Imagine That

“You know this isn’t ready to take to court,” You warned, lowering yourself to sit behind your desk. 

“I disagree.” 

“Judge Kagan is never going to let your workup of the unsub into evidence.”

“He’ll have to. We both know there’s precedent.”

The knowing tip of Hotch’s brows brought a small involuntary smile to your lips. 

“Yes,” You agreed. You drew in a deep breath, nodding. “Alright. Leave it with me, let me see what I can do.” 

“Thank  you.” 

“Mhm.” 

You took up a pen to make a few notes on the file as Hotch turned away. His footsteps began to fade as he neared the door, but you didn’t hear him open or close it. You glanced up, arching a brow at the blend of curiosity and concern marring his features. 

“If you want your favor, Hotchner, you’ll leave now,” You warned. He held a hand up in surrender and conceded: “I’m going. Door open or closed?”

“Open, thanks.” You allowed yourself one more glance up, just catching on Hotch’s, “See you soon,” before he disappeared around the corner. 

-- 

You were able to mark the difference as soon as you walked into the apartment. The extra pair of shoes, the spare jacket, the goddamn key bowl that Sean had brought when he'd moved in, had all disappeared from your little apartment’s entryway. You shook your head, dropping your keys onto the empty sidetable, and kicking the door shut behind yourself. You took a moment to draw in a deep breath, waiting for the tears to come, but…Nothing. Maybe you’d cried it all out that morning. You could contemplate it over your frozen inner and a beer in front of your tv. 

You’d just popped the top on the cardboard box of a stouffer’s frozen dinner when you heard your doorbell ring. You frowned, setting the box down and rounding into the hall. There was no way it was Sean…Was it? You didn’t want it to be. You’d told him that you couldn’t just talk about all of these things anymore, go around and around and—

When you looked through the peephole, you found a Hotchner. But it certainly wasn’t the Hotchner you were expecting. 

You opened the door, leaning in the frame. You took in the sunglasses perched on his nose, the trenchcoat hanging from his shoulders, and—a bag of takeout. 

You stepped back, nodding Aaron in. You leaned back against the door once you closed it, watching Hotch take in the lack—from the wall, to the floor, to where your keys sat alone on the side table. And then he shrugged his coat off, hanging it on the empty hook before continuing down the hall. You followed him wordlessly, putting the frozen meal away before grabbing a couple of beers from the fridge. 

You opened them both, joining Hotch at your small kitchen table, watching him unpack the food before setting his beer down. 

“Thank you.” 

“Sure.” You eyed the aray of takeout containers. “Am I gonna get an explanation?” 

“You asked me not to profile you this morning,” He reminded you. “But you never said anything about this evening.” 

“A loophole? Agent Hotchner,” You raised a hand to your chest in faux-shock. “Absolutely scandalous.” 

“How about we save the technicalities until after dinner.” 

--  

“You were always too good for him.” 

Two beers down and the comment sobered you right up. But more than his words, it was the sincere sentiment that he fixed you with that completely sapped you of your smile. That made your head snap toward him entirely, only to find him avoiding your gaze. 

“That isn’t true,” You insisted. “Sean and I were just…We had different priorities.” 

“Right. You prioritized law school.” 

It was an accidental echo of one of your repeat fights with Sean—his decision to change course. 

“We were both supposed to prioritize law school.” 

“And when his plans changed? When you decided to go to a school in New York to be with him, even when he pulled the rug out from under you?” He tutted softly. “You deserve someone that makes you a priority.”

You considered for a few moments, your lips twisting as you felt a swell of sorrow. But the feeling wasn’t from missing Sean—it was from Hotch’s unabashed insistence that you should’ve ever been anyone’s priority. You pushed yourself off of the couch, propelling away from that conversation before you could stop yourself. You tossed the remainder of your beer into the kitchen sink, peering into the sink as you tried to steady yourself. 

It was bad enough that you’d been dating his brother, that he was the one there to comfort you—worse when you thought just a little too far about how valued and important Aaron always made you feel.

Sean had reluctantly made the introduction over email when you’d been accepted into Fordham’s law school. The email introduction to Aaron Hotchner became monthly messages, became weekly questions, became almost daily check-ins.

When you’d accepted a job back in Virginia, in Prince William County, Aaron had been the one to help you and Sean move your things in and show you around (when he had time). You’d had the odd phone call here and there, but Aaron was often so busy that the two of you just wound up playing phone tag more often than not. 

Had the fact that you spoke to Sean’s brother more than he did ended your relationship? No. But you were positive that it had been a sticking point. 

You heard Aaron sigh, stepping into the kitchen behind you. “I seem to have put my foot in my mouth.” 

“No.” 

“I upset you—Please, I can tell. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m a bit of an expert at detecting these things.”

You snorted a laugh, scrubbing a hand over your face. The warmth of Hotch’s hands seeped through your top as he rested them on your shoulders, gently turning you to face him. 

“You shouldn’t have one Hotchner making you cry today, let alone two. And he was an idiot to break up with you,” he added. 

“I don’t, um—I broke up with Sean, not the other way around.” Your eyes flitted up to Aaron’s face just in time to see the flash of surprise. “I couldn’t—Keep doing it. Long distance wasn’t working, and I couldn’t take how being with him felt so aimless. I need someone with direction, someone who knows what they want, and—and I know he’s your brother and I know I shouldn’t be telling you this, I don’t mean to bad mouth him—” 

“It’s alright—” 

“But he’s not—He isn’t like you, you know, he isn’t steady, doesn’t have a plan, and being in limbo like that, I can’t stand…Relationship purgatory. It was driving me up the wall.” You pulled in a deep breath as your tirade tapered off, swallowing thickly. 

“...Like me?” He asked. It took you a moment, head shaking in confusion. 

“What?” 

“You said that he isn’t like me.” 

“...Well,” You floundered as heat rushed your face, “I mean—Having direction, you know. Knowing what you want and…And doing something about it.” 

He nodded a touch, gaze sliding down to where he held your shoulders. 

“I don’t, always,” he admitted. “May just run in the family.” 

“When’s the last time you didn’t?” 

“Honestly?” 

“Honestly.” 

“About forty-five minutes ago.”

You frowned, brow furrowing. 

“What—What happened forty-five minutes ago?” 

“I saw that Sean took his key bowl. I bought it for him as a housewarming gift for his first apartment. He isn’t typically sentimental where I’m concerned, but he seems to take that with him when he moves. It was gone, which meant that he was gone, which meant that you were…Single. And I wanted nothing more than to kiss you, but I didn't.” 

You pulled in a stunned breath as Hotch’s eyes shifted to your lips, then up to yours again. If it was anyone else, you’d think he was humoring you, going out of his way to give you a little bit of a high when you felt so low. But for all of his softness, his tendency to tease in calmer moments, you’d never seen Aaron look so sincere. 

"Do you regret not doing anything?"

"I've regretted it for the last forty-four minutes."

“...So if this is something that you want, what are you going to do about it?” You pressed. 

“Well, that depends.” 

“On?” 

“Whether or not it’s something that you want, too.” 

You allowed yourself only a moment of hesitation before you stepped closer, your body brushing against his. The steadiness of his gaze made you shy for a moment, smoothing your hands up his chest. You felt him pull in a deep breath, his hands drifting down your biceps. When he didn’t move any further—when he didn’t draw you in or step away—you leaned in, brushing your lips against his.

You didn’t have a moment to overthink it. 

Hotch was already leaning into the kiss, curling a hand around the back of your neck. 

Soft, slow—deliberate. Aaron Hotchner kissed you with such measured intensity: never drawing away too soon between kisses; teasing tongue that had you shivering and parting your lips; a hold on your body that made you want to melt from the gentle but firm guidance. 

He backed you up against the counter, bracing a hand beside you to steady himself. You slipped a hand up into his hair, twining your fingers in the strands as he used the grip on your neck to tip your head back. His kisses trailed down over your cheek, along your jaw before his teeth tugged lightly on your earlobe. 

“Tell me it’s too soon,” You mumbled.

“If it is,” He nuzzled against your cheek, “We’ll slow down—we’ll stop. Whatever you need.” 

You lifted your head to get a better look at him—at the flush rising in his cheeks, and the darkness in his eyes. You shook your head a little, taking his face in your hands. 

“I don’t want you to stop, Hotch.” 

He dove in for another kiss, this one more forceful than the last. You grasped his tie, fingers deftly untying the knot before you tugged the fabric away. The top few buttons of his shirt followed as his fingers snuck under your shirt. He pulled it up and over your head, tossing it back toward one of the kitchen chairs. 

You could see him beginning to lean in, but you turned him before he could, pushing him back against the counter. You just caught the sight of Hotch’s stunned expression before you caught his lips again, your fingers working away at a few of the buttons. You’d hardly gotten a chance to get a good look at his chest before he was catching your lips in a kiss, his hands sliding along your back. You caught hold of his lower lip, nipping gently, and grinning at the sound of his grunt. 

He steered you back toward your little table, haphazardly swiping away a couple of empty takeout containers before guiding you back onto the surface. You spread your legs to accommodate him, knees clamping around his hips as he leaned over you, fingers working at the hooks on your bra. The straps sagged as he undid it, and you let go just long enough to shrug it off. He reached down to your pants next, undoing the button, but lingering with his fingers on the zip. 

“Please,”  You whined, pushing your hips up toward him, “Please take them off, Aaron. Yours, too.” 

His eyes slipped closed, head tipping against your collarbone.

“Say that again.” 

“Yours, too?” 

“Say my name again.” 

“Aaron?” 

He surged up with a fierce kiss, curling his hand around the back of your head to keep it from whacking against the wall. Your pants were unzipped one moment, being worked down your thighs the next—and then, for a split second, you lost sight of him. 

You felt his hands smoothing up the inside of your thighs, and you gasped as you felt the warmth of his mouth sucking a kiss against the seat of your panties. You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, stunned at the sight of Aaron on his knees, his fingers hooking in the fabric to tug it to the side. 

His gaze lifted to yours, lapping broadly along your pussy—and then his eyes closed as he pressed closer, burying his face against you as his tongue swirled around your aching clit. You bit your lip, trying to quiet your moans as his pace picked up, tongue toying with different patterns and pressures. The stretch of his index, then his middle finger, had your pussy pulsing around them. They pumped, twisted, making your toes curl, your thighs nearly squeezing around his head. It didn’t deter or slow him, only spurred him to go faster. 

“Oh—Mm, fuck, wait, waitwaitwait,” You whimpered. His hand stilled, head tipping up for any sign of discomfort. You leaned down, grasping his chin and drawing him up for a kiss. 

“I’m close,” You warned. 

“Good.” 

“But,” You swallowed thickly, “I want you.” 

“You can have me,” He swore, “But I want you to cum first.” 

“I want you to cum with me.” 

His mouth opened to reply, but he faltered when you reached, palming his hardened cock beneath his trousers. 

“Please, Aaron?” You cooed. He swallowed thickly, catching your lips in another heated kiss. 

“Okay,” He murmured, “Okay. Where’s your bedroom.”  

-- 

You were trying not to overthink the fact that the sheets probably still smelled like Sean, just a little bit. You were more focused on undoing the rest of Hotch’s buttons. But as soon as you dipped your head just a touch too far to try and see what you’re doing, his fingers would grasp your jaw, tipping your head up for another consuming kiss. 

You shoved his shirt off of his shoulders as soon as it was completely open. You smoothed your hands over his arms, mumbling, “Holy crap,” As you felt his muscles beneath your fingertips. He huffed a bashful laugh against your lips, dipping his head. 

“Don’t get me wrong,” You added, “I tried really hard not to notice your arms in your shirts, but jeez.” 

“And I tried not to notice your curves in those skirt suits.” 

It was your turn to turn your face from him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He curled you closer, running his hands over your back, down your sides. You cuddled into his chest, pressing your face into his neck as you bit back a whimper. Being held by Aaron, being touched like him this way felt so startlingly intimate. You tipped your head up, pressing kisses to his jaw as you felt him smooth his hands over your ass, then give it a squeeze. You smiled, catching his lips in a soft kiss before urging, “C’mon.”  

You scooted back onto the bed, opening the bedside drawer—and closing your eyes when you found it completely empty. 

That. Little. Shit. 

“What is it?” Aaron asked. 

“Uh,” You laughed bitterly, “Your brother took more than the key bowl.” 

“Ah.” Aaron fished into his back pocket for his wallet, and you waited with bated breath as he opened it—and then also closed his eyes. Shit. You hesitated before you crawled across your bed, running your hand over his belt. 

“We could still…”

Aaron looked down at you, surprise riddling his features. 

“We don’t have to.” 

“No, I know. I know. But if you want to…? I mean I haven’t been with anyone but—you know, for a long time, and even before that I always used protection.” You knelt up, fingers working at his belt. “You can pull out.” 

“That’s not always a guarantee—” 

“Right, but if you want to.” 

His eyes swept your face, looking for any sign of nerves, panic—and where his profiling you had been unwelcome that morning, you kept your eyes on his now, determined to make him see that you meant what you said. He licked his lips before he nodded over your shoulder. 

“Lay back.” 

You scooched back up the bed, watching Aaron strip out of his pants and underwear before he was climbing over you. You spread your thighs for him again, hands fisting in the sheets as he took himself in one hand, and rested the other on one of your thighs. You could see his gaze sweeping from your face to your pussy, his thumb swiping across the head of his cock as he pumped himself. Before you could complain, he knelt a little closer, teasing the head of his cock against your clit. You shivered at the contact, your heart ticking up in your chest as he teased it lower, and lower—and you stilled as he guided his cock into you. 

You sighed, tipping your head back against your pillow as he sank deeper. 

“That’s it,” He murmured, sliding his hand over your thigh, “Fuck, you’re doing so well.” 

“Aaron.” 

You slid your hands back up over his arms as he curled down over you, gasped as he hitched your thigh up around his hip.

“You sound so good when you say my name, sweetheart,” He murmured. “Sound even better when you beg for it.” 

You tangled your hand in his hair, gripping more tightly as he sank deeper still. 

