"We're living through the ongoing fascist collapse of the United States but I still gotta clean the kitchen and go to work tomorrow" sure is the mood right now, huh.
Okay, had some thoughts, slept on it, had more thoughts. Woke up this morning and there are some (understandably) very worried folks in my notes/DMs, asking if this is the End end. As ever, I am but an old gay academic on the internet. My opinion is not more special or more insightful than anyone else's. But if you want my thoughts, here they are.
First: the U.S. isn't in the "imminent" or "approaching" stages of fascism. At least as far as the president and the ruling junta are concerned, and in regard to what they're trying to do, this is full-out, blood-and-soil, grab-people-off-the-streets-to-send-to-concentration-camps-without-trial fascism. The reason they have not been able to do everything they planned is due to a) considerable and vigorous resistance from multiple levels of American society, and b) federal judges. Everyone say Thank You, Federal Judges. They are the only thing keeping the Turd Reich in check right now, because the GOP-controlled Congress is waving handkerchiefs and cheering all the way. If Trump and the withered skinsuit of white supremacist evil known as Stephen Miller were able to do what they wanted with genuinely no interference from the courts, this would be unspeakably bad. And y'know. It's already bad.
I am not here to tell anyone to Pollyanna it out or just think happy thoughts or whatever else. This is very bad. We have to acknowledge the badness of it and to understand that this is what happens when you voluntarily give power back to a miserable reactionary fascist regime that repeatedly announced its intentions to do exactly this. Except too many Americans went "lol that's funny he's such a joker" and voted for him anyway. I'm very curious how the Both Parties Are The Same crowd would like to explain the fact that literally none of this was happening at the same time last year, when Democrats still held the White House and Senate, but that's another post and I'm tired of arguing with their anti-reality doomster Horseshoe Theory vortex of stupidity. So. Moving along. It's done now, it happened. What next?
Here's the important thing which you have to understand: this hysterical overreaction -- National Guard, trampling on state sovereignty, Marines in the streets, declaring open war on LA and wherever else the ICE Gestapo is being sent -- is not a sign of strength. It is a sign of a weak, failing, and flailing psychopathic old dementia patient who has realized that destroying American democracy on behalf of his Kremlin paymasters and alt-right tech bros (though too bad, so sad, #Trumpsk ended in Pride Month!) is going to be a hell of a lot harder than he thought. Trump just spent the week getting mocked, ridiculed, emasculated, and made to look weak and stupid. Musk turned on him and blew up the Big Beautiful Bill, which was already having a hard time in the Senate. Judges are almost automatically ruling against him at this point. He was even forced to bring Kilmar Abrego Garcia back to the US from the Salvadoran gulag and get Fascist Barbie Bondi to concoct some other BS charges to try him on. The point is, TACO. Trump Always Chickens Out. He is weak, he's failing, people keep fighting him and winning, he just got major-league embarrassed by his Ex Bestie, and his stupid budget bill just got a lot harder to pass. So what do you do, if you're Donald Trump? You lash out at your favorite target, That Dadgum Gay Liberal Commie Immigrant Refuge, California.
This is what fascists do when cornered, thwarted, and made to look stupid: they try to do the only thing they can do, which is an overwhelming show of brute force. Please remember that this is also happening because said withered skinsuit of white supremacist evil, Stephen Miller, is upset that they haven't managed to "cleanse" the country of every single immigrant yet. It is also openly admitted by Orange Hitler's Favorite Special Little Boy that a big part of their plan is to cause enough terror to force immigrants to self-deport, or just voluntarily pack up and leave because they think this well-oiled terror machine will come for them next. Now. Listen. I have zero, ZERO right to tell any non-citizen living in the US right now what to do or how to feel. If you just want to get out before you do have to risk going through that, it is completely and utterly valid.
However.
This is your home too. You belong here. If you decide that if they want you out, they'll have to fight you the whole way, then you could and should do that. Those of us who are U.S. citizens have a right to stand up with you, not least since the Turd Reich is already musing about finding ways to do the same things to us. Nobody is safe. This is way past the "first they came for" lines of the poem; they want to get everyone if they can, for the tiniest and most minute infractions against Donald of House Putin, First Of His Name. See above: we're in the full-blown fascism stage. I am not minimizing or ignoring that.
But still.
If you do the usual Doomer Leftist Edgelord Internet Thing and go "lol well guess Trump is a dictator for life now and there will be no more elections and we live in Gilead forever," often with barely-disguised glee that at least those stupid liberals are getting punished, you're, well, also a fascist. You're accepting and glorifying fascist narratives, you're exalting fascist power, you are once more making the fascists look cool and inevitable and like there's no point at all in fighting. Nota Bene: This does not refer to the people who are genuinely terrified and despairing and thinking that this is in fact the end and there's no more point in fighting. You're scared. I'm scared too. I see that and I feel it and I know, I know, I know. But you can still control what you say and how you react and the messages that you spread in response. If you're just reblogging a lot of unsourced screenshots and panic-mongering posts: maybe don't do that. Think about what you're putting out there and how you're reacting. If you don't feel like you can do that, get off the internet, stop looking at the news (which also has a vested interest in making everything look apocalyptic) and take a breath. It will still be there tomorrow.
At times like these, all we can do is hold onto each other and take some comfort in the fact that time still creeps in a petty pace from day to day. The Terrible Future still will not happen all at once and in a giant blob of awful and with no chance to change it. Nothing is predetermined and nothing is inevitable. Everything will still happen one day at a time, and that means we have to use the time as best we can. If you feel like this is in fact the End for you and you need to get out, well, go ahead and make those preparations if you can. But also recognize that everyone is in fight-or-flight mode right now, that is a screaming panic response, and while you shouldn't downplay the danger, you also shouldn't up and run because your scared animal brain thinks that is the only thing left to do. We are still here. You are still here. I am still here. We can still do something as we choose.
I hate the fact that we have to quote Gandalf like, all the goddamn time right now, but it's still true. All you have to do is choose what to do with the time that is given to you, etc. You still have a life. You still have a choice. You still have time. It is not done, it is not the end, and goodness knows the world isn't over now because Donald Trump got mad again and threw a hissy fit because he had a really sucky week and got publicly dumped by Elon Fucking Musk (again, lololololol). Things are very bad, but the point of my original post above was that even when you're living through an awful historical event (yet again, I hate this timeline), ordinary life still goes on. You have to focus on what you control and do what you can with it. It's not about hope so much as confounded stubbornness. If those idiot weaksauce fascist losers want to get you, make it as hard as fucking possible for them, and part of that IS just refusing to accept that they have that power, or any power. You can think whatever you want, but if you just say out loud, "Fuck you. This is stupid. You are going to fail because you're failures and you can't make me afraid," weirdly, it really does help.
Summary: Broken hearts find each other and in the process, they mend each other.
Word count: 10.7k
Tags/warnings: season 10 Hotch <3; cheating (on reader); food and alcohol consumption; Hotch has a soft spot for reader<3; lazy case talk whoops; canon typical violence; one bed trope; smut: unprotected and dirty office sex (p in v); secret relationship; stolen glances and kisses in forbidden places!!1!
Author’s note: I don’t usually do second parts mostly because I wrap up the story in a single one shot, but while writing the first fic I had this prequel in mind because oh boy, they have HISTORY (which is why it ended up being longer than My One and Only). Both can be read as a stand alone. First fic was based on Dress by miss T. Swift, and this one is like a mash up of every Taylor’s ovulation songs (I listened to this playlist a lot while writing this) 🙂↔️ Call It What You Want x I Can See You being the main inspo. Or were the songs inspired by them???🧐 it’s just so sexy sexy. Anyway, hope you enjoy!!!!
