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reidology13 · 4 months ago

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Reader goes to the triathlon w Jack and everyone's like 'omg is this ur gf' and he's like nooo this is my babysitter but they're like doing heart eyes the whole time and she's being rly cute w Jack and the whole team is like shipping them xoxoxoxoxoxo

you really got a hold on me

Aaron Hotchner x fem babysitter!reader

cw: age gap, canon typical lack of boundaries??? fluff, fluff, and more fluff wc: 1.6k a/n: this is my first req, which is a little bit terrifying, I hope it lives up to your expectations! I moved the triathlon so Jack's still around 4/5 just bc my girl has been pining for years and I don't want to stretch that out too much <3

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You kept Jack close, hands on his shoulders to keep him from disappearing into the crowd, although you knew he would be unlikely to stray from your side either way. People had started crossing the finish line about half an hour ago, and your best guess was that Aaron would cross it any second now. You were correct, as it would happen, and a few minutes later he appeared in the stampede, sweat-covered and grinning as his eyes locked on yours.

“Jack, look!” You crouched down beside the boy, pointing in the direction of his father, jogging towards the finish line.

“Daddy!” He cheered, and you whooped as he crossed the line, starting to slow down as he made his way to the table with water and medals.

Once he had navigated a route out of the crowd, you walked with Jack over to him, waving to try and catch his attention again now that you were both in different places. He met your gaze, walking to you, breath heaving.

“Hey, bud.” He leant down to hug Jack, picking him up and swinging him around before placing him back down and turning to you.

“You did amazing.” You smiled up at him, almost in awe, and he did something completely unexpected, wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you into him, “Get off me! You’re all gross and sweaty.”

“Never.” You didn’t put up a fight.

“Should we leave you two love bugs alone?” A familiar voice rang out, and he released you, allowing the blonde to enter your field of vision.

“Garcia.” He said slowly, that stern, stoic mask slipping into place over his handsome features, and you couldn’t help but ogle when he looked like that. There was something about it, the way it set into the sharp lines of his jaw, suiting his strong facial features so perfectly.

“Sorry, sir.” She said, although you had a feeling she wasn’t apologetic in the slightest, mainly from the broad grin spread across her face that promised trouble.

And then the pack descended.

A wolf whistle, “Hello, gorgeous. You the lady our man’s been seeing?”

“Um, no, I’m not-” You tried to clear up the obvious miscommunication, fueled by Penelope’s meddling, but you were interrupted, this time by a female voice.

“If he ever hurts you, feel free to call me.” She winked, and you felt your cheeks grow warm, becoming more embarrassed by the second.

“No, we’re really not-” Apparently, Aaron’s entire team had a thing for not listening, no wonder he was so tired all the time.

“Way to go, Aaron, but isn’t she a little young?” You rolled your eyes at that.

“I’m standing right here, you know.” You looked up at him, silently begging him to get his team in line.

“She’s not my girlfriend.” They went silent, and you breathed out a sigh of relief, leaning into him as you realised he still had an arm around you.

“I’m Jack’s babysitter.” You introduced yourself to each of the group, besides Penelope. You wished JJ was there, but she’d had a baby roughly a week ago, marathons weren’t exactly her mood right now.

You decide that you liked Jordan and Spencer the most, because they had stayed quiet while the rest of the team teased you about your nonexistent relationship. Once everything quieted down, and the novelty of you had expired enough for them to turn their attention to food, you turned to Aaron. You realised that in all of the excitement—first of the race, then the team—that you hadn’t really gotten to speak to him.

“Hi.” You beamed, feeling awkward after the team’s fast paced attack of moments earlier, worse because part of you wished it was true. Scratch that, every single bone, muscle, ligament, every cell in your body, wished it was true.

“Hi.” He smiled back, and you were completely oblivious to how you were just standing there, staring at him and his stupidly handsome features, until a pointed cough broke through your daze. You weren’t sure you liked Spencer anymore. The rest of the team’s eyes shot to you immediately, and you knew you were never going to hear the end of it.

“Aaron, can we go? I don’t like these people.” You groaned, the second part mostly joining. Mostly.

“Anything for you. Jack, are you okay with celebrating at home?” He tugged the boy’s hand lightly to capture his attention, and Jack nodded, smiling as wide as ever, entirely unbothered by the change of plans.

“I’ll make your favourite.” You grinned up at him, “And we can buy ice cream on the way home.”

“Are you sure you’re not dating?” Emily piped up, and you glared at her, taking a step away from Aaron, as if to prove a point.

“I’m very sure.”

“She’s half my age, Prentiss.”

“Okay, I’m not half your age, please, you make me sound like a baby.” You scoffed.

“No, of course you’re not, I just happen to be very old.” He rubbed your shoulder gently in a silent apology.

“You’re only thirty-eight, Aaron.”

“Aww, you even fight like a couple.”

“Please stop, he pays me to be here. I would rather not lose half my paycheck for fleeing right now.” Technically, he wasn’t paying you for this, the outing with Jack was completely voluntary, which had nothing to do with Aaron post-run. Absolutely nothing.

“Oh, so it’s a sugar daddy thing?” She smirked.

“It’s a babysitter thing.”

“Okay, let’s go.” He grabbed you by the arm, commandeering you away from the group, and you heard a few loud comments about manhandling, as well as the word ‘daddy’ thrown around fairly liberally. “I’m sorry about them, they’re incorrigible.” He murmured against your ear, giving your arm a squeeze.

“It’s okay, I didn’t mind it.” He looked like he was about to say something, but before he could, Jack piped up, calling your name, “Yeah, bud?”

“I wanna hold your hand, too.” You could have cried, standing right there in the parking lot, only a few feet from the car.

“Oh, of course.” You and Aaron rearranged Jack so that he stood in between you, each of you holding one of his hands.

“I’m hungry.”

“Me too, buddy.”

“It might take me a bit too long to cook…” You trailed off, swinging Jack’s arm, “There’s a great barbeque spot about ten minutes from here?”

“Sounds great, Jack, what do you think?”

“Yes.” He seemed very sure for someone you were pretty certain had no idea what a barbeque was. Aaron loved to use the grill when he had the chance, and yet no matter how many times the word was said, Jack would still be surprised at dinner. You figured he would pick it up in a year or two.

You reached the car, helping Jack into the child car seat in the back as Aaron slid into the driver’s seat, turning on the ignition. Once Jack was safely secured, you circled around the back of the car and climbed into the passenger seat.

“Do you know the directions? Aaron turned to look at you, fingers tapping against the steering wheel.

“I think so.” You nodded as he pulled out of the parking space, the way he turned his head to double check the space behind the car made the tendons pop out from under the skin of his neck.

You did your best to direct him, although you missed one or two turns, courtesy of Aaron’s side profile looking a little too good. It took about ten minutes longer than it should have to pull up in the parking lot of the restaurant, and the sheen of sweat that had covered his skin had dried by the time you walked in. You were seated in a booth next to a window, and Jack insisted on sitting on your lap until the food arrived. You helped him with his restaurant-branded colouring page, a drawing of a pig cooking sausages on a grill, which was rather grim to anyone over the age of eight.

After lunch, Aaron drove you back to your campus, parking outside your dorm building. You hopped out of the car, walking around to the other side to hug Jack goodbye, then turned to the driver’s door. Aaron rolled down the window, and you leant against the windowsill on your forearms to talk to him.

“Did lunch live up to your expectations?”

“I preferred the company.”

“So, I guess I’m never getting to choose where we eat again…” You pouted, trying to distract yourself from the warmth that blossomed in your chest at his words, at how casually he could say something so disastrous.

“Of course you can, it was wonderful.” But you were better. He reached out, one of his hands gently running down your upper arm as he spoke, and maybe that was why you did what you did next.

“Thank you for the ride,” You smiled at him, pressing a small kiss to his cheek. You stood there, leaning into the car, and time seemed to slow in a moment where everything was perfect. You stepped back, and reality crashed over you like a wave, a lump in your throat as you stumbled away from him.

“Have a good day.” He waved, and you nodded, licking your lips nervously, tasting the salt of his skin on your lips.

“You too.” You waved back at him, walking backwards from the car, “And shower! You taste like sweat!” You called out, hands cupped to your face to project your voice as you got further away from him, choking on your words.

He shook his head, an amused grin gracing his face as he pulled the car away from the sidewalk. You stood there, like a love stricken schoolgirl who’d just had her first kiss during a game of spin the bottle.

Life changing.

Inconsequential.

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tysm for reading!!

Tags: @reidmoony-toast @selmasdaydreams - Comment to be added <3

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librarylocal · 5 months ago

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what if you were a university athlete for a sport you didn’t really care about, just trying to get through your stressful biomed degree, when in your second year the one and only freshman recruit to the team is some asshole with barely any experience who is pretty transparently lying about just about everything about him. but somehow your teammates like him and he even worms his way into your twin brother’s inner circle which, okay, fine, you can try your best to ignore him. except this guy will not stop causing problem after scandal after incident, and he doesn’t stop there, no, he starts meddling with your personal life and your relationships for the sake of the sport you dgaf about. by now this weird little freak you can’t seem to get away from is the bane of your existence, and you think it can’t possibly get any worse — but then, after all this, you gradually come to the horrifying realization that your aforementioned twin brother, who everyone including yourself assumed was incapable of feeling anything positive towards anyone, especially a pathological liar with ties to the mafia, is madly in love with this freshman and possibly has been for months. now picture you are aaron minyard

#aaron pov of aftg when #he was in the trenches #all for the game #aftg #aaron minyard

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theblacklewinsky · 9 months ago

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Note: Hey y'all! I hope y'all enjoy, the next one might be submissive Terry idkidk 🫣 kinda hate this one.

Perfect Gentleman. | Aaron Pierre.

Gentle!Terry Richmond x Black!Female Reader

Warnings: MNDI!! this story is 18+ with depictions but not limited to; sexual content ( penetrat!on, oral s3x ( m receiving), extreme language (cursing, sexual references) established relationship, slight daddy kink if you squint. Not proofread!

Summary: terry's been the perfect gentleman, maybe a little too gentle.

swear you can have me, you really one-of-one.

how you so nasty? you really one-of-one.

You eagerly scratched the itch away in your bitten up ankles. The mosquitoes out here in the Black Bayou had torn your exposed ankles up—and this was why camping wasn't your thing. You'd never complain though, any excuse to be with Terry was a good one.

"I told you to wear long socks," he chuckled looking back you and at how you'd scratched the skin on your ankles red, "all that gardenin' you do and you out here with no socks on," he softly lectured as you watched him pitch the tent, at his demand. He was such a gentleman.

You'd been dating Terry for over four months, you've both went on a plethora of dates, had the steamy first kiss, and even spent a night at each others apartment, but you still hadn't fucked yet. Was it you? You knew you had an Oscar worthy performance of your coy-innocent act that Terry ate up all of the time, but you weren't a prude. You couldn't count how many times you'd hinted, and seduced only to be met with more gentleness.

And you loved how patient, protective, and gentle he was with you. He was everything you'd practically asked for when you started dating. A nice man, a sweet man—and you got it, a full blown golden retriever boyfriend. He had so many amazing qualities, he was always on time arriving fifteen minutes early. Something he said was one of the most useful things he learned from his time in the Marine Corps. He was a full blown de-escalator, he never wanted to argue with you, always communicating as calmly as he could before coming to an understanding with you. He was gentle. But maybe he was too gentle? You wanted Terry in the worst ways. It didn't help that he stayed in good shape, gym four times a week, and his infinite morning runs kept him in tip-top shape.

You pouted, squinting your eyes as you looked at Terry from underneath the brim of the Nike bucket hat you'd retrieved from him. Although he was pitching the tent and the sun was currently beating down on him, he decided that, you, sitting in the shade doing nothing, needed the hat more. Such a man.

"You said come comfortable, and I garden in my crocs—that's what I came in!" You defended your reasoning for not wearing the socks that he did tell you to pack last night over a quick FaceTime call, but he did say come comfortable in the same sentence. "These mosquitos are relentless, baby, look at my ankles!" You frowned looking at how red and irritated the skin has gotten there even on your deep brown skin.

Of course Terry stopped his meddling with the tent and came over to assess your so badly injured ankles. He tsk'd softly his big hands cradling both of your ankles gently. Now push them behind my head! you eagerly thought feeling him touch you at all always sent shocks and shivers through your body.

"They eatin' my baby up," he somberly acknowledged rubbing his thumbs where the bites were firmly, "you put bug spray on like I told you?"

You nodded. "Yeah, just go and finish the tent," you dramatically sighed waiting to eagerly scratch at the bites, "I'll just be sitting over here, itchy, getting ate up." At least something was eating you up.

He brought your left ankle up to his lips casually, placing a soft kiss there before setting the both of them back down carefully. You almost moaned, it had been way too long. "stop scratchin' at em, you makin' em worse."

You looked at him, batting your eyelashes at him a dazed nod following right behind. He was so gorgeous, and it didn't help that he was so sweet and treated you like the absolute brat you were. He continued on with his quick work with the tent and you continued on with your sneaky scratching. After it was perfectly pitched, he got you inside as soon as it was done to rub a bit of alcohol on your itchy ankles and making you put on a pair of his socks that were way too big for you.

You frowned looking down at your legs later that night as you both set around the campfire, that you had gotten started. You hadn't forgotten all the survival tips your father had shown you. Terry focused on cooking the fish he and you caught earlier from the pier. He'd cleaned it and dissembled it himself. "These are puttin' a damper on my outfit, so not cute."

Terry chuckled, quickly flipping the searing fish over in the pan. Your eyes flickered over to him. "What?"

"You so country," he commented through a light chuckle, "damper?"

"That's not country!" You defended through a smile. "Everybody says damper!"

"Nobody says damper,"

"Does too!"

"Why you gotta be such a brat? Why you act like that?" He teased playfully, holding his hand out to you only to pull you up from your chair and into his lap. "Hm?" He hummed nuzzling his faced into your neck where he playfully nipped at the skin on your neck, knowing the ticklish effect it had on you.

You laughed hunching your shoulder up to push him away from the area, "stop!" The assault lasted a few more minutes before he reluctantly stopped, only when he seen the tears from your nonstop laughter, and how you cradled your aching stomach when you laughed.

"Brat," he mumbled in between persisting kisses to your lips. You happily returned each one, who were you to deny the brat allegations. They were very true. "Always gotta have yo way."

"You love how bratty I am," you retorted, trailing your own lingering kisses from his lips, to his jaw, to his neck.

"I do," he mumbled out an agreement making you laugh against his neck before continuing on, and you thought maybe, as his hands kneaded the back of your thighs and the undersides of your ass. But all that came undone when he urgently removed you from his lap in light hysterics about almost burning the fish.

The fish.

How could he even think about fish when he had your throbbing pussy in his lap, was he really blind to all this shit? Or was he just not sexually attracted to you? Or was he fucking celibate? The questions brought on a lingering insecurity. The rest of the night you were more distant, quiet, the situation left you a little embarrassed and salty. You'd never had a man be so indifferent to your advances. Or did he even see them as advances? Hell, you didn't know anymore.

Your distance and quiet demeanor didn't go unnoticed either Terry, who constantly made it his mission to see if you were okay and enjoying yourself. You answered the same all the time, yes, which did very little to comfort him—but he also didn't wanna push you into irritation.

"You sure you good, baby?" He asked later that night as you both settled into the cozy tent. You made sure to nestle yourself into your cute, pinky, sleeping bag. It was so you.

"Yeah." You simply answered with a nod, forcing the weak smile. Such a liar. But you weren't gonna admit that the situation left you feeling a little salty. You didn't wanna bring the situation up at all, you'd much rather forget it.

"You sure? You not actin' like yourself, baby. You want me to take you home?" There he went. Being so him. Always being so caring.

"No, I'm fine. It's nothing really, im just..itchy still." You seamlessly lied. Or maybe not. You were still itchy.

Terry decided not to press the issue instead making sure he got as close as possible to you, something he always did when you slept together, he loved being right up under you—you didn't contest to it. Ever. You both gave your good nights, and Terry made sure to turn off the LED lantern lamp you both had in the tent. A soft and easy silence falling over the both of you. Terry's soft breathing, body heat, chirping crickets and the pitch black were enough to lull you to sleep. And they almost did, but damn, you were still itchy.

You brought your knees to your chest, hastily scratching at your extremely itchy ankles, a heavy, draws out sigh from the temporary but almost euphoric relief skipped past your lips.

"Stop scratchin'." Terry's deep voice but through the silence, the raspiness on the edge of his voice attributed to the sleep that had took him in quick. The words halted your actions quickly as you tried to quietly morph into a comfortable position.

"I'm not," you spoke quietly.

"But you were."

His damn hearing. He heard everything.

"Well I wouldn't have been if I was doing something else." Your tone snappy but the suggestiveness fore fronted the sassiness.

"Somethin' else like what?" Terry questioned.

You huffed immediately, sitting up abruptly from your sleeping bag and flickering the lantern on. "Are you really that clueless?" You exclaimed almost, looking at his ever so lost expression. "Terry, are not you sexually attracted to me?"

Terry looked at you as if you'd grown two heads. Like he couldn't understand why you'd ask him such a question, like you didn't know he was a full blown raging man. "Why would you even ask me that, of course im sexually attracted to you, baby."

"You don't act like it," you quietly murmured, "it's like every time I try, you pull back. What is it? I really thought I was obvious enough with everything."

And you were. Terry wasn't ignorant to your advances. But he also wasn't ignorant to your past relationships and the men that you dealt with. Full blown sex addicts a few of them seemed to be, and some of them seemed unable to form a real bond with you without sex. He wanted to prove to you that he actually liked you, that he wanted to get to know you past sex. That he wanted this to last. It'd taken copious amounts of restraint for him to slyly deter away from the advances. Copious amounts.

He wasn't exactly sure how he made it to four months himself, without caving in. Maybe it was his serious he'd gotten about your relationship, maybe it was genuine like for you that made it somewhat easy. He was still a man though, taking care of himself when he was finally away from you.

He said your name slowly, sitting up himself, "im utterly, completely, and deeply sexually attracted to you. But I wanna show you that when it comes to keeping this together, sex is indifferent to me. I don't want you to think we need that shit to connect. I genuinely like you, alot."

"I like you too, but I already knew that Terry," he softly laughed, the weight of the insecurities dropping off your shoulders. You couldn't believe that once again, all this time, the lack of sex was catered to his feelings about you. You were gonna fuck this man so good. So good. "I knew that at the end of the first date when you didn't try to kiss me when you dropped me off." You giggled at the recanting of the memory.

"I wanted you to feel it though."

"And I do feel it," you slinked even closer to him, hand trailing up his thigh, "I feel it so much." You looked up at him, batting your long lashes.

Terry sat there slack mouthed, brows furrowed, his stormy eyes looking down at you with bursting pleasure and astonishment as he watched you suck him down. How the fuck did you get so good at this shit? You'd completely covered his shaft in your saliva, you were loud and sloppy. Just how he liked it. Throat so tight around him, every time you nuzzled him in. You were dazed yourself, tasting him, having him in the back of your throat where you craved him so many times before. You were savoring all of this.

Your hands wrapped themselves around his girthy length, stroking them at a brisk pace, your wet mouth guiding them in their dizzying up and down movements. His grunts and groans of approval only furthered you to please him more. You looked up at him, eyes watery, and soft as you took him down, spit bubbles formed around him, as you nuzzled him in deeper into your mouth. Removing a spit soaked hand, you nuzzled that into your soaked panties, pleasing him, pleased you.

