Team Building - Aaron Hotchner X BAU!Reader

Team Building - Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Reader

WC: 6.3K / navi / preview / gif creds to @shyhotch, i miss you meg :(

Summary: Hotch whisks you away for a team-building session after you reveal to him that your short time at the BAU hasn't been quite enough to assimilate you into the group. You have a wonderful time, you're just confused as to why he leaves the rest of your team behind.

Contents/Warnings: bau!reader, mutual pining!! lots of puppy love ooey gooey mushy pining for each other, a few sexual innuendos/mentions, rossi is stingy, typical cm case contents

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

In your short time working for the Behavioral Analysis Unit, you’d learned two things:

Never, ever touch Reid’s coffee mug.

Aaron Hotchner is intimidating as fuck.

You lived by these principles; they helped you navigate your work life. You’d carefully avoided the topic of the first one just this morning, quickly putting the mug back in the cabinet when you’d seen the label on it and pretending that you hadn’t touched it at all. Thankfully, the young genius didn’t seem to notice.

But the second one wasn’t so easily avoidable. Your Unit Chief was surly, stubborn, and vigilant, which meant that any little mistake you made put you on thin ice, especially as a newer agent. And that wasn’t to say that he was awful 100% of the time. He joked, he laughed, he smiled, just sparingly. His more common exterior was hardened and cool, which made it tough for you to relax around him sometimes, even knowing that he broke his facade occasionally.

Now was no different. All you were doing was sitting next to him in the van, and he was freaking you out. His commonly-donned suit was fitted tight to his body, and he sat rigid in his seat, never relaxing for a second. You understood the tension, you really did, because you’d just wrapped up a case with a rather unfortunate ending, but you couldn’t understand how he could remain so stoic all the time. You yourself were slumped against the window, the cool glass doing wonders for your heated cheeks.

You told yourself that you were burning up because of the stuffy van, or because you were frustrated over the case you’d just finished. It was local, too, which was a grim reminder that terrible things happened everywhere, even at home. But in reality, you were pretty sure it was because you were sitting close enough to Hotch to smell him.

Equal parts, in fact, attracted to him and afraid of him. That was often the space where horniness brewed. 

You couldn’t say that you were feeling the result of combining those two emotions now, though. You were more silently suffering beside him now than you were fantasizing about his large, calloused hands wrapped around your―

You couldn’t say that you were feeling the result of combining those two emotions now, though. You were more silently suffering beside him now than you were fantasizing about his large, calloused hands wrapped around your―

“Y/L/N,” You blinked bewilderedly at the sound of Hotch’s voice, looking dazedly at him as he gestured to the door, “We’re here.”

“Oh,” You mumbled, your cheeks flaring once again, “I’m sorry, I-”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Hotch let a miniscule, exhausted smile creep over his face, “We’re all a little out of it right now.”

You hummed along in agreement, pulling the latch on the car door and stepping onto the rain-soaked ground. It had mostly stopped raining since you started driving, the only thing coming down being a light drizzle that you avoided by keeping a hand hovering above your eyes.

“I booked us for eight,” Garcia stuck by Morgan’s side as they stepped out of the second van, ensuring a seat beside him, “I thought we could treat ourselves tonight, y’know?”

You peered up at the dimly lit neon sign for the gourmet restaurant that Penelope had chosen, your work attire perfectly suited for the formal dress code. You filed through the door one by one, relishing in the slightly warm, cozy atmosphere of the restaurant.

Hotch held the door for you all, and stepped in just behind you, the last one to enter the restaurant. JJ was already speaking to the hostess, giving them your reservation information. You watched her brow furrow as she turned, her eyes scanning the eight of you before she turned back to the hostess and replied.

It seemed like troubling news, whatever it was that they were talking about. You simply shifted your weight between feet while you waited, your shoulder brushing against Hotch’s gently.

“Sorry.” You turned, edging away from him on the tiled floor so that you wouldn’t bump into him again.

“It’s fine,” He murmured, his hand pressing comfortingly into the small of your back for a split second as you steadied yourself, “Don’t worry about it.”

His voice was arguably more soothing and beautiful than the violin music coming from the speakers. You didn’t usually have the pleasure of hearing him outside of the office, and his work voice contrasted starkly with what you’d just heard. There was no tension, no professional lining to it, it was smooth, and low, and soft.

The feeling of his hand on your back nearly took you out, your head practically spinning as you tried focusing on JJ when she turned to face you all.

“They’re splitting us up,” She started, a sympathetic grimace on her face, “They’ve only got two tables, one for five and one for two. They said we could stick an extra chair at the one for five, but two of us are gonna have to eat separately.”

You watched everyone look awkwardly around, silently praying for someone else to take one for the team. Take two for the team, you supposed.

“I’ll go,” You stepped forward, drawing everyone’s attention, “You guys enjoy your meal together!”

You didn’t feel unwelcome at the Bureau, by any means. But the rest of the team had worked together for significantly longer than you had, and you would feel bad sticking with them while their older friends had to eat elsewhere. You didn’t mind sitting one dinner out, especially if you’d get to eat some of the food that you saw being carted around.

There was a palpable release of tension at your volunteering, a few people sending you appreciatively sympathetic smiles, though there was still the matter of who’d be dining with you. 

You half hoped for Prentiss or Garcia, though you were sure that the latter wouldn’t dare leave Morgan’s side unless it was absolutely necessary. You mulled over the thought of dining with Reid, though you weren’t sure you’d be able to listen to him with the proper attention that he deserved, you were practically falling asleep standing up.

Before you could run through any other possible eating arrangements, that same smooth voice came from behind you, “I’ll join you, Y/L/N.”

You were almost certain that a few of your team members caught the way that your eyes widened a fraction. You turned tentatively to face Hotch, nodding and returning the half-smile that he sent your way.

“Right, well now that we’re all settled,” Prentiss smiled at you, nodding again in thanks, “Let’s eat, I’m starving.”

You joined the group as they were led to their table, hovering awkwardly beside it while the waiter got them situated. You felt Hotch’s presence behind you, intimidating even in silence and out of sight, but soon enough your waiter was leading you to your own table.

The table for two was just as romantically-undertoned as you’d expected it to be. Candles stood tall and flickering between the two plates, and a single rose rested in a vase between them. You felt your legs threaten to give out as you sat down, your brain overanalyzing the way that Hotch pulled your chair out for you.

You busied yourself with your napkin, spreading it over your lap while Hotch sat. You weren’t sure if you’d have been able to stand the sight of his hands gripping the back of the chair, or the way that his pants hugged his thighs as they flexed when he sat.

“We’ll be back to take your orders in a bit, but could we get you started with any drinks?” The waiter hovered beside your table, pen and paper in hand as he looked between the two of you.

“I’ll just have a water,” You started, smiling gratefully at the waiter, “Thank you.”

“The same for me, please.” Hotch folded his hands together on the table, his watch glinting in the low lights of the restaurant, “Thanks.”

The waiter nodded, hurrying off to fulfill whatever orders he needed to bring out next. You glanced around at the floral patterns lining the accent wall of the restaurant, taking your blissfully granted opportunity to look at anything but the man across from you.

“Just water?” Hotch spoke after a moment, his eyes tracking you as you snapped back to attention.

“I’m not really in the mood for much else,” You hummed, “And you?”

“The only other thing I’m in the mood for is alcohol, and I don’t think they serve what I need here.” He cracked one of his rare jokes, a soft smile spreading over his face when you laughed.

“Tonight was tough,” You regretted bringing down the mood at the table, but you weren’t sure what else to say, “I think I’d agree with you that nothing they have here is hard enough.”

The waiter had sidled back over to your table by then, setting your waters down and giving you something to do.

Hotch took a sip of his and you pointedly avoided watching him, but you saw him nod at your words.

“I’m just glad we all made it out of there alive.”

You tried to take his words at face value, ‘we all’ meaning you and your team, but you couldn’t help but think of the unsub’s final victim, shot in the crossfires of the man’s takedown. You were certain you wouldn’t be able to forget watching her lifeless body fall to the ground any time soon. Not all of you had made it out of there alive, and you couldn’t help but blame yourself.

If you had just been faster; better at negotiation, perhaps? You were sure that there was a way to have gotten her out of there before she was killed, and it was disheartening to know that you’d failed her.

“Y/N?” For the second time that evening, Hotch’s voice broke you out of your thoughts. You realized that your grip on the glass had tightened slightly, your fingers pressed against the dewy cup until condensation ran down your wrist.

“Sorry,” You mumbled feebly, your cheeks growing hot as you registered his switch from your last name to your first, “I just- I was thinking about her.”

His face dimmed, and you regretted making the light leave his eyes.

“I am too,” He admitted, “Just don’t blame yourself.”

“But we-”

“Couldn’t have done anything.” Hotch didn’t even let you finish your sentence, giving you a knowing look, “Guilt like that will tear you apart. It gets easier with time, and this is one of your first, so I know it’s a lot. But I- uh, we are here to help, if you need it. Okay?”

His rather impromptu speech seemed to have drained him, his chest heaving with a long exhale when he stopped talking. Your eyes had widened slightly, and you nodded hesitantly at his words.

“Thank you, Hotch.”

“We’re not at work, Y/N,” He seemed relieved that you’d taken his advice, a gentle smile spreading over his face, “You can call me Aaron.”

“Thank you, Aaron.” You corrected yourself, sending him a similar smile as you sipped from your glass, your heart fluttering as his only widened.

“We should figure out what we want,” Aaron suggested, reaching for the menu that was set atop his plate, “It’s been a while since I ate here last.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been,” You mused, thumbing carefully through your own menu, “I haven’t really been out to eat much since moving here.”

Aaron let out a sympathetic hum at your words, “I’ve been living here for years and I still haven’t been out to eat much.”

You let out a short chuckle, your eyes skimming the seafood section of your menu, “Well, maybe if you left the office before eleven every once in a while, you’d have more dinner opportunities.’

“Maybe,” Aaron hid his wistful smile behind his menu, “But how do you know I never leave before eleven?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to stop your bashful grin from spreading, “Well, okay, maybe I should leave earlier too.”

“Definitely,” He nodded, “It’s your first year on the job and you’re already trying to rival my hours.”

“I could never steal your title as reigning workaholic,” You teased, adoring the beautiful grin that seemed permanently affixed to Aaron’s lips now, “I think I’d work myself to death trying.”

He looked down at his menu once more, not to figure out what he wanted, but to keep the fondness he knew was brewing in his gaze out of sight. He could feel the rest of the team staring at the two of you, and he knew that he was acting more open now than he usually ever was with them. It was bound to raise questions.

“Have you two had time to look at the menu?” The waiter came back, asking despite seeing the menus in both of your hands. You nodded, handing them over as he jotted down your orders. The food was expensive, you knew the bill would be large, but Rossi had volunteered to pick up the tab (before he knew where you were going), and you weren’t going to let him take back his poorly timed generosity now.

The waiter left with your orders and your menu, leaving you and Hotch to pick up conversation again. You hoped to steer it away from your jobs, the topic all-too-familiar, and into something that might let you know more about your Unit Chief as a person.

“How’s Jack doing?” It was a good start, apparently, if the widening of Aaron’s smile was anything to go by.

“Good,” He glanced at his phone, and you knew that if he’d tapped the screen a picture of his son would come up, “He wants me to bring him back a book, even though this one was local. We have a little tradition, every time I miss reading him a bedtime story. I have to pick one up from wherever we are. I told him I’ll be home tonight, but I think he went to bed early just to weasel another book out of me.”

“Oh,” You gushed, “That’s adorable! What kind of books does he like to read?”

“We’re in the middle of the Magic Treehouse series right now.” Aaron reached into his suit jacket, rifling through a plastic bag that was tucked inside and flashing the cover for #64, “We’re only on number thirteen, but I miss a lot of bedtime stories.”

You hummed sympathetically, “I’m sure he’s happy when you do get to read them.” “He is,” Aaron smiled softly, images of his sleepy son asking him for one more chapter flashing through his head, “He doesn’t let anyone else read them to him. Just me.”

You cooed at the admission, watching Aaron’s cheeks tinge just the slightest bit pink. You caught Prentiss’s eye from across the room, her own blown wide open as she gestured frantically between you and Hotch.

You looked away as if you hadn’t seen her, not wanting to ruin the moment you’d gotten yourself into with Aaron.

