summary: in which y/n is grateful for aaron's experiences – inspired by all of the girls you loved before by taylor swift
word count: 773
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You've heard the stories before, the whispered mentions of the women that had come before you. Each one left a mark on him, a trace you sometimes wondered if you could see in the way he moved, the way he held you when you felt his steady hands against your back. Aaron Hotchner didn't often talk about them, but in the quiet moments, their presence lingered like a ghost in the room, a history you couldn't touch but could feel.
It wasn't jealousy, exactly. It was more the weight of knowing you weren't his first love, that he had lived entire lifetimes before you. Maybe you'd catch him staring off into the distance, his jaw tight as memories flickered across his face. You never pried, though the questions sometimes bubbled at the back of your throat. He would have told you if he wanted to, you reminded yourself.
But tonight was different. Tonight, something between you shifted.
You were sitting together on the porch, the soft hum of autumn night air around you, the distant sounds of traffic on the street below a low murmur. The team was away on a case, but for once, he wasn't. He had stayed behind, citing exhaustion, though you knew it wasn't just about fatigue. He needed time. Space. And you were here for him, silently offering the support he rarely let himself ask for.
Aaron sipped his drink, his fingers grazing the glass as he looked out into the darkened sky. You followed his gaze, wondering where his mind had drifted this time. His silence wasn't unusual, but there was a tension tonight that made the air between you feel thicker than usual. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft, like he wasn't sure he was ready for the words.
"I don't think I've ever told you about Haley."
His ex-wife. You'd heard her name before, of course, but he rarely mentioned her. Even now, years after her death, the grief still hung in his eyes when he did. You turned slightly, giving him your full attention, heart tightening as you prepared yourself for whatever he needed to say.
"She was... everything to me. For a long time." He let out a breath, his thumb tracing the rim of his glass. "And when I lost her, I didn't think I could feel that way again. About anyone."
You didn't speak, just listened, knowing this wasn't something you could fix. This was something he had to let out, piece by piece.
"I wasn't looking for this, for us." His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world stopped turning. "But somehow, you're here."
He shifted, setting his drink aside and taking your hand in his. His fingers were warm against yours, grounding you as his gaze softened, the weight of years of pain and love swirling in his eyes.
"I used to think the past would always have this hold on me, that I'd never be able to let go of all the girls I loved before. But then I realized... they led me here. To you."
Your breath caught, the weight of his words pressing into your chest. You didn't need him to explain further. You knew what he meant—that every love, every loss, every heartbreak had shaped him into the man sitting beside you. And somehow, through all of it, he had found his way to you.
He squeezed your hand, a silent reassurance that he was here, with you, now.
"I don't regret any of it," he continued, his voice quieter now. "Because without it, I wouldn't have you. And that's something I wouldn't trade for anything."
The tears welled in your eyes before you could stop them, the emotion of his confession wrapping around your heart. You'd always known there was a part of him that would forever belong to the past, to Haley, to the life he had before. But now, hearing him say it, you realized it wasn't about competing with those memories. It was about understanding that you were part of his story now, a chapter he hadn't expected but cherished all the same.
You leaned in, resting your head on his shoulder as he pulled you closer, the unspoken understanding settling between you. There was no need for more words, not tonight. You both knew that love wasn't about erasing the past—it was about accepting it, embracing it, and realizing that every step along the way had led to this moment.
And in that moment, you realized something too.
You were glad for all the girls he loved before, because without them, without everything he had been through, you might never have found your way to him.
And now that you had, you weren't going to let go.
[AN: oh hey... I think I'm going to do febuwhump to get out of my writing slump. I'll keep you guys updated. I also have a ko-fi account now??? no pressure but it's link in my navigation and here! and of course... my taglist. lmk your thoughts. love you byeee]
summary: in which y/n doubts her spot in hotch’s heart – inspired by wildflower by billie eilish
word count: 825
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You've always known that Aaron had a love before you. It's impossible not to—Haley was a part of his life through so many milestones for many years. He's never talked about her in-depth, but the memories surround him, a lingering presence that never quite fades. Some days, you catch the look in his eyes, far away, like he's somewhere else entirely. And every time it happens, you can't help but wonder if it's Haley he's thinking of.
It's been a couple of years since her death, and though Aaron has moved forward, there's a part of him that you fear might still be anchored to the past. That maybe, you're not enough to replace what he lost. You've tried to ignore it, tried to convince yourself that your worries are unfounded, but the thought lingers.
Tonight, it's especially strong. You're sitting on the couch with Aaron, his hand resting on your knee as you watch a movie together. But his mind isn't here. You can tell by the way his gaze flickers, unfocused, staring at the screen but not really seeing it. It happens more often than you'd like to admit, and each time it sends a twinge of insecurity through you.
"Where are you?" you ask softly, trying to keep your voice light. He looks at you, startled as if he didn't realize you were speaking.
"I'm here," he says, offering you a small smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
But you're not convinced. You've been holding this in for so long, pretending that everything's fine, but tonight, you can't help yourself. The words spill out before you can stop them.
"Are you, though? Because sometimes it feels like...like you're somewhere else. Like you're still thinking about her."
Aaron's expression shifts, his smile fading as he turns to face you fully. He opens his mouth to speak, but you can't stop now. The floodgates are open.
"I get it, Aaron. I know how much she meant to you, how much you loved her. But sometimes I wonder if you still...if you still love her. And I know that's unfair of me, because how could you not? She was your wife, the mother of your child, and she was taken from you in such a horrible way. But where does that leave me? Am I just here to fill a void?"
