This One Needs More Appreciation 💖💖

It's so good!!!! 🤤🤤

August

Inspired by August by Taylor Swift

Summary: When Haley and Aaron broke up after junior year, you never thought it would be for good. But still you found yourself falling (into bed) with the boy who hated you. Your best friend’s ex boyfriend.

PART 1 | PART 2

Word Count: 4338

Warnings: 18+ for smut, very angsty ending, general teenage shenanigans, talk of disassociating, Haley hate (kind of? But also not really?)

A/N: I started this a couple of months ago after hearing “skinny dipping” by Sabrina Carpenter and realizing it would be such a cool idea to see a then and now. I never thought I’d write smut or young!Aaron so this is very new in all ways. I will take all the feedback or constructive criticism you have, thanks for reading!

Gif credit goes to @hotch-girl <3

“But I can see us

Lost in the memory

August slipped away into a moment in time

‘Cause you was never mine”

Everyone knew Aaron and Haley. Aaron might have been a jock and Haley might have been a nerd but everyone knew them as Aaron and Haley. They just made sense.

When they got together our sophomore year, the whole town talked about it. Aaron smiled more and Haley hid her face less. The two were known as the town’s sweethearts and it was genuinely deserved.

When they split the summer between your junior and senior year, no one believed it would last for long. Especially you.

You were Haley’s best friend. Your parents had become fast friends after meeting as parent volunteers at your kindergarten class trip to the aquarium. Haley would come over when her parents did and the two of you would go play while the adults did whatever adults do.

She was a bit more outgoing than you and always fought to bring you out of your shell. Dragging you to every event she could, the two of you were inseparable. Were.

When Haley and Aaron got together, she suddenly had less time for you. She was busy with her new relationship, you understood that but missed your best friend. It didn’t help that Aaron didn’t like you. Every time Haley would invite you to do something with them, Aaron would glare at you while she was looking away or maneuver himself so he was between the two of you and start to spread out more and more until you had to move.

Haley never noticed. You loved her, truly you did, but she was always a princess. When you were little she always had to be the damsel in distress. Her perfect story started with her needing help and ended in happily ever after when her nightly prince saved her from some big evil. She never wanted to save herself.

You didn’t fault her for this. Not everyone could be like you. Not everyone had to grow up early and learn that the only person you should depend on was yourself. In fact, part of the reason you loved her so much was her almost childlike optimism. You would pummel anyone who threatened to take it away from her. Sometimes you wished she would be a little more in touch with reality, but friendship - like all relationships - was about compromise.

So you compromised. You gave her time and space and let her settle into her new relationship. You didn’t fault her for it, you reckoned that it was a normal teenage girl thing. So you waited.

Her never ending schemes to get you involved led to a decreased time for your hobbies, specifically painting and reading. Your new free time was well spent catching up on your always growing “to read” list which always inspired new pieces of artwork. Those books were the reason you didn’t hold the same ideas on life and romance as your friend. While she loved the doting attention of the soccer star and his juvenile pet names, you had a more refined standard of romance. You would accept nothing less than being swept off your feet.

Or so you thought.

Three weeks after the couple broke up, you saw Aaron for the first time. You were at the beach, the last book you had read featured a cute scene with a couple in the water so it inspired you to pack up some sunscreen and head out. You had been there for about an hour when all of the sudden it was too dark to read. Looking up, you found your best friend’s ex boyfriend staring at you.

“What are you doing here?” He demanded, arms crossed as he peered down at you with a frown.

“Reading, you don’t own the beach Hotchner. It’s public property” you reminded, shutting your book while pursing your lips. He rolled his eyes with a sneer as you waited to see what he wanted.

“So funny,” he remarked, “when are you leaving?”

“Whenever I feel like it. Though if it upsets you so much…” you trailed off with a hand on your chin, “never.”

With another glare, he narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to the side. His hands fell from across his chest to perch on his hips.

“Well I need you to leave” he ordered. No matter what he had intended, his words had the opposite effect. You found yourself laughing hard enough that you toppled over, dropping the book from your lap. Your chest was hugging your knees as your head was thrown back in what was probably an extremely attractive laugh. When you got control of your breathing again, your eyes peered up to look at his which were locked down your bikini top.

“My eyes are up here, Hotchner, and no thanks” you responded with a smirk. His eyes flashed back up to your face, ears slightly red from the embarrassment of getting caught. He started to splutter, eyebrows furrowed as he came up with whatever excuse he thought would get you to leave.

Ignoring him, you stood from your place on the ground and walked up to him so you were chest to chest, “I’m not Haley. I don’t think you walk on water and I won’t let you boss me around. Go find someone else to control.”

Unlike your friend who’s short stature meant she was eye level with Aaron’s chest, your eyes were firmly locked on his lips. You were close enough that you could feel his warm breath fanning across your nose. Both of you stood there, momentarily stunned by the close contact when his buddies came up behind him.

“Aaron we’re leaving” one of them yelled, passing him by without stopping. Your hands were cocked on your hips, waiting for his next move.

“Later” he responded loudly, eyes still locked on yours. As soon as his buddies were gone, he pushed his face closer to yours. His eyes were dancing with anger as he swallowed loudly.

“Listen here-“ he started, his mocking tone setting you off again. You threw your hands up, one hand running through your hair as the other pointed into his chest.

“I will not ‘listen here’ buck-o, you hold no sway over me. I don’t care what you think or what you want. I was here first and you don’t own this stupid beach!” You yelled, finger jamming into his chest every other point in emphasis.

Grabbing your hand mid poke, his hand tightly squeezed yours as he muttered between clenched teeth, “you are so goddamn infuriating, woman. You know that?”

“I am not” you huffed, annoyed at how warm and right his calloused hand felt around yours, “you are infuriating, you-you-“

His lips were against yours. Your current thought process died and you could feel the wheels in your head spinning overtime as you tried to understand what was going on. The thought of whose tongue was caressing your bottom lip caused a moment of clarity and your hands went flat against his chest to push back and your lips opened to tell him off but the words fell flat. He had taken your motion as encouragement and the hand that was once holding yours moved to grasping the back of your neck, fingers threaded in your hair. The other gripped your hip to the point of being painful and you found yourself moaning into his mouth.

You let your eyes slip closed and tentatively swiped yours against his wandering tongue. His answering groan made your thighs clench. The deep baritone made your head swim, your hands climbed up his chest to grasp onto his shoulders. You were breathless, chest heaving against his as your fingers dug into the muscles in his back. He groaned again into your mouth but the noise was loud enough to startle a group of birds that were walking around in the sand a few feet from you.

The sudden commotion startled both of you out of the moment. Your hands slid down his back to hang down at your sides as you stared, open-mouthed at your best friend’s ex boyfriend. The words wouldn’t come. You knew you should walk away, run away, but all you could think about was the taste of him. The way he ran his tongue against your bottom lip, the way his lips had caressed yours. You wanted more. Maybe that made you a bad person, but you needed it more than anything else you’d ever had before.

During your mental debate, Aaron stood in front of you. His arms were also at his sides, shaking slightly as his chest heaved in time with yours. His eyes never left yours, their darkened shade glistening along with his lips. When he caught you staring at them, his tongue stuck out to lick you off of his lips. The movement sent butterflies flying around your stomach. You gave yourself a minute to close your eyes and think this through but quickly shook off rationality and grabbed his hand.

Pulling him away from the sandy beach and leaving your book and chair, you led him wordlessly to the parking lot. You were backed into your parking spot at the deserted end of the lot underneath a bunch of low hanging trees. You were momentarily thankful that your favorite spot to park kept your vehicle cool with its windy breeze through the cracked windows and shade from the beating sun.

When you reached the vehicle, you avoided his eyes and dug the key out of your pocket. Your hands were shaky as you tried to fit the key into the lock until a warm hand enclosed your own. His steady fingers slipped the key into the lock and twisted, unlocking the door and opening it in one smooth movement. You reached around to unlock the back door and opened it to let the car air out. With a quick slam of the front door, you were both standing close in the hot air of your heated car. There was a little bead of sweat running down his forehead as his eyes studied your face. You used one hand to balance yourself against his lean frame and the other wiped at his forehead and brushed the one long strand of hair out of his eyes. He shot you a small smile, a dimple pulling out as he mimicked your motions to brush a stray hair back behind your ear. The action felt almost too intimate for such a tumultuous relationship so you quickly pushed him into your backseat.

The sweetness of the moment was interrupted and his hands were pulling onto your hips, taking you with him as he kicked the door shut and slotted his lips against yours. You moaned against his tongue as he continued to explore your mouth. Your hands were grasping at his shoulders again for support but you needed more. Quickly you grasped at the top of his shirt and pulled, forcing him to pull away and finish removing his shirt.

Once it was gone your mouth was sliding along the lines of his shoulder, sucking little marks against the muscles there. He was groaning and grasping at your hair, fingers tightening as you would bite down a little on the skin before licking over it to soothe the mark.

You were just about to move down to his chest when the hand in your hair was yanking you up and you were suddenly being kissed with a ferocity that was only hinted at before. Your hands continued the trail you started with your mouth, running your nails lightly over his pecs and abs down to the happy trail around his belly button. As your hands explored his body, he took the initiative to do the same, one hand holding your head close to his as the other traced around your bikini top before circling around your breast. A finger flicked at your nipple suddenly, causing your fingernails to tighten into his chest.

He was biting at your bottom lip with a moan as your fingers finished the happy trail down under his swim trunks. You teased him, running your finger around the edges of the waistband before continuing to move your hand back up his chest. His bottom lip poked out against yours as he pouted from the loss of contact. His lips pulled away from yours, giving you a moment to catch your breath when he suddenly ducked his head down and bit down lightly on your nipple over the suit. You threw your head back with a moan as you pulled yourself fully seated in his lap to grind down against him. The sudden contact caused him to groan around your nipple as his tongue flicked against you and the hand on your waist moved in time with your movements. You were gasping for air as he rubbed against your clit, your wetness soaking through the bikini bottoms and coating the front of his trunks.

The slickness made a squeaking sound that wasn’t pleasant so you hurried to move yourself off of his lap to pull the swim suit off. He copied your idea and quickly slid his shorts down. The sight of him slapping against his happy trail sent another wave of heat through your belly.

