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1. Aaron doesn't yell at you. 

If all else was unsure, then this was one of the five things you knew for certain. You weren't sure if he yelled at all. Maybe at work with criminals, but never with you.

This was still true.

Right now, he wasn't yelling at you. He was speaking in an even tone, but you knew him well enough to notice the difference. His voice was as cold as his rigid stance, like ice ran through his veins. His arms were crossed, and so, even if you weren't a criminal—even if you knew you were his fiancé—you sure as hell felt like one.

Standing on the other side of the kitchen island, you were in opposition of each other in every sense of the word.

You took a deep breath before speaking. "Aaron—"

He cut you off before the words could even leave your mouth. "We've had this conversation before. I've already told you how I feel about it."

You repressed the urge to take another breath, knowing he was a profiler. Knowing he could profile the discomfort all over you, regardless. But you picked up a few profiling tricks, too.

You could see the way he was staring at you. Like you were an idiot.

Maybe you agreed on that.

Idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot— 

You took the breath, anyway. "Aaron, I said I'm sorry."

You tried to step closer to him, and he didn't move away. But he didn't usher you into his arms, either.

And despite the fact that Aaron doesn't yell at you, you could tell he really wanted to.

"And I'm saying you shouldn't have to say sorry. We shouldn't be having this conversation because you shouldn't have done it," he scolded.

You took another step closer, rounding the counter like your body was trying to get him to physically understand, to remind him that you were on the same side.

"What was I supposed to do?" Your voice was desparate now, almost like you actually wanted him to answer. "You were working. I had to work. You weren't picking up the phone—"

"That's right," he cut you off again. This time, he stepped closer to you. "I was working. You weren't."

2. You have an equal relationship.

The second truth was what had you tilting your head. You were already flushed from the heat of the argument, but now you could feel yourself getting a little angry.

"What do you mean I wasn't working?" you questioned. "Yes, I was. Garcia said you called everyone in; you said to get there stat."

He was quick. "I meant everyone that was necessary. You aren't."

You could feel the cut immediately, etched deep into your skin. It didn't matter how he said it, frivolous or not—the words were sharp enough to cut you effortlessly.

You aren't necessary.

The words echoed through your head. Words you'd heard before, but never from him. Never from the man who swore to be better than everyone else who ever hurt you.

Yet, no matter how much you'd been hurt in the past, it hurt a thousand times more to come from him.

You waited for him to say something else, waiting for any sign of regret to cross his face.

Nothing did.

There were many times when you wished you had Aaron's poker face, but right now, you didn't have to try. The sadness flooding your body remained internal; the only thing that showed on your face was rage.

Your eyes narrowed. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Hotch doubled down, staring you right in the eye. "It means your job is an accessory. Garcia does the same job as you—you aren't needed."

That was a lie so blatant it made you scoff. You were a technical analyst for the BAU, and you'd proven yourself time and time again. Hotch was the one that hired you—he's the one that said he saw something in you.

Apparently not.

"I'm not needed," you echoed, sarcasm lacing your voice. "Right. So when an alert comes out that there is an active hostage situation and a potential terrorist threat, what do you expect me to do? Not come into work?" 

"Yes," he deadpanned. "Not when you're picking up my son."

You ran a hand through your hair, stuck in disbelief. "You can't be serious—"

"When you're picking up my son, what I expect is for you to take him home."

You spoke over him, countering, "I brought him to a place where I knew he'd be out of harm's way. You weren't picking up the phone. I did what I thought was best—"

"You brought him to Jessica—"

"I brought him to his aunt—"

For the first time since the conversation started, Aaron raised his voice just enough for it to stop you dead in your tracks. "You don't get to bring him to his aunt. You are not his mother!"

3. You are not Jack's mother.

You knew that. God, you knew that. You were there to see the carnage in the Hotchner household after Haley's death. The blood that splattered the walls. The boy who was too young to spell the word devastation but still felt it in his bones.

You knew you were not Jack's mother. You lived in a house with her pictures on the wall. Jack was a mirror image of her; he was her son, and you knew that. It was one of the truths you held the most conviction in.

It was the truth.

But you still recoiled, almost like Aaron had slapped you. A part of you thought maybe that would've hurt less.

All the fire you had was extinguished. You didn't have a rebuttal for that. What could you say? It didn't matter if you loved Jack like he was your own—that didn't change the fact that he wasn't.

You avoided Aaron's gaze, choosing to stare at the pattern of his tie instead and trying not to succumb to the sting in your eyes. You liked this tie; it was one of your favourites. You were close enough to him to see all its beautiful details.

But, at the same time, you'd never been further away from him.

Aaron still hadn't said anything, and out of fear that the dam would break if the silence continued, you spoke up. "I—" your voice cracked. "I know I'm not Jack's mother, and I'm not trying to be." You paused. "I was just doing what I thought was best."

You left it there, not knowing if the right words to say the right thing even existed. Saying the right thing was always Aaron's thing, not yours.

But whatever words he was going to say were cut off by the shrill pinging of a cellphone. Two cellphones.

Aaron picked up his first, sighing immediately. You didn't have to guess what it said. "We have another case." The heat in his voice was gone; he sounded like himself.

That didn't mean you felt any less burned.

"Okay, um—" you couldn't stop yourself from sniffling even if you tried. "I'll stay here and watch Jack. You go."

Another sigh left him. "Y/N—"

The sound of your name leaving his mouth almost made you cry, but you persisted, "No, you can go, it's fine." You chuckled if not just to make light of it for yourself. "I'm not needed there, anyway."

"Y/N."

"Aaron." You fingally looked up at him, and you saw it. Remorse swirling in his brown eyes. The same eyes that crinkled at the sides when you said you'd marry him. Somehow, that made it worse, knowing that it was the same person who said both of those things. Who built you up from scratch just to bring you right back to the bottom. 

You repeated yourself, "Go." The team needs you, you wanted to say. The only reason you didn't say it was because he'd already accused you of trying to be his past wife; you didn't need to prove him right.

You could practically hear the churning of his inner turmoil, torn between staying and leaving. It was pointless; you both knew what his decision would be.

When he reached for his go-bag, it was final. And in some ways, he was leaving more than just the house.

As if he could sense that, he turned around. "We'll finish this discussion when I'm back," he said. That was an anchor: telling you something about the present by talking about the future. When I'm back meant that he'd be back. Discussion meant you had something to talk about, a two-sided activity. We meant you were still one unit; you were still a we.

Maybe that's what he meant by it. If you scoured through his words and read between the lines, maybe you'd find the beginnings of an apology—in his own way, at least. But he wasn't sorry, not for what he said. If anything, he was only sorry that he said it.

You wouldn't profile him and ascribe meaning to words that didn't mean anything. We'll finish this discussion when I'm back meant you'd finish the discussion when he was back. 

When you replied, that was what you were replying to. "Okay."

You weren't okay.

This wasn't okay.

Aaron cast one last look at you before he crossed the threshold. You looked away.

And then he was out the door, leaving you in a house that no longer felt like your own.

—

"Y/N, my love, I thought I'd die without you!"

Penelope was on you as soon as you walked into the bat cave, shooting up from her chair and hugging you so tightly that you would've thought you'd been gone for ages. Really, you were only gone for a night.

You told Aaron that you wouldn't be coming in, and you were holding true to that, but you weren't gonna make Garcia work alone if she had to, even if she was perfectly capable of it.

You knew you weren't needed. Hotch was right: this ship could sail just fine without you. But you could help.

You'd just dropped Jack off at school, so now you were here, ready to work until you had to pick him up again.

You forced yourself to laugh at her words, causing her to hit your back. "No, I'm being serious! You're my oxygen—I can't live without you."

At that, you snorted. "Okay, Penelope."

She pulled back, resting her hands on your shoulders. "Seriously, though." She looked deep into your eyes, seeming to be looking for something. "Are... are you okay? I don't even think you've taken a sick day since... since forever."

You smiled at her exaggeration, even if it didn't really reach your eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine, P. I just have to leave early to go get Jack, and um... I'm gonna stay off camera today. And off the phones." You shifted your weight. "Not like it matters or anything, but I just don't really want Hotch knowing I'm here. I just want to stay in the background today, if that's okay?"

Her brows raised, but she quickly affirmed, "Yes, that's okay! Totally okay. We'll keep this 100% incognito."

It was in Garcia's nature to ask questions, so you knew she had them, but she didn't voice a single one.

You talked about work, and new bureau technology, and your next girls night, and everything but what you asked of her.

You'd never been more grateful.

—

It'd been two days since the team left, two days of bouncing back and forth between the office and back home with Jack. The son that wasn't really yours. The son that felt like yours, anyway.

If you were doing as good as you thought you were, then nobody knew you were even there. Garcia was telling the rest of them that you were sick. Your phone had been flooded with get well soon messages from everyone except the one person you really wanted one from.

Aaron hadn't spoken to you since he left. You wished it didn't hurt as badly as it did.

"Okay, Jackers! I think it's time we head to bed."

"What?" You held back a laugh at the incredulity in his voice, knowing that—for an 8 year old—this was a very serious matter. He looked at you with traces of shock, somehow looking everything and nothing like his father at the same time. "But it's only ten o'clock!"

"Ah, and yet it is still past your bed time. Mine, too."

Jack frowned—and there it was. There was that bit of Aaron you were looking for. "You say that, but you're just going to stay up after I go to sleep."

You couldn't suppress the smile on your face any longer. "No, Jack. I promise you I'm so tired, I'll be out as soon as my head hits the pillow." You ruffled his hair, your smile becoming a grin as he groaned. "Now go brush your teeth, little man."

Jack got up from the table, his little feet pitter-pattering across the floor as he made his way to the stairs. It didn't sound much like a pitter-patter anymore now that he was getting older, but he would always be the same little boy to you. So, "pitter-patter" it was.

Until suddenly, you heard a different noise.

Not pitter-patter.

The door.

Your eyes darted to Jack as he stopped in his tracks, then they darted to the door. The knob, turning lightly, gold glinting in the light. The sound of your own heart beating was just as loud as the turning. The person got impatient, the knob turning faster now, like someone was trying to pry it open.

Fuck. Fuck.

Your mind ran a mile a minute. That wasn't Hotch. You weren't expecting anyone, and whoever was at the door certainly wasn't asking for an invite in.

They were trying to force their way in.

Somebody was breaking in to the house.

With that realization, you were moving. "Jack." You caught his attention easily, spotting the fear on his face right away. More than fear. 

Familiarity.

He went through his before. Oh, your Jack. He'd been through this before, and he would know what to do. You did.

Conversations with Aaron flashed through your head, just-in-case scenarios, if then statements. Emergencies.

You knew what to do, too.

You just never thought you'd have to.

You grabbed onto Jack's shoulder, immediately feeling how his body was trembling. "Jack, I need you to listen to me." The knob got louder. You lowered your voice. "I need you to work the case, okay? Like with your dad. Do you understand me?"

His eyes went wide. "Wait, Y/N. What about you—"

"Jack. Do you understand me?" He went quiet, and then he nodded, making you sigh in relief. "Okay, take my phone. Call 911, but don't make a sound." You handed him the phone, and then you let go of him. "I love you." Your throat closed up. "Now go."

Jack ran up the stairs, and you were up automatically, trusting he'd do as you said.

It was like someone else was in your body, telling you what to do. You opened the pantry, looking where you'd never looked and typing numbers into a keypad you'd never touched.

Why do we need a safe in the kitchen? you had laughed at the time.

In case of an emergency, Aaron had said. You thanked his forward thinking.

The only way you knew that you were still there was by the violent shaking of your hands as the cool metal touched your skin. You'd only ever operated a gun once or twice. Did you even remember how to load it?

The door banged, making you jolt. You had to remember now. Come on, Y/N. Load the fucking gun. 

You thrusted the magazine into the well and then pulled back the slide. Another bang. You turned the safety off.

Hold the gun with both hands.

God, Hotch, when will I ever need to do this?

Well, I hope you never have to. But we can never be too safe.

Another bang hit the door, this time more forceful. We can never too safe. Tears flooded your eyes, and you promptly blinked them away.

