hiatus

He was the first to make it to the room you and the victim were in and when he locked eyes with you, relief flooded through him, and he was able to take in a full breath. Once he saw that you were okay, the relief melted away and white-hot anger burned in its place. He turned around and stormed out of the house.

How dare you put yourself in harm’s way? If something happened to you, what would the team do? How were they supposed to move on from that? How was he supposed to move on?

His last thought stopped him in his tracks. He had never considered what he would do without you in his life. You had been a constant that he never thought of leaving but now that he had, in the worst possible way, he couldn’t fathom it. Of course, he would be upset if anything happened to anyone on his team but you being hurt or worse was different. The feelings that he had kept locked up tight were beginning to come to the surface and he struggled to push them back down. As Hotch worked through his feelings, the sheriff walked up to him, thanking him and his team for finding the unsub.

Hotch knew he wasn’t fully engaged in the conversation as he normally would be, his anger was still burning through his veins and his mind still circling the thought of you being hurt and how much worse this case could have ended up. As he was talking to the sheriff or more so listening, he saw movement from his peripherals. His head turned in that direction and he saw you walking towards him.

He knew he was outright glaring at you, projecting his lost control onto you since you were the one to put yourself in harm’s way. He turned away quickly back to the sheriff, hoping to rein in some of his anger. You stopped by his side and even though he wasn’t looking at you he felt hyper-aware of your closeness.

The sheriff was thanking the team again.

“Of course,” Hotch replied. “We are happy to help.” Hotch extended his hand for the sheriff to shake, hoping to end the conversation, then the sheriff turned towards you to shake yours. You gave him a small smile but didn’t say anything and Hotch looked away from you as the sheriff murmured another “thank you” and walked away.   

Hotch kept his eyes forward, his jaw locked, wondering what to do from there. He knew he needed to talk to you about your actions, but this wasn’t the place.

“Come with me,” he said and headed towards the closest SUV.

The drive back to the police precinct was quiet and surely awkward but Hotch was too in his head to notice. He was trying to decipher what he was going to say to you. He didn’t want to blow up on you, and with his anger churning beneath the surface he knew he needed to sort his thoughts before talking to you.  

Arriving at the police precinct, he threw the vehicle in park, took the keys out of the ignition, and started striding into the building. He knew you were following but he needed a moment to calm himself down before he started talking. He went straight to the conference room, stopping in the middle of the room to try to take in some calming breaths as he waited for you to make it in.

He heard the door click shut and he rubbed his thumb over his middle finger before turning around and facing you. He saw you tense up and he could only imagine what his expression looked like.

“You disobeyed a direct order,” he started, trying to keep his voice down and not yell. “You could have been hurt or killed.”

He looked away from you as he said the last word, his fists clenched. The thought of you being dead caused pain to flare through his heart. He gulped working to get the fear of losing you reined in.

He turned back to you. “What you did was reckless and ignorant. You put your life and the life of that woman on the line by going in without backup and a vest.” His anger rose as he continued. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t take your badge and suspend you.” Even though his words suggested otherwise, looking into your eyes took some of his fear away.

He noticed that your hands were shaking right before you crossed your arms over your chest and the sight brought him down a notch. He needed to calm down, he was still angry with you, but he didn’t want to scare you.

“The unsub had a knife in his hand when I made it into that room. If I had waited for you and the team, she might not still be here.” You kept your eyes locked with his and he had to admit that you looked dignified as you spoke. “I know this case could have ended very differently than it did, but my actions saved her life and because of that, I wouldn’t change what I did today. If you think suspension is appropriate for my actions I will take it, but I don’t regret what I did.”

Hotch didn’t want to suspend you and if he knew himself, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to suspend you. In all fairness, he had done worse in the field.

He took a few steps forward until he was right in front of you. You tilted your head up to meet his eyes and the proximity made his heart squeeze in his chest.

“I won’t suspend you this time, but I won’t hesitate if you disobey an order again. Am I clear?”

He heard you take in a shaky breath, which confused him. He had kept some authority in his words, but he tried to pull back on the anger from before. In the back of his mind, Hotch wondered if the proximity between the two of you had anything to do with your shaky breath and the strange look in your eyes that he couldn’t quite place.