MASTERLIST
There used to be an engagement ring on your right hand.
A bright but simple ring that from the moment it was given to you, had you hopeful about your future. That future had always been uncertain. You rarely pictured yourself more than two years ahead, to begin with—for many reasons, neither worth mentioning—but no matter how long your future was, you were sure it was going to be just as bright as your ring.
And how wrong you were…
It hadn’t been more than two months since your fiancé promised you the world when you caught him in a lie. You’d let it slip away, fidgeting your ring as a reminder that he was the one.
If you hadn’t ignored the signs, you would’ve saved yourself from getting your heart ripped out.
He cheated, and even worse, you caught him in the act, with another woman in your own bed. You stormed out leaving every door open. Zac came running behind you, yelling your name, but you didn’t stop. You ripped the engagement ring off your finger and threw it at him without looking back. That clink of the band bouncing on the pavement was so faint compared to the sound of your castle crumbling, and your prince kept yelling at you to come back.
You didn’t. You got in your car and drove off aimlessly.
You’d been driving around the city blasting music since then, and yelling the lyrics hoping you’d go numb. You didn’t, but at least you had some clarity.
You had nowhere to be. There was no home anymore, no bed to sleep on, and no arms to run to. The place you used to call home now was stained with lies and haunted by another woman.
The only place that could shelter you for the night was the BAU. At the end of the day, that was your home. You spent most of your days there with the people you worked with. People who would take a bullet for you. They were your family—Derek being the one you loved the most—but you couldn’t run to him or any of them right now. The wound was too fresh and letting them see you like this would be disappointing and just… sad. They’ve always known you as a tough and reasonable woman. How were you supposed to tell them you weren’t that smart now that your entire relationship crumbled?
You parked at your usual spot and searched for your emergency go bag in the backseat. It was always stocked with everything you needed for at least a week. You weren’t planning on staying at the BAU for an entire week, of course, but also, you never knew. Your ex was capable of lighting your house on fire just to get rid of any evidence of his betrayal so for now, that bag was all you had.
You took a deep breath and made your way inside the building. You walked through security as you always did and smiled at the night guard. It was Rick, the oldest of them all but you felt the safest when he was at the door.
“What brings you here at this hour, young lady?” Rick adjusted his ivy cap.
It was past three in the morning.
“Piled up paperwork,” you merely said.
And he didn’t question you. “Oh, sure,” he answered politely with his old, raspy voice.
You smiled at him and made your way to the elevator, pushing the number six as you always did. You kicked the bag with your knee until the doors dinged open.
Not a single soul received you.
You walked past the glass doors and reached your desk, looking up at Hotch’s office that was right across. He had a couch there that you could use as your bed for a few hours. Everyone has slept there at least once— for whatever reason—and now it was your turn. You marched up the short stairs and paused. You knew his office remained unlocked (he once said that he’d lost the key, but deep down you knew he left it open in case anyone needed somewhere to crash for the night).
You knocked, just in case, and once there was no answer, you twisted the knob. His perfume was faint in the air—soft and woody—so it was easy to assume he’d left not long ago. You closed the door behind you and walked to the couch, leaving your bag there and turning the lamp on.
The dim light triggered the memories of the moment that tore you apart hours earlier: Another woman riding your fiancé. They even dared to light up romantic candles.
Your fucking candles.
“Son of a bitch,” you muttered.
You couldn’t help but laugh a little. You wasted three years of your life and now with a cool head, you realized it was in your hands how you handled it. It could either be the best thing that's happened to you or you could let it drag you down.
Right then, you decided the first option was the only one. You stood there, both hands on your hips, your chin up and took a deep breath, filling your lungs with air until your chest swelled.
This was going to be the only night you’d let yourself mourn your relationship. No tears. Just you and a glass of scotch. It wasn’t your drink of choice but it was all Hotch kept in his office and you knew exactly where he kept the bottle (right under his espresso machine García had gotten him for his birthday a couple of years ago). You crouched down and opened the little cabinet. The bottle was almost full and you wondered if it was brand new or if he rarely drank. You shrugged it off. You poured yourself some and began pacing around his office.
You’ve been here a million times and you’d never paid much attention to all the things he had. There were quite a few awards granted by the bureau displayed on the wall behind his desk; a bunch of books, too. You ran your fingers through them as you walked from end to end. He had a picture of Jack and Haley over his desk and you looked around, searching for a picture of Beth. Your eye landed on her contagious smile, over the little table by his couch. You walked there to get a better look at the picture. She was looking at the camera and he was looking at her. You’d met her a few times and it was nice seeing Hotch in love again. After Haley, everyone thought he’d refuse to let someone in again, but when love knocks on your door there’s not much you can do.
You sighed deeply and placed your empty glass in front of the picture. The alcohol was making you sleepy so you made yourself comfortable. You went to brush your teeth, put on your pajamas and fuzzy socks, made a blanket out of your blazer, and used your folded pants as a pillow.
You rubbed your feet together. It wasn’t a cold night, but you wished you didn’t have to spend it alone.
The constant sound of a pen scraping on paper gradually woke you up.
Shit.
You meant to sleep only a few hours and have Hotch’s office as it was before he got here; pretend you’d gotten there earlier than everyone. You must’ve slept through your alarm.
You slowly squinted your eyes open and caught Hotch sitting at his desk, brows low in deep thought.
How long has he been there?
“Hotch.” You rubbed your eyes and sat upright. “Hi. Sorry, I— What time is it?”
“Eight-thirty,” he answered, never taking his eyes off the file.
So you didn’t sleep through your alarm.
“When did you get here? I didn’t hear you.”
“A few minutes ago.” He put the pen down and lifted his head to look at you. His face softened.
He didn’t seem upset about you invading his office but you still felt the need to explain yourself. “I, uh, stayed until late last night and I was too sleepy to drive and—” You realized mid-sentence how bad you were lying.
But he let you.
“It’s not a problem, you can always sleep here. As long as it’s not already taken.” He stared at you for a moment, rubbing his thumb with the rest of his fingers. You wondered how bad you looked. How bad everything seemed. “It has a foldable seat,” was all he said, gesturing at the couch. “There’s a blanket under it.”
“Oh, thanks. It wasn’t that cold.” You braced yourself.
It was cold now.
“You can sleep for another hour,” he added.
“We don’t have a case?”
“No.” He glanced at the open door and then back at you. “Not yet anyway.”
Then why was he here so early?
You smiled at him and began to gather your things anyway. “Thank you, but I still should go. I’m… invading your space.”
“Oh, please. Don’t worry about it,” he said before going back to work on his paper.
Even if he didn’t mind you sleeping there while he worked, you did. You stood up, stretched your neck a bit, and began to fold all of your clothes, putting them back in your bag.
You felt his eyes on you every once in a while and just when you grabbed the evidence of your late night—the empty glass of scotch—he asked, “Is everything alright?”
You looked at him. There was that soft look again.
“Yeah, I just…” you trailed off, fidgeting with your now invisible ring. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
He didn’t have to say anything. He knew. You knew he knew just by that look he gave you. Wise. Emphatic. The ‘I’ve been there before’ look.
He opened his mouth to add something, but his phone buzzed on the table, making him tear his eyes off you. He sighed as his brows lowered.
“Now we have a case?” You asked and he nodded. “I’ll put on some work-appropriate clothes, then.” You looked down at your pajamas.
