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vanessagib · 2 years

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Misunderstanding Part 2

Life Changes series fic

Summary: Hotch's POV of you ignoring the order he gave you and his feelings behind his anger.

Paring: Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: anger, angst, fluff

A/N: I should have part 2 of Closer out soon!

Life Changes Masterlist

Masterlist

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As Hotch looked over at you sleeping on the jet, he thought back to when the rest of the team had arrived on the scene. He hadn’t liked the thought of you arriving at the unsub’s residence first, but he knew you would be safe in your vehicle until the rest of the team arrived. However, when he had hopped out of the vehicle with your vest in hand, and you weren’t there his heart dropped to his stomach.

He whipped his head to the house, wanting a glimpse of you but you were nowhere to be seen. You had gone after the unsub with no vest or backup. He struggled to breathe.

“Surely, she didn’t go in by herself,” Prentiss questioned.

Hotch didn’t bother to respond, he instead dropped the vest, pulled out his gun, and ran towards the house. The team wasn’t far behind.

As soon as Hotch cleared the threshold of the house, his gun raised, he heard two-gun shots ring through the house. Dread flooded his veins, and his years of training were the only thing that stopped him from throwing caution to the wind and running to you.

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

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

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

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

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

The sheriff was thanking the team again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir,” you murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He returned the smile. “Deal.”

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

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

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

Tagged: @suhke3, @wanniiieeee, @kajjaka, @iwillmakeyoucraveme, @twilightlover2007, @alinasophie, @katieslotherford, @stiles-argent24, @myriaos, @nvttiara, @eternal-silvertongued-prince, @rousethemouse, @pandorasdreamings, @rosaliedepp, @jori21, @ssamorganhotchner. @hearteyesmotherclucker, @sunshinexhotchner, @hotchnerxo, @breadforhowl

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vanessagib · 2 years

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As it Seems - Thirteen

Masterlist | As it Seems Masterlist

Summary: The BAU is accustomed to change – different cases every day, agents coming and going, roles changing – so the addition of a new member, an Administrative Liaison, should be no different. But the moment you arrive, everything changes for the better (Hotch just doesn’t realize it at first)…

Chapter Summary: The clock is ticking…an eye for an eye.

(A/N: Surprise! I didn’t want to keep you all waiting any longer for the conclusion of the kidnapping arc, so here’s an early update! There’s a lot happening in this chapter so I’ll just shut up now and let you read…if you haven’t already skipped over this author’s note ;D)

She looks familiar. The woman— the unsub who took you, you’ve seen her somewhere before.

You try to figure out who she is and how you know her to distract from the pain throbbing in your head and the panic threatening to take over your body.

She paces behind the camera, which has been switched off since she recorded the video, muttering and mumbling to herself. You catch only every few words, “took him, it’s only fair, wait until, hear something soon, send another message,” but it’s not enough to understand more than what she made clear earlier– if she doesn’t get what she wants, she’ll kill you.

She strips off the black hoodie she’d been wearing, revealing a black tank top underneath, and, more noticeably, her incredibly muscular form. Her shoulders are broad and strong, her arms defined by biceps and triceps and veins. No wonder she was able to carry you from your apartment to…wherever you are now.

You look around the space, desperate for some clue, some indication of place, something to ground you. If you can figure out where you are, maybe you can figure out how to escape.

You’re in a basement, you know that. There are stairs across from you. Various tools hang from nails on the wall beneath the stairs, rusty and jagged and you hope they’ll stay exactly where they are.

A folding table is set against the wall to your left. Papers are strewn across it, but even craning your neck, you can’t see all of them. You can see the wall though, and all the pictures tacked onto it— pictures of you. They’re all taken from afar, like paparazzi shots, with part of a car window or a plant in the frame, but never obscuring the main subject. There’s one of you and Garcia, out for coffee at the café in Quantico Station, both laughing at something. There’s one of you and Reid, walking through the Quantico parking lot together, talking. There’s one, taken outside of Rudy’s last week, of you, Morgan, JJ, and Prentiss. Morgan’s arm is draped over your shoulders as the two of you walk in step with the couple, their hands held with fingers intertwined. There are several of you and Hotch. One outside your apartment, of you smiling as you approach his car. One taken moments after the one with Morgan when you’d hung back to say a tipsy “thank you” to the unit chief for driving you all week. One taken from behind, of you and Hotch walking into Quantico, his hand on your back.

There’s one photo you’re not in. It’s Hotch and Rossi, walking somewhere, but you don’t know where. Only a sliver of the building they’re approaching is visible, tall, nondescript cement. All you know is that it isn’t Quantico.

You tear your gaze away from the photos, stomach clenching at the notion of this woman observing so many moments you thought were private, of how much she seems to know about you, and how little you know about her.

There’s a clock on the opposite wall. According to its steadily ticking hands, it’s just past three in the morning. Three hours since she contacted the BAU, and twenty-one hours until the deadline– until she kills you.

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vanessagib · 2 years

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a real superhero. || aaron hotchner x f!reader.

Some complicated things have happened between yourself and Hotch recently. Things that you desperately need some clarity on. Unable to help yourself, you head over to his place for a talk on Halloween night.

Fluff. Dad!Hotch & Jack. Based Upon Episode 6x6.

Word Count: 2.0k

WARNINGS: Mentions of Canon Violence and Crime. Reader Has Hair - But No Other Physical Description Used. Not Beta-Read. Minorly Edited.

MASTERLIST || TAGLIST

Support your content creators! Likes are appreciated, but comments and reblogs are golden!

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vanessagib · 2 years

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Whiplash - Aaron Hotchner x GN!Reader

WC: 6.8K / navi / preview

Summary: You receive minor injuries in a car crash that Hotch manufactures to get a killer off the road. Despite having saved the day, he feels guilty for hurting you, and your professional relationship quickly spirals into something more.

Contents/Warnings: one bed trope !! Insecure Hotch </3, self doubt, self deprecation, arguments, angst with a fluffy ending, Hotch says some mean shit but he’s just a dumbass, mentions of minor injuries/scrapes/cuts, bau!reader

A/N: This was originally a little blurb that I wrote for @shyhotch, a one bed trope story with hotch! but then it got ridiculously out of hand, and now it’s 7k.. I wrote this with a gn!reader in mind, but this was all written in a burst of inspiration and I had to edit out a lot of silly little typos! if you see any gendered terms, please let me know, I promise you they were not on purpose.

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

“Y/N,” You weren’t sure if it was your seldom-used first name, or the concerned glint in Hotch’s eyes that clued you into how much you’d be babied for the rest of the night, “I want you with me tonight. You shouldn’t be alone, not after that.”

That was the car crash you’d just gotten into. Manhunts were difficult to navigate, and you didn’t blame Hotch for swerving to run the man off of the road. It was you two or his potential victim, and you were glad that Hotch had done it well enough so that neither of you got seriously injured.

Just because you weren’t dead, though, doesn’t mean your neck wasn’t hurting like a bitch. He’d given you a solid two seconds of warning, shouting a gruff, ’Hold on!’ before jerking the wheel to the side and throwing his arm across your chest. You’d found purchase on the door, gripping it hard enough that your head hadn’t hit the dash. But your neck had bent at an awkward angle, and it ached every time you moved it into a specific position.

You nodded, bidding a sleepy goodnight to the rest of the team as they divided the remaining three rooms to themselves. Small towns were difficult to pack into at a moment’s notice, but you were just relieved there didn’t need to be more than two to a room.

Hotch’s hand rested gently on the small of your back as he led you to your room, the gesture half-comforting and half-exhilarating. You were already having trouble deciphering your feelings towards your unit chief, and this wasn’t helping.

You were especially conflicted when Hotch swung the door open, revealing a lackluster, cramped bedroom with one single bed. It was a queen, definitely big enough for two people, but two people that didn’t mind the occasional brush of skin-on-skin. You weren’t sure if you could handle that.

