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You think Happy hates you.
Happy thinks he's courting you. Or something.
Everyone is fed up.
reader is said to be 25 but like it really doesn't matter
Nobody in SAMCRO understands how you and Happy Lowman have managed to misunderstand each other this badly for this long.
At this point, it’s honestly impressive.
Like performance art.
Like watching two people stand in the middle of a road insisting they’re not about to get hit by a truck while everyone around them screams.
Because from the outside?
Happy is catastrophically in love with you.
Inside, however, Happy thinks he’s being subtle.
And you—
You are fully convinced the man despises you.
It starts small.
You move to Charming after getting a job at the local veterinary clinic.
You’re twenty-five, exhausted, and trying very hard to rebuild your life after a brutal breakup that left your self-esteem somewhere near the bottom of the Pacific Ocean.
You don’t want romance.
You don’t want complications.
You especially don’t want to accidentally antagonize terrifying outlaw bikers.
Unfortunately, the first time you meet Happy Lowman, you immediately assume he hates you.
Mostly because he stares at you like this:
Stone-faced.
Unblinking.
Deeply intimidating.
You’re carrying a cardboard tray of coffees into the garage for the clinic staff when Gemma waves you over.
“You met Happy yet?”
You glance toward the heavily tattooed man leaning beside a motorcycle.
Your survival instincts activate instantly.
“Oh,” you say weakly. “He looks… nice.”
Happy snorts softly.
You nearly jump out of your skin.
Gemma grins maliciously.
“Happy, this is the new vet tech.”
Happy looks directly at you.
The eye contact alone lowers your life expectancy.
Then he says:
“You smell like antiseptic.”
You stare.
“…Thank you?”
He nods once.
Then walks away.
You watch him leave in complete confusion.
Gemma bursts out laughing.
Unfortunately, she doesn’t explain anything.
The problem escalates quickly after that.
Because Happy keeps appearing around you.
Constantly.
At first you think it’s coincidence.
Then it becomes statistically impossible.
You show up at the diner before work? Happy’s there.
You stop for gas? Happy pulls in.
You grab groceries? Suddenly there’s six feet of terrifying biker silently taking cereal off the top shelf for you.
It would almost be sweet if he didn’t look so deeply unhappy every single time.
Because that’s the issue.
Happy never smiles at you.
Never flirts.
Never acts normal.
He just… stares intensely and says bizarre things before disappearing.
One afternoon you’re unloading dog food at the clinic when he suddenly appears beside your truck.
You nearly scream.
“Jesus Christ!”
Happy takes the bags from your arms effortlessly.
“You shouldn’t lift heavy shit.”
You blink.
“…Okay?”
“You’ll hurt your back.”
Then he carries everything inside and leaves without elaborating.
You stand there clutching the clipboard to your chest in bewilderment.
Your coworker Denise watches him go.
“That man wants to climb you like a tree.”
You stare at her.
“No he absolutely does not.”
“He carried forty pounds of dog food for you.”
“He looked angry about it.”
Denise laughs so hard she snorts.
Meanwhile, inside Happy’s brain: Courtship.
He’s doing courtship.
Probably.
Maybe.
Honestly he’s not entirely sure.
Happy’s understanding of romance is deeply limited.
He knows:
Bring things.
Fix things.
Protect person.
Stay near person.
That’s basically it.
He’s like a particularly violent crow presenting shiny objects.
Unfortunately, because he’s Happy, every act of affection looks vaguely threatening.
He doesn’t realize this.
“You’re losin’ your fuckin’ mind,” Tig tells him one afternoon.
Happy ignores him while replacing your windshield wipers in the clinic parking lot.
“She smiled at me yesterday.”
Tig stares.
“That’s your evidence she likes you?”
“She gave me banana bread.”
“She gives everyone banana bread.”
Happy pauses.
“…She wrote my name on the container.”
Tig physically puts his face in his hands.
You, meanwhile, are going through psychological warfare daily.
Because the more time passes, the more confusing Happy becomes.
He fixes things around your house without asking.
Your porch light suddenly works.
Your fence stops squeaking.
One morning your car has a full tank of gas despite definitely being near empty the night before.
You ask Gemma about it eventually.
“Does Happy… have a problem with me?”
Gemma chokes on her cigarette.
“A problem?”
“He always looks annoyed when I’m around.”
Gemma stares at you for a solid ten seconds.
Then bursts into hysterical laughter.
You look mildly offended.
“I’m serious.”
“Oh honey,” Gemma wheezes. “That man is gone over you.”
Your stomach flips instantly.
“…No he’s not.”
“He sharpened a knife because your ex-boyfriend liked your Facebook photo.”
You blink slowly.
“What?”
Gemma immediately realizes she wasn’t supposed to say that.
Oops.
After that, things get worse.
Because now you’re watching Happy differently.
And unfortunately once you start noticing things, you can’t stop.
The way he automatically positions himself between you and strangers. The way he remembers tiny details you mention once in passing. The way his eyes track you constantly in crowded rooms.
Still.
You remain unconvinced.
Because surely if Happy liked you, he’d actually act like it.
Right?
Wrong.
Very wrong.
But nobody tells you that because the club has collectively decided this is funnier.
The breaking point comes during a clubhouse party.
You’re helping clean up empty bottles while everyone else drinks and plays pool.
Happy sits nearby silently watching you.
As always.
Your nerves are completely fried at this point.
Because honestly?
You kinda like him.
Which is objectively terrible.
He terrifies you and confuses you and apparently haunts your daily routines like a very large emotionally constipated ghost.
You’re trying to carry a heavy crate toward storage when someone bumps into you.
The crate slips.
Before it can hit the floor, Happy catches it one-handed.
You stare.
He stares back.
Too close now.
Way too close.
“You okay?” he asks.
The concern in his voice catches you off guard.
“Yeah.”
Happy keeps holding the crate.
Keeps looking at you.
Your pulse jumps nervously.
Then, because your brain betrays you completely, you blurt:
“Why do you hate me?”
The entire room goes silent.
Actually silent.
Pool cues stop moving.
Music still plays faintly somewhere, but every person nearby freezes.
Happy looks genuinely stunned.
“…What?”
Your face burns immediately.
Too late now.
“You always glare at me,” you rush out. “And randomly appear places, and say weird cryptic things, and honestly I can never tell if you’re mad at me or planning my murder—”
Tig physically collapses against the bar laughing.
Chibs looks seconds from cardiac arrest.
Happy still stares at you like you just announced the sky is green.
“You think I hate you.”
It isn’t a question.
“You don’t?”
“No.”
The immediate certainty in his voice makes your stomach twist.
“Then why are you always staring at me like that?”
Happy frowns slightly.
“…Like what?”
“Like you’re angry.”
A horrifying realization dawns across Happy’s face.
“Oh.”
Tig is openly crying laughing now.
“Oh my God,” Juice wheezes. “He doesn’t know his face.”
Happy ignores all of them.
Still looking directly at you.
“I ain’t angry.”
“You literally sharpened a knife while watching me talk to a FedEx guy.”
“He flirted with you.”
Your brain stalls.
“…What?”
Happy looks confused now. Like this should be obvious.
“He touched your hand too long.”
Silence.
Then:
“You were jealous?”
“Yeah.”
Like it’s the dumbest question imaginable.
Your mouth falls open slightly.
Across the room Tig shouts:
“THANK CHRIST.”
Happy keeps talking before you can recover.
“I bring you shit.”
“You anonymously left twenty pounds of oranges on my porch.”
“You said you liked oranges.”
“That was.. courting?”
“Thought so.”
You stare at him in disbelief.
“You’ve been courting me?”
Happy’s jaw flexes slightly.
“…Maybe.”
“Oh my God.”
Suddenly everything rearranges itself inside your head.
The staring. The gifts. The protective hovering. The constant fixing things.
This terrifying man genuinely thought he was wooing you.
You burst out laughing.
Not meanly.
Just helplessly.
Happy immediately looks offended.
“What’s funny?”
“You are so bad at flirting.”
The club erupts instantly.
Tig nearly falls off his stool.
Chibs is openly cackling.
Happy glares at everyone murderously before looking back at you.
“You knew I liked you.”
“I thought you wanted me dead!”
Happy looks genuinely horrified by this possibility.
“Why the fuck would I buy dead people fruit?”
You laugh harder.
Happy watches you helplessly for a second.
Then something softens in his expression. Warmth. Affection. Relief.
“You laughin’ means you ain’t mad?”
You smile despite yourself.
“No.”
Happy steps closer slowly.
Still watching you carefully.
“Good.”
Your heartbeat starts pounding harder.
Because now that you know what you’re looking at—
God.
The way this man looks at you is devastating.
Like you’re something precious.
Like he’s been trying to hand you pieces of his heart for months and accidentally used intimidation tactics instead.
“You really like me?” you ask softly.
Happy snorts.
“Been carryin’ around your favorite snacks for three months.”
Your eyes widen.
“…Seriously?”
He pulls strawberry candies from his pocket immediately.
The exact kind you love.
Your heart absolutely melts.
“You giant weirdo.”
Happy shrugs once.
Then, quieter:
“You like me back?”
The vulnerability hidden beneath the question nearly destroys you.
You step closer until your hands lightly catch the front of his hoodie.
“Yeah,” you murmur.
Happy goes very still.
“Yeah?”
You nod.
Then kiss him before your courage disappears completely.
Happy makes a rough startled sound against your mouth immediately, like he genuinely didn’t expect this to work.
His hands settle carefully against your waist.
Gentle despite their size.
The kiss deepens slowly while the clubhouse erupts behind you.
Cheers.
Swearing.
Tig yelling:
“HE DIDN’T EVEN KNOW HE WAS SCOWLING.”
When you finally pull back, Happy rests his forehead briefly against yours.
“So,” you whisper, smiling, “next time maybe try flowers instead of ominous staring.”
summary - you think you’ve made aaron upset so decide not to tell him when you’ve been in a car accident
pairing - aaron hotchner x gf!reader
word count - 3k
Today was shit.
Like really terrible.
It was one of those days where nothing had gone right and you felt like the universe was caving in on you. From missing a meeting due to traffic to getting harassed by your boss again, there was nothing that had technically gone right.
Which is why you were calling Aaron on your drive home, because you knew he would make it better.
It was dangerous to rely on someone to make you feel better, but he was your person and there was no one you would rather speak to than him.
“Hotchner.”
You smiled as he always answered the phone the same way.
He said that people wasted time by looking at the caller ID rather than just answering the phone, so you were used to him never answering the phone any other way.
“Hi love.”
“Y/N?” He questioned and you had to chuckle.
“Who else would be calling you ‘love’?” You laughed.
“Do you know what time it is?”
“Um,” You looked at the clock on your car dashboard, “Nearly 11PM.”
“Yeah, it is. Look, you know we’ve got a really busy case right now?” He sounded pissed off and it made your heart drop.
“Yeah, I just thought…” You gulped to swallow back the oncoming threat of tears.
You didn’t want to cry over something so trivial as making your boyfriend upset, but when you had had a day as bad as yours anything was a possible trigger. Especially when Aaron was supposed to be the person to listen and comfort you.
“So I need to sleep and I need this phone line to be open for the police detectives.”
You could hear what he wasn’t saying; ‘Don’t call me’.
“Okay.”
“Alright, bye.” And he hung up.
It felt kind of pathetic to cry, but the tears kept falling.
You sniffled as you let out a few shaky breaths. Your eyes tried concentrating on the roads but your tears were sort of blinding your sight.
Your bad day had just gotten even worse.
The one person you knew would have cheered you up had to go and let you down. It wasn’t really his fault. He did have a really big case at the moment that was really stressful, so any sleep he could get was important, but it would’ve been nice to just speak to him for a few minutes.
You pulled down the sleeve of your jumper over your hand so you could wipe away the tears from your eyes.
You were thankful to be stopped at a red light.
Leaning over into your glove compartment you picked out a packet of tissues and took one out so you could blow your nose. Crying always led to a runny nose.
Maybe you’d done something really terrible and that was why the world was taking it out on you. But what had you done?
Except for this morning, you were always on time for work. You put up with endless sexist and gross comments from your boss. You worked really long nights and early mornings just to get the work done. Working as an assistant for a CEO wasn’t as glamorous as it sounded, but it paid the bills.
So why did you deserve to have such a shit day?
That’s what you were hoping Aaron could have answered.
Now you had only gone and upset him too.
The light turned green and you gripped onto the tissue as you took a hold of the steering wheel to turn left.
There were bright lights.
A car horn sounded.
Your feet slammed hard on the breaks.
There was an almighty crash.
And then it all went black.
<.><.><.>
“Miss. Miss, can you hear me?”
Your head felt so heavy and your chest felt tight.
Your eyes were slow to open, but when they finally did they felt so heavy - as if they were being weighed down.
Then you noticed the blue and red flashing lights against the pitch black of night and the paramedic that was leaning into your car to talk to you.
She had a stethoscope pressed against your chest and kept calling out to you for a response.
Slowly it was all coming back to you.
“Miss, answer if you can hear me.”
You nodded your head slowly.
“Okay good.” She said, “You were in a car accident. Do you remember what happened?”
Instead of responding you let the tears fall. Now you were coming back around and things were coming into focus you started to feel how much pain you were in. The seat belt must have stopped you from flying through the front window, but it had definitely bruised your entire chest and rib area in the process. That’s why it was probably painful to breathe.
The lady ducked back out of the car then.
“She’s pretty shaken.”
“We need to get her to a hospital. She could have internal bleeding.”
“Okay let’s cut her out and slowly transport her to an ambulance.”
“Have you asked who we should call?”
Their voices were all a blur as your eyes grew heavier again. The tears in your eyes were making your focus blurry again. It hurt to even cry.
Aaron was going to be so mad.
He was on such a busy case and the last thing he needed was to hear his girlfriend had been in a car accident - a bad one at that. You promised yourself then that you would tell the emergency response people that you didn’t have any emergency contacts. You didn’t need Aaron coming down here.
Not that you didn’t want him, because God you did, but more that you didn’t want to add any extra stress for him.
He had a hard enough job as it was without looking after you too.
He needed his rest, so you would do this alone.
<.><.><.>
Garcia was hurried as she approached Hotch’s office.
“Baby girl, what’s wrong?” Morgan asked from his desk as he watched his friend rush past.
“It’s Y/N.” She said and that’s when Morgan noticed the tears in her eyes.
Morgan shot up from his desk, as did Emily and Reid who had overheard the conversation. They didn’t ask questions, but did follow Garcia to Hotch’s office to listen in. It was clearly serious if Garcia was upset.
Garcia didn’t even knock before entering.
Hotch looked up from his desk, clearly unimpressed with the lack of knocking until he saw the looks on his team’s faces - especially Garcia’s.
“What is it, Garcia?” Hotch asked, clicking the lid on his pen.
“Sir, you know how you asked me to set up that system where if any immediate family relatives of ours were admitted to hospital then they’d flag on my system so we’d know?” She asked.
Hotch stood up immediately.
“Is Jack okay?” His heart sank.
“Yes, Sir, he is.” Garcia looked distressed still, “But Y/N was in a major car accident last night. Drunk driver hit her side of the car. Caused her car to be sent spinning across the road where it was then hit at the rear by a lorry.”
Hotch went pale. He felt like his heart had stopped beating.
“When?” Hotch picked up his phone.
No new messages.
Why had no one contacted him about this?
He was your emergency contact. He should have been notified about this.
“Accident happened last night at about 11:15. I only got the notification when I came in this morning, Sir.”
“She’s been in the hospital since 11:15 last night?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Where is she now?”
“I had a look and… seems like she’s been in surgery for most of the night.”
Hotch had heard enough. He was ready to go now.
“Prentiss and Morgan. Go to the police station and find out what you can about the accident. I want that drunk driver ID’d.” Hotch ordered and they both left the room immediately.
“Call us if anything changes, Hotch.” Morgan added and Hotch nodded.
Reid…” Hotch said.
“I’m coming to the hospital with you.” Reid said for his boss.
“I need you here to work the case with Dave.”
“Hotch, this will probably be the only time I say this… but no. I’m coming with you and no doubt Rossi will too. Y/N is our friend too.” Reid argued back and Hotch didn’t have to say anything else for everyone to know that he was grateful for it.
Hotch needed the support and he knew you would need it to.
Screw this case.
Family was more important.
“Garcia…”
“I have my computers scanning security footage as we speak, Sir.”
“Good.”
“Go get our girl, Sir.” Garcia said and Hotch wasted no more time before exiting his office.
<.><.><.>
“You can’t blame yourself, Aaron.” Dave said as he drove the car to the hospital.
Aaron had wanted to drive but Dave had disagreed. It would’ve been dangerous for him to drive at a time like this.
“I spoke to her 15 minutes before the accident, Dave.” Aaron said, his composure slowly breaking.
Dave didn’t add anything to the conversation because he knew this was Aaron’s way of opening up as to why he felt so guilty.
“I told her not to call because my phone needed to be open for the police detectives to call me.”
“You were sleep deprived Aaron.” Dave argued.
“That’s not an excuse.”
“Maybe not, but it was the truth.”
Aaron kept his gaze on the road in front of them.
This car journey had felt like the longest twenty minutes of his life. Then he thought about how long you must have been alone in your crumpled car until someone arrived - how long that must have felt. How scary that must have been.
“I can’t lose her too.” Aaron said.
“You won’t. She’s got a strength in her that not everyone does.”
Aaron wanted to smile at that because he knew it was true, but it was hard to smile when he didn’t have a clue what state he was about to find you in.
<.><.><.>
Aaron stormed into the ER.
He did a quick sweep of the room and walked to the front desk. His hands gripped the front desk like it was the only thing keeping him standing up.
“Y/N L/N.”
“I’m sorry, Sir?” The nurse questioned.
“I’m here to see Y/N L/N. She was brought in late last night from a car accident.” Hotch explained.
“Let me see.” The nurse typed away on her computer.
Rossi and Reid came up behind Aaron as they also waited to hear what the nurse had to say.
Aaron’s team was like a family to him, which meant they were also a family to you. The team had taken a liking to you ever since they had seen how much you had positively impacted Aaron’s life. They had never seen him smile so much as when he was around you. You brought out the best in him and the thought of losing you meant losing their boss too.
“Are you Aaron Hotchner, Sir?” The nurse questioned.
“Yes.”
The nurse smiled sympathetically, “Miss L/N specifically told the doctors last night that we weren’t to contact you.”
“W-what?” Aaron furrowed his brows in confusion. “I’m her emergency contact.”
“We’re aware, Mr Hotchner.”
“S-so what?” Aaron tried to calm himself down because he knew it wasn’t the nurses fault, “That’s it?...”
“Miss L/N told us not to contact you, Mr Hotchner, so we didn’t. However, now you are here I don’t see any reason to hold you back any further. Just sign this ‘sign in’ sheet, please.”
“Thank you.” Aaron said honestly, feeling both a wave of relief and anxiety.
Why had you told them not to call him?
Well, he knew why…
It was starting to feel like this was his fault. Doubts creeping into his mind as to whether he was the right person for you. It felt like no matter what he did, no matter how happy he became, he would always be tested in some way.
<.><.><.>
Reid and Rossi had gone to buy you flowers, leaving Aaron in the room alone with you.
It had been a shock to see you at first.
He hadn’t really prepared himself for how you might look, but he definitely hadn’t expected this.
You were bandaged like a mummy. Your head had a thick bandage wrapped around. Your hands were littered with plasters and gauze from where tiny bits of shattered glass had cut into your skin. He couldn’t see your chest but he had no doubts that the entire area would be black and bruised.
It made Aaron feel sick seeing you like this.
<.><.><.>
When you finally came around you felt lighter than you had before.
There was no seat belt cutting into your skin and you could breathe a little easier too. The bed you were laid in was really comfortable and someone had clearly dimmed the lights in preparation for you waking up.
Your eyes opened to find yourself in a hospital room.
The small window to the right told you it was a new day because it had been nighttime the last time you had seen the sky. Whether it was the next day or a couple of days was difficult to guess.
You looked down from the window to the small table.
There were six bunches of flowers of all different varieties. All of them had cards underneath them and you were eager to know who they were from.
The one that had a mathematical joke on had to be from Reid. The one that was covered in pink glitter was definitely from Garcia. The one that was clearly handmade had to be the work of Jack Hotchner. That one made you smile.
Your eyes went to the other side of the room where there was a chair facing your bed.
It was empty.
You knew who had been there, though, thanks to the blazer and red tie draped over the back of it.
Just as you started thinking about Aaron, you could hear your two favourite boys approaching.
“But I want to give the giraffe to her now, dad.”
“Ssh, ssh. We have to be quiet now bud, okay? Y/Ns sleeping.”
“But she’s been sleeping all day.”
“That’s because she’s poorly.”
“Oh, okay.”
Aaron and Jack entered the room a moment later, leaving the door open.
“Y/N!” Jack screamed in excitement when he saw that you were awake. He shuffled himself out of his dad’s hold until he was on the floor and running over to your bedside.
Aaron was ready to tell Jack off until he saw that you were in fact awake.
“Jack, careful.” Aaron said when his son started climbing on the bed.
“He’s okay.” You assured them both.
“Dad said you’re poorly.” Jack said.
“I guess I am.” You smiled at him.
“Does this hurt?” He pointed to the bandage on your forehead.
“A little.”
“Dad can kiss it better.” Jack explained like he was the certified doctor working in this hospital. It made you and Aaron laugh, which was probably the best form of medicine anyways. “Won’t you dad?”
Instead of giving a yes or a no response, Aaron came over to you and placed a kiss on top of the bandage. You couldn’t feel his lips, but his presence was enough to make you a little bit emotional.
He smelt like home and his closeness was so warm that you felt comforted.
Aaron kept his face close to yours as pulled away. He looked at you and noticed your teary eyes. His thumb reached your cheek to softly pad over the skin there - no doubt to check that you were really here and okay.
“Hey Jack, why don’t we go and get a chocolate bar for Y/N, hmm?” You heard Rossi’s voice behind Aaron.
Neither you or Aaron made a move from each other to check. Rossi must have taken Jack from the room because it went so quiet then.
Aaron kept his gaze on your eyes and you could see the sadness lost within them.
You hated to see him so sad. It was your weakness.
“I’m…”
“If you say you’re sorry I’m going to be really upset.” Aaron said quickly to cut you off.
You nodded, crying a bit more now.
“Thank you for coming.” You said instead.
“Don’t need to thank me, sweetheart. I’ll always be here.” Aaron moved to perch on the bed beside you, careful not to bump into any sore part of you.
“How did you even know?”
“Garcia.”
“Of course” You smiled. Aaron smiled because you smiled.
“Y/N, I’m so sorry for being an asshole last night.”
“Aaron, love, I can see that you’re beating yourself up over this but it wasn’t your fault. Yes, you were kind of an asshole. I did need you last night, but you definitely didn’t cause this and I know you know that.”
“You’re too lovely.” He responded.
“I just won’t have you blame yourself for something you had no control over.”
Aaron nodded, “I’ll never not answer the phone again.”
“Okay.”
“But you have to promise to never block me as an emergency contact again. You hear me?” He said sternly.
“I do. It was kind of stupid of me.” You rolled your eyes thinking back now.
“Yeah it was.” Aaron gave you a small smirk, glad to hear you were okay enough to make a joke or two.
“I just didn’t want you to worry.”
“Honey. I’m going to worry whether or not you are actually okay.”
“When I told the nurse to not call you she asked whether you were a crazy ex of mine.” You chuckled.
“You’re an absolute menace.”
“A menace that’s going to need lots of kisses to nurse me back to health.”
summary: while hunting an unsub out of state, you’re injured during a raid, forcing Aaron Hotchner to confront how close he came to losing you. When you wake up in the hospital, he abandons his carefully planned proposal and asks you to marry him right then and there
Aaron Hotchner x Reader
authors note: I’m away for a few days this week so unfortunately won’t be able to upload or publish anything but I will be writing ready to upload once I’m home. And if you have any ideas they would be much appreciated! 💗💗
The hotel room in Richmond, Virginia smells like stale coffee, gun oil, and exhaustion.
Very BAU.
You’re sitting cross-legged on one of the beds, your laptop balanced on your thighs as you scroll through victimology reports for what feels like the hundredth time. Three women abducted in ten days. Two recovered bodies. One still missing. The unsub is escalating, and everyone feels it.
Across the room, Aaron Hotchner stands near the mirror, adjusting the black FBI vest over his white dress shirt; his tie still somehow perfectly straight despite the fact that none of you have slept in nearly thirty hours.
And somehow, unfairly, he still looks devastating.
He catches you staring in the mirror.
One brow lifts.
“See something you like, sweetheart?”
You nearly choke on your coffee.
“You’re aware we’re hunting a serial killer right now, right?”
Hotch turns toward you fully, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips—that rare expression you guard like treasure because almost no one else gets to see it.
“I’m aware,” he says calmly. “I’m also aware that you’ve been staring at me for the last thirty seconds.”
“I was profiling.”
“Of course.”
You narrow your eyes. “I can absolutely still embarrass you in front of the team.”
His smirk grows.
“I’d love to see you try, honey.”
Your heart does the same stupid little flip it’s been doing for two years.
Two years of secret smiles over case files.
Two years of stolen kisses in empty conference rooms.
Two years of carefully keeping your relationship private from the team—
which lasted all of three months because Penelope Garcia noticed everything.
Apparently sneaking longing glances at your unit chief was not as subtle as you thought.
Your phone rings before you can fire back a response.
Hotch’s expression shifts instantly back into work mode.
“Go.”
You answer.
Morgan’s voice comes through sharp and urgent.
“We got a location. Reid found a property tied to the unsub’s father. Rural farmland twenty minutes outside the city.”
You’re already standing.
“Is SWAT moving?”
“They’re en route. We’re moving now.”
Hotch grabs his weapon.
And just like that, the softness disappears.
This is what the two of you do.
Love each other quietly.
Run toward monsters loudly.
—
The farmhouse looks abandoned.
Paint peeling.
Windows boarded.
Too quiet.
You and Hotch move side by side toward the back entrance while Morgan and Prentiss circle the perimeter. Local police stack behind you.
Hotch glances at you.
“You stay behind me.”
You give him a look.
“We’ve had this conversation.”
“And I keep having it because you never listen.”
“Because I’m an FBI agent.”
“You’re also my favorite person.”
Your breath catches.
He says things like that so casually sometimes, as if he doesn’t realize the effect they have on you.
Then—
A scream.
Female.
Inside.
Everyone moves.
Hotch kicks in the back door.
Chaos erupts.
An unsub bolts from the hallway.
Gunfire explodes.
You move toward the scream while Hotch tackles the unsub.
Then pain.
White-hot and blinding.
You collapse.
The world tilts sideways.
Someone is screaming your name.
No—
not screaming.
Hotch.
You’ve never heard his voice sound like that before.
Panicked.
Terrified.
He’s suddenly above you, dropping to his knees.
There’s blood.
Too much blood.
Your blood.
“It’s okay,” you whisper weakly.
His hands shake as he presses pressure against your side.
“No,” he says harshly. “No, honey, stay with me.”
You try to smile.
“Still bossy.”
His eyes are glassy.
And then, to your complete shock—
he laughs.
A broken, disbelieving laugh mixed with tears.
“Please don’t do this right now.”
“You’re ruining my dramatic exit.”
“You are not dying.”
His voice leaves no room for argument.
“You hear me? You are absolutely not dying.”
The EMTs arrive.
Everything blurs.
The last thing you remember before blacking out is Hotch kissing your forehead and whispering—
“I need you to come back to me.”
—
When you wake up in the hospital, your entire body feels like it got hit by a truck.
Garcia is crying.
Morgan looks stressed.
JJ hugs you so carefully you nearly cry yourself.
Reid awkwardly informs you that statistically your recovery outlook is “extremely favorable.”
Prentiss tells him to stop talking.
It feels normal.
Comforting.
Family.
But Hotch isn’t there.
Your chest tightens.
“Where is he?”
The room goes suspiciously quiet.
Then Garcia smiles.
Oh no.
“What did you all do?”
Morgan grins.
“Not us.”
The door opens.
And there he is.
Aaron.
Still in his suit.
Tie gone.
Exhaustion written all over him.
But his eyes immediately soften when they land on you.
The team begins filing out far too quickly.
Garcia whispers, “Oh my God this is happening.”
Prentiss physically drags her out.
The door closes.
Silence.
Hotch walks toward your bed.
“Aaron?”
He reaches into his pocket.
And suddenly your brain completely stops functioning.
Because—
that is very clearly a ring box.
“What are you doing?” you whisper.
He kneels beside your hospital bed.
Aaron Hotchner—who never acts without certainty—looks emotional enough to completely fall apart.
“When I thought I lost you…” his voice breaks.
You start crying instantly.
He laughs softly through his own tears.
“I had a better plan than this.”
“You planned this?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
Your jaw drops.
“Three—”
“I was waiting for the right time.”
He gently takes your hand.
“But then I saw you lying on that floor, and I realized there will never be a perfect time.”
He opens the box.
The ring is stunning.