“Holy fuck,” You breathed, “You feel so good, Aaron.” 

“Nothing compared to you.” 

“Move?” 

“Not yet.” 

“Please, please move,” You moaned pointedly, pushing your hips up against his, and reveling in the way his eyes slipped closed, a groan rumbling low in his chest. 

“I’ve been thinking about this,” He admitted, nose nudging against yours, “For a long time. I’m not in a hurry for it to be over.” 

“How long?” 

“Just—”

“Aaron—” 

“—Indulge me so that I can indulge you.” He opened his eyes, holding his gaze on yours as he cradled your head. “Please.”

His plea made your cunt pulse around him, and the two of you moaned in tandem. 

“Okay, that one was your fault,” You mumbled. 

“How so?” 

“I’m not the only one that sounds good when they beg.” 

You had just a second to catch sight of the beautiful smile that graced Aaron’s lips before he was dipping down, pressing his lips to yours. 

“Put your hands over your head,” He ordered. You lifted them, tipping your head to watch him reach up, pinning your wrists with a single one of his hands, planting the other on the bed beside you. 

“Now just lay back,” He drew his hips back, nearly pulling all of the way out, “And just let me take care of you.” 

--  

The sound of a ringing cellphone caught both of you off-guard. You twisted around to try and spot where it was coming from, heard Aaron groan as he slid out of bed. You slouched back against the mattress, scrubbing sleepily at your eyes as you heard him flip his phone open.

“Hotchner…Mhm…” 

You peeped an eye open just in time to see his face shift with from irritation, to concernn, to resignation.

“I understand…Half an hour. Thanks.” 

You closed your eyes, trying to ignore the muddle of disappointed feelings in your chest. You knew what he was going to say and you really, really didn’t want to hear him say it. But he didn’t say it right away. Maybe he was willing to let you pretend that you’d fallen asleep—but Hotch seemed too good a man to just tip-toe out in silence. 

He confirmed that by sitting on the bed beside you, sliding his hand across your sheet-covered belly. 

“Hey.” 

“Mm, lemme guess.” Your head lolled to the side, taking in the sight of him fully dressed again. “That was Garcia with your ‘get out of jail free’ call.” 

“It was Morgan.” 

“Ah, allow me to amend: That was Morgan with your ‘get out of jail free’ call.” 

“It’s work. And being here with you is the opposite of jail. Besides, how could I have timed it? I haven’t touched my phone since I’ve been here.”  

“I don’t know. You’re very clever.” 

“And you’re too smart for ridiculous conspiracy theories.” 

“They gonna find it weird that you’re wearing the same suit you were wearing a few hours ago?” 

“I have a spare shirt and tie in my desk.” 

“See? Clever. S’okay,” You insisted, reaching out and doing up one of the buttons on his sleeves, “I’m gettin’ pretty good at having Hotchners leave.” 

You glanced up toward his face and realized immediately that it was the absolute wrong thing to say. You never would’ve been able to fathom such a hangdog expression on Aaron’s face—head tipped, lips pulled down into a frown, dark eyes sweetly conflicted. You pushed yourself up, allowing the sheet to pool around your waist as you cupped his cheek. 

“I was kidding,” You insisted, gently sweeping your thumb across the apple of his cheek. He nodded a little, but you could see that he was still unconvinced. 

“Tell you what,” You added, “If this case doesn’t completely take over your weekend, my door is open.” 

“And if it does?” 

“My door’s still open. We’ll figure it out.” 

Aaron leaned in, curling his arm around your middle and drawing you into his side as he caught your lips in a sweet kiss. You leaned into it, sighing as he steered you to lay back on the bed. 

“Fuck, okay, okay,” You mumbled, “You have to go now because if you don’t, you’re going to be very late for work.” 

“I’m going.” It was a grumbled insistence chased by another three kisses before Aaron finally pulled away. You smiled after him, propping yourself up on your elbows.

“Hotch?” 

He turned back, brows lifted expectantly. 

“Promise me you’ll get home safe?” 

“I'll do my best. And I'll call you in the morning."

"Promise?"

"You can count on it."

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As professional as Aaron was, he could be a total brat. He did it in a subtle way, flying under the radar to always have plausible deniability. As if you didn’t know his games.

He’s been extra bratty today, making sure you saw every moment he acted up. He slid files on your desk, making sure to brush his fingers against your arm. At lunch, his foot slides toward you, drawing your pantleg up your calf. When you drop some paperwork off at his desk, his hand ends up on your waist. It takes everything in you to not punish him right there in the office.

Miraculously, you make it home before you let him know how much trouble he’s in. Closing the door, you cross your arms.

“Aaron,” you say, taking a pointed step toward him. “You’ve been quite the tease.”

He simply shrugs, that stoic mask he wears not giving any hints to his thoughts.

“The innocent act isn’t working,” you huff, taking his arm and tugging him to your room. “Strip.”

He listens, getting all of his clothes off. They end up in a pile on the floor, contrasting the usual meticulousness of his clothing habits. Pushing him down on the bed, you straddle him, the fabric of your pants pressing down on his hardening length. 

You start to grind against him, feeling him stiffening beneath you. Pathetic as usual, he’s already whimpering from your touch. You can’t help but let out a cruel laugh, seeing how absolutely needy he is. 

Before you started dating, you never would’ve imagined Aaron being like this. If anything, you imagined him being as bossy in bed as he was at work. Then, the first time you slept together, he let you take charge. You almost wrote it off as him being a gentleman, not wanting to push you, until the next time. And then the next time. And the time after that. 

Eventually, things evolved from him letting you set the pace to you telling him what to do. And now, he’s beneath you, letting you punish him for his behavior. It’s his reprieve from the long days of always being in charge, finally having someone else be the one to boss him around.

You grind down on cock, making sure he’s beyond hard. Precum soaks through your pants, dampening your thigh. When you look down, you can see his length is red, the vein along the side pulsing with each movement you make. 

His mouth is open and his eyes are shut. He’s already half-overtaken by the pleasure, but you’re not letting him tip over the edge any time soon. You move down slightly so you’re sitting on one of his thighs.

Aaron opens his eyes, a pleading look in them. You just smile and wrap your hand around his leaking cock. He whimpers as you start to stroke him, the desperation clear from the way his hands grip the mattress.

It only takes a few minutes for his hips to start to buck into your hand. He knows better, but he’s probably too fucked dumb to remember the rules. You press your free hand into his hip, attempting to keep him steady. 

“You don’t set the pace,” you say through gritted teeth.

He remembers his place then, fighting to keep his body glued to the bed. “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry,” he half mumbles, half moans. 

You only roll your eyes at the apology, not dignifying his desperation with a response. 

Your hand works his hard length, squeezing each time you reach his tip. Your thumb traces one of the veins that’s pulsing from need. You know him well enough to be stroking him at just the right pace to keep him on the edge without letting him fall over the peak. Not that he’d come without your permission, anyway, but it’s good to keep him wanting more. 

His whines and whimpers fill the room, the sounds of his desperation turning you on just as much as the sight of his pleasured face. Before you had sex, you never imagined him to be so unrestrained vocally in bed, but here he is, moaning louder than a reasonable person would.

“Can I come? Please?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “And what have you done to deserve that?”

“I just… I want… I,” he stammers.

“No,” you say firmly, hand stopping its motion to rest at the base of his cock. “You have to earn it.”

He lets out a strangled groan, panting under your touch. “I’ll be good,” he whines.

“Of course you will.”

He sighs, head falling back. He knows he’s in for the long haul.

You start to stroke him again, this time even slower. His pleas turn unintelligible, a jumbled mess of begging. Your thumb runs over his tip, exploring every inch of his needy cock. You’re fully ignoring the man attached to the length, simply teasing him as your fingers roam the soft skin.

When you finally look back up at him, he’s looking at you, pupils blown wide, and the faintest sheen of dampness coats his eyes. 

“Pathetic,” you mumble, seeing his tearful expression.

He doesn’t even argue, instead opting to beg even more.

This time, you decide to listen, letting go of his cock and standing up in front of the bed. You slowly peel away your clothes, watching Aaron’s tiny gaps with each layer shed. It’s like he’s never seen you before, never seen any woman before, with the way he blushes at the sight. 

Returning to the bed, you slowly sink down on his length, a hand on his chest to steady yourself. He’s hot to the touch, already worked beyond the ability to think straight. You just sit there for a moment, watching Aaron writhe beneath you.

He’s back to begging, this time from the feeling of your wet heat giving him just enough to want even more. The tears are filling his eyes, threatening to spill over. A woman less cruel would start to move, relieving him of the painful need. But not you. You’re thirsty for those tears that are gathering.

When you do start to move, it’s for yourself. The feeling of him hitting your plush walls was too much, and you needed the friction. So, you start to bounce, hips rolling against him. The sounds he makes with each movement are downright sinful, probably reaching half the city with his lack of volume control.

Even though you’re moving, it’s not enough. Too slow for Aaron to get any pleasure, your hips drag at a tortuous pace. You look at his face to see a trail of wetness sliding down his cheek. Those tears are finally starting to fall, a physical symptom of his need for release. 

“Aw, are you crying?”

He just lets out a sob in response to your taunt. The sharp witted man has absolutely no response, his brain too foggy to even consider forming a rebuttal. 

You simply watch as the tears spill, savoring the sight of him so pitiful beneath your touch. You keep up the pace for as long as you can, wanting to keep the view of his need in your vision for as long as you can.

But you’re only human, and eventually you start to feel the need yourself. You speed up your motions, and Aaron lets out a moan of relief.

A few tears of pleasure start to escape as you ride him, both of you now chasing your orgasms. Teasing him has you just as much on the edge as he is, and it’s not long before you can feel your release start to build.  

“Don’t come until I do,” you say with a breathy moan, chasing your high. It’s something you’re sure he knows, but it’s good to remind him when he’s this mindless. 

With all the brain power he has left, he brings his hand to your clit. It’s all he can do to get you over the edge, needing it as much as he needs his own release. 

His rough thumb circling your sensitive bud has you falling over the edge, coming around him. The squeeze of your cunt around his aching cock is enough to get him following behind you, moaning loudly as he comes deep inside you. His hot release shoots inside your plush walls as he sobs with pleasure.

Looking down at him, you see the pleasure written all over his face. Aaron’s head is laid back against the pillow, his body is flushed, and his cheeks are damp with tears. It’s a gorgeous sight, one only reserved for your eyes.

Eventually, overstimulation starts to creep in, and you have to move off of him. You lay beside him, watching his eyes slowly open.

“You good?”

“More than good,” he says hoarsely, voice overworked from his moaning and begging. 

“Learned your lesson?”

A wicked grin spreads across his face. “Nope.”

“One day,” you say with a chuckle. As many times as you punish him like this, you know you’ll always hope he’ll never change.

You put your hair up into a ponytail, letting out a gentle sigh. You looked at yourself in the mirror, the bullet proof vest on your chest and a gun at your side. It was a normal view for you. This was the same thing all your coworkers wore, the same thing you wore everyday.

But today it felt wrong. Uncomfortable in all the wrong places. Slightly subdued.

“Are you sure you're okay to go out there?” Garcia asked, walking up behind you. You looked over at her, slightly surprised she was around. You thought she was busy in her computer room, typing away to find the unsub’s final resting place.

“I’m sure,” you said.

“It’s just after everything…” You nodded. “It seems sudden.” You moved your arm around in a circle to show it’s motion. There was a slight sting to it but you had gotten used to the dull pain in your shoulder.

“My arm is fine. Just because I was shot does not mean I can’t go out and protect more people.”

“Yeah but physical health does not equal mental health.”

“I’m fine Garcia. I promise.” She shook her head gently, clearly not believing you. She picked up some things working endlessly with profilers. “Aaron said I was good to go.”

“Yeah and Aaron was the one pretending not to weep when we thought you might die.”

You remembered that night all too well. It was like it was last night. The feeling of the bullet piercing you and then the echo of Spencer’s gunshot through the unsub. Feeling yourself drift in and out of consciousness, hearing the voices of your team members telling you to hold on. Wanting to answer them and not being able to.

“I’m fine. I’m not gonna die anytime soon.”

“Are you ready?” Morgan asked, opening up the door. “Oh hey baby girl. Everything okay in here?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I’m ready.”

===

It was a regular unsub. Nothing particularly memorable. A time crunch, Garcia pulling things together last second. You turned the corner quickly, listening carefully to the silence. The unsub was in this house somewhere. JJ had gone in on the other side of the house. Morgan and Hotch were waiting outside.

You peeked around the corner.

There he was.

Kneeling over a body, weeping quietly. He looked unarmed but with his back turned to you, you couldn’t be sure. You started to breathe quickly. You could do this. You had been doing this for years before you were shot, you could do it again. You were going to save a life, you were going to put the bad guy away.

You took a step forward to turn the corner when someone rushed past you. You jumped in surprise but noticed the back of Aaron’s head instantly.

“Put your hands up,” he said. The unsub jumped, turning around quickly. You walked behind Aaron, your gun up to him as well. You rushed behind him and handcuffed him as Hotch held his gun on him and started to read him his rights. “We’ve got him,” Hotch said into his ear piece.

====

You sat next to Hotch on the plane. JJ was playing Spencer in chess, Emily was napping, Rossi was writing on his laptop and Morgan was having lunch. Everyone was having a quiet conversation amongst each other. You had your book out but you weren’t reading it.

You turned to Hotch.

“I had that guy you know,” you said softly, as to not disturb anyone else in the small vicinity. He turned to you. He had been on his computer writing up the report.

“I know,” he said.

“So why did you jump in? I could have arrested him, or at least made the first move.” He looked at his computer and then back at you. There was a moment of silence as he decided if he was going to give you a half assed answer or not.

“I guess I have a little bit of PTSD on your behalf,” he admitted. You blew air through your nose.

“Yeah right. What’s the real answer Aaron?”

“I’m serious,” he said simply. “I don’t like my team being shot. I should’ve been there to stop it and I’m sorry I wasn’t. Now I’m gonna be there.” You nodded slowly. You had misread that. You thought he didn’t trust you to get it done but clearly he was just worried.