No, there was no way you felt the same for him.

“Yes, sir,” you murmured.

Hotch froze for a second, a different kind of heat than before washing over him. You hadn’t referred to him as ‘sir’ in a while, but this wasn’t the first time. Why was he reacting this way?

“I’ll see you on the jet.” He quickly walked around you, needed to be away from you and have some time to think. What the hell was that? Hopefully, you didn’t make a habit of calling him, sir. He wasn’t sure if he could take it.

After the conversation with Rossi on the jet, Hotch pondered over his conversation with Rossi and everything that had happened with you. He had given up on paperwork and sleeping and was staring out the window of the jet. He was relieved that nothing bad had happened to you today, but he truly needed to pull in his feelings for you. He worked with profilers and if he wasn’t careful all his hard work at keeping his feelings for you bottled up would be for nothing. He already knew that Rossi suspected but the rest of the team finding out wasn’t something he wanted to deal with.

He sighed as he took in your sleeping form. He knew how the conversation would go if he confessed his feelings to you. He had run through the possibilities several times and even though he wished for a different outcome, he knew there was no possibility where you felt the same. You would let him down easy, not wanting to hurt his feelings, and would say you wanted to stay friends. You would probably even apologize for not returning the sentiment which was something he couldn’t take.

As he was lost in thought, his eyes still on you even if he wasn’t focused on you, you started to wake up. You stretching your arms out behind your head brought him back to the current moment. A small groan that slipped through your lips brought the same heat through him from before.

Your eyes slipped open and went straight to Hotch, catching him staring. He looked away, embarrassed that he was caught.

“Are you the only one up?” You asked as you sat up. Your voice was scratchy from just waking up.

He looked back at you and gave you a nod, not trusting his voice as he took in your disheveled appearance. He had seen you before when you had first woken up and the sight always brought warmth to his chest. He aches to bring you into his arms, so he crossed his arms instead to ensure he kept his hands to himself.

You glanced over at Rossi and bit your lip. He knew you well enough to know you had something to say and were debating on voicing it.

You looked back to him after a moment, and he waited for you to say what you needed to.

“I’m sorry for going off on my own,” You started. “I still don’t regret it. If I wouldn’t have gone in, I don’t think she would have gotten out of there.”

You looked down at your hands in your lap before continuing.

“I know I freaked some of you out and that wasn’t my intention, and I did disobey your order even if I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Hotch rose and took a seat next to you on the couch. You looked up at him when you felt the couch dip, your eyes wide and full of the emotions you were trying to convey.

“You did scare us,” he murmured not quite meeting your eyes. “You scared me.” He shifted his eyes to yours and he sees the surprise in them.

“You are the youngest in the group and we all look out for you a little more.” His words weren’t necessarily false, but they weren’t exactly the reason he was so scared for you. “We know you can handle yourself, but that doesn’t change the amount of experience you have. We did the same thing with Reid when he first started.”

He hoped his words didn’t come across as wrong.

“Yeah, I understand that.” A small smile pulled at your lips. “I think Reid was excited when I started, and he wasn’t the youngest anymore.”

Hotch couldn’t help but return your smile that had grown. “Yeah, he was. When I told the team about you, he asked how old you were, and he was very excited to find out that you were younger.”

A quiet laugh escaped your lips as you looked back down at your hands. Hotch couldn’t help but place his hand over both of yours, bringing your eyes back up to his.

“I am sorry for how I acted during this case.” Your eyebrows pulled together, so he explained. “Letting my anger get the best of me wasn’t professional and I should have gone about the conversation differently. For that I am sorry.”

Your mouth was slightly agape at his apology, and you cleared your throat before you spoke.

“I appreciate that, but you don’t have to apologize-.”

“Yes, I do,” he said squeezing your hand. “I shouldn’t let my anger take over like that, especially with you.” Hotch flinched slightly as he let the last party slip hoping you didn’t think too much into it. “It won’t happen again.”

Hotch held your eyes for a moment before he squeezed your hand again before letting it go.

“How about we agree that neither one of us will repeat our actions?” you asked your eyes twinkling with amusement and a smile formed on your face.

He returned the smile. “Deal.”

