Aaron Hotchner X Female Reader - Tumblr Posts

𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

You worry your boyfriend is ashamed of you. This is very much not the case. Or, 5 times Hotch hid your relationship (+1 time he didn’t).

7k words, new-ish established relationship, lots of fluff between angst, hurt/comfort, fem!reader, civilian!reader, reader calls him aaron mostly

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The security for Aaron's building is weird. Weird as in extensive, intimidating, and extremely intricate. 

You'd really wanted to minimise his stress — the whole reason you're here is to bring him a forgotten sheet of paper that must've slipped out at your kitchen table from one of his case files because you don't want him to have to make up a new copy — but you're too scared to go in. 

You pull your phone out reluctantly and dial in his number, eager to hear his voice even if the security detail a few feet away are freaking you out. 

"Hotchner." 

"Hi, handsome," you say softly. 

There's a small pause. For a split-second a nightmare situation runs through your head, his low voice asking, Who is this?

"Hi, honey." 

You beam so wide it aches, forcing a pleased little breath from your mouth. 

"What do you need?" he asks. 

"I'm outside of your building but I'm too afraid to come in. I'm not sure they'll let me. I need a badge, right?" 

"You're outside." 

You pick at the hem of your sweater, a loose thread marring your otherwise pretty outfit. You'll admit to dressing up unnecessarily to see him. Nice clothes, your most subtle perfume. 

"I found something confidential this morning, a piece of paper. I didn't read it, I promise."

"You really shouldn't be here," he says. 

Your smile abruptly drops. You press the phone closer to your face and wait, hoping he's not talking to you. When it's clear that he is you cringe, the silence pervasive and the most awkward it's ever been with him. 

"Sorry." Your apology is quick, quiet. "I thought it would be easier for you. I didn't mean to… overstep." 

"It's not that. It's busy. Would you hang on to it for me? Maybe I can come and get it tonight, bring dinner." 

You love how he says it. It's not a question, not an assumption. And it's a relief. If he wants to see you on a night where you hadn't planned to get together, he can't be mad at you for being here. 

"Yeah, please. If you want to." 

"I want to. Okay?"

Not for confirmation, it's shorthand. You okay? 

"Yeah. Okay. Have a good rest of your day, handsome." 

"Bye." 

You like to think you can hear the sound of his phone clicking shut, imagining him at his desk in one of his neat suits with a case file open in front of him. You're not sure on the specifics of his job but you know he looks good doing it, and you also know he's very, very busy. You don't take his clipped goodbye as anything but efficiency. 

Maybe you should. 

—

The next time Aaron inadvertently hurts your feelings is in person. 

Compared to him, you wouldn't say you're an incredibly exciting character. Your day job is tame, your hobbies are invaried. You like to watch TV, see movies, you enjoy people-watching. When you hold that stuff up to his job, his profiling, and his hobbies (seriously, who likes triathlon?) you feel rather immature. 

You know deep down that hobbies are hobbies and that your job doesn't define how special you are, but when you're with someone like Aaron who lives and breathes his profession it can play with your head. 

"Is there something interesting about my shirt?" he asks, a murmur under the sound of the TV. 

You look up from the hem of his nice button down and smile, a half-smile. You want it to be more genuine than it is. "Don't you already know?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"You can tell I'm…" You frown, dropping the starched material of his shirt from between your fingers. "I've given myself up, haven't I?" 

"A little," he concedes sympathetically. 

You huff your defeat and let your cheek fall into his chest. Nice to seek comfort from him, nicer for him to give it to you, his arm rising from behind your shoulders to hook around your neck. 

"I'm not profiling you," he says, voice close to the top of your head, "I'm wondering what you're thinking."

You relax under his touch, his big hand settling in the curve of your neck. A semi-hug. It doesn't take long for you to melt into his front completely, your unhappy thoughts dissolving with any tension and leaving only a want to kiss his stupidly nice neck.

"It doesn't matter," you say. 

"You sure?" 

You lift your head from his chest. He has to lean back to meet your eyes and he does it unflinchingly, a bemused smile playing on his lips. 

"I'm good. Better, if you would…" 

"Yeah?" he asks quietly, leaning down, down. 

You can't withstand his charms. He knows exactly how to get you, his smile and his eyes, his lashes kissing in the corners as they close. 

He's imposing in the best way, a heavy presence that overwhelms you. All you can think about is the way he nudges his nose with yours to encourage your head back and the heat of his lips as they touch your own. His arm tightens behind your head.

You try to rise onto your knees, hands vying for his neck and his pitch dark hair. You're doubly pleased when you feel his mouth turning up into a smile, a mirror of your own. 

"Slow down," he chides gently. 

You're about to say something unlike yourself, something loud and brash. Speed up, Hotchner. You're hopped up on the giddiness that comes with being close to him. You're just about to say it when his phone rings. 

He gives you a short, hard kiss. 

"Hotchner." 

You sit back in his lap, his hand sliding to the small of your back to keep you close as his face clouds with confusion. You attempt to climb off of him because you're not a sack of sugar — you're probably giving him numb thighs — but he won't let you.

"Garcia," he says eventually, "is this an emergency?" His tone makes it clear to you that whatever it is Garcia is saying, it's far from an emergency. 

His hand climbs up, over your shoulder. You shudder as he tugs your earlobe, a mild and thoughtless gesture. You're so busy shivering you almost miss his playful eye roll. 

"I haven't changed my mind. Yeah. Thanks for the invitation, but I'm perfectly happy where I am tonight." 

Whatever Garcia says makes him laugh. If you weren't sitting as close to him as you are you wouldn't have heard it. 

"Have fun. Bye," he says succinctly. He snaps his phone closed in one hand, the other dropping from your ear to your shoulder. It's heavy with a remorse you can't allow. "Sorry."

"Doesn't matter," you assure, tilting your head toward his hand and pretending to size him up. You don't know how to profile, but you're a good guess. 

"You're not telling me something." 

"No?" He blinks in surprise.

"No. You've been invited somewhere with your work friends, and you usually go. Why not tonight?" 

"I think that's obvious." 

"You don't have to flake on your friends for me, Aaron." 

He smiles as you say his name. "Like I told Garcia, I am perfectly happy where I am." 

You hide your face in his neck lest he see your doped up smile. "You have nice friends," you murmur, working your hands under the hem of his shirt. 

"I think you'd love Garcia after the infinitial terror." 

"I think I would too. She's good to you, after all. Makes me like her… Maybe one day we can all go out for drinks." 

You don't have to be a profiler to feel the way he tenses. 

"Yeah," he says. It sounds very much like Probably not. 

That's a strumming hurt. Aaron is so nice, so so nice, and he treats you like you're gold dust. He does all the movie boyfriend stuff like flowers, silver earrings on your birthday (with tiny diamonds!), dinner reservations at dauntingly fancy restaurants. And he does stuff you didn't know men did, like calling you near every night to make sure you had a good day, and praising even your smallest achievements, and leaving notes in places he knows you'll find them on hard days. You don't know how he knows when days are hard, he just does. 

You'd figured all of this stuff meant he must really like you, might even love you though he's yet to say it, and that's why his lack of enthusiasm stings. 

Why doesn't he want you to meet his friends? He's obviously very proud of what they do at the BAU. They're not the issue. 

It's you. 

You cuddle him as a pit forms in your chest. 

"You're tired?" he asks.

Funny how it's his comfort you crave when he's the one who's hurt your feelings. You're a little lopsided being upset with him, and you know if you tell him how you feel he'll try to make it up to you, but you're too afraid of the other alternative — a fight. Right now his arms are a sanctity you wouldn't trade for anything. You hope he feels the same. 

You're not sure anymore. 

"Yeah," you say roughly. 

Your eyes burn as he pats your back. "Let's go to bed, honey." 

You'll just… have to prove you're someone worth showing off. 

—

Your plan, loosely titled 'Get Aaron Hotchner to Show Me Off,' is going about as well as you'd thought it would. 

If Aaron doesn't want me to meet his friends there must be a reason. You've been thinking about it and it can't be a coincidence that he hadn't wanted you to return his paperwork a few weeks ago. That must've been something significant. 

But what? 

You start with your hair. Aaron has expressed a lovely and heaping handful of times that he thinks you have pretty hair. He plays with it often, usually when he's limp and tired from a long day. You've always taken care of it. Now you're going to the extreme — hair masks, hair appointments you can't afford, anything to make it look perfect. 

It doesn't work toward the plan, though your boyfriend certainly notices. 

"Your hair," is the very first thing he says when he sees you, stopping only in his smiling assessment to kiss your cheek in greeting. 

"Is it okay?" you ask, turning your face to one side. 

"More than okay. Do you want to go in?" 

So it's kind of a bust. But that's okay, you weren't expecting to get a haircut and magically be invited to team dinners. You persevere, and eventually you forget the plan for the night when Aaron promises to show you how much he likes your new look with a hand at the small of your back. 

Phase two, your clothes. 

You dress as nicely as you can but you're no fashion guru and you can't afford an entirely new wardrobe. You get a bunch of magazines and look for fall staples. What's in this year, and how do you style it? You buy a couple of pieces that fit your budget and try to work around them. 

Aaron's favourite are the new corduroy pants. They aren't a great fit. 

"They're too tight," you lament, pulling the fabric from your thighs where they hug snugly. They're a desaturated sort of burgundy, not bright by any means but a good 'pop of colour'. 

"I know," he says. 

You gawp at him, and when he gets his fingers on the buttons afterward, you break. 

"You like them?" you ask worriedly. 

"What makes you think I don't?" 

"Besides how eager you are to get them off of me?" 

He hooks two fingers in your belt loops and holds your gaze as he tugs them down. "I like them." 

A good time, but still no dice. You suppose a new look, besides looking smarter, doesn't actually prove your merit as a girlfriend. Maybe he wants something a little more concrete before he introduces you to people. Maybe things aren't as good for him as they are for you, and he doesn't see the point. 

That particular thought sparks a wave of panicked tears. 

The next time you see him, it's like he can tell. You wonder if he has x-ray vision, some sixth sense for tear stains that he has yet to tell you about. He's been gone for a few days in St. Louis, and when he'd come back he'd spent the weekend with Jack, so it's a whole seven days since the last time you saw him and your worries have festered. Not even his doting phone calls had kept the thought at bay. 

Maybe I'm not a good girlfriend. 

You open your door and there he is in a quarter zip with an overnight bag, matte suit cover draped over one arm. 

"Hi," you say, unsure. 

"Did I get uglier while I was away?" he asks seriously. 

You startle. "No, of course not." 

He smiles and meets you in the doorway, your head dipping back to accommodate. "I think I've had it too good," he says lightly, bringing a tentative hand to your cheek. "Are you okay?" 

You're trying to work out what he means, and when you do your heart skips. "Handsome!" you say urgently. "Hi, handsome. No, you didn't get uglier, I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking, and-" 

He kisses you. It's malaligned because of your parted lips, but it's good. You'd really missed him. 

"You're definitely still handsome," you murmur. 

"Doesn't count. I begged for it-" 

"No!" you deny, lifting on tiptoes to give him another kiss and stop his slander. "It does count because you're always handsome, I promise. I think I slept too much and miswired my brain when I woke up." 

"I don't mind that you didn't call me handsome," he says firmly, "now let me in. We have dinner to make." 

"Right, sorry."

Aaron frowns at you, then. It's weird. He frowns at his phone, at the TV, at nothing, but he doesn't frown at you. 

"Is something wrong?" he asks as you traverse down the hall. You hold your hands out for his suit and bag to take to your room and hang up, ignoring his question. He doesn't give them to you. "Is there?" 

"No." You smile as you say it. 

You're an awful liar, especially with him. He makes you more nervous than anyone because he's your boyfriend and because he's a literal human lie detector. 

"You didn't even try." 

You cover your face with both hands and groan dramatically, spinning around and away from him. You don't want him to see how flustered you are. 

"Don't make fun," you beg. 

"You're embarrassed." 

"Teach you that at the Bureau, do they?"  

You stop in the doorway of the kitchen, distracted by your own racing thoughts when suddenly there are two long arms needling around your waist and pulling you backward. You gasp a laugh and squirm uselessly to escape. 

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. 

You tip your head back, hands falling from your face in surprise. "What for, handsome?" 

His laugh fans out over your face but when he speaks again there's no humour there, only sincerity, "For being gone so long." 

"Well don't be. You can't exactly help it, Agent Hotchner," you hum. 

"Oh, don't." 

"Going out and saving the world takes time. I knew that when I met you, 'n I know it now. You don't have to say sorry." 

"I'm not apologising for my work. I'm apologising that we've," — his nose presses into the highest point of your cheek — "been apart." 

"I did miss you," you relent. 

He presses his lips to your cheek. "I missed you too." 

It's a nice distraction. You'd missed one another, and now you're together. You forget for a while what you'd worried, and only when he leaves again do you remember. 

Maybe I'm not a good girlfriend. 

You're not stupid enough to think Hotch is using you for anything, or that he's insincere. You're level-headed, though. His affection for you isn't necessarily permanent no matter how genuine. 

You don't want to be overbearing. The offers start slow. 

I can wash that for you. Of course I'm sure, I'm great with whites. 

Maybe I could make you lunch tomorrow. You can take it in, spare yourself the federal cafeteria. 

Yeah, I got them shined for you. They were looking a little dull at the toes. 

"Do you want me to press these?" you ask. 

Aaron looks up from where he's sitting in bed. You'd been out on a foray to the bathroom and have come to a stop by his bedroom door where a pair of black slacks hang in wait for the morning. 

He pushes a darling pair of reading glasses up the bridge of his nose. "No." 

"Are you sure? It won't take five minutes." 

"I'll do it in the morning." 

"I can do it for you, then. Just wake me up," you say, pushing back the sheets on the empty side of his bed. Your socked foot bumps his thigh as you pull up your legs. "What are you reading?" 

He puts his book on the nightstand, takes off his glasses. It's too bad. He really suits them.

"I want to talk to you about something." 

You laugh and slide down onto the flat of your back. 

"What?" he asks, confused, the tiniest hint of amusement in his eyes. 

"It's unlike you to start that way. You always cut around the fat." You bring his bed sheets up to your nose and squint at him. "'M I in trouble?" 

"Depends." 

"On what?" 

"You know I care about you." 

Your heart somersaults. That feels very much like a break-up opener, and he must see your anxiety on your face. He wrangles your hand from under the sheets and leans over you, his face in your eyeline, his fingers massaging yours until they ache in the good way. 

"Do you know how much?" he asks. 

"Is that a trick?" 

"No." 

You wait in case there's something he's going to add. When there's nothing, you pull the sheets to your chin and tamp down your perplexed pouting. 

"Yeah, I know how much." 

"I'd like to tell you how much." He pulls your joined hands toward his jaw. "I know I'm not always here, but I'm always thinking of you. In roundabout ways." 

"What ways?" you ask. Self-indulgence.

Aaron Hotchner indulges you. 

"I see," — he kisses your hand — "trees. I've seen a thousand trees, but when I see the bigger ones I wish you could see them too." 

It's a dropping sensation, near uncomfortable, that's how gutted his confession makes you feel. "You do?" 

"Sometimes women walk past me and I swear that it's you because they smell like your perfume. Flowers growing through cracks in the sidewalk. Lights through the jet window." It's the kind of stuff you like to point out to him when you're together. 

He stares at you, a long, reassuring look. 

He deserves a better reply, but all you can say is, "I think of you all the time, too." 

"I love that you want to take care of me, but you don't need to wear yourself out." 

You bite the inside of your bottom lip. So that's what this is about. Aaron has profiled you, and now he's being the gentleman that he is and assuaging your fears. 

"I'm not," you say quickly. 

He understands that you're saying I'm not wearing myself out rather than I'm not taking care of you. You are taking care of him, the best that you can, the best that he'll allow. 

"I can press my own pants," he says, leaning down for a kiss. "I can shine my own shoes." He kisses you again. You screw your eyes closed as the warmth of his breath heats your cupid's bow. "I can do my own laundry." He pulls back, dropping your hand in favour of your neck. His thumb pushes against your windpipe gently, palm hot over your skin. "I'll accept the lunches, if you're sure you don't mind making them." 

You feel as excited as you did the very first time he touched you, chest full of a dizzying pleasure, heart bump-bump-bumping a racing rhythm. His thumb strokes a lazy quarter circle into your neck. He can probably feel your pulse, see the way your eyes have blown. 

"I love making them," you say, breathless in earnest.

"The team think I'm spoiled." 

"You aren't spoiled." You're adored, you want to say. You cup his cheek instead. "You'd be spoiled if I brought them by everyday." 

Aaron doesn't stay with you and you don't stay with him enough to make him lunch everyday. He might get one or two a week, and that's when he's home. 

"Wouldn't that be nice," he mutters, his fingers pushing between your neck and the pillow underneath. 

You hike up on to your elbows slowly to avoid headbutting him. "Well, I could." 

His easy, loving smile flattens. "No." 

"I wouldn't mind. My lunch break is super long and it only takes me ten minutes to get there. We could have lunch together." 

"That's not going to work." 

"Okay." You wish you could take it as calmly as he says it. You sound choked up. You are choked up. 

"Sweetheart, the office is a war zone. Half the time I'm not there." 

"I get it," you say, dropping flat onto your back again. 

"Sweetheart." 

"Handsome," you mirror, putting on your best unaffected smile. 

You can't hold it very long, his concerned brows too much to deal with. You turn your head to the left and turn off the lamp on the nightstand, throwing at least half of your expression into darkness. 

Aaron doesn't give up. Does he ever? He cups your cheek and pulls you back to face him. 

"I can't promise any lunch dates. But I was thinking we'd go out for dinner next week, Friday," he begins hopefully, "somewhere nice." 

It feels like an apology and you're desperate to take it. 

"I don't need somewhere nice, s'long as you're there 'n not in Kansas, or Colorado, or Idaho, or New Jersey-" 

He hums and drops his head until his nose lies against your own. "Gonna go through all fifty?" 

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, Hotchner?" 

"I love your voice," he says agreeably. 

Disarmed, you let him charm you, and you let him push it all out of your mind. Plan foiled, your fears fall on the backburner for a third time. 

—

His fourth rejection is the first that feels entirely intentional, though you won't know until later. 

Mostly because Aaron pushes you. 

