angling your head with his hand so he could press a kiss to your mouth.
you give into him easily, arching into him until you feel the tip of his cock slip through your wet folds and line up with your entrance. you had taken dick before, but never this big, so as he gave you one last look, you took a deep breath before feeling him sink into you.
you gasp, already feeling full by just the tip, though the slickness of your pussy helping you in adjust.
“still good, honey?”
you nod again, too busy focusing on how his length was stretching you out further than his fingers had.
smack!
aaron’s hand landed another spank on your ass, making you snap your heads toward him with a confused, dumbfounded expression. he glared, “use your words.”
you huffed, doing your best to not roll your eyes, “still good,” you replied, going back to focusing on how full your pussy already felt, “is it in yet?”
“almost, baby,” you whined again, pushing your ass back onto him and earning yourself another inch inside.
humming in delight, you felt aaron begin to move, setting a slow pace as he inched himself in and out to get you used to the length that was already inside you.
“aaron,” you sighed, “give it all to me,” you pleaded at him through the mirror, “i can take it,”
he studied your expression, all needy and flushed as you tried to buck your hips further back to fill yourself up more, “let me know if it’s too much,” he warned.
you nodded eagerly but didn’t get a chance to reply as he shoved the rest of his length inside, the tip immediately hitting that one spot. you gasped loudly, the feeling of his whole cock inside you awakening a hunger inside of you, “fuck,” you moaned, dropping your hands so that you were resting with your elbows on the counter, “please, aaron. move,”
he hesitated for another moment, and just as you were about to look behind you, you felt him begin to move, pistoling his hips into your ass roughly.
you let out a shriek, your hands grabbing at anything you could reach in order to stabilize yourself as he began to mercilessly pound into you from behind. he slipped his dick in and out of you each time, your pussy hugging the veiny length each time he did.
the sounds your juices made due to you being soaked vibrated against the room each time his hips hit your ass roughly, and it only edged you on further.
“a-aaron,” you moan, breasts jiggling against the cold sink as the girth of his cock stretched you out, “aaron! oh, fuck!”
you thought you had felt good getting his attention when you were back flirting with the guy, but nothing could have prepared you for the feeling of his dick slamming into you.
from above, aaron grunted and groaned, fingers and nails digging into your hips harshly as he pounded into your perfect pussy. he loved the way you clenched around him, taking it back perfectly each time he slipped back in.
his hand reached for your hair, wrapping his hand around it and pulling you back until you were flush against him with your back still perfectly arched. he dropped his hand from your head to wrap around your neck, fingers digging into the sides.
you gasped, not having a choice as you looked at him through the now foggy mirror, the image of your body rocking with every smack against your body only adding onto the sensation.
“such a perfect pussy,” aaron grumbled into your ear, “this pussy was made for me, wasn’t it sweetheart?”
you did your best to nod regardless of how weak your body felt, of the way you could feel your slick drip down to your thighs or the way you were drooling from your open mouth, “belongs to you, aaron,” you mumble, surprisingly coherently despite the way he was choking you.
“yeah, it does,” he grunts, free hand coming to grab at your stomach again before pushing against the spot where his cock was evidently sliding in and out of you, making you squirm, “this greedy pussy belongs to me. not to that bastard you were flirting with, right, honey?”
you nod again, eyes stuck on the tummy bulge you currently displayed, your hole clenching at aaron’s cock even tighter at the way the indent disappeared when he slipped out versus when it reappeared when slipping back in.
“feels so good, aaron,” you mumble, saliva dropping from your lips and onto your pointy, practically rock hard nipples that jiggled with each thrust.
“yeah?” he asks, breath hot against your ear, “taking it so well for me, such a good girl,” he praises, hand leaving from your stomach to slither down to where your bodies connected.
you let out a squeal as his middle finger slipped through your finger and his index began to rub furiously at your swollen clit, the feeling making the knot in your stomach tighten and tighten.
you babbled aaron’s name like a loose mantra, bodies rocking together as he quickened his pace after realizing that you were close to orgasming, hand tightening around your neck and finger rubbing even faster than before.
“c’mon, honey, come for me,” he encouraged, “come all over my cock, pretty girl,”
it was all the confirmation you need to let yourself go, body shaking and aaron’s name being repeated as you chased the high, glad that he was holding you up with his hands as your whole body stuttered.
the feeling of your pussy clenching and unclenching around him violently made aaron groan, sweat dripping down his body as he began to reach his own high just from the way your body reacted to orgasming from his dick. from the way he was fucking you and from the way he was naming you as his own.
you could feel his pace falter from behind you, lazily meeting his pace as you tried to encourage him to finish, “come in me, aaron, please,” you whined, needing to feel him fill you up to the point where his come would leak out of you, “fill up my pussy, aaron,”
he gave you a look of unsureness through the mirror before you nodded at him, “i’m on the pill. it’s okay. please,”
that had been all the confirmation he need for him to finish inside you, his cock twitching inside you as his seed filled you up, making you moan as you rode out your own orgasm, still clenching tightly around him.
you giggled at the way his body practically toppled onto yours as he tried to catch himself, bodies pressed together as he held onto the counter with his dick still inside you.
he snaked his hand around the side of your face as his breath evened, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek and shutting up your whines as he pulled out from inside you with a kiss to your mouth.
“jack’s at a sleepover today,” he says after a few moments of silence.
you inch an eyebrow at him, watching as he leaned over to grab some toilet paper, snatching some off the holder before wiping himself clean of you and wincing at the sensitivity as he wiped gently at your own folds and thighs, “is he now?”
he hums, tucking himself back into his boxers and quickly buttoning his pants to help you put your own clothes on, “he is,” he grabbed your discarded shorts and parties from the floor and signaled you to lift your legs, “we can go home and i’ll wake you up with breakfast in bed and ask you to be go on an official date with me in the morning,”
your heart pulls as he buttons up your shorts for you, reaching for your shirt, too, “i’ll only say yes if we keep going when we get home,” you admit, making him freeze in his movements.
he pinched your nipple.
#marchhotchness#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner fanfic#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfic#spencer reid#david rossi#derek morgan#penelope garcia#emily prentiss#jennifer jareau#maddie’s stills
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i raise u hotch x f!r who was pronounced kia but she comes back?
— Home
— 🧠 synopsis. After being pronounced KIA, reader shows up after a year.
— 🧠 warnings. Foul language
part one
‘‘We regret to inform you-‘’ was the first and only thing Aaron heard before his vision blurred and his hands went slack.
If had happened, his biggest fear: you were never coming home. The only personal effects Aaron received was your wallet and dog tags with your wedding band on it. The flag that the marines handed him was heavy in his arms.
As they left, Aaron dropped his head in his hands and set the things he was handed down carefully on his desk. Before he did anything else, he shut his office blinds and sank into his chair.
God, he thought, what do I tell Jack?
— 🧠
It had been about a year since being kidnapped by the cartel your unit was attempting to bring down. One year of sensory deprivation. One year of curling into yourself at night dreaming of waking up with Jack laughing as you swung him around on your arm. One year of thinking about Aaron’s gravely voice whispering a sweet ‘good morning’ right before he kissed your temple.
“You ready?” One of your longtime mentors/father figures Jethro asked.
You nod and bit your lip. “Jethro what if he’s moved on from me? What if… he stopped loving me?” You asked, malnourished body shaking from your anxiety.
The man only scoffed. “Not Aaron Hotchner, y/n. He wears your dog tags, you know. He hasn’t moved on from you, kid.”
Finally you stepped out of Gibbs’ truck and nodded. You truly hoped Jethro was right. Your fresh uniform was big on your frame- you had lost a lot of weight and muscle after being fed only a meal every two days.
Stepping into the elevator made you want to cry. The familiar beep of the machine soothed your soul more than you ever thought possible.
Your stomach did flips as you stepped into the bullpen, hoping and praying that your reunion went well.
— 🧠
In the year that you’d been gone, Hotch changed.
He no longer smiled. Ever. The laugh he had with the team alnost every day after meeting you was gone. Aaron had no patience for anything either.
Emily recalled one month anniversary of your deathdate. Hotch’s eyes were the reddest they had ever been and he genuinely looked like he had just been stabbed in the gut. That day, he had yelled twice at the two cops that had continued to bicker over evidence. And once at Rossi.
The only reason Rossi didn’t say anything in response to Aaron’s anger was because he knew exactly where Aaron’s mind was: with you and your apparent grave on the other side of the world.
But she watched your boots hit the ground, hair pulled back into the bun you had taught her all those years ago when you and Hotch first started dating. Emily watched you stand nervously in your spot, eyes scared.
Emily never remembered seeing you scared.
Your lip quivered as you made eye contact with her.
No one else had seen you yet, so Emily sprinted over to you and let you sink into her embrace.
“Aaron?” You asked, voice hoarse.
Emily nodded, vision blurred. “Go see him, y/n. He’s- none of us… we thought…” Her voice cracked and wavered.
“I love you, Em,” you said, slipping out of her grasp again. But this time, Emily knew you were alive.
The walk up the stairs made your heart race.
You brought your hand up to the door and knocked. Below, you could already hear Emily talking to the team. You heard your name, some gasps, and then silence.
“Come in,” Hotch called gruffly from the other side of the door.
You twisted the door handle and pushed. And then you stepped into the room.
“Can I help you?” Your husband asked without looking up. His head was bent and he slouched, something he always nagged on you to make sure you never did. How far did he fall in one year?
“I wanted to see my husband,” you say, voice shaky. “I heard he was here.”
Aaron shot up from his chair, seat flying backwards. His eyes. Oh, his eyes.
“Y-y/n?” He asked. His hair was a mess; it looked like all he had done lately was worriedly run a hand through it. Your heart ached for the man in front of you.