“I didn’t think you had the ability to be worried,” you said slyly.

“Not worried, just cautious.”

“Way to take away from the moment.”

About twenty minutes later Hotch had drifted off. JJ looked up above the chess board and smiled gently to herself.

“Why are you smiling, you’re losing miserably,” Spencer said, moving his chess piece. She nodded her head to where you and Hotch were sitting. Spencer looked over, trying to be subtle but he almost fell out of the seat. You had taken Hotch’s computer and was finishing up his paperwork for him. Hotch was sleeping on your shoulder.

“I didn’t think they liked each other,” Spencer whispered, though his voice was only slightly below regular tone.

“I suspected on Hotch’s side. I wasn’t sure if it was reciprocated, she looked pretty mad at him today for stepping in for her,” JJ mused. “Maybe it’ll get him to lighten up.”

===

“Hotch got in your way because he likes you,” Garcia said, spinning back and forth in her chair. You rolled your eyes, leaning against her desk. You picked up one of her knick knacks. She took it out of your hands and put it back in place.

“I think you’re reading too far into it,” you said.

“You’re quite literally a profiler and yet you can’t see something right in front of you,” she muttered, amazed. She turned her chair so that she was sitting right in front of you. “Hotch needs someone. All he has is this job and his son since Haley died. I think he’s liked you since before she died but he was too good of a person to act on it. He’s not going to make the first move.” You took her knick knack back from her and tossed it in the air, thinking it over. “What, do you not like him?”

You caught it and looked down at her.

“Of course I like him Penelope,” you said gently. “He’s my superior. My boss. My co-worker. My favorite person on this job and he barely pays me a second glance because he’s always focused on the job. I can’t think of one time he might have given a small hint to liking me so forgive me if I’m a little hesitant.”

“Paying you no second glance! Good God you’re all hopeless.” You furrowed your eyebrows. “He does your paperwork. He invites you to Jack’s soccer games. He made sure your desk was closest to his office so that he could see you from the window. He brings you coffee, he’s memorized your order. JJ said he fell asleep on you on the plane ride back today!”

“Am I interrupting something?”

You and Garcia turned your heads over to see Hotch had opened the door.

“No,” you said simply. “Something wrong?”

“No, I’m heading to coach Jack’s soccer team tonight. Do you mind coming? Jack wants to show you his new kick,” Hotch said, slightly embarrassed.

“Yeah of course,” you said smiling. “I’m excited to see his new move. I’ll see you tomorrow Garcia.” You got off her desk and gave her a look. She let out an exasperated sigh.

====

You stood at the sidelines of the soccer field, watching as the little boys did drills. Aaron was standing at the side, watching each of them and giving them gentle encouragement. He had on his game face. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself.

“Y/N!” Jack called. Your eyes went to him. He did a dramatic kick. You clapped.

“Wonderful! Absolutely astonishing!” He gave you a small bow. Aaron rolled his eyes.

“Back in line Jack,” he said, gently pushing him. You and Aaron met eyes and you gave him a thumbs up.

=

“That was amazing Jack!” you said as practice came to an end. Jack ran up to you before Aaron had made it even a quarter of the way.

“I thought you would like it,” he said, looking up at you. You laughed gently, kneeling down to his eye level. You raised your hand and he gave you a high five.

“You’re really giving all those other kids a run for their money,” you told him. “They should be worried.” “I know.” You giggled and shoved him gently. He shoved you back, causing you to lose balance as you squatted and fell over onto the grass. You threw your head back as his face fell. He leaned down and grabbed your hand, trying to pull you up.

“What’s this?” Aaron asked.

“Your son pushed me over! I think I might have a bruise!” “I didn’t mean to!” Jack said, still trying to pull you up.

“She’s still heeling from being shot Jack,” Aaron muttered, more annoyed at himself then his son. He leaned over and grabbed your hand, helping you up. You fell into him with the amount of power he had used. You laughed.

“Where did all that strength come from Hotchner?” you questioned. He rolled his eyes.

“We’re going to get ice cream, you want to join us?” “I would love to.”

=

That night you rubbed your eyes in Aaron’s living room. You had gone straight from the plane to the office to soccer to ice cream and now to Aaron’s. You were about ready to fall asleep.

“Jack is asleep,” Aaron said. You smiled weakly.

“I think it’s about time for Y/N to be asleep,” you muttered, yawning. “Without a doubt I’ll get a text from my boss before 7am.” “He sounds awful,” he joked.

“He’s not too bad.” You rubbed your eyes. There was a comfortable silence in the room as you tried to figure out if you had the courage to say anything. Not tonight. “I should-”

“What were you and Garcia talking about earlier?” Your eyes went wide.

“Nothing. Girl stuff.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Are you asking as my friend or as my boss?” He was clearly a little frustrated. You couldn’t quite figure out why. Why should he care if you had a boyfriend?

“It affects the job.” “You didn’t care when Garcia got a boyfriend.”

“Garcia isn’t you.”

“What’s so different about me?”

“Goddammit you’re supposed to be my best profiler,” he said, shaking his head. “Why do you think I care?”

The silence hung in the room for a moment. You didn’t know.

“Why do you think I do everything I do, to make sure you're safe? Why do you think I was more devastated when I thought you had died then when my wife died?”

You blinked twice quickly, straightening your back in surprise. His mouth closed immediately, regretting the fact that he had kept speaking.

“I didn’t-I don’t-”

“It’s okay. I didn’t hear anything,” you muttered, still in shock.

“But you did.” He let out a loud sigh and sat down on the couch, putting his head in his hands. You walked over, sitting beside him. You put your hand on his back, rubbing circles into his tense muscles.

“Garcia and I were talking about you,” you whispered. He didn’t look up. “She was trying to tell me to make a move. I told her no because I was too nervous you would turn me down. Not to mention you're my boss and more than a few years my senior. I figure you would look at me like a child,” you whispered. He looked up and met your eyes.

“You’re not a child.”

“I know but like, metaphorically,” you muttered. “That’s not the point of what I just said.” He nodded. He was thinking. Really thinking. The more he thought about it the worse the idea seemed to him. You were right. He was older than you, he was your boss. But he couldn’t help how you had always made him feel.

“I won’t be able to let you be in danger.”

“Apparently you don’t let me be in danger anyway,” you whispered, recalling earlier. He laughed dryly and nodded. You reached over onto his lap and grabbed his hand. He squeezed. You could feel your breath picking up, not really believing what was happening.

“I don’t want you to drive in this weather.” You looked out the window. It was a clear night.

“What weather?”

“This awful rain. Can’t you see it?” You looked out the window again and cracked a small smile.

“You're right. Looks really bad. I might slide right off the road.”

=

You sat in Hotch’s bed. It was an odd feeling. Not a wrong feeling though. It seemed right. You had his laptop open and you were typing, wearing an old shirt of his and some slacks. You were typing furiously as he showered. He had gotten behind while being at soccer practice earlier.

The door opened. You looked up to see Jack walking into the bedroom. Your eyes went wide.

“Jack.”

“Y/N?” You nodded, clearing your throat.

“Can I help you hon? Your dads in the shower, I can go get him.” He shook his head, walking up to the edge of the bed.

“Are you gonna stay with us?”

“Tonight yeah. Like a sleepover,” you explained smiling.

“Can you stay forever?” Your heart swelled up. You weren’t sure how to answer that.

“I can stay however long I’m welcome.” You ruffled his hair. “You should go back to bed, little Hotch.” He fixed his hair. “Goodnight.”

“G’night.” He turned around and scampered back to bed. Hotch came out of the bathroom soon after that, hair wet, shirtless. You kept your eyes on the computer.

“Your son came and said hello,” you said.

“Oh?”

“He wants me to stay forever.” He met eyes and he smiled gently.

“He really likes you. He talks about you all the time. You have that effect on the Hotchner boys. What are you doing?”

“Your paperwork.”

“You really don’t have to do that.”

“I have the energy, let me expel it.”

“I can think of a different way to expel energy,” he said, facing the dresser. You felt yourself flush as your eyes went up to him.

“You get bolder after 11 at night.”

“It’s the long work hours.” He walked over to the bed and laid down beside you under the covers. You looked over at him, trying to ignore how much your heart ached to touch him. It was pulsing in your chest like a bomb ticking. You looked at each other.

“What time do we have to get up tomorrow?” you asked.

“Hopefully not before 7 but I have JJ’s number ready to alert me.” You nodded and turned off his computer. You put it on the bedside table and crawled under the covers, turning off the lamp. You faced each other. It was the closest and most vulnerable either of you had ever been with each other. In the dark you could make out only his most bold features, though your brain put the rest together.

You leaned forward and kissed him, oh so gently. It was like time had stopped for a moment and that very soft kiss was all that was real. You opened your eyes again to his face, a smile on his lips.

“Goodnight,” he said. You smiled back.

“Goodnight.”

====

“You snore,” you said, walking beside him. You had to wear the same pants you had worn yesterday but Hotch had given you a button up that you tucked into your pants. The sleeves were a bit long so you folded them up to your lower arm.

“So do you,” he said, laughing. You had your coffee in hand as you entered the office.

“Well deal with it. Jack told me I had an open invitation.”

“Jack doesn’t know what an open invitation is,” he said, smiling.

“Well he said it. He must be learning good vocabulary in elementary school.” The team watched as you walked Hotch to the stairs, said a few quiet words to each other and then he walked up to his office. You went to your desk nonchalantly, putting your coffee down and getting to work.

“Do we have a meeting soon?” you asked Emily who was at the desk beside yours.

“I don’t know why don’t you ask your boyfriend?” she said, eyes wide.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“Hotch buys the same shirts. He has at least 10 of the same pair that he wears with his suits and blazers,” Spencer said. He pointed at you. “That’s one of them.”

“Can you guys mind your own business?” you said, flustered. Just as quick as Hotch had gone upstairs he started to come downstairs. He stood behind your chair.

“Garcia has something for us. JJ can you gather the files?” She nodded. Hotch looked down at you and then fixed the collar of your shirt.

“Am I wearing it wrong?” you asked slyly.

“Your lanyard goes under the collar.” You rolled your eyes and got up to go to the table. You followed the rest of the team in. Garcia was already standing there at the front of the room. She clocked your shirt almost immediately. She pointed at her shirt and then at you. You rolled your eyes as you sat at the front beside her. She kneeled down.

“Do you have something to tell me?”

“I do not.”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“I am sure.”

====

The plane had a different feel to it, Spencer noticed. He couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. Everything was technically the same. The same people, the same plane, a different destination which was the same as always. Everyone was looking through the file, bouncing ideas off each other, as usual.

There was a small silence as everyone went to examine the papers alone in their own heads. You and Hotch sat across from each other. That was it, Spencer noticed. You usually sat next to each other. Everyone else was so focused on the papers that he had a chance to look over at the two of you for an extended amount of time.

Your foot was bouncing, your leg over the other. After a moment, Hotch moved his foot to touch your bouncing one, causing you to stop. You looked up at him, questioning. He gave you a look. Then you both looked back down.

Spencer had zero idea what just happened. There was a conversation that just happened but he didn’t know what was said in the slightest.

Your phone beeped. You picked it up.

“Heya.”

“I have to know, I can’t wait,” Garcia said on the other end. You stood up. As you walked past Hotch you put your hand on his shoulder. That was it and yet Spencer thought it was so telling.

You left Spencer's eyesight in the bathroom.

“I slept over but nothing happened,” you explained.

“Nothing?!”

“We kissed. But nothing else!”

“A kiss!” You could hear Garcia clapping. You rolled your eyes. “I was right. I told you!”

“Yeah yeah.” You smiled to yourself. “It was really nice.”

“I bet. You guys are destined. Fate.”

“I thought you were looking for that one suspect, Richard Knox or something.”

“Oh I am, I just needed to hear that first. Bye bye.” She hung up the phone. Your phone rang again. You looked down at Hotch’s name, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You picked it up and put it to your ear.

“Yes?” “I’m in the cockpit.”

“I’m in the bathroom. That’s like the only two places on this plane.”

“In exactly two minutes I want you to unlock the bathroom door.”

“Aaron we’re on a plane of profilers, I think they can guess what me unlocking the bathroom door might mean.” He paused. His voice got very quiet.

“I need to kiss you.”

“The doors unlocked now.”

You stood in the cramped bathroom, looking at yourself in the mirror. The bathroom door swung open and he stepped inside. There was no room for the both of you but then his lips were on yours and it was all better. You almost fell over through the door but he had you steady.

You breathed his breath. You felt him, closer than he had ever been before.

In the main part of the plane the rest of the team was being very quiet.

“I wish I could say I saw it coming,” Emily mused. Morgan had his ear to the wall.

“I only guessed when she got shot. I was more worried for Hotch than her,” Rossi said.

“I appreciate the fact that he went to the cockpit first,” JJ said, laughing.

“Shh!” Morgan said, raising his finger. He closed his eyes, focusing.

The bathroom door opened and you practically fell out. Morgan quickly sat back down. You fixed your hair and then your shirt.

You walked back to your seat, quickly starting to flip through the papers again. Aaron was close behind you, sitting down across from you.

“Would you like us to pretend you didn’t have a quickie in the bathroom?” Rossi questioned.

“We didn’t have a quickie,” Hotch said, taking a paper from your file.

“If we had a quickie we would’ve been in there longer,” you concluded.

Sharing a bedroom with Hotch is part of the job.

The department can’t always afford enough rooms for everyone to have their own when you’re out on a case. You’re used to sharing bedrooms, sometimes even beds, but with Hotch, it’s… different. You’ve had a crush on him from the moment you joined the BAU. He was classically handsome, and twice your age, which only sweetened the deal, you’ve always had a thing for older men. He was serious, focused on the job, ambitious, and always kind to you. You felt a radiant warmth in your chest every time you got him to crack a smile. You’ve had your suspicions for a while that he had feelings for you too, you’re not a half bad profiler, after all. You’ve caught on to the way he looks at you, watches out for you, spares you more attention and care than he does for anyone else on the team. You’ve especially noticed the way his breath hitches when you bend over in your tight slacks, the way he clenches his jaw and the vein pops out on his forehead when you return Morgan’s playful flirtation, and the way he’s obviously distressed every time your job puts you in an unsafe position.