“Take your time. We’ll meet in thirty.”
The jet took off and the clouds were never-ending.
Two women had been abducted (and murdered) already in Fort Myers before you were invited to investigate. Victimology and M.O. were discussed and you barely said a thing. Your mind kept wandering off to the night before and how miserable you felt. The phantom of betrayal was still heavy on your shoulders.
Hotch sat next to you during the three-hour flight, and the only thing he said to you that wasn’t work-related was: ‘Would you like some coffee’, to which you gladly accepted. His eyes, though, kept asking if you were okay.
Minutes before the jet touched the ground, your phone caught some signal and began to buzz uncontrollably against the table. You already knew who it was so you didn’t bother to glance at the screen, you just sighed in annoyance and put your phone in your pocket. You felt Hotch’s eyes on you again and you tried your best to ignore him.
Right now, he was your boss, not your friend.
The moment the jet doors opened, the dense, humid air stuck to your skin. Everyone groaned in annoyance.
“Ugh, I hate Florida,” Emily commented.
You didn’t mind it. You needed a bit of heat and sun, hoping they’d woosh away the gray cloud over your head.
Hotch assigned everyone’s tasks for the day and partnered you up with Morgan to interview the victims’ families. Smart move. It was known that Morgan was your person inside the team, and even if he didn’t know about your heartbreak right now, he’d surely find out soon after spending the day with you. That’s what Hotch wanted. For you to have someone to talk to if you wanted.
You would’ve preferred to be out in the field instead of inside an office, that way you’d have more distractions. Right now, as you talked to one of the victim’s husbands, your only distraction was your phone. Your ex started to call you again and spam-texting you. He was getting on your nerves and you couldn’t quite focus on your job. The one that you considered was your forte—when it came to good people.
These men weren’t good people. They were exactly like your ex.
And they got on your nerves.
Morgan shot you a frown as he walked the last person out of the office, “What’s going on with you? You almost punched the guy.” He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb.
“I would’ve if you hadn’t caught me.” You rolled your eyes.
“I’m being dead serious, what’s going on with you?”
“He called his dead wife a whore, Morgan.”
“I’m not just talking about this. All morning you’ve been acting weird.”
There was his big brother attitude.
You sighed, shaking your head. You couldn’t not tell him. So you told him. Some of it. “Zac and I are fighting. He keeps calling but I’m not gonna answer yet. He’s gonna have to wait until I’m back.”
“What did he do?” He asked, brows shooting up with concern.
You walked to the small coffee station the sheriff had set up for the team. “We’re just fighting.” You poured yourself some coffee. You couldn’t tell him everything. He was friends with Zac—and a really good one.
“I don’t buy that,” Morgan insisted. “I know what your fights look like. This isn’t a fight over how he didn’t do the dishes.”
You hated how well he knew you. You and Zac. It was sad to think there wouldn’t be any more double dates with him and Savannah.
“I don’t want to talk about it yet,” you merely said.
Morgan let out a huff and glared at you in silence. “Alright.”
He respected you and didn’t bug you any more about it. And neither did Zac, thankfully. The messages and phone calls stopped but even then, you couldn’t get your mind off whatever he wanted to say.
The day went by painfully slowly. Not many leads were found and the unsub seemed to have gone dormant, which meant the investigation was done for the day.
Hotch, JJ, and Rossi were still finishing up a few things with the sheriff, and you decided to wait for them outside, sitting on the sidewalk. There was a dinner reservation at the hotel at nine. It was thirteen past nine and you’d been running on five cups of coffee.
Your stomach rumbled.
Steps came from behind. Morgan silently sat next to you and handed you a protein bar. He sat close, his arm touching yours. “Zac called me.”
“Good for him.” You didn’t bother to look at him. Instead, you began to pick your nails. You weren’t hungry anymore.
“And he told me.” Derek placed one hand over yours, stopping you from destroying your nails.
You shot him a look. “What did he tell you?” You asked because you didn’t think Zac would rat himself out to Morgan.
“I’m on your side,” he said. “He’s my friend, but you’re my sister. He’s dead to me now.” He quirked his brows.
“What did he tell you, Morgan?”
“That you caught him cheating.”
The disappointment on his face was as clear as the night sky.
You tore your eyes off him and sighed.
“I was so stupid.” You rubbed your forehead. “I caught him in lies multiple times and I brushed them all off. Like a part of me wanted that to happen,” you confessed.
“What do you mean? That you didn’t want to marry him?”
“I… I don’t know.” You looked back at Derek. Now that the truth was out you needed to talk about it. Maybe that way you could realize it was all your fault. “I loved him, and he was a great guy but at some point, after the engagement and before the lies, I stopped seeing a future with him. So I guess it’s my fau—”
“Nuh-uh.” Derek interrupted you, placing a finger over your lips. “He did this,” then booped your nose.
You couldn't help but smile. “Yeah but I stopped being… a girlfriend to him,” you explained, moving your hands around to make your point. “I came home late, he’d wait for me with dinner but I just… stopped seeing him.” You sighed. It really was your fault to some extent now that you talked about it. “He sought the attention I stopped giving him on someone else. I don’t want to be like that. I don’t want… to be the person who just works and can’t balance it with personal life.”
“It’s tough.”
“Yeah, but you seem to make it work with Savannah.” You nudged his arm.
They had the kind of love you aspired to have one day.
“It took us a while, but we made it work. Still do. It’s a good thing she also has a time-consuming job. She just gets it. But it takes a lot of effort from both parties.”
You nodded in agreement. “Zac and I are over. This isn’t something we can talk about and get through and forget or forgive. He betrayed me.”
Derek hung one arm over your shoulder and kissed your temple. “I know.”
“At least I don’t have to plan a wedding anymore. It seems exhausting.”
“Oh, believe me, it is.”
You gasped and pulled away to look at him. He had a grin on his face now. That’s what you needed. A smile from him even if it made you forget for just a moment. “What? What does that mean? Did you propose?!”
“Whoa, whoa.” Emily came from behind and joined the conversation right away, standing in front of you. “Who’s proposing?”
“Morgan,” you were quick to respond. Anything to avoid anyone else knowing you’d been cheated on.
“Shhh!” He stood up, signaling you both to shut up with a finger over his lips and looking around to make sure no one else heard. “I’m planning to, alright. Don't…. Freak out. She can say no.”
“She’d be silly to say no,” Emily laughed a little. “Are you kidding?”
“You’re already planning the wedding,” you laughed too while standing up. “Don’t pretend you expect her to say no.”
“Of course, she’s gonna say yes.” Derek grinned. “I’m just playin’.”
On the way to the hotel, the team split into two SUVs and Hotch kept glancing at you through the rearview mirror at every red light and stop sign, with that know-it-all look, a pinch of concern. He was worried about you (and soon to be pissed for the stunt you pulled earlier).
You got a triple room with Emily and JJ and you didn’t give them a chance to make any conversation with them since dinner was canceled. You threw your bag over your bed and headed to the rooftop. You figured it’d be the only place none of the team would be. You needed fresh air, and you felt ready to talk to Zac. You reached the rooftop and pulled out your phone. Just the thought of hearing his voice tightened your throat. But you had to. You needed to know what he had to say.
You dialed his number and some agonizing butterflies still managed to flap their wings at the pit of your stomach with that first ‘hey’ on the other line. Tears welled up in your eyes. Your only witness was the moon hanging above and she wouldn’t judge you, so you finally allowed yourself to feel it.
