Aaron Hotchner Blurb - Tumblr Posts

I can’t remember if you’ve done one yet of Jack being jealous of the new baby not because of his dad’s attention but because of readers!

“Jack, Jack, Jack,” Aaron says, hands on Jack’s shoulders where his son sits at the kitchen table, “I forgot to tell you, I got you a present.” 

“What kind?” Jack asks, used to presents by now. There’s been books, crayons, and enough toy cars to fill his parking garage to the brim. 

“What kind do you think?” 

He likes when his dad speaks like that. Aaron’s a peppy dad, he says everything in an altered bubbly tone that makes Jack smile, but his best voice is the soft one. Lightly teasing. He hugs Jack with one arm from behind, pressing his nose to Jack’s hair momentarily. 

“A big one?” Jack asks. 

“Sort of…” Aaron smiles. “Do you want me to go get it?” 

Jack’s about to say yes with a laugh, his excitement like a warm flame just below an outheld hand, but he stops when he hears a familiar gurgly sound and your loving laughter. 

“I know, baby.” That’s your voice, tired and soft as his father’s. “You’re exhausted. Let me give you a little squeeze before you sleep, hm? You’ll cry yourself awake if I don’t, you get all those trapped burps.” You laugh to yourself.

Jack sighs and turns back to his drawing. “Okay, dad,” he says, clearly monotonous. 

Aaron frowns behind his head. “Okay, buddy. It’s in the den.” 

“Okie dokie.” 

“Jack,” he says, and not a lot else. 

Aaron can’t wrap his head around it. Jack was so, so excited for Noah. He bragged to everyone at school that his step-mom was having a baby, that he’d have a little brother, and that they were all moving into a big house with a nice yard to play soccer. Jack and Noah Hotchner, best friends since the minute Noah was born. Or, that’s what you and Aaron hoped for.

It started well. Jack is gentle, and he’s understanding; he realised the baby would need extra care, and he’s done nothing but kiss and cuddle his new brother whenever they’re together. You got him a sound machine and some custom fitted earplugs for the long nights of crying, you never put Noah before him if you could help it. Aaron even pencilled in an hour of Jack time each day, but it isn’t working anymore. Jack’s just sad. 

The present is a jigsaw puzzle. A thousand pieces of guaranteed time spent together, but Aaron doesn’t have high hopes. 

He takes the two short steps down into the den to meet your eyes, shaking his head slowly. “I don’t know,” he mouths. 

You pat the baby’s back. “Well, I might have a suggestion.”

He couldn’t want to hear it more. “Tell me.” 

You hold his baby (your baby but his more urgently, the feeling an ache in his chest and hands) still as small and curled as a rabbit against your chest. Noah’s legs twitch in his onesie, his dark hair short where it brushes your lips. “I think maybe Jack misses me. I miss him, and I’m the grown up. I feel like I barely see him even though we’re living in the same house.” 

Aaron pauses, resting the jigsaw puzzle on the sideboard.

There’s no point in underselling the importance of you in Jack's life. You’re integral to Jack’s happiness, and Aaron can’t believe he hadn’t thought of your suggestion before now; he’s amazed by his own ego. Of course Jack misses you. You spend half your life nursing, which is half a life away from you he didn’t feel before.

“That’s what it is,” Aaron says. 

“Yeah?” you ask. 

He takes Noah from your arms, settling him on the slope of his chest. “If it isn’t, we might be out of answers.” Aaron rubs Noah’s back with delight. It’s nice to see a solution to Jack’s upset in sight, and nice to hold the baby while he’s in a good mood. “Seriously, honey. I think you’re right.” 

“What are we gonna do if it isn’t me?” 

“Give this one back?” 

“That’s not funny.” 

“Sorry, I’m kidding!” He gives Noah a little soft kiss. “Just kidding, beautiful. You’re all mine.” 

You take the jigsaw and give him a smile that borders shy. If his arms weren’t full he’d take your wrist in his hand and hold it for a while, but there’s stuff to do. You emerge from the den to the kitchen and Aaron follows. 

“Jack.” 

Jack immediately spins in his seat. Aaron doesn’t need to be a profiler to know your theory is correct. The change in Jack is unmissable. 

“Y/N,” he says, hiding his hope poorly. 

You show him the jigsaw. “I know it’s supposed to be your time with dad, but maybe it can be time with me instead? What do you think?” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah!” You pop the jigsaw in front of him without crushing his drawings. “Can we? I miss you.” 

“I miss you!” he says. 

“Yeah?” You brush his hair back. “You do?” 

“I do, I want to do the puzzle with you! Can we do it?” 

Your smile is part relief, part love. You hook a chair with your ankle and pull it under you as you sit, fingernail already scratching at the plastic wrap on the puzzle to pull it open. “We’re gonna do it right now.” 

The puzzle is a lot of pieces, you’ve barely completed the frame when it’s time for everyone to head to bed, but, reluctant, you and Jack sit at the table where Jack’s climbed into your lap for a ‘better view’, and you’ve wrapped your arms around him, occasionally loosing an arm to direct him to a right piece. The baby put to bed, Aaron pretends to pay more attention to cleaning the kitchen than he’s truly doing, finding himself leaning against the counter with a sterilised bottle in hand as you stroke Jack’s hair. 

“You know I love you?” you ask quietly. 

“Duh. You tell me all the time.” 

“I don’t want you to forget.” 

“I don’t.” 

Jack snaps a puzzle piece in to place and preens at your murmured, “Good job. Maybe we can try to do some of this every night you’re home?” 

Jack doesn’t cry, but it ties Aaron’s heart into a knot anyways when he turns into your chest to hug you tightly. “Okay,” Jack says, voice muffled by your t-shirt. 

You pat his back. His hands scrunch up like he’s worried you’re gonna pull away. 

“Can I get in on this?” Aaron asks. 

“No,” you both say. 

“Please?” 

Jack rubs his cheek into your collar. He doesn’t want to share. “No, dad. It’s not your time.” 

He supposes he does get you every night. “Fine. I love you, though.” 

“Love you too.” 

Hotch request w Jack and new baby!!! Coming back from the hospital and reader is in bed with new baby and Jack while Aaron is in another part of the house (maybe making food in the kitchen) and reader starts crying because she’s in pain and jack is all concerned and sweet and goes to get Aaron??

thank you for requesting, sorry I messed up where everyone was! fem, 1.3k

“He’s gonna stab him!” 