Despite all of this, he’s your boss. Your very, very handsome boss. You aren’t sure if your read of him is right, or if the butterflies in your stomach are clouding your perception. The crash and burn that would follow if you confessed your feelings and they weren’t reciprocated scared you off from doing anything about it.

-

The sound of soft whispers and finger flutters drifted through your earbuds and soothed your body. You felt the tension in your muscles from an exhausting day in the field melt away as the sounds of the woman in the YouTube video quieted your buzzing mind. Quickly, you were asleep.

You always fall asleep to ASMR. You struggled to sleep, especially while away on a case, because your mind was constantly running, thinking about the events of the day, what you hadn’t figured out yet while chasing the unsub. Getting a good night’s rest to be on your best performance in the morning was better than staying up all night worrying, and the ASMR helped with that. It’s able to distract you and help you get some much-needed relaxation.

You’d explained this to Hotch the first time you shared a hotel room. It wasn’t really for him, but he certainly understood the appeal of something that could get your mind off of a case, and he was glad you were able to rest.

-

A flash of bright light had Aaron waking up abruptly, half sitting up and quickly rubbing the sleep out of his eyes to assess the situation. This job had unsurprisingly turned him into a light sleeper. His heart rate relaxed when he realized your phone had just gotten flipped screen-up as you moved around in your sleep. He grabbed your phone and smiled to himself at the sight of your ASMR video. He was happy that the woman who mattered most to him was able to get a good night’s rest. God knows you needed it in this career. Right as his thumb moved to the power button to click the phone off and leave him to sleep once again, a text notification popped up on your screen from Garcia. Aaron winced, a sinking feeling in his chest from unintentionally invading your privacy, but when he processed the message’s information, his curiosity got the best of him.

Penelope Garcia: heyyyyy sweetcheeks :3 how are things going with your favorite special agent hotchner? has he confessed his obvious crush on you and fulfilled all your dreams of him railing you into the mattress yet or is he still being a pussy…. 🤭

Aaron’s eyes widened in shock. He couldn’t believe what he was reading. Did this mean you liked him back? And was his crush on you really that obvious? He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself from scrolling up to the top of your messages with Penelope from the day.

Penelope Garcia: OMG

Penelope Garcia: i can’t believe you’re rooming with hotch AGAIN

Penelope Garcia: i’m not a profiler like you are, lovebug, but even i’m starting to suspect he’s doing this on purpose

He swallowed deeply. Had he been pairing the two of you together more often? Consciously, he tried to get an even mix of everyone when you had to share rooms to avoid any potential hint of bias. Unconsciously, though, he didn’t keep a record of who shared with who how often, and it’s possible he’s unintentionally been seeking you out. It’s not his fault, though. You were just so warm beside him, and you look so sweet sleeping…

you: girl ik

you: i know i have to keep it professional bc we’re working but i swear he likes me back

Penelope Garcia: OBVIOUSLY HE DOES!!! we’ve all seen the way he looks at youuuuuuu <3

you: can you imagine if i confessed to him and he didn’t tho

you: i’d probably get fired or transferred to another department at the very least

you: i reallyyyyy like hotch 😭 but this job is so important to me and i just can’t risk it unless he makes the first move

Penelope Garcia: be brave my beautiful soldier ❤️ ik you’ll get your man in time!!!!

Penelope Garcia: your scary, emotionless, double your age man ❤️

Penelope Garcia: who is also your boss ❤️

Penelope Garcia: jk :3

Hotch finally clicked your phone off, not even minding Penelope’s teasing, and smiled to himself in the dark at the thought of being your man.

As he set your phone back where it was on the bed, he felt you stir, and your breathing pattern begin to change.

You were waking up. If he was going to do anything, it had to be now. He couldn’t spend another day not being your man.

-

“Hotch?” you asked, your voice soft and sleepy. Some motion in the bed woke you up, greeted by the sight of Aaron Hotchner sitting up in bed, illuminated by the moonlight through the blinds. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m sorry for waking you.”

He laid back down, his mind racing trying to figure out how to confess his feelings to you right here, right now, before you went back to bed.

What you did next certainly took the pressure of deciding off his (deliciously broad) shoulders.

Still half-asleep, you snuggled up to Hotch and draped your arm and leg over him, nuzzling your face into his warm and muscular chest. Aaron’s breath caught in his throat in shocked relief, and suddenly you tensed up, the realization of what you had just done waking you up faster than any cup of coffee or middle-of-the night case.

You scrambled up as fast as possible, distancing yourself from the older man as much as you could without falling off the bed.

“Oh my god, Hotch- Agent Hotchner, sir, I’m so sorry, that was completely inappropriate, I was half-asleep and I didn’t realize what I was doing, I am so sorry,” you rambled. Your heart was beating out of your chest and your face was flushed hot red. You knew your career in the Behavioral Analysis Unit was over. You had just cuddled up to your boss.

“Sweetheart,” he mused comfortingly, reaching out to rub his thumb gently against your shaking hand. “It’s okay. Come back to bed.”

He wasn’t mad? He called you sweetheart? Your thoughts were a jumble of emotions. You didn’t know what to do, other than obey your boss’s orders. You laid back down, stiff as a board, and as far away from him as possible, closing your eyes tight and willing sleep to welcome you quickly.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Aaron’s mouth. He was charmed by how flustered you were for him, and the right side of his body was missing your warmth.

“Come closer, please,” he asked gently. He knew you wanted this, but didn’t want to push you too far. You obliged, scooting closer to the middle of the bed, and Aaron did as well, meeting you halfway until your bodies are touching, which is the last thing you expected.

Aaron decided to be bold. With one of his muscular arms, he pulled you into him, lifting your leg and draping it against his torso, before taking your hand in his and pulling it to rest against his chest, the way you had cuddled up to him before. To seal the deal, he placed a soft ghost of a kiss against your cheek.

“Sir…” you whispered.

“Call me Aaron, please.”

The room was shrouded in darkness, which made him even more grateful for the moonlight, allowing him to see the sweet smile blooming on your face.

“Aaron,” you began. “I probably don’t have to tell you this, but I’ve liked you ever since I joined the BAU. I wanted to tell you, but I was scared you would be angry, and fire me or transfer me to another department.”

He brought his big hand up to your face, brushing a loose strand of hair away, and rubbing his thumb comfortingly along your cheekbone.

He felt like teasing you, so all he said was, “I know.”

You laughed in shock. “You did? No, you didn’t. I haven’t been doing this as long as you have, Aaron, but I’m a decent profiler. I know you didn’t know.”

He smiled shyly, looking down before meeting your eyes again. Then, the pang of guilt from looking at your private messages with Garcia struck him once more. He needed to be honest with you.

“I had my suspicions,” he said, pressing another kiss against your cheek. “But tonight, the bright light from your phone playing your ASMR video woke me up. I took your phone, just to turn it off, I promise you, but a text came in for you from Penelope, about how you have a crush on me. Specifically, how you want me to rail you into the mattress.”

Your face flushed again, and you felt a tingle in your pussy.

“Oh god,” you groaned, burying your face in his chest. “That’s so embarrassing.”

A torturous moment of silence passed, before Aaron spoke again, the deep rumble of his voice igniting the fire in the pit of your stomach even deeper.

“Can I?”

“What?” you gasped breathlessly.

“Can I rail you into the mattress? Can I fuck your pretty pussy until all you remember how to say is my name?”

“Yes, Aaron, fuck… am I dreaming?”

He laughed and flipped you onto your back, climbing on top of you swiftly, and brought his lips to yours. His lips were slightly chapped, but still soft, and his mouth tasted of minty toothpaste and a taste that was completely him. His kisses on your cheeks had been so gentle, but there was nothing gentle about this. He was rough, and meticulous, as though every kiss was carefully calculated to make your panties wetter. You kissed him back as if your life depended on it. Like he was water, air, your life force. Aaron’s tongue darted inside your mouth, and you gladly accepted it, giving it a gentle suck before letting him explore. He nipped at your bottom lip with his teeth, making you whine and buck your hips up against him.

He chuckled darkly at your desperation. “Be patient, sweet girl. I want to make you feel good, but you have to be patient.”

You nodded frantically. You’d do anything, wait forever, if it meant he would fuck you.

“Yes, sir,” you replied.

“God, (Y/N), you have no idea what you do to me when you say that.”

He dove back into your mouth, kissing with just as much fervor, and then began trailing hot kisses across your jawline and down your neck.

“I want to be a good girl for you, sir, I’ll take anything you want to give me,” you moaned

Hotch groaned at that and brought his hands to your large breasts, which were practically spilling out of your tank top.

“Taking this off for me is a start.”

You eagerly pulled back and pulled off your tank top, throwing it onto the floor. Hotch marveled at your beautiful breasts, but before he did anything further, he cupped your face again and placed a more gentle kiss to your lips.

“Is this okay?” He asked with sincerity, slightly breaking the dominant attitude he had taken on to make sure he wasn’t being too much, going too far.

“More than okay,” you assured him with another kiss. He smiled. A real, genuine smile that you got to see so much more than anyone else.

“I want to talk about kinks, limits, and safewords next time, but for now, I just want to make love to you. All you need to do is say stop, and I’ll stop right away, do you understand?” he spoke.

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s my good girl.”

It made you so happy how much Aaron cared about your comfort and wellbeing. It also made you so happy that he promised you a next time. Your conversation earlier pretty much cemented that you both had real feelings for each other and this would be more than just a hookup, but there was still a twinge of insecurity inside of you that that wasn’t the case. You would talk to Aaron about defining your relationship after this. For now, all you could focus on was the pleasure coursing through your body as he sucked on your nipple, grazing his teeth along it slightly, and using his hand to roll and pinch the nipple on your other breast. Your breasts had always been very sensitive, which he was clearly learning for himself with every little sound you let out.

“Aaronnnn,” you moaned, and suddenly the throbbing erection in his sweatpants was becoming more and more difficult to ignore.

“Fuck,” he moaned against your chest as he palmed his aching cock. “I wanted to eat your pussy, pretty girl, but I need to be inside of you so badly right now, that will have to wait.”

He pulled your hips flush against him roughly, catching you by surprise and causing you to cry out.

He put his large hand against your mouth and leaned into your ear, whispering, “You’re gonna have to keep quiet, (Y/N), the rest of our team is staying in this hotel and they don’t need to have their sleep disturbed by the sound of you cumming on your boss’s cock, do they?”

It was vulgar, and he knew it. The hot flush on your face and the aroused whimper you let out was the exact reaction he wanted.

“No, sir,” you thought for a moment. “Probably not.”

He smirked at you again. “Dirty girl.”

Aaron brought his hands to the waistband of your pajama shorts, instructing you to “lift that ass up for me” so he could tug them off and toss them and your panties onto the floor beside your tank top. The cool air of the hotel room hit your glistening pussy. You shivered.

“You still have all your clothes on, Hotch- I mean, Aaron. Please, can I see you? I want to see you.”

He considered berating you for telling him what to do, and for slipping up by calling him Hotch, since you had promised you would do whatever he wanted, but he could tell you sincerely wanted to see his body, and he obliged.

“Of course, princess.”

You stared shamelessly as he stepped away from the bed. First, he pulled off his T-shirt, and you stifled a moan at the sight of his toned chest, dusted with hair and beauty marks. Next, he pulled off his light grey sweatpants, and your eyes widened at the sight of the wet spot forming on the fabric. Finally, his solid, leaking cock sprung out, and you gasped. It was the biggest cock you had ever seen in real life. It was long and thick, a beautiful shade of pink, and it bobbed against his stomach, leaving a tiny smear of precum that glistened in the moonlight.

Aaron suddenly felt insecure, standing nude in front of you. It has been a long time since he had been naked in front of a woman, and he had never been naked in front of a woman as young, beautiful, and brilliant as you.

You read the expression of insecurity flash across his face. It made you sad. He was so unbelievably handsome and it hurt you to think that he didn’t feel the same way about himself.

“Fuck, Aaron” you said, standing up out of the bed and walking over to him. You placed your hands on his chest and got on your tippy toes to kiss him, but he still had to lean down to meet your lips. The height difference made you dizzy. “You are so hot, sir. I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this from me under your suits all this time.”

He smiled and looked away, embarrassed.

“You’re so hot too,” he said playfully. “I mean it. You’re so beautiful, (Y/N). I feel…” he paused, taking a deep breath. “I feel honored to see your body.”

You smiled up at him and blushed when you felt his massive cock rub against your torso.

His dominant persona switched back on. “Get on the bed and spread your legs for me so I can fuck that drippy pussy, baby.”

You flushed madly and felt an electric shock of arousal run through your body, but you were nervous.

You were nervous that Aaron’s big cock wouldn’t fit in you. At least, not without some preparation. You didn’t want to disappoint him, disobey your boss’s orders, but you knew he told you that he would stop right away if you said the word.

“Wait, Aaron, can you stop for a second, please?” you asked softly, running your hands up and down his muscular arms.

Oh god.

Aaron silently started to panic. He had done something wrong. He had been too rough, too domineering. Too intimidating. The team had told him before he was too intense. He was a bully. That’s the last thing he wanted you to think about him and now he was positively sure you did. He took a deep breath and collected himself.

“Yes, of course. Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

You smiled that radiant smile of yours and he already felt some relief before you even began to speak.

“Yes, I’m doing great. And no, you didn’t do anything wrong. I…” you trailed off distractedly, and grazed your hand lightly against the length of his dick. He hissed at the sensation, his cock still throbbing. It had been a long time since he even got off with his own hand, his self-pleasure coming much farther down in his list of priorities than his work.

“I’m gonna need you to stretch me out with your fingers before I can take you. You’re… you’re really big, sir.”