But not nearly as stunning as the man holding it.
“You make impossible things feel safe,” he whispers. “You make dark days feel survivable.”
Your tears won’t stop.
“I love you. More than I ever thought I could love someone.”
He presses a trembling kiss to your knuckles.
“So honey…”
That tiny smile appears.
The one meant only for you.
“Will you marry me?”
You’re fully sobbing now.
“Yes.”
His entire face crumples with relief.
“Yes?”
“Yes!”
He slides the ring onto your finger before kissing you like he’s been waiting forever.
Soft.
Desperate.
Adoring.
When the door bursts open—
the entire team had absolutely been listening.
Garcia is openly weeping.
Morgan yells, “FINALLY.”
Reid looks confused about why everyone is crying.
Prentiss throws her hands in the air.
JJ is recording everything.
Hotch groans into your shoulder.
“They’re all fired.”
You laugh against his lips.
“No they’re not.”
He kisses you again.
“No,” he murmurs. “Probably not.”
He rests his forehead against yours.
And for the first time in your life—
after all the darkness.
After all the violence.
After every terrible case—
forever feels possible.
And it looks a lot like Aaron Hotchner calling you honey for the rest of your life.
Summary: It was well known within the team that there was one other person that had captured their team leader's heart. You knew Aaron back when he and Haley took a break from their relationship and he went to the academy and met you. What the team doesn’t know is that you have been with the FBI ever since, working the west coast mainly until you get requested to join the BAU.
series list
word count: 6.5K
an// the timeline is a little different in this from the show, Aaron spent longer as a prosecutor before going to the academy and joining the FBI for this to work and to make the reader younger than Aaron. This is also a world where Foyet never happened and Haley is still alive.
-
Aaron barely remembers walking back to the apartment and getting his cell phone to dial 911. His heart was pounding in his ears, racing at the severity of the situation. The first officer showed up and you had been gone for less than ten minutes.
This was a moment when he hated being good at his job. All of his instincts were screaming the same things at him over and over. This was organized, targeted, and planned.
Which meant whoever took you had likely been preparing for this for a long time. That made him grip his phone a little tighter. It only lessened when Rossi appeared. There were a dozen officers in your apartment and surrounding the area combing for anything.
“What do you need?” He’s watching Aaron fall apart in front of him while trying his best to keep it all wrapped up inside.
“Get the team together.”
It was two o’clock in the morning, but without hesitation Rossi steps out into the hall and starts making calls. The team wasn’t happy to already have their phones ringing when they landed less than three hours ago but as soon as he uttered your name your name they were on their feet.
The offices were dark, most of the building was empty at this hour. Everyone was wearing varying combinations of sweatpants, jackets, and whatever could be hastily thrown on. Garcia looked paler than normal and wasn’t cracking any of her usual jokes.
“What happened?” Morgan asks, his fists balled up at his sides.
Aaron shifts into unit chief mode. He knows that he needs to in order to get you home.
“Y/n was abducted from her apartment approximately fifty minutes ago.” He swallows, he takes a second to choose his words carefully “I was there.”
That got everyone’s attention instantly, heads snapping in his direction. There’s a million things they want to say but they know this isn’t the time.
“They have to be organized, maybe even professional. No signs of entry and they pulled it off silently. Gone within a minute.”
“Who would do this?” JJ asks, flicking away angry tears from her waterline. She crosses her arms in front of her chest protectively.
“That’s what we need to find out.” Rossi nods.
“I got a partial plate and gave it to the police, but I want you to look into it too.” Aaron nods at Garcia and she opens her laptop eagerly, “We also need to look into every single case Y/n has worked.”
Garcia blinks a couple times before looking up at him.
“Sir, every-”
“Everything.” He nods, “Before the BAU.”
Los Angeles. Human trafficking, kidnappings, violent crime, organized crime, cold cases, everything.
“We start with motive.”
Morgan nods, “Enemies.”
“Exactly.” Aaron looks around the room with a serious look on his face, “Who benefits the most from taking Y/n?”
The silence that followed was uncomfortable because everyone knew the answer. A lot of people. You are exceptional at your job, which unfortunately means you’ve spent the last decade ruining very dangerous people’s lives.
Garcia frowns while typing, “Her file list is enormous, there’s hundreds of possible suspects.”
Both Morgan and Prentiss speak up at the same time.
“Give it to Reid.”
Everyone gets to work quickly, eager to find a lead to get you home. It isn't lost on anyone at the table the grim expression on their boss's face. Rossi doesn't say a word as he reaches out a hand to his shoulder, giving it a careful squeeze causing Aaron to look over.
"We'll get her back, Aaron." He reassures.
It takes a moment for him to reply.
"I love her."
"We know."
-
Ten years ago.
The snow started sometime after midnight. You knew it because Aaron had snuck over to steal you away to his apartment for the night. He was very convincing. The big flakes had just started to fall. By six o’clock that morning, Quantico had effectively shut down.
Outdoor drills were postponed. Roads were buried, leaving instructors stuck at home. Training exercises canceled. The academy looked like someone had dropped it inside a snow globe. You celebrated by stealing one of Aaron’s sweatshirts and staying in bed all morning. Aaron got up to make each of you a cup of coffee and to open the curtains. The snow is still falling, the room glows brighter than normal with the sun reflecting off the snow.
“Nice.” He smirks, pulling at the neck of his hoodie, effectively pulling you lightly onto his side of the bed. He sets both mugs of coffee on his nightstand and slides back under the covers. Aaron never gets away with a lazy morning lie in, but here he is getting back in bed and wrapping you against his side.
“Finders keepers.” You argue.
“That’s a poor argument.” He shakes his head, a small grin gracing his face.
“Mmm.” You hum to disagree and his fingers tickle your waist under his hoodie.
“You steal things.”
You grin, “You love me anyway.”
The words come out completely casually on your end. A joke, a throwaway comment. At least until you feel Aaron freeze. The apartment suddenly gets very quiet, his TV playing softly in the background. He stares down at you and you sit up to get a good look at him.
“Oh my god.”
He looks away, which is a confession by itself.
You gasp, “Oh my god.”
“Y/n-”
“You do!”
Aaron closes his eyes briefly and you feel absolutely delighted. He was already regretting everything, it wasn’t how he planned this happening.
“You are enjoying this entirely too much.” He mumbles.
You were grinning so hard your face was starting to hurt. Aaron reaches out toward his nightstand to grab his coffee and take a long sip.
“Say it.”
“No.”
“Aaron.”
“No.”
“Aaron.”
“I love you.”
You move closer to sit on top of his lap, “Really?”
He snorts out a laugh and shakes his head in disbelief, “After all of that and now you question it?”
You laugh softly and reach out a hand to run through his hair. It’s more casual than normal, loose strands falling down on his forehead. He looks the least stressed that you’ve ever seen him.
“I love you.” He repeats, his eyes looking deeply into yours.
“I love you too.”
The words come out easily, Aaron stares back at you with a widening smile. You lean down to press a quick kiss against his lips. His expression has softened in a way you had never seen before. For a moment neither of you speak, just looking into each other's eyes.
He pulls you down against his chest, his arm wrapping around you so you can both look out the window at the snowstorm. You can hear his steady heartbeat beneath you.
The rest of the morning disappeared, movies played but neither of you paid much attention. The morning was spent lazily making love and never leaving the bed. Aaron has been absentmindedly playing with your hair for nearly twenty minutes, neither of you mention it.
The snow kept falling.
The apartment stayed warm.
Eventually you sit up a little, “We should go outside.”
He frowns, “No.”
“Why?”
He gestures toward the window.
“Snow.”
“Exactly.” You turn in his hold to look up at him.
“It’s cold.”
You roll your eyes, “You sound eighty.”
He pinches your hip lightly making you squeal.
“I sound smart, they closed down class today because of the snow.” He reminds, but you grab his hand and start to slowly pull him up out of bed.
"Who said anything about driving anywhere?"
He gives you a look.
“C’mon.”
He lets out a groan.
“Please?” You give him the biggest puppy dog eyes you can muster.
“If the two of us leave this dorm, one of us is going to get kicked out of the program.” He teases.
“I didn’t say we should go have sex outside.” You laugh.
His ears turn red, “That’s not what I meant but I know you’re creative enough to come up with something. I never know with you.”
You lightly smack his shoulder and roll your eyes.
“It just looks so pretty out there.” You turn back toward the window. He hesitates and you look back at him. You can see your stare is working, his brows soften and he sighs.
“Why do you always win arguments?”
“Because I’m hot.”
“That’s not how arguments work.”
“It is with us.”
Ten minutes later the two of you were outside. Obviously.
You practically bounded down the stairs, Aaron followed less enthusiastically. His hands instantly got shoved deep into his coat pockets. It had snowed nearly a foot and a half overnight. The academy grounds remain untouched, it was quiet and beautiful.
You spin in the middle of it, laughing. Aaron can’t stop watching you. You look happy. Really happy. The kind of happy that made his chest ache and he wanted to burn it to his memory for the rest of his life.
The two of you walk around looking at the trees that look like they came straight out of a Hallmark movie. The two of you make a very small snowman, the lack of gloves for either of you makes it short and sweet.
“Ooh, a snow angel!” You cheer, finding a clean spot of snow to lay down in. Aaron shakes his head with a smile he can’t hide standing over you while you fan your arms and legs back and forth.
“You’re gonna freeze.” He warns.
“Aren’t you gonna warm me up?” You smirk.
You reach out a hand so he can help you up without destroying it. You pull against him to reach out a crooked halo at the top of your creation. You lean into his side after you're done, both of you looking down at your work.
After a little while the wind starts to pick up. A sharp gust cuts across the open grounds and your smile vanishes.
“It’s cold!” You shriek.
Aaron stares while you shiver dramatically.
“Oh my god, it’s so cold.”
Aaron starts laughing, he doesn’t waste a second. It was the hard kind of laugh that almost never escapes him.
You point a finger at him, “Don’t.”
“You wanted this.” He holds up his hands, still chuckling.
He looks absolutely delighted.
“Shut up.”
He laughs even harder and wraps his arm around your shoulders a little tighter. The heat pours off of him and he blocks some of the wind.
“Have you gotten your fill of the winter wonderland?” He asks, raising a brow that says ‘I told you so’.
“Almost.” You smirk, by the time he catches the look in your eyes it's too late. A handful of ice cold snow gets tossed in his face. You run from his hold, the smile on his face becoming dangerous.
The two of you slip and slide in the fresh snow while he chases after you. Your heart is racing, cheeks growing rosy from the cold air. The two of you looked ridiculous, but neither cared one bit.
"I love you."
"I love you, too."
For one perfect day, the future didn’t matter. The choice of where the two of you would end up was not yet a thought. Two people so hopelessly in love you couldn’t imagine a world where you wouldn’t always be together.
-
The lightbulb overhead was still buzzing, your head pounding. Every heartbeat sent a wave of pain through your skull. The concussion wasn’t helping, and neither was the metal chair you had been tied to for hours.
Brendan had left you alone for stretches of time, each time one of his minions would check in it would confirm that he wasn’t interested in killing you. At least not yet. Somehow that was worse.
The heavy mental door groans as it opens, you don’t bother looking up.
“Back already?”
Brendan’s steps echo in the large room.
“You know, most hostages aren’t this sarcastic.”
You finally raise your head, “Most kidnappers aren’t this desperate for attention.”
He lets out a deep sigh and squats down in front of you to be at eye level.
“Still trying to get under my skin?”
“Well. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
His jaw tightens, his fingers flex into fists at his sides. This older version of Brendan was more dangerous than the one you had known before. The teenager that was arrested had been angry and impulsive. The man in front of you was surprisingly patient and restrained.
He holds up a bottle of water in front of your face, cracking the seal on it before holding it to your lips. You couldn’t take the bottle into your hand if you tried, the ropes are still biting into your wrists. After you get a few large gulps he takes the bottle back. Brendan grabs a chair and sets it up directly across from you. He slowly lowers himself to sit on it while watching you closely.
“What?” You eye him.
"Just admiring." He holds up his hands before leaning back, “I was just thinking.”
You ignore him, letting him continue.
“My father would’ve killed you already.”
You look around the room to stretch your neck, “Well, your father wasn’t exactly known for thinking rationally.”
He smiles, completely ignoring you.
“He would’ve made it messy.” He continues, “He would’ve enjoyed you in every way possible and then killed you right here. Paid someone to bury you somewhere your family would never find you. Somewhere your team would never find you.”
“And?”
“I’m not my father.”
That made your stomach tighten. The calm ones were always worse.
“I have a plan.”
There it is.
“Well, let's hear the speech you’ve been practicing.”
His brow wobbles.
“This isn’t a joke.” His grip tightening on the bottle making it crinkle, he suddenly stands. You remain calm, even while having each instinct screaming at you that this is bad.
“I had years to realize that this better be worth the wait.” He studies you, “Killing you is easy, it’s quick…”
His breath shudders, he’s enjoying this too much. It sends a chill deep into your bones. He's so excited he's actually getting himself worked up in front of you.
“It’s not what you deserve after taking away my family. You’ve done this to countless people-”
“Countless criminals.” You correct.
He sucks his teeth and shakes his head, "I should rip out your tongue."
He takes a quick step forward and grips your face tightly in one hand, your cheeks being pulled tightly.
"You and I both know it's your biggest asset." He licks his lips and your skin crawls, "No more sharp comments? That's a Y/n I think I could grow to like."
He lowers his face closer to yours, enough so you can feel his breath hit your face.
"Don't worry, I meant it when I said it's your biggest asset. People with money will buy anything.”
Your stomach drops, not following where he's going with this. He can see it on your face and for the first time since being abducted he feels like he actually has the upper hand.
“I'm putting you on the open market.” He finally lets go of your face but his hand moves to tuck your hair behind your ear, “For the highest bidder… The cartels, gangs, crime syndicates? All of the people you’ve put away. All of the families out there that you’ve destroyed. People out there would love the chance to return the favor, and I can’t wait to see who you end up with. I will give them ideas, no doubt.”
You force your eyes to remain steady on his, “You’re just as pathetic as your father was.”
He lets out a frustrated huff, you can see him fighting the urge to hit out. Fighting to stay in control, with a couple deep breathes through his nose he manages. He runs a hand back over his hair, plastering on a false smile.
“I wonder if you’ll choose the coward’s way out like he did.”
That does it. You officially strike his last nerve and he raises a hand to your face with a closed fist. Your cheekbone explodes with pain at the contact, your head falls to the side. You let out a pant and he fights to catch his breath.
He runs a hand over his hair again, trying to regain control.
“Okay!” He claps, “Let’s get you ready for the camera.”
-
Hours passed and sleep had become totally irrelevant to the team. The sun came up hours ago and no one even flinched. Everyone is following different leads or old cases that could be relevant.
Reid has been working the list and eliminating the cases that weren’t likely. Morgan and Prentiss went back to your place to try and figure out how they broke into your apartment without a trace. JJ coordinated with the local law enforcement.
Aaron was working on everything. Every lead, profile, and possibility. Nobody tried to tell him to take a break, no one would be bold enough to suggest it right now. Not even Rossi. Everyone had seen Aaron determined before, but they had yet to see it with such personal fear underneath it.
Real fear.
That scared them too.
“I focused on offenders with demonstrated fixation behaviors and cases where she testified with the most involvement.” Reid states, finally done filtering through hundreds of cases, “I’ve landed on a trafficking case, a cartel, and two serial killers.”
“How lovely.” Garcia shivers.
Aaron thinks for a second, his gut screaming at him.
“Tell us about the trafficking case.”
“It passed around several agents before Y/n got it, she was the one who decided to go undercover.” Reid informs and everyone sinks with the realization about why this is so personal. You went undercover and betrayed someone, that’s why they are coming after you now.
“It was five years ago, a multi-state operation with major convictions and dozens of victims were rescued by Y/n.”
Silence falls over the room and Aaron recalls your speech from all those years ago. That was two years after this case, it’s clearly what pushed your career forward. He strains to remember the details you talked about, he had been so nervous to see you.
“What would have happened if you weren’t there when she was taken?” Rossi asks him, the look on Aaron’s face tells them the gears are turning.
Aaron shrugs, “It would’ve been hours before anyone knew she was missing.”
“Exactly.” Rossi nods, “Even then, you can’t even file a missing police report until it’s been twenty-four hours.”
The case details flash in Aaron’s mind. They got their victims without a trace due to how they broke in. Being on the inside was how you had discovered they would watch their target’s routines before abduction. They would break in while the victim was away and take them directly from t
“Morgan, Prentiss.” Aaron looks over at them, “Go back to her apartment and look for places someone could lie in wait.”
They both nod and grab their jackets before quickly leaving the room.
“You think the unsub was there when the two of you came home?” Rossi asks.
“That would explain how they took her silently.”
“One of the defendants from that trafficking case was a juvenile.” JJ reads from the file.
“Name?”
“Brendan Thomas.”
“Garcia.”
“On it, sir.” She types away, “Brendan Thomas has been in Lawrence Correctional Center for the past five years, he was just released early for good behavior four months ago.”
“That’s him.” Aaron says confidently.
“Sir, we should-”
“That’s him.”
-
You’ve gotten used to the damp smell of the concrete in the room. It’s clear that it’s getting dark out from the small windows along the far wall.
Brendan walks in carrying a laptop and two men follow in behind him. That’s new.
“Ooh, has the evil villain speech evolved to the point of having a power point?”
He ignores your quip. The two men bring in a small table and they set it up a few feet in front of you. He sets the laptop down and connects a small camera to it. Your stomach tightens involuntarily.
“Brendan.”
He looks up, “Yes?”
“What is this?” You ask.
He smiles, “I told you. Now, let's make some money!”
Your pulse starts to kick harder. Brendan claps before rubbing his hands together, his two henchmen smiling at his side.
He adjusts the camera until it frames you perfectly. Your bruised face, tied hands, and dried blood along your hairline are clear as day. The dingy warehouse behind you is visible, but he tries to keep as little in as possible.
The image was deliberate. It was clearly proof of life. Proof of possession. Proof that he had successfully taken a FBI profiler.
“You’re out of your mind.” You eventually spit.
He looks up from the laptop.
“You're finally going to lose.”
He continues to type away.
“You know what surprised me?” He says like it’s any other normal conversation, “How many people were invested when I started asking around if there was any interest in you.”
You stay silent and he grins.
“Cartels. Gangs. Crime groups. All of the countless people you’ve put away.” He looks genuinely impressed, “You’ve been very busy over the years.”
You let the cold resolve settles in your chest, “You don’t care who buys me.”
“I told you before, I hope it’s someone terrible.”
He focuses back on the laptop and after a few seconds the camera’s red light glows. His eyes light up.
“And we’re live.”
-
Back at Quantico Garcia’s fingers fly across her keyboard. The team is now chasing any potential leads on Brendan since he got out of prison. Upon a second look, Emily and Morgan found footprints in the entry closet that match the scene. The unsub was hiding in the closet waiting for you to come home from the case. They had no way of knowing Aaron would come home with you, meaning they were waiting in the apartment while the two of you were together.
“I found something weird in connection to one of the trafficking forums.” Garcia says quickly, “It’s encrypted, invitation only, and connected to several accounts linked to the Thomas organization.”
Aaron was already looking over her shoulder.
“Open it.”
Garcia swallows, her finger hesitating to click ‘ACCEPT’.
“I don’t have a good feeling.” She openly admits, but she clicks it anyway. Her screen is shared with the large monitor so everyone can see what it opens. You stare back at them from the monitor, bruised, tired, and tied to a chair. An active live video feed.
Garcia makes a broken sound in the back of her throat, “Oh my god.”
JJ’s hand flies to her mouth, and Emily goes pale. Morgan’s face instantly reveals murderous anger. Aaron doesn’t move a muscle.
He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t breathe.
You were alive.
The relief hit Aaron so hard it almost hurt, but it didn’t last long before the terror replaced it. Beneath the video feed text scrolled across the screen.
‘FEDERAL ASSET AUCTION. LIVE IN ONE HOUR. OPENING BID 1,000,000 USD. STATUS ALIVE (CURRENTLY).’
Tears stream down Garcia’s face.
“He’s selling her.” Emily looks sick.
“Not just selling her,” JJ adds quietly, “He’s advertising her specifically as an FBI agent.”
“Can we trace it?” Morgan frowns.
“I’m trying, but it’s bouncing through too many relays. He’s hiding it between six different countries.”
On screen they can see you talking to someone off screen. The feed is muted so they can’t hear anything, but it’s clear you’re still fighting.
Aaron forces himself back into motion but he can’t pull his eyes away from you, “Who has access? Who else has this invitation?”
Garcia pulls up a scrolling list of usernames that are all encrypted.
“Old cartel contacts, gangs, anyone with money connected to cases Y/n worked.”
Derek looks ready to punch through a wall. Aaron’s heart slams painfully against his ribs.
Rossi steps closer to the monitor, “Can we bid when it opens?”
The countdown has already started, less than an hour until you were up for sale on the black market.
“No,” Garcia shakes her head immediately, “Not like this at least. We’re not actually inside the network, I found a viewer access point. We can’t interact without exposing ourselves.”
Emily folds her arms against her chest, “So we’re just forced to watch criminals bid on one of our own who will do god knows what to her?”
“No.” Aaron says quietly.
Everyone looks at him. His expression had changed, he looked more focused now. Colder.
“I need a list of everyone Brendan invited.” Aaron looks back at Garcia, his eyes leaving the screen for the first time since it went live. “Cross reference it with people still in prison that Y/n put away.”
She gets to work, working the list down to five.
“Get me everything on Luis Castillo.” Aaron pulls the name from the list.
“He’s serving life in California.”
“Good.”
JJ frowns, “Hotch, he’s a cartel leader.”
“Right now, he’s our best lead.” He reaches for his jacket and puts it back on, “I need a secure line with the attorney general in California.”
“Sir-”
“Now.”
Forty minutes later Aaron is standing in his office on a call with the U.S California Attorney General. He sounds exhausted and Aaron doesn’t sound any better.
“You want me to negotiate with a cartel leader that is serving life?” The AG rubs her forehead, “What are you offering him?”
Aaron doesn’t hesitate, “Transfer to a lower security federal prison with improved visitation privileges."
The AG frowns, “For information?”
“For Y/n Y/Ln.” Aaron corrects, “Which if I can remind you, without her he never would’ve landed in your possession."
That changes the tone of the call. The AG straightens at her desk on the other side of the country.
“You’re serious.”
“Very.”
She goes silent for a moment as she thinks it over.
“Give me twenty minutes.”
When the call ends Aaron finally lets himself look back at the feed. Everyone else is still in the conference room working together with it pulled up, but he has it on his laptop now too. You still have a stubborn look on your face like you’re refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing fear.
“That’s my girl.”
The team watches Aaron alone in his office. It was jarring seeing how scared he really was. Every second closer to the auction it was closer to you potentially disappearing into a world where they may never find you again.
Everyone was focused on the timer that only had ten minutes left until the open bidding would begin. Reid and JJ were cataloging every warehouse in a fifty mile radius. Aaron’s phone rings and he answers it, putting in on speaker for the room to hear.
“Hotchner.”
The voice on the other end belonged to the AG of California.
“We’ve got him."
Aaron straightens.
Luis Castillo. One of the highest ranking cartel leaders that you had helped convict years earlier. Currently serving multiple life sentences.
“He’ll accept the deal, but he’s requesting to hear it from you directly.”
Aaron looks around the room, everyone is focused on the call too.
“Fine.”
A minute later Garcia has him on a secure video call in a prison interview room. He looks older than his case file, prison has clearly been hard on him. His eyes remain sharp.
“Do you remember Agent Y/LN?”
He smiles faintly.
“She’s a hard woman to forget.”
Aaron fights to keep his voice even, “That’s not why I’m here.”
Castillo leans back in his seat, “I know the organization.”
“Brendan Thomas?” Hotch clarifies.
“That kid always dreamed bigger than his Pops.” Castillo actually sounds impressed, “I heard he was rebuilding what his dad had.”
Aaron voices the question everyone wanted answered.
“Can you get us access to the auction?”
“Yes.”
Four minutes later the auction opens and Garcia is logged in with the information Luis provided.
“I cannot believe I’m about to pretend to be a cartel accountant.”
“Focus, Garcia.” Aaron reminds.
Morgan squeezes her shoulder, “You’ve got this, babygirl.”
The secure credentials flash across the screen. Verified and authenticated, the auction page immediately changes. A private bidder portal opened and new information appeared. There was an encrypted chat of people talking and discussing shipping preferences that Garcia pretended not to read.
“Bid.” Emily nods.
Garcia looks up, “It’s already at eight million.”
“Bid.” Rossi stands, “I’ve got the money.”
Everyone looks at him.
“What?” He shrugs, “The government's slow, I can mortgage the beach house.”
Morgan blinks, “You’d spend all your money?”
“For one of our own?” He looks almost offended by the question, “Without blinking.”
Aaron gives him an appreciative nod before looking back at Garcia.
“Keep bidding.”
-
You had lost track of time, once the auction opened a new gleam started to shine in Brendan’s eyes. He watches the numbers climb on the screen, total delight on his face.
“You’re popular.”
The bids keep climbing.
Nine million. Nine point five. Ten.
Each ding signaled a new bid, your stomach twisting. Not because of the money, but because each time it represented someone who wanted to hurt you. A new fate you would have to face.
He laughs loudly, “The Castillo cartel really wants you.”
You look away.
“Didn’t you bring down that whole ring? Half of them are in prison now and the others fled the country.”
He was right. You had made enemies. Lots of them.
“Are you scared yet?”
You turn to look back at him slowly. Your voice comes out dry, you haven’t had any water in hours.
“I always figured I’d be expensive.”
He barks a laugh, “There she is.”
“You could’ve at least brushed my hair.” You sigh, rolling your neck to the side.
-
“It’s slowing down.” Garcia watches the bid timer closely.
“Who’s left?” Aaron’s eyes study the names left on the screen.
“Just us and one anonymous account.”
Aaron looks over at Rossi before back at her, “Keep going.”
Fourteen million.
The room held its breath. Ten seconds. The other bidder answered fourteen-five.
Garcia groans, “They’re not stopping.”
She clicks to up the bid again, putting it back in their hands. The timer counted down, three…two… one… Everyone stared as the screen went black.
WINNING BID CONFIRMED.
“We got her!” Garcia cheers, standing up from her chair and throwing her hands up in the air.
Morgan actually picks her up in a hug, Emily smiles and JJ laughs in relief. Rossi lets out a long breath, but Aaron doesn’t celebrate. Not yet.
“Wait.” Garcia leans to type on her keyboard again, “I have buyer access now.”
“What do you see?” Reid asks.
“I can see system information, he was routing through multiple servers but someone got lazy. They didn’t apply it to the auction winner after the auction closed.” Her voice shakes with excitement, “I’ve got the metadata.”
Reid moves in closer, “Can you isolate the origin?”
“I’m trying.”
Lines of code race across the screen and the team continues to hover over her shoulder.
“I’ve got it, she’s outside of Annapolis.”
“Notify the Baltimore field office, I want tactical support.”
“Yes, sir-”
The team was up and moving before Garcia could even finish her sentence.
“Let’s move.”
Rossi claps him on the shoulder, “Let’s go bring our girl home.”
-
Five minutes later the rhythmic beat of the helicopter blades fill the air. The team sits shoulder to shoulder, meeting SWAT on the ground. Nobody said anything, there wasn’t anything left to say.The warehouse was in a rough neighborhood, most of them abandoned in the area. It was remote for being in a city.
Several armored vehicles were positioned around the perimeter as the helicopter lands in a parking lot. The SWAT commander jobs over as the team files out, weapons in hand.
"Perimeter's secure, we’re ready to breach.” He points to a blueprint and Aaron looks over his shoulder, “Thermal imaging is showing at least twenty individual heat signatures.”
“Small army.” Derek mutters.
The commander looks at Aaron, “Ready?”
Aaron looks back at his team and everyone nods. No hesitation.
“Let’s go.”
The warehouse doors explode inwards, “FBI!”
“Federal agents!”
Chaos instantly breaks out. Everyone reaches for their guns, but SWAT is faster. Two drop quickly, but the noise alerts the others. Two flee toward the exit only to be met with another tactical team, they surrender. They clear room by room, still no sighting of you.
Aaron never stops moving, his finger pressing firmly on the trigger and a flashlight in his other hand.
There’s a heavy steel door at the end of the hallway, the team gets in formation before entering. The second they do, they see how large the room is. At the very center of it you’re still tied to a chair. Bruised, exhausted, and very much alive. Aaron’s entire world narrows to you, his heart pounding in his ears.
Brendan is standing directly behind you, men flanking his left and right side. He has one hand holding your shoulder tightly, the other is holding a gun aimed straight at your head.
“Don’t come any closer!” Brendan shouts, the barrel of the gun pressing harder against your temple.
SWAT spread across the room, you look up and see your entire team ahead of you. The moment you see Aaron your expression changes from fear to slight relief.
“It’s over.” Aaron steps closer.
Brendan shakes his head, “No, I don’t think it is.”