You stepped forward. “Hi, angel,” you said, taking another step forward.
“You died, y/n. I- we all… Jack and I-“ Aaron stuttered, tears falling from his cheeks as he watched the love of his life stand in uniform, an arms length away.
“I missed you. So much,” you say, crying now.
Aaron strode over to you and hugged you, letting his body fall slowly to the floor as you cried in his arms. “Oh my love,” Aaron cried, hiding his face into the crooke of your neck.
You were home.
#jules writes 📓🖊#x female reader#x reader#fluff#female reader#ssa aaron hotchner#aaron hotch fanfiction#aaron hotch hotchner#aaron hotch x reader#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner fanfiction#aaron hotchner angst#aaron hotchner one shot#aaron hotchner smut#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x gn!reader#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner fluff#aaron hotchner x y/n#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotch imagine#aaron hotchner x reader dies#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner x fem!reader
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banana pancakes
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Reader
Rating: E
Category: Fluff (tooth-rotting)
Word Count: 1.2k
Summary: On a Sunday morning, you wake to find Aaron making breakfast in the kitchen. He surprises you with slow dancing to old country music, Jack is cute as all get out, and of course, banana pancakes.
“Jack?” you ask groggily. You prop yourself up on your elbows and note Aaron isn’t in bed beside you. “Hey buddy, is everything ok?” You glance at your phone plugged in on the nightstand where the numbers blink back 8:37AM aka too early on a Sunday.
Jack giggles quietly. “Daddy is being silly in the kitchen.”
Knowing that could mean anything to a six year old, naturally, your brow furrows. Your lips quirk into a half smile as you regard his own happy face. “What do you mean, silly?”
Jack’s little hands fly to his mouth as he stifles another laugh. “I’m going to go play in my room!” And just like that he bounces off of the bad and darts out the door into the hallway.
Now curious, you push the sheets back and slide out of bed, wrapping your arms around yourself as a chill passes through you. Before leaving the room, you pull on the gray cotton robe that falls to your mid-calf and tie it loosely over your sleep shirt and shorts set. As you step into the hallway, the smell of coffee and something baking fills your nostrils. Your stomach rumbles gently in response to the sweet aroma.
Quietly, you make sure way down the hall. When you’re close enough to peer into the kitchen, you lean against the doorway and watch. The stove is along the far wall, so if you’re cooking, you’re turned away from the doorway. He doesn’t see you, not at first.
Dressed only in a white t-shirt and boxers, the apron decorated with images of wine glasses on it contrasts sharply with the plaid pattern of his undergarments. George Strait is playing on the stereo. He gently shakes his hips back and forth as he quietly sings along to the country ballad. As he flips the pancakes over, you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. You bite your thumbnail as you watch him and when he turns around, the stunned look on his face causes you to smile even wider.
“Now how am I supposed to bring you breakfast in bed if you’re not in bed?” he questions, the dark slash of his brow arching as he regards you with warm, brown eyes.
“You can blame the little man,” you reply cheekily. “He woke me up to tell me daddy was being silly in the kitchen.”
Hotch smiles, revealing the left dimple in his cheek. “Oh yeah?” he says, tone playful as he saunters toward you. Stretching his hands out toward the ties on your robe, he takes hold of them and pulls you in toward him. Looping one arm around your waist, he uses the other to swipe at the dial on the stereo. The volume cranks up and he takes your hand in his. Turning in a slow circle, he sways to the music, pulling you along with him.
He presses a kiss to your temple and holds you close as he dances you in small circles around the kitchen. Putting a deep country vibrato into his voice, he begins to hum and sing along against your cheek.
“I cross my heart,” he sings, “and promise to, give all I’ve got to give to make your dreams come true.”
You drop your head back and laugh as he whirls you around in a dramatic arc. “Aaron!” you cry giddily.
He continues to sing. “In all the world, you’ll never find a love as true as mine.”
The acrid smell of something burning starts to singe your nostrils. “Aaron, the pancakes!”
“Oh, let them burn!” he croons.
You playfully slap at his chest before breaking free from his hold. In turn, he slaps you on the ass. You shriek gleefully and he laughs as you dash over to the stove and pull the quickly blackening pancakes off the pan. Fortunately, he has a bowl half full of batter still off to the side alongside a plate of about half a dozen perfectly golden brown pancakes.
“Daddy! Daddy!” The pitter patter of small feet slapping against the linoleum echoes as Jack tumbles into the room. Aaron grabs him around the middle and swoops him into the air.
“Hey buddy!” he greets as he kisses him on the cheek.
“Daddy, it’s our song!”
Aaron quiets for a moment as he listens to the stereo and Jack is right. The track had changed over to another George Straight song, Love Without End, Amen.
As Aaron dances Jack around the kitchen, swinging him high and low and singing lyrics fractured with laughter, you couldn’t help but feel your heart swell with joy.
“Daddies don’t just love their children every now and then, it’s a love without end, amen.”
You couldn’t begin to imagine a more perfect Sunday morning than this.
“It’s a love without end, amen!” Jack sing-shouts as the song comes to a close.
Aaron sets Jack down on the floor and you start to clap and cheer. “What a show!” you exclaim. “Jack, that was amazing!”
He grins sheepishly, “Thank you.” He tacks your name to the end of his thanks as he runs to the kitchen table to climb into his chair and you can’t help but feel all the more grateful in return for how much Jack has welcomed you into his little family with him and his dad.
“I’ll get the pancakes,” Aaron says with a quick peck on your cheek as he scoots past you to pick up the plate.
“I’ll get the coffee!” you say in turn and pull two mugs down from the cabinet. As you fix yours and Aaron’s (black for you and splash of milk and two sugars for him), you make sure to grab a third mug from the cabinet to make Jack a glass of chocolate milk. Drinking out of a mug while you two drank your coffee made him feel like one of the grown ups, after all.
You carefully pile all three mugs into your hands and make your way to your seat at the table. Aaron sets a plate in front of you and Jack and you serve yourself and him two pancakes each.
“Oh! Do we have any—” you start and stop as Aaron places a small bowl of sliced bananas beside your plate.
He eyes you knowingly. “You think after all this time, I’d forget your favorite?”
You cup his cheek in your hand and press a quick kiss to his lips.
“Yuck!” cries Jack as she shoves a forkful of pancakes into his mouth.
“I do love banana pancakes,” you say as you scoop a spoonful onto the fluffy rounds in front of you.
Aaron hugs you from behind before taking his seat at the head of the table. “And I love you more than you love banana pancakes.”
#aaron hotchner headcanons#aaron hotchner x female reader#aaron hotchner criminal minds#aaron hotch x you#aaron hotch fic#aaron hotch fanfiction#aaron hotch x reader#aaron hotchner#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fic#criminal minds drabble#aaron hotchner drabble#aaron hotchner fluff#fluff#sunday morning#jack hotchner#banana pancakes#drabble#tooth rotting fluff#aaron hotchner x fem!reader#f!reader#aaron hotchner x reader drabble#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner fanfiction
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The Send Off (18+)
f!reader x aaron hotchner x spencer reid
summary: you’re an agent who worked with the BAU team recently, and they just couldn’t give you a more better goodbye than this
warnings: pussy eating, threesome, nervous Spencer, cock warming, oral (male receiving), minor spanking
“M..mpf”
your back arched as your face sinked deeper into Spencer’s lap. you were doing your best- holding on to that pool in your stomach that so desperately wanted to burst.
“That’s it..” Hotch’s voiced cooed from behind your twitching hips, “you’re being so good, aren’t you? Reid, tell her she’s being a good girl.” you whimper as his tongue entered you once more. Spencer, who was fully clothed against your cheek, shuddered. His face was red and his hands shook while he entangled his hands in your curly hair. “Yes..You’re a-a good girl.”
Hotch had you cuffed from behind, your ass in the air while he devoured your sex. Spencer, in front. He was nervous- Hotch said to give him time, you wondered if it was the first time they’ve fucked together. Hotch’s tongue fucked you so good…
“ah…F-Fuck” you cry out, Hotch seeming to press deeper into you. You felt Spencer’s hand leave your hair, his steady breath reassuring you. Your eyes stare up at him, best you can, while he unbuckled his pants. His cock strange free and hit you right on the cheek, hard and leaking. You felt your sex clench around Hotch’s tongue at the sight (earning quite the chuckle from him).
“Look at that cock…he’s beautiful isn’t he baby?” Hotch gave your ass a small spank while he planted kisses on your folds. “Yes…so beautiful.” you murmur. Spencer angles himself best he could before grabbing your chin. How you hated being cuffed and helpless..though you loved their complete dominance over your body. Being tongue fucked and eaten out like Hotch’s job depended on it, and Spencer Reid’s cock in your mouth while he let out the prettiest moan you’ve ever heard.
His his thrusted cautiously, but you could tell he wasn’t holding on very much longer. He gripped your hair while his cock touched the back of your throat. “So warm..” Spencer moaned, “So good for me”
Hotch pulled back, his fingers replacing his tongue. You shivered and shut your eyes tight. They enjoyed your body…it felt like heaven, a proper send off from helping them so well.
“Feels so good..” Spencer muttered, he groaned softly into the air as he rutted into your mouth. Your hips moved against Hotch’s fingers while he watched you both in lust. You moaned around Spencer’s cock, your hips getting restless. You wanted to…
Spencer’s movements sped up, him fully into your mouth. You choked every now and then but he didn’t stop- you taste the leaking pre cum on your tongue. It made you so wet..