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vanessagib · 2 years

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Coffee and Doughnuts | Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Reader

summary: You come to work late with an unwanted visitor: period cramps. It’s a good thing that Aaron’s there to look out for you.

prompts: “I’m dying.” & “You’re not dying.”

content: Fluff, Hotch making dad jokes, mentions of period cramps, BAU team, Aaron being a softie, references to the B99 scene when Amy was late for work, two idiots in love

word count: 1.9k

A/N: WEEEE, i’ve finally gotten around to posting my first one shot with our favorite boss man, hotch! i thought this was really fun to write from the prompts i crossed paths with….but with a twist of one of the world’s biggest enemies: period cramps. anyways, let me know what you think! feedback is greatly appreciated for me to improve in the future :)

let me know if you want to be a part of my taglist!

Maybe it was a mistake to go to work knowing that you were suffering from your monthly period. You were close to believing the universe was against you this time when you realized you forgot to stock up on your painkillers and you were running late to work because your car had a flat tire.

“Wait for it. Wait for it,” Derek said as he pointed over at the clock with the rest of the team waiting alongside him, “It’s 9:01, (Y/N) (Y/L/N) is officially late for work for the first time ever.”

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vanessagib · 2 years

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As it Seems - Twelve

Masterlist | As it Seems Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Hotch has a plan to ask you out, but before he has the chance, the team realizes something is very, very wrong– you’ve gone missing.

(A/N: Ahh! Our first truly angsty arc begins! What happened to our reader? Where is she? Will the team be able to save her? Read on!)

Hotch has a plan.

Despite the long, exhausting case he’d just closed, he could barely sleep last night. His mind kept churning with thoughts of her.

Eventually, after a few hours of tossing and turning and fitful dreams of her voice, he gave up on sleep. Instead, he rose for the day and began to finalize his plan.

He told the team not to come in before noon, but he’s pushing open the glass door of the BAU by ten. He strides up to his office and unpacks his briefcase like usual, sitting down to work.

He has a plan.

It starts with finishing up the paperwork from yesterday’s case. He wants everything approved and filled out by the time she arrives so all she has to do is send it up to the Section Office for review.

When he’s done, Hotch sets the heavy folder on his desk and checks his watch. Half-past eleven. He glances out his office window at her empty desk.

She’ll be here soon.

She’s always fifteen minutes early for everything— work, meetings, appointments too. She’s like him, in that way.

He smiles a small smile to himself. She’ll be here soon, and when she arrives he’ll ask her to step into his office for a minute.

He’ll shut the door and she’ll make small talk in that sweet way she does, asking how he slept and how Jack is and making him feel known and cared for. He’ll hand over the finished case report, but before she leaves, he’ll ask if she wants to have dinner with him tonight.

He’d pick her up at eight with a bouquet of flowers and they’d go to La Vie downtown. They would wine and dine and talk and he’ll only fall more in love with her. He’d take her home again and walk her to her door. He wouldn’t ask to go inside, but he would kiss her goodnight and hope against hope that she’ll want to go out again to dinner or lunch or the movies or coffee for as long as they both shall live.

Hotch checks his watch again. Eleven forty-four.

His fingers fidget as he counts down the seconds, watching out his office window.

The doors open, but it’s just JJ and Prentiss arriving for the day. Hotch looks back down at his desk, trying to seem busy.

Eleven fifty.

He looks up again. Morgan holds the door open for Garcia, who taps his nose in grateful affection. Morgan keeps the door open for Reid, who jogs in with an out-of-breath smile.

She’s not late, Hotch reminds himself. She’s just not as early as she normally is.

He dismisses the unease creeping through his stomach. He told her not to come in before noon. This doesn’t change the plan.

Twelve o’clock.

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vanessagib · 2 years

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I Bet on Losing Dogs

pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

summary: an au where aaron is a boxer and your roommate. one night, when he competes in a bad fight, he comes home to you and feelings are dished out as you piece him back together.

warnings: use of italics, food mention, angst, mentions of blood, gore, stitches, allusion to throwing up, consumption and mentions of alcohol, minor cursing, fighting, yelling, crying, love confession, kissing, let me know if i missed anything

word count: 4.9k

a/n: based off of the song by mitski but i didn't really listen to it when i was writing. i listened to little freak by harry styles (why am i ranting?). this has been in my drafts for AGES, i tell you. anyways enjoy!!

>>>>

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

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

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

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

“honey, i’m home.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he cupped your face in his beat and tired hands, a place of glory in his eyes. the diamond in the rough. "no, my sweet. you, are always my good luck charm." he pressed a genuine kiss to your forehead, making you close your eyes. "you being there tonight meant the world to me." a soft grin crossed your face as the man dropped his hands to caress your thighs. "now, onto business." he peppered your face with kisses, earning a plethora of giggles from you that made his heart soar. a sound he never wanted to go another day in his life without hearing. "in the fridge." he laughed shortly, planting one final smooch to your lips as he worked his way around the kitchen. a skip in his step as he gathered the things that you guys needed to bake the treat of the evening. it was sweet, and not just in the literal sense. there would no longer be days that aaron was terrified to go to work. or where you were scared each time he walked out the door to go earn his pay. you were completely at peace as you hopped off the counter and aided him in making balls of dough, hips bumping against one another, a wide smile plastered on each of your faces.

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vanessagib · 2 years

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A House Divided (Over Whipped Cream)

Inspired by @lesbianhotch tags on the original post by @angelfxllcm that inspired this series

Masterlist for Small Moments Series

Word Count: 1k (finally!!)

Warnings: utter fluff. Cuddle-y goodness.

A/N: this is the inspiration behind this series & the reason I started writing in the first place so I am so so so glad to have finally finished it and get to share it with you!!!

Gif credit goes to @ropoto <3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? It’s Sunday, it’s a treat” Jack whined, holding the almost empty can of whipped cream to his chest out of reach of his father’s wandering hands. You let out a laugh as Aaron turned to glare at you. His raised eyebrow turned your quiet snickering into toothy giggling. With a small, dimpled grin, his foot bumped yours under the table before capturing it between his own. Your game of footsie distracted him from his initial plan of scolding Jack and kept the rest of breakfast full of subdued conversation and blissful gazes.

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vanessagib · 2 years

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Paper Rings Masterlist

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Story Title based off the song Paper Rings by Taylor Swift

“I like shiny things, but I’d marry you with paper rings Darling, you’re the one I want, and I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this Darling, you’re the one I want In paper rings, in picture frames, in dirty dreams Oh, you’re the one I want”

Smut = ✨ || Episode chapter = 🚔 || Angst = ⛈ || Fluff = 🌈

(Would like to state the story is completely my idea. I do not own the characters from criminal minds, and I do not own storylines taken from the show, I do own everything else.)

Keep reading

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vanessagib · 2 years

Photo

art by @multiverse-mxdness

story summary: Scandal! AU– your mentor, David Rossi, has recruited you to make Senator Aaron Hotchner the next President of the United States. Once described as a political nun, the Senator helps you see that maybe you can mix business and pleasure.

This fic contains conduct not suitable for minors. If you are under the legal age of consent in your country, please skip chapters marked on this list with an asterik (*). If you would like a safe for work adaptation, please DM me.