Then. There was another bang, and this time, the door hit the wall.

You intook a sharp breath, hearing footsteps thump against the floor. You closed your eyes, focusing on the noise. One set of footsteps. 

Aaron's voice echoed throughout your head. Are you sure?

You screwed your eyes shut tighter, straining your ears. Yes. One person. Loud. Heavy. Male.

Okay, that's good. What else do you know?

You knew they spent a long time fiddling with the door knob before busting the door open. That could either mean they lacked physical strength or they were trying to taunt you. The second option. You knew this was a low-risk neighbourhood. You knew your car was out front. This wasn't about money. This was personal. Intentional.

You knew this was an FBI agent's house. You knew—

Wait. You strained your ears more, following the footsteps. They weren't heading for your direction. No. No, no, no, no.

Jack was upstairs.

You couldn't let this man go up there.

4. You love Jack Hotchner unconditionally.

Knowing number four makes you act fast with a determination you'd never felt before. The pantry door swung open as you left the enclosed space, instantly raising the gun in the air like it was weightless. 

You pointed it at your stairwell where a masked man stood, motionless. 

"You better stop right there, you son of a bitch," you threatened, cocking the gun like it was second nature to you.

The man raised his hands into the air slowly. He tilted his head at you as if he was trying to mock you.

And then he smiled.

Before you could even realize what was happening, he was running at you. Your eyes widened, pulling the trigger. You barely got to see if your shot made it before he was tackling you to the ground, knocking the gun out of your hands.

The back of your head hit the ground, making a sickening crack. You gasped for air, and then you were wheezing as the man's hands wrapped around your neck, squeezing tightly.

You looked up into his demented eyes, hearing not the sound of your own voice but Hotch's. Use what you see. Frantically, your eyes flew all over the unsub's body until you saw red staining black, right at his shoulder. 

Without thinking about it, you stuck your finger into the wound, hearing him scream. He was stunned enough that he loosened his grip, giving you the chance to kick him off of you.

You scrambled to your feet, searching for the gun and finding it in the middle of the living room floor. You dove for it right as he got back up, getting to you before you could try shooting again.

His hands wrapped around yours, trying to wrestle the gun from your hands. You held on like your life depended on it because it did. Your life depended on it— Jack's life depended on it. 

You fired a shot into the ground and then another into the wall as he fought you, knocking a picture frame off the mantle. You couldn't see where the gun was pointing anymore, but then, suddenly, pain radiated throughout your lower abdomen, and you knew it was pointed at you.

You gasped, looking down and seeing blood spreading through the white of your tank top.

You looked back up, seeing the asshole smile at you with his teeth. They were pearly white. So clean for a man so dirty.

You sought to make them red, too.

In a surge of energy, you twisted the gun out of his grasp and didn't think before pointing it at his head and firing.

You watched the bullet penetrate his skull before he fell to the ground. Like a domino, you followed, crumpling against the couch.

The gun slipped out of your hands and they immediately went to your wound, making you hiss in pain. You pressed down on it, feeling blood flow between your fingers like a river. 

Keep swimming. Keep your eyes open.

The fatigue hit you like a train. You blinked, trying to keep your eyes open, but they felt so heavy.

Jack. Jack was upstairs. He called the police.

He was okay.

You heard sirens in the distance. The police were coming.

You could sleep now.

And so, as you remembered your fifth truth, your eyes started to flutter closed.

5. You love Aaron Hotchner. And he loves you.

You let yourself fall into a dreamless sleep, hoping that somehow, on some plane of consciousness, he could hear you say I love you one last time.

You loved Aaron Hotchner. You knew that for certain.

Your blouse is buttoned asymmetrically, your hair resembling a bird's nest, and you left your ID at home, making your arrival more delayed as you had to employ Garcia’s help in presenting a copy of your ID to let you through. 

That too was not without stress given that your phone was on the verge of dying as you were in the call, but thankfully you could finally breathe in the elevator. Or so you thought. 

There were two things that immediately caught you off guard as you walked into the bullpen: one, almost all the desks were deserted and two, Reid and Morgan were watching you- as if waiting for your reaction, which led you to look around in anticipation. Is there a surprise? A prank? Did I miss a patch? I’m…wearing pants, right? 

Not wanting to prolong your search, you look at the two for any indication or clue. Tilting your head to the side as if to ask what? But to your surprise, they both nod their heads in one direction. Oh.

Strauss was in Hotch’s office, along with Rossi and a woman you don’t recognize. Hotch looked a bit tense, Strauss firm, Rossi is as relaxed as ever, and the woman… is looking directly at Hotch. Just Hotch. Huh. 

You were stood just shy of your desk when you shook thoughts out of your head, slowly approaching your desk to settle your things. Dozens of scenarios were running through your head, trying to make sense of new additions to an otherwise normal day. 

But the way she was studying him made your chest tight like someone was stepping on it.. and you couldn’t figure out why. 

You approach the two rascals only to lean on Derek’s desk as you whisper under your breath, “What’s happening there?” 

Morgan shrugs but his focused face remains, “I don’t know, kid. I tried Garcia but she doesn’t have a clue either.” Eyes studying the people in the room, noting anything that could tell them something. 

Mulling over more possibilities, you hum in response. Turning to Reid, you ask him- hoping that his eidetic memory can tell you anything about the woman even if they’d only met in passing. 

“Do you know anything, Spence?” But Reid only pouts at you, a sign that he’s thought about it hard but is coming up empty. 

Shaking his head, he soberly replies, “No..I don’t think so. I– I’ve never seen her before. Sorry.” 

Before any more thoughts could be voiced between the three of you, the door to Hotch’s office opens and all four of them file out- the woman walking a little too close to Hotch. 

-

You’re approaching your usual seat on the jet beside Morgan and across from Hotch when suddenly Agent Seaver overtakes you and sits on your seat. Caught by surprise, your eyes instinctively go to Hotch who’s already looking at you. 

He nods to himself, moving from the aisle seat to the one by the window. But it appears Agent Seaver misunderstood his gesture and moved beside him, “Oh! Thank you, sir.” Even going as far as touching his arm and leaning closely. 

Now, you’ve never been a violent person. Rage has just never overcome your senses like that but today.. of all days– you couldn’t help the image of spilling your hot chocolate all over her cream blouse. 

You don’t even notice that you’re frowning as you sit beside Morgan, somehow still unaware of how much their closeness really upsets you. You honestly thought you’ve maintained an expressionless face until Morgan looks up from his file and leans close to whisper in your ear, “You’ll need claws not paws, baby girl.” Winking at you as you separate. 

You steal a glance at Hotch only to see him watching you and Morgan with furrowed brows. He almost looks normal if it weren’t for the clenching of his jaw that’s his tell of irritation. Moving your gaze to Seaver, in case you missed something that’s causing his new mood, you find her reading the case file. 

As you return your gaze on Hotch, you watch as Seaver touches his arm again and engages him in conversation about the case. It’s through the whole jet ride that you had to stomach the constant Agent Hotchner, Agent Hotchner! paired with a giggle or a slight touch. UGH!

If it weren’t for Strauss personally recommending Agent Seaver as a consultant for this case, you would have done– …still absolutely nothing. You had no claim whatsoever over Hotch. Morgan and Rossi may tease the two of you occasionally, forcing that he treats you specially or whatever but his behavior could simply be chalked off as him being a good and attentive boss. 

And yes, okay fine. You may have some moments here and there… but! they could honestly just be built up in your head because of the feelings you have for him. Like when he said he likes it when you stare? Come on, being stared at can be flattering and that’s just a universal truth. 

- 

After a whole day of coming up with theories, visiting crime scenes and M.E.’s, you’re all completely spent. Lounging in the makeshift discussion room, all of you are still working tirelessly on the case given that the unsub’s on a spree and his timeline is alarmingly short. 

Reid’s been silently staring at the board for 20 minutes while Morgan’s pretending to read files of potential suspects with his legs stretched out and feet on the table, “This is impossible. We just don’t have enough.” He exclaims as he tosses the file on the table with a thud. 

To the left of Morgan, you’re also silently mulling over files of potential suspects. Not wanting to admit that he’s right, you guys don’t have enough…bodies. You barely have anything on the guy, barely any clues- for a working profile. 

You sigh heavily, peeling your eyes off the paper and looking at the board. “Reid?” The boy genius shakes his head softly, confirming that the known dump sites don’t say much about the unsub’s comfort zones or hunting ground. 

You suddenly wonder where Seaver, Hotch and Rossi are. You and Morgan got back to the precinct at around 11PM, and you realize you haven’t seen any of them, “Where are the others?” 

Morgan, in an effort to lighten the mood, jumps at the chance to tease you, “Hmm. I think what you’re really asking is: Where’s Hotch and is he with Seaver?” He punches your arm lightly, making it obvious he’s only teasing. 

The smug, playful smile on his face makes you fight one of your own, desperately trying to not give yourself away, “Shut up,” hitting him in the head softly with the file in your hand. 

While you two were exchanging playful glares, Reid interjects, “Seaver wanted to turn in early since she’s also the one meeting with the families tomorrow so Hotch brought her to the hotel.” 

You instantly lift your gaze to him and watch as he removes the marker’s cap and scribbles rapidly on the board, quickly adding “And I’m pretty sure Rossi’s getting us coffee from the diner around the block.” 

You want to blame it on your exhaustion– your inability and ineffectiveness at hiding how you truly feel about what Reid just revealed to you, groaning loudly in pain and frustration. You put your head in your hands, muffling the sounds you’re making that are somehow a combination of a laugh and a sob. 

Morgan understands your reaction immediately and laughs out loud. 

“It’s not funny!” There was honestly no point in hiding it. As much as Morgan teased you, you knew he wouldn’t tell anyway, and Reid.. well, he was honestly an even better keeper of secrets than Morgan, Rossi and Garcia. 

He puts a hand on your shoulder to comfort you, “Baby girl, worry not. You know you hold a special place in boss man’s heart.” Then gripping both your wrists to pry your hands off your face. 

Pressing your face even further into your hands, you let out a muffled version of “That’s not true!” that came out more as “Daffs noft thwu!” 

When Morgan successfully pries your hands off your face, you’re surprised to see Reid’s moved from the board to behind Morgan, half leaning half sitting on the table, curiously watching you. 

Morgan turns around to look at the door behind you, making sure the coast is clear before he says, “Kid. Be real with me for a sec… are you blind?” That was not the question you were expecting. 

You must have looked so lost because he continues, “Hotch cares for you. Deeply. And not in the same way he does for us. You’ve gotta have felt that, kid.” Funny, you are starting to feel like a kid– the only thing missing are his hands on your shoulders to complete that huddle pep talk experience. 

“That’s just not–” you try to start. But Reid swiftly raises his hand, signing you to stop–

“Did you know that every morning Hotch makes sure all the pens and mug handles on your desk are pointing to the right– the way you need it to be– in case the night janitors move any out of place?”

“Or that he never really ate lunch in the office before but started bringing sandwiches and other food he could microwave, while timing his lunches with yours presumably so he could strike up a conversation with you during break?” 

“Or do you remember that one time the AC in the bullpen broke and we were all sweating badly, and I said the heat was making me too thirsty then he disappeared into his office and came back with a bottle of water and an orange juice box only to give it to you?” 

Morgan lets out a loud laugh at that one while Reid pouts playfully, “I mean I was genuinely dying then.” 

Not without his own input, Morgan smiles softly at you with a raised brow “Did you know he personally restocks your favorite hot chocolate in the pantry and on the jet? Including the marshmallows.” 

You breathe in deeply, the revelations sounding too good to be true but winding nonetheless. You crack a small joke, trying to play it off “And I thought the bureau was just feeling really generous.” 

The two, who have grown to be such brothers, give you the exact same look of Really? 

As Reid rounds the table to go back and stand by the board, Morgan catches your attention and holds your eye, “Look, there’s so much more, kid. But they all point to the same thing.” He says this as softly as possible, as if to not scare you away. 

You let out a soft, breathy laugh. Shaking your head, “That just can’t be true.” 

