#aaron and reader are besties | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kimstills · 1 year ago

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pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader, platonic!spencer x reader summary: in which your close relationship with spencer makes aaron wonder if there’s something going on between you and the young doctor. content warnings: mentions of kidnappings, torture, child abuse (typical cm case stuff), insecurities, age gap, and haley, jealous!aaron (hb is DOWN BAD), he kind of acts like a prick in the middle of this? but it’s v brief and he apologizes!! hints of autistic!spence, angst if u squint but mostly fluff, miscommunication, technically idiots to lovers but hotch is the only idiot <3 word count: 5.1k (this was NOT supposed to be this long omfg) a/n: this was inspired by a dream i had where i was besties w reid and everyone thought i liked him until i had to blurt out that i was into older men… enjoy!!

If looks could kill, Aaron was sure Spencer would be dead by now.

It was contradicting, in a way. How he thought of Spencer like the son that had come before his actual son, yet he was staring at him like a predator stalking their next victim.

You were standing next to the young genius, shoulders brushing against shoulders as you went back and forth with the geographical profile the two of you had been assigned to work on, something Aaron was really regretting having done.

The team had been called in to assist with a case in Portland, Maine, involving an abductor-type unsub. One who would stalk his victims and learn their routines before kidnapping them, torturing them for two to three days before disposing of them in forests and parks all throughout the city.

You and Reid were both tied when it came to your skills with geographical profiles, one of the many things that had blossomed your relationship with him. But with the way the unsub was beginning to rapidly devolve, the rush to develop said profile and figure out his next move had forced Aaron to assign you two together.

Deep down he knew that it had to be done for the sake of the case and all its victims, and that it was the best decision to make as leader of the team.

But, still, he couldn’t help the jealousy that was bubbling from within him, his gaze completely focused on the way you giggled and smiled, endeared, while watching Reid struggle to tape the map one of the sheriffs had supplied you with to a spare whiteboard in the office the team had been given to work in.

He hadn’t even noticed when JJ walked up to him, the blonde hair and white button up she was wearing apparently not enough to break him out of his trance until—

“Hotch.”

Aaron snaps his head towards her, blinking in bewilderment, ��Sorry, what?”

JJ stares at him with a look of both concern and amusement, a smile tugging at her lips. Her hand is raised expectantly and her eyes flicker towards the case file in his hands.

He looks down at it, brows furrowing when he finally sees the death grip he was holding the paper with. It’s slightly crumpled from where his thumb had rested, the pages wrinkled.

He clears his throat, trying to soothe out the file as subtly and smoothly as he can before handing it to JJ, “Sorry,” he grumbled.

The blonde chuckles softly, taking it from him and doing her own best to bend it back into place. She begins to flip through the pages, though she can’t help but follow Aaron’s gaze back to you and Spencer.

You had finally gotten up to help him in taping up the map, taking it from his hands and effortlessly doing so before turning around and giving him a cheeky smile.

JJ turns her attention back to him, biting back a smug smile when she sees her boss practically glaring daggers at the two of you, “I assume you’re trying to figure them out, too?” She asks, looking down at the file.

Aaron blinks, this time slowly turning his head to gaze down at her, “What do you mean?”

Her eyes widen at the realization of what she just had insinuated about her co-workers to her boss. She shrugs coolly, trying to play it off, “Nothing. They’re just really close is all,” she gives him a tight-lipped smile before quickly walking away, leaving Aaron more confused than before.

He feels his fingers twitch by his side when he glances back at you. It’s cheesy, the way his heart skips a beat when you tuck the strands of hair that had made itself to the front of your face behind your ears. His hardened features soften at the sight of you laughing at something Reid’s said, something he’s sure only the two of you understand.

Aaron’s not sure what it was that had gotten him to stick out for you like a sore thumb or how his sudden infatuation with watching and admiring you and your every move had happened.

All he could recall was that it happened, and it had happened too fast for him to begin realizing how you had begun to overcome his every thought and consume him with feelings he hadn’t felt since Haley’s passing and his marriage with her.

A part of him had told himself that he wasn’t to blame; not only were you one of the best agents he had ever worked with, but you were the loveliest and wholesome of humans.

You had your rough days, everyone on the team understandably did, yet you never failed to meet people with kindness and patience, something else that Aaron wasn’t used to receiving when it came to his co-workers. And, as much as they loved him and he loved them, even his team members were prone to calling him ‘cold’ and ‘stoic.’

While you, on the other hand would always meet him with fond, bright smiles and greetings, never once avoiding his gaze or running the opposite direction as to ‘not get in his way’ like others did.

You were like the sun peeking out of the clouds after a dark and tremendous storm, shining on him with such warmth.

So, in the end, he couldn’t really help himself from falling for you. Or for even feeling childishly jealous when you were shining your warmth onto others.

Especially with someone who apparently the rest of the team suspected you of dating.

Perhaps he couldn’t blame Spencer for falling for you, too.

Everyone meant well, and Aaron knew he was also victim to cutting him off when the boy rambled, but you were the only one who truly listened to him. Who would interrupt him gently during urgent matters and let him continue after they were solved, and never made him feel inadequate.

He doesn’t know how he hadn’t seen it before now that JJ has mentioned it—too blindsided with his own feelings for you—but he begins to wonder, though, if there actually is something more between the two of you.

He likes to think that he begins playing close attention to your mannerism, body language, and shared interactions the two of you have throughout the entirety of the case because he has to. Now that it's been brought to his attention that two of his subordinates might be in a relationship, it's his job as Unit Chief to keep tabs.

So, he watches, when the whole team is sitting in the rectangular table, debriefing with one another and sharing ideas all whilst munching on take out food.

"So, we obviously know that the significance of the victim's being dumped in nature spots is important to this guy," Morgan explains, motioning his hand around the air as he goes on, "but could it be that he kidnaps and keeps his victims in similar spots, just somewhere more secluded?"

"Spencer and I were thinking that that could be a possibility," you say, stealing a fry off of said boy's take out plate, "Maybe he doesn't live in these same places, but he could be taking them to a hidden spot somewhere in the forests, something possibly hidden by debris, wood, or anything makeshift."

Spencer doesn't even blink as you continue to steal more neglected food off his plate, continuing to sort through pictures. Aaron could see Emily and Derek give each other a knowing, smug look through his peripheral.

He manages to swallow, the tip of his middle finger and thumb tapping against one another, "What else have you two come up with regarding the geographical profile?"

"Well, besides where he himself could be living or where he could keep his victims, the whole profile is scattered," Spencer answers this time, sliding the plate towards you as he sets down a picture of each victim with the name of the forests and parks they were found in written underneath. "The first two victims were dumped in a forest, the third in a park, and the fourth in another forest.."

As he goes on, you take advantage to continue eating, the way in which he had just let you eat off his plate despite his known phobia of germs not going unnoticed by everyone else.

If that one wasn't a sign, Aaron didn't know what else was.

With the geographical profile being all over the place, Aaron decides on pulling you away from the task the following day, instead pairing you up with him to check out the crime scene of the most recent victim.

He doesn't know if it's the leader in him doing so, pulling you away from your original project he had tasked you to do, or if it's just the mix of both curiosity and jealousy that continues to gnaw at him.

He was a grown man, for Christ's sake. Yet he couldn't help the way his heart churned when you hold his hand for a second longer than necessary after he helps you climb up the small, but frosty hill.

"Thanks," you mumble sweetly, your shoulders brushing against him as you walk past him and towards the await detectives.

Aaron trails behind you, trying to calm his beating heart as the lead detective on the case walks you both towards the victim's body.

"This is the second victim that's been dumped in a park," you start, squatting down to inspect the cuts and bruises on the woman's face. "These sites are obviously more public than the forests, yet he still leaves them in more secluded spots, away from general view."

"Well, we ruled out that he can't feel any remorse or sympathy," Aaron adds while he looks around the now closed off park. "He holds and tortures these women for hours."

You stand from your spot, placing your hands on your hips as you look around the park. Aaron recognizes the face you make as your 'thinking' face, your eyes squinted and your nose scrunched.

"What is it?" He asks, trying to meet your wandering gaze.

“Reid and I were talking about the possibility of the unsub dumping his victims in the same places where half—if not all—of his childhood abuse took place,” you miss the way his breath hitches in his throat and the way his shoulders sag slightly, continuing. “We know that he has to be a local here from Portland—probably raised around these same areas—and that he was abused severely as a child.”

Aaron tries his best to nod as nonchalantly as possible, “Something from his childhood obviously triggered him for him to start abducting and inflict the same pain on the victims before leaving them in similar places where he could have been left as a child after being abused.”

“Exactly,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. “We were theorizing around that idea for a while but weren’t too sure if the abuse could play such a huge part on his M.O.”

At the mentions of you and Reid again, Aaron couldn’t help but feel like an idiot.

Not only was he a grown man, but he was also your boss. And you were his subordinate, someone he should never had feelings for in the first place and someone he shouldn’t be feeling possessive over as if anything was to truly ever happen between you.

At first he had thought that Spencer wasn’t to blame for having the same feelings Aaron so strongly harbored for you. But, maybe, you weren’t the one to blame.

For falling for someone more your age, for someone you worked and paired so well with, for someone nobody else made such a grand effort to understand the way you did.

Not only was he a grown man and your boss, but he was also double your age, a single father, and a widower.

Swallowing harshly, he pulls out his phone from his suit’s inner pocket, “I’ll have Garcia check out any reported speculations of childhood abuse in these areas and see if she can narrow down our list,” He turns, using his height to his advantage and speeding off, leaving you completely behind.

You frown, rushing to catch up to him. You halt when you come to the same frosty hill he had helped you climb up and open your mouth to call for his help, but close it back up when you see he’s already made it back to the SUV and is climbing inside.

When you finally climb inside the car after successfully managing to climb down the hill without busting your ass, he’s talking with Garcia.

You wait patiently as he drives, the phone on speaker as he gives out quick orders that your friend rushes to catch up with. You try to take the chance of speaking up once he hangs up with her, but he’s quickly dialing for Rossi afterwards.

You’re quiet throughout the ride back to the precinct, the sudden change in mood too heavy for you to gather the courage to make any sort of conversation. Once parked in front of the building, he gets out right away, slamming the door while you’re barely unblocking your seatbelt.

You make a beeline to the conference room where you find Reid, no longer paying any mind on trying to find Aaron any longer.

Spencer jumps when you hurriedly slam the door behind you, eyes filling with worry when you lean against the wood and stare at the floor pensively, “You okay?” he asks.

“Fine,” you mumble, pushing yourself off the door and taking a seat across from him. “I just got back from the latest crime scene with Hotch and he started acting so weird after I told him about our theory of the unsub’s dumping pattern.”

“Weird how?”

You move to speak, but hesitate when you realize that going into detail about how cold your boss suddenly acted towards you after being used to receiving such kind—some might say preferable—treatment would make your friend speculate things he, of all people, did not need to speculate.

You shake your head, “Nothing. He’s probably just stressed or tired,” you drop your forehead onto the table’s cold wood, your arms stretched out in front of you. “I know I am.”

A beat of silence passes before you hear a creak and the feeling of a finger press against your index. You bite back a laugh, looking up to find Spencer leaning forward in his own seat to do a ‘finger touch,’ something you had come up with for him after realizing how persistent his germophobia was, even with the people he loved the most.

You smile at him, leaning your head on one of your forearms and pressing your finger into his.

From outside the glass-windowed office, Aaron watches you both, a solemn look on his face.

The case is finally closed once you and Spencer’s theory is proven right, the unsub securely put away and the green light to go home given at last. But with the late night icy weather too dangerous for the jet to take off, Aaron orders for everyone to instead turn in for the night at the hotel and head out first thing tomorrow morning instead.

He gives a silent thanks to no one in particular when he finds out it's his turn to have a room all for himself, the rotation always being cheated by Dave, Derek, or Emily that he always forgets who's next.

Shockingly enough, he's ready to turn in for the night, not even sparing an extra glance to any of the files he had brought with him as he prepares for bed. He's just about to sit down when a knock comes from behind his door, echoing throughout his room.

He lets out a quiet groan but stands nonetheless, rubbing tiredly at his face before swinging the door open. His first instinct is to snap at whoever's behind, but that's before his eyes cast over you.

You're fiddling with your fingers, dressed in your pajamas that consists of an off-the-shoulder shirt that dips low enough to show off your collarbone and the very top of your chest, your bra strap in the middle.

And, despite the chilly weather outside, you were wearing shorts. A pair of cotton shorts that peek out from underneath the shirt you were wearing and leave little to the imagination—more so, Aaron’s imagination.

Truth be told, he's seen you in a lot less. Your usual team outing outfits consisted of tank tops, baby tees, shorts, and slightly more revealing clothes.

But this, seeing you in what you would normally sleep in, sends him into a completely different spiral.

You cringe and immediately panic at the thought of having woken him up, "Sorry, were you already asleep?" you ask, taking a tentative step back.

Aaron blinks and clears his throat, the pads of his thumb and middle finger once again tapping against one another, "No," He lies. "I was barely getting ready."

Your shoulders drop and the panic dissipates as a small smile replaces it, “Oh, okay,” you bring your hands behind your back, rocking on your heels, “I just wanted to talk to you. If that’s alright?”

Aaron’s brows furrow though he immediately steps to the side to allow you in, a soft ‘of course’ following.

He takes in the way you hesitantly step in, back facing him and arms still intertwined behind your back.

You’re being respectful, probably hoping that you’re not overstepping with whatever it is that you want to talk about. And though you always are, he can’t tell if you’re nervous, worried, or filled with insomnia that you just couldn’t sleep.

“Is everything alright?” He finally asks when you don’t make a move to sit down anywhere, his hands slightly ajar to his side like he’s ready to reach out and touch you.

God, how he wishes he could touch you.

You clear your throat and turn around, “Actually, I was just coming to ask you the same thing,”

The harsh lines on Aaron’s face deepen when you take a seat on the edge of the bed, glancing beside you as a signal for him to join you.

He swallows as he does so, careful not to sit too close and award you space. His eyes flicker back up at you when he hears your breath hitch.

Seconds of silence pass before you shuffle closer to him, bringing your body forward so that you were staring at him directly.

“Are you… feeling okay?”

Aaron freezes, his movements completely stilling at your question. His mind begins to race with all the possibilities of what could have brought on your question when it clicks.

How he had concurred that you and him were completely different and could never be a possibility, and how he immediately decided that acting cold towards you would shun out the feelings he’s felt for so long now.

Another clear of his throat, he replies, “I’m fine.”

You raise a brow at him, giving him a look that shows that you know he’s not telling the truth.

“Are you sure?” you ask again, this time more firmly. “I don’t mean to overstep, but you’ve been acting rather…strange ever since you and I got back from the fifth victim’s crime scene.”

Aaron cringes at how your expression turns into a sad one, quickly masking it with one of concern afterwards.

He sighs. He supposes that if there’s a possibility that you and Spencer are dating, now’s the time to ask you about it.

He makes a show of staring directly at you in the same way he does when he’s in his ‘boss mode,’ trying to study your face before he asks the question, “Is there something I should know about you and Spencer?”

That wasn’t what you were expecting.

You’re taken aback, quite literally flinching as if you had been struck. It takes you a few seconds to take in what he’s just asked you, and you shake your head almost as if it wasn’t real.

“I’m sorry?”

The desperation gnaws at him once more, and he’s not sure which side of him wants to find out the answer.

“Are you and Spencer dating?” he asks again, voice somehow unwaveringly calm as he punctuates each word clearly.

Your mouth opens in shock, letting out a sound that’s half a scoff half a broken laugh. You look around the room in utter bewilderment.

“What correlation does my relationship with Spencer have with what I asked you?” You can’t tell if you’re angry or just confused, but you stand from the bed and stare down at him.

Aaron follows your lead, “I never noticed it before until the rest of the team pointed it out, but you two are close. Close in such a way that—” He swallows, “—as your boss, I have to ask.”

Before the rest of the team pointed it out. Of course.

You fully scoff this time, “As my boss, you should know that Spencer and I have always been close,” you concur.

“Then why can’t you look at me?”

Despite your heart hammering in your chest, you force yourself to look at him, “Excuse me?”

“You’re not looking at me, you’re getting defensive, and you’re practically avoiding the question,” he says, his own gaze practically boring into you.

“Hotch—”

“You’re deflecting by saying that I should know that you two have always been close, and while I do know that, you’re still not answering my question.”

It feels cruel of him to press you for answers like this, knowing that there was an easier way to do it.

“Reid and I are not dating!” you do your best to not shout it at him in fears of waking the rest of the team up, fists balled at your sides.

“Then why are you so nervous?” he asks, taking a step closer to you. “Why can’t you still look at me?”

“Because it’s you that I like!”

You slap your hands over your mouth immediately and the room falls silent.

Aaron blinks. Once, twice, three times.

You liked him?

You lower your hands, nervously brushing your hair behind your ears as you look around the room in a state of panic, “I-I’m just going to go,” you mumble and immediately rush towards the door.

Aaron stands the for a second, too frozen to do or say anything before his own panic settles in brazenly. His body moves before he has time to register what he's doing and what he'll do when he reaches you.

He wraps an arm around your forearm just as you open the door, halting you from stepping outside, "Y/N, wait,"

"Hotch, please," you're quick to try and release yourself from his grasp, yanking your arm towards yourself in what results as a poor attempt. "Just ignore what I said."

"I can't do that," he dips his head to try and get you to look at him but you simply avoid your gaze even more than your originally had, your cheeks flushed.

"Hotch, let me go!" you whisper-shout, once more fighting his grip. “I’m already embarrassed enough, I don’t need you chastising me anymore.”

“I’m not chastising you, Y/N,” Aaron’s sure he sounds as desperate as you probably feel, but he can’t find it in himself to let you go and ruin his one chance of bringing his feelings to the light. Even if it went against everything he had been telling himself earlier that week.

“Do you not think it’s possible for me to feel the same way?”

Your head snaps towards him, your movements suddenly rigid at his question, “W-What?”

You’re sure that, if your heart hadn’t raptured beforehand, it certainly will now.

Aaron takes you letting your guard down as the chance to bring a hand to your waist and pull you back into the room, shutting the door and thanking that nobody else from the team had emerged from the commotion.

“What do you mean by that?” you’re quick to ask, staring up at him with curious, yet hopeful eyes.

He lowers his head as to avoid your gaze this time, letting out a deep breath. Everything he wanted to do now went against everything he had told himself the day before, when he ridiculed himself for ever thinking that you would like someone such as him or that something could ever happen between you two.

“Hotch,” your voice is firm and you allow yourself to take a step closer to him. You need him to look at you, to give you some sort of clue that he didn’t just say what he said to play you, to get you to re-enter the room just so he could profile you even more. “What do you mean by that?”

Repeating your question doesn’t help him and it certainly doesn’t help the way his heart hammers in his chest, a sound so loud that he’s sure you can hear it from how close you’re standing.

“You like me?” you whisper, dipping your head to try and meet his eyes. How ironic that just a couple of seconds ago you were trying to avoid it.

Aaron shrugs, finally looking up, “How could I not?”

His boyish, yet vulnerable expression makes your breath hitch.

“I said that I had to know if there was something between you and Reid as your boss, but it was just because I was jealous,” he shakes his head, trying his best to suppress an all but amused smile. “It was immature of me, really.”

You shake your head, trying to collect both your own thoughts and everything he was telling you. He had been jealous?

“So, is that you acted that way after I told you about our theory in the park?”

The way in which he left you behind in both the park and in the parking lot of the precinct hits him like a brick, cringing at his actions, "I realized then, when you were talking about what you had both come up with, how compatible you two are. How it would make more sense for you to like someone more suited for you. I'm sorry for how I acted,"

Your heart breaks at hearing his confession, of how he, the same man you practically fell head over heels for after your first meeting, could think that he was unworthy of your attention. If you were being honest, you hadn't been hurt by the way he had acted earlier in the day, only confused as to why.

"Hotch--" you stop yourself. You take another step closer, closing the space between the both of you more and more. "Aaron,"

He snaps his head up at your usage of his first name, the way you said it so gently and naturally getting all his attention.

"I've liked you ever since I first met you," you confess. "I'll admit I was too intimidated by you to fully register what I was feeling, but the more I got to know you, the harder I began to fall. And I fell really hard," you let out a laugh, trying to ignore just how much you were putting on the line right now and how self-conscious you felt with his eyes boring into you.

"You've been with the BAU for three years," Aaron's voice is barely above a breathless murmur and he's sure you wouldn't have heard it if you weren't standing so close. "That's how long you've liked me for?"

You nod, lips pursed, "I never said anything because I thought you would never see me that way, let alone reciprocate my feelings. If I'm telling the truth, I wouldn't have said anything if it weren't for you pressing me into telling you that I was dating Reid."

Aaron smirks despite the warmth he feels on his cheeks, shrugging his shoulders and letting out a soft laugh, "Well, then I'm glad I ended up asking. Who knows how many more years we would've gone like this if I hadn't."

You both laugh, subconsciously curling towards each other when you both double over and bring yourselves even closer than before.

You stare up at him with a warm expression before casting your eyes downwards. You lift your hand to linger above his, the pads of your fingers brushing against the hairs on the back of his palm, "So, what happens now?"

Without breaking eye contact, he takes your hand in his while the other reaches for your waist once more. You let out a small yelp when he pulls you even closer, your bodies now touching and radiating the warmth you both thought you’d never be able to feel from one another.

The next few seconds are filled with bliss when he lowers his head to press his lips against yours. You’re immediately weak, letting go off his hand to place both on his shoulders as to support yourself.

The other now free hand of his comes to rest on your other hip, fingers digging into the fabric of your shorts ever so possessively. A whimper escapes from your mouth and Aaron takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, doing so with so much fervor and passion that it leaves you feeling dizzy even with your eyes closed.

Aaron is relentless even after you pull away to catch your breath, the act of kissing you now something he’s inevitably hooked on. He presses kisses all over your face, from your cheek to your chin to your jaw, then all the way down to your neck.

“You know,” you cough out, flushed from the attention, “I told you how long I’ve liked you, but you didn’t tell me how long you’ve liked me.”

Aaron smiles into your skin, immediately recalling when he first realized his own feelings for you. He lifts his head to press a sweet kiss to your lips, eliciting a hum from you.

“I can tell you all the details over either a nice dinner tomorrow evening after we land,” he says, another kiss to your lips. He turns your bodies around so that his back was to bed, the mattress dipping under his weight when he sits. “Or you can spend the night here and we can stay up all night talking about it.”

His voice is sultry, and the way in which he grabs at your hips to get you to straddle him makes you flush.

“Are you already trying to seduce me?” you ask, mock offense in your tone though you happily take your guided seat on his lap, both knees on each side of his thighs.

Aaron hums this time, brushing your hair back to begin kissing at your neck again, “Can you blame me?”

He already knows your answer, he’s sure. He knows you can’t, because he can’t, either.

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alinathinkstoomuch · 3 months ago

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hiiii I want to join the masses and thank you for bringing fake fiancé Hotch into our lives!

I had a random thought about them that you can completely ignore and delete but what if a case brought Hotch to his fake fiancée's work? 👀

She's trying to be professional (and failing) and Hotch is just trying to solve crimes without falling fast for his fake fiancée while also ignoring Rossi is being a brat about it all

CRAVING CLARITY - FAKE FIANCÉ

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader (part of my fake!fiancee series, but can be read as a standalone) warnings | an: first of all thank you bestie!! hope i did your request justice 💓 fluff, shameless flirting, slight self-doubt from reader which aaron scoops up real quick, rossi being rossi. word count: 2.4k

✧ masterlist

You were elbow-deep in samples – literally and figuratively – drowning in endless deadlines with no lifeline in sight. Honestly, it felt like you were the only person in the entire company actually capable of meeting them. Carrying the whole operation on your back? Exhausting. Somewhere between fabric swatches and frantic emails, you had completely zoned out.