This fic updates on Tuesdays and Saturdays at roughly 5pm EST

THE CAMPAIGN

Chapter One: The Job

Chapter Two: One Minute

Chapter Three: Inappropriate*

BONUS CHAPTER: Inappropriate (Aaron’s POV)

Chapter Four: Numbers

BONUS CHAPTER: An Hour*

Chapter Five: Michael

Chapter Six: Amendment*

Chapter Seven: Standstill

Chapter Eight: Election Night

THE PRESIDENCY

Chapter Nine: The Firm

Chapter Ten: Forty Eight

Chapter Eleven: Pressure

Chapter Twelve: Inauguration Day*

Chapter Thirteen: 100 Days In*

Chapter Fourteen: Camp David

Chapter Fifteen: Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner

Chapter Sixteen: Circles

Chapter Seventeen: The State of the Union

BONUS CHAPTER: Thanks a Lot

BEYOND THE WHITE HOUSE

Chapter Eighteen: After

Chapter Nineteen: It’s Handled

Chapter Twenty: Sweet Baby

Chapter Twenty One: Moving On

Chapter Twenty Two: Treading Water

Chapter Twenty Three: Worth Our While*

Chapter Twenty Four: Saved

Chapter Twenty Five: Spin

Chapter Twenty Six: 23 People

Chapter Twenty Seven: Arrangements

Chapter Twenty Eight: Still a Chance

Chapter Twenty Nine: The Funeral

Chapter Thirty: Catching Up

Chapter Thirty One: The Offer

Chapter Thirty Two: Bullshit

Chapter Thirty Three: Aegis

AND BACK AGAIN

Chapter Thirty Four: At the Pleasure of the President

Chapter Thirty Five: A Change of Clothes

Chapter Thirty Six: The Confession

Chapter Thirty Seven: The Complication

Chapter Thirty Eight: Back to Work

Chapter Thirty Nine: Doux Bebe

Chapter Forty: Camp David, Part II

Chapter Forty One: Open Up*

Chapter Forty Two: The Thing

Chapter Forty Three: Interference

Chapter Forty Four: A Woman Scorned

Chapter Forty Five: The Clock

Chapter Forty Six: A Zoo

BEGIN ANEW

Chapter Forty Seven: For Old Time’s Sake

Chapter Forty Eight: To Second Chances

Chapter Forty Nine: Out of Options

Chapter Fifty: Subcommittees

Chapter Fifty One: The Jugular

Chapter Fifty Two: Marlboros

Chapter Fifty Three: Chris Lawrence

Chapter Fifty Four: The True Story

Chapter Fifty Five: Affirmations

Chapter Fifty Six: Ironic

Chapter Fifty Seven: The White House Correspondents’ Dinner

Chapter Fifty Eight: Paper

Chapter Fifty Nine: AWOL

Chapter Sixty: Epilogue (Coming 5/21/22)

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vanessagib · 2 years

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Yes, Mr. President || Epilogue

art by @multiverse-mxdness

I can't believe this is it!!! I will save the mushy stuff for the end :')

Read previous chapters of this fic here!

contains: food and alcohol consumption, additional cw in tags to prevent spoilers

wordcount: 1.4k

Five years later….

“Who would have thought, huh? Rossi really is a kingmaker,” Penelope remarks over her dessert cocktail as you sit across from her at dinner.

“Reid always had the potential to be a good candidate,” you say. “He’s smart, he’s compassionate. He just needed polish. Between you and Rossi, I’m not surprised at all,” you say.

It was the night before President-Elect Spencer Reid’s inauguration. You and Aaron had naturally driven up to DC from Vermont for the occasion, and couldn’t help but meet up with old friends while in town.

“That’s right, my baby made a man the President,” Derek beams, leaning in to kiss Penelope’s cheek. She blushes, and you all laugh. After Aaron had left the White House, you had set her up with a job at the firm— they needed the extra set of hands with you on a consult-only capacity. She and Derek had been inseparable ever since. It was love at first sight— you like to think you knew a thing or two about that.

“You’ve been busy, too, Derek,” you point out. “How is my first baby? You hardly ever call about her,” you pout facetiously.

“You have babies of your own to take care of. Real ones,” he points out.

“You’re retired!” JJ exclaims.

“I’m semi-retired, and still happy to consult on anything that comes across your desk,” you tell them. “Besides, my babies are far from babies anymore. Jack will start high school in the fall and Joshua is nearly three,” you remind them.

Aaron squeezes your thigh protectively from under the table, and you let your head loll sideways onto his shoulder.

“How is Jack?” JJ asks. “Is he coming tomorrow?”

“No, he stayed back with Haley,” Aaron answers. “They’re going to take a trip and see some of her family. It’s been a while since Jack saw his cousins.”

“He’s getting to that age where he doesn’t even want to be driven to the mall by his parents, let alone sit through a global political ceremony with us,” you laugh. “It’s bittersweet, watching him grow up. But it does mean that you can call me with work questions!” You pivot.

“You trained us well,” Emily says. “We try not to call unless we really need you, but if you’re itching to get back in the game, I’ve got a couple of consults sitting on my desk right now that I wouldn’t mind your eyes on.”

“After this trip!” Aaron jumps in before the offer can go further. “Don’t even think about bringing her to the office right now. I may never get her back,” he teases, and the table all laughs.

“Don’t be silly,” you tell him. “I could never go back to city air. God, has it always smelled here?”

“Like desperation and smokescreens? Yeah, cupcake, it has,” Derek quips in turn.

“You all need to take a break,” Aaron counsels. “We haven’t had any of you at the farm since the wedding, and that was nearly two years ago, now.”

“Rossi and I have a pretty good excuse!” Penelope defends. “And, really, we got us all back together,” she says with a smug grin.

“Speaking of getting the gang back together—” JJ cuts in. “Will and I are engaged! We’ll send out Save the Dates, of course, but the wedding will be next summer,” she announces. “I was hoping the three of you would all be my bridesmaids?” She asks, looking at you, Emily and Penelope.

“Of course!” You answer for the group.

“Naturally! Tell me everything. And tell Will to drop hints with this one,” Penelope teases, gesturing towards Derek.

JJ shares the details as your waiter passes around another round of cocktails and you wrap both of your arms around one of Aaron’s, nestling into him further. He turns his head, presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “How are you feeling?” He asks, and you feel his lips brushing against you more than you really hear him over the crowded restaurant. “It was a long day, and a longer one is coming tomorrow,” he warns you.

“M’okay,” you tell him. “I’m not ready for tonight to be over yet.”

“We can visit more often, you know,” he reminds you.

You shake your head a little. “It’s not quite the same. We live in the best version of this universe, and part of that is how rare and special nights like this are,” you explain. “I can probably stay awake for another twenty minutes.”

Eighteen minutes later, Aaron clears his throat, and you smile. “Well, we should all get going,” Aaron says. “Big day tomorrow, but we’ll see you all at one of the balls, I’m sure.”

++++++++

“I’m still not sure if this cold is good for the baby,” Aaron says, smoothing a protective hand over your stomach as he bundles you up in a coat, hat, and scarf before you both head out to the motorcade that will be bringing you to the Capitol steps for the Inaugural Ceremonies. A Secret Service agent that you haven’t met before opens the car door, and Aaron takes your hand, helping you into the secure vehicle and making sure you’re buckled. You’re not showing at all, only ten weeks along, but the absence of a visual doesn’t mean he feels the need to worry any less.

“It will remain a perfectly toasty 98.6 degrees where the baby is,” you remind him as you pull on your gloves. “Besides, it’s no colder here than it is in Vermont.”

“Sure, and in Vermont, when we hold 90 minute ceremonies in the middle of January, we hold them inside,” he grumbles, and you take his hand in your own, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Whether it’s a national security briefing or a protective streak a mile wide, you’ve learned over the years that you can’t stop Aaron from worrying.

You look out the window as you drive through the city, taking in the beauty of the monuments that you used to pass without a second glance.Things are so different, but they’re also so, so good.

“I’ve been thinking about something you said last night,” Aaron says, squeezing your hand.

“What’s that?” You ask.

“‘We live in the best version of this universe,’” he explains. “What did you mean by that?”

