Alice 🖤🥀

I write a little.. ✍️

[alicewritezz]

Hi everyone! I could really do with your help 🫶 I’m absolutely loving and having a blast writing some lil’ fics of Aaron Hotchner. However, my ideas are slowly running low, so please, if you have any ideas - no matter how small - please comment or send me them as they would be much appreciated and I would love to bring them to life! 🌙✨

[alicewritezz]

Stitches - Aaron Hotchner

word count: 1243

summary: after a routine raid goes horribly wrong, you are rushed into emergency surgery. While your physical wounds begin to heal, an old childhood trauma leaves you terrified of having your stitches removed. Determined to help you through it, Aaron stays by your side every step of the way, offering quiet reassurance, unwavering patience, and a hand to hold when you need it most.

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

authors note: It’s so nice to be back and writing for Aaron again! I really hope you enjoy this one and if you have any idea you’d like brought to life, don’t hesitate to comment. Thank you for all the love. Enjoy reading!! 💗💗

The bullpen was unusually quiet.

Everyone was buried in paperwork after a long case, the kind that lingered long after the unsub was in custody. Emily was typing away with a sigh every few minutes, Reid was explaining statistical probabilities to Morgan—who definitely hadn't asked—and JJ was pretending not to laugh.

Aaron Hotchner looked up from his report when he heard your laugh from the hallway.

It was brief.

Warm.

His favorite sound.

You stepped inside with a coffee in one hand and a folder tucked beneath your arm, smiling at him before setting his coffee beside him.

"You've been staring at that same paragraph for five minutes."

"I was thinking."

"You were brooding."

"I don't brood."

You raised an eyebrow.

Emily snorted into her coffee.

"...Frequently," Aaron admitted.

You leaned down and kissed his cheek before returning to your own desk.

-

Three days later, everything changed.

The raid should have been straightforward.

Contain.

Arrest.

Go home.

Instead, the unsub bolted through an abandoned warehouse, knocking over rusted shelving as he ran.

You chased after him with Morgan close behind.

"Y/N!" Morgan shouted.

You turned just in time to see the metal beam swinging free.

There wasn't enough time to move.

The edge slammed into your side, throwing you hard against the concrete.

Everything blurred.

You remembered Aaron yelling your name.

Then...

Nothing.

-

The first thing you felt was warmth.

The second was Aaron's hand wrapped tightly around yours.

Your eyes fluttered open.

Hospital ceiling.

Beeping monitors.

Pain.

Lots of pain.

"There she is."

Aaron's voice was gentle, calmer than you knew he felt.

He brushed a strand of hair away from your face.

"You scared me."

Your lips tugged into the smallest smile.

"I thought we agreed... no paperwork in heaven."

He actually laughed.

Just once.

Quiet.

Relieved.

"You aren't getting out of paperwork that easily."

-

The surgeon explained everything.

Two broken ribs.

A deep laceration across your abdomen.

Internal bleeding.

Emergency surgery had gone well.

You'd need several weeks of recovery.

And...

"...You have two lots of stitches. The external ones will come out in about two weeks."

You stopped listening after that.

Stitches.

Your breathing became uneven.

Aaron noticed immediately.

"Honey?"

You stared at the blanket.

Your hands began shaking.

-

Later that evening, after everyone had visited, Aaron found you sitting in the dim hospital room with tears quietly slipping down your cheeks.

He sat beside you.

"Sweetheart."

You didn't answer.

"You've been quiet ever since the surgeon mentioned the stitches."

Still nothing.

He waited.

Aaron had always been patient.

Eventually you whispered...

"When I was twelve..."

His eyes stayed on yours.

"I had surgery."

You swallowed hard.

"They left the stitches in too long."

Your voice cracked.

"I remember screaming."

You closed your eyes.

"They kept telling me it wouldn't hurt."

Another tear escaped.

"It did."

Aaron's expression softened immediately.

"They had to hold me down."

Silence filled the room.

"I've never been more scared."

Your voice was barely audible now.

"So every time someone says 'We'll remove the stitches,' all I can think about is that."

Aaron reached for your hand.

He didn't interrupt.

Didn't dismiss it.

Didn't tell you you'd be fine.

He simply squeezed your fingers.

"I'm so sorry."

Those three words made you cry harder than anything else had.

Because he believed you.

-

The next two weeks passed slowly.

Aaron insisted on helping with everything.

Changing bandages.

Helping you walk.

Making sure you actually took your pain medication instead of insisting you were "fine."

Jack even helped.

Very seriously.

He'd carry pillows across the house.

Bring you blankets.

Offer you juice boxes because "juice fixes everything."

Aaron never corrected him.

-

The morning your stitches were due to come out...

You threw up from anxiety.

Aaron found you sitting on the bathroom floor.

You looked embarrassed; overwhelmed.

"I can't do this."

He crouched beside you.

"Yes, you can."

"What if it hurts?"

"I'll be there."

"What if I panic?"

"I'll still be there."

"What if I cry?"

He smiled softly.

"Then I'll hold your hand while you cry."

You looked at him with watery eyes.

"What if I can't even walk into the room?"

"Then I'll walk in with you."

He kissed your forehead.

"You don't have to be brave by yourself."

-

The nurse immediately noticed how frightened you looked.

"We can take breaks."

You nodded without really hearing her.

Aaron sat beside the examination table instead of across the room.

He took your hand before anyone even asked.

His thumb slowly rubbed circles across your knuckles.

"Look at me."

You did.

"Not the stitches."

Only him.

"You know what I need you to do?"

"What?"

"Breathe with me."

Slow inhale.

Slow exhale.

Again.

And again.

His voice never changed.

Never rushed.

Never left you.

The first stitch came out.

You flinched.

Aaron squeezed your hand.

"You're doing perfectly."

Another.

Then another.

A few stung.

A few pinched.

None were anything like your childhood memory.

But every tiny pinch still made your heart race.

Aaron kept talking the whole time.

About Jack's latest obsession with dinosaurs.

About Morgan trying to teach Reid—

"No," you laughed weakly.

"Not that story."

Aaron smiled.

"Alright, Rossi trying to teach us all how to grill."

You smiled.

The tension eased.

The nurse quietly continued.

Almost finished.

"You've got five left," she said.

Your breathing hitched.

Aaron leaned closer until your foreheads almost touched.

"I know."

His voice was barely above a whisper.

"I've got you."

You closed your eyes.

Focused only on him.

His thumb.

His heartbeat where your hands touched.

His calm breathing.

"Four."

"You've got this, sweetheart."

"Three."

"So proud of you."

"Two."

"Almost home."

"Last one."

A tiny tug.

"...Done."

The nurse smiled.

"That's it."

You blinked.

"Really?"

She laughed.

"Really."

You burst into relieved tears.

Aaron immediately wrapped his arms around you.

You buried your face against his shoulder.

"I did it."

"You did."

"It wasn't..."

"No."

"...like before."

His hand rested gently against the back of your head.

"No, honey."

You stayed there for several minutes.

Just breathing.

-

That evening, the team gathered at your house with takeout and entirely too many desserts.

Emily claimed sugar was medically necessary.

Reid produced an article attempting to prove it.

Morgan declared victory regardless.

Jack proudly announced—

"Mom doesn't have scary stitches anymore!"

Everyone cheered.

You hid your face in Aaron's shoulder, laughing.

He wrapped an arm around your waist.

His lips brushed your temple.

"So..."

"So?"

"You survived."

"Barely."

He smiled.

"You were incredible."

"I cried."

"You were incredible while crying."

"I panicked."

"You were incredible while panicking."

You looked up at him.

"When did you get so good at knowing what I needed?"

Aaron's smile was small.

Quiet.

The kind reserved only for you.

"The day I promised to love you."

He kissed your forehead.

"No matter what."

You leaned into him as laughter echoed through the house, Jack chased Morgan around the living room pretending to be a T-Rex, and Emily loudly insisted that anyone who brought vegetables to a celebration should be arrested.

For the first time in weeks, everything felt normal.

Safe.

Home.

And as Aaron's fingers intertwined with yours, you realized something your frightened twelve-year-old self never could have imagined.

Some scars stayed.

Some fears lingered.

But with the right person beside you—

holding your hand,

whispering that you were safe,

never asking you to be brave alone—

even the hardest memories could begin to heal.

[alicewritezz]

Tattoo - Aaron Hotchner

word count: 1340

summary: after secretly getting a tattoo of your wedding along with Aaron’s initials to surprise him for your fifth anniversary, you’re forced to put your plans on hold when a difficult case sends the BAU out of state. The team accidentally discovers your secret and helps keep it hidden until you return home.

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

authors note: I hope you enjoy this one. This is the third time I’ve re written it after having the idea when I got another tattoo today, so I really hope you enjoy reading; your support means so much 💗💗

The anniversary had been circled on Aaron Hotchner’s calendar for months.

Not because he needed reminding.

Not because he’d ever forget.

But because after years of missed dinners, interrupted vacations, and spending birthdays in conference rooms with crime scene photos pinned to whiteboards, he’d promised himself that this year would be different.

Five years.

Five years with his sweetheart.

Five years since he’d stood under a canopy of fairy lights, slipped a ring onto her finger, and quietly vowed that he would spend every day trying to deserve her.

And somehow, she still smiled at him like he hung the moon.

Which was why he had absolutely no idea that she had been keeping a secret for almost six weeks.

—

“Can I ask you something weird?” Garcia asked one afternoon, appearing in the doorway of your office.

You looked up suspiciously.

“With you, that sentence could mean anything.”

“Excellent point. Come with me.”

You should’ve known.

Garcia dragged you to the restroom with all the urgency of someone about to reveal classified information.

Instead, she squealed.

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“Oh my God.”

