#Falling For You series

[posh--bee]

i'm losing it (all i get is jealousy, jealousy) || Aaron Hotchner

pairing → Aaron Hotchner x Reader

summary → You're out on a Friday night, sitting around a table in a cozy bar, enjoying your fruity drink and the presence of your newfound friends in the form of your father's team. But then Derek just has to open his mouth and ruin your night when he mentions her.

warnings → fem!reader, rossi!reader, reader has rossi's last name, (unspecified) age gap, reader being pretty self-deprecating here oopsieee (anxiety, keep on tryin' me…), Spencer and Beth mentioned as romantic interests for reader and Aaron, jealousy jealousy~, misunderstandings, they're still head over heels for each other, but don't talk about it, Spencer being an absolute sweetheart, no y/n used

author's note → This part started out as a kind of prelude to my actual idea for part 2—the gala. But then this scene just developed a life of its own and I decided to just make the cut to really be able to focus on the gala in the next part. A huge thank you to everyone who read, liked, reblogged and commented on the first part!! 💕 I appreciate each and every single interaction so much and it's such a huge motivation to keep me writing because I simply cannot operate on internal motivation alone. That being said, I had so much fun writing this part so let me know what you think about it!^^ I hope you like it <3 (Title, obviously, from "jealousy, jealousy" by Olivia Rodrigo.)

word count → 4.6k

masterlist(s)

series masterlist || part 1 - ⋆part 2⋆ - part 3 coming soon-ish :3

It's a busy Friday night in November for the little bar tucked away in a corner of the city's Downtown district, the bell above the front door tinkling gently every other minute as people exit and enter the cozy but slightly stuffy establishment.

The soft sound of the melting ice cubes clinking against the glass of your drink is almost drowned out by the buzzing atmosphere of the bar as you absentmindedly stir the watered-down remainder of your once fruity and colorful cocktail. You hear the sound of car tires rolling over the wet pavement outside as the door opens again and it seamlessly blends with the ambiance of the bar—music playing over ancient speakers hidden in the corners of the room, people talking and laughing loudly, cheerfully, glasses clinking faintly and chairs scraping over the already worn floor.

Your cheeks are not only warm and glowing from the temperature inside the bar, bravely fighting off the chill from beyond the old brick walls, but also from the alcohol in your system that makes you feel pleasantly buzzed and relaxed. You make yourself even more comfortable on the—admittedly pretty hard and bum-numbing—bench you're sitting on, accidentally nudging Emily next to you who immediately retaliates by playfully shoving you back, a huge grin on her face.

You stick your tongue out at her, giggling at the betrayed face she makes as her hands fly up to her heart—but the rest of her dramatic display is immediately lost on you when you catch sight of Aaron from across the table, listening to something Spencer is animatedly explaining to him, and your stomach does a lovesick little flip.

Tonight, instead of his usual suits and button-downs he's dressed in a black polo shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans, and when he walked through the bar's door earlier this evening you spontaneously forgot how to breathe. It's embarrassing how something as simple as casual clothes can make your heart stutter in your chest when it comes to him, but you can't help it. Especially when his strong arms usually hidden by long-sleeved shirts and suit jackets are shamelessly on display for your viewing pleasure, his forearms casually resting on the table with his fingers interlocked loosely, drawing your eyes to them like a desperate moth to a forbidden flame.

The dim light of the bar only accentuates his handsome and sharp features, the smile lines at the corners of his mouth and the crow's feet around his eyes a beautiful constant of his face at the moment. If you're not careful you could probably drown in the gentle warmth of his brown irises.

Of course, as it was bound to happen eventually, Aaron catches you staring at him so openly, his kind eyes suddenly locked with your startled ones and you quickly duck your head in mortification, heat crawling up your neck, your cheeks and ears already on fire.

It's been four months since the pool incident, the I almost kissed my father's friend and boss I only just met after making him fall in the pool with me incident, and since then these completely inconvenient and utterly inappropriate feelings you caught for Aaron that very day haunt you relentlessly, persistently, only getting stronger with each and every time you see him again.

You cringe inwardly, the whole day burned into your mind forever, the memory of it all still painfully vivid, especially of your inexcusable and humiliating behavior, and the urge to just slip underneath the table and hide there until the end of time gets overwhelming for a moment. You hope your face doesn't show the embarrassment and regret welling up inside of you as the memories from that day replay in your mind for the millionth time, as if you didn't already spend these last few months obsessing over what had happened—dissecting every single word spoken between the two of you, analyzing and weighing even the slightest change of Aaron's expressions and tone until it's the middle of the night and you're half delirious with the lack of sleep.

You're not sure what your overthinking mind tries to archive with this, except torture you during your waking hours and curse you with anxious insomnia at nighttime, making you embarrass yourself in front of Aaron again and again whenever you see him now, stumbling over your words and acting like a lovesick school girl with a cute but laughable little crush.

It would be almost adorable if it weren't so ridiculously sad.

Because, in the end, all you'll ever be to him is that—his friend's daughter who caught completely inappropriate feelings for him and doesn't know how to deal with them like an adult.

You're too young for him, too inexperienced, too immature. Anxious and naive, plain and uninteresting, book-smart at best with no experience of how the real world actually works.

Spoiled and never had to work for all the nice and expensive things in life that you experience and own, not with a father as well off as yours.

Your doctorate a pretty little achievement to show off now and then but amounting to nothing in the grand scheme of things, in the world outside your fancy lab and brilliantly white lab coat. You hide behind your microscopes day in, day out, behind your Petri dishes and test tubes, behind your statistics and test results, comfortably able to overlook the fact that in the end, you're dealing with death, the oftentimes brutal loss of human life—the life of a real person—while there are people like Aaron and your father and the rest of their team out there, risking their lives, their mental well-being to bring peace to the bereaved, haunting these monsters that stole the rest of their entire lives from their victims. These agents work tirelessly, traveling all over the country at a moment's notice, spending their days and nights away from home solving cases no one else but them could, one more dangerous and complex than the next, and not stopping before they do, without complaining, without expecting anything in return.