You pushed him back against the seat and kneeled above him. His lips were back on yours as an arm wrapped around your waist to bring you against him. The new position had his tip rubbing against your clit. You squirmed against the contact, trying to create more friction as he let out a little huff of laughter while you whined against his lips. Taking pity on you, he dragged a hand from your waist to grasp himself, rubbing little circles against your bundle of nerves. The increase in pressure felt heavenly and you could hardly focus on his kiss. Your lips went lax as your mouth hung open. He pressed little nips on your bottom and top lips before using his nose to push your face to the side. His lips dotted kisses down your jaw and onto your neck. He was busy sucking at a sensitive spot just above your clavicle as he dragged his cock against your clit in slow, teasing circles.

Your moans were loud in the silent car for a moment before you slid a hand up his side to the back of his neck. You tugged at his hair until his lips were leaving your neck and his face was level with yours. His breath was coming out in warm pants that tingled against your sensitive lips. You tried to think straight with his hand still moving against you but you couldn’t help kissing him again.

Leaving a trail of sloppy kisses from his lips over to his ear, you sucked gently on his earlobe before leaning a little further to whisper in his ear, “I want you inside of me.”

His answering groan accompanied a harsh slap of his cock against your clit. You bit down on his shoulder in retribution before shooing his hand away and grasping his length in your hand. You used your wetness that had dropped down his cock as lubricant as you stroked him slowly. After a minute, you were lifting yourself a bit further and lining him up when one of his hands squeezed your hip and the other lifted your face to look at him.

“Are you sure?” He whispered, words clear in the heated moment. Your heart clenched at the sweetness of him, such an odd contrast to his behavior before that day, before leaning forward to nip at his bottom lip. You let your tongue sweep along the spot you bit and nodded before you slowly started to sink down onto him.

The rest of the summer passed similarly in a blur of stolen moments and hidden signals. There were a bunch of big stones that lined the wood chips along the length of your home. All of them were multicolored but there was one that stood out, it was a faded blue on one side and light red on the other. As you were sneaking into your house one of the first nights after the two of you met up, you accidentally knocked it over and saw the color change. The next time you met up with Aaron, you suggested he use the stone to show if he was able to get out that night. If he thought he could make it, he would turn the stone to the blue side but if he couldn’t, he’d leave the red.

You always met at the same time at the same place. Ten minutes after ten pm on the roof of the abandoned warehouse that was between your houses. You would crouch through the hole in the fence and use the fire escape to get up to the top.

Every night up on that roof was the same. He would look at you with those tired eyes and you would have done anything to make it just a little bit better for him. He would hold you as his lips bruised your own, his hands grasping at your hips as he set a brutal pace. There was never much said between the two of you. Sometimes it would be mere moments after you arrived on the roof that he would pull the blanket from your arms and lay you down on it. Others he would pull you into his arms and spend hours watching the stars before kissing you slowly. Every time he would ask if you were sure. The quiet words had become routine but no less special as he lined himself up and brought your face up to meet his eyes.

You kept telling yourself it meant nothing. That the two of you had come to an unspoken agreement to work out your daily struggles with each other. It was normal. It was fine.

It was a good thing, a really good thing, but like all other good things, it eventually came to an end. You had been avoiding Haley, only responding to every other text and making excuses to avoid meeting up. You took a new job during the day stocking shelves at a local warehouse to keep your mind and hands busy. But as you knew, you couldn’t avoid her forever.You were walking out of the house to your car before work one day when she cornered you.

Yelling your name, she ran over from across the street to stand behind your car. You greeted her back with a quick smile but you could tell from her stance with her hands on her hips that she was upset. You were hoping you could at least make it to the start of the school year before having to face the confrontation.

“Haley-“ you started but she cut you off.

“No, don’t you dare ‘Haley’ me” she growled, “what in the hell is the matter with you? You’ve been blowing me off all summer! I thought you were my best friend but just when I needed you most, you leave me”

You hated the way that your throat constricted seeing her teary eyed but you knew you had to be strong for her, “no, I was-“

“Stop lying to me! If you didn’t want to be my friend, you could have just said so! I lost Aaron and then I lost you, so you know how hard that was for me?” She cried. Your stomach clenched at the mention of his name.

“I’m sorry” you muttered, head down as you realized how this situation would play out. You were stupid to think that everything wouldn’t explode in your face. Even if she never found out, you couldn’t face her. Not knowing how it feels to be loved by him. Not knowing how she still loved him.

She continued to yell at you and you let her; your mind floating as you began to understand just how badly this was going to end. A tight feeling settled into your gut as you realized how many people your thoughtless decision would affect, how many people you would lose. As you started to gather your thoughts, you didn’t let your mind stray. You would make a plan of attack and separate yourself from reality, that would be the only way you would survive what was to come.

Later that night, after Haley finally had enough yelling and told you that she never wanted to see you again, you waited for Aaron on the roof.

Normally he beat you there but this time, you were waiting for him. Your back was to the entrance as you stood by the edge and stared out at the bustling city. The squeaking of the door opening let you know you were no longer alone but you waited until you could smell the warm scent of him behind you before you began to turn.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, voice quiet against the soft noises of the city below.

You took a deep breath to calm yourself before you turned to him. His eyes were guarded as he regarded you with no expression. His hands were in his Jean pockets as he waited for you to respond.

“Aaron,” you started, voice calm despite the desperate fear of losing him and yourself in the process, “this summer has been the best summer of my life but I…. I think it’s time we end this. School starts soon so you’ll be tired from soccer practice and Haley will be around. I know she broke it off but she misses you. Everyone wants you two back together, including both of you, so it just seems like this is the right time. She’ll be there for all of your needs and you can go back to hating me when I’m not sleeping with you.”

His eyes bore into yours as he seemed to process what you said. His arms strained under his tight grasp at the material of his pants and you longed to wrap your arms around him and just hold on tight. The ever present crease between his eyes got more defined as he began to scowl, his eyes hardening against your gaze.

“It was never just sex to me” his steady voice insisted hands raising to grasp at the ends of his hair, “it was never just a fling or a hookup. Haley-“

“Is the love of your life” you responded, trying to keep your voice calm despite the quickly growing turmoil you felt. Your stomach was tied into knots as you watched the pain flicker through his face.

“No, she’s not. You don’t have the right to tell me who I love” His face tightened, voice raising in frustration at your lack of emotion.

“But you do, you love her. This was just a fling. Even if you don’t want to admit it, Aaron” you countered, arms folded across your chest as you tried not to shrink away from his anger.

“I did, I do. But that doesn’t mean anything now because we aren’t together. And I don’t need to admit anything. You don’t get to tell me how I feel or what I think, you don’t even know me” he huffed, finger pointing at you as he stilled suddenly. His eyes were regretful as he looked at your withdrawn posture. You gave him a watery grimace as the tears started to fall down your cheeks. You unwrapped your arms to wipe at the traitorous emotional reaction and nodded at him.

“You’re right, Aaron. I don’t know you” you agreed, voice breaking.

“Sweetheart I-”

You cut him off with a wave of your hand and tried to make your voice as steady as possible, “I don’t know you. I’ve seen you every night for two months but we haven’t spoken more than a handful of words. I don’t know you and I’m never going to.”

Your eyes trailed down to the ground as you spoke, unable to meet his gaze. After a moment you could hear him take a deep, unsteady breath before swallowing loudly.

“So this is it then?” He asked, voice hard with his teeth and fists clenched. Your heart broke at his words and a voice in your head screamed at you to stop playing the martyr, to let yourself be happy.

“Yes,” you responded, head tipping back up to meet his eyes, “goodbye Aaron.”

With a quick turn, you started towards the entrance to the roof to return back to solid ground as you heard him whisper a goodbye behind you. The sadness in his voice almost broke your resolve but you stood your ground. You don’t remember anything about getting out of the building or back home besides the empty feeling that sets into your chest. But that feeling never quite went away.

You never told Haley. You didn’t think Aaron would either but he was right, you didn’t know him. Breaking things off with him was the right thing to do but it felt like your heart was being ripped out of your chest and stomped on by a herd of elephants. You spent every night until school started again crying yourself to sleep. Haley showed up to your house multiple times but your parents listened to your pleas not to let her in. Eventually, your mom caved to your demands to join the local college’s early degree program and you didn’t have to watch as your two favorite people found comfort in each other. You had hoped they would but you didn’t think you would be able to stand watching your classmates vote them prom king and queen or most likely to marry.

Instead, you settled into a routine of pushing your body and mind to the limit as you tried to fill the gaping hole in your chest. You were convinced that years from now, your future self would thank you. But at the moment, all you felt was empty.

A List of Prompts

because yeah i think it would be helpful if there was a comprehensive list of those, so

ANGST. want to cry? here's some onion for you.

fighting/intense

someone is injured

protective

reluctant allies

shedding a tear

secret relationship--getting caught and confronted

enemies to lovers

corruption arc

sentence starters

forbidden love

101 ways to break the characters (and readers) heart

broken trust

hit em where it hurts

for the damaged

short angst sentence starters

soft angst sentence starters

high pain tolerance

dark and angsty sentence starters

from the villain

SMUT / NSFW. having horny thoughts? endulge.

action prompts

subtle intimacy

sexual tension

kissing starters

smut dialogue prompts

sfw friends with benefits

types of kisses

soft dirty talk sentence starters

consent is sexy

spicy actions

subtle smut sentence starters

nonverbal sexual situations

bdsm and dom/sub prompts

build the tension

love and leashes

FLUFF. for when your heart needs healing.

simple actions.

forehead touches.

things done while spooning

things done while dancing

oblivious idiots in love

idiots in love

dancing prompts

dialogue prompts

simple touches

casual affections

soft and sweet sentence starters

types of hugs

comforting

domestic intimacy

comforting actions

soft touches

BITTERSWEET. for those who like to hurt and then soothed.

reassuring your lover

reassuring your lover pt. 2

sacred moments

hurt/comfort prompts.

hero x villain prompts

lovers in denial

comforting a lover after a nightmare

grumpy x sunshine

enemies with benefits

noticing trauma

all about the yearning

found family

nightmares and sleeping

reassuring

reunion after (physical) trauma

possessive/territorial

for the heavy hearted

enemies to lovers

hero x villain sentence starters

dissociation starters

intervention

enemies to lovers and lovers to enemies

So Hot🔥🔥

Happy 1K!!! I would love it if you could write a little something for my fav Danny Ric 🥹 using some of the prompts, I was thinking of these ❛ if you want something, then you ask for it!’ ‘ Suck on it then’ and "Swallow it. All of it."

tattoo temptation | d. ricciardo

thank you anon!! your favourite is my favourite, so i loved writing this<3 i appreciate the submission, i hope you enjoy!

daniel ricciardo x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ content, light mention of thigh worship, oral (m receiving), praise, dom!daniel, swallowing.

you had been at this for what felt like hours. your fingers trace the intricate ink on daniel’s thigh, the black lines standing out stark against his tanned skin. you’re kneeling between his legs, your obsession evident as your lips brush over the edges of the design, just above where his shorts are rucked up.