With all three of your backs to the door, you don’t notice Rossi nearing. You just suddenly hear his voice from behind, rounding the table and settling the coffee cups in front of all of you, “Coffee, anyone?” 

As if trapped in the null of the previous conversation, you’re still looking at Morgan as you lean back in your chair, slumping further to seek non-existent cover. Reid, who is now back in his own world with the board, is handed a cup by Rossi, who didn’t even turn to look- only stretching out an arm to receive it and mumbling a distracted “Thanks.”  

Rossi, who is simply too smart for his own good, impressively senses something hanging in the air, nonchalantly asking about the tailend of a conversation he was not supposed to hear, “So… what can’t be true?” 

Back to lounging excessively on a chair that is a tad too tiny for him, with legs outstretched and feet on the corner on the table– Morgan spouts, “That she’s Hotch’s girl, and has no reason to be jealous of Seaver– who by the way needs the HR orientation more than Penelope and I.” 

-

Now– all of your backs are to the door except Rossi’s. Not one of you tried to move due to fatigue, let alone look.

Unbeknownst to you, Morgan, and Reid, on the way back to the precinct from the hotel, Hotch had the genius thought of picking up Rossi so the latter wouldn’t have to walk a block with trays of coffee on hand.

Hotch and Rossi arrived together. And as Rossi went around the table to give you your cups of coffee, Hotch stayed behind– leaning on the doorframe with arms crossed, watching you and the team.

Imagine his surprise, hearing what Morgan just said. His heart skipped a beat, his stomach dropped. His entire being froze entirely.. What? Jealous? 

In his mind, he had two choices: Act like he didn’t hear it and save you from embarrassment or use it to his advantage and make his intentions clear..ish. 

-

You gasp loudly at his bluntness– and in front of Rossi! Straightening in your chair and pointing an accusatory finger at Morgan, “You little– I am NOT jealous! and I am NOT Hotch’s–” 

Cut off by someone loudly clearing their throat from behind all of you, you all freeze, including Reid who hasn’t been actively paying attention until now. 

The hair on your neck stands up as you hear the nearing footsteps, already envisioning digging your own grave in your head when finally, Hotch is standing right beside you. 

You’re all still pretty frozen, save from the slow movement which is your eyes slowly lifting its gaze to the man in question until they meet his hazel orbs. He holds your stare as he leans on the desk, arms straining in his shirt– 

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Rossi fighting a smile, and just as you’re about to mentally curse him in your head, you’re broken out of your thoughts by a deep voice, 

Your blood ran cold. You didn’t answer. You didn’t move.

Hotch stood abruptly. “You’re done.”

“No,” the unsub said, eyes still locked on you, smile growing. “I’m just getting started.”

Hotch was already at the door, signaling for the guard again. You stood slower, trying not to let the nausea show.

“You’ll speak to me,” Hotch said, voice a dark, contained growl. “Not her.”

“She’s the one I’ve been thinking about.”

“She’s not the one you're confessing to.”

“She’s the reason I started.” The unsub grinned, wild and victorious. “And she’ll be the reason I finish.”

You stood so fast your chair scraped backward, screeching against the floor.

Hotch turned to you instantly. “Agent,” he said quietly—his voice gentle now, only for you. “Step out.”

“I’m fine,” you said too quickly, jaw clenched.

His eyes searched yours for a beat longer than necessary, then nodded once.

The unsub chuckled. “Cute. Like a guard dog. I bet you like it when he barks for you.”

Hotch moved before you could blink. He was on the table, both hands planted, leaning in so close his voice was practically in the unsub’s ear.

“Say one more word about her,” Hotch growled, “and I will make sure your sentence includes solitary until you rot.”

Hotch’s hands were still flat on the table, his broad shoulders locked in tension. He didn’t move until he was sure the man’s mouth would stay shut.

“Guard. Get him out,” Hotch snapped, low and lethal.

The unsub laughed as the door slammed open behind you again. “You’ll think about me, sweetheart,” he called as they dragged him backward, wrists still bleeding from the restraints. “When you’re alone. When he’s not around to protect you.”

“Let’s go,” Hotch muttered under his breath to you, not even glancing back at the unsub again. His hand grazed your lower back as you turned—protective, firm, grounding.

You walked out together in silence, the door slamming shut behind you, drowning out the last of the unsub’s twisted chuckles.

“Hey,” he said gently, his voice lower now, quiet. “You okay?”

You blinked. “Yeah. Just... hate how he looked at me. Like he knew me.”

Hotch nodded slowly. “He’s been watching. We found photos in his storage unit. Some were taken last week.”

Your stomach dropped. “Of me?”

Hotch hesitated. “Of your apartment. Your car. A few of you in your running gear.”

You swallowed hard.“I had no idea—”

“That’s not your fault,” Hotch said firmly. “He’s good at hiding. That ends now. I should’ve gone in alone.”

You turned toward him, surprised. “Why?”

His jaw tightened again. That same damn muscle. “Because I saw the look in his eyes when you walked in,” he said, stepping closer, voice low. “And I knew exactly what he was thinking.”

Your heartbeat stuttered. He paused, then stepped just a little closer.

“You shouldn’t go home alone tonight.”

That surprised you. “I wasn’t planning to.”

His brows lifted just a fraction. “Good. Because I wasn’t going to let you.” That made your heart skip. Not because of what he said—but how he said it.

“I’ll stay at a hotel,” you murmured.

He paused, then offered, “You could stay at mine.”

You looked up. His expression didn’t change. He wasn’t playing. Wasn’t flirting. It wasn’t about that. It was about keeping you safe.

“…Okay,” you whispered. “Yeah. That’s probably best.”

His shoulders eased slightly.

And it wasn’t long before you found yourself standing in the hallway just outside his bedroom door, suddenly uncertain.

Hotch stepped behind you again. Close. Just like in the interrogation room.

“I’ll take the couch,” he said, already reading your hesitation.

“No,” you said quickly. “You don’t have to.”

He paused. “I want you to feel safe.”

“I do,” you whispered, looking back at him. “With you.”

“I’ll get you a shirt,” he murmured.

A moment later he returned and handed you a long, soft cotton t-shirt—gray, plain, worn thin at the collar.

You took it with a grateful smile and went into the bathroom.

When you came out, you were swimming in the shirt. It hit halfway down your thighs. Your legs were bare. You had never felt so exposed in something so modest.

Hotch was already lying down, propped on one elbow, the comforter pulled up around his waist. He wore a black t-shirt and soft plaid pajama pants. You had never, in your life, seen him so…human.

You climbed in slowly, tentatively. His side of the bed was warm. Yours felt cold.

It was awkward. Weirdly awkward.

And that’s when it hit you. A sudden, absurd giggle bubbled up in your throat.

Hotch turned toward you, brow furrowed. “What?”

You bit your lip, grinning. “Nothing. It’s just—” You gestured vaguely at him. “Seeing you like this—in actual pajamas—? It’s adorable. I’m sorry, I can’t unsee it.”

He stared for a beat, expression unreadable. You swallowed hard, worried you might’ve crossed a line.

But then—then—he smiled. That small, rare curve of his lips that made you feel like the only person in the world.

“Oh?” he murmured, turning fully toward you. “You think I’m cute?”

“Don’t twist my words,” you warned, still smiling. “You’re intimidating as hell at work.”

“But not now?”

You looked at him—really looked—and swallowed hard. “No. Now you’re…”

Your voice faltered.

Hotch’s hand lifted slowly, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear.

“Safe,” you whispered. “You feel safe.”

His fingers didn’t move from your face. “I want you to feel safe,” he said softly. “Always.”

You exhaled shakily. “Even now?”

“Especially now.”

He curled it around your waist and slowly, slowly pulled you into him.

His body was so warm—heat radiating off him like a furnace—and you exhaled the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. His chest was solid, his hold careful. Too careful. Like he didn’t trust himself.

You nestled into him, your nose at his shoulder, cheek resting against the soft cotton of his t-shirt. You smiled against him.

“You’re tense,” you whispered.

“I’m not,” he said immediately.

“You are, Hotch,” you laughed. “Your arm feels like it’s trying to protect the nuclear codes.”

His chest rumbled faintly in amusement. “I’m trying to be respectful.”

You smiled wider. “You’re letting me cuddle you. That’s pretty respectful.”

He didn’t argue that.

You tilted your head up slightly, looking toward the sharp line of his jaw in the dark.

“I’m not gonna combust if you relax.”

He didn’t say anything, but the arm around your waist loosened just a little. He exhaled—and the tension in his chest eased. Just enough to make you feel it. You took your chance.

You reached up slowly and ran your fingers through his hair.

At first, he flinched—just a twitch, barely noticeable. But then he stilled, letting you continue.

Your hand moved lower, smoothing down over his chest, then his shoulder, until it found one of his hands resting on his stomach.

His huge hand.

You picked it up gently, letting his fingers relax in your grip.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice low.

You cradled his palm and gently cracked one of his knuckles.

He winced. “That hurts.”

You looked up, mock-pouting. “You’re supposed to say thank you.”

He chuckled. “For joint pain?”

“For your nerves. You’re all… balled up like a stress knot.” You moved to his other hand, gently stretching each finger. “And this one? This one’s the button-pushing hand. I bet it’s tired from dealing with assholes all day.”

He huffed out something that might’ve been a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

You tilted your head and reached up to brush your fingers through his hair—soft, thicker than it looked at work, with the faintest wave. He looked down at you, stilling completely under your touch.

“You’re really bad at relaxing,” you whispered.

“And you’re really good at tempting me,” he said softly.

You leaned in again, closer this time, your legs brushing. His arm came around you slowly, tentatively, drawing you toward his chest until your head rested just below his collarbone.

You exhaled shakily. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice low and quiet. “Just… not used to this.”

You tilted your head to look at him. His expression was unreadable in the low light, but his jaw was tight.

“Your hands,” you said quietly, lifting one of them between your palms. “They're so big.”

His brows lifted slightly. “That a problem?”

“No,” you said, voice dipping. “It’s hot.”

He huffed a soft laugh, but his thumb rubbed lightly across your side. You turned his palm over and started gently cracking his knuckles again. One by one. Each pop was soft, and you smiled as you moved to the next.

But when you got to his index finger and pressed just enough—

“Mm—hey,” he winced, pulling his hand back slightly. “That actually hurts.”

You blinked. “Seriously? You wrestle unsubs to the ground, but you can’t handle me cracking your knuckles?”

“I don’t wrestle people who sneak up and break my fingers.”

You laughed again, more relaxed now, and leaned in close enough that your nose brushed his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you said with a smirk. “You’re so delicate, Hotch.”

He turned to look at you, and this time, he was smiling. Really smiling. Barely-there dimple, soft eyes, warmth radiating from him.

“You think I’m delicate?”

“I think you’re secretly a marshmallow,” you whispered, inching even closer. “All this serious FBI Alpha Male stuff is just an act.”

He didn’t answer. Just looked at you, gaze dark and quiet and far too intense for the softness of the moment.

You swallowed. Suddenly very aware of how close you were. Of his hand on your waist. Of the warmth between you. Of the ridiculous oversize shirt that was definitely not a barrier. Not now.

“Is that what you really think?” he asked, voice so low it made your skin prickle.

You tilted your chin up slightly, your lips dangerously close to the line of his jaw. “Maybe.” Your hands in his hair, soft and uncertain, pulling him in closer. Your lips brushed again, then again—until it turned into something real. Something deep and needy and so full of everything you hadn’t said.

Hotch shifted, rolling you gently onto your back, his body hovering over yours, held up on one arm.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured against your cheek.

“I’m nervous,” you admitted, voice cracking just slightly. He didn’t answer. Just looked at you, gaze dark and quiet and far too intense for the softness of the moment.

Your heart stuttered. Your legs shifted, thighs tightening as you accidentally ground your hips slightly against his under the covers.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, grip tightening.

You surged up into him, kissing him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he slid a thigh between yours. His weight was comforting, grounding—and yet, your whole body felt like it was floating.

He pulled back slightly, lips brushing yours. “Tell me if you want to stop.”

“I won’t,” you whispered. “Not with you.”