“Garcia.”

She pointed.

You followed her finger to the mirror.

Or rather, to the edge of your t-shirt where the fabric had shifted slightly, revealing a glimpse of ink near your collarbone.

Your hand flew up immediately.

“No!”

“Oh, honey.”

“No.”

“You got a tattoo!”

“Keep your voice down!”

Garcia practically vibrated.

“Is that—?”

“Yes.”

“Is that your wedding date?”

“Yes.”

“And AH?”

You covered your face with both hands.

“Yes.”

Penelope Garcia nearly cried on the spot.

“You romantic little angel.”

“Penelope, if Aaron finds out before our anniversary, I swear—”

“Cross my heart.”

Unfortunately, Emily Prentiss walked in three seconds later.

And then JJ.

And then, somehow, Derek Morgan.

“How am I in trouble?” Morgan asked immediately.

“You’re not,” Garcia said.

“He’s in trouble,” Emily corrected.

“No one is in trouble,” you hissed.

“Wait.” Morgan squinted. “Is that Hotch’s initials?”

“It is absolutely none of your business.”

Morgan grinned.

“Oh, pretty girl, you got his initials tattooed?”

“It’s subtle!”

“Sweetheart, nothing says forever like permanent ink.”

“A word and I’ll have Garcia leak your high school yearbook.”

Morgan held up both hands.

“My lips are sealed.”

—

Everyone knew.

Everyone except Aaron.

And somehow, that was the hardest part.

Because every time he smiled at you or called you honey in that soft voice he only used when no one else was listening, you wanted to blurt it out.

Just two more weeks.

That was all.

Then the call came.

Oklahoma.

Three victims.

Escalating violence.

The anniversary dinner reservations disappeared beneath stacks of files and packed suitcases.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Aaron said quietly while throwing clothes into his duffel. “We’ll make it up when we get back.”

You smiled.

“It’s okay.”

But you knew he hated it.

You could see it in the way his shoulders tensed.

The way he kept checking the date.

The way his eyes softened every time they landed on you.

—

By day four, everyone was exhausted.

The unsub had changed patterns.

The local police were frustrated.

And Aaron hadn’t slept more than three hours at a time.

Neither had you.

You stood over the map in the conference room, staring at photos until they blurred together.

“We’re missing something,” Aaron said.

“We know.”

“No, we’re missing something.”

“Aaron—”

“No.” His voice sharpened.

The room went quiet.

Aaron closed his eyes immediately.

He never snapped at you.

Not like that.

Not really.

But stress was wearing all of you thin.

“Aaron,” you started softly.

“No.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Forget it.”

“Aaron.”

“I said forget it.”

You stared at him.

And then quietly walked out.

Morgan looked at the ceiling.

JJ suddenly found her coffee fascinating.

Emily physically backed away.

Because everyone knew that Aaron Hotchner never raised his voice at you.

And everyone knew he was already regretting it.

—

You sat on the steps outside the station, arms folded against the evening air.

Two minutes later, the door opened.

Of course it did.

Aaron sat beside you.

Not touching.

Not immediately.

“I’m sorry.”

You smiled faintly.

“That was quick.”

“I didn’t even make it to the hallway before I knew I was wrong.”

“You weren’t wrong.”

“I snapped at you.”

“You snapped because you’re exhausted.”

“Honey—”

“No.” You looked over. “Aaron, we’ve been chasing a monster for four days.”

“That doesn’t excuse it.”

“No. But I know you.”

His eyes softened.

“You should never have to absorb my bad days.”

“Good thing I love you, then.”

His lips twitched.

“Good thing.”

After a moment, he slipped his hand into yours.

“I know this isn’t how either of us wanted our anniversary.”

“You remembered?”

He looked almost offended.

“Sweetheart, I remember what you ordered on our first date.”

You laughed softly.

“Chicken parmesan.”

“You hated it.”

“The sauce was awful.”

“You stole half my dinner.”

“You offered.”

“You stole it.”

You laughed again.

And finally, he smiled.

“There she is.”

—

The unsub was caught the next morning.

No casualties.

Everyone flew home exhausted and relieved.

Garcia insisted on decorating your office with enough balloons to violate several fire codes.

Morgan brought cupcakes.

Emily claimed she had nothing to do with any of it while actively hanging streamers.

And Aaron walked in halfway through the chaos.

“What…”

Everyone froze.

Garcia whistled innocently.

“Happy anniversary!”

Aaron blinked.

And then smiled.

“Amazing.”

He looked at you.

“You knew about this?”

“No.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“Okay, maybe a little.”

“Traitor.”

“You still love me.”

“I do.”

“Good.”

The team filtered out with suspicious speed.

Leaving the two of you alone.

Aaron leaned against your desk.

“Five years.”

“Five years.”

“Still putting up with me.”

“Still stealing your food.”

He smiled.

“Come here.”

You stepped into his arms immediately.

Home.

Always home.

His chin rested on top of your head.

“I had plans, you know.”

“So did I.”

“Oh?”

“Mm-hm.”

He pulled back slightly.

“What kind of plans?”

“Well…”

You hesitated.

Suddenly nervous.

Which was ridiculous.

You’d been married five years.

Still.

You reached up and gently moved the collar of your t-shirt aside.

Aaron frowned slightly.

Then froze.

The date.

Your wedding date.

And beneath it.

AH.

Tiny.

Elegant.

Perfect.

He stopped breathing for a second.

“Honey…”

His voice cracked.

Actually cracked.

“Aaron?”

His eyes were shining.

“You…”

He stared at it again like he wasn’t sure it was real.

“You did this?”

“It was supposed to be a surprise before Oklahoma.”

“A surprise,” he repeated softly.

“I know it’s silly—”

“No.”

His hand came up, fingers feather-light against your skin.

“No, sweetheart.”

His eyes met yours.

“It isn’t.”

You smiled nervously.

“You like it?”

He laughed quietly.

Actually laughed.

And then kissed you.

Slowly.

Tenderly.

Like he had all the time in the world.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours.

“You know,” he murmured, “I’ve spent five years wondering how I got so lucky.”

“You tell me that every anniversary.

“Because every year, I’m more convinced that I married entirely above my station.”

You laughed.

“You absolutely did.”

He smiled.

“Cheeky.”

“Only for you.”

“My sweetheart.”

He kissed your forehead.

And then the office door burst open.

Morgan, Garcia, JJ, and Emily all fell inside.

Nobody had even tried to pretend they weren’t listening.

Garcia gasped dramatically.

“HE SAW IT?”

Morgan grinned.

“About time.”

Aaron blinked.

“You all knew?”

Four guilty expressions.

“Since the bathroom incident,” Emily admitted.

Aaron sighed.

“You people are unbelievable.”

“You love us,” Garcia informed him.

“Unfortunately.”

Everyone laughed.

And for the first time in days, the weight of the case was gone.

There were no files.

No crime scenes.

No phones ringing.

Just Aaron’s arm around your waist.

His thumb absentmindedly tracing over the tiny initials he’d spent five years earning.

And as everyone argued over cupcakes and Garcia demanding pictures, Aaron leaned down and whispered softly into your hair—

“Happy anniversary, honey.”

Five years.

And if he had anything to say about it—

There would be fifty more.

[alicewritezz]

Honeymoon - Aaron Hotchner

word count: 1351

summary: after a gruelling week-long case out of state, you and the BAU finally track down the unsub, leading to a vehicle pursuit and foot chase that leaves you with a few scrapes and Aaron Hotchner more shaken than he’d like to admit. As he patches you up on the hood of an SUV, your husband realises that life has been moving too fast since your wedding— and decides it’s time the two of you finally take a break and enjoy being newlyweds again.

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

authors note: I hope you enjoy reading. I think this is one of my longest pieces yet; your support, likes, comments etc are very much appreciated. Thank you 🥰💗💗

The week had been long.

Too long.

The kind of case that settled under your skin and refused to leave.

By Friday afternoon, everyone in the BAU looked exhausted. Morgan had stopped making jokes hours ago. Reid was surviving almost entirely on coffee. JJ kept checking the clock whenever she thought nobody was looking.

And Aaron?

Aaron Hotchner looked exactly the same as he had on Monday morning.

Calm. Focused. Controlled.

Which somehow made him even more attractive.

Not that you were distracted.

Mostly.

Okay, maybe a little.

You sat in the passenger seat of the SUV, trying very hard not to stare at your husband.

Aaron was driving, one hand steady on the wheel. His sleeves were rolled to his forearms, exposing tanned skin and the expensive watch around his wrist. Over his white dress shirt sat his FBI tactical vest, the bold lettering stretched across his chest.

You hated how much you liked that vest.

Especially on him.

Behind you, Rossi noticed the direction of your gaze and smirked.

“You know,” he said casually, “you’ve been married for months now. You can stop looking at him like that.”

You nearly choked.

Aaron’s mouth twitched.

“You have absolutely no proof of that.”

Rossi laughed.

“Sweetheart,” Aaron said without taking his eyes off the road, “everyone has proof of that.”

Heat climbed into your face.

Traitor.

“You two are impossible.”

“We know.”

The response came from both men at once.

—

The unsub had finally made a mistake.

A witness had spotted a vehicle matching their description leaving the latest dump site, and after hours of tracking leads, the team had narrowed the search area.

Two SUVs sped down a dusty road somewhere in rural Nevada.

Aaron drove.

You rode shotgun.

Rossi sat in the back.

The rest of the team followed behind.

Nobody spoke.

The tension inside the vehicle was thick enough to cut.

Then Rossi’s phone rang.

A moment later his expression sharpened.

“We’ve got him.”

Aaron’s grip tightened on the steering wheel.

“Location?”

Rossi relayed the information.