“Look at that my sweet girl..you can’t hold it can you?” You could hear the smirk in Hotch’s voice while his fingers inched deeper into your sex, hands coated with slik. “F-…Mhm”
your eyes felt heavy. your body going slack against the both of them. You hear Spencer choke out a moan before the seed flowed into your mouth. Your whole body exploded- your orgasm hitting you hard.
“Good girl..let it out” Hotch rubbed your back soothingly, Spencer still rutting into your mouth, making sure you swallowed everything.
#aaron hotch hotchner#aaron hotch fanfiction#hotch x reader#hotchreid#reid#spencer reid#sub spencer reid#spencer reid x reader smut#hotch x reader smut#criminal minds#mgg x reader#spencer reid x reader#aaron hotch#mgg#aaron hotch x spencer reid#f reader
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The other day I received an anon ask (NSFW) and after a bit of pondering I wrote a little blurb in response.
* cough * kinktober * cough *
Since this blog is mostly SFW I decided to copy/paste the message under the cut, so only who's interested will see it.
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader, Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader
Category: smut (NSFW, 18+, MDNI)
TW/CW: fingering, female ejaculation, brief mention of kissing
🙏🙏🙏🙏i love your🖤hotch fic🖤do you have any headcannons about him making y/n squirt for the frist time? (Anon request)
In fact I do have a headcanon!! 🥵🥵
Aaron Hotchner is not the type of man to rush through the 'getting to know you' phase of a relationship. Intimate encounters follow several weeks of dating, even though being together often proves to be difficult since he isn't always free to spend a whole night at your place.
He's well aware that if he were to indulge himself with multiple sessions of casual sex he'd find plenty of opportunity, but he doesn't find the idea alluring. He's more interested in building something real with his partner and he's a generous lover, attentive and caring; he wants to talk about what feels good (or not) for you because he's extremely keen on putting this knowledge into practice, and one of his major turn-ons is the fact you can't get enough of his mouth kissing you, his arms holding you close and his weight pinning you down.
The day it happens he's taking his time to slowly drags his fingers in an upward movement to reach the sweet spot inside of you, alternating between strokes of his opposite thumb and the rapid flickering of his tongue on your clit. He has almost sent you over the edge twice but stopped right before you could come, so now you're desperate for release and the tension is building up at your core while you writhe under his touch, with your legs spread.
When you finally reach the point of no return the intensity of your climax gets unbearable, heels digging into the mattress and muscles twitching as you lose consciousness of your surroundings. The sound of his loud gasp is what brings you back to reality and it doesn't take you long to figure out why he's looking at you, dumbfounded: some of the wetness you can feel on the bedsheet is trickling down his chin - clearly the result of something very different from your usual orgasm.
You cover your face with your hands, tempted to cry in shame, but you peek through your fingers when he caresses your knee, then your stomach and trails up to your shoulder and neck; he's not mad or disgusted, he's not even vaguely embarrassed. His eyes just shine in pure awe.
"I've never… I mean…" he whispers.
You shrug, still unsure about the whole situation. "Me neither."
He remains silent for a moment then leans forward to whisper in your ear and his breath feels as hot as the summer afternoon sun on bare skin.
"Well… from now on I really hope to see more of it."
@reidsbookclub, @callm3c0nfus3d, @nagemasstuff, @hotchsdharma, @cr1minalskies, @feel-likeflying, @mrs-ssa-hotch, @nabobobonakogagi, @will-grahams-eyes, @michasia24, @fandomawesomeness, @hornyhornyhimbos, @hotchs-big-hands, @padawancat97
»»»— read pinned post for taglist info —«««
#anon ask#answered asks#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner blurb#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x fem!reader#aaron hotchner smut#criminalminds#criminalminds blurb#criminalminds smut#smut#mdni#minors do not interact#milla writes n*s*f*w*#kinktober... sort of#what am i even doing with my life?!#five months ago: “hotch is not really my type”#cut to: “here have some hotch smut 'cause i can't stop thinking about it”#my gifs#edited 'cause obv i do NOT know what i'm doing with both my life and the layout of this blurb
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— 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐭 —
જ⁀➴ — • on the flight back from a gruelling case, fatigue hits you much harder than you’d quite expected … <3 cw: canon typical refs, eg child murder, brief ref to blood — nothing else? pairing: aaron hotchner x f!reader xx
MAIN MASTERLIST
As far as work went as a federal agent, most of the time it was hard. It came with the role, but today, somehow, you were so damn exhausted it actually hurt.
Every single part of you ached, every one of your bones seeming strained near to breaking. If it wasn’t for you going back now you thought you might’ve had your own breakdown, before long.
You’d been holed up in Boston for nearly six days altogether, and were only just now taking off. Fatigue was a physical weight, something ugly, that dragged down your mood and the others’ as well.
You all knew jobs like these always took their toll one way or another; you only hoped that the flight would allow for some recuperation — however brief it would be.
Because the truth? This case had been gruesome, even more than the ones you’d grown used to by now. With no less than eight child murders in just four days, the young unsub had been male, and a sadist.
He’d killed for pleasure alone but was finally caught — all thanks to you, and your team. You held on fast to that truth, even as you still hoped that he’d rot in that cell for his penance.
Ten minutes ago, when you’d first closed your eyes, you’d still seen the flash of that blood. So much of it. But now with just over under an hour left before landing, sleep tugged at your bones.
And was welcomed.
The report for this case would be written up once you arrived back to Quantico’s base, as Hotch had told you just fifteen minutes ago from beside you. You’d wanted to talk. They would be in your hands, these findings, and you wanted his thoughts, his unclouded judgement.
Something about the man just steadied you, though you couldn’t have voiced it aloud if you tried.
Conversation around you had dimmed, as though you were held underwater, suspended. Derek’s smooth voice sounded in laughter, while Reid spoke in quick and somewhat heated debate.
He was no doubt proving Morgan horribly wrong, and you registered a vague sense of pride. You loved your whole team, every one, and yet maybe just a little more for one certain agent …
Vacant, you let the thought slide. You barely even felt yourself falling asleep. Still, you could register the soft, cologned scent of that someone through your half-conscious mind.
You didn’t even feel as your head tipped, fell on to his — aaron’s — black-blazered shoulder. Everybody else saw it though, saw Hotch’s eyes snap from his papers to your face.
Impossibly, those tanned cheeks warmed. Colour stole up his neck — and Aaron Hotchner was blushing.
To be honest, he’d barely even been able to read the damn file, what with you beside him. It was a genuine caution to have you so close by his side when he was meant to be working.
Now though, his soft smile betrayed him. Just like always. Just for you.
“You good over there?” Of course, Morgan — all sly and smirking as he nodded at Hotch. His voice was quiet, also conscious not to wake you, but it carried enough suggestion in it nonetheless.
If he could, Aaron too would be sleeping — but your presence stirred him and kept him awake. you were so close, and his heart kicked into overdrive at the warm weight of your head on his arm.
The strands of your hair, so soft, fell across his chest just a little from your angle. Try as he might, Aaron couldn’t help but breathe in the smell of perfume, of shampoo.
God help him.
“All good.” His voice was steady as always, but clipped enough to send the message across. Don’t you start, was the unsaid warning, but his soft, gentle tone overrode any bite.
You felt safe enough to sleep on him. Comfortable enough to lean up on his arm.
Aaron ignored Derek’s jibe, knew how much it was apparent on this plane that he loved you. They all could see it, could feel it in how his demeanour had shifted, how your touch was what anchored him down.
He was so stoic, so good at his job that they often forgot he could be like this — not an agent but a man, just a man so in love with a woman that he’d be her reprieve, if he could.
They all knew how he felt for you, but they’d let him voice it in his own time. And while they teased, they also knew that you felt the same, too.
Neither one of you could face it quite yet.
Warmth spread in the arm with you on it, nerves firing to life underneath his clothed skin. He wanted to reach out and brush back a strand of your hair — but he didn’t. He didn’t.
Would not.
Instead, he shifted in his seat, aware that more eyes were now on him — all smiling. It was so rare to see Hotch this soft and they loved him more for it — for that vulnerable side.
That which you alone brought out of the agent. Through his soft spot only for you.
Aaron felt his own eyes pull down in exhaustion, but he fought to ensure they stayed open. He reread the same damn page at least five or six times before closing the file for good.
There was only about twenty minutes left anyway until landing. Until you would wake.
“Watch it,” he just muttered at Derek’s damn smirk, at even Spencer’s light, knowing eyes. Gideon, too, was hiding his smile with some effort, playing chess with young Reid.
Aaron knew he wouldn’t live this down anytime soon, not with the teasing colleagues he had. He remembered that thought, how it lingered, how he couldn’t even care about that fact in the moment.
For twenty minutes later instead found you both now asleep, him too lulled by the flight. Aaron’s head had tipped down onto yours, his cheek pressed close to your crown.
Soft spot, indeed.
#criminal minds#criminal minds fics#cm#cm fic#aaron hotchner#agent aaron hotchner#hotch#aaron hotchner imagine#hotch x you#aaron hotch x reader#hotch x f!reader#hotch x reader#aaron hotch x you#hotch x female reader#hotch x y/n#hotch x fem!reader#aaron hotch imagine#aaron hotch fanfiction#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotch fluff#aaron hotch fic#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotch hotchner#ssa aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x y/n#ssa hotch#ssa hotchner#hotch imagine#agent hotch#hotchner
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Coming Up For Air | s1
pairing: aaron hotchner x childhood bsf!reader
summary: Hotch and his childhood best friend working together at the BAU: a slow burn across the seasons.
word count: 10.4k
warnings: canon!typical violence, mentions of abuse, death of a spouse, slow slow slow burn, specific episodes mentioned in this part are 1x01, 1x06, 1x07, 1x08, 1x15, 1x16, and 1x22
a/n: I started rewatching Criminal Minds from the beginning, and this is what came out of it heh. This is the first part in a little series I'm starting that follows Hotch and his childhood best friend in the BAU, beginning with the pilot. If all goes well, this will continue through the rest of the show, with ~1 part per season :) Title is from Coming up for air by Signals in Smoke
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You haven't used your oven in over a year. It's not that you don't like cooking - because you do - you just haven't had the time. If you could, you would blame it on the extra hours you have had to put in after starting at the BAU, but that wouldn't be fair. Your transfer to the unit was the only thing that got you through his death at all.