Far from cruel, the two of you are actually out walking in the city when he forces you into an alleyway, your fancy drink sloshing down the front of your sweater. 

You laugh in surprise and almost roll your ankle, hands clinging to his coat to stop an unfortunate fall. 

"Holy shit, Hotchner, learn to be a gentleman," you say as he presses up against you. "What are you doing? I'm soaked, you're gonna ruin your sleeves." 

He kisses you hard. It's a surprise, your head jumping back against the wall to find his hand already there to protect it. 

It's worth noting that Aaron is a sweetheart in practically every aspect of life. He once apologised after having walked in on you changing, which is ridiculous because most of the nights where you're together he insists on getting you some sort of undressed (even if it's just to help you into your pyjamas).

Needless to say, he's never kissed you like this. Your emotions spike so suddenly you laugh into his mouth, a girlish peel of giggles that you'll regret afterward but can't stop for the life of you. 

He shushes you. "Sorry," he whispers, as ill-composed as you've ever heard him. "Sorry, just-" He cuts you both off with another bruising kiss. 

Your laughter fades into sighs and little gasps for air. Somewhere near the alleyway opening a group of people pass by, a jovial series of cheers and friendly laughter trailing behind them. Aaron presses you further into the wall behind, and slowly, slowly winds down. Weirdly, you think his last couple of pecks feel sorry, softer and sweeter. 

Your lips buzz. 

"Why'd you buy me that fancy drink if you were gonna tip it all over me?" you ask good-naturedly when he finally pulls back. 

"You looked too nice today." His deadpan voice wars with the smile on his face. "I'm sorry. We'll go find you something to change into." 

"Was it really that important that you kiss me right then?" you ask, feigning disdain. 

He looks out toward the main street again. "Yes. Where do you want to go? There's a Nordstrom." 

You take a sip of your drink, unsurprised when he takes your hand and starts to lead you toward the department stores. "Have you ever been inside of a Nordstrom?" 

"I'm sure I'll figure it out."

— 

The fifth time is the straw that breaks the camel's back. Or the brick. It feels heavier than a strand of straw. It's technically already come to pass, so it's an invisible brick. 

You're out for coffee by yourself which really means you're out for something sweet, bundled up in a coat and scarf to fight the night-time chill. 

"Thank you," you tell the barista, accepting your drink and receipt with a smile. 

You turn around and almost walk straight into a pretty dark-haired woman with really nice hair. You make a note to tell Aaron about it when you see him next, not because he'll care but because he likes to hear what you've been thinking about. And right now, all you can think about is her feathered bangs. 

I want nice bangs, you think offhandedly. 

"I'm sorry," you say, trying to move around her. 

She steps into your path. 

"Sorry," you say again. 

She's squinting at you, thin eyebrows peeking out from behind her hair. "Sorry, have we met?" she asks. 

You try not to be too hasty, but you're not sure you've ever seen her. You stare at her as she stares at you, and you get a tiny inkling of familiarity, but it's gone as quick as it comes. 

"I'm really sorry, I don't think so," you murmur, tilting your head to one side. 

She bites her lip, let's it go. "Oh!" she says excitedly, voice bright with triumph. "Oh oh oh! I know who you are, you're Hotch's mysterious girlfriend!" 

Your smile turns quizzical. You know nearly everybody calls Aaron 'Hotch'. Whenever you try it he either gives you the silent treatment or covers your mouth with his hand. 

"I'm Emily Prentiss, I work in the BAU," she explains rapidly, shoving her purse under her hand to offer it for a handshake. 

You do the same and shake her hand. Introducing yourself feels awkward. She knows you. You don't have a clue who she is. Only- 

"Oh, I know who you are now, I'm sorry I didn't recognise you before!" you say contritely. "I've seen photos of you and the team together. It's really nice to meet you." 

She nods. "It's nice to meet you too. I have to say, we've been dying to meet you. We even have a betting pool on what you're like, because Hotch barely says a thing about you." 

You try not to look as devastated as you feel, re-wrapping your fingers around your cup. "No?" 

"We didn't even know what you looked like until we saw you the other day. We came looking to say hi and you'd disappeared." 

You lick your dry lips. "The other day?" 

"Yeah, last Friday. We were out for impromptu drinks, celebrating a case. You know, you should come with sometime. It would be fun." 

Emily talks each word with an undertone of good humour. She's stunning, bubbly, and her hair flows around her face with every movement. 

"He really doesn't talk about me?" 

Emily drops into girl code niceties, backtracking. "I mean, not too often. We catch him smiling at his phone and hear your voice sometimes when you call. He seems happy. Well, happy as Hotch can seem." She swallows. "He's a private creature."

He doesn't talk about me. 

You pretend to check your watch. 

"It was really good to meet you," you say, voice airy with a feigned nonchalance. 

"Yeah, of course. Super nice," Emily says. 

You smile at her. It's more like a grimace. By the time you're outside of the coffee shop you're too upset to care, a humiliated shock of tears brewing behind your achy eyes. 

You hold your cup to your chest and unzip your purse to tuck the receipt inside, trying to maintain some control. There's a folded note inside, thick cardstock quartered. 

You take it out. Your fingers tremble with offended adrenaline. 

You're beautiful. 

Short, sweet, extremely Aaron Hotchner. Too bad you can't believe it. 

Emily Prentiss being out and about means the BAU are done for the night, though whether your workaholic boyfriend got the memo is anyone's best guess. You're not sure if it's better or worse if he's in work when you call. You're so upset that you can't help yourself. 

"Hi, honey." 

"Do you really think I'm beautiful?" you ask, staving off tears with all your willpower. 

"I wouldn't write it if I didn't mean it. That one took you a while to find, I was-" 

"Are you sure?" 

"...Are you okay?" 

You glare up at the dark sky rather than answer, blinking hard to force down your tears. You really don't wanna cry, but it's been a bad day and meeting Emily has made it worse. No matter how hard you try to think otherwise, all signs point to Aaron being ashamed of you. Embarrassed to be with you. He's hiding your relationship from everybody. 

"Am I- Is it my clothes? My job?" 

"What's wrong with your clothes?" 

"You tell me, detective." 

You're getting angry. He's- he's lying, or he's messing with you. He's making fun of you. At least that's how it feels. 

"Where are you right now?" he asks. You can picture him shrugging on his suit jacket, putting his files in order to come and meet you. 

You don't want to see him. "I'm at the coffee shop by your apartment. I actually ran into somebody, and I'm feeling very well-informed." A first tear bumps down your cheek. You ignore it. 

"I don't understand." 

"I don't understand! What am I doing wrong?" You bite your tongue in last ditch efforts to remain intact, but the tears won't hold off any longer. You swallow a sob. "What's wrong with me?" 

"Nothing. Nothing, honey, nothing is wrong with you." 

You wipe your wet face with mean hands. 

"Stay where you are. I'll come and meet you." 

"No. I don't wanna see you." 

"Honey-" 

"Leave me alone, Aaron." 

You hang up. You walk for a while, feeling as though steam is rising off of your flushed skin with every clumsy step. It had been a short phone call and already you can't remember what you said, all you can feel is angry, and then that runs out and all you can do is cry. 

You've never felt incredibly attractive. Aaron makes you feel better than that — he has the uncanny ability to inspire self-confidence with a loaded look alone. He can smile at you and your skin feels like it's glowing. 

So why doesn't that translate? If he thinks you're so pretty, why does he insist on hiding you away?

Because that day, he'd seen his friends. He could've introduced you but he took you down the alley and kissed you so you wouldn't be seen. That's not too busy: That's secretive. 

That kiss. You fooled yourself into thinking you must've looked irresistible. Fuck. You went home that night thinking you were the best thing since sliced bread. 

"I'm so stupid," you mutter, sniffling. 

Your self deprecation is muffled by the sound of a slowing car. You don't look up. There are two possibilities for who it is, and you don't want to deal with either. 

The car parks and then you do look up. Despite how mad you are you're not suicidal, and Aaron's given you extensive coaching on sex trafficking. 

It's him. Shocker. 

You're half-expecting him to reprimand you. You didn't look up until I parked. You know it takes five seconds to snatch and incapacitate someone? 

He looks haphazardly put together. Suit jacket on but tie loosened, he rounds the hood of his car and joins you on the sidewalk. You don't want to play games with him. He really doesn't need it, he didn't sign up for it, and drama isn't your style, but you're sick of this. 

"You want to tell me what you're thinking?" he asks, standing an amicable two feet away, hands at his hips.

"I'm really mad." 

"What else?" 

"I'm thinking," you say, looking down at your cold hands, "that you… That you're…" You rub your cheek into your shoulder to hide a fresh tear. "I don't know, Aaron. I'm thinking lots of things." 

"Do you want to think about them in the car?" he asks. 

Do you want to talk about it?

You don't want to talk about it. You don't like crying in front of him on a good day. 

You're pretty sure he'll combust on the spot if he knows you're walking home alone in the dark and distracted. 

You get in the car. He has the good sense not to touch your shoulders like he normally would. 

You buckle as soon as you've closed the passenger side door. "I'm sorry," you mumble, looking down at your knees. 

"Let's forget that, for now." He turns the key but doesn't pull out. "Tell me what's upset you and I'll explain." 

"I met Emily Prentiss." 

He looks at you out of the corner of his eye.

"She told me that you don't talk about me. Ever. That they didn't even know what I looked like." 

You know he's listening but he keeps his eyes on the road, and you chance a look at the side of his face. He doesn't seem mad. 

"I don't talk about you often," he says. "But that doesn't mean never… It's true that they didn't know what you look like." 

"Until last week, when they saw us together and you pulled me into an alley so they couldn't see me." 

"Yes." 

Your lower lip trembles. "Do you see why that would upset me?" You're asking genuinely. 

"Yeah, honey." 

Your head jolts up. He's diverting his gaze from the road to you intermittently, offering up a regretful grimace. The oncoming headlights splash over his work worn face. 

"Then why are you doing this? What's so wrong with me that you won't even admit we're together?" 

"Nothing is wrong with you. I'm not ashamed of you," he says firmly, volume rising. 

"Then why?" 

His eyebrows pull together. "You're the best person I've ever met that isn't my son, and I selfishly don't want to share you yet. I also don't want to scare you off." 

You pull your sleeves over your hands and turn in your seat, wiping your damp cheeks as he continues. 

"My job is hard, and it's dangerous. It has jeopardised the safety and wellbeing of people I love before. So no, I'm not eager to introduce you to my world. The more intertwined with my life that you become, the more danger I put you in, and…" The car slows down again. He turns to look at you. "And I like that I'm the only one who knows you like this.

"I have been hiding you. I have. But it was a," — his tone turns wry — "misguided attempt at keeping you all to myself. Safe, and to myself." 

You're finding it difficult to be mad with him. 

He's finding it difficult to maintain his poker face. A fat tear rolls down your cheek and you're not sure what it's made of, fatigue or relief or plain hurt, whatever it is he doesn't like it. He pulls over. 

You hold still as he pinches the tear off of your chin. 

"How long have you felt like this?" 

"Like what?" you ask wetly. 

"Like this." He opens his hand against your cheek. It encompasses your face; you lean in, hungry for reassurance. 

"I don't know." 

"This is why you changed your hair. Your clothes. And started making my lunch." 

You cover his hand with your own. "I actually really like making your lunches." 

You stare at each other until suddenly you're laughing, sniffly, short of breath. Aaron joins in soon after. He always sounds so surprised to be laughing.

"I'm glad," he says when your laughter has abated, pinky and ring finger caressing down the slope of your cheek. "I really like having them. Rossi can't hide how jealous he is." 

"They know about the lunches?" 

His mindless petting pauses. "They know about the lunches. You're not a secret. I'm… selfish with the details. I'm selfish." Aaron takes back his hand. "I'm sorry." 

You take as deep a breath as you can. "Okay." 

"Yeah?" 

"Mm. Can we go home?" 

His eyebrows jump and swiftly smooth again. "Yeah, we can go home." He chucks your chin and gets the car moving again. 

You watch him drive. 

When you get home, he doesn't mind reassuring you some more. Actually, it's like he needs to do it. You'd love to say that it's overkill and that his low murmurings of praise are unnecessary, but you can't. 

"You're lovely," he says seriously across two plates of pasta. Again through the mirror when you're brushing your teeth, and again when you've curled into his chest for the night. You're lovely. Nothing that needs hiding. 

You hear him on the phone early in the morning, half asleep. 

"Hey, Dave. Yeah. Okay. Uh… No, that's fine." He laughs under his breath. "Yeah, if she was awake I'd ask her to make you one. I think she would… Okay. See you in forty." 

You bury your tired face into his pillows and beam. 

—

+1 

Aaron's office is terrifyingly hectic. You can see already that the bullpen is full to bursting with agents, including but not limited to his special team of profilers. There's the distinct smell of coffee, sharp and burning, and then the underlay of printer ink, new paper. 

You can't believe you're here. 

You're not brave enough to introduce yourself to his team, and half aren't at their desks anyways. You hover in the doorway until somebody needs to get past you, taking a reluctant step inside.

You shouldn't wait for Aaron. You should be brave. You're a grown up, and you're bringing your grown up partner his very grown up lunch. You'd wanted desperately to do this. The least that you can do is do it by yourself. 

You've scrapped most of the fall staples but kept the burgundy pants Aaron likes so much at his request. They feel insanely tight on your thighs, as does your collar. In fact, the room has definitely shrunk since you got here. 

Like an idiot, Aaron says your name loud and clear, standing with a hand on the railings at the top of the instep. You hadn't even noticed him emerging from his office.

His voice demands — commands — attention. People turn in their seats, first toward him, and then toward you. 

All eyes on me. 

You don't run but you don't walk either, weaving through desk chairs and people looking a mix of busy and curious.

"You're being cruel," you say as you approach him, a brown paper bag held close to your abdomen. 

"Hi, honey," he says. He wears a knowing smile, all dark and tall and handsome as he starts down the stairs to meet you. 

"Don't punish me." 

"Is that what you'd call this?" he asks, hand quick to clasp your shoulder, glueing you in place so he can kiss your forehead.

And yes, this is what you'd wanted. The doting boyfriend not just at home but at work, too.

That doesn't mean it isn't really, really embarrassing. 

"Is everyone looking at me?" you murmur. 

He slips his arm behind your shoulders to walk you up the stairs. "Yes." His voice drops lower. "At one place specifically, I imagine." 

"What part is that, Agent?" 

He laughs and opens his office door to beckon you inside. "Don't start." 

༺༻

my first hotch fic omg. i did a big character study beforehand but i doubt it's entirely in character, hotch is a difficult character to write for! (and im only at season 4). but this was so fun and he's hot so it's worth it. if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging! i promise it makes a difference to me (and also i love seeing what people thought). thank you for reading!! ♥

— CRIMINAL MINDS

SPENCER REID

— best life ft harvey specter

summary: you’d once been apart of the bau team, but after a situation and a falling out with your boyfriend you moved on. what happens when the bau needs your help on a case, which your boyfriend harvey is also assisting on?

DEREK MORGAN

— coming soon

AARON HOTCHNER

— coming soon

EMILY PRENTISS

— coming soon

JENNIFER JAREAU

— coming soon

PENELOPE GARCIA

— coming soon

ALEXA PLAY FIREWORK BY KATY PERRY

this was amazing? you are amazing? I literally felt like I was reading a novel during the first half it was so good. the second half was so fucking hot and the way they kept harassing the poor old man would definitely be me

everyone needs to read this so they know how talented you are👏

Fireworks

MINORS DNI

AO3

Pairing: DBF!Hotch x You (fem!reader)

Summary: It's just some Fourth of July fluff/smut. Happy Fourth, my dear American friends.

Tags: Soft Dom Aaron Hotchner x Light Dom/sub x Dom/sub Undertones x Sweet Degradation x Brat Taming x Praise Kink x Reader Is Kind Of A Brat But I find her absolutely hilarious x Banter x Attempt at Humor x Age Difference x Forbidden Love x Smut, you know me x Sweet x Protected Sex x Impact Play x Spanking, the nice kind x apparently this is better than patriotism x I'm Canadian what do I know x Fireworks x Dom Aaron Hotchner x dbf!hotch x Adult Content

Word count: 5.3k

A/N: Honestly, I wasn't sure whether I'd get to publishing it. But I hope this hits the sweet spot for you.

In the midst of the vibrant bursts of color that decorated the sky and the crackling sounds filling the air around you, you wondered how you got so lucky. 

You wondered how you got to sit on the stairs of the Lincoln Memorial, watching the Washington Monument in the distance as it bathed in the soft glow of lights, exuding a sense of reverence and history which seemed particularly fitting today of all days.

The mesmerizing display of lights painting the sky in short succession was nothing compared to the vivid streaks of red, white, and blue dancing across his face and flickering in his dark eyes with patriotic hues. 

You could have sworn his eyes did more than mirror the sparkle of the fireworks above, they drowned them out with the lust and possibility glowing in his irises.

You let your eyes wander and trace the contours of his face, wanting nothing more than to taste his strong jawline with delicate lips, to feel the hint of his stubble prick the corners of your mouth. 

You wanted to read what was happening behind his piercing eyes as he stared at you. They were filled with his usual intense focus, but now they held a depth that hinted at the multitude of emotions he carried within but barely let out. 

You weren’t supposed to be here. There was, after all, a party in full effect at your house. And you weren’t supposed to be here together. You weren’t sure how exactly your father would react to finding his daughter sitting beside his friend, but it didn't take a profiler to guess that it would not be a happy conversation. 

Yet here you were. Sitting on the sun-warmed steps with the other spectators watching the explosions in the sky and positive that you were about to make the best decision of your life as a small smile curled his lips into a breathtaking grin that blinded you with hope. 

You were walking a fine line. A line you had been tethering on the edge of for months.

In the past year of your acquaintance, you often thought that there was a certain grace in the way he moved—his controlled, deliberate gestures, and the way he carried himself with confidence and poise. Every action seemed purposeful, reflecting the meticulous nature with which he clearly approached life. 

So when his pinky grazed the side of your hand before he swallowed his pride and took your hand in his, you smiled through your sigh of relief.  His mind had waved the white flag long enough for him to be vulnerable, long enough for him to silently tell you that you weren’t a rash decision, but a carefully considered one. 