"Sss-shitttt," he drug out through a groan, his strong hand grasping the back of your neck, as he bucked himself up into your mouth, relentlessly fucking your throat. You shut your watery, burning eyes letting him use you how he wanted. "Fuck, eat that dick up baby. You do that shit so good," he slurred through his persisting moans.

That only furthered your arousal, which furthered your efforts. The rough gags and choking from you was almost enough to send him over the edge. Almost. You finally pulled back, giving him a chance to recover and giving yourself a chance to catch your ailing breathing.

You stroke him off, spitting down on his shaft in your hands, eagerly stroking the lubrication in, leaning your head down to suck one of his balls into your mouth; gently. You knew too much. How did you know so much?

"Why you so nasty?" He mumbled grabbing your chin once you were done tending to his balls. "Hm?" He hummed before pressing your wet lips to his own. His kiss rushed, sloppy, and deep. His tongue searched every inch of your mouth, his lips sucking your own into his mouth.

Oh he was nasty like that?

"Move," he knocked your hands away from his still hardened dick, "take that shit off." He comments taking heed to the articles of clothing you still had on, his own hands slithering under the oversized shirt you'd put on for bed.

"But I wanted to make you cum—" you started, wiping your wet mouth with the back of your hand once he eagerly pulled your t-shirt off, nipples immediately pebbling due to the exposure of the cool night air in the tent. You didn't get to finish your sentence before Terry's lips were already latched onto the flesh on your neck, creating red blemishes as he cascaded down your body skillfully.

"You bout to," he mumbled attaching his lips to yours once again, "open up," he tapped your jaw firmly, "lemme see." The firm taps to your jaw ignited the fire and aching need in your belly, a moan slipped past your lips as you opened like he asked.

You watched, dazed, as he spat down into your mouth. Oh, he was nasty.

It was like yin and yang to you. This couldn't be your Terry. Not the Terry that bought you flowers every Sunday and never let you lift a finger Terry. This was a different Terry, nasty Terry. Impatient Terry. Demanding Terry. Just what you wanted.

"Oh my god-uhhhh!" You slurred out through a moan. Terry's vice grip on your locs matched the same vice grip you currently had him in right now. He had you positioned on all fours, one hand on your hip to steady his hard, dizzying strokes. He was fucking you hard, too hard. Too good. Your thighs trembled beneath you, knees threatening to buckle as he slammed into your heated core repeatedly. It's like he knew exactly where that spot was located. "Right there, daddy! Right fucking there," you whimpered, face pressed pathetically on the pallet beneath you.

"I know, i feel that shit," he groaned, sending another hard smack to your ass cheek, the recoil from his pelvis constantly slamming into your ass had him in a complete daze. Four months he kept himself from this, restrained himself from what he knew had to be good. But he didn't expect it feel like this. "Wettin' me right the fuck up—mm mm, keep that shit right there, you better not fuckin' lay down, keep that shit open just like that." He mumbled out into the tent, taking into head your trembling legs. The lewd sounds of your sopping wet pussy, followed by the loud slapping of your skin together filled your tent and your empty head.

"Fuckkkk," you groaned out, managing to sit up in your elbows, acrylics clawing at the covers beneath you, your eyes crossed as you felt his tip kissing a little too deep, "so deep, baby."

"Mhm," he hummed pulling your head back with his tight grip on your hair, his lust filled glare looking right down into your own crossed eyes, "right where i should be. Look at you, takin' this dick like a good girl. This what you wanted right?"

"Yesssss," you managed to fully get out, a series of breath taking moans following. He was giving you exactly what you wanted; hard, rough shit. He was fucking you like he hated you, like he had a point to prove. This shit was only making you delusional did he not understand the type of you he would get now?

"Yeah? Wanted daddy to dig yo' shit out just like this, huh?" He nodded watching you nod in response, your breaths coming out in a series of heavy puffs. "I know you did, can tell by the way you creamin' on my dick."

"Shittt!" You gasped out the exploitive, planting your hands flat against the ground, mustering yo whatever weak energy you had to fuck yourself back against him, working toward your own impending orgasm. "I'm finna cum!" You rushed out.

Terry pulled you back toward his chest, your small frame engulfed in his as you sat promptly in his lap getting impaled in the most delicious way possible. You felt lightheaded, high, and perfect all at once. "Babyyyy, im cummin'!" You whined out.

"Keep tellin' me, do that shit. Lemme feel you cum on my dick," he grunted, the lewd works making you clench around him as they clearly sent you tumbling over the edge. Terry mocking your long, loud and drawn out moans with his own. His lips attacking wherever they could on your exposed neck. His impaling strokes never stopped, even when it was clear you'd completely rode it out. He kept fucking you, sending you into a deep place of overstimulation. When was he ever planning to cum?

"Look at you," he mumbled a smug smirk on his lips, hand firmly holding your slacked jaw in his hand, "dick got you dumb—breathe through that shit, baby." He tapped your jaw, repeatedly. The sight of you alone, plus the constant contracting of your walls around him had earned you a deliciously sounding groan. You hadn't even realized you were holding your breath until he spoke up.

Everything was too much. It was too much to focus on. The pleasure, his voice, his kisses. Forgetting to breathe in the middle of your overstimulation was warranted.

Your breaths cane tumbling back to you fast, hard and quick you panted. Body trembling in Terrys grasp, as dared to lean forward feeling another orgasm approaching, but this one felt harder. Body-shattering. It hurt and felt so good at the same time.

"Fuck, ima nut baby," Terry grunted in your ear. "Pussy so good, why yo shit so good like this?" Finally.

"Cum in my pussy, please daddy," was the first and only thing you could get out, not even warning him about your oncoming orgasm. This one cramped everything, the tightness in your stomach didn't subside but seemed to get tighter. Your thighs were numb, but your legs ached. The squeal you let out left your throat raw, and that's why you didn't hear Terry when he finally announced that he was cumming, but you felt him for sure, right where you told him to.

You felt Terry's lips against your jaw, kissing you repeatedly. Telling you how well you did for him, how he couldn't believe he kept himself away from that for four months. How good it was. These were finally the words that lulled you off to a blissful sleep, you'd finally got what you wanted. There you were, fucked out In a tent, with cum leaking out of you. Such a whore. A happy whore.

still no tag list! 😭 hope you enjoy this little filler! 💕

#aaron pierre #fine as fuck #fine black men #terry richmond #black writers #rebel ridge #black!fem!reader

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augustjoy · 5 months ago

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I’m Sorry…What?

Based on the following ask: Established relationship but it’s secret from the team. The team think they don’t like each other but in truth they are deeply in love with each other but the team don’t let them always be alone together out of worry so there have been a few close calls where they almost get caught until reader and Aaron room together and finally talk about maybe telling the team only the way they tell them is threw wedding invites and that’s shocks the team and they all have questions to which reader and Aaron only smile thinking how funny it is that a team of profilers never found them out. Love this idea! In this, Derek kind of looks out for the reader – very “big brother” behavior from him in this.

Aaron Hotchner x Fiance BAU! Fem Reader

Fluff

Word count: 1617

Not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, some explicit language, meddling profilers, canon typical violence, mention of stabbing and hospitals, mention of wedding related activities, let me know if I missed anything!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

You stood from your desk, just about to head up to Hotch’s office with a file when Emily stopped you. Her hand resting on your forearm gently, her eyes meeting your own.

“I have to go drop this file off, let me take yours.”

“Oh, Emily it’s okay. I can take them.” You moved to grab her file.

“Girl, it’s okay…I know how hard he is on you.” Emily stood, patted your shoulder and took the files to Hotch’s office.

Things had been like this pretty much since the moment you’d joined the BAU. For whatever reason, everyone on the team had just assumed that you and Hotch hated each other…that you two couldn’t even be in the same room as one another without fighting. But that couldn’t be further from the truth.

See, what the team didn’t know was that Aaron and you were engaged. The two of you were dating even before you had joined the BAU. You had been working with a different team within the FBI, having a background in behavior analysis…moving to the BAU when a spot opened up, that just made sense.

Aaron and you had agreed to keep things strictly professional at work to avoid any discomfort within the workplace. Apparently that choice was now biting you in the ass.

Working with profilers, you’d think the secret of your relationship would have come out a long time ago, that being said, doesn’t mean there haven’t been some close calls.

This had started early on in you career with the BAU. Aaron had avoided pairing the two of you together, simply to avoid any suspicion of your relationship. The team, however, took this as him not warming up to your presence on the team.

Then it was him “benching” you. Aaron for a period of time had kept you in the local precincts on cases, you knew this was because he was worried about you getting hurt, but the team saw this as him questioning your abilities. They all reassured you that you were an asset to the team, more than capable in the field. Morgan had gone as far as confronting Aaron about the way he was mistreating you.

What really sealed this theory in your teammate’s heads was the way Aaron and you sparred. During debriefings the two of you would go back and forth through numerous theories, jabbing at one another for how “ridiculous” the other one was being. While to the team this looked argumentative…it really was how the two of you were, always pushing one another, wanting them to be the best they can be. Unafraid to challenge one another.

Everything was different after that. The team worked overtime to keep things light when the two of you were around one another. They would step into conversations, inserting themselves when it wasn’t necessary. They would jump in and offer to pair with one of you, so you’d never be stuck one-on-one.

At first you found it kind of funny, laughing internally at their crazy antics, but now that you were engaged, it was getting increasingly annoying. You’d just wanted some alone time with your fiancé and they were making it impossible.

You had gone to get a fresh cup of coffee to help you get through the remainder of your paperwork. Upon entering the kitchenette, you came face to face with your fiancé.

“Hey sweetheart.” He quietly greeted.

“Hi hon.” You smiled.

Aaron passed you a cup of coffee before moving to fill a second one for himself. He’d been this way since the beginning, always putting you first no matter what. You offered him thanks and stood with him for a moment, enjoying the proximity.

“I got a call earlier from the florist, she sent over the invoice. I also sent the deposit to the caterer this morning.” You informed.

“For the flowers, peonies right? Did you decide on pink or whi-”

“Everything okay in here?” Morgan bounded into the kitchenette. “You guys look tense…please tell me you weren’t fighting again.”

“Nope, everything is good! I was just heading back to my desk.” You said before making your exit.

The next slip up was while away on a case. You had been with Derek interviewing someone that happened to be the unsub, only you hadn’t been aware of that going in.

He had pulled a knife and moved quickly, leaving you with a nasty stab to the gut. You were lucky that it hadn’t hit anything major. You’d waved Derek off, telling him to go after the unsub.

After apprehending the guy, Derek made his way back to you to check in and make sure you were okay. He had called the team and for a medic, not leaving your side.

When Aaron showed up he was livid. The team took that as anger for your “mistake”, not realizing that his anger was directed toward himself – he was beating himself up for having sent you in there, putting you in this situation.

He rode with you in the ambulance to the hospital…giving the rest of the team time to talk about how he was probably reprimanding you. But once again, it couldn’t have been further from the truth. He had held you hand and reassured you the whole way to the hospital.

The team met him there and waited by his side as you were tended to. And when the doctor came out and called your name, asking for family, Aaron didn’t hesitate to rise to his feet, barely catching himself and mentally correcting fiancé to boss.

After that, the team did everything they could to keep the two of you separated or at least had someone with you to act as a buffer. It was becoming exhausting – you’d been trying to give Aaron an update about some stuff for the wedding and you just couldn’t get the chance.

The two of you would end up rapidly firing through topics once you arrived home for the evening, trying to catch one another up on wedding tasks, work tasks, and just everyday things.

“Aaron…have you thought about how much easier things would be if we just told the team about us?”

“Yes I have. Why do you ask?” He admitted.

“Just, well…they’ve been annoying lately.” You huffed. “I don’t mean to sound rude, you know I love them. But they just won’t quit, I can’t get even a second alone with you at work and it is getting ridiculous.”

“You’re right. When you were in the hospital last month, I almost let it slip in front of them. If it’s what you want, let’s tell them.” Aaron agreed.

And thus began your planning of how you’d tell the most oblivious group of profilers that the two of you didn’t hate each other but were actually engaged to be married.

It took about a week and a half before you could officially tell the team your little secret. You had been waiting for your invitations to come in so you could hand deliver a few to your team…it would be the perfect announcement.

“Round table in five.” Aaron called out into the bullpen.

“Shit…he seems pissed.” Emily hissed.

You couldn’t help but giggle, knowing full well he was anything but pissed. Emily and you went and collected everyone, bringing them to the round table. There were hushed whispers about what this could be about, and when Penelope mentioned there wasn’t a new case, you could feel the anxiety filling the room.

Aaron made his way in, his hands holding a neat stack of pale pink envelopes. You couldn’t help but notice the way he commanded a room, his mere presence demanding the attention of those around him. This is what had initially drawn you to him all those years ago.

“I have something for each of you. I’d like you to wait to open them until everyone has one.” Aaron announced.

He passed them out one by one, the room remaining silent the entire time. It didn’t take long for everyone to notice that you were the only one who didn’t receive an envelope.

“Hotch man, if this is some kind of sick power move then I swear I will-” Derek began.

“Please, open them.” You spoke before standing up and making your way to Aaron’s side.

Confusion painted its way across everyone’s faces. Hands working quickly to open the envelopes they’d been handed. You were shaking with anticipation, and you couldn’t help the little smirk that made its way to your lips when the confusion was quickly replaced with shock.

“I’m sorry…what?” Penelope asked.

“What the hell is this?” Derek questioned.

Everyone began talking at once, talking about whether or not this was a joke. Asking if one another knew, and how long this had been going on.

“Guys!” You called. “Aaron and I have been together for a few years, well before I started with the BAU. We got engaged about seven months ago…and well, we’d love it if you all would be there for us.” You smiled.

“I KNEW IT!” Rossi laughed. “I told you all from the beginning that they didn’t hate one another, they love each other, and you all swore that they hated each other.”

Four months later, the BAU team stood by your sides as you said your vows and committed yourselves to one another.

And while the team dynamic shifted slightly with them knowing the two of you are together, and with there being two Agent Hotchners now, the one thing that didn’t change was that this team was family and you all were there for one another no matter what.

Taglist: @bernelflo@pastelpinkflowerlife@just-moondust

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kiwriteswords · 6 months ago

Note

I have a great idea for a one shot.. I cannot stop thinking about jealous BAU!reader with Hotch. Like a detective won't stop flirting with him and reader is just super jealous and hotch is super cocky about the WHOLE thing. And of course Rossi knows about both their feelings and he meddles. That's super specific lol.

I lit a thin green candle to make you jealous of me [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 1.4k|| AN: I hope you enjoy! Thanks for sending this in xx!

Tags/Warnings: no use of y/n, jealousy, canon-typical themes, bau!reader, cocky!Hotch, meddling!Rossi, Aaron Hotchner POV

Aaron Hotchner stood at the front of the local police station, briefing the officers on the case details. As the Unit Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, he was accustomed to commanding attention, his tone authoritative yet calm. Beside him, you stood with your arms crossed, your focus not entirely on the discussion. Hotch couldn't help but notice your distracted demeanor.

During the briefing, Detective Sarah Jacobs, a striking and charismatic local detective, leaned heavily against Hotch’s side of the table. Her laughter was a touch too loud; her glances a tad too lingering as she responded to his procedural instructions. Hotch, ever observant, picked up on the tension radiating from you. Every time Jacobs smiled at him, your jaw tightened, and your notes were suddenly scribbled with more force than necessary.

Post-briefing, as the team dispersed to gather more information, Jacobs found reasons to stay close to Hotch, her hand brushing his arm under the pretense of pointing to details on a map. Hotch glanced your way, catching you glaring at Jacobs from across the room. There was an unmistakable flash of jealousy in your eyes, and something about it spurred a rare mischievous streak in him.

In the car, with only the two of you, Hotch couldn’t resist teasing. “You know, she’s just being friendly,” he remarked casually, eyes on the road.

“You don’t need to tell me about ‘friendly,’ Hotch,” you replied, your tone sharper than intended. “I know what flirting looks like.”

Hotch’s lips twitched into a half-smile. “Does it bother you?” he asked, glancing briefly your way.

You huffed, looking out the window. “No, it doesn’t bother me. Why would it?”

That smile became a full-fledged grin now, hidden from your view. “Just checking,” he murmured, his voice low and amused. It was rare for Hotch to indulge in such personal banter, but the evolving undefined relationship between you made the boundaries blur at times.

Back at the station, Rossi pulled Hotch aside, his expression a mix of amusement and concern. “You’re playing with fire, Aaron,” he whispered, nodding subtly in your direction where you were meticulously organizing case files, avoiding looking in their direction.

“Dave, it’s nothing,” Hotch assured him, his voice a low rumble.

Rossi raised an eyebrow. “Nothing? That’s not what it looks like from where I’m standing. She’s clearly got it bad for you, and you’re not exactly pushing her away. What’s your angle here?”

Hotch’s gaze softened as he looked over at you. “There’s no angle, Dave. It’s just… new. We’re figuring it out.”

Rossi clapped him on the back. “Well, figure it out fast. She’s a keeper, and you’re not the only one who can see it.” With a knowing look, Rossi walked away, leaving Hotch to ponder his words.

That evening, as the team gathered to review the day’s findings, Hotch made a point of standing close to you, his presence a silent statement to any speculative eyes. His voice, when he addressed the team, was firm, but when he gave you a brief look, it softened just enough for you to notice.

Later, when Detective Jacobs approached Hotch with another question, he answered politely but with professionalism, putting a clear distance between them. You watched, your previous irritation fading slightly as Hotch’s attention turned back to you, his dark eyes locking with yours in silent communication.

As the team prepared to leave, Rossi sidled up to you, a smirk playing on his lips. “Don’t let him get too comfortable with all that attention,” he whispered conspiratorially. “But between you and me, I haven’t seen him this off his game in years. You’re good for him.”

You looked up at Hotch, who was waiting by the door, watching you with an unreadable expression. Walking over to him, you decided maybe it was time to have that conversation about what 'this' was. But as you reached him, all you said was, “Let’s get back to the hotel. We need to review the profile again.”

“Of course,” Hotch replied, a slight relief in his tone, but as you both walked out into the cool evening, his hand brushed against yours, a simple touch that promised more discussions to come.

As the BAU team headed back to the hotel after a long day, the atmosphere inside the SUV was thick with unsaid words. You were seated next to Hotch, the space between you charged with an undercurrent of tension and unsolved emotions. Throughout the ride, Hotch caught glimpses of your profile, illuminated by the passing streetlights. Your usual sharp focus seemed clouded with thoughts he could only guess at.

Upon arriving at the hotel, Hotch suggested a brief team meeting in the hotel conference room to finalize the profile adjustments. However, as the rest of the team filed out of the SUV, he held back, touching your arm gently. “Can we talk for a minute?” he asked, his voice low.

In the privacy of the parked vehicle, Hotch turned to face you fully. “About earlier—” he started, but you cut him off.

“It’s fine, Hotch. Detective Jacobs is just doing her job, right?” But your words came out more strained than you intended, and you couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

Hotch’s expression softened, his usual stern demeanor melting into a rare vulnerability. “It’s not just about Jacobs. I noticed you were upset. And if I’m honest, it bothered me more than it should have,” he confessed, his gaze steady and intense.

You finally looked at him, taken aback by his openness. “Why would it bother you?” you asked, a mixture of curiosity and something akin to hope flickering in your chest.

“Because,” Hotch paused, searching for the right words. “Because what I feel for you is... more than just professional concern. I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings between us.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his admission. The jealousy that had been simmering within you now sparked into something more constructive—clarification of the bond you both were tiptoeing around. “I guess I was jealous,” you admitted, feeling a weight lift as you acknowledged it. “I didn’t like seeing her flirt with you. It made me realize how much I...”

“How much you what?” Hotch prompted, leaning closer, his interest evident.

