warnings/contents: in love with each other and everyone can see it (even them). friends to lovers. reader is implied to be younger than hotch. insecure reader. reader swears like a sailor. derek and emily being the goats. a bit of violence - reader is a badass and she kicks ass. mentions of death, guns, shots, injuries. hotch has a love confession that is bridgerton coded. humour. they make -out. sexual happenings but no smut. let me know what y'all think!
song inspo earrings - malcolm todd
word count: 6.0k+
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hotch masterlist
There was an unspoken thing between you and Hotch. One that everyone that could pick up on, regardless of whether you’ve worked with them before or not. Even if everyone knew about it, it was just between the two of you. Your relationship was built in the rare quietness that working in the BAU allowed.
The late nights in his office, talking about nothing and everything while you helped him with paperwork. The late nights in the hotel room where one of you ended up in each other’s room.
You never placed a word for what was between you. Never defined it, and never needed to. The moments between the two of you, the unspoken gestures, the brief glances and touches were enough.
And you were happy with that. Until now. Until her.
She was new. Doing rotations around the different departments, see which one she fit in. Something that you did when you were a new recruit in the FBI.
Madeleine was like the calm in the storm, you could sense Hotch being at ease in her presence. She was kind, never talked back unlike you now. She followed orders to a T, and whether that was because she was new, or her personality, you didn’t particularly care to find out.
She reminded you of you, in the early days of the BAU. Before you became comfortable in your skin, and knew who you were. The one that Hotch gravitated towards.
“Don’t tell me you’re jealous,” Emily scoffed into her drinks as she watched you throw daggers at Hotch and Madeleine.
“I’m not,” you stubbornly murmured, your eyes still finding the two. She was way too near, way too bold for a shiny-eyed recruit in the face of someone who was her superior, and who had the reputation of a hard-ass.
But here he was. Not being the Hotch that you knew. He was smiling down at her, and he never smiles at anyone. Well, that was false. He smiled at you, and sometimes Rossi, but mostly at you. He never directed it to anyone else.
“Please, Hotch is like a lovesick puppy when he’s with you,” Emily rolled her eyes.
“I mean, maybe she’s good for him, you know?” You started, a frown on your pretty face. “She’s calm, she’s nice, she’s quiet and she doesn’t backtalk to him, or undermine him when he sends out orders,” you gulped. “He deserves something good.”
Derek flicked your head causing you to rub your head in pain. “Derek, what the fuck?”
“Don’t ever sell yourself short like that, kid,” Derek warned, his finger pointed at you. “If anything, Hotch is lucky that you’re looking at him.”
“Hear, hear,” Emily agreed. “You are a bombshell, and he’s,” Emily looked towards Hotch, “just a man.”
“You’re the best thing for him,” Derek said softly. “I’ve never seen him this happy.”
You smiled at the kind words thrown by them, it was nice to have it wash over you until you looked over to the cause of your pain. She was touching his arm now, practically on top of him. He never allowed the team to touch him, minus you.
“I’m gonna head out to lunch before everyone takes the brisket again,” you removed yourself from the group and heading towards the cafeteria.
You were too in your head that you didn’t realise that Spencer called out your name, pouting slightly when you didn’t respond. “Don’t take it personally, kid,” Derek clapped his hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “She thinks that Hotch is in love with the new recruit.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Spencer replied, confusion in his tone. “Everyone knows that Hotch is in love with her.”
“Well,” Derek stretched out the word and looked at Hotch and Madeleine. “Can you blame her though?”
“It’s probably not what it looks like,” Spencer frowned. “Maybe she just has daddy issues and Hotch is fulfilling that role.”
Derek barked out a laugh, while Emily grinned in amusement. “Don’t think that helps the scene, kid.”
The conversation naturally died down as Hotch approached the table, Madeleine in tow. Emily couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Sure, Canavan was a nice kid. A bit too nice for Emily’s liking, a bit too fake and green-eyed, but maybe she was biased. She was fond of you afterall.
“She’s gone,” Emily provided, not looking up from her book and before Hotch could ask the question. “To lunch.”
All she received was a frown from Hotch. Taking out his phone, he looked at the screen before humming and excused himself before leaving in the same direction that you did.
“Oh no, kid, don’t even think about it,” Derek stopped Madeleine from following Hotch. “That’s their time. I would not interrupt that. And I would not get in between them.”
“Yeah, one time I did and not that Hotch would ever admit it, but I think he hated me at that moment,” Spencer smiled tightly, looking at Madeleine.
“Are they together?”
“Worse.”
“Worse?” She repeated, not quite getting the obvious inside joke between the team.
“They’re practically in love but too them to say anything,” Emily snarked, looking at the girl in front of her. Narrowing her eyes briefly, she saw the despondent look on the other girl’s face.
“Oh.”
“So, don’t think about it,” Derek warned. “As nice as you are, those two only ever revolve around each other.”
-
“There you are,” Hotch said, a smile appearing on his face as he saw you. “Brisket?” He nodded towards the food in your hand.
Grinning you nodded, “Finally managed to grab some before DT grabbed everything. Got you some,” you tapped the tupperware next to you.
“Thank you, honey,” placing a soft kiss on your head, he sat down next to you. “Are you okay?”
You took a beat to say anything, just chewing your food and thinking. Maybe now was the right time to bring it up, everything that you were feeling. The insecurity and jealousy that’s been brewing inside of you. That for the first time since this started between you and Hotch, you felt that you were on unsteady ground. That you didn’t know where you fit into his life.
However, as you looked around, you realised that bringing this up during work was not something you could do.
And if Hotch said the worst things that your brain could conjure up, there’s no place to run or hide from him. You still had a good six hours until you clocked off. Plus, the embarrassment, there was no way you were getting embarrassed at work due to a man.
“Just tired,” you eventually landed on. Which wasn’t a lie, technically. But you still needed a few days to figure out what you were going to say to him.
Hotch looked at you, and as much as he didn’t want unprofessional feelings in the workplace, he couldn’t help it. You were mesmerising. Everything you did managed to leave him in awe. As if whatever you were doing was the first time he was seeing it.
“Do I have sauce on my face?” You asked, your free hand tapping your face softly.
Hotch shook his head, a small fond smile on his face, “You’re beautiful.”
You softened, your foot tapping his, “I know.”
Chuckling he couldn’t help but lean and kiss your forehead again.
-
You watched, arms crossed as Hotch delegated the tasks, eyes flicking towards you every now and then. You gave him an encouraging nod as he began to shift his attention to the local police department.
You waited for the orders, everyone pairing off. You perked up as you heard your name, and his, along with two others. Clenching your jaw as you saw her bound up to Hotch, too happy in this context, you turned your head to search for the other person in your little team.
“Price,” the man held out his hand which you gladly took. It was rare that the local pd respected any of you, let alone the women. Introducing yourself, you both began to exchange information.
Hotch and Canavan moved to where the two of you were, heads bent together as you discussed the different entrances that the warehouse had. “I’ve got your back, if you have mine,” Price looked to you, and for a moment you were lost in his blue eyes.
If you met him two years ago, maybe you would have taken him out for a drink after the case, maybe you would have exchanged numbers. However, it was now, and a gentle hand on your back brought you out of your reverie, you looked towards the culprit who barely acknowledged his tender touch.
“‘Course, Price,” you gave him a soft smile.
“Officer Price,” Hotch interrupted your conversation, “if you could show Agent Canavan the layout of the warehouse,” he nodded to the woman standing next to him, looking a bit distraught as he sent her off.
“He’s awfully happy to be partnered with you,” Hotch stated as he kept the man in his line of sight, his hand still on the small of your back, absentmindedly rubbing small circles.
“You partnered us, remember?” You quipped back. “Price and I can take the inside of the warehouse, if you and Canavan want to go around the perimeter,” you suggested, already forming a plan in your head. That would be the easiest and most logical.
“I’ll go with Price, stay with Maddy,” Hotch amended. “It would do her well to be with someone like you. I trust you to keep her safe.”
“Maddy,” you mocked quietly, but not quiet enough as Hotch heard you. At his questioning look, “Nicknames, already?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Gonna start calling her honey as well?” You accused, envy embedding itself in every nerve you had. You stepped out of his hold and you watched as his hand stayed in the air for a moment, and then dropping to his side, a small clench of his fist.
It was a standstill for a moment between the two of you, you too in your head that you didn’t notice the way that Hotch was studying you. The concentrated look that he only ever has when he’s trying to piece together a particularly frustrating puzzle.
“As much as I want to listen to this telenovela, we have a case,” Rossi interrupted as he looked between the two of you. “Lives are at stake, remember?”
You nodded, ashamed in your brief outburst. Rossi was right. This was an active case. People were dead and will die if you didn’t stop acting like a jealous, hormonal teenager.
Hotch watched you leave as Rossi studied him, a knowing look on his face. “What, Dave?” Hotch exhaled.
“Do you seriously not see it?”
“See what?”
Rossi made a noise and smiled tightly at him, “You know, for a brilliant profiler, you’re very stupid.” At Hotch’s glare, Rossi held up his hands. “All I’m saying is, how do you not realise why (Y/N) is mad at you.”
--
“Canavan, stay back!” You ordered, shoving your hand in front of her. “Fucking, don’t go charging in there, we know he’s armed and he has accomplices, that may or may not be in there with him. So stay the fuck back.”
“They have the victims in there!” She pointed to the room at the end of the hall.
“We wait for back-up,” you commanded. “We don’t know if they have the victims in there, and again we don’t know if he’s alone.”
“The victims are in there,” she all but growled, finding the strength to kick your leg and push you out of the way.
“Son of a fucking bitch,” you angrily followed her, gun held to your side. “Canavan,” you whispered angrily, trying to keep up with her. “Fuck, Canavan!” You saw her getting yanked inside, screaming as she went.
Without another thought, you ran towards her, from your memory, this was a big room. There were plenty of craters that you could hide behind, but it was far too dark to really see anything. If shots were fired and you didn’t know where it came from, you were screwed. But you had to try.
As best as you could, you hid yourself behind a crater, as vicious as the unsubs were, they were stupid. Ego the gods could envy, they didn’t bother hiding when they were trying to shoot.
Seeing your chance, you quickly straightened, once your eyes were on him, you shot two bullets into his chest. Running quickly, you took his gun and confirmed that he was dead. Suddenly you felt yourself being shoved into the wall, your head banging harshly against the concrete. Fumbling with your knife, you quickly pulled it out and lodged it in his ribs causing the unsub to groan and throw another punch at your face.
Twisting the knife as much as you could, the man screamed in agony as he swayed back away from you, allowing yourself to stand up. Grabbing the metal, you tried to swing down at the man when he came up, grabbing it and directing a punch underneath your rib, causing you to drop to the ground. Taking the pipe from your hand, you saw the man grin as he raised it up, poised to hit you until you heard two gunshots.
“Unsub down,” you could hear Derek tell the walkie talkie. “There were two,” you could vaguely hear Derek describe the scene, the ground in front of you suddenly the most appealing thing to look at.
You could hear voices in your earpiece, vaguely hearing your last name, then your name, each call getting more panicked when you didn’t answer.
“Shit, Hotch,” Derek ran over to you, “she’s down, unsub hit her.”
“Canavan,” you muttered, trying to point to where you saw her last. “Knocked out.”
Derek looked towards the girl, conscious and now slouched over by the corner of the room. Briefly glancing at her and seeing no visible injuries, he turned his attention back to you. “Alright, mama,” helping you up, Derek looked at your wounds.
You saw the rest of the team run in, Hotch at the helm. He partially looked at Canavan, then nodded to Emily and headed straight to you.
“What were you thinking?” Hotch started as he looked at you. The words coming out sharper than he intended as he saw the state of your injuries.
“Hotch, man, back off,” Derek stood between the two of you. “We all heard that it was Canavan that came charging in. If there was anyone at fault,” he looked towards the girl who was now in Emily’s arms, eyes trained on Hotch.