The two of you rested back against the couch and spent the rest of the flight back to Quantico talking quietly to one another. Unbeknownst to the pair, Rossi opened one eye and looked at the two engaged in a conversation about who knows what, but given the smiles gracing both of their faces, Rossi knew they weren’t talking about work.

Rossi grinned before shutting his eye and going back to sleep.   

If you would like to be tagged in any of my work let me know!

you always hated boxing. the blood, the gore, the spit, you just never understood the excitement of it. your father, on the other hand, was sat in front of that television set every thursday night. eyes wide open, afraid to miss even a moment. beer bottle clenched in his fist, as if he wanted to perform the actions on the screen himself. the yelling and cheering scared you, your senses being overloaded as a child. you swore as a teen you wouldn't watch the sport ever again. develop interest in anyone who partook in it, or drank for that matter. all those promises came crashing down the second hotch answered your ad in the newspaper.

when you placed that ad, due to your former roommate moving out to live with his boyfriend, you weren’t expecting hotch to come to your aid to pay the other half of the rent. aaron ‘hotch’ hotchner. pro-boxer, who was making way less than what he should’ve been considering his way of living was getting beat up and beating up others himself. but 'hey, at least it pays the rent' he joked upon meeting you.

on the day of his interview, you couldn’t help but pity the man. he showed up at your front door. shirt buttoned all wrong, hair straying every which way, and bloody cuts littering his face and hands. you welcomed him into your home, not knowing the first damn thing about cleaning wounds, but you tried your best at cleaning him up. he thanked you at the end of your visit, apologizing that on your first encounter you were fixing him up. he apologized for not making a good first impression, but you wouldn’t change it for the world.

now, here he was, as always, at the end of the day, bloodied and bruised as he walked into the foyer of your shared place. keys dropping into the bowl by the door and shutting it heavily with a sore leg and a groan. you heard him from your place in the kitchen, fixing the man a sweet treat that calmed his nerves every time he stepped out the ring. enough to give him a comforting and good night’s sleep to get up and do it all over again.

“honey, i’m home.”

you laugh softly from your place in the kitchen, popping your head out to take a look at the damage done to the man while continuing stirring the large bowl filled with chocolate batter. aaron gave you a tired smile and came into the kitchen to tower over you, his interest peaked by the scent of chocolate, his favorite. "mm, now i know why i moved in." he joked, swiping his finger in the bowl and stealing some of the sweet substance on his skin, damp and sweaty hair falling into his battered face as he managed a wide grin at you.

with a roll of your eyes, you whisked the bowl away from him, pouring the mixture into a cake pan and shoving it into the oven before scrubbing your hands and taking your apron off. the man sat down at the kitchen table, nursing the bottle of whiskey while he waited for you to get the first aid kit and fix him up. when you came back, he didn't notice right away, deep in thought. it was only when you placed a hand on his that he met your eyes.

"you have blood behind your eye. you should get that looked at." you said softly, knowing he wouldn't. aaron knew that you hated when he had big fights. it made you nervous for reasons he didn't want to pry against just yet. he knew you would tell him in your own time. but for now, he was just enjoying the bond you two shared. popcorn fights and freshly baked goods and new recipes that you were trying out for the bakery you owned. movie nights and this, you patching him up every night, licking his wounds when he was too tired to do so himself.

your gentle hands caressed his tough skin, scars that he would live with for eternity. ones that he wasn't proud of and some that he was. he's felt every punch, hit, and break that he's given and taken. but you touched him as if he were made of porcelain. like he was made of glass and you were afraid he would crack, with the slightest amount of pressure. he watched you stitch up his open cuts, ones on his arms and face, careful and intricate in your actions. aaron admired your face, how it contorted into concentration as you pulled his jagged skin shut. how worry swam in your irises and racked your hands trying to steady them as not to hurt the man before you.

when you exhaled, setting the needle down and taking the bottle of liquor from his warm grip and focusing on how the burn seared the back of your throat as you swallowed. aaron simply smiled and relished in the smell of chocolate and whiskey that now wafted off of you. he watched how your brow furrowed as you thought about how he spent his evening, you always did. always worried about what happened at fights, whether he won or lost. "you know. you can always watch me on channel nine." he told you every time you wished him luck, "just to make sure i don't die." he excused the yearn that he had for you to watch and be proud of him. so he asked, feeling low about the fight he tied off and the rematch he had next week.