He's silent, his brows furrowing as he processes your words. The air between you feels heavy, thick with the weight of what you've just admitted. You hate yourself for saying it, for pushing him when you know how much he's been through, but the fear has been gnawing at you for so long, that you couldn't hold it in anymore.
Finally, Aaron speaks, his voice low but steady. "You're not filling a void."
You look at him, surprised by the conviction in his tone. He leans forward, his hand tightening around yours.
"I'll always care about Haley. She'll always be a part of me because she's part of Jack's life. But I'm not in love with her anymore. I haven't been for a long time, even before she died."
His words make your heart stutter. "You haven't?"
"No," he says softly, his thumb brushing against your hand. "When I met you, I didn't know I was ready to love someone again. But you've given me something I didn't think I'd ever have. You gave me hope, and you've made me feel alive again. I don't look back at what I had with Haley and wish it were still here. I look forward with you."
Tears prick your eyes at his words, the weight of your insecurity beginning to lift. But still, there's a lingering doubt, one you're almost afraid to voice.
"But do you...do you regret it? That you're with me now?"
Aaron shakes his head firmly. "Never. I'm with you because I want to be. After all, I love you. You're my future, not my past."
He cups your cheek, his touch gentle but grounding, and you lean into his palm, the warmth of his hand seeping into your skin. His gaze is soft, and earnest, as he brushes away the tear that slips down your cheek.
"I'm sorry if I've ever made you feel like you're second to Haley," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "That was never my intention. I love you. Only you."
You close your eyes, letting his words wash over you, their truth sinking in. You know he's being honest, that his heart is yours, but a part of you also knows that love doesn't erase the past. And maybe that's okay. Maybe love is about accepting that there will always be echoes of what came before, but choosing to move forward together, despite them.
When you open your eyes, Aaron is still watching you, waiting for you to say something. You reach up, covering his hand with yours as you press a kiss to his palm.
"I love you too," you whisper.
And for the first time in a long while, you believe that it's enough. You're enough.
[AN: I want to start posting multiple times a week but idk how I want to schedule that yet. maybe every 3 days? also I was supposed to post this days ago but forgot to queue it … AND AS YOU GUYS ARE READING THIS IM OMW TO MY SECOND ERAS TOUR SHOW HEHE. anyway, here's my taglist]
summary: in which y/n visits hotch in the hospital
word count: 888
main masterlist
The drive to the hospital was suffocating. No matter how many windows you rolled down, it wasn't nearly enough air. Your hands were gripping the steering wheel tightly, trying to focus on the fact that he was safe and alive.
Emily's voice echoed in your ears. "Stable," is all that you can hear. It was the last thing you heard before you hung up on your friend and raced out of the office.
The word was fragile, as if it could break any moment but it gave you hope. But the thought of what happened to your fiance, Aaron, weighed on you. It brought your heart down to your ankles.
When you get to the hospital, you don't remember parking, how, or where. You rushed through the sterile halls, the beeping of the monitors and the smell of antiseptic making your skin crawl. You couldn't believe you wanted to be a nurse. Because at this moment you couldn't stand hospitals. The idea of Aaron being hurt—of him lying somewhere behind one of those doors—is unbearable.
As you reach the nurse's station, your breath is short as you try to remain calm. "Aaron Hotchner. Where is he?"
The nurse glances up, her face softening as she senses your panic. "He's in Room 407. He's stable and awake now," she says reassuringly, hoping to calm you down.
Stable.
You nod and make your way to his room, your heart pounding. Your steps quicken as you approach the door. For a moment, you hesitate. You've been trying to hold yourself together since Emily's call, but now reality is starting to hit you in a way you weren't prepared for.
You take a deep breath and push the door open.
And there he is—sitting up in the hospital bed, pale but very much alive. His eyes find yours the moment you step inside, and the tightness in your chest eases just a little. He's okay and he's right there.
You rush to his side, ignoring everyone else in the room. Your hands are shaking as you reach out for him.
"Aaron..."
He looks at you, his dark eyes soft, but you can see the exhaustion in them, the pain he's trying to hide.
"Hey," he says, his voice low, rougher than usual. "I'm okay."
You take his hand gently, brushing your thumb over his knuckles as if reassuring yourself that he's here.
"Em... Emily said it was Foyet?" You whisper, your voice catching in your throat. "He stabbed you."
Aaron nods, his jaw tightening at the mention of George Foyet.
"Yeah. But I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, but the weight of the fear remains. You sit down next to his bed, never letting go of his hand.
"I was so scared," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.
His thumb moves softly against your hand, a gesture of comfort even in his weakened state.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I didn't want you to worry."
"You can't not expect me to worry, Aaron. Not when something like this happens."
He doesn't argue. His eyes soften as he looks at you, the unspoken emotions heavy between you two. You can see it—the guilt he's carrying. The sense that, somehow he let you down by getting hurt, even though that's the last thing you should be feeling.
You glance at the bandage peeking out from under his hospital gown, your stomach twisting at the sight.
"What did the doctors say?"
"They said I'll recover. It'll take some time, but I'll be fine," he says quietly.
You close your eyes for a second, letting more relief wash over you. He's going to be okay. He's here and alive you remind yourself. That's what matters. But the thought of how close you came to losing him makes your chest ache.
"I wish I had been there. I should've been there but I was working late," you quickly let out, unable to hide the tremor in your voice.
Aaron shakes his head, gently squeezing your hand.
"No, this is not something you want to be a part of. You shouldn't have to see any of this."