“How much I care,” you finished, locking eyes with him. “And how little I like the idea of not knowing where we stand.”

Hotch reached out, his hand covering yours. “I feel the same,” he said simply. “I’ve been trying to keep things slow, professional, but maybe we’ve been fooling ourselves thinking we could control the pace of whatever this is between us.”

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips despite the seriousness of the conversation. “So, what do we do about it?” you asked, feeling more confident now that your feelings were out in the open.

“We redefine our parameters,” Hotch suggested. “Outside of work, we explore this... relationship. We see where it goes without the constraints we’ve been putting on ourselves.”

“And at work?” you asked, knowing the complications that could arise.

“At work, we remain the professionals we always are. But outside of it, I’m yours as much as you’re mine,” Hotch stated, his voice firm with resolve.

The conversation was a turning point. As you both joined the others in the conference room, there was a new sense of understanding between you. The meeting went smoothly, with both of you contributing to refining the profile. However, the real shift was noticeable afterward, as the team suggested grabbing a late dinner together.

Throughout the meal, you noticed Hotch shooting you small, knowing looks. You responded with subtle smiles, your earlier jealousy replaced by a sense of belonging and mutual recognition of the new, unspoken agreement between you.

Later that night, as you walked back to your room, Rossi caught up with you, a knowing grin on his face. “Looks like you two figured things out, huh?” he teased gently.

“Maybe we did,” you replied, your heart lighter than it had been in days. “Thanks, Rossi.”

Rossi winked. “Anytime. Just remember, the heart is just as vital a muscle to a profiler as the brain. Use them both wisely.”

With Rossi’s words in mind, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you and Hotch would face them together, not just as colleagues, but as partners in every sense of the word.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

@person-005

@iyskgd

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ssa-dado · 4 months ago

Text

Pride & Pettiness

Aaron Hotchner x deskmate!fem!reader Genre: angst, mutual pining with the same energy of a sitcom Summary: Even the best partnerships - even a fresh one like yours and Hotch’s - had to go through rough patches. But that’s what mentors are for, right? Especially if they happen to be Rossi and Gideon - the undisputed masters of working in a duo. Too bad that even the BAU gods were not immune to human pettiness, and instead of fixing things when you and Hotch each stormed into their offices for advice, they somehow managed to make everything worse. Warnings: Rossi and Gideon, despite technically being your bosses, are way too caught up in their own petty feud to be of any actual help. Instead, they’ve chosen to channel their energy into something far more productive - gossiping about you and Hotch via fax. Because, well, it is the late ‘90s, after all. Word Count: 5.9k Dado's Corner: This piece is based on the first part of a request (and way too many private brainrots) sent by the co-relator of this series @c-losur3 for my 400 followers celebration event YEEEHAWWWW there will be a second part, set many years later… hehehe the angst is never over. Ah, also, the resolution of all of this is so silly. Sorry... I guess.

masterlist

The strongest bond someone working in law enforcement could form was a partnership - two people moving in sync, instinct sharpening instinct, and skill complementing skill.

Plato, in The Republic, had grand ideas about an ideal government ruled by two philosopher-kings - an 'interesting' proposition, considering he just happened to be a philosopher himself.

How convenient.

But the most remarkable part of his argument wasn’t the thinly veiled intellectual self-promotion, it was the number.

Two. Not one.

Because, according to Plato, the only way to arrive at truth was through dialogue, through debate, through the friction of two minds constantly challenging each other.

And while most people would assume that ancient political philosophy had very little bearing on the modern world, somehow, against all odds, Plato’s vision of dual leadership had found a foothold in an institution he probably never would have anticipated: the FBI.

Specifically, in the form of Jason Gideon and David Rossi - two men, one partnership, leading the Behavioral Analysis Unit.

And, much like Plato’s philosopher-kings, they operated under the firm belief that they possessed the wisdom to shape the world around them.

Which was exactly how you and Hotch - through what was definitely pure coincidence and not at all the result of their very deliberate meddling - had ended up as partners.

And now, thanks to their brilliant mentorship, you both found yourselves sitting across from them… airing your grievances about each other.

Of course, this wasn’t supposed to happen.

You had gone to Gideon’s office with the perfectly reasonable intent of professionally complaining about Hotch over a minor misunderstanding. Nothing dramatic, just a slight escalation that 'totally' warranted the intervention of your superior.

Or at least, that’s how Hotch saw it.

Because if you had just communicated like a normal person, you would have told him that you weren’t actually filing a formal complaint, you were just looking for advice.

But no, that would have been too easy.

Which is exactly why Hotch, ever the beacon of patience and maturity, having spotted you doing so, decided to return the favor. If you were going to drag your boss into this, then he was going to do the exact same thing, marching straight into Rossi’s office to even the playing field.

What neither of you could have predicted was that, somehow, a discussion that was supposed to be about you and Hotch had instead morphed into a thinly veiled continuation of whatever unresolved argument Gideon and Rossi had been stewing over for days.

Plato may have waxed poetic about two-person leadership as the pinnacle of governance, but clearly, he had never met Gideon and Rossi - what with him being dead for over two millennia and all.

Minor detail.

“I spent ten - ten - minutes explaining the UnSub’s pattern. Laid it all out, even a metaphor that I thought was particularly strong! And you know what Hotch said? You know what he had the audacity to say?”

Gideon, wisely, did not attempt a guess.

He merely adjusted his glasses and regarded you with the patience of a man who had endured enough existential crises - his own and others’ - to know better than to poke an already burning fire.

“He said-” you inhaled, because even the memory of Hotch’s voice made you feel the heat creeping up your cheeks - from rage, obviously, rage…

…“You’re overcomplicating it. That’s what I told her,” Hotch stated at the same time, on the opposite side of the wall, seated in front of Rossi. “It was just a perfectly rational observation.”

Rossi took a long, slow sip of his coffee. If he had known what he was about to deal with, he would have gladly corrected it with enough whiskey to make this tolerable. “Sure, Aaron. Reasonable.”

"But then she looked at me like I had personally insulted her, completely ignored the part where I agreed with her - just with fewer metaphors - and instead of talking to me like an adult, she stomped off to Gideon." Hotch exhaled, rubbing his temple. "That woman is a -”

He paused, searching for the right word, the perfect descriptor, something that fully encapsulated the absolute trial that was dealing with you.

“…A paradox.”

But no, that wasn’t enough. That wasn’t nearly enough.

“…A walking contradiction. She can read everyone else like a book but when it comes to herself? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. She’s-” he exhaled sharply, frustrated beyond belief, “-she’s so infuriating.”

And then he winced.

Because what the hell had just come out of his mouth? A contradiction? A paradox? Was he seriously talking like that now?

Goddammit. You were infecting him.

Meanwhile Rossi, watching him spiral, was mentally preparing himself for the stupidity that was about to unfold.

Because unlike Hotch - who was still stubbornly convinced that this was about anything other than what it actually was - Rossi saw the issue with absolute, irrefutable clarity.

This wasn’t about communication issues.

This wasn’t even about professional disagreements.

This was textbook mutual pining.

And not just any kind of mutual pining - the worst kind.

The kind where both of you were so deep in denial that the only way your brains could cope was by turning every minor inconvenience into a full-blown incident, bickering like an old married couple because neither of you could stand being within five feet of the other without your neurons short-circuiting and risking the horrifying possibility of self-awareness.

It was, frankly, embarrassing.

Rossi knew exactly what he should do.

As Hotch’s mentor, it was his duty to sit him down, force him to face reality, and guide him toward the inevitable conclusion that all of this frustration wasn’t about you being impossible - it was about the fact that he was hopelessly, stupidly attracted to you.

But then he remembered that one time Gideon had acted intellectually superior to him.

And suddenly, this had nothing to do with Hotch and everything to do with the fact that Gideon was wrong about whatever they had been arguing about before.

So, rather than responding to Hotch, Rossi silently reached for his fax machine.

TO: JASON GIDEON

FROM: DAVID ROSSI

SUBJECT: IT’S YOUR KID’S FAULT

Your kid is the reason Aaron has been ranting for five straight minutes without blinking. And while I should be concerned about the blinking thing, I’m honestly more disturbed by the fact that I’ve never heard him talk this much since I met him. It’s unnatural. It’s unsettling. It’s frankly ruining my entire perception of reality.

Fix your kid. She should apologize to him so he finally stops.

You barely registered the whirr of the fax machine as you continued venting, pacing in Gideon’s office.

“What if I’m not enough for him?” you muttered. “I get it, I’d be mad too if I got paired up with someone who’s only been legally allowed to drink for a few months, but at least he could have said it differently.”

Gideon, barely listening - because his brain was currently short-circuiting over the sheer idiocy of Rossi’s latest fax - grabbed a fresh sheet of paper and started typing.

“Don’t worry, I hear you,” he said absently, which, given the circumstances, was not entirely true.

You huffed, still pacing. “He makes it sound like I’m incapable just because I don’t summarize my entire profile in monosyllabic grunts and I don’t stare deep into people’s souls with those unreadable-”

You frowned slightly. “What color are his eyes, anyway?”

That was the exact moment Gideon mentally checked out.

Because while he should have been focusing on mentoring you through this crisis, Rossi had just challenged him.

And there were some things in life that simply could not be ignored.

Like proving David Rossi wrong.

So, without hesitation, he sent his reply.

TO: DAVID ROSSI

FROM: JASON GIDEON

SUBJECT: INCORRECT. TRY AGAIN.

Oh, please. Your kid is the reason my kid has been pacing my office for ten minutes, trapped in an existential spiral so deep she may never escape.

And why? Because your Aaron - stoic, logical, deeply repressed Aaron - is either willfully ignoring her brilliance or is so profoundly distracted by something else (I wonder what that could be, David?).

And now, look at what he’s done. He’s unraveled her. Entirely.

Philosophers have written essays on the fragility of human perception, on the agony of misunderstanding - but even they would struggle to articulate the absurdity of what he’s done here. Because rather than acknowledge the blindingly obvious truth - that he is so disastrously affected by her mere presence that his entire ability to process information has been compromised - he has instead chosen to, what? Dismiss her? Challenge her? Stare at her like she personally upended his worldview and then claim she’s the problem?

So no, David. I will not be fixing my kid.

Fix yours.

Meanwhile, in Rossi’s office, to his absolute horror, Hotch was still talking.

This was unprecedented. Unnatural. Downright unsettling.

Rossi had seen a lot of disturbing things in his career, but this?

This was genuinely alarming.

“I don’t approach profiling the way she does,” Hotch admitted, his voice quieter, almost strained. “I’m not Peter Rogers. I never will be. If she wanted a partner who thinks like that - if she wanted him - I’d understand.”

Ah, Peter Rogers - the one agent in this entire bureau Hotch had the misfortune of knowing, solely because the man had once occupied your desk - which, by extension, meant he had spent far too much time sitting in front of him before you joined the BAU.

That moron.

That living testament to the FBI’s questionable hiring practices.

That bureaucratic seat-filler whose greatest contribution to law enforcement was proving that, apparently, anyone could get a badge.

If Rogers had contributed one remotely valuable thing to society in his otherwise remarkably unimpressive career, it was possessing just enough cognitive function to form complete sentences - and, for some baffling reason, to be your friend.

Which, naturally, checked out - you both had degrees in linguistics, spoke the same academic language, and were intellectually aligned.

Unlike him.

Because, of course, you never let him forget that he had once been a prosecutor - a lawyer - a fact you brought up constantly, with that little glint in your eyes.

Which was, clearly, because you despised him.

Obviously.

That was the reason.

Not because of… well, what other reason could there possibly be? That you liked him? No, that was ridiculous.

Hell, how could you? He barely liked himself.

People like you weren’t supposed to be attracted to someone like him - someone who had zero ability to flirt, zero charm, and zero interest in playing mind games.

Unlike Peter Rogers.

Oh. Again. That bastard.

And so, Hotch exhaled sharply, as if he could physically shake that idiot’s face out of his mind and replace it with something less infuriating… like yours.

Or - Rossi’s.

Anyone’s, really.

It wasn’t specifically your face he wanted to picture. Any face would be fine.

But now that he was picturing yours, he felt… calmer.

No wait, enraged.

Yes. That was what he was supposed to be. Mad at you.

“If she wants someone more in line with her methods, fine,” he muttered, forcing the words out like they physically hurt. “But she could have just told me. We’ve spent months working together - sharing a desk, hotel rooms - why throw all of that away without a conversation?”

Because, really, if you wanted Peter Rogers, you could have him. In fact, Hotch would be thrilled to gift-wrap him for you and never have to see his smug, thesaurus-abusing face again.

…Though, would that mean he’d never again get to see you frowning down at a case file, tapping a pen against the page whenever something didn’t quite add up - waiting, deliberating, until finally, you swallowed your pride, got up from your seat, dragged your chair around your desk, and settled beside him with a barely muttered, "Tell me if this sounds insane."

Would that mean no more of those moments that were supposed to last just a couple of minutes - just a quick consultation - but always, always stretched into something more?

Where your case somehow became his, where the file he’d left open to return to later suddenly had two sets of eyes on it instead of one?

Would that mean no more of those accidental non-accidental moments - like how you both always ended up in the break room at the same time?

And even though there were two coffee pots, you’d linger just a second too long near his, just so he’d sigh, roll his eyes, nudge your elbow, and pour you a cup before you could ask?

Would it mean no more of those quiet, almost too easy nights in whatever godforsaken motel the Bureau had thrown you into, where you sat cross-legged on your bed, case file open but forgotten, sharing a dessert you had insisted on ordering - because you knew he wanted it but would never ask for it himself?

Would it mean no more of those moments where you’d nudge the plate toward him near the end, claiming you were too full, even though he wasn’t oblivious enough to miss the way you always just so happened to stop right before the last bite?

No more of that way you glanced up from your files when you thought he wasn’t looking, brow slightly furrowed, like you wanted to ask him something but weren’t sure how?

No more of you in his space, where he had somehow, stupidly gotten used to you being?

Would that mean no more of those rare, exhausted moments in transit after a long case, like that time on the train back to Quantico? When, somewhere between wrapping up the last loose ends and reviewing the final report, you had dozed off mid-sentence, your head slowly tipping forward before settling against his shoulder?

Would it mean no more of the way he had to fight off a betraying smile - muttering something about how next time, one of Gideon or Rossi should sit beside you before they had the chance to start poking fun at him - when, in reality, he’d never give up that seat for anything?

No.

No, he couldn’t just give you away like that.

That would be insane.

Unfortunately, not as insane as what Rossi was about to tell him.

If only his mentor could read his mind, maybe he wouldn’t have made such a huge mistake out of sheer spite for his own partner, currently seated on the opposite side of the wall.

“Well, kid,” Rossi said casually, leaning back in his chair like he wasn’t about to detonate a nuclear bomb of bad advice. “She doesn’t trust you anymore. Clearly.”

And just like that, Rossi confirmed what Hotch had been trying to push down - what had been ringing in his head ever since you had walked right past him and into Gideon’s office.

Hotch froze in his chair, fist clenched, his thumb already moving along the side of his index finger. “…What?”

Rossi shrugged, as if none of this was a big deal. “She’s already decided you’re not worth explaining things to anymore. She thinks she’s the oracle of who-knows-what, and your job now is to bring her back to earth.”

There was a beat of silence.

And then, with all the confidence of a man giving genuinely terrible advice, Rossi added, “You should get revenge.”

Like this was a completely reasonable course of action.

Like this was not one of the worst things he could have possibly said.

Hotch frowned, fully expecting this to be some kind of joke. “That is not helpful.”

“Oh, isn’t it?” Rossi lifted an eyebrow, looking deeply, profoundly pleased with himself. “Listen, kid, if she doesn’t think you listen to her, then stop listening to her. Completely. Ignore everything she says for the next few cases. Act like her theories don’t even exist. Hell, outright disagree with her just to make her question herself.”

Hotch just stared at him, expression caught somewhere between disbelief and actual concern. “You cannot be serious.”

“Oh, I’m dead serious.” Rossi smirked. “You need to win this, Aaron. Make her realize how much she needs you to listen. Make her miss it.”

Hotch blinked. “That is-”

“Brilliant? I know.” Rossi shrugged, feigning modesty. “She thinks she’s above working with you? That she doesn’t need to explain things to you anymore? Then fine. Make her prove it.”

Hotch exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “This is insane.”

Rossi, seeing his hesitation, sighed and leaned back. “Look, Aaron. You came to me for advice. And I’m giving you advice.”

Which was, of course, the only justification he needed before turning to his fax machine with all the righteous indignation of a man personally victimized by his best friend’s existence.

TO: JASON GIDEON

FROM: DAVID ROSSI

SUBJECT: SUCK IT

You ever notice how your kid has a response for everything, until someone dares to disagree, and suddenly, it’s an affront to her entire existence?

Sound familiar, Jason?

Because it should.

She’s got that same holier-than-thou, no-one-understands-my-genius attitude you do, thinking she’s the only one with a fully functioning brain, acting personally offended the second someone suggests she might not be the sole guardian of the truth.

The only thing keeping her from turning into a full copy of you is the massive, pathetic, completely obvious crush she has on Aaron.

I would feel bad for him, but honestly, it’s probably still a better fate than what I’ve been dealing with for years.

At least she’s smarter than you. But then again, so is that half-dead plant you keep on your windowsill.

TO: DAVID ROSSI

FROM: JASON GIDEON

SUBJECT: STOP DIGGING

Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Dave. Aaron’s repression? Learned straight from his brilliant mentor, whose idea of guidance is bad advice and a pat on the back.

And don’t start on my kid when yours is one lingering glance away from self-destruction. If she’s me, then Hotch is just you, with even worse social skills.

Now, unless you want them to figure out we’re talking behind their backs, quit the fax war while you’re ahead.

P.S. The plant is alive, you absolute moron.

It didn’t matter how much the two old men were mad at each other, some things in life were just undeniable truths.

Like the fact that partnerships - the real ones, the ones that settle so deep in your soul they become part of you - created something stronger than just teamwork.

The greatest partnerships - ergo theirs, and, unknowingly to you and Hotch, yours too, despite having far less time to marinate in dysfunction - had a way of forming their own language.

A language of mirroring postures, finishing each other’s sentences, predicting a move before it was even made. A near telepathic connection that let you know exactly what the other was thinking without them having to say a single word.

Some people were just meant to be.

At work, of course.

Not that fate, luck, or - let’s be honest - the sheer misfortune of the universe always knew where to draw the line.

And maybe that’s what Rossi should have told Hotch…

Or - tying it back to the telepathy portion of this completely doomed thesis - what Gideon should have told you.

Because instead of actually helping, they both did what they always did when their own egos got in the way:

They screwed up magnificently.

And gave you the exact same, equally terrible advice – to get revenge.

“…What?” You blinked, certain you had misheard.

“Revenge.” He waved a hand, as if this was a well-established principle of psychology. “If he won’t listen to you, then don’t waste your breath. Let him see how well he does without your insight.”

You squinted. “So… you’re telling me to intentionally not do my job?”

Gideon sighed. “No. I’m telling you to strategically withhold information until he realizes how much he relies on your perspective.”

When you returned to your desk, Hotch was already at his, stiff-backed and stone-faced, his jaw so clenched that you could hear his teeth grinding.

Which was fine.

Because you weren’t speaking to him anyway.

Not that he was speaking to you, either.

Which was also fine.

Except for the fact that Peter Rogers, in all his wheeled-chair-rolling, space-invading glory, had wedged himself directly between you - parking himself right next to you, far too comfortable in a way that made Hotch’s grip on his pen visibly tighten.

"You know," Peter said, "I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you two actually not talking."

You didn’t respond.

Hotch also didn’t respond.