The flattery made Aaron’s head swoon. He was normally so calm, cool, and collected, but you were driving him crazy. Although the pride swelling in his chest was quickly trampled away by the guilt that he hadn’t thought to do that himself. He felt like such an insensitive asshole. He fantasized about giving you pleasure nearly every chance he got, and yet he nearly put you in a situation that would cause you pain.

He looked down at you, staring up at him with your big, beautiful eyes, still ghosting your fingers along his dick.

“Of course, baby, I would love to get you ready for me on my fingers,” he began, dragging a finger through your wet folds and making you gasp. “I’m sorry I didn’t think of that myself. I’ve been thinking about filling you up with my cock for so long, I got ahead of myself. Go get on the bed.”

He smacked you on the butt as you turned away to climb back into the comfy hotel bed, making you squeal.

“What did I say about keeping quiet?” he reprimanded. You squirmed with embarrassment at the loud noise you made, praying none of your coworkers heard it. You knew even if you managed to make up a decent excuse for why everyone heard squeals and moans coming from the room you were sharing with your boss, your dear friend Penelope would surely know what really happened and break the news to everyone.

“I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”

“It better not, or I’ll have to shut your pretty mouth up myself.”

You barely got a moment to fantasize about the implications of that sentence because Aaron quickly joined you on the bed, situating you comfortably to the side of his firm, warm body so he could wrap his arm around you and reach your pussy. It took a slight crane of the neck for him to kiss you in this position, but a tiny bit of discomfort was more than worth it for the feeling of your wet mouth against his own.

Hotch trailed gentle kisses along your jawline and began by rubbing your clit to get you nice and loose for him. Taking his fingers would be easier than taking his cock, certainly, but his fingers were still so big and thick. It struck you how inappropriate this was, your boss from the FBI for god’s sake was rubbing your clit while you tried to subdue your moans. As if he read your mind (he practically can) he leaned into your ear with a low whisper, “When we’re finally back to Quantico, I’m taking you on every surface of my house to make up for all the pretty moans you’ll have to keep in at this fucking hotel. I can’t wait to hear you scream my name.”

“Oh, Aaron,” you moaned out softly. “I can’t wait, I can’t wait, I need to let it out.”

“Oh, baby, I know you do. You’re doing so good staying quiet for me.”

His middle finger was flicking up and down quickly against your clit, a sensation so intense you shuddered. You didn’t have the words to express how incredible it felt. You were no stranger to the feeling of your own fingers on your clit, but Aaron’s were something else entirely.

“You’re gonna cum from my hand on your clit before I put my fingers in you.”

The way he stated that as a fact instead of a question was tantalizing to you. He already knew your body so well, of course he would, as one of the top behavior experts in the world.

After a few minutes of this decadent pleasure, you began to feel the familiar sensation of your orgasm building up in the pit of your stomach.

“I’m- I’m close, sir, gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” you babbled, and finally your orgasm washed over you, tingly heat spreading throughout your whole body.

Aaron rode you through it so well, every wave of your orgasm crashing into you more intensely than the last. He finally pulled his hand away from your clit, and just as you were expecting a momentary break, two of his thick fingers plunged inside of your hole.

You gasped, throwing one of your hands against your mouth at lightning speed to muffle the string of moans and profanities coming out of you. Aaron smirked at your attempt to keep quiet, the low rumble of his voice praising you for being such a good girl mixed in the air with the squelching sound of his fingers diving in and out of your pussy, creating an absolutely lewd melody. This was way better than any ASMR you would have been listening to if you were asleep right now. You removed your hand from your mouth momentarily to beg Aaron for a third finger, which he eagerly obliged, stuffing your cunt even fuller. With the insertion of the third digit, he curled his fingers up at just the perfect angle, hitting the squishy spot at the end of your vaginal canal that had you cumming instantly, rocking your hips against his big hand.

He slowly pulled his fingers out of you, drenched in your slick, and marveled wide eyed when you grabbed his wrist before he could wipe his hand on the blankets as he intended to. You brought his hand up to your mouth, taking his fingers deep to clean them off. You were milking it, and you both knew it, dramatically bobbing your head up and down and gazing up at him through your eyelashes as if you were sucking his cock. Speaking of his cock, it had gone half hard while he was pleasuring you, not from lack of arousal but from how focused his concentration was on your pleasure. But the lewd display you were putting on for him stirred his cock back fully to life, hard, aching, and leaking a bead of precum that fell onto your plush thigh. Damn, your thighs. They were so thick and grabbable. He’d spend so many meetings trying to avoid looking at how your skirt had ridden up your legs and exposed your thighs. He decided right then and there that every night you two spent in this damn hotel room until this case was over would be dedicated to him worshipping another part of your body.

You took Aaron’s hand from your mouth and licked a fat, wet stripe across his palm, trying to act confident but secretly hoping he would know what to do with it and he wouldn’t think you were a weirdo who licked him for no reason. Thankfully, he understood your intention and brought it to his cock, lubing himself up with the mixture of your saliva and his precum.

Aaron already knew you were on birth control, he’s seen you pop the little pill in your mouth at 9PM sharp while out late on a case or when you’ve shared a room in the past, but he figured he should still offer the use of a condom to you, just in case you wanted it.

But fuck, he didn’t have condoms. He couldn’t even recall the last time he bought condoms. He hadn’t planned to fuck you tonight. He planned to suffer in silence the rest of his life, never confessing to you, and trying to avoid you on days you wore low cut tops to the office.

“Do you have a condom?” he asked, hoping maybe you had been more prepared than he.

You smirked.

“I know you know I’m clean and on the pill, sir. I know you’re clean, too. I want to feel you cum inside of me. Please, let me feel you fill me up.”

“God, (Y/N), you’re going to kill me,” he groaned, and with that, he pushed inside you. He was careful to go slowly, giving you time to adjust to his size as he slid into you. His fingers had definitely helped, but there was still a delicious burn as his long cock finally bottomed out. He stilled for a moment, listening to the sound of both of your breathing and heartbeats. As you adapted to the size of him, he appreciated how warm, wet, and tight you were. Aaron would never be able to let you go. He needed this for the rest of his life.

He leant down to press a hungry kiss to your lips which you more than reciprocated, before he broke away to say “tell me when you’re ready for me to move, sweetheart.”

“Now! Please fuck me, sir, I need it, please.”

He hadn’t expected such an eager response and it made his cock pulse. He needed it too.

That’s when Special Agent Hotchner delivered his promise of railing you into the bed.

He was rough and fast, thrusting in and out of you at a pace that made the bed rattle and had you gasping and moaning (as quietly as possible!) uncontrollably. You’ve never felt a sensation as good in your life. Aaron was the only thing you could think of. His thick cock dragged against your soft walls and you chanted “Aaron, Aaron, Aaron!”

It was impossible for him to keep up his usually stoic expression when he was inside your pussy. His jaw hung open as he fucked you hard, trying so hard not to bust in you just a few minutes in, you just felt so damn good. He wanted to make you cum one more time before he did, but his orgasm was approaching fast, with every passing moment it was getting harder to run from.

He shifted his weight onto his right arm so he could bring his left hand down to rub your clit, and you whimpered. Your chant of his name became less clear, profanities and gaps merging with different variations of his name.

“Aaron, Aaron! Hotch, sir, fuck, fuck!”

He barely made a mental note to serve you a good punishment later for calling him Hotch in the bedroom again, but his attention was immediately stolen by a hot gush of liquid around his cock and against his lower stomach.

You squirted.

You felt it coming and you couldn’t stop it. You’ve squirted before, but only a few times, and only ever by yourself. You didn’t expect it. It felt incredible, your orgasm was strong, spraying out of you and coating the older man. Suddenly, you felt embarrassed. You made a mess. You made a mess of him. You could barely choke out an apology when he moaned out, “Don’t be, don’t be sorry, fuck, I’m cumming.”

He’d never experienced someone squirting in real life before. It was the most erotic thing that’s ever happened to him, and it gave him the most powerful orgasm of his life. He collapsed on top of you, barely managing to support himself last minute before crushing you.

“Oh my god, (Y/N), don’t be sorry. That was the most erotic experience of my life.”

Your expression was a mixture of bliss and exhaustion as a sweet smile formed on your face. You placed your small, soft hands on either side of his face and pulled him down to kiss you. This kiss was unlike any of the kisses you two had shared all night. It wasn’t carefully gentle, nor roughly sexual. It was blissfully romantic.

“Thank you, Aaron,” you murmured.

“Thank you, pretty girl. I’m gonna pull out now. Are you ready?”

You nodded, and gasped once you were empty.

“Wait here while I get a towel to clean you up,” said Aaron, planting a kiss on your forehead before heading to the bathroom. He came back with a hand towel, half soaked in warm water and half dry. He wiped you down between your legs and wiped off his own dick before drying you both off with the dry end. He also brought a full-sized towel which he draped over the wet spot your squirt made on the bed, insisting on taking that side of the bed despite your protests. Your comfort was the most important thing to him.

“We should at least go down to the front desk and get new sheets,” you whined, still slightly embarrassed of the mess you made, and now the fact that Aaron was literally lying in it.

“In a minute. I just want to be with you, first.”

You two snuggled up together on the bed, still nude, enjoying the feeling of being skin-to-skin with one another. The conversation about your relationship status came easily. You both had been interested in each other for a long time. You were both deeply passionate for each other, and you wanted to make something serious work.

“My handsome boyfriend,” you murmured, tracing a finger along his jawline. “Are we going to tell the team?” you asked. He thought on it for a moment.

“We should. Actually, I have the perfect idea on how we should.”

You raised an eyebrow expectantly as Aaron tugged the blanket up to cover your breasts and grabbed your phone. He snapped a picture of you laying on his chest, the both of you covered yet still obviously unclothed, and handed the phone to you.

“Send this to Garcia.”

-

bonus:

Eventually, when you could bear to stop cuddling and get out of bed, you and Aaron got dressed and headed down to the front desk for some fresh bedding. The front desk employee only had an extra comforter to offer you instead of a full set of sheets, which was alright, as your release had really only soaked through the comforter. You and Aaron made the bed together and drifted off to sleep quickly after exchanging a few goodnight kisses. You were both exhausted, and both slept well in each other’s arms. In the morning, the team met in the hotel lobby, where the same front desk person was on staff from last night.

“Oh, hi again!” he smiled brightly as you and Aaron stepped off the elevator. “My apologies once again that we didn’t have any extra bedsheets.”

Extra bedsheets? The team stared at you with slack jaws and wide eyes, cogs evidently turning in their brains as they all tried to analyze whether or not the extra sheets were for the reason all of their minds immediately jumped to, or whether there was an innocent explanation. Well, the whole team but Garcia, who immediately blushed and started giggling, confirming everyone’s suspicions.

“Oh my god, you NEED to tell me everything!” She blurted out.

You laughed. “I’ll tell you about it in the car, Pen.” You began walking towards the hotel door and shot a look back to the rest of the team.

“Only you.”

"You feel so- fucking- good.." each word is punctuated with a thrust. You swear that by now your cervix is bruised and battered by Spencers tip. There's an occasional twitch, he'll stop, wait. But in another second he'll be pounding back into you mercilessly.

It's less than elegant, squelching, moaning, gasping. The amount of times you've orgasmed would be deemed impossible if he didn't prove you could go over and over again. Despite the constant touch, his thumb on your clit, the occasional slap of his soaked cock against it, you needed more. You tried, tried to get more than what was possible. Thrusting up into him only made you slip back into the slick, wet mess you'd created together.

Spencer has never had this much stamina, at least from what you remember. Now he's whimpering into your shoulder, holding back all the pent up come he swore he would wait to breed you with. Either you were numb or feeling everything, eyes closing, barely present. That was, until his thumb is back on the puffy sensitive bud between your plush thighs.

"So good for me, pretty girl." his voice is broken. He means it. Spencer Reid could never muster up a lie when deep inside you, your wet warmth melts his brain, every other thought nonexistent.

Your only response to his praise is a whine, its all you've been able to do for what feels like the past three hours. It's like his cock has broken you down to nothing.

The only reason you'd been worked enough for this? He saw your maternal nature toward your shared godchild. Mr "Oh, I'm not ready for kids." watching you nurture a child immediately made his heart melt.

Then Spencer imagined what you'd look like, swollen with his child, all bred up and pretty. How good it would look, how much care he would give you..

"Made for my cock- such a good girl.." Spencer whimpers into your skin, pressing soft kisses to your neck.

"Make- hah-!" there's no way you could finish that sentence. He slows, pulling almost all the way out, to the tip and then right back so you clench around the base.

"Try again baby, use your big girl words for me.." thumb stroking your cheek tenderly, each thrust rough in comparison.

"Make me a mommy- Fill me up, please- please" you plead, desperate, needy.

It's over for him. He immediately loses it. His warm release spurts out, you feel it hit the inside of your walls. The smallest whimper escapes you when he pulls out, his release dripping out of you and sliding down onto the sheets.

A grunt registers in your ears, Spencers fingers are back on you in an instant. Dragging his middle and ring finger through the mess now pooling under you, he scoops up the mixed release. Guiding it with gentle (but insistent) fingers, he manages to shove it all back inside of you. Leaning down, kissing your exposed stomach with the hunger of a madman, he speaks.

~ ~ ~

With your ex, you practically had to beg for a date night. With Aaron, date night is…every night.

You were lying in bed, dozing in and out of sleep, when Aaron got back from the office. He kissed you gently, waking you up with a smile.

“We have reservations,” he whispered, kissing your cheek. “At six, so you better get dressed.”

Admiring him as he walked away to the mirror to fix his tie, you asked, “Where are we going tonight, Mr. Hotchner?”

“Not much farther than this bed if you keep that up,” Aaron replied, quirking an eyebrow while looking at you through the mirror, laughing when you covered your face with a pillow.

You exhaled loudly into the pillow before lowering it. “This is why we’re always late.”

“You said it, not me!”

~ ~ ~

Your ex hated the idea of celebrating Valentine’s Day. At first, you thought it was because he shared your sentiment: that you shouldn’t show your love and appreciation for someone on one day of the year only.