He's trying to protect you like he always does but it doesn't make the fear go away.
"I know you don't want me to worry, Aaron, but I can't just switch it off. I worry about you. I love you. You can't ask me to not feel any way when stuff like this happens."
"I know," he says just above a whisper. "I know. I just hate that you have to be scared because of me."
Tears sting the back of your eyes but you blink them away, not wanting to break down in front of him.
"It's because I love you. And because I am terrified that I will lose you one day," you say softly.
For a moment, the room is silent, besides the bums and beeps of the machines around you.
Aaron looks at you as if trying to memorize your face as if he'll never see you again.
"I'm not going anywhere," he promises with a steady voice.
You nod, squeezing his hand tighter, holding onto him like he's the most important thing in the world. Because to you, he is.
[AN: i usually have something to say but today I don’t ☝🏾 here's my taglist]
summary: in which y/n encourages aaron to talk about his feelings – inspired by day one of febuwhump
word count: 866
main masterlist
You sang softly as you stirred the pasta on the stove. You weren't belting, just humming quietly, lost in the simple rhythm of it, too happy that Aaron was finally coming home after a week away on a case in Wyoming.
You didn't notice the grim look on his face—sunken eyes, hollow cheeks—until it was too late. You were too caught up in the thought of him walking through the door to realize that he had already walked in.
But when you saw him, you saw him. Everything else fell away. You dropped the spoon and rushed to where he stood in the doorway, his shoulders heavy with something unspoken.
"Aar..." you mumbled, cupping his face. "Hey, what's wrong?"
You gently took his bag from his hand and guided him to the kitchen island. As he sat down, he pressed his head into his hands, and the tension in his posture was enough to make your heart ache.
"What's wrong? What happened?" you asked, more insistently this time.
He didn’t answer; just sat there, his hands hiding his face. You stood there for a moment, watching him, before gently running your fingers through his hair.
"You have a beautiful voice," he mumbled, deflecting, avoiding the question.
"You're too kind," you replied, the edge of sarcasm softening the concern in your voice. "Now tell me, are you okay?"
He sighs and is quiet for a moment. He picks his head out of his hands and looks over at me, letting me take in how disheveled he looked.
"I'm fine," He nods and rests his hands on the island.
You roll your eyes and cross your arms, giving him the look—the one that says you both know what's going on here.
He knows, and you know. The crack in his voice betrays the mask he's desperately trying to hold up. The way he avoids eye contact with you and shakes his head so you can no longer get a clear look at him.
You wouldn't say he was closed off. When he was happy or surprised or even nervous, he expressed himself with you. You were the first person he thought of when it came to expressing himself.
"I can't wait to tell her about this." "I'm so nervous, I wonder if she'll be happy."
But when it came to more negative emotions such as envy, anger, or sadness, he was quiet. He shut down completely but you were slowly breaking into his vault.
You could always tell by his voice or the look in his eyes, which is exactly why he looked away from you. His eyes were his tell when it came to you. You always knew.
"Why do you hide your sadness from me? You know and I know and I'll always find out."
You sighed and rested your hands on top of his large, warm ones.
"I don't want to spread it to you."
You were quick the shake your head and shushed him, not wanting to hear that nonsense.
"Oh stop it."
He's slow to look up but when he does, you see it all. All the tension, anger, and sadness, warring in his eyes as he looks at you. None of these emotions are toward you but it's as if he can express them as he looks at you.
"I'm just not used to it. I have to be a calm, levelheaded leader at work," He admits.
You nodded and gently rubbed his hands.
"But when you get home, you don't have to be that. So, why? Why hide yourself from me? You don't have to. You can use your vocal cords and talk to me."
"Like I said, I'm not used to it."
You nodded as you took a seat next to him.
"You've met my dad. You see how I have to practically tie him down to get a hug. Or how I won't let him leave the house without him saying he loves me back. You see how... how he doesn't express himself well," You said softly.
Aaron takes a minute, but he nods. He knows how closed off your family was to affection and sharing it. Your family loved you immensely but it wasn't in their nature to say it often and show expressions of it.
"Yeah, how he pretends he doesn't like when you hug him..." Aaron chuckled, followed by you.
"Yeah... Well, I was just like him. But then I went to therapy and realized how much I needed these things; I needed to hear my dad say that he loved me. I needed his hugs. I'm no profiler, Aar, but this is likely a result of your environment growing up. You're still strong even when you're sad.
You're still a 'man' if you're giddy and happy. You're still a good leader if you break down sometimes. And if you can't do it at work, you can always do it with me. Do you understand?"
His brown eyes shifted to look into yours and he nodded.
"Thank you," He said quietly.
His eyes were now relaxed and full of sadness and anger.
"Always," You beamed at him and patted his hands. "How about I make you some tea while I finish cooking?"
He nodded, causing you to back away from him, and walked to the cabinet and fixed him a cup of tea.
He watched on, grateful for you and grateful for his voice.
summary: in which y/n is a singer and writes a song for her lover — inspired by supernatural by ariana grande | singer!reader
word count: 1,749
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Aaron pushed open the door to your recording studio quietly, not wanting to interrupt. He wasn't supposed to be here, not while you were in the middle of recording. But you hadn't answered his texts all day, and that lingering worry that came with the job had crept up on him. So, here he was, standing in the doorway, watching you through the glass as you worked.
You were in the booth, headphones on, completely absorbed in the music. Your voice was soft but commanding, pouring into the microphone with a level of vulnerability he wasn't used to seeing from you. It was like watching you step out of yourself and reveal something he wasn't sure anyone else got to see.