“Shit,” you wiped the blood from your nose and grimaced as you felt more blood gush down. The throbbing in your head escalated as the room became louder. You felt overstimulated as everyone gathered in the room, lights suddenly on and you felt like throwing up.
You slapped his hand away, “I’m fucking fine, Hotch,” you groaned as you stood up. “Derek,” you handed off the unsubs gun, and he took it with a nod. Holstering your own gun, you began walking to the medic.
“Where are you going?” Hotch walked with you, the team forgotten behind.
“Medic,” was all you said. Gritting your teeth as you felt the throbbing underneath your ribs.
“I thought you said you were fine,” Hotch commented, a worrying frown on his face as he took notice of you holding your ribs. He ignored the woman who called his name, his attention all on you.
“Yeah, well, I know it’s going to cause a shitstorm if I don’t get it checked out,” you clenched your jaw as pain shot through your body due to the uneven ground. “Fucking,” you cursed under your breath as you felt Hotch catch your body, causing you tense momentarily.
“Easy,” Hotch mumbled softly.
“I’m fine,” you tried your best to shove yourself off him, you could see the ambulances now, just a few feet away. “Fuck off,” you cursed at him.
“What is going on with you?” Hotch narrowed his eyes, refusing to abandon you.
You turned back to him, and you didn’t know if it was the frustration that’s been building up, your new injuries or the fact that everything was just too loud and too bright, you exploded. “Why don’t you go back to your girlfriend?” You spat the word out as if it offended you personally. As if it wasn’t what you’ve been wanting from him.
Hotch briefly took a step back as if you’ve just slapped him, your eyes instantly zeroing on the hurt that flashed across his face. “What are you talking about?”
Opening your mouth, you gritted your teeth as pain began to worsen in your head.
“Forget about it,” grumbling, you walked away from Hotch, slowly making your way to the ambulances.
--
“She has some injuries, but you’re fine, well as much as you can be,” the medic finished taping up your wound. “She shouldn’t be alone, just in case.”
“She’ll stay with me,” Hotch announced, eyes trained intently on you.
“Jesus Christ, give me a break,” you mumbled under your breath, earning a breathy laugh from the medic beside you, which quickly stopped as he saw the look that Hotch gave him.
“Thanks,” nodding to the medic, you slowly jumped off the edge and began walking to the team that was now outside.
“Morgan!” You called out, “Need someone to supervise me tonight.”
Grabbing your elbow lightly, Hotch pulled you towards him, “She’s fine, Morgan. I’m looking after her.”
Whatever smartass comment Derek wanted to say was stopped by the stern look on Hotch’s faces, and the grip he had on you. Moving you towards the car, he helped you up and placed your seatbelt. “I’m not a child,” you frowned, yanking the seatbelt from him and clicking it yourself. All you got was an exhausted huff.
“Are we going to talk about this now or are you going to wait until we get back to the room?” Hotch asked, as he got into the car, and when you didn’t respond, he let out a sigh and began driving.
--
“Why are you being so stubborn?” Hotch asked as the two of you walked into his hotel room. “I can get your stuff or you can wear mine, I know that you feel more comfortable in them sometimes.”
Ignoring his question, you rolled your eyes, tired from the night, from the case, from the situation that you found yourself in with Hotch and the trainee. You were a grown woman, and here you were feeling the same things and doing the same things you were doing when you were sixteen.
“Why are you here?”
“This is my room,” Hotch stated dumbly, and for the umpteenth time that night, you rolled your eyes.
Exhausted, you stared at him, and exhaled loudly. “I mean why are you here with me, when your precious Canavan is also injured and needing to be looked after.”
“I want to make sure you’re okay,” Hotch said softly, taking a step forward but stopping when he saw you taking one back. “I frankly don’t care about her right now.”
“That’s not a very Unit Chief thing to say,” you quipped, removing your jacket, wincing as you stretched your arm too much.
“Honey,” Hotch started, moving towards you, hands out ready to help.
“Don’t,” you snapped, finally removing your jacket. You moved towards his bathroom, intending to shower until you heard him shuffle behind you.
You exhaled loudly, turning to face him, exhaustion on your face, “What do you want, Hotch and if you say it’s because you want to make sure I’m fine, I’m going to castrate you in your sleep.”
Hotch couldn’t help but chuckle at your retort, even when you were injured and in pain, you still managed to be so you.
“You heard the medic, I just need some rest,” you waved him off and began to remove your trousers. “If that’s all,” you gestured to the bathroom door.
“That isn’t all.” You looked at him expectantly, “You’ve been ignoring me.”
Scoffing you paused your movements and ran your hand through your hair, “And? In case you haven’t noticed we’ve been on a case.”
“Don’t be naive,” Hotch chided. “We’ve been different,” at the solemn look on his face, a small part of you softened. “We have been for a while,” Hotch confessed softly. What he won’t tell you was he was racking his brain, trying to think of anything that he could have possibly done to make you drift away from him.
Did you finally realise that you were too good for him? That he was a damaged old man and you deserved someone who could keep up with you? That you deserve someone good?
“I wonder why that is,” you commented under your breath.
“What?”
You scoffed, exasperated by everything and especially at the man in front of you. “Hotch, why don’t you just do us both a favour and just go relieve Morgan from his duty of taking care of Canavan. We both know you want to be in her room anyway,” you moved to close the bathroom door, a growl practically escaping you when he moved to block it.
“Why would I go into her room?” By the narrowness of Hotch’s eyes and animosity in his voice, you knew that you had to tread carefully.
“I’m sure she needs the big boss to comfort her after the big night she had,” you mocked and you felt like a bitch. Again, you wouldn’t feel this way, you normally wouldn’t say things like this, if it wasn’t for everything. You knew she was probably scared, it was one of her first times on the field and she got attacked. You closed your eyes at the guilt you felt.
“What the fuck?” It wasn’t the first time you heard Hotch curse, you were one of the few he allowed to hear him like that, but the tone severity of his tone took you back. “Why would I go into her room?” He repeated again, this time enclosing in your space. “Why do you keep bringing her up when I don’t care about her outside of work?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, were you and her not eye fucking the entire case?” You laughed bitterly. “For weeks, ever since I came back, all I can see are the two of you practically humping each other whenever you were in the same vicinity. I had to watch you laugh with her, Hotch!”
“Is this why you’ve been such a pain the last few weeks?” Hotch frowned, but there was an underlying tone of teasing that you didn’t like.
“Fuck you,” you spat at him, you shoved him from your space and stomped back to the bedroom. “Guess since I’m not the youngest, I lost my shine, eh?” You mockingly winked at him, venom in your tone. “She’s new, young, probably your type. Like I was once upon a time,” you almost regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth. You bravely stared at Hotch, ignoring the fluttering in your chest and the churn of your stomach.
Hotch hissed your name in warning. “Do not,” Hotch warned. “Look at me,” he directed you.
There was something in his tone and his demeanor that made you keep your eyes on him. He was breathing heavier, his face flushed in anger. At you? At the situation? You didn’t know.
“I’m in love with you,” Hotch said seriously, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’ve been in love with you since the first day that I saw you, and I fall in love more every single day I talk to you.”
Standing there in shock at the confession, you didn’t know what to say. It was the first time that either of you put anything to what you were feeling. What this was between the two of you. Your shoulders sagged a bit, a small bit of the fight leaving you, but a big part of you who’s been on the edge of crashing out needed this fight.
“You never did anything to tell her that you were taken!”
“What did you want me to do? We’ve never talked about this!” Hotch raised his voice, eyebrows to his hairline. “I didn’t want to put words into your mouth in case you didn’t feel the same way.”
Never felt the same way? You thought bitterly. Is he an idiot?
“You never stopped her! You instigated things, Hotch. Don’t think I don’t have eyes,” you bit out. “Is it because I was away for a week? That suddenly you forgot me and she appeared.”
“Do not insult me with the thought that my feelings are that fickle,” Hotch snapped. “That all it takes to forget my love for you is some woman throwing herself at me,” walking towards you, Hotch kept his gaze on you. Every step, every word was deliberate. “I didn’t realise what you saw, what you perceived was me eye fucking her, or practically humping her, when those actions are only ever reserved for you.”
“I was being nice, I’m her boss,” he explained, more gently this time but still a firmness in his tone that isn’t usually directed to you. “This job is already hard, you’ve told me plenty of times that I need to be kinder, put myself in their shoes, to not be a hardass,” at that you couldn’t help but chuckle, Hotch mirrored it with his own smile. “I want to be kinder for you. You make me want to do that.”
“I’m sorry for not stopping it, I’m sorry for allowing her to think that there was ever a possibility of me being into her when all I think of is you,” he moved forward now, internally elated when he saw you stay put. “I’m sorry for making you believe that I don’t live for you.”
Hotch was frustrated to say the least, not at you but at himself. For not seeing what Canavan was trying to do. The hurt that you felt all because of him, because he was being an idiot. All he could do was hope that you gave him a fighting chance. That he wouldn’t lose you because of this stupid, careless misunderstanding.
You briefly looked at him, you knew that he wasn’t lying. If there was one thing that Hotch would never do to you, it was to lie. You watched as he went through the different emotions, eventually landing on something that he only wore around you.
Walking towards you, he took the risk of gently placing his hands on your neck, “I’m in love with you and I’m sorry. You are the only thing that makes me sane, the one that actually makes me want to come to work because I can see you,” he admitted. “Please don’t let me not know what it’s like to see you first thing in the morning, or what kind of furniture you want for our home.”
And you wanted that. You wanted that with him. You wanted everything with Hotch, the good, the bad and the ugly. You wanted to know what kind of pots he preferred, if he liked multiple blankets on the bed. You wanted the laughs, the fights and bickering. You didn’t want that with anyone else.
“You let her touch you,” was all you could say. Thoughts running a mile per minute. You cringed inwardly as your behaviour from the past couple of weeks bombarded your brain. Were you really that petulant? That juvenile? You could feel the tears of embarrassment line your lashes. “And you’re an idiot for not seeing that she wanted to jump you.”
“And for that I’m sorry. I promise that you’ll be the only one that gets to touch me.”
“Good,” you said defiantly, and you watched as the left side of his lips tilted up. Raising your hands, you placed them on his chest. “Because I swear, if that ever happens again, Aaron,” you threatened.
“I know, honey,” Aaron nodded solemnly. He knew that if anything like this happened, you would be gone. Whatever future he wanted with you would be gone.
“You know though right?” You said softly, hoping to convey what was caught in your throat. You followed Hotch as he sat down on the bed and pulled you to him.
“Know what?” He teased, wrapping his hands around your waist.
“You’re being annoying and I’m injured,” you whined, your arms slowly falling to his shoulders. “You’re annoying,” you spoke as you slowly sat down in his lap.
“Baby, say it,” he hovered his hands around your waist, being extra careful of your injured side.
“I’m kinda in love with you,” you rolled your eyes playfully, “and baby? Really?” You arched a brow.
“Kind of?” Aaron smiled up at you. “I wanted to try something new,” he shrugged. “Weird?”
“No,” you shook your head. “Just different. I love it.”
“Oh, so you love that, but you’re kind of in love with me,” Hotch teased, fingers drumming against your waist.
“It’s because you’re being annoying,” you supplied. “But ask me tomorrow morning and it may change.” Leaning down, you smiled at him, the tension and anger washing away as you looked down into his eyes. “Now kiss,” you pouted and bent down, slotting your lips slowly to his.
It was soft and slow, like you had all the time in the world, and for the moment, you did. You grinned as you felt his stubble graze your skin. Placing one hand on the small of your back and the other on your thigh, Aaron pushed you closer to him, opening his mouth to allow your tongue to slide in.