The SUV accelerated immediately.

Your pulse followed.

This was it.

—

The chase started less than twenty minutes later.

The unsub spotted the approaching vehicles and bolted before either SUV had fully stopped.

“FBI!”

Aaron was already moving.

You jumped out alongside him.

The world became motion.

Dust.

Footsteps.

Shouting.

The suspect sprinted through an abandoned industrial yard.

Aaron was ahead of everyone.

You weren’t far behind.

The years of fieldwork had taught you how to keep up.

Unfortunately, the unsub apparently had the same idea.

He cut sharply between two rusted storage buildings.

You followed.

Bad decision.

Your boot caught on a piece of twisted metal hidden beneath the dirt.

The impact sent you crashing sideways.

Pain exploded across your hands and knees.

You hissed.

“Damn it.”

But there wasn’t time to stop.

You pushed yourself upright and kept running.

Blood trickled down your palm.

Aaron glanced back just long enough to see it.

His expression darkened immediately.

You knew that look.

You were going to hear about this later.

—

The unsub made it another hundred yards before Aaron tackled him.

The collision was brutal.

Both of them hit the ground in a tangle of limbs.

You arrived seconds later to help restrain him when the suspect decided one last fight was a good idea.

It wasn’t.

But he managed to land a glancing blow to your cheek before Rossi and Morgan arrived.

Eventually the cuffs clicked into place.

The chase was over.

Case closed.

Everyone could finally breathe again.

—

The adrenaline faded far too quickly.

Now everything hurt.

Your hands.

Your knees.

The scrape along your cheek.

A cut on your forearm.

Nothing serious.

Just enough to sting.

Aaron disagreed.

“You need to sit down.”

“I’m fine.”

“Honey.”

“I’m fine.”

“Honey.”

You sighed.

Rossi immediately abandoned the area.

Smart man.

Morgan followed.

Even smarter.

Within seconds everyone had somehow found somewhere else to be.

Cowards.

Aaron guided you toward the SUV anyway.

Before you could protest, he lifted you onto the hood.

The metal was warm from the sun.

You crossed your arms.

He ignored your annoyance completely.

From the emergency kit he retrieved antiseptic wipes.

You groaned.

“Aaron.”

“Stay still.”

“Aaron.”

The look he gave you ended the argument instantly.

You stayed still.

His fingers were careful as he cleaned the cuts on your hands.

Far gentler than anyone would ever expect from Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner.

But this wasn’t Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner.

This was your husband.

The man who made your coffee every morning.

The man who stole your blankets.

The man who kissed your forehead whenever he thought you were asleep.

The man who worried.

A lot.

Especially where you were concerned.

You watched him work.

The concentration on his face.

The slight crease between his brows.

The rolled sleeves.

The tactical vest.

Honestly, it should have been illegal.

Aaron glanced up.

“You smiled.

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

You smiled wider.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“What’s funny?”

You shrugged.

“Nothing.”

“Honey.”

You laughed.

“I was just thinking you look good in that vest.”

For a second Aaron looked completely caught off guard.

Then Rossi’s laugh echoed from somewhere behind the vehicles.

Apparently he had heard that.

Wonderful.

Your husband sighed.

“You are unbelievable.”

“You married me.”

A fair point.

Aaron couldn’t argue with that.

—

The smile faded from his face as he cleaned another scrape.

His thumb brushed carefully against your wrist.

For a moment he was quiet.

Too quiet.

You recognized that look too.

“What?”

He continued working.

“Nothing.”

“Aaron.”

He finally met your eyes.

Seeing the concern there made your chest ache.

“When I saw you fall…” he began.

You softened immediately.

“Aaron—”

“It made me think.”

“About what?”

He leaned back slightly.

The afternoon sun painted warm gold across his features.

“About how we haven’t stopped.”

You frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“Our honeymoon feels like a lifetime ago.”

You couldn’t help smiling at the memory.

A week away from paperwork.

Away from profiling.

Away from serial killers.

Just you and Aaron.

Beach walks.

Late mornings.

Quiet dinners.

No phones.

No emergencies.

No FBI.

Just the two of you.

Aaron looked down at your injured hands.

“I miss that.”

The admission was surprisingly vulnerable.

You reached for his wrist.

His gaze lifted.

“We could do it again.”

His eyebrow rose.

“Our honeymoon?”

“Why not?”

A small laugh escaped him.

“That’s not usually how honeymoons work.”

“It does if we’re us.”

That earned an actual smile.

A rare one.

The kind reserved only for people he loved.

Your heart did that annoying thing it always did whenever he looked at you like that.

“You want another vacation?”

“I want my husband.”

Aaron’s expression softened immediately.

The noise of the team faded into the background.

The world suddenly felt smaller.

Quieter.

Just the two of you.

“You have me, sweetheart.”

You squeezed his hand.

“Not enough.”

His thumb brushed over your knuckles.

The affection in his eyes was almost overwhelming.

“Then after this paperwork is finished,” he said quietly, “we’ll disappear for a week.”

Your grin was instant.

“A whole week?”

“A whole week.”

“No cases?”

“No cases.”

“No phones?”

His mouth twitched.

“Let’s not get unreasonable.”

You laughed.

Aaron finally finished cleaning the last scrape and stepped between your knees.

His hands settled gently at your hips.

“You scared me today.”

The confession was barely above a whisper.

You wrapped your arms around his neck.

“I’m okay.”

“I know.”

“But?”

Aaron rested his forehead against yours.

“But I love you.”

Simple.

Direct.

Entirely Aaron Hotchner.

Your chest tightened.

After all these months, hearing it still felt special.

Still felt rare.

Still felt like a gift.

“I love you too.”

Behind you, somebody made exaggerated gagging noises.

Morgan.

Obviously.

Neither of you moved.

Neither of you cared.

Because for the first time all week, the case was over.

The unsub was in custody.

The team was safe.

And your husband was standing right in front of you, looking at you like you were the only person in the world.

Honestly?

That was better than any honeymoon.

[alicewritezz]

Husband and Wife - Aaron Hotchner

word count: 1211

summary: working alongside Aaron Hotchner at the BAU means most people have no idea you’re married. But when a local detective starts taking a little too much interest in you during an out-of-state case, Aaron’s patience begins to wear thin— until he finally decides to make your relationship impossible for anyone to misunderstand

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

authors note: I hope you enjoy. Your support for my writing is very much appreciated 🥰💗💗

The thing about working at the BAU with your husband is that people rarely realize you’re married.

Part of it is Aaron.

Aaron Hotchner isn’t exactly the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. He doesn’t hover around you, doesn’t sneak kisses in hallways, doesn’t drape an arm around your shoulders during briefings. To everyone else, he’s Unit Chief first and husband second.

To you, though?

He’s the man who brings you coffee exactly how you like it before every flight. The man who always notices when you’re tired. The man who calls you sweetheart in a voice so soft nobody would ever believe it came from the same person who can stare down serial killers without blinking.

The other part is you.

You keep things professional. You don’t want your marriage becoming office gossip, and honestly, the team respects that.

Morgan knows.

Garcia definitely knows.

Reid figured it out three years ago because he noticed Aaron unconsciously turns toward you whenever someone raises their voice.

The rest of the world?

Not so much.

Which is exactly how you find yourself in the middle of a homicide investigation in Colorado with a problem neither of you expected.

His name is Detective Ryan Walker.

And Detective Ryan Walker has decided he likes you.

A lot.

The first time Aaron notices it, he says nothing.

You’re standing at the local precinct reviewing victim files when Walker appears beside your desk.

“Need anything?” he asks.

You smile politely. “Just the autopsy reports.”

“I can get those.”

Aaron looks up from across the room.

Walker stays.

For twenty minutes.

Talking.

Laughing.

Asking questions.

Aaron tells himself he’s imagining things.

Then Walker starts finding excuses to be around you.

Every briefing.

Every crime scene.

Every witness interview.

If you’re there, somehow Detective Walker is there too.

You notice it eventually.

Mostly because Morgan notices it.

“Oh, he’s got it bad,” Morgan says while the two of you wait for coffee.

You nearly choke.

“What?”

Morgan grins.

“The detective.”

“He does not.”

“He absolutely does.”

“No.”

“Baby girl, yes.”

You roll your eyes.

But then Walker appears from nowhere holding your coffee.

Your coffee.

The exact one you’d ordered.

Morgan doesn’t even try to hide his laughter.

“See?”

You groan.

Unfortunately, Aaron sees it too.

And Aaron is handling it… poorly.

Well.

Poorly for Aaron.

Which means nobody else notices.

Except you.

You notice the slight tightening of his jaw whenever Walker stands too close.

You notice the way Aaron’s answers become shorter whenever the detective directs questions toward you.

You notice the glare.

God.

The glare.

Walker seems completely oblivious to the fact that your husband is staring at him like he’s considering several felony-level solutions.

One night, after fourteen straight hours on the case, you finally find Aaron alone in the conference room.

He’s reviewing geographical profiles.

You close the door behind you.

His eyes lift immediately.

The tension in his face softens.

Just a little.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

You walk over and sit beside him.

For a moment neither of you speaks.

Then you reach for his hand under the table.

His fingers immediately lace with yours.

“You’re jealous.”

Aaron stares at the case file.

“No.”

You laugh.

“Aaron.”

“No.”

“Aaron.”

His expression remains perfectly serious.

“He’s a local detective.”

“Who flirts with me.”

“He hasn’t actually said anything inappropriate.”

“He’s flirting.”

Aaron finally looks at you.

“He is.”

“There it is.”

His jaw clenches.

You smile despite yourself.

“Aaron.”

“What?”

“I love you.”

His expression softens immediately.

Like magic.

Like it always does.

You squeeze his hand.