But you? You simply come home after a day of work to your cozy and spacious apartment that you only found and are able to afford because of your father, slipping on mismatched fuzzy socks and a shirt and pajama pants whose patterns clash mercilessly, eating frozen pre-made meals or take-out food more often than not while turning off your brain in front of the TV or your laptop screen, drinking the expensive wine your dad bought out of mugs because your dishwasher is broken and you didn't have the energy to wash the dishes for multiple days in a row.

It's painfully obvious that Aaron and you live in completely different worlds, your lives ridiculously incompatible, so it doesn't come as a surprise that all your overthinking and obsessing and dissecting only ever leads to one final conclusion—

You will never be good enough for Aaron Hotchner.

As much as it hurts to admit this, your heart clenches painfully whenever you have to remind yourself of this inescapable fact—when the wishful thinking and the juvenile daydreaming become a little too self-indulgent—you know it's the truth.

And the sooner you and your hopelessly romantic little heart can make peace with it the better. Because whatever you thought he saw in you or felt for you that perfect summer day was only an illusion, a trick your overactive mind played on you so cruelly. Someone like Aaron Hotchner could never reciprocate your silly feelings for him, the spark you imagined igniting between the two of you back then was merely a sad one-sided, and completely inappropriate infatuation. You probably didn't look entirely unappealing in your skimpy little bikini that clung to your wet and glowing skin, leaving almost nothing to the imagination, so at least you didn't make up everything you thought happened that day, the brief flicker of attraction in his eyes as they roamed over your naked skin flattering and enough to send your heart into a frenzy, but ultimately meaningless, an involuntary and wholly physical reaction of his. And you know better than to let it go to your head; your reflection—plain and boring and strikingly average—setting you right when it pointedly stares back at you in the mirror as you study it on any normal day.

It really comes as no surprise then that after the whole pool incident, Aaron kept a deliberate distance from you whenever the two of you would meet afterwards, still smiling at you cordially, asking about your new job, your new apartment, your research, but never talking to you on your own, only ever when other people are part of the conversation too. And you're not delusional enough to not be aware of the fact that he's simply entertaining you out of politeness, a courtesy he's only showing you because you're the daughter of a friend.

Anxiety presses heavily against your chest when you think about how uncomfortable you must make him with your poorly hidden infatuation for him, how painful it must be for him to see you act like a pathetic fool in front of him, and all of a sudden your heart is thudding painfully against your ribcage, your pulse ringing in your ears, your breath leaving you in short little gasps—

"Hey, are you okay?"

Your eyes snap up to meet Spencer's kind ones, slightly widened with worry, but not like you expected from across the table where he sat when you last looked up. Instead, he's beside you, sliding next to you onto the bench, his face twisted into a frown and his brown eyes searching yours intensely. For a long moment, all you can do is stare back at him, wondering, with burning ears, just how long you spaced out for.

"Do you need to go outside for a moment? I could go with you if you want."

His words effortlessly pull you out of your anxious spiral and after briefly and earnestly considering his offer you shake your head, exhaling a shaky breath that thankfully eases some of the thightness in your chest.

You flash him a grateful little smile before answering, "No, it's okay. Thank you, though."

You unlatch your stiff and cold fingers from where they are still gripping your cocktail glass like a lifeline, wiping off the condensation that's left behind on your palms on your jeans. "My mind just… went a little crazy there for a moment, you know?"

The silly jazz hands that accompany your explanation catch Spencer off guard and he lets out a spluttered laugh that makes you grin in return. You feel yourself relax further just by having him sit beside you, and even more so when he regains enough composure to softly tell you, "I get it. Just take your time."

You're glad the others are all too absorbed in their own conversations as you glance around the table. It allows you to simply concentrate on taking calm and deep breaths as you listen to Spencer launch into a detailed analysis of the last episode of Doctor Who he watched, his expressive hands a worthy rival of your jazz hands.

(Too absorbed by all of this, you don't notice how Aaron is watching you and Spencer from across the table with narrowed eyes, or how Garcia urgently and repeatedly slaps Morgan's arm who's sitting next to her, gleefully nodding her head in the direction of the two of you, not even trying to be subtle about showing off her delightful discovery, or the slow smirk forming on the other man's lips at the incredibly intimate sight of you and your fellow young doctor completely absorbed by your own little nerdy conversation.)

With Spencer jumping from topic to topic, one more fascinating but obscure than the previous, your heart rate slowly lowers from the level of a prey animal being hunted for sport to that of the young woman enjoying a carefree Friday night with a group of friends that you are, happily piping up with your own contributions and fun facts when the genius next to you runs out of air during his endearing ramblings.

When you first moved back to DC after finishing your doctorate you were nauseous with nerves about meeting new people and making friends, worried that you would spend every weekend at your father's place, sipping his fancy wine from a glass while perched on the cold marble of his kitchen countertops, just watching him cook an elaborate dinner from his mother's collection of family recipes, asking if he wants any help with it and being pointedly reminded of what happened last time you were in his kitchen unsupervised. That's not to say that you don't love spending time with your dad—because you really, really do and you're more than happy to be living in the same city as him again, to be able to just hop into your car and drive to his house (sorry, mansion) whenever you feel like seeing him—but you would prefer if your entire social life didn't only revolve around him and your new place of work.

But when your father introduced you to his team during a dinner he hosted and you were immediately integrated into their little work family, every single one of them talking to you like they've known you for years—which it probably feels like to them considering how much your dad talks (brags) about you and your achievements—you felt silly about wasting so much time worrying about nothing at all. Not when there were all these wonderful people just eagerly waiting to meet and get to know you in person. You've never received such a warm and heartfelt welcome ever before in your life and for a few minutes you even completely forgot to agonize over the fact that during that dinner you were also seeing Aaron again for the first time since you fell for him—after literally making him fall in the pool with you.

And now, some months later, summer is only a faint memory anymore and even autumn slowly but surely making way for winter, the team happily invited you to their little end-of-another-crazy-week-catching-serial-killers get-together just like you've always been part of their group—and despite your father not even being with you at the moment.

(Because dear ol' dad ditched you in favor of a reservation at some fancy and exclusive restaurant uptown where he's currently busy working on stepmom number 3—or was it 4?)

(Honestly? You lost count.)

(You didn't. You just love to tease him with it.)