“you keep staring at it like that, sweetheart, and i’ll start thinking you’re more into my tattoo than me,” daniel teases, his voice low and thick, amusement curling around the heat in his tone. his voice never fails to sen heat to your core, and you’d have him talking forever if you could.

you glance up, meeting his darkened gaze, your lips curling into a sly smirk. “maybe i am, maybe you should take the hint.”

he raises a brow, his hand cupping your chin and tilting your head back slightly. he knows you love his thighs, but you’ve been acting different tonight, he can tell your mood isn’t just because of his inked thigh. “if you want something, then you ask for it,” he says, his Aussie drawl sending shivers down your spine. it wasn’t something gentle and encourage, it felt like a disguised command.

your hand slides higher on his thigh, fingers just brushing the hard bulge beneath his boxers. “then I guess i’ll stop teasing,” you murmur, your voice dripping with mischief as you pull the waistband of his shorts down, freeing him from the constrains of his boxers.

his breath hitches as you wrap your hand around his thick length, your thumb circling the tip slowly, spreading the bead of wetness that’s already forming. you glance up again, your lips ghosting over the head as his hand makes its way in your hair, threading his fingers through the soft strands.

“don’t stop now,” he mutters, his usual cockiness tinged with desperation. you knew you were both on the same level now, instead of him being fully in control. you considered teasing even more, but you were just as desperate as he was.

you hum softly, your lips parting as you take him in, your tongue swirling around the tip before sliding lower. his thighs tense beneath your hands as you hollow your cheeks, taking him in deeper.

“fuck,” he groans, his fingers tightening in your hair, guiding your movements without forcing you onto his cock. “you look so good like this, sweetheart. you were made to be right between my legs.”

you pull back slightly, your tongue teasing along the underside of his shaft before you look up at him, eyes half-lidded. “suck on it, then,” he rasps, his voice deep and thick with need, the command sends a thrill through you.

you obey him, taking him deeper this time as your hand moves to stroke what your mouth can’t take. the weight of him on your tongue, the way he twitches in your mouth, has heat pooling low in your belly. you exhale around him as you moan against his cock, revelling in the way he shivers.

“just like that, baby,” he pants, his other hand gripping the edge of the couch as you quicken your pace. his hips lift slightly, his control slipping as his breaths grow heavier.

you feel him getting close, his grip on your hair tightening as he mutters your name like a prayer. when his release hits, he groans low and rough, holding you steady.

“swallow it. all of it,” he growls, and the raw dominance in his tone makes you clench around nothing.

you do as he says, swallowing every last drop of his salty cum before pulling back, your lips swollen, a satisfied smile playing on your face as you look up at him, fluttering your lashes in the process.

daniel’s chest rises and falls as he catches his breath, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “you’re obsessed with just my tattoos, huh?”

you wink, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. “i love everything down here, maybe it’s all just a good excuse to get on my knees.”

Girl, same!

in case it hasn’t been clear, this blog is firmly and unwaveringly pro-choice.

In love, specially with the last two💖💖🫠🫠

Louis Garrel

I can’t stop thinking about Hotch and pregnant!Reader! So if your requests are still open can I request soemthing with maybe Jack is visiting the office and he runs straight to you to say hi and then goes “hi baby” to your tum, but the team doesn’t know yet do you’re like 😳

nawwww 🥺

-

Jack sees through the glass doors, standing to the side of the bull pen, the moment he steps out of the lift with Aaron. It makes him smile and his eyes light up as he struggles against the weight of the glass door. It makes Aaron’s lips tilt in amusement, as he puts a hand on the metal handle, helping his son to push the door open, allowing both of them enough space to slip in.

“Hi baby,” he runs straight to you, throwing his arms around your body while pressing his cheek to your stomach, his little body vibrating with excitement.

“Are you?” You look up from the top of Jack’s head, replacing your gaze with a hand to ruffle his hair, to find each of the team staring at you, jaws slack and eyes wide. You feel the prickle of a blush heat up your face and you clear your throat awkwardly.

“We are,” you hear Aaron say, answering on behalf of your family, as he sidles up behind you, the back of your shoulder against his chest.

You tilt your head up, meeting his gaze in a glance and smile as he places a hand on the small of your back.

Meme’s for my fellow Thomas simps

This is so good!!!! I love it 💖💖 I need a part 2🥲🥲

The Only Heartbreaker (Hotch x Reader)

Summary: A case hoists your whole team to a location where you're forced to work closely for a week with your boss and the man you've been harboring unwanted feelings for. Those emotions start to fester, making you both act unlike yourselves. (aka someone yearns over someone and is MAD about it) // Rating: Teen up (case mention, blood, guns etc) AN: this brought to u by me procrastinating and a heavy dose of mitski <3 FLUFF FIC

Tags: daddy issues package, angst w happy ending, angst and fluff, pining, case HEAVY, comfort, pushing the agenda that hotch is an acts of service kinda guy, age gap, yearning, longing, hurt/ comfort, protective hotch, soft hotch,

WC: 4.5k approx

---------

It wasn’t a good day. It was a hard one: with interrogations that never end, seemingly stretching out longer than average because of people (and you couldn’t really blame them) being reserved and restrained in speaking out, ;and no rest. You’d grown familiar with the latter, but not the first. And you were by far the only one suffering from the events of the day. Prentiss and Reid had slipped away earlier, choosing to go back to the morgue for another talk with the medical examiner.

Rossi and JJ sit in the room nearby, talking with some of the kids, unfortunate for witnessing something they never should have known existed. Terror lingers in their faces, even after they’d been pulled away from the piazza where bullets had rained upon. Morgan is still out there, refusing to return and standing watch with SWAT, in case the culprit wanted to show up again. Not that they’d ever let him go alive at this point.

Hotch, the man of few words and your boss, stands by your side, body tense and nerves taut. He’s as close to losing his temper at the police chief before you as you are. Which is why you defuse the situation before that happens.

“Chief Smal, how about I get back to you on that after an hour?”

The man, who’d been rambling on and on about the incompetence of the FBI for not stopping something that you couldn’t ever predict, stops. He gapes at you, offended and angry. If he was any less animated he wouldn’t be fuming out of his ears and nose.

“Excuse-me?”

Hotch makes a sign to move, talk or whatever he thinks can fix this. But you don’t allow him.

“Great”, you chirp, feigning better than an actress, “You are excused.”

You turn sharply away, leaving the man sputtering and shocked, and continue down the hall. He’d been so goddamned annoying and useless, keeping you both away from your jobs – and hounding Hotch like he’s the boss. Like Hotch can’t just wave a hand and have the man dismissed without a contradiction. But this man, the one who is always direct and curt, was being nice. He’d been nothing but fucking courteous the whole time.

You knew this. You’d had an entire fucking week working close by with him, paired up since the jet dropped you off on location. And that niceness you’d once found commendable and charming and had made you swoon far too many times to count (not that you would admit you do, you’re not insane), is now irking you.

Even now you can almost hear his voice. First, gentle when he calls your name. But then not. And you realize he’s trailed behind you. Long strides made by his longer legs and taller frame, and he followed you easily as you stormed off.

There’s no hint of niceness in his clipped tone as he calls your name again.

“Agent, I’m speaking to you for fu—”

You swirl around, stopping abruptly. He doesn’t swear. He never does. And you don’t storm off, nor do theatrics, like this one, where you pausing so suddenly almost causes him to crush into you. Both blinking at each other, you realize none of you feels like themselves.

Hotch exhales, some of the tension easing out of him. You’re fucking welcome, you want to rush out. Not having Chief Blabbering Mouth pestering you has made you both calmer already.

“What was that about?”

You decide to act, yet again. “What was what?”

“Stop that”, he says in exasperation. A police officer passing by winces at his tone.

He doesn’t know Hotch. Not like you do. This pitch of his deep baritone, and the look on his face – he’s not mad at you. He’s mad with you. Knowing him, even madder that he’d succumbed to the pressures of diplomatic righteousness and bureaucratic relationships, and let a random, inconsequential chief of police get to both of you. Knowing him, he’s already blaming himself for it. Sinking deep into that hole of guilt trips, faults and self-criticism.

His body language is hostile, weary, very high-strung. You bypass all red alarms blaring in you telling you not to – but you reach out either way. A hand on his elbow and he flinches.

“Hotch,” you will your voice to sound soft, though your mannerisms mirror his, “I know what the fuck I’m doing, okay? Give me some credit”

One of his dark brows flicks upwards in question.

“I know” you sigh, not taking it personally when you touch him again and he grimaces. “I know. I was right there okay. Right fucking there”

The rest of the BAU had been inside the shopping mall at the time you and Hotch were having a fully fledged argument in the piazza. Some topics you don’t even recall. On more snipers. More check-ups. Or less law enforcement visible in the streets, making civilians antsy.

When the first bullet had hit, it had been so loud, you’d instantly forgotten. Everything had gone quiet. Not just you and Hotch, but the entire world. Then the second bullet had pierced the air, and the man you’d been bickering with – some would say even yelling at – had caught both your arms, lifted you up like he’d turned superhuman with a click of a button, and made himself bigger and taller, shielding you with his body. It had been less than a minute because he hadn’t done just that. Like the crowd around you, running and pushing each other, he’d done the same: hauling your ass – and himself – out of sight and inside a building nearby.

You’d both been there. Though with all your training and your experience, you’d frozen on the spot. People had fallen around you, murdered in cold blood. But you’d been there, even though your body had refused you.

Hotch blinks, his voice dropping lower. “I don’t expect thanks from you”

“Jesus, Hotch”, this time you bump his forearm, like you would a friend to make him act right, “I’d never. Not because of what you think.”

He blinks again, perplexed by your actions.