His voice was a stab to your heart and a soft sob got caged in your throat. He said he was sorry, that he missed you, that he loved you. That you will always be the love of his life and that he knew he’d lost you. You muffled your sobs against your hand and once he was done talking, all you could reply was ‘okay’.
Then you hung up.
“Damn it.” You let your phone slip through your fingers to cover your eyes with one hand while you braced yourself with the other arm.
You stood there—for who knows how long—until a pair of unfamiliar arms enveloped you from the front. Their scent, though, was like home—faint and woody bathing you whole. You nestled against their chest and it only made you cry even more.
“Shh. It’s okay.”
Hotch’s voice snapped the knife out of your chest and he wasn’t about to let you bleed out. With one hand he caressed the back of your head, giving you soft scratches. The other rubbed your upper back with short and tender strokes. You weren’t planning on crumbling and you surely didn’t expect Hotch to be the one comforting you, but it felt right. You needed a hug and a gentle voice telling you it was okay to feel like this.
Your entire relationship flashed before your eyes. You were mourning its death, after all., and there was no going back from it. You wouldn’t do that to yourself and had to accept that his laugh would eventually fade away from your memory and his eyes would no longer shine because of you—they haven’t for a while.
You peeled yourself from Hotch’s chest and noticed how his shirt was damp with your tears.
“Sorry, I—” you sniffed; looked up at him.
His soft eyes scanned your face for a moment. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ they asked, a sweet frown taking over his face.
“You look like you need a drink,” he said instead.
You chuckled, nodding, even when the after-crying headache was creeping up on you. You would’ve taken the elevator to the first floor, but Hotch guided you through the staircase.
“Were you up there when I got there?” you asked him.
“No, I went there to clear my head and… found you standing there.”
After all these years working with him, he was still the hardest to read. “Is something bugging you?” you asked him.
“No.”
Okay, then. You understood it wasn’t something he wanted to talk about (with you).
You reached the first floor and headed to the bar. It wasn’t crowded, and Rossi was already there. You two joined him, each at either side of him.
“Ah, FBI agents,” Rossi told the bartender, taking a sip of his drink. “You’re not gonna interrogate me, are you?” he then asked you two.
“I don’t know. Should we?” Hotch asked with a tint of humor.
“You should interrogate her.” He gestured at you by twitching his mouth in your direction. “I heard she almost punched one of the victim’s husbands.”
“Thanks, Rossi.” You glared at him, and he couldn’t have cared less.
“Is that true?” Hotch asked you, leaning a bit forward to glance at you over Rossi, even when the wall in front of you was a whole mirror.
“Goodnight, kid.” Rossi slid off his stool. “Night Hotch. Keep an eye on her.”
“Great.” You glared at him again. “Just throw the grenade and run away.” He just laughed and waved a dismissive hand. He had clearly had quite a few drinks so you couldn’t blame him much.
“Is that true?” Hotch asked again.
“He was a jerk,” you responded, sipping on your drink.
“That has nothing to do with it. Jerk or not, you can’t be acting like that.” His frown grew strong but his voice remained as soft as when he was comforting you moments earlier.
“He cheated on her, Hotch.” You shot him a look through the mirror. “That’s why she went out and got abducted. Murdered.”
“I understand that, but we push our feelings aside, you know that.”
“I know.” You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Just… let it go, please. You know I won’t do it again.”
“Of course you won’t.” He took a short sip of his drink and looked forward, making eye contact with you through the mirror. “You’d be off the case if you pull something like that again.”
A light bulb lit up over your head right then.
“Do you think that’s why the unsub is targeting the victims?” You grabbed his forearm with excitement. “Because they got cheated on?”
You were right and your tragedy helped save the last woman the unsub had abducted. You wrapped up the case with a bittersweet taste.
On the flight home, Morgan sat next to you, and for some reason, you wished Hotch had sat there.
You searched for him on the jet and he’d chosen to sit farther back. You wanted to thank him for comforting you when he didn’t have to, and as if he’d read your mind—
Good job today—He texted—I know this was a particularly difficult case for you.
You lifted your head and caught him looking at you. You smiled at him as a response.
It was difficult, but it also helped you heal a little.
Morgan nudged your arm gently, gesturing for you to take your headphones off.
“Hm?” you raised your brows.
“Are you planning on going home now?”
You sighed. “I have to.”
“You can stay with me for a few days. Savannah would be thrilled to have you over.”
“Thank you but I think that’d make me feel… small? I have to see him eventually. And I’d rather get it over with soon.” You smiled at him. “After that conversation, though, I’m not sure if I’ll have a place to stay so I’ll let you know if I need a place to crash for the night.”
“I’ll be there, then.”
When you made it to your place, Zac was waiting for you with dinner. You would’ve laughed, but you were too exhausted to even smile at him.
“I’m just here to get my things,” you said, walking past him to your room.
You smelled fresh paint on your way there, and you really laughed then. He’d repainted the whole thing. Did he think changing the wall color would make you forget what happened there?
“It’s your favorite color.” Zac stood at the door.
“You’re unbelievable.” You scoffed.
You threw all your belongings in two suitcases and left.
To never come back.
“You’re getting discharged.” Hotch drew open the curtain of your cubicle.
“What? What about Morgan?” You sat upright, keeping the ice close to the bump on your head. You’d been in a car crash in the middle of a prosecution. “Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. He just dislocated his shoulder.”
“Well, the doctor said I can’t fly, let alone drive.” You rolled your eyes. “So who’s driving me back to Quantico?”
“I am.” You couldn’t help but let out a huff. “Yeah, I’m not excited about it either.”
“It’s seventeen hours, Hotch. You don’t have to. I’m sure I can take an overnight bus or something.”
“You’re not taking any bus. You got a brain bleed. Someone’s gotta be there if something happens.” He glared at you. “Gather your things. I’ll bring the car. A nurse will walk you out.”
Your things were only your badge and gun. Everything else was still at the hotel, so you assumed you were going to make a stop there before hitting the road back to Quantico.
You were officially discharged by your doctor minutes later and you’d underestimated Hotch’s efficiency. He’d already gone to the hotel to get your things. He even bought snacks—your favorite snacks.
You reclined your seat and threw a blanket over you. Your head was much better but it still hurt despite you being high on painkillers.
“Are you cold? Do you want me to turn the heater on?”
“Not cold.” You assured him. You just wanted to make yourself cozy. “Hotch, I don’t know if I’m gonna handle a seventeen-hour drive.”
“I know.” He gave you a quick glance. “I don’t think I will either. We’ll make a stop if you need to. Just let me know.”
You dozed off and on during the first two hours—your eyes darting to Hotch’s firm hands on the steering wheel—until it started raining. Normally, you would’ve been on high alert since you weren’t a fan of driving when it rained, but it was Hotch who was driving. And he was a great driver.
The sound of the thick drops hitting the windshield turned out to be a perfect lullaby and helped you fall into a deep and cozy slumber. A dream began to take over your mind at some point but it didn’t become one entirely.
Loud noises dragged you out of it.
You blinked your eyes open. You were parked on the side road, and the rain wasn’t normal rain anymore. It was loud, hitting the rooftop like daggers. You feared it might fall through.
“Are those hailstones?” You adjusted the seat back straight.
“Not yet,” Hotch responded. “But we can’t keep driving like this. I can barely see past the hood. It’s too dangerous.”
“I’m no weather expert but I’m sure there’s a storm coming.”
Hotch nodded in agreement. “We’ll have to make an emergency stop.” He pulled out his phone and typed something. “There’s a motel 3 miles away. We can spend a few hours there until the storm passes.”