Which, in Peter’s mind, was an invitation to continue. "Okay, what’s going on with you two?"

You both exhaled sharply through your nose and, in perfect unison - much to no one’s surprise except Peter’s - said, "Nothing."

Because him, a smug ass who apparently lived to poke the bear, grinned. “Oh, you two are so in sync.”

You shot him a glare. "Pete, I swear-"

But before you could finish, he leaned back, tilting his chair just enough that Hotch seriously considered kicking it out from under him - especially when he, with all the confidence of a man who had never been punched in the face, set a file down directly in the middle of both your desks, precisely equidistant, like he was deliberately trying to start a fight.

“So, partners,” Peter started, dragging out the word like he knew exactly what he was doing - or maybe, because he was bitter about the fact that he still hadn’t been formally paired with anyone himself. “Thoughts on this?”

“I’ll let Hotch answer first,” you said smoothly, barely glancing up.

Hotch’s eyes narrowed immediately. “No, I insist,” he replied, voice sharp, looking up from his desk.

“Oh, no,” you said, flipping a page in your file with exaggerated care. “I wouldn’t want to overcomplicate things.”

Hotch’s jaw locked.

Rogers blinked, glancing between the two of you. “…Are you two-?”

“Fine,” Hotch interrupted, because the last thing he needed was Peter Rogers analyzing his relationship with you. He turned his attention to the file, scanning it for a total of three seconds before declaring, “This isn’t the UnSub’s pattern.”

“Oh, really?” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because I could’ve sworn that the signatures do match-"

“They don’t,” Hotch countered.

“They do,” you shot back.

“I disagree.”

“Well, I disagree with your disagreement.”

Hotch exhaled. “That’s so childish, it’s not how that works.”

Rogers, still holding the file, hesitated before looking at his own notes. “…Actually, I think-”

Both of your heads snapped toward him so fast it was a miracle he didn’t die on the spot.

“Oh, do tell, Pete,” you said, voice sweet in a way that was clearly threatening. “What do you think?”

“Well,” he mused, rubbing his chin - probably in an attempt to convince the two of you that he was capable of actual thought and not just winging it as usual - “I think I just walked into the middle of a divorce proceeding.”

If he thought that was a joke, he was probably the only person on earth who considered it funny.

Didn’t help that you and Hotch were tough critics at the moment.

“But don’t worry,” Peter continued, absolutely delighted now, “I would be thrilled to play mediator. You know - help you work through your issues, since I’m obviously neutral in this.”

“I mean, I’ve known little Y/N since she was only fifteen,” he said, reaching out to ruffle your hair before thinking better of it, then he turned to Hotch. “And I was your desk mate buddy for two whole years, am I right, Big H?”

Silence.

To top it all off, Peter actually had the audacity to make a stupid finger-gun gesture, wink at Hotch, and fire.

Click. Click.

And was met with absolutely nothing.

Just the coldest, most silent, most deeply unimpressed stare Hotch had ever delivered in his life.

Peter, undeterred, clicked his tongue. “That makes me, what? Your best man, Champ?”

In Hotch’s opinion, that made Peter Rogers the best possible candidate to be murdered right here in the FBI building.

And yet, the absolute audacity of this man.

Something - something trickling at the edges of Hotch’s sixth sense, or maybe just his profiler instincts - had never sat right with him about the way Peter always had to stress that he had known you since you were fifteen…

…While he had been twenty-one.

And maybe Hotch could have voiced that. Could have said something. Could have acknowledged the way that detail had always gnawed at him.

But, unfortunately, Peter was your best friend.

Which meant, for the sake of professionalism, and also the fact that you would probably take a bullet for this absolute idiot, Hotch had to keep that particular opinion to himself.

“Well,” Peter continued, flipping casually through the file like this wasn’t a crime scene in the making, “Don’t you worry, guys. Every great partnership has rough patches.”

He paused, smiling.

“But - I can fix it... it is surely your lucky day. Divorce attorneys are expensive, you know?! And with this pay?!”

Silence.

Nobody laughed.

Again.

"Alright, fine. Moving on," Peter announced, standing up with way too much enthusiasm. "Step one: acknowledging the problem. And for that, we’re gonna do a little trust exercise."

Your eyes immediately narrowed. "Peter, no-"

"Peter, yes," he shot back, already gesturing for both of you to stand up - and, when Hotch predictably refused to move, physically dragging him out of his chair because, apparently, he hadn’t budgeted time for stubbornness today.

"Great! Okay, now come closer - yeah, you stay there - Hotch, maybe less like you’re standing in front of a firing squad… perfect, that’s my man..."

That made Hotch almost roll his eyes.

"Before either of you start whining-" Peter clapped his hands together, "let’s just-"

So, before even finishing his sentence, he shoved you forward.

Directly into Hotch’s arms.

And despite the fact that the last time either of you had done a trust exercise like this was probably in kindergarten, the entire world stopped.

Because for a moment - for one infuriatingly long, electric moment - every single reason you were mad at each other suddenly took a backseat to an entirely different kind of tension.

The kind that was definitely not workplace appropriate.

The kind that had Hotch’s hands tightening around you on pure instinct before he could even process it.

The kind that had your breath catching in your throat when you realized that, yeah, he was definitely built like a solid wall of muscle under that suit.

The kind that made you far too aware of how close his face was to yours, how you could actually feel the faint warmth of his breath against your hair.

The kind that had Hotch’s face immediately turning the exact shade of his tie.

The kind that had you way too afraid to check if yours was the same.

The kind that meant neither of you had stepped away yet.

“Oh.. alright now...” Peter beamed, far too entertained. “hold the pose …and tell each other how you feel.”

Hotch scoffed, like he was seconds away from handing in his badge, changing his name, and disappearing into the mountains to escape this entire mess.

Too bad his body language was telling a completely different story.

His grip on you tightened - just barely, almost imperceptibly - so slight that if you weren’t hyperaware of every tiny shift around you, you might have missed it.

“Look into each other’s eyes,” the idiot instructed, brimming with the confidence of a man whose entire playbook came from a $2 self-help book he picked up at a gas station.

And so you raised your eyes, leaning back slightly - and there he was, already looking at you, his pupils blown wide.

You convinced yourself it was from the shadow cast on him by that one broken lamp you’d been shuffling underneath, the dim light flickering in just the wrong way.

Because there was no way, no possible way, that his pupils were that dilated just from standing too close to you.

Just the lighting.

And yet, despite knowing that, your pulse still spiked.

Silence.

Absolute.

Dead.

Silence.

Peter sighed, as he glanced between the two of you, who - after who knew how many seconds - had still yet to utter a single word.

“Do you want me to count to three?” he deadpanned.

And maybe it was true, maybe the greatest partnerships were in sync, maybe they did move in tandem, maybe they did know each other too well-

Because at the exact same moment, you both spoke.

“I’m not enough for you,” Hotch said, voice steady, controlled - wrong.

“I’m too much for you,” you admitted, quiet, careful - wrong.

And then, you both turned to each other, eyes locking, like the other had just said the single most idiotic thing in existence.

More idiotic than Peter Rogers’ entire existence.

More idiotic than every ridiculous word that had come out of his mouth up until now.

“That’s not true,” you said, in sync.

And yet-

You had both believed it.

You had both convinced yourselves that this was the truth for a few hours.

That you were too much - loud, overwhelming, excessive, impossible to follow - while he was not enough - too restrained, too distant, too closed-off, too incapable of keeping up with you.

You stepped back - not entirely, just enough to put space between you, enough to feel the cool air where his warmth had been -

But not enough to look away.

Not enough to actually leave.

Because as much as you loathed to admit it, as much as you didn’t want to acknowledge it, there was something deeply unsettling about the way you had both spiraled into this.

How you had both ended up in opposite places, on opposite sides of the same fear.

And how, somehow, in all of it, the one thing neither of you had ever questioned-

Was each other.

TO: JASON GIDEON

FROM: DAVID ROSSI

SUBJECT: MAYDAY CANCEL PROOF

From the way they’re both storming toward our offices, I have a sinking feeling something’s gone horribly wrong. Yes, they’re dumb, but they’re also profilers. Very good ones.

And sure enough, Hotch burst into Rossi’s office like a man ready to prosecute a case in real-time.

Rossi, already prepared for impact, barely looked up. “Well, to be fair, you came to me for advice. I gave you advice.” He spread his hands like that was a reasonable defense.

Hotch stared at him, unimpressed. "Old man, have you taken your medicine? This is your fault."

Deciding Rossi was no longer worth another second of his life, Hotch turned on his heel and stalked back toward his desk - only to find you already mid-way, coming back from Gideon’s office, looking just as exasperated.

You jerked your chin toward the two closed doors. "They’re still mad at each other."

Hotch sighed. "Shocking."

Your gaze lingered on Rossi and Gideon’s offices for a beat before you spoke again. "Maybe we should intervene… before they cause any more damage."

Hotch gave you a skeptical look. "Do you have a plan?"

The second he saw the look on your face, he groaned. "If we seriously tell them to do a trust exercise, I think Rossi might just file for early retirement." His dimples flashed as he tried - and failed - to keep a straight face… they always seemed to betray him.

"Retire?! And what’s he gonna do to pay the bills? Become a bestselling author?" You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "Oh, please."

You and Hotch had no idea, at the time, just how painfully accurate that little joke would turn out to be.

And you definitely hadn’t anticipated how often it would come back to haunt you - every single time you collapsed onto your shared couch, exhausted but grinning, only to glance at the monstrous, leather-bound book sitting on your coffee table.

A book that contained every single fax Rossi and Gideon had ever exchanged, all meticulously preserved and bound, because apparently, their legacy wasn’t their actual contributions to criminal profiling, but rather their collective inability to mind their own damn business.

It was your favorite bedtime read.

Except for the times when you were too busy doing things that two newly engaged lovebirds, in a brand-new home, had far better uses of their time for.

You both made sure to put the book away when that happened.

Because somehow, despite knowing full well that Rossi and Gideon were nowhere in your house, the sheer existence of that book made you feel watched.

Unfortunately, this time, your Aaron - who had been mindlessly flipping through its pages - suddenly froze.

"...No."

You, half-dozing against him, cracked an eye open. "What?"

He cleared his throat, stiffened, and angled the book just enough so you could see the offending text exchange.

TO: JASON GIDEON

FROM: DAVID ROSSI

SUBJECT: START STEAMING YOUR GOOD SUIT, OLD MAN

Because I bet they’re getting engaged in three years.

TO: DAVID ROSSI

FROM: JASON GIDEON

SUBJECT: THREE IS GENEROUS

For how it’s going, I give them two.

Silence.

You and Hotch stared at each other.

Then, in perfect unison - "They forgot to add ten."

Which felt even sweeter when Aaron pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your temple, his breath warm against your skin.

“…Aaron,” you murmured, fingers threading through his hair, already tugging just enough to make him hum.

“…Yes, honey?” he replied softly… knowing.

You smirked. “Could you hide the book?”

A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest - because, oh, he knew exactly what that meant.

Still, with a reluctant sigh - because this required temporarily leaving your side - he stood, barely resisting the urge to toss the damn thing across the room. Instead, he made his way to the bookshelf, scanning for a worthy hiding place.

“What about behind this one?” he asked, holding up a book.

You barely glanced at it before nodding. “That’ll do.”

Aaron exhaled, shaking his head as he returned to the couch - where, of course, you immediately pulled him back down into your space, arms wrapping around him like he'd been gone for years instead of thirty seconds.

"There," he murmured against your hair , lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Book’s hidden."

Hidden.

Buried.

Tucked away behind Plato’s The Republic.

Fitting, really.

that absolutely incredible gifset I used is by the insanely talented @holoship AAAAA I LOVE YOUR GIFS

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @oxforce ; @percysley ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

#dado 400 #aaron hotchner #hotch #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotch x reader #symposiumff #criminal minds

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honeypiehotchner · 2 months ago

Text

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part twenty

My version of celebrating 8,000 followers (thank you again!!!) is posting yet another chapter of these two, getting us ever so closer to them getting their shit together 🤭🫶🏻 (And if I post the next one in a couple days, don't mind me)

Warnings: the usual angst, once again they're...tender? they're not fighting?, Rossi is kind of maybe meddling but not reaaaally, teeheeheeee this is just the beginning!!

The team does their worst impression of “acting natural” when you walk into the conference room. You pause in the doorway, raising an eyebrow at them.

You didn’t see them watching you and Hotch a moment ago, but their behavior is a dead giveaway.

You can understand why, though. Just a few months ago when you first started here, you and Hotch could barely be in the same room — hell, the same building — without one of you starting an argument. And just then the two of you were, what? Sharing a few hushed words with no heat whatsoever behind them? Almost playfully?

It’s odd, you’ll admit. You wish you could say it felt odd, but it didn’t. And that concerns you. Slightly.

The problem is that you don’t know how to be anything other than how you have been with Aaron. There’s always an argument, always something the two of you disagree on. No matter how hard the two of you try.

Then again, though, the two of you haven’t tried, have you? Not really. You were getting somewhat close, but then Richard Monroe happened, and now you’re here. In this weird grey area of being thankful for his help, angry at his betrayal of your trust, and…confused.

Confused because above everything else, Hotch has seemed genuinely remorseful and sorry for what he did. While it’s clear that he doesn’t necessarily regret it outright because he was doing what he thought was right, especially with your safety at risk, he does seem sorry. And that’s honestly all you can ask for.

Because with every new thing happening with this unsub — the car chase, the note at your door — you’re starting to understand why Hotch did it. You never could’ve predicted any of this, or how serious this would get, though you had a gut feeling that it was never going anywhere good. Hotch must’ve had the same gut feeling and acted on it. Something maybe you should’ve done sooner.

It’s not like you can explain any of this to him, though.

Or maybe you could. Maybe you could try.

Not right now, obviously. Because right now you need to deal with your fellow profilers who are absolutely awful actors, especially when it comes to this kind of stuff.

You’re too busy giving them all pointed looks to realize Aaron has practically materialized behind you.

“Why are we standing in the doorway?” he asks. A completely valid question, except his proximity to you and the low voice he spoke it in has chills erupting down your back.

You crane your neck to fix the raised eyebrow on him, asking in just as dangerously low a tone, “Trying to sneak up on me, Hotchner?”

His eyes burn into yours and it takes both of you far too long to come to your senses and move away from one another.

You take the open seat between Penelope and Reid. Hotch takes the one across from you in between Rossi and Prentiss.

You catch Garcia’s eyes and she gives you the most blatant what-the-hell-was-that look, but you don’t have a good answer.

Because, honestly, what the hell was that?

You clear your throat instead, ready to focus on the task at hand. The letters.

“I’m sure you all heard about the note left at my door yesterday,” you look around and are met with nodding. “Good. I really didn’t feel like rehashing that. Do we know anything yet about if they found any prints or anything on the paper?”

“Not yet,” Garcia says, “but let me check again.”

“Thank you,” you pause. “I guess our next resort is the letters,” you gesture to the pile of them in the middle of the table. “They were written to me from when I was fourteen to eighteen. My mom got some as well, but my dad wrote to me almost every week.” You pause to let out a laugh. “Truthfully, guys, I don’t remember what any of them say.”

“That’s why you have us,” Morgan jokes. He playfully swats Reid’s shoulder, “Start reading, pretty boy.”

“I’ve actually been examining the handwriting this entire time,” Reid murmurs, leaning closer to the table.

Morgan’s eyes roll to the heavens. “Of course you have.”

“Share with the class,” Prentiss grins. “What did you already find out?”

Reid begins rattling off speculative personality traits and behaviors from the handwriting, most of which you don’t even hear. It’s so strange, analyzing your father’s writing when you once used to cling to every word. Your mom warned you not to, which is why she never let you write back to him—

Except once.

One time. That, as far as you know, your mother never knew about. Because your father never mentioned it, to your knowledge at least, in any of his other letters.

Your eyes lift from where you had been staring a hole into the table, finding Hotch’s gaze locked on you. Not glaring, though. Soft.

“What is it?” Hotch asks, interrupting the ramblings of the team as they continue Reid’s speculation.

Everyone falls silent, waiting for your answer, looking between you and Hotch like they’re witnessing the most gripping tennis match.

“Sorry,” you say in general to the entire table. “I just remembered that I did write back to him once.”

“Only once?” JJ asks, curious.

“Yeah,” you continue. “My mom never wanted me to get attached to his letters. I was having a hard enough time separating who I thought he was as my dad from who he actually was as a person — a serial killer. She didn’t want to make it harder on me, so I wasn’t allowed to write back to him. I’m not even convinced she let me see all of the letters. I’m sure she threw some out.”

And if none of these letters here mention the one you wrote to your father, maybe she threw out the letter where he did. Maybe she did know you had written to him, but she never acknowledged it, and burned the evidence of his acknowledgement. To keep you safe.

You know that everything she ever did was to keep you safe. You’ve always known that. Part of you wonders now, though, if it’s doing the opposite.

By never talking to you about him, and being reluctant at best when you did want to talk about him, it left you with more questions than answers. It’s no surprise, then, that you went into the FBI. And it’s no surprise you’re being haunted by this now.

“I wrote to him,” you continue. “But in the letters my mom let me read, he never mentioned it. I would’ve remembered if he did because I would’ve written to him again.” Which is probably why she never let you read it, if he did write one in reply acknowledging everything you wrote.

“What did you tell him?” JJ asks hesitantly. “When you wrote to him.”

You smile softly, remembering how bittersweet it was. “What does any sixteen-year-old girl want to tell her dad about? I got broken up with by a guy who then went and dated my best friend a week later. Teenage romance, y’know?”

Garcia rests her hand on your arm with a frown.

You place your hand over hers with a smile. “And random shit, you know, probably about my mom freaking out over me having a C for the first time in my life that year, and then. Probably that I missed him.” Your hand slides away from Garcia’s. “Sorry, I—” You shake your head, tears suddenly springing to your eyes, but you blink them away. “You guys can read the letters, I um, I’m gonna take a walk for a second.”

You push back from the table, eyes momentarily catching Hotch’s before you head out of the conference room. You’re not even sure where you’re walking, just that you need to get away from the letters.

You pass by Hotch’s office, the door wide open, and his fax machine whirring as papers fly out of it. You’re in front of the machine before you realize it, collecting the papers and stacking them as neatly as you can in separate piles on his desk — among his other piles of paperwork.

For so long, you saw the letters as a good sign. That your dad missed you, that he felt remorseful about what he had done to all those women and to you and your mom in the process, that he was going to be better, that the letters were him trying to be a better father and a better man.

But your mom knew the truth, the reality of it. She knew to protect you. And you’re glad she did. But sometimes you still wonder. What if those times were different? What if each time he wrote a letter he was trying to be different?

A soft knock on the doorframe causes you to jump and spin around.

“Sorry,” you and Hotch blurt at the same time.

“Sorry,” you repeat, chuckling. You hold up the few papers in your hand. “These were coming through so I figured I’d sort them, since you said you had a few departments sending stuff over.”

Hotch nods, staying put in the doorway. “That’s fine. Thank you.”

You turn back around to the machine, grabbing the papers as they come, sorting them almost robotically. Anything to keep your hands moving and keep your brain occupied.

You hear the rustling of Hotch’s suit as he moves into his office, coming to stand beside his desk, but not too close to you. When you turn to place another stack of papers down on his desk, he’s standing there, and takes them from you without a word.

The papers are still coming when you start talking.

“You know my dad was pretty awful before we found out about…everything.” You don’t even know where you’re going with this, or how it will help, but you continue, letting your eyes glance over the police files as they come in. “Of course, I realized it all in hindsight. When I was just a kid, I loved him. He was the greatest dad ever — when he was around. Took me out for ice cream when him and mom were fighting, just the two of us, so she could calm down. Let me have basically anything I wanted.” You pause, letting out a small laugh. “He never could say no to me.”