You glance around the table, looking at the happy faces of these wonderful people you're privileged to call your friends, a content smile forming on your face and a pleasantly warm feeling blooming at the very center of your chest. You can't believe how lucky you are to have been welcomed into their tight-knit group readily and with open arms, making uprooting the only life that you've known for the past ten years to move halfway across the country to a city you're not familiar with anymore so much less daunting, helping you to settle in immediately by inviting you to literally anything that they do outside of work.

(Aaron being an integral part of the group makes these casual and carefree meetups decidedly not as casual and carefree for you as you'd like, constantly putting your foot in your mouth around him or figuratively (and sometimes even literally) curling up into a pathetic ball of anxiety when he so much as looks at you. But you're working on that, you really are, learning to come to terms with your unrequited feelings for him which is not exactly going great—if tonight is any indicator of that—but eventually, you'll be able to act like the totally well-adjusted young woman you aspire to be around him.)

(… at least you hope you do.)

You're especially grateful to have met Spencer through the BAU team because if any person out there can be described as your platonic soulmate, it's him. In just four months the young genius has become one of the best friends you've ever made in your life—the two of you just immediately clicking after he refused to shake your hand when your father introduced you to him. You're close in age and if your passionate involvement in academics didn't make you connect instantly your shared interest in everything nerdy and niche definitely did.

You're even more grateful to have him by your side whenever you're confronted with your walking kryptonite that is Aaron Hotchner. You can count on Spencer to sense whenever you get too lost in your own head and to always bring you back to reality, even though he doesn't know that his boss is the cause of most of your anxiety-induced breakdowns—thankfully.

(Ordering food at a place you've never been to before is a strong second contender for that title, by the way.)

You smile at Spencer when he leans closer to you, his voice dropping to a soft whisper so only you can hear him when he gently asks, "Are you feeling any better now?"

In a playful display of your gratitude you nudge his shoulder with yours before nodding your head, answering truthfully, "I am. Thank you, Spence," and letting your hand fall to his arm and gently squeeze it through the soft fabric of his cardigan.

You don't notice how, from across the table, Aaron is so fixated on this simple, purely platonic gesture that he visibly flinches when Morgan scoots over to him on the bench and slings a heavy arm around his shoulder, a wide smirk that's all teeth and mischief splitting his face in half as he addresses his superior. He knows he only gets away with his cheeky nonchalance because of the laid-back and moderately tipsy state all of you are currently in—and isn't above shamelessly exploiting this.

"Hotch, my man. So about that fancy gala next week—"

That fancy gala Morgan so casually refers to is the FBI Agents Association—FBIAA for short—Gala that is hosted once a year on a random Thursday in November in the Ronald Reagan Building and International Trade Center in downtown Washington. It's a fundraising event for the Association's charities, one of them being a fund that would've paid your college tuition if your father had—you feel sick even thinking about it—died while employed by the Bureau, and the whole BAU team, and you as their honorary member, have unanimously decided to attend it together.

And although you were pretty excited about it when Garcia brought the gala up, delighted by the opportunity to dress up for one evening and sip champagne out of crystal flutes while watching the different speakers up on the stage but actually listening to the BAU team's gossip about each and every one of them, the mention of it now makes your stomach drop abruptly.

Your grip on Spencer's arm tightens involuntarily because you know what the next words coming out of Morgan's stupid grinning mouth will be, you were dreading them since setting foot in this bar, were hoping against all hope that at least tonight you would be spared from hearing about her.

"—you didn't happen to run into that triathlon lady—"

"Beth," Garcia helpfully pipes up while casually fishing for the straw of her drink and taking a sip from the most blindingly colorful cocktail you've ever seen in your life.

"—Beth—again, did you? Because a little birdie told me that she would love to be your date for that evening if you just asked her."

Your stomach twists into several painful knots and you quickly reach for your own glass to drown the rest of your cocktail-flavored cold water, hoping it'll wash down the ugly and burning jealousy rising like bile in your throat.

But it doesn't, and you're stuck listening to a conversation you desperately don't want to be a part of, that awful green-eyed monster sinking its sharp claws mercilessly into your tender skin all the while.

Derek's smug grin only grows wider at the unimpressed stare his nosiness earns him from his supervisor, which gives sweet Garcia enough time to voice her enthusiastic agreement, her artfully manicured nails tapping giddily against the tall glass in front of her.

"You should really ask her, you know!"

She's not brave enough to add the well-meaning but meddlesome "You need to get out some more, have some fun and meet more people instead of wasting away in your office every day and night!" that is on the tip of her usually so ungovernable and free-spirited tongue. And even less so the "Getting laid once in a while would probably do you some good, help you relax!" that her brain unpromptedly and unsolicitedly supplied her with one day and has lived rent-free in her head since then.

And before Derek has the chance to actually say these words out loud (and give you the chance to volunteer yourself as a very willing and tragically desperate tribute), you simply stand up, excusing yourself to the bathroom, cowardly but effectively fleeing the scene of the crime.

But you're too hasty, stumbling over Spencer's stupidly long legs in your hurry to get away from this excruciating conversation, too impatient to just wait for him to get up and let you out. The young genius mirrors your noise of surprise but unlike yourself he is quick enough to catch you, thankfully saving you from falling flat on your face (or landing on his lap) in front of the whole BAU team and the rest of the packed bar by urgently grabbing onto your waist to stabilize you.

You lock wide eyes with him, stunned into silence and stillness for a moment before the two of you let out matching awkward little giggles, Spencer immediately pulling his hands back and shoving them between his knees while mumbling an apology that you quickly and equally mumbled dismiss before briskly making your exit to the safe haven that is the ladies' restroom without looking back.

(You can't know that you and your little stunt just saved Aarom from even having to consider how to reply to Morgan's and Garcia's intrusive curiosity as the two peas in a pod immediately stick their nosy noses right into Spencer's alleged love life.

"And you, pretty boy, should really hurry up and ask our dear Doctor Rossi out."

Derek grins smugly from across the table at the clueless young genius who whips his head around, startled by suddenly being forced into the center of attention of their group, his voice rising in panic.

"What? Why?"

"Why?" Penelope parrots back at Spencer, looking at him like he just asked her if fezzes are cool or why people have been shipping Captain James T. Kirk and his First Officer S'chn T'gai Spock since the 60s. "Because you're literally so perfect for each other? You like the same geeky stuff, you're both young geniuses and doctors, you're always talking about some obscure studies and how little creepy-crawlies can help us and our friends in forensics catch the bad guys, and you're literally solving crossword puzzles in the newspaper together like an old married couple?"

