Quarter-zip — Aaron Hotchner
summary: you spend an entire case teasing Aaron Hotchner about his quarter-zips— until he gives you his during a freezing stakeout and it feels like warmth, safety and home. then the case goes wrong, you’re injured, and hotch confesses he loves you. you end up stealing his sweaters forever.
authors note: I think this is my favourite piece I’ve written to date! I hope you enjoy reading & please if you have any idea you’d like to see come to life, don’t hesitate to ask or share 💗💗
The motel room smelled faintly like burnt coffee and old carpet, and at two in the morning, everyone on the team looked equally exhausted.
Though somehow, he still looked unfairly put together.
Tie loosened. Sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. Hair slightly mussed from him running a hand through it every twenty minutes.
And, unfortunately for your own sanity, he was wearing that grey quarter-zip.
You leaned against the table in the makeshift command center, sipping coffee that tasted like regret as you narrowed your eyes at him.
Hotch barely glanced up from the file in his hands. “Good morning to you too.”
He nodded once. “And yet you found the energy to insult my clothing.”
Emily snorted from across the room.
Emily Prentiss looked up from her laptop. “I actually want to hear this.”
You gestured dramatically toward Hotch. “He owns suits worth more than my rent and insists on wearing that sad suburban dad quarter-zip every chance he gets.”
Derek Morgan laughed loud enough to echo. “She’s got a point, Hotch.”
“I’m choosing to ignore all of you.”
Spencer Reid adjusted his glasses. “Statistically speaking, repeated clothing preference often indicates emotional attachment to familiar objects.”
Hotch slowly looked at Reid.
Reid blinked. “I was trying to help.”
You grinned into your coffee. “Thank you, Reid.”
Hotch finally looked at you fully, and that was your first mistake.
Because his gaze softened in that way it only ever seemed to when it landed on you.
“Are you done, sweetheart?”
Your heart embarrassingly skipped.
You recovered quickly. “Never.”
And somehow that tiny almost-smile felt more rewarding than winning an argument.
By four a.m., the jokes had stopped.
The unsub had changed patterns.
What was supposed to be a simple surveillance operation turned into a waiting game in freezing November rain.
You were stationed two blocks away from the suspect’s house with Hotch in an unmarked SUV while the rest of the team monitored comms.
Rain hammered against the windshield.
The heating system in the car had apparently given up on life thirty minutes ago.
“Tell me again why serial killers can’t operate exclusively in Florida?” you muttered through chattering teeth.
Hotch glanced over from the driver’s seat.
“I’m doing it professionally.”
He sighed quietly before reaching into the back seat.
You frowned as he pulled something familiar into view.
You stared at it like it had personally offended you.
“You love that sweatshirt more than life itself.”
“You’ve worn it on six cases.”
His expression shifted—just enough to make your stomach flip.
“I notice things about you too.”
The air suddenly felt far too thin.
Rain continued tapping softly against the windows.
Then he held the sweatshirt out again.
Your entire body short-circuited at the softness in his voice.
The material was warm from his body heat.
You hesitated before pulling it over your head.
Something distinctly Aaron.
The sleeves swallowed your hands.
The warmth wrapped around you instantly.
And for reasons you absolutely refused to examine too deeply right now—it made your chest ache.
It felt like standing in his kitchen at midnight.
Like quiet conversations after difficult cases.
Like the way he always checked that you’d eaten.
Like the softness in his eyes when he thought you weren’t looking.
Your teasing vanished completely.
Hotch noticed immediately.
You looked down at yourself.
His lips twitched. “Get what?”
“Why you wear this thing.”
He leaned slightly closer. “And?”
His expression completely changed.
Gone was the stoic unit chief.
Gone was the carefully controlled professional mask.
Now he looked at you like you’d said something devastatingly honest.
Before either of you could say anything—
A gunshot cracked through the night.
“Shots fired!” Morgan yelled over comms.
Everything exploded into motion.
Hotch threw the SUV into drive.
Your suspect bolted from the house toward a back alley.
You and Hotch pursued on foot through slick pavement and pouring rain.
Another gunshot rang out.
Pain exploded through your shoulder.
Someone screamed your name.
The unsub was tackled by Morgan seconds later.
But all you could focus on was Hotch dropping to his knees beside you.
His hands pressed desperately against your shoulder.
His face looked pale with panic.
“I’m okay,” you whispered weakly.
“Well when you say it like that—”
And that terrified you more than the bullet wound.
Blood mixed with water beneath you.
Jennifer Jareau was shouting for an ambulance somewhere behind him.
But Hotch only looked at you.
“You are not leaving me.”
His forehead pressed against yours for one trembling second.
And then he whispered words you’d waited years to hear.
Even through the pain, you smiled.
A wet laugh broke from him—half sob, half relief.
“And you dress like a retired gym teacher.”
He actually laughed this time.
Then kissed your forehead.
“Survive this,” he whispered.
“You can make fun of my quarter-zips for the rest of our lives.”
Three weeks later, you stood in Aaron’s apartment wearing another one of his quarter-zips.
He walked into the kitchen and stopped cold.
You looked down innocently. “This old thing?”
He crossed the room slowly.
His hands settled on your waist.
“You used to mock these relentlessly.”
“I was young and foolish.”
“You mocked me last month.”
“Growth is a beautiful thing.”
He laughed softly before kissing you—slow, warm, familiar.
When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours.
You tugged the sleeves over your hands.
He smiled in that rare, breathtaking way that still made your heart stutter.
And wrapped in his sweatshirt, his arms, and his love—
you realized you already had everything you’d ever wanted.
titsay
yousharknotpass
janainaart
romaincrisis
areudirty