And you seemed to only snap back to reality when Bella, your assistant, waved her hands wildly in front of your face.

“Earth to you,” she said, snapping her fingers. “Did you hear a single word I just said, or should I start over with even bigger hand gestures.”

You blinked at her, still half-lost in the chaos of your to-do list. “Uh… something about me being a visionary genius who deserves an all-expenses-paid spa retreat?”

Bella rolled her eyes, plucking a stray patch of fabric from your desk. “Close, but no. I said there’s someone here to see you. Actually, two someones – both with FBI badges.”

You froze. “What? FBI?”

Oh no.

Had Hotch finally had enough? Had he officially put you on the infamous FBI watchlist? Decided that your emoji usage was a national security risk? Because honestly, you barely sent him that many – just the occasional heart, a well-placed sparkly star, maybe a winky face or two. And it’s not like he ever responded in kind. Not even once. Which, frankly, was an injustice.

And still, despite all your undeniable charm and very reasonable flirting, he had yet to ask you out. That, in itself, was a crime.

Which was exactly why you were going to make him wait. Just a minute. Or five. Just long enough to figure out what the hell he was doing here – and why flashing FBI badges was necessary in your perfectly peaceful, extremely fashionable workspace.

You smoothed down your outfit, tilting your head as you turned to Bella. “Did they say what it was about?” you asked, already moving toward the mirror, because if you were about to face Aaron Hotchner and whatever Bureau-level drama he had brought with him, you were at least going to look flawless doing it.

Bella shrugged, her eyes following you. “Something about needing access to records for a client we work with. No clue, honestly, sounds way above my pay grade.” She leaned against your desk, arms crossed. “They asked to speak to whoever’s in charge, and, well… that would be you.”

You sighed, fluffing your hair a little as you checked your reflection. And it was absolutely because your hair needed fluffing at this exact moment and not because a certain moody, absurdly handsome FBI agent was waiting for you.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” you muttered, making your way toward the lobby. As you turned the corner, it didn’t take long to spot them – Aaron Hotchner and his very good friend, and someone you’d quickly taken a liking to, David Rossi. It was slightly comical to see how out of place the two of them looked.

Would a splash of colour really kill them both?

You took a step closer, amusement curling at the edges of your lips. “So this is a thing now, huh?”

Hotch cocked his head, eyes narrowing as he watched you approach. “A thing?” he echoed, his voice sounding just as dry as you remembered.

Rossi, of course, wasted no time as he nudged him with a smirk. “Yeah, Aaron. You know – showing up at each other’s workplaces unannounced.”

You beamed, gesturing toward him. “See? Dave gets it.” You gave the two agents a once over, taking in their perfectly pressed suits and matching we-are-here-on-official-business expressions. You sighed dramatically, placing a hand on your hip. “Though, I do have one complaint… I don’t see any cookies.”

“Ah, yes. The cookies,” Rossi mused, turning to Hotch. “You should’ve seen him, going wild, breaking each one apart like they were evidence, searching for your number.” He gave you an approving nod. “Nice touch, by the way.”

Hotch exhaled very deliberately, eyes shooting daggers at Rossi. You, on the other hand, just giggled. He was ridiculously cute when he was flustered, all stiff posture and barely contained why do I put up with these people energy.

“Thank you, Dave.” Your tone was all honey-sweet innocence, like you hadn’t just turned Hotch’s mild embarrassment into your own personal entertainment. “Now, as much as I’d love to believe you’re here because the FBI finally approved a budget increase for uniforms, I have a feeling that’s not the reason.”

Rossi chuckled which caused Hotch to finally cut in before things finally spiralled completely out of control. “Sorry to barge in like this. We’re here about a case.”

“How tragic.” Your hand made its way over to your heart. “And here I thought this was a romantic gesture.”

Hotch barely reacted – barely – but you didn’t miss the slight flare of his nostrils, the subtle shift of his jaw.

“We need access to client records from a company your firm collaborates with,” he explained, voice clipped, like if he just kept talking the entire conversation would magically reset itself. “Their CFO isn’t cooperating, and we believe you can help us expedite the process.”

“Mm,” you hummed, rocking back on your heels. “I can expedite a lot of things.”

That got him.

The barest shift of his mouth. The way his throat bobbed ever so slightly before he spoke. “The records,” he clarified, tone just a little tighter.

“You know…you’re awfully demanding for a man who still hasn’t taken me to dinner.”

“I didn’t realise dinner was a prerequisite for cooperation.”

You glanced briefly at Rossi, a silent Can you believe this guy? before turning back to Hotch. “Oh, Agent Hotchner,” you chided, sighing again as if he was the most exhausting man on the planet. “If you wanted my help, you could have just asked nicely.”

“I am asking nicely.”

You pursed your lips. “Are you? Because I think you could be a little nicer.”

Silence.

“You poor man,” Rossi chuckled, shaking his head. “This is hilarious.”

Hotch turned to Rossi who was still grinning like this was the highlight of his week – maybe even the entire month. “Are you done?”

“Not even close.”

“He really should be nicer to me, don’t you think?” You glanced at Rossi, like you were seeking expert legal counsel.

“Absolutely,” Rossi said without hesitation. “Common courtesy. Maybe some flowers. A little charm, even.”

Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose like he was deeply reconsidering every life choice that had led him here. “I cannot believe I brought him with me,” he muttered under his breath.

“Alright, alright,” you relented, holding up your hands in surrender. “I suppose I could be persuaded to help. Purely out of the kindness of my heart, of course.”

Turning slightly, you motioned for Bella – who was definitely eavesdropping from just out of view – to come over. She sauntered in like she hadn’t just been shamelessly listening in.

“Bells, be a dear and show these two lovely gentlemen to the records they’re requesting.”

Before she could respond, Rossi held up a hand. “It’s alright,” he interrupted, cutting Hotch off before he could protest. “I’ll go, it’s not a two-man job.” Then, sparing you a knowing glance, he clapped Hotch on the shoulder. “You two can chat.”

You arched a brow, watching as Rossi motioned for Bella to lead the way.

And just like that, it was just the two of you.

You gaze flicked back to Hotch, your focus settling on him with an ease that almost annoyed you. Because, truly, how did this man manage to hold your attention so effortlessly? He wasn’t doing anything – just standing there, arms crossed, rocking that same old serious, mysterious expression. And yet, he might as well have had a gravitational pull.

They had to be teaching witchcraft at the FBI Academy. And maybe you should enrol, if only to figure out how to make him give you even an inch of the attention you kept throwing his way.

“Tell me, Aaron Hotch Hotchner, am I wasting my time here?” you asked, mirroring his stance as you crossed your arms.

His brow lifted, but you didn’t give him a chance to respond before pressing on.

“Because, at this point, I’ve done everything short of throwing my clothes off to get you to ask me out, and yet the only time you seem to come and see me is… well, today. And only because you need something.”

There. It was out.

You hadn’t planned to take the conversation in this direction, hadn’t expected to lay your cards out so plainly. But you were a woman who had suffered one too many heartbreaks, and at this point, you just needed clarity.

Because if this – whatever this was – was just some game to him, then you needed to walk away before you let yourself hope for something that would never happen.

Hotch didn’t react right away. He just looked at you, really looked at you, like he was weighing his response with the same precision he used to profile criminals.

That did not help your nerves.

“Well?” you prompted, your voice a touch softer, more hesitant. “Because if this is just some game to you –”

“It’s not a game.”

You swallowed, your fingers curling against your arms. “Then what is it?”

“You’re not wasting your time,” he assured you. “I just… can’t always give you as much of it as I want to.”

You let out small, breathy laugh. “God, you really have a way of making a woman work for it, don’t you?”

His lips parted, but before he could say anything, you kept going. “Because, see, this? This is the kind of thing a girl needs clarity on.” You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “If I like a man, I don’t not tell him. I bake, I flirt, I –” You huffed. “I wear my best heels and make sure my hair looks good when I know I might see him.”

His gaze flickered downward for a second before he brought it back up to your face.

“I work a lot,” he said finally. “And if I asked you to dinner, I’d want to be able to actually be there, not just physically, but completely. I wouldn’t want to have to leave halfway through because of a phone call. You deserve a date where I can give you my undivided attention.”

Oh.

Of all the things you had expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them. For the first time, Aaron Hotchner wasn’t shutting you down. He wasn’t brushing you off. He was telling you, plain and simple, that he wanted this – but he wanted to do it right.

And damn it, if that didn’t make you like him even more.

“Right… well, I’m busy too, you know. It’s not like I can just drop everything on a day that works for you or whatever.”

His smile was small but undeniable this time, and God help you, it was unfairly charming. “I wouldn’t expect you to. That’s why I’d ask in advance.”

You let a breath out, swirling a finger in the air at him. “Unbelievable. I am supposed to be the one making you flustered.”

“You do.”

You groaned, pressing your hands over your face in defeat. “Aaron Hotch Hotchner, I’m going to need you to vacate this building immediately.”

“I don’t think that’s how FBI jurisdiction works.”

You dropped your hands. “I don’t care how FBI jurisdiction works. You are menace, and I need you gone before you say something else that makes me –” You gestured vaguely in the air again, trying to find the right words. “– like you even more.”

His brow lifted and you hated that he looked so pleased with himself. “That would be a problem?”

“Yes!” you blurted before catching yourself. “Because my feelings for you need to be contained, okay? Like a jug that must not overflow. Not until I get that stupid date. I cannot like you more than I do now. It is against my nature, Aaron Hotch Hotchner.”

The corner of his mouth twitched.

“Oh, don’t smile at me,” you lectured. “You know I’m right!”

“I don’t think emotions work like that.”

“Well, mine do,” you argued. “I have a system, Hotchner. A process which you are disrupting.”

He took a step closer. Too close. Instinctively, you took one back, because absolutely not. He could not be this close to you right now, not when you were in such a delicate (feral) state.

“And what exactly is this system?” he asked, his voice maddeningly calm.

You scoffed, waving a hand. “Oh, it’s very simple. I flirt. You ignore me. I get bored. I move on. That was the plan. But now? Now you’re smiling at me and talking about dates in advance, and frankly, I find it very disruptive to my workflow.”

“Well, I definitely wouldn’t want to throw off your workflow,” he murmured, voice dropping slightly.

You gasped, pointing at him with pure betrayal. “There! That! That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

“What?” He feigned innocence and you wanted to shove him straight out the damn door and call security on him.

“You know what,” you accused. “You’re flirting.”

“I thought that was part of your system.”

“Oh my God.” You threw your hands up. “I take it back. You are not allowed to be good at this.”

He nodded, as if this was a very serious discussion. “Ah. So, to be clear, you want me to ignore your advances?”

You stared at him, eyes narrowed. And then, without thinking, you stepped forward, grabbed him by the lapels of his stupid FBI suit, and let out a long, dramatic groan into his chest. “Aaron,” you muttered into the fabric, “I hate you.”

His body was still for a second. Then, to your absolute horror, you felt his chest rumble with something dangerously close to a chuckle.

You yanked yourself back so fast you nearly tripped, eyes wide with betrayal. “Did you just laugh?”

“No.” His tone would agree, but his face did not.

“Oh, my God.” You shoved at his chest, half out of indignation, half just to do something with your hands. “You’re enjoying this.”

He didn’t confirm or deny it.

Which meant he absolutely was.

Before you could formulate a proper rebuttal, a voice cut in from behind you.

“Well, it’s a good thing we went to get these,” Rossi said, strolling in beside Bella. “Otherwise, God knows what these two would get up to in the back room.”

You took a very large, very obvious step back. “Please, Dave. We’re professionals.”

Rossi smirked. “Oh, sure. That’s definitely what me and Bella have just walked in on.”

tags - @fandomscombine @dohmeti @pastelpinkflowerlife @hazzyking @bernelflo @risenqueen1521 @jazzimac1967 @camihotchner @abschaffer2 @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @pacmillo-blog-blog

dividers by cafekitsune

#aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner one shot #criminal minds #hotch #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #mine🌟

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appledressing · 2 years ago

Text

so soft

something more

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader

summary: you and aaron are friends with feelings more obvious than you think. or: 5 times the team suspects you and hotch are dating +1 time they know it.

word count: 6.6k

warnings: friends to lovers, the team being a little nosy, pining idiots!!!, probably inaccurate descriptions of bau jobs (for the plot!), a very small injury, a birthday, a first kiss, and fluff!

a/n: hiii this one has been a long time coming so thank you guys for being so patient with me!!! and special thanks to the anon who requested this one! i hope u guys enjoy it and please please let me know what you think <3 ily

༄

Aaron Hotchner was never someone you thought you could be this close to.

Coming to the BAU, you’d been intimidated more than anything. As Unit Chief, he’s got a reputation that’s hard to ignore. Professional, brave, cold when he has to be. His success and talent were undeniable, and all you wanted to do was prove that you belonged there, too.

Then, you really met him, and he surprised you in a way you hadn’t expected. Hotch was kind right off the bat, welcoming you to the team with a smile that felt like some sort of prize.

He was an excellent boss. Understanding and protective, quick to defend anyone on the team like they were his own family. Except, he was so much more than just your boss.

Now, you’d call him your closest friend, someone who’s number you’d call if you were in trouble. He’s your closest friend and yet you feel so much more for him.

It started slow, a friendship blooming the way a plant does with just enough sunlight. It was a shared smile here, a nudge of the shoulder there. It grew to be a seat next to him reserved for you on every plane ride.

Today, it’s eating lunch with him in his office.

Aaron usually works through lunch, more eager to get things done than he is to worry about skipping a meal. Somehow, with two tupperware containers in your hand and a sweet smile, you’d managed to get him to take a break.

“Whatcha doing?” You’d asked.

Hotch looked up from his paperwork then, dropping his pen because you were in his doorway. “You know, Unit Chief business. Reports.”

“Sounds like you have time for lunch, then.” You set the containers down on his desk, making sure to avoid the papers he’d just been working on.

“I should really get this done-”

“Hotch,” you stopped him, “you and I both know that you’re always ahead on this stuff because you stay here so late. Lunch won’t set you back.”

With a shake of his head and the biting back of a smile, a simple twitch at the corners of his mouth, Aaron agreed and stacked his paperwork off to the side.

That’s how you’ve ended up in the chair that’s usually on the opposite side of his desk, only now it’s tugged to be next to his. Your knees touch every so often when one of you shifts, and the warmth stays with you even when the contact is gone.

“Sorry it’s nothing fancy,” you say as he opens the container you brought for him.

“Don’t apologize. It’s great.” Hotch has a way of saying things that make them sound true, no matter how few words he uses, so you accept it.

“Okay, good!” There’s a small silence, a lull as you both take your first bites. “Can I help with anything?”

Aaron looks from the paperwork to your face, your eyes already on his. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” you reassure him. “I think sometimes you forget that you aren’t the only one who can do this stuff.”

He knocks his knee against yours. Purposeful this time. A silent ‘thank you.’

“Like you said, I’m ahead anyways. I’ve got it.”

“Come on, Hotch. I’m already done with my report from our last case. I’ve got time. Let me help.”

He’s always been reluctant to accept help, to ask for it, but when you’re asking so sweetly, when it’ll give him an excuse to spend more time with you, it’s hard for Aaron to say no.

“Alright. You help for an hour, that’s it.”

You grin at him, like his acceptance of your offer was some kind of gift he’d given you. Your nose crinkles a little with it, and his hand flexes in his lap, like he’s fighting not to reach out to you.

“Okay, put me to work, boss.”

“We just started lunch,” he says, a little chuckle puffing out.

“Have you ever heard of multitasking, Agent Hotchner?”

Aaron laughs, shaking his head as he reaches for one of the files in the stack he’d made and hands it to you. He’d call everyone at the BAU a friend, but there’s something different, something more about how he’d describe you.

He’s grown closer to you than he usually lets himself get to people, like you’re the only one with the right tools to break through walls he’s put up. You see each other outside of work (on the rare days you aren’t working), and still, he feels like it’s never long enough.

Hotch briefly wonders if he could just move your desk into his office. He shakes off the thought and what it might mean.

Head bent, you’re now focused on the work he gave you, and Aaron takes the chance to admire you. His eyes flick over your profile, the light hitting your cheeks, the flutter of your eyelashes every time you blink.

As if you could feel his gaze on you, you turn towards him and smile—a small, closed-mouth smile, but a smile all the same—before turning your attention back to the page.

When you take a pause and take another bite of your lunch, a small drop of sauce lands on your thigh. “Oh, shit.”

Aaron grabs a tissue from the box on his desk, wrapping it over his fingertip before wiping the small spot from your leg, his finger a spark against you even through your pants.

“Good thing you wore black,” he says, tossing the tissue in the garbage. His hand, however, stays on your leg, and though the touch is light the weight of it feels the opposite. Heavy, huge.

“Good thing you’re here to clean up after me, more like.”

Your eyes meet, and you share a smile with Hotch the way you often do. Mid-conversation, across a room, it’s a smile you sort of reserve for each other.

In the main office below, Derek, Spencer, and JJ stand together, watching the interaction through the window into Hotch’s office. You and Aaron seem to be in your own bubble, completely unaware of your small audience.

“They’ve gotta be together,” Derek is the first to speak, waving a hand towards the office where you and Hotch are talking. “I mean, come on.”

“I don’t know,” JJ shrugs, “they both seem kinda clueless.”

“We probably shouldn’t speculate about them,” Spencer, always the sweetheart, says. “But, statistically, Hotch never eats lunch. Just saying.”

JJ pats Reid on the shoulder, huffing out a laugh before she heads back to her desk.

You stay in Aaron’s office much longer than an hour that day.

Punctuality is important in the BAU. Really, if you’re not early, you’re late. You’ve always got to be ready, wheels up in ten, or five.

You suppose that doesn’t really apply to outside-of-the-office parties at Garcia’s.

It’s rare that you’re all available at the same time, from late nights at the bureau to families, it’s tough to make your schedules line up when you aren’t working, which is why whenever she can, Penelope likes to host drinks for the team.

You’re on your way there now, or, you should be. Instead, you’re getting ready in your bedroom while Aaron waits in your living room.

Hotch has offered to drive you to these things every time, and with every offer, comes your easy answer of ‘yes.’ He’d been outside in his car for five minutes before he decided to call, because you’re usually in his passenger seat within seconds of him pulling over by your building.

The ringing of your phone had your eyes blinking open, squinted against the sudden brightness of your TV. You’d accidentally fallen asleep, and, still disoriented, picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, everything okay?” It’s Aaron’s voice on the other line, and you pull your phone away for a second to check the time before sitting up quickly.

“Shit, Hotch, I must’ve fallen asleep. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, I can wait for you.” He’d wait as long as you need, he thinks. The thought passes through like a leaf blown in the wind, freely, randomly.

“Have you been waiting long?” You ask, fingers tugging at a loose thread in your pants.

“No, don’t worry. Barely five minutes.”

And he still wanted to check on you.

“Why don’t you come in? My couch is probably more comfortable than your car, right?”

“You sure?” He checks, like he hasn’t been to your place before, like you’d ever not want him there.

“Get in here, Hotchner.”

You hung up before he could reply, and he laughed to himself in his car before shutting it off and doing exactly what you’d told him.

So, now, you’re rushing to find an outfit while Aaron sits on your couch by himself.

Even though he’s in the next room, you can feel his presence around you, the steady security he gives you, the warmth that seeps out of him even when he tries to hide it.

You settle on a knitted sweater, a skirt, and some tights, which you realize as you tug them on aren't the speediest of options, but it’s too late to change your mind now. With your hair figured out and the mascara that had smudged during your nap fixed, you step back out into the living room.

Aaron made himself at home while you were gone (he often feels that way with you, at home), sitting on your couch with his arms spread across the back. He looks better than he should there, suit stretched across his shoulders, and you have to clear your throat to snap yourself out of it.

“Okay, sorry again for the delay. I’m ready to go.”

He looks up as soon as you walk in, eyes skimming over your legs and the tights wrapped around them, your waist, up your neck. His gaze lands on your eyes the way it often does, like magnets.

He shakes his head, “don’t be sorry. We’ll be what they call ‘fashionably late.’”

You laugh, because who would’ve thought that the words ‘fashionably late’ would ever come out of Aaron Hotchner’s mouth.

“Who taught you that one, huh?”

“I like to keep my sources anonymous.”

“Well okay, then. Let’s go be fashionably late, Hotch.”

He lets you lead the way to the car, only jogging up ahead to open your door before you can reach it yourself.

During the drive to Penelope’s, you take control of the music with little objection from Aaron, and when it gets to a song you know he likes, you sing along, encouraging him to do the same.

“Let’s hear it, Agent Hotchner.” You hold your fist out like there’s a microphone in it, looking at him with a grin on your face.

“I can't sing.” Aaron’s fighting off a smile, because you’re sitting beside him, not too shy to sing along, being all cute and, briefly, he thinks about reaching out and grabbing your hand and holding on.

“Sure you can! Everyone can sing, come on.” You unfurl your faux microphone-holding fist and tug on the knot of his tie, “loosen up a little.”

And, because you have some way of convincing him of things—first lunch, now this—he humors you by joining in for one chorus of the song. When your eyes light up a little, and your grin only widens, he can’t bring himself to be too concerned of how bad he probably sounds.

By the time you’re at Garcia’s door you’re a solid hour late, yet you and Aaron walk up to the door with matching smiles all the same.

“I’m getting you to do that every time I hear that song now, I hope you know.”

“That was a one time special,” he says. He reaches over your shoulder to knock on the door. His hand brushes against you, featherlight and quick, a crackle over your skin.

On the other side, Morgan says, “must be the lovebirds” when he hears the sound.

You and Aaron don’t hear him, only broken out of your little shared bubble when Penelope opens the door. “There you guys are! I made your drinks but the ice might be melted by now. You know, ‘cause you’re late.”

You know this is directed towards you more than it is Hotch, because Garcia’s a little intimidated by him still. You also know she’s only joking, and greet her with a hug before stepping in.

Aaron isn’t far behind you, though at these things, he never is.

You’re met with warm greetings from the team when you walk in, and you chat for a bit, but it isn’t long before things split off into smaller conversations. They all know that Aaron drives you to these things, and, as profilers, they’re also all able to see the way you look at each other, the way the knot of his tie sits lower than usual.

In the corner, Emily leans over to Derek, saying, “usually it takes at least two drinks for Hotch’s tie to look like that.”

“I told you, they’re together,” Derek shrugs.

“I don’t think they know that,” Emily replies.

This time, Aaron hears them, and he can’t help but look towards you in the room the rest of the night, thinking and thinking and thinking.

He ends up deciding that they might have a point. That maybe, that shift in his heartbeat when you’re around isn’t nothing, isn’t just friends.

The flight home from a case always feels the longest.

On the way there, you’re packing every hour with information about what’s going on, talking to Garcia, reading police reports. You’re all on edge, eager to get out there and help and do your jobs,

Then, on the way home, with another case solved, all you’re thinking about is going home, sleeping in your own bed, and time seems to go slower.

If your name happens to be Aaron Hotchner, you’d spend the plane ride home doing paperwork that actually can wait.

You and Aaron sit next to each other on pretty much every flight, though the seats have never been assigned. It’s an unspoken thing, like your names are written on the fabric of the same two seats on the jet and that’s just the way it is.

The first time was early on in your time on the team. It was a tough case for you, and Hotch seemed to know it without you having to say anything, so, when you got on the jet to come home, he smiled that small, twitch of his lips smile at you and nodded at the seat next to him. You’ve been sitting there ever since.