“You just said it’s dangerous to keep driving.”
“It’s more dangerous to stay here or on the side of the road. Plus you need to rest. It’s been a long drive already.”
Long? You glanced at the clock on the radio.
“It’s been six hours already?!” Your eyes widened.
It didn’t feel like it, though.
“You snored half of it.” He teased, his soft dimples making their first appearance of the night.
“I did not,” you laughed a little.
You knew he was just kidding, but you clearly needed those hours of deep sleep. Your headache was much better now.
Hotch kept the blinkers on as he started driving again, slowly until the map on his phone signaled him to turn right.
There was a blue-light vacancy sign glitching.
“This is it?” you asked. The place looked straight out of a horror film and the dark sky didn’t help.
“You stay here,” Hotch ordered. “I’ll check if they have any rooms.”
You didn’t disagree and locked the doors once he stepped out. Just in case.
Minutes later, your phone buzzed.
There’s only one room available, Hotch texted you.
Two beds? you texted back right away.
King, he replied.
Great. It was either sharing a bed with Hotch or staying in the car.
I don’t mind if you don’t, you texted. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal. Then you added, we’ll only be here a few hours until the rain stops, right?
Yes. Don’t move. I’ll come get you, he replied.
You gathered your things within reach, as gently as possible so your brain wouldn’t get all scrambled by sudden movements and unlocked the doors for Hotch.
He opened the door and ducked his head inside. “It’s the farthest room,” he raised his voice over the loud rain.
“That’s fine,” you matched his tone. “Let’s make one trip. I can carry my things.”
“You sure?” he frowned in an attempt to keep the rain out of his eyes.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry.” You nodded and stepped out of the car.
Once you had your things and Hotch had his, he took the lead with you walking fast behind him with your head low. You both were already drenched so there was no point in running.
The room was better than what you expected. It welcomed you with warm air, one bed, a small desk facing the window, an old TV, and a bathroom. They even had a small station with a kettle and tea/coffee, and the heater was on
You stripped out some of your clothes right next to the heater and changed your muddy shoes for your slippers.
“Do you mind if I take the bathroom first?” You asked him.
“Not at all,” Hotch replied, ridding himself of some damp clothes.
You walked past him with your bag and locked yourself in the bathroom. You unlocked it right away. What if you passed out? It was going to be a quick shower to regulate your body temperature, but with a brain injury, you never knew.
You were in and out of it in less than ten minutes and Hotch had already changed his clothes to sweatpants and a white t-shirt. It was always so strange seeing him out of his suits.
“Are you hungry?” He asked, hanging his clothes on the improvised drying rack he made out of the single chair and desk and placing it close to the heater.
“A little.” You sat on the left side of the bed.
Hotch grabbed the snack bag and displayed what he’d bought over the bed. Along with your favorite snacks were some fruits and two instant noodle soups. The first time you pulled out one of those, Reid told you all about them and how they were some of the most cancerous foods there could be, but they were a guilty pleasure and you didn’t eat them often.
“Take your pick,” he said. “I’ll take a shower now.”
He was being a good caretaker to you and you trusted him so all you had to do today and tomorrow was obey him. You could shut your brain down when Hotch was around.
You turned the TV on to have some background noise and put on the news. The weather had been catastrophic already in some parts and they said it was going to last at least eight more hours. It was 8 pm so you didn’t mind waiting all night for it to pass. It was a cozy room, after all.
You prepared yourself the instant soup and sat cross-legged on the bed. Your phone buzzed against the mattress.
How’s your head? Morgan texted.
Better. Your shoulder?
I have a good doctor at home so I’ll be alright. How’s the trip going?
The sky is falling here. We had to make a stop for the night.
Sharing a room with the boss? ;)
You didn’t know why he would say that or why you would lie about your answer, but you lied.
Of course not! We’re gonna wait for the rain to pass before hitting the road again.
You hit send right when Hotch came out of the bathroom, drying his hair with a towel.
You put the phone down. “There’s still hot water in the kettle.”
You rarely saw him eat, and since all he bought were things you liked, you assumed he liked them too. He prepared his soup as well and sat on the other side of the bed.
“It looks pretty bad.” He glanced at the TV.
“They said it’s gonna last all night.”
Something was odd about him now. Maybe it was the fatigue of the trip that hit him after the shower. But he kept looking at his phone and putting it down. You saw him clench his jaw more than once.
“Everything okay?” You had to ask.
He gave you a look.
Everything was not okay.
He hesitated a moment, twisting the noodles with his fork but never taking a bite.
“Beth got a job offer in Hong Kong.” Oh. “And she’s boarding the flight now.” Oh, no. “She asked my opinion before taking the job offer.” He smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Of course, I encouraged her to take it. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
You didn’t want him to regret his choice about encouraging her—she put him between a rock and a hard place—but you had a string of questions about it. What if she asked for his opinion because she wanted to stay and settle, but needed him to say it?
“So you let her go,” you said instead and he nodded. “How’s Jack handling it?”
“She talked to him, we took him to Orlando for the weekend and he understood it but”—he sighed—“I know it’s been hard on him, too.” You couldn’t imagine how his son was feeling. He was a kid and he’d lost someone, too. “But we ended it on good terms.” He raised his brows.
“Why did you offer to drive me home?” You asked. “You could be there with her by now. At the airport.”
“We said our goodbyes.” He shook his head and looked down. “It would’ve made it more painful.”
You hummed in agreement. “They say if you love someone, you let them go. If they come back, it means they’re truly yours.” He looked at you. “She could come back.”
His eyes were glassy. For some reason, you felt he was thinking about Haley, too. He was once again losing someone he loved—by choice this time but losing her nonetheless.
“Sorry,” he sort of laughed. “I’m talking about my heartbreak when…”
When you were recently heartbroken too.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m—”
“Fine,” he finished your sentence. “Of course you are.”
“I’m over it and I laugh about it now. I wasted three years of my life. My good years.” You chucked. “It's funny now.”
“It’s not. And you still have a few more good years ahead of you?” He commented, confused.
You talked as if your youth was already over but you had a good reason. “Yeah, but I’m not gonna be as hot as I was when I met him.” He smirked. “He went for a younger woman.” You then added.
“Younger?” He raised his brows.
“I know. I think that’s why I feel old. But she was a 25-year-old trainee.”
“That’s not much younger than you.”
“You flatter me.” You let out a small laugh. “I just… Why do men always go for the younger woman?”
He took a subtle deep breath. “I—“
“Generally speaking,” you added. “Men who cheat go for a younger woman.”
“I don’t know but I’m sure Reid can give you all the statistics about it.”
“Yeah,” you scoffed. “I don’t wanna hear them.”
You let out a yawn, and soon Hotch did too. You two agreed in silence it was time for bed already.
“It’s not cold in here so I’ll sleep over the bed covers,” he commented.
“Hotch, you don’t have to. I don’t mind, honestly. I’ve shared beds with most of our team.”
“Alright,” he let out a small laugh, raising his brows.
The rain stopped around 5 am and within thirty minutes you both were up and ready to hit the road again. There were ten hours ahead of you and this time you didn’t feel the need to sleep through it. You slept like a baby last night and also, talking to Hotch was really nice, and he seemed well-rested too.
You stopped for a quick breakfast two hours in and had it in the car to optimize time. Throughout the drive, there were talks about the landscapes and weather and he’d throw in some random stories about his brother, or Haley and Jack when something reminded him of them.
