Save Me | Aaron Hotchner x Female OC

Chapter 22- Kitchen Nightmares

//A/N// Unfortunately, the fanfic writers curse got me. I won't go in to it, but let's just say that writing this fic has had to take a back seat lately. I'm fine, getting there, and I am so very sorry for how slow these updates are.

//X//

Elena

It became a regular occurrence over the next month that Aaron would go off on a case, call me from his hotel room every night, and then come home and fuck me before we ordered takeout. It was a new 'routine'.

Things didn't get any more intimate or romantic than they had already, but I'd taught myself (or at least tried) to accept that. After all, Aaron had been upfront about not wanting a relationship, and I had agreed, so I couldn't exactly get upset over the fact that was what was happening.

Every time we had sex Aaron uttered possessive words about me being his and no one else's, so I guessed that was just what got him off. It got me off, too, but unfortunately it wasn't just my pussy that loved his possessive side.

I was in pretty deep, and I was undoubtedly on a non-stop train to Heartbreak Ville, but I couldn't find it in me to put an end to it. I couldn't leave him behind, even with knowing I was one move away from having my heart ripped still-beating from my chest. I couldn't give him up, despite the price I knew I'd end up having to pay.

That Saturday I arrived home from work, very much looking forward to my two days off, and began prepping some dinner. My diet wasn't exactly great, and I'd promised myself that I'd try a bit harder to eat better when I had the time.

My phone buzzed, and I grabbed it, stupidly giddy at the thought it might be Aaron.

Aaron, 6:02pm:

Showering and then I'll be over

I noted that he didn't even ask if I was in, or if I wanted to see him, he just knew that I would.

I began prepping dinner. I figured that he'd be hungry and would appreciate some food.

Twenty minutes later he was at my door, box of something in his hands. That was something else he'd added to the routine – he always turned up with some kind of food item, whether it be fancy cupcakes or simply my favourite bar of chocolate, which I couldn't even recall ever telling him, but it showed how much attention he paid.

This time around it was two blueberry muffins, and he seemed incredibly pleased with himself, insisting that they would be the best muffins I'd ever had.

I got him a beer and he sat at the kitchen island while I chopped the onion. Within 20 seconds my eyes were streaming from the damn thing, and Aaron was up on his feet, removing the knife from my hand.

"Sit down," he instructed. "I wouldn't trust you with a sharp object at the best of times, let alone when you can barely see what you're doing."

I huffed out my protests, but he gave me that 'don't argue with me' look so I quickly relented.

"I'll have you know I can be trusted with sharp objects – I've gone 28 years surviving just fine."

He cut the onion with ease, his eyes barely even registering the tear-inducing enzyme. "What's that scar on your thumb from?"

I scowled. Profilers sucked.

"...I cut myself in college when I was trying to open a packet of ramen," I confessed quietly.

He grinned then, teeth and everything, so despite how mad I wanted to be at his irritating observational skills, there was no way I could fathom anything other than how fucking handsome he looked.