The moment your eyes flickered up and caught his reflection in the glass, you froze.
The engineer glanced at you, sensing the sudden change. "Everything alright?" he asked.
You pulled off your headphones and nodded, shooting a quick look toward Aaron through the window. He wasn't supposed to be here yet. Not for this song.
"I'm fine," you replied, voice strained. "Can we take five?"
The engineer shrugged, used to your creative quirks, and flicked a switch, silencing the playback.
You stepped out of the booth, meeting Hotch in the hallway. He stood there, hands in his pockets, his brow slightly furrowed in concern.
"I didn't mean to interrupt," he said softly, his deep voice carrying that mix of warmth and control you found so comforting. "I just wanted to check on you. You've been quiet all day."
You smiled, though it was more nervous than usual, and glanced over your shoulder at the booth where the half-finished recording hung in the air like a secret. "I'm okay. Just working on something... special."
Aaron's eyes searched yours, and you could tell he knew there was more to it than you were letting on. He always knew.
"Special, huh?" he asked, taking a step closer. His voice dropped just a bit, like it always did when he was trying to coax you into opening up.
You bit your lip, resisting the urge to laugh at the irony of it all. If only he knew how special the song really was—how every line had been written with him in mind, every note crafted around the feelings you'd never had the courage to say out loud. And now, here he was, almost hearing it before you were ready for him to.
"Yeah, but... not something I'm ready for you to hear just yet," you admitted, feeling your pulse quicken.
He tilted his head slightly, intrigued. "Not ready for me?"
You shrugged, trying to play it off casually. "It's not finished. I want it to be perfect."
Aaron studied you for a moment longer, his dark eyes softening. He didn't press, though you could tell he was curious. Instead, he reached out and gently brushed his fingers over your arm, a small, reassuring gesture that sent warmth spreading through you.
"I can wait," he said, his voice low and steady. "Whenever you're ready."
Your heart skipped a beat, the weight of his words sinking in. He wasn't just talking about the song anymore, and you both knew it.
"Thank you," you whispered, your voice suddenly quiet in the small space between you.
He gave you a small smile, one that reached his eyes but carried that quiet intensity he was known for. It wasn't often that he showed this side of himself, the softer, more patient part. But when he did, it always caught you off guard.
"I'll be outside," he said, his hand lingering on your arm for just a second longer before he turned to leave. "Take your time."
You watched him go, the weight of his presence lingering even after the door clicked shut behind him.
—
The studio was quiet except for the faint hum of the equipment as you stood next to Aaron. He had arrived just as you had planned—late in the evening, when everyone else had gone, leaving the two of you alone. The intimacy of the space felt familiar, comfortable even, given how long you'd been together now. But tonight was different. Tonight was the first time you'd let him hear the song you'd written about him.
"You sure you're ready?" you asked, biting your lip nervously as you glanced at him.
Hotch leaned against the edge of the soundboard, his dark eyes meeting yours with a soft, knowing look. "I think the question is, are you ready?"
You let out a nervous laugh, fiddling with the controls. You'd never been this nervous around him before—not since the early days when you were still figuring each other out, tiptoeing around your feelings. But this song was something else entirely. It was raw and vulnerable, and as much as Aaron knew you, he hadn't seen this side of you yet.
"I just... I want you to hear it before anyone else," you said, your voice a little quieter. "It's personal."
Aaron straightened, his face softening in that way it always did when it was just the two of you. No walls, no pretense—just the man who had become your safe place.
"You know I'll love it," he said gently, stepping closer and placing a reassuring hand on your waist.
You nodded, drawing in a deep breath. "Okay. I'm playing it now."
With one final glance at him, you hit play.
The first few notes of the track filled the room, and you watched as Hotch's expression shifted from curiosity to something deeper. The song, inspired by the intense connection you shared, was full of lyrics that spoke to how he made you feel—like there was something almost magical about the way you understood each other. The melody swelled as you sang about how he grounded you, how his presence brought a sense of calm you'd never known before, and yet how he also set your pulse racing, like a force you couldn't resist.
It had a sensual, powerful feel infused with your own emotions—your own experience of loving Aaron Hotchner. The lyrics painted him as something more than just a man. He was your constant, your protector, and yet there was this undeniable fire between you. Every word was soaked in the intensity of your relationship, from the way his touch lingered to how just his gaze could unravel you.
You kept your eyes on him as the song built to its climax, your voice carrying all the emotion you'd felt writing it. His expression had softened, his lips slightly parted as he listened, clearly moved by what he was hearing.
By the time the song finished, the silence felt heavier than the music had. Aaron didn't speak immediately. Instead, he stepped toward you, his eyes never leaving yours.
"That was..." His voice faltered for a moment, rare for him. "That was incredible."
You smiled, feeling a mix of relief and affection swell inside you. "You liked it?"
He chuckled softly, pulling you close by the waist. "Liked it? I'm not sure 'liked' is the right word." His fingers brushed your cheek as he tilted your head up to meet his gaze. "You wrote that about me?"
You nodded, your breath catching slightly under his intense gaze. "Every word."
Aaron's eyes softened even more, something deep and affectionate flickering in his expression. "I can hear how much of you is in it... how much of us."
You swallowed, the vulnerability of it all still hanging in the air. "I wanted you to know. I wanted to show you how I feel about us... about you."
For a moment, he said nothing, his thumb brushing gently along your jaw. Then, his lips quirked into a small smile. "You do realize you're going to make it difficult for me to keep my composure when I hear this playing tomorrow, right? All of my colleagues are going to know that this is about us."