You blink from the spot you’d been staring at, pain momentarily forgotten. “What! Where’d you learn that word?” you ask in surprise. 

Jack leans back against his big velvet pillow, blue with silver stars, looking as though he’s in the lap of luxury. “At school.” 

The cartoon mouse on the TV raises his fencing sword high in the air. 

“He’s not stabbing anyone, they’re fencing,” you say, reaching for his hand to hold. “Stabbing… that’s pretty scary. How did that make you feel?” 

“Well, I’m not gonna stab anyone,” Jack says. 

He’s confused that you’re making a fuss, just old enough to realise you’re poking around for his feelings. You worry lately that you aren’t paying him enough attention because of his new brother, and the word stab isn’t exactly age appropriate. 

But maybe that’s what the boys his age are talking about? You frown more, your hand slipping along his arm to curl behind him. You pull him toward you. “Come on, handsome. Cuddle me.” 

You’re too sore to move, so Jack has to come to you. He crawls across the couch until his arms can wrap around you and his cheek can rest against your chest. Stab is an apt word for the feeling in your stomach. Jack’s arm squeezes at you and the pain worsens, so you move it up your front and curl your arm around him. 

“Is it a bad word?” he asks. 

“No, it’s just like hit or slap, I guess. And I know you’re not gonna do any of that to anyone. You’re too gentle.” 

“Gentle is a good word.” 

“Yeah.” You kiss his forehead, a moment of self indulgence. You love your stepson, and he is oh so kissable. “Oh no, look at the mouse.” 

Charlie sleeps in his swing seat, the soft whirring of its constant motion almost as comforting as the sound of his soft breaths. You watch him for a while, Jack climbing up at your side to press his face to your neck, leg on your thigh, slowly pressing against the tenderness that is your abdomen. “Uh, Jack,” you breathe, trying to pick him up, “you’re gonna have to climb off of me, my tummy hurts too much.” 

“Sorry,” he says quickly, slipping off of you and onto the couch cushion. His foot kicks out as he rights himself, a jamming of his toes against the pain like a spike. 

You take a deep breath. Ouch. 

“It’s okay,” you say, groaning softly as the pain thrums, hand on your stomach as though your touch can make it stop, “just a tummy ache. I– I’m okay.” 

“You got little tears?” he says, his voice going wobbly. You try to blink away tears and end up with a straggler curving down the slope of your cheek. “I’ll go get dad!” 

“Jack, I’m okay,” you say. 

Too late. Jack scrambles from the couch and away from you, up the stairs to find his father. You’re not sure what Aaron’s up to, he’d only said, “I’ll be right back,” twenty minutes ago. You’d guessed laundry. 

You’re glad Jack’s run upstairs when you realise the pain isn’t going away. It’s not bad, not half as bad as your contractions had been, but the whole labour process has sapped you, and you feel weak as a willow branch in bad weather. You shift heavily onto one leg and cross them, uncross them when the pain spikes again, letting out a weird and breathless whine as it turns to a full blown cramp. 

Jack returns with Aaron in tow. His hair is dripping wet, soap suds on his neck and his shirt stuck to his chest. He’s rushed out of the shower to see you. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks as he rounds the couch. “Jack told me you’re not feeling well.” 

You hold your arms out for a hug. He doesn’t falter, simply does as you want, his hair wringing wet and dripping onto your shoulder as he gathers you in his arms. 

You hold onto him like a lifeline. The cramp curls, and tightens, has you seizing up against him. 

“What is it?” he asks softly. “Stomach pains again?” 

The nurse said it’s your uterus shrinking. Whatever it is, it’s sudden agony. You shudder into Aaron’s shoulder until the pain pangs and fades, leaving your stomach a tense mess. It hurts to move, so you stay clinging to your husband and let him hover over you. 

“Are you okay?” Jack asks.

You sniff. 

Aaron pulls away to take your face into his hands. He holds you with care, his thumbs under your jaw, index fingers running diagonally under each eye, tips at your brows. Just a stolen few seconds for him to check you over. No tears to be wiped away. 

“Still hurting?” 

You shake your head, eyebrows pulled down in a bad frown. 

“Okay. Alright. Motrin?” he asks. 

“No,” you whisper, “can you just stay here?” 

Jack says your name. 

You peek past Aaron’s body. “Jack, sorry.” 

“Are you okay now?” 

You grimace, “I’m gonna be fine, it just hurts sometimes and I didn’t have any medicine today. That’s all. Sorry, I scared you.” 

“You didn’t scare me,” he denies. 

You can’t help smiling, then. “Okay, I didn’t. Thanks for getting dad for me.” 

“He’s our hero,” Aaron says. He sits down beside you carefully, his voice quiet and his hand gentle as he holds your thigh. “I’m glad he did.” 

Jack climbs into his dad’s lap. Aaron wraps an arm around him, the other at your side, fingers tapping at you. 

You rub your forehead. Tip your head back and take a deep breath. 

“Jack,” you whisper, breathing out, “I’m sorry if I startled you. It doesn’t hurt anymore.” 

“It wasn’t scary, I said that already.” 

“Oh, you did?” Aaron teases. 

“It was okay, I just don’t want you to hurt.” 

“Only baby pains,” you say. 

For a few minutes, you and your small family sit there in silence. Aaron works a hand behind your back to hug you, Jack snuggles into his chest, and Charlie stirs in his swing seat. The quiet calms him, and he goes back to his soft snoring seconds later. 

“I’m sorry about your shower,” you whisper. 

“It’s okay. I’m sorry about my baby,” Aaron whispers back, drawing circles into your lower back, “he didn’t mean to chew you up.” 

“Ugh, I know.” 

Jack raises his nose. “What? Chew? Do babies bite?” 

“It’s an expression, babe.” 

“Oh.” He looks at his baby brother with suspicion anyways. “He doesn’t even have teeth?” 

“Buddy, it’s just a joke,” Aaron says, laughing as Jack slips out of his lap to go and look at Charlie in the seat. 

“Maybe he did have teeth,” you say. 

Aaron ushers you toward him, rests his cheek on your forehead. “It’ll feel better soon. You need to rest, that’s all.” 

“Your hair is so wet.” 

“I was in the shower.” 

“Sorry…” 

“Don’t be,” he says. “Don’t be.” 

You reach up to tousle his wet hair. “Miss showering with you.” 

“We showered last night.” 

“No, I stood there and you helped me wash my back, that’s not the same.” 

“Well, I enjoyed it.” 