Today, your flight is on the shorter side, but feels long the way it always does. Trying to keep yourself occupied, you pull out your earbuds and shuffle your playlist, hoping that the songs will speed things up.

“Sick of me already?” Hotch speaks up when he notices your headphones.

You tilt your head to look at him. He looks tired, the way you’re sure you do, too, but never any less handsome. His eyes are soft where they meet yours, paired with a hint of a smile that you’re always able to catch.

“Sick of you, Hotch? Never.” You nod at the file he has open on the small table, “just didn’t want to distract you.”

“I thought you enjoyed distracting me. Always telling me I work too much.”

“‘Cause it’s true,” you say. “That doesn’t mean you listen.”

“I listen to you more than I listen to most people.” Aaron’s voice is gentle when he says it, the words sinking in and melting you just a little, sugary sweet. It could mean absolutely nothing, but with the way he keeps his eyes steady on yours, you don’t think it does.

“Listen to this, then,” you hand him one of your earbuds, and his fingers brush yours when he takes it from you. “But you can’t make fun of me if a musical soundtrack comes on, okay?”

“Okay,” he huffs a small laugh, and you feel a little brighter. “I promise.”

You’re aware of the team having their own conversations in the rows in front of you and Hotch, but you can’t bring yourself to join in, because you and Aaron are sharing your earbuds and his head is bent just a little closer to yours. It’s delicate, and you’ll do your best not to break it.

You talk a little longer, until it naturally fizzles out and Hotch is back to working on his files and you’re bobbing your head along to your songs. Only now, Aaron sits closer to you, his arm against yours.

He’s not sure what to do with his newfound realization that his feelings for you run far deeper than friendship. All Aaron knows is that he likes the feeling of you beside him, and that he’s planning on keeping you there as long as you’ll let him.

It’s quiet between the two of you aside from your occasional ‘this is a good one,’ and his hum of acknowledgement.

Eventually, you’re relaxed enough that your eyes grow heavy, the sleep you’ve been lacking suddenly catching up to you, and when you hit a patch of slower songs you’re fighting to stay awake.

When your head lulls onto Hotch’s shoulder, you jerk your head up, “sorry, Aaron.”

His chest does something funny. A jump. It’s not often you call him Aaron, and he’d listen to the sound of his name on your lips on a loop if he could. Because he can’t help himself, he scooches himself even closer to you.

He decides to call you something different, too, saying, “it’s alright, honey.”

You’re too sleepy to really read into that one, all you feel is the flutter in your stomach and Aaron’s hand on your head, gently guiding it to his shoulder.

When he’s sure you’re asleep, Hotch looks away from his files and over to you. Your cheek is squished against his shoulder, your lashes fanned shut. He thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.

Aaron doesn’t even feel the smile that spreads over his face as he reaches up and pushes your hair away from your face. He’s completely unaware of the eyes that catch him, far too focused on you.

Emily turned around when she realized she hadn’t heard your voice in a bit, and she did it just in time to catch Hotch’s movement. Instead of saying something, she turns back around and shakes her head to herself.

Hopeless, she thinks.

Sleep doesn’t come so easily with this job, with the things you see, so Aaron can’t help but try and stay steady for you, and if that leads to him letting his eyes close and resting his head on yours, then so be it.

It’s not until the end of the flight that the team checks on the two of you. As everyone stands and grabs their go bags, they notice the two of you, asleep next to each other, earbud wires hanging between you.

“Should we wake them up?” JJ asks.

“Hotch doesn’t get enough sleep as it is,” Spencer chimes in. “Neither does she, actually.”

Of course, Derek finishes with, “let’s leave the lovebirds to it,” before the team gets off the plane.

It’s only about twenty minutes later that Aaron does wake up, but he feels more well-rested than he has in a while, even with the kink in his neck.

Blinking his eyes open, he’s met with an empty jet and the comforting weight of your head on his shoulder. “Shit,” he sighs.

He debates waking you, ultimately deciding that you’d probably rather sleep in your bed rather than the seat of the BAU’s jet. Reaching up, he pulls your earbuds away, setting them on the table. With a brush of his fingertips to your cheek, he coaxed you awake.

“Hey, honey,” Aaron’s nearly whispering, like he’s afraid to scare you. Or, maybe, he’s convinced that if he moves too quickly, too loudly, this whole thing will fade away as if he’d been dreaming. “Wake up, we’re home.”

“Hm?” You grumble, scrunching your nose when he brushes your cheek again.

“We fell asleep, but we landed.”

“Oh, god.” You sit up properly, lifting your head. “I’m sorry, Aaron. Hotch.”

“Aaron is good,” he eases you. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”

Sleep-hazed, or maybe just happy that he can be Aaron to you, you agree easily and take his hand when he offers it, letting him lead you to his car.

You’ve been spending more time at Aaron’s ever since that flight. In the car, he’d convinced you to stay over at his place in the guest room, since it was closer. With your go bag already in his car and heavy, sleepy eyes, it was hard for you to do anything but agree.

It’s another slice of his life that he’s let you see, and you can’t help but feel like it means something, like you’re stepping further and further away from being coworkers who are friends and towards something different. Something more.

That flight feels like the catalyst, the thing that caused things to shift into what they are now.

Aaron’s couch is much more comfortable than yours, and though you’ve yet to spend the night again, you’re sitting there with him at almost every chance. The time off you get is rare, and Aaron wanting to spend it with you sends flutters to your stomach whenever you think about it.

You feel like you know him better, getting to see his space, how he chose to decorate, what colors he likes, which ones he doesn’t. You also know what temperature he likes to set his thermostat.

“Do you enjoy living in a refrigerator?” You ask, hands tucked into your sleeves. “Just wondering.”

Aaron laughs, a small huff, “I think you just run cold, honey.”

He’s been calling you that a lot, too. Honey.

“No way, Hotchner. Your house is what runs cold. Or maybe you’re cold-blooded.”

Not with you, he thinks. Years and years of doing what he does, Hotch might even call himself cold when he’s thinking a little too hard. But never cold with you. He thinks that might be impossible for him.

“Shhh, don’t tell anyone my secret,” he says, his arm brushing against yours from where he sits next to you on his couch. “Where are you cold?”

“Can’t feel my toes, Aaron. I might be out of commission for the next case.”

“Well we can’t lose our best girl, can we?” Best girl, he says. Like he means it, like it’s simple. “I’ve got some thick socks you can grab. Bottom drawer.”

Just like that, he’s cracked another wall of his down even further, giving you permission to go into his bedroom as if you’ve been in there a thousand times.

“Really?”

“Unless you’d rather not feel your toes-“

“Okay, okay,” you stop him, unable to fight your smile. “Thanks, Aaron.”

When you stand and head towards his room, Aaron can’t stop himself from thinking that you belong there, in his home, his room, his life. You fit in so seamlessly he wishes you’d never leave.

He stands up too, because the couch suddenly feels sort of empty without you beside him, without your warmth. He walks over to his thermostat on the wall and turns it up for you.

You’ve always thought that you can tell a lot about a person from where they live, and seeing Aaron’s bedroom now solidifies it. His place does too, but there’s something about his bedroom that feels much more personal.

Here, there’s more of him, little bits of his life scattered around. A picture of him as a kid with his parents on the dresser, the newspaper’s crossword sitting completely finished on his nightstand, his bed neatly made.

You smile at the framed photo before slipping the top drawer open and finding the pair of socks he’d been talking about. As much as you’d love to snoop, you don’t want to invade his privacy in any way. Besides, from Aaron, even a glimpse of his space feels special.

You slip on the socks before you leave his room, letting them bunch at your ankles.

As soon as you walk back into the living room, Aaron’s phone rings. Glancing at you softly, almost apologetically though he’s got nothing to be sorry about—you work with him, you know how important a call can be—he picks it up.

“Hotchner,” he says, holding it to his ear. His voice is different this way, more professional, controlled. Never any less pleasing to hear.

He’d wanted to say something about how good you look in his clothes when his phone rang, Garcia’s name flashing on the screen. Aaron wishes it was someone else, only to spend more time with you this way.

“Sorry to call late, sir,” Penelope says. “We’ve got a case. Missing kid; it’s urgent.”

“Don’t be sorry, Garcia. We’re on our way.”

“Wait, we?” She asks, curious as always.

“What’s going on?” You ask Aaron.

“Got a case. I’ll drive, honey.” He lets the pet name slip, like it’s a habit.

On the other line, Garcia’s grinning to herself in her office. She’d had a suspicion of who on the team Hotch would be with outside of work, and hearing your voice, and his use of the word ‘honey’ all sticky sweet, she knows she’s onto something.

“Oh, that’s ‘we,’” Penelope’s voice teases. “Tell her I’ll see you guys soon!”

Aaron shakes his head, fighting his smile. “Bye, Garcia.”

He hangs up and looks from his phone to you, your eyes already on him, corners of your mouth tugged up just a little like you’d heard what Garcia said, heard the lilt in her voice. Like you liked the idea of you and Aaron being a unit. We.

He likes that idea, too.

Back at the BAU, Garcia calls Derek next, who picks up with his classic, “hey, babygirl.”

First, she tells him that he needs to come into the office, that they’ve got a case, then, “you’re never going to believe this.”

Penelope loves to talk, and Derek’s happy to listen, so she tells him about how you’d been with Aaron when she called, and that you were on your way together.

“I give them another week, max, before they’re holding hands when they come in.” Derek laughs, because he can see yours and Hotch’s feelings so easily, plain as day, and he loves to be right about things.

“How mad will Hotch be when he finds out that we talk about his relationship?” Penelope’s mostly joking, only a fraction concerned.

“If the boss didn’t want us talking about it, he shouldn’t be so obvious, sweetheart.”

Once you arrive at the office, you don’t catch Penelope and Derek’s shared looks behind yours and Aaron’s—who happens to be carrying both his and your go bag—backs.

And if anyone notices the loose socks around your ankles, they don’t say anything about it.

You’re not supposed to go off on your own unless it’s absolutely necessary. You know that, the team knows that. Aaron, who is always trying to keep you as safe as possible, enforces it.

You guess that this time might be up for debate.

When it comes to what you do, you have to trust your instincts most of the time. And today, your gut told you to make a decision that might not have been safe, but to you, it felt like what you had to do.

Aaron had been on the phone with you, trying to figure out a way to make the car drive any faster to get to you. He’d heard it in your voice, in the tone of it, that he couldn’t convince you to wait for someone else to show up.

“I have to do this, Aaron,” you’d said. While the team would normally probably tease him about you calling him Aaron, as if it isn’t his name, they’d known not to interrupt this time. “You know I do.”

“You don’t have to.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he spoke. “We’ll be there soon, alright? Just-”

“I’m sorry.” And then, you hung up.

In the end, going in when you did had been the right move. A life had been saved, and you’d slowed the guy down enough that the police were able to arrest him when they arrived. All it cost you was a cut and a bruise on your cheek.

So, your instincts weren’t so bad.

Aaron, however, disagrees. Logically, he knows that he would’ve done the exact same thing you did, knows the rest of the team would’ve, too. But when it comes to you, he has a hard time thinking logically.

After you hung up on him, all he could do was breathe and breathe and breathe over the heavy thumping of his heartbeat and the worry spinning in his head. He drove the quickest he could manage, the car silent inside. A static.

It’s not that he doubts your abilities—he’s always thought you were incredible, even before the friendship, even before now—only that the idea of you being alone with such a bad man makes him feel sick.

He’d take your place in a heartbeat, if he could, just to make sure you’d be safe.

By the time he and the rest of the team get to the scene, you’re walking out of the building with a hand pressed to your cheek and a paramedic leading you to a nearby ambulance.

Aaron spots you right away, his eyes scanning the small crowd through red and blue lights and conversations surrounding him. When he spots you, everything goes quiet.

His first thought is, thank god she’s alive, then, it’s fuck, she’s hurt.

Without a word to anyone, he heads over in your direction right away. He meets you at the ambulance, where you sit on the small bench inside while the paramedic presses your cheek with gauze.

“Honey.” It comes out in a breath. Relief and pain all at once.

You look over to him, his hair a little messy, his eyes wide and roaming all over you like he’s checking for any other injuries. He cares about you, and it’s written all over him.

“Aaron. I’m okay.” You hold a hand out, and he grabs it, sitting beside you on the bench in the ambulance. “Promise.”

For now, he nods, letting the paramedic do their job bandaging up your cheek. When they’re finished, they hand you a spare bandage saying, “it’s gonna bruise, and it might feel sore for a bit, but you’re all patched up.”

The paramedic leaves after that, probably going to check on other people. The lights inside the ambulance seem to cocoon you, a bright difference to the darkness outside.

The first thing Aaron says is, “let me see.”

His hands reach for your face, rough fingertips gently holding your jaw, tilting you so that he can look at your cheek. It’s a little swollen, discolored where you must’ve been hit. There’s a furrow in his brow, something that looks like a pout on none other than Aaron Hotchner.

“Hey,” you grab his wrists, but his hands stay on your face. “I’m fine.”

Aaron’s always worried, he’s always cared about you and about everyone on the team, but this is different. He was usually able to hide things much better than this. Much better than with you.

Now, all he sees is the tiny bloodstain on your shirt and the bandage on your cheek. All he feels is your hands squeezing his wrists and your eyes locked on his.

“You should have waited,” he says. “I could have been there.”

“Hotchner,” your deadpan tone is intact, which he’ll take as a win, even if it’s directed towards him. “You and I both know you would have done the same. I had to.”

One of his hands shifts to cup your non-injured cheek. Normally, he’d be much more composed while working, but he can’t bring himself to care about how he must look right now.

“I know you did,” he tells you, because he does. “I just wish that you didn’t. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Your stomach is tumbling, rolling, your heart doing silly things in your chest. You can hardly feel the pain of your cheek anymore when his hand is on the other, his palm warm against your skin, his gaze even warmer.

“I’m hardly hurt, Aaron. Just a scratch.”

“Right. One that required medical attention. That’s more than just a scratch, honey.”

“If you say so, Hotchner.”

He shifts his hands so that they fall into your lap, palms up and fingers instantly finding yours, tangling together perfectly. Like puzzle pieces.

“Good job, by the way.” Hotch rubs his thumb over your skin once, back and forth. “You did the right thing.”

“Learned from the best,” you say.

You’re both oblivious to the fact that the team is watching from a distance, and that the two of you look so lovesick it’s ridiculous that you haven’t spilled your feelings yet. You’re both absolutely fucked.

Where she stands with the team, Emily shakes her head, “I haven’t seen Hotch like this since… ever.”

Beside her, JJ merely shrugs, like it’s obvious, “yeah, they’re in love.”

Spencer looks at you and Aaron in that ambulance with a smile. “The odds of you guys being right are very, very high.”

Aaron Hotchner was never the biggest fan of birthdays. Was never big into the cakes and making wishes, the song and the presents and the fuss of it all.

When he started at the bureau, it stayed that way. Days off were rare enough as it was, so he’d always work on his birthday. And while he kept the signed cards from the team, he treated it as any other day. Nothing special.

This year, you’re on a mission to change that.

While it isn’t the first of Aaron’s birthdays you’ve spent with him, it’s the first one since the two of you have grown as close as you have, since you’ve felt the way you do. You’re just hoping to make it a good birthday for him.

You’ve roped the whole team into it. Decorating the conference room with streamers and balloons and a sign that hangs crooked on the wall, bringing in a cake that reads ‘Happy Birthday Hotch’ in frosting, and keeping it all a secret.

Of course, you’ve all already said happy birthday to him, and you’ve got a present stashed under your desk for later, but you’ve been doing your best to act natural even when the anticipation of your surprise for him eats at your stomach a little.

Surprises are a tricky thing, and there’s no way of knowing whether he’ll like it or not. You’ll just have to wait and see.

While in his office, the team had made it seem like they’d all left for the day, saying their goodbyes to Hotch. Instead of leaving, though, they’ve been hidden in the conference room waiting for you to bring him in.

“Aaron,” you say, knocking on his office door. “I think I lost an earring. Do you think you could help me look for it?”

Because you’re the one asking, Aaron says, “‘course, honey. Where do you think it is?”

You smile, because he’s fallen into your trap easily, because you know that he probably would search for an earring with you if you’d actually lost one.

“I remember having it on in the conference room, so maybe there.”

He stands from his desk, gesturing for you to lead the way with his hand held out. You grab onto it before he can drop it, tangling your fingers and leading him behind you.

Aaron lets you guide him, and when you open the door to the conference room and flick on the lights, he’s met with the team’s grinning faces and a chorus of, “surprise!”

For a moment, he’s speechless, frozen in his spot in the doorway with your hand in his.

No, Aaron’s never been the biggest fan of birthdays, but maybe that’s because nobody’s ever done something like this for him. You came into his life all sweet smiles and now you’re throwing him a surprise party? He’s never ever liked someone the way he likes you.

So much that like is spilling into a four letter word and he’s happy to let it.

You know him well enough to know that he doesn’t like being the center of attention too much, so the only people in the room are those of the BAU. His closest friends. And you, his favorite person.

Before he can say anything he’s being spoken to by the team, getting a ‘happy birthday, boss,’ from Derek, a spill about how hard it was to keep this a secret from Penelope, a grin from Spencer, a tip about how you’d organized all of this from Emily, a squeeze to the shoulder from JJ.

When he finally gets the chance, the others split into their own conversations, Aaron tugs you aside to the corner of the room.

“You did all of this for me?” He asks, head bent to catch your eye.

Although you’d caught the signature Hotchner smile—closed-mouthed and quick—when he saw the surprise, you’re nervous about what he might say. You worry that you’ve done too much, that he’d been pretending to like it for your sake.

“I’m sorry if it’s a bit much,” you start, anxiously tugging at your sleeves. “I wasn’t sure if you liked surprises, I know not everyone does, but I wanted to do something for you because I care about you. A lot. And birthdays are meant to be celebrated, you know?”

Aaron can’t help but let a smile spread over his face as you speak; a real smile. His heart is light, his feelings for you melting through him like the soft pink of cotton candy. He doesn’t think you could ever do anything that he wouldn’t like.

“I’ll clean it all up, too, I prom-”

Your rambling is cut off with his lips on yours. He’s kissing you.

It’s soft, the press of his mouth against yours, and it takes you a second to push back. It stays delicate, a dance between the two of you like you’d practiced a million times before.

His hands skate down your arms to hold your hands, weaving his fingers with yours, squeezing like he’s making sure you know this is real.

You feel it all over, your stomach tumbling, your heart beating in a rhythm that thumps his name. Aaron, Aaron, Aaron, over and over.

It’s a kiss worth a thousand words that you haven’t said yet, a kiss full of feelings and meaning and you know it, just by the way he does it, because you know him and he knows you. It’s you and Aaron, and it feels like the beginning of something huge. Of the rest of your life, maybe.

When he pulls back, Hotch rests his forehead against yours, giving your head a gentle nudge, locking his brown eyes on yours.

“It’s perfect,” he says.

The next thing you hear is Derek Morgan cheering, “I knew it!”

Similar words come from the rest of the team.

“Finally,” from Emily.

“About time,” from JJ.

“This isn’t surprising,” from Spencer, who smiles while saying it.

A sweet, “yay,” from Penelope.

Distracted by Aaron kissing you, you’d sort of forgotten they were there. Bashful, you tuck your head beneath Aaron’s chin, forehead against his collar. He simply tightens his hands around yours.

And when it’s time for cake, this year, Aaron Hotchner makes a wish on his birthday candles. He wishes to spend every other birthday just like this. With you.

༄

thank you so so much for reading!!! if you liked it, please please please consider reblogging/commenting and letting me know what you thought! love you <3

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds fic #bau!reader #mutual crushes #besties fic #friends to lovers #the floofiest!!!!🥰😍#fav

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mariasont · 3 months ago

Text

Second Helpings - A.H

it started with second helpings and ended with him pinning you against a dressing room wall in navy slacks.

pairings: dad bod hotch x fem!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI, public/semi public sex, unprotected sex (dont do it besties), dad bod hotch!!!!!!!, bad language, hand over mouth, partially clothed sex, AFAB reader, stomach kink lol idk what to call it wc: 2.8k

You’re getting kind of smug about it, honestly. Every morning, you watch as Aaron lets out this heavy, performative sigh while trying to coax his shirt buttons into place.

You don’t even attempt to hide your grin anymore.

Because you know what’s behind it. It’s every late night where you fed him second helpings without asking, every caramelized bite he said was too sweet and then finished anyway.

He grumbles, always. About routine, about needing to run more.

But the truth is, he’s gotten soft in the best possible way, and you’re not just proud, you’re thrilled. You did that. You, and the cream sauce.

You feel it every time your arms slide around him from behind, the way your palms sink into the new plushness.

And it’s getting harder and harder not to whisper prayers of thanks into the space between his shoulder blades, not to smile against his back like he’s something you sculpted by hand and left out to rise — golden, perfect, yours.

Though you’re brash in almost every other way — loud with your praise, greedy with your hands, always quick to flirt or tease — this particular compliment you’ve kept carefully tucked away.

You’ll rave about his hair, his face, the way his hands look on a steering wheel, but openly mentioning your delight in his rounded stomach feels embarrassingly intimate. A bit too direct even for your bold tastes. So, your admiration remains quiet, disguised in playful affection and touches, all while hoping he secretly knows just how much you adore this version of him.

Insecurity has never really been his thing, and thank heavens for that. He’s still Aaron Hotchner, after all, entirely too practical and self-assured to obsess over vanity.

He only contains mild irritation about the way his expensive suits pinch in all the wrong places lately. Even with that irritation, convincing him to step foot in one of those swanky boutiques he usually sidesteps took days of sweet-talk, strategic eye-fluttering, and a frankly heroic amount of praise, even though you both know his wallet wouldn’t even notice the difference.

“What do you think of this one?” Aaron asks casually, stepping out of the dressing room with hands smoothing down the front of the jacket.

For a moment, language ceases to exist. Your brain misfires entirely, every thought in your skull vaporized by the sight of him, morphed into fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.

It pulls around his thighs, showcasing their new, fuller shape, and cinches at his waist in a manner that borders on temptation incarnate. You, however, are particularly focused on the way his stomach swells over his belt. Your mouth feels dry.

Heat pulses between your hips, your clit throbbing in time with your heartbeat like it knows what it wants. You shift, subtly, like that’ll help. It doesn’t.

“I think,” you manage weakly, “we should definitely buy that one.”

The words sound steady, but inside, you’re a wildfire on stilts. Your smile stays soft and polite, while your hands drag slowly down the front of his chest and sturdy shoulders.

You pretend to inspect the suit’s fit, fingers trailing lower, thumbs dipping just above his waistband, grazing the edge of where belly becomes something even hungrier.

Stretching onto your toes, you press a kiss to Aaron’s cheek and murmur casually, “I knew navy was your color.”

He fidgets with the jacket, running his hands down the sides like maybe it’ll stretch if he asks nicely.

“Still feels a bit snug,” he says, casually, with that little crooked smile.

It’s barely even a concern, just commentary. Your eyes drop automatically to his waist. You want to tell him snug is good. Snug is perfect. Snug is making you wet.

But you just hum in response, noncommittal on the surface. Your hands say otherwise. You slip behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. You’ve always been a little clingy, sure, but lately, you couldn’t even stop if you wanted to.

You peek your head out from behind his arm, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “Well, I happen to think this is your very best look.”

“You do remember,” he says mildly, “that this shopping trip was your idea.” He pauses, his hand settling over yours with casual intimacy, his thumb rubbing slow over your knuckles. “You said I needed suits that fit better. Not… tighter.” His gaze drags over your reflection. “Though I have a good idea why you seem to enjoy them this way.”