Your favorite was how he and Jack had a tradition whenever it rained: chocolate chip cookies. And how Jack had already decided that he was going to do the same with his kids one day.
And the more the clock ticked, the more you wished he’d slow down his speed (even when he was going just below the limit). You didn’t want the trip to end, but it had to eventually.
Around 3 pm. Hotch was dropping you off at your place.
“It’s a nice neighborhood,” he commented. Only Derek had had the chance to visit your new place.
“It is. It’s mostly old people that live here so it’s very quiet all the time.” You smiled. Silence filled the air for a moment. You missed him already. “Hey, I know we’re both exhausted but… would you like to come in? We can make some decent lunch.”
Hotch took a subtle deep breath. “I would. I’d love to but… Jack’s waiting for me. I was supposed to arrive yesterday and he was excited to see me. I… I’m picking him up at school after this.”
“Oh, yeah, of course.” You gulped. Stupid.
Why did you feel nervous around him all of a sudden?
“Maybe some other time?” He asked.
Your stomach fluttered.
“Definitely.”
Spencer was turning 33, and Penelope thought throwing him a surprise birthday party was a good idea. She asked everyone to show up earlier than usual to decorate a conference room. You were the first one to show, then one by one everyone arrived.
The only one you wanted to see walking through the door, though, wasn’t the birthday boy. It was Hotch.
After the gloomy night at the motel, Hotch became a permanent thought. You didn’t know if it was because he took such good care of you, or because he trusted you to tell you a personal thing—or both—but since that night, something changed.
You’d always admired him, but this was more than that. Your cheeks grew warm whenever he looked at you. You started to feel like a schoolgirl with a crush. And you felt ridiculous. He was your boss, he’d been your boss for five years so why had your feelings changed?
The truth was, you’d always had certain feelings for him. Nothing ever happened before because you met him as a divorced man, who only had time for his kid and his job, so at the time, besides your boss, he was a nice face to look at (a very nice face). Then Haley's death came and he shut himself down, drowning himself in work. You started dating Zac soon after, then you didn’t have eyes for Hotch anymore. He became who he was: your boss.
Now, that both were single, your true feelings for him were coming afloat. Of course, you didn’t let them show; how your stomach fluttered at his sudden presence and constant glances. You insisted those were in your head, that he’d always looked at you the same amount or the same way, but when the attraction is reciprocated, there’s a spark.
That spark almost lit up a fire in your chest when he finally showed up. The lights were off, but you’d recognize his silhouette anywhere, and he was walking up to you.
“Hey,” he whispered, standing next to you.
“You’re late,” you whispered back.
“Is Reid here?”
“No, but we did all the work.”
“I’m… the boss for a reason.”
You held back a laugh. Thank god it was dark.
“Shhh, there he comes!” Penelope whispered loudly.
Everyone moved to their assigned spot and your hand accidentally brushed his in the process. “Sorry.”
It’s okay, he whispered.
That accidental touch was the first of many not-so-accidental.
You tried to convince yourself it was all in your head, but he looked at you, paid attention, listened to every word you had to say. He saw right through you.
There weren’t many moments outside work, though, and that confused you even more. You couldn't ask him to see each other casually. It wasn’t something you or he did, and it made you wonder. You wondered. Always. Every day. Every hour. Every time you looked at him you wondered what was going through his mind.
Weeks went by where unspoken words were said. Your feet itched to go to his office every time you knew he was going to stay until late. To offer him some coffee, or ask him if he needed help with something but all you always ever did was turn in your reports and linger there for a second or two, hoping he’d ask you to stay.
And tonight was no exception. You had your excuse to stay late this time, though. A doctor's appointment forced you to clock in late, and for that, you had to stay to meet your weekly worked hours.
Everyone had left, even the janitors.
Everyone except for Hotch, of course.
You glanced at your watch when you finally finished your last report. It wasn’t even an appropriate time to have dinner. You were dreaming of your bathtub and a glass of wine with some cheese.
You stacked your folders and adjusted your skirt before going to Hotch's office to hand them in. You knocked three times and waited for his Come in! to enter the room.
You walked in and he wasn’t at his desk as he usually was. He was on his couch, with only the lamp lights on; he’d removed his jacket and had his sleeves rolled up right below his elbows.
“Hey, I… I finished my reports.”
He looked at you—stared. You swore a faint smile was curling the corner of his lips. “Toss them on my desk.”
You slowly walked in and did as he said. “Are you… leaving soon?” you clasped your hands behind you.
“I don’t think so.”
“Is there… something I can help you with?” You gestured at the folder he was holding.
He paused for a second before replying, “Yes, actually.” He scooted to give you space on the couch. “Close the door.”
You did as he said and sat next to him, but not quite close. He put the folder on the coffee table and spread all the documents, filling in every gap.
“Choose,” he said.
You laughed. “What?”
“Our next case.”
“Oh, I’m not… I don’t think I’m qualified to do that, am I?”
“There’s a reason I’m asking you to choose.” He raised his brows to make his point.
Your eyes flickered between pictures and reports. Neither was worse than the other. “Well, it’s not like I can choose, right? You have to… study each one of these murders to decide which one has more priority. Which is… a bit twisted. As if one is less important than the other.”
“It’s hard.”
“And you do it every time.”
Hotch nodded. “JJ used to do it when she was the liaison. Now she still does when I can’t or ask her to since she has the right criteria, but it’s on me now.” He raised his brows as he spoke.
Your eyes were stuck on his lips, a sudden urge to kiss him brewing in your chest.
“I don’t know how you do your job without breaking down sometimes,” you said. He smiled, scanning your face up and down. God, you really wanted to kiss him. “I mean your unit chief job.” You tore your eyes off him and adjusted yourself a bit farther on the couch. You had the perfect view of the side of his head.
Hotch leaned forward resting his elbows over his knees and lowered his head. “It’s… the one thing I’m good at.”
“Not the only thing,” you let out a breathy laugh. He turned to you, raising his brows as if he were waiting for you to mention another thing he was good at. “You’re a great dad, Hotch,” you said without hesitation.
“I,” he licked his lips. “I could be better.”
“We all could be better at everything, doesn’t mean we’re bad at it.”
Hotch sighed. “You’re right.”
“You’re also… good at sports?”
“Stop.” He chuckled, lowering his head once again.
You rubbed his back by impulse, and you withdrew it right away as you felt him tense up. Your hand tingled at that brief contact and it burnt when he reached for it and enveloped it with his large hand. Your heart rate skyrocketed and all you could hear was your pulse in your ears (not that any of you was saying anything anymore).
He turned his head to you, adjusting farther back so his back would rest on the couch. Your shoulders touched now, and his hand was still on yours and this time, his thumb caressed your knuckles, and his eyes were stuck on your face.
The urge to kiss him was flush against your skin.
“You should go home,” he said, swallowing thickly. “It’s late.”
“Yeah,” you licked your lips. “I really should.”
He let go of your hand and with the same one, you caressed the side of his head where a few satly strands of hair were gloriously shining. You put the short pieces behind his ear and cradled his face. You held your breath. What the hell were you doing?
A pained frown took over his face and he shut his eyes for a second. You wanted to kiss the frown away so you leaned, kissing his cheek. He tilted his face until the tip of your nose was touching his.
His shaky breath ghosted your lips.
Would a kiss on the lips be so bad?
You were closing the gap before you thought about the answer. Your lips touched—a soft peck—and there was barely a sound when you pulled away.
“I’m sorry I”— You placed your fingers over your lips right away.
Hotch wasn’t giving you any signs of anything at all and panic began to take over you.