You laughed softly, the tension finally breaking. "I'm sure you can handle it, SSA Hotchner."
He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "I can handle anything," he murmured, his lips brushing your skin, "as long as I have you."
Your heart fluttered at his words, and you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close. In the quiet of the studio, surrounded by the echoes of your song, you realized that this moment—this man—was everything you had ever needed.
"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "For always being there."
Aaron pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his expression serious but full of love. "You never have to thank me for that," he said softly. "It's where I want to be."
The next morning, Aaron arrived at the office as usual, his face betraying no hint of the emotions stirring inside him. He knew today was the day your song would release.
As he made his way through the bullpen, he noticed something strange. The other agents—Morgan, Prentiss, even Reid—were huddled around someone's desk, talking in hushed voices. His brow furrowed slightly as he approached.
"What's going on?" he asked, stopping just outside the circle.
Morgan grinned, glancing between Aaron and the phone playing a song—your song. "Man, I can't believe this. This song is about you?"
Prentiss, trying but failing to hold back a smirk, added, "You should've warned us, Hotch. I didn't think you were the muse type."
Aaron's cheeks flushed, an unmistakable blush creeping up his neck. He could hear your voice, soft and powerful, pouring out through the speakers.
"I, uh..." he cleared his throat, unsure of what to say, which was a rare thing for him.
"You're blushing, Hotch!" Garcia teased as she popped into the group, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "How adorable!"
"Cut it out," Hotch muttered, trying to focus on anything but the warmth spreading across his face. But it was no use. The agents were listening intently to the lyrics, and there was no escaping the reality that they all knew now.
The song ended, and the bullpen fell into a comfortable silence. Reid, ever analytical, tilted his head slightly. "It's a beautiful song. Very personal. You're lucky."
Hotch just nodded, still feeling the weight of everyone's eyes on him. "I suppose I am."
Morgan clapped a hand on his shoulder, laughing softly. "Don't worry, Hotch. We won't tease you too much... well, not for long, at least."
[AN: i’ve been super inspired by music lately so i would say to expect more writing based off of songs 🤭]
[warnings: none. i think pretty wholesome. oh jack and a new baby are included]
summary: in which y/n leaves hotch voicemails while he’s away
word count: 471
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Night One
“Hey, sweetheart. I hope everything’s going okay and that you’re staying safe. Jack missed you a lot today—he spent half the evening drawing you a picture of our family for when you get home. He’s determined to surprise you with it. And our little one was asking for you at bedtime. They were reaching for your side of the bed like they know it’s missing something without you. I think they’re starting to understand when you’re away, which is sweet but a little heartbreaking too. Anyway, I just wanted you to know that we love you, and we can’t wait to have you back home. Sleep well if you get a chance, okay? And call us if you can. Goodnight, Aaron.”
Night Two
“Hi, love. I don’t want to bother you if you’re resting, but I just wanted to hear your voice. It’s been a long day here, but Jack was such a trooper—he had his first soccer game, and he scored a goal! He kept saying, ‘Dad would have cheered the loudest,’ and you know what? He’s probably right. You’re on his mind a lot, even though he’s trying to be brave. And our little one fell asleep holding onto one of your old shirts. They wouldn’t let go, like they can feel you in it. It makes me feel close to you too, somehow. I hope you’re holding up, my love. I miss you so much. We’ll be here, waiting. Goodnight, sweetheart.”
Night Three
“Hey, baby. Just wanted to say goodnight. Jack’s out cold after an evening of running around like a maniac—he wanted to show our little one how to play hide and seek. They kept calling your name like they thought you’d pop up in the next hiding spot. They both miss you so much, but I think it’s safe to say I might miss you even more tonight. I’m keeping the bed warm, and your pillow’s already waiting for you. Sleep tight if you can, and remember we’re all sending you so much love. Goodnight, Aaron. Dream of coming home to us soon.”
Night Four
“Hi, honey. It’s me again. I know it’s silly, but I can’t help leaving these voicemails. It makes me feel like I’m tucking you in from afar. Jack fell asleep with a book he swears he’s saving to read with you. And the little one was asking for ‘Da-da’ all night, every time they woke up. We’re all counting down the days, my love. This house feels a little emptier without you, but we’ll fill it up with love until you’re back. Goodnight, my heart. Be safe, and know we’re waiting right here, just as you left us. All my love.”
[AN: had this idea while on my road trip. hope you guys enjoy. and of course, the link to my taglist]
[warnings: emotional infidelity? i mean, she tries to fight it]
summary: in which you and hotch are oblivious to your feelings about each other. but when you’re put in a dangerous position, all you can think about is your boss, not your boyfriend – inspired by intro (end of the world) by ariana grande
word count: 2,123
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"So how long have you and Evan been together?" Emily asked, sitting on your desk, her curiosity evident.
You've always been good at blending in. It's one of the reasons you were recruited to the Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU) in the first place. From day one, you made a solid impression—polite, competent, quick on your feet. You listen more than you talk, and when you do speak, your insights are sharp and intuitive. Well-liked by your team, you built solid professional relationships but kept a safe distance when it came to your personal life.
Friendly enough to avoid suspicion, distant enough so no one pries too deeply. You deflect personal questions with ease, and most of your colleagues chalk it up to professionalism. But deep down, you know there's more beneath the surface. The last thing you want is for them to start profiling you.
"About seven years," you reply, shrugging as you flip through paperwork.
"And he hasn't put a ring on it yet? I might need to talk to this guy," Derek huffs, half-joking but protective.