You knew he wouldn’t come out and say it in so many words. He was not that kind of man. But the gesture itself carried a profound weight– a silent confession of his desire to be closer to you regardless of the consequences.

You squeezed his hand, and he squeezed yours right back. 

Whatever happened, you’d face it together. 

You were breathless as his eyes glittered with the hope that was reflected in yours. Everyone around you was focused on the spectacle above but he was the only thing you wanted to admire, the only fascinating light in the darkness of the night you needed to see. 

Sure, the fireworks were nice enough. But people who loved the scintillating aspect of fireworks had just never gotten a glimpse of a happy Aaron. 

You loved how the lights above adorned his face as he cautiously scooted closer. 

For a man who could reduce monsters to whimpering messes, as your dad often put it, he was strangely timid when it was just you two.

Although under normal circumstances you could read his nervousness when he tapped his thumb and index together, a coping mechanism to self-soothe he had probably acquired young, you could not read his expression right now. 

His jaw was clenching and unclenching, the muscles and veins in his neck protruded as he gritted his teeth. He wasn’t angry, the smile that tugged at his lips and the absence of his signature frown indicated that much. But he was not carefree either. 

Lust and apprehension, desire and fear, affection and worry, or confidence and restlessness… They were all plausible and contradictory possibilities.   

Aaron Hotchner was a paradox. It was one of the first things you had realized about him, and it was what always made you come back to him for more, despite everything that told you not to. His outer and inner beauty had left you smitten, completely head over heels for a man who had never even kissed you. 

You still fondly remembered when he had called you a troublemaker only hours after meeting you.

You had yet to shed that title after all these months. He had cursed and called you a brat earlier tonight before he suggested coming here to watch the fireworks with you. 

He had scoffed when you had mentioned it felt like date material, then called you incorrigible. 

Another justified adjective. 

You two couldn’t happen. You had been telling yourself that for over a year. 

But here you were, wondering how you got so lucky to get to witness the way his features softened with each explosion, how his smile illuminated his face with a radiance that rivaled the pleasantly bright sky. 

You finally looked down, witnessing how perfectly your fingers fit together. His hand was much bigger than yours. It felt like the spaces between his fingers had been made just for you. 

You risked a glance at him, finding his face covered in childlike wonder and joy. When he suggested fireworks, you wondered what it was about them that made him want to see them, but it was clear this brought him back to a time when life hadn’t gotten to him yet. 

He had a pure and good heart, and as bruised as it had been before, he was finally telling you he was ready to risk it and give it to you with a look that left nothing to doubt. 

No one had ever looked at you like this, so freely projecting their affection for you in their glistening eyes. 

You leaned in closer, your voice barely above a whisper as you spoke, your breath mingling with his in the night air. “It was about time you made a move,” you teased.

He shrugged, looking back up at the sky. “I’m just holding your hand. It looked lonely sitting there.”

You chuckled, hiding your face in his chest, smelling his expensive cologne all over his shirt. Within weeks of meeting him, you had started to associate his scent with safety and comfort, and today was no exception.

His breath hitched as your laugh was muffled by his chest, as you hooked your arm around his waist. 

You loved laughing at his bad jokes, you had since the very beginning because something incredible happened each time you laughed for him. 

His eyes shone with pride, elation both elegant and irresistible taking over his features. 

“I thought you had finally fallen victim to my charms,” you mused.

He chuckled, his other hand coming to rest on your lower back as your legs intertwined with his. 

“Keep on hoping,” he whispered.

He pulled you flush against his chest, with no hesitation in sight, and your body immediately found solace against his solid frame. You could feel the steady rise of his chest with each breath, a gentle rhythm that lulled you into a state of contentment and peacefulness. 

For all the chaos in your head, your heart was awfully calm as it beat in sync with his.

“I’m sorry it took me a while,” he said solemnly.  

“You don’t have to–” you began, but he cut you off with a small shake of his head.

“I need you to know that it wasn’t you,” he explained. “It was me. Me and my fears. You always bring light in the darkest corners of my world, my sweet girl, and I didn’t want to mess that up,” he muttered against your temple, his lips lingering on your skin. 

Aaron had called you many things before now, but this one was the most precious of them all. 

You gave a firm squeeze to his love handle before your hand came to rest in the middle of his chest, “You won’t mess it up; I won’t let you,” you promised, no doubt in mind that you’d be like gum under his shoe starting now. 

He pinched your hip softly, almost tickling you. You squealed sharply, making passersby and nearby couples look in your direction. 

“Shut up with the cuteness. I had a speech prepared,” he asserted with a casual air of authority that made you tremble in your darkest fantasies. 

“Sorry, sir,” you quipped with a smirk, emphasizing the last word.

His jaw tightened as his hold on you slackened enough to look into your eyes, his own darting between yours. They were dark and heavy with something more, and something almost dangerous in the shadows, but as he cocked his head to avert his gaze, you felt the tension leave his body. 

“I just wanted to say, you made me realize it’s not that scary to be seen.”

You cupped his cheek, offering him a heartwarming smile. “Thank you for letting me see you.”

He closed his eyes as if to savor it, and you let your thumb caress his rough cheek. 

You brought his face close to yours, your lips only inches away when he pulled back. 

“We shouldn't,” he breathed. 

Oh, please. 

Yes, we should.

“I don't care,” you assured him.

He shook his head. His expression was still tender and affectionate, but there was something dark swimming beneath the surface of those warm brown eyes. “I mean not here.” He gave you a wolfish grin. “If I get to kiss you, I won’t be able to stop.”

Oh.

He leaned down and pecked the little spot next to your ear. You shivered in delight. He smelled like a mix of mahogany and old money. 

“My place is close. We can probably still see the fireworks from there,” he murmured. 

 You looked nervous as he picked you up to sit you on his kitchen counter, parting your legs with gentle hands so he could come closer. 

You allowed him to invade your personal space, your legs going around his waist almost instinctively, but when he had caressed your leg up and down, you tensed up. 

You still kissed him back, your lips met his as hungrily as before when you had pulled his shirt out of his pants, but something had shifted when you had glanced around his apartment. Aaron followed your gaze when your eyes had stopped wandering.

You had found a picture of Haley and Jack.  

Jack loved you, it had never been an issue and he didn’t think it would ever be, but Haley loomed over you with her sacredness, and he was helpless to do anything but wait you out as you processed it. 

The love he held for Haley was the only one you knew could never be dismissed. But what you didn’t know was that he already loved you so much that it should have terrified him to think of how that love would only grow. It should have, but it didn't. 

Aaron didn’t know how to love anyone halfway. When he let himself love, it was fiercely and without reservation. His love for you would consume him eventually, and he was happy to let the undercurrent take him if it meant your arms ended up around his neck and your lips ended up on his.

Still, Aaron would never push you if you were unsure, and if nothing happened tonight, he was fine with that. Whether he got to see you naked or not tonight, whether he would have to relieve the pressure in his pants alone at some point or glare at his erection to make it go away, he never wanted you to question your place in his life. 

You weren’t a fling or a hot piece of ass. He didn’t even know how to care less. 

He would not discard you when the excitement of this forbidden adventure faded or the consequences came. He would face your dad with you once you were ready for that. He would ask your dad for your hand in marriage if you wanted him half as much as he wanted you. 

The burning intensity of the kiss lowered to a simmering heat, and it occurred to him that he could provide you some comfort. 

He cradled your face into his big hands, watching you smile at him with so much love in your eyes, with a sparkling gaze more alluring than any fireworks could ever be. He had never felt more positive that this was right. That you were right for him. 

“You know, I've liked you ever since I saw you laugh at your mom's poor attempt to bake you a birthday cake.”

You giggled at the memory, that travesty of a baked good evaporating the discomfort. Tension left your shoulders, your jaw slackened, and you were bubbly and warm again.

“You have me, Aaron.”

Nothing quite took his breath away like you saying his name. 

“Do I?” he asked, surveying your features for any sign of uncertainty. 

“Anything you want,” you promised. “I'm yours tonight.”

He didn’t stop to wonder whether you’d be his after tonight, too drunk on you effectively mewling his name as he rocked his hips into you. 

Aaron had never known he could be too hard to care about semantics. 

He drove his hips into you a few times, making you purr his name like a melody right before you buried your hand in his hair, making him hum and drool in the crook of your neck. 

He gathered his spit with his tongue, licking your skin and finding out how delicious you were. He’d drag his tongue all over you if you let him. 

His cock twitched, and if you continued to moan as he suckled on your pulse point, he’d come in his pants like a teenager. 

He grabbed both of your wrists, hanging on tight and looking at you with appetite. 

“Sweet girl, be quiet for me or I won’t be able to focus on you,” he warned. 

“Aaron–” you whined, grinding against his throbbing erection. 

“Hmm… As much as I’ve dreamt of having you shove that pussy against me, I think I’d rather take my time with you.” He bit your neck, making your loud whimpers his new favorite sound. “You get me so hard I can’t even think straight. I can barely feel my legs.” He thrusted against your clothed core again, and a violent shudder made you squirm on the counter. He braced his hand on each side of your hips, looking deeply into your eyes, finding you smirking despite your flushed skin and damp legging.   

“That’s because you’re an old man. You know, arthritis is the real silent killer,” you joked. 

Of all the times to remind him of your very twisted sense of humor- 

A cackle erupted from your throat and he chuckled dryly. “Such a brat,” he chided, the darkness of his eyes broken by his glimmer of amusement at your determination to bait him now of all times. 

“Do you need me to massage your wrinkled extremities?” Your eyes had a mischievous air to them. You then palmed his erection. “Or just this very tense one?”

He groaned as his knees buckled under him, making him surge closer to you, restraining your movements with his large hands pressed over yours. “Oh, god.”

“My old man, do we need to sit you down?”

With the last of his strength, he picked you up and went towards his armchair, the one facing the balcony where the fireworks were still in full effect. 

He sat down, shifting you to put you over his knee. “Sweetheart, I’m going to teach you some manners.”

You wiggled into a more stable position before turning and saying with the utmost innocence, “I’ve always been told to respect the elderly.”

You could barely finish your sentence, let alone laugh at your quip when his hand came up and slapped you fully on the ass. 

He watched your laughter die in your throat, replaced by a delicious whimper. He caressed the place he had hit, softly brushing his palm against the soft material of your leggings before his other hand settled around your throat. You moaned as he gave it a gentle squeeze, and he felt pre-cum drip from his slit. 

“What happened to your tongue?” he mocked. You said nothing, opting to nod eagerly as he lifted his hand.

He smacked you again, watching you roll your head back as pleasure and pain melted on your skin. 

You proffered him your throat so sweetly, and he squeezed it gently, the contrast between his soft hold on your neck and his firm grip on your ass flooding your cotton leggings. 

Fucking leggings. They did nothing to hide how beautiful you were. 

Your cheeks warm from the flush of blood to your skin, and your moans filled the room around him. The fireworks were sounding off triumphantly, coating the room in flashes of color, yet his eyes never wavered from you. 

You were exquisite. 

“Did you learn your lesson, kitten?” He let his hand wander to your lower back before he took a handful of ass and squeezed. 

“Aaron- Aaron-” You chanted his name, begging for more. 

You were so pliant. So perfect. Just for him. 

“Or do you need more?”

“Aaron–”

“How badly do you want me?” he whispered, his voice rough with arousal. 

“Please don’t make me beg,” you gasped.

“Sweetheart, I’ll do as I damn please.”

He saw an opening, quite literally, as your legs parted to try and grind on his knee, searching for release, for friction, for anything he wouldn’t provide. He repositioned you, but he slipped a hand between your warm folds, feeling how damp the leggings were where you tried to swallow his hand between your thighs. 

“Soaking your leggings already,” he said, his voice a strange mix of stifled pride and feigned disapproval. 

His own arousal started to ache, but he was focused on you. He would make sure you’d remember this, that you’d craved this, that you’d ask for more, and that you’d be his more than just tonight. 

“I think you need more,” he decided aloud for you.

“Please– please–” you pleaded, pride vanishing as he continued to drag the pads of his fingers over your soaked leggings.

It took all of his considerable resolve to resist you, but he was determined to have you reduced to a mess of incoherent sounds harmoniously coating his ears. 

“I asked you to be quiet, sweetheart.”

You moaned loudly at the gravel of his scolding voice. 

It seemed he would have to keep you quiet himself.

He smacked your ass once more, and this time, instead of squeezing your throat, he brought his fingers towards your mouth, tapping on your lips and hoping you’d get the message. 

You opened your mouth so obediently, and he sank his fingers inside, stuffing you with his hand as best as he could, keeping you quiet at last.

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” he teased as he pushed them in a little deeper.

You sucked on his fingers in agreement, and he hissed loudly, smacking your ass which had to be sore by now. He longed to be buried inside you and feel how wet you were for him. 

As much as he enjoyed taming the brat out of you, he knew there was no ill intent behind your jokes. You teased the ones you loved,  and he was honored to be included in that group. Besides, he found you so funny that he had a hard time wanting to punish you for it. He compromised with himself by keeping you quiet as his fingers toyed with the damp fabric.

“Are you going to be a good girl now or do I need to shut you up with something else?” 

You moaned loudly in response. 

His dick throbbed and twitched, and he would have to think about his mother’s oatmeal not to come if he felt your lips around his length. 

He removed his fingers from your mouth, propping you up on his lap as his hands roamed over your back soothingly. 

“I’m going to be good, I swear,” you said with the same coy smile that had just gotten you put over his knee. 

You let your body crash against his, and he hugged you close as he stroked your back. 

He smiled, knowing your silence was a testament to your desire for him to touch you.

“Prove it, sweet girl. Prove me how good you can be.”

You really should not have been surprised that his cock was this big; that he would fill your mouth without even having to try.

His hips moved of their own accord the more you sucked, and the more saltiness coated your tongue, the more his thighs quivered, the more his groans made your chest swell with pride. 

“Such a good girl,” he cooed. 

His praise only spurred you on, lapping at his tanginess before you sucked harder on the head, flattening your tongue on the underside of his cock to make his hips buck. 

“See, the thing is, men like blowjobs for the peace and quiet–” he tried to say before a bob of your head halted his words. 

You were terribly good at this game, and you had no intention of losing. You fondled his balls to keep him quiet, deep-throating him in one go. You choked on him, swallowing around him as you tried to breathe through your nose and tears welled in your eyes. 

When you looked up at him, he collected the spit on your chin with his thumb and he practically purred. “Ahh, fuck–” 

His eyes were set on you, and as much as his tender gaze made your skin prickle in delight, he had been so intent on seeing the fireworks earlier that you stopped sucking him off, looking up at him from under your eyelashes. 

You pointed behind you at the sky still lighting up in various colors, wondering how long you had until D.C. grew quiet. “Wouldn’t want you to miss the show,” you remarked, still pumping his wet length with your hand, tracing the vein on his shaft with your tongue. 

He cursed your name, but he was already slack-jawed and shaking, his dark eyes hooded with lust. 

He grabbed your arms to bring you up and he lunged forward, his mouth landing on your wet lips, searing you in a fiery kiss as his tongue swirled with yours. 

You sat on his lap, kissing him back with the raw desire that overwhelmed you as his fingers touched your spine, grazing it with featherlight touches amidst the scorching passion that was setting you on fire from head to toe. 

He grinned from ear to ear with a glint in his eyes. “We’re not going to miss a minute of that show, sweetheart.”

He disappeared down the hallway, leaving you panting and painfully aroused. Moments later, he  came back with his cock wrapped in a condom, and before you could joke about his eagerness to fuck you before his bedtime, he brought you out on the balcony, making you brace your hands on the railing as he entered you swiftly from behind. 

He was so incredibly stiff and large that the breach caught you off-guard, making you whimper as he stretched you out without preparation.

“You were about to say something, my dear brat. I had to shut you up,” he scolded, a soft hand patting your back.

You were wet enough for him to be able to slide right in, but the pain of the intrusion blinded you like a firework had gone off inches from your nose. It felt absolutely addicting how he had carefully mixed pleasure and pain. 

“You’re clenching so hard right now–” he added, his hand finding your pussy and resting there. “You’re drenching me and I’m all wrapped up. You’re making a mess, dirty girl.” 

He gently flicked your clit, making you shudder until all you could feel was the tingle in your extremities. 

You saw people under you, walking in and out of the building. 

“Aaron–” you tried to warn. 

He didn’t relent, his finger faster on your clit. “Shh, my sweet girl. We wouldn’t want people to look up, now, would we?”

Holy shit.

“Tell me when I can move,” he croaked, his tone betraying how close he already was. 

He continued to make you feel good with a finger on your clit, making you incredibly aware that you had to hold yourself up on the railing. 

“Go slow,” you panted.

Fortunately, Aaron was done with the taming, and he thrusted so gently, you wondered if he was pacing himself or actually making love to you. 

Those words had never made sense before now. You had fucked plenty, but this was different. He was sweet, caring, and thoughtful in the way he was taking you, and while he had entered you impatiently, he was taking his time to savor this, to make you feel good. 

He hit your g-spot each time he fully sheathed his length inside you, and with his finger on your clit, with the depth of your feelings for him, it didn’t take long for you to tremble and bite your upper arm to refrain from screaming his name into the air. 

“Mine. You are mine,” he grunted. 

You nodded, doing your best to keep your face from hitting the railing as he plunged into you once more. “I am yours.”

“You. Are. Mine. Not just tonight,” he drawled. 

Apparently, when you had said you were his tonight, he had taken it as a personal offense. 

“Aaron, I am yours for as long as you’ll have me,” you whispered.

You usually made jokes to make light of serious situations, but not now. He deserved your most sincere self. 

He rubbed at your clit with renewed vigor, making the coil in your stomach tighten and rip before you could warn him. His hips stilled almost at the same time, and he hissed curses and praises of your name as you felt him fill the condom with his hot seed. Your clenching walls choked around him, milking his own orgasm out of his balls until every last drop had been emptied into the rubber. 

Aaron grabbed you and moved you inside, slipping out of you and making you miss the full feeling already. He kissed you tenderly, keeping you close to him. 

He was about to kneel when you stopped him, cupping his face with adoration. “I am way too tired for this,” you admitted with a laugh. Admitting your feelings for someone was draining enough without the mindblowing orgasm.