She uses her fingers to list and illustrate her arguments, her fierce gaze boring into Spencer's round eyes who uneasily shifts in his seat, his mouth opening and closing in silent protest.

"Should I go on? I can go on," she challenges, not even waiting for anyone to disagree or agree with her. "She instantly remembered how you like your coffee, you were comfortable with letting her touch you immediately and you also—"

"What Garcia is trying to say," Derek gently interrupts his friend so she doesn't run out of air completely while squeezing her shoulder, "is that the two of you are made for each other and that the gala is the perfect opportunity to ask her on a date, boy genius."

Spencer splutters helplessly, looking around the table for support, a spontaneous change of the topic, a family emergency, anything, but the other three agents stay silent. JJ just smiles at him in amused sympathy, decidedly not disagreeing with anything that was said while Emily shrugs her shoulders with a Cheshire cat's grin on her lips, simply enjoying the chaos unfolding in front of her.

Hotch's face on the other hand is completely devoid of emotion, not giving away any thoughts or feelings he may have about the current topic of conversation and gentle teasing.

(But if any of these usually so oberservant profilers had given him and his strained passive face a closer look they would've noticed that his jaw is clenched tightly enough to literally break it if he's not careful.)

"That's not—! That doesn't mean anything. We're just friends!" Spencer squeaks as his last, very weak resort. And he actually means it, knowing that it's simply the truth, that everything between you and him is purely platonic and that the both of you are happily in agreement about it, but his pleas fall on deaf ears.

"Sure you are," Derek hums while raising his beer bottle to his lips as Penelope next to him cheerfully sing-songs, "Doctor Reid and Doctor Rossi sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n—"

They don't pay Hotch any mind when he stands up and excuses himself as well.)

They also miss when you exit the ladies' room at the other end of the large room at the same time, your head ducked with the remnants of your earlier jealousy still simmering uncomfortably in your stomach.

You wince when the unfiltered noise of the bar and all of its mostly tipsy patrons hit you all at once, trying your hardest not to get too close to these countless strangers when you push your way back to the table near the entrance where your friends set up camp at the beginning of the night.

You keep your eyes on the wooden floor, cringing as the soles of your shoes come in contact with an especially sticky spot when a solid body collides with you without warning.

A startled yelp escapes you, the impact enough to make you stumble, but for the second time tonight you don't land on the floor thanks to someone catching you just in time, a big and warm hand closing firmly around yours and pulling you closer to his warm and solid chest.

The slurred apology of the man who bumped into you promptly fades into the background, just like the rest of the noisy bar, as your gaze snaps up to where you see Aaron already looking down at you, his brown eyes unreadable, his lips set into a thin line.

Immediately, your cheeks go up in flames, the butterfly wings in your stomach transforming into an all-consuming hurricane, and you can't do anything except stare into his eyes with barely hidden longing and quietly stammer your thanks while your hand is still held protectively in his bigger one, your body still pressed closely to his chest.

But Aaron doesn't say anything in reply, his eyes simply fixed on yours while your heart slams against your ribcage traitorously.

Overwhelmed, you have to avert your gaze from Aaron's and that's when he abruptly lets go of you and walks away without a word, leaving you standing in the middle of the crowded room, his comforting warmth disappearing as suddenly as he did.

(You're too busy blinking in bewildered surprise to see the rigid line of his broad shoulders or the pained expression on his face as he forces himself not to turn around and look back at you.

Or the way his hand that just moments before held yours flexes by his side.)

series masterlist || part 1 - ⋆part 2⋆ - part 3 coming soon-ish :3

Thank you so much for reading <3 Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!

Feel free to hop into my inbox if you have a fic request or just want to talk ✨

dividers by @/cafekitsune

Tags <3

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[oo-delallymrcrow]

First Impression

Summary: You and Cooper met for the first time, the feeling is electric and your chemistry is undeniable. You want to be professional but you can’t help the feelings he gives you with his charms.

A/N: I’m so excited for the future chapters. The build up is honestly killing me because I just want all the love and feels. But I promise the wait will be worth it, especially since that carriage scene (iykyk) has been stuck in my head when writing this story.

No warnings still.

Walking into the studio that day was a little nerve wracking. You were dressed up in your favorite pink dress, making sure to make a good first impression with the studio executives. Today was your first meeting with everyone. The cast and crew getting together to go over how filming will go. When everyone's schedule was and where everyone needed to be on what day.

You were busy looking around the studio's lobby when someone came walking up to you. You turned and flashed your brightest smile as you shook hands with the young man.

“Good afternoon Miss. L/N. My name is David and I will be your assistant on this film.”

“Well hello David please just call me Y/N.”

He smiled at you before pulling his hand away to motion down the hall.

“Alright Y/N. We're all meeting down in this conference room. It's mostly the actors for right now but everyone will meet on the set in studio one, cast and crew.”

You nodded along as he lead you down into the conference room. The door was slightly open so you can hear all the voices talking inside. You took in a deep breath before you walked through the door with David following behind.

“Here she is ladies and gentlemen. Our fabulous Y/N has graced us with her presence.”

You smiled as the man at the head of the table stood to walk to you. He brought your hand up to hold close to his chest as you giggled at his praise.

“My dear you are perfect for this part. I am so excited to have you playing Eleanor. I told the studio that I would have no other person for the part and if it wasn't you I wouldn't direct the movie.”

“Oh,” you realized that this man was the director, “you must be Tim. I am so excited to be apart of your movie. When I read the script I fell in love with the story.”

He smiled and waved his hand like your compliments were making him embarrassed. He gestured around the room and introduced you to everyone. He introduced you to James, a rival to your love interest; Elizabeth, who was playing your friend in the movie; and a few others.

“And finally the man of the hour.”

You gasped as the last man stood and flashed a bright smile to you.

“Cooper Howard! I am such a big fan of yours,” you gushed as you shook his hand. You felt yourself get a little red as he chuckled, realizing you were probably embarrassing yourself. You realized you were still shaking his hand, you went to pull it away when he surprised you. He brought your hand up and leaning over a little, brushing his lips against your knuckles.

“I'm honored to have such a big fan,” he pressed a kiss to them before standing upright, almost towering over you. “Especially one so pretty like yourself.”