“I bet you did.” 

Your fondness attracts many, many kisses, his nose nuzzling your cheek. You settle under the weight of him and watch Jack where he frowns at Charlie, big brown eyes squinted, waiting for a show of teeth that won’t happen. Aaron brings a hand to your tense stomach, waiting for you to lean back before he begins massaging the tensed muscle there with a slowness that borders unmoving. 

“Tell me if it hurts too much,” he says. 

“You can go finish your shower.” 

“I was finished. M’gonna start pressing in, okay?” 

You wince as Aaron begins, but slowly, slowly, the tenseness from your cramp softens. It still hurts, but he makes it manageable. Jack delivered your rescuer, and your rescuer loves a soft touch.

Ok but like choke me please @blushybarnes

domestic hotch request for sitting in his lap bonus points if reader falls asleep !!

Sitting in Aaron's lap happens as much as you'd like it to, which is to say a lot. It's mostly because what you want you get, and Aaron loves to have you curled up in his lap.

You're in your pyjamas, a pretty silky nightdress, and Aaron in some plaid pants and a grey t-shirt. You're watching a sitcom on the tv while he finishes looking over a report from the last case.

Tiredly, you rub your eyes and make a big show of stretching and yawning. You know your husband sees you when his cheek jumps in effort to suppress his smile.

"Aaron," you're tired and achy and crawl over to him, your head in his lap like a kitten begging for attention.

"Yes, honey?" your heart picks up at how soft he sounds and the way one of his hands drop away from his file to hold the chub of your cheek. "Tired?" there's amusement in his tone and you scoot even further into his lap, knocking the file from his hand.

"Are you exceptionally busy?" he knows what you really mean to ask, 'Are you going to be busy for much longer or can we go to bed now?' He wishes he could say he's almost finished but he has three more reports to review and then he's all caught up.

"Come here honey," his hands reach for your hips, pulling you into his lap with a sigh and pressing his nose into your hairline. Aaron strokes your back as you tuck your head under his chin, closing your eyes as you listen to his heartbeat. "You can sleep if you want, I'll only be another hour."

You whine your distaste with that, but remain in his lap. Your fingers trace patterns on his forearms, eyes closed as you feel him pick up the file again.

It's not long before your hand's movement slows, your breath evening out and hitting Aaron's collarbones making goosebumps spread there.

You're both in silence, your deep breathing helping Aaron focus as he finishes the file. He tries, tries very had to make it all the way to the last section on the last file, but you shift in his lap and mumble his name in your sleep and his heart clenches.

Aaron loves that moment when you're fully asleep but you can't help but need him. It's a bit of an addiction he has, always wanting to be awake to hear you call for him.

You can't hear him, but he murmurs all the same. "We're going to bed, baby." he kisses at your hairline, slipping one hand under your knees and one behind your back as he carries you both to the bedroom, a plan to sleep in a little on his mind.

This is beautiful and wonderfully written 🥺🥺💖💖. I love this fic, it's perfect and awesome!!!!

I need a second part or something about Hotch visiting them at the hospital.

Goodbye - Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Reader

WC: 5.8K / navi / preview

Summary: You're a new agent with the BAU, and on your first case, you make the unfortunate mistake of riling up the unsubs. Your boss isn't too happy with you for doing so, and barely waits until you're alone in your shared hotel room to let you know that. But when he steps out for a moment, his fears are realized, and you're revealed to be the unsub's next target. Can he get back to you in time to save you?

Contents/Warnings: typical cm violence, angry hotch, yelling, reader gets attacked, mentions of guns, reader gets stabbed in the stomach and bleeds a lot, copious mentions of blood, sad hotch

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

Your stomach had been burning with shame for hours now, your head spinning as you replayed the incident over and over and over again. You’d slipped up at the press conference you were a part of, accidentally revealing that your unsub was two people instead of one, breaking the cover that you’d needed to maintain for the hunt to go smoothly. Now they knew you were onto them, and would most likely begin a panicked spree. People were going to die because of you.

You were so lost in thought, in fact, that you didn’t realize everyone stopping in the hallway of the hotel, bumping gently into Rossi’s back. He steadied you, turning to set a hand comfortingly on your shoulder. He’d been nothing but understanding since it happened, assuring you that everyone made a mistake or two in high-pressure situations like press conferences, and that no one was going to be angry with you. You weren’t so sure about that last point, though, because the second you’d slipped up, Hotch had seemed possessed with the most terrifying, unadulterated rage that you’d ever seen on him. 

Speaking of your Unit Chief, he stood at the front of the group, passing out room keys. Rossi was given one, Prentiss was given one, Morgan was given one, and you stuck beside Rossi, watching as JJ paired with Prentiss, and Reid stayed by Morgan.

You were fully intent on isolating yourself as much as possible away from Hotch, at least until you were able to look at his face without nearly wetting yourself. But it seems he had other plans, his dark eyes glancing at you for the first time since it had happened, pure disdain lingering in them.

“Y/L/N,” Hotch’s voice sent chills down your spine, far too icy cold for your liking, “This is our key. You’ll be rooming with me tonight, we need to have a word..”

There was a palpable onset of tension at Hotch’s words, and you watched the rest of the team slowly disperse, sending you sympathetic smiles that didn’t reach their eyes. Rossi even patted you on the back before he stepped away, leaving you stranded in the hallway with Hotch.

He didn’t say another word until he stepped through the door, and somehow his glare got even more intense when he saw the layout of the room.

One bed. No couch. No floor space.

He had stopped so abruptly at the sight that you rammed into his back, the slip-up becoming a habit within the past five minutes. However, Hotch reacted very differently than Rossi had, stiffening at the contact and stepping away.

He set his bag down on one side of the bed, turning back to face you with an unimpressed glare.

“A- About today,” You started, “Sir, I’m so sorry-”

He held up a hand, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath before answering. You felt like a scolded child, shifting lightly on your feet as you waited for him to speak.

“Do you understand what you did?” He finally asked, peering at you through a frown.

“I do.” You started, quickly realizing that the question had been rhetorical and snapping your mouth shut when he silenced you again.

“People’s lives are at stake here. Real people, real, probably defenseless people, that you’ve just condemned to die.” 

You didn’t dare speak, but you felt the shame in your belly grow at his scolding.

“Because you didn’t think about what you said before you said it, they’re going to die. Those murderers are going to break into another couples; house, shoot them before they know what’s going on, and leave them to bleed out on the floor. Is that what you wanted?”