After your husband was shot and killed in action while tailing a kingpin of one of the New York mobs, you couldn't bear to be in this house at all. You had gone back home to stay with your father for a couple of months, but eventually you had to get back to your real life. With a month remaining on your bureau-mandated leave, you returned to the home you had shared, before one of the lower-level mob soldiers misfired -
You didn't let yourself think about it for almost a year, but time heals all wounds. The poets were right. At least you hope they are.
Even back at home, you still couldn't bear to be there alone, other than when you were sleeping. That's why your peloton was gathering dust and your kitchen went untouched, until just now.
So, of course, the call from the office comes when you're making dinner. It takes five minutes to change into slacks and a button-up, and two more to toss your half-cooked vegetables in the trash, before driving down to headquarters.
A fourth girl has been taken in Seattle, and the local PD only now decided to invite your team. You know the BAU isn't well-liked by the other departments, but that doesn't mean you aren't effective.
When you enter the building, you rush through the I.D. check and jog over to the lecture hall, where Morgan and Reid are standing outside of a neighboring office like children waiting for their father to come and get them.
Shooting them both a thin-lipped smile, you step inside just as they finish discussing the unsub's pattern.
"They want you back in the saddle," Hotch says to the man beside him after greeting you with a nod.
Your eyes are so immediately drawn to Hotch that it takes you a moment to realize that you recognize the man standing next to him. You haven't seen him since the day you were assigned to the BAU, mostly because you were technically transferred to this unit because of his extended leave.
What was supposed to be one month became six, before Hotch informed you that your temporary placement would be permanent, if you were willing to stay in Virginia.
It was a no-brainer.
You turn your gaze to Jason Gideon as everyone in the room stares at him expectantly. He looks self-assured, but you're sure the confidence is a front. "They sure they want me?"
"The order came from the director," Hotch says simply.
"Well," Gideon states, "we'd better get started, then."
Hotch glances over at you as everyone files out of the room and you raise your eyebrows momentarily, a quick check-in between the two of you. He nods imperceptibly and it's enough for now. He didn't tell you Gideon was coming back today, but now isn't the time to give him hell for that.
***
Hotch is the last to board the plane, and he takes his usual seat beside you, this time in the aisle, a few rows away from the rest of the team.
"I was going to tell you," he says as soon as you close the case file in your hands. "The section chief wants me to evaluate him to see if he's ready to return to the team."
"That's a lot of pressure." They have to know that Gideon will be able to smell him out within the day. "You sure it won't get in the way?"
Hotch makes that face you hate, the one that says he knows you're deflecting. "I was going to tell you."
It doesn't take much for you to forgive him. It helps that you trust him completely, especially after everything he has done for you.
"Still," you smile, bumping his shoulder with yours, "it would have been nice to know about the sudden change to my job security."
You're mostly joking, but his frown is genuine. "Don't be silly. You'll always have a place on this team."
He takes everything so seriously these days. You suppose it's only fair, given the files he has to sort through on a daily basis. Picking which case deserves the team's attention the most.
But he wasn't always like this. You're the newest member of the team, but you've known Hotch longer than any of them.
You still remember the first time you met him, at eight years old. He was your first real friend at school, and you became inseparable easily. Your shared love for The Beatles and Law and Order made you fast friends, and as you grew older, your interests shifted in tandem.
Sometimes when you look at him, you still see that little boy who knew too much, but still managed to always make you laugh.
***
The team disperses soon after you land in Seattle. You've never had to come up with a profile in one afternoon, but it's also been a long time since your ticking clock to find the victim was just over a day.
When Gideon and Morgan head to the latest crime scene, you join Hotch and Reid to interview the victim's brother. The moment the three of you step into his house, his dog, Sandy, starts barking up a storm.
"It's what we call the Reid effect," Hotch smiles, walking over to pet her. "Happens with children, too."
You can't help but smile as well, peering over at Spencer, who looks about as uncomfortable as he usually does.
It doesn't escape your notice that the brother looks looser now. Hotch has a way with people that traces back to his childhood self. He was always wiser than his years, something you chalk up to his need to grow up faster than he should have, but his paternal instinct comes from practically raising his brother, Sean, after his dad's untimely death.
The casual interview reveals enough about the victimology that when you head back to the station, Gideon calls the officers in to explain the profile.
You can feel Morgan's agitation wafting off of him as he watches Gideon state his assumptions with startling clarity and confidence. Hotch, on the other hand, looks contemplative, which reminds you that he's been tasked with the returning agent's evaluation.
He can see your furtive glances in his direction, even as you try to remain secretive about your interest in his demeanor. He presses his lips together to keep from smiling as he thinks about how lucky you are that you went into profiling and not covert operations.
You have never been especially good at keeping your own thoughts or intentions to yourself around him. While some would call that a weakness in this field, he sees it as your greatest strength, because it clearly shows how much he can trust you.
As a kid, you were outspoken about every idea you had, and you used your strength and willpower to look out for him when he needed it. It took him a long time to admit how much he used to need you (maybe too long), but you always knew.
***
Gideon's profile leads to the arrest of Richard Slessman and Tim Vogel, and Elle manages to save the last girl while she's still alive. You catch your breath for the first time in 36 hours as you stand with Hotch in the shipyard, watching the paramedics and local police clear the scene.
"What are you going to tell them?" you ask under your breath as his gaze turns to Gideon, who is getting patched up in the back of an ambulance.
He had goaded the unsub into shooting him instead of the girl, but your mind can't seem to focus on the silver lining.
Hotch sighs, crossing his arms over his chest, as though to hold his coat closed against the breeze. "They want to know if he's fit to be a field agent again."
Normally, you would give him shit for using that tactic. Avoiding a question by providing more information. This time, you know he's just thinking out loud.
"What would you say?" Hotch asks as Morgan walks over and sits on a barrel next to you.
"Gideon saved her life," Derek shrugs, his eyes flashing to you for a moment. "That's good enough for me."
Hotch seems to ponder this for a second. "Do you know what Gideon means in Hebrew?"
"Mighty warrior," Reid interjects, popping in to the conversation with the subtlety of a tiger.
You're confused at first, but then you remember the baby names book that was sitting in Hotch's living room the last time you visited him. "You cannot let Haley name your child Gideon."
Hotch laughs suddenly, and you can tell you surprised it out of him. Your chest warms comfortably as he smiles, his cheeks flushing softly in the chill air.
He looks over at Gideon again, deciding in real time that he's going to recommend him to come back to the team. He would never admit it to you or anyone, but he knows that if your position on the team was in jeopardy from Gideon's return, he wouldn't have been able to complete his evaluation fairly.
It was Hotch who recommended you for the open position after he was promoted into Gideon's role as unit chief. You deserved the spot, of course, but Jeff's death had still been fresh and he knew better than most how much the job can take one's mind off of the other aspects of their life.
While Hotch watches Gideon, you watch him. You can tell from the look on his face that it's a done deal. Jason's coming back to the team. It will be a change of pace for everyone, but that doesn't mean it won't be good.
Having joined the team right after the bombing, you saw exactly how Gideon changed after getting the profile wrong, but so did everyone else. What people didn't talk about was how Aaron changed too. Rising into the rank. Growing to fill the hole that Gideon left in the unit, but somehow also shrinking into himself at the same time, because that's what this job does to you...it takes and it takes and it takes until you have nothing left to give.
But sometimes that's what you need: to give something up so you know you aren't losing everything.
***
Gideon settles into the team faster than you anticipated, and soon it's almost like he never left. Even though you can see the vein on Morgan's neck pulsate every time he hijacks a profile, you can't help but appreciate the support he gives to Spencer and Elle, both of whom are becoming incredible profilers before your very eyes.
That's also why you find yourself a little worried when Hotch tells you that Reid failed his weapons recertification.
"I thought you said you were helping him practice," you say as the two of you walk past security and toward the bullpen.
"I was," he emphasizes, before correcting himself, "I did. I'm sure he was just nervous."
You nod, pushing open the doors and spotting Reid sitting quietly at his desk. "He can test again in two weeks. He'll be fine."
When Morgan hands him a whistle with a quippy joke, you sigh into your coffee tumbler, but don't bother stepping in. He's being childish, but if you try to intervene, it'll just embarrass Spencer more.
"Okay," JJ starts, "Franklin Park, Des Plaines. Yesterday afternoon."
She dives into the case, but you have already read the file (and you know Reid has too) so you scoot your chair over to his desk and lean forward so only he can hear you. "I failed my first weapons certification at the bureau too."
Spencer looks up immediately, his face colored with surprise. "Really? You're one of the best shots I know."
You smile with a shrug. "The tests aren't real life. When it comes down to it, I get the job done. Just like you will."
He doesn't say anything for a moment, but then his lips curve up into a small smile. You both turn your attention back to the front just as JJ finishes explaining the case details.
"Wheels up in 30."
The flight to Illinois is filled with heated discussions about the bureau's fruitless history of trying to profile long distance serial killers.
"L. D. S. K.s are so rare, we haven't been able to build a standard profile," Hotch explains as the jet reaches cruising altitude.