Your mouth fell open a little as you felt yourself get a little heated at his intense stare. Tim slapped his shoulder with a laugh before gesturing to a chair next to Cooper's. Cooper pulled it out for you and you said a small thank you as you moved quickly to sit. You cleared your throat as you settled in and took a quick peek to see if anyone was looking at you after that introduction. Thankfully, everyone was already looking at Tim as he started going into depth about the movies story and how he wanted the next few months to go.

“Alright now that we have a planned schedule I think it's time for lunch,” Timm glances at the watch on his wrist. “Then we'll meet in Studio One to get with the crew. After that you'll all be shown to your trailers and we'll call it a day.”

Everyone stood and left in their little groups. You went to stand before a hand caught your arm, you turned as Cooper stood and placed his hands on the back of your chair, pulling it back to help you out. You blushed as you thanked him and took his hand in yours.

“Everyone kind of left in a hurry,” he spoke as he lead you out the door. You took note how you were still holding his hand as he walked you both out. “Would you like to grab lunch with me? We can talk about how we want our characters to interact.”

You blinked up at him as your brain took a moment to process. Lunch. With him. Yes, you would like to have lunch with him. You gave him a small smile as he stopped and looked at you for an answer.

“I think that's an excellent idea Mr. Howard.”

He gave you a chuckle as he opened the door to lead outside, this time placing his hand in the small of your back to guide you out.

“Please sweetheart. We're going to be working very closely together, just call me Cooper.”

You turned your head to stare up at him as you spoke in a soft voice, “alright Cooper. I would like to have lunch with you.”

You swear his eyes darted down to your lips but as soon as you blinked he was pushing you forward to walk over to the little cafeteria that everyone was headed to. As you entered, you noticed a lot of people were looking at the two of you and whispering to each other. You ignored that as you walked forward and grabbed a sandwich and some cut up fruit with a water bottle.

You know what everyone was whispering about. Everyone has heard of Cooper Howard and the nastiness of his divorce and the roles he's lost. The rumors that flowed through Hollywood and into offices. Your agent, Amelia Evans, even gossiping with you about it. But you were never one to judge someone, especially in such situations that you have never experienced. So you decided to not listen to others opinions and get to know Cooper.

As you turned to choose a table you didn't like how loud and cramped it felt, so you decided to enjoy the sunshine and sit outside. You could feel a few stares as you walked toward the door, a hand shooting out to grab rhe handle.

“Let me get that for you sweetheart.” Cooper murmured close to your ear, making you shiver at how close he was to you. He followed you out to a table and again pulled out your seat.

“You really don't have to be so nice Cooper,” you muttered as you glanced at your fruit cup. He sent a charming smile to you as he sat across from you.

“My momma taught me that I should always be respectful and a gentleman to everyone, especially to women.”

“Well I would like to thank her for raising such a respectful man.”

You smiled at his explanation and took a bite out of your sandwich, the both of you eating in peaceful silence. You thought that you would be awkward around the actor, especially with how famous and older he is, but you were quite comfortable around him.

”I’m surprised you wanted to eat with me.”

That brought your thoughts to a halt as he said that. You gave him a confused look as you took a sip of water. He was avoiding your gaze at this point so you spoke up.

”Why is that Cooper?”

”Well, with everything that happened.” He brought his hand up to gesture to himself. “I ain’t exactly popular with everyone right now. Especially with all the rumors and being casted out like nothing. I’m just surprised you sat with me. I wouldn’t blame you if you quit the movie.”

You shot your hand out to hold his hand that was on the table. You were that a little shock traveled up your arm and cleared your throat as you both stared down at your hands.

”I was taught by my father to never judge a book by its cover. I’ve held that rule close to me and I think that's what gave me so many opportunities to live the life I’ve wanted. I never judged you Cooper. There are so many rumors and tabloids about your life, I didn’t want to immediately judge you on them without knowing your story. So of course I agreed to have lunch with you and I will gladly stay in this movie.”

The words you said brought a smile to his face. He brought your hand up, kissing the back of it. His eyes caught yours as he spoke very softly, his lips brushing your hand with every word he spoke.

”Thank you sweetheart. I say you’re smarter than everyone I have worked with. I appreciate that you still want to work with me, especially with how pretty you are.”

That brought a faint blush to your cheeks at his words and how he’s still holding your hand. You gave him a smile as you both went back to eating your lunch. As you both finished up, David walked up to your table.

”Mr. Howard, (Y/N), I was told that the crew is still building one of the sets on Studio One so we will not be meeting there today. Wednesday is when filming starts so please be here at five in the morning for makeup. Would you like me to show you to your trailers?”

Cooper spoke up as you went to stand, “I know where they are. I’ll show (Y/N) where they are.”

”Okay.” David smiled at the both of us then looked at me with a clap of his hands. “My number is next to the phone in your trailer. If you need anything from me, don’t hesitate to call.”

”Thank you David,” you smiled at him then he was on his way. You looked back to Cooper as he gathered the trash from lunch to throw away.

”Come on sweetheart. Your trailer is next to mine.”

When he flashed another bright smile at you and walked to the trash can, the thought of Cooper’s trailer next to yours made you feel heat in your lower belly.You shook your head and tried to stop a few thoughts from flooding. The man got divorced and has been through a lot, nothing would happen between you two. Plus why would anything happen? You just met the man and you already felt a certain attraction to him.

It didn’t help that he was handsome, even with the scruff and slightly long hair, but you did have a slight crush on the man. You had a little thing for his character in ‘A Man and His Dog’. His charm on screen and off screen with his sweet words and actions did make you melt a little every time he spoke, his accent helped as well. Plus his eyes, they wanted you to get lost in them. With the way they shined and were so expressive. You wanted to get to know him better and the thought of spending months together made you giddy with nervousness and excitement.

”Ready to go?”

“Yes sir,” you smiled at him and paused at an emotion that filled his eyes. You didn’t know exactly what it was but as you stood it quickly went away. He offered his arm to you and you took it, intertwining your arms together, placing your hand on his bicep.

Taglist: @danveration , @thespritepepsi

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Hey now, Let her cook!