“But because it reminds me how useless I got. I don’t need that fucking reminder”

He pauses, tiredness etched in his face. “You’re swearing in the place of work, Agent”

If you had rested, and gotten some sleep like the rest of your colleagues you’d have had the strength to roll your eyes at him. In normal situations he’d have never let your crude language get past one (single) fuck. In better situations, you would never use crass language in front of the man you’ve had high regards for, beyond simply respecting him as a boss.

“I’m aware, Hotch.”

Your lack of fight gives him pause. “Did I let him get that far?”

You nod. Not that you’d judge him for blacking out when the chief spoke - you’d done the same. “Not to our faces. I overheard him speaking to his subordinates that the tits gave him hell last night over a misspell on a report”

Hotch shuts his eyes, his frame shaking when he huffs out in frustration. He places a hand over the one you’ve got hanging in the air in-between both of you, waiting for him to act less like a feral animal and more… domesticated. He only guides your palm to rest over his other wrist, patting it twice. A gesture so strange to outsiders but not to you – indicating he’s granting you physical contact because it comforts you.

“I’ll forward his name to the board”

“Hotch, I don’t want you to fire someone because they referred to me as tits.”

He reads your implication because he mutters under his breath. “He called you other names, didn’t he? I’ll call someone right now—”

“God, no. Hotch, listen”, you drop your hold on him, his eyes tracking the movement, and you don’t want to notice how his body deflates at the loss of contact, “I don’t need you to fire that man because of some words. I can handle those. I’d rather we focus on our jobs”

Like a petulant child, so unlike him, he takes a step back. The intention clear as day in his eyes. He’s ready to head back and chew his head out.

“You are doing the same thing!” you blurt out, making him stop. “You’re letting him rip one at the BAU’s involvement because you feel guilty and that you deserve it. And I’m letting those words pass because I feel guilty as well. Guilt is eating at us”

“Right” He looks unconvinced. This might be the only moment you’ll have to address what happened outside so you steal it.

“Hotch, I swear”, you will your voice softer than before, “Homeland didn’t warn us to begin with. We couldn’t have predicted this.”

Those words open up his features: the lines between his brows easing up, the crooked wince of his mouth drawing into a line, and his shoulders un-slumping.

“Okay?”

He grants you a quick nod, the five minutes of privacy in a crowded precinct ending at once. Officers stop by you, and Hotch lets you go.

“I’ll handle the rest of the interrogations”, he murmurs just for your ears, brushing against your side as he moves past you.

Wait, and then…?

He pauses, like he’s reading your mind, knowing without you voicing it aloud that there’s something worrying you. Then he says the next words that render you breathless, before parting from you. “You’re in charge of communications with local law enforcement. Decide and brief me later. And behave .”

The trust he hands over is unwavering, blinding with its intensity. You remember it too with dubious clarity: the fight before had been about police visibility.

You shuffle in your feet and welcome the swarm of officers waiting for your signal. Without the presence of the unit chief, they seem calmer too, directing questions your way. Unlike Hotch, who’s strict in not giving anyone leeway, you do so. It takes hours, but it’s due to your inexperience. The day before Hotch had been the one commanding an entire panicked room swarming with law enforcement officers.

You find the rest of your team in the breakroom, having decided to forego a small rest in order to get back to business right away. Morgan briefs you on the new developments. Garcia through the speaker cuts in with her findings: the address of the suspect’s summer home. You feel it at once: a fresh new hope for the nightmare to end.

“Alright,” Hotch moves to stand beside you for a better vantage point. Exhaustion and lack of sleep makes your body feel relief from his closeness, the scent of his cologne making you let out a small sigh of content. “When we get the call, I want everyone out – Kevlar vest and helmets. Follow Morgan’s lead in terms of SWAT’s assessment of the situation. JJ will stay on top of the news…”

You keep your eyes to Morgan, knowing meeting your boss’ gaze will free the emotions you’ve kept down for so long. Not resting or sleeping isn’t only because of the grueling case. Some of it is the proximity to Hotch. Having to work side-by-side, sharing almost every meal time together – because of the different task forces he’d decided to set up – has taken a toll on you.

Not that you’d never done it before. Working within the unit and traveling were undetached parts of the job and Hotch has always been so professional. So fucking formal. So incredibly decent with you during your time at the BAU that catching feelings had been as surprising to you as it would have been to him (not that he’ll never know). But he is a gentleman. He is nice and kind and the most patient man. With a humor as dry as a desert, and a penchant to protect everyone he knows– yes, including his most recent recruit he never kept closer than two meters - the man had still reeled you in. Hook, line and sinker.

Doesn’t matter that he smiles and laughs like it physically pains him to do so – he'd still tricked you into feeling attraction to him. Restless in bed, you’ve spent this entire week considering if this is how poor souls felt when witches and wizards seduced them with contrived love potions. Because how... How does someone so reserved make you feel dazed and unbecoming just by looking at you?

Surely doesn’t help knowing your room shares a wall with his and at night you hear just how much he doesn’t sleep as well.

“...are you following?” Hotch snaps you out of your thoughts, yet you still don’t look at him.

It’s torturous because in this one week you’re getting to know him more than you’ve ever done in all your time at the BAU. Unfortunately for you, he’s not someone to hate and loathe.

“Sure. We don’t go in guns blazing.” You sum up, and Morgan smiles at your words. “You’re set on that tactic, boss? Can’t we switch up to my alternative?”

“No”, he says confused, “Had you been paying attention you’d have known I already declined Morgan’s offer.”

Even reprimands don’t make those emotions fade away. Documents shuffle and empty coffee cups are thrown in the bins, and Hotch stays there, staring at you until you give up and look at him. Morgan pats your back, following Reid and Rossi out. JJ and Prentiss chuckle on the way out, but neither of you makes a move.

“Steer clear of SWAT”, Hotch murmurs, eyes flicking across your face.

You hate that small action the most because you know what it represents. One late night after interrogations, with everyone gone, he’d confessed reading people’s body language had been his expertise since he was a kid. A talent gifted to him from growing up in a volatile household with an impulsive violent parent. Doing it had been his way to survive. Now, he’d made a career out of it. What a fucked-up talent , you’d said that night, and it had made him laugh like you’d been both in a bar, drinking and sharing stories like old friends.

Studying your behavior though, seems to cross a precarious line. If he’s any more attentive towards you. If he’s even just a tiny bit more protective of you...

“I won’t”

Hotch scoffs, not believing you. This week is to blame for him knowing you just as well. “Fine, stay close to Morgan then.”

Then in a move that sucks all the air from your lungs, he hands you his own cup – full, steaming and untouched. “Take it. I made it for you”, he says like he’s handing you a report to fill in, and not being sweet by preparing you a coffee every single time he made one for himself.

“Hotch, I--” First the massive responsibility of talking to the officers, and now this. God, your nerves are about to snap. Frustration loops around your throat, your heart about to burst with emotion. So, you resort to saying something unkind and awkwardly ridiculous. “We need to see other people after this.”

He watches you take a sip, the small sigh of content telling him he got the order right. Like Hotch has ever done anything incorrect.

“I’m getting used to you”, you try to joke, voice fluctuating and hands trembling, “One more day and I’ll learn your bathroom habits”

He shakes his head, a small smile parting his lips, like he doesn’t mean for it to happen. “I’d rather you just drink and follow my orders. Less spitting fire, angel”

You look up at him, holding back a grin that would surely tell him how much you like him. “You saying I should swallow, boss?”

The question – a goddamn slip up if there’s ever been one – affects him in the most enticing of ways. Red rises over his neck, climbing over the collar of his button-down, the way it does when he runs, and then it reaches quite slowly his cheeks. Your face heats but not because of this stupid thing you’ve ever said to him.

Hotch clears his throat, but he still doesn’t look away and that’s how it happens . Your heart beats a little harder, your skin zaps with awareness, and your fingers tingle.  Like it seemed to happen the first night you’d both found each other alone in the hotel’s restaurant. Like it did when you had to knock on his hotel room at an ungodly hour because you got a tip and found him wearing a white t-shirt and shorts and fluffy, sleepy hair. Like it seems to happen when time stills and slows down, everything quiets to a low comfortable buzz because it’s just you and him.

He says your name, half in pleading and half in warning. Something warm curls inside you but you shove it aside.

“I’ll head out”, your voice is softer, breathier, and you’re first to cut the tension, running away at once. You’re out of there before he understands the entirety of you.

The call, as Garcia dubbed it, comes in a few minutes. A confirmation that the suspect has been sighted at a local supermarket. His phone pinged near the summer home she’d discovered. Morgan and you are out, following the neat movements of SWAT officers through the neighborhood.

In your periphery, FBI and police officers secure the perimeter. A split second where you meet Hotch’s eyes, in full uniform like he’d ordered – a small understanding passing through both.

Then the rest happens. The building is a two-stories house, and Homeland had warned you about the sudden cult following the suspect had amassed, reinforcing his numbers. It took a simple attack into innocent civilians for him to get a blind following. A shiver goes through you recalling what Homeland Security’s words had been: Better they’re all together, making ridding them all the easier.

“First floor clear”, comes Morgan’s voice through your earpiece. He’s ahead, helping lead one squad while the other is taken by a leader of Homeland forces. When they split in two, you go against Hotch’s orders, deciding to not let any squad without BAU counterparts.

“Footsteps”, Morgan warns.

In retrospect, that single word should have been more alarming, more of a signal of what was to come, because in a split second the entire house bursts in repetitive rattling noises. You take cover, you take aim, your teeth chattering with every shot that rings in your ears, with every bullet zapping through the air.

This had been part of your training – the most aggravating one, but you aren’t a close match to SWAT and Homeland’s agents. There’s shouts and lightning quick orders bouncing in everyone’s earpieces. Stats to update on the enemy’s fallen men. And whoever becomes injured on your side. You know, in the same moment as you shoot and miss someone intent on doing the same to you that their retaliation will be greater. Those same warning words from Homeland come back: Trained to kill. No mercy.

And then you take a gamble, your own feet taking you fast to the other side of the room, through the same way you’d entered. Coward’s way out. The face of the man you haven’t killed startles you, quicker than you. His eyes bloodshot red. His face is pale but unforgiving. A regular man – similar to the one who’d shot in that piazza solely because he’d wanted to, and had wanted to be a leader to men like the one before you. Your hands shake but you still shoot. Not fast enough. Not when he fires two bullets before one reaches him.

“Agent down”, the voices in your ears shout, and you blink slowly, not comprehending the situation. “I repeat, one agent down”

Is that your heart on your throat or the effect of the uncomfortably tight bulletproof vest?