Gideon chimes in immediately. "Here's what we do know: they're always male, and they frequently have law enforcement or military experience, and they always contact the police or the media."
Elle looks confused and you echo her sentiment as you lean your hip against her armrest. "To take credit or relive the experience?"
"Both," he says simply. "All serial killers attempt to relive the ecstasy they get from their killings. Some use souvenirs taken from the victims, and others return to the dump site to interact with the body. Both modes require contact with the victim, contact which, by definition, long distance serial killers don't have."
"Our unsub hasn't contacted anybody," you point out. "What do we do until then?"
"Sometimes it's not what the unsub does that reveals the profile. Sometimes it is what they do not do."
Reid glances up from the file in his lap, and you notice that he looks at Gideon first. "He doesn't kill his victims."
"Underkill's a unique signature," Hotch ponders, standing up and walking along the cabin. He only paces when he's deep in thought. "The question is, does he shoot them in the stomach intentionally just to wound them, or is he just aiming at the biggest part of the target?"
The team is silent as you take in this new analysis. You're not surprised when Gideon is the first to speak up. "Specifically, does the unsub lack the skill to make the head shot, or simply the will to take it?"
When the plane lands, you check out the last crime scene before spending the day talking to the local police and the victims' surgeons at the nearby hospital.
That night, when you check into your hotel room, the click of the door lock closing behind you is a welcome relief from the tension of the day. Many of the Des Plaines police officers were unhappy with the team's initial assessment, because it heavily implied that the unsub may have been a law enforcement official himself.
You wash your face and change into a tee shirt and a comfortable pair of sweatpants, before climbing into bed and opening the case file back up again. The rest of the team has also gone to their own rooms, but you can't help but wish you had another set of eyes looking at this with you.
As though reading your mind, a knock thuds on your door and you stand up quickly, in case it's an emergency. When you check the peephole, you see Hotch standing way too close to the door.
Unlocking it slowly so you don't startle him, you open the door to find him in still in a full suit.
"Is there a problem?" you ask immediately. "Do I need to get dressed?"
He shakes his head, glancing around the hallway so quickly that you almost miss it. "I was just looking over the profile and I wanted your opinion on some thoughts I had."
The corner of your mouth twitches and you open the door further to let him in. He doesn't miss a beat as he takes a seat on the armchair in front of your bed and flips open his notepad.
"I was thinking about the bullet we recovered on the scene," he says slowly, like he's thinking through every word he's saying.
You nod, sitting on top of the bed covers and crossing your legs under you. "Garcia called after you left the station. The bullet was a .223 fired from the M-4 variant of the M-16."
"That means he's military," Hotch says, reaching his hand out without taking his eyes off his notepad. You close the case file you had laid out and hand it to him. "M-4 is a shorter barrel than the M-16, so it's less accurate and a lot harder to fire, especially at these distances."
"This level of skill indicates specialized training. That means..."
"It means the underkill was on purpose," Hotch says, finishing your thought. "What is he trying to prove?"
You purse your lips as he sits up in the chair to give himself room to remove his jacket. His pinstriped button-down is slightly crinkled under his arms, but you can tell it was freshly ironed this morning.
"Maybe he's in a fast-paced occupation," you suggest, "which would fit with the profile that he has a big ego."
"Then we're back to law enforcement."
You lean forward, your eyes following his hands as they fidget with his cuffs and undo the buttons, one at a time. You've always been attune to every one of his movements, but maybe it's just because you've spent so much time around him.
"Hotch," you whisper-yell, snagging his attention from your case file, which he tosses back to you.
He hums and you take that as an invitation to continue speaking. "Be careful tomorrow, when you're giving the profile."
One of his eyebrows lifts and you can tell he's holding back a smile. "It's just in front of the Des Planes PD. You'll be there too."
"It's not that," you sigh, shaking your head. "Everything about this profile points to the shooter being either current or former law enforcement. I'd be surprised if they didn't take it personally."
His eyes flit up to yours, his brow furrowing. "I can handle myself."
"I'm sure you can, Hotch," you say with a breathy laugh. "Doesn't mean I don't still look out for you."
He pauses and it's like his whole body takes a beat. "I know."
***
You're talking to Dr. Landman with Derek, Elle, and Jason the next day when a gunshot rings out through the hospital. Last you checked, Hotch and Reid were in the E.R., but you haven't heard from them since you arrived.
"It's Phillip Dowd," a nurse informs you when you meet with local police outside the closed E.R. door.
After a quick call to Penelope, the profile becomes clear.
"He joined the army at 18," Gideon recites, pacing around the room in a vaguely reminiscent manner, "went to ranger school, did 6 years before being dishonorably discharged in '95 for conduct unbecoming. Obviously lied about it, joined the Arlington P. D."
"You were right," the police captain sighs. "He was a cop."
His hopeless tone is disheartening, and you find yourself upset for not the first time that your team was correct in their assessment.
After the initial commotion, the E.R. is silent except for a few muffled voices. You can't hear what's being said, but the lack of gunshots or loud noises is all that's keeping you from falling apart.
"It'll be okay," you hear whispered from next to you. You turn to see Derek, who presses his shoulder to yours briefly. "Hotch will know what to do."
You know there's nothing you can do from out here, especially with how precarious the situation inside is, but doing nothing has never been your strong suit.
"I know," you tell him, echoing your thoughts. "I just wish we could help."
Derek cocks his head at the S.W.A.T. team readying themselves to break the door down. "We can help. We need to give Hotch and the kid time to wear Dowd down."
His tone is light and you feel yourself laugh, ignoring the thickness that swells in your throat. "That shouldn't take long."
Derek bumps your arm again in a silent extension of comfort, and you mouth a silent thank you.
You can feel Gideon losing patience as he reasons with the captain, but he eventually buys them three minutes to do what they can. When the final five second countdown starts, you unconsciously hold your breath, only to be released when Hotch's voice calls through the door.
"Hold your fire!"
Your breath comes out like a gasp and you squeeze Derek's arm before rushing forward. Hotch stumbles past you with a murmur that sounds obscurely like "help Reid", so you push your way through the throng of civilians moving to escape until you see him.
"Spencer," you gasp, crouching down to help him into a standing position. You would never admit it to him, but ever since he joined the team, he's been something of a little brother to you. "What happened in here? Are you okay?"
"You were right," he says with a surprising steadiness to his voice. "I got the job done."
You don't ask what he means, knowing that Hotch will fill you in when the time is right. Instead, you decide not to fight the vaguely maternal urge rising within you and you pull him into a tight hug. It's more of a quick squeeze, because you don't want to push past his physical boundaries, but he doesn't complain, instead looking over at you with a small smile that's more than enough for now.
***
You find Hotch where the departed ambulance that patched Reid up was parked. All of the hustle and bustle of the paramedics and local police officers and bureau agents comes to a standstill as you walk over to where he's sitting on the edge of the curb.
"I heard what happened," you say as a way to announce your presence. "Can I sit?"
He nods without looking up, and you crouch down next to him, settling on the curb with your shoulder pressed to his. You can feel the tension in his muscles as he grips the sidewalk, his palms digging into the concrete like he could break through if he pressed hard enough. "Reid.."
"..is fine," you whisper, nudging him so he looks up to where Spencer and Jason are chattering excitedly. "He's more proud than anything."
He doesn't say anything, so you bump your knee against his. "I guess all of the physical training classes you made him take at the academy paid off."
He knows you know exactly what is running through his mind, so he doesn't bother trying to articulate it. Instead, he lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding, and looks over at you. "Do you remember that self-defense class we took before law school?"
You're not expecting this question, and you almost laugh. "You mean the singular self-defense class you dragged me to before dawn in the summer before we started at Georgetown?"
He levels you with a look that you would think is serious if you didn't know him so well. "You don't regret it, though."
"No," you smile, your eyes blurring with emotion. That's where you met Jeff. "I don't."
He was your instructor that day. He only taught that class twice a week, between lectures at Georgetown Law, and it doesn't escape your mind that you so easily could've missed him. One day earlier or later and you never would've met him, never would've been his girlfriend, or his wife, or his widow.
Hotch remembers meeting him that day too. He had to literally come to your apartment and drag you out of bed to make the seven AM class that he had signed you both up for, and you had been grumpy the whole drive over.
There wasn't much, other than coffee, that could get you alert before eight in the morning, but the moment you walked into that gym, it was like you were wide awake. He spent the rest of the class trying not to look as the man he would later come to know as Agent Adler kept coming over to give you extra pointers, and he pretended that the coil of ice slithering up his spine was there just because he was watching out for you.
When he found out the two of you had started dating, he continued to pretend the nausea rising in his stomach was from the day-old sandwich he had had for lunch, because it wasn't fair. Especially since he was with Haley, and he was happier than he had ever been, even if the new law school course load was making it harder to see her as often as he wanted to.
But eventually, your happiness with him overpowered every protective urge he felt, and he realized that even if there was a feeling in his gut that he didn't recognize when he saw you two together, Jeff was perfectly suited for you.
***
"He's so gorgeous!" JJ coos, her hands twitching at her sides like she's trying not to reach forward and take the baby out of Haley's hands.
She brought Jack, their newborn son, in to work today to show the team, and Hotch looks prouder than you've ever seen him. "Thank you."
"If you find baldness and wrinkles attractive."
"Reid!" you chastise, swatting at him. He dodges your hands without even looking.
"Look at his widdy biddy nose," Garcia squeals, before turning to Morgan with an inquisitive look. "Don't you want one of these?"
He just laughs as he rests his chin on her shoulder. "Mm, I'll stick to practicing."
"Congratulations," Elle chimes in before returning to Gideon's side to continue discussing the new case that came in. She's always on top of things, and it's something you respect greatly about her.