“And here I thought I’d have to stay up past my bedtime with you,” he teased.

“Let me nap and we’ll see.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” he agreed, taking your hand and leading you towards his room. “After all, you were such a good girl. You deserve a reward.”

You looked over your shoulder once again, seeing what appeared to be the grand finale of the fireworks for tonight. 

People often say they see stars when the sex is really good, but as far as you were concerned, fireworks were way better.

Nothing was sweeter than your essence, nothing was more delightful than the sounds you were making in his bedroom as if his name was the best chorus you had ever sung. 

He purred the second you pulled his hair as you came, thrashing against his face as you drenched him with your nectar. He didn’t stop until the only thing you could do was mewl his name over and over again, your thighs squeezing his head in and keeping him firmly in place. 

He was proud to see that you had made a mess of his sheets. He would have to change them sometime before he would wash you along with himself, but that was an issue for another time after he had shown you just how beautiful you were to him. 

He lapped at your juices, nestling his face between your thighs before slowly trailing his lips up to seal your lips into a hungry kiss, making you taste what he had gathered on his tongue. He hummed as you entangled yourself with him even more, his hips still searching for friction even though he was empty.

He lay on his side, loving how you instantly cuddled into his arms. He kissed the top of your head as you still rode waves of pleasure, stroking your back with his fingertips. 

Your hands were holding onto his waist, and he had to hide his face in the crook of your neck when he felt you grab a handful of him there. You buried a hand into his hair, making him groan against your skin in the process.

“Why are you touching my love handles?” he breathed. 

“They’re incredibly attractive. Just more of you to love.”

Love?

Aaron was taken aback enough to frown and look into your eyes, finding no mischievous glint or hint of teasing anywhere. 

“You heard me correctly,” you added, cradling his face as if he was precious. 

He kissed your lips in place of a reply, pouring what he could into a gesture rather than words, and he held you firmly in place, pinning you under his weight.

He pulled back just enough to grin at you, his eyes no doubt sparkling with adoration.

“Should we get in the shower?” he suggested. 

You followed him back into his bedroom, and he offered you a tee shirt with a heartwarming smile right before he put on his pajamas. You pulled it on quickly, the cold air of the room replaced by his warm scent. He sat on the edge of his bed, watching you tug at the hem of his shirt with one of his strange half-smiles. 

“Will you stay?” he asked, his eyes begging you not to leave. 

“Do you want me to?”

He nodded, his brows furrowed but his eyes never straying from yours.

“Then I’m staying. But you'd better treat me to some waffles in the morning.”

There was no doubt in your mind that you would have stayed whether he had offered or not. His actions spoke louder than whatever he could say, and it was obvious he wanted you here.

“Oh, sweet girl, I promise there will be waffles.”

He offered you his hand, and you accepted it, allowing him to tug you into bed with him.

You snuggled into his side the second you were under the fresh covers, finding his warmth and cuddly body to be everything you had ever wanted. 

You woke up entangled in his limbs a few hours later. It was still dark outside. The city had finally come to a halt, and silence hung in the air. 

You glanced at the alarm clock, careful to not disturb him. 

3 am. You were familiar with the peacefulness night provided. 

His face was plastered in the crook of your neck and blowing hot air onto it. You gently caressed his hair, making him groan sleepily and his eyelashes tickled your skin. He planted a gentle kiss on your neck before he traced your jaw with soft sleepy kisses.

“What time is it?” he muttered. 

“Still night. Sleep,” you replied, patting his head and massaging his scalp. 

“Don’t leave,” he pleaded, clutching you so tightly you weren’t sure where his body ended and yours started. 

“I won’t.”

He groaned and his soft snores filled the room again within seconds.

You held him in your arms, vowing you’d never let go before he did because tonight he had called you his, and that was by far your favorite thing to be called. 

-------

taglist: @ssamorganhotchner @mrs-ssa-hotch @ssa-tahlia-obsessions @rousethemouse @criminalskies @persephonewritessometimes @hotchsdoormat @sweetnightowl @morgthemagpie @a-cloud-for-dreams @hausoflove @simp4f1 @alexxavicry @angelmather1 @hotchsdharma

Masterlist main masterlist request

Aaron and his family on a vacation

THE WAY YOU WRITE HOTCH IS ASDFGHJKL, and it makes me wanna scream because I love him so much lol. Can I request "Using pet names" drabble prompt with shy!reader? <3

Hi!! Thank you!!! Thanks so much for requesting a short drabble! I had so much fun writing this one! I hope you enjoy!

Drabble Prompts | Other Writing | Ao3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Shy!Fem!Reader!

Word Count: 2k

Rating: Everyone

TW: None!

I find myself runnin' home to your sweet nothings

It’s you who lets a pet name slip out the first time. 

The warm, aromatic scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as you and Aaron Hotchner sat across from each other at your favorite corner café. It wasn’t often that the two of you found time for a peaceful moment away from the intensity of the BAU, but today, you both managed to sneak out for a late lunch. The soft hum of conversation around you created a cozy atmosphere, making you feel more relaxed than usual.

You sipped your cappuccino, smiling softly as you watched Aaron flip through the menu. He had a slight furrow in his brow, clearly debating over what to order, which made you smile. The rare moments where he looked just like any other person—calm, laid back, and not buried under mountains of paperwork or the weight of cases—made you appreciate these quiet times even more.

“What are you thinking?” you asked, tilting your head as you glanced over the options yourself. “The sandwich you always get?”

Aaron looked up from the menu, his lips curling into a small, amused smile. “Am I that predictable?”

“Maybe a little,” you teased, feeling more comfortable in the easy, casual environment.

He chuckled, setting the menu down. “I suppose I do tend to stick to what I know. What about you?”

You shrugged, staring down at the menu, though you had already decided. “Probably the soup. It’s always good here.”

Aaron nodded, and as you both settled on your orders, the conversation flowed easily. It always did with him, despite the butterflies you couldn’t help but feel when you were around him. Even though you were naturally shy, there was something about Hotch that always made you feel at ease, even if his quiet intensity sometimes made your heart race.

After the waitress took your order and left, you leaned back in your chair, watching the way Aaron absentmindedly tapped his fingers on the table. It was one of his subtle habits that you had grown to notice. It was like he always had to be doing something—thinking, analyzing—even in the most relaxed moments. But now, there was a softness in his expression that made you feel warm inside.

“I’m glad we could get out today,” you said quietly, smiling. “It’s nice to just… take a break with you.”

His eyes softened as he looked at you, his voice just as gentle when he replied, “I’m glad too. We don’t get to do this nearly enough.”

Your heart fluttered at the way he said it, like these moments meant just as much to him as they did to you. There was a calmness in his presence that you’d come to cherish. You felt safe, cared for, even in the little things, like how he always made sure your coffee was topped up before getting his own or how he positioned himself in a way that made you feel like the world could disappear for a while.

Before you could think, the words slipped out: “You’re sweet, you know that, babe?”

The second the word left your lips, you froze. Your eyes widened slightly, and your hand came up to cover your mouth in surprise. You hadn’t meant to say it—not “babe.” It wasn’t a word you had ever used with him before, and certainly not in public. It just slipped out, so naturally, as if it had been sitting there, waiting to make its debut.

You braced yourself for his reaction, your cheeks already turning pink from embarrassment, but when you looked up, you were met with a look of pure amusement on Aaron’s face.

“Babe?” he repeated, arching an eyebrow as a slow, teasing smile spread across his lips. His voice was filled with warmth and playfulness. “Did I just hear that right?”

You felt your face heat up, but you weren’t exactly embarrassed, just a little flustered by how easily the word had slipped. “I, uh… I didn’t mean—well, I did, but…”

Aaron chuckled, leaning forward slightly, his eyes dancing with amusement. “No need to backtrack now,” he teased. “I have to admit, I didn’t see that one coming.”

You pressed your lips together, trying to hide the shy smile threatening to spill out. “I guess it just… slipped out.”

“Slipped out, huh?” He rested his chin in his hand, watching you with that signature smirk of his. “I think I like it.”

“Really?” You blinked, surprised by his reaction.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning back in his chair, clearly enjoying your flustered state. “It’s got a nice ring to it. But I have to say, I wasn’t expecting you to be the one to start with the pet names.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Well, I guess there’s a first for everything.”

Aaron’s gaze softened as he reached across the table and gently placed his hand over yours. His thumb brushed lightly against your knuckles, his touch warm and reassuring. “You don’t need to be so shy about it,” he said, his voice gentle. “I think it’s cute.”

Your blush deepened at his words, but this time, you didn’t shy away. “I’m not shy… just cautious,” you said, feeling more playful than usual.

He chuckled again, the sound deep and soothing. “Well, I’d like to hear it again sometime… babe.” He teased further. 

The way he said the word sent a wave of warmth through you, and you found yourself grinning, unable to contain it any longer. “I think I can manage that.”

The teasing smile never left his face as he held your gaze. “Good, because I think you’re stuck with it now.”

You laughed, feeling more comfortable and at ease than ever. “And what about you?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Are you going to start calling me pet names too?”

Aaron’s expression softened as he considered it for a moment, then leaned in a little closer. “I think I can manage that,” he said, his voice low and affectionate. “How about ‘sweetheart’? Or maybe ‘honey’? I’ve got a few in mind.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, unable to hide the smile spreading across your face. “I guess I can live with that.”

“Good,” he said with a satisfied smile, giving your hand one more gentle squeeze. “Because I plan on using them a lot.”

It wasn’t soon after that, that Aaron began using them more regularly. Something about hearing him say these endearing names still managed to put butterflies in your stomach.

Tonight, the BAU office was quiet. The bustling activity of the day had finally settled down, and most of the team had left for the night. Aaron Hotchner sat at his desk, the soft glow of his desk lamp illuminating the pile of paperwork he still needed to get through. His focus wavered as he heard a familiar soft knock at his door.

“Come in,” his deep voice called, calm yet commanding, as always.

You peeked your head in, offering a small, shy smile as your eyes met his. You had been working late as well, trying to tie up loose ends from the case you’d just closed. But it wasn’t the case that brought you to his office. It was him.

“Hi,” you said softly, stepping inside and closing the door gently behind you.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Aaron replied, a warmth spreading through his tone that he only ever used with you. It was one of those things that made your heart flutter, even after all this time together. “What are you still doing here?”

You shrugged, walking over to him as you wrung your hands nervously. You never quite got used to how he looked at you, that mixture of care and admiration, like you were the only person in the world when he set his eyes on you.

“I just... wanted to see you before I left,” you murmured, standing in front of his desk. “And I figured you’d still be here working.”

Aaron’s lips curved into a small smile as he leaned back in his chair, his hand extending toward you. “C’mere, honey.”

You took his hand, your heart speeding up at the simple touch, and he gently pulled you into his lap. You blushed, settling into the familiar warmth of his embrace as his arms wrapped securely around you. The door was closed, and you were alone with him—one of the rare moments when you didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing or the walls he kept up as the BAU’s stoic leader.

“You work too hard,” you whispered softly, leaning your head against his shoulder. “You need to rest.”

“I could say the same thing about you,” he replied, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “You’re always looking after me, aren’t you?”

“I try,” you giggled, your shyness melting away a little in his presence. “Someone has to.”

His thumb stroked gently along your arm, and he kissed the top of your head again, this time lingering just a bit longer. “My sweet girl,” he whispered against your hair, his voice low and affectionate.

The pet name--your favorite pet name--sent a rush of warmth through you, making you hide your face against his neck as your cheeks burned. Aaron chuckled softly, clearly amused by your reaction.

“You’re so cute when you blush,” he said quietly, his hand lifting to cup your cheek. “I told you I planned on using these names a lot,” There was a comfortable pause,  “How did I get so lucky to have you in my life?”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you tilted your head slightly to meet his gaze. Even after everything you’d been through together—the cases, the danger, the long nights—he always found a way to make you feel like you were the most important thing in his world.

“I think I’m the lucky one,” you admitted shyly, your fingers tracing small patterns on his chest. “You’ve always been there for me, Hotch.”

“Hey,” he interrupted gently, his fingers lifting your chin so that you were looking into his warm brown eyes. “What did I tell you about that? Call me Aaron when we’re like this.”

“Aaron,” you corrected with a small smile, loving how his name sounded on your lips in these moments.

“That’s better,” he whispered, his lips brushing lightly against yours. “My sweet girl.”

You melted into the kiss, your hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders as you felt the familiar comfort and safety of being in his arms. Aaron’s kiss was soft and gentle, his way of showing you how much he cared without words. When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing as he held you close.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible but filled with sincerity.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he replied without hesitation, the words leaving his lips easily now after everything you’d been through together. “Always.”

You smiled against his lips as he kissed you once more, longer this time, savoring the peaceful moment between you. There were no worries here, no cases or paperwork—just the two of you, wrapped up in each other and the sweet nothings that passed between you.

In his arms, you felt like you were home. And with him calling you all those sweet names, you knew this was exactly where you were meant to be.

Tag List

Between Almost and Always

AN: This one got away from me! I meant for it to be, like...a few thousand words, but now we're at over 10k...so...

Other Writing | Ao3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female!Reader

Word Count: 14.2k !!

Rating: Mature

Tags/TW: Canon-typical violence, canon-typical themes, angst, fluff, kinda fade-to-black smut, read-between-the-lines-smut, happy ending...but it takes some time to get there!

Summary: You and Aaron Hotchner share a bond that runs deeper than either of you dares to acknowledge. Caught between the demands of the BAU and the unspoken pull toward each other, you both struggle to balance your feelings with the fears that keep you apart. As fate and duty continue to intervene, Hotch's silent sacrifices and your unrelenting hope create a tension that neither time nor distance can dissolve, leaving you both to wonder if love will ever break through the almosts and become an always.

The BAU had been your home for as long as you could remember. The team wasn't just a collection of brilliant minds and seasoned agents—they were your family. Together, you moved through darkness, confronting the most twisted parts of humanity. You learned to trust each other with more than just your lives; you entrusted one another with your secrets, your flaws, your fears.

And then, there was Aaron Hotchner.

Hotch was more than just your boss; he was the still center of the storm that raged around you all. He was the steady force that pulled you back when the horrors of the world threatened to consume you. You could always find him standing in the eye of the chaos, unyielding and calm, eyes that spoke of experience, wisdom, and a profound sadness he rarely allowed anyone to see.

But with you, he was different.

From the start, there was something unspoken between you—a magnetic pull that neither of you dared to acknowledge, yet both of you felt with every fiber of your being. It was in the way his eyes lingered just a heartbeat too long, the softening of his voice when he said your name and the brief touches that seemed to hold entire conversations in their warmth.

In quiet moments, when the rest of the world faded, you’d find yourself stealing glances at him, and he'd catch you, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly as if you were sharing a secret no one else could understand. You knew there was something more—something that danced just beyond the reach of words, beyond logic and reason. A bond that went deeper than friendship, stronger than mere attraction. Yet despite the simmering undercurrent, despite all the things you never said, the timing was never right.

Hotch had always been a man of unwavering principle. After Haley’s death, he’d sworn to himself that he would never let his personal life interfere with his work. The guilt he carried from losing her was a shadow that darkened even his brightest moments. It wasn't just the fear of losing someone he cared about—it was the dread of watching the life he touched crumble under the weight of his own demons. He vowed to protect those he loved by keeping them at a distance, believing that his presence was a curse rather than a gift.

But you slipped through his defenses, inch by inch. You, with your unwavering loyalty, your quiet strength, your ability to see straight through his carefully constructed walls. You were the one who saw the Aaron behind the Agent, the man behind the mask. The way you looked at him—like he was not just the leader of your team but a man worthy of being loved—made something inside him soften, something he thought he'd lost long ago.

And maybe that was why he yearned for you. Because you made him believe in a life, he thought was no longer possible for him. You made him dream of stolen moments in a world that wasn’t constantly closing in on him, of lazy Sunday mornings and the warmth of a hand that never let go.

But he was afraid. Afraid that the darkness within him would eventually touch you, hurt you, consume the light you brought into his world. He convinced himself that walking away was the only way to protect you, even if it meant tearing himself apart.

There was an unspoken understanding between the two of you—a silent thread that bound you to Hotch from the moment you joined the BAU. It was the kind of connection that didn’t need words, a gravity that even the team couldn’t ignore. 

JJ, ever the quiet observer, would offer you soft smiles of encouragement, always ready to be your confidante if you ever chose to cross that invisible line. 

Morgan, on the other hand, would tease with that trademark grin of his, throwing out playful jabs to lighten the weight of the tension, hoping his humor might just snap the taut string between you and Hotch. 

Penelope, never one to miss the signs of a budding romance, was less subtle—her eyes practically sparkling with mischief each time she saw you together. 

But it was Reid’s comments that surprised you the most; when even he, with his logical mind, started to speak of soulmates and fated bonds, you knew the connection between you and Hotch wasn’t just something in your head—it was written all over your lives for everyone to see.

It was Seattle, but it could have been anywhere. The rain fell in that relentless way it does in the Pacific Northwest as if the sky itself was unburdening its sorrows. The case had been brutal, a sickening reminder of the cruelty humans are capable of, and though you were all seasoned in darkness, this one had taken a toll on the team.

The unsub had left behind a trail of devastation, each victim a silent cry for help that no one had answered in time. You’d felt it gnaw at your spirit, the failure, the grief, the knowledge that no matter how hard you fought, you couldn’t save them all. The team had dispersed after the long hours of paperwork, retreating to their rooms, each of them carrying the weight in their own way.

But you and Aaron Hotchner—you never went to your rooms. You both sought out the solace of the hotel bar, that quiet space where the world could blur at the edges, where reality was softened by the amber glow of dim lights and the low hum of meaningless conversation. You sat side by side, both of you holding drinks you barely touched, more for the comfort of their warmth than the promise of their escape.

Hotch looked different in the dim light—more human somehow, less like the unshakeable leader who never flinched in the face of terror. The lines etched in his face seemed deeper, the shadows under his eyes more pronounced. He was a man who carried the world on his shoulders, and tonight, it was almost too much to bear.

You’d been through enough with him to know that silence was sometimes the best language, that the quiet between you could speak volumes. You didn’t need to fill the air with words because everything you could have said was already there, in the spaces between your breaths, in the way your hands rested on the bar, inches apart but worlds away.