“I just mean there are a million different times our story could have changed,” you tell him. “I could have left the White House after your first State of the Union and never spoken to you again. Hell, you could have lost that first election, and maybe we never would have stopped. You could have divorced Haley and then resented me for the rest of your life—”

“I wouldn’t—” he starts, but you put out a hand and stop him in his tracks— he doesn’t need to defend himself for loving her anymore— you’re both past that, now.

“Or you could have won, and I could have left, and we could have run away together the first time you offered it to me after Reverend Drake died, and then you never would have brokered the East Sudanese peace deal. The version that played out for us is the best one that exists, including its sacrifices,” you insist. “That’s what I meant. And it’s why I pick you and Vermont every time.”

“I love you,” Aaron says, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips.

The motorcade slows to a stop and the two of you climb out of the car, lining up with the other dignitaries.

“Are you sure you’re not too cold?” He asks as you take your seats.

“We’re going to be fine, Aaron,” you assure him.

“So, what do you think about all of this?” He asks. It’s your first inauguration “on the other side—” the two of you had gone public shortly after Aaron’s term had ended.

“It’s nice,” you tell him as the two of you take your seats. “It’s not quite touching the Constitution, but it’s nice.”

He smiles at the memory. “People are saying this Reid kid might be the greatest President this nation has ever seen,” he whispers to you, and you smile, shaking your head goodnaturedly.

“I don’t think so. But I’m biased.”

tagging: @arsonhotchner @shyhotch @call-me-mrsreid @dadbodhotch11 @the-modernmary @angelfxllcm @rousethemouse @skyler666 @mintphoenix @gspenc @ashhotchner @wheelsupkels @infinite-tides

wowwwwwww I honestly can't believe this fic is over what a fucking mammoth. Just wanna send a huge thank you to everyone who loved this fic as much as I did, especially those of you who have been here since day 1 and stuck with it during Hotch's asshole era. This fic was honestly very difficult to write some days (weeks, months) and I couldn't have found the will to finish it without y'all.

That said, I will be taking a break from writing formally. I've posted two updates (whether they be chapters or one shots) a week for over a year, and as I wrapped up YMP I found myself really not enjoying content creation anymore because of the pressure to create and lack of engagement. I want to be clear that I'm not done writing! Just that, at least for a little while, I won't be on a regular posting schedule and my requests will remain closed. That said, my askbox is always open to come talk Hotch!! Pls don't be a stranger just because I'm not writing.

Thank you, thank you, thank you. Hope you are as satisfied with their ending as I am. Love u, talk soon.

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vanessagib · 2 years

Text

Yes, Mr. President || AWOL

art by @multiverse-mxdness

this is the last full length chapter of YMP :'))))) we will have an epilogue on Saturday that's roughly 3/4th of a regular chapter length. Man oh man am I so excited for you to read this one. I'll save the sappy stuff for the epilogue, but I hope you enjoy this <333

Read previous chapters of this fic here!

contains: food and drug mentions, cursing

wordcount: 2.9k

“Mr. President,” Lauren says as she opens the door to the Oval Office. “This is Siobhan Roy, here for your scheduled meeting,” she says, inviting the guest in.

“Thank you, Lauren,” Aaron says as he rises from his desk. Lauren nods politely and leaves, closing the door behind her. “It’s nice to meet you, Siobhan,” he smiles, extending a hand for her to shake and then leading her over to the two couches in the middle of the room, sitting across from her.

“The pleasure’s mine, Mr. President,” she insists as she takes her seat. “You can call me Shiv.”

“Shiv,” he nods. “You went to Brown as well?” He asks, hinting towards your connection with her.

“Yes, and then I got my Masters in Political Management at American. I’ve run six Senate races successfully, four of them in swing states, and two in states that you lost last time which could flip in the upcoming cycle. I was the Deputy Campaign Manager on the Democratic campaign 3 cycles back,” she explains.

“3 cycles? What took you out of the game?” Aaron asks, though it’s more out of intrigue than any concern about her ability.

“Well, for this last one, I knew you were in good hands,” Shiv smiles.

“The two of you were close in college?” Aaron asks— it’s self indulgent, but you lived so many lives before you met him— he wants to meet all of the women you used to be, too.

“We were best friends and sparring partners, depending on the day,” Shiv explains with a wistful little laugh. “We had a… shared understanding about our competitive nature.”

“I can’t even begin to fathom what that would have been like,” The President chuckles. “I don’t like going head-to-head with her now, and I understand that she was a bit of a spitfire in college.”

“Something like that,” Siobhan agrees.

“I suppose we should get down to business,” he suggests, sitting up a little straighter.

“You’re going to ask me to run your campaign,” she says, and it’s decidedly not a question.

“Yes,” he answers, leaning forward in his chair and resting his elbows on his knees. “You came highly recommended, but I did my research anyhow. Your strategic vision on the 2016 senate race in Iowa, your unconventional thinking to flip Montana in 2012, they were game changers— and I know you’re not afraid to throw an elbow if necessary. You’d be an incredibly valuable asset, to me and to our team. This will be a chance to stand at the center of the best-funded, most well-managed campaign in the history of this party. We’re hiring top talent only, and that includes you. Are you in?” He asks.

The corners of Siobhan’s mouth turn up in a grin the President can’t quite read, and she shifts her eyes. “Can I tell you what I really think, Mr. President?”

“I sure hope so. That’s what I’m going to pay you to do,” he says.

She smiles. “You’ve got a few things going for you. You’re an incumbent, you survived an assasination attempt, you’re great on your feet… but you’ve also got problems. Big ones. Character problems, credibility problems, not to mention the penis problems. You’ve got marriage problems, clearly.”

“All candidates have problems. Isn’t that why you still have work?” Aaron points out. He’s not mad, they’re all valid critiques— but he’d be lying if he said they didn’t make him feel a little defensive.

“Yes,” she agrees. “But you’re also going to lose,” Shiv says. “And I don’t work for losers.

Aaron scoffs, shifting in his chair. “The numbers certainly don’t say that.”

“Maybe not, but I know something the polls don’t. I don’t care about your problems, Mr. President. I care about optics, about how you look. With all due respect, you look unhappy. You look beleaguered. You look like you haven’t had a good fuck in weeks, maybe months. You don’t look like a winner, not now. Not like you did four years ago.”

She’s completely decimated him, but Aaron can’t help but laugh. “You are just like her. I can see why the two of you got along so well.”

“Your heart doesn’t appear to be in it, Mr. President. You’re going to lose, which is bad enough, but what’s worse, is that I don’t even think that upsets you— I think you’re hoping you lose. I think you don’t want to win at all.” She narrows her eyes at him, trying to read his reaction to her accusation.

“That’s ridiculous,” Aaron rolls his eyes.

“Don’t get me wrong, Mr. President, I appreciate the invitation, and the visit to the Oval,” she says, gathering her things and rising from her seat. “But as hallowed as this office is, right now it smells like desperation. Like Jimmy Carter, like H.W. Truly, I’m grateful for the offer. But I’m six for six. And I’m not blowing my streak on somebody who doesn’t want the job in the first place,” she says, nodding politely and moving towards the door.

“What makes you so sure I don’t want it?” Aaron asks, and Shiv stops in her tracks, turns to face him.

“Can you honestly look me in the eyes and tell me that you do?” She says.

He narrows his eyes and wets his lips. The silence is deafening.

“That’s what I thought. Whatever it is that you seem to want more than all of this—” she says, looking over the room one more time— “If I were you, I’d go after it.”

+++++++

“How was your meeting with Shiv?” You asked Aaron that night as the two of you settled into bed. He’d come to visit, despite your protests. They were half-assed, at best, given that he was about to leave for a week prior to the Iowa Caucus, the first voting day of the primary cycle. He’d win, surely— as an incumbent President, even with challengers from within his party, he essentially had a mandate. But he needed to be seen acting like he wasn’t a shoe-in, lest the base take his advantage for granted and not vote, or, worse, see him as out-of-touch and turn to an opponent.