Tracing the inside of his mouth, you felt his tongue slowly try to dominate yours, allowing him, you let out a moan as you felt Aaron’s hand drift down to your ass. He squeezed once, eliciting another moan into his mouth as you pushed yourself closer, hips flushed together.
“You’re beautiful,” Aaron whispered against your lips, as he pulled away from you. “My beautiful girl.” And there was no lie in what he said. You are beautiful, on top of him, slightly panting and face flushed. “I love you.”
“I’m kinda in love with you, Aaron Hotchner,” you grinned before kissing him again. Pushing him down, you began to slowly grind against him, hands grasping his shirt.
“Honey, you’re injured,” Hotch smiled against your cheek, as he sat up. Kissing from your cheek to the path to your ear, Aaron gave your lobe a kiss before he whispered, “Once you’ve got the all clear from your doctor-,”
“Pound town?” You finished for him, arching one brow. You flinched a bit as a bellowed laugh came out of Aaron.
Smiling largely at you, you couldn’t help but be entranced by the dimples of his cheeks and the light in his eyes. “Yes, honey. Pound town.”
--
You woke up to someone shuffling around the room, grimacing as you felt the telltale of a headache. “You okay, honey?” You felt the bed dip next to you. Opening your eyes, you were met with the beautiful sight of one Aaron Hotchner, wet hair and a towel wrapped around his hips. Before you could even truly appreciate the scene, a stabbing pain erupted behind your eye.
“Headache,” you groaned and closed your eyes.
Aaron tutted and moved around the room, opening his bag and running the tap. “Here, honey.”
“Thanks, love you,” you automatically said Aaron handed over some meds and water.
You didn’t see the lovestruck look on Aaron’s face, “Kinda in love with me or love me love me?”
“You’re more annoying in the morning,” you chided, handing him over the empty glass. “But love you, love you.”
Leaning down, he kissed you lightly, “Once this headache is gone, prepare for some serious smoochin’,” you warned. “Now come back, we have two more hours before we meet the others.”
“You want breakfast?” He asked as he climbed into bed with you, towel forgotten on the floor. “Fruit might help you with your headache.”
“Do you think they have scones?” You wrapped yourself around him, enjoying the warmth his body brought. “You smell good,” you placed a kiss on his neck, hand slowly drifting down.
“Honey,” he warned. “You’re injured, I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I’m not going to do anything strenuous,” you rolled your eyes, “yet,” cuddling closer to him, you couldn’t help the noise of content you let out. “I have three weeks of touching you to make up for, Aaron Hotchner.”
--
“What’s gonna happen to Canavan?” You asked as you traced nonsensical patterns on his forearm. Breakfast in front of the two of you, and Hotch was right (not that you’d ever say it) about the fruit helping with your headache.
Hotch made a noise above you, shifting a bit to allow his back to be more comfortable. “Discipline from the board, I assume. Then they’ll have to look at her files, she may get kicked out of the academy if they deem her unsuitable. She’s out of the BAU, though,” Hotch commented. He didn’t wish any harm on people, but he came very close when he found out she was the reason you went into that room. The reason why you got injured.
“She’s a good kid,” you muttered.
“I thought you hated her,” Hotch asked, leaning your body so he could look at you.
“I hated how she made me feel but I don’t hate her. I’m pretty sure that I would have done the exact same thing when I was her age,” you shrugged. “But she’s a good agent. Maybe not for the BAU, but somewhere else.”
It was silent for a little while, too long for your liking so you turned your head and realised that Aaron had been staring at you. “What? Did I say something wrong?”
“You’re something, you know that?” Hotch said quietly. “You’re wonderful and I love you.”
--
“Finally!” Spencer exclaimed as he saw the two of you walk into the jet. He grinned as he saw Hotch’s arm around you. “I knew it!”
“Reid, please try to keep it down,” Aaron cautioned, as his grip tightened on you.
“So it only takes for (Y/L/N) to get beat up for you to confess you’re in love with each other,” JJ teased as she gave you a hug and once over to make sure you’re okay.
“You guys couldn’t have become a couple like normal people?” Emily asked, as she raided her wallet and handed Rossi a fifty.
“I told you,” Rossi waved his money and winked at the two of you.
“Come on, honey,” Hotch guided you to your usual seat, hand drifting down too close to your ass.
“Honey!” Derek chortled as he and Emily shared a look.
“I’m sorry that you only have your hand to go home to, Derek,” you sniped, a grin on your face. Derek rolled his eyes as Hotch followed you with a knowing smile.
“I booked my appointment with Doctor Mohan,” you told Hotch, as you put your phone on top of the table. “She should give me the all clear today, if we land on time.”
“Not today,” Hotch chuckled lightly, his hand landing on your thigh and giving it a squeeze.
“You said, and I quote, ‘once you’ve got the all clear from your doctor’,” you stared Aaron down. “Don’t tell me you’re a liar.”
The rest of the team, minus Canavan, who was holed up in her own seat, watched as the two of you bickered.
“So, kid, how long do you think they’ll take before he pops the question,” Derek questioned, opening up his notepad.
“Six months,” Rossi instantly piped up.
“You say that as if you know something,” JJ looked at Rossi who all but shrugged.
“Maybe I have a bit of insider knowledge,” Rossi smirked, as he put himself down for a hundred.
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.
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.
i'm begging for more secret relationship bau!reader and aaron ❤️🔥😩
snooze
sneaking around on a case 🤭🥰🥰 cw; bau fem!reader, established relationship, a lot of fluff <3
Your alarm barely had time to ring before you reached over and killed it, fingers moving on instinct, afraid the sound might carry through the walls and wake up the neighboring team members. For a moment, you stayed perfectly still, listening, half-expecting footsteps in the hall or someone to burst through the door with far too many questions.
Outside, the day is already heavy; mist clings to the windows, and a dull gray light seeps into the room, casting everything in a slow, gloomy haze. It'd be all too easy to fall back asleep, especially with the sound of rain hitting the window.
You stretched, a small noise leaving the back of your throat before you turned, facing Aaron. He lay beside you, his features calm and unguarded in sleep.
A small smile tugged at your lips, your expression softening as you took him in with a quiet gentleness that made your chest ache.
"Aaron." He stirred at his name, one arm finding you and drawing you closer. Tightly. A breathless laugh escaped you, "I have to get up."
He groaned, groggily asking, "what time is it?"
"It's nearly six," you whispered, a hand reaching up and running your thumb across his cheek. It's rough with the faint layer of overnight stubble. "I have to get back to my room."
You didn't typically do this - share a room when on a case. Usually, the two of you were better about keeping certain boundaries in place. But given the gruesome nature of the case, sleeping alone hadn’t felt like an option. Alone in the dark, with nothing to ground your thoughts, your mind had too much space to run and fill in the worst possible images.
It was around midnight when you finally gave up, throwing the covers off and slipping down the hall to his room. You knocked once, and the door opened almost immediately - like Aaron had been lingering on the other side with the same idea, moments away from making the trip to your room instead.
He sighed softly into his pillow, bargaining, "ten more minutes."
"Ten more minutes means risking a potential run-in in the hall." Your eyebrows lifted, a knowing, playful note in your voice. It also didn't help that you’re wearing his t-shirt - a dead giveaway. "Besides, I need to shower."
“Shower here?"
You let the question remain unanswered, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips. He hummed softly against your mouth. "Go back to sleep," you instructed, your voice a murmur. "You can get at least another half hour in."
"I don't think anyone'll be up at this hour."
"Better not to risk it."
You eased out from under the covers, careful not to jostle him, his t-shirt slipping lightly against your skin as you straightened. But you’d barely taken a step when his hand found yours. His fingers curled around your wrist, tugging you gently back onto the mattress and drawing you in. His mouth met yours in a slow, deep kiss.
You melt back into him; limbs loosely tangled, feet brushing beneath the sheets as the kiss lingered - absentminded in the way only half-awake affection can be. His hand drifted lazily along your side while your breathing settled into the same slow rhythm. The moment felt unhurried, suspended in that hazy space between sleep and morning, like the day could wait a little while longer.
When the two of you pulled apart, Aaron spoke with smug satisfaction. "Looks like I got my extra ten minutes."
You huffed a laugh, "you're persuasive, I'll give you that."
Before he can draw you back in again, you quickly gathered your things. You moved carefully through the darkness, watching your step to avoid stubbing your toe on any furniture, not wanting to subject Aaron to the brutal glare of the lights just yet.
You glanced back before exiting. Aaron’s propped up on his elbows now, watching you. His hair's a mess - even more disheveled now thanks to your hands - poking in different directions.
"And I’ve gotta give you time to get yourself together. I know the effort it takes to make sure you look distinguished instead of just sexy."
He chuckled at your teasing, warmth flickering in his expression as his brows knit slightly. "Same time tonight?"
"If you’re lucky," you replied, a definite yes hidden in your tone as you gave him a look that didn’t try very hard to be stern. "I’ll see you soon."
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.
Characters: Aaron Hotchner, Derek Morgan, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau
Words: 2.5K
Summary: Most people would consider a fender bender a bad thing, and you used to think that too, up until Agent Aaron Hotchner was the one who hit your car
Warnings: allusions to sex (I think that's it?)
A/N: Another fluffy speed write for you guys! Thanks again to @breedablespencie for beta reading!
GIF belongs to @dudeitiskarev photos from Pinterest, header created by me
When you were younger you had made a deal with God, the universe, a higher power, whatever the case may be, that if they could keep you out of a car accident you would spend your life in the pursuit of good things.
And you kept up on your end of the promise, that was until they decided to let up on their part one morning when you were driving to work.
When you felt your car jolt forward you gasped in surprise, slamming your brakes even though you were already stopped. You were about to curse at the sky and tell them your days of being a good person were over until you turned around to see who had hit you, and through tinted windows, you faintly saw the outline of what seemed like a very handsome but startled man. Maybe this was the universe’s way of apologizing. He was in a large black SUV and you assumed he must have been a fed. Only feds drove those cars in D.C.
You both pulled over to the side of the road, once you were able to, and you got out of your car, heading to the back first to assess the damage.
Your car had taken the brunt of the hit, scratching and denting your trunk while his car looked fairly unscathed.
You were about to ask him what the hell he was thinking when the door opened and you decided it might be in your best interest to shut up and look pretty.
He wore a dark grey suit with a white button-up shirt and red paisley patterned tie.
He looked stressed, seeing the damage done to your car, a hand place on his hip and another coming to run through his hair.
“I’m so sorry,” he apologized quickly, looking over at you, “I-I should have been paying more attention,”
“Don’t worry too much about it,” you said, trying to play it off. “It’s a fender bender, it happens,”
“Yeah, but it had to be while I was driving a work car,”
So he was a fed.
“Is there a certain way you have to go about things then?” you asked. “I’ve never been in an accident involving a government vehicle,”
“My insurance should pay for it,” he said. “but there are some extra forms we’ll have to fill out so I can turn them in to my superior,”
“Well, then why don’t I give you my number and you give me your insurance information so I can file a claim,” you suggested.
“Yeah, sure,” he nodded, pulling out a notepad from his suit pocket and handing it to you with a pen.
“This is my work number,” you said scribbling it down so it was practically illegible. “And this one,” you looked up at him with a smile. “Is my personal number,” you wrote it neatly and added a small heart at the end as if your intentions weren’t clear enough. “And my name’s (Y/N),” you added writing that down on the paper. “You are?”
“Aaron,” he filled in. “Aaron Hotchner,”
“Aaron,” you smiled. “Sorry, we had to meet like this,”
“Y-Yeah me too,” he agreed and you almost chuckled a little. For a six-foot-three FBI agent, he sure was shy and blushy.
You further exchanged insurance information and when it came time to leave Aaron was more than confused as to why you had a smile on your face, but he called in on his way to work letting one of the team members know why he was late.
When he reached the office Morgan was the first to question him on it.