Hotch says nothing, only lets you talk, and he listens. He continues to take the papers from you, some form of assembly line to keep you sane.

“Obviously, I grew up and realized how bad it was. Him giving me anything I wanted was to keep me distracted from all the things he missed. I don’t know that he was ever actually in town for one of my birthdays. Or awards ceremonies at school. Or recitals.” You sigh, handing more papers over. You linger for a moment when your fingers brush Hotch’s, but you snap yourself out of it, wrenching your hands back. “But before I realized how bad it was, I just missed him. I missed my dad. Even though he wasn’t around much, I clung to the moments when he was because when he was— He was good.”

You hand more papers to him, and then the papers stop. The machine powers down.

Without the buffer, you don’t know what to do. You hold onto the final two pieces, staring up and out the window.

Aaron says your name, but you don’t move.

“What am I supposed to do?” you say, to no one in particular, not Hotch, not yourself.

Hotch reaches around you to take the remaining papers from you, setting them down on his desk without looking.

“Are you okay with us reading the letters?” he asks.

“I don’t have a choice,” you reply, turning to face him. “We don’t have any other options, any other leads. There might be something in them.” You pause. “But I don’t think I can be in there while you guys go through them— But I’m not saying I can’t be a part of this investigation,” you rush to add. “I’m more than capable, I just—”

“I understand,” Hotch says, interrupting you gently, sensing the impending argument. A heat that, once, he would’ve leaned into. He would’ve fed the argument without a second thought. But not now. Not anymore. “I’m not removing you from this investigation. We need your insight.”

You blink up at him, clearly expecting the same pushback as you’re used to. “Thank you,” you say instead.

“We can look through everything that was faxed over while the rest of the team focuses on the letters.”

“We?”

“I’ll need all the help I can get,” Hotch says, gesturing to the piles you’ve both laid out on his desk. “I can’t read as fast as Reid can.”

“No one can,” you snicker. “We’re gonna need fresh coffee if we’re looking through all of these.”

Hotch raises his eyebrows. “I think I’m at my limit.”

“Are your hands shaking?”

He holds one up, and it’s still.

You smirk. “Then you haven’t reached your limit. I’ll go make us a fresh pot.”

You almost run smack into Rossi as you leave Hotch’s office, placing a hand over your heart to steady yourself.

“Jesus, what is with you guys lurking today?” you joke. “Eavesdropping for the team?”

“Funny,” Rossi smirks. “No, I was just coming to see if you were alright.”

“Yeah, I’m alright. Hotch and I are going to go through the files that were sent over from the local police departments while you guys handle the letters.”

Rossi nods slowly. “Just the two of you?”

You roll your eyes. “We’ll try not to kill one another.”

“Good to hear,” Rossi chuckles. “Let me know if you have any questions about anything from back then.”

“Thanks, we will,” you reply. “And you guys too, with the letters.”

You head off to the break room to start a fresh pot of coffee and grab some snacks, since it might be a while with the amount that was faxed over.

+++

Inside Hotch’s office, he’s rearranging the desk chairs so the two of you will be more comfortable as you scour the files. He hears you speaking to Rossi but mostly tunes it out, until Rossi is walking into his office with that smug smile of his.

“What?” Hotch asks, standing up straighter. “Did you find something?”

“Not yet,” Rossi says. “She was just telling me the two of you are going to go over these while we handle the letters.”

Hotch nods. Rossi raises his eyebrows.

“Don’t start,” Hotch mutters.

“Okay, I won’t,” Rossi holds up his hands in mock surrender for a moment before dropping them. “But I did have something else to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“I have that guest lecture coming up—”

“Dave,” Hotch sighs, exasperated. “You cannot go out of town right now.”

“Aaron,” Rossi deadpans. “I do this guest lecture every year. You knew it was coming up.”

“You can’t go out of town when she’s staying with you for security,” Aaron clarifies. “Can’t you miss it for one year?”

“Well, considering it’s this weekend, no, I can’t just miss it,” Dave replies. “It’ll only take the weekend, and then I’ll be back. She’ll be fine. She can handle herself.”

“You know that’s not the issue.”

Rossi sighs, then perks up. A little too much. “I have an idea.”

Aaron tries (and fails) to not roll his eyes at his friend. “Great.”

“Stay at my house with her for the weekend.”

“No,” Hotch laughs. “Are you kidding? She would not agree to that, and frankly, we might end up killing one another.”

“Come on, the two of you have seemed…better.”

“Better?”

Dave shrugs, “Cooled off.”

“Cooled off?”

“You didn’t bite each other’s heads off today.”

Hotch sighs. “We’ve been less…angry ever since visiting Richard Monroe in prison.”

“You mean ever since the truth finally came out.”

“Yes,” Hotch grumbles. “But I don’t think it has anything to do with her no longer being angry with me. I think it’s the opposite.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think she and I pushed each other’s limits ten years ago, picked up where we left off when she started here, and— I think I found her limit. I think she’s…done. Tired. Wants to get this settled so she can go back to hating me out loud. Or ignoring me entirely.”

Dave is quiet for a painfully long moment. “You know, it’s been a while since I’ve heard you be this down on yourself.”

Hotch sighs.

“Just ask her,” Dave says. “I’ve already told her I’ll be out of town, but as far as I know, she hasn’t made any plans of staying anywhere else. Yet.”

Hotch hears the yet loud and clear.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch x fem!reader #criminal minds #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner angst #The Gambit #criminal minds fanfiction

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pkg4mumtown · 4 months ago

Text

I Bet You Look Good in Pink (On the Dancefloor)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Male!Reader

Rating: Mature

Summary: You panicked and grabbed some poor stranger off the street to be your fake boyfriend to get your mom off your back. What could go wrong?

Content Warnings: Crack, fluff, meet cute, first kiss, first person pov, male reader, fake relationship

A/N: This is pure crack influenced by this guy I saw doing videos walking up to dudes saying “I’m out with my husband, say hi mom” and wanted to explore Hotch reacting to that while Rossi ran amok at the end. That’s it. That’s the fic. Enjoy!

Also available on AO3. I recommend having work skins on if you do, so you can see the social media and text skins.

I was set out on a brisk jog—more of a speed walk, who was I kidding—before work to prepare my mind for the day's stresses. All that went to hell in a handbasket when I felt my phone buzz and my earbuds start playing a jingle, which only meant that my mother was calling me.

I’d been dodging her calls for weeks knowing she was asking whether or not I was bringing my “boyfriend” to my cousin's wedding. I had made the smart decision to tell my mom I was seeing someone—a total lie—thinking I could make several excuses about his absence and things would be okay, considering I didn’t see my mom as often as I should.

Then, my cousin just had to announce a wedding on short notice.

I had never wanted someone to call off a wedding so badly in my life. My mother couldn’t resist meddling either and marked me down as having a plus one without consulting me first.

“Patience” and “understanding” were not words I would use to describe my reaction.

I groaned when I saw that it was a video call, too. Sighing heavily, I answered the phone and picked up the pace again, hoping the loud sounds of the city and my huffing and puffing would get her off the phone faster. Knowing her, I wouldn't be so lucky.

“Hey, Mom,” I breathed heavily, my feet pounding on the pavement.

“Hi, honey, I wanted to talk to you about Vanessa's wedding.”

“Yea? What about it?” I asked nonchalantly barely able to hold in my labored breaths, looking forward rather than at the phone so I didn't trip and eat the pavement.

“You haven't double booked anything have you?” she asked, a wary tone to her voice, expecting me to cancel at the last minute.

“No, Mom. I didn't forget.”

“Then, your boyfriend is coming, right? I think it’s been long enough that I should meet him, sweetie,” she smiled on the other end.

Honestly, she was right. I had told her about “him” about six months ago, being as vague as possible every time he was brought up.

My brain—on the other hand—had other ideas causing me to immediately panic, not knowing how to respond. If I told her I lied to her and that he wasn’t real or that we “broke up", she would be back to hounding me and trying to set me up with every man she met. If I made another excuse, she would be suspicious. I almost felt bad lying to her, but “getting the hint” was not one of her strong suits.

As my brain warred with itself, I spotted another man running just up ahead dressed in a dark t-shirt, shorts, and plain running shoes. He was slowing down as we approached a crosswalk with flashing red lights indicating that it wasn’t safe to cross.

This might end up topping my list of idiotic plans, but—

“Yes, Mom. My boyfriend is coming,” I raised my voice slightly as I finally got to the crosswalk where the man was bouncing on his toes to stay warm.

I noticed the vague glance he shot my way at my voice and presence, but that was the only acknowledgment I received.

He was kind of cute this close-up. His soft dark hair contrasted sharply with his light complexion. He was in his mid to late forties but clearly in excellent shape and by his stone-faced expression, a government worker like many people in this area.

“We’re actually finishing up our run, soon,” I stepped closer to him, meeting his hawk-like eyes with a pleading, pitiful expression. With reflexes I wasn’t aware I possessed, I switched the call to speaker and turned the phone toward him, “Say, ‘hi’, babe!”

The glare he gave me was a mix of incredulous confusion and wariness as he checked his surroundings like he was expecting someone to come out and attack him while I distracted him.

Definitely a government agent, then.

“Um,” he started cautiously. “Who are—"

I hurriedly tapped the mute button on the call, wanting to grab his wrist and plead like a child asking for sweets. I restrained myself, expecting that he would have me face down on the concrete in a second if I did.

I probably wouldn’t even mind that.

“Hi, sorry,” I quickly spat my name out at him in my haste. “Please, play along. I’ll owe you my entire life, please,” I begged.

Was I being dramatic? Totally. But I was desperate to give her an actual face to get her off of my back.

One last glance around us and he relented, bending somewhat to be level with the phone’s camera. I tapped the mute button again.

“Sorry, Mom, his hearing is a little bad. Babe, say ‘hi’ to my mom,” I raised my voice, positioning myself so I was just in front of him and both of us fit in the frame.

I heard him slowly exhale behind me, then a soft smile spread over his face in the camera preview, “Hello, Ms...”

I felt him smack my back with the back of his hand, making me jump but I murmured her last name out of the corner of my mouth.

“Right, hello,” he smiled again. “I’m age—Aaron. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Oh, how handsome,” she winked and I felt my soul immediately leave my body.

How childish would it be to launch my phone into the street right now?

“Yea, um, so—we're—” I started but was interrupted.

“Aaron, sweetheart, I love my son to death but his memory is awful. I hope he told you about his cousin’s wedding. I’d love to meet you there,” she interrupted me.

Aaron’s smile faded somewhat, probably internally panicking as much as I was.

“I should have stayed home,” I heard him murmur under his breath. “Uhm, no, but it’s been a pretty hectic couple of weeks for me, so it’s not entirely his fault,” Aaron covered smoothly, bringing a hand up to my shoulder and stepping closer.

Damn, he was good.

“You poor thing,” she cooed. “Well, I hope you can make it.”

“Of course, I’ll do my best.”

“Oh, and she changed the colors to pastel pink, so I hope that’s not too hard for you to come up with, honey.”

My jaw clenched. Of course, she changed the colors. Luckily, I had a navy blue suit that would go with the only pastel pink shirt I owned.

“I’ll make it work, Mom, thanks.”

I could feel Aaron glaring at me through the video preview, his fingertips digging into my shoulder. Like he was questioning every life choice that landed him in this present moment.

I reached my hand back, fingers barely grazing the side of his neck as I looked back at him, “I think you have one.”

Aaron’s eyes flicked down to my lips and back to my eyes so quickly I almost missed it, “You would—uh—know better than me.” He sounded unfocused and dazed as he reacted to my movements.

“I think so,” I winked, pressing my lips to his stubbly chin and focusing back on the phone, seeing my mother’s eyes lit up with glee. “Anyway, Mom, I gotta go home and get ready for work. Love you.”

“Okay, have a great week, sweetie, I love you, too! It was nice to meet you, Aaron.”

“You as well,” he smiled, giving her a small wave before the call ended.

My face dropped as soon as the call was over, turning to face Aaron, “I am so sorry for that! I panicked and I’ll admit it was not my finest moment. And I’m especially sorry if that whole thing made you uncomfortable because I’m...you know...and I kissed—yea—uhm...I’m sorry.”

Aaron scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, “It’s okay.” He shifted in place, looking at the people passing us rather than me, “I’m actually...bi? Is that the word?”

This man was getting better by the minute.

“Good enough,” I smiled.

The silence stretched between us again. Was it too late to run across the street and away from this silence? I glanced at the light as it turned back to red—the third one we’ve missed now.

“I’m—uh—sorry, too,” he finally said.

“Why?” I asked him, confused, “I trampled all over your morning.”

“I thought you were distracting me to—er—hurt me, rob me, ambush me...” he trailed off, looking just past me.

I couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up my throat and morphed into a full-bodied laugh, “Honey, please...look at me.”

Aaron’s shocked face slowly cracked, laughing with me finally. His shoulders relaxed a little, not as on edge as he was when I first approached him.

He had a beautiful smile, I was learning.

“What—uh—what day is that wedding?” he finally asked as our laughter settled down.

“Oh, you don’t actually have to go. I can make something up, really,” I waved him off. “I just needed to give her a face to give my claims some validation.”

Aaron shrugged, his arms flailing slightly, “My coworkers tell me I need to get out more, so...”

Oh.

“Well, in that case...” I unlocked my phone and checked the calendar to be absolutely sure lest my mother fry me, “It’s next month. The fifth. You have approximately twenty-five days.”

How was this my life right now?

“My schedule is—well it’s unpredictable, so I’ll let you know?” he cringed a little.

Government agent. Right. No wonder his posture was so good.

“And how were you planning on doing that?” I asked with a smirk.

He froze for a second, brain rebooting, “I was hoping I could get your number, actually,” he laughed shyly, looking down and patting his pockets to locate his phone.

He fumbled with the phone for a second and finally handed it to me. Pursing my lips, I laughed to myself as I typed my name in and put “boyfriend” with a heart in parenthesis before typing my number in. I handed it back to him, seeing the way his face flushed at the name I put in.

“I’m serious, though, if you can’t or don’t want to just let me know. You’re in no way obligated.”

“Yeah, I will,” he nodded, making a move to continue his journey.

We both crossed the street, him breaking back out into a run and me a brisk-ish stroll as I got my music playing again. I caught him looking back a couple of times, making me wonder if he was challenging me to catch up or making sure I didn’t follow him home. A smile pulled across his face as he saw me start to speed up. As we reached the next intersection, I held my hand up in a wave as I turned left while he continued straight and crossed the street.

Aaron POV

Aaron had been understandably wary of the man who approached him that morning. He had a dangerous job and had experienced more than enough trauma for one lifetime.

He was ambushed. Just not like had expected.

All of a sudden, he was talking to a lady and gently touching a man he didn’t know and—

Uh.

Did he just kiss Aaron?

On his chin, but still.

He wasn't sure if he was conscious at that moment, except for the fire burning on his face.

Aaron made it home and to Quantico in a haze. He sat at his desk, staring at the phone in his hand like it might suddenly burst into flames. A phone number, a name, and an invitation. Nothing more. Nothing less.

It had been hours since the incident, and yet, the warmth of a stranger’s lips on his cheek still lingered like an unresolved case in his mind. He wasn’t sure if it was the sheer audacity and absurdity of the encounter or the way he had simply…gone along with it. The sound of the stranger’s voice still echoed—quick, clever, and just a little desperate.

"Babe, say ‘hi’ to my mom."

And Aaron—fucking—Hotchner, a man trained in several facets like terrorism, law, and behavioral analysis, had folded like a damn lawn chair.

Which is why he now found himself in a situation far more dangerous than being ambushed in the middle of a morning run—standing in Penelope Garcia’s office.

Penelope turned in her chair and blinked at him, fingers frozen over her keyboard assessing him.

“Sir,” she said slowly, looking him up and down like he had just walked in wearing a clown wig. He certainly felt like it. “Hi, sir. Hotch. Uh, sir. What… are you doing here? Do we have a case?”

Aaron didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he set a paper down on her desk where he’d written the man’s number and slid it toward her with two fingers. “Can you run this for me?” He cleared his throat. “Unofficially.”

Her eyes flicked from the paper to his face, then back to the paper. Then back to his face.

She gasped, “Oh my God. Is this—” She clapped her hands over her mouth, muffling an excited squeal. “Are you asking for a background on a new lady friend?”

Aaron’s jaw tightened, teeth grinding under the pressure, “Garcia.”

“You are.” Her voice was an octave higher, her whole body vibrating with barely contained glee. “Oh, my stars, this is my favorite day—”

“It's not—” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s not like that.”

Garcia wiggled her fingers at him. “Oh, no, no, no, sir, you do not get to walk into my office, ask me to dig into some poor lady's entire life, and then pretend like this isn’t about romance.”

Aaron exhaled sharply.

There was no easy way out of this now.

“He approached me this morning,” he admitted. “Called me his boyfriend—to his mother over the phone—and I…played along. His mother invited me to his cousin’s wedding.”

Garcia gawked at Aaron, completely glossing over the fact that Aaron had implied a man. He shouldn’t be surprised that she didn’t care, “You played along?”

He glanced away, embarrassed, “It was—unexpected.”

She pointed at Aaron accusingly. “You liked it.”

“I did not.”

“You so did.”

“Garcia—”

She cackled, typing the number in furoiusly and bringing up several windows, “Well, now I have to know who this mystery man is. I would have never guessed, boss man, but I can't judge a book by it’s cover. Oh, what if he’s a spy? Or an undercover agent? Or—”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a scam artist,” Aaron muttered.

She hummed, making a tsk with her tongue and teeth, “Doubt it. Cute guys don’t run scams, they just break hearts.”

Hotch gave her a flat look, “That’s how you—”

“Not a word,” she held a finger up. “Give me five minutes.”

And just like that, Garcia’s fingers were flying over the keyboard. The glow of her multiple monitors flashed across her face as she scrolled through the man’s life with the skill of a seasoned technical analyst and the enthusiasm of a gossip columnist.

Aaron crossed his arms, exhaling sharply at her wild glee, “Anything?”

“Oh, my dear sir, I have everything.” Garcia’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh my God.”

Aaron's posture stiffened, leaning in closer to the screen. Dread filled his stomach at what she could have found, “What?”

“He’s adorable!”

Aaron immediately frowned, he was too old for this shit, “That’s not relevant.”

“Oh, but it is,” Penelope turned one of the monitors slightly so he could see. “Look at this. Your mystery man is a dog dad—and look at this cutie pie of a pup! He posts pictures of her in cute sweaters—sir, he’s a sweater-on-dogs guy.”

Aaron barely glanced at the screen. “And?”

Garcia gasped, “Oh, and? And? That means he has a soft heart, sir. That means he is a man of culture. Also, look at him.”

Hotch did not look at the screen. He refused actually.

Garcia, however, had no such reservations. She clicked on another post. “He hikes! Look at him in the mountains with that perfect lighting—who is taking these pictures, wow? Oh, that’s so unfair. Pretty people should not have good lighting and cute dogs.”

Aaron exhaled through his nose, long and slow. “He sure was struggling to catch up to me today.”

“He strolls, sir. Not everyone runs marathons.”

“Garcia.”

She ignored him, clicking another post, “Ooh, he bakes. He’s posted about trying new recipes. There’s a caption—‘Husband material 😏😉’.” She turned to him, eyes wide with revelation. “This is so fate.”

He finally looked at her, doing his best to look unimpressed but he was slowly softening to the man, too, “Fate?”