“ Clear. This floor is clear”

The man who’d been aiming at you falls to the ground like dead weight. Horror clutches your limbs, sticky warmth pooling at your thigh and well, yes, he is dead. Your laugh is dry, callous and it pains your lower back.

“Fuck, what is that?”

A Homeland agent crushes his arm around yours, lifting half of your side up, your legs shaking under you. “Easy, agent. Don't put your weight on that leg” He jerks his head to your own feet and your eyes bulge out of their sockets. Blood seeps out of you, gushing and your head goes light.

“Jesus, is that my thigh or yours?”

The agent chuckles, granting you a wincing smile through his helmet. “Yours, sorry. It’s a nasty one.”

No shit, you’re sure you say because he chuckles again. Something lighter in his face like you’re not in the middle of a shootout. His weapon hangs low too, and you glance around. In fact, nobody around you yields their weapons, and your ears don’t ring anymore with the constant sounds of bullets. Sensing your thoughts, the agent beside you nods. He carries you heavily through the hall, ungentle but doing his best when he doesn’t know you and is suddenly responsible for a wounded agent.

“Where--?”

Your question cuts off, another body wrenching you away. Large, strong and familiar and then you smell him before you hear his hurried, stern words.

“...an order. I told you to follow one order and you’re...” Hotch leaves your side, mumbles excuses to the other agent who hasn’t left your side before sinking to his knees before you. He looks ridiculous in his t-shirt and vest; arms bare showing his toned biceps and forearms and frowning at you. Stupid, because who struts in a dangerous situation like that? He tears one short sleeve, more fabric coming off than planned. Your mouth goes dry. It’s the fact you’re shot on the leg and not that those same rough hands go soft when they make contact with your wound. He’s unbearably gentle, wrapping your thigh to stop the bleeding.

“Thanks, I’ll take it from here” He stands at once, curt with the other man, but you’d still prefer him over Hotch.

“I didn’t--”

“No talking”, he snaps, throwing your arm over his shoulders, his other hand latching around your waist and landing on your hip. Even with the adrenaline and the heightened awareness towards the bulletwound, your mind is one-track.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight.” Hotch says, and he lifts you with ease, using his own leg closest to your side to hold both your body weight. He doesn’t wobble. He doesn’t strain. Not like the Homeland man. He surely doesn’t squirm like you are, while his warm breath huffs against your temple and hair.

Mad at you is a different look on him. But you’re a masochist because this is the closest you’ve ever been to him. Insane too, because you’ve never felt more than in this moment.

“Stop”, he murmurs only for your ears, deftly leading the way out of the massive building. You hold a breath when he glances quickly at you. His eyes don’t relay the anger transferring to his body and actions. They’re soft and pained.

“Don’t look so glad you got shot” he whispers, and you think you imagine his hand squeezing your hip; the closeness that tightens the small distance between you.

“I’m not”, you lie, voice a squeak. You try again because the bad outweighs the good. Though the latter is his arms around you, and the blanket of his fierce protectiveness. “I’m definitely not”

Hotch looks at you again, the small crinkle at the sides of his eyes giving away the small amusement at your tone. Damned this week, for making him know you just as much as you do him. It doesn’t last long though. He guides you through the agents camped outside the house, further down the street where ambulances remain parked in standby.

“Here”, the EMTs run to you, rolling out the stretcher, but Hotch doesn’t give up. They help him lay you gently over it, and this time you don’t hide the disappointment in your face when he moves away. He witnesses it, eyes narrowing. “We’ll talk about this”

You close your eyes slowly, opening them back to that disgruntled face of his, staring you down. “Looking forward to it”

The EMTs get ready to roll you out but he stops them, his hand going out to squeeze your hand in his. Quick, supportive, and professional – the tiniest bit professional. Your throat clogs, one of the EMTs cuts through the pant leg, not wasting time to tend to you.

“I’m sorry for it... Hotch, I--”

Something flashes behind his eyes, and you don’t imagine it: raw emotion, untainted, unprompted. It makes everything so much worse. If he says something sweet it will ruin you forever.

“ You’re fine”, he mutters, soft, slow, like he’s reassuring himself. He puts that big hand of his on your arm, rubbing it in comfort. “Brave girl” So goddamn soft you think you must have been killed inside this house, gone and become a ghost.

You blink away tears, your heart swelling. The sudden potential that he might feel just a teardrop of what you do is dangerous. More than a goddamn shootout.

“You better not forward my name to the board", you joke humorlessly. Then you move. Your stretcher carried by the EMTs is taken inside the ambulance. The sigh of relief you let out surprises both workers.

“Doesn’t this hurt?” one of them asks, looking at your wound.

“Yes”, you confirm, watching the doors close, cutting your view of Hotch. “More than I'd imagined”

Maybe you’ll need a transfer, or perhaps Hotch will get rid of you for insubordination. Anything to keep these feelings at bay.

“ It’ll be quick surgery”, one of them says. “It’ll hurt less when you’re through”

The door launches open and you all freeze, the stubborn man you’d left behind pushing to sit down beside you and closing it again.

“Ready to go”, Hotch slams a hand, urging the driver to depart. The vehicle moves and your heart feels suspended, waiting for him to give you another sign.

“Had to make sure you're okay”, he says with a small smile. Foolish hope springs inside your chest.

“Or reprimand me on the way there”, you rebut, a jolt going through you when he reaches a hand to brush your hair away from your face – strictly unprofessional.

“Same thing, angel”, Hotch reassures.

Tagging: @the-modernmary @laurensprentiss @genevievedarcygranger @anetoupekelly @sleepyreaderreads @azenpal @skyler666 @ultrabuzzlightyear @rousethemouse @arsonhotchner

This one is so beautiful and perfect 😍😍💖💖

Faultless - Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Reader

WC: 7.5k / navi / preview

Summary: After a car accident leaves you with a painful concussion, Hotch volunteers to be your live-in nurse so that you don't have to stay at the hospital. He's hellbent on spending the weekend doting on you, drowning in guilt because of the accident and your subsequent injury, but you're hellbent on spending the weekend getting him out of his bad mood.

Contents/Warnings: typical cm case mentions, slight gore/mentions of injuries, reader has a concussion, hotch is sad :((

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

“Easy,” Aaron muttered, his breath short from lugging your bags up the stairs while supporting you under one arm, “Don’t trip.”

You felt around the doorframe with your foot, making a point of stepping over the wooden board on the floor and crossing the threshold into your apartment. You had been exhausted before having to climb up thirteen flights of stairs, and you were going to complain for a very long time about the elevator being out of service on the one day you needed it the most.

You felt around blindly for your couch, gently tugging yourself out of Aaron’s grasp to sit down on the padded cushions. You could feel him still hovering over you, the concerned frown that had been settled on his lips all day probably still in place, but you couldn’t muster up enough professionality to open your eyes, to pretend like your head wasn’t splitting itself open from the inside out.

Your throbbing headache was the result of a rather concerning concussion, one that you’d acquired from your head hitting the dashboard after an unsub had rammed their vehicle into your own. You had been in the passenger’s seat, and thankfully the van had hit you by spinning out and sliding into your bumper instead of t-boning you. You were certain you’d be dead if he’d hit anywhere else.

You wanted to say that you escaped unscathed, but you hadn’t. Aaron’s hand hadn’t quite shot out fast enough to cover your chest and keep you pressed against the seat, instead it had brushed against your shoulder as you lurched forwards in your seat, your skull slamming into the dashboard. 

The medics had said it was only the locking of your seatbelt that had kept you alive. If it hadn’t given what little restraint it could offer (subsequently burning a line into your neck from where it slashed across your skin), you’d have shot completely forward, probably catapulting through the dashboard and dying before you hit the ground.

You’d never been more thankful for seatbelts.

You heard your bag being set down beside the sofa, then the soft click of your door being shut. Hotch was light on his feet as he trekked back through your apartment to stand beside the couch, not wanting to make your headache worse by storming around.

You heard rustling from beside your head, and you blearily peeled open your eyes to look for Hotch. He was much closer than you’d expected, kneeling on the carpet beside you, one of his hands reaching for the bandage on your forehead while the other held a new, fresh one.

“I need to replace this,” He tapped lightly against the end of the bandage, “You bled through it.”

You groaned at the harsh lighting above you, but knew that he needed it to rebandage your cut, so you nodded. You let your eyes drift shut again, only wincing momentarily as Hotch peeled the blood-soaked bandage from your wound and began tending to it.

You were somewhat surprised at how attentive Aaron was being. He had been kind to you since day one, letting you know that the rumors you’d probably heard about him from the rest of the team were just jokes, that he didn’t bite, and wouldn’t rip your head off. He’d apparently noticed your reluctance to relax around him, and wanted to ensure that you weren’t scared off by his reputation. You quickly learned that there were truths in both sides of the story, that he frowned far too often for his own good, but that he was a softie at heart.

You supposed that he had volunteered to take care of you after the crash for three reasons.

One being that he had been driving when you’d gotten into the impromptu accident. Of course, it hadn’t been his fault, the situation was out-of-control. But he often blamed himself for any casualties that happened on-site, simply because he was the Unit Chief. It meant that he was often plagued with guilt over situations that didn’t even concern him, and you’d have to be sure to comfort him later about it.

Two being that you were rather young for an agent. You had joined the team far earlier in your career than almost anyone else had, (save for Reid, of course), so you were, regrettably, babied. Sometimes it was more subtle and caring, like Prentiss remembering to pack your favorite snacks in her bag just in case you didn’t bring any. Or how Derek was always quick to offer up his windbreaker when you were outside without a jacket. But most of the time it was teasing, the way an older sibling would mock the younger one. 

When it was mockery, it usually consisted of playful shoves in the elevator, aggressive pinches to the cheeks, and constant mentions of you being half their ages or more. You were never discredited as a team member because of your age, but everyone was always jumping at the chance to remind you that you were young enough to be Rossi’s child.

That particular joke hadn’t gone over well with Rossi, either.

Then the third reason, similar to the second, you were their newest agent. Your age and your time at the BAU were significantly shorter than anyone else’s, and while one again, no one ever thought you incapable, you noticed that everyone had a tendency to watch over you a little more than they did anyone else.

Especially Hotch. You’d thought yourself delusional the first time you realized that he seemed to hover over you, side-stepping in front of you in potentially dangerous situations and sending medics to you before anyone else. But you’d come to accept that he was especially doting, even if he’d never admit it through the surly frown on his face.