"Thanks," Hotch smiles, his gaze returning to Jack after looking away for only a moment. Jack is like a siren, the way each of his little sounds or movements holds Hotch's attention so steadily. He's the most focused of all of you, but you've still never seen him this enamored. "She's amazing. I'm a little terrified."
"You're glowing," you tell Haley as the rest of the team heads to the briefing room. "How is it that you had a baby just a few weeks ago?"
"You're sweet," she smiles, before tilting her head forward. "Do you want to hold him? You're practically his aunt."
You gasp quietly, so as not to wake little Jack. "That is a title I will carry proudly. And yes, I would love to hold him."
Haley hands him to you slowly, and you make sure to support his head carefully as you cup your arms around him. He looks so much like Haley that you almost make a joke about Hotch's genes not even putting up a fight, but that nose...that nose has Hotch written all over it.
When you glance back to where the team left from, you see him turn back at the same moment and offer you an encouraging smile.
"How are you holding up?" you ask Haley, barely able to focus on your surroundings with a newborn in your arms. Maybe there is something to the siren thing.
"Jack's been incredible. He barely cries, it's kind of a godsend...but I do wish Aaron could take time off with me."
You give her what you hope is your most comforting smile. "We've been super swamped with cases here, but in all my years working with him, I have never seen him so eager to leave every night."
She laughs, a pretty sound you remember from your youth. "I know. I feel so unfair when I complain about these things, but I appreciate you humoring me."
"Not at all," you assure her, glancing back down at Jack, who is mid-yawn. "I understand completely. If I had one of these little guys, I wouldn't be able to think about anything else."
You hear her breath catch and you open your mouth to reassure her that it's fine, but she is already reaching forward to squeeze your arm. "You and Jeff would have made amazing parents."
When you both joined the bureau, you were so busy with work that kids weren't on your mind at all. It wasn't until you got settled at the BAU, and Jeff found his place with organized crime, that you even started talking about it.
You want kids, don't you?
Only a few. Maybe four or five. Yeah, five's a good number.
"I should get back to the team," you say softly, blinking away the memories.
Haley sees your face and she smiles sadly as she takes Jack back from your arms. "I'll see you soon. Tell him I'm heading home, will you?"
You nod and watch the elevator doors close in front of her, before joining the team.
***
"I can't believe you went bar hopping without me," Derek shakes his head, feigning offense as he leans so far back in his chair you're afraid it may tip over.
"I think hopping is kind of a strong word," you say, glancing over at Elle, who is perched on the edge of your desk. "We only had one bar in mind, but it closed earlier than we thought, so we went somewhere else after."
"This was a much needed girl's night," Elle grins, patting Morgan on the shoulder as he continues to pout. "We'll invite you next time."
"How was your weekend, Dr. Reid?" you ask, turning around to face him.
Spencer doesn't look up from his crossword.
You say his name again, recalling the attention of Derek and Elle, who had started talking about some trip they've been planning for what feels like months.
When he still doesn't look up, you pick up one of the BAU-provided pens on your desk and chuck it at him, just hard enough to bridge the gap between your desks, but not so hard that it hurts on impact.
"Ow!" Spencer yelps anyway, glancing up with a look that's somewhere between confusion and indignation. He picks the pen up off the ground and turns it over to see the tiny insignia on the cap. "This is FBI property."
"How was your weekend, Spencer?" you ask again, ignoring him. "Didn't you say you had some fun stuff planned?"
"I did," he lights up, instantly forgetting about the pen incident. "My local movie theater was showing reruns of the first season of the original Star Trek, so I got to experience it on the big screen."
Derek laughs and walks back over to his desk next to yours. "We have very different definitions of fun weekend plans, kid."
You're about to tell Derek that no one wants to hear what his idea of fun is when the office door upstairs flies open and Hotch and Gideon walk out.
Reid hands you back your pen, and Derek sits up in his chair so fast it's almost comical.
"We have another case," Hotch announces before coming to a stop.
Gideon takes it away. "Our unsub is male, intelligent, organized and methodical. He has the confidence of a man who's been killing for a long time."
"Only victim removed from the scene is Freddy Condore indicating some tie to him."
Hotch turns to you. "You, Elle, and Reid stay on Condore's background with Garcia. The rest of us will head to the crime scene."
You nod before standing up. "Let's go, kids."
Penelope's lair is just as eccentric as you remember it.
"Take a seat," she instructs before logging into her computer and opening up her criminal history database. "Just don't get too comfortable."
Your lips quirk up as Elle flashes her eyes at you, and you nod your head at the empty chair on Garcia's opposite side. Reid is already sitting on a desk chair by the back, spinning in aimless circles as he rattles off a list of markers to search for.
After a minute, Penelope stops typing. "Credit card receipts show Freddy loved crab cakes, preferred light beer and used to spend his Thursday nights with a woman in Fells Point."
You pick up a stress toy shaped like a tomato from one of her shelves and bounce it in your palm, just for something to occupy your hands.
"What about his associates?" Elle asks, grabbing a pen with a pom-pom on the end and poking it at Spencer's knee.
"Most of them have criminal records."
Elle glances up. "That much I guessed."
Penelope frowns, and looks pointedly at the pen in her hand.
"She's holding the tomato!" Elle complains, throwing a finger at you.
You lift up your hands in surrender, dropping the stress toy. "Thanks a lot, Greenaway."
"Anyway," Reid interrupts, to everyone's surprise, "One of these guys is particularly interesting. Pull up James Baker's rap sheet."
Penelope turns back to her computer as Spencer reads over her shoulder. "He spent time in juvenile detention for attempted murder, was released at age 21, and then subsequently arrested for, and this is in order, armed robbery, petty theft, burglary, narcotics sales, and rapе."
"What's so interesting about that?"
"When it comes to psychological behavior, anything is possible but this criminal history? It just isn't probable."
Elle nods in agreement. "I mean, as a minor, he began with attempted murder and then devolved into pettier crimes?"
"It's the criminal history of a fractured schizophrenic with multiple personality disorder," you sigh. "It just does not make sense."
***
Hotch calls you into his office when he and Morgan return from Baker's address. You can tell something is off before you even step through the door, so you shut it behind you and take a seat in front of his desk.
"What's going on?" you ask, your eyes glancing over his face to see if his micro-expressions can give you a hint. "What's wrong?"
He looks up with a sigh, his hands clasped on his desk. "Baker's place was an artificial dwelling, and the weapon we recovered on the scene was standard law enforcement issue."
It takes you a few seconds to comprehend what he's trying to say - a few seconds longer than usual - and your breath stutters in your throat. "He was undercover?"
"That's what it looks like," Hotch agrees. "I wanted to inform you before telling the rest of the team."
You nod, pressing your eyes closed for a beat.
He missed his pick-up, Mrs. Adler.
We'll call you as soon as we know more.
The memories start to flood back in and you squeeze your eyes shut tighter before opening them. Hotch looks blurry for a moment until your eyes adjust to the light again.
"Does organized crime know where he is?" you ask, desperately needing to fill the silence.
He looks down at the case file. "We assume so, but it's not like they would tell us. They weren't too happy that we were taking on this case at all, and now we know why."
"Maybe they'll talk to me," you suggest, even though the idea of talking to Josh Cramer makes you taste bile. You haven't seen him since a month after the funeral. It's not for his lack of trying, you just couldn't stomach looking at any of them after what happened. One missed call turned to ten and eventually they stopped trying.
There's a piercing pain behind your eyes and you squeeze them shut for a momentary relief. "It was only supposed to be three months."
Hotch's brow furrows and you don't look up at him just yet. You can already picture his expression, the anguish you know he feels for you whenever you bring up Jeff.
"It was a three month operation," you continue, knowing you won't be able to discuss it later if you stop talking now. "That's all we signed up for. Three months away from me and then he was on leave for the rest of the year, so that we could focus on us again. Maybe even start a family."
Your voice cracks on the last word and you tilt your head down to hide your face. He hates it when you cry, but that's not fair. He knows how important it is to get your emotions out, so they don't pile up inside of you, but if he had his way, you would never have had a reason to cry in the first place.
"I hadn't seen him in over a month when he was..."
He can hear the tightness in your voice and he resists the overwhelming urge to reach his hand out and take yours. You're sitting a foot back from the desk, and it's not he could reach you from here anyway, but his fingers still ache.
"I don't want to blame them, Aaron," you sigh. Your words sound watery, and he pulls a handkerchief out of his inside jacket pocket and hands it to you. He's almost surprised when you accept the gesture, pressing the cloth square under your eyes to catch the tears leaking out. You were so self-reliant as a kid, never wanting or needing anyone else's help. "I don't want to blame them, but I do. I can't help it, I just do."
Someone else would have consoled you. They would have assured you that feeling this way was natural, and that no one could blame you for feeling what you do, but that isn't who you two are. "Jeff wouldn't."
His name is like a dagger to your heart. You practically wince as Hotch digs further. "That team was his family, just like we are yours. He wouldn't blame them, not for this. Not for something he chose."
Something he chose. This is why you don't let yourself remember that day. This is why you kept that day - the day you got that horrible call - locked up inside your brain, where not even you could reach it. Because if you let yourself think about it and remember, then you will remember that it wasn't really Cramer or his unit or the bureau that you blamed. It was him.
For choosing to miss his pick-up. For choosing to go undercover. For choosing to join organized crime.
You take a deep breath and re-adjust yourself in the uncomfortable chair Hotch refuses to replace, even though it's literally splitting at the seams. Something about your tax dollars hard at work. "What are you going to do about Baker?"
He lets you change the subject. "We have to contact Agent Cramer before-
"What the hell is wrong with you people?"
Speak of the devil and he shall appear.