“I married you.”

“I know.”

“You’re the only person I want.”

A long silence follows.

Then:

“I know.”

You lean over and kiss his cheek.

The faintest hint of pink appears on the tips of his ears.

It’s adorable.

You never tell him that.

The case drags on for another four days.

Four very long days.

Four days of Walker appearing beside you every chance he gets.

Four days of Aaron pretending he isn’t bothered.

Four days of Morgan looking increasingly entertained.

Then everything goes sideways.

The unsub takes a hostage.

A chase follows.

Hours pass.

Nobody sleeps.

Everyone’s exhausted.

And by the time the case finally ends, every nerve in Aaron’s body is stretched dangerously thin.

The arrest happens just before midnight.

The team gathers outside the precinct while paperwork gets finalized.

Everyone’s tired.

Everyone’s relieved.

You lean against a patrol car while waiting for Aaron.

Walker approaches.

Again.

At this point you’re almost impressed by his dedication.

“Looks like we’re done here.”

“Looks like it.”

He smiles.

“I was thinking maybe before you leave town—”

You already know where this is going.

“Oh.”

“Maybe dinner?”

Your heart sinks.

Not because you’re interested.

Quite the opposite.

You actually feel bad for him.

Because standing twenty feet away is Aaron Hotchner.

And Aaron has definitely heard that.

Every.

Single.

Word.

You open your mouth.

“Aaron and I—”

Before you can finish, a familiar voice cuts through the night.

“Detective.”

Walker turns.

Aaron walks toward you.

Slowly.

Calmly.

Looking every bit like the Unit Chief everyone fears.

Except his eyes are fixed entirely on you.

The detective straightens.

“Aaron.”

Aaron doesn’t answer him.

Instead he stops directly in front of you.

Close enough that your heart immediately starts racing.

His gaze drops to yours.

For a second, the world seems to disappear.

Then Aaron reaches up and gently brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.

The gesture is unexpectedly intimate.

Your breath catches.

The detective looks confused.

Morgan, somewhere in the background, starts grinning.

Aaron never takes his eyes off you.

“You ready to go home, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart.

Oh.

Oh, no.

The detective freezes.

You feel your lips twitch.

Aaron’s hand settles against your waist.

Possessive.

Certain.

Completely unbothered by the audience.

And suddenly Walker understands.

His eyes widen.

“Oh.”

You almost laugh.

Aaron finally glances at him.

The look he gives the detective is perfectly polite.

Which somehow makes it worse.

“My wife and I have an early flight.”

The silence that follows is spectacular.

Walker blinks.

“Wife?”

“Yes.”

Aaron’s arm tightens slightly around your waist.

Not enough to hurt.

Just enough to remind everyone exactly where he stands.

And where you stand too.

The detective immediately looks horrified.

“Oh my God.”

Morgan actually snorts.

“I didn’t know.”

“So I’ve gathered.”

You bury your face against Aaron’s shoulder to hide your smile.

Walker mutters several apologies before practically fleeing the scene.

The second he’s gone, the team loses it.

Morgan is laughing.

Garcia is cackling over speakerphone.

Even Emily looks amused.

Aaron ignores all of them.

“Let’s go.”

You look up at him.

“Feel better?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“No.”

You raise an eyebrow.

Aaron’s mouth twitches.

Just slightly.

Then he leans down and presses a quick kiss to your forehead.

Right in front of everyone.

A collective chorus of shocked noises erupts from the team.

Aaron doesn’t care.

For once, he genuinely doesn’t care.

His hand finds yours.

And when he looks at you, all the jealousy and frustration from the last week has vanished.

Replaced by something much softer.

Something that belongs only to the two of you.

“Come on, sweetheart.”

You smile.

“Home?”

His expression finally breaks into a rare, genuine smile.

“Home.”

[alicewritezz]

Vacation - Aaron Hotchner

word count: 1165

summary: after weeks of back-to-back cases, exhaustion is written all over you— and Aaron Hotchner notices. When a relaxing dinner at Rossi’s confirms his fears, your husband takes matters into his to his own hands with a surprise getaway designed to remind you how it feels to simply breathe and relax again

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

authors note: haven’t updated in daysss.. because writers block sucks and I’ve also been really busy with work. So if there’s anyone out there with any ideas, please help me 🙏 alsoo, I hope you enjoy reading this one! 💗💗

The first thing Aaron notices is that you’re rubbing the back of your neck again.

Not absentmindedly, either.

It’s the slow, exhausted kind of movement that comes from days of too little sleep, too much coffee, and one case bleeding straight into the next before you’ve had time to breathe.

The BAU has been running nonstop for almost three weeks.

A kidnapping in Ohio.

A spree killer in Colorado.

A family annihilator in Virginia.

By the time the jet touches down after the latest case, everyone is running on fumes.

Even you.

Especially you.

Aaron watches from across the aisle as you stare blankly out the window, your FBI jacket folded in your lap. Your eyes are heavy. Your shoulders are tight.

You don’t even notice him looking.

His chest aches.

Because he knows you.

He knows every version of you.

The one who laughs so hard you snort when Garcia sends ridiculous memes to the team.

The one who steals fries from his plate and pretends you didn’t.

The one who curls up beside him on the couch with a book after a long week.

And right now?

You’re none of those things.

You’re exhausted.

“Sweetheart.”

You blink and turn toward him.

“Hm?”

Aaron offers a small smile.

“We’re home.”

You glance around as if you’ve forgotten where you are.

“Right.”

The concern settles deeper in his chest.

—

Two nights later, Rossi insists on hosting dinner.

“Nobody is allowed to talk about serial killers,” he announces as everyone arrives. “Or paperwork. Or psychological profiling.”

Garcia points dramatically toward him.

“You’re taking away eighty percent of our personalities.”

Rossi laughs.

“Then discover the other twenty.”

The evening turns out exactly how everyone needs it to.

Wine flows.

Music plays softly through the house.

Emily and Morgan argue over some ridiculous story from years ago.

Garcia keeps stealing food from everyone’s plates.

JJ laughs harder than you’ve heard her laugh in months.

For a while, the tension eases.

For everyone except Aaron.

Because even as you’re smiling, he notices the little things.

The way you lean heavily against the kitchen counter.

The tired shadows beneath your eyes.

The way your smile fades whenever you think nobody is watching.

And Aaron is always watching.

Not in a profiler way.

In a husband way.

A deeply, hopelessly in-love husband way.

Later, while everyone is gathered around Rossi’s patio table, you sit beside him with a glass of wine cradled between your hands.

The evening air is cool.

Comfortable.

You seem calmer.

But still tired.

Aaron slides a hand onto your knee beneath the table.

Your fingers immediately find his.

A habit.

An instinct.

His favourite one.

“You okay?” he asks quietly.

You smile.

“Just tired.”

“That’s what you’ve been saying for weeks.”

Your expression softens.

“I know.”

Neither of you speaks for a moment.

The conversation around the table continues.

Morgan is teasing Reid.

Garcia is threatening violence.

Rossi is pretending not to enjoy the chaos.

Aaron squeezes your hand.

Then he says casually,

“Take next week off.”

You nearly choke on your wine.

“What?”

“Take next week off.”

“Aaron—”

“I’m serious.”

You stare at him.

“We have paperwork.”

“It’ll survive.”

“Cases.”

“We have a team.”

You narrow your eyes.

“What are you planning?”

The corner of his mouth twitches.

A dangerous sign.

For you, anyway.

Because whenever Aaron Hotchner gets that look, he’s already made up his mind.

“A vacation.”

You blink.

“A vacation?”

“Yes.”

“Those are real?”

He actually laughs.

A genuine laugh.

And the sound makes your heart do embarrassing things.

“Apparently.”

You stare.

Aaron simply sips his wine.

Calm

Collected.

As if he hasn’t just suggested something completely insane.

“Aaron.”

“Hm?”

“You hate vacations.”

“I don’t hate vacations.”

“You brought case files on our honeymoon.”

“I brought one case file.”

“You brought three.”

Aaron wisely decides not to argue.

—

Three days later, you’re standing beside him at a small lakeside cabin several states away from Virginia.

No phones ringing.

No briefing room.

No crime scenes.

No paperwork.

Just trees.

Water.

Quiet.

The kind of quiet you forgot existed.

You stand on the porch staring out across the lake.

A breeze brushes against your skin.

Somewhere nearby, birds chirp.

The water glitters beneath the afternoon sun.

And for the first time in weeks…

You feel your shoulders relax.

Aaron appears beside you carrying two mugs of coffee.

“Still think this was a bad idea?”

You take the mug.

“Ask me tomorrow.”

He smirks.

“Fair.”

The next few days pass slowly.

Wonderfully slowly.

You sleep in.

You read books.

You take long walks along the shoreline.

You spend entire afternoons doing absolutely nothing.

At first it feels strange.

Your brain keeps waiting for a phone call.

A case.

A crisis.

Something.

But nothing comes.

And gradually, you stop waiting.

Aaron notices before you do.

The tension leaves your shoulders.

The crease between your eyebrows disappears.

Your laughter comes easier.

Your smile becomes genuine again.

One evening you’re sitting together on the dock as the sun begins to set.

Your legs dangle over the edge.

The lake reflects streaks of gold and orange.

Beautiful.

Peaceful.

You lean your head against Aaron’s shoulder.

His arm settles around your waist.

For a long time, neither of you says anything.

You simply watch the sunset.

Eventually you glance up at him.

“Thank you.”

Aaron kisses the top of your head.

“For what?”

“For this.”

His gaze remains fixed on the water.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do.”

Aaron is quiet for a moment.

Then he turns slightly toward you.

The setting sun catches the softness in his eyes.

The expression only a handful of people ever get to see.