“You didn’t tell me you were a twin,” Aaron remarks with a little huff.

“Uh oh,” you smile. “Good twin, or bad twin? You didn’t sleep with her, too, did you?” You tease.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Aaron laughs, pulling a pillow out from behind him and gently whacking you with it. “She was just… intense. That’s all. You were, too, right out of the gate,” he remembers.

“And I never stopped,” you chuckle.

“I never wanted you too,” he assures you.

“But she was helpful? She told you what you needed to hear?” You ask, more seriously.

“Absolutely, she did,” Aaron assures you. “Just like you always do, even when I don’t want you to,” he smirks.

++++++

It’s the night before the Iowa Caucus, and you haven’t heard from Aaron in four days. You’re trying not to let it eat at you, but it’s weird.

Then again, you think, weird implies a deviation from the norm, and there is no norm for this. The last time The President was on the campaign trail, he wasn’t the President. He was the candidate, and you were there alongside him. You heard from him every day because he was hardly ever more than twenty feet away from you. You were fully ingrained in all things Aaron Hotchner, then. You aren’t, now. Or, you are, but in a different, far more distant way. And right now, you’re feeling every single one of the thousand miles between DC and Des Moines.

But you try to tell yourself that it’s nothing. Campaigns are grueling—- events are packed wall to wall, and you never get a moment to yourself. He’s jetlagged, overworked and under-rested. And no news is good news, right?

Well, no news is good news, until there is news. Rossi is calling you, and you have a feeling it’s not for a friendly chat.

“Hey Dave,” you say casually into the phone, trying not to let your anxiety leech its way into the conversation.

“Where are you?’ He asks, his tone clipped. Something’s not right.

“I’m in my apartment. Where are you?” You ask, confused.

“I am at a fundraiser in Dubuque, where the President decidedly is not,” he says, and you can practically hear how his gritted teeth grind against each other as he speaks. “Where is he?’

“I don’t know, Rossi. I haven’t talked to him in days. Are you sure he’s not just running late?” You ask.

“Kiddo, the Secret Service is gone.”

You bark out a laugh at that. “Is this some sort of prank?”

“If it is, it’s not a very good one!” Rossi says, growing more deranged by the second. “I sent him away after lunch to read over some of his prep materials and briefing memos, and to get ready for the fundraiser. I come back down to the hotel lobby and there’s not a single agent to be seen.”

“Dave, that’s ridiculous. They must be in plain clothes, or giving a wide berth. They wouldn’t just leave. Even if he snuck out for a couple hours, they’d keep the hotel secure, it’s not like he isn’t coming back,” you tell him.

“Belissima. The Secret Service is gone. The President isn’t answering his phone. I don’t think he is coming back. He’s gone AWOL.”

+++++++

You call Siobhan as soon as you hang up the phone with Rossi. “How do you lose a President?!” You ask her, half urgent and half casual, hoping she’ll laugh and let you in on her joke— like she’s hazing Rossi, even though she’s the new kid on the block.

“Hi Siobhan, how are you? I’m good, thanks so much for asking, how have you been, dear friend of mine?” Siobhan carries on a conversation by herself in response.

“Seriously, Shiv. You’ve got people worried. Where’s the president at?” You ask.

“I seriously don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t take the job. I don’t really know why you felt like you needed me on it, seeing as how he barely wants to win in the first place,” she says casually.

“What? What are you talking about,” you ask. “I asked him about the meeting, he said it was good. He said that you were helpful, that you told him what he needed to hear,” you ramble, more to yourself than to her at this point.

“I was helpful, and I did tell him what he needed to hear, and I didn’t take the job,” she says.

Oh my god. You realize. The President’s gone AWOL. “Okay, um, thanks. I have to go,” you say, hanging up the phone and dialing Aaron immediately.

The phone only rings once before he answers. “I was wondering when you’d call,” he says, and if you were in a clear enough state of mind to notice, you’d be able to hear him smiling.

“Aaron Hotchner, where the hell are you? Do you know how many people you have worried?”

“Probably only two, right? You and Rossi, for entirely different reasons?” He asks cheekily.

“It will be a lot more than two when people realize that your detail has disappeared, and when you don’t show up for this fundraiser. Seriously, Aaron, where are you?” You ask.

“There’s a helicopter waiting on your roof for you. Just get in and we’ll talk about everything once you get here.”

“Get where?” You practically yell.

“I’ll see you soon. Love you,” Aaron says, and the line clicks.

He is the most insufferable man on the whole planet, you think as you grab a coat and head onto the rooftop of your high rise. As crazy as this situation is, you think, at least it’s dark out, and no one will see you climb into a government-owned chopper contracted to take you to an undisclosed location.

The flight is objectively not that long, but each minute is palpable, especially as your mind floods with potential explanations for Aaron’s behavior.

When the plane lands on the lawn of the house in Vermont, you laugh. Not because any of this is funny, but because you’re so unbelievably confused that you have no clue how else you could even respond. Aaron is waiting for you on the patio, wearing a pair of blue jeans and his worn brown quarter zip.

“What the fuck are we doing here?” You yell over the helicopter’s whirring blades as you cross the lawn towards him. “You’re supposed to be in Iowa.”

“Come inside,” he says, completely undisturbed by your fanaticism, placing a soothing hand on the small of your back and leading you in.

“We shouldn’t go inside. We should get back in the helicopter and go to Iowa. You have a big day tomorrow,” you tell him. “If you didn’t like Shiv, you could have just said that, baby.”

“I did like Siobhan. She’s great,” he assures you, shutting the door behind you and taking your coat off of your shoulders.

“I’ll come back and run your campaign if that’s what you really want, Aaron. I’ll take a leave of absence from work. The firm has survived without me before, they could do it again,” you say.

“That won’t be necessary,” Aaron shakes his head.

“For the love of God, tell me what’s going on!” You beg.

“I am no longer a candidate for President of the United States,” Aaron tells you.

For a second, you forget how to breathe air. You’re not sure if there would be any available in the room to fill your lungs if you remembered, anyways. You reach out to the parlor chair in front of you, brace yourself on it so you don’t lose your balance. “Of course you are. The Caucus is tomorrow, Aaron, of course you’re a candidate.”

“I filed the paperwork to withdraw. The FEC will probably process them tomorrow, or maybe after the caucus to avoid a legal nightmare,” he remarks, letting out a little laugh. You don’t think it’s funny.

“This… this is a joke. This is a weird joke, right? This is a weird, bad, terrible joke. Or I stumbled into some cough syrup that was sitting in the back of my medicine cabinet for far too long?” You ask.

Aaron smiles, and steps in closer to you, taking both of your hands in his. “This is real. You’re going to wake up tomorrow, and this won’t have been a dream,” he tells you.

“Aaron….” you say. “What happened with Siobhan?”

“Like I said, she told me exactly what I needed to hear. That I wasn’t all in on this, on being President, on winning a second term,” he explains to you. “She asked me if I really wanted to be President, and I didn’t. I don’t. What I really, really want is to be all in with you. And that means I can’t be all in as President. So this time, I’m taking what I want,” he tells you, leaning in for a gentle kiss that you’re too stunned to return. “Truth be told, I don’t think that I ever really wanted this at all. I kept with it, sure, but that wasn’t a good enough reason to stay, to try and do another term. Not when all I would be doing was chasing it to the finish line.”

“You wanted this, Aaron. You wanted to be President. Of course you did,” you argue, although your protests come from a place of disbelief rather than anger.

“I didn’t,” he shakes his head with a sad little smile.

“You did,” you insist.

“No, I really didn’t,” he laughs. It takes a minute for it to sink in.

“Oh my god,” you gasp when it does. “You never really wanted this at all. Not even at the beginning.”