"are you proud of me?" you paused your ministrations on his hand, holding the piece of gauze to his bloody knuckles to meet his eyes. black and bloody, his honey orbs shone out across all that gore. past all the hurt and the anger he put into every fight. you cupped his face and brushed your thumb over his cheek that was sporting a new purple bruise. the cut that needed a couple of butterfly stitches as it spilled a drop of blood over your finger. "very proud." he grinned at your answer, the sincerity in your eyes as you said it.

a mumbled, 'thanks' was heard from him as he took the bottle back, tipping his head back as he swallowed with a groan. you finished patching him up, standing and ruffling your hand over his hair as you walked to put everything away, him taking another swig of whiskey, allowing for you to do the same before it's placed back in the cupboard for next time. the rest of the evening was spent in comfortable silence, you plating your dinner for the two of you, setting the table casually, and taking the cake out of the oven to cool off.

dinner went on as planned, aaron complimenting your cooking skills as he exclaimed in overdramatized pleasure at the taste of your chicken. it still never failed to make you swell with pride, poking at your green beans as he finished up his plate, eyeing the cake. "is it done?" he asked, his lips dampening with anticipation.

a soft chuckle and a nod later, he was clearing the table from both your plates and setting them on the counter to be dealt with later. you took the frosting and handed him a spreader, him sneaking a finger into the chocolate delicacy before popping it into his mouth. another swipe and he was tapping your nose with it, you returning the action with one across his lips. laughter overtook your empty kitchen as you poorly frosted the cake, accompanied by the hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the clock. you two shared a big slice of cake that was also appreciated by the man, watching a 70's sitcom that you both considered to be a comfort show, the two of you chuckling along with the laugh track. the evening slowly turned into an abandoned cake plate, crumbs and frosting on your faces as you fell asleep on the couch, tv playing lowly. your head rested against his chest, aaron's arm slung over the back of the couch, his head tipped back and snores emitted from his belly from exhaustion.

--

the following week arrived and you hadn't seen much of your roommate. you knew aaron was getting ready for his fight, spending all hours down at the gym and preparing. so you paid him a visit, which you knew he needed, a home cooked and hot meal in tow from your day off. "excuse me? is aaron here?" the man you had questioned held his gloves in his hand as he was shedding them, finishing his training for the day. he flashed you a cocky grin, one you had seen one too many times; that made your eyes roll. "yeah, and you would be?" a soft sigh exited your lips, but before you could push your way past him, aaron appeared next to him.

"y/n! what're you doing here? e'erything alright?" you nod, smile reappearing as the other man cowered away at aaron's presence, taking a sudden interest in his bandages. your friend slings an arm you, leading you further into the gym and away from the guy. "i brought you food." was all you could manage, making aaron's heart swell.

he took the container from you, opening and inhaling the spicy and savory smell. "jambalaya?" he asked, taking the fork you held out to him, digging in immediately. you took the time that he was devouring your food as if he hadn't eaten in months, to admire his figure. the bulging muscles that his tank top only accentuated. the sweat that poured off of him and trailed down from his hair onto the peak of his nose in drops. "d'ya hear me, sweetness?" the pet name dragged you from the pits of adoration back into reality. the confused look on your face gave aaron the answer he needed as he smirked down at your embarrassed face.

"i asked if you were coming to the fight tonight?" with a thought of consideration, you shrug. he knew you hated seeing the brutality up close but it was his winning fight and he needed his biggest supporter there. you. "c'mon," he pestered when he saw you about to back out and come up with some lame excuse about having to do laundry, "i need my number one fan cheering from the sidelines! hotch! hotch! hotch!" he mimicked the crowd roaring, making you laugh, ignoring the looks the other members of the gym sent your way.