“No, sir.” You cautiously interjected, “Of course not.”

“Well then I’m not sure what possessed you to say that.”

“I-It was an accident,” You meekly supplied, internally cringing when anger flared in his eyes.

“Oh, an accident? Another dead couple, just an accident? These are people, Y/L/N! Living, breathing people! Not for long, though! Not as long as you have a say in the matter, isn’t that right?”

“Hotch,” You gritted your teeth, annoyance now joining the shame that was stinging at your chest, “That’s not fair.”

“Not fair? Not fair?! You know what’s not fair, Y/L/N?” He huffed, stepping forwards to tower over you, “You ruined our investigation. We had them! Garcia was seconds away from tracing them, we knew that they’d call in to correct us about how many of them there were! But you did it for them, and they’re spiraling right now at that loss of power. What isn’t fair is that you single-handedly undid all of our progress, and sent us back to square one after three days of work. That’s what’s not fair.”

You took a deep breath, your frustration manifesting itself in an onslaught of tears that you struggled to keep at bay. They burned hot and stinging at your eyes, but you muscled them down, blinking rapidly, “I understand that I’ve negatively impacted the course of the investigation, and set us back with my mistake. Nothing I could say will ever come close to conveying how sorry I am that I misspoke, but there’s nothing that I can do to reverse that. I will work twice as hard tomorrow, sir, to help regain any traction that we lost tonight. I know I messed up, but I have to focus on channeling all of my energy into fixing it, not spiraling because it happened.”

You watched Hotch’s face harden even further, a sight you’d deemed impossible only moments earlier. His brows were low on his face, his expression the disdainful glare that he usually reserved for uncooperative suspects. He scoffed, “I sincerely hope that you work twice as hard tomorrow, because none of us deserve to. You’ve undone three days of our work! Morgan was up until two in the morning last night. Reid has been questioning people nonstop. Garcia was finally about to track his phone service. That’s not fair to any of us, for you to walk in and destroy our work. New agents prove themselves, Y/L/N, and tonight, you have proven yourself incapable of working with this team.”

Your stomach dropped. You felt your throat ache, frantic words clawing their way up into your mouth where they died on your tongue. None of them would fix this, they’d only make it worse. Your eyes widened and your tears finally showed themselves, a single one slipping down the apple of your cheek before you frantically wiped it away, not keen on having a meltdown in front of the man who’d just called you incapable.

“Sir,” You finally spoke, your voice shaking, “I- I can’t give up this job. I know I made a mistake this time, and it was made worse by the fact that this is my first case, so you think it’s all I’m capable of. But if you just give me another chance-”

“Do you think you deserve another chance?”

Yes was on the tip of your tongue. You truly believed it, too, but all words were lost at the sight of Hotch’s venomous glare. You found yourself intimidated into speechlessness, and it gave your boss the hesitance he wanted to see in you.

“That’s what I thought.” Was all he left you with, striding away to rifle through his bag. You sucked your bottom lip into your mouth, your front teeth digging into the soft, pillowy flesh to hold back your sobs. You rushed past him, narrowly avoiding bumping into him to cross the room into the bathroom.

“I’m taking a shower,” You weakly explained, and you almost slammed the door in your haste to leave him, “I won’t take long.”

As soon as the door was shut, you let your tears fall. You had to sob silently until you turned the water on, but the second you twisted the knobs and effectively drowned out your cries, you let loose.

Shame, humiliation, frustration, and despair all mingled in your stomach, a stormy mess of emotions that sent you spiraling. You couldn’t physically keep yourself upright, hunching over the toilet as visions of the couple’s next victims flashed through your mind. Would they be a newlywed couple? Or an elderly one? Would they have a pet? Would they have a child? Would they have multiple children? Scenario after scenario raced through your head, each one more catastrophic than the last in terms of heartbreak. But the common thread in all of them was their deaths, the deaths that you had caused. You felt your phone buzz in your pocket, the device pressed tight to your body in your constricting work pants. You tore it out of your pocket, praying that it would be good news from Garcia, or an icebreaking anecdote about the crappy rooms from Prentiss.

It was from Prentiss, but it wasn’t soothing. 

‘We can hear him yelling at you, Y/N.’

Another buzz, ‘We’re not angry with you. Everyone makes mistakes. And those people were probably gonna die anyways, as terrible as that sounds.’

‘Please don’t give up, he’s angry and he always takes things out harder on newer agents. If you’re able to muscle through it, I guarantee you he’ll come around, the work that you’ve done so far has been incredibly helpful, save for the one little accident.’

‘It’s normal for us to make mistakes every once in a while. We’ve all slipped up like that before, even Hotch. He just doesn’t want to admit it, because he’s stressed out right now.’

You blinked rapidly, trying to chase your tears away. You’d heard scary stories about your boss, told around the break room tables instead of around a campfire, but he seemed to be more of a monster than they’d let on. You couldn’t see through your tears, and the sound of the water drowned out any other noise in the room. You set your phone down, grabbing a towel that was draped over the shower and burying your face in it. Now you really couldn’t see, which gave the couple slowly sliding the window open beside you all the advantage they needed.

--

‘Can I speak with you for a moment?’ 

Aaron glanced down at his phone, anger still creasing his brows. He bit back a scoff at Dave’s text on the screen, knowing that he was going to be scolded for shouting. 

‘I can’t leave right now, Y/L/N is in the shower.’

‘What, are you in there together? Why can’t you come out into the hallway?’

Aaron finally let out his frustration, a sickened groan leaving his lips, ‘I would never take advantage of my position over any of my subordinates. Don’t be crass.’

‘Your little speech just now proved that they’re not just one of your subordinates.’

‘I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. You’re making less and less sense by the minute, and I’m not going to sit here and play games with you. Sleep, if you really need to talk to me you can wait until tomorrow morning when we’re back on the case.’

‘I’m not waiting until then.’ Aaron felt annoyance well in his chest at Dave’s persistence, ‘Hallway, now.’

‘Don’t order me around.’

‘You’re coming though, aren’t you?’

--

You had barely dried the tears off of your cheek when your airflow was cut off, a strong, muscled arm winding around your throat. Your immediate instinct was to scream, your eyes blown wide in panic, but another hand stuffed the towel hanging in your face into your mouth, muffling any sound you could have made through a layer of fluffy fabric and the added noise of the shower.

You tried fighting, kicking when you couldn’t scream, but two hands grabbed your ankles, nearly snapping one in an attempt to hold you still.