“A fender bender? Hotch, I’m a worse driver than you and I’ve never gotten into a fender bender,”
“I wasn’t paying attention,” he waved it off. “My mind was on the case which you all should be working,”
“Did you get her information to fill out the service forms?” JJ asked, having been in a similar situation once and he nodded, pulling out his notebook.
“I can’t read her work number, does that look like a three or an eight to you?” he asked both Morgan and JJ who immediately noticed the difference in the two numbers along with the small little heart near your name.
“Hotch,” JJ chuckled. “I think she wants you to call this number,” she pointed to the other one. “And not to discuss insurance claims,”
“What do you mean?” he was confused now.
“Did she seem a little overly cheery about the situation?” Morgan asked. “Or not as angry as she should have been?”
“Yes?” he said, not sure why they were trying to profile you. But he was the Unit Chief of the BAU he really should have seen the signs better.
“Hotch, she was flirting with you,” JJ said plainly.
“No way,” he shook his head. “I literally crashed into her car, why would she be flirting with me?”
“Because she thinks you’re handsome,” Morgan said. “The suit, and that red tie, Hotch it does things to the ladies,”
JJ pressed her lips together in a thin line but nodded her head.
He blinked a few times but waved it off.
“We have a case we need to work on, I’ll deal with this later,” he said.
“Sure you will,” they chuckled and Hotch rolled his eyes. He knew what flirting was and that was not it. Right?
The case was an easy distraction from the situation, although he couldn’t get that pretty little smile of yours out of his mind.
And it wasn’t much different for you, your coworkers noted you were daydreaming more than usual and to be fair they just couldn’t see what you could, which was a tall, handsome, FBI agent coming in to sweep you off your feet.
But you had a small feeling that with his shyness you might end up sweeping him off his.
—
A few days had gone by and you cursed yourself for having not gotten his number, maybe he was lying about the government forms, or maybe he forgot and that was the last time you would see him unless you did some probably illegal but definitely very stalker-like digging.
And just as you were about to give up hope one evening, settling into a bubble bath with a glass of wine your phone buzzed with an unknown number and you picked it up, pressing it to your ear.
“Hello, (Y/N) speaking,”
“(Y/N)? Hi, sorry, it’s Aaron,”
“Aaron,” you smiled to yourself. “I was starting to think I was never going to get your call,”
He chuckled nervously. “I apologize, we were working a case and I guess I got sidetracked, but you have my full attention now,”
Good. you thought. Maybe you’ll pick up what I’m putting out this time.
“So those forms I need to fill out?” you asked, sitting up straighter in the tub causing the water to slosh around you.
“I’m sorry, I-I missed that I think there’s some water in the background or something?”
“Oh I’m just taking a bath,” you said nonchalantly. “One of the nice ways to wind down after a long day,” there was a cheeky hum to your voice and you were sure he caught it when you could hear him swallow over the phone’s speaker. “But I was just asking about the forms, do you have a day or time you’d like me to come in?” you brought the topic back.
“I was thinking maybe Tuesday? If you’re free then?” he said, but his voice almost sounded a little dry and he coughed a few times to clear his throat. “I have a meeting before lunch so during or afterwards should work,”
“Yeah, I can bring some lo-mein and you can show me where I need to sign,” you chuckled. “Unless you’re more of a sushi or burger type guy,”
“Um I-I guess lo-mein is fine but you really don’t have to do that,” he assured.
“Oh, don’t mention it, sometimes we have to make the little things enjoyable right?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “I guess I’ll see you Tuesday then,”
You slid back down further into the tub making him painfully aware of where you were before agreeing with him.
“You bet,” you grinned. “Bye Aaron,”
“Bye,”
Once Aaron hung up the phone he looked up to see Morgan standing in the doorway of his office.
“You going to head home any time soon?”
“Hopefully, I just want to finish this report,” he motioned to the front of his desk before putting his phone back in the inside pocket of his suit jacket.
“Someone give you a call?”
“No, I was speaking with (Y/N),” he said.
“Now this I've gotta hear, anything interesting,”
Other than the fact that she was in her bathtub, no not really.
“She’s coming Tuesday to fill out the forms,” he said simply.
“And,” Morgan pressed.
“She’s bringing lunch,” Aaron divulged.
“So it’s a date,” Morgan chuckled.
“No, no it’s not,” Aaron put down his pen and looked at his subordinate.
“Hotch, no offence but sometimes I really wonder how you got a law degree and then this job,”
“Morgan, I caused at least 1000$ worth of damage to her car, it doesn't make sense for her to want to have lunch with me or tell me it’s a fine time to talk even though she’s in the bath,”
Whoops, that slipped.
“She was in the bath? Hotch, come on, man!” Morgan practically laughed. “But that’s attraction, it doesn’t work just because it should think of it this way, it’s a meet-cute,”
“A meet-cute?”
“It’s the scene where the two romantic interests of a tv show or movie meet for the first time,”
“Morgan, I know what a meet-cute is,” Hotch scoffed lightly. “Isn’t this more of an I don’t know, a meet ugly maybe?”
“Yeah, so? Same difference, just stop saying she doesn’t want anything to do with you because that’s clearly the opposite case,”
Aaron sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Morgan was probably right, but he didn’t want to believe him because if he did and you just ended up being an outwardly confident carefree person with no such interest in him? It was safe to say he didn’t really want to deal with that.
—
Tuesday came rolling around the corner, and so did you with a bag of take-out, wearing, as your friends labelled it, a cute pair of jeans and eye candy shirt.
When you entered the office and asked where you might find Aaron, two agents swooped in and took you out of the care of Agent Anderson.
“Hi I’m Jennifer,” one said. “but call me JJ,”
“And I’m Derek,” the other said, putting his hand out for you to shake. “You’re here for Hotch?”
“Hotch?” you furrowed your brows then made the connection. “Oh, Hotchner, I get it,” you nodded. “Yes, I’m here to see him, is he in?”
“Yeah, his office is right up there,” JJ explained.
“But before you go in there I feel the need to… warn you,” Derek said and now you were getting a little concerned. “Hotch is a little oblivious and/or thick-skulled when it comes to certain things,” he told you. “Just be direct,”
You chuckled a little to yourself.
“So I was sending my signals so hard you guys saw them flashing, huh?”
JJ and Morgan nodded and you sighed.
“We don’t blame you though,” JJ added. “He’s just a little shy, once he comes out of his shell he’s as good as yours, really,”
“Well, thanks for the heads up,” you nodded. “I guess by the end of it we’ll see how things go,”
And things went… slowly.
There was a mountain of papers that needed to be filled out all with information you weren’t entirely sure was even pertinent to the situation, but that was the government for you, you needed to fill out a form in order to fill out another form.
There was some light chatter throughout as you ate and worked through the papers slowly but surely, you even cracked a few jokes that got him to smile a little, but the time came when the mountain of paper was no more and it was your time to say goodbye, still no word from his end.
“Again, I’m really sorry for all this,” he apologized. “I hope I didn’t waste too much of your time,”
“Please,” you brushed it off. “I think that was the most fun I’ve ever had filling out paperwork,”
He gave you a small smile and a nod before sticking out his hand to say goodbye.
That was it. A handshake. Wow, Agent Morgan was right.
And what did he say you needed to do? Be direct?
Well, he didn’t seem to pick up on any of your other very direct signals so you decided to take it in your own hands, figuratively and literally too.
You stepped forward ignoring his hand and taking his face in your palms before planting a firm kiss on his lips.
Aaron was startled at first, but his hands quickly found their place on your waist, squeezing you tight and pulling you closer. He could not have read the signals worse.
You pulled away from him and saw him chase your lips a little causing you to smirk and bite down on your bottom lip making him blush.
“I have a nice bottle of wine at my place and if you give me at least an hour I can really be sure to set the mood,”
You could not have been more direct.
“That is unless you want Derek to drag you by your ear,”
“I’ll be there as soon as I’m done,”
JJ was right, a kiss was as good as gold to get him out of his shell.
This time he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips, a small smile coming across your face as he gently bit your bottom lip and tugged as if to ask permission for his tongue to follow. You granted it for him, just a little teaser of what was to come later, but you pulled away before things could get any further.
“Maybe after all this, you could actually ask me out on a proper date so I’m not doing all the work?” you teased.
He blushed a little again before nodding.
“Deal,”
You squeezed his bicep before stepping away and grabbing your purse, giving him a little wave before stepping out of his office and into the bullpen and when Morgan and JJ’s eyes met your own you gave them a big thumbs up, a satisfied smile on your face and when they looked up at Aaron who had come to see you leave, noticing his reddened lips they knew you really must have told him plain and simple.
Can you write the fight that goes down between Aaron and Roy? And Aaron's so furious about everything Roy has been doing to his poor family :(
enough is enough
the long awaited confrontation 🫢 cw; fem!reader, (protective and mad) girl dad!aaron, LOTS of angst, mentions of haley's death, roy is an asshole!!!!! wc; 2.2k
"I’m heading to the grocery store," Aaron said as he stepped into the kitchen, grabbing his keys off the counter. He made it a point not to look you in the eye, though he tried to make it seem like he wasn’t making it a point.
"Oh." You glanced up, caught off guard. You lifted Ellie and settled her into her chair, surprised that he was heading out again; he’d barely been home twenty minutes. "Okay… what for?"
"Just a few things," he said, probably a little too quickly, still not quite meeting your eyes. He couldn’t bear to look at you knowing it would mean lying to your face. "Is there anything you need?"
"Yeah, actually..." Your voice softened without thinking, easy and familiar as you listed off a few things for dinner.
He watched you as you spoke, something in his chest pulling tight at how natural it all was - how gentle you sounded, like this was just another ordinary moment. Like you weren’t quietly unraveling underneath, carrying the weight of what Jack had said, still trying to make sense of something neither of you fully understood yet.
It made him feel even worse that you didn’t seem to notice he wasn’t telling you the truth; at least if he was caught in the lie, he wouldn’t have to hide anything.
"Can I come too?" Ellie asked hopefully as she leaned halfway onto the table, feet tucked underneath her. "I wanna go."
"No sweetheart, I’m sorry." Aaron pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Not this time."
It was hard to say no to her when he wanted so badly for them to be together. When he wanted so badly for all of them to be together. You and him and Ellie and Jack. The four of you together as a family instead of scattered to the corners of the house, hiding and trying to ignore the fact that nothing felt okay. Something, anything but this. But no matter how bad it felt, where Aaron was headed was no place for his Ellie.
Aaron turned to you next, trying to keep it brief - anything longer might give him away. His arm slid around your waist as he pulled you in and kissed you. Despite himself, he let it linger just a moment longer than he meant it to.
"Aaron," you said as your fingers clung onto his t-shirt, concern growing in your eyes as you lowered your voice so Ellie wouldn’t hear. "Is everything alright?"
He nodded, drawing on every ounce of his profiler training to keep his tone level. "Fine. I shouldn't be gone long. I love you."
You studied his face for a moment longer, before you nodded as well.
He wasn’t planning on being gone long, but he wasn’t planning on being where he said he’d be, either. Instead of the store, he was headed in a completely different direction: to Roy’s. More specifically, he was headed to confront him.
Lying to you turned his stomach, the weight of it pressing behind his ribs. He couldn’t help it, though. He had to. It was the only way he could do what he had to and still protect you from the knowledge of it. Still, it kept him tense long after he left, his knuckles white around the steering wheel as his mind raced a thousand miles a minute.
He could have told you the truth. Maybe he should have. You knew he was going to speak to Roy at some point. What would it have hurt, really, for you to know? But… he didn’t know. There was just something that held him back.
He told himself it was for the right reasons - that he was protecting you. He clung to the hope that not telling you would make that possible, even if only for a little while longer. Especially since he didn’t know what would happen at Roy’s. He’d rather tell you the story once it was over and done, not allowing you to stew while waiting for the outcome.