Then, in a voice that was softer than the rain outside, you said, "Aaron."

It was the first time you’d called him that—not Hotch, not sir—just Aaron. His name felt like an invocation, a secret on your tongue, like you were stepping across a line that you could never uncross. His name tasted like honesty, like the beginnings of something that had been simmering for so long you’d almost convinced yourself it was only in your imagination.

In this moment, you knew everything you wanted to say--all of those stolen looks, touches, and feelings that were so powerful between you two--was written all over your face. Written so clearly not even a profiler was needed to decipher your looks. Yet, here he was, the best known to man.

He turned to you, and in his eyes, you saw a flicker of vulnerability, a glimpse of the man beneath the armor, the man who had been shaped and scarred by his past. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to pause; the weight of a thousand unspoken words filled the air between you.

"Sometimes, I think about how different things might be if I wasn’t who I am," he said, his voice barely a whisper, like he was afraid the confession might break something sacred between you.

He wasn't just talking about the job; he was talking about the man he had become because of it. The man who had lost his wife, who carried the guilt of her death like a second skin. The man who was both the protector and the prisoner of his own choices. You knew what he meant because you had seen it in his eyes so many times before, that yearning for a life untouched by tragedy, a life where he could love without fear, without the shadows of the past lurking in the background.

You opened your mouth to tell him that none of it mattered to you—that you’d take him as he was, battle-scarred and beautiful, that you’d hold every shattered piece of him and never let go. You were ready to say that you didn't need him to be anything but himself, that you’d seen all his flaws and loved him not despite them, but because of them.

But then, his phone buzzed, its vibration cutting through the fragile moment like a knife. You saw the shift in his eyes, the way the warmth turned to a kind of resigned acceptance. It was Jack, his son, his anchor to the real world. Jack was the reason Hotch still fought and still believed in goodness even when everything around him suggested otherwise.

He looked at you, and in his gaze, there was a depth of regret that you felt in your bones. An apology for the life he couldn’t lead, the words he couldn’t say. An unspoken I wish things were different, echoing louder than any spoken declaration ever could.

You forced a smile, swallowing the ache in your throat. "Go," you said gently. "He needs you."

And as he stood to leave, his hand brushed yours, a touch so fleeting yet so full of longing that it nearly undid you. It was the softest of goodbyes, a promise wrapped in sorrow. You watched him walk away, the rain outside blurring into streaks against the window, and all you could think was that love wasn’t supposed to feel like this—like reaching out in the dark, only to find that the light you’d longed for had slipped through your fingers once more.

You were left sitting there, alone in the bar that smelled faintly of smoke and regret, with the knowledge that sometimes the cruelest thing about love is knowing it exists but remains just out of reach. You knew, even then, that no matter how many almosts there were between you, fate would always find a way to keep you apart.

Because Aaron Hotchner was a man bound by duty and sacrifice, and you were a dream he could never quite allow himself to have.

From that quiet night in the Seattle hotel bar, time seemed to stretch out like a thin, fraying thread—pulling taut with every stolen glance, every touch that lingered just a second too long. You and Hotch fell back into the rhythm of your work, the familiar dance of chasing monsters and saving lives. Yet, something between you had shifted, a barely perceptible change that echoed louder than words.

In the weeks and months that followed, you found yourself noticing the small things—how Hotch would watch over you during tense moments in the field, his eyes always tracking your movements as if to ensure you were safe. The way his hand would brush against yours as he passed you a file, the touch so brief and unintentional, yet burning like a brand. There were times, in the quiet of the bullpen, when you’d look up from your desk to find him already watching you, his gaze softening in a way that he never let slip when anyone else was around.

You tried to convince yourself that you were imagining it, that you were reading too much into the way his voice grew softer when he spoke to you, or the way he always seemed to stand just a little too close. But then there were moments that shattered that illusion—like when your laughter would ring out in the middle of a tough day, and his eyes would light up, his guarded expression slipping for a fraction of a second, as if you were the only thing in the room he could see. The unspoken words hung between you like stars on a cloudy night, visible yet just out of reach, a constellation of almosts that never entirely formed a complete picture.

And through it all, you both remained silent, bound by your own hesitations, afraid to name what was so painfully obvious. For Hotch, the shadows of his past and the weight of his responsibilities were chains that held him back, making him believe that to love you was to invite disaster into your life. He buried his feelings under layers of duty and self-sacrifice, convincing himself that he was doing it for your sake, that by keeping his distance, he was somehow protecting you from the darkness that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

So you carried on, both pretending that the universe hadn't already decided for you—that fate hadn't already entwined your lives in a way that neither of you could untangle. And yet, as much as you tried to ignore it, there were those fleeting moments when the world seemed to fade away, and all that was left was the space between you—the space that felt like both a chasm and a promise, waiting for one of you to be brave enough to cross it.

It was in that aching silence that the night at Rossi’s found you, once again surrounded by your team, the people who could see more clearly than you could what was hidden in plain sight. And though you tried to bury the truth, to tuck your feelings into the corner of your heart where they couldn’t hurt you, you knew. You both knew. The gravity that pulled you toward each other was unyielding, relentless—a force that neither time nor circumstance could weaken, even if it was never enough to bring you fully together.

The evening at Rossi’s had a kind of stillness that only follows a storm. The team had just closed the book on a case that left its mark, one of those that burrowed under your skin and lingered in your thoughts long after it was over. The shadows of the day seemed to melt into the twilight as the sun dipped low, painting the sky in hues of amber and rose. Fireflies blinked like tiny lanterns, and the warm breeze carried the scent of pine and summer grass.

The team was scattered across Rossi’s backyard, laughter ringing out beneath the string lights that swayed gently in the evening air. You were there, surrounded by your found family, your laughter rising above the hum of cicadas, infectious and free, as Garcia told some outrageous story that made you double over with mirth. Your joy was like sunlight breaking through the clouds, and for a moment, the weight of the world seemed lighter.

Aaron Hotchner stood on the outskirts of the gathering, a glass of whiskey cradled in his hand, his eyes fixed on you. He didn’t join in the laughter, but his expression had softened, the hard edges of his face smoothed out by the glow of the setting sun. There was something in the way he looked at you—something almost tender as if he were memorizing the way you threw your head back when you laughed, the way your eyes crinkled with genuine delight. At that moment, he wasn’t SSA Aaron Hotchner, leader of the BAU; he was just a man standing at the edge of a life he wished he could have.

Morgan, always the perceptive one, followed Hotch’s gaze, shaking his head with a knowing smile. He stepped closer, clapping a hand on Hotch’s shoulder, breaking the spell for just a second.

"Man, you’re hopeless," Morgan said with a chuckle that was both amused and sympathetic. "We all see it. You look at her like she’s the only thing that matters. When are you gonna do something about it?"

Hotch’s eyes never left you, but the smile that touched his lips was small and tinged with sadness—a bittersweet acknowledgment of everything he wanted but couldn’t have. His voice was quiet, almost resigned, as he finally spoke. "I can’t, Derek," he said, his words heavy with a truth he could never quite shake. "She deserves more than the life I can offer her right now. She deserves someone who can give her the world, not a man whose world is constantly at risk of falling apart."

The admission was laced with more than just sorrow—it was drenched in regret, a painful awareness that his love for you would never be enough to protect you from the darkness that seemed to follow him wherever he went. Hotch knew better than anyone that love wasn’t just about wanting someone; it was about knowing what you could give them in return. And he feared that all he had to offer was a life shadowed by danger, weighed down by the ghosts of every case that stole another piece of his soul.

Morgan opened his mouth to argue, to tell him that love didn’t wait for the perfect moment or the perfect person, but he stopped himself. He knew that when it came to matters of the heart, Aaron Hotchner was a fortress of caution and restraint, too afraid to let the cracks show, too afraid to believe he could have something beautiful that might one day break.

And you—you didn’t hear the words exchanged between them, but you felt the gravity of Hotch’s gaze, that unguarded moment when his eyes met yours across the yard. It was the kind of look that pierced right through the armor you both wore, a silent confession in the space between heartbeats. He looked at you like you were the axis his world revolved around, like every laugh, every smile you gave, was a flicker of light in his otherwise dark universe.

Your breath hitched at the intensity of his stare, and for a split second, you thought that maybe—just maybe—he might finally cross the line he’d drawn so carefully between the two of you. But then, as always, you saw that familiar wall go back up, the flicker of vulnerability snuffed out by the burden of his unspoken promises and his own fears.

You turned away, laughter still ringing in your ears, but your heart was heavy with a sadness that you couldn't quite shake. You knew he was holding back not because he didn’t care but because he cared too much. And it ached, that knowledge—that you were both standing in your own way, two people reaching out from opposite sides of a canyon that life and circumstance had carved between you.

As you walked away, you felt the weight of his gaze on your back, a tether that pulled at you even as you drifted further apart. You wanted to turn back, to tell him that you didn’t need the world or some perfect life. All you needed was him—flawed, guarded, and broken in all the ways that mattered. But you knew he wouldn’t believe you, wouldn’t let himself believe that he could be someone’s happiness without also being their ruin.

And so, you let the moment pass, another almost in a series of almosts, knowing that sometimes love wasn’t about grand gestures or perfect endings. Sometimes, it was about the quiet moments in between, the ones where two souls recognized each other even when they were too afraid to meet halfway.

After that evening at Rossi’s backyard, the dynamic between you and Hotch seemed to settle into an unbearable kind of stillness, a delicate balancing act of emotions held just beneath the surface. 

He’d let his guard down for a fleeting moment, letting you glimpse the ache he tried so hard to hide, only to pull it back up as if regretting that he’d ever let it slip. 

You went back to the familiar routine of the BAU, solving cases and chasing unsubs, but something between you both had shifted—like a door that had been cracked open only to be slammed shut again. Each day felt like another opportunity slipping away; another chance lost to the silence of everything that went unsaid. The weight of his unspoken words hung in the air, suffocating, and you could feel time pressing in on you like a vice, the years ticking by with no promise of change. 

You tried to convince yourself that maybe this was all it would ever be—glances that lingered too long and conversations that always stopped just short of the truth.

So when a kind, reliable man came into your life, someone who was willing to build a future without hesitation, you let yourself be swept into the idea of a relationship that wasn’t built on waiting. 

You told yourself you couldn’t spend your life pining for a man who stood so close yet always seemed miles away, a man who looked at you like you were his entire world but still refused to reach out and hold it. 

And with that, you let go—at least on the surface—even though a part of you would always belong to the moments you’d shared with Aaron Hotchner, the almosts that could never quite become enough.

The day you started seeing someone new was the day you felt the invisible thread between you and Hotch snap—an agonizing, almost audible break in the connection that had always existed between you. 

You hadn’t planned on it happening like this, hadn’t intended for your heart to be caught between what could never be and what felt like a practical choice. But you were in your late twenties, and the ticking clock of your life seemed to grow louder with each passing year. You wanted a family, stability, a love that wasn’t constantly waiting in the shadows, and when he came along—a man who was kind, steady, and good on paper—you thought, maybe this was what you needed.

The team noticed almost immediately. You’d see their eyes dart toward Hotch whenever you mentioned your new boyfriend, a flicker of sympathy crossing their faces as if they knew what was happening but didn’t dare voice it. You tried to ignore it, tried to convince yourself that you were doing the right thing, that this man who wasn’t Aaron Hotchner was exactly what you needed to build a life you could actually count on.

But Hotch—he changed in a way you never expected. The warmth that used to live in his eyes when he looked at you vanished, replaced by something colder, something that felt like stone. He started keeping his distance, treating you with the same detached professionalism he gave to the world outside of the BAU. The touches that once lingered were gone, the secret smiles erased as if they’d never existed. He barely spoke to you unless it was about a case, his words clipped and precise, stripped of any softness.

It was a cruel irony, really. The more you tried to move on, the further he pulled away, until it felt like the bond you’d shared—the bond that had carried you through late-night stakeouts and whispered conversations in empty corridors—had disappeared entirely. It was as though the universe had taken back every promise it had silently made between the two of you.

One evening, you caught him watching you across the bullpen as you spoke on the phone with your boyfriend, your voice soft and your laughter genuine, or at least you tried to make it sound that way. You could feel Hotch’s gaze burning into you, a raw, aching sadness in his eyes, but there was something else too—something darker, twisted with regret and jealousy.

He turned away before you could meet his gaze, his jaw clenched, the tendons in his neck tight with restraint. And later, when you tried to approach him, to bridge the widening chasm between you, he was cold, distant in a way that sliced right through you. His answers were short, his tone indifferent, as if you were just another colleague, just another piece in the puzzle he had to solve.

“Hotch,” you said one evening when the distance between you became too much to bear, when you needed to understand why he’d turned his back on you so completely. “Why are you shutting me out?”

He looked at you then, his eyes hardened, his face a mask of stoic control, but there was a flicker of something beneath the surface—something that looked like hurt. "I'm not shutting you out," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I respect your choice. You made it clear that you’re moving on, and I’m just...following your lead."

The words stung more than you thought they would, like a slap to the face disguised as an apology. You wanted to scream that it wasn’t about moving on—it was about not being able to wait forever, not being able to live in this limbo of almosts and what-ifs--That you were tired of loving a man who wouldn’t allow himself to be loved back.

How could you move on when he could never take the leap of faith to even admit he felt what you were feeling so deeply inside. 

But you couldn’t say those things to him. Because deep down, you knew that your new relationship was a compromise, a safety net you’d cast beneath your heart to keep it from breaking any further. This man you were seeing—he was everything you thought you should want. He was stable, he was kind, he was willing to build a future. But he wasn’t Aaron Hotchner.

And maybe that was the cruelest part of it all—knowing that no matter how hard you tried to move forward, your heart would always circle back to him, to the man who stood just out of reach, the man who’d chosen duty and sacrifice over a chance at happiness. The man who watched you from the shadows, yearning for a love he could never let himself have.

You turned away, feeling the weight of his gaze on your back, the ghost of what you could have been haunting every step you took. And as you walked out of the bullpen, you couldn’t shake the feeling that with every step you took towards a life without him, you were leaving a part of yourself behind—the part that knew, no matter how good on paper anyone else might be, they would never be Aaron Hotchner.

The offer came quietly, slipped into Hotch's hands like a whisper of a storm—an undercover mission, months long, treacherous, the kind that could pull a person so deep into darkness that they might never find their way out. It was the sort of assignment that made sense for a man like him, a man who thrived on control and strategy, who was willing to sacrifice anything and everything to keep the world safe, even if it meant losing pieces of himself in the process.

You heard the news from someone else, the rumors swirling through the BAU like a slow poison. Hotch hadn’t come to you, hadn’t even asked for your opinion or told you he was considering it, and that omission cut deeper than any of his words ever could. When you finally confronted him, it was late in the evening, the bullpen mostly empty, and the quiet hum of the building seemed to amplify the anger simmering just beneath your skin.

"You’re really going to do this?" you demanded, your voice trembling more from hurt than from anger. "You’re considering risking your life on a months-long mission without even telling me? Without asking how I feel about it?"

He looked up from his desk, surprise flickering across his face before it quickly hardened into that mask of stoic control he wore so well. "It’s my job," he said simply, his tone cold and clipped as if that were all the explanation you needed. "I don’t need anyone’s permission to do my job."

"That’s not the point, and you know it," you snapped, the frustration boiling over now, your hands shaking. "This is about you making a decision that could get you killed without even thinking to talk to me about it. Do I really mean that little to you?"

For a moment, something vulnerable flashed in his eyes, a crack in the armor that you almost thought might break open, but then he shut it down, shut you out. His face hardened, and when he spoke, his words were like ice—sharp and cutting, each one landing like a blow.

"You have someone else in your life now," he said, the bitterness in his voice barely concealed. "Why would my decisions matter to you? You made your choice to move on, to be with someone who can give you what I can’t. I’m just following your lead, remember?"

You stared at him, disbelief turning to anger, your voice trembling with the force of emotions that you could no longer hold back. 

"My choice?" you repeated, the words laced with bitterness and hurt. "How can you stand there and talk about my choice when you never even gave me the chance to choose you? You kept me at arm’s length, Aaron. You decided from the start that I didn’t get a say in this—in us. Every time I got close, you shut me out before I could even show you that you were the one I wanted." 

The raw honesty in your voice cut through the air, and you could see the moment the truth of it struck him, a flicker of pain crossing his face, but he said nothing. He just stood there, silent, letting the distance grow between you like he always had, because it was easier to act like he was protecting you than to admit that he was protecting himself.

"You need to stop looking at me like I’m something I’m not," he continued, his voice steady but softer, almost as if he were pleading with you to understand. "I’m not the man you want me to be, and I’m done pretending like I could ever be enough for you. I’m going on this mission because that’s where I belong—in the field, doing something useful. And maybe when I’m gone, you’ll finally stop waiting for something that was never going to happen."

You stood there, stunned, the sting of his words ringing in your ears. It was like he’d taken everything between you—all the almosts, all the shared glances and whispered moments—and tossed it aside, reducing it to nothing. He was pushing you away, cutting the ties that bound you both, but not because he didn’t care. He was doing it because he cared too much because it was easier for him to hurt you now than to let himself believe in a future that could never exist.

"Fine," you said, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to hold it together. "Go on your mission, Aaron. If it’s so easy for you to walk away, then maybe you’re right. Maybe I was wrong about everything."

He flinched at that, just barely, a shadow of pain flickering across his face before he forced it away. He gave you a stiff nod, his jaw clenched so tight you thought it might break, and then he looked at you with those dark eyes that used to hold a world of unspoken words, now empty and closed off.

"It’s better this way," he said, but the words sounded hollow, even to him. "For both of us."

He turned back to his desk, the finality of it crashing down between you like a wall that could never be scaled. And in that moment, you knew—you knew that he’d made up his mind, not just about the mission but about the two of you. The bond that had once felt unbreakable was now shattered, the pieces scattered like ash in the wind.

As you walked away, your vision blurred with unshed tears; you couldn’t shake the image of him sitting there, rigid and unmoving, the weight of his own choices pressing down on his shoulders. You knew that this wasn’t just a job to him—it was his way of escaping, of punishing himself for wanting something he thought he didn’t deserve. And maybe, in the end, it was easier for him to go on that mission, to risk his life in a world of shadows, than to face the light of what he could have had with you.