She pointed at the screen. “Sir, this man makes baked goods, is absolutely adorable, and randomly fake-dated you? That is the universe working in real-time.”

Aaron pinched the bridge of his nose. Why had she put so much stress on “you”? He was a catch, too.

“Oh, wait, what’s this?” She clicked on another post and let out yet another squeal, “He dressed up as a cowboy for Halloween. Sir, I swear to you—”

“I’m leaving.”

Garcia lunged forward, grabbing his wrist before he could retreat. A playful glare had her releasing him instantly. Still, Garcia looked up at him, eyes twinkling, “He’s precious.”

Aaron sighed, rubbing his temple. “Did you find anything that would suggest he’s dangerous?”

Garcia grinned. “Only to your heart, sir.”

Hotch turned on his heel and left.

Garcia called after him, sing-song, “So, are you going to call him or what?”

Aaron was not going to dignify that with a response. He had just made it to the door when Garcia made more excited yelps and beckoned him back.

“Oh, oh, wait, wait, sir, come back!”

With a sigh, he turned, “Hmm?”

Garcia spun one of the monitors toward him, biting back a grin, “So, uh. You remember when he mentioned a wedding?”

Aaron frowned, “Yes?”

“It’s real,” She clicked on a recent post. It was a screenshot of a text conversation:

Garcia wheezed, “Sir, you are his manifested date.”

Hotch stared at the screen, resisting the urge to chuckle at his ridiculous antics. It was good to know he was actually that awkward online, too.

“…I see. To be fair, he did give me a choice.”

Garcia tilted her head, watching him carefully. “Perfect, you could just text him and say you’re not going. Or—” Her smile turned devious. “You could meet up and—you know—practice before the real thing.”

Aaron gave her a deadpan look.

She beamed.

Without a word, Aaron turned and walked out but sighed, stopping the door from shutting all the way with his hand. He poked his head back in, “Thanks, Penelope.”

MC POV

I honestly, didn’t expect Aaron to text me. It had been about a week since I ran into him. Throughout that time, I hadn’t seen him out and about any other morning. So, I couldn’t tell if he’d been avoiding me, we were completely missing each other, or he was just busy.

I chose to believe he was busy because boy would I not mind seeing him and those perfect hands again.

My thoughts were put at ease when I got a text ten days after I ran into him, smack on a Saturday morning.

I had no idea what to reply as I stared at my phone with a puppy chewing on my sweater sleeves.

“Mochi, no,” I absentmindedly corrected her. “Daddy needs to think.”

While I thought about a response, I saved his contact to my phone under “Aaron (Mom's Fav)”.

I could practically feel his exasperation through the phone. But I did hope he thought I was somewhat funny, too.

My heart felt like it was ready to jump out of my throat as I read his text. Tonight? Like TONIGHT?

“Mochi, come here, baby. I need support,” I dragged the over-excited puppy into my lap and hugged her to my lap with one hand while the other held my phone.

What do I even say to that? Deflecting with humor sounded like a safe bet.

Aaron’s address was sent shortly after and I wasn't surprised to see that it was only a couple blocks north of mine in the direction he ran the day we met. I threw my head back on my couch, giddy to see Aaron again. My brain finally caught up with what that meant. I was going to be alone with the man, with only Mochi as a chaperone and she couldn’t care less about who I embarrassed myself in front of. I had nothing to hide behind, no buffer, no screen, no over-excited mother to parry off of.

Fuck. Why was I like this?

Then I realized I had a lot of work to do and leaped off the couch to make him a study guide. I had pictures of the important people: my parents, siblings, bride and groom, and some assorted aunts and uncles. I wouldn't subject him to memorizing the kids because—let's be honest—they didn't care about the old folks anyway. It wasn’t too long of a list, only about three pages that I printed out to make it easy for him.

Once I had that sorted, I thought about what to bring. Can you go wrong with brownies? Actually...I’m sure you could, but it was the most practiced thing I knew how to make without messing up considering the state of my head.

The time snuck up on me quickly and I frantically took the brownies out of the oven to cool before running to my room to get ready with Mochi hot on my heels. She guarded the shower, attacking my towels and shower mat as I hurriedly washed myself. Doing my best to not trip over her and slip on the slick floor—medical emergencies were not ideal right now—I ran back to my room to towel off and get dressed.

“Ok, little girl, what color are we feeling today?”

I laid out a couple different collars for her, which she hopped excitedly around and chose one to attack. Lilac it was.

“Should we match?” she gave me a beady-eyed stare, focused only on gaining possession of the collar again. “You don’t give two shits.”

I fastened the collar around her neck and tugged a matching sweater over her, taking the time to gush over how adorable she looked.

I surprisingly found a passable first-date shirt that sort of matched her and finished getting ready. In my haste, I nearly forgot the small tray of brownies as I fed Mochi and packed a couple of toys to distract her. Nearly screaming, I covered the tray and put it by the door with the other stuff so I wouldn't forget.

I was a wreck the entire drive to Aaron’s. For no reason, too. As much as I teased him, he was right.

This wasn’t a date. But, he was hot and I was me.

I located his apartment with relative ease and waited nervously outside with an impatient puppy at my side and a glass tray under my arm digging into my ribs. His cheat sheet lay balanced atop the foil. Making a nervous whine in the back of my throat, I finally knocked with my free hand that held Mochi’s leash.

The door swung open, Aaron on the other side with a dish towel over his shoulder in a dark polo. I stared at the skin past the unbuttoned top buttons, completely missing whatever he said to me.

“—need help?” I caught at the end of his sentence.

“Oh, uh, yea sort of,” I winced as I shifted the tray, which he gladly took from me, noticing the paper on top as he ushered me inside and shut the door behind me.

“You can let her off, it’s fine. I closed all the doors already,” he nodded to where Mochi was eagerly wanting to sniff every surface she could reach.

Wow, he’s perfect.

I unclipped her leash, laughing at the way she made a beeline for Aaron’s jeans, nipping at the material before skittering over to his sofa. I tossed the toys I brought with me to the floor, so she would leave his belongings alone.

“This is...a good look on you,” I smiled nervously, taking in the domesticity of his clothes. My bravado over text completely flew out the window.

“Mm, I was married once upon a time,” He smirked, turning back to the stove.

“Was?”

“Yea, we found out I was married to my work more.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Aaron just shrugged, “It was a long time ago.”

I chewed my lip, desperate to change the topic. My eyes landed on the papers I brough with me.

“Oh! I brought this so we could go over my family.”

I picked up the papers and met him near the stove, leaning against the counter where there was free space he wasn't utilizing. He smiled softly in my direction as he cooked, nodding and stirring.

“Go for it,” he nodded.

I was surprised he wanted to start now while he was busy cooking but went ahead anyway. I would show him the picture, tell him their name and relation, and move on. He listened diligently, repeating names and making sure they were pronounced correctly before moving on. His eyes moved over the pictures like they were calculating and cataloging every little detail of their faces. He would lean in for a closer look at the pictures, standing much closer and making me stumble over my words. My face would feel like it was on fire.

Aaron didn’t comment on it.

He was weirdly good at it, remembering faces and recalling details from short-term memory.

I wanted to ask how but didn’t want to intrude more than he was allowing me. My big mouth couldn’t be stopped, though.

“Wh—,” I started, my voice hitching when he moved into my space and grabbed something on the other side of me. His arm wrapped around me, chest scraping mine as he looked at me expectantly to keep talking. “—wh—uhm…hmm,” I raised my eyebrows, scratching the back of my neck awkwardly under his gaze.

He sighed with an amused smile, “You can’t act like this every time I touch you at the wedding, boyfriend.”

I cleared my throat, blinking rapidly, “Act like what?”

Aaron shook his head, adding the item he grabbed and stirring briefly. He gave me a pointed look, “You freeze up and stutter.”

“I do not.”

“You do. You just did.”

Aaron set his large spoon down and crowded my space, “If you’re nervous about being close to me, then you need to get used it.” His hands framed my hips on the counter behind me, “Touch me.”

I nearly choked on my own saliva.

“I—I’m sorry?”

Aaron was unfazed, “If we’re going to sell this, you can’t tense up and shy away every time I stand next to you. So, touch me. Now.”

I stared at him, his brown eyes boring into mine with long lashes framing them.

He’s so pretty.

I raised my hand up and pressed a finger to his chest. His very firm, very nice chest that stretched the fabric of his polo.

“Not like that,” he sighed, taking my wrist and guiding my hand more firmly to his chest.

Oh.

Brain.exe has stopped working.

I swallowed, pressing my palm more confidently against him and looking just past his head. Aaron tilted his head, purposely catching my gaze again. Picking up my free hand, I rested it on his bicep, where his shirt met his skin.

“So—uh,” I tried to think at the same time, gently squeezing the muscle and sliding my hand around to the back of his arm. “You have a really good memory.”

“Mhm.”

“Where do you work?” I finally asked.

“For the DOJ,” he answered automatically.

“Got it, top secret,” I laughed.

He dropped his head sheepishly, “Sorry. It’s kind of an automatic answer for people I just met.”

He lifted his head up, smiling and moving a hand to my lower back. I fought the jump that threatened to move my body and lost, tensing just a little.

“I work for the FBI,” he finished.

“That makes so much more sense,” I laughed, sliding my hand up from his chest to his shoulder.

I licked my lip as his head tilted away from my hand.

An invitation.

Slowly, my hand made its way to his neck. His eyes fluttered shut as my fingers slipped around the back of his neck while my thumb brushed just below his ear.

“Good,” he hummed with his eyes still closed, helping my confidence just enough since I was no longer under his watchful gaze.

“This is so stupid, why am I nervous? I literally kissed your face on a whim in front of my mother.”

Aaron shrugged, “You tell me.”

Frankly, I did know. I was legitimately attracted to him beyond this whole fake dating bullshit.

He still stared, expecting an answer.

“Oh, you want me to say it out loud?”

“Yea.”

“Well, I—”

“Look at me.”

It wasn’t a suggestion.

Looking directly at him, I continued, “I think I’m just actually attracted to you and all of my confidence over text goes out the window when that happens. I don’t have anything to hide behind, you know?”

“Mm,” he hummed. “Would be hard to sell if we didn’t find each other attractive.”

Wait.

We?

Aaron leaned forward.

I held my breath.

His lips touched my cheek, pressing a soft kiss there before straightening up and going back to the food before it burned.

My cheek was on fire.

He found me attractive, too?

Dinner was a little easier, reviewing my family again to make sure things were sticking with him. Mochi had come over at some point to chew on my shoelaces as we talked. Aaron picked her up, having finished his food first, and let her chew on his arm with her little dagger teeth. As soon as I finished, I grabbed his plate and took it to the sink—which he protested.

“You’re babysitting, it’s the least I can do,” I slapped his hand away.

Aaron kept me company instead, leaning against the counter with Mochi in his arms. We diligently went over our backstory, how we met, our first date, etcetera—knowing full well that my mother would ask every single question she could think of. Whether it was meant to be private or public.

Mochi eventually wiggled out of his grasp, running over to one of her toys, snagging it, and doing laps around the couch.

Aaron smiled as he watched her, then turned to take the wet dishes from my hands to dry them. My fingers tingled as his own fingers brushed mine, but I kept my cool and he noticed with a proud nod.

“See? You’re doing better already.”

I roll my eyes, watching him push off the counter to put the dishes away. I turned the water off, busy drying my hands when I felt two hands come to my hips with Aaron’s breath against my shoulder. His body heat was plastered against my back. I was proud of myself for not tensing up, instead waiting for him to do something while I placed my damp hands over his as his hands met at the front of my hips.

“I’m assuming you know how to dance?” He murmured.

“Yes, I know how to dance at a wedding. I know you’re out of practice and all but this is not how you do that,” I laughed.

“Just making sure you wouldn’t jump,” he muttered, his nose brushing the shell of my ear and his lips skimming the back of my neck.

“I’ve calmed down a little, okay?” I rolled my eyes, turning to face him.

I gripped his upper arms, his arms still wrapped around me, and slid them up his shoulders until they could meet around his neck.

“Can I try something?” I asked.

He seemed to already know, eyes half-lidded and already staring at my mouth, “Go ahead."

I leaned in, pressing my lips to his gently, separating only to come back and press a little harder. Aaron’s hips closed the gap between us, arms pulling me close at the same time.

This had to be heaven.

My hand cupped the back of his head, eagerly bringing him down as my lips parted. The tip of his tongue flicked out at my bottom lip, nearly making me whine in the back of my throat. The friction of our pants did not help in that department.

I pulled back; the kiss having been much briefer than it felt. Aaron’s mouth chased mine, barely able to mutter, “Again,” before his tongue was licking my mouth open.

A moan ripped from my throat as his tongue skimmed the hypersensitive skin of the roof of my mouth. The shiver I fought made me grip him tighter and I had a vague thought about how far he was willing to take this as I felt the unmistakable brush of his hardness against mine. I pulled back, letting my hands drop to his chest to create some space.

His lips were swollen, eyes a little dark, but he was otherwise annoyingly calm. I was flustered, the line between real and fake being blurred so intensely in that moment.

“This might be a problem.”

He didn’t have to look down to know exactly what we both felt, “Only if you make it one.”

I shook my head, smacking his arm and squeezing myself out from between him and counter, “You’re insufferable.”

“You kissed me first,” he followed, stopping to grab two brownies out from the covered tray.

He followed me further down the counter, handing me one of the brownies and watching me with a vaguely amused look. I took a bite just to give myself something to do, staring at the floor and murmuring my thanks.

We just made out. We barely know each other. This is insane.

“You’ve been giving me an out this entire time but It looks like you might need one,” he took a slow bite of his own, clearly in no rush. “You’re thinking too hard about this.”

“You just kissed me stupid, give me a second.”

“You still kissed me first.”

“Are you seriously not letting that go?”

“No.”

He was so fucking smug. I hated and loved it at the same time. It made me want to kiss him again. I shoved the last of the brownie in my mouth, finally meeting his eyes and swallowing thickly.

“So, at the wedding, we’re not kissing like that.”

“Obviously, unless you plan on scarring your family,” he exhaled, sounding like a laugh. He crowded my space again, my brain going into overdrive at his heat and smell. “You specified ‘at the wedding’, which I find interesting.”

Aaron’s eyes flicked down to my mouth, leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to my chocolate-flavored lips, then another, and another before pulling back. My eyes were still closed as he spoke, relishing the contrast of his gentle movements versus the intensity of before.

“We act normal. Just like that,” he smiled, grabbing another brownie and bringing it to my mouth.

“You’re way too chill about this,” I scoffed but took it from his hands.

“It’s more fun than I expected,” he shrugged. “Plus...I did mean it.”

I tilted my head questioningly.

“About the attraction. I was cautious of course last week because of my job, but I don’t know. After making sure you weren't a threat…I—” He paused, trying to figure out his next words, “You’re unfortunately magnetic.”

“So, what you’re saying is that my incessant text flirting worked?”

“Only a little,” he joked. “The cowboy outfit was the kicker for me.”

“Oh my God, stop!” I covered my face.

“What I’m saying is,” he laughed, prying my hands away from my face, “if you’re amenable of course—that maybe it doesn't have to be entirely fake.”

I feigned thinking, squinting one eye in thought, “So, this was a first date?”

“I think it was about three dates wrapped in one,” he pursed his lips.

“Well, I don’t put out on the third date, so it might be my time to leave,” I teased.

He just grinned, swooping in and claiming my lips. I decided then that the brownies tasted much better with him. I kissed him as fervently as I needed air to breathe, gasping as his hips ground softly into mine purposely.

It felt so good.

So good that by the fourth time it happened, I had to remove myself from him, “I was—mm—I was serious about the third date thing—as-as eager as I might be.”

Aaron nodded in understanding, chest heaving.

“And if you were serious before, I just-I just want to make sure, you know? If that’s okay?”

“Of course,” he smiled down at me, his reddened lips still so inviting but I needed to go before my resolve crashed and burned.

“I should go before it gets out of hand,” I smiled sadly, “but study up and keep those,” I pointed at the brownies. “Take them to work or something.”

“That’s probably for the best,” he cringed a little as he glanced down at the unruly bulge in his jeans. “You’re definitely not freaking out anymore,” he pointed out smugly.

I made some kind of noise. A flustered scoff? Panicked laugh? A dignified, manly squeak? I didn't know but I did know that if I stayed here any longer, we were either ending up in bed or I was leaving with soiled pants.

“Shut up,” I murmured, a smirk playing at my lips. “Mochi, it’s time to go home!” I called the puppy, leaning over and seeing her curled up on top of an afghan thrown over Aaron’s couch.

I clapped my hands together, her ears perking up as she stretched. Aaron didn't try to stop me as I gathered my belongings, just leaning back against the counter looking completely satisfied with himself. He met me at the door, opening it as I carried the sleepy puppy.

“Drive safe,” he said casually, voice warm and comforting. Before I could walk out completely, his fingers pinched the center of my shirt, guiding me backwards and pressing a gentle kiss to my lips. Then obnoxiously, “See you soon, boyfriend.”

“Good night, sweetheart,” I sassed back, running my shoulder straight into the doorframe on my way out.

Luckily, they had the shirt in his size and it came in a couple days before the wedding.

I rushed up to his apartment door, fully dressed for the wedding with the pink shirt in hand. The wedding wasn't far from here and it was still an hour before we needed to be there. I knocked frantically on the door, met with a still damp Aaron from the shower.

"Oh, I could get used to that sight," I commented appreciatively, looking at his bare chest and taking my sunglasses off.

"Are you sure it wasn't too much?" he asked about the shirt

"Hush, go get ready," I pushed him away by the chest.

He took advantage, tugging my arm to him so I would stumble forward into him. His hands grasped my hips immediately, lips finding mine easily in all the movement.

"Aaron," I murmured trying to get him moving. "You're wet."

"Mhm," he smiled into the kiss. “Just getting some practice in before showtime.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

He finally let me go and took the shirt, shaking it out and nodding as he felt the material between his fingers.

When he came out of the room fully dressed, my jaw was on the floor looking at his form in a fitted navy suit. We were fucking matching.

"You are feeding my mother, I swear," I laughed. "We look like we're about to take engagement photos."

A satisfied smirk stretched over his face at my admiration. He strode forward but stopped short.

"Where's Mochi?" He frowned.

"Oh, she would cause mayhem. My neighbor is watching her."

"You trust your neighbor with her?"

"You're so perfect," I gushed, wanting to squeeze his face. Cute aggression, I swear. "Out the door, please," I waved him toward the front door.

I didn't know how I convinced him to let me drive, but he luckily backed off as soon as I started ranting about his alpha male need to control everything and that he probably took over driving everywhere at work.

"Just be a good little passenger princess," I settled my hand on his thigh as I took off.

"I don't always drive," he muttered under his breath.

"Somehow, I severely doubt that."

The country club was a short drive, allowing us to arrive fifteen minutes early before the actual wedding ceremony was due to start. We entered the country club, following the signs for the wedding outside. The reception would follow indoors. Several signs along the way instructed guests to turn their phones off, which Aaron hesitated to do.

"Just put it on silent or vibrate. They don't want all the aunties' phones in the photographers shots," I touched his wrist, seeing him contemplate. "If you're on call just do vibrate."

"I'm not technically, I just don't want to miss a call if they do. It's a little unpredictable."

"Whatever you do, do it fast," I wound my arm around his as I spotted my mother among my family.

I heard Aaron clear his throat and shove his phone in his pocket, plastering an award winning smile on his face.

“Oh, sweetie, you're here!” My mother ran up to me, nearly stumbling in her heels.

“Woah, careful,” I lunged, holding my hands out to catch her but Aaron was faster, grabbing her hands and stopping her forward momentum.