You chuckle, shaking your head. If only he knew it was you who had been holding off on marriage. Evan always talked about it, but you would quickly change the subject whenever he brought it up.
Evan is sweet, always thoughtful—like today, when he brought you lunch after you'd forgotten yours. After long, draining cases, you'd come home to warm bubble baths and a home-cooked meal. He's perfect in so many ways. But he just isn't the one.
And that guilt eats at you, especially since your attention has shifted to someone else. Someone who's not your boyfriend—someone who happens to be your boss.
Maybe it's Aaron Hotchner's stoic maturity, or maybe it's something more shallow, like his quiet authority. There's just something about him that pulls you in, making you question the stability you've built with Evan. And every time you catch a glimpse of Hotch from across the office, you can feel your heart skip, your eyes trailing after him as he moves from his office to the kitchen.
You aren't aware of the way your expression changes when he's around, but Derek and Emily notice. They exchange knowing glances, watching you.
"Do you even want to marry Evan?" Emily asks, her eyebrows furrowing in genuine concern.
"Um... Am I the only one with paperwork today?" you snap, a little more sharply than intended, but they let it slide.
"Uh-huh," Derek mutters as he wheels his chair back to his desk, throwing you a suspicious look.
Days pass, and the unspoken tension between you and Hotch continues to grow, lingering in the air whenever you're in the same room. It's subtle, barely noticeable to anyone else, but Emily and Derek see it—the way Hotch's expression softens ever so slightly when he talks to you, the warmth in his eyes that doesn't seem meant for anyone else.
On the jet, during one of your cases, you sit across from him, flipping through files, pretending not to notice the fleeting looks he gives you. His focus appears to be on the case, as always, but there's something more behind those glances—a quiet intensity, a lingering warmth.
You remind yourself that this is Hotch, your boss. And more than that, you have a boyfriend—a long-term relationship, years of shared history. But despite all that, your thoughts keep drifting back to Aaron Hotchner.
Each day, you feel the pull between you grow stronger, even though neither of you acknowledges it. You find yourself replaying those quiet moments over and over, wondering if he feels it too.
—
You hear the familiar creak of the stairs as Hotch steps out of his office, his presence instantly filling the large space. There's always something about him—calm, controlled, but with an undercurrent of intensity that keeps everyone on their toes.
"Got a minute?" His voice is low, professional, but you can sense something else beneath it.
You nod, setting aside the case file you've been pouring over. "Sure, what's up?"
He steps further into the room, closing the door behind him. The move feels deliberate, as if he wants this conversation to stay between the two of you. Your pulse quickens slightly, though you keep your expression neutral.
"I wanted to talk to you about your performance on the last case," he begins, his dark eyes locking onto yours. "You did a great job. Your profiling helped us narrow down the suspect pool quickly."
You blink, a little thrown. Praise from Hotch isn't unheard of, but it's never casual. There's always an underlying purpose, some reason behind the compliment.
"Thank you," you say, watching his face carefully for any hints of what's really on his mind.
For a moment, he doesn't speak. His gaze lingers on you, and you feel the weight of it. There's something unspoken, something he's holding back. The silence stretches just long enough for you to feel the tension prickling your skin. You've worked with Hotch long enough to know that he doesn't waste time with unnecessary conversation. He's always direct. But right now, there's hesitation—like he's trying to decide whether to say what he's really thinking.
"I know you've been working long hours," he says finally, his tone softening just a fraction. "And I know the job can take its toll."
There it is. The concern, the acknowledgment that this job drains you in ways even you haven't fully admitted to yourself. You open your mouth to brush it off, to give him the same measured response you've given others a hundred times before, but something about the way he's looking at you makes you stop.
"Yeah," you say instead, your voice quieter than you intended. "It's... been a lot."
Hotch takes a small step closer, and you catch the faintest hint of something—empathy? Understanding? Whatever it is, it unnerves you. You've kept your distance from him for a reason, kept this professional line between you, because crossing it feels dangerous in ways you can't explain.
"I don't want to lose a good agent," he says, his voice firm but not unkind. "If you need time, or space, you should take it."
You nod, but inside, you're reeling. He's always so composed, so unreadable, and yet right now you feel like he's seeing too much—like he's peeled back a layer you didn't want him to see.
"I appreciate that, Hotch," you manage, forcing a small smile. "But I'm fine. Really."
He studies you for another long moment before finally nodding. "Alright. Just... don't forget that."
And with that, he turns to leave. But even after the door closes behind him, you find yourself replaying the conversation in your mind. The way his eyes softened, the way his voice dipped just slightly when he talked about losing an agent. You can't shake the feeling that there was more he wanted to say, something just out of reach.
For weeks after, the encounter lingers at the back of your mind, resurfacing at odd moments. You think about the way he looked at you, the way his words seemed to carry more weight than usual. And even though you try to push it aside, try to focus on the cases piling up on your desk, you can't quite shake the feeling that something shifted between the two of you in that brief conversation.
Then, it happens. One night, you're caught alone in a warehouse, separated from your team during an intense takedown. The darkness presses in around you, thick and suffocating, as you try to stay calm. The unsub's footsteps echo in the distance, growing closer.
You're no stranger to dangerous situations, but this one feels different. The panic claws at you as you grip your gun tighter, your mind racing. They'll find me soon, you tell yourself, but it's a hollow comfort.
And in the midst of your fear, a face flashes in your mind—not Evan's. It's Hotch. His steady presence, his calm voice telling you to breathe, to focus. You can almost feel him guiding you out of the darkness, keeping you grounded.