But your ex didn’t share that mindset. Because he never showed his love any day of the year.

Aaron, though, well— Aaron hardly lets a week go by without sending a bouquet of flowers to your work. Always a vase of your favorite flowers, never anything less.

“We’re going to need a new cabinet to store all of these vases,” you joked, dumping the old water down the sink.

“Then I’ll build one,” Aaron said, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Did you save one?”

You pointed upwards, where one of the flowers now hung upside down, drying. “Every time.”

You save one flower from every vase. Every time.

~ ~ ~

You were the second choice at all times when you were with your ex. Judging by how your relationship began, you should’ve seen it coming. He was interested in someone else when he decided to date you, and the relationship was doomed from the start.

With Aaron, you’re the first choice. Always have been, from the very first date in that cafe downtown.

“Alright, lay it on me,” you had said that day, holding onto your coffee cup for support. “There’s someone else, isn’t there?”

You were certain that there was. No man that had his looks, his charm, his intelligence, or his everything could be single. There was just no way that was possible.

“There is no one else,” Aaron said calmly. “Just you.”

You blinked. “No wife?”

“Ex-wife,” Aaron said. “But she’s happily engaged and their wedding is next month, I believe.”

“Okay,” you said. “No girlfriend? No estranged mistress?”

Aaron laughed. “What do you think I do for a living?”

“I don’t know!” You were laughing, too. For the first time in maybe a year, you were genuinely laughing. “Let me guess. Lawyer?”

“Close,” he nodded. “Former attorney. I work for the FBI now.” He paused. “Is this the part where you get up and leave?”

You shook your head. “Nope. This is the part where I stay. And I try not to tell you how much hotter you just got.”

He laughed loudly then, a joyous one, like a little kid, like he was happy. And he was.

~ ~ ~

Your ex was never there for you, not even when you needed something as small as moral support.

Aaron is always there. Even when your date is rudely intercepted by said ex.

You were meeting Aaron at the cafe, the same one as your first date. The two of you meet up for coffee here at least once a week, for convenience and nostalgia purposes.

While you were in line to get drinks (because for once you got there before Aaron), your ex happened to get in line right behind you. And because he was never one for considering your well-being, he thought that moment was the right time to start a conversation.

A conversation about how he was wrong, how he wants you back, and how it was always you that he really wanted.

“No,” you shook your head. “No. You don’t get to do this to me.”

“Please,” he cried. “I’m sorry.”

“And?” You nearly laughed in his face, and you wish you had. “What do you want me to say? Do you want a gold star for that performance?”

“Come on,” he said quietly. “I’m trying to win you back.”

“You’re doing a horrible job at it,” you said.

Aaron walked in as you said that, and he immediately went to your side, knowing something was wrong just from your face. But seeing your ex was all the explanation he needed.

“If I’m who you really want, then you should’ve thought about that sooner. You’re too late,” you continued, your hand slipping easily into Aaron’s. “You don’t get to waltz in here and act like one little ‘I’m sorry’ fixes everything. God, grow up. ‘I’m sorry’ means nothing. Especially when it’s coming from you.”

Everything hurt, and that was the first sign of something wrong. Your head lolled to the side and when you tried to move your hands you could only feel shooting pains up your arm and a cool metallic sensation around your wrists. An involuntary groan of pain escaped past your lips while you tried to open your eyes, but your eyelids felt heavy, it took a lot of effort to push past the sluggishness and become fully aware of your surroundings.

The room was dimly lit, not a place you recognized and when you tried to fight back against your restraints you heard a soft voice that you recognized, but it sounded chillingly hopeless.

“It’s no use,”

Your eyes locked on what was in front of you as you lifted your head up properly.

“Hotch?” you sounded unlike yourself, tired and lifeless. “W-What happened? I-I can’t remember anything,” you admitted but it didn’t look like he had an answer. “Have you seen-,”

“The unsub? No,” he shook his head.

You squeezed your eyes shut again and mustered up as much energy as you could and shouted,

“Hey! What the hell do you want from us?!”

“(Y/N), stop it! What are you thinking?” he whispered harshly.

“If he gets in here we can profile him,” you stated. “It’s our best chance of getting out of here,”

“(Y/N) I don’t think we want-,”

“Hey, asshole! Are you gonna come out here or what? Are you too scared of two tied-up FBI agents?!” you tried to fight against your restraints, but as Hotch had said, it was no use.

“(Y/N) stop it! Please!”

“Do you want to get out of here or not?” you asked and he sighed, not frustrated, but worried, tried.

“I do, but I don’t want to risk either of us getting hurt so just leave it be,” he said plainly.

“I think it’s a little too late for that,”

Both of your heads swung in the direction of the door, noticing a man of average height and build walk past the threshold and into the room.

“I would have come anyway Aaron if that’s any consolation. I wouldn’t want you to be mad at this sweet little thing here,” he came up next to you and brushed the back of his fingers against your cheek but you quickly turned your head and bit him causing him to pull away his fingers and shake away the pain. “Oh look she’s feisty too, but you already knew that,”

“Who are you?” Hotch asked calmly.

“You don’t remember me?” the man frowned and walked over to Aaron, bending down in front of him. “Aaron, I’m offended, but then again I have changed a lot since prison,”

Hotch didn’t let any sort of recognition come across his face as the unsub tried to read him.

“I don’t know who you are, jackass,” you spat. “Tell me,”

“No, no, I want to play a little game and see how long before he remembers me, maybe this will jog his memory,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a large dagger-looking knife with a hook at the end. “Does this,” he took the flat end of the blade and ran the cool metal across Hotch’s cheek. “Look familiar?”

“Ted Hawkins,” Hotch said quietly. “You weren’t supposed to have an option for parole,”

“Yeah, but once you convince the court-appointed psychologist you’re a little y’know,” he made a twirling motion with his finger on the side of his head. “They send you to a psychiatric facility which is a lot easier to break out of,”

He had a smile on his face, but it was malicious like he was savouring what he was about to do.

“I’m curious though,” he looked over at you. “Have you wondered yet why I took you?”

“Not particularly, our team has a tendency to get, how do I put this, oh yeah kidnapped, we get kidnapped a lot,”

“Wow she never stops going doesn’t she,” Ted chuckled and came to stand next to you again, placing his hand on the back of your head and when you tried to fight back he grabbed your face roughly with his hand. “Watch it, sweetheart, you got one free pass,” when he let go of you his attention was back on Hotch. “So are you gonna tell her why she’s here Aaron?”

“I don’t know why she’s here,” he stated, but there was a flicker of worry in his eye and you caught the slightest glimpse of it. “Whatever this is it's between me and you Ted, you can let her go,”

“You know I can’t do that,” Ted shook his head. “And each time you lie,” before either of you could register what he was going to say he pulled out his knife again and hooked it into your shoulder causing you to scream out and double over in pain. “I’ll do something like that,”

“I’m not lying!” Hotch insisted, “She did nothing, leave her alone!”

“I’m not gonna do that,” he shook his head. “You know cause you said I was sadistic in your profile that means I get off on this, right?” he asked bending down so he was more at level with you. You could feel his warm breath on your cheek and it sent shivers down your spine. “I just love seeing her squirm,” his nose was now pressed against your cheek and you could feel the anger bubbling in your stomach.

“Get your hands off her,” Hotch said, his voice icy and cool.

“Okay, as you wish,” he stepped away. “But I don’t have to touch her with my hands to have a little fun with both of you,”

Ted shoved your chair forward so you were closer to Hotch so he could see the tears of pain budding in your eyes.

“I brought some toys,” he pointed to the table he was rolling up towards you both. There was an assortment of different knives, blowtorches, guns, pliers, it was a torture table. “What should I use first,” he hummed. “I always liked this,” he grabbed a crowbar. And jabbed you with it lightly, smiling when he saw you flinch. “But you’re safe from this one (N/N), I’ve been waiting to use this on Aaron,”

“No, don't do it!” you begged, but the tail end of your sentence was cut off when Ted smashed the crowbar against Aaron’s restrained hand, he couldn’t control the sound that escaped his throat time after time as Ted kept going and going and going. You could hear the bones crack and it made you want to vomit and you screamed for it to stop.

Finally, Ted dropped the bloodied crowbar at his feet and pushed Aaron back in his seat.

“Better toughen up buddy, we’re just getting started,”

“Leave him alone!” the tears were freely streaming down your face at this point and your vision was slightly blurred as a result.

“Oh look at that, she cares,” he cooed. “You still not going to tell her why she’s here?”

“I-I-,” his breathing was laboured as he tried to push through his pain. “I told you, I don’t know why she’s here,”

“Wrong again,” Ted shrugged, picking up a pair of pliers and grabbing your face as he had earlier, this time shoving the metal in your mouth making Hotch fight as hard as he could in his seat to get him to stop, despite the throbbing pain in his hand he kept pushing, but you prepared yourself for the inevitable hurt you’d feel when he yanked your molar out of your mouth.

You weren’t even sure you registered it happening, you just knew it had because of the warm metallic liquid filling your mouth and staining the rest of your teeth. You spat some of it out of your mouth, not wanting to swallow it and as a result, splattering red over both you and Hotch.

“I remember you also said I was completely devoid of empathy,” Ted added, twirling a gun around his finger. “Funny thing, cause that just means I could do whatever the hell I want and won’t feel sorry for it, right? And I like to think of what I do as art, and art needs to have a signature, don’t you think?”

“What the fuck do you want?” you looked over at him, trying to keep the fear out of your eyes.

“I want to sign my art (N/N),” he smiled. “Actually, I want you both to sign my art for me,”

He came over to Hotch first, placing his hand on the gun and holding it in place so it was aimed at your leg.

“Go ahead, Aaron, pull the trigger,” Ted said, “Unless you rather I hurt that pretty face of hers,”

“No,” Hotch shook his head. “I won’t do it,”

“Hotch-,” you tried to reason with him, but he cut you off.

“I won’t do it (Y/N)! Forget it!”

“Do it Hotch! Just do it!”

“(Y/N), I-,”

“Goddammit, Aaron, pull the trigger! Just shoot me!”

A loud bang echoed through the walls of the room and you swore, feeling the burning sensation in your thigh and watching as blood blossomed around your jeans.

And you saw for the first time Hotch had let his emotions slip, tears silently falling down his face.

“I’m fine,” you insisted. “Aaron, I’m alright, I’m alright,”

“Oh you won’t be,” Ted informed you, now shoving the gun in your own hand, but you did nothing which frustrated him, making him grab your hair and yank on it. “Shoot him (N/N) or I swear to God you won’t be able to recognize him when I’m done,”

“Aaron, I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your voice thick and heavy with emotion.

“It’s okay,” he assured. “I’ll be okay,”

You closed your eyes shut and pulled the trigger, unable to look at him while you did it and wishing you could plug your ears when you heard the wounded sounds that he tried to hold back.

“Now let’s try this one more time,” Ted started, grabbing a different knife off the table. “Aaron, why is (N/N) here?”

“I don’t know,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Yes, you do!” Ted placed his hands on Aaron’s arms and squeezed painfully tight. “You say you’re a good person, you think you do good things, but good people don’t lie, Aaron! Good people tell the truth even when it’s difficult!”

He came back over to you tossing the knife to the side and grabbing the small blowtorch.

“Good people don’t let other people get hurt,” he said coolly, turning on the flame and coming in front of you. He ripped the fabric of your shirt so your skin and bra were now visible before pointing the flame right on your stomach.

That was your tipping point, the pain was too much, you could feel the screams coming out of your mouth, but you couldn’t hear them, all noises were blocked until suddenly it stopped.

“Stop! Ted stop! I’ll tell the truth! I’ll tell it! Please!” he sobbed, hunched over in his chair, desperately trying to reach for you.

“A-Aaron,” your voice felt fluttery, thready. “Aaron, what are you… what are you talking about?”

“I-I-I know why he brought you here,” he said quietly. “(Y/N), can you look at me?” he asked. “Keep your eyes open on me okay?”

You mustered all of your remaining strength to hold your head up and keep your eyes open, looking at him while he spoke to you.

“He… he brought you here because he knows I’m in love with you. He knew he could hurt me more by hurting you. (Y/N), I’m so sorry,” he broke down into sobs and you wanted to move closer to him, but you could feel your mind drifting in and out of consciousness and before you could say anything your vision went black. “Please, please don’t hurt her anymore,” he begged. “I told her, s-she’s-she’s not even conscious,”

“Don’t worry, Aaron,” Ted nodded. “It’s just me and you time now,”

—

When you slowly became conscious again, your eyes fluttering open, your surroundings were unfamiliar again causing your heart rate to increase rapidly as you tried to fight against whatever was holding you down.

“Ma’am, ma’am you need to relax,”

“Get off of me!” you tried to yank your arm away from the woman. “Let me go! Get me out of here!”

“Woah, let me handle this,” you heard a more familiar voice come by. “(Y/N), hey it’s JJ,” she said softly and you could see her lean over top of, well whatever it was you were lying on.

“J-JJ?” you stuttered. “W-Where am I? Where’s Aaron?”

“You’re at the hospital,” she said calmly. “Hotch is fine, just in a separate room,”

“I need to see him,” you insisted.

“(Y/N), I don’t think you can-,”

“I need to see him! I need to see him!” you were being sent into a panic so the nurse called another group over and suddenly with a prick in your arm your eyelids felt very heavy once more and you slumped back into the bed.

“Was that really necessary?” JJ asked. “I could have talked to her if you gave me half a chance,” she left the space unimpressed and moved into the waiting room.

“How are they?” Penelope was the first to ask and JJ sighed.

“They both looked really beat up and (Y/N) was really frazzled. She really wanted to see Hotch though, is he saying anything about what happened yet Dave?”

“Not yet,” he shook his head. “I think they both just need a little space for a bit. You remember what it looked like when we got there,”

The team had never seen Hotch that distressed coming straight over to your chair as soon as his restraints were removed, despite his many injuries.

But he was better now. He had even managed to ask one of the nurses if she might be able to take him in a wheelchair to your room so he could be there when you woke up.