“What about you? Are you a big reader?” Hotch raised an eyebrow, taking another sip from his drink. 

“Well I’ve advanced a bit past the Magic Treehouse series,” You joked, “But yeah, I usually read on the jet.”

“I’ve noticed,” Aaron admitted, not missing the way your eyes widened almost imperceptibly at the thought of him watching you, “Sometimes I can’t even see your face behind the book you’re reading.”

“I just get into it,” You groaned sheepishly, “They’re good books!”

“I’m sure.” Aaron hummed into his glass, the water level dwindling as he glanced around the restaurant. 

--

By the time you’d gotten your food, you’d received twelve texts. Six from Penelope, three of which had some form of sexual innuendo about them, two from Prentiss, who demanded that you reveal your true feelings over your accidental candlelight dinner, one from JJ, asking you if the bread at your table was as dry as it was at theirs, one from Rossi who had mispelled several words in asking if you were ‘comsiderig tbis a datw’, and finally, one from Reid, complete gibberish which he’d accidentally typed while the phone was in his pocket.

You ignored all but Penelope’s, knowing that she’d come over to your table and talk to you herself, right then and there, if you didn’t answer.

Shut up, you typed, your fingers tapping the screen below your table so as not to look rude, If you guys ruin this for me I’ll ruin you.

You watched with disdain as Penelope handed her phone to Derek, the two giggling at your message before Derek typed back.

Someone’s real defensive ;) - D

Just stop looking at me like you expect me to strip for him right here, I can’t-

“How was your food?” Hotch raised an eyebrow, watching your gaze shoot up to meet his in surprise. He let out an apologetic, ‘oh,’ shaking his head slightly, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No problem,” You locked your phone eagerly, happy to not have to carry on conversation with the other table anymore, stuffing it in your pocket, “It wasn’t important.”

You would have been content to continue your casual conversation with the man, but his eyes lingered on you, the flickering candlelight between you reflected in his discerning gaze.

“Y/N,” He started, a hint of something you’d never heard (uncertainty?) in his voice, “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” You hoped that the way your voice shook was just in your head, because the simple question had your stomach in knots, “Ask away.”

“Why did you volunteer to sit here so fast?”

“What?”

“When we got the news that we needed to split,” Aaron gestured back to the hostess stand, “You stepped up almost immediately. Why was that?”

You knew you wouldn’t be able to lie to a profiler, let alone a seasoned one like Hotch. But you tried anyways, letting a smile that didn’t reach your eyes cross your face as you joked, “I just wanted to get things moving along so we could eat faster.”

He hummed in acknowledgement of your answer, but not in acceptance. He took another long sip of his now-refilled water, speaking again after licking his lips softly.

“What you said back there: ‘You guys enjoy your meal together?’”

“What about it?” Your brow furrowed as Hotch quoted you, uncertainty brewing in the pit of your stomach as he kept his eyes locked on you.

“You weren’t taking one for the team, Y/N. You were excluding yourself. Why?”

“I don’t- I don’t really think that-”

“Please be honest with me.” Hotch murmured, his own brows dipping as he watched your reactions to his questions, “I’d like to know what your reasoning was. It’s important to me.”

Another lie was on the tip of your tongue, ready to spill from your lips, but Hotch’s concerned eyes seemed to melt your stubbornness away, and you sighed inaudibly.

“I felt like they’d enjoy a meal together more than if I was there. They’ve known each other for way longer than they’ve known me, it makes sense for me to duck out first.”

Hotch finally seemed to take your answer as the truth, which was good, because you’d never been more honest with the man. His face was set in his usual neutral frown, but his lips shifted miniscully as he monitored your confession.

“I- I know I’m welcome here,” You felt as though you needed to contribute more to the discussion, him having fallen silent and leaving an awkward air behind, “I just thought that I’d let everyone else have their dinner together.”

Before you’d even said the last word, the waiter had come by with your check. Apparently the other table was taking longer, even though Rossi had forbade anyone from ordering dessert and lengthening the bill.

“Thank you,” Aaron broke out of his trance, his eyes leaving yours for the first time in minutes as he slid his card into the folder, “The food was excellent.”

“Hotch,” You murmured, forgoing his first name after your conversation had taken such an intimate turn, “Rossi said-”

“I’d like to pay for tonight.” He stated simply, handing the waiter back your bill, “Would you return the card to that table? We need to leave rather urgently.” Hotch gestured between the two of you, and your heart sunk. Were you terrible enough company for him to want to rush out like this? How awful had your admission been to drive him away?

Tears stung at your eyes and you ducked your head to hide them from Hotch, though you knew he saw them anyways. The waiter frowned at the odd request, but ultimately complied, leaving your table once more to charge the card.

Hotch stood abruptly, readjusting his suit jacket on his shoulders and subsequently rustling the plastic bag inside. You made to stand up by yourself, but Hotch circled the table, gripping the arms of your chair and gently pulling you out from the table. He laid a hand on your arm, guiding you up and out of the chair, then the same hand flew once more to the small of your back.

You tensed at the contact, and you knew he felt it. But he didn’t back down, waving subtly at the rest of your team and leading you out the front doors of the building.

You followed him without protest, walking side by side through the parking lot. His hand never left its comforting position on your lower back, even though the mood of the situation was less-than-pleasant.

You felt anxiety churning your stomach as he stepped up to the van, unlocking the doors and holding the passenger’s side open for you.

“Hop in,” He offered at your hesitant gaze, “We’re going team building.”

“Team building?”

“Team building.” He confirmed, offering no further explanation, “In.”

You climbed into the van, sliding your seatbelt over your chest and thanking him softly when he went to shut the door for you. You felt your phone vibrate relentlessly in your pocket, probably another round of texts from everyone wondering if you were boning your boss in the government vehicle. Hotch rounded the front of the van in seconds, stepping up into the driver’s side seat and starting up the car.

“Dessert preference?” He adjusted his mirrors, not bothering to look you in your (very confused) eyes.

“Wh- what?”

“What do you want for dessert?” He finally glanced over at you, “We’re stopping by a bakery.”

“Oh, Hotch, you don’t have to-” You cut yourself off at his stern gaze, not sure whether it was because you’d called him ‘Hotch’ or because you were protesting his actions. Probably a bit of both, so you swallowed, starting again, “What do they have?”

“A bunch,” Aaron glanced behind him, stretching a hand to rest on the back of your seat as he turned, backing out of the spot with his free hand, “I usually get a muffin.”

“That sounds good,” You hummed, trying to focus on anything but the soft bulge of his muscles from under his shirt, “Um, Aaron?”

He seemed much more pleased once you addressed him the way he’d asked, turning to face you with a soft smile, “Yes?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“What do you mean?” His smile never fell, traces of amusement lingering as it dimmed.

“This,” You gestured to the road he’d started on, “Why did we leave the restaurant?”

“Because we were finished eating.” He spoke plainly, “That’s what you do once you pay the check.”

“That’s not what I mean,” You let out an exasperated but lighthearted scoff, a small smile creeping over your lips, “I mean, why did we ditch everyone and drive to a bakery at eight at night?”

“Oh,” Aaron feigned surprise, “That.”

“Yes that,” You let out a breathy laugh, “Is there a reason you abducted me?”

“Abducted,” Aaron scoffed, shaking his head as his smile turned fond, “I told you. Team building.”

“Well we left our team back there.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to tell them what you told me.” Aaron’s voice became softer, more sincerity coating it rather than its previously-contained sarcasm.

“So that’s why you’re doing this?”

“Yes.” He nodded once, “I’m glad that you don’t feel unwelcome with us, but if you still think that you’re the odd one out, you clearly haven’t spent enough time with us outside of the office.”

“That’s not- I don’t think I’m the odd one out!” You protested weakly, “I’m just the newest.”

“But that doesn’t mean you’re the least desirable.” Aaron glanced over at you carefully from the driver’s seat, “It’s important to me that this team feels like one. And if you’re not feeling that a hundred percent, I’m going to do something about it.”

His sincere concern for you left more butterflies swarming around your stomach than you’d have liked to admit. You wished so desperately that you could turn off your attraction to him, that you could take his words at face value and treat him like your boss. But there was always the desire for something more hidden deep inside of you, and it crawled further and further towards the light the more he expressed such gentle care for you.

You leaned to the left slightly as he turned the van rather sharply, and his hand shot out to rest on your thigh.

“You okay?” He murmured, his brows furrowed in concern.

“I’m good,” You answered honestly, your eyes locked onto the way that his hand dug slightly into your thigh, “I’m good.”

“Good.” He parroted you, a satisfied smile adorning his features.

When he finally pulled into the bakery’s parking lot, the dimly lit sign flickered with age. It was a little hole-in-the-wall place, shelves lining the walls of different baked goods that looked a thousand times better than any tiny portion you’d have gotten at the restaurant you’d eaten at.

Aaron gestured subtly to the rack of muffins, “That’s what I usually get. But you’re welcome to anything, Y/N.”

Your eyes skimmed over the prices listed on the display cases, flickering away from items whenever the first digit went over 5. You felt in your pocket, making sure that you still had your spare $5 that you’d stuck in there after lunch that day. Finally you decided on a chocolate croissant, smiling kindly at the woman behind the counter as you ordered.

“And a chocolate muffin, please.” Aaron was suddenly right behind you, that comforting touch of his hand on your lower back again, “Thank you.”

You didn’t dare turn, having heard his voice from right beside your head. You weren't sure what you'd do if you made eye contact with him while your faces were that close, but you knew you wouldn't be able to control yourself. If he felt you tense once more at his touch, he didn’t let on, standing confidently behind you at the counter as he waited for the woman ringing you up to be finished.

Your total came out to be less than $5, and you jumped at the chance to repay one of Aaron’s many favors towards you that night. Before you could so much as touch the bill that laid in your pocket, though, Aaron was sliding another card over the counter and handing it to the woman.

“Aaron-” You started, “Please let me pay for this.”

“Not neccessary,” He brushed you off, pushing your hand away when you offered up your cash, “This was my idea, I’ll cover the tab.”

You wanted to protest more, to insist that he let you pay, but you would have caused a scene, and you didn’t want to inflict that upon the poor employee. Instead you merely frowned, nodding in agreement and thanks.

You took the bag that the woman handed you, the brown paper wrinkling under your touch. You could feel the heat from the pastries inside, and even though you’d just eaten, your stomach twisted eagerly at the thought of a warm, gooey chocolate croissant. 

Aaron slipped his card back into his wallet, his hand returning to its now permanent place against your back. His touch was electrifying, burning through the layers of clothing you had on and searing your skin.

You wished that the night hadn’t been as chilly as it was, because when he removed his hand to open the door for you, you felt a chill. You tried to commit the feeling of his hand pressing flush against your back to your memory, ashamed as you admitted to yourself that you’d spend many a night trying to relive the scenario.

You set the bag of warm pastries in your lap, thanking Aaron softly as he helped you get settled again. His attentiveness hadn’t gone unnoticed by you, and you couldn’t help but read further into it than you should have. The attraction that had been swelling in your chest since the moment you laid eyes on the man was starting to surface, and you weren’t sure if you’d be able to contain it if he touched you any more than he already had.

He stepped up into the van with the same confidence he had before, settling himself in his seat but waiting to shut his door. 

He slid his suit jacket off of his shoulders, eyeing your sheer blouse, “You cold?”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, your jaw tensing before you stammered, “Only a little, but I don’t-” 

Before you could finish your feeble protests he had spread out the jacket, twisting his arms in what was probably a very uncomfortable gesture to lower the fabric over your shoulders. The faint scent that you had caught being sat beside him earlier was nothing compared to the smell that enveloped you as the fabric of his jacket clung to your shoulders, cozy and inviting, faintly husky.

Without meaning to, you shrunk into the jacket, relishing in what would probably be the closest you’d ever get to hugging the man. 

He watched you with that same hint of fondness he’d displayed in the restaurant, finally shutting his door and keeping the cold out. You thanked him softly, biting your lips to contain your overjoyed smile at the advances you were determined to look too far into.

“It’s no problem, Y/N.” His voice, just as low as it normally was, created a completely different atmosphere than it typically did, warming your heart instead of chilling it. While he was usually intimidating and cold, the affection dripping from his sincere smile made you genuinely forget what he looked like when he was stoic.