And as he watched you leave, he knew he was making the only choice he thought he could live with—the choice that meant hurting you now to save you from the heartbreak he was certain he’d cause later. So he resolved to go on that mission, to bury himself in the danger and the darkness, where feelings didn’t complicate things and yearning for something he could never have didn’t make him feel so much like a man who’d lost his way.

In the aftermath of the confrontation, the tension between you and Hotch became palpable--especially leading up to his departure--a crackling silence that echoed through the bullpen. 

The rest of the team felt the shift immediately; they had seen the glances that used to pass between the two of you, the unspoken words that lingered in the air, and now, the cold distance that had replaced it was impossible to ignore.

Morgan was the first to approach Hotch. He found him in his office, staring out the window as if searching for answers that would never come. “Hotch,” Morgan said, his voice softer than usual, no trace of the teasing smirk he usually wore when talking about you. “You know you’re screwing this up, right? Whatever you think you’re doing to protect her, all you’re doing is pushing her away. And from what I’ve seen, she didn’t want protection—she wanted you.”

Hotch didn’t turn around. He kept his gaze fixed on the horizon, his shoulders tense, jaw clenched. “It’s not that simple, Derek,” he replied, his voice a low rumble of frustration and resignation. “I’m not the man she needs. She has someone who can give her a real future, not just a life spent waiting for me to come back in one piece. She deserves more than this.”

Hotch was just as surprised to hear his honesty come out to Morgan, as Morgan was surprised to hear the vulnerability pour out of Hotch.

Morgan let out a slow breath, shaking his head. “Man, you’re lying to yourself if you think this is for her sake. You’re afraid of getting hurt, of losing something else that matters. But you can’t live your whole life like that, Hotch. You’re gonna lose her either way if you keep this up.” 

Down the hall, hours later, there was a different conversation happening with you. As you sat there in the break room, the warmth of Garcia’s hug lingering on your shoulders, doubt started to creep into your thoughts like a slow-moving fog. You bit your lip, your fingers tracing the rim of your coffee cup, trying to steady the swirl of emotions that threatened to pull you under.

“Maybe he’s right,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. “Maybe I’m just fooling myself. What if I’ve been making something out of nothing this whole time? What if he never felt the same, and I’m just… delusional?” You laughed, but it was a hollow, shaky sound that betrayed the insecurity you’d been fighting to keep at bay. “I feel like I’m going crazy, holding onto every little look and touch like they mean something when maybe they never did.”

JJ’s eyes softened with understanding, and she reached out to cover your trembling hands with her own. “You’re not crazy,” she said firmly, her voice leaving no room for doubt. “I’ve known Hotch for a long time, and I’ve seen him shut everyone out, even when he didn’t have to. But with you—it’s different. He lets you in more than he ever has with anyone else. He cares about you in a way he doesn’t know how to handle.”

Emily, who had been listening quietly until now, leaned forward, her expression a mix of frustration and compassion. “Hotch isn’t the kind of guy to wear his heart on his sleeve,” she said, her tone sharp with conviction. “He’s terrified of getting close to someone and then losing them. But trust me, we’ve all seen it—the way he looks at you, the way he lights up when you walk into a room, even if he tries to hide it. He’s not fooling anyone but himself.”

Garcia nodded fiercely, her eyes blazing with determination. “Honey, you are not crazy,” she insisted, shaking her head. “He has feelings for you, and we all know it. He’s just too stubborn and scared to admit it to himself, let alone to you. That man looks at you like you’re the reason he keeps breathing. If he’s pretending he doesn’t care, it’s because he’s protecting his own heart, not because there’s nothing there.”

You felt the tears welling up, but this time, they weren’t just from the hurt. It was the relief of knowing that maybe—just maybe—you hadn’t been imagining things. That all those lingering glances, the stolen moments, the softness in his eyes when he thought no one was looking, they were real. You weren’t crazy, and you weren’t alone in this.

“But what if he never lets himself admit it?” you asked, your voice breaking, the vulnerability laid bare before them. “What if I’m just waiting for something that’s never going to happen?”

JJ squeezed your hand a little tighter, her smile gentle but determined. “He’s afraid, yes, but that doesn’t mean he’s lost to you. He’s hurting, and he’s hiding, but deep down, he feels it too. Sometimes, the right thing is the hardest thing to do. But he’s worth fighting for, and you are worth more than settling for half-truths and what-ifs.”

Garcia nodded in agreement, and Emily reached out, her hand warm on your shoulder, grounding you. “You’re not crazy for loving him,” Emily said softly. “He’s just scared of letting himself love you back. But one thing’s for sure—we’re not letting you give up on yourself, and we’re not letting you give up on him without a fight.”

You took a shaky breath, nodding, the tightness in your chest easing just a little. Because if they could see it—if the people who knew Aaron Hotchner better than almost anyone else believed in his feelings for you—then maybe, just maybe, there was still hope. Even if he was too afraid to see it, even if he was about to walk away, you weren’t as alone in this as you thought.

Hotch left quietly, like a whisper that faded into the darkness before you even realized he was gone. One moment he was there, stoic and silent in the bullpen, his eyes never quite meeting yours, and the next, he was just...gone. There was no goodbye, no last look, no chance to say what you’d been holding onto for so long. Just an empty desk, a hollow ache in your chest, and the knowledge that he’d chosen to walk away without a word.

You found out from Rossi, of all people, his expression grim yet resigned as he broke the news that Hotch had accepted the mission. The words felt like they echoed in slow motion, each syllable another crack in the fragile hope you’d clung to. Hotch had left for the dangerous undercover mission without telling you, without even giving you the courtesy of a goodbye. The hurt was immediate and sharp, slicing through the fragile shield you’d built around your heart.

He hadn’t come to see you, hadn’t given you a chance to plead with him to stay, and you knew why. Deep down, you knew that if he saw you one last time if he let himself look into your eyes filled with all that unsaid love, he wouldn’t be able to leave. He was running from the feelings he couldn’t control, from the bond that scared him more than any danger in the field ever could. He was a man who would rather face death head-on than confront the possibility of losing you.

But knowing his reasons didn’t dull the pain. It hurt like hell, like a betrayal you couldn’t shake. It felt like he’d taken the easy way out, choosing the mission over you because that was simpler because that was what he knew how to do. It felt like he was giving up on everything you’d never quite let yourself believe in.

That night, when you sat across from your boyfriend, the man who had tried so hard to make you happy, you felt a heaviness in your chest that you couldn’t ignore. He was everything you thought you should want—steady, dependable, willing to build a life with you without hesitation. But he wasn’t Aaron Hotchner, and that truth settled into your bones like the weight of something that could never be lifted.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you said, the words heavy with exhaustion and resignation, your voice cracking under the strain of holding yourself together. “It’s not fair to you, and it’s not fair to me. You’re a good man, and you deserve someone who loves you the way you deserve to be loved.”

He looked at you, confusion and sadness clouding his eyes, and though he tried to mask it, you could see the hurt there. “I thought we were building something real,” he said softly, the disappointment lacing his words. “Was it always him?”

You opened your mouth to deny it, to say that it wasn’t about Hotch, but the words died on your lips because that would have been a lie. Even though Hotch had walked away, even though he had chosen his mission over you, your heart was still tangled up in him, in the idea of what the two of you could have been if he’d just let himself believe in it.

“I don’t know how to love someone halfway,” you admitted, tears brimming in your eyes. “And I’m sorry, but my heart is somewhere else, with someone who might never let himself love me back. I didn’t want it to be like this, but it is, and you deserve more than I can give you right now.”

He gave you a small, sad smile, nodding as he accepted the truth, even though it clearly hurt. “I hope he’s worth it,” he said quietly, a hint of bitterness in his voice, and you couldn’t blame him for that.

As he walked away, leaving you alone in the quiet of your apartment, you felt the full force of your heartbreak crash over you. Hotch was gone, and you were left holding onto pieces of a future that never came to be. All you had now were memories, unspoken words, and the hollow ache of knowing that, in the end, he chose to walk away when you would have chosen him every single time.

The night Hotch left for the mission, Rossi insisted on driving him to the airport. It was late, the kind of late that makes the world feel hollow and deserted, and the car ride was quiet, punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine and the distant lights flickering by. Hotch had barely spoken a word since they left the office, his hands gripping the envelope in his lap like it was his lifeline, even though he knew he would never allow himself to deliver it.

Rossi watched him out of the corner of his eye, his seasoned gaze taking in every detail—the way Hotch’s jaw was clenched, the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers trembled ever so slightly around the edges of that letter. Rossi knew his friend too well, knew that look on his face wasn’t about the danger of the mission ahead but about the danger of something much closer to home.

“Don’t suppose you’re planning on actually giving that to her, are you?” Rossi asked, his voice soft but pointed, breaking the silence with a tone that brooked no argument.

Hotch’s eyes flickered over to Rossi, a flicker of surprise quickly masked by his usual stoic expression. “It’s not for her,” he said quietly, his voice laced with a kind of resignation that came from making hard choices. “It’s better this way. She’s better off without knowing.”

Rossi let out a slow, frustrated sigh, shaking his head as he pulled the car over to the curb just shy of the airport’s main entrance. He turned in his seat to face Hotch, his eyes sharp and filled with a kind of exasperated compassion. Without a word, Rossi reached over and plucked the letter from Hotch’s hands so smoothly that Hotch didn’t have time to react.

“Dave, don’t—” Hotch started, but Rossi cut him off, holding the letter up between them.

“You think you’re protecting her by keeping this to yourself?” Rossi asked his voice a low growl, softened only by the underlying empathy in his eyes. “You think walking away with all these words stuck inside you is some noble sacrifice? All you’re doing is making sure she never knows how much she meant to you. You’re making sure she never gets the chance to choose you.”

Hotch’s defenses crumbled just a little, his face tightening as he swallowed hard. “I’m doing what’s best for her,” he insisted, the words sounding hollow even to his own ears. “If I give her that letter, if I say these things out loud, it’ll only make it harder for her when I’m gone. It’s my job to keep her safe—even from me.”

Rossi leaned in closer, his eyes boring into Hotch’s, unwavering. “You’re a damn fool, Aaron,” he said, his voice softer now but no less fierce. “She’s not some damsel in distress who needs you to protect her from the truth. She’s strong, and she’s got a right to know how you feel. And if you walk away from this without giving her that chance, then you’re not protecting her—you’re just protecting yourself from getting hurt.”

Hotch opened his mouth to argue, to say something—anything—that might justify the fear that kept him chained to his own doubts. But he couldn’t. All he could do was watch as Rossi tucked the letter into the inside pocket of his jacket, his expression unreadable yet determined.

“Dave,” Hotch sighed, his voice cracking under the weight of vulnerability he could no longer mask.

“No,” Rossi replied simply, shaking his head. “I’m not letting you get on that plane with unfinished business. You can be mad at me all you want, but someday you’ll thank me for this. She deserves to know that you loved her enough to be afraid and that you were man enough to admit it.”

Rossi’s words hung heavy in the air between them, and for the first time in a long while, Hotch didn’t have a comeback. He didn’t have the strength to fight the truth he had been running from—the truth that he was terrified to lose something he never really had the courage to hold onto. And in that moment, as he watched Rossi’s car pull away, he knew that this mission wasn’t about risking his life for the job; it was about trying to outrun the love he was too afraid to face.

As Rossi drove off, he knew exactly what he had to do. He would wait until the time was right, and when Hotch was safely away, he would give you that letter. He would give you a chance that Hotch had never allowed himself to take—a chance to understand the truth that had always been hiding behind his stoic gaze, the truth that he loved you too much to let you see him break.

The mission was supposed to take months, long enough for everyone to settle into the idea that Hotch would be gone and that life at the BAU would continue without him. But something went wrong in the field--something unpredictable and chaotic that pulled him out of the operation sooner than expected. 

The whole team was gathered around the screen at the BAU, watching in real-time as events unfolded like a nightmare they couldn’t wake up from.

You watched in silence, your heart lodged in your throat as Hotch risked his life in a split-second decision to save the mission’s integrity. 

You knew he was trained for this, that he was capable of facing danger head-on, but seeing it happen right in front of your eyes, seeing the bullets fly and the chaos ensue with Hotch at the center of it—it tore something inside you apart.

Your hands clenched into fists, nails digging into your palms as a mixture of fear, anger, relief, and heartbreak churned within you. You hated that you still cared so much, hated that watching him put himself in danger made you want to scream at him, to tell him he had no right to scare you like this after everything he’d done.

When it felt like the scene from a horror movie had ended on the scene, and Hotch was declared safe, a wave of relief swept through the room, followed immediately by a heavy silence. 

The rest of the team exchanged glances filled with sympathy and understanding, but you couldn’t look at them. You couldn’t look at him. You turned away, biting back the tears that threatened to spill over, feeling betrayed by your own heart.

Hotch returned to the BAU not long after, weary and haunted, but alive. And when he stepped back into the bullpen, his eyes searching for you, you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. The hurt and betrayal were too raw, too fresh. He tried to speak to you, to offer some kind of explanation or apology, but you turned on your heel and walked away, leaving him standing there with the words dying on his lips.

Rossi watched the scene unfold with a frown, his hand brushing against the letter still tucked away in his jacket. He’d thought the mission would last long enough to give Hotch the chance to come to his senses, to see the truth he’d been too afraid to confront. But now, as he watched the unspoken agony between you and Hotch, he knew that the letter might be the only way to bridge the chasm growing wider by the day.

The tension between you and Hotch was suffocating as you stepped onto the jet for your first case back together. The team tried to maintain a semblance of normalcy, their conversations forced and awkward as they pretended not to notice the icy silence between you and Hotch. But the pain was palpable, hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break.

As the jet cut through the sky, the two of you could barely put your differences aside long enough to discuss the case. Every exchange between you was clipped, your voices low and sharp, each word laced with unspoken accusations. Hotch’s usual calm demeanor was replaced by a tightly controlled frustration, and you could feel your own anger boiling over, fueled by the fear and hurt of watching him almost die and then come back as if nothing had changed.

When he snapped at you over a minor detail, something in you broke. “You don’t get to do that!” you said, your voice rising despite the presence of the team. The pain in your voice was unmistakable, the hurt you’d been holding back finally spilling out. “You don’t get to act like everything’s fine and then snap at me like I’m the one who’s out of line. Not after what you put me through, not after you left without a word.”

Hotch’s eyes flashed with something between guilt and anger, his own control starting to crack. “I’m doing my job,” he said, his voice clipped and colder than you’d ever heard it. “We have a case to solve, and I need you to focus.”

The words stung, cutting deeper than any blade. “Focus?” you said, incredulous, your voice trembling with barely contained emotion. “I watched you almost get yourself killed, Hotch! I watched you risk your life without a second thought, and now you expect me to just sit here and act like none of that matters? Like you leaving didn’t tear me apart?”

The rest of the team exchanged uneasy glances, shifting uncomfortably in their seats. Morgan looked like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to, while JJ’s eyes were filled with empathy for both of you. Emily stared down at her hands, biting her lip, and even remotely through a screen, Garcia seemed to have lost her usual words of comfort.

Hotch opened his mouth to respond, but whatever he was about to say died on his lips. He couldn’t meet your gaze, couldn’t face the truth of what he had done--the loss of your trust, the pain--and that made you even angrier. The silence between you was thick--heavy with all the words left unsaid, the accusations that neither of you was brave enough to voice.

Rossi had been watching everything unfold, his gaze steady and knowing, his years of experience seeing straight through the walls both you and Hotch had built. He’d seen the way you fought on the jet, the way your voices trembled with hurt and frustration, each word a thinly veiled cry for something that neither of you knew how to reach. He knew that you were both hurting in ways that went beyond words, that the love and the pain you shared were tangled together like a knot neither of you could untie.

He’d hoped that Hotch would find the courage to say the things he’d written in that letter, that seeing you again and almost losing his life would finally push him to confront his feelings. But as the days went by and the distance between you grew, Rossi knew that the time had come to step in. He could see that Hotch’s stubbornness and your heartbreak were tearing you both apart, and he could no longer stand by and watch.

One evening, after the team had returned to the BAU from the case, Rossi found you alone in the dimly lit kitchenette. You were leaning against the counter, staring into your coffee cup like it might hold some kind of answer to the mess your heart was in. The rest of the building was quiet, the hum of the lights the only sound in the room. This was the moment—private, away from the eyes of the team—when Rossi knew he had to act.

He approached you slowly, his footsteps soft against the tile floor. You looked up as he entered the room, your eyes red-rimmed and tired, and for a second, you tried to force a smile. But Rossi knew better; he saw right through it.

"Y/N," he said gently, his voice softening with the kind of understanding that only years of watching lives unravel could bring. "I think it’s time you knew something. Something he should have told you himself."

You furrowed your brow in confusion, but before you could ask, Rossi reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. He pulled out the letter, the envelope worn from where his fingers had traced over it time and time again, waiting for this moment. He held it out to you, your name scrawled across the front in Hotch’s precise, careful handwriting.

Your eyes widened as you took in the sight of it, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest. "What is this?" you whispered, though you already had a sense of what it might be, the truth of it hovering just beyond your grasp.

“It’s from him,” Rossi said quietly, his gaze never leaving yours. "He wrote it before he left on that mission. He never meant for you to see it, but I think you need to. You need to know what he’s been holding back all this time."

Your hand shook slightly as you reached out, taking the letter from Rossi. His fingers lingered for just a moment as if transferring not just a piece of paper but the weight of all the unspoken words that Hotch had never been able to say. You could feel the letter’s weight, heavier than you ever imagined a piece of paper could be.

Rossi’s voice was low, almost a whisper, as he said, “Read it, Y/N. It’s time you knew the truth he’s been too afraid to tell you.”

You stared down at the envelope, your fingers trembling as you traced the letters of your name, written by the man who had torn your world apart—the man you still loved, even after everything. The rest of the world seemed to fade into the background as you turned the envelope over, slowly breaking the seal, your breath catching in your throat.

And as you began to unfold the letter, your heart racing with every inch of paper revealed, you knew that whatever was written there would change everything between you and Aaron Hotchner—forever. The truth that had been hiding in the darkness was finally coming to light, and you braced yourself for the impact of words you’d been waiting to hear all along.