[atlas-hope]

guess who rediscovered the feral ford tag

[sea-beam]

gift💧

[chio-chan2artbox]

Not on Perry’s watch

Human!Bill's design reference

[nenoname]

the tv room in the shorts + season 2

+ an attempt to get a bigger couch and miserable failure

[enidtendo64]

Guess she had no sick days 🤷‍♀️

[xoxochb]

“you don’t see the vision like I do. I think we should call off this engagement.”

“I’m seeing the vision!” percy protests, dramatically latching onto your cheeks with his palms. “I see it! with my two working eyes, I’m seeing it firsthand!”

you close your own eyes. “tell me what you see.”

“a big room. the basement. it’s empty. but then we add in, like, fifteen bookshelves and fill them up with all of your books. and! wait— we could add those string lights around the tops of them!”

you gasp and your eyes shoot open. “holy fucking shit! that’s genius, percy!”

“really—”

his question is cut short by your mouth over his. it’s an all-messy kiss; teeth clashing, noses bumping into each other, and lips barely even touching as you devour him.

you allow the almost uncomfortable kiss to linger for only seconds longer before you pull away. percy’s cheeks are flushed, tinted red, green eyes dilated.

his mouth opens to speak but closes quickly. but not before reopening again and then repeating the same process.

you make sure your pages are bookmarked before letting your novel slide from your lap as you sit up to cup percy’s like he had previously done to you.

you kiss his nose twice. “I think it’s a great idea.”

“I… can tell.”

you peck his nose again, though slipping your arms slowly around his shoulders as you move to straddle him. “come back to me, my love.”

percy inhales and takes ahold of your waist. “you’re making it hard to think, sweet girl.”

“hmm. quite unfortunate. anyways, I don’t want my books packaged. I want to bring them myself.”

“okay… okay that’s fine, you can do that.” his hands rub your skin soothingly. to soothe you or him he’s unsure of.

“thank you.” you plant a small kiss to his mouth, proper this time around. “I love you.”

“I…” percy chases your lips before you can entirely pull away. two kisses later he reciprocates, “I love you too.”

you repeat— kiss him again and again and again a third time just because you can.

“what’re we up to tomorrow?”

“what if we just stay in bed? all day?”

you consider. “maybe. we still have more planning to do though.”

percy sighs theatrically and kisses you again. four times. “or we could take a break from that.”

you fake gasp. “percy! that’s fine… it’s fine. if you don’t want to get married that’s okay.”

“that’s not—” he fumbles for words, ultimately ending up kissing your pouting lip. “I want— need to marry you. I would marry you right now if you let me.”

“no.”

“don’t complain then.” percy pinches your waist, attaching his mouth to yours simultaneously to stifle your small yelp.

you tug at his hair in response to this, but unsurprisingly he enjoys that far too much, displayed by the uncontrollable groan he lets out into your mouth.

you break apart quickly. “stop. no more of this nonsense. I have to get back to my book, you’re distracting me.”

“I’m not— wait— no— this should be a fifty-fifty decision.”

in your attempt to climb off his lap, percy tightly latches onto your waist and looks at you with a gaze showing that he almost physically needs your lips back against his.

“elaborate?”

“you’ve been reading all day. I miss you.”

you sigh slowly. “and what do I get if I put my book down for the remainder of the night?”

“the best sex of your life.”

it takes everything in you not to burst out laughing. “and to you, this is a fair deal…?”

“yes. I wash your hands you wash mine.” he pauses for a second. “wait— that’s wrong… what’s that saying… that one about you do something and I do something…”

you furrow your brows. “I have no fucking clue. you’re just babbling nonsense.”

“well you know what I mean.”

unfortunately, you do.

you nod and shrug.

“so is this an agreement to my proposition?”

you consider. and think.

“you have yourself a deal!”

[neitherofusideal]

making myself cry at the thought of post-fall, time skip, hannigram moment where in one of the quiet evenings they share, Hannibal found his gaze lingering on the few strands of white in Will's hair and the wrinkles beginning to form on his face. him taking in the sight, relishing the realization that he and Will are growing old together. fuck

[posh--bee]

falling for you (into the deep end) || Aaron Hotchner

pairing → Aaron Hotchner x Reader

summary → One second, you're standing next to your father's pool, ready for a cold drink on a hot summer day, and the next you're suddenly falling into said pool with a man you have never met before in your life. A man who shortly after introduces himself as Aaron Hotchner to you, your father's unit chief and friend. Yep, this is definitely your worst nightmare come to life.

warnings → meet-cute, fem!reader, rossi!reader, reader has rossi's last name, reader wears a bikini, reader is down bad immediately, Aaron is the sweetest guy ever, but also down bad, (unspecified) age gap, a cuss word here and there, short description of a hypothetical crime, no y/n used

author’s note → I wanted to write something for Hotch, preferably with a reader who is Rossi's daughter. Throw in a quirky and slightly awkward meet-cute and voilà—here we are! I'm pretty sure Rossi's mansion doesn't have a pool, but who cares, now it does! This fic kinda developed a life of its own near the end so let me know what you think about it <3

word count → 4.8k

masterlist(s)

series masterlist || ⋆part 1⋆ part 2 - part 3 coming soon-ish :3

The soft ripple of the pool's aquamarine water rocks you gently, caressing your sun-warmed skin, the smell of chlorine, sunscreen, and what can only be described as summer tickling your nose.

The leaves of the trees surrounding your father's property rustle in a lazy breeze and you open your eyes, the clear sky that greets you as brilliantly blue as the water you're floating in, your arms and legs spread like you're mimicking a very happy and very relaxed starfish.

It's one of the hottest days of this year's summer and you decided to enjoy it thoroughly in the best way you know how: By lazing around your dad's house—sorry, mansion—eating his food and commandeering his pool until you're all wrinkly, while he is at work, catching the worst monsters humanity has created.

You will always be worried about him when he's gone but you've only ever known a world where that is what your father does; hunting down killers, teaching others to do the same, or writing books about understanding and capturing these dangerous people. And making a ton of money in the process.

Naturally, he never wanted you to follow in his footsteps, knowing how dangerous, how grueling, how draining his work can be, hoping that his only daughter would choose a different path for her professional life.

And naturally, you defied his wishes.

Kind of.

Only last week, after years and years of studying and researching and writing papers and pulling all-nighters and drinking enough caffeine to power an aircraft, you graduated with a PhD in Forensic Science and can now proudly announce yourself as Doctor Rossi instead of Miss Rossi.