God, what have you done?
Your name came out of his mouth in a whisper filled with longing. He was leaning closer. He studied your face from up close as he paused. His nostrils flared and he licked his bottom lip before going for a kiss. Just as tender as yours.
At first.
One of his hands found a spot on the side of your thigh while the other went to the back of your neck, bringing you closer and allowing the kiss to intensify. His chin scraped yours with his barely noticeable beard and his lips were gentle despite his sudden urge.
Nothing could’ve prepared you for this—him kissing you back or reciprocating any sign of affection. But he was, and he was getting so into it his tongue was already teasing yours.
A small moan escaped you when he opened his mouth a bit more. Your breathing quickened with each kiss and when your tongues finally tangled together, you lost it.
“C’mere.” He murmured against your lips.
You hopped on his lap and gave yourself in. You wrapped your arms around his neck tight and pressed your hips down. It became sloppy with each kiss already and only heavy breathing filled the room. His heavy breathing.
He was so needy for you.
This wasn’t how you expected your night to go, but you were ecstatic. No matter how far this went, it already was much better than your bathtub.
You let go of his lips for a second. You needed to catch some air.
“Aaron.”
You’d never called him by his first name. Never, and right then you wished you’d done it sooner. It seemed to have awakened something in him. He groaned into another kiss and grabbed your hips tightly, encouraging you to move them.
He liked it. He loved it.
You obeyed, grinding him and going back for another kiss. His hands were still shy, hesitantly resting at the curves of your hips. You pressed your hips down. His hard bulge was right there. You couldn’t help but bite his bottom lip, cupping his face harshly with both hands as if he could go anywhere. He was a prisoner of your body; you had him caged with your legs and arms and he didn’t seem to mind at all.
His hands raked down your curves, lower on either side of your hips and slowly traveled down, cupping your ass and guiding you back and forth.
Hotch’s lap was heaven on earth.
You moaned into a wetter kiss, tongues gliding together. You were embarrassingly loud now. He smiled against your lips.
“Sorry.” You let out a small, embarrassed laugh, pressing your foreheads together.
His chest was heaving in and out as he tried to regulate his breathing. His hands went up to your lower back and he pulled you close into a tight and tender hug.
A sudden clarity hit you. This shouldn’t have happened. He was your boss for fucks sake. You were sure, that once you came out of his office, you would lose your job. The one you fought so hard for.
“I… I have to go.” You slid off his lap and stood in front of him, adjusting your skirt.
He was staring up at you through his dark lashes and you couldn’t look at him without feeling embarrassed. You wiped your lips clean and took a few steps back.
“I am so sorry this—” You took a few more steps backward on your way to the door and turned all the way, giving him your back.
Hotch stood up, his broad silhouette taking a few steps towards you. He said your name with his deep, deep, oh-so-deep voice as your hand touched the knob. He was right behind you now, his torso glued to your back and his arms wrapped around your waist.
You shut your eyes as he inhaled your hair.
You locked the door.
“Are you sure?” he murmured next to your ear.
All you could do was nod.
He flipped you around by your hips, capturing your mouth, body, and soul. This time he groaned like an animal, hungry for you. God, he was desperate and your entire body fluttered. Your knees when weak right when he scooped you by your thighs and walked with you towards his desk, plopping you there while knocking everything down with one hand.
No words were necessary. His hands talked for him and the kiss was never-ending. You were a fucking mess already. You were at his will, so open to let him do anything he wanted with you.
To you.
The air was getting hotter and the layers of clothes began to bother you. His body heat and breath were to blame. He was everywhere.
He sneaked one hand in between your legs and gripped your inner thigh, his thick fingers sinking into your flesh. You squirmed over the wood, encouraging him to go a little higher. He did, the tip of his fingers ghosting your panties. They were damp with your arousal already (you’d felt it leak through you when you were kissing on the couch), and by the way he smiled, he could feel it. He lifted your skirt up to your waist and pressed himself onto you, his erection finding your cunt like a magnet. He cursed under his breath, looking down at where your bodies touched the most. But not quite.
You wanted to touch him, feel how hard he was. You palmed his thick bulge and gulped. Your mouth went dry as you began to massage the outline of his erection while making eye contact, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth.
“You’re driving me crazy,” he whispered.
There were so many clothes in the way, making it hard to focus but then he grabbed your jaw and looked into your eyes and whatever was about to come, was the best thing that would ever happen to you.
He sneaked his fingers from the side of your panties, the wet sound of your arousal against his fingers was embarrassing. But it made him drop his head to your shoulder. He cursed again and began to massage you, spreading your arousal all over with his thick fingers. Your cunt clenched, desperate to have him inside you. You cursed under your breath with pleasure as his fingers found your wet entrance. He made circular motions without entering, teasing you.
He was driving you insane, too.
“Hotch,” you murmured, I need you, you wanted to say, but he shushed you. Gently. Tenderly. Shushed you with an open-mouth kiss.
You whimpered against his mouth and with clumsy hands, undid his belt and unbuttoned his pants, sneaking your hand inside to touch his length. Finally. You whined again at that first touch. His skin was burning.
“Would you fuck me?” you whispered, wrapping your fingers around his length. They barely covered him.
“Of course, sweetheart. Just give me a minute. Let me feel you.”
He moved his fingers up and down between your wet folds, feeling you as he’d said. He knew exactly what he was doing, he was skilled, gentle and put the perfect amount of pressure.
But you were growing desperate.
“Please, Hotch.”
He didn’t give you any warning and in one fell swoop, he had his length out. Fuck. His cock stood on its own—thick and long—so close to your cunt. The tip glistened with his arousal.
“Scoot to the edge,” he ordered.
You did as he said and he lined himself at your entrance and barely pushed the head inside. You both let out a quiet moan at the same time.
God, it felt good. He felt good. You both looked down and watched as he slowly entered, inch by inch until he was all the way inside. He looked at you then and you lost it.
Aaron Hotchner was fucking you. Aaron Hotchner, whom you admired and respected. Aaron Hotchner, the man who has been messing with your head these past few months.
This was an eye-opening experience. Paradise on earth. How have you gone so many years without him? New feelings were brewing in your chest with each thrust, each stare, and each kiss.
You gripped the back of his head and pulled him closer as he began to move, rocking his hips back and forth. You’d milked his dark and thick curls with your arousal already, making each slam sticky to your skin.
His cock was exquisite, spreading you open and reaching every right spot.
“You feel so good, fuck, fuck, fuck.” You couldn’t resist.
He kept fucking you until your butt went numb, you needed to finish but you didn’t want this to end. Ever
You showed your discomfort by adjusting over the desk.
Bend over, he whispered on your lips.
He kissed you one last time before you hopped off the desk and obeyed, bending over his desk and glancing at him over your shoulder, ready to take him. He squeezed your ass with both hands and lined himself again. He teased you, pulling it out and moving it up and down. You let out a needy hum, wiggling your ass, begging for his cock.
He entered again and this time, he was ruthless. He slammed into you, hard. Then again. And again. Over and over until the only sound in the room was the clash of skin against skin. You had to muffle your moans—and smile—by biting your forearm.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. God, Aaron Hotchener fucked good. So good you were seeing stars already and so close to grazing the sky.
He bent down too for a moment just to bring you up close into a hug. “Come here.” You already knew he liked having you close.
He sneaked one hand from the front and massaged your clit as his thrust became sloppy. You threw your head back to his shoulder, and he captured the underside of your chin between his teeth.