Mortification floods through you and the only survival tactic your body can come up with is to disappear.

You duck forward and press your face into the broad expanse of his back, stifling your laughter into the ridge of his spine.

“Ugh,” you grumble into the fabric of his jacket, voice muffled, “of course you know. You weren’t supposed to notice. That was private.”

He turns slowly in your embrace, smiling softly as he nudges your chin upward with one finger.

“Believe me, I figured it out the first time you cooked for me and looked ready to cry if I didn’t eat dessert. You didn’t exactly hide your intentions.”

You let out a breath that flutters embarrassingly against his throat, forehead still resting against his shoulder.

“...I didn’t think it was that obvious,” you whisper, half-laughing.

He raises a brow. You bury your face again.

“Okay, fine. Maybe I was trying to feed you into submission,” you tease. Then, more seriously, “But… you just look happier, you know? Healthier. Like you’re finally letting yourself enjoy things.” Your voice softens. “You take care of everyone else all the time. I like that you feel safe enough to relax around me. And —” You glance up at him with a grin. “Selfishly, it’s pretty hot.”

Aaron laughs, that rare kind that vibrates low in his chest and through yours. His fingers brush the side of your neck, then tug lightly on your ponytail, just enough to make you tilt your chin.

“You know exactly why I’m happier. You’re the one who’s been determined to spoil me every chance you get.”

You send a silent grateful prayer to whatever benevolent deity governs luxury boutiques, relieved beyond measure that the store is deserted, the salespeople tucked somewhere far out of sight.

Your hand brushes against Aaron’s belt. “You know, it’s taking a lot of self-control not to start spoiling you right here in this dressing room.”

Aaron catches your hand mid-drift and guides it back to the safety of his waist. Still, his eyes spark darker, his voice lowering a shade.

“While I admire your enthusiasm,” he says, “we might need to revisit the rules about public behavior.”

“If I remember correctly, you’re usually willing to negotiate.”

His nostrils flare, subtle, but there, and he leans in a fraction. “Negotiations require proper timing and place.”

You lean in return, close enough for your breath to ghost against his jaw. Your gaze is wide, guileless, the exact look you’ve perfected just for him. He knows it’s a trap. He always knows.

You whisper sweetly, almost pleading, “I’ll be quiet, Aaron. Really quiet.”

His thumb moves slowly over your pulse, and something in his expression stutters, not a full break, but the first, beautiful crack in the glass.

He swallows hard.

“You’re not playing fair.”

You take that as a green light, not a loud one, not even official, but enough.

You grab his hand, pull him into the dressing room, and lock the door.

Your heart slams into overdrive, giddy and incredulous, because, truthfully, you’d braced yourself for another spectacular defeat.

Getting Aaron to relent in public, even tucked away, feels as hopeless as convincing winter to surrender to spring early. He’s built from impeccable propriety and poise.

Countless times, you’ve prodded at his limits — hotel balconies, late-night drives, even in your own backyard — but with each attempt, you were redirected with affectionate warnings and raised eyebrows.

You glanced upward, immediately snagging on that subtle, guilty amusement taking over his features. It dances at the corners of his lips, a small flame you’ve tirelessly tried to spark into something bigger.

With the wickedest smile, you keep his gaze locked tight as your fingers tease the edge of your dress, drawing the fabric upward, baring just enough skin to erase any doubt that your intentions are anything of the innocent kind.

“I promise we’ll be quick,” you breathe against his lips, soothing his doubts as you kiss him with a gentle reassurance that still burns brightly in desire. You press into him, heart leaping when you feel the rigid outline pressing insistently against his slacks. “Please, Aaron. I need you now. So, so badly.”

Aaron’s resistance snaps with an almost audible click, his strong hands seizing your thighs as he guides you backward, caging you against the solidity of the wall.

His mouth descends upon your neck in slow kisses, each one melting into your skin like hot wax. His fingers slip underneath your hiked-up dress, grazing across your underwear, now shamefully damp with anticipation.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers in stunned approval, “look how soaked you already are.”

Warmth floods your cheeks, even as you laugh quietly against his shoulder. His surprise would be adorable if you weren’t already half-mad with need.

“Well, whose fault is that?” you tease, fingers gripping his waist tighter, pulling him close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. “Seriously, have you seen yourself lately? Now please, can you just —” you pause, shivering impatiently as you lift your hips, “— get inside me already?”

He laughs under his breath, hands deftly unfastening his pants just enough, leaving his suit otherwise impossibly pristine, as if even now he can’t bear to sacrifice his composure entirely.

“You always get what you want, don’t you?”

An involuntary, choked sound escapes your throat when Aaron pushes forward, plunging into you with one controlled thrust, filling you so completely that it leaves room for nothing else.

The intensity sends electricity through your body, scattering constellations behind your closed eyelids. You clench around him reflexively, relishing how he stretches you.

A distant thought flickers through your mind, laughing at your own foolishness for ever questioning whether convincing him was worth it when he feels so perfect right here, right now.

“Oh god, Aar —” His palm covers your mouth, silencing the needy cry before it can fully form, your voice reduced to a swathed whine beneath his hand.

His eyes glisten with teasing reproach, even as his hips persist their pitiless pace. “Shh,” he scolds, leaning close enough that his lips graze your ear, “I distinctly remember someone promising she’d behave.”

He underscores his sentence with a thrust that leaves you weak-kneed, clasping helplessly against his chest.

Quiet, right, what an outrageous promise that had been. Still, you fight valiantly, teeth gently sinking into his hand to keep your pleas from slipping out. You briefly congratulate yourself on your restraint, but the shaky pride crumbles wholly when his fingertips slide skillfully over your swollen clit, tearing your discipline into ribbons.

You arch into his touch.

He leans in, chuckling against your temple then leaving a kiss there.

“You’re adorable when you pretend at subtlety, but I think we both know it’s never been your talent.” Your hold tightens frantically on his lapels, breath fastening sharply. “Maybe next time,” he whispers huskily, “you could spare us both and just tell me outright how much you want this.”

Aaron uncovers your mouth, and the words rush out between panting breaths, completely beyond your management. Your legs cling tighter, wrinkling his suit jacket carelessly.

“Wasn’t supposed to be so — so obvious,” you stammer, mind spinning from the intensity of his thrusts. “But you’re — Aaron, you’re so good like this.”

He seems to anticipate your reaction before you even feel it yourself, his palm clamping firmly over your lips just as his cock slides forward, nudging the spot that makes your vision blur. Your cry hums against calloused skin, back bowing, pressing your chest flush to his as your hips move on their own, greedily seeking more of the blissful sensation only he can offer.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he whispers into your hair, voice roughened by desire but still so delicate. “You’re so incredible, you know that? Always so determined to take care of me, always looking after me. It’s your turn now.”

He thrusts again, bottomless, more purposeful.

“Right now, this is for you.” His voice shakes, strained with sincerity. “My perfect girl. Just let go, this is all yours.”

Your orgasm crashes over you without warning, premature and fierce, igniting every nerve in your body until you’re certain you’ll burn right through his touch.

Aaron’s hand absorbs the worst of your moan, but you’re sure the raw sound somehow echoes off the walls regardless. Your body trembles and grips around him, unwilling to let go as endless shocks of pleasure surge enormously through your core.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers hoarsely, a comforting rasp in your ear, thrusts slowing as he guides you through the aftershocks.

You feel his shudder, his breathing turning uneven, labored, signaling his own approaching release. He presses his face into your hair again, stifling a deep, throaty groan as he surges forward once more, hips snapping sharply, spilling inside you.

Sticky warmth floods your core, leaving you shivering and satisfied. Your thoughts swirl lazily in the aftermath, a dazed smile forming.

You float pleasantly, blissfully aware that all thoughts of propriety, pressed suits, and public decency have completely dissolved, and it feels like perfect freedom.

His hand lifts slowly, freeing your mouth as your breath rushes out in a slightly dizzy laugh, head spinning as you sag back against the wall.

Your smile is dreamy, eyes barely able to focus as you tap lightly at his chest. “Mmm… If anyone asks, it was all your idea.”

“Convenient narrative,” he says dryly, pulling out of you.

The emptiness leaves you instantly unstable, thighs fluttering and a faint, overwhelmed moan tumbling from your lips as you feel his release gradually escaping, trickling down your thighs.

His fingers move, carefully gathering the slick excess dripping down your legs and forcing it back inside you, causing you to gasp sharply. Your thighs spasm uncontrollably.

“Easy,” Aaron says soothingly, pressing kisses against your cheekbone. “I know, sweetheart, it’s a lot, but you’ll need to hold it until we’re somewhere more private. Think you can manage?”

You nod hazily, pressing your thighs more firmly around his fingers, stabilizing yourself.

“Yeah — yeah, I think,” you say, “but just keep your hand right there, okay?”

He grins, pulling his hand back.

“Tempting offer,” he says, pressing his slick-coated fingers to your parted lips. “But let’s start by taking care of this little mess you made, hmm?”

With eyes never leaving him, you offer him a smile, taking his digits into your mouth, savoring the intimacy.

When you release him, you tilt your head, eyes still heavy with contentment, and say, “So… are you keeping the suit?”

“At this point, I think purchasing it is my only decent option,” he murmurs wryly, gesturing pointedly at the unmistakable evidence left behind, his own precum mingled with your wetness staining the crotch area of the slacks.

Your smile grows impish, eyes sparkling lazily as you rise to peck his mouth. “Exactly as planned.”

The sudden, polite knock makes you jump, panic briefly flashing across your features as a voice calls out, “Sir? How’s the fit on that suit? Need assistance?”

Aaron moves before you can even blink, stepping protectively in front of you, shoulders squared defensively toward the door. You bury your face into his chest, heart hammering as you struggle to remain perfectly silent.

“Everything’s fine, thank you. Just making some final adjustments.”

The quiet returns as footsteps fade, leaving you pressed safely into Aaron. Slowly, he lifts your chin, meeting your gaze with tender exasperation, mouth curving softly upward.

“We’re going to get banned from this place,” he says dryly, smoothing your hair back from your flushed face.

“Worth it.” You give him a cheeky smile, wrapping your arms loosely around his waist. “I really do love this look on you, Aaron.”

His gaze softens even further, thumb brushing tenderly along your jawline.

"I know," he whispers, voice deep with meaning, "and that's exactly why I'm buying it."

You stay there there for a second longer than you should, breathing him in. You’re sweaty, flushed, possibly glowing, and he’s just standing there like a man trying to pretend he didn’t just rearrange your insides next to a garment rack.

You bite your lip to keep from laughing. He smooths down your dress like that’ll help. It won’t. But he tries anyway. And in the middle of it, you think, yeah, this is definitely the man I’m gonna make lasagna for tonight.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x fem reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #hotchner #criminal minds smut #smut #🌺 maria writes

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klvhotchreid · 13 days ago

Text

Two weeks notice + Aaron Hotchner

Summary: You give Aaron your two weeks notice because you want to help raise Jack especially after everything that’s happened. He’s been showing up late to work, exhausted, and now here he was with Jack . You saw it coming. You knew he was trying to hold it all together.

Aaron Hotchner X JacksGodmother!femBAU!reader

Angst a lot of angst — hurt comfort healing grieving ..

Warnings : Mentions of Haley, Jessica, Strauss , emotional grief, single parenthood. Aaron doesn’t open up easily. Reader was close to Haley, and part of her decision is based on what she believes Haley would’ve wanted. But what reader hasn’t fully admitted is that she’s starting to fall for Aaron and she doesn’t know how to live with that, or what it might mean. Not yet , she doesn’t want to betray her and Haley’s friendship by falling for a wonderful man who’s trying to hold it together for his son. WC: 3.5k

A/n based off of season 5 of criminal minds which broke my heart for Aaron and Jack … hope you enjoy this .. it’s my first time writing something like this .. Aaron on the phone with Haley and Jack “I NEED YOU TO WORK THE CASE … Jack did you hear me , mommy I need to work the case .. Jack give your mom a hug for me .. 😭😭😭😭

@ssamorganhotchner .. hope you like this one bestie

Divider by @dollywons

— ❤︎︎—It’s been a daze the past few weeks.

Ever since everything happened with Haley, people have been grieving in their own ways. Quiet. Slow. Especially around the BAU. And Strauss—she was everywhere. Asking questions. Demanding reports. Trying to piece it all together like grief could be processed on a checklist.

But when all of that faded away… that’s when you started noticing the changes in Aaron.

He was struggling. You saw it. You felt it. And it hurt.

He’d lost Haley.

Jack was all he had left.

You wondered how he still managed to look so put together—how he kept showing up, kept leading, kept holding it all in. But you saw it. The shift. Deep down, Aaron Hotchner wasn’t the same. And he wasn’t supposed to be

“He’s been struggling,” you tell Penelope.

She doesn’t look up right away—she’s kind of in a daze herself. Everyone has been.

Pretty much ever since what happened to Haley.

“Huh?” she says, like she didn’t catch it the first time.

“Sorry,” you say, but she’s already shaking her head.

“No, don’t be. I just… my brain is scrambled eggs right now.”

She starts typing again, half-focused.

She’s messing with a few things on the computer, clicking around, like she’s trying to work but can’t really land on anything.

“I can’t concentrate,” she says, frustrated.

“I know,” you tell her quietly.

You take a deep breath.

Then let it out.

Penelope turns to you.

"Everything's gonna be okay," she says gently.

You nod, even if you don’t totally believe it.

"I just… I wish I could help. In some way."

"We all do," she says softly.

"The best thing we can do for him right now is be there. Just… be there."

"I know," you whisper.

The door opens and JJ walks in.

“Anyone hear from Hotch?”

You shake your head.

“Garcia?”

She sighs, not looking away from her screen. “Nope.”

“He’s not here yet,” JJ mutters, glancing at the clock.

“He just needs time,” Garcia says, still typing but softer now, like even her voice is careful when it’s about him.

Just then, Aaron walked in with Jack.

You stood the second you saw them—Jack in his arms, his little backpack slung over Aaron’s shoulder.

"Aaron," you say, voice a little breathless.

He turns to you.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says quietly.

Jack sees you and immediately squirms to get down, reaching for you with both arms.

Jessica had a business trip,” Aaron explains as Jack runs toward you. “I told her to go. She’s done enough for us already.”

Jack reaches you and you bend down to scoop him up.

“Hey, buddy.”

“I missed you,” Jack says, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Missed you too, bud.”

You glance at Aaron. “Let me watch him. Go do what you gotta do. Me and Garcia—we can handle this. Okay?”

He hesitates for a second… then nods. Grateful. Tired. Trusting.

You look back at Jack.

“Wanna hang with me and Aunt Pen?”

Jack nods, you could tell how excited he was getting just by his eye lighting up . “Yes.”

So you carry him over to Garcia’s desk, her smile already waiting for the both of you.

Aaron was watching you as you walked back to Garcia’s office with Jack in your arms.

He realized he forgot to give you Jack’s bag, so he followed quietly behind.

You both stepped into Garcia’s office just as she looked up—and squealed.

“Jack Attack!” she gasped, clapping her hands.

You gently set Jack down and he ran right to her.

“Wanna help me with some very important computer things?” she asked.

“Yes!” Jack nodded, already climbing up beside her.

“Okay, hop on up here,” she told him, sliding her keyboard over.

Aaron gently tugged your arm. “Can we talk a minute?”

“Sure,” you said. Then to Garcia— “I’ll be right back, okay?”

She nodded without even turning, already showing Jack something on her screen.

Aaron handed you Jack’s bag. “Everything he might need is in there,” he said.

You took it. “How are you?”

Then you caught yourself. “Right. Stupid question. Sorry.”

He hesitated. Like he wanted to answer but didn’t know how.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you told him. “But… please let me be here for you?”

He tells you he’s okay.

You don’t buy it.

But you let it slide, because you know he’s going through a lot—and maybe okay is the only word he has right now.

“Can I—can I hug you?” you ask, quietly.

Then you shake your head. “Never mind. It’s okay. I just… I’m just trying to be here for you. And I—” He pulls you in before you can finish. It’s not long. It’s not tight. But it’s real.

“Thank you,” he says. “For helping with Jack today.

”You nod, voice soft. “You’re welcome.”

Then you turn back toward Garcia’s office. Jack’s already telling her some story with his whole heart, hands flying in the air, and she’s eating up every word like it’s the most important assignment she’s ever been assigned. You walk in and sit with them—just to be close. Just to be there. A few hours had passed , Jack had lunch he had a lunch-bull the ham and cheese with crackers in it and a juice box .. when he was done , he had climbed up on your lap , before you realized it Jack had fallen asleep on you in Penelope’s office.

She’d stepped out for a bit, left you both in the soft hum of screens and silence.

That’s when Aaron walked in. Quiet, like always.

He stopped in the doorway when he saw you—Jack curled up against your chest, sleeping peacefully.

That sight broke something in him. But he didn’t let it show.

You turned, catching him standing there. His face was tired.

“He had fun,” you said softly. “But yeah, he was tired.”

You hesitated.

“Aaron… we need to talk.”

He nodded silently and stepped forward to carefully pick Jack up from your arms.

“I haven’t told anyone else,” you said. “Because I needed to tell you first.”

Now he looked at you—really looked. Concern tightening his expression.

“I want to put in my two weeks.”

You said it gently. No drama. Just truth.

Garcia walked in right then, just in time to hear it.

“No,” she said instantly. “No. No way.”

“She’s right,” Aaron said quietly.

You handed him Jack’s bag, steadier than you felt.

“Aaron, please. Hear me out.”

He paused, eyes searching yours. Then nodded.

“Fine. Follow me.”

He turned, and the two of you headed toward the elevator—quiet footsteps, unspoken things hanging heavy in the air.

Once you both reached the elevator, you gently touched Jack’s little hand.

“Aaron, please listen.”

Your voice cracked just a little.

“This is killing me,” you said.

“Watching you like this…”

You took a breath, pushed the words out before you lost the nerve.

“I need to do this. I want to. I want to help you raise Jack.”

You tried to say it all at once, like if you hesitated you might take it back.

“I miss Haley too,” you added softly. “She was my best friend.”

Aaron didn’t speak. He just stood there, holding his son, holding all of it in.

“I know she’d want Jack—and you—to be taken care of,” you said. “And I can’t just keep watching you drown.”

“I can’t have you do that,” he said finally. Quiet. Firm.

But you looked up at him and shook your head.

“The thing is, Aaron… I’m not asking.”

“This is what I want. I love that little boy with all my heart.”

You swallowed. “I’m his godmother.”

“I know,” he said, almost a whisper.

“So let me help take care of him.”

He paused. Eyes on you, then on Jack. You didn’t expect him to break down, and he didn’t. But you saw something shift. Something soft and worn down in his silence.

“I’ll think about it,” he said.

Then, after a long beat—

“Thank you again. For today.”

Garcia found you standing there, eyes locked on the elevator doors that had just closed.

“You’re not really thinking about doing this… are you?” she asked.

“Doing what?”

Before you could say more, Rossi stepped up beside you.

“I put in my two weeks,” you said quietly.

Rossi blinked. “Kiddo… are you sure?”

You nodded once, arms folding across your chest.

“You love this job,” he reminded you.

“I know,” you said. “But Aaron needs me.”

That stopped him. For a moment, Rossi didn’t say anything.

“Kiddo,” he said again, softer this time. “I know your heart’s in the right place. But are you really sure about this?”

“I am,” you said, letting out a quiet sigh.

“Jack needs me,” you added.

“I know you’re his godmother,” Rossi said.

“Right,” you nodded. “And I want this, Rossi. I need to do this.”

He gave you a look. “Oh no, kid…”

“What?”

Garcia’s eyes widened a little. “Oh crap,” she whispered.

She wasn’t a profiler like the rest of them—but even she was picking up on it now.

“Think about this,” Rossi said gently.

“No,” you said. “My mind’s made up. If he agrees to this… I’m doing it.”

Later that evening, you were the only one left in the bullpen. The lights were dim, most of the team long gone for the night. You hadn’t even heard the elevator.

“Okay,” Aaron said behind you.

Your heart skipped. You jumped a little—turning to see him standing there, Jack at his side.

“If you really want to do this,” he said, voice low, calm like always, “then I’ll turn in your two weeks.”

You looked at him. Really looked.

“I do,” you said.

Jack reached out for you without hesitation. You stepped toward him, arms open, and Aaron handed him over without a word.

You held Jack tight, closing your eyes for a second as he tucked his head against your shoulder. Your heart was full and aching all at once. Once you saw Aaron looking at you your heart still beating fast , your eyes locked on his , you whispered thank you to him …

You walked out of the bullpen with Jack in your arms, Aaron close behind.

“The team?” he asked.

“I’ll tell them,” you said quickly. “Actually, Garcia and Rossi already know. They told me to think about it, but my mind’s made up.” You glanced over at him, steady and sure.

“They’re going to miss you,” he said softly.

“I’ll miss them, too,” you admitted, “but this is my godson and he needs me… and so do you,” you added, meeting his eyes. You hand Jack to Aaron he puts him in he’s little chair seat in the SUV , you buckle him , Jack tells you he loves you , you tell him you love him too ..

He shut the SUV door, walked around to the driver’s side, and pulled out his phone. You stayed standing there, watching him quietly.

He opened his email and sent the message.

“Well… that’s it,” he said, glancing over at you. “I just sent your two weeks to Strauss.”

You nodded slowly.

“Okay,” you whispered.

You wanted to reach for him—say something else—but you didn’t. Not yet.

Later that night, back at your apartment, everything felt quiet. Too quiet. You set your keys down and dropped onto your couch. Your hands were in your lap, but your mind was already with them—Aaron and Jack.

How would this even work?

Your phone buzzed suddenly, breaking your thoughts.

Strauss.

You didn’t even hesitate—you declined the call.

A voicemail came in right after—

[ “Can you stop by my office first thing tomorrow when you come in?”

You rolled your eyes and muttered to yourself,

“I’m not worried. Nothing’s stopping me from doing this.”

And nothing was.

You leaned back into the couch, phone in hand, staring up at the ceiling for a moment. You didn’t want to overthink it—but it was already happening.

Would you just go over when he needed you?

Would you be there all the time?

What were you even walking into?

You opened your texts and started typing without thinking:

Aaron??

How would we do this?

I wanna do this… but how would it work? Would I only come over when you need me? Or would I move in with you and Jack?

You hit send. Then you set your phone on the coffee table and sat there in the quiet, just waiting.

For him.

The next morning, you got ready like it was just another day. You checked your phone and saw five unread messages.

JJ: You're leaving the BAU?

Emily: ??? …

Spencer: you know I don’t like change …

Garcia: thought you were going to think about it …

Aaron: we’ll talk when you get in this morning

Rossi: I’m proud of you, kiddo. I’m just worried about you.

Your fingers hovered over your screen for a second. You didn’t reply to any of them.

You sat down on the edge of your bed, staring at your phone.

Was this too much for him? you wondered to yourself. Too much for everyone?

It was a chilly morning. You grabbed your favorite jacket, the one that felt like comfort, and threw it on. You grabbed your keys and headed out the door.

When you got to the BAU building, the lobby felt heavier than usual. The weight of your decision was starting to settle in your chest.

Strauss was the first person to see you.

“You’re leaving?” she asked, stepping in front of you.

You nodded.

“Is this about Aaron?”

You looked her in the eye… and lied.

“No,” you said. “It’s about Jack.”

You said it soft, but firm.

She paused, studying you. Then she gave a small nod like she understood.

“You’re a strong person,” she said. “And unique to the team. We’re definitely going to miss you.”