You.

Jack.

His family.

“Honey,” he says gently, “I don’t like seeing you exhausted.”

Your heart melts instantly.

“You worry too much.”

“I do.”

“At least you’re honest.”

Aaron smiles.

Then he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.

A touch so tender it steals your breath.

“I like seeing you like this.”

You tilt your head.

“Like what?”

“Happy.”

The answer comes so quickly that you know he didn’t have to think about it.

Not even for a second.

Aaron presses a kiss against your forehead.

Then another.

And another.

Until you’re laughing.

A real laugh.

Light and carefree.

The kind he hasn’t heard in weeks.

Aaron smiles against your skin.

Because that’s exactly why he brought you here.

Not for the lake.

Not for the cabin.

Not even for the vacation.

But for this.

For the sound of your laughter.

For the sight of you relaxed and smiling in his arms.

For the reminder that the world can wait for a little while.

And as the sun disappears beneath the horizon and Aaron pulls you closer against his side, you realize something.

Maybe rest isn’t a luxury.

Maybe it’s necessary.

And maybe being loved by Aaron Hotchner means having someone who notices when you’re carrying too much long before you’re willing to admit it yourself.

[alicewritezz]

Lost and Found - Aaron Hotchner

word count: 1019

summary: after losing your engagement ring during a particularly exhausting case, you’re determined to find the symbol of one of the happiest moments of your life. As the search leaves you increasingly distraught, Aaron reminds you that his love was never tied to a ring —but that doesn’t stop him from finding a way to make everything right

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

authors note: I am in desperate need of some ideas for more fics. I’m running out of things to write so any ideas or help would be much appreciated. Enjoy reading!! 💗💗

The case had been dragging on for four days.

Four long, exhausting days of too little sleep, too much coffee, and leads that seemed to disappear the second they appeared. The bullpen felt heavier than usual, the fluorescent lights harsher, the air thick with frustration and fatigue.

You were tired.

Everyone was.

But right now, the serial offender currently consuming the BAU’s attention wasn’t what occupied your mind.

It was your left hand.

Or rather, what was missing from it.

Your engagement ring.

The plain gold wedding band still sat securely on your finger, but the diamond ring Aaron had slipped onto your hand years ago was gone.

Gone.

You’d noticed it halfway through reviewing witness statements.

One glance down.

One second of confusion.

Then panic.

You had searched your desk three times. Your go-bag twice. Every pocket in every jacket you owned.

Nothing.

The ring was simply gone.

And the longer it stayed missing, the worse you felt.

Because it wasn’t about the diamond.

It never had been.

It was about that night.

Aaron standing in your apartment doorway looking more nervous than you’d ever seen him.

The tiny velvet box.

His rare, beautiful smile when you’d immediately burst into tears before he could even finish asking.

One of the happiest moments of your life.

And now the ring that represented it had vanished.

You were staring at your bare finger again when a familiar voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Honey.”

You looked up.

Aaron stood beside your desk, tie slightly loosened, exhaustion visible around his eyes.

Still handsome.

Still steady.

Still Aaron.

“You haven’t eaten.”

You sighed.

“I’m not hungry.”

His eyebrow lifted.

“You skipped breakfast too.”

“I’ll survive.”

“No,” he said simply. “You won’t function.”

Despite everything, a tiny smile pulled at your lips.

Aaron reached down and squeezed your shoulder.

Only then did his gaze flick toward your hand.

His expression softened immediately.

The missing ring hadn’t escaped his notice.

Of course it hadn’t.

“I’m still looking,” you said quietly.

“I know.”

“What if it’s gone?”

“It isn’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

The certainty in his voice made you blink.

Aaron crouched beside your chair.

The position felt oddly intimate in the middle of the busy bullpen.

“Honey,” he said gently, “if the ring is lost, we’ll deal with it.”

You shook your head.

“It’s not the same.”

His thumb brushed across your knuckles.

“I know.”

Your throat tightened.

“It was the ring.”

“The ring isn’t why I proposed.”

You laughed weakly.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.”

His eyes softened further.

“But that moment didn’t disappear because a piece of jewelry did.”

The words should have comforted you.

Instead they nearly made you cry.

Aaron noticed immediately.

Because he always noticed.

His hand tightened around yours.

“We’ll find it.”

You nodded.

You wanted to believe him.

You really did.

⸻

Another twelve hours passed.

The team finally caught a break in the case.

A witness came forward.

A location was identified.

The unsub was arrested before midnight.

Everyone should have felt relieved.

Instead, exhaustion settled over the team like a blanket.

You barely remembered getting back to Quantico.

The bullpen was nearly empty when you dropped into your chair.

Your engagement ring was still missing.

And now that the case was over, you had nothing distracting you from it.

You rested your forehead against the desk.

Maybe it was really gone.

Maybe—

“Honey?”

Aaron’s voice echoed from somewhere nearby.

You lifted your head.

“What?”

“Come here.”

His tone was strange.

You frowned and stood.

Aaron was kneeling beside one of the conference room chairs.

For a terrifying second, your brain assumed the worst.

Then you saw what he was holding.

A diamond ring.

Your diamond ring.

Your breath caught.

“Oh my God.”

Aaron smiled.

A real smile.

The kind that rarely appeared at work.

“It fell between the cushions.”

You stared.

“What?”

“Conference room chair.”

You rushed forward.

“You’re kidding.”

“I checked while everyone was finishing paperwork.”

You nearly snatched it from his hand.

Relief flooded through you so fast it made your eyes sting.

“You found it.”

“I found it.”

You laughed.

Then immediately burst into tears.

Which only made you laugh harder.

Aaron stood and wrapped his arms around you without hesitation.

The bullpen was empty enough that neither of you cared.

You buried your face against his shoulder.

“I thought it was gone.”

“I know.”

“I was so upset.”

“I know that too.”

You pulled back enough to look at him.

The ring sparkled under the fluorescent lights.

Perfect.

Safe.

Home.

Aaron gently took your hand and slid it back onto your finger.

Exactly where it belonged.

The motion felt strangely familiar.

Like a memory repeating itself.

For a moment, you were standing in that apartment again.

Seeing that nervous smile.

Hearing the question.

Feeling your heart race.

When the ring settled into place, Aaron pressed a kiss against your forehead.

“There.”

You smiled.

“There.”

His gaze lingered on your hand.

Then he looked back at you.

“You know,” he said, “if we’d never found it, it wouldn’t have mattered,” he pauses, “because I’m still married to you.”

You laughed.

“Good thing.”

A hint of amusement flickered across his face.

“Sweetheart, I would’ve married you if I’d proposed with a paper clip.”

The laugh that escaped you echoed through the room.

Aaron looked pleased with himself.

Which somehow made it funnier.

You reached for his hand.

His fingers immediately intertwined with yours.

The engagement ring felt comforting against your skin once more.

But as Aaron squeezed your hand and guided you toward the elevator, you realized something.

The ring mattered.

Of course it did.

It held memories.

Promises.

Love.

But it had never been the most important part.

The most important part was the man walking beside you.

The one who never stopped searching.

Never stopped caring.

Never stopped calling you honey and sweetheart with that quiet affection that made your heart flutter every single time.

And judging by the small smile Aaron sent your way as the elevator doors closed, he wasn’t planning to stop anytime soon.

[alicewritezz]

Us and Them - Aaron Hotchner

word count: 1125

summary: while hunting an unsub out of state, you’re injured during a raid, forcing Aaron Hotchner to confront how close he came to losing you. When you wake up in the hospital, he abandons his carefully planned proposal and asks you to marry him right then and there

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

authors note: I’m away for a few days this week so unfortunately won’t be able to upload or publish anything but I will be writing ready to upload once I’m home. And if you have any ideas they would be much appreciated! 💗💗

The hotel room in Richmond, Virginia smells like stale coffee, gun oil, and exhaustion.

Very BAU.

You’re sitting cross-legged on one of the beds, your laptop balanced on your thighs as you scroll through victimology reports for what feels like the hundredth time. Three women abducted in ten days. Two recovered bodies. One still missing. The unsub is escalating, and everyone feels it.

Across the room, Aaron Hotchner stands near the mirror, adjusting the black FBI vest over his white dress shirt; his tie still somehow perfectly straight despite the fact that none of you have slept in nearly thirty hours.

And somehow, unfairly, he still looks devastating.

He catches you staring in the mirror.

One brow lifts.

“See something you like, sweetheart?”

You nearly choke on your coffee.

“You’re aware we’re hunting a serial killer right now, right?”

Hotch turns toward you fully, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips—that rare expression you guard like treasure because almost no one else gets to see it.

“I’m aware,” he says calmly. “I’m also aware that you’ve been staring at me for the last thirty seconds.”

“I was profiling.”

“Of course.”

You narrow your eyes. “I can absolutely still embarrass you in front of the team.”

His smirk grows.

“I’d love to see you try, honey.”

Your heart does the same stupid little flip it’s been doing for two years.

Two years of secret smiles over case files.

Two years of stolen kisses in empty conference rooms.

Two years of carefully keeping your relationship private from the team—

which lasted all of three months because Penelope Garcia noticed everything.

Apparently sneaking longing glances at your unit chief was not as subtle as you thought.

Your phone rings before you can fire back a response.

Hotch’s expression shifts instantly back into work mode.

“Go.”

You answer.

Morgan’s voice comes through sharp and urgent.

“We got a location. Reid found a property tied to the unsub’s father. Rural farmland twenty minutes outside the city.”

You’re already standing.

“Is SWAT moving?”

“They’re en route. We’re moving now.”

Hotch grabs his weapon.

And just like that, the softness disappears.

This is what the two of you do.

Love each other quietly.

Run toward monsters loudly.