"okay, fine. i'll be there." the smile on aaron's face was all worth it in that moment.

however that evening, when you got there, sitting with a group of familiar faces from aaron's evenings of poker, the promises made were instantly regretted. you hated fights, even the mere raising of a voice wasn't something you liked. so when the bell rang to commence the fight, introducing the two fighters of the evening, your stomach turned in knots and it was a fight or flight moment, literally. "ladies and gentlemen! your first fighter. in the blue corner, coming in at an even two hundred pounds. lance 'the crusher' olsen!" both boos and cheers of praise were heard as aaron's opponent entered the ring, his size towering over the ref, his size being twice that of aaron's. worry partnered with your nerves. "and in the red corner. at one hundred and seventy pounds. aaron 'hotch' hotchner!" he was right about the cheers that emitted from his section of fans, you chuckling at everyone voicing out his boxing name.

you watched him raise his arms above his head, a grin that stretched across his face as his eyes scanned the crowd for your face. when he found you, he waved, blowing you a joking kiss that you stuffed in your pocket. he laughed to himself, pulling back the hood of his red robe and handing off it to his coach as he climbed into the ring. his bare chest and back now exposed to you, and it wasn't like you hadn't seen him shirtless before, but this was different. with the blinding spot lights and the ropes that surrounded him, he was vulnerable in a way you had never seen.

you chewed the skin around your nails as you watched him warm up, bouncing and punching the air in front of him as he listened intently to his coach and manager. one telling him the moves he should be completing, the other telling him he has to win this thing or else. the bell rang once more, mouth guards went in, and round one was called as the bigger guy threw the first punch, aaron keeping his face protected. you couldn't focus on much except the fact that aaron was surely going to get clobbered. you held your head in your hands, watching behind your fingers as aaron stumbled against the ropes, whispering to yourself, 'get off the ropes, aar.' he managed to slip between the guy's arm, getting a good punch in that knocked him off his feet, calling round one which aaron had won, surprisingly. when you heard everyone chanting his name once more, you breathed a sigh of relief, his eyes meeting yours once more, giving you a thumbs up, which you returned weakly.

round two carried on, which the opponent was pissed about losing the first one. he knocked aaron down with no hesitation, and you saw the crossing of his eyes from where you sat. twelve rounds of this? aaron's nose was already bleeding, his lip cracked as the coach poured water over him, flooding his corner of the ring in a pink haze. you didn't meet his gaze.

by the time the tenth round hit, his face wasn't even his face anymore. covered and coated in blood, old and new. he spit once more, the once white mat now splattered in red, the other guy barely touched. this wasn't fair, you didn't care about him making money anymore. his nose was nearly broken, his jaw about to be next. but when his still piercing eyes met yours at the end of each round, you convinced yourself to stay. except for these last two. when he hit the mat from exhaustion, you hurried yourself out of the stands, making to take the exit that was on the other side of the gym, so that the man would see you leave. you swore you faintly heard your name being called but you ignored it, sick and bile rose up on you as you pushed the door open.

managing to calm yourself enough to walk home on unsteady legs with the setting sun behind you, you wiped your tears of frustration away. you didn't know until you got home why you had left in the first place. you couldn't see him be killed right in front of you. though leaving may not have been the best decision, knowing that you were his motivator, but you needed to be prepared for him to come home, in some way, shape, or form. no matter how battered, or close to death he may be.

you didn't have enough energy to anxiety bake, so you just made some cookie mix and set it aside to chill in the fridge. you were drying your hands when you heard a struggle outside to open the front door. "fuck." was whispered, along with another voice as you approached the door, seeing aaron's slumped over silhouette in the glass. you opened the door, the man falling against the frame, your arms reaching out to catch him. jerry, his coach, had managed to bring him home on his own. "he didn't get it. here's his earnings from tonight." he handed you a wad of cash you took from him, tossing it on the table in the foyer carelessly, simply asking aaron if he could stand, to which he weakly nodded at the sound of your voice, a mixture of emotions bubbling within him.

should he be happy he's home, safe with you? or angry that you left? relieved that you would always be there to patch him up when things went sideways, or upset you didn't see him through to the end? you sat him down at the kitchen table, the resumed bottle of whiskey slamming down on the wood as the smell of sugar and butter lingered in the kitchen. "cookies?" was the first thing he had said to you all evening. you nodded thickly. the emotions he could read on your face and from your body between his two big black eyes were walking the line between anxious and at peace.

you sighed, hands shaking as you examined his face, so much blood you didn't know where to start. surprisingly, aaron was calm for the way he took a beating so well. he picked your trembling hand up from where it rested on the liquor bottle and placed it against his swollen face. you winced for him as he showed no reaction, the area being numb and has been since the sixth round. a sob caught in your throat as you took a damp rag in the other hand and cleared the area around his forehead gently. aaron had pulled you to stand in between his legs, bloodied hands holding the back of your soft thighs through the sleep shorts you had changed into.