“No, I didn’t,” he reiterates. “What I wanted was to prove to my father, and to myself, that I was the better man. Maybe I am, and maybe I’m not. But I think it’s time to stop giving him that power over me. What I want today is to be happy, to live a life of joyful service to my country. And I can’t do that as President, I can’t do that without you.”

“The paperwork hasn’t processed yet, we could stil—”

“Angel,” he cuts you off. “It’s done. Look around. It’s the night before the caucus, and I’m not in Iowa. I’m at home, with you, in Vermont. It’s what we always dreamed about. Isn’t it perfect?”

You oblige his request and look around— taking in the pine cathedral ceilings and the ornate railings, the fieldstone fireplace and the stained glass skylight. You see things that aren’t there, yet, either. A ten foot Christmas tree in the corner with stately trimmings, and 5 matching stockings on the mantle. Footprints and dog prints and mud on the perfectly clean staircase. A crackling woodstove, and the laughter of your friends bouncing off the walls over the refilling of their wine glasses. Isn’t it perfect, he’d asked you?

“Yes, Mr. President. It is.”

tagging: @arsonhotchner @shyhotch @call-me-mrsreid @dadbodhotch11 @the-modernmary @angelfxllcm @rousethemouse @skyler666 @mintphoenix @gspenc @ashhotchner @wheelsupkels @infinite-tides

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vanessagib · 2 years

Text

Yes, Mr. President || Paper

art by @multiverse-mxdness

Imagine still having things to say in the Author's Notes at this point in a story

Read previous chapters of this fic here!

contains: discussion of adultery

wordcount: 2.4k

“Mr. President, you have a visitor,” Aaron’s assistant, Lauren, announces you as she swings open the door to the Oval Office. It’s almost cute, the way Aaron’s lip curls up into a scowl before he lifts his eyes from his briefing memo and realizes that it’s you. He drops his face into a schooled neutrality that you recognize as a calculated concealment of his relief and elation.

“Thank you, Lauren,” he says politely. “You can close the door on your way out.”

“Actually, Lauren,” you interrupt her exit, “Could you leave it open, please?”

The president narrows his eyes at you, gives his head an almost imperceptible tilt of confusion. “Door closed, Lauren.”

“Open, please,” you say, staring the President down. You’d played this game with him many times before, and as long as everybody’s clothes stayed on, you usually came out on top.

“I don’t understand who I’m expected to listen to right now,” Lauren admits, and it’s almost funny. You glare at the President, and he relents with a sigh.

“You can leave the door open, Lauren. Thank you,” he says, and she leaves with a relieved sigh of her own. Once she’s out of earshot, he turns back towards you, stepping out from behind his desk and crossing the room to come towards you. “Really?” He asks with a mischievous smirk.

“Really.” You say, standing your ground. “And don’t stand too close to me,” you warn, brandishing your hand in his direction to stop him from getting any closer.

He stops in his tracks, admittedly surprised, but relents, leaning back against the front edge of his desk. “What’s this all about?”

“You need to hire a campaign manager,” you remind him. “Why haven’t you?”

“I can’t stand next to you because I haven’t hired a campaign manager?” Aaron scoffs.

“Why haven’t you done it, Aar– Mr. President?” you ask, correcting yourself when you remember the open door. “All of your opponents have, you know. Are you waiting for every talented operative in this city to take on a Senate race instead?”

“You know, I thought I might have a pretty good advantage over all of my opponents, given that I am the President, campaign manager or not,” he scoffs.

“You don’t run elections for a living. That’s what you need a campaign manager for,” you practically hiss.

“Of course I don’t, I’m the President of the United States!” He bellows. “Why can’t I stand next to you?”

“Because you are the President of the United States!” You yell back, and. Because the rumors about us are on every news channel, every hour. We are the headline— not you, not your presidency.”

“The news cycle will change. They’ll find something else to chew on, someone else to spit out. You’ll handle it like you handled the Jeanine story and it will all be over,” he says.

“Your wife pulled me aside at the White House Correspondents dinner, Aaron. She handed me a list of eligible men whom I could date,” you tell him, dropping your voice to an urgent hush.

“What?” He breathes out, his face turning to stone.

“She wants me to get a boyfriend—”

“You have one,” Aaron mutters under his breath, and it might be endearing if you weren’t so frustrated with him.

“She wants me to have someone on my arm, for show, like some kind of coverup,” you sigh.

“You absolutely are not going to start dating some man for show,” Aaron says, spitting each word out like it’s poison.

“As far as the Press is concerned, I am a physical reminder of the fact that you were unfaithful to your wife,” you explain in a passionate whisper as Aaron moves towards the door, eventually swinging it shut. “Aaron, don’t!” You caution him angrily. “Door open, this is not—”

You’re cut off by his lips against your own, and his hands on either side of your face. You can’t say it’s entirely unpleasant, even though you’re so mad that you want to cry.

“This is ridiculous,” Aaron says. “You’re not doing this. We’ll figure it out,” Aaron whispers, and you really, really wished you believed him. “You can’t leave me, angel. I will not lose you again.”

“Aaron, you are stressed and you are scared, and you’re acting like you don’t care if you win or lose, but I know that deep down you’re living and dying by this, even if you won’t admit it. I understand that. But I don’t know why you don’t trust me… why you won’t tell me why you won’t hire a campaign manager. Why you’re acting like the results of this election don’t even matter to you.”

“I trust you,” Aaron starts to argue. “I do trust you. I need you.”

“You want to win this election, don’t you?” You ask, your chin starting to quiver. “You know, Aaron… Lately Vermont just feels like it’s getting further and further away.”

“No, angel, it isn’t,” he tries to console you. “Someday—”

“Don’t. Just don’t,” you spit out, pushing him away. “I hate that word. There is no someday. This is the only day.”

He sighs before he speaks again— still using that word that you hate. “Some days, I wish I did something stupid. I wish I never got into politics at all. I wish I just… I don’t know, sold paper,” he scoffs.

“You’ve helped a lot of people, Aaron. You’ve changed the world,” you remind him.

“Paper helps people, too,” he says.

“How did we end up here?” You ask, looking around the Oval Office as if you hadn’t committed every microscopic ding in the molding to memory. “What is this place?”

“We could run,” he suggests. “We could just disappear.”

“Sure, the secret service would—”

“We could. That’s all I’m saying. You just have to say the word,” he interrupts you, and you know that he means every word.

“You’re the President, Aaron. And a damn good one, at that. There’s no someday, there’s only right now— and right now, you have to get on a conference call with the Presidents of Morocco and France, and I have to get back to work,” you sigh.

“Don’t leave like this,” Aaron pouts.

“Listen, I’m putting a meeting on your campaign calendar, with an old friend of mine. Her name’s Siobhan. She should run your campaign.”

“I thought you weren’t fixing my campaign?” Aaron baits you playfully, but you don’t fall for it.

“I’m not. Shiv is. Take the meeting,” you say, giving his hand a brief squeeze before placing his desk line in his hand for him to make his conference call and slipping out the door.

++++++++

“Haley,” Aaron says that night after they’ve tucked Jack into bed, “I need to ask you for something. And I understand I’m not in a position to ask you for anything, but I need to do it,” he prefaces his request.

“You can ask me for anything. You know that,” she tells him, pursing her lips in concern and placing a hand on his bicep.

“I need you to stay out of my dating life,” he says with a little half smile, knowing he shouldn’t joke but not willing to approach this conversation without at least a little bit of levity, for both of their sakes. “I mean, a list of eligible bachelors? You hate reality TV.”

They share a chuckle, and Haley averts her eyes to the floor. “I don’t know a lot about this stuff, but I know when the news cycle is a problem,” she says.

“She’s not your problem to fix. I’m asking you to back off,” he asserts the boundary firmly.

“Okay, but just—” Haley lets out a deep sigh. “What does it feel like?” She asks.