It was a beautiful expression on him, happiness. You wished that you could see it all the time, that his work didn’t suck so much joy out of his life, but you made a mental note to ask him about Jack more, because the same emotions lit up his face at the mention of his son.

You realized you’d been staring at him for way too long, clearing your throat lightly. Your eyes were locked onto his own, and you must have had some delusional lapse of coherency, because you could have sworn that his eyes had flickered down to your lips for a split second. But you had to be imagining things.

He reached forward, and your chest tightened. You swallowed lightly, preparing yourself for whatever impossible scenario was about to happen, but his hand only curled around the bakery bag, unfurling the crinkled paper.

You cursed yourself for being so hopelessly romantic, watching as he reached in, his muffin and your croissant in the same large hand.

“Here,” He handed you your pastry, “We’re eating in the car.”

“Isn’t that a bit unprofessional?” You teased, priding yourself on your steady voice.

“That’s the point.” He grinned, breaking off a piece of his muffin and popping it into his mouth, speaking delicately around the treat, “We have to be unprofessional together if we want to work well professionally.”

It was a sensible statement, it really was. But your mind began wandering to all of the other unprofessional things that you two could do together, Derek and Penelope’s teasing far too accurate to what ran rampant in your brain.

You took a bite of your croissant to give you something to do, to fill your mouth so that none of the words on the tip of your tongue could fall out and embarrass you.

You hummed softly at the warm pastry, the taste of chocolate fresh on your tongue, “‘S good.”

“Mine too,” Aaron agreed, leaning his seat back so that he was all but laying down, “Y’wanna open the sunroof? We can look out at the stars.”

You couldn’t help but scoff incredulously, an amused smile on your face, “Where did this come from?”

“What are you talking about?”

“This,” You gestured to him lounging in his government vehicle, munching on a warm chocolate muffin far too late into the night, “What happened to you? Is it the jacket?” You brushed a hand against the fabric over your frame, “When you take it off, does it break some grumpy spell you’ve had cast over you by a mean old witch? You’re a completely different person than I’ve ever seen you!”

He laughed, long and loud and free at your accusations, his eyes crinkling at the corners as chocolate stained his lower lip, “That’s why we need to do this, Y/N. We need to know each other outside of the office, or else we won’t know each other at all.”

You smiled, shaking your head teasingly at his words. This was a side of Aaron Hotchner that you liked, one that didn’t make you want to shrivel under his gaze and apologize for something that you didn’t do.

“This is not what I had expected of tonight,” You admitted, rolling back the sunroof and reclining your own seat, “I thought you were gonna fire me or something.”

“What?”

“Well, I mean, you ran us out of that restaurant like it was rigged to blow!” You urged, eyes wide as you swiped chocolate off of your cheek, “I admitted I didn’t feel like one of the team quite yet and I thought you were gonna ensure that I never would be!”

He let out another one of his laughs, the sound quickly climbing your list of favorites, “I wouldn’t fire you for that. But, I mean, are you enjoying this? Even if it’s not what you’d expected?”

You wanted to gush, to tell him that it was the best night you’d had since moving to Virginia, profess your undying love for the man right then and there. But you caught yourself before you could, your tongue digging at your bottom lip to rid it of chocolate stains, and you spoke carefully and sincerely instead.

“I’m enjoying it. Thank you, Aaron,” His name felt comfortable on your tongue now, instead of foreign, “I really appreciate this. I was nervous, y’know. To tell you. Because I don’t even think I’d admitted it to myself, I.. I was kind of just trying to pretend. Fake it ‘till you make it, y’know?”

He nodded, his eyes drifting to the open sunroof above you and trailing after each star that he could see, “I know what you mean. But I’m glad you’re having a good time, Y/N. I’m sorry I didn’t bring it up until now,” A frown threatened to take over his beautiful smile, and it tugged at your heartstrings, “But you’re just as valuable as anyone else on our team, whether we’ve known your for minutes, for days, or for years.”

His sweet sentiment, murmured in that beautifully low, soothing voice of his, had you containing yet another massive smile. This time you let it break free, though, not even bothering to hide it behind your croissant as you turned to catch his eye.

“Thank you, Aaron, again.”

“Anytime,” He hummed, “You can tell me, you know? If things don’t feel right.”

What didn’t feel right was that you weren’t in his arms. He wasn’t holding you, he wasn’t kissing you, he wasn’t loving you. But you shook those desires away, nodding thankfully.

“I will,” You weren’t sure if you’d keep that vow, the threat of annoying him with your mediocre feelings scarier to you than feeling out of place. But you placated him with promises anyways, so that he settled back into his seat, his muffin nearly gone.

“Favorite star?” He asked, breaking a moment of silence.

“I- I don’t have one,” You hesitated, frowning slightly, “Do you?”

“No,” He admitted, a light blush dusting his cheeks as they raised into a bashful grin, “I don’t know why I asked.”

You laughed, the sound lighting up his expression just like his had done to you, “You don’t have to make conversation if you don’t have anything to say,” You chided him, “I’m perfectly happy to sit in silence for a bit.”

“You are?” He glanced over at you, something hesitant lingering behind his eyes.

“Of course!” You took another bite of your croissant, careful not to get crumbs on the jacket still draped over you, “This is nice.”

“It is.” A wistful smile broke out over Aaron’s face, and he tore his eyes away from you before he could do anything rash, “Thank you for opening up to me, Y/N.”

“Thank you for joining me tonight,” Your words held more behind them than you hoped Aaron perceived, “I’m glad it was you.”

You were too busy staring at the stars to watch him react to what you’d said, so you missed his eyes darting to your cozy figure, curled up on the seat in his jacket with your croissant in your hands. He admired you for longer than he’d like to admit, his eyes raking down your form and back up again, drinking in the sight of you in his jacket.

“Me too, Y/N,” He murmured, turning back to the stars, “Me too.”

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

A/N: i hope you enjoyed!! i've actually got a multi-chaptered hotch x bau!reader story in the works, and i might tweak this and add it in as a chapter. but for now, it's a standalone!

taglist: @sunflowermotel @honeybrowne @red-red-rogue

so important to then strike a good balance between fics and the nice aesthetic posts to break up the dash and create a good flow, I do really have an archivists soul

I'm fighting my 21k likes on all fronts so if you see me rebloging something from 2020 pls don't dwell on it I'm doing my best (and not my work)

"someone who allows you to rest" is the relationship dynamic of all time

---

the Tower

GIF by marauder-exe

Pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader Warnings: angst, fluff, happy ending, canon typical violence, mention of sexual assault, kinda Gideon slander sorry, tarot reading inaccuracies and u.s. gov inaccuracies. this took too long to write, and will also be VERY long. apologies

no use of Y/N or gendered pronouns, but reader wears skirts, dresses, was a cheerleader, got slut-shamed. not proofread or beta'd we die like disposable characters. part 2 of the Lovers

main masterlist // angel universe masterlist

summary: “Upright the Tower, wow. This is for radical, fundamental change. Aaron, I know you’re scared, but you don’t have to be. Sometimes, change is good, especially now you have a newfound understanding of love.”

2009, Funeral Home, VA

A million things can happen in a lifetime, and you know. 

One day you were a new student at a public high school in Virginia, sat next to the sunshine of a person named Haley Brooks in AP Chemistry; the next, you were staring at her freshly covered grave. There wasn't even a headstone yet.

“I'm sorry I'm late,” you whispered, ignoring the footsteps you heard approaching. “I'm so sorry, Haley.”

Aaron Hotchner stood next to where you sat on your knees. Your legs were starting to tingle, but you stayed there, fighting so hard to not look at him. 

This was about Haley.

But it tore your heart open like it had always been. And when Aaron Hotchner wrapped his jacket over your shoulders, you wanted to kick him in the face.

His hand lingered on your back as if he was unsure how to approach you. You didn't blame him. After everything, you were unsure how you felt about seeing him again either. 

“Angel–” he started, calling you by your old nickname. You shuddered involuntarily, and if he noticed, he didn't say it. “I–It was my fault.”

“Yes it was,” you agreed, looking up at him. Aaron's dark eyes were filled with sadness and regret, and your mouth tasted bitter immediately. “And it's mine too. I should've pushed you harder, I should’ve been there.”

When the Boston Reaper case came back under the Bureau's radar, Strauss had notified you. Even though you hadn't been a field agent, the Section Chief knew that that case was the one you had dissected over and over in the profiling classes you then taught at the Academy. 

You had begged Aaron for the files, but he turned you down with no explanation. It was then you found out that Aaron had to put Haley and Jack into witness protection, ripping away your chance of any sort of reconciliation. Then, when you tried to pry your way into the case, Strauss cast you out, saying you shouldn’t be caught in the crossfire. 

“What crossfire?” You had asked once. She didn’t reply, and now that it had unfolded, you knew what was coming: the scrutiny that would fall on Aaron Hotchner’s shoulders if he didn’t choose early retirement. 

“I wouldn't have let you,” Aaron admitted. “I had to put Haley and Jack into witsec. I don't want to drag you into it too.”

“But I could've told you,” you argued. “I could've just consulted–I–I…”

“I'm sorry,” Aaron said when you couldn't find the words. 

You felt your tears streaming down your face. You wished you had made peace with Haley before that, before Aaron put her into witsec because you knew that you loved Haley like a sister, once. And you loved her more than you could ever hated Aaron. 

With a deep breath, you tried to climb up to stand, but it was a challenge with the way your legs were a little numb and the extra four-inch heeled boots you had on.

Aaron caught your arm as you stumbled, and you let him help you up. 

After a last look at her grave, you looked at the man who you loved all those years ago. Though sadder, his eyes stayed the same, those eyes broke your heart twice. 

“Me too,” you sighed. “For everything.”

1992, Georgetown, Washington DC

You weren’t supposed to be there. At least, not really. 

Your first choice was Yale, but when the FBI brass wanted to keep you close to the center of ViCAP, you complied. After all, you went where the money was. It was on you, really, to be so fascinated about violent criminals after David Rossi gave a presentation at Stanford that you chose that as your PhD thesis focus. The downside of a government grant was you couldn’t exactly choose where they wanted you. 

The first time you saw Aaron Hotchner after six years was during a class. Specifically, a class on applied psychology. Specifically, you were talking about precedence and its relation to criminal profiling. You showed tapes of your research interviews and compared them with ViCAP interviews from the Bureau.

He had come up to you afterward. “Maybe I should enroll in this class.”

“Thinking of making the jump from law to psychology, Hotchner?”

“If that’s what it takes to see you again.”

You snorted a laugh, finally finished packing up your bag, and gave him your full attention. He looked good, like really good. Time was his friend and you couldn’t help but get pulled into his eyes. Damn him. 

“How about you come and find me during office hours?”

“How about we get drinks right now?” Aaron countered, leaning against the podium.

You gave him an exaggerated gasp. “Aaron Hotchner, are you asking me out?”

“Only if you say yes.”

To say that you didn’t miss being around him would be a lie. To say that you were immune to his charm would also be a lie. But you were you and you weren’t some dumb sophomore who had a crush on him anymore. 

You walked around the desk and the podium, stopping in front of him. Your fingers reached the undone tie around his neck and you took your time to straighten it. “You’re a prosecutor at the DA office, right?”

“Uh-uh,” he said, gulping, eyes not leaving your hands.

“And you’re the lead on the Bernadette Finch case?”

His free hand was ghosting over your waist now and in his dazed look, his eyebrows furrowed. “How–how did you know?”

You smoothed the lapels of his suit jacket before taking a step back. “Because your boss has asked me to be their expert witness.”

That sobered him up. Aaron looked at you in surprise. “Are you serious?”

“Email just came in before class started,” you confirmed, turning away to grab your bag. “Don’t look so surprised, Hotch. My expertise is in female violent offenders.”

“No, I know, but–” Aaron sighed. “Does that mean I can’t see you until after the verdict?”

“Not in any personal capacity whatsoever.”

The trial dragged on for far too long, in both of your opinions, but the moment Bernadette Finch’s fate was decided (twenty years with parole and court-mandated therapy), Aaron Hotchner showed up in front of your door with six-pack beers and pizza. 

He was still in his courtroom attire, and you were in your pajamas. 

The night passes over shared conversation and stories, under the yellow light of your first DC apartment, Jeff Buckley playing from your record player.

“This is my last case in the DA office,” he blurted out after his second bottle of beer.