One of Brendan’s guys looks toward a side entrance, just for a second. It’s enough for them. Two shots echo almost simultaneously, both gunmen drop to the ground. Brendan jerks in surprise, looking at both men writhing on the ground.
It was the exact opening Aaron needed.
One precise shot lands squarely in his forehead. He slowly falls backward, landing motionless behind you. Aaron is running toward you before Brendan actually hits the ground.
“I’m here.” Aaron cries, he reaches into the back of his vest to pull out a knife. His hands shake as he cuts away the restraints at each wrist before moving down to your ankles. The second the last one falls away you try to stand.
Your legs give out and Aaron catches you before you hit the floor, you bury your face into his shoulder and wrap both arms around him. Holding onto him with everything you have left. He holds you back just as tightly.
Aaron closes his eyes for several seconds, he takes in a deep inhale. Somehow your hair still smells like your shampoo from last night. He’s confident it’s the same shampoo you used ten years ago too. For several long seconds neither of you speak, the room just disappears behind you.
Nothing else matters, you’re both alive. He can feel your steady heartbeat, you pull back just enough to look at him.
“You look terrible.” You joke, trying to lighten the energy in the room.
"I love you." Aaron blurts.
You blink, “What?”
"I love you and I never stopped." He runs a hand back over your hair with tears in his eyes, "You've never been my almost. You've never been anything other than my always. I'm always going to love you."
He closes the gap between the two of you, not caring about the team being mere feet away. You push through the pain of your split lip to kiss him back, letting him deepen it. Eventually the two of you pull back, he presses a couple more pecks to your lips. He can't help himself.
"I love you, too." You admit, a small smile growing.
He lets out a sigh of relief, "I am never letting you out of my sight again."
He presses a kiss to the top of your head and pulls you tight against his chest.
"Otherwise you'll call in a full tactical operation?" You nod to the SWAT agents sweeping the rest of the building and a laugh escapes him. Half relief that you can crack a joke already.
“I missed you too.”
You reach up carefully, brushing a thumb across his face, “I know.”
He leans down to rest his forehead against yours, “I thought I lost you.”
Your smile softens to a kinder one, “You’ve got to stop thinking like that.”
Before Aaron gets the chance to answer Morgan’s voice booms next to the two of you.
“Can we interrupt the reunion?”
You both pull back, neither of you thrilled about it.
JJ steps forward to reach out for a hug, you laugh and hug her back. Everyone steps up, checking in one by one. Rossi lingers the longest, he would deny the tears later but everyone sees them. You end up getting two hugs from him, Aaron still close by your side. You have a feeling he won’t be leaving it for a while.
“You scared the hell out of us.” Rossi sighs.
You smile weakly, “Sounds like someone cares.”
“You think?”
“Rossi was gonna put up the beach house!” Morgan calls.
You raise a brow, “Wow, now I feel special.”
Reid looks relieved enough to have forgotten his usual displeasure for physical contact, he also manages to bend down in an awkward hug.
“You let them get the drop on you, superstar?” Morgan throws a careful arm over your shoulder to pull you into a side hug.
“To be fair, I blame the concussion.” You shrug, “Or the sex. That was kind of distracting too.”
“Y/n.” Aaron sighs, shaking his head but it’s clear he isn’t embarrassed or surprised.
Rossi lets out a groan, “Now this takes me back.”
JJ grins, “Hotch you’re looking at her like she hung the moon.”
You cover a laugh, watching the team look between the two of you.
“Yeah, look at him still holding her.”
Aaron looks down and sure enough his arm was still firmly around Sophia’s waist. He hadn’t even realized he was gravitating toward you. You look up at him with a teasing smile.
“You can let go, I can stand now.”
He looks down at you, not moving a single muscle.
“No.”
The entire team erupts, Morgan doubles over laughing.
“I knew it!” Emily points triumphantly.
You lean into him a little more even though you’re feeling better. Stretching your legs helped, your cheek still aches slightly.
“Okay, get me the fuck out of here.” You nod toward the door.
“Let's go.”
The team heads back toward the door. Hotch leads you out carefully, you look back once to where Brendan still lays dead. This could’ve ended so poorly, but it didn’t.
You have the team to thank for that.
You have Aaron to thank for that.
He intertwines his fingers with yours. He wasn’t going to let go, and neither were you.
-
an// YOU GUYSSSS OMFG JUST THE EPILOGUE LEFT NOW! please give me all your thoughts on this and thank you for letting me live out my ultimate exgf!bau!reader moment. it is all i could have dreamed of and more
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Running to Happy when something terrifies (genuinely scared shitless) you, burying your face into his chest and wrapping your arms around him.
He's startled, you guys have never touched on purpose before, but he quickly holds you to him, a hand pressing protectively over the back of your head as he hushes your tears.
He's full of rage and violence but he holds you to him as carefully as he can.
Warnings: reader is followed by a creep
Nobody in Charming ran to Happy Lowman for comfort.
For protection? Absolutely.
For violence? Without hesitation.
For fear? Never.
Happy was the thing people hid behind when they were scared, not the person they collapsed into.
He was too sharp-edged for softness. Too brutal for gentleness. Too dangerous.
At least that’s what everyone thought.
Including him.
Especially him.
Which was why the feeling of your body slamming into his chest nearly stopped his heart.
The clubhouse was loud that night.
Music blaring.
Bikers yelling over poker games.
Half-drunk croweaters laughing too loud near the bar.
Happy sat at the table in the corner cleaning one of his guns while Tig and Kozik argued over something pointless nearby.
It was normal chaos.
Until the front doors burst open hard enough to rattle the walls.
Everyone looked up instinctively.
You stumbled inside.
Pale.
Breathing hard.
Terrified.
Not upset.
Not startled.
Terrified.
Happy knew the difference immediately.
Your eyes darted frantically around the room before landing on him.
And then—
You ran to him.
Actually ran.
Happy barely had time to stand before you crashed into him hard enough to knock his chair backward.
Your arms wrapped around his middle desperately.
Your face buried against his chest.
The entire clubhouse went dead silent.
Happy froze.
Every muscle in his body locked instantly.
Because you’d never touched him like this before.
Never.
You joked with him.
Sat near him.
Talked to him more than most people dared.
But this—
This was different.
This was instinct.
Fear.
Need.
Your entire body was shaking.
“Hey,” Happy said automatically, startled by how rough his voice sounded.
You made a small, broken sound against his chest that twisted something vicious inside him.
Without thinking, Happy’s arms came around you.
One wrapped tightly around your waist.
The other pressed protectively against the back of your head.
Covering you.
Shielding you.
Like his body moved before his brain caught up.
“It’s okay,” he muttered roughly.
Which was ridiculous because he had no idea what happened.
But you were trembling so hard he could feel it through your ribs.
“Hey. Hey.” His hand tightened gently against your hair. “Look at me.”
You couldn’t.
You just clung harder.
Happy’s jaw flexed sharply.
Rage started building immediately.
Cold and violent.
Because somebody had done this.
Somebody had scared you badly enough to send you running into a room full of killers looking for safety.
And somehow—
Somehow—
you’d chosen him.
“Who?” he asked quietly.
You shook your head against his chest.
Couldn’t speak.
Happy looked over your head immediately.
The room had gone eerily still.
Jax was already standing.
Chibs looked deadly serious.
Even Tig had lost the usual humor in his face.
Happy adjusted his hold on you carefully.
Painfully carefully.
Like you were something fragile despite the violence simmering under his skin.
“Take a breath,” he murmured.
Your fingers clenched tighter in the back of his shirt.
Happy glanced down finally.
Really looked at you.
Your eyes were wet.
Terrified.
And Christ.
Happy had seen bloodier things than nightmares.
Had done bloodier things himself.
But seeing you look genuinely afraid hit him harder than violence ever had.
“It’s okay,” he repeated softly.
The softness startled everybody.
Including him.
You finally managed a shaky breath.
“There was a man—”
Happy went still.
“He followed me,” you whispered. “From the grocery store.”
The room temperature seemed to drop instantly.
Your voice cracked.
“I thought I lost him but then he grabbed me outside my apartment and—”
Happy’s arms locked around you tighter immediately.
Not enough to hurt.
Just enough to anchor.
Rage exploded white-hot behind his ribs.
“Did he hurt you?”
You shook your head quickly.
“No, I got away. I just—I didn’t know where else to go—”
Happy’s expression changed.
Tiny shift.
But devastating.
Because you came here.
To him.
Out of every possible place in Charming, your terrified brain had decided Happy Lowman meant safety.
Not danger.
Safety.
Something ugly and protective twisted violently in his chest.
You finally looked up at him then.
Eyes red.
Face pressed close enough he could feel your breath through his shirt.
And Happy—
Happy melted.
Nobody would’ve called it that.
Not looking at him.
Not with the tattoos and scars and death in his eyes.
But something in him softened instantly around you.
His hand cradled the back of your head more securely.
“You did good,” he said quietly.
Your face crumpled unexpectedly at that.
Like nobody had said the right thing yet.
Tears spilled harder.
Happy visibly panicked.
“Hey.”
You buried your face back into his chest immediately, shaking.
And Happy—
Jesus Christ.
Happy Lowman, who had stabbed men without blinking, looked completely overwhelmed by your tears.
His eyes darted around the room like someone else might know what to do.
Tig made a tiny motion with his hand.
Comfort her, dumbass.
Right.
Happy swallowed hard.
Then lowered his head slightly toward yours.
“It’s alright,” he murmured again, softer now. “Ain’t gonna let anybody touch you.”
You made another shaky sound.
Happy’s hand moved slowly against your hair.
Awkward.
Careful.
Like he was trying not to break you.
And maybe the strangest part was how natural it felt after the first second.
Holding you.
Protecting you.
Keeping you tucked against him while your fear slowly eased.
Like something deep in him had already decided you belonged there.
The clubhouse stayed silent around you.
Mostly because nobody had ever seen Happy like this before.
Gentle.
Patient.
He looked like a wolf trying to hold a wounded bird without crushing it.
Jax finally spoke quietly.
“You know what the guy looked like?”
Your body tensed again immediately.
Happy felt it.
Saw it.
And instantly tightened his hold.
“Nah,” he said flatly without looking away from you. “Not now.”
Jax paused.
Then nodded once.
Because Happy’s tone made it very clear:
This came first.
You came first.
The room slowly resumed movement after that.
Quietly.
Respectfully.
But Happy stayed exactly where he was.
Holding you against his chest while your breathing gradually steadied.
Minutes passed.
Maybe longer.
Eventually, your grip loosened slightly.
Embarrassment started creeping in around the edges now that the panic faded.
You pulled back just enough to wipe your face quickly.
“Sorry,” you mumbled hoarsely.
Happy frowned instantly.
“For what?”
You laughed weakly.
“I basically tackled you.”
“So?”
The answer came so automatically it stunned both of you.
You stared at him.
Happy looked mildly confused by your confusion.
Like he genuinely didn’t understand why this was a problem.
You swallowed hard.
“You don’t really… do this.”
“Do what?”
“This.” You gestured vaguely between your bodies. “Comforting people.”
Happy looked down at you for a long moment.
Then his thumb brushed lightly near your temple, wiping away leftover tears before he even seemed to realize he was doing it.
“Ain’t people,” he muttered.
Your breath caught.
The words hit him about half a second later.
Happy froze.
The room went suspiciously quiet again because apparently everyone heard that.
Tig’s eyes widened dramatically.
Chibs looked delighted.
Happy ignored them completely.
Because you were still looking at him like that.
Soft.
Safe.
Trusting him with parts of yourself most people never got close enough to see.
And Happy realized something ugly and undeniable in that moment:
If that man had actually hurt you—
Really hurt you—
they would never find enough of him left to bury.
The violence of the thought should’ve bothered him.
Instead, all he felt was relief that you were here.
Alive.
In his arms.
You shifted slightly, finally realizing you were still pressed fully against his chest.
But before you could step away, Happy’s hand tightened reflexively against the back of your head.
Not forcing.
Just… keeping you there another second.
His eyes dropped to yours.
“You stayin’ here tonight.”
It wasn’t really a question.
You blinked.
“I don’t wanna inconvenience—”
“You ain’t.”
The firmness in his voice shut that down immediately.
Then quieter:
“You’re safe here.”
Something warm and aching spread through your chest.
Because you believed him instantly.
Happy glanced toward the clubhouse doors again, jaw tight with leftover rage.
Then back at you.
And for the first time since you’d known him, the terrifying brutality everyone feared about Happy Lowman became something else entirely.
Not frightening.
Protective.
His violence curled around you instead of toward you.
A wall between you and anything cruel enough to make you cry.
You looked at him for a long moment.
Then slowly rested your forehead back against his chest.
Happy’s entire body relaxed.
Just a little.
His chin dipped briefly against the top of your head while his arms settled around you more securely.
And this time when he spoke, his voice was low enough only you could hear it.
“Got you.”
Happy did not sleep that night.
Not really.
He stayed awake on the clubhouse couch while you slept in the room down the hall Gemma had practically forced on you.
The lights stayed low.
The TV muttered quietly in the background.
Most of the club eventually drifted off or disappeared into other rooms, but Happy stayed exactly where he was.
Watching the door.
Knife turning slowly between his fingers.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you bursting through the clubhouse doors again.
Terrified.
Shaking.
Running straight into him like your body already knew he’d protect you.
Something vicious settled deep in his chest at the memory.
Protective in a way he didn’t entirely know what to do with.
By morning, the rage had sharpened into focus.
Happy wanted a name.
You woke up embarrassed.
That was the first problem.
Happy knew it immediately from the way you avoided eye contact over breakfast.
You stayed close to him physically—always within arm’s reach—but now there was self-consciousness wrapped around your movements.
Like you regretted last night.
Happy hated it instantly.
“You eat yet?”
You glanced up from your coffee.
“Hm?”
“Food.”
“Oh. Uh. Not really.”
Happy shoved his plate toward you.
You blinked.
“You don’t have to—”
“Eat.”
You stared at him for a second before quietly taking the plate.
Happy watched until you took the first bite.
Only then did he relax slightly.
Gemma noticed from across the room immediately.
Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
Interesting.
You looked up suddenly.
“I should probably go home and grab some clothes.”
“No.”
The answer came so fast you startled.
Happy leaned back against the counter, jaw tight.
“Not alone.”
“I’ll be fine during the day—”
“No.”
There it was again.
That dangerous edge under his voice.
Not angry at you.
Just furious underneath.
You looked at him carefully then.
Really looked at him.
At the exhaustion under his eyes. At the tension in his shoulders. At the way his attention never fully left you even for a second.
Your chest tightened unexpectedly.
“Happy…”
He looked away first.
“Jax is workin’ on findin’ him.”
That got your attention immediately.
“What?”
“You gave enough description.”
Happy rolled his shoulders slowly.
“Guys are askin’ around.”
Something dark flickered behind his eyes.
“If he’s local, we’ll find him.”
The certainty in his voice should’ve scared you.
Instead, it made you feel safer.
Which maybe said something concerning about you at this point.
It took less than two days.
SAMCRO had roots everywhere.
Bartenders talked.
Dealers talked.
Mechanics talked.
And creeps who grabbed women outside apartment buildings apparently talked too.
Happy got the call while you sat beside him outside the garage drinking a soda.
He answered quietly.
Listened.
Went still.
You noticed immediately.
“What?”
Happy hung up slowly.
His face became unreadable in that terrifying way it sometimes did.
The calm before violence.
“We found him.”
Your stomach dropped.
You set your drink down carefully.
“Oh.”
Happy looked at you then.
Really looked.
And the fury in his expression softened instantly at whatever he saw on your face.
“You stay here.”
You swallowed hard.
“What are you gonna do?”
Silence.
That was worse.
“Happy.”
His jaw flexed.
“He scared you.”
The simplicity of the statement sent a chill through you.
Like in Happy’s mind, that alone justified whatever came next.
You stood quickly.
“Don’t kill him.”
Happy’s eyes lifted to yours.
Cold.
Violent.
Protective.
“You askin’ me not to?”
You stepped closer before you could think better of it.
Happy went still automatically.
“You don’t need to do something awful for me.”
Something changed in his face then.
Small.
Sharp.
Almost offended.
He stepped toward you slowly until there was barely space left between your bodies.
“You think this is for you?”
Your breath caught.
Happy looked down at you with an intensity that made your pulse stutter.
“This is for me.”
The words landed heavy.
Possessive.
Honest.
Because somewhere along the line, your fear had become his too.
Your safety had rooted itself inside his ribs like instinct.
Happy reached up slowly.
Like he was giving you time to pull away.
His rough knuckles brushed gently against your cheek.
“You came to me scared,” he said quietly. “Ain’t nobody gonna think they can do that shit again.”
Your heart slammed painfully against your ribs.
Nobody had ever looked at you the way Happy was looking at you now.
Like protecting you was something sacred.
Like hurting you was unforgivable.
You covered his wrist lightly with your hand.
“Please be careful.”
Happy’s expression shifted immediately.
Softer.
God, it was dangerous when he looked soft.
Because it felt earned.
Rare.
Only for you.
“I always am.”
You both knew that was a lie.
The man’s name was Curtis Bell.
Mid-thirties.
Local drunk.
History of harassment complaints that never went anywhere because Charming had always been better at ignoring women than protecting them.
Happy found him behind a run-down bar just outside town.
The guy recognized immediately that he’d made a catastrophic mistake.
Especially when Happy approached wearing his kutte.
No smile.
No hurry.
Just death walking steadily closer.
Curtis backed up instinctively.
“Hey, man, I didn’t do nothin’—”
Happy punched him hard enough to drop him instantly.
The sound echoed sickeningly through the alley.
Curtis gasped, clutching his bleeding mouth.
Happy crouched slowly in front of him.
Calm.
Terrifyingly calm.
“You touched her.”
“I didn’t—”
Happy grabbed him by the throat and slammed his head against the brick wall.
Once.
Hard.
“You scared her.”
Curtis whimpered.
Happy felt absolutely nothing.
No guilt.
No hesitation.
Only rage.
Because he kept seeing your tear-streaked face buried against his chest.
Kept hearing your shaky breathing.
Happy leaned closer.
And quietly—almost conversationally—said:
“You ever look at her again…”
Curtis started crying immediately.
Actual tears.
Begging.
Happy’s expression never changed.
“They won’t find your body.”
The certainty in his voice broke something in the man completely.
Good.
Happy released him roughly.
Curtis collapsed coughing onto the pavement.
Then Happy stood.
Looked down at him one last time.
And realized something deeply inconvenient.
The violence hadn’t satisfied him.
Not fully.
Because what he’d really wanted—
What had actually been clawing at him for two straight days—
was you.
Your safety.
Your trust.
The feeling of you clinging to him.
Like he was home.
That realization followed him all the way back to the clubhouse.
You were sitting outside when his bike pulled in.
Waiting.
The second you saw him, you stood quickly.
Happy killed the engine.
For one moment neither of you moved.
Then you walked toward him fast enough that his chest tightened instinctively.
“You okay?”
The question hit him strangely hard.
Not “did you do it.”
Not “what happened.”
You okay?
Happy stared at you for a long second before nodding once.
“He won’t bother you again.”
Relief washed across your face so visibly it almost hurt to look at.
“Okay.”
That was it.
Just okay.
Because you trusted him.
Completely.
Happy got off the bike slowly.
You stayed close while he pulled off his gloves.
Your eyes caught on the blood across his knuckles immediately.
Tiny cuts.
Split skin.
Your face tightened.
“Happy…”
“Ain’t mine.”
You exhaled shakily.
Then, before he could process it, you reached for his hand carefully.
Happy froze.
Your fingers wrapped around his wrist gently as you inspected the bruising across his knuckles.
Such a small touch.
But it hit harder than violence ever did.
“You should clean these.”
Happy couldn’t stop staring at you.
At the softness in your expression. At the concern. At the way you held his hand like it wasn’t attached to someone dangerous.
You looked up suddenly and caught him staring.
The air shifted instantly.
Heavy.
Close.
Happy stepped toward you slowly.
Your breath caught.
“You ain’t scared of me,” he said quietly.
Not a question.
You frowned softly.
“Should I be?”
Probably.
But Happy found he didn’t want that.
Not from you.
Never from you.
He lifted one hand carefully.
Slower than a man like him had probably ever moved.
Giving you every chance to pull away.
Instead, you leaned into the touch immediately when his palm settled against your jaw.
Happy exhaled roughly.
Like that tiny movement undid him.
“You ran to me,” he murmured.
Your eyes searched his.
“I knew you’d protect me.”
That did it.
Completely.
Something fierce and aching cracked open inside his chest.
Happy lowered his forehead against yours carefully.
Like he still couldn’t believe you were real.
“You got no idea what that did to me.”
Your hands slid slowly up his chest, gripping the front of his kutte lightly.
And when you kissed him—
Soft.
Tentative.
Warm—
Happy made a low sound in his throat that almost sounded pained.
Then his arms wrapped around you fully.
Secure.
Certain.
One hand cradling the back of your head exactly the same way it had the night you came running to him terrified.
Only now he kissed you like he’d been holding it back for far too long.
Deep.
Intense.
Every ounce of restrained feeling finally surfacing all at once.
And when he finally pulled back, breathing rough, his thumb brushed beneath your eye gently.
“Mine now,” he muttered before he could stop himself.
Pairing: Derek Morgan x Gideon!Reader
Summary: In which, Gideon's eldest daughter is the only woman that hasn't fallen immediately at Derek's feet.
OR the three times you held your ground and the one time you didn't (which changed everything.)
Themes & Warnings: slight violence ig, FLUFF, reader is slightly hard to get and just like her daddy, Gideon being a supportive dad but also a supportive WORK dad, just heart warming fluff basically with a side of AGGRESSION
The BAU bullpen was a study in controlled chaos, but for you, it was a second home. The scent of stale coffee and old case files was as familiar as your father’s aftershave. You were bent over a map, tracing a pattern with your finger, your brow furrowed in the same way your dad’s got when he was piecing together a particularly difficult puzzle.
“Anything?” a smooth, confident voice asked from your left.
You didn’t look up. “If there was, I’d have announced it, Morgan.”
Derek Morgan leaned against your desk, a charming smile playing on his lips that had disarmed countless witnesses and coaxed confessions from the most hardened criminals. It had zero effect on you. You continued to stare at the map, your posture radiating a focused intensity that was a carbon copy of Jason Gideon’s.
That was the crux of the issue. You were Gideon’s daughter. His eldest. And you were the only woman in the vicinity of Derek Morgan who hadn’t so much as stumbled when he turned on the charm.
Your teeth gritted as the man persisted, the heat of his body bleeding into yours from the proximity. It didn't help that the air circulation and heating in the old building didn't perform very well, so it was even easier to identify how truly close Morgan was.
“You know, most people find my presence at least a little distracting,” he teased, trying another angle.
This time, you did look up. Your eyes, the same shade of steady, knowing blue as your father’s, met his. “I’m not most people. And if you don't step away in the next two seconds, I'm--”
Defeated, but not deterred, Morgan held up his hands in surrender and retreated to his own desk, shooting a look of pure frustration towards your father’s office. Through the glass, Gideon was watching the exchange, a faint, almost imperceptible smile on his face. He gave Morgan a slight, knowing shake of his head before turning back to his own work.
It had started as a game for him. A challenge. The new, fiercely intelligent analyst with the legendary profiler’s last name and his piercing, analytical eyes. He’d offered to get you coffee, complimented your profiling notes, and once, after a tough case, he’d placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. You’d merely glanced at the hand, then back at his face, and said, “Your concern is noted, Agent Morgan. The geographical profile, however, is still incomplete.”
You were like a brick wall. Impenetrable, far from transparent, and far too stubborn. It just so happened, though, that Derek Morgan was a very persistent man. And when he saw something he wanted, the instinct doubled.
The first major rejection was in the precinct gym.
You were preparing Spencer for his yearly physical evaluation (he'd asked you to, you weren't just being cruel), which including sparring this year. To bite off more than the poor guy could chew, he chose the most formidable opponent on the team to spar with.
The air in the precinct gym was thick with the smell of sweat and old rubber mats. Reid, looking like a startled fawn in oversized sparring gear, was valiantly trying to remember the combination you’d drilled into him.
“Okay, Spencer, remember,” you said, your voice calm and instructive. “Left jab to distract, right cross with your body weight behind it, then drop and sweep. It’s about using their momentum, not your muscle.”
“Their momentum, not my muscle,” he repeated, a mantra against the impending doom.
The doom, of course, was currently stretching by the heavy bag, his biceps flexing in a way that was frankly obscene. Derek Morgan had sauntered in, drawn by the commotion, and his eyes had lit up with predatory interest.
“Need a real partner, pretty boy?” Morgan called over, a grin spreading across his face. “Can’t have Gideon’s little girl doing all the heavy lifting.”
You didn’t even glance his way, adjusting the strap on Reid’s headgear. “We’re fine, Morgan. But thank you for the unsolicited commentary.”
Morgan, undeterred, moved to the edge of the mat. “C’mon. One round. Let me show you both how it’s done. I’ll go easy.”
You turned, glaring straight into his face with that familiar Gideon stubbornness. Without even glancing at Spencer, you spoke to him crisply.
"Pay close attention, Spence. This is exactly what I wanted to teach you."
Your voice was cool, analytical. You finally turned to Morgan, a glint in your eye that promised nothing good for his ego. "Alright, Morgan. One round. Show us what you've got."
Morgan's grin returned, full of bravado. "Don't say I didn't warn you, sweetheart."
The two of you squared off. Morgan moved with his characteristic panther-like grace, light on his feet. He threw a few testing jabs, which you deflected with ease, your stance solid and unyielding.
"See, Reid?" you said, your eyes never leaving Morgan. "He's leading with his shoulder. Telegraphed from a mile away."
Morgan’s eye twitched. He feinted left and came in with a powerful right hook. You didn't back away. You ducked under it, swept a leg behind his, and used his own forward momentum to send him stumbling past you. He caught himself before he fell, but it was undeniably clumsy.
"Excellent example of over-committing to a strike," you commented to Reid, as if narrating a nature documentary. "All that force, and nothing but air to show for it."
A low growl rumbled in Morgan's chest. This time he came in fast, aiming to grapple. You let him get close, and as his arms wrapped around you, you dropped your weight like a stone, executed a perfect hip throw, and planted him flat on his back on the mat with a resonant THUMP that shook the floor.
You stood over him, not even winded. "And that," you said to a wide-eyed Spencer, "is how you handle an opponent who relies solely on brute force. Any questions?"
From the doorway, a slow, deliberate clapping sound broke the silence.
All three of you turned. Jason Gideon was leaning against the doorframe, a steaming mug of tea in his hand, his expression one of profound amusement.
"Beautifully demonstrated, sweetheart," he said, his voice soft and fatherly. "You used his weight, his pride, and his predictable aggression. Textbook."
Morgan groaned from the floor, covering his face with a glove.
"Reid," Gideon said, nodding towards the door. "I believe Garcia has a new database she wants to show you. Something about geological survey maps."
"Right! Yes! Databases!" Reid stammered, scrambling to his feet and all but fleeing the gym.
Gideon walked over and offered a hand to the prostrate Morgan. With a sigh, Morgan took it and let the older agent haul him to his feet.
"You saw the whole thing, didn't you, sir?" Morgan grumbled, brushing himself off.
"From the moment you sauntered in here, convinced your biceps would do all the talking," Gideon confirmed, taking a sip of his tea. He looked from Morgan's bruised ego to your stoic, victorious face as you walked away to the showers.
He clapped a hand on Morgan's shoulder. "Let me give you some advice, Derek. Free of charge." He leaned in slightly, his tone conspiratorial. "Chasing after my daughter is a lot like profiling a particularly clever unsub. You can't just rush in. You have to be patient. You have to study the patterns. And for God's sake, you have to leave your ego at the door. It makes you sloppy."
He gave Morgan's shoulder a final pat and turned to leave. At the door, he paused and looked back,
"Oh, and Derek?" Gideon added. "If you ever tell her I said this, I'll deny it... but she gets her stubbornness from her mother."
With that, he was gone, leaving Morgan in the silent, humbling aftermath. Morgan thought about you, really thought about you -- the woman who had just systematically dismantled him both physically and psychologically -- and let out a breathless, incredulous laugh.
The second time, it was a bar night with the team.
Derek had never seen you like this. The crisp, professional analyst was gone, replaced by a woman who was all laughter and loose, wild curls. Your dress was a dark, shimmery thing, tight and short, a world away from your usual tactical pants and blazers. You were holding court at the pool table, soundly thrashing Elle with a series of impossibly tricky bank shots, a glass of whiskey dangling from your fingers.
The entire team was in various states of relaxed revelry, but Derek was stuck, his beer forgotten, watching you. This was a new profile, one he was desperately trying to compute.
"Eight ball, corner pocket," you announced, your voice bright with confidence. You leaned over the table, the line of your dress riding up, and executed the shot with a clean clack. The ball sank without a sound.
Elle threw her hands up in defeat, laughing. "She's a shark! A goddamn shark!"