That shocked you a little. You weren’t expecting that.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

“You always have a place here,” she added. “You hear me?”

You nodded again. A lump formed in your throat, but you swallowed it down.

Then you kept walking… straight into the day that would change everything.

Once you reached the bullpen, everyone was already gathered around like they were waiting for you.

Spencer had been reading, but he looked up the second you stepped in. Aaron came over to you.

“You ready to do this?” he asked, his voice soft.

You nodded.

He walked with you toward the group. Garcia had Jack on her hip, gently rocking him. You cleared your throat.

“Hey, everyone…”

Your voice cracked a little, but you kept going.

“I guess it’s out now,” you said, trying to smile. “I put in my two weeks last night.”

“No…” Garcia said under her breath, already tearing up.

Spencer stood abruptly and walked away, down the hall. You felt your heart tug, but you stayed strong.

“I need to do this,” you said. “For Jack. Please try to understand.”

You looked around at your team — your family.

“I love this job. I really do… but I also love Jack. And I want to be here for him. For Aaron.”

You looked at Hotch for just a second. He held your gaze, unreadable.

“Please… don’t make this any harder than it already is,” you said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Rossi stepped forward and pulled you into a hug. He leaned down and whispered into your ear, “You need to tell him, kiddo. Before it’s too late.”

Before you could respond, JJ spoke up, “My turn,” stepping in to hug you next.

One by one, they all came to hug you — Emily, JJ, Garcia. Even Morgan gave you that soft shoulder squeeze like he knew what you weren’t saying out loud.

Everyone… except Spencer.

Aaron pulls you aside, just off to the side of the bullpen. His voice is quiet, but steady.

“So On the 19th… you’ll be living full-time with me and Jack. Is that gonna be a problem?”

You shake your head. “No.”

“Aaron… I can stay with you now,” you offer, meaning every word.

He studies your face for a moment. “So you’ll leave the team now? Instead of finishing out the two weeks?”

You nod. “Yeah. I can take Jack home now, if that’s okay.”

You glance over your shoulder toward the team. “We all said our goodbyes.”

“Everyone but Spencer,” he says, not as a question — just stating what you both know.

You pause, then whisper, “Right. I’ll be right back.”

You walk out of the bullpen and find Spencer pacing in the hallway.

“Don’t,” he says the moment he sees you. “You can’t do this.”

“I just did,” you say softly, walking toward him. “Spence, you know I have to.”

“I’m not saying goodbye forever,” you add gently.

“That’s what everyone says,” he mutters, looking down.

You try to smile, but your chest feels heavy. “Spence, you hated me when I first got here.”

“I did,” he admits. “But I care about you now. And I just… I don’t want you to go.”

“I’m sorry, Spence,” you say, barely holding it together. “But Jack… I know he needs me.”

“So do we,” he says. “Everyone’s pretending like they’re okay with this, but it’s not gonna be the same without you.”

“I know,” you whisper. You blink fast, trying not to cry — you hate crying in front of the team. In front of anyone.

“Jack and Aaron both need this,” you say, quieter now.

“I know,” Spencer replies, voice just as soft.

You step closer. He doesn’t hesitate — he pulls you into a hug.

“I’m gonna miss you,” he says.

“I’ll miss you too,” you whisper against his shoulder.

And you mean it.

Aaron and Jack find you in the hallway.

Aaron gently hands Jack over to you.

“You sure you’re ready for this today?” he asks, watching you closely.

You nod. “Yeah... I am.”

You look down at Jack in your arms. “Hey, Jack? You wanna hang out with me at home today?” you ask softly.

Jack nods, his little hand grabbing onto your shirt.

Aaron steps closer, pulling you in — careful, but still warm — with Jack resting on your hip between you both.

“You have no idea how much this means to me,” he says, his voice low.

You nod again, barely holding it together. “I’ll see you when I get home, okay?” He says …

“Be safe,” Aaron tells you, glancing at both of you like he’s trying to memorize the moment.

“You too,” you whisper, then turn to head out — Jack in your arms, your heart somewhere between full and heavy.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #ssa aaron hotchner #i can’t stop thinking about him #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner hurt/comfort #mine🌟#aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fandom #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner x reader

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reidmarieprentiss · 11 months ago

Text

i love you

Summary: Spencer falls in love with a famous singer, Spencer also has a hard time controlling his jealousy.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x pop star! fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst

Warnings/Includes: insecurity, cheating accusations, arguing, lack of trust, regrets, being famous, paparazzi, bestie Billie Eilish

Word count: 13k

a/n: helloooo hehe sorry about the angst again butttt i have ideas for a happier story line if y'all want a part 2 !!!!

update! part two is here!!!

main masterlist

February, 2006

In the heart of New York City, where towering skyscrapers meet the pulse of creativity, you find yourself stepping into the sleek, modern office of a prestigious publishing house. Today’s interview isn’t just any ordinary sit-down; it’s being conducted by the chief editor themselves—a rare honor reserved for only the most influential figures. As one of the world’s most celebrated pop stars, the stakes are high, and they’ve rolled out the red carpet for you, eager to delve into the stories behind your meteoric rise and iconic career.

You had barely wrapped up your latest thought, answering a question about the creative process behind your new album, when a soft knock interrupted the flow of your interview. The chief editor, who had been so focused on your words, paused, a small frown creasing their brow as the door cracked open.

The person who had greeted you and your team at the front desk earlier poked their head into the room, eyes wide with apology and urgency. “Hi! I’m so sorry, but we have two agents here from the FBI. They say they are working on a case that could involve some of our publications. What should I tell them?”

The editor’s eyes flicked back to you, concern knitting their features together. “Y/N, I am so so sorry. Do you mind if I step out for one second?”

You offered them a reassuring smile, waving a hand dismissively. “No! Not at all! Take care of whatever you need.”

“Thank you, thank you,” the editor breathed, clearly relieved as they stood and followed the receptionist out of the room, leaving you alone for the moment.

After a few minutes, they returned, apologizing profusely for the interruption, but you could see the tension still etched on their face, the slight edge of distraction in their voice. The rest of the interview passed without incident, but once it wrapped up, you couldn’t shake the curiosity bubbling inside you.

As you gathered your things, you politely declined their offer to show you to the bathroom. "Thank you, but I think I can manage," you said with a smile, wanting to stretch your legs a bit and maybe take a peek at the source of the earlier interruption.

After wandering down the corridor for a minute or two, it became clear that you had no idea where you were going. The building was far larger than you anticipated, with identical doors lining each hallway. You turned a corner, hoping you were heading in the right direction when you noticed a room with an open door.

Inside, two men stood by a large table filled with neatly organized files and documents. Their presence was commanding, unmistakably official, and more than a little bit attractive. One was tall, with broad shoulders and dark hair, his expression serious as he sifted through a stack of papers. The other, slightly younger, had sharp, intelligent eyes behind a pair of glasses, his movements precise as he carefully handled what appeared to be an older document.

You hesitated for a moment, not wanting to intrude on whatever important work they were doing, but your need to find the bathroom was becoming more pressing by the second.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped into the doorway and cleared your throat softly. “Hi! I’m sorry to bother you, but do you happen to know where the bathroom is?”

Both men looked up, their attention snapping to you as if they had been pulled out of deep concentration. Aaron Hotchner blinked in surprise, his composed demeanor faltering just slightly before he offered a polite, practiced smile. “No bother at all. I don’t believe I know where the bathroom is. Reid?”

Spencer Reid barely looked up from his work, his attention already drifting back to the papers in front of him. “Out the door to the left, down the hall, last door on the right,” he mumbled, his voice soft and almost distracted.

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. Oh, he was pretty—and not immediately bowled over by your presence? You liked a challenge. “Oh! Thank you!” you chirped, your tone a bit more enthusiastic than you intended, but it wasn’t every day you met someone who didn’t immediately fall into the rhythm of your world.

After finding the bathroom, you couldn’t shake the thought of that cute, nerdy man with the sharp intellect and distracted charm. You quickly texted your assistant, Dylan—who was also your brother—asking him to pick up two coffees and some pastries, and to meet you on the floor where you were currently stationed.

When the delivery arrived, you approached the room where the men were working once again. You knocked lightly on the doorframe to announce your presence. “Hi! Thanks again for helping me out earlier. I thought maybe you two could use a little pick-me-up,” you said, holding out the goods with a bright smile.

Aaron looked at the offering with a hint of suspicion, his eyes narrowing slightly as he assessed your motives. “Wow. That’s very kind of you, thank you,” he said, his voice polite but guarded.

You quickly picked up on the hesitation and offered an explanation. “Sorry, I know it’s a little odd to get gifts from strangers. I just like paying it forward. You helped me, so I do something kind for you, and maybe you’ll do something kind for someone else later.”

Aaron’s expression softened at your explanation, a hint of warmth creeping into his eyes. “I like that. Thank you again,” he said, this time with more sincerity.

Meanwhile, Spencer still hadn’t fully reacted, offering only a tight-lipped smile and a nod of acknowledgment. You handed the coffee and pastry to Aaron before turning your attention to Spencer, who was already drifting back into his work. “Here,” you said, holding out the coffee to him.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, glancing up briefly. “Any sugar?”

“Uh, no, just black. I’m sure there’s some in the break room…?” you offered, tilting your head slightly in question.

He nodded again, his attention already starting to slip back to the papers in front of him. “Alright… I’ll just put this here,” you said, placing his pastry on top of what appeared to be his satchel, casually slipping a note underneath the paper bag. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself—maybe he’d notice, or maybe he wouldn’t. Either way, you’d planted a seed of curiosity in that brilliant mind of his, and that was enough for now.

—

Spencer's eyes lingered on the note, the neat, playful handwriting contrasting sharply with the serious documents scattered across his desk. He blinked a few times, trying to piece together the brief interaction he had with you earlier, but the details were frustratingly fuzzy. He’d been so engrossed in his work that he barely registered your presence, let alone your face. The only thing he could recall was the faint scent of coffee and the sound of your cheerful voice, but nothing more.

Across the room, Hotch was watching the scene unfold with a faint smile, his amusement barely concealed. He hadn’t known who you were either, but he found the situation oddly endearing. Spencer, brilliant and socially awkward as he was, seemed utterly baffled by the note in his hand. Hotch couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head at his younger colleague’s bewilderment.

“Staring at it won’t help,” Hotch advised, his tone light. “Maybe you should call?”

“I don’t know her,” Spencer replied, his brow furrowing as he continued to scrutinize the note as if it held some hidden meaning he was missing.

Hotch leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest with a knowing look. “You could get to know her,” he suggested, the amusement in his voice evident. “She obviously went out of her way to reach out to you. It’s not every day someone leaves their number like that.”

Spencer hesitated, his mind racing through all the possible outcomes of making that call. On one hand, he was intensely curious about you—who you were, why you’d left the note, and what you’d seen in him that made you interested. On the other hand, the idea of reaching out to someone he didn’t know, especially in such a personal way, was daunting.

But Hotch had a point. He always did.

Spencer glanced down at the note again, reading the words over and over as if they would change with each pass.

Give me a call when you’re not so busy? Promise I’m more interesting than some old prints <3 Xxx xxx xxxx.

There was a lightness to your words, a promise of something different, something outside the usual routine that consumed him. Maybe, just maybe, it was worth the risk to find out what that was. Taking a deep breath, Spencer carefully folded the note and slipped it into his pocket, the decision made, even if he didn’t fully understand it yet.

Hotch’s smile widened just a fraction as he watched Spencer’s resolve take shape. “Good choice,” he said simply, returning his attention to his own work, leaving Spencer to contemplate when—and how—he’d make that call.

—

March, 2006

Life as a pop star was nothing short of chaotic, especially when you were barely 24 and on the brink of releasing yet another album. Your days were a whirlwind of recording studios, press conferences, interviews, and the constant need to stay relevant on social media. It was a lot to handle, but having your brother, Dylan, by your side made it all feel a little more manageable. He was your rock, keeping things running smoothly even when the demands of fame threatened to overwhelm you.

Currently, you found yourself back in LA, swept up in a relentless schedule that Dylan had meticulously organized. The days blurred together—back-to-back interviews, recording sessions that stretched into the early hours of the morning, and brief moments snatched away for obligatory social media posts. In the midst of all this, the memory of the mystery man you’d given your number to in New York had faded into the background. It was easier not to dwell on it, to keep your expectations low. After all, not everyone was going to reciprocate your interest, and you’d learned early on in life not to take things personally.

Weeks passed, and your mind was consumed by the demands of your career. The mystery man became just that—a mystery you tucked away, almost forgotten amidst the chaos. That is, until one quiet evening in your LA apartment, when you were finally able to unwind, your phone buzzed with a call from an unknown number.

You stared at the screen, your instincts urging you not to answer. In your line of work, you never knew when or if your number might get leaked, and you weren’t about to take any chances. But as soon as the call ended, curiosity got the better of you. Who could it have been? You needed to know.

With a quick text, you reached out to your tech-savvy friend, Kade. Their enthusiasm for solving puzzles like this made them the perfect person to track down the owner of that mysterious number. Within minutes, Kade had the information—and a picture too. When the image popped up on your screen, your heart skipped a beat.

It was him. The mystery man from New York. The one you’d thought might never call.

Without a second thought, you hit the call button, your nerves tingling with anticipation as you listened to the line ring. Finally, after weeks of wondering, you were about to hear his voice again.

—

Spencer stared at his phone, the dial tone echoing in his ear before it abruptly ended, signaling that the call had gone unanswered. He felt a pang of disappointment, a weight settling in his chest that he couldn’t quite shake. He’d taken the leap, albeit a few weeks late, and now it seemed like it might have been for nothing. Maybe you’d forgotten him, moved on with your life.

He let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping as he placed the phone back on the table. It had taken him so long to muster the courage to call you, to push past his own reservations and insecurities. He leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling, trying to convince himself that it was just a phone call, just a moment in time that didn’t have to mean anything.

But deep down, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss, like he’d let something slip through his fingers before it even had a chance to begin. Spencer was no stranger to disappointment, but this time, it felt different. It felt like an opportunity he might never get back.

Spencer sat there, lost in his thoughts, the weight of his insecurities pressing down on him. His mind wandered through all the reasons why you might not have answered—maybe you really had forgotten him, maybe you had better things to do, or maybe he was just one of a hundred people you’d encountered that day. The more he thought about it, the more his doubts began to take root, spreading through him like a slow, creeping fog.

Then, breaking through the haze of his thoughts, his phone began to ring on the table in front of him. The sudden sound jolted him from his reverie, and for a moment, he just stared at the screen, as if unsure whether it was real. The number flashing across the screen was the same unknown one he’d dialed just moments ago.

His heart raced, a mix of hope and disbelief surging through him. Could it be you? Had you actually called him back? He hesitated, his fingers hovering over the phone, almost afraid to answer. But the ringing continued, insistent and almost impatient, pulling him back into the present.

With a deep breath, he swiped to answer, bringing the phone to his ear. “Hello?” he said, his voice a little shaky, betraying the nervousness he felt.

“Hi! Is this Spencer?” Your voice came through the line, bright and unmistakably warm, instantly cutting through the tension that had been building within him.

For a moment, Spencer was too stunned to respond, his mind scrambling to catch up with the fact that you were actually on the other end of the line. “Yes, it’s Spencer,” he finally managed to say, his voice steadier now, though his heart was still pounding.

“I’m so sorry I missed your call earlier!” you continued, your tone light and genuine. “I didn’t recognize the number when I saw it. But I’m really glad you called. I’ve been hoping to hear from you!”

Spencer’s doubts began to melt away, replaced by a growing sense of relief and excitement. You hadn’t forgotten him, after all. You were as curious about him as he was about you. “No, no, it’s fine,” he replied, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me.”

“Of course I remember you! How could I forget the cute, smart guy who helped me find the bathroom?” you teased lightly, your laughter filling the space between you and putting Spencer at ease.

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh along with you, the tension in his chest finally easing. “Well, I’m glad I could help,” he said, the smile now fully blossoming on his face. “So… what’s up?”

“I was wondering if you’d be free sometime soon? I’d love to actually get to know you better, maybe over coffee or something? I should be back in New York in a few weeks!” Your invitation was casual, but the sincerity in your voice was something Spencer couldn’t ignore.

“I would like that,” Spencer began, hesitating slightly before continuing. “Um, I actually live in Virginia…”

“Oh! That’s no problem, I can come to Virginia,” you replied without missing a beat, your tone so effortlessly confident and reassuring that it caught Spencer off guard.

He blinked, momentarily confused. What kind of life did you lead that allowed you such flexibility, such willingness to drop everything for a spontaneous trip? “Are you sure? It’s a three-hour train ride,” he said, the logical part of his brain struggling to grasp the ease with which you offered.

“No problem! I’m in Los Angeles right now, but I should have a bit of freedom in, say, two weeks? Would that work for you?” Your words were filled with a casualness that suggested this kind of thing was just another day in your life.

“Uh, yeah, I think so,” Spencer responded, still wrapping his mind around the idea that you were so eager to see him, despite the distance and the logistics involved.

“Amazing! Are weekends better for you?” you asked, the excitement in your voice making it clear how much you were looking forward to this.

“Yes, weekends are good,” Spencer confirmed, feeling a mixture of excitement and nervousness bubbling up inside him.

“Okay, Spencer,” you said, and he could practically hear the smile in your voice. “How about you pick a time and a café in Virginia for Saturday two weeks from now, and I’ll meet you there?”

“Uh, sure, I can do that,” Spencer replied, a bit overwhelmed but in the best way possible. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

“Great! I can’t wait,” you said, your enthusiasm palpable even over the phone. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

As you ended the call with a cheerful goodbye, Spencer found himself staring at his phone again, but this time, the feeling of defeat was replaced with something entirely different—a sense of anticipation, of possibility. He had two weeks to figure out the perfect place to meet, and the thought of seeing you again made his heart race in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

—

Two weeks flew by, and soon you were landing in New York, excitement and nerves swirling inside you. Instead of flying to Virginia, you chose the train, savoring the slower pace after the constant rush of airports in your career.

As the train glided smoothly along, a calm settled over you, the rhythmic sound of the tracks providing a rare moment of peace. You were anxious about meeting someone new, but also excited—Spencer seemed down-to-earth and refreshingly different from the usual whirlwind of fame. And he was undeniably attractive, with a quiet, intelligent charm that had caught your attention.

Though your security detail accompanied you, the ride was peaceful. Most passengers didn’t mind having a pop star in their car; a few asked for autographs and pictures, which you happily provided. For the most part, you were left alone to chat with your security and enjoy the journey.

—

Arriving at the café was agonizing for Spencer. His nerves had been on edge the entire day, and he’d debated countless times whether he should even show up. The closer he got, the more his anxiety spiked. What if you didn’t show up? What if you were a soon-to-be unsub? His mind raced through every worst-case scenario, each one more unsettling than the last.

As he approached the café, he felt a knot tighten in his stomach. What if you just wanted to hurt him? What if you had forgotten about him entirely? The uncertainty gnawed at him, making each step feel heavier than the last. It took every ounce of his willpower to push through the doubt and walk through the door, hoping—desperately—that this wasn’t all a mistake.

But to his surprise, when Spencer finally entered the café, he saw you already there, seated at a small table near the window. You were early, a black coffee in front of you, with a canister full of sugar beside it, waiting to be poured. The sight of you, so relaxed and genuinely present, eased some of his lingering fears.

You had arrived first, intentionally choosing a slightly hidden booth and quietly informing the staff of your presence to avoid any unnecessary attention. It wasn’t about having a big head, but rather wanting to keep the date as normal as possible, just in case someone recognized you and caused a scene.

“Spencer! Hi!” you greeted him warmly, your smile lighting up the room as you waved him over.

“Hello,” he responded, raising a hand in a shy wave as he walked toward you, feeling a mix of relief and nervousness.

“It’s so good to see you!” you exclaimed, your enthusiasm evident. “Can I hug you?”

“Um,” Spencer hesitated for a split second, caught off guard by your openness. He cleared his throat, trying to shake off the nerves. “Yes, sure.”

You stood up and gently wrapped your arms around him, your embrace warm and welcoming. Spencer felt the tension in his shoulders start to melt away, the simple act reminding him that maybe, just maybe, this could turn out better than he’d feared as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“So, I hope you don’t mind, but I went ahead and got you a coffee,” you said, gesturing to the cup in front of him. “I wasn’t sure how sweet you like it, so I just asked for a whole thing of sugar.”

Spencer couldn’t believe how thoughtful you were, the small gesture meaning more to him than you might realize. “Oh, thank you so much,” he replied, his voice soft with gratitude. “That’s perfect.”

He felt a warmth in his chest, a sense of comfort in knowing that you had already taken the time to consider his preferences. It was a simple act, but to Spencer, it spoke volumes about the kind of person you were.

Spencer took a seat across from you, feeling the warmth from your earlier hug still lingering. You watched as he carefully added just the right amount of sugar to his coffee, stirring it with a quiet focus that made you smile.

"So," you began, breaking the silence with a gentle tone, "how have you been? I hope your day wasn't too stressful."

Spencer looked up, meeting your eyes with a small, appreciative smile. "It’s been… a bit nerve-wracking, to be honest. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I’m really glad I came."

You leaned in slightly, your expression softening. "I’m glad you did too. I’ve been looking forward to this."

He felt a flutter in his chest at your words, the sincerity in your voice easing some of the anxiety that had been gnawing at him. “I’ve been looking forward to it too, though I was worried I might say something awkward.”

You laughed softly, the sound warm and reassuring. “Don’t worry about that. I like awkward—it’s honest. Besides, I’m probably just as nervous as you are.”

Spencer looked at you with surprise. “Really? You seem so confident.”

You shrugged, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “I guess I’ve had a lot of practice pretending to be. But trust me, I get nervous too, especially when I’m meeting someone new.”

There was a pause as your words sank in, making Spencer feel a bit more at ease. “Well, if it helps, you’re doing a great job of making me feel comfortable.”

Your smile widened, your eyes sparkling with warmth. “Good, that’s exactly what I was hoping for. I just want us to enjoy this, no pressure, just two people getting to know each other.”

Spencer nodded, feeling the last of his nerves start to fade away. “That sounds nice. I think we’re off to a pretty good start.”

You raised your coffee cup in a mock toast, your grin contagious. “Here’s to a good start, then.”

Spencer clinked his cup against yours, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “To a good start.”

After you both took a sip of your coffee, the conversation started to flow more naturally. Eventually, Spencer asked, “What do you do for work?”

It was at that moment you realized that Spencer genuinely didn’t know who you were—he wasn’t just pretending for your sake. “Oh! Um, I sing,” you replied, trying to keep your tone casual.

“You sing? That’s so great! What kind of music?” Spencer’s enthusiasm was genuine, and it warmed your heart.

“Mostly pop, but I’ve been called indie pop before too,” you explained, trying not to let your nerves show.

Spencer nodded thoughtfully. “I don’t listen to much pop, but I would love to come to one of your shows sometime. Where do you perform?”

You laughed nervously, not sure how to break it to him. “Ha ha, well, a little bit of everywhere? I could invite you next time I perform close by!”

“That would be great,” Spencer said with a dopey smile, clearly pleased with the idea.

“So, what do you do, Spencer?” you asked, eager to shift the focus.

“I work for the FBI,” he replied, almost bashfully.

Your eyes widened in surprise. “That is so much cooler!”

“Oh, well, thank you,” Spencer said, blushing slightly at the compliment.

“Do you take down bad guys?” you asked, leaning in with genuine curiosity.

Spencer chuckled softly. “Yeah, something like that. I’m a profiler, so I help catch criminals by understanding how they think.”