"Sorry?" Hotch frowns, both of you standing up immediately.
Cramer doesn't take his eyes off Hotch as he seethes with anger. "I told you, this is my case! You ran my agent through IBIS?"
"Because I wanted to know who he worked for and now that I do, I'd like to talk to him."
"You don't have him?"
You can hear your heartbeat in your skull.
Hotch looks at you then, and finally Cramer notices your presence. "Y/N...it's been a while."
Your lips press into a thin line. "Almost two years." The anger you've been trying to avoid seeps into your voice against your will and you sigh, returning to the investigation. "How long has Baker been missing?"
"About 12 hours."
"You think he ran?" you ask, watching Cramer closely as his jaw ticks.
"No, Jimmy's too experienced to run without contact."
He realizes his misstep immediately and his shoulders fall. To his credit, he doesn't break eye contact, even as his expression softens. "That's not what I meant. All I'm saying is that I think someone's keeping Jimmy from calling in."
You can feel Aaron looking at you, but you avoid his line of sight. If you're going to have to interact with organized crime, you might as well make yourself useful. "We all want the same thing, Cramer: to get Baker back to his family."
You wait outside as he explains the situation in more detail to Hotch and Gideon, and you're surprised when he's the first to leave. "Can we talk?"
Hotch comes out behind him and raises his eyebrow for a fraction of a second, a check-in. Swallowing thickly, you nod your head and follow him down the hall to the top of the stairs.
"I'm sorry I haven't reached out recently," he says as soon as you're out of earshot of the others. "You know Jeff was one of our top guys."
Your eyes shut at his name, as though someone clapped their hands too close to your face. It's almost laughable how sure you were that you were past your grief. You passed the bureau's psych evaluation after your six month leave with flying colors (because your team practically wrote the answers yourselves), and as each new day passed and you weren't so debilitated by just the thought of him, you thought it meant you were fine. Because time heals all wounds. At least it's supposed to.
"I know," you whisper scratchily, before clearing your throat. "I know that. And it's okay. We've all been busy." You look down at the bustling bullpen where his agents are interacting with your team. "Clearly."
Then you remember you're job here in the first place. "We really are just trying to help. It wouldn't hurt to keep us involved."
Cramer sighs and you know he won't refuse. "We'll loop you in."
***
James Baker is found and Vincent Perotta gets taken into custody, but you can still hear the end of the interrogation ringing in your ears.
"You were just responding to what you learned, Vincent.
When you grow up in an environment like that, an extremely abusive and violent household... it's not surprising that some people grow up to become killers.
And some people grow up to catch them."
You can't pinpoint exactly what you're feeling, but if you had to guess, it would be sorrow. Sorrow for that little boy who got dealt the worst hand you can imagine, and still turned into the best version of who he could've been.
Hotch can't get the interrogation out of his mind either. He had grabbed his briefcase and headed out to the elevators as soon as Perotta was taken away, in the hopes of avoiding everybody. He's about to let out his breath when a hand reaches between the doors and sends them flying open again.
Normally your appearance is a welcome sight, but tonight, he's had enough talking. Perotta took everything he had to give, and then some, and he doesn't know if he has the strength to go through the proceedings again with you.
"I just want to get home," he says as you stand next to him without a word and face the doors. To my family.
You don't say anything as the little fluorescent floor number ticks down - has it always been this slow - and he feels his nerves tighten with agitation. You're never silent, especially not about something like this.
Just before the elevator reaches the second floor, you reach forward and pull the emergency stop button. He whispers your name, half irritated half relieved, and you step in front of him, focusing your eyes on his. It's a classic profiler technique, both to mentally establish trust and to physically block him from the keypad.
"You're a great father, Aaron."
His mind flashes back 25 years, but he squeezes the hand in his pocket into a fist to keep himself from succumbing to the memories. "I'm trying."
He knows what you're doing, and he would normally be open to a healthy exchange between two adults, but tonight he just can't. It's too fresh.
You seem to understand at least a fraction of what he's trying to convey. Your next words are gentle. "That already makes you a thousand times better than him."
That almost makes him smile. "You can say his name, you know."
You shrug, looking at him with a glint in your eye. "Honestly, I don't think I can. I'm afraid I'll turn into a pile of ash, with the fury your father instills in me."
That's what gets him. He coughs out a laugh that echoes around the elevator, and you return to his side, giving him a moment to breathe on his own.
This time, when his mind spirals back to his childhood, he's not as equipped to block it. The memories come in flashes, a blackening bruise on his abdomen, a split lip explained away through roughhousing in the backyard, the thin scars on his hands and elbows as he finally started to fight back. He would've taken it all forever if he had to, if it meant that he could keep the horrors away from the people he loved. "I really should go."
"Yeah." You push the emergency stop back into place and the elevator hits the ground floor in no time. "I'll see you tomorrow, Hotch."
He steps out, half expecting you to follow him. Instead, the doors close and he's by himself again, and he suddenly can't remember why he wanted to be alone in the first place.
***
When the Keystone Killer is finally caught after 18 years of inactivity, he finds himself expecting for there to be some sort of celebration, either in the form of a commendation, or a much-needed break. Instead, what he gets is a mountain of paperwork.
He usually doesn't mind the paperwork that comes after a long case. It's a helpful way for him to sort through his thoughts on what went down, and to learn from mistakes that were made along the way, whether in the profile or in the capture of the unsub.
Lately, paperwork has felt like an added torture to the long hours he already spends at work. It's not that he wasn't excited about going home before, but ever since Jack was born, he hasn't been able to get out of the office fast enough. But being the unit chief of the BAU has its responsibilities, and this is one of them.
He's drowning in consultation files and case reports when you knock on his door, two coffees in hand.
"Thought that was you," he says, finishing the sentence he was writing.
You frown, setting one steaming cup down on his desk. He hasn't even looked up yet. "How'd you know? Or do you just say that to everyone who walks in here?"
His lip twitches and he puts his pen down. "I could smell the coffee. It always smells the same when you make it."
"Oh?" You weren't aware you had a method. "And how's that?"
"Burnt."
You take the lid off your cup and chuck it at him with surprising accuracy. It would have thwacked him in the forehead if he hadn't swatted it aside with his stupid catlike reflexes.
"What are you working on?" you ask after taking a scalding sip of perfectly brewed coffee.
He looks up for a beat before diving back into the file he was skimming. "Paperwork for the Keystone Killer case."
"But we just finished that," you point out before reaching forward and taking the file out from under his nose.
He huffs. "I was...looking at that."
"This is a report on what happened a couple of hours ago," you say, ignoring his remark. "You can easily do this tomorrow, or later this week."
"It's fresh in my mind now. I don't want to forget any details."
You shrug in a motion that says 'fair enough'. "Or, you could actually go home before midnight for once."
You slide another file off the top of his pile and flip it open, reading over the notes Hotch has scribbled in the margins. He's so meticulous about his job that you almost forget he was promoted just a little over a year ago. He became unit chief at the same time that you joined the team, so you didn't get to see him in his early days, but looking at him now, you almost can't imagine it. It's like he's built for this, for taking responsibility and leading people with kindness and respect.
"Elle said something on the plane today," he says suddenly, jerking you from your thoughts.
You close the file and look up as he runs a hand over his head, pushing his thick hair back just for it to bounce forward again. "She said that she's scared she's going to look up and see that her life has passed her by while she was chasing monsters."
Something cold runs through your veins and you sit up straighter in your chair. "And what did you say?"
"I told her the truth."
You smile in an effort to keep your eyes from shining. "What, that we're all doomed?"
He looks at you candidly. "That this job will eat you up if you let it." Your smile falls and he continues. "You just can't let it."
"I'm sure Elle loved hearing that."
He shrugs. "She was surprisingly receptive."
That gets a laugh out of you, even if the good humor doesn't last long. "I don't know how you do it."
"Do what?"
"This job, while also being a husband, and a father." You sigh, and you can almost feel the weight of the air as it leaves your body. "When I go home, I don't have to be anything to anyone. Most of the time it feels awful, but sometimes, after an especially bad case, I'm almost relieved when I can go home and just check out."
You aren't talking about him anymore, and he can tell. He doesn't mind, if this is what it will take for you to work through your emotions.
"We were gonna start trying for a baby."
That surprises him. Not that you wanted to be a mother - he knows that - but that he didn't know you were already thinking about it, especially because of how you grew up. You don't talk about it often, but after losing your mother to a drunk driver when you were ten, you almost transformed into her, becoming the emotional support for your family when there was no one else to fill that role.
You press your lips into a thin line and take a deep breath, your coffee cold and forgotten on the desk in front of you. "We had been talking about it for years, but with the paths our careers were taking, there just wasn't enough time before then." Your eyes look far away, and you don't seem to notice that your lips have unconsciously curved up into a reminiscent smile. "Jeff wanted five kids. Five. God, can you imagine?"
He can, but he doesn't say anything, because he knows you aren't looking for a response. Just for someone to listen.
"I'm an only child," you say with a laugh. "I don't even know what it's like to have one sibling, let alone four." But Jeff had come from a huge family, and he had wanted you to experience that. He loved how full his home always felt growing up, never without someone to talk to. Now you won't ever get to experience that. "I guess I just wish sometimes that we had tried earlier."
"You'll have it someday," Hotch says simply, practically reading your mind. "If that's what you want, you'll have it."
"I waited so long," you whisper, closing your eyes for a long moment. "I was just so afraid that I wouldn't do it right, because I didn't have my mother anymore to help me."
"You would've been a great mother," he assures you, his voice confident. "One day, you will be."
Your breath comes out like a gasp and you clear your throat to keep the tears at bay. "How do you know?"
"I just know."