This was extremely evident now. The unsub had died in the crash, a suicide committed so that he wouldn’t have to face years in prison. That left you and Hotch as the only surviving victims, and he’d pulled his seatbelt right out of the wall trying to get out of the car and around to help you. 

--

“Y/L/N,” He shook your shoulders urgently, “Y/L/N, wake up!” 

Your head was throbbing, your throat dry from screaming, and your neck burning from the scratch of the seatbelt. You wanted so desperately to let yourself go, to succumb to the comfortable darkness that threatened to envelop you whole, but the full-blown panic in Hotch’s voice stopped you. You’d never heard it that frantic before, and you used almost all of your strength to peel your eyes open, your head pounding at the sunlight.

“I need an ambulance,” He shouted into his earpiece, the sound only making your headache worse, “We have a federal agent down!”

“Don’t close your eyes.” He urged, his panic-riddled gaze flitting over your bloodied face. He held your head up, your neck too fatigued to support it, “Look at- dammit, look at me, Y/N, don’t close your eyes!”

You tried saying something, anything, but your chest was heavy and your mouth wouldn’t open. You saw the anxiety in his eyes, you wanted to reassure him that you’d keep your eyes open, that you’d pull through for him, but nothing came out. Instead, you studied his face, your eyes grazing over every stunning feature it displayed. His nose, ever-so-slightly crooked, was divided in half by an angry red gash. His eyebrow was slit similarly, a red ooze trickling down his cheek. His lips, always held in that intimidating frown of his, were trembling slightly, his teeth digging into the backs of them to hold in a sob. His hair was caked with sweat and blood, a crimson trail making its way down his temple, but you knew he’d be okay. 

He watched you watch him, his panic dwindling each time you blinked and your eyes reopened. The moment between you two was serene in a morbid way, both aware of the other’s near-death and both relishing in the other’s life. His own breathing was shaky, nearly shakier than yours, but he grounded himself with one hand on your cheek, the other behind your head and supporting your neck.

Sirens sounded throughout the wooded road, and the next unsteady sigh that came out of your mouth was one of relief. Hotch reluctantly looked away from your face, tracking the van that screeched to a halt in front of the crash site and rushed over to you both.

Hotch had helped load you onto the stretcher that they prepared for you, his hand never leaving your cheek as the other slipped around your waist. You stared blankly up at whatever happened to be in front of your face, but as you were loaded into the ambulance, your eyes lingered on Hotch’s bloodied form, standing outside and craning his neck to watch you be hauled into the back of the ambulance.

A medic began asking him what hurt, what possible injuries he might have, and if he could remember any part of his body getting hit specifically. But he didn’t answer while the doors were still open on you, only looking away when they shut in his face, obscuring his view of you.

--

You were honestly jealous that he’d escaped in such great condition. All he had to show for the accident was a sprained wrist and a few cuts, and your brain had been slammed into your skull.

You were jealous, but not resentful. You were glad that he hadn’t gotten injured further, especially because it meant that he was cleared to take care of you. The rest of your team had all volunteered, even Rossi stepping up to offer his nursing services. But Hotch had insisted, a self-loathing glint in his eyes as he told you he’d make sure you were alright over the weekend.

And as he kneeled beside your head on the couch, his tongue pinched between his lips in intense concentration as he rebandaged one of your cuts, you knew he would deliver on his promise. You just wished he wasn’t doing it out of guilt.

“That should last for a few hours.” Aaron smoothed the bandage onto your skin, his voice as low as humanly possible so as not to aggravate your headache further, “We’ll change them again after dinner.”

You let out a soft groan, raising one hand to cover your eyes, “I forgot about dinner.”

“You don’t have to eat if you’re not up for it.” Hotch used your coffee table for support as he stood.

“No, no,” You shook your head slightly, moving as little as humanly possible while doing so, “I meant, like, I don’t have anything here that we could eat. My fridge is empty.”

“It’s fine.” His hand came to rest on your shoulder for a second, a reassuring gesture because you couldn’t see his face, “We can order pizza.”

“Pizza,” You nodded hazily, “Yeah, pizza sounds good. I’ve got cash in the drawer,” You motioned vaguely to your kitchen, knowing full well you hadn’t been specific enough for him to locate it, “I’ll call later and we can-”

“Y/N,” Aaron interrupted you gently, “Don’t worry about that now. You need to take your painkillers, and the doctor said they’d make you drowsy. Why don’t you take them now, and you can nap until dinner?”

“But- but it’s already nine,” You protested weakly, “It’s too late for me to nap.”

“These are not normal circumstances,” You felt the couch dip by your feet, and you bent your legs, your calves pressed flush to your thighs, “You nap whenever you feel tired.”

“Are you hungry?” You peeked one eye open, wanting to see any hidden information he might have withheld from you otherwise.

“No,” He shook his head, and from what you could see of him, he looked truthful, “I can wait.”

You let your eye slip shut again, nodding once, “Okay. Where are the pills?”

They were harder to swallow than you thought they’d be, large and grainy and awkwardly-shaped. Aaron had to support the back of your neck while you sipped, and his other hand supported the water glass from the bottom, your hands too shaky to ensure a safe drink.

The water was heavenly, though, and you regretted not asking for some earlier. Your throat, dry and cracked from screaming during the accident, was soothed quickly by the icy liquid, and you finished the entire glass in only a few big sips.

“I can get you more, if you want?” Aaron’s voice came from directly beside you, and you shook your head lightly, slumping back down onto the pillows.

“No thanks,” You breathed, “I just want to nap.”

You felt a hand on your thigh, pressed close to your knee in a reassuring pat. Then a blanket was draped over you, most likely the fuzzy blue one that laid on the arm of your couch.

“Sleep for as long as you need,” Aaron’s final words to you sent a thrum of endearment up your spine that blossomed in your chest, “I’ll stay right here with you.”

Aaron fought the urge to reach out once more, letting his hand take up permanent residence on your leg. The gesture had been comforting, of course, but he couldn’t deny that it had felt cozy, natural even. He had never been one to get lost in his fantasies, but the single touch had him imagining all of the other blissfully domestic scenarios in which he could replicate it.

You’d be watching a scary movie, your brows furrowed in anxiety. You’d flinch at a jumpscare, tighten your hold on his arm, and he’d shift his hand over to your thigh, squeezing it gently in reassurance.

Or you’d be on the jet after a long case, your head slumped onto his shoulder. He’d rest his hand on your thigh, a soft but intimate gesture, so that you knew you could relax.

Or he’d be laying beside you in bed, his head on the pillow as your back rested against the headboard. He’d reach up and squeeze your thigh softly, compelling you to set down your book and finally lay down to sleep beside him.

His breath hitched and shame burned at his cheeks when he realized that he’d just let himself get lost fantasizing about being in bed beside his coworker. You were recovering from a concussion, one that he blamed himself for, and he was having delusions of married life with you.

He stood from the couch abruptly, shaking his head slightly at his unprofessional behavior. Your little apartment was stuffy from being closed up for five days straight, and he set off towards the windows, keeping the shades pulled for your head’s sake but slipping the windows open underneath. Fresh air rushed into the room and he breathed it in desperately, as if it would purge him of his delusions. 

He shut his eyes momentarily, exhaustion gripping at him but panic keeping him awake. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt the way he felt when your head had hit the dashboard.

He had reached out as soon as he’d seen it coming, desperately trying to catch you before you could get hurt. But he hadn’t been fast enough, hadn’t been strong enough, hadn’t been enough. You had slammed face first into the dashboard, a blood-curdling scream torn from your throat as your nose cracked. It was still crooked, swollen and bloody, but Aaron had just replaced the bandage over its bridge, and you’d mentioned that there was ice in the freezer if the swelling didn’t go down.

None of his own injuries were on his mind as he replayed the accident, the sinking hole in his chest as he’d watched you hit your head. You’d crumbled against the dashboard on impact, and he swore he’d never felt as much raw panic as he had in that moment. Being unable to get to you for those few short seconds had been agonizing, and he’d do anything to make sure nothing like that ever happened again. 

Once he’d finally gotten to you it was like it wasn’t real. He was holding you, you were looking at him, he was looking at you, but it didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel real that you were injured, and at the same time, it didn’t feel real that you weren’t dead. Nothing about the scenario felt real, and he’d stood there in paralyzing panic as he waited for the ambulance.

He’d been a wreck on the ride back. They hadn’t let him into your ambulance, and he’d kept eye contact with you until he couldn’t see you anymore, the doors shutting on your near-lifeless frame.

He hadn’t even accepted his own hospital room, forcing Reid to give the doctors one of his infamous ‘second opinions’ so that he could deny treatment and reach you faster. He was almost certain that the young doctor had only done so out of fear of losing his job, because the intensity that he knew had been present in his gaze at the time scared Reid.

As soon as the doctors had let him go, reluctantly so, he’d taken up a chair by your bedside, waiting restlessly for you to wake.

He turned back to your sleeping form on the couch, ready to go and sit down again. He wanted to sleep too, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to, so he settled for the idea of sitting beside you, staring into oblivion while you slept. It was the most rest he was going to get for a few days, if his guilt never died down.

He realized that you’d shifted in your sleep, your feet now stretched out to the other couch cushion, the one he’d been sitting on. He started for one of your chairs, stopping before he could lower himself into one, and glancing back at you. 

He needed to be with you.

Holding your drained, near-lifeless body had been terrifying. He had felt your breathing shallow, had seen your eyes struggle to open, had watched the life dim in your eyes. Sitting across the room from you at that moment seemed like his personal hell, his fingers itched to feel the warmth of your skin and his ears longed to hear your calm, even breaths.

He padded to the couch, reaching carefully for your feet. He slid his hands under your ankles, lifting them off of the cushions and turning, sinking down onto the couch and resting your feet in his lap. 

It felt perfect, he could feel you, he could see you, he could hear you, but it felt wrong. It felt intimate, just like his hand on your thigh had. He lectured himself once more on not being delusional, his brain already cooking another domestic vision up before he could stop it. He kept his eye on you, his cheek resting against the back of the couch as his eyes drooped. Your chest rose and fell steadily, your eyes shut snugly, the bandage on your forehead no longer soaking up fresh blood. Your injuries were starting to heal, and Hotch took solace in the fact that you wouldn’t be plagued by your cuts anymore.