You turned to him, shocked. “What?”

Aaron took a deep breath before putting his almost-empty beer bottle on your coffee table. “Have you ever felt like maybe you're not doing enough? What you’re doing–what I’m doing right now, is it too little too late?”

“You feel that way?”

“I want to do good,” he explained. “But I can’t help feeling like every time those cases, like Finch, or Jackson Whitefield, come across my desk, it’s already too late, you know? There were already too many victims, too many people that got hurt and I wish I could’ve done more to help stop people like them.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I got the results of my Phase II yesterday,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “As in, FBI?”

Aaron nodded. “I start training in a couple of weeks.”

You would be lying if you said you weren’t disappointed. You just got him back after years and years, finally just him, without having to fight for his attention and affection, and now he was going to go train to be a fucking federal agent? Who knew where he’d end up being assigned? You wanted to be selfish, to ask him to stay (you think he would, if you just asked), but hey, you survived all these years without him.

So you’d be okay, you think.

“That’s great, Hotch,” you told him, genuinely proud and happy for him, pushing away the ugliness clawing up your throat. “Any specific divisions you're shooting for?”

“The BAU,” he answered without missing a beat. There was a small smile on his face that reminded you when he asked you to dance at his graduation party.

“Ah, David Rossi, I'm familiar,” you chuckled. You knew Rossi, of course, and you knew what he was like. You knew what the job took from him.

There was an ache in your heart–that small, unexplainable weight on your chest. But you knew, even then, that you'd be apart again. That was it. Reversed the Lovers. What did he stand for?

This: duty, justice. You only dread the consequences.

“Promise me something, Hotch,” you said.

“Anything.”

You reached out and curled your fingers around his, and instinctively, he tightened it. “That, whatever happens, you'll never let it consume you. That, you'll always come back to who you are.”

“I'll be fine,” he promised. “You know me. Besides, I'll call you to remind me.”

You hugged him goodbye at the airport, heading to his first assignment in the Seattle Field Office, and you returned to your position at Georgetown.

1982, Stanley Academy Boarding School, VA – Bethesda, MA

Aaron heard from Haley.

She had come to their (yours, hers, and his) spot at the corner of the library upset. He noticed that she had been crying. 

“It's her,” was all that she could muster.

“Angel?” He asked. Haley nodded. “What's wrong?”

“Aaron, she's been suspended,” Haley whispered. 

Aaron felt his blood run cold, and he swore his heart and his breathing stopped for a minute because his head started spinning.

“What do you mean?” 

Haley explained through hiccups. “Apparently she got into a fight with some football guy after cheer practice. I heard they’re talking about suspending her.”

Aaron understood, without having Haley to voice it, where her head went. It was a place his head found in the last three minutes. 

Lately, he hadn't seen you around as much, and as much as it pained him to admit it, he noticed. Nobody called him Hotch other than you, nobody called him out on his self-righteous rich boy bullshit (your words) during lunch whenever you went on your socialist rants (Haley's words).

He almost missed the way you flicked his forehead whenever he got too annoying.

“There's no excuse, is there?” He had said once about one of his teammates in the Debate Club who had run out before a speech. “You knew what you were getting into when you signed up.”

Haley had been sympathetic. You had reached across the cafeteria table and delivered a flick to his forehead. It hadn't hurt, just startling him, but he whined nonetheless.

“Give him a fucking break, Hotch,” you scolded. “Not everyone enjoys a power trip from giving condescending speeches playing devil's advocate.”

“It's the Debate Club,” Aaron argued. “Everything is about condescending speeches playing devil's advocate.”

You reached out and flicked him again. “Have you ever had a panic attack?”

“No.”

You rolled your eyes, and he hated that a part of him found it hot. When you reached out to flick him again, he grabbed your wrist midair before you could. 

“I hope you never do,” you said, shrugging. Taking your hand away from his grip, you added, “It'll do you some good to stop being a stuck up prick, you know.”

“Can we talk about something else?” Haley sighed. “I have two tickets to see Cats on tour this Saturday, will you come with me?”

Nobody answered. You were back focusing on your meal and Aaron was focused on you.

You looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. “She's talking to you, Hotch?”

Surprised, Aaron turned to Haley. “You want to take me?”

Haley nodded, smiling. Aaron's heart had skipped a beat, knowing that he finally was slowly but surely stepping out of the friendzone. He grinned at the blonde, “Okay.”

That was the last that he sat with you during lunch because for the next three days leading up to Haley crying in his arms, you'd been gone. 

Aaron consoled Haley as his mind was racing. Then, after he dropped her off at the girl's dorm building, he was set to find you.

The girl's locker room was empty when he got there, but Aaron knew you more than he let on. He didn’t want to admit it, but he had been as observant of you as he did with Haley. You had been a new constant of his life that he didn’t realize just how deep you were in his mind. He made a beeline for the bleachers, where you were laying down with a book and a walkman.

“Hey!” You protested when he took your headphones off of your ears. 

“Is it true?” He asked, face hovering over yours. 

“Is what true?” You tried to deflect.

“Don't bullshit me, Angel.”

You huffed, putting the book between your faces as a barrier. “Get out of my face, Hotch.”

He snatched the book away from your grasp.

“Give it back!” 

“Tell me the truth and I'll give it back.”

You pushed yourself off your back, standing up to look him in the eyes. You were angry and frustrated, he could tell by the tension on your body and the look of your eyes.

“What the fuck do you care?” And your tone. Definitely sold by your tone.

“Because!” He said, not really knowing why. His mind raced as he tried to come up with justifications. “This is bad! You can’t just go around punching people!”

“Again, Hotchner, that's my business.”

“How did this happen?”

He watched as you clammed up, eyes downcast and watery. You took a deep breath, looking away like you were ashamed of the details. “Doesn’t matter.”

“What are you going to do, huh?” He challenged. 

“Look,” you sat back down on the white rows of the bleachers, head in your hands. “They offered a choice: either I serve detention and get Gracie to apologize formally or I get suspended for three days.”

Aaron paused. It took him three seconds of silence before saying, “I’ll say that it was me.”

“What?” You said, head turning to look at him. Aaron didn’t want to admit it, but what he was saying surprised him too. He’d get a handful from his dad, but weighing out the consequences, it’d be a small price to pay compared to you having a detention or worse, suspension in your record. 

He shrugged, taking a seat next to you. “I’ll say that I punched Francis. It’ll be believable, anyway, guy’s a jackass.”

“Shut up!” You said, forceful. “Oh my god, you can't help it can you? You just have to come in and save the day. Look at me, I'm Aaron Hotchner, I'm sacrificing all my wealth and riches to save my girlfriend’s poor best friend! God, so fucking full of yourself!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He had grabbed your shoulders, turning your body to look at him. “I'm trying to help you!”

You broke away. “I don’t need your help, Aaron!”

Aaron’s offer shocked you to your core and it was affecting you more than you’d admit. As much as you’d like to entertain the idea, you knew you couldn’t. You had dreams and ambitions and you weren’t going to let anyone and anything come between that. You thought of Gracie, who picked you from a less-than-ideal foster home and you thought of your mother, who had you when she was eighteen. Detention would look better in your record than a suspension, all you had to do was apologize to Francis Wahlberg and his parents for punching him. That was it.

What surprised you the most was when you left campus on Saturday morning, fully prepared to take the bus to go home, Aaron was waiting for you, leaning against his blue Jeep. He didn’t say a word, just opened his passenger side door when he spotted you. 

You wanted to deck him in the face and you wanted to kiss him at the same time. 

His face was annoying. Even more annoying that he handed you a paper bag with a warm bagel inside. 

You wanted to ask what he was doing, when he was supposed to go with Haley, but you didn’t because deep down, you didn’t want to drive him away. Deep down, you wanted to cry. When did you ever receive unconditional support like this? When have you ever had someone, anyone, who cared about you this way? 

Aaron shifted next to you. “Can I ask you a question?” 

You scoffed. “You just did.”

“Why don’t you just tell everyone what happened?”

“You’re kidding, right?” You snorted. “It’s his word against mine.”

“So what?”

“What do I say? Yeah, the star football player tried to take advantage of me after practice so I broke his nose,” you mocked. “Thank you for suspending him instead of the poor scholarship girl, congratulations for losing thousands of dollars in tuition and good luck in the next games!”

Gracie’s house–your home, was a small one, painted in bright yellow and green with crystals and sun catchers hung from the porch. There were two outdoor seats with quilted covers, an ashtray filled with cigarette buts between them. 

You led Aaron (who, surprisingly, had followed you out his car) in the cramped living room that smelled like burnt sage and incense. He hit his head on the crystal curtains, opting to stay in the corner where nothing was hanging from the ceiling. 

Gracie had big hair, and you used to joke that she dressed like Stevie Nicks. She’d say that Stevie Nicks was the one copying her style. She brought out an herbal tea mix along with lavender flavored cookies.

“I’m not doing that,” she scoffed after you explained what was going on. “You can ask me to do anything, but that. I’ll make a hex bag just for that boy!”

You groaned, “Gracie!”

“Rigel, love, we can just withdraw you from the school,” Gracie said, squeezing your hand in hers. “We can have you go to Eastview, anything would be better than this.”

“It’s just a formal apology, Gracie, it won’t even take five minutes!”

“It’s a lie, that’s what it is. We may have nothing else but our heart and integrity, and we’d still have more than those rich brats,” she insisted. Then, she added, turning to Aaron. “No offense.”

She was right, of course. The thought of having to apologize to that bastard made your skin crawl. But you had to be pragmatic, didn’t you? That graduating from Stanley would give you better chances in getting into a good university. You had given your classes and extracurricular activities your all to pad up your resume, you couldn’t let one small incident get in the way of that. 

But then you had to ask, how many compromises would you make for success?

You understood then Gracie’s success was defined by her happiness, that as long as she had you, as long as she could still connect with her tarot and crystals and palm reading, she was happy. 

What about you?

Aaron raised his hands. “None taken, ma’am.”

You noticed the double take Gracie did as she saw his palm, watched as her lips quirked up and head cocked. 

Gracie insisted that you both stayed for lunch, and you did. It was a little jarring to see The Aaron Hotchner stuffing his face full of Gracie’s hearty chicken soup with rice noodles. It was more jarring that he asked Gracie about her stuff and actually listened to her explaining it all away. You had never seen him so at ease and comfortable.

“I like him,” she said as she hugged you goodbye. “You should bring him around more often.”

“Shut up, Gracie,” you chuckled. “He’s practically taken.”

“There isn’t anything wrong with loving someone, my dear. Love does not need to possess.”

You heard from Haley. 

Aaron got into a fight before lunch period. He punched a guy. He was facing suspension. You saw him and his mother stepping away from the Headmaster’s office as you walked in the administrator’s space, prepared to tell the Headmaster you and Gracie’s joint decision to withdraw from the school. 

It wasn’t hard to figure out why he punched Francis. You knew it was about you. What was difficult to figure out was why he punched Francis. Aaron was graduating in a year, aiming for GWU, and he just risked his application by assaulting the son of a department store chain owner. 

It also wasn’t hard to find him in empty bleachers. 

“Why?” You asked, handing him the coldest can of Diet Coke you managed to score from the lunch lady. 

Aaron took it gladly, pressing the cold metal to his steadily bruising jaw. “His dad is a client at my dad’s firm. It wasn’t hard to find a lot of incriminating stuff about him.”

“What did the Headmaster say?”

“That they’ll forget about everything and lift your punishment.”

“I meant for you,” you clarified. “What did your mom say?”

“She’s on my side, as always. I had to tell her, though. She also made a hefty donation to get me out of trouble.”

You rolled your eyes, but found relief and amusement at the ordeal nonetheless. “Of course she did.”

Aaron sighed, “You were really going to withdraw, weren’t you?”

You leaned on your elbows, facing up the cloudy sky. “My, uh, my biological dad, he would drink and he’d hit my mom and me. The car crash was her way of setting me free, in her own twisted way. I bounced around foster homes until Gracie took me in. My mom and Gracie gave me a chance. I owe it to them and to myself to give me a chance. Gracie was right, you know. I didn’t survive all this shit just to kneel at a white guy’s feet.”

There was a silence as Aaron contemplated your answer. You could feel his eyes on you, studying, searching for something. After a minute, he stood up. “Come on, we’re going to be late for the next period.”