“you’re dumb, you know that right?" you spoke after a while, your voice laced with tears as aaron opened his eyes that he didn't know he had shut. "you couldn’t have picked an easier hobby? like golf? you don’t see any blood in golf.” you mumbled to yourself, missing the way hotch grinned as you kept your head down and cleaned his split lip.

“you were worried.” he stated, making you snap your head up in surprise, tracing over the swollen and purple features that his face will hold for the next two weeks. “no. if you die, i have to pay your half of the rent.” you scoffed and went to grab the rubbing alcohol, dipping a cotton round into the solution before cleaning his cuts gingerly. hotch smirked and leaned closer to you, his chin pressing into your stomach. so close you could feel his warm breath ghost over your shirt clad tummy.

“you do care.” with a swift motion, you pressed an alcohol swab into the gash on his head, making him jump back and hiss, staring down at the cotton in your hand. this time you smirked, moving back to dress his cuts, “i’m not a soulless monster.” you mumbled, the process of you fixing him up threatening to continue in comfortable silence, as always. though, this time, aaron wasn't having it, his hand reached up to grip your chin in his tired fingers. your eyes meeting his and seeing the same brown wondrous orbs stare back at you. the ones that always brought you home.

his hand moved to stroke some of your hair behind your ear, his palm engulfing the side of your face as he cupped it. "why'd you leave?" guilt seared your bones as you looked away, tears immediately welling in your eyes and staring at him any longer would cause them to spill over. he needed comforting right now, due to his loss, not you. you simply shook your head when he pressed for an answer. "y/n. c'mon. please tell me, sweetness." the name poked and prodded your heartstrings. a name he had dubbed you so many months ago when he figured out your talent of baking.

"i'm was scared." you mumbled, aaron's hand never faltering. though you met his eyes now, tears falling onto your cheeks that he was quick to wipe away with the pad of his thumb. "of what?" his voice was gentle and patient. he wanted to know what was bothering you but didn't dare pry.

“i’m scared every time you leave this house, aaron! not know if you’ll ever come back from a fight. i couldn’t sit there and watch you get beaten in front of me.”

“y/n, it’s not getting beat up.” aaron felt like his heart was being torn out and placed in the ring itself. up against the biggest and strongest opponent. love.

“no?! then what is it?" you tore away from his touch, angry at how calm he was being, even now. he was the one that just got pummeled half to death, beaten within an inch of his life. and he has the audacity to come home and say that it wasn't getting beaten up when he has two black eyes? "what is it, aaron? huh? have you looked at yourself since you got home?" you took a moment to breathe, bringing your hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose, hoping to relieve some pressure there, but to no avail. the pressure hung in the room like the staining smell of copper and frustration that spilled off the two of you. "i love you. maybe too much, because i refuse to sit by and watch you break every bone in your body for you to get that through your thick skull. too blinded by your black eyes to see that while you’re out there fighting someone else, you have someone fighting for you. someone in your corner when you come home, to patch you up and hold you when things go rough. that’s me! not those idiots in the ring, not your manager! me.”

you were right. aaron knew you were right, you always were. you were always right there for him, sewing him shut, cleaning his cuts, licking his wounds when he was too weak to do so himself. that was you. "y/n." he said, extending his hand out to you, you taking it hesitantly. he brought you back to stand between his legs, his face resting against your cotton shirt, inhaling the scent of you. sweet and soft. "it's always been you." your hands found their home in his damp locks, hugging his frame close to you. he didn't know when he started crying, but suddenly a sob was ripped from the two of you at the same time.

pulling his face away from your body, his eyes were bloodshot, tears falling down his face. "i'm sorry. i'm so sorry for worrying you. i didn't mean to. i'm so tired of fighting, y/n. i'm tired." and maybe it was the events of the evening or the confession of love that came after, but aaron couldn't stop his tears. you knelt down, next to discarded bloody bandages and cotton swabs, cupping his face in your hands, your own teary eyes be damned. you sniffled and kissed his split lips softly, his mouth quirking up into a small smile as you peck another kiss to him.