But your concussion, that would last. He knew that you’d be okay, it hadn’t been fatal, but you were going to suffer for a while. Guilt and despair once again stabbed at his chest as he thought about what it would be like if he had just caught you, if he’d reached over a split second sooner.

--

The painkillers that the doctor had prescribed you hadn’t fixed everything, but they had dulled your headache. It was a soft pounding now, instead of the raging fire that had burned behind your eyes. You blinked them open hazily, squinting around the darkened apartment and shifting to do so. Your feet hit something solid, and you felt it move beneath them. You peered at the other end of the couch, seeing your feet stretched out over Hotch’s lap as he dozed.

His face was set in a deep frown, worse than the one that normally adorned his features, as one of his hands laid over your ankles. You had assumed that in sleep, Aaron would relax, but it seemed as if he was even more stressed than before.

You felt an instant pang of embarrassment, you must have shifted in your sleep to lay your legs over his lap. You chided yourself on probably making him uncomfortable, though you couldn’t deny the butterflies that flitted around your stomach at the feeling of being so domestically intimate with him.

When he wasn’t barking orders at you, he was incredibly attractive. Actually, even when he was barking orders at you, he was incredibly attractive. You’d tried to suppress your feelings towards him, especially because he wasn’t just your coworker, but your boss, and you thought you had succeeded. Sure, the feeling of his hand on your cheek had been nice, the rampant concern in his eyes after the crash had been endearing, but you knew you had to settle for just being friends.

Your stomach grumbled, as if on cue after you’d just woken up, and you tugged your feet out of Aaron’s lap, sitting up cautiously against the arm of the couch. He didn’t seem to notice, although his unconscious frown deepened when his hand fell to his lap, and you grabbed your phone, ordering pizza for the both of you. You were happy that you remembered his favorite type of pizza from an impromptu late night at the office a while back, or you’d have had to wake him, and you wanted him to get all of the rest that he could. The delivery said it would be there in 20 minutes, and you used that time to get yourself another glass of water. It was a simple task, and your nap had apparently returned some of your basic capabilities, but you couldn’t deny that Aaron helping you drink had been better than drinking alone. The bottom of the glass was cold on your fingers, and you wistfully wanted his hand to be there instead.

You stood leaning against your kitchen cabinets, the living room behind a partition wall that shielded the couch from your view. Your apartment suddenly felt empty, and even though you knew Hotch was just sitting on your couch, you felt alone.

You weren’t sure how this would affect your feelings towards him. He’d already been so caring, so attentive towards you, and it was pushing you closer and closer towards a dangerous territory that you weren’t sure you’d ever come back from. You’d stayed sane by keeping a healthy distance between you, engaging in casual conversation or trading jokes, but pointedly avoiding sitting beside him in tight spaces or taking his jacket when he offered. Now that boundary was gone, and he was sleeping on your couch, your feet having been draped across his lap only minutes ago.

You were too lost in thought to hear the shuffling from your living room, but you were alerted to Aaron’s consciousness when he came rushing into the kitchen, eyes blown wide in panic before they settled on you.

“Y/N,” He breathed, his shoulders heaving as he let out a sigh of relief, “I thought- god, you were just gone, and I panicked.” He slumped forwards against the counter, blinking sleepily as he tried calming his pounding heart.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” You set your glass down, leaning over to set a comforting hand on his shoulder, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” He nodded, rubbing an exasperated hand over his face and hissing in pain when it irritated one of his barely-healing cuts.

Blood began blossoming along the tear in his skin once more, and you tutted, pulling his hand away from his face. 

“You’re bleeding.” You reached for the bag of bandages that he’d set conveniently on the counter after patching you up, wetting a cotton ball with the disinfectant that sat beside it.

“You don’t have to-” He began, waving you off while prodding gently at his cut, but you cut him off, once again tugging his hand away from his cut.

“Just let me take care of it,” You barely caught yourself before saying ‘you’, deciding that ‘it’ was far less intimate. Your cheeks flared anyways, though, the knowledge that you’d almost slipped up haunting you as you cleaned up his cut.

The cut was on the apple of his cheek, just below his eye. Your thumb rested against the dark circle above it, the pliant skin flushed under your finger. You made a mental note to be sure he slept well this weekend, even if it would be on your couch for lack of a spare room. You felt his eyes on you as you cleaned up his cut, but pointedly avoided looking at him so as not to give yourself and your feelings away.

You weren’t sure if you’d survive gazing into his concerned eyes only inches away from his face.

You discarded the soiled cotton ball, your fingers slightly moistened by the chemical. The bandage crinkled beneath your fingers as you peeled the waxy paper from it, smoothly spreading the cloth over Aaron’s wound.

You left a soft tap on the pad of the bandage once you were finished, moving away to get yourself out of the potentially awkward situation as fast as possible. But you felt resistance, your eyes widening as you realized that Aaron’s hand was cupping the back of your neck. 

You weren’t sure how you hadn’t noticed him placing it there, but the suggestive warmth that it brought you had your concussion and the car accident wiped completely from your mind. 

All that was there now was Aaron, his dark eyes staring intensely into your own as he tugged you closer so that your noses were brushing. He seemed just as transfixed as you were, barely breathing as he drank you in. The short, soft breaths that he was taking were fanning gently across your face, grounding you even more in his presence.

“Hotch,” You murmured, not wanting to shatter the serene silence with your voice, “We can’t.”

You wished you kissed him. You wished that you’d shut your mouth, pressed it to his, and moved on with your day. You wished you hadn’t said that, hadn’t prompted him to ask ‘Why not?’

“Because,” You breathed, your voice shaky as he leaned imperceptibly closer to you, “We have to-”

The sound of the buzzer to your apartment interrupted your moment, the atmosphere shattering at the harsh sound, ‘Delivery!’

“-go get the pizza! We have to go get the pizza.” You slipped your head out from under his hand, rushing for the door and leaving him standing over the kitchen counter.

You answered the door with shaking hands, nearly handing the pizza man a $50 instead of a $20 for your $15 order. 

Aaron slumped against the counter with a heavy sigh. 

He hadn’t meant to lose what little control he still possessed after the accident. He supposed that the shock and terror at nearly losing you made him want to ensure that he never lost you without telling you how he felt. But that didn’t excuse his actions, or the mortified exit that you’d made as soon as you’d gotten the chance. Clearly, he’d made you uncomfortable.

You brought the pizza back to the kitchen nearly in tears, terrified at possibly never getting the chance to kiss him again. You’d wanted to, you’d even brushed away any fear of losing your job out of desperation to reciprocate, but you’d panicked. You had panicked because what if it wasn’t good? What if he didn’t like it? What if it was a spur-of-the-moment that he’d regret later, and you’d be the one he kissed out of pity just because you’d almost died? You knew that both of you were high-strung, emotions running strong, and you were sure that it was the only reason he’d tried to kiss you. You wouldn’t let yourself believe that he had even an ounce of feelings for you, not the same way you had them for him. You wouldn’t let yourself enjoy temporary happiness if it meant that ever-lasting heartbreak would follow.

“Y/N,” Aaron spoke as soon as you stepped into the kitchen, “I’m so-”

“Do you want one slice, or two?” You cut him off, standing as tall and confidently as possible with the boxes in your hands.

Aaron stilled, stiffening slightly against the counter, “What?”

“One slice,” You swallowed what little saliva was in your mouth, “Or two?”

He stared at you silently for a moment, his discerning gaze picking you apart. Finally, his shoulder slumped, his face falling as he muttered, “One.”

--

The meds that you needed to take before eating were a hassle. This time it was a liquid prescription, and Hotch provided the medicine cup that you needed to measure it out with. It tasted bitter and grainy, and you quickly shoved pizza in your mouth to mask the aftertaste.

“These are supposed to knock you out,” He squinted at the fine print on the bottle, hovering over you much less since your run-in in the kitchen, “It says you might be kind of out of it for the night.”

You nodded silently, keeping yourself as far away from him on the couch as possible. You knew he was watching you shy away from him, and you tried not to look at the expression on his face, whatever it was, because you didn’t want to see it.

If it was disappointment, you didn’t want to see it because then he’d be disappointed in you. If it was anger, you didn’t want to see it because then he’d be angry with you. But if you ignored it, if you never saw it, then it wouldn’t exist.

You ate your pizza in silence for a terrible, awkward, stifling few moments, during which you shoveled as much into your mouth as possible so that you wouldn’t have to speak. Finally, though, Aaron finished his slice, and opened his mouth, this time not to put pizza inside.

“Y/N, I really think we should-”

“Do you want to watch tv?”

“Y/N, I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but-”

You had reached for the remote without letting him finish, clicking on the television and turning the volume up.

“Y/N,” Aaron spoke, his voice softer and more meek than you’d ever heard it before, “Please.”

You felt a hot wave of tears brimming at your eyes, and panickedly tried to blink them away, dread tugging your stomach down. The last thing you wanted to do was confess, but your medication was inhibiting your filter and making you more emotional.

“I’m sorry,” You blubbered, “I wanted to kiss you!”

You set your empty plate on the coffee table in front of you, the ceramic thunking against the wood, “I really wanted to kiss you!” 

Aaron watched you slump forwards, your face in your hands as you sobbed.

“Hey,” He reached out, setting his own plate on the table, “Don’t cry! Don’t cry, come here, Y/N.”

He slid his hands around your waist, tugging you upright and back onto the couch. He expected you to curl up against the other arm of the couch again, hellbent on getting away from him, but you fell into his lap, your face pressed against the material of his pants.

He brushed a cautious, gentle hand over your back, the other hovering awkwardly by your face. He couldn’t really see it, not most of it, anyways. Your flushed, tear-stained cheek was all that he could see as you sobbed into his lap, and he reached forwards, brushing a stray tear off of your skin.

“Don’t cry,” He repeated, his voice low, and soft, and soothing, “Y/N, it’s okay, don’t cry.”

“It’s not okay!” You gushed, rising from his lap as a steady stream of tears dripped off of your cheeks, “I feel gross, and you’re helping me, and- and you’re so sweet and I’m tired, and you’re so warm, and soft and I wanted to kiss you so badly but I- I got scared and now- now everything is messed up!”

“Shh,” Aaron cut off your ramblings by pressing his broad thumb to your lips, the rest of his hand cupping your cheek comfortingly, “It’s okay. You didn’t mess anything up, everything is okay.”