And that’s where he sat until the medications wore off and you woke up for a second time.

“You should wear one of those to work,” you murmured, referring to his hospital gown and causing him to look up at you. “Really flatters your shins,”

“Making jokes already?”

“I think the rules are: get tortured by a psychotic criminal and you get to say whatever you want,” you offered and you could see the corner of his lip twitch up into a smile.

“I should have said something sooner,” he said quietly. “H-He wouldn’t have hurt you as much if I had just admitted it at the beginning,”

“Aaron,” you sighed, outstretching your fingers slightly, beckoning him to come closer. He did and carefully raised his uncasted hand to hold your fingers. “Just,” you took a deep breath and shook your head. “Just forget about all that for a second,”

He nodded his head.

“Do your legs work any good?”

“For short periods of time,” he nodded.

“Then come here,” you patted the spot next to you. With a little bit of your help, he stood up out of the chair and came next to you on the bed and you leaned into his side.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked.

“Cause I’m in love with you too,” you said quietly and looked back up at his soft brown eyes.

He lifted his hand to gently touch your cheek, but unlike the feeling of Ted’s fingers, Aaron’s brought warmth, they made you feel safe.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered again.

“Don’t be, it’s quite the story,”

“Don’t say that,” he shook his head and you let a small smile come across your lips.

“Sorry, just trying to lighten the mood,”

His forehead came to rest against your own and carefully, you both leaned in until your lips brushed against the others. It was soft, yet deliberate and cautious, neither of you wanting to further injure each other.

“We’ll make it through, Aaron, we always do,”

And that you did.

“Sweetheart,” he says again, waiting for a reaction you can’t give, “do you want me to go away?” 

It’s a good question. Do you want him to leave? Immediately, everything inside of you says No. He’s gonna hit you just like the last time you smashed his drink, out of the blue, ‘cos didn’t mean to doesn’t matter. But you don’t want Aaron to go. He’s the only person who’s ever loved you properly. 

“It’s okay, just hit me,” you say, staring at him, pleading with him not to even as you ask for it, “it’s my fault.” 

“Not gonna hit you,” he says, reaching for you now, even when you flinch, he holds you by the arms and he stares at you hard. 

“It’s okay,” you say. 

“It’s not okay. It won’t fix anything.” 

“I deserve it.” 

“No, you don’t.” Aaron rubs your arms in tandem, shaking his head, a trace of panic in his eyes you’d missed until now. 

It’s Aaron. Aaron’s never hit you. 

“You never deserve to have someone put their hands on you,” he says, practically murmurs, “I’m sorry I let that happen.”

“I lied to you.” 

“I know. I know you did, honey.” He shakes his head gently. “It’s not your fault.” 

“I hit the glass over,” you say, And he hit me so hard I couldn’t hear right for hours. You still remember the way it shocked you, because you’d started to expect it but you were still surprised he’d bother with such a hard hit, that he could get that angry about it.

“I thought it was just me,” he murmurs, sorry, clutching at you like he needs you to listen. “I never should’ve left you in that house, but I thought it was just me. It was only ever… me.” 

You already know —you’ve had this conversation before. He’s apologised already. 

He cups your cheek. “I’m sorry.” 

“You’re not angry with me?” 

“No. I’m never angry with you.” 

You come to yourself in fits. You’re kneeling on the floor not far from the table, the mess of glass, half still intact and cupping a few sips of scotch. Aaron’s kneeling right next to you, still in his suit, hasn’t been home long, you were waiting for him. You used your key because you didn’t want to be home alone. Today’s been a bad day. You’ve felt stringy and strange for hours and you knew seeing Aaron would set it right. That Aaron would make you feel better through force of will. 

And then you’d knocked his drink off the table and both of you had startled, and he’d said, “Wait, don’t, you’ll hurt yourself,” but all your brain heard was You. 

You. What could be said to mean more than that? 

“You’re not gonna hit me,” you whisper. 

“Never.” 

“Can you help me up?” you ask, half apart from yourself. Your head is back, but your legs won’t cooperate. 

“Where do you want to go? The kitchen?” he asks, leaning so you can wrap your arms behind his head. He lifts you up with some effort on his part, adjusting you, and leading you together to the kitchen to sit you at the island bar. “Sit tight. I’ll clean the glass, okay? It won’t take long.” 

You don’t want him to go, but you don’t wanna say no. 

Time away from him is good, in a way. It makes you remember who you actually are outside of the bad memory. It hammers home that this is Aaron’s apartment, your big brother, your number one supporter. There’s a picture of you and Jack right there on the fridge stuck by an alphabet magnet. Aaron’s never hit you before and it’s not going to change now, because he is nothing like his dad. 

He’s never really seen you act like this, though, and you aren’t excited for what he has to say next. He has a penchant for seeing you at your worst and building you back up again. It shouldn’t be his problem, but it is. 

He brushes the glass into a dustpan and unloads it into a bag, which he trashes. You watch him wet a paper towel and wipe it across the floor for the shavings. 

When he’s drying his hands on a towel, you summon the courage to apologise. “Aaron, I’m… I’m sorry. Sorry.” 

He closes his eyes. He doesn’t look much like the other Hotchner’s. He’s dark-haired like his mother, and he smiles with all kindness. You never saw anything so soft at home, not unless he was there to visit. It’s a wonder he ever bothered getting to know you, already living his life very much outside of the household, and shouldn’t he have moved on? If it were you, if there were another kid in the house right now, could you go back? Knowing how you were treated? 

“I love you,” he says. “You know that?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Do you think you could understand why I don’t want you to say sorry, or be sorry, because of that?” 

You smile weakly. “Yeah.” 

“Yeah? Because if Jack were in here today, and he had hit that drink over, you couldn’t have hit him. Could you?” 

“Of course not.” 

He’s mildly guilty for the example, you can tell, but it cements the sentiment in your mind and he can see that. “When you love someone, you don’t hit them. We just can’t do it.” 

“I just… just– you– I got all mixed up in my head.” 

“I know.” 

“Thought you were him,” you say tightly, quietly. 

“I know. Is that the first time you’ve had something like that happen? Like you weren’t sure where you were?” 

Your face crumples of its own accord, heat clogging your nose and throat and lining the backs of your eyes. “No… but it hasn’t been that many times…”

“The bad panic attack at work a few weeks ago, was that like this?” 

“No, that was just that I couldn’t breathe right. I– I had one with Spencer.”

Aaron frowns, but he speaks kindly, “When was that?” 

“A couple of days ago…” You stare at your hands.

“We don’t have to talk about it. But I need to make sure you’re okay.” 

“He told me to tell you, but it– I thought he’d break up with me, after, but he hasn’t, so I’ve just been waiting.” 

“Honey, I don’t think this is the sort of thing that could make Spencer break up with you. He cares too much.” 

“You don’t understand, I– I begged him not to touch me, Aaron. I really scared him.” 

With Spencer, it was late. You asked him to stay the night on a limb, and you’d forgotten he was there sleeping beside you, met him in a dark hallway, where he asked what you were doing out of bed. It’s late. You shouldn’t be up. 

His hand had settled just behind your neck. He won’t touch you there anymore. 

“If there’s something you want to tell me–”

“I want it to go away,” you say. 

“It’s not going to be that easy.” He takes a big, deep breath. “You could’ve told me this was happening,” he promises. 

“I didn’t want you to know that I– lied so much. Sometimes I can’t believe I let him do it.” 

Your tone, quiet and calm and a juxtaposition to the ache in your chest, couldn’t hurt him worse. You're familiar with the pain on Aaron’s face, how it makes him do this sorry smile, how he tries hard not to give it away. “If anyone let him hurt you, it was me.” 

“What?” 

“I knew he was unkind to you. I knew he shouted. I didn’t try hard enough to get you away.” 

“Aaron–”

“If you’re going to blame someone, it has to be me.” 

It’s ridiculous. If you hadn’t had Aaron, you would’ve been completely miserable to the marrow of your bones. He’s the last person on earth you’d blame for the way you’re feeling now, so when a tear wells in your eyes, when it hits your cheek in a splash, you let him tut and wrap his arms behind you. 

“It’s my fault,” you insist, hiding your face in his shoulder. 

“No.” 

“It’s my fault, I hit the glass–”

“No, no, it’s not your fault.” 

“I’m really s–sorry.” 

“It’s gonna be okay, honey. Just breathe. Just take a deep breath for me. I promise you I’m not mad about the glass.” 

“Maybe you should be.” 

He holds your forehead to his chin, clutching you to him, reassuring and a little too tight. “I’m not mad at you.” 

You can’t make yourself believe him. 

—

Spencer isn’t expecting to get waylaid by Hotch at Rossi’s dinner party. He can’t think of what he did wrong. You’re happy with him, clingy lately, which he loves, and as smart and sweet as ever, and work is great. Spencer’s a good agent and a better profiler. 

Hotch looks so serious that he follows him in silence, squeezing his coke neck like a lifeline. 

“I want Y/N to be assessed for PTSD, and I need to know that you’re going to support her,” he says simply. 

Spencer searches the backyard for you. You’re laying down in the grass with Jack, Henry, and Penelope. It’s getting late, barely any sunshine left, but nobody’s wanted to ruin the fun and call it a night yet. You don’t fuss as Jack throws himself sideways across your chest. 

“Did something happen?” Spencer asks. 

“She had an… event. She told me about a similar incident with you the other night. That she panicked and got confused about who you were.” 

Spencer nods. “Yeah, I– yeah. I caught her by surprise.” 

“That’s the only time it’s happened?” 

“Yeah. She’s told me a little about it.” 

“About the episode?” 

“Everything. And it’s obvious?” He enthuses it with apology, worried he’ll offend Hotch if he says something too blatant, but desperate to be honest. “Most of the time she’s this– she’s amazing, she’s like this light, and then sometimes it’s like she thinks I don’t like her? Like I don’t want to be near her, or like she thinks I’m gonna hurt her.” 

Hotch lets his eyebrows rise a little. “Yeah.” 

“She cried so much that I didn’t know what to do.” 

“I wouldn’t worry about that part, she already told me you made her feel better,” Hotch says quietly. Neither of them mention what they know, how you’d begged Spencer to stay after the episode, how sorry you’d been, how desperate Spencer was to calm you down. “But if you can’t do it in the long run, you need to know now. I can’t start this with her and have you duck out halfway through. I know,” —Hotch gives him a fond smile, half-knocking the wind from him— “that you care about her, and I know it’s not my place to come to you on her behalf, but I’m going to do it anyhow, and you know why I am.” 

“What do you mean?” he says, though he knows. 

“I’m saying I think she’s going to get worse before she gets better. She’s not well right now.” 

“I know she isn’t.” 

“I trust you, Spencer. I care about you, too. But she’s going to be my priority, and if you can’t be there for her then it has to be done now... I’m worried she’s going to get really low.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says genuinely. Spencer’s not defensive, only urgent. “Hotch, I more than care about her.” 

Hotch nods. “Okay. Good, because I need your help. You have to vet these doctors for me, I have a preliminary list. I’ll send it to you.” 

“Wait, have you talked to her about this?” 

“I said we’d talk to a doctor. I promised I’d talk to you about it. She’s… I don’t know, she’s scared.” 

Spencer straightens up. You have nothing to be scared of with him, not his reaction, not his lack of support. He wishes Hotch had had more faith in him, but none of this is about him. Someone hurt you, and now you have to put yourself back together again. 

The kids have disappeared. Penelope’s climbing onto her feet and offering you a hand, but you stay laying down in the grass. 

“I really care about her,” Spencer says. 

Hotch clasps his shoulder. “Are you going, or am I?” 

“I’ll take this one, please.” 

“Sure.” 

Spencer trudges around the side of the yard, past the bench and the tables and the string lights on the patio to where you’re laying in the bluegrass, eyes nearly closed. “Is this seat taken?” he asks, nudging your hip with his shoe lightly. 

“No, sir.” 

Spencer sits down in the grass. He finds your wrist to hold. 

“You okay?” 

“Did Aaron talk to you about the doctor?” 

“Yeah, he did. You want to go?” 

“What do you think?” 

Spencer rubs your pulse. “I think it’s good. If you were having headaches, we’d go to the doctor.” 

“Headaches that make me not know who you are.” 

“Especially that kind.” 

You turn a bit and give him an amused smile. “Sorry I was too scared to say more about it.” 

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” Spencer brings a cautious hand to your cheek. He sees the flicker of hurt it brings —you don’t like that he’s careful how, but how can he not be, remembering the way he’d touched your neck and the wound it seemed to inflict in the dark— but he tries to caress it away. “I’m with you,” he says, “I care about you. I want to take care of you, as much or as little as you might need that from me.” 

Your eyes fall closed. “It might be nice.” 

“What would?” 

“To be taken care of by you.” 

“I’ll try my best.” 

You cover his hand with your own. JJ laughs across the yard, and Jack and Henry shout battle cries. Hotch says, “Jack! Not so rough, buddy!” and makes you laugh. 

“Did he intimidate you?” you ask. 

“No more than usual. He said I have to decide if I can do this with you.” 

You squirm and attempt to sit. If Spencer weren’t nervous about touching you, he’d force you back down. “He shouldn’t have.”

“No, he should. But I already decided.” Spencer finds your fingers, lacing them with his. “It wasn’t really a decision, actually. I want to do this with you, but only if that’s okay with you.” 

You nod slowly. “I already said it’d be nice if you took care of me,” you whisper, letting your face dip downward. 

He chances a kiss pressed to your temple. 

You laugh under your breath. “I know you didn’t sign up for this.” 

“Did you?” he asks, giving your back a rub like a wave. 

“It’s different. I knew what was happening to me.” 

“Angel, you didn’t have a choice,” he says, so quiet he’s surprised when you hear it. “I know you’re… What?” he asks, perturbed when you shake your head. 

“You and Aaron…” 

You never finish. Spencer can’t make you. He holds your shoulder until the tension under his hand unfurls, relaxing his touch when you decide to lay down in the grass again, quietly asking him to lay with you. 