He just hoped it was over quickly. That went both for this conversation tonight and Jack’s personality shift in general. But hoping, sometimes, wasn’t enough. More accurate was the sinking feeling in his stomach that this wasn’t an easy fix. That this was only the beginning.
-
Roy gave a low grunt as he opened the door and found Aaron standing there, distaste settling immediately into his eyes. "What do you want?"
Roy held his stare, probably debating whether or not Aaron was worth his time, but stepped aside without a word.
It was going to be an unpleasant conversation - sure, it always was with Roy. But Aaron didn’t care. Not in the slightest. Not when his family was in the middle of it, when Jack was caught in the crossfire, when your name - and Ellie’s - had already been dragged into something they never should have been part of.
And Jack’s recent outburst only proved it had been going on for far too long.
"What about Jack?"
Aaron didn’t think for a minute that Roy didn’t know what was coming - or at least that he had some idea. This could turn bad fast, especially if he felt blindsided and threatened in his own home.
"Why did you tell him he didn't love Haley anymore?" he asked, drawing in slow, steady breaths to keep his anger in check. He still wanted, after all, to try to be civil. The moment this turned into a shouting match, Roy would stop listening entirely and nothing would be resolved. "What gives you the idea that it’s alright to say that to my son?"
Roy took a seat, studying Aaron like this was an inconvenience more than a confrontation. "You couldn't have asked me this on the telephone?"
Aaron ignored the question; it was typical of Roy to deflect. "Why?"
Roy shrugged, bitterness in his tone. "Could’ve fooled me. That’s what it feels like. Because the minute you brought that woman into the house, he started acting like Haley never existed."
Aaron’s heart sank at the mention of you, even though he’d expected it. Roy never missed an opportunity to compare you to his daughter, only to make it clear what a poor replacement he believed you were.
"No. That’s far from the truth," he said, his voice tightening. Roy didn’t know every goddamn thing; Aaron wished he’d stop acting like he did and maybe they’d get somewhere for once. "We keep Haley alive every day. You don’t know how things are in our home."
He also wasn’t going to bring up Jack’s sudden avoidance of you or Ellie. He refused to give Roy the satisfaction of thinking he’d succeeded in anything.
"Believe me, I don’t want to know how you do things in your home," Roy said, his tone coated with disgust. "I already know more than I care to. I don’t need to hear anything else."
Aaron’s eyebrows furrowed, crossing his arms against his chest. "What’s that supposed to mean?"
"Creating a new family, shoving Haley aside, brainwashing my grandson into thinking it’s okay to move on without his mother. How long is it going to take, huh?" His eyes were fixed, unforgiving. "Until he forgets about her?"
"That’s because it is okay for Jack to move on. But that doesn’t mean he’s going to forget, and it doesn’t mean we’re shoving her aside. I’m sorry it didn’t work out between Haley and I. I loved her. We wanted different things, I wasn’t around enough, and I take full responsibility for that. But if you think..."
He cut himself off, something tightening in his chest. Every time he looked at Jack, he saw Haley - in the smallest expressions, the way he treated others, even his mannerisms, all unmistakably like his mother’s. Haley would always have a special place in his heart; he wouldn’t be the man, or father, he was without her. He owed Haley everything.
"When she died, I never intended on marrying again." he said, steadier now. "But things change, Roy. They have to. It's another opportunity for another person to show Jack love. For him to have more, not less. He even gained a sister out of it." His eyes were almost pleading, hoping to somehow reach Roy, despite their differences, to get him to understand. "After everything he’s been through, shouldn’t that be a good thing?"
Roy scoffed, a very sarcastic, almost mocking, "should it?"
Aaron's voice turned sharper, his composure finally breaking loose. "You’ve taken that and turned it into something ugly. You told him he doesn’t love his mother anymore. Do you have any idea what that does to him?"
Roy’s jaw tightened. "I’m his grandfather. I think I’m allowed to-"
"No," Aaron snapped. "You're not allowed. You don’t get to put that in his head. You don’t get to make him question something like that because you’re uncomfortable."
"There are plenty of things I’ve been uncomfortable with and said nothing about. For example, I’ve held my tongue about your glorified nanny and that child."
Infuriated, Aaron had the urge to laugh of all things, probably because this entire thing was so absurd. "When have you ever held your tongue? You’ve been clear about your feelings toward the two of them since the beginning."
"Yes I have. You never see me talking to that woman, or that child, have you?"
"No, you’re right, I haven’t. I’ve seen our daughter try to reach out, to connect with you, and you do nothing but practically spit in her face. I’ve seen my wife try to be hospitable, to make you feel welcome, and you act like she doesn’t even exist. They’ve never done anything to you. They’ve done nothing to deserve the way you treat them." Aaron seethed, insisting angrily.
"Why wouldn’t I ignore them? They’re not my family. I don’t owe them anything."
"That doesn’t justify treating them like they don’t matter." His voice tightened, rising but then dropping into something lower and dangerous as he struggled to keep it steady, a vein pulsing in his neck.
"And now, you’re pushing your beliefs onto Jack. He’s a sweet kid, a good kid, but these behaviors you’re teaching him are turning him into something he’s not." He exhaled, meaning every word with his entire chest. "I can’t allow that to happen anymore. I’m not allowing you to see him."
"You can’t do that." The words came sharply, Roy’s shock flaring into anger as he stared at Aaron, caught off guard by the defiance.
Aaron didn’t waver. His stance was steady, his words measured and firm. "I’m his father. You will not come over. You will not speak to him. Not until I decide you can respect our family."
"You can’t-"
"What would Haley think?" Aaron shot back, knowing and not caring how low of a blow it was. It was something that was long overdue. "How would she feel knowing her father was saying such things to her son."
"You have no right to put words into my daughter’s mouth. She raised Jack before you didn’t have a choice but to. You're the reason she's dead. You." His gaze burned with open hatred. "Mark my words, I will never let you forget it."
"Fine," Aaron snapped, his hands rising in exasperation. "Blame me. Go ahead - put it all on me if that’s what you need." His brown eyes hardened as he made his next, final statement. "But you keep Jack out of it. You keep my wife out of it. And you sure as hell keep my daughter out of it."
Aaron intended on leaving after that, to end it before it got any worse, but Roy’s next words caused him to stop.
"You’re making the same mistakes, Aaron," Roy said, his voice cold and certain. "And this new family of yours?" He gave a slight, humorless shake of his head. "You’re going to get them killed too." He paused, heavy with the weight of a future Aaron would do anything to avoid. "I won’t even have to say I told you so."
-
The door slammed behind Aaron as he entered the house, absolutely furious. His blood was still boiling, his heart hammering as if it couldn’t quite keep up. He tossed his keys onto the counter in a sharp, controlled motion, just careless enough to betray his temper.
It drew your immediate attention, from wherever you were in the house, and within seconds you were at his side.
"Aaron?" Your eyes searched his face for clues, something already uneasy in your voice.
"Here. The groceries." He had stopped at the store on the way back, and only to grab what you had asked for. But the drive, the store, all of it felt blurred. He barely remembered walking through the aisles, mindlessly grabbing what you requested. It was almost a miracle he returned home in one piece.
"Thank you, sweetheart." While your words expressed your graciousness, it faded quickly as you noticed the lack of groceries - and then him.
He could feel it in the way you looked at him now, even without saying a word. He’d never been good at hiding things from you - you always noticed the smallest shifts in him, the tension or sadness he thought he could bury. Something wasn’t right.
You reached up, cupping his face, urgency creeping in as something in his expression faltered. "Aaron. What happened?"
summary: Every year on New Year's Day, Aaron Hotchner does a lot of thinking. This year, his girlfriend talks him through it.
warnings/tags: sfw, hurt/comfort (kinda), Aaron Hotchner is lowkey having a crisis, but like he's fine, no use of y/n
word count: 1.1k
author's note: I have not posted on here in 5-ever but heyyy who gaf. I'm a little rusty, but I tried to give y'all a nice New Year's story. lmk if y'all want more! Also, it is written in third person, but like it's still you, so it's fine
Aaron did this every year: stare off into the starry night.
He had left Penelope’s party immediately after midnight. The party horns and music she played were far too loud for him. When he told her of his eventual departure, she laughed and said he was an old man. He laughed too, not because it was funny, but because it was true. His age had finally caught up to him. Aching knees and a stiff back were all he looked forward to in the morning.
Life should have been easy for him. Mr. Scratch was dead. His presence in the FBI was essentially nonexistent after Emily took over. Jack was away at college most of the time, only back for a weekend at a time. He was retired, and he had been for nearly a decade. Retirement had been easy, but as the days passed, the constant of waking up and sitting on the couch was becoming draining.
Aaron ran a hand through his hair. The night's breeze brushed against his skin. He didn’t have a jacket on, like the fool he was. He decided that he would deal with the consequences of his actions in the morning. He listened to the fireworks erupt in the background, the loud pops reminiscent of a past he no longer aligned with. He hoped for a future where he knew what he was doing. Aaron had never been so unsure in his life.
“This has become a very concerning ritual.” Aaron turned at the sound of the sudden voice. His girlfriend stood in the doorway of the balcony, holding a jacket.
“A ritual?” He cocked his brow. He took the jacket from her hands and put it on. The warmth of the jacket filled his body. His girlfriend docked herself next to him on the railing, staring at the sky.
“You do this every year. New year, new thinking, except I don’t think you think about anything at all.”
“Is that supposed to be an insult?”
“It’s supposed to be the truth. Since I’ve known you, every year on New Year's, you come out here. You stare at the sky for a few hours. I ask you what you were thinking about the night before; you say nothing, and I don’t pry because there’s a hint of sadness in your eyes.” She was facing him now.
He grumbled in response. He didn’t want to make eye contact with her. There was something about eye contact that forced his soul to be bared to whoever he was talking to. That was the curse of retirement: he’d lost his edge from his profiling days.
“You can tell me what you’re thinking about. That’s the whole point of relationships.”
“I told you I’m not good at relationships.”
“I told you I would help.” She rested her head upon his shoulder. Aaron didn’t react.
“You’re treating me like a patient,” he huffed. Aaron ran a hand through his hair again. He wasn’t feeling annoyance, but rather some other option that left him with slight irritation and the urge to retreat further into himself.
“I’m treating you like my boyfriend, Aaron. Please, tell me what’s going on. Usually, I can ignore it for your sake, but I’m worried about you.” She grabbed his face, forcing him to look at her. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes.
“I don’t know what to do anymore.” He pulled away from her, moving to lean over the railing of the balcony. “I’ve been away from the FBI for ten years, meaning I’ve done virtually nothing for ten years. I’ve been home with Jack, but now he’s gone. He doesn’t need me anymore. He hasn’t needed me for three years.”
“So your life needs a purpose?”
“Don’t make it sound so pathetic.”
She let out a low laugh. “It’s not pathetic. It’s normal. The BAU was your life, and then you lost it. You don’t know what to do without it.”
“But I can’t go back to the FBI.”
“Why not?”
Aaron went silent, taking shallow breaths. He felt the way his back hurts, the way his knees popped if he stood too quickly, the way his skin wrinkled around his eyes. A yawn poked at the back of his throat; he pushed it down. “I’m an old man.”
“So is Rossi.”
“Rossi is insane. I don’t even know why I allowed him in the field.” They laughed for a short moment. A small smile was left on Aaron’s face. “I love the BAU, but it’s not something I can do anymore.”
“Weren’t you a prosecutor? Couldn’t you do that again?”
Aaron had nearly forgotten about his past in law. It was such a short tenure before he began working for SWAT, and that was the beginning of everything. He liked prosecution. Sure, it was long hours and tons of case preparations, but it was safe. It was in-office. There was no “wheels up,” or shooting unsubs, or being stalked. Just judges and arguing. “I could. Couldn’t I?”