—

The farmhouse looks abandoned.

Paint peeling.

Windows boarded.

Too quiet.

You and Hotch move side by side toward the back entrance while Morgan and Prentiss circle the perimeter. Local police stack behind you.

Hotch glances at you.

“You stay behind me.”

You give him a look.

“We’ve had this conversation.”

“And I keep having it because you never listen.”

“Because I’m an FBI agent.”

“You’re also my favorite person.”

Your breath catches.

He says things like that so casually sometimes, as if he doesn’t realize the effect they have on you.

Then—

A scream.

Female.

Inside.

Everyone moves.

Hotch kicks in the back door.

Chaos erupts.

An unsub bolts from the hallway.

Gunfire explodes.

You move toward the scream while Hotch tackles the unsub.

Then pain.

White-hot and blinding.

You collapse.

The world tilts sideways.

Someone is screaming your name.

No—

not screaming.

Hotch.

You’ve never heard his voice sound like that before.

Panicked.

Terrified.

He’s suddenly above you, dropping to his knees.

There’s blood.

Too much blood.

Your blood.

“It’s okay,” you whisper weakly.

His hands shake as he presses pressure against your side.

“No,” he says harshly. “No, honey, stay with me.”

You try to smile.

“Still bossy.”

His eyes are glassy.

And then, to your complete shock—

he laughs.

A broken, disbelieving laugh mixed with tears.

“Please don’t do this right now.”

“You’re ruining my dramatic exit.”

“You are not dying.”

His voice leaves no room for argument.

“You hear me? You are absolutely not dying.”

The EMTs arrive.

Everything blurs.

The last thing you remember before blacking out is Hotch kissing your forehead and whispering—

“I need you to come back to me.”

—

When you wake up in the hospital, your entire body feels like it got hit by a truck.

Garcia is crying.

Morgan looks stressed.

JJ hugs you so carefully you nearly cry yourself.

Reid awkwardly informs you that statistically your recovery outlook is “extremely favorable.”

Prentiss tells him to stop talking.

It feels normal.

Comforting.

Family.

But Hotch isn’t there.

Your chest tightens.

“Where is he?”

The room goes suspiciously quiet.

Then Garcia smiles.

Oh no.

“What did you all do?”

Morgan grins.

“Not us.”

The door opens.

And there he is.

Aaron.

Still in his suit.

Tie gone.

Exhaustion written all over him.

But his eyes immediately soften when they land on you.

The team begins filing out far too quickly.

Garcia whispers, “Oh my God this is happening.”

Prentiss physically drags her out.

The door closes.

Silence.

Hotch walks toward your bed.

“Aaron?”

He reaches into his pocket.

And suddenly your brain completely stops functioning.

Because—

that is very clearly a ring box.

“What are you doing?” you whisper.

He kneels beside your hospital bed.

Aaron Hotchner—who never acts without certainty—looks emotional enough to completely fall apart.

“When I thought I lost you…” his voice breaks.

You start crying instantly.

He laughs softly through his own tears.

“I had a better plan than this.”

“You planned this?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Three months ago.”

Your jaw drops.

“Three—”

“I was waiting for the right time.”

He gently takes your hand.

“But then I saw you lying on that floor, and I realized there will never be a perfect time.”

He opens the box.

The ring is stunning.

But not nearly as stunning as the man holding it.

“You make impossible things feel safe,” he whispers. “You make dark days feel survivable.”

Your tears won’t stop.

“I love you. More than I ever thought I could love someone.”

He presses a trembling kiss to your knuckles.

“So honey…”

That tiny smile appears.

The one meant only for you.

“Will you marry me?”

You’re fully sobbing now.

“Yes.”

His entire face crumples with relief.

“Yes?”

“Yes!”

He slides the ring onto your finger before kissing you like he’s been waiting forever.

Soft.

Desperate.

Adoring.

When the door bursts open—

the entire team had absolutely been listening.

Garcia is openly weeping.

Morgan yells, “FINALLY.”

Reid looks confused about why everyone is crying.

Prentiss throws her hands in the air.

JJ is recording everything.

Hotch groans into your shoulder.

“They’re all fired.”

You laugh against his lips.

“No they’re not.”

He kisses you again.

“No,” he murmurs. “Probably not.”

He rests his forehead against yours.

And for the first time in your life—

after all the darkness.

After all the violence.

After every terrible case—

forever feels possible.

And it looks a lot like Aaron Hotchner calling you honey for the rest of your life.

[alicewritezz]

Quarter-zip — Aaron Hotchner

word count: 1110

summary: you spend an entire case teasing Aaron Hotchner about his quarter-zips— until he gives you his during a freezing stakeout and it feels like warmth, safety and home. then the case goes wrong, you’re injured, and hotch confesses he loves you. you end up stealing his sweaters forever.

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

authors note: I think this is my favourite piece I’ve written to date! I hope you enjoy reading & please if you have any idea you’d like to see come to life, don’t hesitate to ask or share 💗💗

The motel room smelled faintly like burnt coffee and old carpet, and at two in the morning, everyone on the team looked equally exhausted.

Even Aaron Hotchner.

Though somehow, he still looked unfairly put together.

Tie loosened. Sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. Hair slightly mussed from him running a hand through it every twenty minutes.

And, unfortunately for your own sanity, he was wearing that grey quarter-zip.

Your mortal enemy.

You leaned against the table in the makeshift command center, sipping coffee that tasted like regret as you narrowed your eyes at him.

“That sweatshirt again?”

Hotch barely glanced up from the file in his hands. “Good morning to you too.”

“It’s two a.m.”

He nodded once. “And yet you found the energy to insult my clothing.”

Emily snorted from across the room.

Emily Prentiss looked up from her laptop. “I actually want to hear this.”

You gestured dramatically toward Hotch. “He owns suits worth more than my rent and insists on wearing that sad suburban dad quarter-zip every chance he gets.”

Derek Morgan laughed loud enough to echo. “She’s got a point, Hotch.”

“I’m choosing to ignore all of you.”

Spencer Reid adjusted his glasses. “Statistically speaking, repeated clothing preference often indicates emotional attachment to familiar objects.”

Hotch slowly looked at Reid.

Reid blinked. “I was trying to help.”

You grinned into your coffee. “Thank you, Reid.”

Hotch finally looked at you fully, and that was your first mistake.

Because his gaze softened in that way it only ever seemed to when it landed on you.

“Are you done, sweetheart?”

Your heart embarrassingly skipped.

You recovered quickly. “Never.”

His mouth twitched.

And somehow that tiny almost-smile felt more rewarding than winning an argument.

—

By four a.m., the jokes had stopped.

The unsub had changed patterns.

What was supposed to be a simple surveillance operation turned into a waiting game in freezing November rain.

You were stationed two blocks away from the suspect’s house with Hotch in an unmarked SUV while the rest of the team monitored comms.

Rain hammered against the windshield.

The heating system in the car had apparently given up on life thirty minutes ago.

And you were freezing.

“Tell me again why serial killers can’t operate exclusively in Florida?” you muttered through chattering teeth.

Hotch glanced over from the driver’s seat.

“You’re cold.”

“I’m fantastic.”

“You’re shivering.”

“I’m doing it professionally.”

He sighed quietly before reaching into the back seat.

You frowned as he pulled something familiar into view.

The quarter-zip.

You stared at it like it had personally offended you.

“No.”

“Put it on.”

“I would rather freeze.”

His eyebrow lifted.

“You’re being dramatic.”

“You love that sweatshirt more than life itself.”

“That’s not true.”

“You’ve worn it on six cases.”

“Seven.”

You blinked.

“You counted?”

His expression shifted—just enough to make your stomach flip.

“I notice things about you too.”

The air suddenly felt far too thin.

Rain continued tapping softly against the windows.

Then he held the sweatshirt out again.

“Honey.”

Your entire body short-circuited at the softness in his voice.

“Put it on.”

This time, you took it.

The material was warm from his body heat.

You hesitated before pulling it over your head.

And then—

Oh.

Oh.

It smelled like him.

Clean cologne.

Laundry detergent.

Coffee.

Something distinctly Aaron.

The sleeves swallowed your hands.

The warmth wrapped around you instantly.

And for reasons you absolutely refused to examine too deeply right now—it made your chest ache.

It felt safe.

It felt warm.

It felt like standing in his kitchen at midnight.

Like quiet conversations after difficult cases.

Like the way he always checked that you’d eaten.

Like the softness in his eyes when he thought you weren’t looking.

It felt like home.

Your teasing vanished completely.

Hotch noticed immediately.

“You’re quiet.”

You looked down at yourself.

“I get it now.”

His lips twitched. “Get what?”

“Why you wear this thing.”

He leaned slightly closer. “And?”

Your voice softened.

“It feels like you.”

His expression completely changed.

Gone was the stoic unit chief.

Gone was the carefully controlled professional mask.

Now he looked at you like you’d said something devastatingly honest.

Before either of you could say anything—

A gunshot cracked through the night.

“Shots fired!” Morgan yelled over comms.

Everything exploded into motion.

Hotch threw the SUV into drive.

Your suspect bolted from the house toward a back alley.

You and Hotch pursued on foot through slick pavement and pouring rain.

“FBI!” Hotch shouted.

The unsub turned.

Another gunshot rang out.

Pain exploded through your shoulder.

You hit the ground hard.

Everything blurred.

Someone screamed your name.

No—

Not someone.

Hotch.

The unsub was tackled by Morgan seconds later.

But all you could focus on was Hotch dropping to his knees beside you.

His hands pressed desperately against your shoulder.

His face looked pale with panic.

“Stay with me.”

“I’m okay,” you whispered weakly.

“You were shot.”

“Well when you say it like that—”

“Honey.”

His voice cracked.