Hotch’s mouth found your neck—slow and reverent, dragging warmth down your throat as he settled between your legs. His hands roamed cautiously under the hem of your borrowed shirt, palms warm and rough on your bare skin.

You moaned softly as his thigh slid between yours, pressing.

“You have no idea what it did to me,” he whispered into your skin, “hearing him talk about you like that.”

“I hated it,” you breathed. “I wanted to claw his face off.”

Hotch laughed. “That’s my girl.”

The words hit you straight in the core—made you shiver.

His hands moved beneath the shirt he’d given you, sliding along your bare thighs, up to your hips. When he realized you weren’t wearing anything underneath, his breath hitched.

“Jesus,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to look down at you. “You’re not wearing—?”

You flushed. “Didn’t feel like it.”

In one fluid motion, he sat up, his arms wrapping around you, mouth claiming yours again—hotter, hungrier now. You let him take the lead, let him slide your shirt up over your head and toss it somewhere off the bed. The way he looked at you then—like reverence, like worship—made heat pool between your legs.

“You’re beautiful,” he rasped, fingertips ghosting down your spine. “So fucking beautiful.”

You gasped when he leaned forward, taking one of your nipples into his mouth, tongue flicking over it before he sucked—slow, teasing, patient. One hand moved between your legs, fingers brushing you just enough to feel the slickness there.

He tugged his waistband down just enough to free himself, and you gasped at the sight of him—thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip.

You reached down and gripped him, guiding his head to your entrance. The first brush made both of you groan.

The second his tip slid through your slick. “Fuck, sweetheart—look at you.” Hands tightening around your hips.

You lowered yourself slowly, inch by inch, your thighs trembling at the stretch.

“That’s it,” Hotch growled. “Take your time. I’ve got you.”

Once he was fully inside, you sat still for a second, breathing shallowly.

He brushed your cheek again. “Look at me.”

You did—and that’s when it changed. Because there wasn’t just lust in his eyes. There was something far deeper. Something that told you this wasn’t just sex for him.

You whimpered and leaned forward, hands braced on his chest, and the shift in angle made stars flash behind your eyes. He pushed up into you now, shallow, controlled thrusts that made your clit drag just right with every motion.

Your thighs trembled as you moved, your breaths turning into gasps. He sat up slightly, arms wrapping around your back, and you clung to him as you moved together.

“I’ve never…” you breathed against his neck. “I’ve never felt like this with anyone.”

He stilled inside you, holding you tight. “That’s because they didn’t deserve you.”

You clutched at his shirt. “But you do?”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze dark and reverent.

“I’m going to earn you,” he said. “Every day.”

Your heart cracked open. You kissed him with everything you had, hips rolling down onto him again, chasing that high, and he let you ride it out, guiding you with soft praise and firm hands and that warmth—God, that unshakable, grounding warmth.

And when you came, it was with his arms wrapped tight around you, his voice in your ear, whispering that you were safe.

That you were his.

a/n: raw.

eager to draw it to a close, he cleared his throat, loudly. it regained both your attention, and cut your small reunion short.

"huh, a bau profiler," parker said as he sobered down, his smile lingering as he gazed at you. "who would've thought."

jj inserted herself into the conversation again, intrigued yet perplexed. "so the two of you were close, then."

aaron refrained - with a large amount of effort - from physically rolling his eyes. clearly. he opened a file, solely to maintain his composure.

"oh, absolutely," parker answered for the both of you, while also throwing an arm around your shoulder. "there was one time we-"

"fascinating." aaron deadpanned as he interrupted, closing the file in hand, rather aggressively as it produced a quaint slap. his eyes rose and studied the agent's arm placement for a few, obvious seconds, his lips drawing into a tight line before continuing. "need i remind you we currently have three victims and a killer who is unraveling as we speak. it's in our best interest to work diligently and remain focused."

parker nodded, his cheeks producing a faint blush at the injunction.

"the recent victim's family still requires an interview. you can start there."

"the two of us can go," parker said, gesturing to yourself, "it's quite a drive away, could give us the opportunity to catch up."

"that won't be necessary, jj can accompany you." aaron stated firmly, not even looking at him, nose buried in his file again.

an amused yet disdained expression formed on jj's face, nodding slowly in confirmation. "that i can."

parker opened his mouth, probably to protest, but aaron had already turned his back. he surrendered and headed out, jj following.

"aaron." you transferred your weight onto your hand as you leaned on the edge of the table, raising an eyebrow.

"what?" he looked at you. despite his query, his eyes were a telltale - he knew what he was doing.

you arched your eyebrow more, giving him a look.

he sighed, shutting the file. "i didn't like the way he was looking at you."

"he wasn't-"

aaron gave you a pointed look this time, prompting your words to trail off. he tore his eyes away from you again, allowing his next inquiry to exit his mouth more easily, "so, were the two of you...?"

"oh, no." you began to shake your head, but halfway, you hesitated. "well... almost."

his lips fell into an uneasy line, a pained expression painted on his face as his gaze shot back to yours. "almost?"

"we went on a few dates, kissed and..." you released a breath, choosing to keep the summary short, but the brooding envy in aaron's eyes deepened. "but nothing ever came from it. we were better off as friends."

after a moment though, you added, on the quieter side, "and besides, i transferred before anything really solidified."

the lines in aaron's face only grew, biting down briefly on his bottom lip.

"but it's in the past." you quickly reassured, bringing your hands to his cheeks for a moment to relieve the tension. "i won't deny that we were close, but you know how partnerships work. i depended on him, him on me, and the majority of our time was spent together. it caused a lot of emotions, all of which, are gone. i haven't even spoken to him since, seriously."

aaron wanted to counter, does parker know that? but from the earnest expression on your face, and loving look in your eyes, he withheld from doing so.

the bitterness on his face still didn't falter, but "okay. that's fine."

you still weren't convinced. "are you sure?"

"yeah. you're allowed to have a history, but that doesn't mean i need to be optimistic about working with him." he said as he exhaled a breath. he meant it, fully secure and confident in your relationship. he simply detested the idea of another yearning for you, especially one you had a past with, and one who looked quite like him - a potential competitive force.

you were his.

"of course," you nodded, with full understanding. "if the roles were reversed, i know i'd feel the same."

"and as long as he doesn't try anything..."

you laughed, your fingers playing with and then smoothing out the lapels of his suit jacket - positioning them in perfect place just as they belonged. "he won't. trust me, he's not like that."

aaron nodded, his eyes softening as he gazed down at you. if it weren't for the current setting, he would've brought his lips to yours.

"i have you." you offered him a loving, genuine smile, the affirmation to his just-previous thought calming his heart rate further. "i have everything i could ever want."

-

despite aaron being a bit (very) high-strung, and keeping a close eye on parker, he kept his word - he remained civil. naturally, he still was passive aggressive, short, and didn't dare smile while interacting with him.

the team noticed the 'chemistry' too. you knew they were whispering about it; they had gazed questionably between the two of you upon their arrival at the precinct, and through the substance of the case - the naturalness, the easy meshing, bouncing ideas off each other. but you had worked with parker for years - you knew how he worked, and likewise. it was like riding a bike, old habits resurfacing.

they also noticed the familiar characteristics to aaron (morgan of course teased you about it, you simply waved him off). and even penelope all the way back home asked about it, "so this guy, what's the story there?"

but despite the at-times, annoying attention - the case proceeded and resolved easily. within a few days, it was time to return home.

as the team settled other matters - exit reports, paperwork, etc. - you found yourself with parker, packing up and clearing out the conference room.

the two of you were alone for the first time all week, and you could sense it in the silence - a pending question. it was a matter of time before it was brought to focus.

"what do you think would've happened, if we would've given it a shot?"

you froze, facing him. "what?"

"you and i." his eyes searched yours, creating a sense of deja-vu. it was familiar, having spent so much time with him and once it had sent shivers throughout your body. but as strong as they seemingly once were - it wasn't like with aaron. it didn't leave you feeling lightheaded and giddy and as if you could simply burst at the seams.

when you remained silent, he continued.

"we were good together." he stated, insistently. "you can't deny it. good partners, a great team."

"yeah... we were," you agreed, fiddling with some papers as you thought. "but in the field. romantically, no. we couldn't see eye to eye on anything non-work related, don't you remember how much we bickered?"

"that was good for one thing, at least."

you ignored that, firm and conclusive in your answer. "we wouldn't have lasted."

"and he's in the picture now." he chuckled as he crossed his arms, a tinge of irritation present.

"yeah, he is." you hardened your voice - he knew it as your tell to quit it. "like i told you the night before i left. i couldn't stay. there was more for me out there. and after joining the bau, i now know it was in more ways than one. i love the work, although it's tremendously difficult and gruesome at times. i love the family it's given me. and most importantly, i love aaron."

parker nodded silently, rather disappointedly, but understanding nonetheless.

"i love him. he's the one, i'm positively certain he is."

he sighed as shoulders dropped, his words melancholy but supportive. "well, he's good for you. if anything about him being attached to your hip, or giving me the subtle death glare constantly the past few days, has something to say for it."

you laughed gently. "profiling the profilers?"

"oh c'mon, the way he looks at you? anyone can tell."

-

on the jet, you weaved down the aisle, past the team finding their seats, getting comfortable for the ride home. when you reached aaron, you wrapped your arms around his middle.

aaron's lips tipped upwards in a smile, his arms mirroring yours. "what's this for?"

If had happened, his biggest fear: you were never coming home. The only personal effects Aaron received was your wallet and dog tags with your wedding band on it. The flag that the marines handed him was heavy in his arms.

As they left, Aaron dropped his head in his hands and set the things he was handed down carefully on his desk. Before he did anything else, he shut his office blinds and sank into his chair. 

God, he thought, what do I tell Jack? 

— 🧠

It had been about a year since being kidnapped by the cartel your unit was attempting to bring down. One year of sensory deprivation. One year of curling into yourself at night dreaming of waking up with Jack laughing as you swung him around on your arm. One year of thinking about Aaron’s gravely voice whispering a sweet ‘good morning’ right before he kissed your temple. 

“You ready?” One of your longtime mentors/father figures Jethro asked. 

You nod and bit your lip. “Jethro what if he’s moved on from me? What if… he stopped loving me?” You asked, malnourished body shaking from your anxiety. 

The man only scoffed. “Not Aaron Hotchner, y/n. He wears your dog tags, you know. He hasn’t moved on from you, kid.” 

Finally you stepped out of Gibbs’ truck and nodded. You truly hoped Jethro was right. Your fresh uniform was big on your frame- you had lost a lot of weight and muscle after being fed only a meal every two days. 

Stepping into the elevator made you want to cry. The familiar beep of the machine soothed your soul more than you ever thought possible. 

Your stomach did flips as you stepped into the bullpen, hoping and praying that your reunion went well. 

— 🧠

In the year that you’d been gone, Hotch changed. 

He no longer smiled. Ever. The laugh he had with the team alnost every day after meeting you was gone. Aaron had no patience for anything either. 

Emily recalled one month anniversary of your deathdate. Hotch’s eyes were the reddest they had ever been and he genuinely looked like he had just been stabbed in the gut. That day, he had yelled twice at the two cops that had continued to bicker over evidence. And once at Rossi. 

The only reason Rossi didn’t say anything in response to Aaron’s anger was because he knew exactly where Aaron’s mind was: with you and your apparent grave on the other side of the world. 

But she watched your boots hit the ground, hair pulled back into the bun you had taught her all those years ago when you and Hotch first started dating. Emily watched you stand nervously in your spot, eyes scared. 

Emily never remembered seeing you scared. 

Your lip quivered as you made eye contact with her. 

No one else had seen you yet, so Emily sprinted over to you and let you sink into her embrace. 

“Aaron?” You asked, voice hoarse.

Emily nodded, vision blurred. “Go see him, y/n. He’s- none of us… we thought…” Her voice cracked and wavered. 

“I love you, Em,” you said, slipping out of her grasp again. But this time, Emily knew you were alive.

The walk up the stairs made your heart race. 

You brought your hand up to the door and knocked. Below, you could already hear Emily talking to the team. You heard your name, some gasps, and then silence.