All at once, the towel was no longer in your mouth, but a knife was to your stomach.

“Make a sound, and we’ll gut you.” A voice hissed in your ear, raspy and rotten. You felt a tear roll down your cheek, this time out of fear and not sadness, but it was ignored in favor of the pair hauling you out the window.

Luckily for you, the window was tiny. One of your captors had to crawl out first, still gripping your ankles like a vice. But then you had to be transported out, and you made it as difficult as possible, twisting yourself this way and that.

They quickly tired of your insolence, pushing the knife so far into your belly that you were surprised it didn’t break skin. The sharp point in your abdomen instilled a sense of panic in you that you’d never felt before, unparalleled to any precautionary training drill you’d suffered through.

Your boot hit the window frame as you were carefully guided out of it, and made a dull thunk. Neither of your captors thought too hard about it, but you knew it was the sound of your taser hitting the wood, the weapon strapped to your ankle in case of emergency situations where you weren’t able to reach your gun.

Like now.

You moved quickly, taking the opportunity that presented itself while your captors were struggling to move you. The second their hands loosened around your ankle, you thrashed in their hold, spinning yourself around so that your chin was tucked safely to your chest while the first person’s arm slid along the back of your head instead of locking into your throat. You swung your legs towards the window, breaking the glass with the rubber soles and screaming as loud as you could.

--

Aaron cast one glance to the bathroom before stepping out, hearing the water hitting the tiles of the shower and starting for the door.

He shut it behind him with a soft click, the key still in his pocket. Dave was already waiting for him, but the usually-comforting presence of his long time friend only made him crankier.

“Hurry up, Y/L/N shouldn’t be in there alone for too long. That’s the whole reason we teamed up.”

“They’ll be fine, as long as you don’t shout at them anymore.” Dave leaned against the wall beside him casually, an unimpressed glare leveled at Aaron.

“They needed to be reprimanded-”

“They’re not a child, Aaron. You don’t need to be their angry parent.”

“Dave, do you realize what they’ve done?”

“Yes, and if I hadn’t before, you yelled it for the entire hotel to hear. I’m pretty sure the people on floor two now know the intimate details of this case.”

“I’m angry, and rightfully so.”

“No, you’re scared.” Dave persisted, never intimidated by Aaron for a second, “You’re scared because you know they’re coming after someone, and you’re worried that it’ll be Y/L/N.”

Aaron let his eyes slip shut after a long, tense silence, pinching his temple between his thumb and pointer finger. He could tell Dave whatever he wanted, but he’d never be able to lie to the man.

“I understand that you don’t want to stir up unnecessary panic. What if the couple doesn’t come after Y/L/N? You’d have freaked them out for no reason with the promise of an attack. But you can’t disguise your fear as anger, especially not if it's directed at them. That’s not fair.” Dave’s parroting of the phrase your argument had been overly saturated by only reinforced the fact that everyone had heard everything, and Aaron felt a pinprick of something he’d never admit was shame poking at his heart.

“Agent Y/L/N is not prepared for high-pressure situations like that.”

“Yeah, I agree, they need some more practice. Why did we let them headline on their very first case? Anyone would have slipped up,” Dave insisted, ever the devil’s advocate to Aaron’s stubborn hotheadedness.

“Their mistake will cost us-”

“No, their mistake will cost you, if you don’t apologize. If you react to a miniscule slip up with unbridled rage, they’re never going to feel comfortable around you. They’ll constantly feel like they’re walking on eggshells, that you’re waiting to scream at them for every little thing.”

“What do you want me to do, Dave? Tell them I’m sorry I hurt their feelings? These are real people getting killed, and-”

A blood-curdling, eerie, sickening scream ripped through the previously cozy silence of the hotel, and Aaron’s hand flew instinctively to his gun. But it wasn’t there, and he scrambled to jam the key back into the lock to retrieve it from where he’d left it on the bed.

Dave looked equally panicked, his own gun in his room with Spencer. Thankfully, the young doctor was already responding to the disturbance, their door flying open and revealing him, guns in both hands.

Dave was quickly passed his, and the pair stuck behind Aaron as he struggled. Finally, he got fed up with the key, his hands too shaky to aim properly, spitting an angry, “Come on!” and rammed his shoulder into the rickety door, sending it flying open and slamming into the wall. He sprinted in, barely remembering to snatch his gun off of the bed before he stopped in front of the bathroom door. His shoulder ached from knocking open the main door, but he didn’t hesitate to bare it once more and snap the lock.

He was definitely going to need a brace after this.

“FBI, don’t- Y/N..” 

--

Of course, they stuck to their promise. The knife was immediately jammed into your stomach, the pain blinding as it slowly spread throughout every inch of your body. You heard immediate commotion from the bedroom, scrambling away from the unsubs as best you could to ram your back against the door. You hunched over, ripping your taser from your ankle and pointing it threateningly at them, but they were now more concerned with getting away than they were with you. Any energy you had possessed before being stabbed was oozing out of you in your blood, a puddle of crimson on the floor as you hunched over it. Your knees gave out and you fell onto your side, barely able to crane your neck up enough to watch them get away. 

You laid slumped against the wall for mere seconds, but they felt like hours ticking by as your life slowly left you. You felt something warm trickling down the side of your face, and without even seeing it you knew that it was blood seeping from your mouth.

You heard the commotion and shouting from just outside the bathroom door, then the lock gave way with a loud snap and the door flung open, slamming into your legs. You weren’t able to move them, though, and you looked up blearily as Hotch stormed into the bathroom, his gun held expectantly before him as he looked around wildly for your attackers.

“FBI, don’t- Y/N..” His gaze finally fell to the floor, following a trail of blood from where your ankles had been cut by the window. His eyes widened, and a panicked expression that you had never seen on him before took over his face.

“They’re gone,” You rasped, your voice strained from the amount of effort it took to speak, “I couldn’t stop them.”

“We’ll go around the back and call an ambulance,” Rossi mumbled, patting Hotch’s back before dragging Spencer away, “You take Y/L/N.”

Hotch didn’t need to be told twice. He kneeled beside you, prying gently at your side to turn you over. You let out a cracked, pained whimper at the pain that blossomed from his touch, and you saw his chin wobble slightly at the sight of your stab wound and your red-rimmed eyes, not ready to say goodbye to you.

“I- I knew I shouldn’t have left,” His voice shook just as his hands did, where they pressed tentatively against your injury. When you winced in pain, he knew he’d found the right spot, and increased the pressure tenfold.