You laughed, a real, unguarded sound that hit Derek right in the chest. This was the crack in the armor. This was his chance.
He made his move as you went to get another drink, sidling up next to you at the bar. "Didn't know you played," he said, leaning against the polished wood, turning the full force of his smile on you.
You took a slow sip of your whiskey, eyeing him over the rim of the glass. The professional wall was down, but a new one, just as formidable, was in its place. Amusement. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Morgan."
"Maybe I'd like to," he said, his voice dropping into that low, intimate register that usually made women melt. "Let me buy you that drink. We can… talk."
You set your glass down with a definitive click. "Talk?" you repeated, a sly grin playing on your lips. "Okay. Let's talk. You see that guy at the end of the bar? The one in the leather jacket trying way too hard?"
Derek glanced over. "Yeah?"
"He's been scoping out the place for the last twenty minutes. His shoes are too nice for this neighborhood, his watch is a fake, and he's checked his phone seventeen times. He's waiting for someone, and it's not a date." You turned back to Derek, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "Now, what did you want to talk about? The geopolitical implications of his choice of counterfeit Rolex?"
Derek stared at you, his charmingly offered drink suddenly feeling very foolish in his hand. He hadn't been trying to profile the room; he'd been trying to get a date. And you, even in your downtime, were still a profiler to your core. You had taken his romantic overture and turned it into a mini-BAU briefing.
He was so thrown he couldn't even form a response.
You patted his cheek, the gesture patronizing and yet, somehow, incredibly endearing.
"Nice try, biceps. But if you want to get a drink with me, you're going to have to be a lot more interesting than that."
You slid off the barstool, leaving him standing there, utterly deflated. In the same moment, Reid slid into the seat you'd left, trailed by your very own father. No doubt to rub it in.
Derek groaned internally, dropping his head into his hands. "Man, don't say it. Just don't."
"I wasn't going to say anything," Gideon said, his voice the picture of innocence. He signaled the bartender for two more drinks -- a beer for Reid, another scotch for himself.
Reid fidgeted, picking at the label on his bottle. "So... that looked... um..." He glanced from Derek's dejected form to your retreating back, searching for the right word. "Uncomfortable."
Derek lifted his head to glare at the younger agent. "You think?"
"Well, yeah," Reid said, his voice earnest. "She patted your cheek. People usually only do that to babies and... well, puppies they find mildly irritating but harmless."
Derek stared at him. "Reid, that is not helping."
"Right. Sorry." Reid took a quick sip of his beer.
Gideon accepted his scotch, a slow smile spreading across his face. "She called you 'biceps'," he stated, the amusement in his voice now a tangible thing.
Derek winced. "Yeah. I heard."
Gideon chuckled, a low, warm sound. "She only gives nicknames to things she finds... noteworthy. Inefficient, perhaps, but noteworthy." He turned his head, his eyes -- the same steady blue as yours --locking onto Derek's. "You're getting through, son. You're just doing it the hard way."
With that, Gideon clapped him on the shoulder, a gesture that was both commiserating and slightly patronizing, then stood and guided a still-fidgeting Reid away from the bar.
Derek was left alone with his foolish-feeling drink and the echoing, patronizing pat on his cheek. Biceps. Not "Morgan." Not "Agent." Biceps. He looked down at his own arms, then back at you, a slow, determined grin finally breaking through his defeat.
Noteworthy. He could work with noteworthy.
Thirdly, there was the incident on the case.
As was so common, the case being dealt with was a man who was preying on young women. Since you were the youngest (and easiest on the eyes), you were the bait to draw the man out.
You walked down the dark, rain-slicked alley, the puddles soaking into your cheap fabric heels. Your service weapon was a cold, reassuring weight against your ribs, secured in a bra holster. The comms unit in your ear hissed with static, then Morgan's voice, tight with a tension that had nothing to do with protocol.
"Okay, I see you. You're doing great. Just keep walking to the end of the block. He should be approaching from your left."
His voice was different. Stripped of its usual smooth confidence, it was raw, almost strained. You could hear the protective urge in every syllable, and it irked you.
"Morgan, my vitals are steady. Stick to the script," you murmured, your lips barely moving.
A beat of silence. Then, "I am. Just... be ready."
You reached the predetermined spot under a flickering streetlamp. Right on profile, a figure detached itself from the deeper shadows to your left. He was bigger than his file photo suggested, his eyes glinting with a predatory hunger.
"Hey there, sweetheart," the unsub slurred, stepping too close. "You look lost."
In your ear, Morgan's breathing hitched. "He's on you. Team, move in. Now."
But the unsub was faster than anticipated. He lunged, not with a weapon, but to grab you, his hands closing like vices around your upper arms.
A spike of adrenaline, sharp and clean, shot through you. But it wasn't fear. It was focus.
Before the tactical team could even breach the alley mouth, you moved. You didn't try to pull away. You dropped your weight, yanking him forward and off-balance. As he stumbled, you brought your knee up hard into his groin. He grunted, his grip loosening, but he was heavier, his momentum too great. He fell forward, his full weight crashing down on you, slamming you both onto the wet pavement.
Your leg, trapped beneath the tangle of bodies, bent unnaturally beneath you, giving way with a sickening, internal crack that was louder than the thunder overhead.
A sharp, involuntary cry was torn from your lips, but your training held. Even through the blinding white-hot pain, your arms locked around the unsub, keeping him pinned against you in a desperate grapple, denying him the chance to regain his bearings or reach for a weapon.
In your ear, the comms erupted. "She's down! She's down! Go, go, go!"
The crushing weight vanished as the unsub was torn from you with a sudden, violent efficiency. The sharp click of handcuffs echoed in the rain-drenched alley, a sound of finality. With the immediate threat gone, the adrenaline that had been holding the pain at bay receded like a tide, and the full, brutal reality of your injury crashed over you. A sharp hiss escaped your clenched teeth as you curled forward, instinctively cradling your leg. The world narrowed to the white-hot fire burning below your knee.
Then he was there.
Derek Morgan didn't run; he appeared, as if the space between you and him had simply ceased to exist. He dropped to his knees in the filthy water, his suit pants be damned. All the bravado, the teasing charm, the frustrated pursuit -- it was all gone, washed away by the rain. His face was pale, his eyes dark with a concern you'd never seen in him before.
"Hey, look at me," he said, his voice low and urgent, his hands hovering over you, to help but terrified of causing more pain. Raw and real. "Where does it hurt? Just your leg? Talk to me, honey."
"Leg," you managed to grit out, your voice tight. "It's... it's broken, I think."
"Okay. Medic is on the way. Just hold on." He shrugged out of his suit jacket, his focus entirely on you. He didn't care about the scene, the team, the secured unsub. Gently, careful not to jostle you, he tucked the jacket around your shoulders, his hand lingering for a moment on your arm, a stark, warm contrast to the cold pavement. His thumb stroked a soothing pattern over your soaked sleeve, a gesture of such innate, unprotected tenderness that it made your breath catch almost as much as the pain did.
The rest of the team formed a perimeter, but they gave you two space. Reid was on the radio demanding an ETA for the ambulance. Hotch had a firm, grim grip on the now-cuffed unsub.
It was your father who finally approached, his stride quick and sure, the professional mask firmly in place, though his eyes betrayed a storm of paternal fear. He knelt on your other side, his presence a familiar, steadying rock.
"Medic is ninety seconds out," Gideon stated, his voice calm and authoritative. He looked at you, his gaze sweeping over your injury before meeting your eyes. The pride was still there, but it was fierce and pained. "'Atta girl. You held him. You did everything right."
Then his gaze shifted to Morgan. Derek didn't even look up, his entire world reduced to the space you occupied. He was murmuring low, reassuring words, his attention absolute. Gideon watched him for a long moment, seeing the shattered composure, the raw vulnerability. He saw the game end, right there in that alley.
Reaching out, Gideon placed a firm, grounding hand on Morgan's shoulder. "Derek," he said, his tone softer now. "The ambulance is here. Let them through."
Morgan flinched as if startled, finally tearing his eyes away from you to look at Gideon. In that look, there was no challenge, no rivalry. There was only a shared, desperate understanding of what truly mattered. The third wall had not just been cracked; it had been utterly demolished, leaving nothing but the truth lying broken between them.
You finally let Derek in on a Thursday morning.
There was no case, no urgent paperwork, but the BAU was never truly free of stress. This particular strain was personal. Derek had been on medical leave for a few days, a fact that chafed at him like a too-tight collar. In the team's last case, a lucky shot from an unsub had caught him in the side, the body armor absorbing the worst but leaving him with a deep, painful bruise and cracked ribs that hindered his job, his usual strength, and his usual saucy personality.
You'd been tasked -- by your father, of course, with a look that was more plea than order -- to make sure he was good. After all, it had only been four days since he was discharged from the hospital.
You knocked on his apartment door softly, crossing your arms and waiting for a response.
The knock on his apartment door was a sound Derek almost didn't hear over the low thrum of his own frustration. He wasn't used to being on this side of the door, the one being checked on. He pulled it open, his movements still careful, guarded.
He expected Garcia, maybe, with a casserole and enough bubbly energy to power Quantico. He did not expect you.
You stood there, arms crossed, not in your usual work attire but in soft-looking jeans and a simple sweater. No files, no professional mask. Just you.
"Gideon," he said, surprise flattening his tone.
"You're supposed to be resting," you stated, your eyes doing a quick, professional sweep of him, taking in the slight pallor of his skin, the way he held his torso stiffly.
"Could say the same to you. It's your day off."
"Dad said you were stubborn. I came to see for myself." You didn't wait for an invitation; you stepped past him into the apartment. It was neat, masculine, but the throw blanket on the couch was rumpled, and a half-empty glass of water sat on the coffee table next to a bottle of painkillers. Evidence of his forced inactivity.
He closed the door and leaned against it, watching you. "And? Living up to the Morgan reputation?"
As he lifted his hand, you spotted his bandage. Slightly tinted pink. Needing a change. Ignoring his question, you raised an eyebrow.
"When's the last time you changed your bandaging?"
The deflection was so perfectly, quintessentially you that Derek almost smiled. The world could be ending, and you'd still be focused on the procedural inaccuracy.
He glanced down at the bandage on his side, the pink tint a clear sign of neglect. "I don't know. Yesterday? This morning?" he admitted, the lie evident in his voice. He'd been trying to ignore it, along with the dull, throbbing pain.
"You must like being on leave. An infection would keep you there," you stated, but there was no bite to it. Instead, you moved past him with a purpose he knew well. "Where do you keep your supplies?"
"In the bathroom. Cabinet under the sink."
You returned moments later with a fresh roll of gauze, medical tape, and antiseptic. You pointed to the couch. "Sit."
For once, Derek Morgan didn't argue. He sat on the edge of the cushions, watching as you knelt in front of him. The air shifted. This wasn't a medic or Garcia playing nurse. This was you, your focus entirely on him, your hands gentle as you peeled back the old bandage.
He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.
"Sorry," you murmured, your touch becoming even lighter. Your brow was furrowed in that familiar way, the same intense concentration you gave to a geographical profile. But now it was directed at him, at the ugly, bruised skin and the stitched-up wound.
You worked in silence for a minute, cleaning the area with a careful, clinical efficiency. The only sounds were his slightly ragged breathing and the rustle of medical wrappers.
"You know," he said softly, his voice a low rumble, "for months, I thought you didn't have a single nurturing bone in your body."
You didn't look up, carefully applying the new gauze. "I don't. This is just basic field medicine. Any competent agent would do the same."
He laughed, a short, pained sound. "Sweetheart, there is nothing 'basic' about you." His hand came down, not to stop you, but to cover yours where it rested against his skin. Your movements stilled. "And this doesn't feel very clinical."
You finally looked up, meeting his gaze. The proximity was different now. It wasn't a challenge or an invasion. It was intimate. The mask was gone from both of you. His hand came to your face, stroking your cheek with soft warmth.
"You have to take care of yourself, Morgan. Team needs you back."
His thumb stroked gently along your cheekbone, his expression softening at your words. "The team, huh?" he murmured, his voice low and intimate. "Is that all?"
The air crackled between you. You could feel the warmth of his hand on your face, the steady weight of his gaze. All the banter, the deflections, the walls you'd so carefully built -- they felt flimsy and pointless now.
You let out a soft breath, the last of your resistance leaving you. Your shoulders relaxed as you leaned ever so slightly into his touch.
"No," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. "That's not all."
A slow, genuine smile spread across his face, one that reached his beautiful brown eyes and made them crinkle at the corners. It was a look of pure, unadulterated triumph, but it was softened by a profound tenderness you'd never seen directed at you before.
"Didn't think so," he said, his thumb still making those soothing circles on your skin.
You rolled your blue eyes, though it held no actual contempt. The lack of bite in you was an admission of defeat, a forfeit. Your hands carefully secured his new bandaging in place before you crawled up beside him, thighs pressed together.
The shift was seismic. One moment you were the stoic medic, the next you were curled into his side, your body a warm, solid line against his. Derek let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, his arm instinctively curling around your shoulders to pull you closer. He was careful of his ribs, but the need to hold you was a physical ache.
"You know," he murmured into your hair, his voice thick with emotion, "maybe I'll have to get shot a lot more often to get this kind of attention."
You shook your head against his shoulder, a soft, genuine laugh escaping you. It was a sound he'd only heard in fragments, never directed fully at him. It was better than he'd imagined. "Don't you dare," you said, your voice muffled by his shirt. "Once was more than enough."
You adjusted your head on his good shoulder, and he rested his cheek against your hair.
"I won," he sighed softly, a smirk coming onto his face. "Knew I'd soften you up. If anyone could. I was starting to doubt myself."
A huff of laughter left your lips.
"Oh, you won, did you?" you asked, one eyebrow arching in that familiar, challenging way, but the effect was ruined by the way you were still curled into his side.
"Damn right, I did," he said, his voice brimming with a smug, victorious warmth. "The great Gideon fortress. Impenetrable. And I, Derek Morgan, found the secret passage."
"You didn't find a secret passage," you corrected, poking him gently in his uninjured side. "You repeatedly threw yourself at the front gate until it got so annoyed it let you in just to make you stop."
His laughter was a rich, full-bodied sound that made you smile in spite of yourself. "Semantics, sweetheart. The result is the same. I'm in." He tightened his arm around you, his expression softening again. "And I'm not going anywhere."
Your eyes met his again, faces inches apart. It was a stilling feeling, finally touching something that you'd wanted so much for months. You could feel his breath on your lips, mint and cinnamon. The silence was pregnant with need, with intention, with something else too.
Before you could stop them, you uttered two words you thought you'd never say to anybody, let alone to Derek Morgan.
"Kiss me."
An exhale left his body.
"Yeah?" The single word was a hushed, reverent thing, laden with a shock so profound it stole the air from his lungs. His brown eyes, usually so full of confident fire, were wide, searching yours as if he needed to be absolutely certain he hadn't hallucinated the two words that had just fallen from your lips.
A slow, devastatingly handsome smile began to curve his mouth, the kind that promised a thousand different futures. "I thought you'd never ask."
He didn't need another invitation. He closed the minuscule distance between you, his hand cradling the back of your head as his lips met yours.
It wasn't a chaste, questioning kiss. This was the culmination of months of frustration, challenge, and buried longing. It was heat and certainty, a claiming and a surrender all at once. His mouth moved over yours with a practiced confidence that should have been arrogant, but felt instead like a perfect, long-awaited answer. You could taste the mint and cinnamon on his tongue, a hint of the coffee he’d been drinking, and something uniquely, essentially Derek.
One of your hands fisted in the soft fabric of his t-shirt, holding on as the world tilted on its axis. The other came up to rest against the stubble of his jaw, feeling the muscle work as he kissed you with a depth that left you breathless.
When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing heavily, foreheads resting together. His eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide.
After a long moment, you spoke again, your tone laced with wry amusement, but still breathless. "Dad's probably sitting in his car outside, making sure I don't strangle you."
Derek's chest vibrated with a quiet chuckle. "Nah. He saw you come in. He knows." He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the crown of your head, the gesture feeling more natural than breathing. "He knows you're safe with me."
You tilted your head back, your Gideon-blue eyes searching his. All the walls were gone, leaving only a soft, certain warmth. "I know," you whispered.
And in the quiet of his apartment, with the city humming softly outside, the great Derek Morgan finally felt like he'd won the only prize that had ever truly mattered.
pairing: aaron hotchner x wife!reader
summary: you wear heels for a fancy dinner, but in the end, it’s not your shoes that carry you home.
warnings: suggestive, fluff, hotch being the perfect man once again by carrying reader home and taking off her heels, age gap implied, reader giving hotch a hard time about being old. (all i hear is hotch is a boobs man, hotch is an ass man no! hotch is a legs man! he told me himself!)
word count: 2k
✧ masterlist
Your feet ached – so much so that you weren’t even surprised when Reid, probably fed up with your quiet whining, casually mentioned over dinner that high heels were originally invented for men. And honestly? That made perfect sense. Only creatures that ridiculous would willingly subject themselves to this kind of torture.
He had then launched into an explanation about how, somewhere in the eighteenth century, heels became associated with women’s fashion, but by that point, you were far too focused on two things to pay attention: the persistent throb in your feet and the slow, deliberate movement of Aaron’s hand as it slid over to rest on your thigh.
That had effectively wiped out any interest in Reid’s history lesson.
It had been a small dinner, one of those rare nights where the girls – Penelope, really – insisted on dressing up. She had made a reservation somewhere far fancier (and significantly less sticky) than your usual bar, declaring it a much-needed change of scenery.
So, you had picked out the prettiest pair of shoes you owned – the ones you knew Aaron liked because he had insisted on buying them for you. He hadn’t even flinched when the price climbed high enough to require a comma, just given you that quiet, unwavering look that made it clear he wasn’t taking no for an answer.
And now, after hours of balancing on them, you were really hoping that look extended to carrying you to the couch.
“Regretting your choice of footwear?”
You huffed, dramatically shifting your weight onto one leg. “I regret your choice of footwear.”
His brow lifted. “Mine?”
“You picked these out, remember?” You gestured toward your aching feet, the expensive, unreasonably gorgeous shoes peeking out from beneath the hem of your dress. “You practically demanded I get them.”
Aaron hummed, slowing his pace just enough to make you aware of how much effort you were putting into keeping up. The ass. “I don’t recall any demanding,” he said, tone far too innocent. “I seem to remember you trying them on and looking at me like you were hoping I’d tell you to buy them.”
You gasped, stopping in your tracks. “That is not what happened.”
He turned to face you, his expression unreadable – except for the glint in his eyes, the one that only appeared when he was in the mood to toy with you. “No?”
You narrowed your eyes. “No.”
He paused for a moment before asking, “Which one is it going to be?”
“Huh?
“Do you want to walk home in my shoes,” he clarified, like he was offering you something as normal as his jacket, “or am I carrying you?”
You stared at him, trying to gauge whether he was actually serious. “You can’t just carry me,” you argued, crossing your arms.
Aaron arched a brow and before you could react, he took a deliberate step forward, closing the space between you. “You underestimate me,” he said and suddenly, you were very aware of how close he was.
“Oh, I don’t doubt you can – I just don’t think you should.”
His lips twitched, like he was holding back a smile. “Why not?”
“Because it’s ridiculous.”
“You’re limping,” he pointed out, not unkindly. “And you’re already dramatic when you’re comfortable, I can’t imagine how much I’ll have to hear about this tomorrow if I don’t carry you.”
“Jeez, you’re making me sound like a real catch.”
His smirk deepened just enough to make your breath hitch. “You are,” he said simply, like it was the easiest truth in the world. “That’s why I’m carrying you.”
And before you could even form a protest, his arms were around you, lifting you effortlessly off the ground.
A surprised yelp escaped your lips as he adjusted his hold, settling you securely in his arms, carrying you like you were weightless. The absurdity of it all – his confidence, the way he did it without hesitation, the sheer ridiculousness of being carried down the street like some sort of Disney princess – sent you into a fit of laughter.
“This is silly,” you managed between giggles, clinging to his shoulders. “Baby, put me down, I’ll walk barefoot.”
“Not happening.” His grip on you tightened, as if the very thought of letting you go was out of the question.
You let out another giggle, looping your arms around his neck for balance – not that you needed to, because Aaron held you like you were made for this, like carrying you home was just another part of his routine. Like it didn’t even require effort.
“Well, at least it’s not too far,” you mused, mid-yawn. “Wouldn’t want you throwing your back out.”
Aaron huffed out a laugh, the warmth of it brushing against your temple. “My back is fine. I think I can manage a few blocks.”
You tilted your head up to look at him, a teasing smile curling at your lips. “You think you can manage? Should I be concerned?”
“I should drop you just for that.”
Your eyes widened in mock horror, gripping his shoulders a little tighter. “You wouldn’t.”
Aaron’s lips curved into a smile “Wouldn’t I?”
Still, you gasped dramatically, clutching him even tighter. “Wow. Threatening to drop your much younger wife? That’s low.”
He sighed, the kind of long-suffering exhale that only came from years of dealing with you. “Here we go.”
You bit back a grin, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. “I mean, I get it – you’re not as young as you used to be. It must be exhausting carrying someone so full of youthful energy.”
“You do realize I’ve tackled suspects more than twice your size, right?”
“Yes, yes, very impressive,” you conceded with a wave of your hand. “But, you know, they don’t cling to you and distract you with conversation while you’re carrying them.”
“No, usually they’re either trying to stab or shoot me.”
You blinked, considering that. “And I’m the difficult one?”
Aaron didn’t bother dignifying your last remark with a response, he just shook his head, adjusting his grip on you. The movement brought you even closer and you could feel his warmth bleeding into you. If you weren’t still revelling in the absolute delight of being carried, you might’ve admitted that this had been your plan all along.
Eventually, the familiar sight of your apartment building came into view, and you sighed dramatically. “Well, we made it. Against all odds. How’s your back? Need me to book you a chiropractor?”
“Maybe a divorce attorney,” he mumbled, earning a swat at his chest from your clutch.
“Excuse me?”
But before you could demand a proper retraction, he angled you slightly, adjusting his hold so effortlessly it was almost infuriating, and you barely had time to react before he nodded toward the door.
“Kick,” he instructed.
Rolling your eyes but obliging anyway, you lifted a foot and tapped the door open, muttering, “Chivalry is dead.”
“Chivalry is alive and well,” he corrected smoothly, stepping inside with you still securely in his arms. “It’s just carrying a very mouthy woman up the stairs.”
You gasped again, scandalized. “Wow. I think that definitely just earned you a night on the couch.”
“We both know you’d end up joining me anyway. In fact,” he mused, his voice dropping as he carried you up the stairs, “I recall you saying that the best sex we’ve ever had was on that couch.”
Your mouth snapped shut, heat rushing to your cheeks so fast it was disorienting.
“You cannot just say things like that,” you hissed, your head whipping toward the door opposite yours. “We have neighbours. You know Agatha is a night owl.”
Aaron exhaled a quiet chuckle, completely unfazed. “Agatha’s hard of hearing.” He paused then added, “Keys, honey.”
With a dramatic sigh, you started digging through your clutch, fingers sifting through a graveyard of lip glosses and tiny perfume samples you had no intention of ever using but refused to throw away.
Aaron tilted his head, watching with mild amusement. “Need some help?”
“I’ve got it,” you muttered, ignoring his deeply unnecessary smirk as you fished out your keys. “Not all of us have the luxury of bottomless suit pockets.”
“That’s not what they’re called.”
“Whatever, Mary Poppins.”
He shook his head as he patiently waited for you to unlock the door – still very much carrying you.
Finally, your fingers closed around the keys, and with an exaggerated motion, you yanked them out. Aaron hummed, the sound low and pleased, before lowering you just enough so you could reach the lock.
The door swung open and he carried you inside, kicking it shut behind him. He made his way over to the infamous couch. The moment he set you down, you let out an exaggerated sigh of relief, stretching out dramatically. “Ugh. My hero,” you drawled. “My feet may never recover, but at least I died beautifully.”
You watched as he crossed the room with that same grace, making his way back toward the door. He slid off his suit jacket, draping it neatly over the back of a chair before reaching for the lock.
He made his way back over to you without a word, nudging your legs apart just enough to settle between them, sinking onto his knees. His fingers went immediately to the delicate strap of your heels, the pads of his thumbs brushing against your skin as he worked.
“Wow. Didn’t even have to ask.”
Aaron barely glanced up, his focus on your ankle as he did his best to undo the tiny buckle – one-handed, no less, because his phone and wallet were still in his grip. “I take care of what’s mine.”
Your stomach did a little flip, but you refused to let him win just yet.
“Hold these.” He pressed his phone and wallet against your stomach, and you took them instinctively.
Your fingers brushed over the wallet – the one you had given him for his birthday last year, the worn leather soft and familiar against your palm. You turned it over in your hand, shaking your head. “Oof. Trusting me with your wallet? Big mistake, Hotchner.”
He slipped the first shoe off your foot. “Spend whatever you want,” he murmured, his fingers wrapping around your ankle, lifting it slightly. “Take whatever you want. Take everything.”
Before the words could even land, he dipped his head and pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your ankle. His lips continued to trail lower, placing another kiss just above the curve of your foot, then another, his movements achingly tender.
You exhaled a quiet, contented moan, your body melting into the cushions as his touch worked its magic. It was like he knew – of course he knew – the exact places that hurt, the spots that had been aching for hours, and now, with nothing more than his lips, his touch, his presence, he was undoing all of it.
Like he needed to make it better.
Like he wanted to erase every trace of discomfort you’d felt all night.
His hands skimmed up your calves, pushing your dress up, fingertips pressing gently into the sore muscles before his thumbs followed, kneading warmth back into you.
Then, with that same patient care, he reached for your other foot, undoing the second buckle. The strap slipped free and he set the shoe aside before his hands returned to you, skimming up the length of your legs.
And then his mouth followed. Kissing. Worshipping.
His lips trailed over your shin, each kiss pressing something deeper into you – something that made your chest feel full.
His breath was warm against your thigh when he mumbled, “Marry me, baby.”
You blinked down at him, another giggle slipping from your lips, light and breathless. “Aaron, we’re already married.”
You felt him smile against your skin.
“Marry me again.”
Another kiss.
“And again.”
Another.
“And again.”
Your fingers slipped into his hair, tugging it slightly, your heart stuttering as warmth curled deep in your stomach.
He looked up then, eyes full of love, lips hovering just above your skin.
“As many times as you’ll have me.”
And just like that, you knew – you’d say yes to him a thousand times over.
summary: after losing your engagement ring during a particularly exhausting case, you’re determined to find the symbol of one of the happiest moments of your life. As the search leaves you increasingly distraught, Aaron reminds you that his love was never tied to a ring —but that doesn’t stop him from finding a way to make everything right
Aaron Hotchner x Reader
authors note: I am in desperate need of some ideas for more fics. I’m running out of things to write so any ideas or help would be much appreciated. Enjoy reading!! 💗💗
The case had been dragging on for four days.
Four long, exhausting days of too little sleep, too much coffee, and leads that seemed to disappear the second they appeared. The bullpen felt heavier than usual, the fluorescent lights harsher, the air thick with frustration and fatigue.
You were tired.
Everyone was.
But right now, the serial offender currently consuming the BAU’s attention wasn’t what occupied your mind.
It was your left hand.
Or rather, what was missing from it.
Your engagement ring.
The plain gold wedding band still sat securely on your finger, but the diamond ring Aaron had slipped onto your hand years ago was gone.
Gone.
You’d noticed it halfway through reviewing witness statements.
One glance down.
One second of confusion.
Then panic.
You had searched your desk three times. Your go-bag twice. Every pocket in every jacket you owned.
Nothing.
The ring was simply gone.
And the longer it stayed missing, the worse you felt.
Because it wasn’t about the diamond.
It never had been.
It was about that night.
Aaron standing in your apartment doorway looking more nervous than you’d ever seen him.
The tiny velvet box.
His rare, beautiful smile when you’d immediately burst into tears before he could even finish asking.
One of the happiest moments of your life.
And now the ring that represented it had vanished.
You were staring at your bare finger again when a familiar voice interrupted your thoughts.
“Honey.”
You looked up.
Aaron stood beside your desk, tie slightly loosened, exhaustion visible around his eyes.
Still handsome.
Still steady.
Still Aaron.
“You haven’t eaten.”
You sighed.
“I’m not hungry.”
His eyebrow lifted.
“You skipped breakfast too.”
“I’ll survive.”
“No,” he said simply. “You won’t function.”
Despite everything, a tiny smile pulled at your lips.
Aaron reached down and squeezed your shoulder.
Only then did his gaze flick toward your hand.
His expression softened immediately.
The missing ring hadn’t escaped his notice.
Of course it hadn’t.
“I’m still looking,” you said quietly.
“I know.”
“What if it’s gone?”
“It isn’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
The certainty in his voice made you blink.
Aaron crouched beside your chair.
The position felt oddly intimate in the middle of the busy bullpen.
“Honey,” he said gently, “if the ring is lost, we’ll deal with it.”
You shook your head.
“It’s not the same.”
His thumb brushed across your knuckles.