“Aaron, honey, how sweet are you?” she gushed, holding onto his forearms. “It's so nice to finally meet you.”

Aaron and I were dragged around to my family and he—unsurprisingly—remembered all of the information I had fed him. Throughout the ceremony, Aaron had his arm wrapped around me, hand resting on my lower back. It was strange being here with someone after expecting to be here by myself, but as I leaned my head on his shoulder I was glad it was Aaron I picked off the street. He caught me looking at him, giving me a soft smile and kissing my temple.

The ceremony was blissfully short as the afternoon sun started to heat up. I just about dragged Aaron inside after, eager to not sweat through this light-colored shirt.

The reception started off without a hitch. Aaron offered to drive while I had a few drinks—who was I to decline such an offer—and dancing commenced while we waited for the food.

Aaron begrudgingly danced with my mother—only to slow ones per his request—but he kept his awkwardness at being interrogated hidden well. When it was my turn to dance with my fake boyfriend, I did so happily, not one to complain about being close to Aaron.

Aaron’s hand was warm on my lower back as we swayed to the music. His thumb brushed small, lazy circles along my spine, and I was very much not immune to it.

"You're suspiciously quiet," I teased, tilting my head up to meet his gaze. "Having fun?"

"Something like that," he said, lips twitching in amusement.

"You're thinking about work, aren’t you?"

"No," he replied, then smirked. "I'm thinking about the conversation I just had with your mother."

I groaned, "Oh God. Do I even want to know?"

"Probably not," Aaron said, but the glint of humor in his eyes gave him away.

I gave his shoulder a light, playful shove. "Tell me."

He hummed, swaying us slightly to the left as another couple passed by. unable to resist, he pressed a quick kiss to my lips and continued speaking, "She asked when we were having kids."

I almost tripped over my own feet. My hand tightened on his bicep as I choked out, "She asked you what?"

"When we were having kids," he repeated, perfectly calm.

My mouth opened and closed, my brain short-circuiting. I finally sputtered out a laugh, "Jesus Christ, she didn't even ease into it?"

"Not even a little," he confirmed.

I tipped my head back with a groan, "Okay, well, the real question is—which one of us is gonna carry the baby to term?"

His lips twitched. "Hmm. Probably you."

"Excuse me?" I gave his shoulder a scandalized smack. "Why me?"

"You've got the instincts for it," Aaron said, voice low and teasing.

I blinked. My jaw dropped, "Did you just insinuate that I'm Mochi's mother? Because she knows damn well I'm her daddy."

Aaron’s shoulders shook with restrained laughter, "I'm just saying. You hover. You told me you checked her paws for three days straight when she yelped after stepping on a leaf."

"That’s called responsible pet ownership, Aaron. She’s just a baby."

"Mhm,” His thumb traced another slow circle against my back, and I absolutely did not shiver.

Nope, not at all.

We were both grinning like idiots when my mom passed by again, shooting us a look that said: You’re next.

Aaron leaned closer, voice low in my ear, "She seemed pretty convinced we're soulmates."

"Oh God. We are never gonna live this down."

"Probably not," he agreed.

"You're enjoying this way too much."

"I really am," he murmured, then kissed my temple.

I rested my forehead on his chest, laughing so hard I almost missed his hand tightening just slightly on my waist.

It was inevitable that I would have to run to the bathroom after several alcoholic beverages. I swayed slightly as I washed my hands, grinning at my own reflection. My face was warm, appearance slightly disheveled from dancing with Aaron, and my smile wouldn't go away—not that I wanted it to. I’d spent the better part of the afternoon glued to Aaron’s side while my family peppered him with questions. He’d taken it like a champ, even dancing with some of my aunts before my mother would steal him back, all while keeping his arm casually draped around me like we’d done this a million times.

Honestly, he was too good at this. I was beginning to suspect he actually enjoyed the chaos.

As I stepped back into the reception hall, the music thumped under my feet, mingling with the sound of clinking glasses and laughter. I scanned the crowd for Aaron’s broad shoulders, but before I could find him, my mom’s voice sliced through the noise.

"Who the hell are you, and why are you taking my son’s boyfriend?"

My heart just about stopped, what the fuck?

I turned toward the commotion and froze. Across the room, Aaron stood stiffly near the entrance with a vaguely exasperated expression, one I saw a handful of times on our date. My mother had one hand on her hip, the other gesturing toward a very well-dressed group of strangers attempting to pull Aaron toward the door.

"Ma'am," the oldest of the group spoke to my mother, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "I assure you, we come in peace."

"You're not answering the question," my mom snapped.

Oh, mom.

"He’s my ex," the man blurted out without missing a beat. His voice dropped into something heavier, "And I’ve come to win him back."

The entire room went silent. I swore someone actually gasped.

Aaron’s jaw twitched as his eyes found mine across the room. He looked annoyed, amused, and frustrated all at the same time.

"Your...ex?" my mom repeated, voice pitched with disbelief.

The man sighed, bowing his head like he was carrying the weight of an old, familiar pain.

"Yes. We were once...so much more," He lifted his eyes to the ceiling with a wistful expression, voice trembling just enough to sound authentic. "I gave him my heart, but he belonged to the world. And now, seeing him here..." He placed a hand over his chest. "It's like I’ve been wandering through a desert of loneliness only to find an oasis I no longer deserve."

Someone near me whispered, "That’s so beautiful."

My mom’s jaw slackened. "I...I don’t know what to say."

He continued, "Sometimes, the greatest act of love is letting go." He cast a mournful glance toward Aaron, "Even if it means watching the only man who ever understood me walk away with someone else."

A sniffle echoed from the corner. I glanced over and saw my cousin Vanessa—the bride—dabbing her eyes with a cocktail napkin.

I nearly fell over at the absurdity of it all.

"And these people?" my mom asked, voice cracking slightly as she gestured to the rest of the group.

The youngest man in the group awkwardly rose his hand, "We're, um..."

“We were in an polyamorous relationship—with Aaron,” a dark-haired woman spoke up.

A fit man with a shadow of a beard—damn he was hot, too—hid a laugh behind his hand while hiding his face behind the dark-haired woman.

My mother did not look impressed.

Meanwhile, Aaron stood there like a hostage, shoulders rigid and lips pressed into a thin line. I knew that look—he wore it when I ambushed him on the street—his I am using every ounce of my patience right now face.

I made my way toward the group just as my mom turned back to the older man.

"Listen here, buddy," she snapped, poking him in the chest. "I don’t care how much you still love him. He’s here with my son, and you’re not going to ruin this by dragging him off for some last-ditch romantic gesture."

Rossi gave her a deeply sympathetic look, "I—we just want to beg for another chance, ma'am."

The crowd melted.

Someone whispered, "That’s love."

Another person sobbed openly into their champagne flute.

By the time I reached Aaron's side, the tension had shifted. My mom was still skeptical, but several of my cousins were openly swooning at the spectacle.

I gave the crowd a tense smile as I approached, resting my hand on Aaron's upper arm and leaning in to his ear and whispering, “What the fuck is going on?”

The older man gave me a nod, lowering his voice, "We hate to break up the party, kid, but we need Aaron. Urgent case."

"Right," I said, suddenly more sober. He was needed, I could text him later.

The team ushered Aaron through the door to the sound of faint applause from the wedding guests.

I stood there, shaking my head at what the hell just transpired.

My mother actually wiped her eyes and sighed, "I'm so sorry, honey, I tried to stop them. I didn't realize he had so many partners before you.”

“Mom, those were his coworkers picking him up for an urgent issue.”

"Oh, sweetie," she said, patting my cheek. "You just don’t understand modern relationships.

Later that night I was sprawled over my couch, my mother having driven me home as I had a few more drinks to make up for Aaron’s absence. My guest room was prepared ahead of time, thankfully.

I groaned, loosening my belt lazily, still in my suit. I had gotten Mochi from my neighbor, needing my baby to ease the sing of Aaron’s depsrture. She lay across my lap, belly-up and snoring. My mom sat in my recliner, a glass of wine in hand now that she could decompress from the wedding.

“It was such a beautiful day,” she mused. “Until Aaron didn’t come back after that discussion with his exes,” she grumbled.

“Mom…” I groaned into a pillow. “Mom, they’re not his exes, they’re his team at work. They were messing with you.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, not sounding the slightest bit convinced.

The TV hummed in the background, low enough for us to ignore until I heard a familiar voice break through our conversation.

“…we were able to quickly apprehend the suspect and bring an end to these tragic events."

My mom gasped, leaning forward, "Oh, honey! Isn't that Aaron?"

I sat up so fast Mochi nearly flopped off my lap, and sure enough—there he was on the news, standing in front of a sheriff’s station with a microphone in his face. Same pink shirt. Same navy suit. Same faintly irritated expression.

"I told you he was working," I muttered, running a hand down my face. “All of a sudden you love him again,” I rolled my eyes.

"—ultimately, the case was resolved after it was determined that the suspect was, in fact, the sheriff," Aaron said, voice monotone and precise. "He left his own boot prints at three of the crime scenes and, when confronted, confessed almost immediately."

There was an awkward pause as reporters scribbled notes.

"Wait," one asked, "so it...was just the sheriff the whole time?"

"Yes," Aaron said.

"And he...admitted it right away?"

"Yes," Aaron repeated, slower this time. His jaw twitched in annoyance.

"So," the reporter pressed, "you flew in from Quantico...for that?"

The muscle in Aaron’s jaw jumped again, "Yes."

I barked out a laugh.

The camera zoomed out as Aaron stepped away from the microphones. His team followed closely behind, the blonde agent talking with the older agent animatedly. The last shot before the feed was cut off was Aaron rubbing his temples.

I shook my head and stood, scooping Mochi up under one arm, "I'm going to bed."

"Tell Aaron I said ‘hi’ next time you talk to him!"

"Mm-hmm." I carried Mochi toward my bedroom, but halfway there, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I smiled, tucking my phone away again and held Mochi tighter.

I called back down the hallway, “Aaron says ‘hi’.”

“What a sweetheart. I really do like him, honey,” she called back.

“Yeah, me, too, Mom.”

#criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotchner x reader #hotchner x you #male!reader #Fic: I Bet You Look Good in Pink

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devizakura · 24 days ago

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MEAN GIRLS AU - APEX PREDATOR + LORE

After Pentious surprisingly gets into the Vees' good graces, Cherri and Angel convince him to pretend to befriend them and collect juicy gossip. Alas, it quickly becomes clear that Pentious is enjoying it more than he should...

That summary aside, I BRING SOME LORE!

1. THE WORLDBUILDING.

This AU is NOT taking place in Hell. Instead, I imagine the worldbuilding to be kinda similar to that of My Hero Academia. It's just a normal world, except most people have visual mutations and/or powers.

I originally considered delving into it even more with a hero school (for the residents of Heaven) and a villain school, but eventually decided not to go with, like... schools that teach you how to be good/bad necessarily, they're normal schools, but one just happens to congregate a lot of demoralized youth.

Lucifer is this school's founder and principal - originally a teacher at the "good" school, he aimed to make a difference in the crime-ridden area. Alas, he has long since given up on his ambition. His daughter, Charlie, is the head of the student council and organizes student exchanges between the schools :>

2. ALASTOR'S ROLE.

Plot twist: while I initially did consider the radiostatic-radiosnake love triangle, I eventually decided to take it in a bit of a different direction. In this AU, Alastor is Aaron only in the most basic sense - the guy whose existence kickstarts the revenge plot.

You see, instead of Pentious catching feelings, it's beef at first sight. Alastor is the most powerful in his supernatural prowess as much as Vox is the most powerful thanks to his money and social status - that's why Vox has been insisting on joining forces, for together they would be unstoppable.

After some more pestering, Alastor eventually agrees to an alliance, posing a threat to Pen's newfound power and popularity. Now, with no way to dissuade Vox from it, and knowing he's too weak to attack Alastor directly... Pentious decides the only way to stay on top is to bring Vox down.

3. LET'S TALK ABOUT VELVETTE.

Well, what of her?

If you know Mean Girls, you would know Gretchen is rather insecure. I've quickly noticed Vel straying from that portrayal. Really, she is more like a mix of Gretchen and Heather Duke from Heathers - she's happy to play the underling, as long as she feels valued and respected, but she is also a whole diva in her own right. The moment Vox starts to mistreat her as a result of Pen's meddling, she starts lashing out and spilling secrets - not out of insecurity, but out of anger. Nobody gets to treat HER badly. She is THAT #bitch.

#hazbin hotel #mgau #sir pentious #the vees #velvette hazbin hotel #vox hazbin hotel #valentino hazbin hotel #cherri bomb hazbin hotel #angel dust hazbin hotel #odette hazbin hotel #clara hazbin hotel

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basketonthedoorstepofthefbi · 1 year ago

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"obstinate, headstrong girl" part 2 - aaron hotchner x fem!reader

read part 1 here

wc: 3000

cw: mentions of food and alcohol! enemies to lovers! poorly researched medical information lmao i am a liberal arts girly i just need it for the plot. typical bau meddling, reader is lowkey a bully but dw bc hotch is still a little bitch, part 3 to come c:

a/n big fat thank you to my bestie @cerisereids for all her help workshopping / brainstorming with me! i also got the BEAUTIFUL dividers from the immensely talented @saradika-graphics

You.

With your red dress and your attitude, throwing back amaretto sours like they’re tequila shots - who gets drunk on amaretto sours? They’re basically safe to drink while pregnant. To be fair, you didn’t get sloppy, or even really that drunk. By the end of the night, your eyes appeared just a bit heavy, like someone had tied miniature weights to your eyelashes.

Your eyelashes. Aaron had never found eyelashes, of all things, to be attractive, but here he is, in the middle of a work day with a report half-finished (and half-assed, at that), and he’s thinking about your eyelashes.

He’s thought of basically every part of you already today. Your knees, your dress, what’s underneath it. You have been sucking him into a black hole all day long, and he’s to the point where he’s halfway wishing for a serial killer so he can focus on something else.

He plows his hand through his dark hair, shaking off the overwhelming thoughts of you. He checks the silver Rolex on his wrist. It’s nearly time to leave. Aaron doesn’t usually do this, but he decides to leave this report for tomorrow, when he can look at the letters on the page and not see your face, hear your voice.

Just as he starts packing up, there’s a knock on his open office door. Aaron’s dark eyes flicker up to see Garcia standing in the doorway, Morgan’s tall frame looming behind her. “Hotch, you got anything going on tonight?”

Aaron shakes his head. For once, he actually doesn’t. “Jack’s at a sleepover,” he says. “What’s up?”

“We’re taking Spence and Jacqueline to this nighttime vendor market thingy,” Penelope says, scrunching her nose up with a smile. “You remember Jacqueline?”

It’s been a week since Derek’s birthday, when Jacqueline and Spencer were introduced. More relevantly, since Aaron laid eyes on you. “I remember.”

“You wanna come with us?” Penelope asks with bright eyes. Aaron opens his mouth the decline almost immediately, but Penelope beats him to it. “Y/N’s not coming.”

Aaron arches a brow. “What makes you think I care if Y/N’s coming or not?” he asks.

“Oh, c’mon, Hotch,” Derek puts all his weight on the doorjamb. “We saw you staring at her at my birthday. It’s about time you moved on from Haley, any-”

“If I say I’ll come out, will you stop talking?” Aaron cuts him off, grabbing his briefcase.

Derek ponders this for a second, even looks to Penelope as if to ask permission. He shrugs his shoulders in what Aaron suspects will be the first little white lie of the evening. “Yeah.”

How anyone was able to sprain their ankle while shopping for books is beyond you. Leave it to Jacqueline, the wide-eyed, quirkily clumsy ingénue of her very own romantic comedy, to trip over a curb while gazing starry-eyed at the oh-so dreamy Dr. Reid. She called you from the emergency room with a shrill panic lining her voice, and you immediately leapt up from the couch. You didn’t even bother pausing your show on the TV, just slid some shoes on, grabbed your bag, and bolted out the door.

You’re taking extra long strides, your flip-flops smacking obnoxiously against the linoleum tiles of the hospital floor. When you spot Jacqueline sitting up in the bed, still in her own clothes, you feel instant relief. At least she’s not panicking anymore. Spencer sits diligently by her side, fidgeting with the edges of the sheets. Jacqueline’s right leg is elevated atop several pillows, with a meek smile on her face once her eyes meet yours.

“Spencer, you’re supposed to keep an eye on her at all times,” you joke with a weak laugh, sighing as you plop down in the empty chair beside Spencer’s.

“She saw something shiny and wandered off,” Spencer shrugs, and Jacqueline glares at the both of you.

“This whole talking about me like I’m not here, thing? Not my favorite,” she deadpans. There’s the Jacqueline you know and love. In crowded social settings, she can be reclusive and difficult to open up. But with only a few people around - especially people she’s comfortable around - Jacqueline is a completely different person.

You’re glad she feels comfortable around Spencer after just a week of knowing him. They’re not even officially dating, per se, but tonight they went out with Penelope and Derek to test the waters. You think it’s cute - like two fifth-graders on a chaperoned outing to the movies, with their parents sitting a row behind them.

You were invited to tag along, but you didn’t want to be the fifth wheel. You also were having a really long, insufferable week, and you simply needed some recharge time. So you politely declined.

“Oh, shush, you’ve got bigger fish to fry,” you tell Jacqueline playfully, eyes darting down to her elevated foot. “So, what’s the damage?”

“Sprained ankle, possibly fractured,” Spencer rattles off. “Usually an x-ray isn’t required, but since Jacqueline’s having pain in her malleolar zone - that is, the top part of the ankle that connects to the tibia - the doctor ordered one. We’re waiting on the results to come back, but I think they’ll just put her in a brace for a few weeks. Statistically speaking, only about 15% of sprained ankles result in significant bone fractures.”

You release an awkward little chuckle, very nearly overwhelmed by the amount of information Spencer just dumped on you. Jacqueline shrugs her shoulders a little, like this is just how he is, and I love it.

You blink a few times as you absorb all of Spencer’s ramblings. “So.. she’s gonna be fine?”

“Yeah, she’ll be fine,” Spencer cracks a smile, and his thumb brushes affectionately over the top of Jacqueline’s hand. Your friend blushes furiously, ever-so-clearly under the fluorescent lighting.

“So what exactly happened?” You ask.

Before either of them get to answer, imposing footsteps grow louder, and you hear a familiar voice say, “Okay, coffee acquired.”

Smooth like the neat whiskey he was throwing back the night you met him, Aaron’s voice drags down your spine. Your belly does acrobatic flips. You visibly tense up for a second before turning around to see Aaron with a cardboard drink carrier in his hand containing three to-go cups of coffee.

“Oh, hi, Y/N. When did you get here?” Aaron’s voice goes flat, and he meets your eyes civilly.

“While you were getting coffee, I presume,” you deadpan, and you swear you see one of those imposing brown eyes twitch.

“Right,” Aaron hands Jacqueline her coffee, and then has to lean over you so he can give Spencer his. You catch whiffs of pine and espresso and dark leather. His chest is basically in your face for a solid three seconds. God, he’s broad. He’s also in a suit, save for the jacket and tie, and your eyes catch the crinkly lines in his white dress shirt, no longer crisp from being worn all day. They look like rivers on a map. “Well, I guess I’ll be going. Glad you’re okay, Jacqueline, that was quite the fall.”

“Oh, no, Aaron, you don’t have to go!” Jacqueline pipes up, holding her coffee with two hands. “I mean, only if you need to, but, we’re still waiting for my X-ray to come back, and I know I’d love the company.”

You look at Jacqueline with a bewildered expression. “I mean, I’d love the company of all of you,” Jacqueline corrects, her cheeks pinkening.