You grabbed his uniform blazer, haphazardly thrown to the row behind you, and followed suit. Side by side, you both walked in silence back towards the campus. 

Your textbook said you were in a dissociative state, a protection mechanism your brain engaged in through trauma. It was understandable, and you somewhat agreed that maybe you weren't as torn by the events, but should you be?

Mostly you felt relieved. 

While yeah, you might hate most waking moments having to socialize with Virginia’s elites, your teachers were nice. You loved the elective classes at Georgetown they let you take. You loved the cheer team and their collective camaraderie that they’d take turns in paying whatever trips and camps you couldn’t afford. You loved being friends with Haley and sometimes, Aaron. 

Because walking side by side with him, in silence and in jest, there were flowers blooming in your chest. 

But he was Haley's, have always been, so you didn't say anything.

When you arrived in the building, you knew you had to take a diverging path. The thought saddened you unexpectedly. 

“Listen,” you started, turning to him. Your hand stretched out to hand him his jacket back. “Thank you, for everything.”

Aaron smiled with his teeth, taking his jacket back from you. “Does that mean you'll be nicer to me from now on?”

You shook your head. “Not a chance.”

Then, in a moment of bravery, you stepped up and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. Aaron tensed under your touch, and you didn't give him a chance to reciprocate before pulling away. 

The surprised smile on his face was so cute and adorable that you couldn't help yourself. You planted a kiss on his cheek, smiling in satisfaction as your gloss shined on his now pink-tinted skin.

“See you around, Hotchner.”

You turned around, failing to stop the slight skip on your step as you walked away.

1983, Stanley Academy Boarding School, VA

“Hey!” Haley caught up with you after you got out of, what you assumed, was Mr. Hotchner's office. You had snuck in to call yourself a cab. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” you answered, mostly because you didn't want her and Aaron to try and find you.

“Why?” You didn't answer her this time, just continued making a beeline for the front door. The cold night air bit on your exposed skin and you tried to conceal your shiver. You made it to the driveway until Haley took your shoulder and turned you around. “Hey, stop. Talk to me!”

“I can't, Hales!” 

“Why not?” 

“Because!” You sighed in frustration, hands running over your face. “Because you love him and he–” you struggled to find the words. Did he love you? Like you at least? He did try to kiss you. “–he shouldn't have to choose.”

Haley shook her head. “What are you talking about?”

“Aaron!” You said. “He likes you and you like him–love him–and there is no space for me in whatever that is.”

“That's ridiculous–”

“Did you sleep with him?” You asked. 

Haley paused, hesitating. It should be an answer enough for you, but you wanted to hear it from her.

“Did you?”

“Why does that matter?” she said. “You slept with half the boys in our year. Why does it matter that I sleep with him?”

She was right, of course. But you were still a teenager dealing with her first love.

“Because these past few months have been hell, Haley,” you told her. “Ever since your birthday party, ever since you knew that I have feelings for him, you have been rubbing it on my face! That picture you sent–the New York trip–Jesus.”

That was last month. A senior trip to New York that Haley had decidedly tagged along, accompanied by some of the other guy's girlfriends. You couldn't go, not only because you weren't invited but you couldn't ask Gracie for more money. She sent you a polaroid with him in Times Square, his hands around her shoulders, both smiling widely. He was looking at the camera, she was staring at him. 

“You did it first,” she argued. “He left me waiting at the theater that day for you.”

“This is stupid,” you declared, chest heaving like you couldn’t get enough air. You were crying, you think, but Haley definitely was. “He shouldn’t matter this much.” 

“I wanted you to fight me,” she confessed, shoulder shagging in relief of finally letting the secret out. “I wanted you to fight me for him. I wanted you to realize that you're allowed to want things and go after them.”

You stood there, shell shocked by the weight of her confession. She wanted you to fight a losing battle? She wanted you to throw away three years of friendship just to teach you a lesson? 

“You're insane,” you said, shaking your head. “You don't want to teach me about self worth, you're just feeding your own ego. You knew I'd lose. Is that why you're friends with me Haley? So you know you'll win every time? So you don't have to compete with anyone?”

Haley didn't answer, just stood there looking at you, at the ground, and back to the house. You followed her gaze to see Aaron standing on the porch. 

A horn cut through the night. It was your cab. 

“Have a nice life, Hales,” you sighed. “I really do hope you're happy.”

2007, Houston, TX – Arlington, VA – FBI Academy Quantico, VA

You were a terrible person. Terrible, terrible person.

If a person you had been dating for two years asked you to marry them, your first reaction shouldn’t be calling your old place of employment to help you solve three seemingly unconnected murder cases. If a person you had been dating for two years asked you to marry them, you shouldn’t have knowingly reached out to one Jennifer Jareau, the communication liaison you knew Aaron Hotchner hired after the Boston Bombing fiasco. 

Of course you kept up with them as much as you could, mostly because of the nature of your job. Mostly, also, because you missed them. 

Houston was never home, just a place where you had run away to when the pressure of expectation from Gideon and the pain of watching your adult self revert back to high school menial rivalry with Haley and the knowledge that you almost killed the man you loved became too much to bear. You were looking for reasons to go back. 

It was an unfortunate incident that the guy Georgetown hired after your resignation died of a heart attack two weeks earlier and they wanted you back to take over his position and classes for the next semester. You had to see for yourself that if you came back to DC, would they welcome you with open arms or would you be an outsider? 

So when Fuller asked you for help for a series of murder in the Third Ward, you told him you’d bring the cavalry.

Someone calling you by your last name and title shouldn't have stopped you in your tracks but you froze anyway. You had set up shop, facing the case board after putting up pictures and the map of the area. “My name is Jennifer Jareau, we spoke on the phone.”

“Thank you, but you can call me–”

“Doctor Angel?” A familiar voice called. Only one person in the whole wide world would call you that. Sure enough, Spencer Reid entered the conference room, followed by a woman with dark hair.

“What did I say about that nickname, Doctor Reid?” You said, trying to insert humor in your sentence, testing the waters.

“Either call you by your title or your nickname, never both,” he recited, attention immediately taken by the map behind you. “Is that the Fifth Ward map?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, noting the inherent coldness in his attitude. Not that you didn't expect the hostility, but Reid was the one you hoped would be civil. After all, you kept in touch if only through research papers and academic discussion.

“Yeah, knock yourself out,” you said. You wanted to dig deeper, but the man you were both dreading and excited to see strolled into the room and you couldn't help but stare at him. It was good to see him alive and kicking. It wasn't great that his face was clouded with coldness and stoicism. “Hotch.”

The man didn't falter, but you didn't miss the slight backwards step of his left foot. 

Okay. You turned your attention back towards the other two agents, extending your hand. “You must be Emily Prentiss.”

“Looking forward to working with you, ma'am,” Agent Prentiss said, taking your hand. 

“Please don't call me that,” you grimaced. “And I'm afraid this is the extent of my involvement in the case. Detective Fuller was a friend, when he came to me about the murders, I knew the BAU should take the lead.”

You handed a file of your preliminary findings, making it a point to talk to Agent Jareau and Prentiss, leaving Reid to his own devices and Hotch, well, standing there like a statue.

“Tell Gideon and Morgan I said–”

“You should stay.”

It was Aaron, and by the way Jareau’s and Prentiss’ heads whipped towards their Unit Chief, it was surprising for them, too.

Aaron faltered, clearing his throat. He shifted to stand a little taller, eyes cocking to the side to mask his true reaction. “Stay and work the case with us. We can use your expertise.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, lips quirking to show your confusion. “You have twice as many people in this team than when we first started. I don't think it's necessary.”

“Actually it's one point seven five times,” corrected Reid, though his focus was still on the map.

Aaron took the file from Prentiss’ hands, holding out in front of you like a bait, a challenge, his eyes never leaving yours. When he spoke, his voice was a taunt, luring you in. This was the familiar Hotch who would butt heads with you in boarding school. That could mean one of two things.

“You should present this to Gideon yourself, don't you think?”

You noticed three things about Aaron then: the fire in his eyes, the ring on his finger, and the lack of distance between you. This was it, you think, the day Aaron Hotchner would finally end you. Not because he was angry, or pissed at you for leaving, but because he was finally married to Haley and you knew he'd use that against you.

But you took the file and you stayed anyway.

There was a sense of familiarity as you worked with the team, even with Prentiss and JJ. Gideon had seen you and gave you a handshake, didn't push you or corner you. You gave him the same grace by not bringing up the Boston bomber case. 

The team noticed, though, past the coldness, the challenge you and Aaron gave each other. Though there were snide comments, no one ever questioned each other’s judgment and abilities. There was a seamlessness, a kind of intimacy as you both worked. You gave him the good coffee, he gave you fresh copies of files because he knew you liked how warm they were. He opened the passenger car doors for you, you took the pickles off of his lunch.

If Spencer Reid wasn't so high out of his mind, he would've seen it too. If he wasn't so mean, you wouldn't have seen it too.

You cornered him in the breakroom as he chugged his third cup of coffee. “Reid, are you okay?”

He had jumped at your voice, scoffing. “No offense, Doctor, but if I needed a shrink I would have made an appointment.”

His reaction didn’t faze you. After working in disadvantaged communities with different vulnerable communities, you had an inkling of what was going on. It wasn’t hard to miss the irritability, agitation, his inattention to everyone and everything around him, so much so that he missed the construction work around him. “So why haven’t you?”

Spencer paused, setting his cup on the counter as he turned to you. “You think I’m being difficult? Acting crazy? Uncharacteristic?”

“I wouldn’t use those words,” you snorted. “But yes, actually.”

“Maybe I changed four years ago, you know, when you left?” He bit. “Respectfully, you lost your privilege to my utmost inner thoughts that day in Gideon’s office.”

“Fine,” you conceded. You stepped closer to him, reaching out to touch his elbow. It wouldn’t mean much to anyone else watching, but you knew he understood. “Whatever happened to you, Spencer, I’m sorry you have to go through it alone. When you’re ready, give me a call.”

He yanked his arm out of your grip, and you raised your hands in surrender before leaving. Spencer didn’t talk to you again after that, opting to ignore you under the pretense of focusing on the case. In the ‘tolerating you’ scale, he was way down there with Aaron.

“You’re not going in the field with them?” JJ asked when she found you in the women’s restrooms. 

The case was falling into place with the unsub identified, Dana Woodridge sat in the conference room, eyes hollow and scared. Spencer and Prentiss monitored the coms, waiting for news. 

You shook your head. “No, I don’t go out in the field anymore.”

“Why not?” She questioned, and your surprised face must have caused her to backtrack. “I just meant, you were a legend in the Bureau. I studied your case reports, you basically wrote the guidelines I use to triage cases.”

Tilting your head curiously, you prompted: “Did Gideon or Hotch ever talk about me?”

“No,” she said. “Spencer and Derek mentioned you in passing.”

You nodded your head, expecting nothing more. “I don’t like guns. Ironic, I know, but I just can’t watch when they inevitably gun him down.”

“You think Gideon’s incapable of talking him down?”

There was a bitter scoff coming from you, mind thinking back to the last time you ever went to the field during an active case. “I think there are a lot of variables in the field. Even someone as good as Gideon won’t be able to control those.”

You had been right, of course, but there was no pleasure in the knowledge.

It was Derek Morgan who visited you at the Houston field office first. You were wrapping up with a patient (a senior agent going through a divorce) when he poked his head in front of the see-through window of your office.

“What can I do for you, Agent Morgan?” You asked, letting him in as you let your patient out. You fought the urge to yawn, the days in the field catching up to you. Morgan didn’t take the seat you offered, standing there in your small office. 

He changed, you gave him that. No more trying to fit in with the bureaucratic nature of Hotch, or the controlled chaos of Gideon. Gone was the suit, replaced by raglan tees and a pair of sunglasses hanging from his collar. You were glad, really, the more he was comfortable with himself, the better of a profiler he was. 

There was also an implicit declaration of trust to his teammates, something you didn’t see when you did his evaluation back then. 

“You remember when I was just starting out and I came to you about nightmares?” 

He had come to you in your office in Georgetown, struggling to talk and get the words out. You had taken him back home to help you paint your newly renovated spare bedroom. It wasn’t hard to get him to talk after that.

You paused, “Have they been happening again?”