“You definitely could.” His girlfriend wrapped her body around his, pressing a small kiss to his back. “Plus, it’d be nice to see you in a suit. Looking all sexy in that courtroom.” She let out an exaggerated groan. “I’m getting all hot and bothered just thinking about it.”
Aaron laughed. He turned his body to face hers. He leaned down to kiss her. “Thank you.”
“No, need to thank me. It’s my job.” She holds his face in her hands, dragging her thumb across his cheek.
Aaron’s heart swelled. For a split second, he saw Haley in her—the way her presence slowed his heart and made him smile, things only she had done for him now were being replicated. He could only pray that he didn’t allow his law career to be like his FBI career. If he lost anyone else, he was sure he would lose himself too.
“Oh boy, you’re thinking again. Come on, old man, you’re tired. It’s time for bed.” She pushed off the balcony and began to head inside their house.
“Old man?” Aaron let out a loud laugh.
“Hey, you said it. Not me.” She turned back to smile at him, giving him a wink. He could only shake his head.
As Aaron lay in bed, he thought about his course of action in the morning. First, trying to get his license reinstated, then find a law firm to work for. Maybe give a call to Rossi, ask him what keeps him going. Call Emily, just to check on the BAU. Call Jack, just to tell him he loves him. Buy a new suit.
It was a new year, and Aaron had finally decided that he wanted there to be a new him.
Summary: set around the season four episode two titled ‘The Angel Maker’. Hotch can't fly home with his ear after a close range shot, but you would never let him drive back to Quantico all by himself. He may finally have to lean on you.
Word Count: 4.2K
-
It was surprisingly humid in Ohio, you guys have been here for a few days following the murders that imitate a serial killer called the Angel Maker. It all kicked off with the one year anniversary of his execution.
Emily had figured out that the particular locations of the stab wounds were based on constellations, the Angel Maker killed the first six victims and she was trying to complete his work. It was all based on The Heavenly Waters, it was clear the unsub was in love with the serial killer and acting out of vengeance.
Cortland Bryce Ryan.
Reading over their letters to each other, even coded, you guys were able to figure out she had lost the child she was planning to bring into the world to keep him alive. When this child died, that was her stressor.
Garcia was able to narrow down a list of when who had children the right timespan that left the father off the birth certificate of their child. There happened to be one repeat name, Chloe Kelcher who was also on the jury for Cortland’s trial.
You guys turned Chloe’s apartment upside down, but it paid off when you got the clue you needed. Rossi found an appointment book with the victims names on specific days inside. Today had a woman named Faye Landreaux listed with her address. Everyone took off for her house, not bothering for a seatbelt as Hotch sped.
“Car’s still warm.” Morgan says walking up to you guys, “We have to be right behind her.”
Hotch looks over the house, “The windows are closed. That’s a good sign.”
Part of the ritual had been opening all of the windows in the house to ‘release their soul’ so you guys weren’t too late yet.
“Well, my team is ready.” The sheriff draws his weapon, “Let’s get in there.”
“Sherriff,” Hotch starts, “We didn’t recover a gun at Chloe’s apartment. We have to assume she’s armed.”
“Well, so are we.” He argues.
You roll your eyes, “If you storm in now, she’ll shoot. Chances are she’ll start with Faye.”
Morgan looks between everyone, “So, what should we do?”
“I think we should look for an open window.” His focus remains on the house, “Sheriff, I need you to bring all of your vehicles around to the front with lights and I need a megaphone.”
Hotch nods and the Sheriff takes off to get his men to move the cars. You start to scope out the house, trying to find the best point of entry that Chloe wouldn’t see coming from a mile away.
“I-” You start.
“Morgan, go.” Hotch instructs, “The last thing we need is to give her access to another woman.”
Derek takes off, a low quick stride toward the back of the house. You remain at Aaron’s side, choosing to bite your tongue. Recently he’s become protective of you, you don’t get sent in first anywhere. Definitely not alone. He makes sure to always put himself in front of danger for you, and that was no different with Morgan now.
“Hotch,” Emily steps up, “I’m not sure you’re the right person to get through to her.”
“Can anyone get through to her?” You ask out loud.
“Probably not.” Hotch admits, “But you'll have a better chance than I will.”
He passes the megaphone off to you.
“The profile is clear, you can’t talk this woman down.” Reid interjects.
“No, but I can occupy her.” You say, knowing exactly what Aaron is thinking. You may be able to buy the time for Morgan to get Faye out of the house.
“Chloe Kelcher,” you call out, “this is the FBI.”
You pause.
“We know you’re in there, and we know what you’re trying to do.”
You wait, holding out for any sign of activity in the dark house.
“I know you think that finishing what Cortland started will bring you closer to him, but you should know who he really was. I know you thought what you had with him was special, but the truth is he used the same lines in all the letters he wrote.”
Spencer writes quickly on his notepad and holds out the exact phrases for you to say. Using the direct verbiage will no doubt unravel her even further. You can hear the destruction she’s creating inside as you read it off.
“He wasn’t who you thought he was,” you continue, “He was a narcissist. He wasn’t capable of loving anyone but himself. He wrote to dozens of women.”
Morgan is quickly dashing along the side of the house, Faye protectively at his side until they make it safely behind the police line.
“It’s over, Chloe.” You call out again, “We have Faye.”
You can hear her reaction from out here, things being destroyed and her repeatedly yelling out ‘no’ over and over. She has nowhere to go.
“Well, maybe she’ll put herself down.” The sheriff mutters.
“No.” Hotch shakes his head, “She isn’t finished.”
A minute later the screen door on the front of the house slowly creaks open, everyone draws their gun seeing the weapon in her hand.
“Chloe, drop the gun.” Hotch demands. She continues off the steps, not even hesitating in her steps. Her face looks emotionless, she looks done.
“Chloe.” He repeats as she continues to advance, “Drop the weapon.”
“Dammit lady, drop it!” The sheriff yells.
She looks up to the sky, “I’m coming to you, baby.”
“Wait-” You shout.
Chloe lifts her arm, but she barely raises her arm before the sheriff has fired off a shot directly into her chest. The gunshot shattered everything, it was loud and violent and right next to Hotch. He flinched hard, his entire body seizing as his hands flew up to his ear.
“Hotch-”
He staggers, bracing himself against the cruiser. He ducks his head and squeezes his eyes shut like it was still stuck ringing in his head. You know ever since the explosion in New York he’s been having problems that he’s been trying hard to hide.
“Aaron.” You are at his side, one hand on his arm, “Talk to me.”
“I..” He presses harder against his ear, his chest rising a little faster as he winces again.
You can see EMTs rushing around you guys, moving toward Chloe but you know it’s useless. The sheriff was precise with his aim. You step directly in front of him, forcing his focus.
“Aaron, look at me.” You say it softly and as clearly as possible, “Just breathe, okay? Slow.”
His jaw remains tight with pain, “It’s ringing…”
“I know.” You nod, “That shot was way too close. You probably shouldn’t be in the field like this yet.”
He raises his brows, reminding you he’s the boss and you so badly want to comment about how that he was able to hear crystal clear.
"Try to relax." You sigh, "Breathe."
He focuses on you and takes a few deep breathes. Rossi watches you both from a few feet away, he holds off Reid from approaching with a quiet ‘give them a second’ causing everyone to back off and give him some space. After a few minutes, he starts to seem closer to his normal self. He slowly releases the tight hold over his ears, letting his arms drop.
“You with me?” You ask softly.
He manages a small nod, “Yeah.”
“Okay good,” you exhale, “You scared me for a second.”
That got a faint reaction, more than what he’ll typically allow. The corners of his mouth tick upward for a few seconds.
“I’m fine.”
You tilt your head immediately to show that you absolutely did not believe him, but you wouldn’t push it. At least not right now. The sheriff approaches to discuss the case with Aaron. You look over your shoulder once before leaving his side to head over to where Morgan and Emily stand despite their smirks and stares.
“Did she make herself the final victim?” You ask, nodding to Chloe’s body.
Emily nods, “Yeah, how’d you know?”
“She loved him, she was going to finish his work one way or another.”
-
The next morning came fast, it was a late night processing the scene. The small town motel had stale air and thin walls, but it was a short few hours of rest before the jet would be fueled up. Everyone met down in the parking lot by the SUVs to pack up. Aaron is off to the side with his phone in hand.
“Morning.” You call, falling into step beside him.
Morning.” He puts his phone in his pocket and looks up, his gaze softening.
“How’s your ear?”
He hesitates.
“It’s manageable.”
You squint, “That bad, huh?”
He doesn’t answer, which is an answer.
Everyone has loaded up so you follow Hotch to one of the SUVs and he gets in to drive, and you get in the passenger seat. You notice two cups of coffee sitting in the cupholders and look at him.
“I know how you’ll be without caffeine.” He explains, raising a brow but avoiding eye contact. He’s saved from your response when Rossi and Reid get in the backseat and then it’s a quiet ride to the small airport. He pulls up to the jet and everyone wordlessly gets out, Morgan, Emily, and JJ get out of the other SUV.
Bags are unloaded in a quick familiar rhythm that only comes with a team that does this so frequently. Until Hotch clears his throat and stops everyone in their tracks.
“I’ll be driving back.” He holds the car key in his hand.
Rossi steps back toward him, “Aaron… that’s an eight-hour drive.”
“I’m aware.”
“You shouldn’t be flying with your ear, right?” You comment, realizing why he won’t be joining the team.
He nods once, “The pressure change could make it worse.”
Reid nods, “He’s right, actually. If there’s already trauma to the auditory system, cabin pressurization could exacerbate it.”
“That’s a long drive alone.” Emily adds.
Hotch nods and steps back toward the SUV like the conversation was already over.
“I’ll be fine.”
The team exchanged looks.
“Have a safe flight.”
He walks back toward the SUV and the team still hasn’t moved, aside from Rossi who steps directly in front of you.
“Kid.” He starts, “You’re not gonna make him do it alone, are you?”
He raises his brows and you can feel the attention of everyone on you. Emily lets out a snicker and you shoot her a glare before looking back at Rossi. He’s right, you would never make him do that drive alone.
You shake your head and yell over your shoulder, “Hotch, wait up!”
You turn to take a couple of quick steps over to where he’s getting in the SUV. Your duffle bounces on your shoulder and you toss it in the backseat.
“Y/n-” He starts as you haul yourself into the passenger seat.
“Nope.” You buckle in.
“You should go with the team.” He insists with a firm tone, “It’s a short flight, you’ll be back in Quantico in an hour. You can rest-”
“And you can’t.” You interrupt, finally looking over at him but mainly so you can grab your coffee and take a sip.
“You just took a gunshot to your hearing yesterday, do you really think I’m letting you drive for eight hours by yourself?”
“I’ll manage.”
“Probably, but that’s not the point.”
He exhales slowly, “Y/n-”
All you have to do this time is raise your brows, ready to go back and forth all day and he can see it.
The car ride started quiet, both of you settling into the car and honestly being so intimately just the two of them. The road stretched far ahead of you, you have one leg tucked under the other to get comfortable. Hotch glances over briefly.
“You planning on staying like that the entire drive?”
“Maybe.” You shrug, “You planning on letting me drive at all today?”
His glare tells you that’s a no.
Hotch had no plans to make any stops other than the necessary gas and bathroom breaks. But somewhere along the stretch of highway you had grown fidgety, “If we don’t stop soon, I’m going to start critiquing your driving out of boredom.”
He doesn’t look over, “You’ve already been doing that.”
“Yeah, but now it’ll get personal.”
He looks over at your serious expression before eventually throwing on a blinker. The gas station was nothing special, but it was the first stop since the two of you had left the tarmac. A couple of pumps and a convenience store, heat rising off the pavement in visible waves. You step out of the car and stretch right away, ditching your jacket in the car leaving you in a tank top.
Hotch rounds the back of the car, “I’ll get the gas.”
You nod, “I’ll grab snacks.”