And that terrified you more than the bullet wound.

Rain soaked both of you.

Blood mixed with water beneath you.

His hands were shaking.

Jennifer Jareau was shouting for an ambulance somewhere behind him.

But Hotch only looked at you.

“You are not leaving me.”

Your breath caught.

“Aaron—”

His forehead pressed against yours for one trembling second.

And then he whispered words you’d waited years to hear.

“I love you.”

The world went silent.

Even through the pain, you smiled.

“Took you long enough.”

A wet laugh broke from him—half sob, half relief.

“You’re impossible.”

“And you dress like a retired gym teacher.”

He actually laughed this time.

Then kissed your forehead.

“Survive this,” he whispered.

“You can make fun of my quarter-zips for the rest of our lives.”

—

Three weeks later, you stood in Aaron’s apartment wearing another one of his quarter-zips.

This one navy blue.

He walked into the kitchen and stopped cold.

“You stole it.”

You looked down innocently. “This old thing?”

“That’s mine.”

“Mhm.”

He crossed the room slowly.

His hands settled on your waist.

“You used to mock these relentlessly.”

You smiled up at him.

“I was young and foolish.”

“You mocked me last month.”

“Growth is a beautiful thing.”

He laughed softly before kissing you—slow, warm, familiar.

Home.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours.

“You keeping it?”

You tugged the sleeves over your hands.

“Absolutely.”

He smiled in that rare, breathtaking way that still made your heart stutter.

“Keep it, sweetheart.”

And wrapped in his sweatshirt, his arms, and his love—

you realized you already had everything you’d ever wanted.

[alicewritezz]

Closer to Forever - Aaron Hotchner

word count: 1032

summary: after a case goes wrong and you’re injured protecting Aaron Hotchner, the reality of how dangerous life in the BAU truly is finally catches up with both of you

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

authors note: as I keep saying, it’s been a while since I’ve properly wrote anything so please be nice, I hope you enjoy reading & please if you have any ideas for future writings, then send them my way 💗💗

The safe house smelled like antiseptic and burnt coffee.

You sat on the edge of the narrow hospital bed in the temporary FBI medical unit, fingers trembling around a paper cup you hadn’t actually drunk from in over ten minutes. Outside the closed curtain, agents moved back and forth in hushed voices, radios crackling occasionally through the quiet.

Aaron sat beside you with his sleeves rolled up and dried blood still staining the cuff of his white shirt.

Your blood.

Every few seconds his eyes flicked back to the bandage wrapped around your ribs like he still expected to see it soaking through again.

“Aaron—”

“You should’ve stayed behind the barricade.”

His voice was low. Controlled. Too controlled.

You knew that tone. It was the same one he used in interrogation rooms when he was trying not to let emotion interfere with his judgment.

You leaned back carefully against the pillows. “The unsub had a gun pointed at you.”

“And you stepped in front of me.”

“You would’ve done the same thing.”

“That’s not the point.”

His jaw tightened sharply, dark eyes fixed on the floor now. You watched the muscle feather in his cheek, the barely restrained anger that wasn’t really anger at all.

Fear looked strange on Aaron Hotchner.

Quiet. Precise. Terrifying.

The doctor had said the bullet only grazed you. A few inches over and it would’ve punctured a lung.

A few inches.

You swallowed hard at the memory of Aaron dropping to his knees beside you on the warehouse floor, one hand pressing desperately against your side while he barked orders into his radio with the other.

“Stay with me, sweetheart.”

You’d never heard his voice shake before today.

Now, sitting here hours later, he still hadn’t fully let go of your hand.

His thumb moved absently over your knuckles as he stared ahead.

“We should postpone it,” he said suddenly.

Your stomach dropped.

“The wedding?”

“You almost died.”

“That’s exactly why we shouldn’t postpone it.”

Finally he looked at you.

There it was again — that raw fear hidden underneath all the discipline and professionalism. Aaron always carried himself like a man impossible to rattle, but you knew him better than anyone now.

You knew how deeply he loved.

And how deeply he feared losing people because of it.

“Aaron,” you said softly, squeezing his hand, “I’m okay.”

“You were bleeding out in my arms.”

The words came out rougher than he intended.

You saw him glance away immediately after, composure slipping for only a second.

The room fell quiet.

Outside, thunder rolled somewhere beyond the city skyline, rain tapping softly against the windows.

You reached up carefully, brushing your fingers against the back of his hand.

“Do you know what I thought when I hit the ground?” you asked.

His eyes lifted reluctantly.

“I thought I wasn’t going to get to marry you.”

His expression cracked.

Barely. But enough.

Enough for you to see it.

Aaron exhaled slowly through his nose and leaned forward, elbows braced against his knees. For a moment he just sat there with your joined hands hanging between you.

Then, quieter:

“I already lost one marriage to this job.”

Your chest tightened instantly.

He rarely spoke about Haley in moments like this. Not because he didn’t love her once — but because the grief surrounding it still lived somewhere deep inside him.

“You’re not going to lose me,” you whispered.

“You can’t promise that.”

“No,” you admitted. “But neither can you.”

That hit him.

You saw it in the way his shoulders sagged slightly.

For two profilers, neither of you were particularly good at lying to each other anymore.

The job was dangerous. It always would be. There would always be guns and unsubs and late-night phone calls and the possibility that one of you wouldn’t come home.

That was the truth of loving someone in the BAU.

Aaron stood abruptly then, pacing two slow steps away before stopping with his hands on his hips. His tie had long since disappeared, hair slightly disheveled from running his fingers through it all evening.

God, you loved him.

Even now.

Especially now.

“You know what Garcia said to me?” you asked gently.

He glanced back over his shoulder. “What?”

“She said if this didn’t convince us to stop dragging our feet with wedding planning, she was personally going to kidnap us and force a courthouse ceremony.”

To your relief, the corner of his mouth twitched faintly.

“A threat she’s probably capable of carrying out.”

“Absolutely.”

A small silence followed.

Then Aaron looked at you fully again.

Not Unit Chief Hotchner.

Not the profiler.

Just your Aaron.

The man who made you coffee every morning because he remembered exactly how much sugar you liked. The man who kissed your forehead absentmindedly while reading case files. The man who called you honey or sweetheart so often it had stopped sounding like a nickname and started sounding like your real name.

He crossed back toward you slowly.

When he spoke this time, his voice was softer than you’d heard it in weeks.

“How quickly do you think they could put together a ceremony?”

You blinked. “What?”

“If we moved it forward.”

Your heart skipped.

“Aaron…”

“I’m serious.”

He sat carefully beside you again, one hand coming up to cradle your jaw gently, thumb brushing your cheekbone.

“I don’t want to wait another year,” he murmured. “Or six months. Or even another few weeks if I can help it.”

Emotion clogged suddenly in your throat.

“You want to elope?”

“I want to marry you before this job gets another chance to scare the hell out of me.”

You laughed softly through sudden tears.

“That’s possibly the least romantic proposal update ever.”

A tiny smile finally appeared.

“It’s honest.”

“That’s very you.”

His forehead rested lightly against yours.

For a long moment neither of you spoke.

The rain continued outside. The bullpen noise faded somewhere down the hall. Everything narrowed until it was just him holding you carefully like you were something precious.

Something he refused to lose.

“You know,” you whispered, “I’d marry you tomorrow if you asked.”

Aaron’s eyes met yours immediately.

“Honey,” he said quietly, “I’m asking.”

[alicewritezz]

Honey - Aaron Hotchner

word count: 1207

summary: between long nights, teasing teammates, and a case that turns deadly fast, Hotch’s carefully controlled walls begin to crack—especially when he comes dangerously close to losing you

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

authors note: it’s been a while (years) since I’ve wrote anything, so please be nice & I hope you enjoy reading 💗💗

The jet hums softly beneath your feet as rain streaks across the small oval windows, blurring the city lights below into gold smears against black sky.

You’re halfway through a file when you feel him looking at you.

You don’t glance up immediately—you’ve worked with Aaron Hotchner long enough to know the weight of his stare. It isn’t uncomfortable. It never is. It’s warm in a way he rarely allows himself to be.

When you finally lift your head, one brow arches.

“What?”

Across from you, Hotch’s mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile.

“You’ve read the same paragraph three times.”

From beside him, Derek Morgan snorts loudly. “Man notices everything except when someone steals his last cup of coffee.”

“That was one time,” Spencer Reid mutters from his seat, not looking up from his book.

“You stole my coffee?” Morgan asks.

Reid blinks. “Statistically speaking, you were not drinking it fast enough.”

You laugh quietly, shaking your head as Hotch’s expression softens at the sound.

That alone earns several knowing glances from the team.

Your relationship with Hotch had started in secret.

Not because either of you were ashamed.

But because dating your unit chief in the BAU came with complications neither of you wanted distracting from the job. You’d spent nearly a year pretending lingering touches meant nothing. Pretending late-night paperwork sessions didn’t always end with his hand resting on the small of your back. Pretending that the way he looked at you after difficult cases was purely professional concern.

That ended six months ago when Jennifer Jareau walked into Hotch’s office to find you sitting on his desk while he kissed you like he’d been starving.

JJ had simply backed out and shut the door.

Then returned ten seconds later to ask if you’d both still be attending the profile meeting.

Now?

The team tolerated the two of you with endless amusement.

Except David Rossi, who seemed to enjoy offering relationship advice neither of you asked for.

“You should sleep,” Hotch says quietly now.

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve been awake for twenty-one hours.”

You narrow your eyes. “Have you been counting?”

“I always count when it concerns you.”

Your heartbeat stutters embarrassingly hard.

Morgan groans dramatically. “I am begging you two to stop being cute in confined spaces.”