“Come in,” Hotch called gruffly from the other side of the door.

You twisted the door handle and pushed. And then you stepped into the room. 

“Can I help you?” Your husband asked without looking up. His head was bent and he slouched, something he always nagged on you to make sure you never did. How far did he fall in one year?

“I wanted to see my husband,” you say, voice shaky. “I heard he was here.”

Aaron shot up from his chair, seat flying backwards. His eyes. Oh, his eyes.

“Y-y/n?” He asked. His hair was a mess; it looked like all he had done lately was worriedly run a hand through it. Your heart ached for the man in front of you.

You stepped forward. “Hi, angel,” you said, taking another step forward. 

“You died, y/n. I- we all… Jack and I-“ Aaron stuttered, tears falling from his cheeks as he watched the love of his life stand in uniform, an arms length away.

“I missed you. So much,” you say, crying now.

Aaron strode over to you and hugged you, letting his body fall slowly to the floor as you cried in his arms. “Oh my love,” Aaron cried, hiding his face into the crooke of your neck. 

"you ready...?" his voice trailed off as his eyes scanned the contents of your desk, littered with cough drop wrappers and a few scrunched up tissues.

you did your best to block the scraps from his view - leaning forward, discreetly swiping them off side towards the container holding your pens - almost letting a cough escape as you opened your mouth. "y-yeah-"

"what are those?"

"the action reports for-"

"no, not that." aaron reached forward and plucked a wrapper off your desk, holding it up between his finger pads. his lips formed into a pout, "sweetheart, are you not feeling well?"

"i'm feeling perfectly fine."

due to the wheels on your chair, aaron was easily able to maneuver you back, exposing your tissue-filled bin. "then what's this?"

"allergies?" you offered, in a hopeful tone - maybe he'd buy that?

but naturally, your husband knew better, "why didn't you tell me you felt sick?"

"i'm not sick, jus' a cold." you swiveled your chair around, peering up at him.

the back of aaron's hand found your forehead, the scowl on his face deepening at his findings. "i don't think so. you're running a temperature, and now that i have a better look at you, you're rather flushed as well."

"flushed or not, we have a meeting-"

"no, we have a meeting." aaron responded, referring to himself and the others, "you're going right up to my office and laying down."

you gazed at him exasperatedly, playing up that look in your eyes, the one that was nearly impossible for him to say no to. "aaron-"

"nope, i’m not falling for it this time," he helped you to your feet, his hand supporting the far side of your hip as you wobbled vaguely. his eyes darted to the right, taking quick notice of someone walking by, "anderson, would you mind grabbing a water bottle and bringing it to my office?"

"so much for vitamin c, huh?" derek chimed in from his desk, his playful smile also on the sympathetic side.

you rolled your eyes, but allowed aaron to guide you up the few stairs into his office, gratefully.

he insisted you lay down on the couch (and not get up for the life of you), he insisted you keep the lights off, he insisted you use his suit jacket as a makeshift blanket.

Master list:

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: You are an FBI agent with a past and you were about to enter the BAU.

Trigger warning: BAU stuff like killing, violence, assault, mention of rape and suicide. I tried not to get too graphic with the description

Hotch, Rossi, JJ and Reid arrived at the station. Morgan was still monitoring the search for the unsub. JJ excuse her self and went to the rest room while Rossi was asking for an update. The unsub was not located yet. JJ comes back looking around, alittle bit worried.

"Where is [Y/N]?" She asked when she rejoined the group.

"She was just getting her phone at the car. I asked a officer to accompany her.  Hey!" Morgan spotted the officer that accompanied her " Where is agent [Y/N]?"

The officer was puzzled and started to look around. "I thought she comes back already."

"But you did accompany her outside." Morgan asked.

"No, she said she can handle it and that I should comeback inside." The police said. Morgan face went pale. Hotch immediately run outside, followed by the rest of the team. JJ trying to call her cell

"Its directing to voicemail." JJ said.

At the parking lot they saw the SUV. The door was still open on the passenger seat. Hotch saw blood on the ground and your cellphone, smashed. He opened the passenger door and the keys was on the passenger seat.

"I'm sorry, Hotch, I should have stayed with her." Morgan said.

"Did the unsub see her face?" Hotch said.

"Yeah, I think so. She was able to corner him but the unsub slip away." Morgan said.

"He must have targeted and followed her here. He knows she is FBI and waited for the opportunity." Hotch said under his breathe. "Morgan, JJ join the search team near the unsub's house. Reid, you will come with me to join the other group patrolling the area. Rossi, stay here and monitor the situation. Please call Garcia. asked her if she has anything with Michael." Hotch instruct everyone. They all run to the SUV and joined the search party.

Rossi call Garcia. "Garcia, can you please check any property under Michael Tate's name?" Rossi asked her while returning back to the station.

"There is none sir," Garcia said.

He ran his hand in his head because of frustration. "How about a place he most frequently go that was private." Garcia typed again.

"I checked all of his transaction but there is no place like that sir." She said. Sad that she cannot help.

"Damn, how can we find this guy!" Rossi said in frustration,

"Sir, is everything alright."

"No Garcia, [Y/N] was kidnapped by the unsub." Rossi exclaimed.

"Oh" Garcia mumbled. Rossi heard that she was typing on her keyboard. "I found her sir."

"What? How?" Rossi asked. There was shocked in his voice but he was also impressed.

"Before you flew to las vegas, Agent [Y/N] asked me to activate a tracking device on her necklace. I sent you all the coordinates." Penelope said.

Rossi were dumbfounded. How did she know that she will need it.

He put everyone on conference call. "Garcia sent the coordinates. [Y/N] was there."

"How did you know that?" Morgan asked

"Garcia did. Apparently, she asked garcia to enable a tracking device on her necklace." Rossi answered.

"What?" Morgan said.

"I am as surprised as you do" Rossi said.

"This address," Reid interrupted. "This is Christine's house." He remember the case file of Christine.

"Thanks Rossi!" Hotch said. They all went to the address while Rossi notified the commander to provide them some backup.

You wake up and saw that you were in some kind of a barn. Your whole body was aching especially your head. You are seated while your hands are tied, raised and was hanging on a chain. You were trying to make sense of your surroundings when the chain suddenly started moving and pulling you up. When you are standing up and slightly elevated from the ground. The unsub emerge from the shadows. He was holding a big chunk of wood. He was approaching you.

"It really baffled me to see you in the forest. I thought you were Christine risen from the dead. Sure you look a little older than the last time I saw her but you are still as beautiful." He said looking you at your face. He was trying to touch your face but you look away immediately. "But I know you are not Christine, no one will ever come close to her." Then he started swinging the wood. It hits your stomach. It hurts than it usually should because of the earlier injury from Andrew. He hit again, this time you are pretty sure that your ribs are broken. You were wincing. But still managed to speak.

"Can you please....stop hitting my stomach. My ribs are already broken." You said panting. "Hit my thigh."

"What?" The unsub said and swing again, You were able to avoid your already broken rib but he hit your lower back and your were afraid that your kidneys might be damaged.

"I told you to hit my thigh because there is no vital organ there." You manage to let out  despite the pain. "I...know that... you dont want to kill me.... Just like how you dont meant to kill Christine."

The unsub was shocked. No one knows what really happened that night.

"YES, I know that Christine did not kill herself. You did! She rejected you and told you that she wanted Andrew." You told him. The memories came back to him and he somehow lost it so you added. "It is Andrew that I choose!"

"He will not like you! He likes girls you wear dress and stilettos!" He shouted at you and then took another swing. Good thing it was low and hit your thigh. Now you understood the reference of the dress. The only thing to do now is to subdue the unsub.

"Michael. Please, understand that even if my love for you is not romantic. You are still the most important person for me." You told him.

"Really?" He asked.

"Yes. You were always there for me and I will be the same to you. Please stop this. Put me down so I can help you too" You said. He looked at you. Sadness in his eyes. He was like that for a second and then he move closer to you . He reached out to your hands, holding the twine binding your hand. He leaned forward and whispered to your ear "You are not Christine." Then he started to swing the wood again. Hitting you on various part of your body. You braced for impact. You were used to torture but this one is different, when you were tortured you know that there are things that they wanted to know so killing you was not an option but for this one, you know he was really trying to kill you. You cannot fight as well since your ribs are broken. You dont have any upper body strength to use your legs. The only thing that you can think of is your team. You hope that garcia has provided them with your coordinates. You were hoping that Hotch would bust in and save you. And then you heard his voice.

"FBI! Lower your weapon!" You open your eyes and saw some figure at the entrance. But you cannot recognize any of them because they were blurry. The beating also stop.   

"Put down your weapon!" Is that Morgan? Then you hear the wood hitting the floor.

You hear foot step approaching but you cannot see who is it because you can't barely open your eyes.

"[Y/N] are you okay?" You can hear Hotch voice. You tried to lift your head and open your eyes to see him but your vision was too blurry.

Hotch tried to untie you but it was too tight. He shouted to Reid to lower the chains so that he can remove your tied hands of the lift. You can feel your body moving down so you tried to flat your feet on the ground. However, your legs was to weak and you almost fell down. Good think Hotch was there. He was able to catch you, holding your waist. He lift your tied hands to remove it on the hook. He asked you if you can walk. Of course you said yes. You even tried to stand up and move your feet but your whole body was weak so Hotch put your tied hand around his neck and lifted you, princess style. He carry you outside, the medic has just arrived and readying the stretcher. You can smell Hotch's sweat and cologne, they were sweet and comforting. You were not aware but you are burying your face on his shoulder like a child finding a comfortable spot on a bed. Hotch did not mind this. He knows you were just trying to be comfortable. When the stretcher was ready, Hotch lay you down. The paramedic started to check your vitals and injury. They put neck brace and some first aid. They check your ribs and you wince.

"Her ribs are broken and there were bruises all over her body." The medic said. "Good thing you arrived in time. If this continue for another minute she might die." The medic said.

"I am fine." You said. Still panting.

"Thats great, but we still need to bring you to the hospital." The medic said. They put me in the ambulance and then they asked Hotch if he will be riding with them. He hesitated for a momenting. Not wanting to leave the team behind. You hear Morgan telling Hotch that they can handle the crime scene. So Hotch finally agrees to join you in the ambulance.

You opened your eyes and saw Hotch. He was talking to the medic. He was so serious, eyes are worried. He really looked like someone with authority. It makes you smile. Both of them notice that you were conscious.

"Are you okay? Anything else thats hurting?" Hotch asked.

"No, just my head and my ribs. I think they were broken. I am asking the unsub not to hit my upper body instead hit my thigh but he is not listening" You said jokingly. Hotch smiled at that. His face somehow lights up and looks younger,

"You are really handsome when you smile." You said and then slowly you slip into the unconsciousness. Hotch eyes widen on this remark, even the paramedic was shocked. He and Hotch look at each other and then Hotch cleared his throat and call your name you are not answering. The paramedic said that it was ok, you are most probably tired. The ambulance arrived at the hospital. You were rushed to the emergency room. The doctor ordered some test like xrays and CT scans for you. They also did some mending on your bruises. Hotch was in the waiting room when the rest of the team arrived. He just mentioned that you are still being tested.

After a few hours the doctor face everyone. "She is going to be alright. She has 2 broken ribs on her right side and bruises on her head and the rest of her body but nothing was critical. We just need to observe her for a few days."

"Can we see her?" Asked Reid.

What was that about?

A knot grew tight in your throat. “Or after? Did I do something to upset you?” You folded your arms over your chest.

“Yes.” He kept his voice low. “You’re unfocused.”

“Hotch—”

This was so unlike him it made your insides twist.

“Coffee’s here,” Emily walked in the room again with Spencer right behind him.

“And donuts,” Reid smiled at you. “Got your favorite.”

You gave one last glance at Hotch and approached the pretty boy with the sweets.

Sometimes you wished you didn’t see Spencer as a brother. He was cute, funny without even trying and so incredibly smart. But he was so not your type.

Hotch was your type. He was also cute, funny without even trying, and incredibly smart—in his own way, which made him your type. But he was also your boss, so maybe he was right. There was no you and him, and there never will be.