This was it. The beginning of an addiction you never wanted to rid yourself of.
There were a few more slams before he came. Hard. He was a vocal man. Grunting and groaning and cursing quietly as his cock twitched inside you.
Your legs were shaking, and if it wasn’t because he was holding you, you were sure you would’ve fallen to your knees. And he didn’t let go of you for a moment, his cock still inside you.
You needed to know what he was thinking, see his face.
You took a sharp breath to speak, but he slipped his cock out and you gasped. His cum dripped down.
“Sorry,” he murmured and was quick to clean you with a tissue.
You finally turned around and caught a look on his face you hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t guilt. It wasn’t disappointment. But it wasn’t a positive thing.
“This“—he began, buttoning his pants—“changes everything.” He glared at you.
You adjusted your skirt and pressed your lips together. “I know.”
“And it can’t happen ever again.” Your heart dropped to your stomach for a second as he added, “Not here.” A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lip
You pressed your lips together, hiding a smile.
“Yes, sir. Won’t happen again.” You walked up to him, placing your palm flat over his chest. His heart was still racing. “Not here.”
You kissed him, and he kissed you back.
“Should we, uh, leave together?” you asked, licking your lips.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” He caressed your cheek with his thumb. “You can leave first.”
“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
“See you tomorrow.” He nodded and stole another kiss before you left.
You walked out of the building so put together as if nothing had happened, and kept a straight face until you were inside your car.
“Holy fuck,” you laughed; squealed, almost.
That really happened. You covered your face with both hands trying to come back to earth.
You decided to drive off before Hotch appeared in the parking lot, or else you wouldn’t resist taking him right there all over again. You replayed what had happened in your head the entire drive and as soon as you made it home, he texted you.
I hope you know this isn’t something casual or unimportant to me.
You smiled. You loved that he couldn’t hide his professionalism when texting.
I know, you texted back, for me either. Believe me
Good, he replied.
Goodnight, Hotch. I’ll see you tomorrow.
Tomorrow came and from the moment you laid eyes on each other, you agreed: no one could know about it.
He explained to you, when no one was around, how relationships within the bureau had a reputation. It would’ve been different if he was at the same level as you, but since he was your superior, it wouldn’t be well seen.
So this being a secret was more for him than for you, but you didn’t mind. It was such a rush. The whole forbidden thing did something to you, which caused you to be horny at work more than once.
But he made up for it when you saw each other at his place or yours.
There, it was different. You allowed yourself to be softer and he didn’t hold back any kiss or touch. His affection confused you, though, since the talk hadn’t come up yet. The ‘what are we?’ talk, and you didn’t want to be the girl who asked that after the second date.
There was sex—lots of it—, there were dinners, movie nights, and everything couples did, so it made sense if you asked, but you didn’t. You didn’t want to spoil the magic.
Because it was magical, your lives took an awful turn when you got your hearts broken and you both were right at the curve to meet each other. He’d been there, in front of you this whole time and a fragment of you glued back together every time he stared into your eyes while nothing was said. While he caressed your face and kissed you just because he wanted to. He managed to heal you between the lines, with subtle words that’d get stuck at the back of your mind.
And the more you two met outside work—whether it was at his place or yours, his bed, or a fancy hotel room—your feelings for him intensified.
They were worse on nights like these, when you found yourself tangled between sheets with him after sex, talking about anything and everything.
He often had an expression of everlasting love.
At least, you liked to think that way.
“What are you thinking?” He asked you with that glimmer in his eyes.
You sucked in a breath and brushed the front pieces of his hair with your fingers. “Did you get Morgan’s wedding invitation?”
You don’t know why, but he laughed. “I did, yes.”
“I think we should bring a date.”
“Why?”
“We have a plus one and… I don’t know. I’m gonna be wearing a dress so for your sake, I should have a date. That isn’t you.”
“Oh, really?” He teased, placing a kiss on your ear.
“This is inappropriate, Agent Hotchner, I’m your subordinate.” You laughed. You were ticklish there.
“Not when you’re in my bed.” He adjusted himself on top of you, lowering to kiss you. “And don’t pretend you don’t love it.”
You laughed again.
You loved it.
Loved him.
I hope you liked it!!! I’d love to hear your thoughts about it too!🤭❤️🔥
summary: Hotch and his childhood best friend working together at the BAU: a slow burn across the seasons.
pairing: aaron hotchner x childhood bsf!reader
warnings: canon!typical violence (including SA, guns, child abuse, etc.), swearing, slow burn, eventual smut, more specific warnings included in each chapter
word count so far: 104.2k
a/n: I've been rewatching Criminal Minds from the beginning, and this is the result of that journey lol:) The title is from 'Anchor' by Novo Amor. Message me to be added to the taglist!
SEASON ONE: Coming Up For Air
SEASON TWO: There is More When You Let Go
SEASON THREE: Tell Me Some Things Last
SEASON FOUR: One Step From Grace
SEASON FIVE: You're the Only One Who Knows to Slow it Down
SEASON SIX: I'd Like to Think That You Would Stick Around
I feel like if you hate Haley, you simply lack either comprehension skills, or you genuinely watched the show with eyes and ears covered, cause aint no way.
Was it a shitty situation? Yeah. Was she right for the divorce? Yeah, actually, if they couldn't come to a compromise. That's what happens with relationships, people change, goals change, life changes. That's natural. Is it unfair to make Hotch leave a job he obviously loves? Yes. Is it unfair to assume your family is going to feel ok when you work a dangerous job that makes you absent a lot? Also yes. These realities can and DO coexist!!! The saddest part abt all of this is jack.
Could Hotch maybe trust his team a bit more to pick up some paperwork so he can have more time with his family and not spend extra hours not home? Yes!! But he wouldn't, cuz hes the leader, the protector, the parent, and he would NEVER make his team do work thats his. He'll take the sacrifice of not seeing his family as much. Because it is a sacrifice. He just also didn't want Haley to know how much it truly hurt to be away, cuz then SHE would be in pain for him n would want him to leave more, and then jack would ALSO feel the pain of both his parents.
Its a shitty situation, its sad, its complicated, its full of love, and its so REAL, and it is NOT Haleys fault. Why would y'all blame a mother for wanting the father around more often? Why would y'all blame a wife who doesn't want her husband to go away and never, ever come back?
Its what comes with the job. And sadly, Haley realised she could not do it, she could not be with jack knowing hotch could just be DEAD. Thats CRAZY. Its HORRIFYING. And it is the job.
but in all seriousness, i really believe a lot of hate towards her comes mostly from people wanting the "horrible wife cheats on perfect husband" plot to add to their personal narratives about Hotch. it's really noticable in x Reader stories where Haley is either vilified directly or her possible cheating is used as a plot device to push Hotch and Reader (or whatever character) closer.
overall, the fandoms treatment of Haley reminds me of how Breaking Bad fans treated Skylar White's character, who was painted as a villain because of how she reacted to her husband being a literal meth dealer (but the show also framed Walt as the protagonist so the writers kind of set that up intentionally).
now, of course, there's a little part of me that does believe in the theory that Haley cheated on Hotch, but if that's really the case then i see it as something that can be used to explore Hotch's self-destructive nature and how it extended to his family. i guess the broader message here is, "It's not just killers that can tear families apart."
idk, i love Hotch, but it sucks that the writers didn't really expand on his and Haley's marriage more, especially because Hotch's position as a family man is so integral to his character. and i wish Haley didn't get reduced down to a "Nasty Woman" just because no one wants to acknowledge that Hotch wasn't the best partner.