Hotch doesn’t even blink. “No.”

You grin and return to your file.

The case waiting for you in Chicago is ugly.

Three women abducted.

Two returned dead.

One still missing.

By the time the team lands, tension settles over all of you like a second skin.

The local police brief you quickly. The unsub is escalating. The latest victim has been missing for less than twelve hours, which means time is rapidly running out.

Hotch shifts seamlessly into unit chief mode.

Sharp.

Controlled.

Commanding.

You’ve always admired how quickly he can compartmentalize.

He assigns tasks with practiced precision.

“Morgan, Reid—geographical profile.”

“JJ, media.”

“Rossi, work victimology.”

Then his eyes find yours.

“Y/L/N, with me.”

Your stomach flips despite yourself.

Even after all this time.

Even standing in a room full of detectives.

Even while discussing murder.

Because that look in his eyes still feels intensely personal.

The two of you spend hours interviewing the latest victim’s family.

By midnight, exhaustion claws at your bones.

At the hotel, you barely make it into your room before kicking off your shoes and collapsing face-first onto the bed.

A soft knock comes minutes later.

You don’t move.

“It’s open,” you mumble into the mattress.

The door clicks shut.

Then his footsteps.

Slow. Familiar.

The bed dips beneath his weight.

Gentle fingers brush hair from your face.

“You didn’t eat dinner.”

You groan. “Please don’t start.”

“I brought you food.”

That gets your attention.

You lift your head enough to see him holding a paper bag.

“You’re incredible.”

“I’m practical.”

“You brought me fries.”

“I also brought you an actual meal.”

“Marry me.”

He goes very still.

Your exhaustion fades as panic immediately replaces it.

“Oh my God—I didn’t mean—Aaron—”

He sets the food aside.

Then reaches for your hand.

His expression is unreadable in that deeply Aaron Hotchner way that usually terrifies suspects and junior agents.

But his thumb strokes over your knuckles.

And his voice is impossibly soft.

“If that’s ever a real question…”

Your breath catches.

“Aaron…”

His jaw tightens.

“I can’t promise easy,” he says quietly. “This job won’t allow it. Some days I’ll be distant. Some days I’ll bring home things I can’t talk about.”

He leans closer.

“But I will love you with everything I have left.”

Tears sting your eyes instantly.

“That’s a very unfair thing to say when I look like roadkill.”

A small smile appears.

“You still look beautiful.”

You laugh through tears before pulling him into a kiss that feels like home.

Warm.

Slow.

Necessary.

The moment is shattered when his phone rings.

He pulls away with visible reluctance.

“It’s Garcia.”

“Of course it is.”

He answers.

Penelope Garcia practically shouts through the speaker.

“I FOUND YOUR CREEPY MURDER MAN.”

Within fifteen minutes, the team mobilises.

The unsub has the missing victim alive.

At an abandoned warehouse.

Everything moves fast after that.

SWAT.

Local police.

Hotch barking orders.

Your pulse pounds as you clear rooms.

Then—

A gunshot.

Pain explodes through your shoulder.

You hit the ground hard.

Somewhere nearby, Hotch is shouting your name.

No—

not your name.

Your surname.

Sharp. Panicked.

Professional.

Then suddenly he’s beside you.

And all professionalism disappears.

His hands press against your wound.

There’s blood everywhere.

Too much blood.

“Honey—stay with me.”

His voice shakes.

You’ve never heard that before.

Not from him.

“Aaron…”

“You do not get to leave me,” he says fiercely.

Your vision blurs.

“That sounded suspiciously like love.”

“It was.”

You manage a weak smile.

“Good.”

His forehead presses against yours for half a second—brief enough that no one could call it inappropriate.

Long enough to tell you everything.

Paramedics swarm.

The unsub is caught.

The victim survives.

And three days later, you wake in a hospital bed to find Hotch asleep in a chair beside you.

Still wearing the same suit jacket.

Tie loosened.

Hand wrapped tightly around yours.

You squeeze weakly.

His eyes snap open instantly.

Relief crashes over his face so powerfully it nearly breaks you.

“Hi,” you whisper.

He stands so fast the chair nearly tips over.

Then he’s leaning over you carefully, pressing a trembling kiss to your forehead.

“You scared me.”

“You look terrible.”

He huffs out something dangerously close to a laugh.

“You were shot.”

“And yet somehow you still look worse.”

That earns a real laugh.

Quiet and breathless.

Then his eyes grow serious again.

“When we get home…”

“Yeah?”

“We’re taking time off.”

You blink.

“Aaron Hotchner voluntarily taking vacation?”

“With you? Yes.”

You smile.

“And after that?”

His hand lifts to cradle your face.

“After that…” He presses a kiss to your lips. “I’m buying a ring.”

You stare at him.

Then grin despite the pain.

“Well.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“That was definitely a marriage proposal this time, honey.”

And for the first time in a long time—

Aaron Hotchner smiles like the world hasn’t tried to break him.

[alicewritezz]

Not So Selfish - Jack Sparrow

word count: 847

summary:Jack proves to you he isn’t the pirate you’ve heard about - and he proves it in true Jack Sparrow style

Jack Sparrow x Reader

authors note: it’s been a couple of years since I’ve wrote anything - so please be nice & I hope you enjoy 💗

You wake to the sound of waves slapping against wood and the unmistakable feeling that something has gone terribly wrong.

Your wrists are tied.

Your ankles are tied.

And when you open your eyes, the first thing you see is a pair of worn leather boots resting on a barrel directly in front of you.

“Well,” a familiar voice drawls above you, smooth as rum and twice as dangerous, “good news is you’re alive.”

You squint upward into the sunlight and immediately regret it.

Jack Sparrow grins down at you beneath the brim of his weathered tricorn hat, dark eyes glittering with amusement.

“The bad news,” he continues, crouching in front of you, “is you did try to fight me.”

You blink.

Memory crashes back all at once—port tavern, stolen map, heated argument, your dagger at his throat, his hand on your wrist—

Then absolutely nothing.

“You drugged me?”

Jack places a hand dramatically over his chest. “I prefer strategically encouraged unconsciousness, love; also known as rum.”

“You kidnapped me.”

He tilts his head. “Borrowed.”

“I hate you.”

“That’s becoming a bit of a pattern between us.”

He cuts your ropes anyway.

You immediately lunge for him.

He sidesteps effortlessly, and you crash into a pile of fishing nets while the crew howls with laughter.

“See?” Jack says. “This is why we had the ropes.”

You glare at him from the deck floor.

“What do you want?”

Jack’s expression shifts—not serious exactly, but quieter.

“You can read the map.”

Your stomach drops.

The map.

The one you spent years hiding because it doesn’t lead to treasure.

It leads to a place your father died trying to find—a hidden island said to grant one impossible wish.

And now Jack has it.

“You’re insane if you think I’m helping you.”

Jack kneels in front of you again, voice softer this time.

“Perhaps.” His gaze drifts over your face. “But I find myself in the unfortunate position of needing you, love.”

You hate how your pulse stutters.

—

Days at sea become unbearable for reasons that have very little to do with pirates.

Jack is infuriating.

He steals bites from your plate.

He appears behind you without warning.

He flirts shamelessly whenever you’re angry—which is often.

“Careful, love,” he murmurs one evening as you clean a cut on his cheek. “Keep looking at me like that and I’ll start thinking you care.”

“I’m imagining pushing you overboard.”

“Ah. There she is.”

And yet—

He gives you his coat during freezing nights.

He notices when you stop eating after difficult memories resurface.

He never asks about the scar on your shoulder, but one night he traces near it with careful fingers and whispers—

“Who hurt you?”

And for the first time in years—

You tell someone the truth.

He listens.

No jokes.

No interruption.

Just quiet understanding beneath moonlight.

When you finish, Jack presses a kiss to your knuckles.

Soft.

Reverent.

“You deserved better than what they gave you, love.”

Your chest aches.

“That almost sounded sincere.”

He smirks faintly. “Don’t tell anyone. Ruins my reputation.”

—

When you finally reach the island, everything goes wrong.

Of course it does.

The treasure is real.

So is the curse protecting it.

And the wish demands sacrifice.

One life for one desire.

You realize too late what Jack intends.

“No.”

He gives you that crooked grin you’ve come to love.

“Bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

“You can’t do this.”

He steps closer, hands cupping your face.

“For once in my life,” he says quietly, “I’d like to do something that isn’t entirely selfish.”

Tears blur your vision.

“What are you wishing for?”

His smile falters.

“You.”

Your breath catches.

“What?”

“A life where you survive this.” His thumb brushes your tears away. “A life where you get everything they stole from you.”

“Jack—”

He kisses you before you can stop him.

It’s desperate and salt-sweet and heartbreaking.

And when he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours.

“I do love hearing you say my name like that.”

Then he steps back.

And disappears into the light.

—

You wake on a quiet shore.

Alive.

Alone.

The island is gone.

The treasure is gone.

And Jack is gone.

Years pass.

You build a life.

A peaceful one.

But some nights you still stare at the sea and ache for a man who was never meant to stay.

Until one evening, when you’re working behind the tavern bar, you hear a familiar voice behind you.

“Terrible customer service, honestly. Been waiting ages.”

You freeze.

Slowly, you turn.

And there he is.

Jack Sparrow stands at the bar like he’s stepped out of a dream—hat crooked, grin lazy, very much alive.

You run around the counter and slam into him.

He laughs as you nearly knock him over.

“You’re real.”

“Usually, yes.”

“You died.”

“Temporary inconvenience.”

You hit his shoulder.

Then kiss him.

Hard.

His hands find your waist instantly.

When you finally pull away, he rests his forehead against yours and smiles.

“Missed you too, love.”

And for the first time—

the sea feels like home.