"aaron, c'mon now. this isn't you. where's my strong guy?"

"he doesn't exist anymore. i'm tired of being strong, maybe i never was." that was the final straw. there would be no feeling sorry yourself in this house.

“you are so strong. hey, hey look at me.” his lip trembles as he meets your gaze, your hand on his face firmly. “you’re amazing at what you do. and if it’s not this fight you win, it’s the next. you have to take your wins with your loses, hotch. and not mentally beat yourself up about this. pun not intended.” he laughs softly at your joke, the knot in both your stomached easing as you kissed him once more. "i love you." you said, clearing the confusion in the air. "i love aaron hotchner. not just the pro-boxer. but the tough guy who showed up on my doorstep bloody from a fight on the day of his interview. the one who goes for runs at the ass crack of dawn and puts a cup of coffee on my bedside table each and every time. the guy who took care of me when i had a breakdown over bleeding through my sheets. remember that? saying 'a little blood never bothered me'." he laughed at your impression of his deep voice, allowing you to wipe his face from the tears that escaped with the edge of your shirt. "my strong boy. you're there, you've always been there for me. and i'm always gonna be there for you. okay?"

aaron nods, leaning his chin up to kiss your lips, missing and pecking the side of your face instead. with a small laugh, you hold his face in your hands. "i love you." he responded back, though you had some inkling over the past couple of months, the words still brought butterflies to your stomach. your arms wrapped around his neck, his hands coming to hold your shoulders as he sniffled and kissed you once more. "i love you so much." he said once pulling away, your forehead leaning lightly against his, as to not hurt the fresh cut there. "i'm quitting boxing." aaron's words made you wanna protest. as much as you hated him boxing, he loved it. despite the beatings and everything, the blood, the gore. he had been doing it for so long you weren't sure he knew how to do anything else. he continued before you got a chance to say anything, determination in his eyes. "pete, the gym manager, said something about needing someone to teach a boxing class for teens. it doesn't pay as much, but it's way less invasive." you laughed as a response, excited for his plans and what was to come, seeing a light in his eyes that had been extinguished for a whole, relit. this was something he had been thinking about for a while. "is that what you wanna do?" he nodded enthusiastically before stopping at the rush of blood to his pounding head. you said nothing, simply hugging him tight.

"i think it's good. what d'you think?" with a long and deep kiss, the two of you breathing heavily when you reeled back, you nod. "yes. i'm so proud of you." and with that, a grin splayed across aaron's face as he cupped yours in his hands. "then that's all i need to get through." a twirl of his hair in between your fingers, you smiled against his lips as he couldn't seem to get enough of feeling you on him.

"or." an interrupting kiss, "you could just come work at the bakery. i happen to know the owner, she's very wonderful and easy to persuade." a hearty chuckle was earned from aaron at your self praise, another litter of kisses being placed to your cheek. "oh, is she? is she as sweet as you?" he asked, nuzzling his face into your neck and smooching messily and noisily to make you laugh, which he succeeded in.

a moment more of reveling in your peace, he hugged you close, pulling your shirt down as he picked you up and carried you over to the counter, legs wrapped around his waist tightly. "so, about those cookies?" with a shake of your head, you tug him close by the collar of his shirt, leaning in and allowing for your breath to fan over the expanse of his face. your lips traveled over his cheek, ghosting the skin there before whispering in his ear. "they're double chocolate chip." the sucker for chocolate that aaron was, let out a half joking, but soft moan. one that ignited something in you, he noticed, watching as you squirmed against his body that slumped on you.

you spent another minute in his arms, hands running through his brown locks. "aar," he hummed, loving how your fingers scratched at his sore scalp in all the right places, "did i make you lose?" your question was pitiful, voice soft and pained. aaron's head immediately raised itself from its place where it was buried in your neck.