That's why you're currently back at your father's place, simply enjoying doing absolutely nothing before you're officially joining the workforce, hopefully helping to catch many more of the monsters your father and his team hunt and developing the methods and practices of your field further.

But for the moment, you're content to simply float in the pleasantly cool water, watching a single lonely cloud drift across the endless blue sky before you decide in a stroke of pure genius that a cold and fruity drink is exactly what you need to make this perfectly carefree day even better. You let yourself grow heavy in the water, your body sinking to the tiled bottom of the pool where you remain motionless for a few seconds, admiring the mesmerizing shifting patterns the sunlight paints underwater before you kick off the tiles, your fingers wrapping around the metal bars of the pool's ladder as soon as you reach them.

You climb out of the pool, water cascading down your body and creating a small puddle on the sun-warmed wooden planks of the patio at your feet. You grab your towel from one of the fancy deck chairs and quickly dry yourself enough to go to the kitchen and make yourself a drink before leisurely sipping on it while you lie in the sun, a hopefully good book keeping you company until you decide it's time for another relaxing activity.

With your game plan fully formed, you set it in action, going over to the sliding glass door that leads back into the house when you catch sight of your reflection in it, briefly pausing to fix the top of your—if you might say so yourself—super cute and flattering bikini.

But before you can then reach for the handle, a silhouette of a person appears behind the glass out of nowhere and the door slides open all the way, revealing a man you have never seen before in your life standing in front of you.

In your father's house. That you thought you had to yourself.

Oh hell no.

Immediately, your heart jumps into your throat, your pulse spiking in pure panic and you stare at the stranger fearfully, your brain frantically scrambling to find the best course of action that doesn't lead to your pictures ending up on one of the boards at your father's workplace—one photo showing a candid shot of you smiling, probably from your recent graduation, while the others would document how the killer left your broken and bruised body behind on the patio, your blood painting the wooden planks red, seeping into the cracks between them, maybe even dripping into the pool's clear water and staining it with clouds of diluted blood.

The stranger's dark brows furrow in concern, and when he gently, carefully says your name, it does nothing to calm you—not in the slightest. Your body is stiffly frozen on the spot while your fight-or-flight response is busy flipping a coin and waiting to see which side it will land on.

But then the stranger takes a step towards you and you spring into action, yelping in alarm and instinctively taking one, two, three steps backwards—away from him—which you quickly realize was a big mistake when the terrible feeling of having missed a step makes your stomach drop.

And then time slows down.

With a startled cry you fall backwards, flailing your arms helplessly but without a chance to regain balance when your back foot is already hanging over the edge of the pool. The stranger's eyes widen in surprise and he urgently reaches for you, his warm and strong fingers actually closing around your wrist firmly, trying to pull you back towards him—but it's too late.

Your momentum makes the stranger lose his footing as well and not a fraction of a second later the two of you break the pool's glittering surface in a joint, enormous splash, instantly submerged by the water.

Little drops of it are still raining down on you when you and the stranger come back up at the same time to gasp for air, your pulse ringing in your ears, looking and feeling more than a little disoriented. Your wide eyes find the deep brown ones of the unfamiliar man next to you and he silently stares back at you with an equally befuddled expression.

He's extremely handsome, your brain notes unprompted, even with his previously styled hair now completely wet, the dark strands sticking to his forehead and sending droplets running down his sharp features, some stubbornly clinging to his eyelashes and even the tip of his nose. Naturally, his clothes are completely soaked too, his dress shirt now clinging tightly to his body and it embarrassingly takes you a moment to avert your eyes from this sight, from his chest, and shoulders, and arms, especially when you notice the way he has the sleeves rolled up above his elbows.

With warm cheeks that have nothing to do with you lazing around in the sun all day, your gaze snaps back to his face which looks like he's still trying to comprehend what just happened.

And that's when the horrible realization dawns on you.

That maybe this man who didn't show any signs of aggression towards you and even tried to save you from falling, who knows your name and is dressed in suit pants, a dress shirt and nice shoes might not be a serial killer coming to end your life after all.

And you just made him fall in the pool with you—completely clothed.

Oh no. Not good. Very not good.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry! Are you—are you okay?"

The words tumble out of your mouth franticly, your voice too loud, too shrill, a wholly different kind of panic settling in that makes your hands tremble and your stomach feel slightly sick.

The stranger lets out a high-pitched, breathless laugh, an amused kind of disbelief on his face when he answers, "I am, yes. Are you alright?"

His deep voice is good-humored and kind, the kind that makes your knees go a little weak despite yourself and all you manage in response is a quick little nod, threading your fingers together in front of your body, nervously playing with them under the water.

You watch him brush the hair from his forehead with one large hand, slicking the wet, jet-black strands back, water running down his arm, droplets getting caught in the dark hairs on his forearm and he quickly looks at the probably very expensive and now very drenched watch on his wrist before his kind gaze finds yours again, saying, "I'm sorry I startled you like this. I thought Dave texted you I was coming over. He has some old case files on his desk he asked me to review while he's still at the office."

As soon as these words leave his mouth, your cheeks and ears flame up in shame while your eyes widen in horror. Because that means this man who is currently in the pool with you is an FBI agent, a highly skilled profiler working on the same team as your dad, and it's all your fault that he took a completely involuntary dive with you.

And then, as if you're not already wishing for the bottom of the pool to open up and just swallow you whole to end your misery, he adds the one thing that makes this surreal situation even worse.

"I'm Aaron—Hotchner. It's good to finally meet you. Your father talks a lot about you."

Cool.

Cool cool cool cool.

Because of course, of all the agents your father works with you just made Aaron Hotchner, the BAU's unit chief and your dad's very serious, very important and very no-nonsense FBI boss fall in the pool with, completely clothed, and probably ruining his expensive shoes and watch and wallet and phone in the process.

Sure.

No problem.

Definitely not one of the most humiliating things to ever happen in your life.

You are going to drown yourself in this pool.

With your mind and body locked in a continuous state of distress, you exhale a trembling breath that does nothing to calm you, the words just spilling out of your mouth, your voice cracking pathetically as you try to explain yourself and apologize to him, completely distraught.