The world seemed to fall away as you stared down at the letter in your hands, the one that Hotch had written in a moment of unguarded honesty. His handwriting, precise and steady, almost mocked you with its calmness as you unfolded the paper, knowing that the words on it held the power to either heal or shatter you all over again.

Your hands shook slightly as you began to read, your eyes scanning the lines that laid his soul bare. The letter was filled with the words he could never bring himself to say—the truth he’d hidden behind layers of stoic professionalism and self-sacrifice. He wrote about how he had fallen in love with you so completely that it terrified him, how every time he saw you smile, it felt like the light was breaking through the darkness that had wrapped itself around his life.

He admitted that he had left not because he didn’t care but because he cared too much. He was afraid that if he stayed, he would put you in danger, that the chaos of his world would consume you, and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if anything ever happened to you because of him. He wrote that he was a coward for not letting you in, for not giving you a chance to love him back, and that leaving was the only way he thought he could protect you from himself.

But the most painful confession was how much he regretted not being brave enough to stay. How every day away from you felt like he was living half a life, pretending to be fine while his heart was still tethered to you. He poured out all the vulnerability he’d never let himself show, the raw edges of his love and fear, and by the end, you could barely see the words through the blur of your tears.

You felt your heartbreak and heal all at once, the anguish of his departure mixed with the overwhelming relief of knowing that you hadn’t imagined it, that he did love you—he always had. And yet, there was still anger, still hurt that he could be so selfless and so selfish all at the same time.

You felt reactive, but you knew this moment needed privacy, a space where you could let the raw hurt and anger spill out without holding back. That’s why you found yourself standing in front of Hotch’s apartment door, your heart pounding in your chest, the letter clutched tightly in your trembling hand.

You had rehearsed what you were going to say, how you would confront him for all the pain he’d caused, but the moment he opened the door, everything you’d planned to say disappeared in the face of his shock. He stood there, eyes wide and startled, his hair disheveled, looking as though he’d been caught in the middle of a moment he wasn’t ready for. When he saw the letter in your hand, his face went pale, and you saw something crack in his expression—fear, regret, the realization that there was no more running from this.

“Why?” you demanded, your voice shaking with the weight of everything you felt. You stepped into his apartment without waiting for an invitation, your eyes blazing as you faced him. “Why would you write all of this down, admit that you love me, that you were too afraid to stay, and then just leave? How could you walk away when you knew how much it would hurt me?”

Hotch looked like he’d been punched in the gut. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out at first. He looked down at his hands, then back at you, his eyes glistening with a vulnerability that broke through his stoic facade. “I—I didn’t want you to read that letter,” he said finally, his voice raw and unsteady. “I thought if you never knew how I felt, you could move on, be happy without me holding you back.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head, feeling the tears you’d held back for so long start to spill. “You still don’t get it, do you?” you said, your voice cracking with a mix of anger and heartbreak. “You never gave me a choice, Aaron! You decided what was best for me, like I was some kind of problem you needed to solve, without ever asking me if that’s what I wanted. You left me here, broken, thinking that I wasn’t enough for you, that you didn’t care, when all along you were just too scared to let me in!”

Hotch’s face crumpled as he took a step toward you, his hands shaking slightly as he reached out, only to stop himself. 

“I thought I was protecting you,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, filled with the kind of pain you’d never heard from him before. “I thought if I stayed, if I let myself love you the way I do, that I’d put you in danger, that I’d ruin everything good in your life. But I see now that I was wrong. All I did was hurt you.”

You looked at him, your eyes blazing with hurt and love all at once. “I was ready to fight for you, Aaron,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, each word trembling with the force of your emotion. “I was ready to take on the risk, the danger, all of it, because I loved you that much. And you never even gave me the chance to choose you back.”

Hotch’s breath hitched, and you saw his eyes fill with unshed tears. For the first time, his stoic mask slipped completely, and he looked like a man laid bare, all his defenses shattered. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I thought I was doing what was best for you, but all I did was run away from the one thing that mattered most. I didn’t trust myself to be the man you deserve, and I was a coward for that.”

The apartment felt too small, the walls closing in around the two of you as you stood there, your heartbreaking and mending all at once. You wanted to yell at him, to shake him and make him see just how much he’d hurt you, but you also wanted to reach out and hold him, to tell him that you understood, that you were just as scared as he was.

“Aaron,” you said, your voice shaking but steady, your eyes meeting his. “You don’t get to make these decisions for me. You don’t get to push me away to protect me. I don’t know if I can forgive you yet, but I know that I want to make that choice myself. I want to decide if this is worth the risk if you are.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving yours, his expression raw and pleading. He felt tension both leave his shoulders, but a new weight appear.  

“I promise,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, filled with the kind of vulnerability he never let anyone see. “No more running. No more hiding. I’ll fight for this, for us, if you’ll let me. I don’t want to lose you again.”

You took a shaky breath, feeling the gravity of his promise settle into your heart. The anger and hurt were still there but softened by the truth of his words. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy,” you said softly, the tears still glistening in your eyes. I’m not saying I’ll forgive you right away. But if you’re willing to stay and fight for this—for us—then maybe we still have a chance.”

Hotch let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, a small, tentative smile breaking through the pain in his eyes. He reached for your hand, and this time, you didn’t pull away. His fingers curled around yours, trembling slightly as if afraid this was all a dream that might slip through his grasp.

And as you stood there in the quiet of his apartment, your hand in his, you knew that whatever happened next, you were finally on the same side, facing the fear, the risk, the uncertainty—together. The story between you and Aaron Hotchner was far from over; in fact, it had only just begun.

As the words between you and Hotch settled into the quiet of his apartment, a heavy silence filled the space—not the kind that was strained or uncomfortable, but the kind that wrapped itself around you like a blanket, pulling you both closer to a truth that neither of you was ready to let go of. There was something fragile in the air, something tender that neither of you dared to name, but you both knew it was there. It was the moment you’d both been waiting for, even if you’d never admitted it to yourselves.

You were still standing so close to him, your hand resting in his, and for once, neither of you pulled away. The soft light from the lamp in the corner cast shadows across his face, highlighting the vulnerability in his eyes and the quiet desperation that said he didn’t want this moment to end. He was holding onto you like you were his lifeline, like letting go meant he’d lose more than he could bear.

Hotch took a shaky breath, his thumb brushing gently across your knuckles, his touch so tender it almost broke you all over again. "Stay a little longer," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath, the vulnerability in his words laying everything bare. "I know I have no right to ask, but please... just stay."

Your heart ached at the rawness of his plea, and you couldn’t bring yourself to leave, not yet. You nodded slowly, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. "Okay," you said softly, your voice laced with the same longing that echoed in his eyes. "Just a little longer."

Without a word, he led you to the couch, and the two of you sat down, closer than you’d ever been before. Hotch’s arm rested along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing the fabric near your shoulder as if he was afraid to reach for more but couldn’t bring himself to pull away. You turned toward him, your knees almost touching, and for the first time, the distance that had always seemed insurmountable between you felt like it was finally closing.

He looked at you with such intensity, such quiet longing that it made your chest tighten. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering near your temple as if memorizing the way you looked at this moment. "I never thought I could let myself have this," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes searching yours like he was afraid of what he might find.

You felt the tears well up in your eyes again, but this time they were softer, a mixture of relief and sadness and everything you’d kept locked inside for so long. You placed your hand over his, holding it against your cheek, and closed your eyes for a moment, just feeling the warmth of his touch, the way his thumb traced gentle circles against your skin.

"I’m here now," you whispered, your voice breaking slightly. "I’m here, Aaron. And I’m not going anywhere—not unless you make me."

For a moment, it was as if the world outside had ceased to exist, and it was just the two of you in that small, quiet space. Hotch’s forehead touched yours, the breath between you shared and steadied, and in that touch, there was more intimacy than any words could convey. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the way his breathing matched yours, and you knew he was holding onto this moment as if it were a lifeline.

He closed his eyes, his voice so soft and broken that it almost didn’t reach you. "I don’t deserve this," he murmured, his lips just inches from yours, not in a kiss but in a closeness that held more promise than any kiss ever could. "I don’t deserve you."

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze with a determination you hadn’t felt in so long, your voice trembling but sure. "Maybe you don’t," you said, a hint of a smile breaking through your tears. "But I’m giving you the chance to prove me wrong."

Hotch let out a breath that was almost a laugh, a sound so soft and genuine it made your heartache. He pressed his forehead against yours, his hands coming to cradle your face with a gentleness that you didn’t know he possessed like you were the most precious thing he’d ever held. "I’m not going to let you down again," he promised, his voice raw and filled with something that felt like hope. "I’ll fight for this—for us."

The two of you stayed like that; the world narrowed down to the space between your breaths, the gentle touch of his hands against your skin, and the unspoken promise of everything that lay ahead. You didn’t need to say anything else, didn’t need to break the silence with words that could never capture what this moment meant. You just held each other, the two of you finally, truly, being—no masks, no walls, just you and Aaron.

Neither of you wanted to let go, but you knew you had to eventually. So, when you finally pulled back, his hand still lingering on your cheek, you let out a soft sigh. "I should go," you said, your voice gentle, though your heart ached at the thought of leaving.

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours, his thumb brushing one last tender stroke across your cheek. "I know," he said, his voice filled with the quiet acceptance of a man who had found something he didn’t want to lose. "But not too far, okay?"

You gave him a small, tearful smile, your fingers wrapping around his for just a moment longer. "Never too far," you promised.

And as you stood up, reluctantly letting go of his hand, you both knew that something had shifted between you, something irreversible and true. You weren’t sure where this would lead, how much more pain or healing lay ahead, but for the first time, you both believed in the possibility of something real—something worth fighting for. And that was enough.

As fate would have it, just as you and Hotch finally seemed to find solid ground, the world pulled you back into the chaos that had always been your reality. A big case came barreling in like a storm, sweeping the entire BAU into its relentless grip. The details were brutal and time-sensitive, and there was no room for hesitation as you all packed your bags and headed off to the next city to face yet another battle in the war against darkness.

You and Hotch barely had a moment to catch your breath, much less to explore the fragile new beginning you’d carved out in his apartment. The case consumed you both, the demands of the job dragging you into late-night briefings, endless strategy sessions, and the exhaustion that came from running on adrenaline and sheer determination.

But through it all, there was something different in the way he looked at you—something softer, something that made your heart skip a beat even in the midst of chaos. There were stolen glances across the conference room, fleeting touches that lingered a second too long when no one was watching. It was like you were both holding onto a secret, a promise whispered between the cracks of what had always been left unsaid.

It was late—long past midnight—and the case was at a standstill for the night. You were in your hotel room, staring at the ceiling, mind racing with the pieces of the puzzle that didn’t quite fit together when a soft knock came at your door. You knew it was him even before you opened it, your heart pounding as you turned the handle to find Hotch standing there, looking more unguarded and raw than you’d ever seen him.

He was still in his suit, but his tie was gone, the top buttons of his shirt undone, and he looked like he’d been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders for too long. He met your eyes, his own filled with something that looked like vulnerability like fear and longing tangled into one.

“Can I come in?” he asked, his voice low and almost hesitant like he was afraid you’d turn him away.

You nodded, stepping aside to let him in, your pulse thrumming in your veins. Hotch walked in slowly, closing the door behind him, and for a moment, he just stood there, looking at you like he wasn’t sure if he should say something or stay silent.

"I thought I could do this," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I thought I could keep it professional, keep my distance. But every time I look at you, every time I see you put yourself in danger for this job, it terrifies me. And I can’t keep pretending that I’m not in love with you."

The words left you breathless, your mind reeling, and before you could even think, you closed the distance between you, reaching for him like he was the only solid thing in your world. His hands found your face, his touch gentle but desperate like he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

"Aaron," you whispered, your voice trembling with all the emotions you’d kept bottled up for so long. "You don’t have to keep pretending anymore. I’m here. I’m right here."

And then his lips were on yours, and it was like the world stopped spinning. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, almost like he was afraid to believe it was real. But then it deepened, all the years of longing and restraint shattering in an instant, replaced by a raw, desperate need that neither of you could hold back. His hands slipped into your hair, holding you to him like he was afraid to let go, and you felt his breath hitch against your lips.

You broke the kiss just long enough to whisper his name, to look into his eyes and see the love and fear and desire that mirrored your own. "Stay with me," you said, your voice so soft, almost a plea.

He didn’t answer with words; he didn’t have to. He kissed you again, harder this time, more certain, his hands trailing down your sides as he pulled you closer. It was a kiss that spoke of everything you’d both been too afraid to say, everything that had been locked away in silence for so long. He poured himself into it—all the loneliness, the longing, the love he’d kept hidden.

You moved together in a blur of tangled limbs and whispered words, the unspoken promises and all the almosts finally becoming something real. You couldn’t recall at what point whose clothes ended up on the floor first or how it felt like it took no time for your skin to feel on fire under each brush of Hotch’s fingertips against your skin. 

Hotch’s touch was reverent, almost worshipful, as if he was memorizing every inch of your skin, the way you felt beneath his fingertips. His eyes never left yours, even as he kissed a trail down your neck, his breath warm and shaky against your skin.

When he finally laid you down on the bed, his movements were slow, almost hesitant, like he wanted to savor every second, like he couldn’t quite believe you were really here with him. You reached up, brushing your fingers against his cheek, guiding him closer, and he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

As he hovered above you, his forehead pressed to yours, you could see the vulnerability in his eyes—the love and fear and hope all tangled together. "I’ve never let myself have this," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "But with you, I can’t pretend anymore."

You pulled him down into another kiss, softer this time, filled with the tenderness that had always been between you, even when you were too afraid to acknowledge it. And then you were lost in each other, in the feel of his hands on your skin, his lips trailing fire across your body, the way he breathed your name like it was a prayer. 

It was as if his hands and body knew you already--knew exactly how you ticked.

When he finally sank into you, it was with a sigh that seemed to echo in the quiet room, a moment so full of love and longing that it brought tears to your eyes. You moved together, slow and gentle, the world outside fading away until there was nothing left but the two of you, the rhythm of your breaths and the way his eyes held yours like you were the only thing that mattered.

It wasn’t just about desire—it was about finding each other in the dark, about all the broken pieces of yourselves fitting together in a way that finally made sense. It was about love, pure and simple, the kind of love that had always been there, waiting for the right moment to unfold.

When the morning light filtered through the curtains, you woke up wrapped in his arms, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. For once, Aaron Hotchner looked at peace, his eyes soft as he watched you, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your back.

"Good morning," he said, his voice still rough from sleep, a small, tender smile playing at his lips.

"Good morning," you whispered back, feeling the warmth of his smile settle over you like a blanket.

He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his eyes filled with something that looked like wonder. "I don’t want this to end," he said softly, his voice filled with an honesty that took your breath away. "I’m done pretending, done pushing you away. I want this—I want you."

You leaned up and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, your smile growing as you pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. "I’m not going anywhere, Aaron," you said. "Not anymore."

And as you lay there in each other’s arms, the promise of everything you’d both been too afraid to dream of was finally within reach. No more running, no more hiding. Just the two of you, facing whatever came next—together.

When the case was finally over, thee unsub was in custody, and the tension that had bound the team so tightly for the past few days had begun to loosen. You and Hotch had done your best to remain professional throughout the investigation, maintaining a careful distance despite the undeniable connection between you. Every stolen glance and fleeting touch during the case had only reminded you of the night you’d shared together, the secret that seemed to hang in the air between you.

Now, as the jet hummed quietly on the journey back to the BAU, the rest of the team settled into their seats, some rifling through case files while others engaged in quiet conversation. There was a sense of relief in the air, the kind that came after a job well done, but you could still feel Hotch's gaze on you, lingering with something softer, something unspoken that only the two of you understood.

Hotch was sitting directly across from you, his posture as calm and composed as ever, but the way he was watching you betrayed the quiet storm of emotions he was trying to keep in check. He shifted slightly, then cleared his throat, drawing the attention of not just you but everyone around.

Your name slipped from his lips, steady but tinged with a hint of vulnerability that made your pulse quicken. "I was thinking," he said, his voice a little softer than usual, his eyes locked on yours, "when we get back, maybe we could have dinner sometime." He paused for a fraction of a second, his gaze never wavering. "A real dinner. You know, a date."

There was a split second of silence before Morgan let out a low whistle, his face breaking into a wide, knowing grin. He leaned back in his seat, folding his arms over his chest as he shook his head in amusement. "Well, damn, Hotch. I didn’t think you had it in you," he said with a teasing smile, his eyes twinkling with genuine happiness for the two of you. "Took you long enough, man."

JJ and Emily exchanged quick glances, both smiling like they’d just witnessed something monumental. JJ’s smile grew wider, and she gave you a look that was equal parts supportive and relieved. "It’s about time," she said, her tone gentle but filled with a knowing warmth. "I think we’ve all been waiting for this."

Even Reid, who had been lost in a book just moments before, looked up with a surprised but pleased expression. "Statistically speaking," he said thoughtfully, tilting his head slightly as he processed the scene, "the odds were always in favor of you two ending up together. It’s good to see that probability playing out."

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, a mix of embarrassment and joy coloring your cheeks. Hotch, who rarely let his guard down in front of the team, surprised you again by not hiding his smile—a real, genuine smile that lit up his face and made the corners of his eyes crinkle.

"So," he said, his voice lower now, meant just for you even though the whole team was listening. "Is that a yes?"

You nodded, unable to suppress the smile that spread across your face. "Yes," you said softly, your eyes meeting his with a warmth that spoke of everything unspoken between you. "It’s a date."

Hotch’s smile widened just a touch more, and you saw a flicker of relief in his eyes, a quiet kind of joy that made your heart swell. It was such a simple thing—a date—but it felt like a promise, a beginning, a chance for something real outside the chaos of your lives.

As the moment settled between you, the jet full of your colleagues who had become your family, Morgan let out another chuckle. "Just remember, Hotch," he said, grinning as he looked at both of you, "we’ll all be expecting a full report."

Emily smirked, giving you a playful nudge with her elbow. "And we’ll be rooting for you guys," she added, her eyes sparkling with genuine happiness. "All the way."

You felt a warmth spread through you, not just from the support of your team but from the quiet certainty that you were finally on the same page with Hotch. This was more than just a fleeting moment; it was the start of something that neither of you was willing to let slip away this time.