“Mmm, that feels good” he rasped, voice still groggy from sleep. He was lying on his stomach, head facing you as you ran your nails lightly up and down his back. Your hand opened up as it got to his shoulders, pushing your palm into the back of his shoulder. The pressure caused Aaron to groan, burying his head into his pillow. You continued to rock your hand into his shoulder blade moving towards his neck in a wave like motion. When you reached your destination, you ran your fingers through the short hairs there until he moved from your grasp to roll onto his side and pull you in for a kiss.

He tasted like coffee and mint, despite the early hour and time it had been since his last cup.

“I love you” he whispered reverently, voice deep. He pulled away from your lips to rest his forehead against yours. His nose grazed your own as you leaned in for another kiss. His palm slid from its place on your hip slowly up your side to cup the side of your face as he deepened the kiss with a swipe of his tongue along your lower lip. Your answering moan made him smile, breaking the kiss. His grin melted into a throaty laugh as you moved your attention from his lips to his cheek, peppering kisses along his jawbone until you reached his ear.

“I love you more” you breathed, pressing a kiss to the warm skin under his ear. As you began to pepper kisses along his cheek back to his lips, his face suddenly moved so that your lips were slotted over his again. The kiss started hard, his teeth clashing against yours in the passion to get as close as possible and melted into slow, lazy kisses with eyes intently watching you.

After a long moment, you pulled away and wiggled farther down the sheets so your head rested against his sternum. His deep breath made you hum in satisfaction and brought your arm to wrap around his back and start scratching lazy circles again.

“We should probably get up soon” he whispered as your fingers started to make bigger circles from the bottom of his neck to the waistband of his pajama pants. You groaned and buried your face into his chest, muttering incoherent words of displeasure. While you couldn’t see his smile, you could feel his stomach muscles contracting with a small laugh.

When the two of you finally untangled, you pulled on your lazy Sunday sweats and made your way into the kitchen. You started the coffee and pulled out the ingredients for breakfast while Aaron woke up Jack. After a few minutes, your husband was back and wrapping his arms around your waist after taking a long sip of coffee. His chin was laying on your shoulder while you cracked the eggs into the bowl and began to whisk everything together. You were standing like that when Jack eventually shuffled out of his room and into the bar stool across from you on the kitchen island.

“Good morning” the kid mumbled, elbows on the counter as his hands held up his head while he watched you make breakfast.

‘Morning Jack-Attack” you responded with a smile, pushing Aaron towards the fridge to get his son some orange juice, “French toast okay for breakfast?”

He nodded in approval before guzzling down his drink, starting to look more like a human being after some time to wake up. While you finished grilling up the toast, Aaron heated up some turkey bacon and began to set the table. Jack jumped up to help, grabbing the plates and setting the table along with silverware and your coffee. The finished French toast sat upon a plate that you set on the table and then pushed your boys to sit. You were about to join them when you realized what was missing. Aaron tilted his head in question when you shot towards the fridge but you just smiled.

“Strawberries for the French toast” you stated, setting the bowl onto the table and ruffling Jack's hair as you squeezed by him.

“Strawberries?” Jack questioned, his head tilting to the side just like his father earlier. You laughed at the adorably confused expression on his face.

“Of course,” you responded, “gives a bit of a bite of the sweetness. I promise you’ll love it.”

His grin was wide as he rubbed his stomach in anticipation. Aaron was shaking his head at your interaction as he kissed your cheek and sat down after you finally took your place to his right, across from Jack.

You passed the French toast to Jack and watched as he stabbed his fork into the bread and pulled them onto his plate. After he was finished, he passed the plate to his father who started his plate. You were watching as Aaron made his plate when Jack started to reach over towards the strawberries. A look of surprise was traded between you and your husband; Jack wasn’t one to normally try new foods, especially when it came down to his “perfect” recipe of whipped cream and syrup.

“Why not both?” Jack giggled, grabbing the bowl of fruit and pulling it over to his plate. He piled the strawberries onto his French toast and then reached for the syrup. After he sufficiently drowned his breakfast in sugar, he grabbed the can of whipped cream from its designated spot next to his juice.

“Jack…” Aaron warned as the boy tried to cover the entire plate in whipped cream. The empty threat didn’t phase his son as he continued to heap the product over the already smothered bread . You tried to hide your laughter in your napkin, covering your mouth as you watched Jack load up his French toast with sugar.