Your eyes widened and you tried protesting, instead only capable of wheezing out a weak cough. More blood pooled in your throat and you choked on it, alerting Hotch to the fact that you needed to be somewhat upright.

“Okay, okay, you’re- you’re okay, let me just-” He rambled as he slipped a hand behind your head, the one on your wound now having to press twice as hard. He lifted your head slightly, shifting so that you were laying in his lap. Your head was elevated now, and your throat cleared, dark red blood now able to flow freely from between your lips..

“Hotch,” You started, and his frantic gaze flitted to your face.

“Don’t speak,” He shushed you, “Conserve your energy.”

“No, no,” You pressed on, shaking your head jerkily, “I need to apologize.”

“You don’t, please just keep quiet and don’t overexert yourself.” There were tears in his eyes now, his breathing shaky as he continued pressing into your wound.

“It’s my fault,” Your words had him shaking his head vehemently, but you pressed on, “You- you were right. If I hadn’t said-”

“Please,” He cried, a sob clinging to his words as his face crumpled, “Stop talking!”

--

“Fourth floor, room thirteen!” Rossi commanded the paramedics waiting outside with your stretcher, “Hurry, they’re losing a lot of blood!”

“Rossi,” Reid stepped towards the man, looking back at the one unsub they’d managed to apprehend, ‘Do you think he’ll give up his partner?”

“It’s not likely,” Rossi mused, frowning at the sight of your blood on the man’s hands, “But I think Hotch would beat it out of him if he had to.”

“Why was he so harsh on Y/L/N?” Reid’s brows furrowed as he recalled the aggressive lecture they’d all overheard from your room.

Rossi kept a straight face while staring at Reid, but one side of his mouth shifted as he sucked his cheek into his mouth to gnaw on it.

“You know something,” Reid realized, his eyes narrowing as he stared Rossi down, “What do you know?”

“He’s scared.” Rossi finally blurted, offering no other explanation.

“I’ve never seen Hotch scared.” Reid frowned, “I’ve seen him resigned; he knows something bad is about to happen but he knows he can’t stop it, or he knows we’ll get there in time to stop it. But he’s never afraid of what’s coming.”

“Yeah, well tonight, he was.” Then a long pause, “And I made him leave the room.” It finally dawned on Rossi, “He knew something was going to happen to Y/L/N, and I forced him out anyways.”

“Rossi-” Reid started, but the older man waved a hand at him.

“No, don’t start. I’m not gonna spiral like Hotch will, It just- it made me think.”

“Hotch is spiraling?”

“You should have seen him when Y/L/N screamed,” Rossi let out a breathless, dry laugh, devoid completely of humor, “He’s gonna blame himself for a long time.”

--

“There, there you go. You’re gonna be okay,” Hotch babbled, comforting himself more than he was comforting you as you were situated on the stretcher. You blinked hazily up at him as he clambered into the back of the ambulance they’d put you in, his tie brushing gently over your nose as it dangled in your face. He finally got settled, the blue strip of fabric now laying over your chest before he brushed it away, letting it fall over the buttons of his shirt.

“You’re riding with me?” You rasped, your hand hanging limply over the side of the stretcher where it had fallen.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m riding with you,” Hotch’s voice was still trembling, and he grabbed your hand, interlacing your fingers and resting your joined hands on your stomach. You glanced down at the embrace briefly, then back at him.

“I’m sorry they got away.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“But it is,” You winced lightly after your insistence left your stomach stinging, “I agitated them, and I couldn’t even fix my mistake when I had the chance.”

“You didn’t have the chance,” Hotch urged, his voice hardening slightly before he reined himself in, “You- they attacked you, Y/N. You didn’t have the chance to fight back.”

“Did the others catch them?”

“Um,” Hotch fumbled for his phone with one hand, keeping the other firmly locked with your own as he squinted at the screen, “One. They want me to interrogate him, find out who his partner is and where they’re going.’

“Do you think the partner will become less effective in killing now that they’re not together?”

“Definitely,” Hotch soothed you, tucking his phone back into his jacket, “Don’t worry about it, just rest.”

“Don’t- How could I not worry?!” Your brows furrowed, and one of the EMT’s by your side sent you a warning glance.

“You need to relax,” Hotch murmured, keeping his voice low so that yours would follow suit, “You lost a lot of blood and you need to stay awake until they get some more in you.”

You settled back into the stretcher with a resigned sigh, despair seeping through your frame. Not only had you ruined the chase, you hadn’t even remedied it by catching them when they were in the same room as you. 

“You.. You were right, Hotch.” You spoke after a prolonged bout of silence, “I don’t think I’m capable of doing this job.”

“Don’t-” Hotch’s face screwed up in a grimace, his breathing haggard, “Don’t say that. I didn’t mean that, I was- I was worried.”

“You didn’t mean that? Hotch,” You sighed, “You meant every word you said to me tonight, and they were true. I’m not cut out for this, I’m sorry that I messed things up.”

“I didn’t mean it! I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” He composed himself, squeezing your limp hand in his, “It was unfair of me to berate you like that. You didn’t do it on purpose, and it was a mistake anyone could have made. I was just- I was so scared, Y/N.”

“You.. You were scared?” You noted that, for the second time that night, Hotch had used your first name instead of your last, and you filed them both away to think about more critically later.

“I knew they were going to strike again. The problem was, I didn’t know where. It sounds awful, but when we know another victim is condemned to die, we can’t do anything about it. We.. we use them as a means to collect more evidence, sometimes we can’t advance in an investigation unless another person dies. We wait for people to get killed, Y/N, and the more we do it, the less terrible it seems. But I knew he’d come after you.”

“You did?” Something tightened in your chest, a sense of sickening dread that you wished you’d felt before the attack, because it might have saved your life.

“Think about it. You were the face of the press conference, your face and position were broadcasted to anyone watching. We knew they were watching, we wanted them to. When you misspoke, and exposed them to the community before they could, they spiraled. There’s only one hotel in the area, and you mentioned staying as close to the investigation as possible.” Hotch shifted uncomfortably on the rickety plastic bench that he was sitting on, “They knew where you were, they knew who you were, and they knew exactly how to get you. That’s why I teamed us all up tonight, Y/N, because I knew they were coming. I figured there was still a possibility that they’d be too cowardly to attack a government agent in a hotel full of them, but we knew they didn’t shy away from high-risk situations. It- It was you, Y/N, I knew it was you, and- I still left.”