You couldn’t help but be impressed. “Wow, that’s amazing! You’re like a real-life Sherlock Holmes.”

Spencer’s eyes lit up at your words, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “I think that’s the best compliment I have ever gotten,” he said, clearly touched by the comparison.

You smiled back, pleased to see how much the compliment meant to him. “Well, it’s true. It sounds like you have a pretty incredible job.”

Spencer’s smile softened, a hint of shyness returning. “Thank you. It’s not always easy, but it’s rewarding.”

You could see the passion he had for his work, and it only made you more curious to learn about the man behind the profiler. “I have a feeling you’re really good at what you do,” you added, feeling more drawn to him with each passing moment.

As the conversation continued, you felt a growing connection with Spencer, charmed by his sincerity and humility. It was refreshing to talk to someone who saw you as just a person, rather than the pop star you usually were.

—

The date was, in a word, phenomenal. You and Spencer clicked in a way that felt effortless, the conversation flowing naturally, and the time slipping by unnoticed. By the end of it, you both agreed to meet again the next time you were close by. Spencer left the café feeling lighter, with a genuine smile on his face. From what he gathered, you traveled often for work but mostly lived in New York, which suited him just fine. The idea of seeing you again was something he looked forward to.

Monday morning came around, and as Spencer walked into the office, he barely had time to settle in before Derek Morgan sauntered over, a teasing grin on his face. “So, pretty boy,” Derek started, leaning against Spencer’s desk, “heard from Hotch you had a hot date this weekend.”

Spencer felt a blush creep up his neck, trying to play it cool as he adjusted his tie. “It wasn’t… I mean, yeah, I had a date,” he admitted, though he couldn’t suppress the small smile that tugged at his lips.

Derek raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this. “And? How’d it go? Are we gonna see wedding bells soon, or what?”

Spencer chuckled, shaking his head. “It went well, really well. We’re planning to meet again soon.”

Derek gave him a playful nudge. “Look at you, Pretty Boy, out here dating like a pro. So, what’s she like?”

Spencer hesitated, his mind racing back to the date. “She’s… incredible. Smart, funny, down-to-earth. I really enjoyed spending time with her.”

Derek nodded approvingly. “Sounds like a keeper. Just make sure you bring her around sometime so the rest of us can vet her properly.”

Spencer laughed, rolling his eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As Derek walked away, Spencer found himself thinking back to the date, the smile still lingering on his face. He had no idea what the future held, but for now, he was more than happy with the way things were unfolding.

—

May, 2006

Even though your schedule was packed, you managed to carve out moments in your day to text Spencer. It became a little ritual—finding those brief pauses between studio sessions, interviews, or flights to send him a quick message. Sometimes it was a simple Good morning! or Hope your day’s going well! Other times, you’d share something funny or interesting that happened, enjoying the way his replies always seemed to brighten your day.

Spencer, in turn, did his best to keep up with the texts, even when his work took him deep into intense cases. He found himself looking forward to your messages, the small glimpses into your life offering a welcome distraction from the often grim realities of his job.

A month after your first date, the stars finally aligned again, and you both found yourselves free at the same time. Spencer had been looking forward to seeing you, but as luck would have it, the BAU team had already planned a bar night for that weekend. There was no way he could bow out without raising suspicions, so instead, he decided to invite you along.

He texted you with a mix of excitement and nerves.

Hey, I know we’ve been planning to meet up again, and I was wondering if you’d like to come out with me and my team this weekend? We’re having a bar night, and I’d really like for you to meet everyone.

That sounds like so much fun! I’d love to meet your team. Just tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.

Spencer smiled as he read your reply, feeling a sense of relief and excitement all at once. It wasn’t what he’d originally planned, but he realized that introducing you to his team felt like a natural next step. Plus, he was curious to see how you’d fit in with the people who had become like family to him.

As the weekend approached, Spencer found himself growing more and more eager to see you again. This time, he wasn’t just looking forward to spending time with you—he was excited to see how you’d interact with the people who meant so much to him.

—

You decided to meet Spencer at his apartment before heading to the bar, a decision that filled you with both excitement and nerves. The idea of seeing him again, of spending time with him in a more casual, intimate setting, was thrilling, but it also made your heart race with anticipation. You stood outside his door, taking a deep breath to steady yourself before finally mustering the courage to knock.

Meanwhile, your security team was stationed discreetly at the base of the building, sitting in their cars to avoid drawing attention. You didn’t want to alarm Spencer with an obvious security presence, especially since he didn’t know the full extent of your fame. They had already done a thorough sweep of the bar, learning all the exits and identifying the best spots to keep watch over you without intruding on your evening.

As you waited for Spencer to answer the door, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of nerves in your stomach. This was a big step—meeting his team, blending your two worlds, and trying to keep the balance between your public life and the private connection you were building with him. But as the door opened and you saw Spencer’s familiar, warm smile, those nerves began to ease.

“Hey,” he greeted you, his voice soft and welcoming.

“Hey,” you replied, returning his smile, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. Being here with him, seeing that look in his eyes, reminded you why you were doing this. The rest of the world could wait; tonight was about the two of you.

Spencer stepped aside to let you in, his apartment cozy and inviting. “You look great,” he said, his tone slightly shy as he took in your appearance.

“Thanks,” you replied, feeling your cheeks warm. “You do too.”

There was a brief pause, the two of you just standing there, enjoying the moment. Then, Spencer gestured towards the door. “Ready to go? The team’s probably already at the bar.”

“Yeah, let’s do this,” you said, feeling a surge of confidence as you linked your arm with his.

—

As you and Spencer arrived at the bar, your nerves returned with full force. You had been feeling confident earlier, but now, faced with meeting his entire team, the reality of blending your world with his hit you hard. Spencer seemed to sense your hesitation, offering you a reassuring smile as he led you inside.

“Hey, guys, this is Y/N,” Spencer said, introducing you to his team with a hint of pride in his voice. “Y/N, this is my team.”

Before anyone else could say a word, Penelope Garcia practically barreled through the group, her eyes wide with excitement. “Oh. My. God. Y/N Y/L? I love your music! How did you two meet?”

You couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm, though it made you a little self-conscious. “Um, we met at a publishing house in New York,” you said, trying to keep things casual.

Spencer looked adorably confused as he turned to Penelope. “How do you know Y/N’s music?”

Penelope’s face lit up even more. “I’ve been a fan for years!”

You felt a warm blush creeping up your neck. “Thank you so much,” you said kindly, appreciating her support. But you were also eager to shift the focus away from your celebrity status. “But, uh, let’s not focus on me. I want to get to know all of you.”

The team exchanged glances, a mixture of curiosity and amusement playing on their faces. It was clear that they were intrigued by the dynamic between you and Spencer, but they respected your wish to keep the conversation light and inclusive.

“Fair enough,” Derek said with a grin, extending his hand to you. “I’m Derek. It’s nice to meet you.”

You shook his hand, relieved that the introductions were moving forward. “Nice to meet you too, Derek.”

As each member of the team introduced themselves, you felt the initial wave of nerves begin to subside. They were a friendly, welcoming group, and their easy going nature made it easier for you to relax. Spencer stayed close by your side, his presence comforting as you navigated this new and somewhat intimidating social landscape.

Unfortunately, as pleasant as the evening had been, things took a sharp turn when it was time for you and Spencer to leave the bar. The moment you stepped outside, you were met with the overwhelming sight of a large crowd waiting by the entrance, their faces eager, some shouting your name. The flashes of cameras lit up the night as paparazzi swarmed, snapping photos in a chaotic frenzy.

“Y/N, come with us,” your head security guard, Emerson, called out firmly, their voice carrying over the noise. They were already moving to shield you from the crowd, their team efficiently surrounding both you and Spencer.

Spencer was beyond confused, his eyes wide as he took in the scene. The crowd, the screaming, the relentless camera flashes—it was all a world he had never experienced before. One moment, the two of you were having a quiet night out with his team, and the next, you were being hustled into a black SUV by your security detail.

As the vehicle sped away, leaving the chaos behind, Spencer finally found his voice. “Y/N, what the hell was that?” he asked, his tone filled with concern and bewilderment.

You let out a sigh, knowing this was something you’d have to explain sooner or later. “I’m so sorry, Spencer,” you began, turning to him with an apologetic look. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. Someone must have recognized me and tipped off the paparazzi.”

Spencer frowned, still trying to piece everything together. “Recognized you? But why would…?” He trailed off, the reality slowly dawning on him. “Wait… Are you famous?”

You nodded, feeling a mix of guilt and apprehension. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. That’s why there was a crowd outside—they wanted pictures and autographs, that sort of thing.”

Spencer sat back in his seat, processing what you had just told him. “I had no idea,” he said softly, a hint of shock still in his voice.

“I know,” you admitted, your voice tinged with regret. “I didn’t want it to be a big deal between us. I just wanted you to get to know me for who I am, not because of my career.”

He looked at you, his expression a mix of understanding and concern. “Y/N, I don’t care about any of that. I just… I wasn’t prepared for this.”

“I understand,” you said, reaching out to gently take his hand. “I should have been more upfront with you. I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”

Spencer squeezed your hand, his gaze softening. “It’s okay. I just need a little time to process everything.”

You nodded, grateful for his understanding. “Of course. We can talk more about it when you’re ready. I don’t want this to change anything between us.”

Spencer gave you a small smile, the initial shock beginning to fade. “It won’t,” he assured you. “I still want to get to know you, the real you. We’ll figure this out together.”

His words brought you a sense of relief, and as the car continued to drive away from the chaotic scene, you felt a renewed sense of hope for what lay ahead.

—

The security team swiftly brought you and Spencer to a hotel with a private parking garage, ensuring that you wouldn’t be followed or harassed any further. It was a relief to be away from the chaos, but you couldn’t help feeling bad for dragging Spencer into your world so abruptly.

“I’m sorry, Spencer,” you said softly as you both exited the car. “Do you mind hanging out here for a bit until everything dies down? Or I can have Emerson take you home.”

“No, no, I want to stay with you,” he quickly replied, his sincerity evident.

You smiled, grateful for his support. “Okay.”

The two of you were guided up to the room where you’d be staying for the weekend. Your security team stood guard outside, some doing security sweeps to ensure the area was safe. Inside the room, the atmosphere was much calmer, but you could sense Spencer’s curiosity lingering.

“Alright, so tell me about it. How famous are you?” Spencer asked, his tone light but clearly curious.

You hesitated, not because you didn’t want to answer, but because you hated that question. Measuring your fame felt strange and impersonal. You valued your fans and appreciated the love they showed you, but fame was such a nebulous concept. “Uhhh…”

Spencer quickly backtracked, noticing your discomfort. “Sorry, that was a weird question.”

“No, it’s okay,” you reassured him. “I, uh, guess I have quite the fan base.”

Spencer nodded thoughtfully, sensing there was more to your reluctance. “Would it bother you if I looked you up when I get home?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his thoughtfulness. “That’s fine, Spencer. Just… don’t judge me too harshly.”

He looked at you with that soft, earnest expression that always seemed to put you at ease. “I would never.”

“I know, I know,” you said, letting out a small sigh. “It’s just—there’s a lot of nasty rumors, and bad things people say about me. Just, keep an open mind?”

Spencer’s gaze was steady as he reached out to take your hand. “Y/N, I like you. I don’t care what some idiot says about you on the internet, okay?”

His words were like a balm to your nerves, and you felt a warmth spread through you. “Okay. I like you too,” you admitted, feeling a surge of affection for the man sitting beside you.

Spencer’s eyes softened even further, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, his voice low and full of hope.

“Please,” you whispered, your heart racing.

Spencer leaned in, his hand gently cradling your cheek as he pressed his lips to yours in a tender, heartfelt kiss. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you in that quiet, perfect moment. It was a kiss that spoke of understanding, of acceptance, and of something that had the potential to grow into something truly special.

And so began the beautiful relationship between you and Spencer. Every chance you got was spent together, each moment building the foundation for something truly special.

—

June, 2006

As you and Spencer strolled hand in hand through the grand halls of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the world around you seemed to blur into the background. The marble floors echoed softly with your footsteps, and the air was filled with the quiet hum of visitors lost in their own reverence for the art surrounding them. But for you, the real masterpiece was right beside you, his voice animated as he guided you through the exhibits.

“And here,” Spencer said, his eyes lighting up as he gestured toward a stunning Greek statue, “we have a marble sculpture of Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty. What’s fascinating is that this particular piece is from the Hellenistic period, where artists began to explore more dynamic poses and emotions in their work.”

You looked up at the statue, trying to see it through Spencer’s eyes. “It’s incredible,” you murmured, squeezing his hand lightly. “You make it all sound so alive, like we’re stepping back in time.”

Spencer smiled, a soft blush coloring his cheeks. “I’ve always loved how art can connect us to the past. It’s like a conversation across centuries, where every brushstroke or chisel mark tells a story.”

You could hear the passion in his voice, and it made your heart swell with affection. “You know, I’ve been here before, but it’s never felt this… magical,” you admitted, looking up at him.

Spencer’s eyes softened as he gazed back at you. “It’s not just the art,” he said quietly. “It’s who you’re experiencing it with.”

You felt a warm blush rise to your cheeks, his words sending a flutter through your heart. “You’re amazing, you know that?” you said with a smile.

He chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “I’m just a guy who likes art history,” he replied modestly.

“And I’m just a girl who’s falling for that guy who likes art history,” you teased, leaning in to rest your head on his shoulder as you continued your walk.

Spencer’s smile grew as he squeezed your hand a little tighter. “Then I’d say we’re both pretty lucky.”

—

August, 2006

The weekend in Los Angeles felt like a breath of fresh air, a pause from the relentless pace of your lives. The sun was warm against your skin as you and Spencer strolled along the beach, the Pacific Ocean stretching out endlessly before you. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore provided a soothing backdrop to the easy conversation that flowed between you.

“I never imagined LA would be so…relaxed,” Spencer remarked, his gaze drifting out over the water. “I always thought of it as this fast-paced, high-energy place.”

You smiled, nudging him playfully with your shoulder. “It can be, but there’s a whole other side to it too. It’s not all about Hollywood and traffic. Sometimes, it’s just about finding those quiet corners where you can breathe.”

Spencer nodded, looking thoughtful. “I can see why you like it here. It’s like the city has this dual nature—busy and vibrant, but also peaceful when you know where to look.”

“Exactly,” you agreed, your hand slipping into his. “I wanted to show you that part of my life, the part that isn’t all about work and appearances. Just… the real me.”

He turned to you, his expression softening. “I like the real you. I mean, I liked you before, but getting to see this side of you…it makes me feel closer to you.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you squeezed his hand gently. “I feel the same way. It’s nice to just…be with you, without any distractions.”

The two of you continued walking, the sand shifting beneath your feet as the conversation turned to lighter topics. You talked about everything from your favorite movies to childhood memories, finding joy in the simplicity of sharing these little pieces of your lives.

Later, as the sun dipped low on the horizon, you found a cozy spot at one of your favorite hidden restaurants, tucked away from the bustling streets. The atmosphere was intimate, the kind of place where you could lose yourself in conversation without worrying about being recognized. The soft candlelight flickered between you, casting a warm glow over the table.

“This place is amazing,” Spencer said as he looked around, taking in the rustic charm of the restaurant. “It’s like a little secret.”

You grinned, pleased that he liked it. “It’s one of my favorites. The food is great, but it’s the atmosphere that keeps me coming back. It’s like a little escape from everything.”

As the evening wore on, you both savored the delicious food and each other’s company, the rest of the world fading into the background. The conversation flowed easily, and you found yourself laughing more than you had in a long time, Spencer’s wit and intelligence making every moment more enjoyable.

By the time you made your way back to the beach for a final stroll under the stars, you felt a deep sense of contentment. The city’s vibrant energy had melted into the tranquility of the night, and it was just the two of you, walking hand in hand along the shore.

“I could get used to this,” Spencer said softly, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

“Me too,” you replied, leaning into him as you walked. “I wish we could stay here forever.”

Spencer smiled, a serene look on his face as he glanced down at you. “We can always come back. Maybe this could be our little escape.”

You looked up at him, your heart fluttering at the thought. “I’d like that.”

—

September, 2006

Spencer stood in the audience, his heart swelling with pride as he watched you perform, captivated by the way you commanded the stage. The lights bathed you in a warm glow, and your powerful, confident presence mesmerized the entire crowd. To Spencer, it was like seeing a new side of you, one that was awe-inspiring yet deeply connected to the person he knew so well—the one who shared quiet moments and deep conversations with him.

As the final notes rang out and the audience erupted in applause, Spencer clapped with fervor, pride evident in his eyes. After the show, you headed backstage, your adrenaline still high, but the moment you saw Spencer waiting for you, all the excitement of the stage melted away. His eyes shone with admiration, and in that instant, nothing else mattered but you.

Without a word, he pulled you into a tight hug, holding you close as if he never wanted to let go. “You were incredible,” he whispered in your ear, his voice full of emotion.

You smiled against his shoulder, the warmth of his embrace grounding you after the high of the performance. “Thank you,” you murmured, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. “I’m so glad you were here.”

Spencer’s gaze was intense, filled with a mixture of awe and love. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Seeing you up there, it was… it was something else. I’m so proud of you.”

Your heart swelled at his words, the sincerity in his voice making you feel even closer to him. “It means everything to me that you’re proud,” you replied, your hand resting against his chest.

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I am. More than you know.”

—

November, 2006

Visiting Diana Reid in Las Vegas was a deeply personal step for both you and Spencer, a gesture that spoke volumes about how much you meant to him. The significance of the visit wasn't lost on you, and as you arrived at the care facility where Diana lived, you could feel the weight of the moment settling in.

Spencer’s hand held yours tightly as he led you inside, nervousness and pride evident in his eyes. You knew how important his mother was to him, and the fact that he was introducing you to her was a clear sign of the depth of his feelings. As you walked through the halls, you felt the butterflies in your stomach, but the steady pressure of Spencer’s hand in yours reassured you.

When you finally reached Diana’s room, Spencer paused, taking a deep breath before gently knocking on the door. “Mom, it’s Spencer,” he called softly, his voice filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

The door opened, and there she was—Diana Reid, with a warm smile that instantly made you feel at ease. “Spencer, my sweet boy,” she greeted, her eyes lighting up as she saw him. Then her gaze shifted to you, curiosity and kindness mingling in her expression. “And you must be Y/N. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Spencer squeezed your hand, his nerves clearly still present, but his voice was steady as he spoke. “Mom, this is Y/N. I wanted you to meet her.”

You stepped forward, offering a genuine smile. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Diana.”

Diana’s smile widened as she reached out to take your hand in hers. “The pleasure is mine, dear. Spencer speaks so highly of you.”

Diana welcomed you with warmth, her kindness evident in every word. It was clear how much Spencer loved her, reflected in the way he cared for her.

As the three of you chatted, you found it easy to connect with Diana—her sharp wit and stories filled the room with laughter. Spencer listened intently, his eyes often on his mother, revealing the deep bond they shared.

At one point, as Diana shared a funny childhood story about Spencer, you glanced at him and saw the soft, affectionate smile on his face. It made your heart swell with love for both him and the woman who raised him.

Throughout the visit, Spencer's hand never left yours, a silent sign of pride in introducing you to his mother. The connection you built with Diana added another layer to the bond you and Spencer were creating, one that grew stronger with each moment.

As the visit came to an end, Diana hugged you warmly, whispering in your ear, “Take care of him, won’t you?”

You hugged her back, your voice soft but sincere. “I will, Diana. I promise.”

When you and Spencer left the care facility, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude. Meeting Diana had been a significant step, one that solidified the love and trust you and Spencer shared. And as you walked together under the bright Las Vegas sky, you knew that your relationship had grown even stronger, rooted in the love and connections you were building together.

—

December, 2006

The final piece fell into place when Spencer met your family in New York. Both of you had been a little nervous, knowing how important this moment was, but those nerves quickly dissolved as your family welcomed him with open arms. They were eager to meet the man who had captured your heart, and Spencer, with his quiet charm and genuine kindness, fit in seamlessly.

You watched with a smile as he effortlessly engaged in conversation with your parents, his gentle demeanor putting them at ease. He listened intently to your father’s stories and shared thoughtful insights that sparked lively discussions. Your mother was instantly taken with his manners and the way he looked at you with such clear affection.

It was your brother, though, who really put Spencer to the test, teasing him playfully and cracking jokes that had the room roaring with laughter. Spencer, to your delight, not only kept up but even managed to throw in a few quips of his own, earning him a slap on the back and a hearty laugh from your brother.

As you observed them all interacting, a warm feeling settled over you. Seeing Spencer so naturally integrated into your family, like he had always been a part of it, made your heart swell with happiness. You knew then, without a doubt, that he had become an irreplaceable part of your life.

Later that evening, as you walked hand in hand through the quiet streets of your old neighborhood, you turned to him with a smile. “I think they love you,” you said softly, leaning into his side.

Spencer glanced down at you, his eyes full of warmth. “I was more nervous about meeting them than I was about joining the FBI,” he admitted with a small chuckle. “But your family is wonderful. I feel really lucky.”

You stopped walking, turning to face him fully. “I’m the lucky one,” you said, your voice filled with emotion. “You mean so much to me, Spencer, and seeing you get along with my family… it just makes everything feel even more right.”

He pulled you into a gentle hug, his arms wrapping around you protectively. “I feel the same way,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. “This—us—feels right.”

—

June, 2007

It wasn’t until you and Spencer had been together for a year that the first crack in the armor began to form. A year ago, Spencer had kept his promise and looked you up online. But what he didn’t tell you was how much he hated what he found. The dating rumors, the fan crushes, the obsession from your fans—he saw it all, and it gnawed at him. The jealousy simmered beneath the surface, his insecurities festering as he watched the world fawn over you.

At first, Spencer’s comments seemed harmless enough—slight jabs and subtle jokes about the rumors and fan pages. You thought he was just teasing, playing along with the absurdity of it all. But over time, the tone changed. The jokes became sharper, more pointed, until you couldn’t ignore the underlying resentment.

The breaking point came when you and Billie Eilish, a close friend since the beginning of your career, collaborated on a song for her new album. The promo involved interviews, social media posts, and what Spencer hated the most—a chicken shop date. The chemistry between you and Billie was undeniable, something that couldn’t be faked. Watching the video, Spencer felt his stomach churn with jealousy, convinced there was something more between you two.

Unable to keep his feelings in check, Spencer picked a fight over it. The tension that had been building for months finally erupted, his words laced with bitterness. “You and Billie looked like more than just friends in that video,” he snapped, unable to hide the hurt in his voice.

You stared at him, stunned. “Spencer, we’re just friends. You know that.”

He shook his head, frustration clear in his eyes. “It didn’t look like that to me. Everyone sees the way you two are together, and I can’t stand it.”

The pain in his voice cut deep, and you realized how much he had been holding back. “Spencer, there’s nothing between us but friendship. You have to believe me.”

But the damage was done. The fight opened up the insecurities Spencer had tried so hard to suppress, and the trust that had always been the foundation of your relationship began to waver. As the argument continued, it became clear that this wasn’t just about Billie—it was about everything Spencer had been silently battling for months. The dating rumors, the fans, the world’s obsession with you—it had all taken its toll, and now it was threatening to tear you apart.

—

August, 2007

You and Spencer were lost in a heated makeout session, the tension that had been building between you two finally dissolving as you straddled his lap on your couch in New York. It had been too long since you’d had a moment like this—no schedules, no distractions, just the two of you reconnecting in the way that always felt the most natural. Spencer’s hands roamed over your body, and you could feel the urgency in his touch, the desire to be close to you after so much time apart.