“I know.”
Your throat tightened.
“It was the ring.”
“The ring isn’t why I proposed.”
You laughed weakly.
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
His eyes softened further.
“But that moment didn’t disappear because a piece of jewelry did.”
The words should have comforted you.
Instead they nearly made you cry.
Aaron noticed immediately.
Because he always noticed.
His hand tightened around yours.
“We’ll find it.”
You nodded.
You wanted to believe him.
You really did.
⸻
Another twelve hours passed.
The team finally caught a break in the case.
A witness came forward.
A location was identified.
The unsub was arrested before midnight.
Everyone should have felt relieved.
Instead, exhaustion settled over the team like a blanket.
You barely remembered getting back to Quantico.
The bullpen was nearly empty when you dropped into your chair.
Your engagement ring was still missing.
And now that the case was over, you had nothing distracting you from it.
You rested your forehead against the desk.
Maybe it was really gone.
Maybe—
“Honey?”
Aaron’s voice echoed from somewhere nearby.
You lifted your head.
“What?”
“Come here.”
His tone was strange.
You frowned and stood.
Aaron was kneeling beside one of the conference room chairs.
For a terrifying second, your brain assumed the worst.
Then you saw what he was holding.
A diamond ring.
Your diamond ring.
Your breath caught.
“Oh my God.”
Aaron smiled.
A real smile.
The kind that rarely appeared at work.
“It fell between the cushions.”
You stared.
“What?”
“Conference room chair.”
You rushed forward.
“You’re kidding.”
“I checked while everyone was finishing paperwork.”
You nearly snatched it from his hand.
Relief flooded through you so fast it made your eyes sting.
“You found it.”
“I found it.”
You laughed.
Then immediately burst into tears.
Which only made you laugh harder.
Aaron stood and wrapped his arms around you without hesitation.
The bullpen was empty enough that neither of you cared.
You buried your face against his shoulder.
“I thought it was gone.”
“I know.”
“I was so upset.”
“I know that too.”
You pulled back enough to look at him.
The ring sparkled under the fluorescent lights.
Perfect.
Safe.
Home.
Aaron gently took your hand and slid it back onto your finger.
Exactly where it belonged.
The motion felt strangely familiar.
Like a memory repeating itself.
For a moment, you were standing in that apartment again.
Seeing that nervous smile.
Hearing the question.
Feeling your heart race.
When the ring settled into place, Aaron pressed a kiss against your forehead.
“There.”
You smiled.
“There.”
His gaze lingered on your hand.
Then he looked back at you.
“You know,” he said, “if we’d never found it, it wouldn’t have mattered,” he pauses, “because I’m still married to you.”
You laughed.
“Good thing.”
A hint of amusement flickered across his face.
“Sweetheart, I would’ve married you if I’d proposed with a paper clip.”
The laugh that escaped you echoed through the room.
Aaron looked pleased with himself.
Which somehow made it funnier.
You reached for his hand.
His fingers immediately intertwined with yours.
The engagement ring felt comforting against your skin once more.
But as Aaron squeezed your hand and guided you toward the elevator, you realized something.
The ring mattered.
Of course it did.
It held memories.
Promises.
Love.
But it had never been the most important part.
The most important part was the man walking beside you.
The one who never stopped searching.
Never stopped caring.
Never stopped calling you honey and sweetheart with that quiet affection that made your heart flutter every single time.
And judging by the small smile Aaron sent your way as the elevator doors closed, he wasn’t planning to stop anytime soon.
Summary: You’ve been a part of the team for nearly two years and neither you or Hotch have ever brought up the one night stand the two of you had prior to you coming to the BAU. When the team brings up your strict rule about not hooking up with guys before three dates, he can’t help but realize you've definitely broken that rule...
Word Count: 3.6K 🍸
-
You’re half listening as Reid explains something complicated about geographic victimology while you work on finishing your report. The team got in late last night, which left everyone with a Friday full of paperwork and counting down the minutes until the weekend was officially here.
You’ve been a part of the team for nearly two years now, you finally feel totally confident of yourself within the team. It took some time being the youngest, you couldn’t even imagine how it was for Reid when he joined. Now you feel like you’re at the point of holding your own with some of the best minds in the FBI.
Hotch steps out of his office, his jacket is off and he has his sleeves rolled up at the forearms. He’s holding a file in front of him, his typical permanent frown weighing on his face. You keep typing, trying not to follow him in your peripheral.
You are an adult, a respected professional of the FBI, but sometimes you can’t even make eye contact with him. That has to do with the fact that ten months before you joined the team, you had a one night stand with him. You didn’t know him as Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief of the BAU and one of the most intimidating men in the bureau. He had just been a very attractive stranger in a hotel bar in Georgetown.
You finished undergrad early and already had your academy acceptance and spent the night celebrating with friends. You saw his frown across the bar and made it your mission to make it go away. He was recently divorced and you talked long enough that your friends moved on to the next bar. You made him laugh and you could tell he hadn’t done that in a long time.
He looked at you with the warmest eyes and such want that he knew he shouldn’t crave. You could see him fighting it, the age difference likely plaguing his mind but the concern made you want him more. Once he got his hands on you, it would’ve taken everything to stop. You didn’t want him to. So he didn’t.
It was supposed to be one night. One reckless, stupid, amazing night.
Months later when you walked into the BAU and were introduced to the team you would be joining and your new boss you nearly died on the spot. You had thought about the mystery man from the bar a handful of times, but never thought you would actually see him again.
Now in the past two years, neither of you have ever spoken of it once. Not a single time. Instead the two of you exist in some weird purgatory of prolonged eye contact and way too much tension.
“So, drinks tonight?” Morgan asks, spinning around in his seat to face everyone.
“Please, god yes.” Emily sighs, closing her eyes.
JJ nods, “I’m in.”
“We know Garcia will come.” Morgan nods obviously, “Kid?”
He looks at you and you finally look up from your computer.
“Is Rossi buying the first round?” You tease, calling up to his office and he raises a thumbs up.
Morgan turns toward Hotch’s office, “Boss man, you too.”
Your chest immediately stalls. He doesn’t usually come with for team outings, he usually spends any free time with Jack so his answer surprises you.
“I’ll be there.”
You think about it the rest of the afternoon until everyone is eventually grabbing their bags and packing up. Everyone breaks off with the plan of meeting at the usual bar in an hour. It gives you enough time to change and freshen up a little.
You were regretting your decision to come the second you walked through the door. You know what going out for drinks after a case typically led to. No one was allowed to have secrets, dignity, or peace. You know tonight will be no different.
The group had managed to secure the big corner booth and you can tell as you walk up that you’re the last one to arrive.
“Come on, kid.” Rossi stands, “Now that you’re here, help me get the first round.”
“Gladly.” You smile, following him to the bar. He knew everyone’s order already and you add yours to the list. He passes you drinks and you balance the first few in your hands and Rossi stays behind to wait for the rest.
“Don’t spill, kid.” He calls and you roll your eyes.
You head back toward the table and nearly make it when a tall man in his late twenties steps in front of you. He’s handsome but his face is showing the kind of confidence that tells you he doesn’t get a no very often.
“Hey,” he says with an easy smile, “You look like you could use some help with those.”
You smile back politely, “I’m good, but thanks.”
“Maybe I could buy the next round instead?”
He steps closer and you have to admit he’s smooth. On another night you would’ve at least entertained it for fun, but with your entire team and Aaron somewhere in your peripheral vision, absolutely not.
You shift the drinks in your hands, “That’s sweet, but I’m here with people.”
“Boyfriend?” He grins.
“Federal agents, actually.” You cut, “Much scarier.”
He laughs and holds up his hands in surrender.
“Noted. I’ll back off, but come find me if you change your mind.”
You walk away without missing a beat and set down the drinks at the table behind him like nothing happened. The team very clearly had not missed a second of it. Morgan leans back, his grin already forming.
“Well, well. Pretty boy at twelve o’clock. You work fast, why turn him down?”
You roll your eyes and shake your head, passing out the drinks to the correct person.
“Not interested.”
“That’s the problem, you need to get some.”
JJ nearly chokes on her drink and your jaw falls slack.
“Subtle.” Emily shakes her head.
You laugh, “Absolutely not.”
“She has standards.” Garcia corrects.
“Very high ones.” JJ adds.
Morgan frowns, “What does that even mean?”
Rossi returns with the rest of the drinks. You wish the ground would swallow you whole.
“You don’t know about her rule?” Emily asks, raising her brows.
You simply close your eyes, a hand on your forehead.
Morgan looks even more confused, “What rule?”
“Y/n doesn’t sleep with men before at least three dates.”
Morgan just blinks a few times, you can’t bring yourself to look at Hotch but you can feel his eyes on you.
“That’s insane.” He shakes his head, “Three dates?”
“Hey, I wish I did that.” Emily defends, pointing at Morgan directly.
“Thank you.” You laugh, “Men are terrible. They need a screening process.”
Garcia raises her glass, “To quality control.”
Everyone clinks glasses but Aaron hasn’t moved a muscle.
Morgan still shakes his head, “So you’re telling me you’ve never broken this rule?”
You hesitate.
“Well…”
The hesitation was your mistake.
“What?” Garcia shakes your shoulder aggressively.
“Oh my god!” JJ covers her mouth.
You clear your throat, “Every rule gets broken at some point.”
The table bursts out, all of the girls talking over each other and pulling for more details. In all of their girls' nights you’ve never fessed up for breaking the rule once. You take the opportunity to take a long sip of the your drink.
You hold up your hands in self defence while they continue to badger, “It was one time!”
“And you never told us?” Garcia shrieks.
“You were withholding information.” Emily accuses.
JJ leans forward, “So, who was he?”
Oh no.
“Was he hot?” Garcia asks.
“Well obviously he was, look at the guy she just turned away.” Emily rolls her eyes.
You can feel a blush taking over your face and take a moment to finally look over at Aaron. His eyes were still on you and you would swear that there was the faintest smirk on the corner of his mouth. To everyone else it looks like he’s enjoying the chaos, but you know the truth.
“He must’ve made quite the impression.” He finally speaks up.
The table softens, turning back to you. Your eyes are still locked with his, there it was again. The same impossible and undeniable tension that stretched tight across the two of you for years. All of it stemming from one unforgettable night. You force yourself to stay calm, leaning back against the booth. You can see that Aaron is enjoying this, and hold his stare.
You shrug, “Something like that.”
The table eventually moved on, sadly Reid became the next target of the group interrogating, focusing on giving him unsolicited dating advice. Garcia was in the middle of explaining how relevant astrology is, but you weren’t actively listening. You can physically feel him staring at you across the booth.
“Kid, do me a favor.” Rossi reaches out his platinum card to you, “Get us the next round going.”
You let out a dramatic sigh, ready to complain about doing it alone but you don’t get far.
“I’ll help.” Aaron says quickly, already moving to slide out of the booth as well.
You take the last sip of your drink before looking up at him.
“Let's go.”
The walk to the bar was quiet, and somehow familiar. You can feel his presence close behind you and then at your side once you're actually at the bar. You fold your arms loosely, tapping Rossi’s card on the counter absentmindedly.
“I didn’t know about the rule.”
You let out a short laugh, turning to look at him. He’s standing closer to you than you thought he would.
“That’s your takeaway?”
You raise your brows and he seems unfazed. His gaze is still studying you.
“You said three dates.”
You lean against the bar and lower your voice, leaning in closer.
“You’re really not letting this go?”
“I’m asking a question.” He insists.
“No,” you say, “You’re interrogating.”
He hesitates, you see him swallow.
“Yes, I am.”
God, that should not be attractive.
You shake your head, smiling despite the situation.
“We’ve worked together for almost two years, Aaron.”
His eyes dart between yours, “And?”
“And we have never once talked about the fact that we slept together.”
There it is. Out loud in public. The world did not end because you finally said what you had both been refusing to address for years. The world did not end, he didn’t even flinch.
“No, we haven’t.”
You give him a look, “That seems insane, doesn’t it? Now you want to talk about it?”
“Yes-”
The bartender finally approaches and you order quickly. You rattle them off, choosing to focus on that rather than the fact that he’s somehow another half step closer to you. As the bartender gets to work on the drinks, you turn your attention back to him.
“Now, that’s cold.” A voice cuts in.
You turn to see the guy from earlier standing next to the two of you.
“Excuse me?” You raise your brows.
“I thought you said you weren’t here with your boyfriend.”
You open your mouth, but Aaron beats you to it. He uses the terrifying voice that he uses right before suspects start crying, too calm and flat.
“No, she said she was with federal agents.”
The guy blinks a couple times, the silence is palpable. You have to stop yourself from laughing, watching a range of emotions flash across his face. Aaron wasn’t even trying to look particularly threatening, but this was far scarier than the jealous boyfriend act.
The guy straightened, “...Right.”
Aaron gives him a single nod and he walks away, going back to wherever his friends are. You continue to stare at him as he reaches for the drinks.
“What?” He finally asks.
You grin, “That was incredibly subtle.”
“I thought so.” He finally looks back at you.
“You were jealous.” You comment, loving every second of this. You know the second you return to the booth it’ll all be over.
“I was not.” He disagrees.
You nod, but it’s clear that you don't believe a word. You grab the rest of the drinks, looking back up to follow his lead back to the booth.
“I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.” He admits, his voice dangerously low.
You manage a smile, “Good.”
-
The walk back to the table felt like miles. Morgan immediately reached for his drink and you both slide back into the ends of the booth.
“Took you two long enough.” Morgan grins, “You start another investigation without us?”
You set Rossi’s scotch in front of him.
“Yeah, actually we solved the mystery of why men need to be screened.”
Emily snorts into her glass.
“Groundbreaking.” JJ shakes her head.
“Please tell me you humbled him again?” Garcia practically begs.
You nod in Aaron’s direction across the table, “No need, Hotch had him.”
Apparently now, Aaron Hotchner is deciding to be chatty. Not normal person chatty, but Hotch chatty. You noticed, and you’re sure that others did too. Morgan was halfway through telling a ridiculous story involving a case in Miami when Aaron interrupted with a sarcastic detail. The entire table was stunned. Morgan stuttered for a half second before continuing.
Garcia was leaning over Reid to explain to him what his type was while you sit there trying hard not to think of Aaron and how close he was at the bar. The low tone of his voice when he told you he didn’t like that man was looking at you. It warmed you all the way to your core.
You turn to laugh at something Emily says and when you do you can see Aaron is already looking at you. He doesn’t pretend otherwise when you catch him and it makes your smile falter. His did too, just barely.
Somehow what had been avoidance for years, it felt like it was turning into anticipation. Admitting your history out loud to each other cracked open just enough between you two to let something warm back in.
Hours later, everyone slowly starts to trickle out to go home. Rossi declared himself too old, JJ was missing her boys, and everyone eventually made their way out. You could tell the team noticed Hotch get up after you did, insisting he was tapping out as well and would walk you to your car. You spot Garcia and Emily exchange glances.
The air outside was cooler, it was a needed relief for how flushed you felt at this point. Maybe the two of you were just two coworkers walking to their cars. You know absolutely no one who would actually believe that.
“They’ll talk about this.” You break the silence.
“They talk about everything.”
“True.”
Your steps slow as the two of you get closer to your car.
“You didn’t have to walk me to my car.”
“I know.” He looks down at the ground briefly, “I wanted to.”
The parking lot felt very quiet. You could hear your own heartbeat, which was annoying. You tilt your head slightly while still looking at him.
“So, what now? You get jealous when guys hit on me and walk me to my car?”
His eyes drop to your mouth for a second before meeting your gaze again.
“That depends.” His voice dropping low again.
“On?”
“Whether this is still a bad idea.” He admits, reaching out bravely to tuck your hair back behind your ear.
“Oh it’s definitely a bad idea.” You smirk.
“Good.”
He uses the hand that was in your hair to pull your face into his. He kisses you like he had been thinking about it for years, and maybe he had. His other hand finds your waist, pulling you in closer. Your hands find his jacket and grip it instinctively with just as much need.
Neither of you hesitate for a second, just years of tension finally snapping all at one. He presses you lightly against your car, his mouth still on yours. It feels so familiar like that first night, but somehow it’s entirely different.
This time it isn’t two strangers, this isn’t one reckless mistake. He knows exactly who you are and you know exactly who he is. You’re sure it makes you want him even more now. You fingers slide up the back of his neck and his breath catches. It’s dangerous information you’ll burn into your memory, it makes you smile against his lips.
He manages to kiss you deeper now, slower this time. It’s like he’s trying to make up for lost time. Trying to make up for every moment over the last two years that didn’t exist. You eventually pull back to get a real breath.
“Well,” You pant, “that seems like an answer.”
For the first time all night he is openly amused.
“Apparently.” He actually smiles.
You smile back, his thumb brushes against your side.
“This is still a terrible idea.”
“Yes.”
“Potentially career ending.” You continue.
“Potentially.” He agrees.
“Totally complicated.”
“Absolutely.”
You look at him, openly studying him. His calm reactions to everything you keep adding, the fact that his grip hasn’t lessened any.
“Okay, just checking”
His lips chase yours immediately, pressing you back against your car again. You're already breathless again when your car alarm goes off causing you both to jump apart.
“So… this is the part where I usually make the responsible decision.” You admit.
He nods, taking a step back but you can tell it takes some serious effort to do so. You miss the heat of his body on you instantly.
“I completely understand.”
Aaron, ever the gentleman.
“But I think we’ve already established that you’re the exception to the rule.” You roll your eyes, watching him light up.
-
Your keys hit the floor the second Aaron kicks the door shut behind you two. You’re pulling him by his jacket, eventually pulling it off his shoulders and dropping it too. The two of you are a lot less careful in the privacy of your apartment.
Your heels are somewhere in the hallway. You tug on Aaron’s tie, loosening it and ditching it. His fingers slide under the hem of your shirt, sliding up your sides. Your top lands on a lampshade. You’re working on the buttons of his shirt while he tugs your skirt down your hips.
There was a trail of professionalism all the way from the front door to your bedroom.
He’s still kissing you like he had been holding it in far too long. Your hands are in his hair again, eliciting a groan. The back of your knees hit your bed and you pull him down with you. He pulls back just enough to look at you, both of you still panting. His thumb passes over your bare hip, grounding both of you.
“Are you sure?” He asks softly.
You offer him a certain smile, sitting up so you can press a quick peck to his lips.
“Aaron, if you stop touching me now, I’ll lose it.”
For the first time in a long time, he really truly laughed. The same laugh that charmed you all those years ago. At the time you had no idea how rare it was. It was honestly unfair how attractive it was.
He reconnects your lips again and it silences your whine when he slips his hand under the waistband of your panties. The two of you feel the same as you did all those years ago, but somehow it’s better now. It’s better now that you actually know him and he knows you. Every touch. Every moan. Every time he said your name.
It was sinful. You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to hear it the same way from him. He nearly combusts the first time you let ‘sir’ slip out. Both of you can see what it does to the other and it doesn’t take long for both of you to finish, multiple times over.
“I can’t believe we made it two years without doing that again.” You huff, turning to look at the man laying next to you still fighting to catch his breath. He generously gives you another rich laugh, reaching out to pull you closer. You rest your head on his chest and can feel how fast his heart is racing.
His face looks softer than you’ve ever seen it.
“Never again.” He mutters, leaning down to press a kiss to your hairline.
“Thank god.” You chuckle.
He clears his throat and his hold on you tightens slightly, you look up at him noticing the change.
“I’ve been lying to myself the past two years.” He admits, “When you joined the team I told myself that night was a mistake we would leave in the past. But it’s something I’ve replayed in my mind over and over.”
“I’m glad I wasn’t the only one suffering.” You steal another hungry kiss, “So, what now?”
“Now I owe you a date, or three of them?” He smirks, “Or is it six now? How exactly does that work?”
You love that he’s teasing you. His face is so relaxed and carefree. You swing a leg over his lap to straddle him, feeling him harden underneath you.
“Keep counting, I’m not done with you yet.”
-
an// just whipped this up this morning and it was so cute and fun! please tell me you adored them like I do! they might need a part two… 🫣
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Summary: You have been Aaron Hotchner's nanny, taking care of Jack, for over a year when someone looking for revenge breaks into the house while Aaron is away on a case.
5.3 K nanny!reader
Warnings: break in, attack, stalking, blood, violence
-
Most days being Aaron Hotchner’s nanny were simple. Get Jack to school, using the occasional cereal bribery. Make sure all of his homework was done and in his backpack. Keep the house from looking like Aaron wasn’t actually gone half the month for cases. Answer the occasional late night call while he’s away so he can hear about his son’s day.
You had taken over the guest room, half of your apartment has made its way over at this point. Any time Aaron was pulled away on a case you would stay at the house. It helped Jack have as normal of a routine as possible. Aaron would deny it if anyone asked, but he liked seeing your things around the house.
You’ve been with them for just over a year now. It only took a few months for it to feel a lot less like work and dangerously close to home. The two Hotchner men had quickly taken over your world and you wouldn’t change a thing.
Jack liked you right away. Somewhere between the dramatic lightsaber battle and the joke about transformers and he was sold.
Aaron, on the other hand, had taken longer. He was always polite and respectful, but he was also rigid. He moved like he was always bracing for impact. He trusted carefully in measured doses, and time and time again you proved yourself.
“You’re still awake.” His voice comes through right after you hit answer.
You smile and bite back the yawn you’ve been fighting.
“So are you.” You comment, “That’s not good.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“You’re profiling a serial killer, and I’m trying to profile whether Jack actually brushed his teeth or not.”
He lets out an exhale that is as close to a laugh as you can get while he’s on a case. You know there’s a small smile with it too.
“Something like that.”
“Jack informed me when you get back he needs you to know dinosaurs would definitely beat sharks in a fight.”
He hums, “So he came to a conclusion?”
“He said sharks lose because they can’t climb stairs.”
“Solid logic.”
You snort out a laugh.
“Thank you.” He says softly after your laughter has slowed.
“For what?” You ask.
“For this. For being there.”
Your chest tightens in the way it always did when Aaron let the walls slip a little.
“You don’t have to thank me, Aaron.”
A pause.
“I know.”
You hear a soft unmistakable click of the back door in the kitchen. You straighten instantly, sucking in a breath of air. Aaron notices the change immediately.
“What is it?”
You slowly stand from the couch and take quiet steps back towards the stairs.
“I-I think someone’s in the house.” You whisper.
Silence.
Aaron breaks it with no trace of softness left.
“Y/n, get to Jack and lock yourselves in his room. Right now.”
You grip the phone tighter in your hand, your heart racing. Your instincts are screaming at you, but part of you wonders if you really heard it. Did your mind make it up? The house has been silent ever since.
“I-” You hesitate.
“No,” His voice turning sharp before you can hear him shout to someone close by, “Garcia get the police to my house immediately. Someone’s in the house and Y/n and Jack are there.”
Your eyes are laser focused on the kitchen, taking a half step back toward the stairs. Then a shadow moves and your stomach drops.
“Aaron-”
A man lunges forward and you race for the stairs. You make it up the first three before his hand catches your shoulder. It sends the phone clattering against the hardwood floor.
Aaron is hundreds of miles away, forced to listen. The sound of the phone hitting the floor echoes like a gunshot.
“Y/n!” Aaron shouts your name, pacing the conference room of the Tennessee police department. Against his true desires, he puts it on speaker so the rest of the team can hear this and understand what’s going on.
His voice tears through the line, but it’s useless and frantic. He could hear everything. Furniture scraping violently against the hardwood. Your cries and sharp gasps. The sickening sound of someone being thrown down on the stairs. Aaron’s entire body went cold.
“Garcia, how far away is the unit?” Aaron asks, clutching the table in front of him. The sounds just continue to go on.
“I’m on it, I’m on it!” She stutters, clearly distracted by the other phone on the line, “The closest patrol is three minutes away.”
Might as well be three hours away.
Aaron could still hear you fighting.
“Get the hell off of me!” You shout, the unsub snarls something the phone doesn’t quite pick up.
Then suddenly footsteps running upstairs.
“No!” You shout.
Because Jack is upstairs. You knew it and he knew it too. Everyone can hear the pure desperation in the way you shout. There’s more crashing, following by the awful sound of bodies colliding. You manage to throw yourself at him, taking both of you down to the bottom of the stairs.
Aaron’s grip on the table grows so tight his knuckles start to burn. He could hear the sharp cry when the unsub yanked you back down to the floor hard enough to make JJ physically flinch. But you’re fighting like hell, kicking and scratching, anything purely for survival at this point.
A small voice from far away calls out.
“Y/n?”
Everything stopped.
You look up to the top of the stairs and see Jack standing there in his pajamas. He has one hand on the bannister, but his eyes widen with fear when he sees the reality of what’s going on.
“Jack!” You cry, “Hide! Run!”
Your voice is clear and cuts through the chaos like a whip.
“Now!”
Aaron could hear the shift. The moment you started to fight harder, you could feel it too. The fear was gone, now you’re running off of protective fury. A sharp kick connects hard enough for the unsub to curse loudly and roll over onto his side on the floor.
You pull yourself toward the stairs, managing to stand after using the railing for leverage. The unsub groans, slowly rising from the floor. You try to move faster, but he drags you back down again. You scream again but never stop fighting.
Sudden sirens take over the neighborhood. Loud and close, the bright red and blue lights shining in the living room windows. The unsub freezes. He shoves you back again, hard, before taking off for the kitchen and you hear the back door again.
You crawl up the stairs to where Jack is hiding somewhere.
“Jack?” You call, “It’s okay! He’s gone, the police are here.”
Your voice is shaking now, pain starting to catch up to the adrenaline. Small footsteps bound down the hall, you sit on the top step unable to move any closer. You hold your arms open for him and he collapses into you instantly.
“It’s okay, I’m here.” You sigh, running your hand over the back of his head, “We’re okay.”
You repeat it over and over until the police break down the front door.
“They’re safe, Hotch.” Morgan places a cautious hand on his shoulder.
Aaron can’t answer. He can’t answer because you’re hundreds of miles away, helpless and terrified, and all he could do was listen. Again.
-
The jet was silent. It was heavy in a way that only happened when something was personal. This was a direct attack in Aaron’s home against you and his son.
“Garcia said the officers think the unsub knew the house layout.”
Hotch stares straight ahead.
“He did.”
He didn’t need the officer's report to know that.
“He knew where the backdoor was and he moved like he had been there before. He went upstairs.”
Toward Jack. No one said it, no one had to.
Rossi leans closer, “We’ll find him.”
Hotch gives him one short nod, but his expression remains the same.
The unsub isn’t the only thing weighing on his mind, he can’t get over the guilt pulling at this throat. Heavy and sharp. He heard it all happen, he listened to you fight for his son while he was useless. And you had nearly been killed because of it.
The jet landed just after dawn and no one bothered with going home, they just went straight to the hospital. Garcia had already texted that she was in the waiting room and would stay until they got there.
She jumps up from her chair when she sees them walking together down the hall and walks straight up to Hotch.
“She has a dislocated shoulder, bruised ribs, stitches along her hairline, and enough bruising to make everyone working this floor visibly wince when they leave her room.” Penelope spits the words out quickly, Aaron’s face remaining the same.
They slow as they approach your room, through the open door they can all see you. You’re asleep and carefully propped against white pillows. Bruises in ugly shades of purple and blue litter you, with one arm secured in a sling. The other arm is wrapped around Jack and resting on his back. He’s tucked against your side, out cold.
Morgan swore quietly under his breath and JJ had to look away. Rossi, who has seen enough violence for ten lifetimes, stood there without speaking.
It was undeniable and written all over your body that you had but yourself between danger and Jack without hesitation and fought like hell. Aaron stood in the doorway like the air had been knocked out of him.
Rossi gives him one firm nod before stepping back, “We’ve got the rest. Go be here.”
Aaron stepped into the room alone, shutting the door halfway. For a long moment he just stood there and watched the two of you taking steady breaths. He pulls a chair close to your bedside, sitting carefully like a sudden moment would have you both jump. Maybe it would.
He doesn’t know how much time passes where he just enjoys the consistent sound of your breathing. Long enough that he notices the second it changes and you shift a little. Your eyes open slowly, heavy with pain medication and exhaustion.
“Aaron?” Your voice comes out rough.
He nods first because it takes him a second to trust his own voice.
“Hi.”
A small smile curls on the edge of your mouth.
“You look terrible.”
A surprised laugh escapes him.
“It's okay, I look terrible too. I think my face scared Jack earlier. But he’s used to having you around, so he managed.”
You try to lighten the mood, anything to ease the deep frown and heaviness all over his face. You’ve seen him after some terrible cases, but you’ve never seen him like this. He looks defeated.
Silence settles between the two of you. You glance down at Jack, sleeping soundly against your side.
“He finally crashed a little bit ago. He refused to leave.”
Aaron looks over his son, then back to you.
“He stayed because he knew you were safe.”
You swallow.
“I’m sorry.”
His eyes widen with surprise, “For what?”
“For not stopping it sooner, for scaring Jack-”
“Y/n.” He interrupts, his voice cracking. That actually makes you stop. He leans forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped tight like he had to physically hold himself together.