By the time you come back out, Hotch is leaning against the car waiting. His posture is relaxed in a way that only happens when he thinks no one is watching. You slowed a little as you got closer. He looks a lot less like a unit chief like this, he's just a man waiting for you to return.
“Miss me?” You grab his attention, his eyes drop briefly to where the fabric of your shirt clings to you. He can see a sliver of skin exposed where it’s riding up slightly. You catch him, and raise a brow to show it.
“...Something you want to say?” You step closer, your voice is teasing.
He clears his throat and pushes off the car, “It’s warm out.”
“Oh, is that what it is?”
“Yes.”
“Not you staring at me like you forgot how your eyes work?” You chuckle, enjoying every single second of this.
“I was not-”
“You were,” You grin wider, “I thought you were having hearing problems, not vision-”
“Get in the car, Y/n.”
You laugh harder, sliding into the passenger seat. “That’s what I thought.”
The car felt different after that. It was still quiet but it wasn’t comfortable like it had been earlier, it was buzzing. The radio played lowly which he didn’t have on before. You stare out the window, but you aren’t really paying attention to the scenery. Aaron’s focus is locked on the road, his grip a little too tight on the wheel.
Minutes pass, then it hits sharp and sudden. Hotch sucks in a breath, flinching as his hand shoots up to his ear.
“Dammit.”
“Aaron?” You turn instantly, “What-what is it?”
“Just-” He winces again and presses his palm harder against his ear, “It’s sharp.”
“Okay, pull over.” You say immediately.
“I’m fine-” He tries.
“Hotch.” Your voice firm, “Pull over.”
Another sharp pain rings out in his ear and he eases onto the shoulder, putting the car in park a little harder than necessary. The second the car is stopped you unbuckle and turn fully toward him.
“Hey hey!" Your voice is soft but pleading, "Look at me, talk to me. Is it still ringing?”
“Yeah, it’s worse,” He admits, “It’s pressure.”
“Okay,” You nod, “take your hand off for a second.”
You reach for his wrist to pull his hand away, he slowly lets go and lowers it. You shift closer and your hand hovers over his ear before adjusting the angle of his head.
“Tilt a little.” Your voice is softer than Aaron has ever heard it.
He follows your lead, but his jaw is still tight.
“Breathe,” You add quietly, “You’re tensing up, it’s going to make it worse.”
“I am not.”
“You are,” You hold his head there, “It’s okay, just breathe.”
Slowly his breathing returns to normal, coming out softer. His shoulders loosen a fraction when your hands curl around his head. His eyes are closed and he finally looks relaxed for a few minutes. The pain didn’t disappear, but it did help dull the ache.
You pull back slightly while studying his face, “Better?”
He opens his eyes, “A little.”
“Okay, good.” You sit fully back in your seat again, “Switch.”
He blinks, “What?”
“I’m driving.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.” He repeats more firmly this time, “I’m fine.”
“Aaron-”
“I said I’m fine.”
You stare at him, really stare, “You aren’t and that’s okay. When was the last time you let someone take care of you?”
His expression didn’t change right away, but his gaze did drop to his hands briefly. He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it. This is probably the first time you’ve seen him speechless.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” You say gently.
A long stretch passes between you two before he eventually unbuckles his seatbelt. A few minutes later and they were back on the road, only now Hotch sat in the passenger seat. He has one hand resting loosely near his ear and the other is bracing the door. Somehow he looks bigger in the seat you typically occupy.
“Try to relax,” You glance over briefly, “You’re allowed to, you know.”
He exhales what you think might be a laugh, “I don’t think I remember how.”
You smile and let your gaze flick over to him, his eyes already on you.
“Well, you’ve got at least another five hours to figure it out.”
You look back to the road, but can tell he’s still looking at you. He says your name so softly you weren’t sure you actually heard it, but look back.
“Thank you.” He nods.
“Anytime.”
Somehow that meant more to him than anything else you could’ve said.
The road continued to stretch on for miles, it was the kind of drive that blurred time a little. You kept things smooth and glance over at him once and notice he’s fallen asleep at some point. His head was tilted toward the window, his posture loosened. You blink a few times, darting back and forth between him and the road. Aaron did not fall asleep in moving vehicles, he didn’t relax enough. But now?
His breathing was even, his face softer than you’d ever seen it. He had no lines between his brows, and the tightness in his jaw had evaporated. He looks so peaceful you’re half tempted to run a hand back through his hair. You don’t, instead you turn the music down another notch and keep driving.
Time passed. A lot of it.
The sun was starting a slow descent in the late afternoon, casting the whole car in a soft gold glow. He gradually stirred, a shift in his breathing before he blinked his eyes a couple times. You can see the disorientation and then he straightens almost immediately.
“How long?” He looks over at you.
You smile, “Long enough.”
He exhales, running a hand over the back of his neck, “I didn’t mean to-”
“I know.”
“You shouldn’t have had to drive the whole time.”
You finally glance at him, “I didn’t have to, I wanted to.”
“That’s not the point.” He argues.
“Isn’t it?”
He frowns, “Y/n-”
“You needed sleep!” You shrug, “You got it, that’s a win.”
The guilt is written on his face.
“I should’ve stayed awake.”
You let out a huff of disbelief, “You cannot help yourself, can you?”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” Your tone coming off far less teasing, “You were exhausted, Aaron. And in pain and you still weren’t going to stop.”
He doesn’t argue with that, because he can’t.
“You don’t have to do that all the time,” You look back at him again, “Carry everything by yourself.”
He looks at you for a long moment, taking in everything you said and how honest and genuine it all was. Your hands are steady on the wheel, focused and calm. Your face is unguarded, revealing that this wasn’t some burden to you. He wasn't a burden.
“I’m not used to it.” He finally admits.
“Yeah, I figured.” You smile, “When was the last time you slept like that?”
He thought about it, he actually thought about it and he was stumped.
“I don’t remember.”
Your chest tightens at his admission.
“You don’t have to earn rest, Aaron.” You add after a moment, “It’s not something you should ever have to justify.”
Hotch let out a slow breath, leaning his head back against the headrest.
“I know that.”
“But you don’t do it.” You call out.
“No.”
You smile slightly, “Good thing I’m here then.”
That gets the corners of his mouth to flick up, you catch it.
“I suppose it is.”
His words were quiet, but they hang over the car. The man sitting next to you is so far from your typical unit chief. As much as you’ve felt something between the two of you, it’s never been something either of you have vocalized.
“Ear any better?”
“A little.” He nods.
“Good.”
There’s a comfortable pause before he clears his throat.
“Y/n?” You look over and you can see him hesitate for a second while deciding his words, “Thank you. Thank you for staying.”
He finally looks unguarded to you, genuine and honestly a little unsure of himself. It softens you completely knowing he’s showing you a new side of himself.
“I was never going to leave you.” You say simply, “Besides, you talk in your sleep so that kept things interesting.”
He blinks, “I do not.”
“You do.”
“I don’t.”
“How would you know?” You turn and smirk, catching him rolling his eyes.
After a couple more hours of highway, the roads started to become familiar. You pulled into the parking garage, the tires echoing softly against the concrete. You turn off the car and neither of you move to get out right away.
“Well,” You exhale, “we made it.”
He doesn’t answer immediately, he’s already looking at you. Not the quick glances from earlier, this was steady and intentional. You could feel it in your bones.
Your breath catches slightly, “What?”
“It was nice.”
You blink.
“The drive?”
He softly shakes his head, “No.”
He pauses.
“...This.”
You shift in your seat, turning to face him a little more. He exhales, his gaze dropping to the steering wheel before coming back to you.
“I meant what I said earlier about not being used to being taken care of.” He continues and you don’t interrupt or make a joke this time, “It’s not something I’ve ever relied on or even allowed.”
Your chest tightens slightly.
“But with you-” He carries on, “It didn’t feel like something I had to resist.”
“Aaron.” You say softly.
He shakes his head like he needed to get it out before he lost the nerve.
“It felt right”
Your eyes hold his.
“You’re the only person I would want it from.”
That did it.
Whatever line they’d been dancing for months, especially while on this drive, was gone. You let out a small breath of disbelief.
“Well,” A small smile tugging at your lips, “good. I’m not exactly offering that kind of treatment to just anyone.”
His own smile begins to appear.
“Glad to hear it.”
“Can you hear it?” You tease and he rolls his eyes, but the smile doesn’t waver.
“So, what does that make us?” You ask, reaching out your hand for his. He takes it and his hands are warm and callused.
“Something we should’ve acknowledged sooner.” He jokes.
“That sounds dangerously close to a real answer.” You smirk.
His hand reaches up to cup your face, his thumb passing over your cheekbone.
“I’d like to give a relationship a chance, if that’s something you want.”
You search his face, looking for any hint of hesitation or doubt. All you see is Aaron.
“I would like that.”
The words leave your lips and he chases them. You have to fight a smile to kiss him back, relishing in the warmth of his lips. You reach out to pull him closer by the collar of his shirt and his hand reaches back into your hair. You sigh and he swallows it.
“We should probably go upstairs.” He pants after a moment.
You look around the mostly empty garage and nod. The bullpen was mostly empty by the time the elevator dropped the two of you off. It was late enough that the team had gone home.
Except for one.
Garcia was walking back to the lair, realizing she left her keys behind but she stops in her tracks when she hears an unfamiliar laugh. She turns and looks back to see you and Aaron walking side by side, in sync. Hotch has a wide smile on his face, looking down at you and Garcia’s jaw nearly hits the floor.
Hotch holds the glass door open for you and the two of you disappear from Garcia’s view but she can’t move a muscle. Did she really just see that? She starts digging for her phone in her purse, the click of her loud heels following her back to the lair.
“Derek Morgan you will never believe what I just saw.”
an// awe this was kinda fun! i was rewatching and love the idea of continuing on where the episode left off!
quarter zip you’re sick, aaron’s home, you’re in his quarter zip.
you’re halfway through an episode of grey’s anatomy.
the blanket is tucked up to your chin, tea balanced carefully in your hands, steam brushing your face in soft waves. your throat aches every time you swallow. your head feels too heavy for your body.
you shift, wincing.
god, you hate being sick.
the apartment is too quiet. which is stupid, because aaron is literally down the hall.
he’d been here ten minutes ago, pressed a kiss to your forehead, murmured something about keeping hydrated, tucked the blanket around you like you might fall apart if he didn’t.
and still you feel selfish.
you reach for your phone.
aar?
pls
come
here
aaron
you stare at the screen after hitting send on those messages, lips pressing into a weak line.
you’re being dramatic.
you don’t even have to wait a full minute before you hear his office chair shift. the faint creak of the door. and then his footsteps.
you sink a little deeper into the couch.
he appears in the doorway, already looking at you like he knows exactly why you called him.
brown quarter zip. sleeves pushed just enough to show his forearms. hair slightly mussed from running his hand through it.
he softens the second he sees you.
“yes?” his voice is quiet, careful. “do you need something?”
you lift your arms toward him, blanket slipping a little. “yes. you.”
there’s the smallest flicker of a smile. barely there, but it counts.
he steps closer, stopping right in front of the couch. “i’m here.”
you pout at him, which probably looks pathetic given the situation. “not enough.”
he exhales softly through his nose, almost a laugh and reaches out, brushing the back of his hand across your forehead.
his touch is cool..
“you still feel too warm,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “how are you feeling?”
“like i got hit by a truck,” you mumble. your voice is rough, “and then reversed over for fun.”
his thumb presses lightly at your temple, gentle, testing. “headache?”
you nod, eyes slipping shut for a second. “and my throat. and everything else.”
he hums, fingers shifting to brush a strand of hair away from your face. “have you been drinking your tea?”
you lift the mug slightly in response.
“good.” his gaze lingers on you, like he’s cataloging every detail. “did you take the medicine i left out?”