Just as things were beginning to escalate, your phone started ringing. You ignored it, too wrapped up in the moment to care who might be calling. After all, the most important person in your life was right here with you. But the ringing didn’t stop. It kept going, over and over, cutting through the haze of your desire and pulling you back to reality.

Spencer pulled back, clearly annoyed by the persistent interruption. His breath was ragged, his frustration evident as he grabbed your phone from the coffee table. He glanced at the screen, and his expression quickly shifted from irritation to something darker—anger mixed with jealousy.

“Seriously?” he said, his voice dripping with venom as he flipped the phone to show you the screen.

You looked at the image and felt your stomach drop. It was a picture of you and Billie, taken during a trip when the two of you had gone swimming under a waterfall, wearing little more than bathing suits. Spencer had once liked looking at that picture, a reminder of the carefree times you’d shared. But now, that same image seemed to fuel his insecurities, the sight of you and Billie together igniting a seething jealousy within him.

“Spencer…” you began, but he cut you off, his eyes blazing with anger.

“Why is she calling you? Now, of all times?” he demanded, the hurt in his voice unmistakable.

“She’s just a friend, Spencer,” you said softly, reaching out to touch his arm, but he pulled away slightly, the distance between you suddenly feeling like a chasm.

“Is she, though?” he shot back, his tone laced with bitterness. “Because it sure doesn’t feel that way. Not when she’s always there, in your life, interrupting us even now.”

You could see the pain behind his words, the way his jealousy had been festering for far too long. “Spencer, you’re the one I’m here with. You’re the one I love,” you tried to reassure him, but it was clear that the tension between you two wasn’t going to dissolve as easily as it had built up.

The moment that had been so full of passion just minutes ago now felt heavy with unresolved emotions. The weight of Spencer’s jealousy and your own guilt for not addressing it sooner pressed down on you both, leaving you to wonder how you could mend the growing rift between you.

—

October, 2007

The article was nothing more than a piece of sensationalized gossip, a tabloid’s attempt to stir the pot with baseless claims. It wasn’t even on your radar as you prepared for your upcoming tour of the Americas, your mind focused on rehearsals, logistics, and the excitement of performing for your fans. But Spencer had seen it. And instead of brushing it off as the ridiculous fabrication it was, he believed it.

His rational mind—the one you had always admired—had been overwhelmed by months of festering insecurities and jealousy. The TMZ article, with its blurry, barely discernible photo of two women who vaguely resembled you and Billie, was the final straw. In his mind, it was proof that his worst fears were true.

Spencer’s heart raced as he stared at the article, his eyes blurring with tears. The image, though unclear, fed into his paranoia. He could barely think straight, his emotions a chaotic storm of anger, hurt, and betrayal. He grabbed his phone, his hands trembling as he dialed your number. You were in Brazil, preparing for the first leg of your tour, oblivious to the storm brewing back home.

When you answered, you were met with a voice you hardly recognized—sharp, cold, and filled with rage. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Spencer had never sworn at you before. In fact, you weren’t even sure you’d ever heard him use the word “fuck” at all. The venom in his tone made your stomach drop, a cold dread seeping into your veins.

“What happened, baby?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady, but the unease was already gnawing at you.

“Don’t ‘baby’ me!” he snapped, his voice breaking with emotion. “You made out with Billie in public, and you got caught. I have photo evidence that you’re cheating on me now. I’ve known for months! Months! How could you lie to my face?”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. You could hear the pain and betrayal in his voice, but all you felt was a profound sense of disbelief and heartache. “Spencer, what are you talking about? That’s not true. I would never—”

“Stop lying!” he interrupted, his voice thick with tears. “I saw the picture! How could you do this to me? To us?”

Your heart broke at the sound of his despair, but the accusation, the deep mistrust, cut even deeper. “Spencer, I didn’t do anything. There isn’t a picture because I’m not cheating on you,” you pleaded, your voice cracking under the weight of your own emotions.

But Spencer was too far gone, his mind too clouded by jealousy and doubt. “I can’t believe anything you say anymore,” he whispered, his voice filled with resignation. “I thought we had something real, but now… I don’t even know who you are.”

The fight that followed was explosive, both of you hurling words that only deepened the wounds already festering between you. Every attempt you made to explain, to reassure him, was met with anger and disbelief. Spencer’s trust in you had been shattered, and no amount of reasoning could bring him back from the edge.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. The constant jealousy, the mistrust, the way he had let a baseless article destroy the bond you had worked so hard to build—it was too much. “I can’t do this, Spencer,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion. “I love you, but I can’t live like this. I can’t be in a relationship where I’m constantly accused and doubted. It’s tearing me apart.”

There was a long, painful silence on the other end of the line, and then, in a voice that was barely above a whisper, Spencer said, “Maybe we both deserve better than this.”

Tears streamed down your face as you realized what had just happened. “Goodbye, Spencer,” you choked out, hanging up before he could say anything else.

As you stood there, staring at the phone in your hand, the enormity of what you had just done hit you like a tidal wave. You had ended things with the man you still loved deeply, because the relationship had become a minefield of jealousy and mistrust. It was the hardest decision you’d ever made, and the pain of it felt unbearable.

You were heartbroken, knowing that despite everything, your feelings for Spencer hadn’t changed. But the relationship had become toxic, and you couldn’t continue down that path. As you tried to pull yourself together, preparing to go on stage and perform as if your world hadn’t just crumbled, you couldn’t help but wonder if either of you would ever truly heal from this.

—

Spencer sat in the silence of his apartment, feeling like a shell of the person he once was. The shock of what had just happened left him numb, his mind struggling to grasp the reality of it all. You were gone, and it was his fault.

—

In the months that followed, Spencer couldn’t escape the crushing weight of what he had done. He replayed every argument, every moment of doubt, and came to a painful realization: he was the bad guy in this story.

He watched as your tour progressed, each new headline a reminder of what he had lost. The press coverage was relentless, but what struck him most was how your relationship with Billie remained the same—close, supportive, but nothing more. There was no secret romance, no hidden agenda. Just the friendship that had always been there, and that he had been too blinded by jealousy to see for what it was.

Then, the truth about the photo came out. It wasn’t you. It wasn’t even Billie. It was a completely different couple—Phoebe Bridgers and her girlfriend. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. He had destroyed everything over a lie, over a distorted perception fueled by his own insecurities.

Spencer spiraled into self-loathing, he knew he had been an asshole—an irrational, emotional, accusatory, jealous, ignorant asshole. And now, he had to live with the consequences of his actions, knowing that he had let the best thing in his life slip through his fingers.

—

June, 2008

“So, Y/N… you just finished the first leg of your tour, how does it feel?” the interviewer asked, leaning forward with genuine curiosity.

You couldn’t help but smile, the emotions from the tour still fresh in your mind. “Oh, it feels amazing! The energy from the crowds, the love and support—it was incredible. I miss them all so much already. Honestly, I wish I could go back and say thank you again to every single person who showed up for me and made this possible. They’re the reason I get to do what I love, and I’m so grateful for that.”

“Isn’t she great?” the interviewer exclaimed, prompting cheers from the live audience. After the applause died down, the interviewer leaned in with a mischievous grin. “I have to know, if you’re comfortable, what happened to that sexy string bean you used to have on your arm?”

Spencer, who had been half-listening to your interview as usual, suddenly found himself on high alert. His heart pounded in his chest as he waited for your response.

You shifted slightly in your seat, a small, wistful smile on your face. “Oh… um, we separated. But I still care for him deeply and hope he’s doing well.”

The interviewer nodded sympathetically before pressing on, “Are you seeing anyone new?”

Spencer held his breath, not sure if he wanted to hear your answer.

You shook your head, your smile more focused now. “No, I’m not. Just focusing on the tour right now! It’s hard work!”

The interviewer grinned. “I bet it is! Keeping busy with something you love is the best way to go.”

Spencer released a breath he’d been holding, a mixture of relief and lingering regret washing over him. He hadn’t moved on either.

—

July, 2008

(we pretend this is our song for the sake of the plot <3)

You released a few new songs before the second leg of your tour started, wanting to keep things fresh and exciting for your fans. Among the tracks was a deep cut, a raw and emotional song about your love for Spencer. It was a piece of your heart, a reflection of the pain, regret, and lingering love that still existed despite everything that had happened.

Spencer, however, had stopped listening to your music after the breakup. Every song felt like a reminder of what he had lost, especially the love songs that once brought him joy. The melodies that used to connect you two now only deepened his regret, making him avoid your music altogether.

But when Garcia heard your new song, she knew immediately that Spencer needed to hear it. Without hesitation, she sent it directly to him, attaching a message that read: You need to listen to this. Trust me.

Spencer hesitated when he saw the message. He knew it would hurt, but something made him press play. As the song played, the lyrics washed over him, each word piercing through the wall he had tried to build around his emotions. It was as if you were speaking directly to him, baring your soul in a way that was both beautiful and heartbreaking.

As the song ended, Spencer sat in silence, the weight of your words pressing down on him. He realized that despite everything, the love you had shared was still there, buried beneath the pain and mistakes. The song was a painful reminder of the depth of your connection, and it left him wondering if there was any way to mend what had been broken.

But as much as he wanted to reach out, he knew that no apology or explanation could undo the hurt he had caused. Spencer felt lost, grappling with the knowledge that he had loved you—and still did—yet had let his own insecurities destroy the best thing in his life.

—

Spencer had endured just about everything in his time at the FBI—being hit, kicked, shot, drugged, kidnapped—but never, in all those years, had anyone flicked him on the forehead. Until now. Derek Morgan’s fingers connected with a sharp flick, jolting Spencer out of his thoughts.

“We all know, Reid. Garcia sent the song to all of us,” Derek said, his voice laced with both sympathy and frustration. “I don’t know what you did, but I’m sure a flick doesn’t cover it.”

Spencer shook his head, the weight of guilt heavy on his shoulders. “It doesn’t,” he admitted, the truth settling like a stone in his stomach.

That night, Spencer decided he couldn’t ignore it any longer. Swallowing the last remnants of his pride, he picked up his phone and dialed your number. But when the automated message informed him that the line was no longer in service, his heart sank. You had changed your number. Still, the adrenaline coursing through his veins wouldn’t let him stop. He dialed the next number he knew by heart.

“Hello?” came the familiar voice on the other end.

“Dylan?” Spencer’s voice trembled slightly, betraying his nerves.

“Who is this?” Dylan’s tone was cold, guarded.

“Spencer Reid. Please, don’t hang up.”

“What do you want, asshole?”

Spencer flinched at the anger in Dylan’s voice, but he knew he deserved it. “I deserve that.”

“Damn right, you piece of shit. I watched my sister cry for months over you. And she didn’t do anything wrong—it was all you.”

“I know,” Spencer replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“So let me repeat myself, what do you want?”

“I want to talk to her,” Spencer said, desperation creeping into his tone.

“No fucking way.”

“Please, I need to apologize.”

“She’s moved on, she doesn’t want to hear from you,” Dylan shot back, his words cutting through Spencer like a knife.

“She moved on?” Spencer’s voice wavered, the reality of those words hitting him hard.

“Yeah, most people would by now.”

Spencer felt a painful twist in his chest, but he pressed on. “I still… I still want to apologize.”

Dylan’s voice was ice-cold. “If you actually cared about her, you’d let her go.”

“Dylan—” Spencer tried to plead, but the line went dead, the dial tone echoing in his ear.

Spencer stared at the phone in his hand, the finality of it all crashing down on him. He had lost you, not just because of his mistakes but because he hadn’t been able to see what was in front of him until it was too late.

—

“He called today.”

“What?” you asked, looking up in surprise.

“He called me.”

“Who?” But even as you asked, you felt a knot forming in your stomach, dreading the answer.

“Spencer.”

You froze. That name hadn’t been spoken around you in what felt like forever. Hearing it now sent a wave of emotions crashing over you, emotions you’d worked so hard to bury.

“Why?” you managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Jackass said he wanted to apologize to you,” Dylan replied, his tone laced with disdain.

“After all this time?” The disbelief in your voice was evident, and you could hardly process what you were hearing.

“Mhm,” Dylan confirmed, watching your reaction carefully.

“What did you tell him?” you asked, already fearing the answer.

“That you’d moved on, that he should too,” Dylan said, his voice firm and protective.

“Oh.” The single word hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken thoughts and lingering feelings.

Dylan’s voice softened, sensing your turmoil. “Y/N… he’s not worth it. He doesn’t deserve you.”

“I know,” you replied, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thanks, Dylan. I’m going to bed. Goodnight. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Dylan said, his concern palpable even through the phone.

That night, as you lay in bed, you couldn’t help but wish your number hadn’t been leaked. You knew Spencer would have called you directly if he could have. And if you had answered? You might have at least heard him out, given him the chance to say the things he had left unsaid for so long.

But now, as you stared up at the ceiling, the what-ifs swirled in your mind, keeping you awake long into the night. You had moved on, or at least you told yourself you had. But the unresolved feelings, the remnants of a love that once meant everything, were still there, lurking just beneath the surface. And as much as you wanted to push them away, tonight they were impossible to ignore.

—

Hey Kade – think you can find a number for me? And not tell Dylan…

For sure, just give me a name and a city

God bless Kade. They didn't ask any questions, just worked their magic. Within minutes, Kade had sent you Spencer's number. You stared at it for a long moment, the screen glowing in the dim light of your room. Your thumb hovered over the call button, knowing that if you didn’t do it now, you’d lose your nerve.

With a deep breath, you tapped the number and pressed the phone to your ear. The ringing felt endless, each second adding to your nerves. But then, the line clicked, and his familiar voice came through.

“Spencer Reid.”

“Spencer Reid’s ex-girlfriend,” you said, your tone shy yet teasing, trying to mask the anxiety bubbling inside you.

There was a brief pause, then his voice, softer now, almost incredulous. “Y/N?”

“The one and only,” you replied, your heart racing as you tried to steady your voice.

There was another pause, this one filled with emotions that neither of you knew how to express just yet.

“You called Dylan,” you said, your voice a mix of curiosity and caution.

“I know, your old number didn’t work,” Spencer replied, his tone tinged with regret.

“Someone leaked it…” you explained softly, the memory of that chaotic time flashing through your mind. But you quickly refocused, your heart pounding as you asked the question that had been weighing on you since you heard he’d tried to reach out. “Why were you calling, Spencer?”

“I love you,” he blurted out, the words raw and desperate.

“What?” The sudden confession caught you off guard, your heart skipping a beat as you tried to process what he had just said.

“Your song, i love you. Did you mean it? Do you still love me?” His voice cracked with vulnerability, and you could hear the pleading in his words, the desperation of a man who had realized too late what he had lost.

“Spencer…” You hesitated, the pain and love intertwined so tightly within you that it was hard to speak.

“I’m begging you, Y/N. Do you love me?” The vulnerability in his voice was palpable, and you could almost see him, his heart in his hands, waiting for your response.

“Of course I do,” you finally admitted, the truth spilling out before you could stop it.

“Are you in New York?” Spencer asked, his voice filled with hope.

“Yes,” you replied, your heart racing as the conversation took a turn you hadn’t expected.

“Can I come see you?” His question hung in the air, the possibility of seeing him again making your pulse quicken.

“Right now?” you asked, still trying to catch up with the sudden shift in your emotions.

“Right now, I can be there by 4 pm,” he responded, the determination in his voice unmistakable.

“Okay,” you said, the word slipping out before you could second-guess yourself.

“Okay? Really?” Spencer’s voice was filled with a mix of surprise and relief.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, a small smile forming on your lips. “You remember where I live?”

“By heart,” he replied, and you could hear the warmth in his voice.

“See you soon, Spence,” you said softly, the familiar nickname bringing a wave of nostalgia and comfort.

“See you soon,” he echoed, and with that, the call ended, leaving you with a whirlwind of emotions and the realization that in just a few hours, Spencer would be standing at your door.

—

Spencer spent the entire train ride to New York mentally rehearsing what he would say to you. He went over every possible scenario, trying to find the right words to express everything he felt—the regret, the love, the longing. But as the train pulled into the station and he made his way to your apartment, his mind went blank. By the time he was standing at your door, all his carefully planned words had vanished.

His hand, seemingly moving on its own, raised to knock. The sound echoed in the quiet hallway, and within moments, the door swung open.

When you appeared in the doorway, his breath caught in his throat. You looked even more beautiful than he remembered, if that was even possible.

“Hey,” you said softly, your eyes searching his, filled with emotions.

“Hey,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

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appledressing · 5 months ago

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Screams?!!!

😱

YESSS!!! Pls tag me for the part 2 the people have spoken and the suggestions are juicy I love it

GIRL, SO CONFUSING!

Aaron Hotchner

a/n: i’ve been watching an awful lot of love island so this is very angry girl staying composed confrontation core.

warnings: jealousy, oc! vs you, bombshell!reader, angry girl core, (not an accurate representation of beth in the show),

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Aaron Hotchner was a proud man, not in a bad way, quite literally the opposite. He had built up his reputation, he had loved and lost but that had never been his priority. He somehow felt content in his life with different kinds of love, like the one he felt for the bau team, or... well, you. It was different to the team, it made him comfortable. He knew you, and you knew him. Everyone knew you as a pair, if you were seperate, well that would be awkward. Though, your platonic love hadn't been a relationship, not nearly. Maybe the lines between platonic and romantic were hazy sometimes but that did not mean that you were together, You were both adamant that you were not, always shutting people down when they suggested the idea of it.

Recently, Aaron had started seeing a new woman, her name was Beth. She was sweet at first and she stayed that way to the team, though it didn't feel that way with you. Overtime, she seemed to reject yours and Aaron's relationship, which you didn't like because he could be friends with who he likes. You would understand if you and Aaron had a history, but you didn't. Simple, you were friends, best friends and Beth tried to accept it, but she didn't. Instead, you resulted in pretending to get along with one another, though you all know that it's so far from the truth.

The bau were round Rossi's house, having a 'family' dinner and coincidentally you were sat opposite Beth, forced to stare at her the whole evening. Deep joy.

"So, Beth... you got your hair done?" You try start a friendly conversation with her. In return you get a short smile and a nod.

"Yeah, I did." She replies and you awkwardly smile at her, not knowing what to reply.

"You guys are twinning now..." JJ tries to break the ice but it had the opposite effect, Beth just straightened her posture and tried to pass the comment off. The silence on our side of the table was thick, the raw unspoken awkwardness of a lack of common ground.

"You guys do say we are alike..." you say nonchalantly, trying to diffuse some tension with some humour.

Beth laughs and shakes her head. "I don't see it."

You give JJ a look sharing unspoken pleas for a new convo topic, you hide your smile behind your wine glass as you take a sip.

"So," JJ looks at you with a smile, "How is that boyfriend of yours doing?" This catches Hotch's attention now as he joins in the conversation.

You laugh, "I mean... it is a bit of fun really but I don't think it's anything serious." you shrug, telling them the truth.

"I never did like him really," Aaron shrugs, smiling at you and you laugh shaking you head. "Believe me, I know you didn't."

"I think you should see how it goes," Beth says and shrugs and everyone looks confused at one another, considering all she knew about him was that he was a bit of 'fun'.

You laugh awkwardly, looking at Aaron who furrowed his brows slightly but brushed it off.

After dinner, everyone joins on the backdoor porch, sitting on the luxurious garden furniture. You were sat with Emily and JJ, observing the way Beth was practically all over Hotch.

"I really don't understand your relationship with her." Emily says bewildered.

"I genuinely can't tell if she wants to see me falling over and failing and honestly, I sort of feel the same to her." You say looking at them both now. "I'm trying to be nice but I think i really dislike her... like come on, the new hair?"

"It's a bit of a coincidence considering the fact that her man fancies the shit out of you and suddenly dresses, acts and now looks like you," Emily shrugs casually and JJ hits her playfully but has a serious tone when scolding her.

"What do you mean?" You ask furrowing your brows and laughing, "Aaron doesn't like me in that way babe."

"For profilers, you are both in extreme loss of social awareness," Spencer walks past as says, taking a seat next to Emily. "Around 85-90% of people can be considered to lack a significant social awareness because they don't fully understand their own self-awareness, for example-"

"What Pretty boy is trying to say pretty lady, is that you and Hotch are in love but you don't see it yet." Moran waltzes in and states, bringing along a gushing Garcia and Rossi.

"Aaron's happy. I want him to be happy and I truly think he is with Beth." You state, diverting the conversation. Beth and Aaron walk over after that comment and you smile at them.

"Beth, I'm having a party for new years round mine... you should come." you offer kindly, wanting some peace considering she is dating your best friend.

"I don't really do parties." She retorts.

"Come on, it will be good to put your hands up a bit, have a little dance." You offer with a smile and she smiles awkwardly in return.

"I think i'll leave that to you babe." She smiles passively agressive at you. "I'm in a happy relationship."

You furrow your brows, "What's that got to do with anything?"

Everyone is watching the two of you bounce against one another now, flicking their heads like they're watching a tennis match. You're even sure you saw Rossi pass Emily a handful of popcorn.

"It means, I dont go whoring around babe." She smiles patronisingly and everyone looks shocked.

"Beth-" Aaron tries to step in.

"No- Aaron, I can handle this, thank you though." You say kindly to him, looking back to Beth. "No wonder you're so tight Beth, because I'm having a party? How am I a whore?"

"That's the type of party I see you throwing," she shrugs.

"That's an orgy babe," you retort, "Clearly you're opinions are too fixed to comprehend that not everyone's actions are centred around male validation."

She scoffs, "You're a fine one to talk like that. Clearly it's something you crave if it's all you look for in my boyfriend, hear that, mine. It's why you can't get in your own loving relationship babe."

You actually laugh in her face, the others trying to bump in but you stop them. "Girl, you're so confusing sometimes. I genuinely can't tell what I have done to give you the impression that I would 'steal' your boyfriend, whether I liked him or not, you should one have trust in him to not do that to you- which Aaron by the way, clearly would never do, and two, I am not the type of girl to go after another girl full stop. Whether it is her or her man, you don't do that as a woman, babe."

"Oh and you're so perfect aren't you?" she shoots back.

"Perfect enough to tell you that you don't have to change your appearance to look like me because you believe that your boyfriend is in love with me." You state quieter, knowing everyone had concluded that, but wanting to keep her confrontation private.

"You're a self centered bitch, you know that?"

"You know, we are totally different after all. You need to berate other women to feel good about yourself and I do not. Please, do yourself a favour and work on those thoughts. Be kinder to yourself and you will feel less worried about these things." You state directly.

"Aaron, we're leaving." she gets up angrily, walking to the door.

"No, Beth. You're leaving." He says crossing his arms and moving besides you, placing his hand on your shoulder in support. "I think you made a decision for me."

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#aaron hotchner x reader #bau team #criminal minds fic #besties fic #jealousy fic

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maladaptive-daydreamer-23 · 1 month ago

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A/N: I wrote this for my dearest friend @cringeiknow <3 love you bestie <3 It's also posted on AO3 if you prefer to read there! I will drop the link below. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!

Love, Mal <3

Summary: On a case in Alabama you find yourself facing your worst fear- thunderstorms. To your surprise, you don't have to face it alone.

Warnings: mentions of canon typical violence, unsub critically injured via lightning strike, cursing, Thunderstorms, anxiety, implied age gap.

Tags: Aaron Hotchner/reader (No use of Y/N) Angst, fluff, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, soft Hotch, pre-relationship pining.

Word count: 5.4k

Masterlist

Ao3 link here

Aaron had always loved the smell of rain. He didn’t know why, there was no formative memory or specific reasoning for his love of the scent. He just liked it. So naturally he also loved rainy days. He liked to watch the raindrops run down the floor to ceiling windows in his office, and occasionally lightning would streak across the sky and he always thought it was so—majestic. Rain on the roof at night was the perfect way to fall asleep. It was soothing and it kept him in a deep sleep all night. Rain brought life in the spring and rainbows almost always followed. He just loved rain.