“I’m sorry?”

“What does it feel like to be so… head over heels for someone that you would put everything you’ve ever worked for at risk? Does it feel good?” She asks, desperately. “Is it an amazing high? Or is it so intense that it actually hurts, like a fire in your belly?”

“Haley, don’t make me—”

“No, Aaron, I really want to know. I’m not angry. I’ve made my peace with this. I want to know what I should be holding out for,” she begs him.

“I can’t… I could never begin to explain it. But I know that it’s what you deserve, what you’ll have one day. And I’m really, really sorry that I couldn’t give it to you.”

“You know, if we didn’t love each other so much, we’d probably hurt each other a lot less,” Haley points out with a sad little smile. “We could spend the rest of our lives in a cycle of being angry and forgiving and betraying again, or we could just… not.”

“I don’t want to hurt you any more, Hales. I want you to be happy. And I want Jack to have two parents who love him and respect each other. I changed all of our lives when I decided to run for President, and I am sorry for the things you gave up to make that happen for me. But more than anything, I want the three of us to be normal.”

“As normal as one can be when you’re co-parenting through a lifelong secret service detail, right?” She asks facetiously.

“Yeah, you get me,” he smiles fondly at her.

“I always have.”

++++

You’re at the office the next day when the number for the White House switchboard pops up on your phone. It strikes you as kind of odd— Aaron or Rossi would call you from their personal lines. They’d never have an assistant call you— unless something was wrong, of course. You pick up the phone in a hurry.

“Hello?” You say urgently into the line.

“Hi, this is Anna calling from the First Lady’s office,” a familiar voice says. “Mrs. Hotchner was calling to see if you were available for lunch this afternoon.”

It takes your brain a moment to recalibrate once you realize that nothing’s wrong. “Of course,” you say. “Was there a particular issue she wanted to discuss?” You ask.

“She only mentioned a social lunch, ma’am.”

“I’m available– what are the details?” You ask.

“We’ve made reservations for yourself and the First Lady at Le Diplomate at 1:30. Is that acceptable?” She asks in turn.

“Yes, that’s perfectly fine. Tell the First Lady I’m looking forward to seeing her,” you say, trying to make it sound like it isn’t a lie.

You spend most of the morning fretting about it— trying to think about what it is she may need from you. If it was campaign related, surely she would just say that. And if it’s not campaign related, then it’s probably about the little list she’d drawn up for you. The list she had told you to act upon, that her husband had explicitly told you to ignore.

You’re still rubbing your thumb over your index finger— a nervous habit you’d picked up from Aaron— when you arrive at Le Dip. Haley’s sitting at a table waiting, and she waves you over.

“Sorry to make you wait,” you apologize as you settle in across from her.

“Don’t worry about that,” she tells you. “You know the detail, always turning up early to sweep the place. It’s better for you to arrive after me, saves you that trouble,” she insists. “How are you doing?” She asks, smiling at you.

You smile back, but you can’t fully hide your confusion. Why was she being so nice to you? So normal? She hadn’t been like this since…. Well, since before you left the White House for the first time. “I’m good, Haley. How are you doing? Did you want to go over something campaign-related, or…” you trail off.

“I’m good,” she answers. “And this isn’t a work lunch.”

“Oh?” You say, surprised.

“No, it’s social,” she insists. “I was hoping that you and I… that we might go back to being friends.”

You look her in the eye, and she’s serious— she looks vulnerable, open. You reach out and place your hand over hers. “Of course, Haley. Did something happen?” It’s not exactly the most eloquent question, but you can’t figure out this sudden change of heart.

“My husband is in love with you,” she laughs, and for the first time in years, there’s nothing angry behind it. “Truly, head over heels, over a cliff in love. And he and I— we’ve fought, and we’ve made up, and we’ve done awful things to each other, and we’ve tried to be different, but at the end of the day, he’s still in love with you.” She admits, and you’re thankful that the Secret Service has vacated most of the nearby tables.

“I’m sorry, Haley,” you say, and she laughs again.

“I’m not, though. Really, I’m not. And really, neither are you, and that’s okay. I tried being mad. I tried hating you, I tried hating him, I tried being depressed, being spiteful, and it doesn’t change anything. My husband is in love with you, and I can only choose how I move forward from here. And I’m choosing to let go of the anger I’ve held onto only because I felt entitled to it.”

“You were entitled to it. To all of it and more,” you agree.

“Maybe,” she says. “But I can’t blame you. I know what Aaron’s like when he’s in love. Or, at least, I know what he’s like when he thinks he’s in love. And if he was that intense, that soul-consuming, that life-changing for me… I can’t imagine what it must be like for you. I know you tried to end it with him, and that it was more for him, and for my family, than it was for you. You wanted to be the bigger person. I don’t know if I ever gave you enough credit for that,” she admits.

“This is really big of you, Haley,” you say, squeezing her hand.

“It’s a little selfish, too,” she admits with a smile. “You and I were friends, weren’t we? I know you kept a secret from me, a big one. But we… we had inside jokes, and we drank wine and we rolled our eyes at all the misogynists and creeps, and we suffered through that god awful campaign bus bathroom together, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, we did,” you assure her. “We were friends. We could be friends again, Hales. If that’s what you wanted.

“Yeah,” she smiles. “It is.”

tagging: @arsonhotchner @shyhotch @call-me-mrsreid @dadbodhotch11 @angelfxllcm @the-modernmary @rousethemouse @skyler666 @mintphoenix @gspenc @wheelsupkels @ashhotchner @infinite-tides

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vanessagib · 2 years

Text

Yes, Mr. President || The White House Correspondents' Dinner

art by @multiverse-mxdness

I can't believe we only have a little over a week left of this fic :') I'm gonna cry

Read previous chapters of this fic here!

contains: sexism, mild sexual references, alcohol and food consumption

wordcount: 2k

“Hotchner The Protector,” You read the headline of the Washington Post to the President the next morning. “It works, Aaron. It works really well, actually.”

“It wasn’t a strategy,” he huffs pointedly. He had been well and truly incensed by the way Haley was treated throughout his scandal, and the incident last night had brought everything to a head. “The misogyny and the vitriol that has been directed towards her is disgusting,” he complains. “But that’s not why I called.”

“No, you called about the White House Correspondents’ Dinner,” you deduced.

“How on Earth did you know that?” He asks incredulously.

“Jokes make you nervous. You hate this dinner, you always have,” you answer plainly— he has run his jokes by you every year he’s been in office, even when your relationship was on rocky terms.

“I’m the President of the United States. I’m the Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces. Jokes do not make me nervous,” he insists.

“Okay,” you oblige him. “Read me one of your jokes, then.”

“I… haven’t written any jokes yet,” he confesses.

“Aaron!” You chastise him. It was Tuesday, now, and the dinner was on Saturday night.

“I am a bit nervous about the White House Correspondents’ Dinner,” he admits.

“Who’s vetting your jokes?” You ask.

“Well, uh… just me, so far,” he says bashfully.

“You can’t vet your own jokes,” you tell him.

“I know.”

“You’re not very funny.”

“I kno– wait!” Aaron interrupts himself. “I’m funny!” He argues.

“You’re funny,” you say. “But you’re not… ha-ha, joke-funny,” you elaborate.

“Oh, and you are?” He asks, and you can hear his playful grin through the phone line.

“I’m funnier than you!” you argue playfully. There’s a long pause, and you realize that something bigger is happening here, that it’s not just about jokes. “What is it, Aaron? Why are you so nervous about the dinner, what are you not telling me?”

“I feel….” he starts, and then stops. “I feel ashamed. Like I don’t have the right to make jokes. I am the joke, I’m the guy who can’t keep it in his pants, I’m no better than my dad. I’m the guy who’s wife gets attacked on national television for mistakes that he made.”