Why is it him?
You shake the thought, but it's there—insistent. In this moment, when your life is on the line, it's not Evan you long for. It's Hotch.
The unsub's voice taunts you from the shadows, but you can't focus on his words. All you can think is Hotch. You push yourself to move, to fight through the fear. You will survive this. You have to.
And when you burst through the warehouse door, heart pounding, it's Hotch's face you see first. He's there, waiting, and for a moment, the rest of the world disappears. His eyes lock on yours, and you know—deep down, you've always known—it's not just one-sided.
"Are you okay?" he asks, gripping your shoulders with the same steady, grounding presence you've been clinging to in your mind.
You nod, barely able to speak. All you can think is, I made it. And when I thought I wouldn't, it was him I needed.
Weeks later, you find yourself sitting at home with Evan. The silence between you feels heavier than it used to, and you know why. You've been checked out of this relationship for a while now. Even though Evan is everything you could want on paper, he isn't what you need anymore. And the more you try to ignore it, the more obvious it becomes.
"I think we need to talk," you say softly, breaking the quiet.
Evan looks at you, his expression confused, then slowly understanding. It's not an easy conversation, but it's the right one. You can't keep pretending that your heart is in this relationship when your mind—and your feelings—are somewhere else.
At the office the next day, you throw yourself into work, grateful for the distraction. But you stay late, not wanting to go home to the empty apartment that once felt like a safe haven.
"Y/N, what are you still doing here? It's almost 2 AM."
You jump at Hotch's voice, surprised to find him standing beside your desk. He's usually long gone by now.
"I didn't hear you come down," you say, a soft smile tugging at your lips as your heart races.
He sits down across from you, his expression more open, more relaxed than usual. "You've been through a lot lately," he says, his voice quiet. "Do you want to talk about it?"
For a moment, you hesitate. This is your chance—your one chance to finally say what's been on your mind. To admit what you've been feeling all along.
"I ended things with Evan," you say softly, looking down at your hands.
Hotch's brow furrows in concern. "I'm sorry to hear that."
You shake your head. "Don't be. I've been checked out for a while now."
He's silent for a moment, then speaks again, his voice careful. "I never wanted to pry, but... if there's anything you need, I'm here."
His words, simple as they are, hit you harder than you expect. And before you can stop yourself, the truth spills out.
"Aaron," you whisper, your heart pounding. "There's something I need to tell you."
He looks at you, waiting.
"I've tried to push it down, but I can't anymore. It's not just about Evan. When I was in that warehouse, when I thought I might not make it... all I could think about was you. Not him. You. And that's when I knew. When it comes to how my day was, the only person i want to tell is you. When I'm scared for my life, all I can think of is you. If the world was ending, I'd want to be with you."
His expression shifts, surprise flickering across his face. He stands slowly, walking toward you.
"Are you sure about this?" he asks, his voice quiet, almost hesitant. "I don't want you to regret what you're saying."
You meet his gaze, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes. "I've never been more sure of anything."
For a moment, the world around you fades, and it's just the two of you. Finally, he reaches out, his hand brushing against yours.
"I've thought about it too," he admits, his voice rough with emotion. "I never wanted to cross a line, but..."
You don't let him finish. You step forward, closing the distance between you.
"I think it's worth a try," you whisper.
And with that, everything else falls away. The unspoken tension, the years of quiet moments, the what-ifs—they all dissolve as you step into this new chapter, side by side.
[AN: not my first CM fic. if you want to join my taglist, here’s the info page!]
summary: in which y/n catches jungkook doing something he's not supposed to be doing
word count: 1,677
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You push open the door to the café, the warmth of coffee and pastries wrapping around you, but it does little to calm the nerves twisting in your stomach. Your phone’s still in your hand, the last text you sent to him glowing on the screen: “can’t wait to see you 🤭”.
You weren’t sure if that was too much, maybe a little too forward, but it felt right in the moment. Things between you two have been easy lately—almost like there’s an us forming, even though you haven’t put a label on it. You’re not the type to rush things, to assume that what you feel is always reciprocated. But still, you thought there was something special happening, something real.
Then you see him.
And you see her.
Niya, sitting across from him, laughing, leaning in close. Too close. His head is tilted toward hers, and you can see the way her hand brushes casually against his arm like she owns him. You stop mid-step, frozen. The image of the two of them together punches the air right out of your lungs.
What is he doing with her?
You’re standing there, rooted in place, unable to move, your heart pounding in your ears. Your pulse picks up, a cold shock running down your spine as you watch them from across the café. They look comfortable, like this is normal, like they’re used to being together. You can’t hear what he’s saying, but you see him smile, and she laughs in response. She reaches out, her fingers brushing his arm again, and the sight of it makes you feel like you’re going to be sick.
Why didn’t he tell you?
The realization hits hard: he didn’t mention this. He didn’t mention that he was going to see her today, didn’t say a word about Niya at all. You’ve been in each other’s lives long enough that it should’ve come up. With your disdain toward her and vice versa, this should’ve been brought up. Actually, it shouldn’t even be happening.
The two of you were supposed to meet. You were supposed to be sitting across from him, sharing lunch, laughing, being the one he smiles at. But instead, it’s her.
Your throat tightens, heat rising behind your eyes, and you know you can’t stand here any longer. You need to leave. You need to get out before anyone notices you, before he sees the betrayal written all over your face.
You turn on your heel and walk quickly out the door, pushing it harder than you mean to. The bell above it jingles, too loud in your ears, but you don’t look back. The cold air hits your face as you step outside, but it does nothing to cool the heat rising in your chest, the anger and hurt tangling together like a knot you can’t undo.