“No, nothing like that,” he admitted. “I'm just saying that between Gideon and Hotch, I can say that you are greatly missed.”

“Did Gideon put you up to this?” You asked, eyes narrowed. 

Morgan laughed. “No, no. It’s just that lately, with things that are happening in the team, I sometimes wish I can talk to you about it, I know you’ll know what to do.”

“Are you talking about Reid?”

A sardonic laugh. “Amongst other things.”

“Derek.” you said gently. “Whenever you need to talk, you can reach me anytime.”

“I know,” he said, giving you a quick hug goodbye. “Thanks.”

The second one who visited you was Gideon. You were waiting for another appointment, another agent who just went through a personal loss, when Gideon came barging in. 

“Hope you don’t mind that I told the other guy to reschedule,” He said, not waiting for your permission to enter. 

You groaned. “I do, actually. I do mind.”

“I’m not here to ask you to come back.”

“Of course you won’t.”

“Just—” your former unit chief tilted his head, questioning. “Why did you run?”

You stared up at him from the chair behind your desk, heels clicking on the floor to ground you with its repetitive motion. “Does it matter? You have a new protege.”

Gideon just stared at you, eyes studying you like he would look at suspects from behind the two-way mirror before coming in to interrogate them. He tilted his head, then you saw it. He wasn’t watching you like he would a suspect. He was watching you like he would a bird. 

It was you who broke the silence. “I guess I’m not strong enough for the job and its consequences. I just don’t have what it takes.”

“How do you figure?” He asked. You narrowed your eyes.

“Are you asking for you, or for Reid?” when he didn’t answer, you said, “Just because I stopped searching for your approval, doesn’t mean he will. Look at Aaron, he hasn’t stopped. Look where it got him. It’s not on you, Jason. Well, maybe a little bit, but ultimately, it is his choice, my choice.”

You saw it when you first got into the team during your two semester sabbatical Gideon wanted you to get. You saw it in Aaron because you recognize it yourself: the way tear himself apart to not disappoint Gideon was the same way you almost disintegrated trying to keep Haley happy during high school. And at that party, you decided enough was enough.

But it was easy to slip back to old habits. Your training was what saved you, you think, from devoting your life to the BAU and to Gideon. When you were there, you tried your best to keep Aaron away from working more than he needed to by taking him to parks and the movies when you could. You could only do so much, though, with dividing between your time consulting for the BAU and your teachings in Georgetown. 

You could only do so much to work against his ambition. You could only imagine how he got after you left. 

Gideon left shortly after that, promising a steak dinner when you were in DC. The reopening of old wounds overwhelmed you, however, so that when the third person to visit you came knocking, you were hiding under your desk to deprive your senses for a little bit. 

“Listen, there is this thing called making an appointment—”

“I won’t be here long enough for that.”

The voice made you jump, causing you to bump your head on the edge of your desk as you tried to get up. Your hand was rubbing the point of impact on your scalp as you climbed out. Sure enough, the guy who saw you in your moment of humiliation was Aaron Hotchner.

“I might start charging you guys for this drop-by therapy session,” you huffed, busying yourself with rearranging your desk to avoid looking at him. 

Aaron didn’t respond to your attempt at humor. He walked further into your office, standing close to your desk. His face was stern, unimpressed.

You gestured your hand up to his face. “See, I’ve been meaning to ask about this whole thing. Since when did you become such a grump?”

“I don’t know,” he said, still in a deadpan tone. “Maybe because my best friend left without saying goodbye when I was in a hospital recovering from two gunshot wounds.”

You rolled your eyes, you couldn’t help it, it was the muscle memory for every stupid thing he had said, even back then. You still wouldn’t look at him, you busy your hand by toying with your computer instead of reaching up and flicking his forehead. 

When it was too long of a pause for an answer, his composure cracked. Aaron scoffed, hand running through his hair in frustration. In a swift motion, his hands gripped the edge of your desk as he leaned over you. As you looked up, you came onto his face, inches away from yours, eyes blazing, nostrils flaring. 

You sighed, as a sign of relenting and a way to calm your beating heart. So maybe you had compared everyone you met to him. So maybe you were waiting for the other shoe to drop anyway. Maybe the someone you needed was him all this time. But you caught the glint of sunlight on his gold wedding band and you gave yourself a hard slap back to reality. 

“Because of me,” you whispered. 

He faltered. “What?”

“You got shot because of me,” you said. “Because I can’t protect myself.”

“What?” He scoffed. “That’s the most ridiculous thing—”

“You almost got suspended because of me, too,” you whispered. “And Haley told me what happened after, with your dad.”

Aaron laughed in disbelief. “Is this what it’s about? Some sick, twisted version of your insecurity that you hurt everyone who cares about you?”

“Do you actually care or is it because you just have to be a hero?” you asked. It was a low blow, you knew, but you just wanted him out of your space. 

“Don’t give me that.”

You looked away for a second, swallowing. “It’s not just you, you know. I can’t keep up with Gideon’s expectations, unlike you. I can’t turn my emotions off or have that sense of duty. It was poisoning me from the inside, throwing people’s vulnerabilities to attack them instead of helping them.”

Aaron sighed, and with a breath came, the tension was released. His knuckles lessened their grip, understanding filled his eyes. “You could’ve said goodbye.”

“Would you have let me go?” You asked, looking into his eyes now. “I stayed as long as I did because of you, Aaron, and if you asked me to stay, I would have. If I had gotten you killed, I—I wouldn’t know what I’d do.”

 It was a miracle that Rowan walked in when they did because you didn’t know what you’d have done in that moment, either. Not without Aaron looking at you like that, the same way he did when you sat on his windowsill during his graduation party. The same way he did in Gracie’s engagement party. 

You have always wondered what it would be like to kiss Aaron Hotchner, but you knew you would never find out. It took you years to grieve the life you wanted with him. It took you more to grieve the love you have to bury for him. 

“Is this a bad time?” Rowan called from the gap in your office door. 

Rowan, your long term boyfriend (ex-boyfriend?) who asked you to marry him just three days ago. Rowan, whose heart you broke by saying you’d think about it. Rowan, who hadn’t called or texted in three days and had asked to go to dinner that night to talk things through. 

Rowan, who saved you from being a homewrecker and Aaron from being a cheater. 

“No,” you told him. You turned to Aaron, “You have a flight to catch.”

“I do,” he said, voice hoarse. 

“I’ll call you.”

“Okay.”

It wouldn’t be until August that you saw Aaron again. 

After Gideon took a sabbatical from teaching to focus on his cases, you filled in his position in the Academy. It was an inevitability that you’d run into each other. (You started hanging out with Spencer way earlier than that) (You had put him in an observation room as he went through withdrawal and set him up with a colleague to keep him off dilaudid) (You never mentioned it to anyone). Since then, you’d often get roped in nights out with the team, and eventually, Haley. 

It was jarring that she had pulled you into a hug and apologized for her outburst at that hospital in Baltimore. You couldn’t really do anything but patted her back and apologized for not making it to the wedding. 

You might not be best friends with her anymore, but you understood. There was no use in holding against old wounds. 

You knew your place in their relationship, you promised. You limited any interactions with either of them outside of a group setting, outside of the office. So, it was alarming that you had shown up at their house in Arlington during Aaron’s suspension. 

“Strauss wants me to be acting unit chief of the BAU,” you blurted out the moment he opened his front door.

“Hello to you too, Angel,” Haley greeted, poking her head from behind Aaron’s body. 

You sighed. “Sorry, I can’t reach Gideon. I don’t know who else to go to about this.”

“Come in,” he said, opening the door wider for you. He sat down on an armchair, gesturing you to sit on the couch in front of him, but you shook your head.

“Look, I won’t stay long, I just need to tell you—where’s Jack?” you asked, distracted by the lack of babbling from the toddler. 

Haley sat on the arms of the chair Aaron was sitting on. You pretended not to notice the possessive arm on his shoulder. “The park, with Jess.”

“Right,” you said, taking a deep breath. “I don’t appreciate being used as a pawn in a political game. I like my post now, I like teaching. If I become unit chief, I’ll have to leave Georgetown again and I’d rather claw my fucking eyes out.”

Aaron averted his eyes to the hardwood floor, finger fiddling with his wedding band. “It’s out of my hands.”

“No, it’s not,” you protested, starting to pace around their living room. “We know what happened in Flagstaff was Gideon’s fault. The team will back you up, let him take the fall for once and then you can come back and I can go back to the academy—”

“I can’t do that,” he said, eyes still not meeting yours. 

You stopped pacing and turned to him. Haley’s grip on his shoulder tightened, she also wouldn’t look at you. “What?”

“I’m not going to throw Jason under the bus for this,” Aaron clarified. Not only that it surprised you, you could tell it disappointed Haley, too. Her face fell as she rubbed her own arms. 

“Hales?” You called out as she walked out of the living room, into the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

Aaron ignored your question. “I can’t let Gideon take the fall because it’ll end his career, especially after Boston, you know that.”

“So you’re going to lose everything you’ve worked for, for him?”

“Not just for him,” he confessed, fingers playing with his wedding band again. “It’s not just for Gideon.”

You understood, then, the tension between them that you picked up sometimes. It wasn’t your place to question it, so you didn’t. You thought it was because of you, partially, but apparently it was because of his absence. His ambition, his need for the job that trumps his love for Haley even if he didn’t want to admit it. 

Haley wanted a white-picket fence life with her true love. Aaron wanted the thrill, the chase, and the sense of accomplishment that catching killers gave him.  

Of course. Reversed the Lovers. 

“Good luck with that,” you snorted before you could stop yourself.

His eyes lifted up to you. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I know you, Hotch,” you said. “I know you try to separate this role of husband, father, and agent. I know you try and give your all in those roles. The only problem is, you’re burning on every end until there’s nothing left.”

What do you stand for, Aaron Hotchner?

With that, you left his house and went straight to Quantico. You passed by Emily Prentiss, straight to Strauss’ office. You told her what you said to Aaron, and you told her to fuck off. 

This, you thought. Duty, protection, hero. 

Haley came to your office when the team was still in Milwaukee.

JJ had notified you about the case, asking for help since they were down three members. You wanted to, you swore, but you knew that if you filled in, your promotion to Unit Chief would basically be a done deal. It would be a confirmation that you were the only choice for now, until you could train Derek more so he could replace you. 

That would mean losing at the very least two years of your academic career. 

“You just have to be so selfish, don’t you?” Her voice made you jump. “You won’t even do this for us?”

“Haley–”

“He left,” she continued, sniffling. “Just go ahead, say it. Say that you told me so.”

Well. That pissed you off. It was always her blaming you for his choices, like you were pulling his strings. Like he didn’t make the conscious act to choose. 

“Okay,” you gave in. “I fucking told you so.”

Haley’s face crumpled, she collapsed to one side of the sofa you kept for your patients. 

“Does that help?” You sighed, rubbing your eyes with your thumb and index fingers. When he didn’t reply, you crossed the room, from your desk to the sofa where she sat. Wrapping your arms around her, you murmured. “I’m sorry, Hales. I’m so sorry, everything is going to be okay.”

Little did you know, it would be the last time you ever saw and talked to her. 

2011, Alexandria, VA

The second week after Haley filed for divorce, he had come to your office in the Academy armed with whiskey. You sighed when you saw him, pulling out two paper cups meant for the communal water dispenser and two granola bars.

“Do you think if I just made the right choices, I would be able to salvage this?” Aaron asked after his second glass of liquor. 

You threw back the last bit of the liquid in your glass. “I'm not answering that. If you want a therapy session, you should've booked an appointment without alcohol.”

“Yeah but,” the man in front of you sighed, running a hand on his face. “As my friend, as Haley's friend, what do you think?”

You hesitated. “And you want the truth?”

“Yeah.”

“You won't tell Haley I said this?”

His eyes narrowed at you. “No.”

“Haley's stupid for believing she can change you,” you said. “And you're stupid for promising her that, expecting Haley to do all the domestic labor while you go off galavanting with your cavalry.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

His tone irked you, so you reached out and flicked his forehead. He barely reacted. “People need different things. They fulfill these needs by being in relationships, but it's unrealistic to expect one person to fulfill all your needs. You look for what Haley can't give you in the job, in the team. But Haley doesn't have that luxury.”

You took the empty glass from his hand, throwing it in the bin next to your desk. Aaron just sat there, contemplating, so you continued.