This week though, the rain was nothing but a hindrance. The team had been on the trail of an unsub in Alabama who was using the line of thunderstorms moving through the south as cover, and part of his ritual. This unsub only killed when it was raining, which doesn’t sound like a huge issue, it only rains every few weeks in the south in the summer so the team should have had plenty of time between the third kill and the next rainy day to make progress and complete a profile. Right?

Wrong. The entire south was experiencing a tropical depression because of the hurricane that had just hit the Gulf a few days before. Which meant, it was raining incessantly, and the unsub was now officially on a spree.

To make matters worse, the worst of the storms were due in the next few hours and they were coming with severe weather warnings. The local meteorologist was calling for strong straight line winds, hail, electrical storms, and—at the worst—possible tornadoes across the state. Reid had been watching the forecast all day, and Aaron was sure that thunderstorms and supercells were going to become his newest hyperfixation.

The unsub hadn’t struck today. Not yet. That was the most frustrating part of this whole case, the team had racked their brains over it for the entire week, but they could not figure out how the unsub was choosing his targets! It was about to drive Aaron up the damn wall.

“Hotch! We got another one!” Morgan called from the doorway of the breakroom where Aaron had been standing behind Reid, attention fixed on the radar and the line of storms that was bearing down on their location. “It’s on the other side of the county.”

Aaron sighed heavily and squared his shoulders. “Let’s go and see what we can gather from the scene before these storms hit.” He said, looking from Morgan to Reid. “Why don’t you stay and keep an eye on those storms, that way you can call us if we need to take shelter.”

“Sure.” Reid said, barely glancing over his shoulder at him as he said it. His focus solely on the weatherman’s words and the bright colors splayed across the screen. Aaron shook his head at Reid—fondly, despite the circumstances— and started toward the door, where Morgan had already disappeared to gather the rest of the team. Until he noticed you.

You were sitting at a table in the corner of the room, eyes locked on the TV, brows furrowed.

As the newest member of the team—having joined only three months prior—Aaron didn’t know much about you personally. He knew you were a hell of an agent, and a brilliant profiler for your age. He knew you got along great with the rest of the team and he knew that he’d like to get to know you a little better when he had the time. He liked to know as much as possible about his team, it helped him to lead. You were usually bright and cheerful. A bit of a smart ass, but in an amusing way that was never truly disrespectful. You often had the team in fits of laughter with a well timed one liner and he appreciated your ability to lighten the mood on occasion.

This afternoon, however, you were quiet. Skittish and even bordering on paranoid. You jumped at loud noises and every time he’d said your name it had taken him three or four tries to get your attention. It was unlike you to be so distracted—as far as he was aware anyway—and it was beginning to concern him. Currently, your knee was bouncing a mile a minute and you were snapping a hair tie against the skin of your inner wrist while biting your cheek. Christ, you looked tense.

“Hey.” He murmured, stepping between you and the TV to get your attention without startling you.

“Huh? Sorry Hotch, did you say something?” You asked him, shaking your head as if clearing it like an etch-a-sketch.

He smiled at you, though his concern was clear. “I hadn’t yet, no. I was just trying to get your attention.” He explained gently, stepping a little closer and studying you while you were disoriented. He’d often found himself studying you. He wasn’t sure what it was about your features that drew his interest so often. He found you pretty, beautiful if he was being totally truthful, but you were also… young. Young enough that he shouldn’t notice how pretty you were—but his brain didn’t seem to get the memo. It was an issue.

“Oh.” You mumbled, your voice quiet as you barely managed to maintain eye contact. Thunder rolled softly in the distance and your eyes darted to the nearest window, widening slightly as you startled. Hmm. He’d ponder that later.

“Are you coming?” He asked you expectantly. “Morgan just said we have another victim.”

You once again looked around him to the TV and then looked back at him. Then frowned. “Actually, I think someone should stay behind and pay attention to the weather. Just in case.” You volunteered.

“Yes, that's what Reid is doing.” He told you then nodded his head toward the door. “Come on.” He prodded, not thinking anything else of it. “We’ll need you at the scene. We’re trying to get back before the next line of storms hits.”

You looked like you wanted to argue, which was strange because you had never given any push back over a simple instruction before. He raised an eyebrow at you—waiting for some sort of explanation— and you sighed softly, standing from your seat and walking to the door without a word. He’d have to check in with you later.

You HATED thunderstorms, the only good thing about them is petrichor. You loved petrichor. However, lightning and thunder might as well have been the bane of your existence. You’d been dreading it all week. The last few days had just been incessant rain. A constant, miserable, humid downpour that had made you feel as though you were never going to be dry again. You hated that too. Tonight though, that would be the absolute cherry on top of a terrible week. You were so glad you had grown up in the Mountain West region of the States, where hurricanes didn’t exist and tornadoes were so rare there hadn’t been one in your lifetime. The high altitudes and dry air didn’t allow for it. Thank God.

In the back seat of the SUV you noticed that Hotch kept glancing back at you in the rearview mirror. You didn’t know why, or what you had done, but you were sure you were in trouble— for something… That was just another thing to add to your ever growing list of grievances, but one you’d worry about later. Those thunderheads in the distance were growing ever closer, and the nearer they got the louder the thunder became. Every distant flash of lightning had made you more and more anxious. So Hotch’s possible ire would just have to wait. It was going to take all your energy to maintain focus on the scene, so you didn’t have any left to worry about him.

The crime scene was at a trailer park. The last place you wanted to be with bad weather on the way. The poor victim had been killed sometime during the previous night. No one heard or saw anything because of the rain. Hotch had split the trailer into sections for you all to go over and pick apart. You could hardly focus as you looked around the small bedroom. It was girly frilly and soft, everything was either baby pink or cornflower blue. She had lived alone but she had pictures of friends and family everywhere. There was so much blood, it drenched the bed and splattered the walls and one word kept coming to the forefront of your mind: overkill. It was entirely unsettling, especially as the flashes of lightning grew brighter and the thunder got louder and louder.

“What do you see?” Hotch’s voice made you jump and let out a small shriek. You’d been alone in the bedroom, and you hadn’t heard his footsteps coming down the hall over the a/c unit in the window. You panted as your heart rate spiked and you tried to settle yourself with a hand on your chest. “Sorry, I didn’t intend to frighten you.”

“S’okay.” You breathed on an exhale, waving off his concern dismissively. You looked around the room once more before you attempted to give him a response, hoping to see anything you may have missed before. “She was loved. She wasn’t a loner like the last guy, she had friends and a family. She was tidy, there’s nothing out of place—besides the blood— and everything is completely aesthetically pleasing. She liked order, or she had just finished a deep clean. But more importantly, she made this space homey, she was comfortable here. It’s not the ritz but she was making it work.

“She graduated from the University of Alabama in May. It’s August so she’s probably only been living here for three months at the most and look at what she’s done with the place. I mean, it’s not my style, but it’s nice. Very sorority, but nice. She wanted to feel at home here. The degree on the wall is in early childhood education, and I’ll bet Garcia is gonna tell us she was going to be working at the nearby elementary school we passed on the way over when school starts back next week.

“Given the amount of pictures, the fact that she was in fact in a sorority, and seemed to be a ranking member, I’d say she was probably outgoing. That’s really all I can gather about her from the appearance of the room, I haven’t gone through her closet or drawers or anything like that yet. I had to wait for the coroner to move her body.”

He studied you intently while you spoke and you just pretended not to notice.

“Good, that’s good.” He murmured, glancing around the room as well and then nodding at you. “What about our unsub? What does this room say about him?” He asks you, looking you over with a soft curiosity.

That's when you realized this was a test. Or maybe a teaching moment? You were unsure, but you knew he was looking at you expectantly and you didn’t want to disappoint him. You know it’s probably silly, but you have a thing for Aaron Hotchner. He drives you absolutely crazy with his dad bod and unruly hair that he keeps cut short because of the cowlick above his forehead. You can’t help but stare at his enormous hands and sometimes you giggle to yourself at the way they dwarf absolutely everything. His phone, pens, the hands of other men when he shakes them, your hands… Which you know because he helped you down off a chair the other day when Penelope couldn’t reach something she needed on a shelf even with the chair. You and JJ were the only ones there to help her and you’re taller than JJ but still not quite tall enough to reach the shelf from the floor. So you climbed on the chair, then Hotch came into the bullpen and almost had a fit because apparently standing in rolling chairs is dangerous—as if you don’t hunt serial killers for a living—and he demanded that you get down. Carefully. He offered you his hands before you stepped down and so you accepted the help—because you thought he might actually pass the fuck out if you just jumped— and that was when you realized that your hands looked like they were tiny compared to his.

Focus.

You cleared your throat and looked around, before looking back at him and answering. “I just keep thinking: Overkill.” You gestured around the room. “This is different than all the other scenes, he didn’t do nearly as much damage to the other victims, or leave such a huge mess. It’s overkill, I’m just not sure why…”

“But you do have an idea?” Hotch prompted you gently, his mouth quirking up at the corner in a rare smirk.

You sighed and nodded slightly. “I think she fought back.”

“That’s exactly the conclusion we all were coming to. Good work.” He said, and the added praise had your cheeks heating to a shade of red you were sure was unflattering. He turned to head back out the door, but stopped and looked over his shoulder to say something else.

A loud clap of thunder beat him to the punch, scaring you absolutely shitless. You screamed bloody murder and jumped nearly out of your own skin. “Fuck!” You hissed, bending down to rest your hands on your knees as you tried to catch your breath.

He startled at your outburst and then turned back to you. “Are you alright?” He asked softly, stepping back to your side and laying a gentle hand on your shoulder, squeezing firmly.

You tried to laugh it off, waving a hand and chuckling awkwardly. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” You chuffed, giving him a weak smile. “The thunder just startled me, that’s all. I’m not a big fan of thunder and that one was super loud, it’s not a big deal. I’m fine.” You tried your best to be convincing, standing up straight and doing what you could to mask your anxiety.

He was frowning at you, but he nodded his head anyway. Stepping away from you, he removed his hand from your shoulder and then went back to the door. “I was going to say, we’re about ready to head back to the station. We’ve seen enough and we don’t want to get caught out in these storms if we can help it.”

Then he simply walked away, leaving you to regain a semblance of composure in the gore of this once cozy bedroom.

Aaron was now sure that something had his youngest agent on edge. You were normally unflappable, a crime scene like that one would have been just another day on the job for you. You’d seen worse, he knew you had because he’d personally been there with you. Maybe it was that the victim was near your age, or that she had fought back and you could see yourself in her. Maybe he’d just caught you off guard and that was what had unsettled you.

But none of that rang true for him, not really, because you’d been anxious all day. Come to think of it, now that it had drawn his attention, you had seemed a little nervous all week and the longer this case went on the more nervous you got.

He tried to tell himself that the only reason he really noticed was because you were still new and relatively untested. He was just keeping an eye on his newest subordinate, making sure you were settling in alright.

But that was bullshit too, and he knew it.

You had finished “settling in” weeks ago. You fit in with this team so perfectly it was almost like you’d always been there. Your giggles ringing out through the bullpen as you laughed at Morgan’s jokes had become a familiar sound. Your gentle teasing of Reid now an everyday occurrence that he barely registered anymore. The way you popped your hair tie against your wrist to focus had become as recognisable to him as the way JJ chewed on pencils and Prentiss cracked her knuckles.

You weren’t as experienced as the rest of them, sure. But you belonged here, with them. There was no question about it. He had no doubts about your potential and often he found himself relying on your uncanny ability to mirror others. If there was ever a time when he wasn’t sure when a person was a victim, witness, or suspect he had figured out that he could throw you into the room with them and you would sniff it out like a bloodhound. An empath, Penelope had called you. Hotch had thought he knew how to make empathy a tool and often used it himself to get what he needed from a witness or a suspect. However, the affinity you had for it was something he’d never seen before. It was like you crawled into the other person’s emotions, learned them, understood them, and molded them to fit your needs. It was an impressive interrogation tool and one he had taken full advantage of in the last few months, when the situation called for it.

So he really had no reason to watch you as closely as he did. There was just something about you that drew him in. It wasn’t your beauty alone, he’d worked with plenty of beautiful women in the past. It wasn’t your age, that was what made him agonize over this the most, he felt like a perv every time he found himself watching you. It wasn’t just your personality, your beaming smiles and your quirky little laugh. It was a combination of everything and it was maddening.

Now, back at the station he found himself watching you again. This time however, he was watching with immense concern. You were wound tight enough to break, your muscles tense and your face drawn. Your leg was bouncing wildly and you were snapping the hair tie on your wrist with such force he could hear the slap of it against your skin from across the room, it made him flinch each time. It was pouring down rain outside and thunder rolled every few minutes, each rumble causing you to twitch anxiously. The worst of the storms were due to roll in any minute now and the team had moved from the break room of the station to the basement, built specifically for nights like this. There was plenty of space and light down here to continue working on the case and so that’s what they’d all been doing. You, however, seemed to have nothing to contribute to the conversation. Instead staring into the empty corner of the room, a blank but worried look on your face.

Thunder roared, shaking the whole building down to the foundation and suddenly the room was pitch black. A shrill scream rang out followed by a loud scrape of chair legs on the floor, a crash as the chair in question seemed to topple over and several other loud thuds as someone fled the room. He didn’t need light to guess who had run.

The power came back on shortly once the generator kicked on, and the lights flickered now but they could deal with the minor annoyance. What he couldn’t deal with, was not knowing where you had gone and if you were alright. You might have hurt yourself running in the darkness like that. He was going to have to find you. Just in case.

“I’m going to go check on her.” He said to no one in particular. “I’m not sure what that was about, but she ran into at least two chairs and a table on the way out, so she could be hurt.”

The team nodded their agreement and he set out in search of you.

It was raining so hard now that he could hear the drumming of it on the roof all the way from the basement. The thunder continued to shake the building with every crash of lightning and the wind was howling so loudly it sounded like a band of demons wailing through the halls. He searched every room of the basement until he finally found you.

You were in the very back corner of a supply closet sitting on the floor with your knees tucked to your chest. Your head was buried in your lap so you did see him come in and you were pressing your palms to your ears so forcefully your elbows were shaking. You were rocking back and forth and your body was trembling. He could just barely make out the sound of your sobs over the wind and rain.

“You’re not a ‘big fan of thunder’ huh?” He said softly, just loud enough to alert you to his presence. You looked up at him with tears rolling down your face. Sniffling, you wiped at your tears, it was useless to try though. Your cheeks were soaked and you were just smearing mascara everywhere.

“Sorry.” You gasped, barely able to get the word out because your breathing was so erratic that your chest was heaving and you were doing the uncontrollable hiccup thing that was nearly painful. He smiled at you kindly. “I’m terrified of thunderstorms. It’s pathetic, really I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t apologize, it’s not pathetic. Not at all. Everyone is afraid of something. Thunderstorms are powerful and dangerous, it’s a perfectly normal thing to be scared of.” He said calmly, trying to soothe you. Walking closer and squatting down in front of you, he noticed a box of Kleenex on the shelf just above your head. Grabbing it and tearing back the seal, he pulled out a couple and handed them to you. You wiped at your face, noticing as you pulled the tissue away that there were black streaks on the white tissue.

“Fuck…” you muttered, wiping harder at your face to the point that he was worried you’d rub your skin raw.

“Here let me.” He offered, grabbing a clean tissue and reaching toward your face. He gently dabbed at the black streaks until he was satisfied that they were cleaned up enough. “There.”

He brought his eyes back to yours, finding you staring at him in what he could only describe as shocked awe.

“How can I help you?” He asked, hoping his voice was calming and patient. You shook your head.

“You can’t.” You whispered, your voice shuddering as you looked down again, avoiding his eyes and wrapping your arms around your knees.

“Hey.” He whispered back, reaching out again to move your hair out of your face so that he could see your eyes. “Let me try, I can’t just let you sit here alone, terrified. I won’t do it. So tell me what helps at home.”

You scoffed and shook your head, new tears falling from your eyes and splattering on your pant legs. “At home I put in earbuds, curl up in a ball under a blanket in my bed and cover my head with a pillow to drown out everything but the music.”

You looked up at him, your face embarrassed and expectant. As though you thought he’d make fun of you. He just nodded his head, a plan forming in his mind. He could work with that. “I’ll be right back, stay right here.” He murmured.

“Don’t worry I will.” You quipped, a tad sarcastically and he smiled softly, deciding that attitude was better than tears. “My ass is firmly glued to this spot.”

He chuckled quietly as he left the room, in search of something to help you.

You watched him go with curious eyes at first, but the first peel of thunder after he disappeared had you shaking and crying again. You wished, briefly, that he had just stayed. He made you feel safer, just with his proximity to you. But then you dismissed the notion. You didn’t want him to witness your tears. The shaking, breathless, sobbing mess you referred to as your ‘ugly cry.’ Not when he was always so perfectly composed and put together.

You’d never once seen him crack. Nothing flustered him. Not that you’d ever seen anyway. Granted you’d only known him a few months, and he’d been chasing serial killers for over a decade. Of course he was solid as a rock under pressure.

You didn’t hear him come back. He didn’t say a word, just got to work. He’d found a couch cushion—somewhere—which he placed on the concrete floor against the wall near where you were sitting. The puff of air was what had alerted you to his presence again.

“This should be more comfortable than the floor.” He murmured, gesturing to the cushion and offering a hand to help you stand. You took it and then sat, as he instructed, on the cushion instead. He didn’t stop there though, no, he had a few more tricks up his sleeve. “I couldn’t find a blanket, but this should swallow you whole and it’s already warm.” He said taking off his suit jacket and draping it over you carefully. Then he turned to a nearby shelf and picked something up, handing it to you. It was a set of headphones. “I borrowed them from Morgan. Do you have music on your phone?”

You nodded but then frowned and shook your head. “I left it in the other room.”

“That’s okay.” He soothed, sitting next to you on the cushion. “I’ve got mine.”

He fiddled around in the pocket of his slacks and extracted his phone. Retrieving the end of the cord, he connected the headphones to his cellphone and started to search for the app he needed.

“Hotch, you don’t have to–” You started to protest, desperately trying to let him off the hook.

But he interrupted you with a gentle nudge of his shoulder against yours.

“I know.” He murmured, smiling at you kindly. “I want to.”

You were speechless. Breathless. Unable to comprehend the words he’d just said. Because why? Why did he want to sit here with you in this tiny little supply closet and comfort you through your juvenile fear of thunderstorms.

“Here. Put those on.” He instructed you gently.

You didn’t move, still flabbergasted at the improbability of Hotch sitting here, with you, just because he wanted to. He raised a brow at you expectantly but you couldn’t get your hands to reach up and put the headphones over your ears. So he did it for you. Gently taking your wrists in his hands and guiding your hands up to your head then situating the headphones so they rested comfortably over your ears. He let go of your wrists and you wrapped your arms around your knees again, pulling his suit jacket tighter around your body. You watched him carefully, still trying to find a reason for his kindness. His mouth turned up in a slightly amused smirk as he looked down at his phone again and tapped the screen once. Julie Andrews' voice flowed into your ears and you snorted a surprised laugh. “You think you’re hilarious right now, don’t you?”

You bumped him back with your shoulder, playfully, without thinking about it. The song was My Favorite Things from The Sound Of Music. The main character, Maria, sings it to the children she nannies during a thunderstorm to take their minds off the fear and the joke is not lost on you.

He laughed softly and looked over at you with a mischievous smile. “I’m honestly just impressed you got the joke. That’s an old movie.”

“I think I’m morally obligated to refer to you as Fraulein Hotchner from now on.” You joked, sniffling a little because your nose was still running and you’re sure you looked SO attractive, not. He laughed at your joke and bumped your leg with his, on purpose. Your stomach flipped, and he changed the song to something slightly more modern. You say slightly because it was late eighties rock and it was a song you’d never even heard before, but you weren’t going to tell him that. He had the volume high enough that you couldn’t hear the storm, but low enough that you could hear him perfectly. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” He murmured, giving you a soft smile that lit you up inside.

“What are you afraid of?” You whispered, and immediately wished you could retract the question, rambling an explanation instead of letting him answer. “I mean– you said everyone is afraid of something… this fear I have of thunderstorms seems… ridiculous, juvenile even. But it's real and I can’t shake it. So I was wondering… If maybe you’re being so kind because you also have an irrational fear?”

The soft smile remained, and he opened his mouth to respond– but was interrupted by a brutal shockwave of thunder that shook the ground and everything else. You whimpered involuntarily, ducking your head and clutching your knees tighter to your chest. He put his arm around your shoulders—without hesitation— and tucked you tightly against his side. “You’re safe, I’ve got you.” He murmured into your hair and suddenly you forgot entirely about the storm. You nestled in closer, not really caring about the unprofessionalism of the entire situation. You felt safe tucked under his arm like this, so you rested your head on his shoulder and he let you.

“I hate, hate, hate thunderstorms.” You grumbled, huffing frustratedly. “Which sucks because I LOVE petrichor!”

“What’s petrichor?” He mumbles into your hair again, talking so softly to you that your stomach was having a literal butterfly rave or something.

“The smell of rain.” You sighed quietly. “I love it, but I can’t truly enjoy it because rain itself makes me anxious.”

His thumb was softly stroking your shoulder through the material of his suit jacket and he laughed softly. “Is that what it’s called?”

“Mm hmm.” You hummed back. “Why?”

“It’s my favorite smell, I didn’t know it had a name.” He murmured, his breath moving your hair so that it tickled your forehead. His phone started to ring, but he didn’t move to answer it.

Then you realized that he couldn’t hear it ringing because of the headphones. “Your phone is ringing.” You murmured sitting up straight.

He unplugged the headphones and answered it on speaker phone without ever looking at the caller ID. “Hotchner.”

“Hey, did you ever find her?” Spencer’s voice rang out in the quiet as you took off the headphones. Too quiet, you realized after a beat, you couldn’t hear the rain any longer.

“Yeah, I did. You’ve got us both, what is it?” Hotch asked him.

“Oh, good. We’re all going back upstairs, the storm is past us and the weather channel says it's over for the night.” Reid informed you.

“Thank God…” You muttered, relaxing fully into Hotch’s side. He squeezed your shoulder reassuringly and smiled at you.

“We’ll be right up.” Hotch said and started to hang up but Reid hurriedly interrupted him.

“Wait! I was also supposed to tell you that we think we have our unsub.” He rushed out.

“As in, we’ve got a strong suspect or we have him in custody?” You asked in confusion, glancing up at Hotch with your brows furrowed, only to find your expression completely mirrored his.

“Both… Kind of.” Reid answered. “We got a call about a man who was trying to break into a single woman’s house and was subsequently struck by lightning. He’s in the hospital, but they don’t think he’s gonna make it. Which isn’t surprising given that lightning is molten plasma that is generally around 30,000 degrees Kelvin.”

“Woah.” You muttered. Hotch’s face echoed your sentiment.

“Thanks Reid, we’ll be right there.” He said and ended the call. “Are you alright to go back upstairs?”

“Yeah, if the storm is over I’m good.” You replied. “Hey, if this is our guy, do we get to go home and get away from this horrendous weather?”

He chuckled softly. “Yes.”

“Oh good! Now I’ll have two things about thunderstorms to kind of— sort of— appreciate.” You joked, leaning forward to look back at him.

“Oh yeah?” He asked, smirking softly. “What would that be?”

You grinned at him cheekily before chirping. “Petrichor and Plasma.”

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