You glance at your phone again, at that stupid, hopeful message you sent earlier. It feels like it was written by someone else—someone who thought they mattered to him, someone who had no idea they were about to get crushed.
“Wait!”
His voice cuts through the haze of confusion, sharp and urgent, but you don’t stop. You can’t. Not now. His footsteps echo behind you, getting closer, and your heart starts racing even faster, a mix of dread and hope pushing against your ribs.
“Will you just stop for a second?” he calls out, breathless, and you feel your entire body tense. You don’t want to hear what he has to say. You don’t want to hear his excuses, his explanations, his lies.
You keep walking.
But then his hand closes around your arm, gentle but firm, and you’re forced to stop. You whirl around to face him, yanking your arm out of his grip, glaring at him like you’ve never glared at anyone before.
“You have some nerve,” you snap, your voice shaking. The words spill out, sharper than you intended, but you can’t hold them back. “Following me after… after that?”
His eyes widen, and you can see the panic in them. He knows exactly what you’re talking about, and yet, there’s a part of you that wishes he didn’t. That maybe this was all some kind of horrible misunderstanding.
“Please, let me explain,” he says, his hands up like he’s surrendering, like he’s trying to calm you down. “It’s not what it looked like.”
“Not what it looked like?” You laugh bitterly, the sound hollow and cold. “I think it’s exactly what it looked like. You and Niya. All cozy, laughing, while I’m standing here looking like a complete idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot,” he says quickly, stepping closer, his eyes pleading with you to believe him. “It’s not like that. Just let me explain.”
“Explain?” You can feel the anger bubbling up again, mixing with the ache that’s settled in your chest. “You didn’t even tell me you were meeting her. Do you have any idea how humiliating it was to walk in and see you two like that?”
“I didn’t tell you because it wasn’t important,” he says, his voice rising with frustration. “It’s not what you think—”
“Not important?” The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You take a step back, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “Do you even hear yourself? How is that not important? You’re spending time with her—the one person who’s made it her mission to make me feel like crap—and you didn’t think that was something I should know?”
He runs a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated, but you don’t care. You don’t care about how hard this is for him, how difficult he finds it to explain. You care about the fact that he didn’t tell you. You care about the fact that Niya was there with him, laughing, touching him, like she had every right to.
“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” he says, his voice softer now, like he’s trying to reason with you. “Niya… she just wanted to talk, okay? It wasn’t anything serious. I was going to meet you right after.”
The words sink in, and you feel something in your chest twist painfully. You were going to meet him. You were going to be the one sitting across from him, laughing, being close. But instead, you got to watch someone else do it. Someone you loathe.
“And you thought that was okay?” you ask, your voice low, sharp. “You thought it was okay to just… hang out with her, behind my back, and then meet me like nothing happened? And you guys barely know each other.”
“It wasn’t like that,” he insists, stepping closer, his hands reaching for you, but you step back again. You can’t let him touch you right now. It would break you. “I swear, there’s nothing going on between me and Niya. She just needed help with something—”
“Help?” you interrupt, your voice incredulous. “Help with what, exactly? Why the fuck would she go to you for advice?”
He exhales sharply, shaking his head, his frustration clear. “She’s been going through some stuff. She needed advice, that’s all.”
You laugh again, but this time it’s quieter, sadder. “And I’m supposed to believe that? After everything? After her? She had some ulterior motive and if you couldn’t see that then I don’t know.”
He pauses, his mouth opening like he wants to say something, but no words come out. He’s searching for the right thing to say, but you’re not sure there’s anything that can fix this. Not now. Not after the image of them together is burned into your mind.
“I can’t do this,” you whisper, your voice cracking. You feel the tears threatening again, and you hate it. You hate how vulnerable you feel, standing here in front of him, breaking apart while he tries to piece together an explanation you can’t trust.
“Please,” he says, softer this time. “You’re the one I care about.”
The words hang in the air between you, and for a moment, you almost want to believe him. Almost. But then you remember the way she laughed, the way he didn’t pull away from her touch. The way he didn’t see you until it was too late.
“You should have told me,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper now. “You should have said something.”
“I know,” he admits, his voice raw with regret. “I should have. I’m sorry.”
The apology falls flat between you. It doesn’t undo what happened. It doesn’t take away the hurt that’s clawing at your chest, the doubt that’s seeping into every part of you. Maybe he’s telling the truth, but maybe he’s not. And you’re not sure you can handle the maybe.
“I don’t think I can trust you,” you finally say, your heart breaking with each word. “I don’t think I can trust us.”
He looks like you just slapped him, his face paling, his eyes widening in shock. “Don’t say that. Please, don’t say that.”
But it’s true. You feel it deep in your bones. You wanted this to work, wanted to believe that what the two of you had was something real, something worth fighting for. But now, you’re not sure. Now, all you can see is him with her, and it’s like a crack that runs too deep to fix.
“I need space,” you say, stepping back, wrapping your arms around yourself as if that will keep the pieces of you from falling apart. “I can’t do this right now.”
He takes a step forward, reaching for you again, his voice desperate. “Don’t walk away. Please. Let me fix this.”
But you shake your head, the tears finally spilling over. “I can’t.”
And this time, when you turn and walk away, you don’t look back. You don’t let yourself listen for the sound of his footsteps following you, don’t let yourself hope that he’ll chase after you again.
Because if he does, you don’t think you’ll be strong enough to keep walking.