“That’s not who you are, Aaron. They are things you did, things that happened to you, but they are not who you are, and you are not your father, not by a long shot,” you assure him.

“You’ve told me that more times than I can count, in the four years we’ve known each other,” he says. “And every time I can’t help but wonder how many more mistakes I have left to make until you stop believing it.”

“I know you. Down to your soul, I know you— there’s no running tally, I’m not keeping a list. You have a good heart, you care about people and you want to make the world a better place. You are not your father,” you affirm.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says, and you can hear in his tone that he means it, that it’s not one of those hyperbolic expressions of love that people with easier lives than he’s had toss around so carelessly. “I love you so much.”

“Neither one of us deserves that big fancy house in Vermont, but for some reason, it’s still ours,” you tell him. “I am going to enjoy it, and be grateful for it. And grateful for you.”

“I can do that,” he agrees.

“Good,” you smile. “Do you want my help with the speech?”

“Dear God, yes,” he laughs.

“Lean into it. Mock your own image, it will help people to move past it. You start out strong, with something like ‘I see a lot of familiar faces here tonight, including one or two who inexplicably haven’t been accused of sleeping with me,’” you spitball.

Aaron clatters out a laugh. “That’s good,” he says.

“If you laugh at yourself, it makes it impossible for them to laugh at you,” you remind him.

“Okay, what if I say something to the press about how much they’ve hammered me over this. Something like—”

“You’re welcome,” you finish his sentence, and you both chuckle.

“Exactly,” he laughs.

“You’ve got this, Aaron. Send me a draft and I’ll look at it this afternoon.”

“We can’t just do this all day?” He practically whines.

“Not while you’re hiding in your closet in the residence.”

“How did you— I am not hiding,” he lies. “If it’s taking me longer than normal to pick out a tie, that’s no one’s business but my own.”

“Go run the country, Aaron.”

“If I have to,” he grumbles sarcastically. “I love you. I’ll talk to you soon.

“Love you,” you tell him, waiting to hear the line click.

++++

You decide to attend the White House Correspondents’ dinner as Rossi’s date– you both agreed that it would arouse suspicions if you went alone, although sitting at a table with the President probably didn’t help, either. His speech goes off without a hitch— the two of you had reviewed the jokes together, and each one landed even better than the last. All in all, it was a banner night— he was off making a deal with the minority House Whip when Haley pulled you into a conversation.

“Smile,” Haley encourages you. “So that people see us smiling at each other.”

You’re a little confused by her command, but you comply anyways. “What are we doing right now?” You ask through your brittle grin.

“We’re being friends. We’re braiding each other’s hair and talking about boys. I’m making a respectable woman out of you,” she laughs, and you return it, even if it is stilted, confused. A flick of your eyes around the room confirm that she’s right, that a good chunk of the press are tuned into your conversation, and that the myriad of flashbulbs in the room are pointed in your direction.

“My husband can’t be sleeping with you if we’re friends, obviously,” Haley explains further, and you nod. It was a solid strategy.

“Did Rossi put you up to this?” You ask.

“No,” she answers. “My job is to make sure my husband can stay president. That’s what I’m doing. It took a great deal of work to get here, and I will not be the reason he goes down.”

“Of course not, Haley,” you assure her.

“And neither will you. But, of course, that gets complicated if people know what kind of person you really are,” she says icily, although she never drops her calculated smile, drops in a polite laugh at an appropriate moment. “Now, personally, I thought you sitting with us at the correspondents dinner was a bold move. Do you agree?” She asks.

“Certainly, Mrs. Hotchner,” you say, no longer feeling welcome to her first name.

“It is, it’s bold, for a first step. I assume you’d know better than me, you’re the fixer,” she says, her eyes shifting nervously— Rossi can prop her up, she can want to run with the big dogs, but at the end of the day she’s not from this world. You don’t blame her for it. If anything, you blame yourself for getting her here and not helping her enough along the way.

“There are two photographers by the stage taking our photo. There’s a gossip blogger for Inside The Beltway three tables over, and a columnist from the DC Daily. Behind me, there’s a woman from BNC pretending she’s not taking our picture with her phone. By the end of the day tomorrow, we’ll be everywhere. It was a smart move, Haley. But it is just a start,” you counsel.

“That’s what I figured,” she says. “This will work for a news cycle or two, but the rumors won’t stop, especially if you and Aaron slip up. So, I came up with step two,” she says, pulling a piece of paper out from her program and handing it to you.

“What is this?” You ask, looking it over in confusion.

“It’s a list of D.C.’s most eligible bachelors. Prominent, smart, you just need to pick one.”

“Pick one?” You can’t help but snort out a laugh, even though the situation isn’t funny in the slightest.

“Any one of them,” Haley confirms. “It’s an equal opportunity list— tall, short, democrat, republican, lawyer, lobbyist, you name it. It doesn’t matter who, just pick one and start dating him, so that people stop thinking that you’re screwing my husband.”

Your face drops. The plan makes sense— but she didn’t have to deliver it so gleefully.

“Smile,” she warns you. “The world is watching.”

+++++

You’d never admit it to anyone, but you cry on the taxi ride home. It’s stupid, really. This was all a strategy, and a good strategy at that. There was nothing personal behind any of these moves, nothing real. This was all one big dumb chess game, and this time you were the pawn. You just hadn’t realized how much it sucks to be anything but the kingmaker.

You pull yourself together— you weren’t that girl, some silly twentysomething crying over a boy you couldn’t have. Not to mention you had no clue if this driver knew who you were— you didn’t want to end up on the front page of Playbook in a puddle of tears. You pull out your phone and call the last person who probably wants to hear from you.

“Hey, do we have a client?” JJ asks as the line clicks.

“Uh, no,” you sniffle.

“Are you okay?” She interjects, suddenly concerned.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you lie. “I just— I know you probably still hate me, and I can’t say I blame you, but I was wondering if you could pretend not to, just for a couple hours? I could use a friend,” you request sheepishly.

“I’m on my way,” JJ says, and you can hear her keys jangling in the background. “I never hated you. I was mad at you. I was hurt. But more than all of that, I wanted you to be happy, and you are. Finding that is… difficult. You made mistakes getting there. But we all do that,” she tells you. “I don’t hate you. I never hated you. I’ll see you when I get to your place.”

JJ arrives shortly after you do, wine and snacks in tow, and you tell her everything— the story of you and Aaron from the beginning, because she’s more than earned it, by now, and more importantly, the conversation you’d had with the First Lady tonight. A fresh wave of emotion hits you as you explain it, and you crumple up in tears.

“Come here,” JJ says, wrapping her arms around your head and pulling you to lay across her lap. “It’s okay. You’re going to figure it out. You’re smart, and you’re talented, and you’ll figure out a way through. This sucks. It really, really sucks. But you’re going to get to the other side of it.”

“Right, the other side of this. Where four more years of the exact same bullshit is waiting,” you lament, crying into her jeans. “I don’t know if I can do that, Jayje.”

“It doesn’t have to be the same,” she reminds you. “He won’t have another election to win. There’ll be less on the line.”

“He’s still the President of the United States. The future of the country is always going to be on the line.”

“Yeah,” she agrees with a sigh. “There’s always going to be something on the line. Right? There’s no magic road out. He’s always going to be the President, or the former President, you’re always going to have the firm— there are a lot of absolutes here. You might have to make some sacrifices— and so might he. It’s something to think about, is all,” she tells you as she runs her fingers through your hair comfortably. Your head is pounding from all the wine and the crying, but her gentle touch grounds you. You thought JJ hated you, and she didn’t. Maybe everything would be okay.

“Jayje?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks for coming. Do you want to bunk on the couch or with me?”

“I don’t think you’re ready for me to leave you alone just yet,” she teases, helping you off the couch. “Come on. You need to wash your face.”

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