“You have absolutely nothing to apologize for.” He shakes his head, “You protected my son.”
The next words were lower and less steady.
“You put yourself between him and a man you knew could kill you, and you're apologizing?”
Tears flood your vision, but you still can’t pull your gaze from Aaron’s.
“I couldn’t let him get to Jack.”
“I know.”
His voice was softer now.
“I heard it. I heard it all.”
He heard it all. You had forgotten he was on the phone when the stranger broke in, which is likely what saved you. He got police to you within minutes. Everything could have been so different if you hadn’t stayed up waiting for his call. But he had heard it all. The fight. The fear. Jack.
You lift your hand carefully from Jack’s back and reach out for Aaron to take. He looks at it for a second before using both of his hands to completely envelope yours. He stares at them for a minute while he gathers his thoughts.
“I was on the other end of that phone listening to someone hurt you, and I couldn’t do anything about it.”
“Aaron” You start.
“I’ve only felt that helpless once before, and I never wanted to feel like this again.”
His hands tighten around yours.
“Aaron.” Your voice calm, pulling his focus back on you, “You got the police to us in minutes, Jack is okay, and I’m okay. You don’t get to carry blame or guilt over a man choosing to do something horrible.”
He wants to look away, but he knows he won’t get away with that. Jack shifts, mumbling something in his sleep and both of you instinctively look down at him. The room stays quiet like that for a few minutes before Aaron looks back again.
There’s something in his expression now that had been there for months but neither of them had dared to touch. It was also part of why you waited for your late night call. They had started as a way for him to say goodnight to his son, but had evolved to at least twenty minutes with you each night.
“I don’t know what I would do without you.” He admits and your breath catches.
Aaron Hotchner does not say things he doesn’t mean.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
-
By late afternoon, the hospital had reluctantly signed discharge papers. Aaron was given strict instructions to follow for three different pain medications and that you can’t lift anything heavier than a pillow. Hotch nodded along like he was taking an oath.
You borrowed extra sweats from Aaron’s emergency overnight bag, and were entirely unimpressed with the mandatory wheelchair escort all the way to the car. The car ride to the house was quiet, Jack hardly making a peep as they got closer to the house.
Aaron parks in the driveway and from here you can see the caution tape over the door. The wood is splintered where they kicked down the front door to get to you. You don’t make a move to get out of the car and neither does Jack. Aaron turns from the driver’s seat to face you.
“The two of you wait in the car. I’m gonna run in and get our stuff, we’re not staying here.’
You blink, “We’re not?”
“It’s not safe to stay here until we know who we’re looking for. We’re going to go in to Quantico.”
“The BAU?”
“It’s secure. Garcia’s there and JJ is bringing enough snacks for Jack to qualify as a federal offence. Until we know who did this, I’m not leaving either of you alone. I’m sorry.”
You frown, “Don’t apologize for that.”
He looks back at Jack and he gives him a thumbs up. Aaron gets out quickly and races inside, it doesn’t take him long to pack go bags for all three of you.
“I get to see Uncle Reid!” Jack says excitedly.
“Agent Reid.” Hotch corrects.
“No,” Jack shakes his head, “Uncle Reid.”
Aaron sighs, “Apparently I’ve lost control of professional boundaries.”
You dare a smirk.
“Long ago.”
For the first time since the attack you see the ghost of a real smile from him.
The team was waiting when you arrived, Garcia launching herself at you before remembering your injuries. She settles for a cautious hug that you hide a wince for.
“Oh my god, look at your face!”
“I’m okay.” You laugh softly.
Rossi leans in next to press a careful kiss on your cheek, “He’s gonna give you a really good raise after this.”
You laugh and look back at Aaron. You missed it, but Rossi gives Aaron a look behind your back that says ‘you’re in love with your nanny and everyone knows it’. Aaron ignores him with practiced precision.
They set you up in the conference room with ice packs and coffee, Garcia is watching Jack in Aaron’s office. Everyone is sitting around the table, far from their typical victim interview but this was far from a typical case.
This was personal.
The hospital did pull DNA from under your fingernails, but whoever the unsub was, he wasn't in the system so it turned up nothing.
“Start from the beginning. Anything you remember matters, even if it’s small.” Hotch manages to keep his voice steady, staring directly at you.
You nod slowly, setting down your coffee down on the table.
“The back door first. The house was quiet, but I heard the click. He knew how to get in without making much noise.”
Reid starts taking notes.
“How tall was he?” Morgan asks.
“At least a head taller than me. Strong. He knew exactly where he was going, he didn’t hesitate.”
You swallow.
“He never looked around, he moved like he already knew the house.”
The room fell to a still. Reid’s pen stopped moving and everyone looked up.
“He was there for Jack.” Aaron states.
You nod, agreeing with the theory.
“And for you.” Rossi nods toward you.
You look at him, “What?”
“People who target families like this aren’t improvising. It’s personal. They want fear, and they want the message to last.”
“He could’ve killed me if he really wanted to.” You shake your head, “He kept trying for the stairs for Jack-”
“He probably wanted you to be scared.” Morgan clears his throat, “He was getting off on your fear.”
The stuns you into silence.
Emily sets down her pen, “Did he say anything to you?”
You frown again, “He said…’He should know what it feels like’.”
Aaron’s jaw tightens instantly because that isn’t random at all. That sounds like revenge, which confirms his biggest fear. Yet again his job is putting the people he cares most about in harm's way.
-
The team had scattered to run more leads, but you stayed in the conference room. You find yourself standing in front of the evidence board for the case. Crime scene shots, the staircase, the broken bannister. Your blood on the hardwood. The photographs from the hospital that are so clinical and detached you don’t even recognize yourself.
The woman in the picture looks like someone else.
“You really shouldn’t do that.”
You turn and see JJ in the doorway.
“I know.”
She steps into the room and stands next to you, turning her attention to the same photographs. For a solid minute neither of you speak. Finally, you exhale.
“It just feels like if I stop trying to remember something that’ll actually help… like he’s winning somehow.”
JJ nods, “I get that.”
“I hate that I’m scared of his house. That his house is crime scene photos again.”
You know that this isn’t the same house he had with Haley, but it’s still been his home with Jack for years now.
“Y/n, you were attacked. Being scared doesn’t make you weak.” JJ insists.
“It feels like it does.”
“No,” Her voice firm now, “what you did was beyond brave. You kept Jack safe and saved yourself.”
You blink, “I was terrified.”
“Exactly.” She finally smiles, “And you still did it. Bravery typically looks like that.”
That hits you harder than you had expected. JJ softens even more when she realizes none of this has done anything to ease your concern.
“For what it’s worth, Aaron is barely functioning.” She smiles knowingly, “He’s trying very hard to look like Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner, but the rest of us have eyes.”
You let out a warm laugh.
“He cares about you. A lot, honestly. I think he’s been trying not to for months.”
Her words make you go completely still, eyes darting to his office on the other side of the room. JJ simply shrugs.
“We all see the way he looks for you first when he walks in, and the way Jack talks about you. Hotch hasn’t been the same since you came into his life, and I mean that as a good thing.”
“Why are you telling me this?” You look back at her finally.
“Because I don’t like wasting time. Or seeing people I care about hurt without each other.” She reaches out a hand carefully for your shoulder before leaving the room.
Maybe JJ is right. Maybe everyone already knew.
-
You softly knock on the doorframe before letting yourself into Aaron’s office. He looks up from his desk instantly. You're wearing a spare FBI hoodie, but you're still wearing his sweats that are too long. You look as cozy as you can while wearing an arm sling.
Jack peeks his eyes open, he had been faking sleep over on the couch for nearly a half an hour.
“There you are!” He sits up.
You smile at Hotch before making your way over to him. You sit on the edge of the couch and smooth a hand over his hair, gentle and automatic. Jack shifted so you had more room and he could tuck himself against your side. Within minutes, his breathing slowed. Sleep finally won.
“He couldn’t sleep without you.” Aaron says softly, unable to take his eyes off the two of you.
Eventually you look up, daring to meet his gaze. The bullpen is still a blur, but it’s warm and quiet here in the office. Safe.
“He’s scared you’ll leave again.”
His eyes dart down to his son.
“I know.”
“He doesn’t blame you,” You continue, “he is so proud of what you do. He just knows something bad happened when you were gone.”
“Again.” He answers, “Something bad happened when I was gone, again. I’m supposed to be the person who keeps him safe.”
You frown, “You are.”
“I wasn’t there.”
The guilt is still there. How could he not still feel guilty? Here you are trapped at the FBI for your safety, covered in bruises, and he’s sure you still can’t take a full breath with your ribs.
“You got the police to us immediately and came home.” You offer a teary smile, “He knows you love him so much.”
“Sometimes that doesn’t feel like enough.”
You shake your head.
“It's enough.” You disagree, “And you can’t blame yourself for something some lunatic decided to do.”
He leans back in his chair, you can finally see the exhaustion that JJ was talking about. He looks tired in a way that sleep can’t even fix.
“I can’t get it out of my head.” You shake your head, mostly saying it to yourself but Aaron is hanging on every word, “Who is capable of doing that to a family?”
Aaron’s eyes flash with recognition.
“What?” You question, seeing the idea that just hit him.
He steps out to the bullpen where the team is still there. You ease yourself carefully off the couch not to wake Jack and lean against the door frame. You watch him go down the steps toward the desks.
“Garcia, look into Karl Arnold’s recent activity. I want to know everything that has gone on at his prison, any of his visitors, and all of his mail.”
Morgan’s head snaps up, “The Fox?”
“On it, sir!” She begins rapidly typing on her laptop and you’re just as puzzled as you were thirty seconds ago.
“Who is Karl Arnold?” You ask, pulling all eyes on you. Everyone hesitates in their answer, save for the youngest member of the team.
“Karl Arnold killed entire families-”
“Reid.” Emily warns, effectively cutting him off.
“He fixated on me during the case.” Aaron explains, “Personal resentment and control issues. He blamed law enforcement for his capture.”
“You think it’s connected?” Rossi asks.
Aaron nods, “The one and only time I’ve seen him since then he was passing along a message for Foyet.”
Garcia starts typing even faster at this realization.
“Okay, digging into everyone’s favorite horrifying family annihilator. Prison records, visitor logs, and communications, give me… uh oh.”
“What?” Aaron stops in his tracks.
“Karl Arnold has had the same visitor for the past three months. Every Tuesday, his younger brother Daniel Arnold.”
Morgan crosses his arms, and Garcia connects her laptop with the big screen. A large picture of a white man in his mid-forties pops up. Your grip in the doorframe tightens to steady yourself. The second you see the picture, all of the color drains from your face.
“That’s him.”
No one moved right away.
“He wasn’t just sending a message, he was trying to continue the work.” Morgan’s voice is low and careful.
You’re unable to pull your gaze from the screen. The same dark eyes from last night staring right back at you through the screen.
“If he’s following Karl’s methodology, he was watching the house for weeks.”
That makes you sick to your stomach, you slowly turn back into Aaron’s office and settle carefully back onto the couch with Jack. You don’t want to hear the rest.
The bullpen was still moving fast, Garcia discovered Daniel has a storage unit in the area and a rental car that has been reported missing for nearly five weeks.
“Okay, Mr. Creepy Brother also has a very concerning purchase history including lock picks and burner phones, because apparently subtlety is dead.” Garcia’s typing doesn’t falter for a second.
Morgan checks his weapon, the rest of the team gearing up.
“Got an address, mama?” Morgan looks at her.
“There’s an apartment in Arlington.”
“Split up.” Aaron instructs, “Morgan, JJ, and Reid go to the storage unit. Prentiss and Rossi go to the apartment. Bring Anderson too.”
He looks over the team one more time.
“I’m not going.”
“What?” Garcia blinks.
Morgan looks up too, surprised. Rossi simply nods and pats his shoulder before walking toward the elevator. Rossi understood first, but the rest were not far behind. Family first.
"We've got this." Emily nods, following the rest of them out.
The bullpen felt quieter immediately with the team gone and Garcia returning to the lair. You flinch when Aaron opens his office door, not expecting anyone to be here.
“You’re not going?” You ask softly, glancing down at Jack once more before looking up at Aaron. He doesn’t move back toward his desk, he just takes slow heavy steps and lands in the chair right next to the couch.
“No.” he sighs, “You were right.”
You frown, “About what?”
He looks down at Jack before coming back to you.
“You said he’s scared I’ll leave again.”
“Aaron…”
“I spend so much time trying to protect him by doing that job that sometimes I forget he also needs me to stay.”
The honesty makes your chest ache.
“I need to be here when he wakes up.”
A beat passes while he studies you. You hate that. The advantage he has to every conversation and moment. You’ve gotten good at reading him over the past year, but it was nowhere near his capabilities.
“You don’t need to be out there with your team?” You question carefully.
“Everything I need is right there.” He reaches out to take your hand in his. It’s warm.
“Really?” You smile.
“Mhm.” He barely cracks a grin.
“You know, for a profiler, you’re being surprisingly unclear.”
That actually earned you a quiet laugh.
“Probably because I’m very aware I’m saying this to the woman who was attacked in my house while protecting my son twenty-four hours ago.”
You squeeze his hand.
“Yeah, probably not your smoothest timing.”
“Definitely not.”
You look down at Jack again for a second, then back up.
“I care about him.”
Aaron nods once.
“I know.”
“And I care about you.”
It was out there. No taking it back.
You bite back a nervous smile, “See? Very brave of me. Your turn.”
His thumb starts to stroke back and forth on the back of your hand. You can tell he’s being extremely careful, like it all truly mattered to him.
“I care about you too,” He swallows, “More than I should have let myself.”
Your breath catches.
“But I did anyway, and I don’t regret it.”
“Good.” You whisper.
“Good.” He agrees.
You sit up, letting him pull you closer to him. His kiss is soft, still careful but it still feels like relief for both of you. Like coming home.
A mischievous giggle escapes from behind you on the couch. You both pull away and turn to Jack. He has one eye squinting shut, like he could still be asleep.
“Hey!” You tease, turning on him to tickle at his sides.
His giggles start instantly and Aaron is quick to jump up and join in. Jack’s laughs only get louder.
“Okay! Okay!” Jack sits up, out of breath from his laughter. Aaron sits in the space it opens, all three of you squeezing together.
You’re confident neither of you wanted him to know about this quite yet. Maybe a trial run before letting the eight year old know that they liked each other.
“I saw you kiss Y/n.” Jack grins.
“I did.” Aaron admits, eyes checking in on you for a second before focusing back on his son, “What do you think about that?”
“Would you be home more?” Jack turns to look at you.
You nod, “Yeah, it would be more time with your dad and I both at home. At the same time.”
He nods eagerly, causing both of you to chuckle. Aaron’s phone rings on his desk, causing all three of you to look at it. He gets up to answer it, pausing for a second before saying ‘Hotchner’.
He looks up after a few seconds, his eyes narrowing on you. He replies with ‘okay’ several times before ending the call with a ‘Good work. Thanks, Morgan’ and sets the phone back down. He turns to face the two of you.
“Morgan has Daniel in custody.”
You let out a breath of relief and it’s visible in your shoulders. You close your eyes briefly, it’s finally over. Aaron comes back to the couch, pulling the two of you closer to him. Jack sits on his lap, and you lean against his side.
For the first time in days, the danger was gone and there was a new future ahead for each of you. It finally feels like everything really could be okay.
-
an// ok kind of cheesy ending but you guys why did i lowkey scare myself while writing this LMAO?! I should’ve waited for my roommates to get home… it was 11pm when I was setting up the break in and it had me shaking in my own boots! But seriously I loved writing nanny!reader so I might have to do that again. Please let me know your thoughts!!
Request by @a-winter-tale : I'd absolutely love to see something about Opie Winston x Reader, the prompt "You don't know me. I'm not the same person anymore."
A/N: the way i have MISSED writing for Opie!!!! thank you so much for the request. i hope you enjoy!!
It'd been fifteen years since your family had moved out of Charming. Ten since you last made it back to visit. You knew that it was a long time to stay away without a sighting of any kind, a letter or a call. In your defense, however, it hadn't been your choice for a good chunk of that decade.
You had no idea what to expect when you rolled back into Charming. All you had with you was whatever you could fit in your backpack and the bags strapped to the back of your bike. It wasn't much, but it was more than what you’d had to your name for the last few years.
As you rolled down Main Street you couldn't believe how much was still exactly as you remembered it. It was as comforting as it was eerie. When you were a kid it had always seemed like nothing in Charming ever changed, but as you got older and stayed away longer, you just assumed it was because as a kid it was impossible to have a good perspective on those kinds of things. But cruising along you felt like you could walk into any shop on the strip and find exactly what you were looking for in the exact place it had been ten years ago.
Prior to seeing the rest of the town for yourself, there was one place in Charming you had figured would be more or less how you remembered it. It was the most of the reason you came back; or the people who would be there were, at least.
Just like always, there was a long line of motorcycles parked in the stretch between T-M and the clubhouse. You smiled behind the visor of your helmet as you rolled your bike right into line alongside theirs like it had earned the spot.
“Hey,” a man came jogging out from one of the work bays, tattoos running down along either side of his mohawk, “can I, uh,” he came to a stop right beside your bike, “can I help you?”
You nodded before taking your helmet off. Wiping the back of your hand along your forehead you said, “Actually, yeah, you just might be able to…” you trailed off and then saw the name stitched into his Teller-Morrow work shirt, “Juice.”
“Alright, cool. Before I do though,” you could feel the mildly nervous energy vibrating off him, “you should probably park your bike over,” he gestured vaguely towards the line of cars were—presumably ones that were waiting to be worked on, “there.”
Laughing, you rested your helmet on the seat between your legs. “Why's that? Club president gonna come out and accuse me of starting a turf war?” Juice was halfway to stammering out an answer when you asked, “Who's in charge these days, anyway?”
Now he looked surprised instead of awkward, which was probably an improvement as far as he was concerned. “Clay.”
“Damn,” you said with a chuckle. “Shit really doesn't change around here.”
“Who are—”
“Ope around?” You asked, not letting him finish a question you didn’t really want to answer. “Or Jax?”
“Clubhouse,” he answered.
The look on his face after the word came out had you thinking he regretted giving up that particular piece of information to easily. After all, he had no idea who you were or what you wanted with Opie or Jax. Couldn't put the cat back in the bag now, though.
“Perfect,” you said with a nod as you swung your leg up over your bike. You left your helmet and backpack with it, figuring that it was as safe out here as it would be in the clubhouse. As you made your way towards the clubhouse door you unzipped your jacket and called back over your shoulder, “Guess I'll go squash the turf war before it gets started.”
He yelled after you but you didn’t pay enough attention to make out what he was saying. You lied to yourself about the knot in your stomach as you went to open the clubhouse door. You remembered what it looked like ten years ago, remembered in blurry memories how it felt when there was music blaring and drinks being poured for everyone with a free hand. After all the things you'd been through the last few years, you knew that there was nothing on the other side of those doors that you wouldn’t be able to handle. Still, you forced yourself to take a deep breath before crossing the threshold.
It was quiet in a way that you shouldn't have been surprised by since it was the middle of the day. Music was playing but at a volume that was surprisingly respectable. There were a couple guys sitting at one of the tables, but not who you were looking for. The chapel doors were open and the room was empty from what you could see.
You hadn't gone too deep into the lion's den, instead choosing to get as good of a look at everything as you could from a few steps inside the door. You were lost in your own thoughts when your field of vision was taken up by yet another man you didn’t know. For a moment you wondered if SAMCRO had added a head tattoo clause to their bylaws because this guy had one too—a snake slithering along the top of his skull.
“Need something?” he asked, voice rough.
“Looking for Opie.” You paused, and when his expression didn't change, you asked, “Do you know where he is?”
He nodded towards the hallway on the opposite side of the room. “Dorms.”
His response didn't warrant much from you. You were waiting for him to either tell you to get lost, or step out of your way so you could go and find Opie. When he didn’t do either of those things, you took a small sidestep. Part of you was waiting for him to match your step and continue blocking you but he didn’t. With a small nod you slithered past him and went to find Opie.
Turning into the hallway, you wouldn’t have been surprised if another member of the club showed up and asked you to answer their riddles three. When you saw that most of the hall was lined with rooms, you knew immediately that you had no interest in sticking your head into each one to find him. God only knew what was going on in those dorms at any given hour.
You cleared your throat and hoped you sounded more self-assured than you felt as you called out one short, clear, “Opie?”
A few doors down you got an unenthused response of, “Yeah?”
You let out a sigh of relief as you walked down the hall towards the sound of his voice. You were about to round the doorframe when he came out and smacked right into you.
“Jesus.”
“Fuck.”
Opie hardly moved but the sudden unexpected impact sent you back half a stride. Apparently he'd taken up a promising career as a brick wall in your absence. The muscles were new, and so was the beard. Sure, new was relative when so much time had gone by, but still.
The only thing that rivaled the shock you were feeling was the confusion on Opie's face. If he'd changed some in the last ten years, you had to figure you were skirting dangerously close to unrecognizable. Normally you liked the idea of that, but seeing the extra few seconds it took for him to place who you were sent a pang through your chest.
“Long time, no see,” you said, a lame attempt to break the ice. Not at all what you thought were going to be your first words to him after all this time but nothing in your life ever went according to plan anyway.
“Holy shit,” he said with a huff of a laugh. He reached out and pulled you into a hug, this time the wall of his chest was much more comforting. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, still in disbelief, still holding you.
You laughed against the leather pressed to your cheek. “All roads lead back home, right? Something like that?”
He pulled away so he could get a better look at you. “You're back?” His arms dropped back to his sides. “Really back?”
“As back as someone can be when they are homeless and jobless, yeah.”
“Shit, most people who never left here are in the same boat. You're fine.” He spotted the gloves sticking out of your jacket pocket. “You ride here?”
“Yeah. Ask your buddy in the shop who’s about one bad vibe away from towing my shit.”
You had tried to sound annoyed but the smile on your face ruined it. It felt too good being back to really be upset. Felt too good to be standing in that hallway talking to Opie to be worried about the logistical nightmare you'd landed yourself in.
“Back and with a fuckin’ bike,” he said, disbelief dripping from his voice.
“What, you don't still believe those toys are for boys only, do you?”
He rolled his eyes and shook his head, knowing better than to take the bait. At least he hadn't forgotten that during your time apart. “Was gonna offer you my dorm to crash in while you get settled but if you're gonna get smart about it—”
You raised your eyebrows. “Wow. Your dorm? Costing myself a real opportunity to stay at the Ritz, huh?”
Draping his arm around your shoulders, he started bringing you back towards the main expanse of the clubhouse. “Beats sleeping on the street.”
“Mmmm,” you looked at him as you walked, “I don't know about that.”
The two of you were sitting at the picnic table outside the clubhouse. You didn’t mind the heat; better that and the smell of the mechanic bays than the smoke and beer that permeated the air inside. When Opie had sat down on one side, he figured you'd find your place across from him. Instead you plopped down on the bench right beside him. He chuckled as he turned to copy your position: one leg on either side of the bench so you were looking at each other head-on.
“Alright,” you clapped your hands, “highlight run of the last ten years. Real shit only or we'll never be caught up. You first.”
He chuckled, resting one arm on top of the table. “Real shit only. Alright.” He started counting each event off on his fingers. “Married. Kid. Another kid. Jax became VP. Prison.” He was no longer looking at you as he held up his other hand to continue the count. “Divorce.”
Your face fell. “Jesus Christ, Ope.”
When he forced himself to meet your eyes again, he nodded. “Your turn.”
“Wh—no. What the hell happ—”
He shook his head. “Not much to say. One thing explains the other. You remember Donna.” It was a statement, not a question. “The club was just something she tolerated, you know? She's not Gemma.”
You scoffed. “Who is?”
It got him to crack a smile. “Right. But when the club got me put in, she was done. She hung on for about a year and then she couldn’t take it anymore.” He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his kutte and lit one. “I stopped blamin' her a while ago.”
You hummed in thought. “Very gallant of you.”
He slid the pack of smokes in your direction without a word. A silent offer. Knowing better you reached for it. You saw the flicker of a smile go across Opie's face as you did. “Thought you were kicking the habit.”
Once he lit it for you, you answered, “I did. And then I picked it back up again.”
“Part of the highlight real?”
Smoke slipped out between your lips as you laughed. “More or less.”
He jutted his chin in your direction. “Your turn.”
You pulled a drag off your cigarette, letting your sigh blow out all the smoke you'd just taken in. You could dodge questions but you weren’t ever a good liar. That was what landed you in nearly every mess you'd ever found yourself. The knot in your stomach made you realize why Opie hadn't wanted to look at you when he laid down his cards.
With your hand that wasn't holding your cigarette, you copied his counting method. “College. No marriage. No kids. Motorcycle license. Prison.” You took another drag. “You beat me by one. Good thing I didn’t need my second hand.” To emphasize your point, you tapped the ash off the end of your cigarette.
“Are you serious?” he asked, brows knit.
Pressing the heel of your palm against your forehead, you nodded. “Yeah.”
“How long?”
“They gave me six. I served four and got paroled. Kissed the ass of my PO for twenty-four long months, and now I'm here.”
“For what?”
Opie couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of you being inside. You were the epitome of the straight and narrow. Growing up he honestly couldn’t believe that you ran with him and Jax, that you parents let you run with them. And the fact that you made a point to come back even after your parents hauled you up to the very tip of the state blew him away even more. When you'd stopped coming around, he figured it was because you had come to your senses. Apparently he should've made a point to ask after you.
You could see it in Opie's eyes that he was trying to get to the answer to that question before you gave it to him. If you hadn't been so tired you would have dragged out the guessing game. You both deserved something easy.
“Imperfect self defense,” you said, derision saturating every word. You flicked away the butt of your cigarette. “Manslaughter. Apparently the looming threat caused by my piece of shit ex wasn't imminent enough for a jury of my peers.”
“I'm sorry.” It felt lame to say it but he had no other words.
You shrugged. “It is what it is.” You spun the pack of smokes on the tabletop. “It's why I picked the habit back up.”
“That'll do it.”
A few agonizingly long seconds of silence passed between you. It almost made you regret telling him what had happened. There was no taking it back now, but if he didn’t stop looking at you like some delicate thing that had lost its way, you were going to give him a new slew of problems to think about.
You rapped your knuckles against the table. “Good talk.”
He huffed out a weak laugh, like he knew that he was the one making this more complicated than it had to be. He didn’t want it to be like that. He'd missed you. God he'd missed you. In a way that he had gotten good at lying to himself about until he'd seen you again. Ten years was a long fucking time. Too long.
“I'm glad you're back,” he said, trying to smooth over the edges he'd put into your conversation. “Couldn't have been easy.”
You shook your head. “First easy thing in a long, long time.”
He nodded, wanting to revel in that but knowing what it had all cost you. “You really don't have a place to stay?”
Your laughter made the air between you feel light again. “Really really.”
Taking a deep breath, Opie stood up. With an easy step he freed himself from the confines of the picnic table bench. Hands in his pockets, he nodded towards the line of motorcycles.
“C'mon. Show me what you're riding these days. If it's not too embarrassing to park in my driveway you can crash with me.”
You smiled and shook your head, swiping his cigarettes as you went. “What? My little sob story got me an upgrade from the dorm?”
He gave you a light, playful shove in the direction of all the bikes. “Shut up.”
You didn’t ask about any of it, and Opie didn’t offer it up. Your bags found their temporary home at the end of his sofa. His kutte was hung on one hook by the door, your riding jacket on the one right beside it. The whole thing felt surreal; you knew that he could feel it too. The air between you wasn’t tense per se, but there was something lingering within it.
You weren't bold enough to ask how long it had been since Donna had left. Long enough that the wedding ring was gone from his finger. Not so long that he replaced the gaps in the house where her things used to be. Missing furniture that never got replaced, walls of the kids' bedrooms still painted in the same pastel colors from when they still lived there. It was as much a museum as it was a house. Or maybe graveyard was a better word.
Even with all the years that had gone by, all the events that transpired that you clawed your way through alone, you had still considered Opie to be one of your best friends. It didn't matter to you that he had been so many zip codes away. Same with Jax. The three of you had had each other for so long you couldn’t conceive of being something close to strangers now. You were still close in all the ways that mattered; you had to believe that. That was the last touchstone you had after you'd lost everything else. Why else would you have found your way back to Charming?
Empty takeout boxes and beer bottles were all that was left of the dinner that had gotten delivered. Opie made himself start cleaning up after listening to the shower run down the hallway for a few minutes. He couldn’t remember the last time that he had someone else simply existing in the house with him. As much as he wanted to lean into the comfort of it, something stopped him.
By the time you emerged, wrapped in a towel with steam rolling off your bare shoulders, the coffee table was clear and the sofa had a blanket and pillows laid out on it for you. You smiled at the sight. Your footfalls were nearly silent even on the hardwood as you went over to get a t-shirt and sweatpants to sleep in.