You cross your ankles, suddenly aware that you’re in your loungewear - beige linen shorts and a blue Georgetown sweatshirt - and your hair sits in a haphazard knot on top of your head. You have to remind yourself that you don’t care. That Aaron Hotchner’s opinion of you does not matter.

Aaron seems momentarily frozen in place, standing at the foot of Jacqueline’s bed. His eyes dart to you as if to silently ask permission to stay, and you give a subtle, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it shrug and tilt of your head. He inhales and you see his nostrils flare. He clears his throat and says, “Let me find a chair, then.”

There’s something humorous about a man as tall and imposing and draconian as Aaron Hotchner looking for a chair in the emergency room bay of a hospital. Shoulders hunched so he doesn’t inconvenience anyone. You hope he feels embarrassed and humbled by the experience. A muted smirk rests upon your lips as you watch him most unhelpfully, not even bothering to move from your seat.

Eventually he finds a free chair in the corner and drags it to the other side of Jacqueline’s bed, keeping a respectful distance. He looks across the bed at Spencer, who sits beside you. “Did you tell her that Garcia basically pushed Jacqueline over the curb?”

Fluorescent lighting had never been so flattering before. Under its clarifying spotlight, Aaron gets to see details of you he’d missed at the bar where you first met. The texture of your skin, an extra little sliver of thigh from those linen shorts he wasn’t privy to before.

And when he leaned over you to give Reid his coffee? He caught your intoxicating scent and now he fears it will either be stuck in his nostrils forever, or it will fade too quickly, before he can commit it to memory.

“Penelope did what?” You’re asking, looking at Reid, then Jacqueline, brows creasing in the middle.

Aaron folds his left leg atop his right, then nods with an amused smile. It’s clear you still don’t like him - might even hate him for how cold he was to you at the bar the other night. He can tell by the way you refuse to look at him unless absolutely necessary, how your jaw visibly tenses every time he addresses you directly.

“I have no solid proof,” Aaron begins, offering the information as an olive branch. Your eyes snap to his and he’s jarred for a second, then he continues, the corners of his lips ticking up into an amused smile. “But one second, I see Garcia and Morgan at least three feet behind where Jacqueline’s walking, and the next thing I know, she’s on the ground and Garcia’s apologizing profusely.”

“Why isn’t she here?” You laugh softly, and Aaron’s chest thrums. He can’t diagnose his reaction to it, but your laugh, no matter how strained and merely polite it might be at this moment, could be the thing that kills him.

“Something about feeding JJ and Emily’s cat while they’re on vacation,” Jacqueline chimes in. Aaron clocks the younger woman’s eyes and how glued they are on Reid. She’s been so closed off every time Aaron’s around, so this tidbit of information coming from her surprises him. Aaron’s wondered this whole time if she truly likes Reid or if she’s just being kind.

You nod in understanding and lean back in your chair. Little wisps of your hair fall into your eyes and you brush them back delicately with your index finger.

Jacqueline pipes up again, her voice still timid and maybe a little tired. “Would you mind maybe getting me a snack?” She asks you.

Aaron watches the softening of your expression as you look at Jacqueline fondly. You would do anything for her, and he can tell. “Of course,” you squeeze Jacqueline’s uninjured leg as you rise from your seat.

“And maybe Aaron can go with you? Since Spence is pretty hungry, too, right, Spence?” Jacqueline proposes.

Your soft expression twists into one of slight irritance.

Aaron knows exactly what Jacqueline is up to, but it takes Reid a lingering moment to catch on. “What - oh, yeah, I’m starving,” the good doctor adds, even going to far as to pat his stomach, as if to say it’s hollow in there.

Your eyes shrink in annoyance, and you seem to plaster a sickly sweet smile onto your lips, one that would make demons shake in their boots. You lock eyes with Aaron, as if to say, well? What’s it gonna be?

Aaron asks Jacqueline and Reid what they want, then leads the way out of the ER and towards the cafeteria. The hospital’s signage is fairly easy to follow, and Aaron slows his usually long strides so you don’t have to struggle to keep up.

He gestures to your Georgetown sweatshirt. “You graduated from Georgetown?” He asks.

“No, I just like to wear merchandise for schools I didn’t attend,” you deadpan, and there’s that goddamn attitude again.

Aaron considers laying it all out - right here, right now. You’re not even thirty yet, from what Garcia’s told him. He shouldn’t be attracted to you, but he is, and god, is it killing him. Instead, he just furrows his brows and doesn’t say anything.

“Yeah,” you soften a little, shoving your hands in the pockets of the sweatshirt. You seem to be cutting Aaron a little bit of slack, for whatever reason. “Yeah, I went to Georgetown.”

Aaron holds the door open for you when you reach the cafeteria. You feel a little bad for your snarky comment in the hallway. You were not raised to be outwardly rude. You were raised to hoard your resentment like a precious flower, nursing it so it grows big and strong.

“Jacqueline made it really sound like an emergency, huh?” Aaron asks, following you to the line. You shoot him a quizzical brow, and he gestures to your ensemble.

“Oh, excuse me for not wearing an Armani suit to the hospital,” you roll your eyes, but they linger on the wrinkles in his dress shirt. “You just went out right after work, then? In your fancy suit?”

Aaron smooths his fingertips over the white cotton. The color reminds you of freshly cleaned bedsheets. “Yeah, and it’s not Armani, for your information.”

“Sorry, Mr. FBI. What is it, then, Dolce & Gabbana? Ralph Lauren?”

“Tom Ford.”

“Like that’s any less pretentious,” you scoff.

“Hey, I can spend my money however I choose,” Aaron says, and you know he’s right. That doesn’t mean you’re not going to give him shit for it.

“Must be nice to just burn cash,” you say dryly. “I’m sure your wife loves that.”

“I don’t have a wife.” You look at him over your shoulder and his eye twitches a little when he says this.

You’re not sure why you mention a wife anyway. Maybe you’re merely curious, but then again, you’ve already clocked that he’s not wearing a wedding ring. “Girlfriend, then,” you correct. “Do men your age call them girlfriends, or do you prefer the term mistress?”

“Men my age?” Aaron laughs bitterly. “I don’t have a girlfriend,” he says. His voice is stringent, right on the line of annoyance. You smirk to yourself and grab a tray so you can carry the food. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t call her my mistress, because I don’t have a wife to cheat on with her.”

“Bachelors in the 1800s called their girlfriends mistresses,” you point out, though your facts are coming from Bridgerton, so you’re not sure if they’re entirely accurate. “I don’t know how old-fashioned you are.”

“I’m not,” Aaron says simply as you load an individual-size veggie pizza on your tray for Jacqueline, then grab a bag of chips and a soda for yourself. Aaron grabs the sandwich Spencer requested, and you lead the way to the checkout.

The cafeteria worker punches in your items, and then Aaron’s. “Oh, we’re not together,” you correct politely.

“It’s fine,” Aaron insists, pulling a silver AmEx out of his wallet. You reach for your own wallet to try and beat him, but he’s already swiped by the time you even get it out.

You thank the cafeteria worker before gathering everything in your hands. “You didn’t have to do that,” you say as you and Aaron head out of the cafeteria. He holds the door open for you, again.

“It’s not a big deal,” Aaron says as you walk through the open door. “Chivalry is still alive, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Not old-fashioned, huh?” You smirk as you look up at him, feeling your cheeks redden a bit. Wait, when did this become playful jesting rather than straight-up bullying?

“Maybe a little old-fashioned.” Aaron’s lips hint at a smile, and you feel your mouth go dry.

“Shocking that you’re still on the market,” you say, admittedly because you’re curious about what Penelope said the other night at the bar. Something about Aaron going through a hard time.

“My job requires a lot of my time,” Aaron explains. Your footsteps slow a little and he matches your pace. “Even if I found someone worth all the trouble, I don’t think I’d have the time to dedicate to a relationship.”

“Worth all the trouble?” You repeat, a scoff lining your voice like a thousand tiny needles. Aaron resists the urge to visibly wince at your reaction.

Why you’re prompting all this relationship discussion is beyond him. He’s a profiler, for Christ’s sake, but he can’t pin you down, for some reason. He lays the brickwork down and builds his walls up again. For a moment, back in the cafeteria, he was starting to let you in.

But, no, it doesn’t matter how god-forsakenly adorable you are when you scrunch your nose or call him out on his bullshit. Aaron’s not ready for this kind of thing yet, so iciness is necessary. It protects him, it protects Jack, but - and, maybe most importantly - it protects you.

You’re young and you’re willful. You’re a goddamn hurricane, a force to be reckoned with, but your stubbornness is a house of cards. Aaron Hotchner knows that if he hurts you, the cards will fall. And he could never forgive himself for something like that.

So when you look at him for some kind of explanation, throwing him an arched brow and the opportunity to explain himself, he doesn’t take it. Instead, he watches as you pick up your pace and walk ahead of him, leaving a hell of a view and a frustrated, fully-grown man in your wake.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #hotchner x reader #basketonthedoorstepofthefbi #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner enemies to lovers #criminal minds fic #criminal minds imagine #aaron hotchner x you #hotchner x you #hotch x you

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watermelongirl01 · 10 months ago

Text

Fresh Blood Part 2

Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

Criminal Minds x Supernatural

Summary: Maybe your recovery was a bigger challenge for Hotch than it was for you.

Content Warning: Violence Explanation and a Worried Hotchner.

“Hotch.” A firm voice called from the door for the BAU leader.

Hotch turned his sight just to look at Rossi’s worried face. He got closer to embrace you into a strong hug, but quickly returned at the door waiting for Hotch.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

“Soon to be engaged.”

“What?” Rossi asked with confusion.

Hotch left the room at the right time, following Rossi’s steps down the hall.

“Do we have something new?”

“Her parents are on the way, they want to thank you.”

“For what?”

“You have to be kidding Hotch, you saved her daughter’s life, you realized first than anyone that she was missing.”

“And JJ”

“Yeah, but JJ didn’t shove transit rules down her ass just to get to her.” Rossi’s exasperation got the best of him earning Hotch’s severe look. “I can see you care.”

“She’s my agent, of course, I care.”

“Not like that, and I don’t mean to meddle in your business, but maybe after this, you should let yourself be happy, 'cause I can tell she cares too” Aaron furrowed his eyebrows.

“We’re not talking about that, Do we know something about her attacker?” Rossi sighed, feeling defeated.

“According to her father, Gordon is a hunter, great skills, but with questionable morals, and a few months ago he had an argument with a close friend leading him to prison, he thinks her daughter got caught in the middle of all.”

“I disagree, she said someone was in danger and she had to let them know.”

“He was looking for something?”

“Possibly” Rossi nodded while reaching for his phone in his suit jacket pocket. “I’ll stay with her and try to get as much information as I can, you can leave with the team.”

“She’s giving you that much of a hard time?”

“You are welcome to try and do it better.”

Both gentlemen walked straight into your room, finding you whispering into the phone.

“I’m fine, just a little dizzy, and at this point I don’t know if it is the concussion or the medicine cocktail.” You said ignoring the older man standing at your door. “No, Sammy, just promise me you’ll take precautions.”

When you finally looked up at the questioning eyes staring, you let out a little yelp immediately hanging up the phone.

“Hi, Dave!” You eagerly greeted.

“Hey, feeling better?” You nodded. “I’m glad, you really scared us. We just wanted to know if you have something to tell us.”

“Yeah! Did you know that you cannot spell Hotchner without Hot?” You asked with a confident smile while moving your eyebrows up and down. “I personally think that maybe that's indicative of who’s the hottest on the team.”

Rossi sent a questioning but funny look at you, but in your medicine-filled mind, you weren’t sure if you said something wrong or if he was offended by you not finding him the hottest. Hotch just didn’t know how to act, so he caught your attention by placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Don’t tell Morgan, he gets insufferable when you say he's not your type.”

“She’s on strong meds.” Hotch assured while Rossi was trying to hide his big smile. “What David meant was, if you remember something of the man who hurt you.”

“He said I was stubborn.” You shook your head in disapproval. “Rude, really rude.”

Maybe you deflected their questions many times or maybe your snarky comments had them tired, but Rossi left the room leaving you alone with Hotch, he didn’t pressure you into telling him the truth anymore, but after the medication started to leave your body, the reality punched you in the face, so it was inevitable to begin to cooperate with him.

“Thank you for saving my life.” You said.

“What did he want?”

“Information I couldn’t give him”

“Would you tell me exactly what happened?”

An uncomfortable silence made a presence in the room, but you didn’t lose Hotch’s attention, not even for a second. You shifted on the bed trying to make yourself comfortable.

You shrugged your shoulders. “I don’t know, he managed to distract me, I should’ve known the open window was bait.” You hid your face in your own hands for a moment but immediately composed yourself. “I fell right into it and he disarmed me.”

Hotch wanted to stop you, each word felt like being stabbed once again, but he needed to hear it so he could catch the guy.

“I woke up tied to the chair, and now I’m here, I’m so sorry.”

“That’s not your fault, you did everything you could.”

“No, I didn’t, that’s why I’m apologizing.” You closed your eyes not wanting to see Hotch’s disappointed look. “I had the information I could’ve given to him, I chose not to.”

Hotch shifted, getting closer to you. “Why did you do that?”

“Because someone’s life was at risk.”

“So was yours.” You opened your eyes lightly looking at him with sorrow and he sighed with tiredness. “Does it have to do anything with the person you were on the phone with?”

“Yeah, I had to warn them.”

“I get that” Hotch cleared his throat then placed one of his hands above yours. “I also want to apologize.”

“Wait, don’t do that thing.”

“That thing?”

“Yes, the thing that you do when someone in the team gets hurt and you take the blame.” He looked the other way and let a little chuckle leave his lips. “He was determined to find me either way, tomorrow, after tomorrow, next week. He is to blame, not you.”

“You do know me that well, huh?” You flashed him a big smile.

“I mean, you saved me, I owe you a big one, paperwork is on me, next case.” He returned his gaze to you with a stern look. “Wait, I am going to get back, right?”

“Yeah, after two weeks on leave and one on desk duty.”

“Ha! So I’m getting paperwork either way, awesome.”

A comfortable silence flooded the room and at some point, Hotch’s and your eyes found each other. Hotch squeezed your hand.

“Would you promise me to take care of yourself more than you take care of others?”

“Right back at you, Hotch.”

“We can discuss it over dinner, I do owe you one.”

You shook your head. “I know what you’re doing there, you don’t owe me anything, you saved my life, Aaron.”

“You’re so smart, huh?”

“Hey, I almost saw Coco people, and the nurse just refilled my medication cocktail, but I can detect self-inflicted guilt when I see it.”

“Would you say yes to dinner and listen to me for once?”

“No.” You made a sudden gesture with your hands, referencing your mind blowing. “I know, shocking, but if I say yes, you’re going to believe I blame you, and I don’t.”

He sent a little smile to you and leaned closer to kiss your forehead. “I’m going to catch him.”

“I know.”

~~~

On your two weeks leave, you almost went crazy, you didn’t know if it was your parents treating you like a child, the Winchesters calling every five minutes to apologize or the members of your team taking turns to check your apartment every night.

“So, let me get this right, He was so sure Sammy was going to become a monster but he became one in the process.”

“And the one he hated the most, a vampire.” Dean’s voice said in the other line.

“That´s what I call divine justice.” You said while shifting to get comfortable on your bed, Not that you ever left it, but trying different positions on the mattress was your only way to have fun recently. “Now we know who is not going to hunter’s heaven.”

“What’s with you and heaven and angels lately? We are not going anyway.”

“We? Speak for yourself, Dean.”

“I don't think they will let in somebody who shot me on the feet when I was ten.”

“It was a mistake and I was six! It was my first time with a gun.”

“Well, now we know how good you are with guns, maybe you need another masterclass from me.”

“Hey, I had no chance with Buffy the Vampire Slayer right there, I was asleep. You know I need at least one hour to process I'm awake.” Dean’s laughter echoed in your cell phone's speakerphone

“Yeah, about that. Sammy and I were talking and although we hope this never happens again, we want to ask you to never place our whereabouts over your own life.”

“You know that´s not happening De, I'm never going to betray you like that guys.”

“Can we at least come up with a believable lie, so you don't taunt a guy with a knife in his hand again?”

“That sounds reasonable.” You agreed, and after some noises on Dean’s behalf, you found out that Sam was also in the room. “Is that Sammy? Put him in the phone!.”

“Hmm, about that.” You tilted your head on your pillow waiting for Dean’s answer. “He thinks everything is his fault and doesn't want to talk,”

“You Winchesters are something else, I swear to God, put him in the phone, I don’t care that he doesn't want to talk because he knows I’ll tell him otherwise but he’s too busy punishing himself.” You hear some noise in the other line.

“Hi.” Sam’s shy voice came to your ears. “I'm really sorry.”

“What’s with all the men in my life blaming themselves for all my mistakes, I must be irresistible.” Sam chuckled a little. “It´s not your fault Sammy.”

“He hurt you because of me.”

“He hurt me because he was a horrible man, and now he’s never going to hurt me thanks to you.”

Now you need to deal with the “Disappearing” of your aggressor, the last time he left a trace was at your building when the security camera from your lobby caught him leaving. You knew the truth, but saying “No need to search for my aggressor, he turned into a vampire and then got the headless horseman treatment by the Winchester’s hand.” Wasn’t a normal thing to say, so you went along with the lies to your team and just let Hotch know there wasn’t a need for looking for him anymore.

~~~

You arrived at the building first hour on Monday morning, using crutches wasn’t your fashion choice, but it was mandatory for at least one more week by your Doctor. You limped your way to your office meeting with an excited Emily, a ready to hug you JJ, and a happy Penelope holding a cake, right in front of your door.

“Finally! My days of sneaking around to steal your snacks are over, welcome back!” JJ embraced you in a tight hug followed by a breathtaking hug from Emily.

“Hotch forbid us from your office.” Penelope shrugged her shoulders.

“He did?” The three girls nodded at the same time.

“We missed you a lot around here.” Emily said after letting you go. “Hotch was in such a horrible mood.” You rolled your eyes.

“Aww, missed you just as much, girls.” You said with a big smile on your face, but quickly eying them with suspicion. “Are my snack drawers empty?”

—-

After a warm welcome back from the team, and a quick trip to a different floor just to get the result of your psychological evaluation, at the end of your day, you found a man sitting on your chair waiting for you.

“Hotch?”

“Hey, I was waiting for you.”

“How did you know I was still in the building?”

“Well, one, I’m aware of everything that happens with my agents, and two, there was no way you would leave early.”

“You make me sound like a workaholic, and that’s you.” You accused while pointing your finger at him.

“Dear, you know the name of every security guard at every single shift change.” You’re not going to lie, the pet name made your heart beat faster.

“Oh oh, am I in trouble boss?”

“Not at all, I just thought that everyone welcomed you back with gifts but me, so I improvised my own way.”

“Oh my God, am I dreaming? please just pinch me to know.”

Hotch rolled his eyes blurting a chuckle while he placed a bag of food from your favorite restaurant on your desk. You were sure your favorite restaurant was your best-kept secret, and you were absolutely surprised when he placed your favorite dish in front of you.

“How did you know?”

“I have my ways.” He said placing the food containers around.

“Penelope? That’s cheating.”

“Nope.” Hotch looked at you while offering you the seat. “We are going to be here for a while, you know all that paperwork, we might as well do it with a full stomach.” He simply said wearing a big smile from you.

You smiled at him. “Yes, Sir.”

What you didn’t know was that you calling him that way, also shifted something for Hotch even though he refused to admit it.

#aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #dean winchester #fanfic #fem!reader #sam winchester #series #slow burn #supernatural #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch angst #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotch smut #the winchester brothers #bau team

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