“I.. I don’t understand,” Your mind was reeling, spiraling out of control with the new information you’d been given, “Why didn’t you tell me this before? And- and where did you go?”

“Dave- Rossi wanted to talk to me,” His eyes left your face for the first time in minutes, downcast to the floor, “He was upset that I’d shouted at you.”

“And.. why didn’t you tell me this before?” You repeated.

“I.. Y/N, I tried to.”

Your eyes narrowed and you felt your stomach start to burn again, “No you didn’t! Not one single word that came out of your mouth when you were blaming me for the deaths of innocent civilians had anything to do with the fact that I was about to be stabbed in the crappy hotel bathroom.”

“I- I know,” Hotch squeezed his eyes shut, sighing deeply. “Y/N, I’m sorry.”

“For?” “For blaming you. For yelling at you. For leaving.”

“Why did you blame me? If you didn’t really mean it, why did you?”

Hotch deliberated that for a moment, the fingers of his free hand brushing gently together, “It was easier for me to be angry than it was for me to be scared.”

You stayed silent, but you kept your eyes on him, watching his expression shift.

“I’m never scared.” Hotch insisted, “Or- or I’m scared all the time. I don’t know anymore, really. But this fear was new, this kind of fear was new, this intensity of fear was new. I don’t usually have to worry about us,” He gestured vaguely to his jacket pocket, where you knew he kept his badge, “I mean, not really. We go into high-pressure situations, but we always come back out again. Even- even if we get a few scrapes here and there, we’re okay. There’s only been a few times where something this bad has happened to one of us, and I don’t know how to deal with it yet, I’m not used to it. So I resorted to anger, which I deal with a lot more often than fear. I dealt with it the wrong way, and I got angry with you. I needed to get angry with someone instead of being afraid, and you were easy to blame.”

He took a deep breath, and you took the liberty of being the one to squeeze his hand this time, his eyes flitting to where they laid together on your stomach, “I’m sorry, Y/N. I shouldn’t have gotten angry, I should have just been honest with you. I.. I would promise to do better next time, but I’m counting on there not being a next time, so instead I’ll promise to make it up to you.”

He finished his speech with a soft huff, his eyes worriedly scanning your face for a reaction. You weren’t sure you had it in you to give him one, though, so you let your eyes fall shut, taking one deep breath before blinking them open again.

“You can’t be afraid of being afraid, Hotch.”

His shoulders slumped minisculely at your words, his eyebrows raising as he nodded, “I know. I-”

“Just.. let me finish.” You cut him off, “Everyone gets scared sometimes. You don’t have to forgo emotions just because you’re leading a team of FBI agents. You’re allowed to get scared too, and you’re allowed to tell people that you’re scared. No one would judge you, you know that, don’t you? Prentiss isn’t gonna laugh at you, Reid wouldn’t call you a loser.”

He let the ghost of a smile flit over his face at your examples, and you considered it a personal win.

“You almost lost me today.” You reminded him, watching his face fall, “But not because you stepped out. But because you did deal with it the wrong way. Because you wouldn’t let yourself be afraid of losing me. And I’m not telling you this to make you feel guilty, Hotch, because I don’t want you to blame yourself. I’m telling you this so that you can grow as a person, and relearn feelings that you’ve suppressed. Use this as an example, as a reason to be scared. Be afraid, Hotch, psych yourself out about this, or it’ll happen again. But don’t blame yourself.”

“I understand what you’re saying, Y/N, and I won’t forget this anytime soon. But I am blaming myself, it is my fault.”

“Hotch, they would have come regardless of whether or not you yelled at me. You’re not responsible for their attack. You can regret that you didn’t warn me, and promise to do better in the future, but warning me would have only given me time, not safety. You couldn’t have stopped them from coming for me by telling me that they were.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” One of the EMTs by your feet spoke up, the intimacy of the moment shattered, “But we’re here, and we need to unload you, Y/N.”

You nodded, looking away from where you’d been staring into Hotch’s eyes and reluctantly letting him let go of your hand. You were jostled slightly by the paramedics pulling you out of the stretcher, but their hastily-wrapped gauze around your stomach did its job, and your stomach wasn’t bleeding profusely anymore. 

Hotch stepped out of the ambulance behind you, standing by the truck instead of following after you. You glanced back at him questioningly as you were being led away, “Aren’t you coming?”

“I.. I can’t, Y/N.” He held out his phone, “They want me to interrogate the man they caught.”

“Right.” You nodded,  disappointment stewing in your stomach alongside the constant pain, “Thank you for riding with me.”

He nodded once, opening his mouth to say something but stalling before he did, “Y/N?”

“Yeah?” The EMTs carrying your stretcher stalled at the door, waiting patiently for him to speak just as you did.

“Thank you for.. for helping me.” He tilted his head towards the ambulance, referencing the rather eye-opening conversation you’d just had, “I’m glad we talked.”

“Me too.” You smiled weakly, “Now go find his partner.”

He finally let a real smile flit over his face, no longer restraining himself as he knew you’d be safe, “I will. And I’ll come visit you as soon as I’m done. I’m sure the others will beat me here.”

Your smile grew at the promise of seeing him again, though your brain refused to acknowledge why. You supposed you were scared to admit it, but you used denial to mask your fear instead of anger, like Hotch. You’d have to work on that, but for now, you needed a stationary bed.

“Goodbye, Hotch.” You looked at him for one last moment, then relaxed into the stretcher, letting the EMTs escort you inside.

“Goodbye Y/N,” Hotch supplied weakly, letting relief blossom in his chest that the words he’d just spoken to you weren’t his last, but in the grand scheme of what was to come, a few of the first.

tags: @sunflowermotel @wheelsupkels @ssamorganhotchner @toshijimafarms @jhiddles03 @rosaliedepp @cehnyene @zaddyhotch @aliensaurusrex @tojithesourcerkiller @criminalmindsandmarvel @maddie77777 @anlin2058 @averyhotchner @desireav @thelaststraw3 @alanalanalanalanalanna @ccristata

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

🥺🥺

Reader putting on nail polish and not being able to paint their right hand because they're righthanded and Hotch offering help (I feel like he'd either be very precise or completely fuck up)

everything about this request hinted at domestic boyfriend!hotch but my brain always always always goes coworkers to lovers mutual pining bau!reader so we're doing that <3

--

You'd pointedly waited until after the jet had cleared turbulence before you pulled your nail polish out of your bag, not wanting to spill lacquer all over the table. You'd gotten an 'ooh' from JJ at the color, a soft pink that called 'nearly nude', but no one seemed to pay you much attention otherwise, letting you do your own thing.