Opie's footsteps on the other hand, you could hear even though he was still at the far end of the hall. You briefly wondered if he slept with his boots on, too. When the footsteps stopped, you had a feeling he was lingering in the junction of the hall and the living room watching you. You wondered if the towel was pulled up high enough to cover the two scars by your shoulder blades, ones that certainly hadn't been there last time you saw him.
“Shower pressure is unreal, by the way,” you joked as you closed your bag. You stood up and turned to face him, clothes clutched in your hand. “Almost enough to make up for the two-in-one you've got in there.” He went to try and defend himself but you cut him off, smiling the entire time. “If you're gonna grow your hair out all long and luscious, Ope, you should invest in one bottle of each.”
He cracked a small smile. “I'll keep it in mind.”
You bumped your shoulder into him as you passed by. “That's all I ask.”
When you came back to the living room intent on collapsing onto the sofa and going to sleep, you found Opie sitting in the middle of the couch. Now it was your turn to linger on the fringe and watch. You wished that you could see the expression on his face, that you could have some clue as to what he was thinking. The house was silent and it felt like your breathing was way louder than it should be.
You took a few steps closer and set both hands on the back of the sofa right behind him. Leaning some of your weight onto them, you made a quiet attempt at a joke, “This mean that I get the king size mattress while you sleep on the couch?”
He turned his head to look at you, the ends of his mouth barely twitching into a grin. You could see that he wanted to fire back, pick up the repartee that the two of you and Jax had perfected over the years, but he couldn’t manage it right then.
“Jax ever reach out?” he asked, exhaustion thick in his voice.
You felt your heart sink a little. Walking around the sofa, you plopped down next to him, the sinking of the cushion inadvertently pushing the two of you closer together. “Once, I think. Before all the shit with my ex went down. Why?”
“I should'a called.”
You laughed, not to make light of what he was feeling but because you had no idea what it had to do with anything. “Think a couple of phone calls would've stopped all that from happening?”
“I didn’t have any idea about any of it,” he said, words heavy with the weight of his disappointment in himself. “I'm sorry.”
Shaking your head, you rested your hand on his knee. “You had your own shit going on.” You looked around the house. “Clearly. What was there for you to do?”
“You shouldn't have had to deal with all of that on your own.”
“You're not my bodyguard anymore, Ope,” you said, humor creeping back into your voice for a split second as you said it. “I know you guys went to bat for me when we were kids, but, I mean c'mon, we haven't been kids for a while.”
The pleading look in his eyes was impossible to miss. What the plea was for you could only guess. “I hate that you're carrying that shit.” He shook his head. “It's not right.”
“I mean, yeah. But look, I've been carrying it. I don't know who you've been thinking of when you've thought of me, but I can guarantee I'm different now.” You tried to say the next part as gently as you could, because you didn’t mean it with any malice. “You don't know me. I'm not the same person anymore. And you aren't either.”
“I know, but—”
“Don’t feel bad for a version of me that doesn't exist anymore.” You pressed your fingers into the denim covering his leg. “And I'll do the same for you.”
He nodded and it grew silent between you. You watched him as he stared down at your hand on his leg. You waited for him to say something, or to pull away. After a few more seconds went by you could have sworn you felt him leaning into you.
“I do know you, though. Maybe not all of you anymore,” he admitted, almost whispering. “But I know you.”
The tenderness of it allowed you to finally relax the way you'd been wanting to for so long. At this point you and Opie were equally responsible for keeping the other upright. You pressed your cheek against his shoulder and closed your eyes.
“Do I know you?” you asked.
“Yeah,” he said, lips brushing against the top of your head. “I think so.”
It would have been so easy to lean in and kiss you. He could just tilt your chin a little bit, dip his head down, and he could finally learn what it felt like to kiss you. With the way you were pressed flush against him, he couldn’t help but to think that you'd even kiss him back. You were so close.
But he stopped himself. He listened to the easy steadiness of your breathing and focused on the rhythmic pattern of your thumb going back and forth along his knee. He smelled his soap on your skin, but not the shampoo that you had admonished him for and that made him smile in a way you could probably feel.
So much time had passed, and he couldn’t help but to wonder how much time he was going to have with you now. He wondered if this was just a pit stop or if you were going to stick around this time. He hoped that you would; he wanted to get to know all the parts of you that he didn’t.
(divider by @secretlysamcro 🖤)
SOA Taglist (please let me know if you'd like to be added!): @garbinge @darqchilddaydreamz @withmyteeth @justreblogginfics @winchestershiresauce @proceduralpassion @kmc1989 @lv7867
summary: Spencer Reid spends six months flirting. You spend six months not realizing he's flirting. The BAU spends six months losing money in Rossi's betting pool.
word count: ~2.5k
authors note: should I be sleeping? yes. will i be late for work tomorrow? yes. do I care? Not really.
just light rom com spencer x reader. not proof read.
masterlist
~♡~
The thing about Spencer Reid was that he was terrible at being subtle, at least according to everyone else.
You, unfortunately, were completely immune to recognizing romantic interest when it was directed at you.
Which was why, six months after joining the BAU, you still hadn't figured out that Spencer was hopelessly, ridiculously in love with you.
The betting pool started because of a Tuesday.
Not a dramatic or life-changing Tuesday.
Just an ordinary Tuesday when you mentioned, in passing, that you hadn't slept well.
That was it. One sentence.
The next morning there was coffee waiting on your desk.
The morning after that there was coffee again.
And the morning after that.
Three weeks later Spencer was still showing up with coffee, exactly how you liked it.
No one mentioned it. At least not to either of you.
But Rossi quietly slid twenty dollars toward Emily. Emily accepted it without question. Across the room Luke raised an eyebrow. Garcia looked delighted.
Spencer remained completely unaware. You remained completely unaware. Everyone else was suffering.
The thing about Spencer was that he remembered everything. Most people found that impressive, however you found it comforting. You could mention something once and Spencer would remember it months later.
A favorite author.
A movie you loved as a kid.
A food allergy.
A random story from college.
It all stayed somewhere inside his mind. One afternoon you were searching your desk.
Spencer looked up from a file.
"What are you looking for?"
"My charger."
"It's in conference room B."
You blinked.
"What?"
"You left it there after the briefing."
"How do you know that?"
"You forgot it."
"As opposed to?"
"You forgetting it somewhere else."
You laughed, what made Spencer smile. The room collectively watched. Then looked away before either of you noticed.
A month later the team was flying home from a case. You fell asleep halfway through the flight. Nothing unusual.
The unusual part happened afterward, when the jet landed. You woke up covered with Spencer's suit jacket. Garcia nearly bit through her lip trying not to smile. Luke immediately looked toward Rossi. Rossi silently updated the betting pool.
You simply handed the jacket back.
"Thanks."
Spencer looked almost embarrassed.
"Of course."
Like covering you with his jacket was the most natural thing in the world. Which, to him, it was.
The problem wasn't that Spencer was subtle.
The problem was that he treated you differently in a hundred tiny ways, that only became obvious when people paid attention.
He always sat beside you during briefings, partnered with you when possible, saved you a seat on the jet, noticed when you were tired or stressed, or hungry, or upset.
The rest of the team noticed.
You didn't.
One afternoon Emily walked into the bullpen and stopped. Spencer was talking and you were laughing. Neither of you seemed aware that everyone else had stopped working. Your eyes blurry with tears, Spencer vividly gesticulating as he was telling you an old story about prank war he had with Derek, years ago.
Luke slowly slid into the chair beside Emily.
"How long do you think?"
Emily sighed.
"At this rate?"
"Yeah."
"Six months."
Luke nodded thoughtfully.
"Optimistic."
Across the room Garcia was already adding notes to the betting spreadsheet.
The funniest part was that Spencer thought he was hiding it.
Everyone knew. Everyone. Including suspects, witnesses, local police.
Once, during a case, a detective looked between you and Spencer and casually asked how long you'd been together.
You nearly choked. Spencer looked like he forgot how talking worked.
The detective immediately apologized.
The team spent three days making fun of him. Spencer never recovered.
The jealousy started by accident.
At least that's what Spencer told himself.
The team was interviewing witnesses at a local bar. You were speaking with one of them. A very attractive witness. A witness who was clearly more interested in you than helping with the case.
Spencer was trying not to stare.
He failed. Spectacularly.
The witness leaned closer, what made Spencer hate him immediately.
The witness said something and your smile vanished.
"Oh no," Luke muttered beside Spencer.
"What?"
"The poor idiot crossed a line."
Sure enough, you folded your arms.
"What exactly do you mean by that?"
The witness smirked. Spencer couldn't hear his response. Whatever it was, he didn't need to.
Your eyebrow lifted.
Three minutes later the witness looked like he'd lost an argument with a lawyer, a professor, and a disappointed mother all at once.
He practically fled.
You walked back toward the team.
"What happened?" JJ asked.
"He told me I'd be prettier if I smiled more."
Emily winced.
"Oof."
"He also suggested women usually aren't greatat this job."
Luke barked out a laugh.
"Well, he deserved whatever you said."
You shrugged.
"I simply informed him his confidence was unsupported by evidence. And that if he thinks me smiling more would help finding the killer, I'm glad his job is cleaning tables."
Rossi laughed into his coffee.
Spencer tried to hide his grin and failed. You caught it immediately.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You look pleased."
Spencer shrugged.
"I enjoy watching arrogant people get embarrassed."
Your smile widened and Spencer forgot how breathing worked.
The breaking point came another two months later. The team was flying home after a case. Everyone was exhausted. Luke was asleep with his head tilted back. Garcia was scrolling through her phone. Emily and JJ were discussing paperwork. Rossi had somehow fallen asleep the second the jet left the ground.
You sat across from Reid.
He sat with a book open in his lap. Supposedly reading. You knew he was reading because he always read.
What you didn't know was that he'd been staring at the same page for fifteen minutes. Because you were sitting directly across from him. And because he was trying very hard not to think about how good you looked. He was failing miserably at that.
You sighed and stretched.
"Can I ask you something?"
Spencer glanced up.
"Of course."
"Why don't you date?"
A few seats away, Emily immediately looked interested. Luke cracked one eye open.
Spencer tried to focus back on the book.
"That's a broad question."
"I mean, you're smart."
He turned a page. The wrong page.
"Kind."
Another page. Still not reading.
"Funny."
The book lowered slightly.
"And ridiculously attractive."
Reid nearly dropped it.
Across the aisle, Luke looked ready to choke.
You continued obliviously.
"Anyone would be happy to be with you."
Spencer stared at the page, not reading a single word. Then he said, almost casually:
"Well, you don't seem interested."
You blinked.
"What?"
The words came out before he could stop them. His eyes widened slightly. The entire jet suddenly felt very quiet.
You stared.
Spencer stared at his book, very intensely.
Like maybe if he focused hard enough he could disappear into it.
"What do you mean?"
He swallowed, slowly lowered the book and looked at you.
"I mean..." He hesitated.
For once, Spencer Reid seemed completely unsure of himself. Then he gave a tiny shrug.
"You don't seem interested in dating me."
The silence was immediate. Absolute.
Across the jet, Luke's eyes snapped fully open. Garcia looked up from her phone. Emily stopped pretending not to listen. JJ pressed her lips together. Rossi looked awake all of a sudden.
You simply stared. Because surely you hadn't heard that correctly.
Spencer realized exactly what he'd just admitted. A faint blush spread across his face.
"Oh."
He looked away.
"That wasn't how I intended to say that."
You were still staring. Because suddenly everything made sense.
The coffee.
The jacket.
The attention to detail.
The jealousy.
The way he always found you first.
"Oh my God."
Spencer let out a quiet laugh.
"Yeah."
"Oh my God."
"I know."
You pointed at him. Completely horrified.
"You're flirting with me?"
Luke physically buried his face in his hands. Garcia made a noise somewhere between a scream and a laugh.
Spencer finally smiled.
Warm.
Fond.
A little smug.
He tilted his head.
"For like... two months now, thank you for noticing."
"Two months?"
Emily snorted.
"Try six."
Spencer groaned.
"Emily."
"What? She deserve the truth.
You looked confused.
"You knew about it?" You looked at everyone, trying to figure out what exactly is happening.
"Technically Rossi had the betting pool."
"I financed the betting pool," Rossi corrected.
You looked back at Spencer, furrowed brows, thinking. Analysing.
"You really like me?"
Spencer's expression softened immediately. Like the answer was obvious.
"Considering I haven't stopped thinking about you for almost a year?"
Your heart completely stopped.
"A year?"
Spencer closed his eyes.
"Please stop repeating that."
"A year?"
Luke laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his seat.
Garcia was openly crying.
And Spencer looked like he wanted the jet door to open so he could jump out.
"Yea" he admitted quietly. You smiled, not taking his eyes off of him.
"That's good" you said eventually and that made him curiously look at you.
"Good?"
"Yea. Because I like you too. For quite some time" you admitted, smiling fully now.
"You do?"
"Yes. Thank you for noticing" you couldn't help but mock him, as you intertwined your fingers on the small table inbetween you.
Garcia already started planning your wedding. JJ and Emily exchanged looks, knowing smirks. Luke just silently handed Rossi fifty bucks, mutting something that sounded like "one week too soon".
summary: working alongside Aaron Hotchner at the BAU means most people have no idea you’re married. But when a local detective starts taking a little too much interest in you during an out-of-state case, Aaron’s patience begins to wear thin— until he finally decides to make your relationship impossible for anyone to misunderstand
Aaron Hotchner x Reader
authors note: I hope you enjoy. Your support for my writing is very much appreciated 🥰💗💗
The thing about working at the BAU with your husband is that people rarely realize you’re married.
Part of it is Aaron.
Aaron Hotchner isn’t exactly the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. He doesn’t hover around you, doesn’t sneak kisses in hallways, doesn’t drape an arm around your shoulders during briefings. To everyone else, he’s Unit Chief first and husband second.
To you, though?
He’s the man who brings you coffee exactly how you like it before every flight. The man who always notices when you’re tired. The man who calls you sweetheart in a voice so soft nobody would ever believe it came from the same person who can stare down serial killers without blinking.
The other part is you.
You keep things professional. You don’t want your marriage becoming office gossip, and honestly, the team respects that.
Morgan knows.
Garcia definitely knows.
Reid figured it out three years ago because he noticed Aaron unconsciously turns toward you whenever someone raises their voice.
The rest of the world?
Not so much.
Which is exactly how you find yourself in the middle of a homicide investigation in Colorado with a problem neither of you expected.
His name is Detective Ryan Walker.
And Detective Ryan Walker has decided he likes you.
A lot.
The first time Aaron notices it, he says nothing.
You’re standing at the local precinct reviewing victim files when Walker appears beside your desk.
“Need anything?” he asks.
You smile politely. “Just the autopsy reports.”
“I can get those.”
Aaron looks up from across the room.
Walker stays.
For twenty minutes.
Talking.
Laughing.
Asking questions.
Aaron tells himself he’s imagining things.
Then Walker starts finding excuses to be around you.
Every briefing.
Every crime scene.
Every witness interview.
If you’re there, somehow Detective Walker is there too.
You notice it eventually.
Mostly because Morgan notices it.
“Oh, he’s got it bad,” Morgan says while the two of you wait for coffee.
You nearly choke.
“What?”
Morgan grins.
“The detective.”
“He does not.”
“He absolutely does.”
“No.”
“Baby girl, yes.”
You roll your eyes.
But then Walker appears from nowhere holding your coffee.
Your coffee.
The exact one you’d ordered.
Morgan doesn’t even try to hide his laughter.
“See?”
You groan.
Unfortunately, Aaron sees it too.
And Aaron is handling it… poorly.
Well.
Poorly for Aaron.
Which means nobody else notices.
Except you.
You notice the slight tightening of his jaw whenever Walker stands too close.
You notice the way Aaron’s answers become shorter whenever the detective directs questions toward you.
You notice the glare.
God.
The glare.
Walker seems completely oblivious to the fact that your husband is staring at him like he’s considering several felony-level solutions.
One night, after fourteen straight hours on the case, you finally find Aaron alone in the conference room.
He’s reviewing geographical profiles.
You close the door behind you.
His eyes lift immediately.
The tension in his face softens.
Just a little.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
You walk over and sit beside him.
For a moment neither of you speaks.
Then you reach for his hand under the table.
His fingers immediately lace with yours.
“You’re jealous.”
Aaron stares at the case file.
“No.”
You laugh.
“Aaron.”
“No.”
“Aaron.”
His expression remains perfectly serious.
“He’s a local detective.”
“Who flirts with me.”
“He hasn’t actually said anything inappropriate.”
“He’s flirting.”
Aaron finally looks at you.
“He is.”
“There it is.”
His jaw clenches.
You smile despite yourself.
“Aaron.”
“What?”
“I love you.”
His expression softens immediately.
Like magic.
Like it always does.
You squeeze his hand.
“I married you.”
“I know.”
“You’re the only person I want.”
A long silence follows.
Then:
“I know.”
You lean over and kiss his cheek.
The faintest hint of pink appears on the tips of his ears.
It’s adorable.
You never tell him that.
The case drags on for another four days.
Four very long days.
Four days of Walker appearing beside you every chance he gets.
Four days of Aaron pretending he isn’t bothered.
Four days of Morgan looking increasingly entertained.
Then everything goes sideways.
The unsub takes a hostage.
A chase follows.
Hours pass.
Nobody sleeps.
Everyone’s exhausted.
And by the time the case finally ends, every nerve in Aaron’s body is stretched dangerously thin.
The arrest happens just before midnight.
The team gathers outside the precinct while paperwork gets finalized.
Everyone’s tired.
Everyone’s relieved.
You lean against a patrol car while waiting for Aaron.
Walker approaches.
Again.
At this point you’re almost impressed by his dedication.
“Looks like we’re done here.”
“Looks like it.”
He smiles.
“I was thinking maybe before you leave town—”
You already know where this is going.
“Oh.”
“Maybe dinner?”
Your heart sinks.
Not because you’re interested.
Quite the opposite.
You actually feel bad for him.
Because standing twenty feet away is Aaron Hotchner.
And Aaron has definitely heard that.
Every.
Single.
Word.
You open your mouth.
“Aaron and I—”
Before you can finish, a familiar voice cuts through the night.
“Detective.”
Walker turns.
Aaron walks toward you.
Slowly.
Calmly.
Looking every bit like the Unit Chief everyone fears.
Except his eyes are fixed entirely on you.
The detective straightens.
“Aaron.”
Aaron doesn’t answer him.
Instead he stops directly in front of you.
Close enough that your heart immediately starts racing.
His gaze drops to yours.
For a second, the world seems to disappear.
Then Aaron reaches up and gently brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.
The gesture is unexpectedly intimate.
Your breath catches.
The detective looks confused.
Morgan, somewhere in the background, starts grinning.
Aaron never takes his eyes off you.
“You ready to go home, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart.
Oh.
Oh, no.
The detective freezes.
You feel your lips twitch.
Aaron’s hand settles against your waist.
Possessive.
Certain.
Completely unbothered by the audience.
And suddenly Walker understands.
His eyes widen.
“Oh.”
You almost laugh.
Aaron finally glances at him.
The look he gives the detective is perfectly polite.
Which somehow makes it worse.
“My wife and I have an early flight.”
The silence that follows is spectacular.
Walker blinks.
“Wife?”
“Yes.”
Aaron’s arm tightens slightly around your waist.
Not enough to hurt.
Just enough to remind everyone exactly where he stands.
And where you stand too.
The detective immediately looks horrified.
“Oh my God.”
Morgan actually snorts.
“I didn’t know.”
“So I’ve gathered.”
You bury your face against Aaron’s shoulder to hide your smile.
Walker mutters several apologies before practically fleeing the scene.
The second he’s gone, the team loses it.
Morgan is laughing.
Garcia is cackling over speakerphone.
Even Emily looks amused.
Aaron ignores all of them.
“Let’s go.”
You look up at him.
“Feel better?”
“No.”
“Really?”
“No.”
You raise an eyebrow.
Aaron’s mouth twitches.
Just slightly.
Then he leans down and presses a quick kiss to your forehead.
Right in front of everyone.
A collective chorus of shocked noises erupts from the team.
Aaron doesn’t care.
For once, he genuinely doesn’t care.
His hand finds yours.
And when he looks at you, all the jealousy and frustration from the last week has vanished.
Replaced by something much softer.
Something that belongs only to the two of you.
“Come on, sweetheart.”
You smile.
“Home?”
His expression finally breaks into a rare, genuine smile.
summary: One weekend. One ex who won’t let go. And one man who finally stops pretending he doesn’t love you.
word count: 4.9k
tw: fake dating, abusive/controlling ex, age gap. Aaron is protective. Threateningly.
masterlist
~♡~
You hated weddings.
Not weddings themselves, exactly. You loved the flowers, the dresses, the embarrassing speeches that somehow always ended with somebody crying into champagne.
What you hated was this wedding.
Because your sister was marrying the love of her life.
And your abusive ex-boyfriend was one of the groom's closest friends. For nearly two weeks, the knowledge had sat in your stomach like poison. Every morning you woke up thinking about it. Every night you fell asleep dreading it.
You had escaped him years ago.
Built a life.
Joined the BAU.
Become stronger.
Happier.
But trauma wasn't logical. It didn't care how many years had passed. It didn't care that you could now take down armed suspects and stare serial killers in the face.
Some wounds remembered.
And unfortunately, Aaron Hotchner noticed everything.
By the third day of your misery, he cornered you in an empty conference room. The second the door closed, his dark eyes settled on you.
"What happened?"
You sighed.
"I'm fine."
"No."
His response came instantly. You almost smiled. Nobody ever won arguments against Aaron Hotchner. Certainly not when he was looking at you like that.
Concerned. Focused. Gentle.
Unfortunately for your sanity, Aaron being gentle with you had become increasingly dangerous over the years.
You looked away.
"My sister's wedding."
His eyebrows lifted slightly.
"Congratulations?"
You groaned.
"That's exactly what everyone keeps saying."
"So that's not the problem."
"No."
Silence stretched. Aaron waited. Patient. The way he always did. Eventually the truth slipped free.
"My ex is going to be there."
The atmosphere changed immediately.
Aaron sat straighter.
"The abusive one?"
You nodded.
His jaw clenched, only slightly. Most people wouldn't have noticed. You did.
You always noticed him.
"He'll be there with someone," you admitted quietly.
"And?"
You laughed bitterly. The sound hurt.
"Because that's what he does."
Aaron listened. Never interrupting. Never judging. Not you.
"He always compared me to other women. Made me feel like I wasn't enough. Like I was lucky he even wanted me."
You swallowed hard.
"And now he'll show up with some gorgeous girlfriend and I'll be standing there alone."
Aaron was silent for several seconds. Then he leaned back.
Thinking.
You immediately became nervous.
Aaron-thinking was rarely a good sign. It usually led to decisions. And when that happened, even God himself took notes on how to close the deal.
Finally he spoke.
"I'll go with you."
You blinked.
"What?"
"I'll attend the wedding."
"No."
"I'll take leave."
"Aaron—"
"I'll be your boyfriend."
You stared.
"My what?"
"Fake boyfriend."
His expression remained perfectly serious.
As if this was a completely normal conversation. As if your boss wasn't casually volunteering to pretend to date you.
"Hotch."
"Your ex wants control."
You looked away.
"He wants a reaction."
You hated how accurate that was.
Aaron's voice softened.
"Then let's not give him one. Beside, Rossi said he'll be there too? He's some family of your future brother in law? You won't be alone"
You spent the next week trying not to think about the fact that Aaron Hotchner was taking you to a wedding.
Trying and failing. Mostly failing.
Because Aaron approached the role with alarming dedication. He learned the names of your relatives. The wedding schedule. Your family dynamics. By the end of the week he knew enough about your life to pass a federal examination.
Meanwhile you couldn't survive a five-minute conversation without noticing how attractive he was.
The rehearsal dinner was somehow worse than the wedding itself. At least at the wedding, there would be distractions.
Music. Dancing. Champagne.
Here, there was nowhere to hide.
Especially when your mother spotted you walking into the restaurant with Aaron and immediately froze.
"Oh."
You closed your eyes. That oh. Every daughter knew that oh.
The one that meant your mother had just noticed something she intended to investigate immediately.
"Aaron," you muttered. "Run."
His mouth twitched.
"I face serial killers for a living."
"Trust me. This is worse."
Your father looked up at the same moment.
His eyes moved from you to Aaron and back again.
Slowly.
Suspiciously.
"Mom. Dad."
You smiled weakly.
"This is Aaron."
Your mother immediately stood. Your father did not. Which somehow felt more threatening.
Aaron extended his hand.
"Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N."
Your father shook it firmly, evaluating him the way fathers apparently had since the beginning of civilization. Aaron met the scrutiny without hesitation. Of course he did.
The man interviewed psychopaths for a living.
"You work together?" your mother asked.
"Yes, ma'am."
There it was.
The narrowing of her eyes. The realization.
Then—
"Oh."
Again. Much worse.
Your mother looked between the two of you.
"Oh."
You groaned.
"Dad."
Your father hadn't said a word, which was terrifying. Finally he leaned back.
"How old are you, son?"
You wanted to die. Immediately.
Aaron somehow remained composed.
"Forty-two."
Your father looked at you. Then at Aaron. Then back again.
Your mother cleared her throat.
"You know our daughter is—"
"Thirty."
Aaron answered calmly. Your parents blinked. Aaron looked completely unbothered.
"Yes."
Another pause.
Then your father crossed his arms.
"And that doesn't concern you?"
You nearly dove through a window. Instead Aaron surprised everyone. Including you.
"It did."
The honesty caught your parents off guard. Aaron glanced toward you, his expression softening.
"It still does sometimes."
"Why?" your father asked.
Aaron smiled faintly.
"Because I care about her."
The table fell silent.
"I never wanted her to feel pressured."
He spoke calmly, not trying to impress anyone. Simply telling the truth.
"And more than capable of deciding what she wants."
Something warm spread through your chest. Because that was the difference.
Your ex had always talked about you.
Aaron talked about your choices. Your independence. Your agency.
Your father seemed to notice too.
"Most men who say they're protective of a woman mean they want to make decisions for her."
Aaron nodded.
"I know."
"And you don't?"
"No."
The answer came immediately.
"I'd stand between her and anyone who tried to hurt her."
His gaze found yours.
"But her life is hers."
You swallowed hard.
"If she tells me no, it's no. If she tells me she's fine, I trust her."
Your mother looked suspiciously emotional.
"And if she asks for help?"
Aaron smiled.
The small, genuine smile.
"The world would have to move first."
You laughed, but the words triggered something unexpected.
Because everyone kept talking about Aaron protecting you.
And suddenly you realized he already did.
Every day. For years.
An armed suspect in Baltimore. Aaron stepping in front of you before you'd even registered the threat.
A hostage situation in Virginia. His hand pushing you behind him as a weapon appeared.
A raid in Chicago. Gunfire. Chaos. Aaron's arm across your chest, holding you back while he moved first.
You had always assumed it was leadership. Now you weren't so sure.
You nearly stopped breathing.
Your father stared at him for a long moment. Then suddenly laughed.
"What?"
He shook his head.
"I've spent ten minutes trying to figure out if you're pretending."
Aaron looked confused.
"Pretending?"
"To be this gone over my daughter."
You immediately covered your face.
"Oh my God."
Your mother laughed. Aaron looked vaguely horrified. Which somehow confirmed everything.
Because Aaron Hotchner could stare down serial killers.
But discussing his feelings? Absolutely not.
Your father grinned.
"I've never met a man who looks at her the way you do."
Aaron looked genuinely trapped.
"I don't know what you mean."
The entire table laughed.
"You absolutely do."
Your mother reached over and squeezed his hand. A gesture that visibly surprised him.
"Thank you."
Aaron blinked.
"For what?"
"For making her smile again."
The table grew quiet.
"We haven't seen that smile in years."
Emotion flashed across Aaron's face. Gone almost instantly. But not before everyone saw it.
Love.
Your father saw it too. The suspicion disappeared from his expression. Replaced by understanding.
He leaned forward.
"One piece of advice."
Aaron nodded.
"If anyone at this wedding bothers my daughter..."
Aaron's expression sharpened immediately.
"...make them regret it."
For the first time all evening, Aaron smiled.
Not the soft smile he gave you.
The profiler smile.
"Yes, sir."
Your mother sighed dramatically. Before anyone could say more, a familiar voice interrupted.
"Excellent."
You groaned.
Rossi. Of course.
He dropped into the empty chair beside Aaron.
"If we're forming a protective detail, I'd like my name added to the list."
Your father laughed.
"And you are...?"
"David Rossi. Friend, co-worker, bestselling author. And your daughter is like a granddaughter to me, if you dont mind putting it that way."
"Weren't you like a groom's distant family?" you asked, raising your brow at him.
"Yes, I am."
"Then be distant, please"
Rossi smiled, ignoring your comment, then pointed at Aaron.
"Let me assure you. Aaron becomes frightening, when it comes to anyone he cares about."
Hotch sighed.
"And Dave becomes annoying."
"Creative," Rossi corrected.
"Dangerously creative." you said under your breath. Your mother laughed into her wine.
"For the record, if anybody hurts her, Aaron will profile them. But not the matter of fact way. The I-don't-want-to-know-what-he-can-do-with-it way."