The entire day went by slowly until a lead appeared and from there, everything picked up too damn fast that you even forgot who Hotch was for a moment.

Literally.

In one moment you were tracking down the unsub and the next you were lying on the floor with blood running down your face.

“Son of a bitch!” You tried to get up but a big hand kept you in place pinning you back to the floor by your shoulder.

“Don’t move,” someone said.

“Get off me! the unsub– he—”

“Morgan’s after him. Lay down." The man now used both hands to keep you still. "We need a medic over here!”

“Let me do my job.” You tried to stand up again.

"Hey." He cupped the side of your face, trying to get you to look at him. "It's me."

You blinked a few times even though it wasn't blurry and met some furrowed brows and really pretty brown eyes.

"I—" Your mouth hung open.

"What's my name." He didn't ask. He almost ate you with his tone.

You blinked a few more times until everything was clear. Well, shit. You disobeyed his order and ended up where you were. "Hotch."

A sigh left his soul.

The paramedics took over and carried you in a gurney to the ambulance. They took care of your cut and concussion. You answered all their questions without even thinking as your attention was on Hotch only who was keeping an eye on you from afar.

He was pissed, but he wasn't going to reprimand you right there.

Or on the SUV, or back in the hotel.

He decided it was better to stay the night in Seattle and fly back to Quantico in the morning, so now you were on the longest elevator ride to your room with him next to you.

“Okay, what the hell is your problem.” You finally snap at him now that you were all alone in a small space. You were tired and annoyed about the deep cut on your eyebrow. It’ll definitely leave a scar.

“You are my problem.” He kept his chin up. “You’re reckless, too kind, you don’t see the bad in people. It’s dangerous. It’s not the first time you’ve put yourself in this situation because you thought an unsub might change his mind.”

“This is not about today's case,” you challenged him. “You’ve been… mean for days now. I don’t deserve it.”

“You’re right. You don’t.” He said, taking a few steps to stand in front of you.

He was so tall you were afraid you'd shrink into the floor if he kept staring at you like that.

“Then what the hell is your problem?” You asked again.

“You don’t see it, do you?” he took a subtle step.

He smelled good, too. He always did.

“I’m not following.” You arched a brow.

His hand landed on your cheek and caressed it with the back of his curled fingers. "You forgot who I was."

"For like a second," you laughed. Your voice sounded as shaky as your legs were.

"I don't want you to forget who I am. Ever." His fingers went down to your chin and lifted it so you'd look up at him.

"O—okay. I won't"

"Before I kiss you, I need to know one thing." He leaned down, his lips one breath away from yours.

Kiss you?!

"O—okay?"

"Are you and... Reid—"

"No," you cut him off with a smile that he gladly mirrored. "Now kiss me."

"Good." His smile faded into the slowest and most delicate kiss someone has ever given you.

His lips were gentle and soft and his tongue timidly grazed your top lip as one hand cradled the side of your head while the other cupped your neck.

Your heart was drumming loud in your ears and somewhere below the belt, but god, he was an incredible kisser. You weren't sure if you were floating high in the sky or slowly melting into his body.

The doors dinged open, bringing you back to earth.

"Your room or mine?" he broke the kiss, circling your nose with his.

"But you'd look after me? Shower me and stuff?" 

Aaron puts down his mug, smiling at you lovingly. "What sort of question is that? Of course I would. Now do your handstand, honey." 

"Are you kidding?" you ask. 

He looks nice in his pyjamas, new and ironed and the best you could find for him at the grocery store, knowing he'd be coming over and knowing he wouldn't bring anything comfortable with him to change into. You couldn't abide by another night of leaning on him in his slacks and button up shirt while you're in an old college t-shirt and sweatpants. It feels so disproportionate. Better now to get to sit with him in vaguely matching pyjamas, his trousers blue with white stripes, yours white with blue flowers. Better still to perform gymnastics in them and discuss how he'd nurse you back to health in the case of a concussion. 

"What's the worst that could happen?" he asks. 

"I break my neck?" you ask, incredulous.

He raises his eyebrows.

You wave your hand at him and he laughs, pleased to have set a successful trap. You're too nervous to run into the handstand, but walking feels like less than ideal momentum. 

"Don't look," you say eventually. 

"I'd like to look." 

"Don't look, Aaron. I can feel you looking." 

"I actually think you might be able to do it," he says. He sounds carefree, for once. He never sounds this relaxed over the phone, and it takes him a few hours to wind down after work every night, but on the weekends when it's you and him alone, Aaron laughs. He makes stupid jokes, he kisses behind your ears, he lets himself indulge in snacks and TV. And he encourages your bad decisions. "Take it slow, you don't have to impress anyone. Besides me." 

"You think you're very funny," you murmur. 

You finally give in. You bend at the waist and shift your weight onto your hands, and you collapse into a sideways ball before you have the chance to impress. "Woah!" you shout, your arm slapping into your face and your knee burning from carpet friction. 

Aaron starts laughing like crazy, like —you've never heard him make that sound before. You're startled enough by his boyish giggling to forget your embarrassing defeat for a moment, until he slides his hands under your arms to pull you into a sitting position, crooning, "Oh, my girl, that was really pathetic. I can't believe you knew how to do a handstand in the first place if that's what you're working with now." 

"Aaron, what the fuck." Your unhappiness wanes as he kisses you, the curve of his smile cutting your frown. "Pathetic was a bit strong," you mumble into his lips, hand in his t-shirt and pulling him down for another kiss. 

"How have you managed to get me on the floor again?" he asks on his knees, hand to your face, thumb glancing off of the highest point of your cheek affectionately. 

"Don't know. Reckon I can do a rolypoly?" 

"Not if it's anything like your handstand." 

Aaron rubs your arms and stands up, tugging at your hands to encourage you to do the same. You do, but as you stand, you notice something. 

"You won't believe this, handsome," you say, bending down. 

He grabs your waist. "You're not trying again." 

"I'm not!" You stand, holding out the palm of your hand. "Look, it's our missing puzzle piece." 

Aaron frowns at your jigsaw piece, a cream colour that blended in with the floor. "That's not good."

"Why not?" you ask. You and Aaron spent hours sitting around the coffee table doing that jigsaw together, and you'd both been genuinely disappointed to find it incomplete. 

He closes his hand over yours and pulls you in for a soft kiss. "I wrote them a very angry email," he confesses. "It was… unlike me." 

"You didn't." 

"I did," he says, nodding into another kiss, your twin laughter smothered by the other's gentle touch, "I really, really did." 

"You'll have to say sorry." 

"Return the new puzzle, too." 

"Or… we could never tell anyone." 

Tiredness swapped through (y/n)‘s system, forcing her eyes to flutter close. It took her a few seconds to grow calm, letting a yawn claw through her. Within another second she felt Aaron move next to her, shuffling closer to allow (y/n) to rest her head on his shoulder. Even though her tiredness guided her, her mind didn’t stop racing, hyperfocusing on the man sitting next to her.

It had been years since (y/n) had joined the team, following them through the country to chase unsubs. And even though she had stumbled into this circle of colleagues, forming their own family, she still hasn't adapted to being around Aaron Hotchner. He was everything she wasn’t, perhaps that’s what kept her curious, but deep down (y/n) was all too aware of what kept her mind chained to the thought of Aaron. Details that forced her mind to work all through the nights where she desperately needed to catch up on much needed hours of sleep.

……

“Who’ll room with who?” (Y/n) barely paid Aaron’s words any of her attention, eyes focused on her phone. Since she had used the past hours to sleep, she was now reading through their files, trying to remember all the little details they needed to keep on building the profile.

“(Y/n)?” This time Aaron managed to grasp her attention, wide eyes flickering up from the screen of her phone. “You’re with me.”

It took her a second to jump into action, choking on the surprised breath of air leaving her. Her body followed Aaron through the small hotel, into the room they’d share for the upcoming days. Neither of them said a word as they took in the double bed, well neither of them said a word to the other that is.

Wrapped in a blanket of silence the both of them unpacked their bags, cherishing the calmness this room offered till the moment where they’d leave to drive towards the police station. Her fingers tingled, just like the rest of her body, desperately wanting to reach out to Aaron, wanting to feel his hands pressed against her skin - mere dreams that could probably get her fired if she’d ever speak them out loud.

She felt his eyes on her, following (y/n) around like a gun trying to focus on a target, preparing to pull the trigger. Would he speak up? Would he ask her for her opinion on something? But Aaron kept quiet, unlike her spiraling thoughts, focusing on the scent of his ever present cologne clinging to her like a memory of a day she wouldn’t ever want to forget.

As if she could ever forget about Aaron Hotchner.

……

“What was that?” Aaron’s voice boomed through the black SUV, words shaking through (y/n)‘s tense body. She was heavily breathing, just like he was, riled up by the sudden wave of anger leaving him to try and drown her.

“What was what, Aaron?” His eyes momentarily flickered from the road ahead to meet hers. Perhaps he hadn’t expected (y/n) to match the angry tone of his voice. Perhaps he had thought that she’d instantly understand what he was hinting at. But she wasn’t, not understanding what he wanted from her at all.

“Flirting while we’re on the clock? Do you realise how unprofessional you made yourself appear?” A humourless laugh left (y/n), eyes zoning in on his handsome features. Every movement, every microexpression of his told her everything she needed to know. No matter how long Aaron has been in their business, he still didn’t manage to hide the jealousy thumping through his veins, unable to think straight.

“Are you kidding me right now? Please tell me you’re fucking kidding me right now, Aaron.” With his foot finding the break all too quickly the SUV screeched to a halt. Both were heavily breathing, eyes connected for a few more seconds till he undid his seatbelt, stepping out of the car. She followed him into the hotel, teeth buried in her lower lip to try and keep quiet, at least till they’d find some kind of shelter in their shared room.

“I didn’t expect this kind of behaviour from you; not from you (y/n). Do you think this is some kind of joke? Do you think we have enough time on our hands to just-“ no further word managed to leave the tall man, forced to shut up by (y/n)’s lips finding his. She was seething, every inch of her body burned in anger, but the desperate need to prove to Aaron that she had no interest in the officer who had been a tad bit too friendly with her kept her moving.

Aaron instantly replied to the kiss, hands finding her sides as her fingers worked on shuffling his suit jacket down his muscular arms. Their hearts were racing, lungs burning due to the lack of air filling them, lips already somewhat swollen.

“As a profiler you should have noticed my feelings for you by now, Aaron. I didn’t speak more than three words with the officer, I promise.” The confession was whispered against his lips, not daring to part, anxiously waiting for his reply. Aaron’s fingers found her chin, forcing (y/n) to look at him once again. No longer was his expression filled with anger and hatred, growing softer with every passing second.

“Well, it seems like we both don’t know how to do our job. I was jealous of him, I didn’t like the way he looked at you. But you still need to be punished, you need to learn your lesson, sweetheart.” With a gasp rippling through her, (y/n) was pushed onto the mattress, staring up at Aaron with wide eyes. She was forced to watch the man undo the buttons of his sleeves, rolling the fabric of his black dress shirt up to his elbows. “Take off your clothes for me.”

(Y/n) instantly snapped into motion, not breaking eye contact once. One by one her clothing pieces fell to the ground, exposing her goosebump covered body to his hungry eyes. Aaron settled between her thighs, eyes breaking contact with hers to look at her cunt, groaning at the sight of her arousal glistening on her skin.

“You’re soaked, baby. What a pathetic slut you are, I haven’t even touched you yet, but you’re already dripping. Tell me, do you enjoy seeing me angry?” A gasp left (y/n) as Aaron brushed his fingers through her slit, spreading her arousal on her pulsing bundle of nerves, slowly moving in circular motion. “Speak up when you’re told to.”

“Fuck, yes I do.” She hated how her voice trembled, making her appear even more desperate, but (y/n) didn’t find the time to spend her trembling voice any of her attention, head thrown back as Aaron’s mouth found her heat, rough tongue brushing over her folds. No words were spoken as he wrapped one arm around her quivering thigh, fingers teasing her entrance.

He was eating her out like a starving man, needing the taste of her to survive like air flushing through his lungs, the elixir of life humankind has been searching for ever since the start of their timeline.