“What she needs is a husband and the father to her kid who'd put them first,” you told him. “And you? You can't do all three because you're already so fucking burnt out trying.”

You called him and yourself separate cabs to get home. The next morning, an apology fruit basket perched on your desk.

You didn’t take pleasure in their misery, if anything, you feel sorry for both of them, but especially Jack. In times like whenever Aaron would come to your office, you couldn’t help but recall a conversation you had with Haley back in 2002.

“Why don’t you let him take you out?” she asked when you both were getting coffee together. 

“What?”

“He said he asked you out multiple times but you said no,” she elaborated. “You don’t think he’s still in love with me, do you?”

You snorted, shaking your head. “He goes to a different place, when he works. He’s there but he’s so single minded. It’s a place neither of us are allowed to. He’s just getting started, Hales. I know I’ll come second to the job, even if he doesn’t mean to.”

Haley had laughed then, and you knew what that laugh meant. That laugh meant that she was different, that if Aaron was with her, she’d be his number one priority forever no matter what. That laugh meant she’d do better than you, be better in every way.

You still thought about her sometimes, especially whenever you went to the park with Aaron and Jack because you were back to being friends. 

After JJ left for State, you took it upon yourself to train Penelope Garcia to triage cases, even helped her train the algorithm she used to make everything more seamless. She used it to assign consultation cases to different agents, and you couldn’t hide how impressed you were with her genius. 

That meant you were working closely with the BAU again, but you knew it wouldn’t last. As much as you loved bringing Aaron coffee in the morning, taking away half his pile of paperwork, and being the emotional sounding board for the entire team (they would drop by your office some days) (and complain about the most menial things to the most sickening, horrifying trauma a human being can endure) (they’d walk away feeling lighter with a lollipop in their hand) you knew you were meant to do something else. 

“I think this is going to be my last year at the Bureau,” you told Aaron one Saturday morning. “This initiative that a couple of colleagues are starting, it’s a free clinic and resource center for victims of gender-based violence. I can’t do that and be at the FBI at the same time.”

Aaron watched as Jack climbed on the monkey bars, and you were ready to repeat yourself, thinking that he hadn’t heard you. But he took a deep breath, eyes on his shoes before turning to look at you. “I can’t even be mad at you for that.”

(Little did you know that the team didn’t stop talking to you, only now dropping by Georgetown in groups, taking turns.)

You snorted, reaching your arm to flick his forehead. “You can’t be mad at me for anything!”

“I know,” he smiled. God, you missed that smile, the smile that you had rarely seen lately so you collect it like a dragon collecting gold coins every time it comes out. “Doesn’t mean I'm not going to miss you.”

“Don't worry, between the team and Jack, you won't have time to,” you laughed.

“That's ridiculous,” he said. “I've missed you for almost thirty years, Angel, I think I'm getting the hang of it by now.”

Aaron said it like a throwaway line, so nonchalantly, like it didn't shift your whole world. 

You'd tell him, you think, before you leave. You wondered if it'd kill him. You knew it'd kill you. But then you remembered the whole reason he sought you out in the first place.

The whole ‘I met someone and I don't know how to introduce her to Jack’. 

You didn’t let your heartbreak show. The one time you didn't come with him to train for the triathlon, he met someone. But the feeling wasn't unfamiliar, so you embraced it like an old friend.

2013, Baltimore, MA – Quantico, VA

Gracie's funeral was held in the Whitefield Residence in Baltimore. 

As per her request, it was a tree planting procession, her ashes were spread over the ground where Jackson and his mother planted a Camellia tree on. 

Aaron was there, as he had been when Gracie was still undergoing chemotherapy. As he had been when she decided to stop. As he had been when her health quickly deteriorated. You made peace with it a long time ago, but it didn't mean you would stop grieving any time soon.

When Valentina asked you to give an eulogy, you told her you couldn't do it, but Jackson convinced you anyway.

So there you were, in a black dress and puffy eyes, one dangling star earring as your only accessories.

“Gracie said that our meeting was written in the stars,” you started, hand subconsciously touching the dangling stars from your ears. “She gave me this when she picked me up from that foster home. She called me different names of stars, Rigel was her favorite. And I–I–” a sob cut through your speech, and you forced yourself to take a deep breath. “Oh God, sorry, I can't see what I've written because it’s so blurry.”

Valentina chuckled next to you, she reached out and held your hand, grounding you through it.

Your eyes cleared just enough to see Aaron across from you, an encouraging smile on his face, and you found your footing again. But you discarded what you wrote on that piece of paper, and instead, let a memory play out in your head.

“Gracie told me once that love isn't selfish,” you continued, eyes not breaking away from Aaron. “That love doesn't need to possess,” you looked away from Aaron towards the newly planted tree. “To live a life rooted in compassion and kindness, to give love freely without demands, that's her. That's what she taught me. So Gracie, even if I don't have you here with me, I have my love for you, and that's enough.”

Three days later, Aaron greeted you at his apartment in a navy quarter zip, smiling softly as he let you in. You didn't question his weird choice of wardrobe, considering it was in the middle of July. 

You were holding a box of Gracie's things that Valentina had given you and you couldn't bring yourself to go through it alone. You had called Aaron immediately, and he told you he'd be home.

“Jess has Jack for a bit, they're going to the zoo,” he explained, answering your silent questioning of the unusually silent apartment.

You sat on the floor of his living room, back leaning against the sofa, the cardboard box in front of you. Aaron came back from the kitchen with two bottles of beer.

“I thought something familiar might be comforting,” he said, handing you a bottle.

You smiled, grateful. “Thanks.”

And, as you took a swig, knees crossed under you, his brain screamed that he loved you. Aaron Hotchner had realized he loved you more times than he could count. 

The first time was when he went to a football game Stanley was playing against Eastview in junior year. It would be two months after he met Haley and consequently, started to get to know you. He first thought you were Haley's annoying little sidekick who constantly cockblocked him, that was until he saw you on that field

Haley had ditched him to have dinner with her theater friends instead, leaving him stuck with his classmates, bored out of his mind. Then, he saw you get thrown into the air and it felt like he couldn't breathe, not until your friends caught you, then sprung you back up to stand on someone's shoulder.

He didn't dare repeat the things his classmates said about you, but he did replayed the moment your eyes caught him. You smiled at him in acknowledgement, one pom-pom in the air and just before you fell back, you gave him a wink.

His heart fluttered as he watched your every move in awe. The boys sitting around him thought that little stunt was for them, but Aaron knew. Though, he was still sixteen going on seventeen, so he chalked it up to teenage hormones.

The second time was the first time you flicked his forehead for saying something stupid. He didn't even remember what he had said to warrant your annoyance (knowing you then, it could just be something along the lines of ‘my brother's stupid’), but he remembered being stunned when he felt you touch him for the first time.

A flick on the forehead. It wasn't even affectionate but he was hooked from the start. He'd say stupid shit to get a reaction out of you, especially that reaction.

When he found out you might withdraw from Stanley, he thought his world was ending.

He ditched Haley to drive you to Gracie's house in Bethesda because he was making sure you'd still be around. When Gracie brought up withdrawing, he felt like he could pass out, maybe throw a tantrum. It was an easy decision to slam Francis’ face to the boys lockers after P.E. 

Then you kissed him. You kissed him on the cheek and he was never the same.

Aaron loved Haley, he truly did, but sometimes he couldn't help but wonder if he had kissed you that night in his room. He was so bound with his commitment to Haley, dead set on proving his dad wrong about her, and trying to do the right thing. Haley was the right thing.

But you? You were always out of reach. 

Then it was every day whenever he’d see you in the BAU, working side by side with him, having his back whenever, taking him to the Smithsonian during the weekends. You let him take you out for drinks, sending him home just after he got a little too touchy, always with a smile and a teasing remark. 

And he was a terrible person, he knew that, because he went on four dates with Beth and realized he was still in love with you. 

Aaron was still on his way back from the case in Atlanta the day before his scheduled triathlon, and Jess was out of town for a job, so in desperation, he called you to take care of Jack when he was away. Both you and Jack were enthusiastic, and he didn’t realize just how much until he received a video on his phone of you and Jack. 

Of you, playing KISS’ “I Was Made For Lovin’ You” in Guitar Hero as Jack held his water bottle in front of him like a mic. You gave Jack a sunglasses and a boa as you kneel on the floor in front of him, playing the plastic guitar like you were doing a stadium tour. 

He chose the song, I swear was the caption you wrote when you sent it to him.

“It’s sickening how in love you are,” Dave said, noticing the smile on Aaron’s face as the video looped. The older man raised his hand in surrender as Aaron gave him a sharp glance. “I know, I’m just saying, Aaron, you’ve been making heart eyes at them back in ‘98. It’s not fair for Beth to compete with that.”

“I tried, Dave,” Aaron confessed. “For four years I tried to get them to go on a date with me and they always said no.”

“That was ten, twelve years ago!”

“They always said, maybe when you’re where you want to be,” he recalled. “I didn’t understand it then, but I know now it was about the job.”

“The job doesn’t change,” David said. “You did.”

He wasn’t proud of how he ended things with Beth–through a phone call when he landed–but he knew it was the right thing to do.

Aaron found you cuddled up with Jack on the kid’s bed, wearing his old GWU sweatshirt. And he knew. He spent two years proving that his relationship with the job had changed for the better, for you. 

You pulled out a small box of Gracie’s tarot desk, showing it up to him. “Oh, I haven’t touched one of these in decades!”

Aaron did, however, touch Gracie’s deck a year before she died. You had been with Valentina, talking to the doctors when Gracie patted the spot on the foot of her hospital bed, her deck of tarot cards in her hands. 

“Come on, Aaron,” she beckoned. “Indulge the wish of a dying woman.”

He had mirrored her laugh, complying with her request. She laid out all the cards in front of her with expert accuracy, not one was out of place, compared to your clumsy spread thirty years ago. Absent-mindedly, with a little bit of flair to indulge Gracie, he picked three cards. 

“Come on, what’s the diagnosis, madame?”

Gracie reached and opened one of them. “Upright the Tower, wow. This is for radical, fundamental change. Aaron, I know you’re scared, but you don’t have to be. Sometimes, change is good, especially now you have a newfound understanding of love.”

Aaron looked away, focusing his gaze on the dripping fluids from the IV bottle. He had been scared, fearing that he might not make it out alive after Haley’s death. But change was what he welcomed the most, and he wouldn’t have been if you weren’t at his side this whole time. 

“Ten of cups, upright, too,” Gracie said. “Congratulations, Aaron, you will find what you’re searching for. Contentment, peace, happiness–the stars have spoken, my dear. All the pain you’ve been through, you’ll find a reprieve. And lastly–” Gracie turned the last one. “Reversed three of swords.”

Aaron held his breath. 

Gracie chuckled at his expression. “Don’t worry, my dear, it’s not as scary as it looks. I envy you, Aaron, that you’ll move on and finally grow from the pain, that you’ll either earn forgiveness or you’ll learn it.”

You came in three minutes after Gracie gave him a hug, crying tears of relief that he’d finally taste his own happiness. 

“Why?” He asked you, out of curiosity. 

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Because I lost mine. I don’t remember how, but Gracie believes that you can only have one deck for life, you know? That the bond between a witch and her cards is sacred, and that no two decks are the same.”

“So you never picked up a new one?”

“No,” you shook your head. “I thought me and this just weren’t meant to be.”

Aaron bit his lip, contemplating, suddenly nervous about your reaction. In a split second, he decided, he’d lay it out for you, and give the ball back to your court. 

He got up from his position next to you and went to his room. You looked at him quizzically as he did, even more so when he came back with an old storage box. 

“What’s that, Hotch?” you asked.

Aaron put the box down and took off the lid. Inside, you could see an old tarot deck kept together by a rubber band and a velvet jewelry box. 

“No way,” you laughed in disbelief, taking the deck from the box. “You have this all these time?”

“Yeah,” he said. He took the jewelry box, handing it to you with a slight shake of his hand. “And this.”

Inside was the other half of your dangling stars earring, one that you thought you lost a long time ago. Your memory came back to you, then, about the party, the cards, and Haley. “Hotch–”

“Finders keepers,” he joked, trying to mask the crack in his voice. 

“Did it happen?” You asked, then. “The tarots you pulled ten years ago.”