As the jet continued its journey through the sky, you could feel the shift in the air, a sense of hope that was shared by everyone in that small space. It wasn’t just about the kiss you’d shared or the night you’d spent together. It was about a future, a chance for happiness that you both finally believed in.

And it all began with a date, a new beginning that held the promise of everything you’d both been too afraid to dream of—together.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1060

@khxna

i’m a hotch girl

one thing about Hotch girls, they can write their asses off 🤩 it's mind blowing

╰┈➤Welcome, bienvenue, welcome. ❣

Hii, welcome to my blog! You can call me Maniiacc, or cherry whatever you prefer.

I'm an 18 year old writer, leo, infp, bi, and a huge metalhead.

So, I'm writing this because I wanted to start writing fics, or short stories (maybe long if I find the motivation and a good plot.) about the characters in criminal minds. I was a bit hesitant to do this because english isn't my first language, but I finally found the courage to publish this! ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

The characters that I will write about are going to be:

Aaron Hotchner

Derek Morgan

Spencer Reid

Jason Gideon

Elle Greenaway

Jenniffer Jareau

Penelope Garcia

Emily Prentiss

So, this blog will be for AFAB readers, either female or gender neutral while written.

I'm open to write angst , fluff, smut and a mix of all of the above.

If anyone wants to send any request I will be more than happy to write a fic about them, and I will do my best with all of your requests (if anyone sends any ૮₍ ´• ˕ •` ₎ა)

And I think that's all, thank you for reading this if you made it this far, hope you have a wonderful day beautiful people! (づ˶•༝•˶)づ♡

Criminal minds masterlist.

Fluff→ (ֶָ֢⊹𐙚)

Angst→ (˖𓍢ִ໋🦢)

Smut→ (☢)

Aaron Hotchner

Safety [xfem!reader]˖𓍢ִ໋🦢⊹𐙚

Derek Morgan

[no content here yet]

Spencer Reid

[no content here yet]

Jason Gideon

[no content here yet]

Elle Greenaway

[no content here yet]

Jenniffer Jareau

Echoes of silence[fem!reader]˖𓍢ִ໋🦢⊹𐙚

Penélope Garcia

[no content here yet]

Emily Prentiss

[no content here yet]

Safety

Hii! This is my first fic here, I hope all of you enjoy it, sorry if the end feels a bit rushed or OC for Aaron, if you have any advice I will be more than happy to read it. Hope you like it!

Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

(˖𓍢ִ໋🦢+⊹𐙚)

Tw:Deprecating mental health.

Aaron Hotchner finds himself at his lowest after his divorce, and after months of seeing the same therapist, he can't help but wonder if he ever felt so safe with someone else.

Word count: 2445

He knew exactly when it all went down. The day he stopped being a great boss and agent to become an aggressive and somber shell of whom he used to be. The neat and hardworking persona he put on at work became a disheveled and unapproachable figure that preferred to be alone at all times, snapping at little things that normally would've made him laugh.

He didn't feel like Aaron Hotchner anymore, he just felt like a failure, he failed as a husband, he failed as a boss, and most importantly he failed as a father. When Haley finally decided to divorce him he understood her, after all who would want a stranger as a husband; he wasn't a stranger when they met, and he wasn't a stranger when they got married; he knew Haley used to love him, she used to love the Aaron she knew, but the man she was married to nowadays wasn't someone she recognized.

But she wasn't the only one that felt that way, his colleagues couldn't comprehend his eyes anymore, they were profiles, they were aware that Aaron was gone, and Haley took him with her the day the divorce papers were sent to his office.

Jason felt bad for his long time friend, he knew what loss felt like, but seeing the someone you love building a new life without you in it?, he couldn't relate to that, but he could bet on the fact that it could be more painful to deal with, after all when someone dies you can rely on the fact that their last memories were with you, but when they live? You just become a part of them, an afterthought that maybe comes back sometimes but gets pushed away by their new special one.

Jason also knew that he couldn't be in the team anymore, his happiness also long gone. But he wanted to give his friend a last piece of advice.

-"You're not fooling anyone Aaron"

-"I'm not trying to-"

-"Stop; as your friend, I beg you to let me help you Aaron. I'm sorry, but I won't be here pretty soon, I don't want to leave you alone in this moment, but I also need to find myself again, the difference between you and me is that I know how I'm going to do it, you don't, and maybe, just maybe, talking with someone will help you" as he finished talking he gave Aaron a white card with a business number on it. And on closer inspection, he realized that it was a therapist number.

-"I won't do it. Good luck finding yourself Gideon, I wish you the best."

As he looked at the card in his hands he couldn't help but remember his friend, whom he was so cold with the last time they talked with each other; he regretted it, honestly, he regretted a lot of things he did since he lost control of his life, and he was sorry for all of it, so, to apologize to his friend in a way, he decided to go to the therapist he recommended him. It was a late decision, and he was aware, but better late than never, or at least that's what he told himself as he entered the small but cozy studio apartment used as an office, his profiler brain quickly went to analyze all the little things that were neatly placed in the office. From the dark green rug under his feet, to the small drawing the therapist had inside the front pocket of her jeans.

-"Welcome Aaron, my name is ____, I'm happy that you trust me enough to be here with me today."

She sent a reassuring smile his way, but he didn't find any strength in his to give her one back, merely nodding her way and loosening his tie the moment he started feeling the walls of the apartment closing in on him. He felt like a kid once again, when he would go to the therapist by his school request for being a problematic kid. Maybe that's why he was loosing his breath, or why his hands were shaking, he felt pathetic, an FBI agent on a therapist office, what a disgrace. He could practically hear Strauss firing him in this moment, what was he going to tell the team?, that he was, indeed, a failure with everything he did?, that he was going crazy?, that he's been in such a dark place mentally that he couldn't even look at himself in the mirror without hating what he saw in the reflection?, or maybe that the thought of sharing his self-deprecating thoughts with someone gave him panic attacks?. Oh god, he felt like he was going to vomit, was his vision clouding because he was going to faint?, no, he was going to cry, in front of a complete stranger, would she tell his superiors?. His thoughts never ending, giving him a migraine, his chest heaving with every sharp breath he took.

-"Aaron?"

She looked at him, concern clouding her expression as the man in front of her started having a panic attack in her office, he looked like he was completely lost in his mind, just like a kid would be if their emotions were too much to process for their tiny and naive brain. He looked exactly like that, like his emotions were taking a toll on him, as if he couldn't comprehend them, or maybe he could but didn't know how to come to terms with them.

-"Hey... It's okay, I know it hurts, you have to let it all out, maybe not today, or tomorrow, but we can start together, okay? You're not alone in this, Aaron, I'm here with you right now."

She took his hands in hers, giving his brain a new stimulus to focus on, placing one of them on her chest to give him instructions on his breathing, her voice soft and slow, making sure that he had the time to understand everything she was saying, now that she was crouched to his level she could see the way tears flowed from his brown eyes, it was like his body was finally freeing itself from months, or even years, of untended emotions, he was finally letting himself go, but it clearly was way too late for it not to be painful. So much time of putting himself last in his priority list, of giving everyone else everything that he had and not leaving any support for his own self. Every selfless action pulling him deeper into an abyss of darkness until he reached the bottom; and it was clear to her that the bottom was reached a long time ago.

-"Come on, let it all out, you deserve it."

Aaron could swear that in that moment he could see himself as a kid, but nor like he did when the panic attack started, no, it was different now. He felt, comforted? No, that isn't the word he's looking for. He felt safe. That's it, safe.

After that day Aaron felt like the weight of years of unresolved emotions came off of his shoulders, he couldn't thank her enough, for that day an those that came after, every week he went back to that office, no, he went back to her, to her safety, it wasn't an easy process, nor a quick one; it took time, patience and understanding to finally be able to find himself again. Now when he looked at himself in the mirror he could see Aaron, he saw himself, or a better version of himself. He could finally talk with Haley without feeling like his entire world was falling apart. Therapy made him realize that their relationship had been broken long before the divorce, but the fear of loosing what he knew was stronger that the lack of love he had for his wife.

He could also look at his team in the eyes, lead them like he used to, the connection that they had before became even stronger. The fundamental pillars in his life weren't broken anymore, he finally fixed the structure that was his mind, using the support around him to help him lift the weight of his problems instead of doing it all by himself.

Nowadays he was able to say that he was happy.

And for that he thanked the person in front of him, ____.

-"I'm so happy that your life is finally yours."

He smiled at her words; she was right, he was finally the owner of his life, he took the decisions that were best for him without apologizing to anyone. But one of the things that he realized once everything became clear in his mind was that the feelings that he had towards her weren't just professional, or fond, they went way further than that. He liked her, a lot, everytime he talked with her for the last few months he could feel his heart racing, but this time instead of panic it was pure and utter affection. He couldn't dare to call his feelings for her "love", that was one of the things he was afraid of nowadays, her rejection. The mere thought of her rejecting him made sick; but he knew that realistically their relationship was almost impossible, after all he was just one of her many patients, even if he felt special he was just another client for her and he had to come to terms with that.

-"I have to thank you for that, you gave me all the keys to help me be the best version of myself, thank you, really."

-"Oh please, I only gave you the advice, you helped yourself Aaron, if you want to thank someone, thank yourself."

With a smile on her face she thought about the months they spent working together, the memories she made with Aaron were one of the best she had; it had been so long since she felt such a strong urge to help someone that sometimes it even surprised her. As someone whose job was learning to accept their emotions and confront them in a healthy way, she knew since the beginning that the relationship that she wanted to build with Aaron wasn't the professional one that she should want to build, but she couldn't help it, the attraction that she felt towards him wasn't only physical, while getting to know him she slowly realized just how much she enjoyed spending time with him, hearing about his day, the way that they trusted eachother... She didn't do that with her other clients, and that ashamed her, what kind of therapist did that made her? clearly a bad one. Developing feelings for a client was just shameful.

-"Honestly, with all the progress you made I think that you don't need my help anymore Aaron. You're ready to do this without me, I'm sure."

That phrase broke both of their hearts, neither of them wanted to let the other go, but ____ knew that it was for the best, she was getting attached to Aaron, no, she was getting attached to her patient, and she could loose her job for that. And even though a small part of her brain told her that it would be worth it, her logical side was stronger in her decision making, after all it was her job to be able to do that, her emotions couldn't get the best of her, she had to be the logical par of those interactions, nothing else, and with Aaron that line was crossed the first day, she couldn't let that happen again.

-"No."

His voice sounded desperate, and he was, this couldn't end like that, he thought he was ready to let her go, that he knew getting away from her was the best option. But now that it became true he couldn't help the desperation building inside of him, he needed her, but not as a therapist, he needed her in his life, and if the feeling was hopefully mutual he was willing to do anything to be with her.

-"I... I can't let you go, at least not before I say this-"

-"Aaron... Don't make this any harder that it should be, please."

-"After I tell you this you have the right to do whatever you want to do, but please, let me tell you how I feel."

after a few second without any response from her part he took that as permission.

-"I know that I shouldn't feel this way about you, trust me, I do. But there's nothing I can do about it. I've never felt like this ____, whenever we talk I stop being an FBI agent, a team boss, a stuck up man that can't feel trust. When I'm with you I'm just Aaron Hotchner, a father, a friend... a man in love. When we're together I don't feel like I have to fake anything, and to this day I'm not sure about a lot of things, and I admit that it embarrases me as a grown man. But one thing that I'm sure about is that I love you ____, and I want to know how it would feel to go out with you, to have casual days with you, even to wake up with you by my side. And... If you feel the same way... Please, just please, give us a chance to be together, I'll stop being your client, I don't need you as a therapist anymore, I just need you as ____."

His heartfelt confession brought tears to her eyes, her logical side pushed away as her emotions took the best of her, she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. For the first time in years she felt like logic was stupid, if logic doesn't let her be happy with Aaron, then she's going to be the most illogical person in the world. Her heart hadn't beat so fast in her life, and the fluttering feeling in her chest could be compared to a teenage kind of love. But if life with Aaron Hotchner felt like this, she wanted all of it.

-"You're not going to be my patient anymore..."

-"I'm sorry, I shouldn't ha-"

-"You're just Aaron right now, and I'm just ____, so, if you want this could be our beginning."

Once he heard those words his body moved on his own, wanting to hold her close to him, grabbing her waist in a firm but gentle grip he brought her closer to him and kissed her lips with a passion that he didn't even know he had in him.

-"This is our beginning."

This was so freaking cute 😍😍

Wonderful Tonight

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Gender Neutral Reader Word Count: 948 Tags: Food and wine talk, implied sex/closed door Summary: A sweet, domestic blurb based on the prompt 'no electricity.' A/N: Two uses of the word 'she', but it's a song lyric and not representative of the reader's pronouns.

“It’s late in the evening… She’s wondering what clothes to wear.” You hum along as two voices—Eric Clapton’s, and Aaron’s—warmly drift through the kitchen like the steam from the wide noodles he’s boiling on the stove. While you whisk together the ingredients for the sauce, rich, flavorful things like peanut butter and ginger and sesame oil, you sway your hips as if dancing, light and carefree.

Both of you are clad in loungewear, clothes so comfortable and worn you never let anyone see you in them but each other; his t-shirt is visibly threadbare, with a frayed neckline and a faded 10th Annual Fairfax County Charity 5k banner across the chest, and when you pass behind him to grab the soy sauce you press your lips to his shoulder just to feel its softness.

You add the soy sauce to your mixture—two kinds, dark and light, a perfect balance—along with minced garlic, and you smile when he turns to grab the colander and brushes his hand against the small of your back.

“And then she asks me, ‘Do I look all right?’ And I say, ‘Yes, you look wonderful tonight.’” The line is punctuated with a kiss on your cheek, something soft and easy, and then he drains the noodles, adds them to your bowl of sauce so you can toss everything together. The mixture turns them a pale orange, and you pour the finished product into two bowls, stick chopsticks into the mountains of the fragrant food; with a drizzle of chili oil and a sprinkle of chopped scallions, you are ready to move to the dining room, where candles and white wine and the rest of the record await you.

You’ve just set the bowls down on the table when the power goes out unceremoniously and the apartment is plunged into darkness. The record stops, the blissfully cool central air conditioning whirs to a halt, and Aaron looks over at you from between the two candlesticks with a look that just screams, it figures.

Your first date night in almost a month, due to his cases and your schedule and Jack’s boatload of summer activities, and it’s ruined in less than a second. 

“I’ll check the breaker,” he says with a sigh, and you grab a couple more candles from the sideboard drawer and take them to the living room, the bathroom, the bedroom. It becomes apparent, as you cross the apartment, that the problem isn’t the breaker; when you pass by the windows, you can see through the gauzy curtains that the whole complex is dark, streetlights included. Neighbors open their windows, probably an attempt at catching the evening breeze, and you do the same before meeting Aaron back in the dining room, where he stands with his hands on his hips. 

“It’s fine. We can eat in the candlelight; it’s romantic,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his waist, and he moves a hand to your cheek and leans in for a kiss. You can tell he’s not thrilled about it, always hates when things don’t go according to plan, but you’ll do anything to salvage the evening, and you know he will too. “Let’s move to the living room. It’s cooler now that the windows are open.” 

He arches a brow, but picks up the candlesticks and carefully carries them in while you dust off your rusty server talents and transfer the food and wine. You sit beside each other on the sofa, not across from each other as you would have at the table, but it means you can press your elbow against his thigh, take a noodle from his chopsticks just as he tips his head back to eat it, make him laugh like he hasn’t in weeks, so it’s all worth it in the end.

You’re halfway through your bowl when you get the bright idea to take out your phone and pull up the music app, to pick up where you left off and listen to something other than the chew and slurp of Thai peanut noodles and chilly sauvignon blanc. 

The bowls—and the wine bottle—sit empty on the table, the candles burned down low by the time the album cycles back to the original song, and now when you sway along, it’s with your body snugly in Aaron’s arms. He leans in for a kiss that tastes like ginger and peanuts, one you lengthen, deepen, a hand in his hair, and it’s an unspoken signal; you separate, carry your dishes into the kitchen and then walk around the apartment, blowing out the candles as you leave each room for the night. You make your way to bed, shedding your comfortable clothes, prepared to fill the rest of the evening the best way the two of you know how. 

Some time later, as you rest your cheek against his chest and yawn, sleepy and warm from such a perfect, if unexpected evening, he smooths his hand over your throat and tilts your chin to press a sweet, passionate kiss to your lips. 

He says all he needs to with that one kiss, but you curl your arms around him and smile against him as you ask for just one more. He looks so handsome in the flickering light of the candles, all dark, smoldering eyes and bare skin and striking features, and you let your kisses carry you away. 

By the time you close your eyes, pleasantly satisfied and ready to sleep, the evening’s soundtrack is the last thing on your mind, but as Aaron blows out the final candle and presses himself against your back, he whispers softly in your ear:

“Oh, my darling, you were wonderful tonight.”

Taglist: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner @dadbodhotch11 @itsmytimetoodream @unicornprancing @thinking-bucky @mugi-chwan95 @madamsnape921 @hxtchncr @ssahotchnerxx @vintagesubmariner @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @hotchnerxo @ashhotchner @hotchs-bitch @jaspxr

Irresistible

Concept: Forbidden sex. 

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner X virgin!fem!reader.

Content: Hotch being the hottest man alive; thigh riding; rubbing; innocence kink (I think?); Hotch being called Mr. Hotchner by reader (sorry not sorry); “loss” of virginity; penetrative unprotected sex (P in the V); guilt; feelings. 

Word count: 3.1k.

Written by @dudeitiskarev

      She shouldn’t be almost naked sitting on my lap. Straddling my thigh with only her small underwear keeping her away from me; rubbing herself against me and moaning softly onto the crook of my neck as I guided every short stroke back and forth by gripping her hips. 

     “Mr. Hotchner this is–”

     “I know.” I breathed into her chest, planting a gentle, wet kiss on her skin. “I know.”

     This was so wrong.

     All she had to do was clean my apartment, make it look as good as new and leave. 

     But it wasn’t the first time things had gotten heated – unprofessional. Neither of those many occasions I recalled how we exactly ended up here, so close to kiss each other. Though our lips haven’t touched before, we’ve done more than kissing – so much more. And that was what I craved the most. Her beautiful mouth. 

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