“What do you think, can you take another?” Aaron’s glistening eyes met her dilated pupils, lust blown, almost fully black. She needed a moment to understand what he was talking about, choking on her moan as Aaron curled his fingers against her swollen spot. “Of course you can, a whore like you likes to be stretched, don’t you?”

(Y/n) couldn’t reply, no longer able to produce any sounds but her moans. She was trembling, shaking, unable to keep her sounds bottled in. Aaron fucked her fast with his fingers, adding yet another as he sucked on her clit, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. He didn’t give her any time to be embarrassed about how quickly her orgasm was approaching, not wanting to hold it back since she had been dreaming about this happening ever since she had met him.

“Aaron, I - oh god,” her breaths grew shallow, hands grasping the blanket she was laying on, trying to claw her fingernails into the fabric as if she was scared that something could try to pull her away from this very moment. He added more speed to the movements of his fingers, tongue brushing against her clit over and over again, till she came with a moan of his name.

(Y/n)’s orgasm rocked through her, sputtering through her veins like a bullet piercing through different layers of wood. One by one. She kept falling, not able to control her body as the intense feeling kept holding her hostage. Aaron looked at her with awe laced in his gaze, smirking against her folds as he slowly rose to his feet.

His cock left a prominent bulge, pressing against the fabric of his dark trousers, begging to be freed. Slowly Aaron pulled his clothes off his body, taking his time, teasingly, building up the tension once again.

(Y/n) was still panting, and yet she couldn’t wait to feel him buried inside of her, fucking her into the mattress like a man on a mission. And on a mission Aaron Hotchner certainly was. He turned from her to fish a condom out of his wallet, connecting their eyes once again as he moved closer, rolling it down his twitching cock before positioning himself against her entrance.

“You can still tell me to stop, I won’t be mad, promise.” His whispers left her smiling, making (y/n) shake her head as she wrapped her arm around his neck, pulling Aaron in for a kiss. Her moans clawed through her, dampened by his kiss as he pushed into her.

Both needed a few seconds to adjust, walls fluttering around him, before Aaron began to build a slow rhythm. Their moans echoed through the room, followed by the sounds of their bodies meeting every few seconds. Both knew that what they were doing was awfully wrong, going against every law they were supposed to follow, and yet neither of them could care about their hierarchy at this very moment, trusting one another fully.

“You’re so fucking tight, fuck, I’ve been waiting to bury myself inside your cunt for years, such a slut for other men and yet you kept away from me for so long. I wish I didn’t love you like this, but I do, fuck.” An almost desperate whine left (y/n), trying to swallow down another moan as her mind began to realize what Aaron just confessed. It took her another deep breath before she could speak up, eyes struggling to stay open.

“I love you too, so much, Aaron.” Another kiss was shared, his thrusts grew rougher, faster, set on properly claiming her. Sobs left (y/n), desperate sounds that only spurred him on to push her towards the edge once again.

Their bodies were intertwined, just like their souls, forming a strong bond that would only grow within time, outliving any fights, any struggles they’d eventually face. Made to love, made to fight, made to grow old together.

„I wanted to kiss you at the station, wanted to claim you as mine right there, in front of his eyes.“ Her walls clenched around his cock, drawing a sharp breath from Aaron. His hand found her throat, pinning her down as he buried himself even deeper inside her tightness. “You would have liked that, am I right, sweetheart?”

“Mhm, yes, I’m yours, only yours.” She was about to let go, struggling to keep on breathing as Aaron tightened his grip on her throat. Her eyes were forced open, staring into his dark pupils, reminding her of the gate of darkness she’d eventually have to cross, finding comfort in the thick blanket he wrapped around her. Once again she called his name, letting go as he fucked her through her high.

A string of curses left Aaron, forcing him to follow her moments later, releasing himself into the condom. Both were panting, chests heavily rising and falling, sharing a kiss or two before he slowly parted from her.

No words were spoken as Aaron took care of her, carefully cleaning her, taking his time with (y/n). Moments later he found himself lying next to her, smiling down on her. Once again her tiredness stuck to her features, forcing a yaw out of her as she kissed his naked chest.

Penelope had shown him quite a bit of Twitter after several BAU cases started trending while the cases were actively going on, even somehow agreeing to let her set him up an account. Aaron didn’t really want an account, but it was almost impossible to say no to Penelope Garcia who Aaron genuinely liked a lot.

Facebook was another one that he had. He didn’t even have a profile picture and only harbored a small amount of friends – entirely family. The site was strictly used to keep up with Jessica since she was an avid Facebook user. If he couldn’t get a hold of her through her phone, he would send her a message on Facebook’s messaging platform, Messenger. She typically responded that way.

The last social media account Aaron had was a new one. Or, well, new-ish. It had just been created a little over a month ago. He didn’t want the account, but Penelope wasn’t the one who asked him to get an account that time.

It was you. And saying no to you was even harder than saying no to Penelope.

A group photo was taken at Rossi’s last month during a get-together after finishing a case. Penelope went straight to Instagram to post it, tagging everyone except Aaron who wasn’t shy to say he didn’t have an account. He was the only one – even Rossi had made an account.

“You’re not on Instagram?” You’d asked Aaron only moments after that.

He shook his head. “I don’t really use social media.”

You frowned like you were in deep thought before turning to him again with a smile. “We should change that.”

All it took was a good minute, maybe even less than that, and one of your signature smiles to convince him to let you help him create an Instagram profile.

He accumulated a small amount of followers since then, which he had to approve, of course, as Aaron made sure his account was set to private – mainly family, some friends, and the team. However, that was as far as it went. He was still figuring out the app, but completely forgot about his new account due to his busy life.

Except for now.

It’s a slow Friday at work – mainly just a day spent catching up on paperwork – and Aaron never really complains on days like this. Yes, it’s usually boring, but having a day without a case means he actually gets to see his son at the end of the day, so it’s a win for him.

But a slow day creates boredom, especially when he’s actually ahead on paperwork. Aaron can’t recall the last time he was this bored at work – probably because he usually has something to do – but when his eyes ghost over the time on his expensive watch, he has to resist letting out a sigh of agitation because, somehow, there are still four more hours left in the workday.

Aaron puts the pen he’s holding down and moves the file he’s in the process of reviewing. He grabs his phone from one of the drawers in his desk and turns it on. The lock screen, which is his favorite photo of Jack, lights up before he enters his passcode.

He does errand-like things at first, including responding to a couple of texts, checking his personal email, and even spending a minute, or five, on Twitter, not that he would ever admit that to Penelope.

Eyeing the colorful app with a white outline of a camera, he hesitantly opens Instagram, still not really used to it considering it’s been over a month since the last time he was on it. He waits a second for it to load up until a photo appears on his feed from JJ, who posted a picture of Henry and Will before she left for work.

jj_jareau: My two favorite guys <3

Aaron knows that the symbol on the end of her caption is supposed to represent a heart because you often send the same symbol in the BAU group chat. He’s not sure why you never use actual emoticons – he’s never asked you – but he associates the symbol with you.

Not that he’s associating hearts with you specifically. Or overanalyzing all your texts in the group chat. Of course not, it’s just because you use it often. That’s all.

When Aaron tries to scroll, he accidentally presses on your username that was showing up in the preview of the comments, sending him straight to your own Instagram page.

He’s about to click the back arrow above your profile picture that he’s assuming will take him back to his feed, but Aaron can’t stop himself from glancing over your profile. Your page is filled with photos from moments in your life that go back years.

Looking up from his phone, he can see you from his chair as the blinds in his office are currently open. You’re chatting with Spencer who’s sitting across from you, a smile on your face as you continuously glance from him and back over to your computer screen where you’re typing, making sure Spencer knows you’re still listening to whatever bizarre fact he’s probably ranting about.

Aaron looks back down to his phone. He’s never been on your page, nor have your posts ever shown up on his feed during the rare times he’s actively gone on the app. It almost feels too personal – like he’s not supposed to see the side of you he doesn’t work with.

He carefully presses on the last post you made. It’s a post from only one day ago, but you’re not in any of the seven photos you’ve posted, which makes him frown with a tinge of disappointment.

Your caption reads, September photo dump, with a couple emoticons.

Wondering what the hell a photo dump is, Aaron looks through the set of pictures again. Everything is random. They range from a sunset to a picture of a meal you must’ve eaten at some point during the month of September, which just passed, and even one of Emily’s cat.

He scrolls down to the next post from three days ago. This time, you’ve only posted one picture and luckily for him, you’re actually in it.

You’re sitting at a dinner table, head resting gently on your hand with a sweet smile while your other hand is gently holding a glass of what – Aaron brings the phone closer to his face without knowing he can actually just zoom in – appears to be champagne.

It only takes him a few seconds after admiring how you look in the photo to wonder about who’s on the other side of it.

Aaron doesn’t know who took the photo and is getting to see you smile like that, but he does know that he wishes it was him because you’re just so damn pretty.

The man is pretty sure he would quite literally melt down to the ground if you looked at him like that.

He’s attempting to push these thoughts to the back of his head as he prepares to scroll to the next post. Aaron is well aware of the fact he shouldn’t be thinking about you in any way that isn’t strictly platonic. He is your boss and even aside from that, the two of you are not only co-workers, but friends.

Friends, he reminds himself. That’s all.

But as he scrolls to the next post, every thought of friendship leaves his body.

It’s a photo taken with the flash on from exactly a week ago, last Friday night, of you, Emily, JJ, and Penelope in what appears to be a club that Aaron can’t say recognizes. You’re standing on the end, your arm snaked around Emily’s waist with your body turned towards the camera while mid-laugh.

The black dress you’re wearing hugs every inch of your body perfectly – you’re showing more skin in the photo than Aaron has ever seen out of you. He’s seen you dressed up before – even seen you in person at clubs himself – but nothing like this before. Ever.

Much needed girls’ night out, your caption says.

Aaron’s not even sure he’s still breathing when he swipes to the second, and last, picture in the post.

This time, it’s only you. You’re still in the same dress, looking at the camera with a sultry smile. You’re not in the club this time. Aaron can’t tell where you are, but that doesn’t really matter because you’re looking straight at the camera with one of the hottest looks he’s ever seen – it almost feels like you’re looking directly at him.

prentiss_emily: Baddest bitch in the bureau

yourusername: @ emily_prentiss Only behind you ofc

Though he knows she means it in an endearing way, Aaron doesn’t want to call you a bitch, but Emily’s comment on your post technically isn’t a lie. Unfortunately, he also can't seem to figure out what "ofc" means.

A part of him feels guilty. He knows he can’t have you, yet he’s going through your Instagram right now imagining a thousand what-if scenarios, a tinge of jealousy running through his veins at the idea of you ever looking at anyone the way you’re looking at the camera in your photos.

Aaron spends so much time trying to convince himself he doesn’t feel the way he does for you because there are so many reasons why he shouldn’t have the feelings he does. He can’t think of a scenario where you can be his nor can he think of a world in which you feel the same.

So, after he looks at this photo for another couple of seconds, he’s finally going to close out the app and forget about the way you look in that dress.

He can’t get the chance to do that because the door to his office is opening abruptly, startling him to the point where he drops his phone onto his desk.

“Shit,” he curses under his breath, hands fumbling to lock his phone so your Instagram will go away.

There you are, mouth open to say something until you notice him fumbling with his phone.

A sheepish look appears on your face. “Sorry, I forgot to knock.”

“It’s fine,” he says, hoping his voice is even and doesn’t scream: Hello, I just looked through your Instagram. “What do you need?” He lays his phone down – it’s finally locked – and looks up at you, trying to appear like he was actually doing something.

“Oh, I don’t need anything. Reid and I are going to try that new place that just opened up down the street for lunch. I was wondering if you wanted me to grab you something.”

“Do you have a menu?” He asks.

“Yeah, give me a second. I’ll text it to you,” you tell him.

You’re pulling your phone out of the pocket of your pants and if Aaron had been paying attention and not pretending like he was working, he would’ve seen the way you glanced up at him, back to your phone, then back to him, a giddy smile on your face.