“…maybe.”
he raises an eyebrow.
you groan softly. “okay, no.”
“sweetheart,” he begins, “you were supposed to take it two hours ago.”
you peek up at him. “you’re supposed to take care of me, not interrogate me.”
“i am taking care of you.” his tone dips, “that includes making sure you’re actually doing what you need to get better.”
you sigh, sinking further into the couch. “you’re mean.”
“mm.” he doesn’t sound convinced. “i think our definitions of mean are very well different, come on.”
before you can argue, he gently takes the mug from your hands and sets it on the table. then his hands are on the blanket, pulling it back just enough.
“what are you doing,” you mumble.
“adjusting,” he says simply.
and then, just as easily, he sits down, shifting until he’s settled against the arm of the couch.
you blink at him.
“come here,” he adds.
you don’t need to be told twice.
you lean into him, letting your head rest against his shoulder, your body folding into his side like it belongs there. because it does.
his arm comes around you without hesitation, hand settling warm against your upper arm, thumb brushing slow, absent lines.
you let out a small breath you didn’t realize you were holding.
“better?” he asks.
“mhm,” you murmur, already melting. “way better.”
his cheek brushes lightly against the top of your head. another small, fleeting kind of affection—so him it almost hurts.
“you should try to sleep,” he says.
“don’t wanna,” you mumble, even as your eyes start to close. “missed you.”
there’s a pause.
“i was just down the hall,” he says.
“still counts,” you whisper.
his hand shifts, fingers threading gently into your hair, “if you say so,” he smiles.
you’re quiet for a while.
curled into his side, half-asleep, your fingers lazily tracing the fabric of his sleeve. the tv drones on in the background, something dramatic, someone yelling, someone crying—but it all feels far away.
your focus is him.
the warmth of him. the steady rise and fall of his chest. the soft, clean scent that clings to his clothes.
your fingers pinch lightly at the material of his quarter zip.
“god,” your voice comes out scratchy, barely above a whisper, “i love your sweater.”
he glances down at you, just slightly, brow easing.
“yes?”
you nod against him, eyes still closed, rubbing the fabric between your fingers like it’s something precious. “mhm. it’s my favorite.”
there’s a faint huff of amusement.
“i can’t believe,” he says, “you’ve managed to pick the oldest thing i own and call it your favorite.”
your eyes crack open immediately.
you tilt your head just enough to look at him, frowning. “old but gold.”
that makes him laugh.
you reach up to tug slightly at the collar. “it’s nice. it’s soft. and it smells like you.”
his hand comes up, brushing lightly over your arm. “that’s a questionable endorsement.”
you pout at him properly now, lips pushing forward, eyes heavy and glassy from being sick. “i like it.”
“i can tell,” he murmurs.
your fingers don’t stop fidgeting with it. absent, needy, a little clingy in a way you won’t acknowledge later.
you sink closer, pressing into him.
“m cold,” you add after a second, voice small.
he stills.
then he leans back just enough to look at you properly, one brow lifting. he knows your goal. one moment you’re talking about his zipper and then you’re suddenly cold.”
“still? even with those three blankets and the hot water bottle?”
you nod, “freezing.”
he studies you for a moment to check if you’re over exaggerating
you blink up at him, stubborn.
he exhales quietly, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.
“of course you are.”
you watch as he shifts, already reaching for the hem of his quarter zip. he pulls it over his head, leaving him in a black shirt.
“arms up,” he instructs.
there’s no room to argue. not that you would.
you lift your arms, he slides it over your head carefully, mindful, tugging it down over your arms, smoothing it into place like it matters.
it’s too big on you. sleeves falling past your hands, collar loose around your neck.
it’s warm.
it smells exactly like him.
you melt instantly, shoulders dropping, eyes closing as you sink into it.
“thank you,” you mumble, voice muffled slightly by the fabric.
“of course, honey.”
you curl right back into him, pressing your face briefly into the sleeve.
“i only ever think my clothes look good when you’re the one wearing them,” he says, “it’s ridiculous.”
“aww,” you rasp, “baby.”
he blushes. then his hand comes up again, brushing your hair back from your face, fingers lingering at your temple.
“you’re burning up,” he murmurs, “and you’re insisting you’re cold.”
“both can happen,” you mumble.
“mm.” his thumb traces lightly along your cheekbone. “i’m aware.”
you tilt your head into his hand without thinking.
then his gaze drops to your mouth, then back up to your eyes.
“you’re beautiful.”
you blink, caught off guard.
“i look like i’m dying.”
“you don’t,” he answers, “you look tired. but you’re still beautiful.”
your face warms—fever, maybe. maybe not.
“you’re biased,” you whisper.
“i’m observant.”
and then he leans in.
it’s not rushed. not careless. just gentle—his hand shifting to cup your jaw, thumb resting just under your ear as he presses his lips to yours.
brief, but enough to make your chest ache in a different way.
you hum quietly against him, chasing it for half a second before he pulls back.
“aaron,” you murmur.
“yes?”
you tuck your face into his shoulder again, hiding a little. “again.”
there’s a quiet exhale.
you pull back just enough to look at him, frowning.
he holds your gaze for a second.
“if i give you one more will you take your medicine?”
you pretend to think, “three more and we have a deal,” you grin.
aaron cups your cheeks and grins, “can’t believe i’m negotiating about this.”
he leans in, one hand coming up to cup your jaw, thumb resting just under your ear.
the first kiss is soft. slow. lingering just enough to make your chest ache.
he pulls back barely an inch.
the second is gentler somehow—shorter, but warmer, his thumb brushing lightly along your cheek as he does.
you hum quietly, chasing him a little.
he doesn’t let you.
the third—he hesitates for the briefest second before pressing his lips to yours again, just a touch firmer, like he’s making sure you feel it.
and then he pulls back.
“there,” he murmurs.
you’re smiling before you can stop yourself. cheeks warm, eyes soft.
he watches you for a second, something in his expression easing, just a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
“happy?” he asks.
you nod, small. “very.”
“good.” his thumb brushes once more along your cheek before he lets his hand fall. “stay here.”
you make a quiet noise of protest anyway as he stands, fingers slipping from his sweater.
“i’ll be right back,” he says, already moving toward the kitchen.
you sink into the couch, pulling the sleeves over your hands again, face half-buried in the fabric. it still smells like him.
it helps.
you’re staring at nothing in particular when he comes back.
water in one hand. pills in the other.
you groan the second you see them. “ugh.”
he sits down beside you again, close enough that your knee presses into his thigh.
“i know,” he says, “they’re not great.”
“they’re awful,” you correct, squinting at the pills like they’ve personally wronged you.
“and they’re going to help,” he replies, already holding the glass out to you.
you sigh dramatically, but you take it.
he doesn’t rush you.
just sits there, solid and patient, one hand resting lightly against your arm like a quiet reminder he’s there.
“…you owe me after this,” you mumble.
“do i? i thought we made a deal already?”
“still,” you roll your eyes, “i get girlfriend extras.”
“we’ll discuss it,” he smiles.
you take the pills one by one, making a face after each.
aaron waits until you’ve swallowed the last pill.
really waits, eyes on you, quiet, making sure you don’t try to fake it.
only when you give him a weak, “done,” does he take the glass from your hands.
“good job,” he murmurs.
and then he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek.
“yeah?” you say, trying to tease him, “am i your good girl now?”
there’s a beat.
and then he snorts.
he shakes his head, "don’t push it.”
you turn your face slightly into it without thinking.
“do you want to lie down now?” he asks.
you blink at him, already shifting closer.
“…with you?”
there’s a pause.
“i need to finish a couple reports,” he says, brushing his hand over yours, “case summaries and victimology notes from the last consult. i’ve already pushed them once.”
you pout immediately.
he sees it coming. of course he does.
“please,” you add, quieter this time. “just until i fall asleep.”
he studies you.
he notices the way your shoulders have slumped, the way your eyes keep drifting shut, the way you’re still half-buried in his sweater like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.
his jaw shifts slightly.
“you’re not going to sleep on your own, are you?“
you shake your head.
“no.”
he sighs but nevertheless gives you a smile.
“okay.”
you perk up instantly. “okay?”
“just until you fall asleep,” he clarifies, already shifting. “then i’m going back to work.”
“deal,” you say quickly, like you might lose the chance.
there’s the faintest hint of a smile at that.
“finish your tea,” he adds.
you make a face, but you reach for it anyway, taking a few small sips while he adjusts the pillows behind you, tugging the blanket straighter, making space.
“ugh, i hate being sick,” you mumble after a minute, handing the mug off to him.
he sets it aside, then tries his best to settle his body behind you.
“i know. i’m sorry you still feel so bad,” he opens his arms for you.
you don’t hesitate.
you scoot closer, then closer still, until you’re practically climbing into his lap.
“honey,” he chuckles, one hand coming to rest on your back.
you ignore him completely.
you swing a leg over his, shifting until you’re half on top of him, your head finding its place against his chest like it belongs there.
your legs tangle with his.
you sigh, deep and content, the sound soft against him.
“are you comfortable?” he asks.
“mhm,” you hum. “don’t move.”
“i wasn’t planning on it.”
you curl your fingers lightly into his shirt beneath the sweater, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your ear.
it’s calming and grounding.
your eyes are already slipping closed.
“i love you,” you mumble against him.
his hand stills for just a second at your back.
his chin dips slightly, resting against the top of your head.
“i love you too,“ he smiles.
you smile into his chest.
while his thumb strokes soothing circles against your back his other is brushing your hair away.
when you dislocate your shoulder, hotch is your emergency contact
You feel dumb waiting in the ER for Aaron to pick you up.
You loathe to think about how you’re supposed to explain to him that you’d managed to dislocate your shoulder from falling off the bed.
When he walks through the doors to find you sitting on a hospital bed with a frown, he looks nothing short of distressed.
“Hey,” he rushes over to you, scanning you with his eyes before he catches sight of the sling on your shoulder.
“Oh honey,” he croons, sounding all too sweet for the petulant expression you’d been displaying.
“I’m fine,” you grumble half-heartedly.
Aaron tsks softly, placing a hand softly on your shoulder and motioning you to stand.
“How’d you do this?” He asks, walking behind you to scan the back of the sling.
You huff, refusing to admit your fault.
“It’s dumb,” you admit, “they shouldn’t have called you, I was just about to get an uber home—”
“Wait what? baby no.” Aaron protests, moving to stand in front of you with his well known frown.
“You were gonna get an uber?” Aaron looks horrified that you’d even suggest that.
“Well I knew you were stressed over the reports from—”
“Sweetheart,” His eyes are soft and warm, his entire expression adoring if not mixed with mild amused exasperation.
“Well I’m glad they called me then because you apparently wouldn’t have,” He remarks teasingly.
You slump slightly and can’t help the grimace as your shoulder pulls at the motion.
Your grimace pulls Aaron right back into his concerned partner aura, “don’t move around too much, your ligaments probably haven’t even started to heal yet,” he frowns.
You can’t help the snort you let out, “you’d know that with the MD you managed to acquire on the ride over?” You laugh softly.
Aaron rolls his eyes in fond amusement, “I actually badgered Reid with a couple of questions on the phone.” He replies snarkily.
Your smile softens, as much as you’d like to believe your worry about inconveniencing Aaron outweighs most other emotions, its moments like these that you can’t help but be thankful for him being there for you.
“Tired?” He murmurs, shuffling closer to you so that you sit on the bed.
He moves to stand in between your legs, frowning as he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear.
“I’d kill for a nap,” you acquiescence, pressing your cheek into Aaron’s palm as he cups your face.
He hums, “Well lucky for you little miss, you’ve got your own FBI escort waiting for you right outside.”
Your smile widens, “Tell me you didn’t use your badge to park in the emergency parking.”
Aaron doesn’t even have the decency to look guilty, shrugging with a smirk as he turns around to signal for a nurse to get you signed out.
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