“Be ready for Jack to use you like a trampoline,” you warn, taking his hand. 

He has a feeling Hotch will keep Jack away for a while. 

Spencer traces the back of your hand with his thumb, over and over. He’s sorry he didn’t know you five years ago, sorry you were alone, sorry someone put their hands on you. He’s sorry you learned to anticipate physical abuse in the wake of mistakes. He’s sorry he can’t take it away from you, ‘cos from the second you took his hand at that park a street from his apartment he’s been a goner, all you had to do was jump up on the lip of the fountain and trust him not to let you fall. He remembers how that felt, the zinging sparks travelling from the palm of your hand into his, the romanticism of two arms stretched apart and your slow circle. And when you fell in, you didn’t blame him, you just laughed and scrambled back out, squealing excitedly about your wet shoes. 

It’ll get better, he thinks. Even if it gets worse first. You’ll feel better soon. 

He turns his cheek into the grass and beckons you forward for a kunik kiss, nose pressed to yours, wanting to kiss you like he would if you were at home together, and knowing this is enough too. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

“It’s getting cold.” 

Jack barrels into the BAU like the pint-sized whirlwind he is, clutching something in his small hand. You glance up from your desk just as he stops in front of you, chest heaving with the effort of sprinting down the hall. Jessica hovers a few steps behind him, amused but trying to keep him in check.

“Can you come?” he blurts, shoving a brightly colored flyer into your hands. The paper is dotted with grinning jack-o-lanterns and bats, bold letters declaring: Class Halloween Party & Pumpkin Carving Night!

You blink down at it. “Come? You’re asking me?”

Jack nods furiously, hair flopping. “Please. We all have to bring a grown-up. And you’re…you’re cool.”

That makes your lips twitch, but then he adds, very matter-of-fact: “And my dad’s always too busy.”

Your chest tightens.

Jessica catches up, smoothing a hand over Jack’s shoulder. “Slow down, buddy. Let her breathe.” She meets your eyes, and you catch the faint flicker of apology there.

You crouch so you’re on Jack’s level. “Hey. Your dad works really hard, but he loves you, you know that, right?”

Jack shrugs, unconvinced, eyes dropping to the flyer still in your hand.

That frown you’re fighting slips free. “I’d be honored to come. But—” you glance at Jessica, then back at him, “—shouldn’t you ask your dad first?”

Jack’s nose scrunches. “If I ask him, he’ll just say he can’t.” Then, softer, a little hope glimmering in his voice: “But if you ask him, maybe he’ll listen.”

Jessica raises her brows at you, a silent well?

You look down at the flyer again. Pumpkins. Kids in costumes. Jack’s hopeful little face.

You don’t want to be the reason he gives up on trying.

So you tip your head, soften your voice. “How ‘bout this—we’ll both ask him. Together. Deal?”

The gloom vanishes instantly, replaced by a blinding grin. “Deal!”

Before you can even stand, he’s already bolting across the bullpen with the flyer clutched in his hand like a mission-critical file. You laugh, shaking your head, and push to your feet to follow after him.

By the time you catch up, Jack’s already rapping on his father’s office door with the enthusiasm of a kid who knows he’s unstoppable.

Aaron’s eyes flicker to the door at the sound of knocking, his brow tight with concentration. But the moment he sees who it is, the sternness evaporates, softening like ice left in the sun.

“Hey, buddy,” he says warmly, already rising from his chair.

Jack grins and runs across the office, launching himself into his dad’s arms. Aaron catches him easily, lifting him up just enough to hug him close before setting him back on his feet.

“What are you doing here?” Aaron asks, crouching slightly so he’s at Jack’s level. His tone is still curious, but gentler now, touched with affection.

Jack shuffles a little, toe of his sneaker scuffing the carpet. “I, um…” His hands fidget behind his back, and for a moment he can’t seem to get the words out. He glances over his shoulder at you, looking for backup.

You give him a small nod, mouthing, you got this.

Jack turns back, takes a quick breath, and thrusts the flyer out like he’s handing over classified intel.

Aaron takes it, brows knitting as he reads the bold letters and the cartoon pumpkins smiling up at him. “Class Halloween Party & Pumpkin Carving Night?” He glances back at Jack, one brow arched in mild confusion.

Jack rocks on his heels. “We’re supposed to bring a grown-up,” he explains, voice small. “And…I want to bring you.” His eyes flick briefly toward you, almost like he’s admitting something risky. “But I didn’t think you’d say yes.”

Aaron stills, the weight of the words hanging in the small office. You catch the faintest flinch—so subtle most wouldn’t notice, but you do.

Jack rushes on, filling the silence. “But, um, I thought…maybe if you couldn’t, someone else could.”

Jack looks over to you ask he says it. That draws Aaron’s gaze to you. His dark eyes are sharp, searching—like he’s trying to read exactly what’s been said and what’s been left unsaid. You offer a little shrug, hands raised in surrender. “Hey. Don’t look at me. He’s the one with the master plan.”

Jack pipes up quickly, “We could all go. Together.”

Aaron exhales, the corner of his mouth twitching—not quite a smile, not quite a sigh. He looks back at the flyer, then at his son’s hopeful face, then at you again.

Something eases in his shoulders, and for the first time in weeks, you see the man behind the job rather than the unit chief weighed down by it.

“I suppose I can make time for pumpkins,” Aaron says quietly.

Jack lights up like a jack-o-lantern. “Really?!”

“Really.” Aaron smooths a hand over his son’s hair, pulling him back into another quick hug. When he looks up at you over Jack’s shoulder, his expression softens again, though there’s a flicker of something else there too—gratitude, maybe, or something deeper he’s not ready to put into words.

And just like that, you know: the Pumpkin Carving Pact has been made. 

The evening of the party arrives crisp and golden, the kind of autumn night that smells faintly of leaves and woodsmoke. You knock lightly on Aaron’s apartment door, bag slung over your shoulder.

When it swings open, Jessica is there, smiling like she’s already in on a secret. “You’re just in time,” she says, stepping aside to let you in.

From the bedroom comes the sound of excited rustling—drawers opening, shoes scuffing, a small voice calling, “Wait, wait, almost ready!”

You barely have a chance to set your things down before Jack comes flying out, his little Batman mask slightly crooked, cape flapping behind him. His eyes lock on you instantly.

“You did it!” He cheers, nearly tripping over his boots in his rush to get to you. His small hands clutch at your sleeve, tugging you toward the light so he can get the full effect. “You’re really wearing it!”

You glance down at the bold red-and-blue of your Wonder Woman costume with a grin. “Of course I did. You said we’d be a team, didn’t you?”

Jack beams, absolutely radiant. “It’s perfect! Now Dad has to wear his, or it won’t match.”

At that, he looks past you, toward the door, like he’s expecting Aaron to step through it any second. When he doesn’t, Jack frowns. “Where is he?”

Your smile softens. You crouch so you’re eye-level, brushing a hand lightly over the edge of his cape. “He just had one last thing to take care of at work.”

The way his little shoulders sink, you feel it in your chest.

Quickly, you add, brightening your tone: “But he promised he’ll meet us there. Okay? Superman’s just running a little late.”

Jack’s eyes flicker up, searching your face for any sign you’re just saying that. Finally, he nods, tugging the mask down firmly. “Okay. But he better show up.”

“He will,” you promise. “Besides—Batman and Wonder Woman can hold things down until Superman gets there.”

That earns you a small grin, and a dramatic swish of his cape as he heads for the door.

Jessica chuckles from where she’s gathering her things. “Good luck, Wonder Woman. You’ve got your hands full.”

The school cafeteria is buzzing with excited chatter, the smell of sugar and frosting practically clinging to the air. Paper bats dangle from the ceiling, and tables are covered in orange plastic cloths patterned with tiny black cats.

As the door clicks shut behind her, Jack bounces in place, excitement restored. “Come on! We don’t want to be late for the pumpkins!”

Jack is in heaven.

One of his teachers crouches down to hand him a goodie bag stuffed with Halloween trinkets and treats nestled between packets of candy corn and mini chocolate bars. There are even cupcakes swirled with orange and black frosting, topped with those cheap little plastic rings that kids never keep on for more than five minutes.

Jack digs into his bag immediately, tugging out a spider ring and sliding it onto his finger with all the gravitas of a superhero gearing up for battle. But even as he beams at the loot, his eyes flick toward the door. Then again, a minute later. And again.

Each time, your chest pulls a little tighter.

You crouch beside him at the snack table, handing him a napkin before the frosting can get everywhere. “Don’t worry,” you say gently. “He’ll be here.”

Jack nods, but the way his shoulders slump says he’s not so sure.

The ache in your chest sharpens.

You stay close, keeping him occupied—laughing at his jokes about the rings, pretending to let him scare you with the plastic spider, helping him wipe frosting from his chin. But every time his little head turns toward the cafeteria doors, you feel your own hope wobble.

Then someone claps their hands near the front. “Alright, everyone! Pumpkin carving is about to start! Find a seat at one of the tables, and we’ll start passing out the pumpkins and supplies.”

Kids squeal with excitement, chairs screeching against the tile as families shuffle to find spots. Jack grabs your hand to tug you toward an empty space, his cape swishing dramatically behind him. You sit, trying to match his enthusiasm, but inside the prick of anxiety is growing sharper.

What if Aaron doesn’t make it?

You slip your phone from your pocket, thumbing the screen, hoping for a text. Nothing. Not even a missed call.

The words start circling in your head, tight and anxious: He got caught up at work. He can’t leave. He forgot. He—

Jack gasps.

Your head jerks up, following his wide eyes to the cafeteria doors.

And there he is.

Aaron steps into the room, straight-backed, solemn, and—God help you—in a full Superman costume. The cape catches in the doorway for just a second, but he doesn’t falter, scanning the tables until his gaze finds his son.

Jack practically launches out of his chair. “Dad!!”

The way his whole face lights up—like the sun finally breaking through clouds—you swear you’ll remember it forever.

Aaron’s mouth curves into something soft, something only for Jack, and he strides forward, cape trailing behind him like it was made to be there.

And you?

Your heart’s doomed. Absolutely doomed.

Aaron makes it to the table in a few long strides, Jack meeting him halfway. He scoops his son up without hesitation, lifting him into a tight hug.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Aaron murmurs into Jack’s hair, voice warm with regret. “I should’ve been here sooner.”

Jack pulls back just enough to grin at him, already shaking his head. “It’s okay! Look—look what I got!” He wriggles free to dig into his goodie bag, pulling out treasures one after another with breathless excitement. “There’s candy, and cupcakes, and this spider ring—see? Isn’t it cool? And there’s even a glow stick!”

Aaron crouches down beside him, listening like every word is critical evidence. He lets Jack slip the ring onto his finger, pretending to inspect it like it’s priceless. The adoring smile tugging at his mouth makes your chest squeeze in the best kind of ache.

You’re so caught up watching the two of them you almost miss it when the volunteers arrive, setting a pumpkin and carving kit at your table. Jack gasps, all other distractions forgotten, and dives straight into arranging the supplies.

That leaves Aaron free to straighten, his dark eyes shifting to you. He steps closer, and before you can even find your words, he dips down to press a soft kiss to your temple. The warmth lingers, sending your heart into a flutter. His arm slips easily around your waist, grounding you.

“I’m sorry to you, too,” he murmurs low, meant only for you. “For being late.”

You lean slightly into his side, smiling up at him. “It’s no problem. Jack and I had fun.”

Something softens in his face at that. He glances down at your costume, lips curving. “You look…nice. I can’t believe you actually agreed to this.”

You give him a teasing grin. “What can I say? Your son is very persuasive.”

That earns you a quiet laugh, the kind that rumbles low in his chest. He shakes his head, eyes warm. “I know. Why do you think I’m standing here in a blue bodysuit?”

Your laugh bubbles out before you can stop it. “Well, for what it’s worth…you wear it well.”

His brows lift just slightly, pleased despite himself.

“Come on!” Jack calls, tugging at your sleeve with pumpkin goo already smeared across his palm. “Let’s start carving!”

Aaron huffs, amusement flickering in his eyes as Jack shoves a carving tool into his hand. He glances at you over his son’s head, the corner of his mouth tugging up like he’s not sure if he should be dreading this or secretly enjoying it already.

Jack is the first to dive in—literally. He plunges both hands straight into the pumpkin’s top with a triumphant “Ew, gross!” and comes back up with slimy handfuls of seeds and strings.

You laugh, already reaching for the paper towels. “Oh no, Batman’s been defeated by pumpkin guts.”

“Not defeated!” Jack insists, shaking his hands wildly so strings of pulp fling across the table.

It doesn’t take long before the three of you are elbow-deep in pulp. Jack keeps announcing how “disgusting” it is, but he can’t stop laughing every time the goo slips through his fingers. Aaron, to your utter shock, actually laughs—real, warm laughter—when your lopsided attempt to scoop sends pumpkin guts flying onto his cape.

“Careful,” he teases, eyes bright. “This is official superhero gear.”

“Pretty sure it’s polyester,” you shoot back, grinning.

Jack wiggles in his chair between you both, pointing at your pumpkins. “Okay, okay—we need scary faces. Really scary.”

You carve crooked triangle eyes and a toothy grin that ends up looking more goofy than terrifying. Jack thinks it’s hilarious. Aaron, meanwhile, takes meticulous care with his knife, tongue caught briefly between his teeth as he carves a precise, sharp-lined face.

When Jack leans over to compare, his jaw drops. “Whoa. Dad! Yours is awesome!”

Aaron feigns a humble shrug, but his smile gives him away. “Not bad, huh?”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “Oh, sure. Superman saves the day again.”

Jack bursts out laughing, clapping his hands. “We should do this every year!” he declares, looking between you and his dad like it’s already settled fact.

Aaron glances at you then, something warm and unspoken flickering in his gaze—an agreement, a promise, maybe even a hope.

And as Jack proudly plops a crooked bat-shaped ring onto the stem of his masterpiece pumpkin, you realize your heart isn’t just doomed. It’s already his.