You do as you told him you would and send him the menu. “Take your time looking over it. Just text me what you want within the next fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks. I’ll look over it in a minute.”

Aaron really does go back to work this time, his hands moving to pick up the file he moved earlier. He hears the door open and assumes you’re on your way out of the door, but you don’t leave yet.

“Oh! Before I go,” you say, your body out the door and your hand lingering on the outside knob of his office door. He looks up at you, pen in hand. “Thanks for the like on Instagram.”

Aaron thinks his heart has stopped upon hearing those words. Before he can even say anything, you shut the door, and you’re making your way back to where Spencer is still sitting.

He swallows hard, closes the file, and sets it away once again. His fingers frantically type in his passcode, and Instagram immediately pops up, still open from when he tried to turn his phone off.

To Aaron’s horror, he sees the Instagram heart that’s used to like photos filled with red and seemingly glaring at him. It was too late to unlike it now. You’d obviously already gotten the notification.

Meanwhile, as Aaron is mentally panicking, you’re whipping out your phone again to send another text. This time to Emily who is currently in a meeting.

When she first developed what was once a small crush— and is now almost what she thought was love— for her boss, she wouldn’t have ever thought he’d have even an ounce of any sort of romantic feelings for her, but after a drunken night out with the team and coming to the realization that they lived not even two buildings away from one another, confessions and heavy petting were exchanged. The next morning after mutual hungover groans were exchanged throughout the bullpen, Hotch called her into his office and made it very clear that lines were crossed… but also stated he had enjoyed himself. The confusion had begun there. Knowing he wasn’t typically one for physical contact, the feeling of him placing his hand onto her hand that rested on top of his desk sent a shock through her system. She enjoyed it, she really enjoyed it, but within thirty seconds of that contact he had also said how he needed her to get back to her desk— he needed to be alone to work.

Y/N brushed it off after that. Nothing was going to happen— Aaron liked what they did, but clearly didn’t want to pursue anything. That was understandable, and it would’ve stayed understandable if he kept up with the professionalism. Lack of said professionalism happened during a case in New York. Everyone had to share a room with someone except for one, and when it came down to pairing off Emily and JJ went off with each other, Derek and Spencer assumed they’d be the second pair, and Rossi claimed the solo room for himself. That left Y/N and Hotch with each other. It was very awkward for the first hour, but they slowly warmed up to each other again.

If anyone told Y/N that she would be having sex with Aaron that night she would’ve laughed in their face, and if anyone told her that they’d wake up in each other’s arms and bask in the warmth, she would’ve sent them to a mental institution. But it happened. After one too many glances they inevitably gave in, and that morning was a lot less awkward than the morning after their drunken dry humping.

But the cycle with Hotch continued after that. They’d share secret kisses, he’d tell her very sternly to get to work. They would spend the night with each other, he’d say they shouldn’t see each other for a while just to call her in the next night or two. At this point, she figured he was lonely but didn’t want to commit. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could play this game with him, and she would continue to mull it over in the early hours at the office before anyone else was there, stirring her coffee in the kitchenette until she felt a strong pair of hands touch her waist.

“I miss you.”

His voice was raspy, like he woke up not too long ago and just came in. She knew his statement was referring to the small break in seeing each other he had suggested, and the thought of it made her upset, causing her to place her coffee on the counter and turn around, crossing her arms.

“I can’t read your mind.” Her statement caused him to lift an eyebrow, forcing her to elaborate. “I’m a profiler, and for the love of God I cannot read what the hell is going on in your mind. You say that we need to stop and then you call me whenever you deem it’s a good time. You know we’re crossing a line here, make that very clear, but still see me in a romantic setting. I can't read your mind.”

His hands had dropped from her waist, and he took a step back. “There’s nothing to read here, Y/N. I thought we were together.”

She scoffed, causing him to wince, “then why the fuss, Aaron? Why are you saying things but doing the opposite? Why the mixed signals?” She waited a minute, staring back at him, waiting for him to say something, but when he didn’t, she grabbed her coffee and started to take off.

“Wait.” He hooked his hand around her elbow, causing her to turn back to him. “You’re right. I’ve screwed up. I don’t know what I’m doing half of the time— I don’t typically date, but Y/N, I’m not lying when I say that there is no one else I would want to be experiencing this with. I was actually hoping that you’re it for me.”

A small part of her wanted to laugh in his face. After countless days trying to read what the hell was going on in his mind, this wasn’t even on the forefront of the mental list she compiled. The biggest part of her wanted to believe him. She really did, but she had nothing to go on. “I need you to prove it, Aaron. I feel like I’m clueless here and I just—”

He swiftly cut her off by tugging her towards him and smashing their lips together. This kiss was a lot different than the secret or drunken ones they’ve shared. It felt like the real deal for Y/N, and she could’ve stayed there forever if it wasn’t for the small crash as well as the exclaimed “oh!” they heard.

Breaking apart, they turned their heads to see a very frazzled Penelope standing there with her hands in a surrendering position, lips in an “oh” shape, and a broken mug on the floor. No one spoke immediately, but once everyone was fully aware of the situation at hand, Penelope went down to the floor and started scooping up the broken pieces. “I am so sorry sir… and Y/N! I’m uh— I‘ll just—”

“It’s okay, Garcia,” Hotch’s voice was gruff, “I’ll clean it up. Just get ready for the briefing.”

She had slowly gotten up and wiped her hands across her dress. “Yes, sir,” she spoke quietly, but once she turned around and scurried away Y/N could hear a quiet “I am so telling Derek I was right.”

As the team was building their profile and studying victimology, the pattern had revealed itself. Reid set up a geographical profile with the murder sites and the clubs and found the one the unsub would be likely to come to next.

So, now, here you were. Swaying in an elegant gown with your older boss at a country club gala. A decent enough age gap was something that would be enticing to the unsub. Picking you and Hotch was the obvious choice as it would be believable. The youngest female on the team with the second oldest. Rossi would’ve been too old, the act wouldn’t have been believable. Morgan had even made a comment about how good you and Hotch looked together.

“A grey SUV just pulled up,” Prentiss informed through your ear piece. She was acting as security at the front, watching out for the car that had been spotted at the crime scene for the last couple. Hotch’s hands got tighter around your waist.

You would never know, and he would absolutely never admit, but he had been distracted as well. Your chest was pressed against his and your fingers had absentmindedly been playing with his hair from where they were wrapped around your neck. He had begun to feel relaxed in your arms, as if he was playing out a scene had been fantasizing about for a while. Maybe he had been, if he was honest.

Outside, Emily watched as the SUV drove around the back. There were undercover officers posted at all entrances. She informed everyone of its location and began to make her way inside.

It didn’t take long for the unsub to get inside. Officers had been told to let him in, but keep a very, very close eye. They couldn’t arrest him without any real proof. The plan was for him to get you to the SUV, where you would see all the drug memorabilia. The working theory was that was his rouse, getting the couples to have a ‘good time’ after earning their trust. Then, he’d take them to the murder site. His entrance sent you and Hotch into action.

You two danced for a little longer, showing off that you were a couple. Aaron had pulled you impossibly closer. “You ready?” He whispered in your ear with a fake smile. To any outsider it would look as if he was telling you sweet nothings. You responded with a curt nod, smiling as well.

You pulled away from him, “let me go grab us drinks, honey.” You put on a show, disappearing to the bar that Morgan was perched at. Hotch watched the unsub make his way over to you. The rouse had worked. He spoke your last name into his hidden mic, instructing you to be ready. You nodded, moving to be on the same side of the bar as Morgan. Being closer to the team made you feel safer.

It didn’t take long for there to be a tap on your shoulder. When you turned around, you were face to face with the unsub. The devolving unsub, who was murdering women he thought were like you. “Hello, ma’am,” he sounded so polite, it made you sick to your stomach. Hotch had begun moving closer, hand on his gun. “Are you here alone?”

“Uh,” you hesitated with fear for just a second, “no, I’m not. I’m here with my husband.” The unsub let a ‘hmm’, eyes scanning your arm, down to the ring you had put on your hand. He nodded, reaching for it. Your face twisted up, “what are you doing?”

“I bet that ring was expensive,” you could see the crazy in his eyes, “your husband must’ve worked for it.” Falling back in to your role, you let out a giggle. “Hardly, he’s a CEO. He does relatively no work and brings home the big bucks. That’s why I love him!”

“I bet he buys you a lot of nice things,” the unsub encouraged. It was as if hearing about the fake sugar daddy arrangement was turning on him on. “Oh he does! He always make sure I’m taken care of!” You were really selling it. You wanted him to think he could trust you. You needed to get thay invitation to the car.

The unsub took a step closer, and Morgan rose from his bar stool, just a few feet away. “Everything okay here?” He interrupted, trying to egg the unsub on. You went to tell him everything was fine, but the unsub took the bait.

“No!” His voice roared, pulling you into his arms. You could feel the cool press of a gun against your temple. “This isn’t okay! She’s a whore!” He was shaking, and you were trying your best to stay calm.

You were quickly surrounded by all the undercover officers that had been in the room. No civilians were allowed in, and everyone was wearing a vest. It was a dangerous setup, so safety was prioritized. Everyone’s guns were pointed at the unsub, but your brain didn’t understand that. It felt like you were being held at gunpoint by a million and one people.

“Easy, man,” Morgan coaxed. Your eyes stayed locked on his, trying to ignore the gun pressed against you and the arm that was squeezing your neck. “You gotta let her go.”

You stopped listening as Aaron’s face appeared behind Morgan. He was not pointing his gun, and he was looking right at you. You knew he was trying to calm you down with his intense stare. It was working.

It felt like you were in his arms forever, and you couldn’t hear what was going on. But you were released, pushed on the ground as the local police moved into cuff the unsub.

When your knees hit the ground, you started crying. You couldn’t hold back the tears as they began to fall. That wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to invite to the SUV, to do drugs. That’s what had happened with all of the other couples. Once you got him on the drug charge, the local police could get him for everything else.

“I’m sorry,” Aaron rushed to pull you into him, “I’m so sorry.” You didn’t want him to blame himself, but you couldn’t find any words as you sobbed. You just shook your head, letting him pull you into his arms. You gripped him as if your life depended on it. All the fear you had felt was surfacing and your body began to shake.

“You’re okay,” he soothed with a warm hand circling your back, “I’ve got you.” You two stayed like that until your tears subsided. Then, he reached out a hand, helping you get to your feet. To your surprise, he reached forward and wiped the tears from your eyes. His hands didn’t leave your body until you were in the back of an ambulance, getting your neck checked out from the unsub’s tight grip. He watched with worried-ridden eyes.

Aaron tucked himself into the back corner of the jet, not wanting anyone to engage with him. He felt so fucking guilty for everything had happened. How had he not seen it? Why did not he not interrupt the plan? You shouldn’t have ended up in that position, and it was his fault you had been.

His thoughts were racing and his eyes were focused on his shoes. Everyone else filed in, taking note of his seating choice. No one bothered him, until you came in. You placed yourself in the seat directly across from him, not saying anything.

It wasn’t until the jet took off that he even allowed himself to look you in the eyes. He didn’t deserve to, he knew that. “Aaron,” you started with a sigh, “please don’t do this.” He shook his head, dismissing your words. “I put your life at risk.” His voice sounded so desperate. He tried to not look at the bruise on your neck.

“That’s part of the job,” you spoke as you reached forward to grab his hands. “I put my life at risk every time we go in the field.” To your surprise, he let you hold his hands. “But this plan was stupid. We should have never even thought of it, let alone let follow through on it. There were other ways to catch him.” His voice was jaded, clearly angry at himself.

“But who knows how many more victims? Hotch, we got him. That’s what matters. We got him and we all made it back on the jet.”

“Aaron,” he said. Your face twisted up in confusion. “Please, keep calling me Aaron.”

“Aaron,” you gasped out, letting your thumb rub over his hand, “I’m okay.” You smiled at him, reinforcing your point. “I’m really glad you are.” He admitted, his grip on your hand getting tighter. “I don’t think this is appropriate, but I’d like to take you dancing for real. To say I’m sorry.” You let a little gasp, surprised at his words.