“Oh, man, oh man. I–” Aaron smiled, then shook his head. He looked down, debating the answer to your question. “Yeah, it did.”

“Oh,” you said, noticing the light and airy feel of nostalgia evaporating from the room. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I’m sorry–”

“I pivoted my career from a prosecutor to the FBI, that’s the fool, right?” he answered. “Then, it was my dad. He died of lung cancer, third year of law school. You know, the three of swords. It’s funny, because I thought at first it was you I lost.”

You reached out and held his hand, letting him squeeze it for comfort. 

“And I think–” he gulped. “I think you know the rest.”

You knew he thought of Haley, the consequences of his choices, his commitments. You couldn’t help but notice how close the two of you were sitting. Sides pressed up against each other, backs on your couch as you both made yourselves comfortable on your living room floor. 

What do you stand for, Aaron Hotchner?

Aaron took the earring in one hand, fingers running along the small chains, the stars hanging off them. “Remember what you told me, when you found me in the bleachers after I punched Francis? You said, your mom and Gracie–”

“–gave me a chance. I owe it to them and to myself to give me a chance,” you recited. “Is that why you became a prosecutor instead of working at your dad’s firm?”

Aaron nodded, sighing. He leaned his head back, turning it to the side so he could look at you. His lips stretched into a smile, his features soft. “That’s what I stand for. You–you gave me so much more than you realized.”

When you looked at him, you thought about how it'd feel to kiss him. There was always this love you held for him that you didn’t think you had a big enough heart to store it all up. You dated other people, fell in love with other people, but never like this. Nothing compares to the feeling of loving Aaron Hotchner. It consumed you back then, feelings boiling up, bubbling over the surface.

It was a simmer for a while now, expanding bigger and further. For his team, for his son. 

He was better, wasn’t he? The weight on his shoulders were the same but he carried it better. You think you’d love to take some of that weight off for him. 

“You have to stop looking at me like that,” he said, voice soft and bashful.

“Like what, Hotch?”

His face moved closer, eyes dragging you down to him. “Please, Angel.”

“Please, what?”

“Please.”

Your hand reached up, stroking his cheek. You watched as he took a deep breath, his own hand held yours in place. “Aaron.”

His relief was visible: his shoulders dropped, and so did his head. His fingers gripped your wrist tighter, his lips kissed your palm.

Aaron's eyes found yours, then your lips. 

“Let me do this right,” he said. “Just give me one date, Angel.”

You wanted to. God, you truly wanted to. You’d give every part of you for him, you think. But there was a piece of you still scared, still unsure. What proof was there that Aaron Hotchner wanted you the same way you wanted him?

“Let me have you pull a card,” you bargained. “If the upright the Lovers come out, I’ll do it.”

“I can’t do that,” he confessed. 

“Why not?”

“Because that particular card is in my office, top drawer.”

The admission shocked you. Your lips parted in surprise, “What?”

“Angel,” he called. “You read criminals like a book and you can read me like a magazine. Surely you know how I feel about you? That everything I did, I did it for you? It’s the one thing I allow myself to–”

You closed the gap. Your hand gripped his jaw firmer and you pulled him into you, lips crashing with his. 

It was like the rush of water when the flood gates opened. The dam broke and the band snapped into two. There was nothing that could stop it. 

So this is what it feels like, you thought, to kiss Aaron Hotchner. 

All-consuming, all-igniting. 

You never wanted to kiss anyone else ever again. Why would you, when you knew it would never feel like this? It wouldn't even get close to feeling like this?

You didn’t know–was this how it felt like to be brought to life? To breathe on the surface for the first time? To see constellations behind your eyelids, to experience a supernova in your heart? Gracie might call you with the names of different stars, but this, this is the big bang. 

Aaron pulled you closer, hands cradling your head now, and you let him move you onto his lap, straddling him. He pressed to you closer, like he couldn’t get enough. 

“Slow down,” you laughed. 

“I can’t,” he confessed breathily, lips finding you again. “I can’t let go now that I know how your lips tasted.”

So you didn’t stop him. You let him kiss you on his couch and make love to you on his bed. You let him love you and you let yourself love him. 

For the first time, you were truly free. For the first time, you knew, neither of you were going anywhere. 

“I love you, Angel,” he said, holding you close. You had your head on his chest, his lips on your hairline. “I never got to say it before but I will say it every day.”

“I’ve been in love with you for thirty years, Aaron,” you told him. “I’ll say it every day for the next three hundred.”

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The CPA and SSA- Part three

part one part two part three

Aaron Hotchner x accountant! reader

Summary- The case they're currently working on has gotten bad, the unsub has been stalking the team and they need a safe place to stay. Luckily, Aaron has a girlfriend in Arlington that he has yet to tell the team about. 

Contents/ warnings; description of cases, a little bit of hurt/comfort, established relationship, just overall kinda fluffy and sweet :) 

N/A- Sorry this took so long !! I am almost done with finals and will have a t o n of time to update and part 2 of S&M is coming soon!

Send me asks and requests! im happy to do blurbs on characters from CM and MCU :)

You silenced your watch buzzing against your wrist, opting for the vibration rather than an alarm in hopes of not waking the man holding you. You grumbled quietly and turned to face Aaron. This immediately erased your irritation from having to rise with the sun. For once, his brows were not furrowed and his face was completely relaxed. He looked 5 years younger with the worry washed away. You traced a finger along his jaw and pressed a kiss to his cheek. You struggled to wriggle out of his tight grasp, gently rolling the heavy sleeper over in order to finally escape. You stretched and then stood there watching him for another minute before going to the bathroom to get ready for the day 

Hotch rolled over to wrap his arms around you before feeling am empty space. He shot up before he heard the sink turn on and you humming along to the classical music playing quietly. He sighed with a smile and looked at his watch. 6:32 AM. Even though Jack wasn’t there, you kept to your routine of waking up earlier to take a little time to yourself to get ready before either of them woke up. He ran his fingers through his hair and rolled his shoulders back. You walked out as you were running a brush through your hair “I was just about to wake you up. Felt it was unfair to get you up at 6” you said, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him and kissing him on the cheek

“You know, I always wake up when you’re getting ready? I just don’t get out of bed so you can have your alone time” he mumbled, reaching out and pulling you into his chest “thank you” you rubbed his arm and tried to sit up “Aaron you're gonna wrinkle my work clothes” you squirmed “Hon, let me go!” you laughed as he squeezed tighter before letting you go, getting out of bed and helping you up 

“Do you have to go to work? Its honestly best if you don’t.” he said in a more serious tone. You looked at him for a second then huffed “should I really not go? Is it that serious?” 

He nodded “Please?” he added, giving a guilty smile, you reached around to run your fingers through the back of his hair, “I won’t go if it's that important to you. On one condition. You have to keep the shirt on until after breakfast.” you grinned, letting go of him and turning to look at the stupid shirt he had on. If you didn’t know any better you would have assumed he was like every other dad in DC, but Aaron was special. Different.

He groaned “Fine! Fine. I'll wear it.” he grumbled in defeat, running his fingers through his bedhead before leaning forward to put his head against your shoulder as a not-so-subtle way of smelling your perfume. Rhubarb, sandalwood, and gardenia flooded his senses. The scent that was so uniquely you. Like a warm spring morning after a storm, wandering through a farmers market in your rainboots. 

You let yourself take a moment and appreciate the sight in front of you. It was rare to see him so relaxed, even around you. Drowsiness radiating off of him, his shirt wrinkled from sleeping, slouching in order to be closer to you. Even though you couldnt see his face, you could feel him smile against your blouse.  “I’ll call out then.” you murmured, rubbing his back 

“it’ll give me a break from having to deal with interns”  you rolled your neck in a circle as an attempt to stretch out the crick in your neck from using Aaron’s arm as a pillow. You weren’t much of a cuddler before you had met aaron, preferring your space when you slept and claiming you just got too hot at night. But after the first night sharing a bed with Aaron you were hooked. He held you as if someone would steal you from him. When you would move away, he would find a way to always be touching you, even if it was just his hand on your back. 

“Good. They can find someone else.” He said, finally sitting up and pressing a kiss to your temple before going to the bathroom to brush his teeth. You go to the closet and trade your blouse for one of aarons FBI t-shirts and your slacks for shorts.

You looked back at the bathroom to see Aaron trying to smooth out the wrinkles in his shirt. You shook your head with a smile and walked down to the kitchen to start making breakfast for everyone. You heard heavy footsteps down your creaky stairs, not bothering to turn around to see who it was. The routine happens the same almost every day, with the exception of you being coerced into taking a sick day. After you preheated the oven, you poured a cup of black coffee into a cat-shaped mug and put a spoonful of honey in, leaving it on the edge of the counter for Aaron. He took the cup and replaced it with your phone and speaker, still playing the same classical music playlist you always had on. 

“You didn’t have to wake up, you’re no good in the kitchen” you hummed, reaching into the fridge to pull out a carton of eggs. 

“That may be true but if I didn’t wake up, I wouldn’t be able to watch you cook.” he said, leaning against the counter as he carefully took a sip of his coffee as to not burn his mouth.

“You’d think with how often you watch me, you’d learn a thing or two” you teased, cracking all the eggs into a bowl and handing it to Aaron to scramble.

“So snarky first thing in the morning.” he feigned offense as he grabbed a fork out of the cutlery drawer. You looked over at him with a grin, shaking your head “You wouldn’t be with me if I was agreeable.” you stated matter of factly, reaching around him to change the song. 

“That’s…true.” he chuckled, putting the bowl on the counter to watch you cut up some mushrooms and tomatoes. You put all the ingredients into a baking dish and stuck it in the oven before turning to face him. 

He put down his coffee and held out his hand. You took it as he pulled you into his chest, intertwining his fingers with yours and placing his open hand on your waist. You placed yours on his shoulder as he began to sway with you. He let go of your waist briefly to spin you with a downturned smile, leading you back to him to place a kiss on your forehead. 

Penelope got up out of Jack’s racecar bed and walked down into the hallway towards the kitchen, smelling the fresh coffee. She looked in the kitchen before halting her steps and going into the guest room. She shook Emily and JJ awake “you two get up right now and come see whats going on in the kitchen” 

“Garcia, is it really worth missing a little more sleep?” Emily groaned as JJ silently got up and stretched 

“Just get up, shes not gonna let you sleep any longer” JJ said before motioning for Penelope to lead the way. The two women followed her to the entryway of the kitchen, pointing at the two of you dancing.

The oven beeped and you went to let go of him in order to pull the frittata out of the oven. Before you could, he tightened his grip on you “C’mon, Ronnie. It’s gonna burn and I dont want to go out to get more food” You groaned 

“One more song, Pumpkin” he insisted, dipping you so you could not reach the stove. You squealed and swung your head back, letting you see what was behind you.

“Good morning ladies,” you said as Aaron put you back on your feet and went to grab the oven mitts silently. You covered your mouth to hide your laughter and mouthed “He is just embarrassed” silently to the girls. 

"Didn't know you were such a romantic, boss man" Emily snickered as you handed her a cup of coffee and went to set out cream and sugar for everyone

"I'm not" He grumbled, picking back up his coffee after he set the pan on the cooling rack.

"When you try to reprimand, your subordinates maybe don't be holding a cat mug, Hotch" JJ chimed

Once everyone was up and around the dining room table, you had gotten into a debate with Spencer about Pavlov's Dogs.

“I don't know how ethical that is…” Spencer muttered, you waved your hand in dismissal “No no. It’s for his own good. Every time he walks past me I give him a kiss and a sip of water. That way every time he walks past me he will get thirsty and want a drink of water. I'm forcefully hydrating him!” 

“You are evil, you know that right?” 

“I am fully aware. I already did this to my subordinates to get them to turn their spreadsheets in on time.” you grinned, grabbing Aaron's arm as he walked past you to get to the living room. You pulled him down and gave him a kiss on the cheek before holding up your water bottle “Water, honey?” you asked, looking up at him through your lashes.

He smiled and leaned over, taking a sip “Thank you, love.” he kissed your hand that clung to his wrist before slipping away and going to talk to Rossi.

“Wow.” Spencer chuckled and leaned back in his seat. “Honestly I am more shocked that he has not catched on”

You smiled and shrugged “Honestly? He probably has.”

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70 percent of mistresses quit when he's just about to dump his spouse

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