***
When you push through the doors to the bullpen the next morning, you are greeted by a familiar head of blonde hair.
"Sean?"
He turns around slowly, clearly recognizing your voice, and pulls his lips up into a smile that you return. "Hey, Y/N, how's it going?"
You weren't close to him as a kid, mostly because of the age gap between him and Hotch. You had tried to make more of an effort after graduating college, but Sean was fierce in his convictions, and there were a lot of things he didn't understand about his childhood that you certainly weren't going to explain to him now.
"Good, good," you say, leading him away from the throng of staring women. You shoot them a look that makes them disperse. "You here for your brother? He's upstairs."
He nods, glancing up at the closed office door. You start to lead him to the stairwell when he stops in his tracks and turns to you. "What mood's he in?"
"Why?" you ask, your brow furrowing. "You got bad news? Nothing I need to worry about, I hope."
Sean shakes his head, glancing up at the closed door again. "Nothing like that. I'll just go up."
You let him walk up on his own, knowing he doesn't want you getting involved in whatever he's thinking about. Before you have a moment to catch your breath, the three women return to your side.
"That's Hotch's brother?" Penelope asks, standing so close you can feel her breath on your ear.
"Maybe Hotch is adopted."
"What do you mean?" you ask, unconsciously glancing up the stairs. "They're honestly pretty similar." You're only half joking. They don't look anything alike, but that Hotchner brand of righteousness runs deep.
JJ frowns. "I don't see it."
"Yeah, he looks...like that," Penelope murmurs, before looking at you. "Did you know him when you were younger? Was he hot then too?"
You choke on your own spit. "He was nine years old when I left for college, so...no."
Her eyes widen and she lifts her hands in surrender.
"Ooh, here he comes."
You look up to see Sean storming down the stairs, Hotch hot on his heels.
"Sean, listen to me."
He turns so fast, you're afraid they're going to crash into each other. "Don't profile me, Aaron."
Sean stomps out of the bullpen while Hotch watches him leave, and you can't get the striking feeling of deja vu out of your head. Two boys, 15 years younger than they are now, standing in the same positions, with the same looks on their faces.
You imagine that you and Hotch probably act the same way around each other as when you first met, at eight years old.
The memory comes easily, even with more than two decades of time standing in the way. The little boy with dark hair who had sat next to you on the school bus, just because there were no other empty seats available that day.
You hadn't said anything for the first few stops, just watched him out of the corner of your eye as he nodded his head unconsciously to the music coming out of his large headphones. Eventually, curiosity got the better of you and you tapped on his shoulder. "What are you listening to?"
He had taken his headphones off quickly, as though caught in the act. "What?"
You repeated your question before leveling him with a pointed stare that meant 'there is a correct answer'. You were a feisty kid, and you weren't always the best at making first impressions, so his steady response impressed you. "Beatles. Revolver album."
"I love that one!" you had gushed, leaning in closer without a warning to press your ear to one of the speakers on his headphones. "Is this Yellow Submarine?"
He had nodded, the confusion in his eyes slowly transforming into delight. "You know their stuff?"
"Of course. My favorite's Eleanor Rigby."
He had frowned then. "That one's too sad."
You weren't surprised by his opinion. You had yet to find a boy your age who could appreciate serious music, but liking The Beatles was a start, at least.
"I'm Y/N," you had said, extending your hand like you were starting a business meeting.
He shook your hand furtively. "Aaron."
"Maybe I'll see you around."
The school bus had stopped at your street then, and you had gotten up without another word to this boy, who would one day become your best friend in the world.
Luckily, the next day, Aaron chose to sit next to you again, this time with a second pair of headphones to attach to his compact cassette deck. Two days turned to three, and before long, you had a new friend.
***
"I can't imagine what two weeks away from this place is gonna feel like," you sigh, packing some essentials into your bag and snapping it shut. "I might actually miss you guys."
"Not me," Morgan grins, before pressing a kiss to your cheek as he zips around you. "Two weeks of pure heaven with nothing but young, beautiful adults looking to make vacation memories."
"Your friend's resort better be as nice as you say it is," Elle says sternly as she wiggles her finger at Derek, who is busy inviting Reid to join their vacation.
"Thanks, but I'm going home," he says quickly, without looking at any of you. "Have a good one, guys."
"I'll head out too," you announce, grabbing your things and following him to the elevators. "Wait up, Spence."
He doesn't seem to hear you, but you slip through the doors just before they close. "You okay?"
"Huh?" he says, finally looking up. "Oh, yeah. I'm just not looking forward to the Nevada heat."
You can tell he's lying, but you don't want to press him right before the long break. "You can always call me if you need anything. Seriously."
"Yeah," he nods. "I know."
You wave goodbye to him in the parking lot, and you're back in the silence of your home by the end of the hour.
The rest of your day is spent lazing around the house, and you're asleep when you hear a knock at your door. After Jeff's death, you started keeping your gun in your nightstand, more out of a general sense of security than any specific acute fear, but its proximity during late night calls has given you the peace of mind you needed to finally sleep through the night.
Lifting it from the drawer, you hold it behind your back as you tiptoe to your front door and look through the peephole. When you don't see anyone, you carefully pull the door open, only to find a small packet sitting on your welcome mat with your name scrawled on the top.
After bringing it inside the house and locking the door again, you pry open the seal and extract a large piece of paper covered in a series of numbers and dots.
That's when the phone rings.
***
"How's it going?" you ask Reid and Morgan as you enter the conference room where all of the Fisher King's clues have been laid out. Neither of them have taken their eyes off the paper you brought in since you tacked it up on the board.
As expected, Reid doesn't look up. "The answer to what book we need has to be in here."
"Yeah," Derek sighs, glancing over at you, "but we sure as hell can't see it."
"Yet."
You look at the numbers again, hoping that your short walk to the coffee station and back would have been enough to unlock something new in your brain. Nothing. "The answer has to be based on specific details of each person's clue." A small sound turns your attention to the couch, where Elle is lying on her side. "Is Elle asleep?"
"I'm awake!" she starts, sitting up lethargically.
At the outburst, Hotch walks into the room and points at her bags. "I'm sending you home. You need to get some rest."
"No-"
"We won't do anything without you, I promise."
"Elle, seriously, we're not any closer than we were."
She nods, her lack of sleep seeming to dawn on her as she yawns again.
"Anderson," Hotch calls out, before you stop him. "What is it?"
"I can take her home," you suggest, looking over your shoulder as she lugs her bags down the hall with bleary eyes. He looks like he wants to protest, so you speak up before he has the chance. "She barely knows Anderson. I'll make sure she's settled, and then you can send him to watch her house, so I can come back here."
"I don't know if that's a good idea," he sighs, his eyes still trained on Elle's silhouette lingering by the elevator. "We may need you here."
You cock your head at Reid and Morgan, who have been sitting in the same positions for so long, you're surprised their necks haven't locked. "It's like they said. We haven't made any progress in over an hour. I'm not helping here."
He still looks unsure, but you know it's just worry. He'll always worry about you. "Okay, go. Call me in an hour to check-in."
You dip your head in a nod and jog through the bullpen to catch Elle as she's heading out.
"So you're my bodyguard, huh?"
You laugh, pressing the button for the ground floor. "Something like that."
"Good," Elle says, trying and failing to stifle a yawn, "you're much more fun than Anderson."
"Prettier, too."
The car ride to her house starts off silent, but eventually you break your internal promise to let her come to you. "How are you feeling after last night?"
She just shrugs. "It was more annoying than anything. I'm just glad I got to enjoy at least some of my vacation."
"I heard there was blood all over your room," you point out lightly, trying to broach the subject in a delicate manner. "That can't have been fun to wake up to."
"It was all on the outside. That's part of why they weren't able to hold me. That, and Hotch's lawyer chops."
You raise an eyebrow, glancing over at her as you pull over to the sidewalk. "His lawyer chops?" You know he used to be a prosecutor before joining the bureau, but you never got to see his skills in action.
"Yeah," Elle gushes, her face brightening considerably, "you should have seen the way he walked in there. Those beat cops had no idea what hit 'em. He was in full prosecutor mode, went all rainmaker on them until they released me."
You can imagine it. If any of you were in trouble, he wouldn't let anything get between him and your safety. "I wish I could've seen that."
When you put the car in park, you help Elle with her bags and walk her up to her door, where she insists that she'll be fine on her own.
"I promised I would wait with you until another agent could come and relieve me," you emphasize, instinctively scanning the vicinity around her home as she walks inside and drops her things on the floor.
"In about thirty seconds, I'll be passed out on this couch right here," she points at the window seat behind her, "so you'll just be watching me sleep for an hour."
You open your mouth to argue but she cuts you off. "Y/N, I'll be fine."
If there's one word to describe Elle, it's stubborn, so you let her shut the door behind her and you walk back to your car. Even if she won't let you sit with her inside, you still can't bring yourself to start the ignition, so you lean your seat back halfway and close your eyes, just for a few moments.
You haven't gotten much sleep either, and you're about to doze off when you hear a loud thud from outside the car. Jerking up, you undo the clasp of your holster and push open the car door. The world is silent, except for the rustling of leaves in the wind, but you start making your way up the drive, just to be sure. There's another thud, quieter this time, and you reach for your sidearm as you ascend her porch steps. Then comes a gunshot.
You start running.
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x fem!reader#aaron hotchner x female!reader#hotch x reader#hotch x female!reader#aaron hotchner#hotch#criminal minds#elle greenaway#penelope garcia#spencer reid#derek morgan#jennifer jareau#jason gideon#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner series#criminal minds series#criminal minds season one#criminal minds fic#fic#criminal minds imagine#hotch fic#anchor series#anchor
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