Aaron rubbed a hand over his face.
"And you, David?" your father asked, briefly looking at you, before he focused back on your boss and colleague.
Rossi grinned.
"I'll add some decades long creativity to it."
The three men exchanged a look that made you deeply concerned.
Your mother noticed it too.
"Oh dear."
"What?" your father asked.
She pointed between the three men.
"Now there are three of them."
The wedding arrived.
You stared at yourself in the hotel mirror. The bridesmaid dress was stunning. And completely unfair.
The fitted fabric hugged every curve. The slit exposed one toned leg. The neckline somehow managed to be elegant and dangerous simultaneously.
You felt beautiful.
Which was unfortunate because Aaron was about to see it.
A knock sounded. Your heart immediately betrayed you.
You opened the door.
And forgot how breathing worked.
Aaron stood there in a black suit. Broad shoulders. Perfectly tailored jacket. Tie.
The whole devastating package.
For several seconds neither of you spoke. His eyes moved over you. Then froze. Then moved back.
The faintest hint of color appeared in his cheeks.
Aaron Hotchner.
Blushing.
You nearly died.
"You okay?" you asked.
He cleared his throat.
"Yes."
Pause.
"You look beautiful."
The sincerity nearly knocked the breath from your lungs.
The chapel was already filling with guests. You had almost convinced yourself you could survive this.
Then your ex walked through the doors. Your stomach dropped instantly. Years disappeared.
The confidence. The smile. The arrogance.
You recognized it all.
And apparently Aaron recognized your reaction. Because he looked up from across the room immediately. The warmth vanished from his expression. Replaced by something colder. More dangerous.
You watched him study your ex.
Evaluating. Assessing. Profiling.
Then Aaron crossed the room. Without a word he took the seat beside you. His shoulder brushed yours.
Solid. Steady. Safe.
"You okay?" he murmured.
You nodded.
A lie.
Aaron knew it was a lie. He didn't push. Instead he subtly shifted.
Just enough that your ex's direct line of sight to you disappeared. Now the man had to look directly at Aaron instead.
Your ex visibly hesitated.
Good.
The ceremony itself was beautiful.
Your sister cried. Her husband cried. Half the audience cried. You cried.
Mostly because every time anxiety started creeping in, Aaron's hand quietly found yours.
His thumb brushed your knuckles. A silent reminder.
I'm here.
At one point your ex glanced toward you only to find Aaron already looking back. The man immediately looked elsewhere. You nearly laughed.
The reception began. You sat at your table next to Aaron, slipping a glass of champagne.
"Are you profiling the guests?" You asked looking at your fake boyfriend with a small smile.
His eyes stayed forward.
"Yes."
"Aaron."
"One of the bridesmaids hates the maid of honor."
You nearly snorted.
"What?"
"Table seven is having an affair."
"Oh my God."
"The groom's uncle stole something once."
"You can't know that."
Aaron finally looked down at you.
"I absolutely know that."
For a while things were actually enjoyable.
You danced. You laughed. You forgot to be afraid. You actually enjoyed yourself.
And then Rossi arrived.
Unfortunately.
"Interesting."
You immediately groaned.
Rossi looked between you and Aaron. Then smiled. The smile of a man about to become unbearable.
"I've seen hostage negotiations with less tension."
Aaron closed his eyes.
"Dave."
"You know," Rossi continued, "for two people pretending to date, you're doing an exceptional impression of two people desperately in love."
You choked. Aaron nearly did the same.
Rossi looked delighted.
Later, the music softened into something slower. The kind of song that made conversations fade and the room seem smaller.
You were halfway through explaining to your cousin why you absolutely did not need another glass of champagne when Aaron appeared beside you.
"You disappeared."
You looked up.
"So did you."
"I was making sure Rossi wasn't teaching your nephews how to pick locks."
You laughed.
"Valid concern."
His gaze lingered on your face for a second. Then he held out his hand.
"Dance with me."
You blinked.
That wasn't really a request. Not because he sounded demanding. Because Aaron only asked when he already knew the answer mattered.
"You dance?" you asked.
A faint smile appeared.
"I can."
"That's not what I asked."
"It's the answer you're getting."
You laughed and let him lead you onto the dance floor. The second his hand settled at your waist, some of the tension you'd been carrying all day eased without permission.
Aaron noticed immediately.
Of course he did.
He didn't comment on it.
Just adjusted his hold slightly, steady and secure. The dance floor wasn't crowded. Couples moved around them in slow circles beneath strings of warm lights.
For once, nobody needed anything from either of you.
No cases. No reports. No emergencies.
Just music.
"You seem calmer," Aaron said quietly.
You looked down at your joined hands.
"I think I forgot I was supposed to be nervous."
His thumb brushed lightly against your hand.
"Good."
Something about that simple response made your chest ache. Because he wasn't taking credit. Wasn't asking for reassurance. He just sounded relieved.
You glanced up.
"You've been watching me all day, haven't you?"
Aaron didn't even attempt to deny it.
"Yes."
The honesty made you laugh.
"Hotch."
"I was making sure you were okay."
The answer came so naturally it almost stole your breath. Not because it was surprising. Because it wasn't. That was what he always did. The realization settled over you with unexpected warmth.
Aaron guided you through another turn.
Not flashy.
Not complicated.
Just steady.
Reliable.
Like everything else about him.
"You know," you said softly, "most people would be enjoying the wedding."
"I am."
You raised an eyebrow.
"You are?"
His eyes met yours. For a moment the noise of the room seemed to disappear.
"Yes."
The answer was quiet. Certain.
And somehow it felt like it meant more than it should. Your heart stumbled.
Aaron must have noticed the shift in your expression because his gaze softened.
Immediately. The way it always did with you. Without thinking, you stepped a little closer. His hand remained at your waist.
Solid. Warm. Safe.
The song continued around you, but you barely heard it anymore.
For one brief moment, surrounded by family, music, and fairy lights, the fear that had followed you to the wedding finally loosened its grip.
Not because your ex was gone. Not because the memories had disappeared. But because Aaron was there.
And somehow, whenever he was there, carrying things alone didn't seem quite so necessary.
The disaster arrived later. You had stepped away toward the bar when your ex intercepted you. Again.
"Look at you."
You rolled your eyes immediately. He caught it anyway. His smile tightened, like it had miscalculated its own charm.
"Your boyfriend seems old."
You laughed once. Clean. Unbothered.
That was the mistake.
"Still doing this?" you said.
"Doing what?"
"Trying to make women feel insecure because you're insecure."
Before he could escalate, Aaron appeared.
Not entering the conversation.
Closing it.
Aaron didn’t look surprised to find you there. He looked like someone who had already reviewed the situation internally and was now simply confirming details.
"Everything alright?" He asked you first.
Not him.
That detail landed immediately.
Your ex scoffed. "We’re having a private conversation."
Aaron’s gaze shifted to him.
There was no hostility in it. That somehow made it worse.
"Interesting," Aaron said.
"What’s that supposed to mean?"
"It means you keep using words that don’t apply to your behavior."
A few guests nearby stopped pretending not to listen.
Your ex straightened. "I wasn’t cornering anyone."
Aaron nodded slightly.
"As an interpretation," he said, "that would require a significant degree of self-deception."
Your ex bristled. "Who do you think you are?"
That was when Aaron finally let the answer land fully.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Just precisely.
"Special Agent Aaron Hotchner," he said. “Unit Chief of FBI Behavioral Department"
The words changed the air.
Even people who hadn’t been paying attention were now paying attention.
Aaron’s voice stayed level.
"And you are currently addressing another FBI agent and my partner in a way I’ve already determined is at least inappropriate."
A pause.
"You should understand something very clearly. I don’t escalate quickly. I don’t need to. But I do finish what I start."
Your ex blinked. "What does that even mean?"
"It means," Aaron said, "that you are not the first person I’ve seen mistake persistence for entitlement. And you will not be the first to learn the difference the hard way."
From across the room, your father had gone still, watching now with full understanding.
Not alarm. Relief.
Rossi arrived like he had been there the entire time.
He took in the scene, then exhaled a soft laugh.
"Oh! The ex," he said.
Your ex turned. "And you are?"
Rossi smiled faintly.
"Special Agent David Rossi. Someone who’s been called in when people don’t respond to social correction," he said. "I strongly recommend you prefer social correction."
A sip of wine.
"Because when it moves beyond that, it stops being a conversation entirely."
Your ex looked between them, anger trying to reassert itself and failing.
"You’re threatening me in public?"
Aaron shook his head once.
"No," he said calmly. "You’re being informed of how boundaries work when they’re enforced."
Then, a beat.
"Even if that mean more paperwork for me afterwards."
Rossi added lightly, almost conversational:
"And if support is needed, I’m available."
Not as a threat. As confirmation that this wasn’t a one-person warning.
That was the shift.
Not fear.
Finality.
Your ex’s confidence didn’t just drop—it collapsed into something smaller and panicked.
He stepped back.
Once.
Twice.
Then he was gone.
Rossi took another sip.
"Always the same outcome," he murmured. "They runaway before I can have more fun."
Aaron didn’t watch him leave. The moment the threat was gone, his attention was already back on you.
You didn’t realize you were shaking until the adrenaline started to crash all at once.
Aaron noticed immediately. Of course he did.
His hand came to your waist first—steady, grounding, instinctive.
"You alright?"
You nodded.
A lie.
And for once, Aaron didn’t call you on it immediately. Not with words.
Because then your composure finally broke.
It wasn’t dramatic. Just quiet. Sudden. Like something inside you had been holding its breath too long and finally let go.
Your eyes stung. Then blurred. Then the tears came before you could stop them.
“I’m fine,” you tried anyway, voice breaking halfway through.
That did it.
Aaron’s expression changed—not into alarm, not into urgency—but something far softer. Controlled concern, tempered by certainty. Like he already knew exactly what this was.
He guided you gently away from the crowd, one hand at your back, the other still holding your arm as if anchoring you to the present.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
Just that.
You shook your head, embarrassed, trying to breathe through it.
“I hate that he can still— I hate that he can still do that to me.”
“I know,” Aaron said.
No correction. No minimising. Just acceptance.
That alone made your throat tighten harder.
A few seconds passed with nothing but the noise of the reception fading behind you.
Then Aaron lifted a hand and gently brushed your tears away with his thumb. Slow. Careful. Like you weren’t something fragile, but something worth handling with care.
“You’re safe,” he said.
Your breath hitched.
“I’m here,” he added quietly.
And then, as if it wasn’t even a decision so much as an instinct he’d stopped resisting, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead.
Soft. Anchoring. Protective in a way that didn’t ask anything of you.
Your eyes closed immediately. Like your body understood before your mind caught up.
The noise of the room behind you faded further.
For a moment, there was just him.
When he pulled back, his hand lingered at your temple.
“You’re okay,” he murmured again, firmer this time. Not a question anymore. A statement he was choosing to make true for you until you could believe it yourself.
And something in your chest finally unclenched. Just slightly.
Not healed. Not fixed.
But held.
Hours later the reception was winding down.
Your shoes were gone. Aaron's tie was loosened. The fairy lights above cast everything in gold.
You stood together outside.
Alone.
Finally.
"You were very convincing today."
Aaron smiled slightly.
"The boyfriend thing?"
"Yeah."
"You think so?"
"I think half the wedding believes we're engaged."
That earned an actual laugh.
A rare one. Beautiful. Dangerous.
Then silence settled and something changed.
Aaron looked at you. Really looked at you. The way he'd been trying not to all day.
"You deserve better than him."
Your heart skipped.
"You deserve someone who makes you feel safe."
"Hotch..."
"You deserve someone who loves you."
The world stopped.
His voice softened.
"I've been in love with you for a long time."
Everything inside you shattered. In the best possible way. You smiled through sudden tears.
"Good."
His eyebrows lifted.
"Good?"
"Because I've been in love with you too."
The relief on his face was breathtaking. For a moment neither of you moved. Then his hand cupped your cheek.
Gentle. Careful.
As though you were something precious.
"Can I kiss you?"
You laughed softly.
"Please."
The kiss was everything.
Slow. Tender. Years of restraint finally giving way.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
Safe. Loved. Home.
Behind you, Rossi's voice suddenly echoed across the courtyard.
"I KNEW IT!"
Aaron sighed. You burst out laughing.
And for the first time all weekend, neither of you cared who saw.
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summary: over the two months of secret relationship aaron fell in love with you. and then a case go wrong. very, very wrong.
word count: 1.9k
tw: injury, typical cm violence, near death, angst, grief.
masterlist
UNSTEADY
Aaron Hotchner had always been good at hiding things.
His emotions. His fears. His pain.
And for the last two months, he'd been hiding you.
Not because he was ashamed. Quite the opposite. You were the one thing in his life that felt entirely his.
The stolen coffees before briefings. The lingering touches when nobody was looking. The rare evenings spent together in his apartment after impossible cases, where the weight on his shoulders seemed just a little lighter.
The team knew something was different about him lately. None of them knew why.
And neither of you were ready to tell them.
Not yet.
You thought you had time.
~♡~
The next case was in D.C. Middle age man kidnapping and burning alive older men retaired from the now closed hospital. Personal vendetta.
You got to the location. The unsub was hiding in the abandoned warehouse with his victim. Of course he was. Somehow they loved the same places that usually made your skin crawl. Too much room to hide. Too many possibilities for something to go wrong.
The warehouse exploded before anyone could react.
One second you were moving through the abandoned building with Morgan and Reid behind you.
The next—
Fire.
Heat.
A deafening blast that threw you backward.
Pain erupted through your body.
Then darkness.
The explosion happened at 2:17 PM.
Aaron would remember that for the rest of his life.
Not because he wanted to.
Because his brain branded the moment into him with cruel precision.
One second he could see you, entering the place with gun in your hands.
The next—
Fire.
A deafening roar.
The entire side of the building disappeared in a wave of smoke and debris.
His heart stopped. Actually stopped.
For one horrifying second he couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't move.
Because he'd seen exactly where you had been standing.
And that section of the building no longer existed.
"Y/N!"
His voice tore out of him before he realized he'd spoken.
People were shouting. Agents were moving.
The world erupted into chaos.
Aaron barely heard any of it. All he could hear was the ringing in his ears. All he could see was smoke.
And all he could think was—
Please God, not her.
Not her.
He was already running. Someone yelled after him - Morgan or Prentiss- he didn't know and frankly didn't care.
Pieces of concrete crunched beneath his shoes, smoke burned his lungs.
His chest felt tight like something was squeezing his heart with both hands.
"Y/N!"
Nothing.
No answer.
The fear became unbearable.
He went through it all. He had been shot before, stabbed, held hostage.
He'd watched friends die, watched innocent people die.
He knew fear.
This was different.
This wasn't fear.
This was pure panic.
The kind that strips away every layer of discipline and leaves only desperation behind. Then he saw you.
Lying motionless beneath shattered debris.
Covered in blood. Too much blood. Far too much.
And suddenly the world tilted.
"No."
His voice cracked as he dropped to his knees beside you.
"No, no, no..."
His hands shook so violently he could barely touch you.
Aaron Hotchner's hands never shook. Yet now they trembled uncontrollably as he brushed dust and blood from your face.
Your eyes remained closed.
You weren't moving.
For one horrible second he thought—
The thought nearly destroyed him.
She's gone.
Then your chest rose weakly. A tiny breath but a breath.
Relief slammed into him so hard he almost cried right there.
"Y/N."
His voice broke, again.
"Come on."
His fingers cupped your face. You felt way too cold.
His stomach dropped. Years of profiling had taught him exactly what blood loss looked like. You were losing too much. Way too much. Right in front of him.
Your eyes fluttered open and Aaron nearly sobbed from relief.
"There you are."
The words came out strangled.
You looked confused. Pain-filled. Barely conscious.
Still, you managed to focus on him.
"Aaron..."
God.
The sound of your voice nearly shattered him. He hadn't realized how terrified he was of never hearing it again.
The blood kept spreading. Aaron couldn't stop staring at it. Every second there seemed to be more.
His hands were stained red from trying to put pressure on the wounds.
It wasn't enough.
Nothing felt like enough. Years of training. Years of crisis management.
And suddenly he felt completely helpless.
Because this wasn't a victim, a witness or a stranger.
This was you.
The woman he'd spent over two months falling hopelessly in love with.
The woman he'd started imagining a future with.
The woman who made him smile when nobody was looking.
The woman who somehow slipped through every wall he'd built.
And now she was dying in his arms.
"No."
The word escaped before he could stop it. His eyes burned.
"No."
You blinked slowly, trying to stay conscious, to stay with him.
And Aaron realized something horrifying.
You looked tired.
Not physically.
The kind of tired that scared doctors. The kind of tired that meant people started slipping away.
Fear exploded inside him.
"No."
A tear slid down his face. Then another.
"Stay awake."
Your eyes focused on him.
Barely.
"Aaron..."
"Stay awake."
His voice broke completely.
He didn't care who heard. Didn't care who was watching.
Nothing mattered anymore. Not the case. Not the team. Not appearances.
Nothing.
Just you. Only you.
"Look at me."
His forehead pressed against yours.
"You hear me?"
You nodded weakly.
The tears wouldn't stop now. He couldn't stop them. Couldn't stop anything.
Because he was losing you.
And for the first time since Haley's death, Aaron felt truly terrified of loving someone.
Because this—
This was the price.
This unbearable pain.
This helplessness.
This agony.
"Don't leave me."
The plea slipped out before he could stop it.
Your eyes widened slightly.
He saw it, saw you realizing how terrified he was.
How completely broken he was becoming.
"I can't—"
"Don't."
His voice cracked.
"Please don't."
You weakly reached for his hand.
Your fingers barely closed around his.
But Hotch held on like a drowning man.
"I love you."
The words escaped him.
Raw.
Desperate.
Unplanned.
The truth he'd been holding inside for weeks.
"I love you."
His entire face crumpled.
"You can't leave me before I tell you that."
Silence.
Around him, the team had frozen.
Nobody moved.
Nobody spoke.
Morgan looked stunned.
JJ's eyes filled with tears.
Emily covered her mouth.
Reid looked heartbroken.
But Hotch didn't notice.
His world had narrowed to the woman bleeding beneath his hands.
"I love you."
A sob escaped him.
Actual grief already forming inside him.
Because part of him was convinced he was about to lose you.
And he didn't know how he would survive that.
The moment your eyes closed, Aaron's heart stopped.
"Y/N?"
Nothing.
"Y/N!"
Panic. Pure panic.
His pulse thundered in his ears.
The paramedics rushed forward.
Aaron grabbed your hand.
"Y/N!"
Nothing.
"No."
His voice cracked violently.
"No."
The paramedics tried to move him.
He fought them.
Not aggressively.
Desperately.
Like a man refusing to let go of the only thing keeping him alive.
"Sir—"
"No."
"Hotch."
Morgan's voice.
Firm.
Gentle.
"Hotch, let them help her."
Aaron looked at him and Morgan had never seen him look so devastated.
Not after Haley.
Not after Foyet.
Not ever.
Aaron looked broken.
Completely broken.
And Morgan's own heart cracked at the sight.
Because suddenly everything made sense.
Every glance.
Every protective instinct.
Every subtle shift in Hotch over the last two months.
He loved you.
God, he loved you.
~♡~
The waiting room was somehow worse.
Hours passed.
Hours.
Aaron sat staring at the operating room doors.
Not moving.
Not speaking.
Not blinking much.
His hands were still stained with your blood. Nobody had been able to convince him to wash them.
He couldn't.
Because somehow washing them felt wrong like acknowledging the possibility that you wouldn't come back.
The thought made him physically sick.
Emily sat beside him.
JJ across from him.
Morgan nearby.
Reid pacing.
Nobody left.
"We know."
Emily finally said quietly.
Aaron didn't respond.
"You don't have to explain."
His jaw tightened.
The silence stretched.
Then his voice emerged.
Rough.
Broken.
"I should have been closer."
"No," Morgan said immediately.
"I should have gotten her out first."
"Hotcy."
"I saw the signs."
His voice trembled.
"I should have known."
The guilt was consuming him, everyone could see it.
Reid crouched in front of him.
"Hotch."
For a moment the younger man struggled to find words.
"If the roles were reversed, what would you tell one of us?"
Aaron looked away because he knew. He knew exactly what he'd say.
You can't predict everything.
You aren't responsible for every outcome.
Some things happen despite your best efforts.
But none of those words felt true right now.
Not when it was you.
Hours later, JJ handed him coffee.
He didn't drink it.
Morgan forced him to eat half a sandwich.
He barely tasted it.
Emily sat beside him nearly the entire night.
Just existing there, a steady presence.
The way Aaron had been for all of them over the years.
When his composure finally cracked around 3 AM, it happened silently.
A tear. Then another. Then suddenly he was crying.
Head bowed, shoulders shaking.
The grief pouring out faster than he could contain it.
Nobody looked away.
Nobody pretended not to notice.
Morgan moved first, gripping his shoulder. Firm and steady.
"You hear me?"
Aaron closed his eyes.
"You are not losing her."
The certainty in Morgan's voice nearly broke him.
"What if I do?"
The question came out so quietly they almost didn't hear it.
The room fell silent because none of them had ever heard Aaron Hotchner sound afraid before.
Not truly afraid.
Morgan squeezed his shoulder harder.
"Then we'll get through it together."
Aaron looked at him. Morgan's eyes were full of emotion.
"So stop carrying this by yourself."
For the first time that night, Aaron wasn't alone in his fear.
The team carried part of it for him.
Sat beside him.
Waited with him.
Hoped with him.
Loved him enough not to let him suffer by himself.
And when the surgeon finally walked through those doors and said the words—
"She's going to be okay."
Aaron broke down completely.
Not because he was sad.
Not because he was scared.
But because the unbearable weight crushing his chest finally disappeared.
His legs nearly gave out.
Morgan caught him before he hit the floor.
And for the first time in twelve endless hours, Aaron allowed himself to believe he would get to see you again.
summary tara went to get him. that was all it took.
prompt – age gap, visiting charter, possessive chibs, Scottish accent, tara gets him, makeout
warnings – age gap (early 20s/40s), intimidation, suggestive content, possessive behaviour
word count – ~3k
note – tara said not on my watch and chibs said hold my drink
requests are open :)
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The Tucson charter didn't come to Charming often.
Geography was part of it — the distance made regular visits impractical — but mostly it was temperament. Different leadership, different energy, the particular friction that existed between chapters that had grown separately and only came together when business demanded it. They weren't enemies. They were just distant in the way certain family members were distant — connected by something fundamental, separated by everything else.
Tonight they were here because business required it. Tomorrow they'd be gone.
You'd been navigating it fine. You knew how these nights worked — knew who to talk to, who to give a wide berth, how to move through a room full of men you didn't know who wore the same patch as the men you did. Charming was yours. The Tucson boys were strangers and you'd treated them accordingly. Polite. Present. Unavailable.
Most of them had read that correctly.
Chibs was outside.
A phone call — club business that needed quiet — and he'd stepped out twenty minutes ago with a brief touch to your arm and won't be long, love before disappearing into the night. You'd been fine. You were always fine. You didn't need him in the room to manage yourself.
The problem arrived about ten minutes after he left.
Young — early twenties, the swagger of someone who hadn't yet learned the difference between confidence and recklessness — and he'd found his way to you with the particular determination of someone who had decided the evening's outcome before it started. You'd been polite. You'd been clear. You'd given him every reasonable signal that the conversation was finished and you weren't interested.
He hadn't taken a single one.
"Come on," he said, for what felt like the fourth time, still too close. "I'm just talking to ye."
"And I've told you I'm not interested," you said. Steady. Even. Running low on patience.
"Ye haven't even given me a chance—"
"I've given you several."
He smiled — the kind that thought it was charming — and leaned in slightly. "What, ye waiting on someone?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
"Me," said Tara, materialising at your elbow with the calm efficiency of a woman who had made a decision. She looked at the boy with the pleasant, unbothered expression of someone who dealt with difficult situations daily and found this one fairly unremarkable. "And I need her for a minute. Excuse us."
She steered you two steps sideways, turned her back on the boy, and leaned in.
"He's not stopping," she said, low.
"I noticed."
"How long?"
"Close to twenty minutes now."
Tara's expression shifted. She glanced over her shoulder at the boy, who was still hovering with the persistence of someone who hadn't been told no in terms he'd fully processed. Then she looked toward the door.
"I'll be right back," she said.
"Tara, you don't have to—"
She was already moving.
Chibs was leaning against the outside wall, phone to his ear, when Tara pushed through the door.
He read her face in about half a second. Held up one finger, said into the phone, "I'll call ye back," and hung up before the response came.
"What is it," he said.
"Tucson boy," Tara said. "He's been at her for twenty minutes and he won't quit."
That was all she said.
Chibs pushed off the wall and went inside.
He came through the door the way he always did — unhurried, completely certain, the cut already on his shoulders and his expression already doing the work before he'd made it halfway across the room.
You saw him the moment he entered.
The relief was immediate — visible, probably, in the way your shoulders dropped — and then you saw his face properly and everything in you settled. He crossed the room without rushing, people moving out of the way without being asked, and came to stop beside you.
Not in front of the boy. Beside you. Close. His hand settling at the small of your back like it had always lived there, warm and immediate and entirely deliberate, and he looked at the boy across from you with the patient, unhurried attention of a man who was in absolutely no rush at all.
The boy looked at him. Looked at the cut. Started to understand something.
"Alright," Chibs said. Pleasantly. Accent warm and even.
The boy nodded. "Yeah, I was just—"
"Aye," Chibs said. "I can see what ye were doing." He tilted his head slightly. "How old are ye?"
"Twenty three," the boy said, a little uncertain now.
"Twenty three." Chibs repeated it the way he repeated things when he was letting them sit. Then he looked at the boy steadily, directly, with the full attention of a man who had never once needed to raise his voice to make a point. "I heard what ye said earlier. About her wasting her time with someone twice her age."
The boy went still.
"Now," Chibs continued, his voice unchanged, "I'll give ye the benefit of the doubt that ye didn't know whose girl ye were talking to. Because if ye did know—" a small pause, "—we'd be having a very different conversation."
Silence.
"I didn't know," the boy said. Quieter than before.
"I gathered." Chibs nodded once. "And I want to be sure I understand what ye said correctly." He looked at the boy with the particular calm of someone who had made a decision and was taking his time getting there. "Ye implied that I'm too old for her. That she could do better." He paused. "Is that right?"
The boy said nothing. Which was the correct instinct.
"Because here's the thing," Chibs said, still in the same even tone. Still with the same unhurried patience. He glanced at you briefly — warm, private, entirely his — then back at the boy. "Aye, I'm twice her age. I'll not argue with that." He took one step forward, not threatening, just closing the distance enough to make the point land fully. "But I'd wager everything I have that ye couldn't satisfy her the way I can. And she'd tell ye the same."
The room around them had gone very still.
The boy's face had gone red.
"So," Chibs said, pleasantly, as if none of that had just happened, "I think we're done here. Enjoy yer evening."
The boy left. Quickly. In the direction of his own charter without looking back.
Chibs watched him go. Said nothing. Waited until the distance was sufficient.
Then he turned to you.
And before you could say a word he took your face in both hands, tilted it up, and kissed you.
Not soft — thorough. The kind that made a point all on its own, warm and certain and entirely unhurried, his thumbs at your jaw and one hand sliding into your hair. You went with it without thinking, hands finding the front of his cut, and he kissed you like you were the only thing in the room worth paying attention to, which as far as he was concerned you were.
When he finally pulled back his forehead dropped to rest against yours.
"Alright, mo chridhe?" he murmured. Low, just for you.
"Very alright," you said, slightly breathless.
The corner of his mouth pulled up.
Around you, the room had resumed itself — conversations restarting, people looking away with the particular tact of people who had witnessed something and decided it was none of their business. Across the room Tig was saying something to Happy with an expression of profound satisfaction. Happy looked like he was pretending he hadn't seen anything and failing at it.
Tara, from the other side of the clubhouse, caught your eye and raised her glass slightly.
You raised yours back.
"Ye didn't have to say that," you said to Chibs, after a moment. "The thing you said to him."
"Which thing," he said, the picture of innocence.
"You know which thing."
"It was true," he said simply. Completely unbothered. "I was just being honest with the lad."
You looked at him. "That's not why you said it."
"No," he agreed, the almost-smile fully there now. "It was also very satisfying." He looked back out at the room, his arm settling around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. "Twenty three," he said, more to himself than to you, with the dry tone of someone who had filed something away for later amusement. "Aye."
"Filip."
"He's a child."
"He's the same age as me."
"Ye," Chibs said, looking down at you with the particular expression that made your chest do things, "are nothing like him." He pressed a kiss to your temple. "Not even close."
You shook your head. Leaned into him.
"You're impossible," you said.
"I'm Scottish," he said. "It's different."
Across the room, the Tucson boy was very quietly, very thoroughly ignoring your entire corner of the clubhouse.
Chibs noticed. Said nothing. Drank his drink.
His arm stayed around you for the rest of the night, and he didn't move it once.
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