“It’s not!” You repeated, “I’m never gonna get to kiss you again, and I ran away! I ran away, god, I’m so stupid!”

“You’re not stupid.” Aaron fought back the smile that threatened to take over his face, upset at the distress on yours but elated to hear that you’d wanted to reciprocate, “I promise you I’m not upset, and- um, if you’d like the chance again later, maybe we can consider kissing again.”

“Do you mean that?” You hiccupped pitifully, a sniffle following it.

“I do,” He promised, half hoping that you wouldn’t remember the embarrassing promise he’d just made to you in the morning, and half hoping that it would be the first thing you asked for when you woke up, “I promise.”

You smiled weakly at his reassurance, blinking drowsily as your medication ran rampant. He continued rubbing your back, though his hand fell from your cheek when you spoke.

“I’m tired.”

He couldn’t help but let out a breathy chuckle, nodding reassuringly, “I thought you would be. Why don’t you lay down, you can sleep for the night and then tomorrow we can- oh.”

Without a second thought, you’d slumped over onto his shoulder, your arms wrapped around one of his own as you clung to his arm. In your hazy, post-cry daze, you pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder, the material of his quarter-zip soft against your lips. 

“I love you, Aaron.” You mumbled, your voice still wobbly from your tear-fest.

The admission struck him with the most comforting sense of shock, one that made a smile burst over his face. You shut your eyes without even waiting for him to respond, your legs tucked neatly underneath yourself as you designated him your pillow for the evening.

He knew you wouldn’t hear him, and even if you did, you wouldn’t comprehend what he was saying. But he said it anyways, leaning his head against your own and murmuring a soft, “I love you too, Y/N.” as you snoozed.

Aaron watched your chest rise and fall slowly and evenly, relieved that you were sleeping peacefully. He knew full well that you'd have a splitting headache for far too long, and was happy to see you get some temporary relief.

The dramatic reality show that you'd insisted on drowning him out with was still playing softly in the background, eerie music choices and startling sound effects amping up the ridiculousness of the surely-false story. Aaron reached for the remote that was in your hand, gently uncurling your fingers from around it. He set your hand back in your lap, but it found his once more, a soft whine coming from your throat as you shifted in your sleep.

Your head that had been slumped onto his shoulder fell forwards, your neck surely suffering at the awkward angle. He rushed to readjust you, but you followed the motion blindly, your head slumped into his lap. At first, your nose pressed against the zipper of his pants, and he panicked. Before he could adjust you, though, you turned over, nestling your cheek against his thigh facing the television instead. Your face relaxed from where it had been scrunched in unconscious concentration, a serene expression crossing it as you sighed contentedly.

Aaron thought it was the most adorable noise he'd ever heard. A soft smile threatened to break over his face after his panic, and for once, he let it. You weren't awake or coherent enough to see it, so why not? He smiled warmly, happily, adoringly at you as you slept in his lap. He reached for the blanket that had been folded on the arm of your couch, quickly shaking it out as best he could and draping it over your frame. You snuggled into it just as much as you had his thigh, and after a drawn-out moment of staring at you with a lovesick smile, Aaron let his head fall back against the cushions, his eyes slipping shut as he let sleep take him a happy man.

--

Waking up was warm. You blinked open your eyes, your gaze immediately landing on the plates that you hadn’t cleaned up from the night before. The pillow you were laying on was considerably comfier than any you knew were on your couch, and you rolled onto your back to see that it was, in fact, not a pillow, but your boss. 

Aaron’s face was relaxed as he slept, a stark contrast to his crankiness during his first nap. Now he looked serene, happy even, as he leaned back against the back of the couch, his hand draped over your waist. You were sure that sleeping at that angle would prove difficult for him, so you slowly sat up, humming softly as he stirred.

“What…” He mumbled sleepily, squinting around at your apartment, “What time is it?”

“Really? That’s all I get?” You propped yourself with one arm, your hand pressed flat against his thigh, “You promised me a kiss, you know.”

His eyes widened, any leftover drowsiness instantly vanishing as he stared down at you.

“That is,” You started, uncertainty lacing your voice, “If you’re standing by your promise?”

“You want to?”

“I do.” You nodded, waiting eagerly as he blinked owlishly, his brain running at full speed.

“So do I.” Was all he said before he surged forwards, capturing your lips in a kiss. It was lazy, somewhat sloppy, and uncoordinated, but it was perfect, because it was with him. You hummed softly into the kiss, leaning forwards to rest your forehead against his own, bringing him closer to you. 

You broke away after a few moments, keeping it short and sweet instead of dragging it out. You weren’t opposed to going further, not when it was Aaron you were with, but you were still concussed, and eager to rest. You let your head fall onto his shoulder, your nose nestled against the heated skin of his neck as he sighed contentedly, one hand coming to rest on your back.

“I can’t believe you remembered.” He mused, his voice slightly raspy from sleep.

“How could I forget?”

“I wasn’t sure if you meant it.” He added, “You were pretty drugged up.”

“I meant it.” You spoke softly, “I’ve meant it for a long time.”

“I’m glad,” Aaron admitted, “Me too.”

The silent serenity of the moment capture you both, and you nearly fell asleep again nuzzled into his neck. But your stomach grumbled, once more letting you know that it was time to eat, and Aaron chuckled softly at the sound.

“Breakfast?”

‘Breakfast sounds perfect.”

You moved out of his lap, your heart fluttering as he took your hand, tugging you up onto your feet and guiding you into the kitchen. The pizza box from the night before was still sitting on the counter, as were the medical supplies, but he pushed them aside, making room for your toaster.

“Anything on it?” He questioned, pulling two pieces of bread out from your loaf.

“Just butter.” You hummed sleepily, pulling said spread out from the refrigerator. 

As soon as he emptied his hands, the slices of bread now toasting, you snuck up behind him, your arms winding around his waist. He stiffened in surprise, but melted at the embrace, turning so that your face was flush to his chest instead of his back.

“How’s your head?” He asked, punctuating his query by smoothing his hand over your scalp.

“It’s better,” You started, “Not completely, but the meds seem to be helping.

“That’s good.” He seemed to tense when you told him it wasn’t completely better, the popping of the toaster giving him an excuse to turn away.

“Aaron?” You pressed, standing beside him and watching him open the butter, “Is everything okay?”

“Your head still hurts.” He mentioned dismissively, “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because your head still hurts.” He deadpanned, waiting for you to prompt him further. 

“Aaron,” You started, your voice hesitant, "You can't seriously blame yourself for that car accident." You raised an eyebrow at him, knowing the answer but wanting him to hear the words spoken aloud.

"I do." He had no trouble admitting it, avoiding your gaze as he buttered the slice of bread he'd just taken out of the toaster, "You knew he was going to swerve, you even told me."

"I guessed he was going to swerve," You reminded him, "I didn't know."

"Well I didn't listen, and he did, and he hit us, and now you have a concussion."

“Aaron, stop.” You set a hand over his, taking the knife from his grip and abandoning the toast he was doctoring, “Look at me.”

He followed your instructions, meeting your eyes hesitantly, hoping to not showcase the self-hatred swirling in his own.

“You had no possible way of verifying whether my guess was true or not. We were in the middle of a high-speed chase, what if you’d stopped to avoid a crash but he’d kept going? We would have lost him.”

“We did lose him.”

“But now he can’t hurt anyone anymore. He didn’t get away. If you’d stopped, he would have.”

“But your concussion-”

“Doesn’t matter to me. We got the guy, that’s what matters to me. I’m okay, I’m alive.” You gestured down your frame, as if showcasing your living, breathing body, “And you’re okay, you’re alive. Yeah, I’ve got a week-long headache in front of me, but it’s worth it to me to know that that guy is gone.”

“You got hurt, though. We got him, and I’m glad. I won’t deny that. But I can still be upset about you getting hurt.”

“So can I,” You agreed, “But don’t be mad at yourself. I’m not mad at you, why would you be?”

“I… I just-”

“You just have a habit of blaming yourself for things you had no control over. And I won’t let you do it now.”

You huffed lightly at the end of your sentence, and it seemed to bring him out of his hesitancy. He cracked a slight smile, “You won’t let me?”

“I won’t.” You doubled down, “You’re not allowed to.”

“Yes, sir.” He teased, turning back to the toast and laughing incredulously when you bumped your hips against his, sending him stumbling sideways as he was caught off-guard.

“You need better balance.” You grabbed the knife that had slipped from his hands as he’d stumbled, buttering your own toast while he stabilized himself, “That almost floored you.”

“I wasn’t ready for it.” He insisted, a hint of a whine slipping into his voice that you’d never heard before, “No fair.”

“Anything’s fair now,” You laughed, “I’m injured and you have to be nice to me.”

As soon as you were finished buttering your toast you plated it, slicing it in half up the middle. You headed for the living room, intent on turning the television on and eating with Aaron, but he took you by surprise, charging you from behind and wrapping one arm around your waist, the other taking your plate from your hands so that it didn’t fall.

You shrieked indignantly as you lost your balance, but his arms snaking around your waist stopped you from falling. He turned you around, and you heard his soft chuckles against your cheek as he scooped you into his arms, letting you wrap your legs around his waist. You stared down at him breathlessly, your mouth hanging slightly open in surprise.

“You need better balance,” He mocked you, “That almost floored you.”

“Aaron!” You repeated his earlier comment, a bashful laugh escaping your lips as he held you tightly against him, “No fair!”

His laugh, deep and loud and comforting, made happiness swell in your chest, not even dimming when he set you down. You grabbed your toast once more, hearing him pad after you until you got to the couch, sitting much closer to him than you’d elected to the previous night.

“I’m gonna tell Garcia that you terrorized me this weekend,” You mused, biting softly into the buttered toast with a crunch, then as an afterthought, “Oh my god, what are we gonna tell her? The team, they’re all gonna find out. What do we do?”

“Nothing for now.” Aaron reassured you, setting a hand on your thigh while you ate, a smile growing on his lips as he remembered fantasizing about doing just that the night before, “We don’t have to be their big scandal yet, for now, let’s just be us.”

tags: @sunflowermotel @wheelsupkels @honeybrowne @aaronhotchnersbbg07 @la-stuffs @jhiddles03 @criminalmindsandmarvel @anlin2058 @averyhotchner @ink-and-fables-4-u @curr3ntlycry1ng @simpingfortoomanypeople @toomanyfictionalboyfriends

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