Your first hand was easy enough. You painted your non-dominant, the polish smoothing on in clear, neat strokes. The result was rather pleasing, and you puffed up with pride until you realized that you'd have to switch hands now, and paint your dominant one.

Well, at least one hand would look good.

The handle of the brush felt awkward between your fingers, painting no longer a trained course of action like it had been in your other hand. Your fingers were shaking slightly as you folded your fingers in on themselves, bracing your thumb against your pointer. Your tongue poked out from between your lips as you concentrated, but just before you could make contact with your nail a voice stopped you.

"Y/L/N," Hotch piped up from the seat across from you, "Would you like some help?"

Everyone's eyes were on you. JJ was being somewhat subtle, peering at you from behind her book with wide eyes, but Morgan and Prentiss ditched etiquette, standing up from across the jet to peer at what was happening. You looked up at Hotch with raised eyebrows, a questioning glint in your eyes, "With.. with my nail polish?"

"Yes." He nodded, "Your hand is shaking."

You wordlessly handed him the brush, watching in mixed fascination and adoration as your surly unit chief took your hand, his large fingers curling around your own. You let your hand go limp in his grasp and he adjusted it to his liking, his eyes laser focused on your pinky nail.

He started in, slow and steady with the brush, the paint coating your nail perfectly. The next nail wasn't as small, of course, so he had to use two strokes, but it came out looking just as pristine as the first one. His own nails weren't long, but when some of the paint bled into your cuticle, he scraped it off perfectly.

"You're good at this." You broke the silent reverie that had fallen over the plane while everyone held their breath. The sight of Hotch giving you a manicure was certainly not one they'd expected to see, and each of them were handling it differently. Some stared, some gawked, some pretended not to notice, but everyone was surprised.

"I used to have to paint my own with topcoat." He admitted casually, "They were splitting and it looked terrible. I suppose old habits just die hard."

Suddenly, the image of your grumpy boss sitting alone in his office after hours painting his nails was all that your brain could conjure. It was equally endearing as it was amusing, both reactions combining to spread a smile over your face.

Apparently your expression wasn't subtle, because Hotch glanced up, amusement shining in his own eyes.

"What, Y/L/N? Are you making fun of me for painting my nails?"

"No!'" You insisted, and he squeezed your thumb slightly in retaliation, "I just wouldn't have guessed that about you."

He sent you the ghost of a smile, his lips upturned ever so slightly to let you know he was okay with your lighthearted teasing. He finished painting your thumb, letting go (to your unexpected chagrin) and the result was better than the hand that you'd painted.

"I'm gonna come to you with all of my manicure needs," You inspected your dominant hand, awestruck at Hotch's precision, "I feel like I should pay you for this."

"I wouldn't mind a tip," He joked, rifling through his bag, "But I'm not done yet."

"You're not?" You watched him confusedly as he dug through his belongings, finally understanding when he pulled out a small bottle of clear paint.

"I knew I still had it." He set it on the table as he turned to zip up his bag, "Now, one coat or two?"

I can’t stop thinking about Hotch and pregnant!Reader! So if your requests are still open can I request soemthing with maybe Jack is visiting the office and he runs straight to you to say hi and then goes “hi baby” to your tum, but the team doesn’t know yet do you’re like 😳

nawwww 🥺

-

Jack sees through the glass doors, standing to the side of the bull pen, the moment he steps out of the lift with Aaron. It makes him smile and his eyes light up as he struggles against the weight of the glass door. It makes Aaron’s lips tilt in amusement, as he puts a hand on the metal handle, helping his son to push the door open, allowing both of them enough space to slip in.

“Hi baby,” he runs straight to you, throwing his arms around your body while pressing his cheek to your stomach, his little body vibrating with excitement.

“Are you?” You look up from the top of Jack’s head, replacing your gaze with a hand to ruffle his hair, to find each of the team staring at you, jaws slack and eyes wide. You feel the prickle of a blush heat up your face and you clear your throat awkwardly.

“We are,” you hear Aaron say, answering on behalf of your family, as he sidles up behind you, the back of your shoulder against his chest.

You tilt your head up, meeting his gaze in a glance and smile as he places a hand on the small of your back.

I was wondering that you could write a Aaron Hotchner x reader but the reader is a doctor and the team don’t know that you exist until hotch one day gets hurt and took to their hospital.

btw love all your fics ❤️❤️

<3333 anonnnnn, you are SO sweet.

-

Your phone had gone off before your pager had, with the nurses’ station calling you, Aaron’s emergency contact, to let you know that he had been admitted, which meant that you were already running towards the A&E, before your pager, calling you in as the doctor on call to the bay you were already running to, started to beep

“Aaron.” You throw back the curtains of the emergency bay, bracing for the worse, to find him seated on the edge of the bed, the nurse pressing a piece of gauze to his forehead.

You assess him from head to toe, your medical training kicking in, he is awake, alert, and upright, which meant to you that he was low risk. It doesn’t prevent you however, from snapping up his chart from the movable table, running through the notes from the paramedic as the nurse busies herself with patching up the scratches on his face.

“You could potentially have a concussion,” you state as you run through the chart, flipping onwards to the next page, “I’m keeping you here overnight.”

“(Y/N)..” he starts, and your eyes snap up to stare directly at him.

“Don’t (Y/N) me Aaron. It says here you jumped towards the bomb, instead of away from it, I think you’ll let me keep you here for one night.” Your eyes narrow as he falters slightly, his posturing sinking with defeat.

“Did she just?”

“Yup.”

“Are they on a first name’s basis?”

“Seems like it.”

The voices behind you have attempted to whisper, but not well enough. You turn, throwing your head over your shoulder to glance at the small crowd, while pulling your stethoscope off from around your neck and positioning it in your ears. A quick look at the guns each of them has buckled to their waist tells you that it’s his team.

“I’m Dr. (Y/L/N)” you throw out to the crowd as you move behind him to place the cool flat edge of the stethoscope on his back. “His girlfriend.”

It earns you a gasp and wide eyes.

“I see no one else was stupid enough to jump towards the bomb?” You say, hearing a deep sigh from Aaron through your stethoscope and a chortle of laughter from Derek.

“No we were not.” Rossi smirks, arms crossing over his chest.