"Oh god, I'm so so sorry, I—I didn't know—I left my phone inside and haven't checked it in hours—If I'd known you were coming over, I'd—I'd never—oh my god—"

To make matters even worse you have to realize with renewed horror that tears are welling up in your eyes and you stubbornly press the heels of your hands to your eyes as you gasp for a breath, struggling to keep your emotions under control and regain even the semblance of composure. You refuse to make an even bigger fool out of yourself in front of him than you already have.

But that's nearly impossible when Aaron's voice is so infuriatingly understanding and kind, his tone soft and comforting.

"It's alright, you really don't have to apologize to me. You didn't know and I scared you half to death. It's not your fault, so don't worry about it, okay?"

But how can you not worry about how much you messed up when this is probably the worst first impression you have ever left on someone—and that includes the time you destroyed someone's side mirror with your own car only to learn a few days later that that someone was your then-boyfriend's very unamused mother when you visited his parents for the first time for a very uncomfortable and icy dinner. (Your mind still likes to torture you with this little incident when you're busy trying to fall asleep, basically dooming the relationship from the very beginning, but in the end it was for the best—because that woman would've shown up wearing a white dress to her son's own wedding. So you're pretty sure you dodged a huge bullet there.)

You risk a glance at Aaron through the gaps between your fingers, the reassuring smile on his face making you feel a little silly, a little overdramatic but it also makes you calm down enough to let your hands drop from your face. Not that you had any chance not to, not when he's looking at you like you couldn't do anything wrong in his eyes, ever.

"I mean it, it was just an accident. Don't blame yourself for that."

He says it with so much conviction that you're almost ready to believe him, but the unhappy frown still clings stubbornly to your face, still mentally berating yourself over this whole situation you actually had very little control over.

That's why you jump almost a foot into the air (the water you're still standing in) when a warm and big, big hand gently squeezes your naked shoulder. Aaron is somehow so much closer than before, looking down at you and steadily holding your gaze while all you can do is dumbly stare back into his eyes, captivated by the sparkle of amused patience in them, by the way his dark eyelashes frame them so perfectly, following his sharp features to the slope of his nose, further down to his lips, wondering just how they would feel pressed against yours—

Nope—!

That very attractive and very wet man in the pool with you is still your father's colleague and friend, you remind yourself with burning ears, letting out an involuntarily awkward little giggle that ends in a dramatic sigh, your whole body deflating under the comforting weight and warmth of his hand on your skin.

You manage to smile up at him despite your chest still feeling a little too tight with anxiety while butterflies undeniably start to stir in your stomach.

"Thank you for saying that," you murmur defeatedly as you try and fail to tear your gaze from his eyes. "But I'm still sorry about your clothes and watch, and everything else too."

But he simply shakes his head, easily dismissing your attempt to apologize once more, shutting down your offer to pay for the damages that would surely follow before it could even pass your lips.

"It's fine, really. All of these things can be replaced. I'm just glad you didn't hurt yourself."

How can he just say things like these with that stupidly attractive and smooth voice of his while his hand deliberately rubs up and down your arm and not expect you to fall for him right then and there? Because you're pretty sure that's what's happening right now, without you having the slightest of chances to stop it.

But that's a problem you will have to deal with later, you decide, because right now the two of you are still just standing in the water together, and while your attire is completely pool-approved his very much isn't and you probably should get him at least a towel and some dry clothes to change into.

So you softly tell him as much, nodding your head towards the house, "I could get you some of dad's clothes so you can change, I hope that's okay."

"That would be perfect, thank you," Aaron answers, a grateful smile on his lips and you can't help but notice and appreciate the enticing crow's feet framing his eyes while he does.

You give him a timid smile in return, mumbling, "It's the least I can do."

He only gives your elbow a final tender squeeze in reply before pulling his hand back, his fingers lingering on your heated skin for just a moment longer and you can't find it in you to complain about it, not when a pleasant shiver runs down your spine at that.

Crap. You're in so much trouble already.

Reluctantly, you look away from him and turn around, heading to the pool's ladder, your whole arm tingling with the ghost of his touch but you try to ignore it as best as you can—which isn't all that much.

You climb up the steps first before holding out your hand for Aaron even if it's not strictly necessary. You're delighted when he takes it anyway without hesitation, your whole hand swallowed in his firm grasp, a discovery that makes your stomach do a funny little flip.

"I hope this at least takes the first place of the most memorable ways you ever met someone for the first time," you joke as Aaron emerges from the pool, finding some humor in this absurd situation as you watch his soaked clothes lose probably half of the pool's content on the planks of the patio, the wet fabric sticking to his body unpleasantly. But you don't miss the quick upwards quirk of his lips despite him looking like a pretty miserable, drowned rat now. You try to cover up your amused snort with a cough, but you know he can't have not caught it.

He however takes it in stride and graciously ignores it, instead starting to take off his watch while saying, "It absolutely does. And I can't say I wasn't wishing to cool off all day today, but that wasn't really what I had in mind. Not that I'm mad at all about this spontaneous opportunity to take a swim with you."

He smiles at you, fully, boldly, and you're probably mistaken when you think you saw just a sliver of shyness shining in his eyes because you're too distracted by the rest of his face that looks somehow even more handsome than before.

"Well, in that case, you're very welcome," you play along easily despite your heart slamming almost painfully against your ribcage. "And what can I say, I just love to leave a lasting first impression."

You're blessed with that charming high-pitched laugh of his again while he lays his watch on the patio table before his hands move to the buttons at the top of his shirt—which is not something you should find as enticing as you do.

"You definitely did. I just hope you don't make everyone you meet for the first time fall for you like that."

The words take a moment to fully register in your mind as you're busy admiring his deft fingers working on the first button of the shirt, but when they do something must suddenly take possession of you because your mouth curls into a teasing smile without you really meaning to and you casually hum, "Hm, no. Just you."

Aaron's fingers freeze mid-movement, his gaze so much more intense than just moments before but to your own surprise you don't shy away from it, keeping your eyes locked with his as he carefully utters his next words, his voice just a little rougher.

"That must make me pretty special, then."

You consider his words with a slow tilt of your head, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip to keep the eager smile threatening to overtake your face contained, your heart hammering away in your chest and your head feeling slightly dizzy. The daring and impulsive part currently in control of you makes you step directly into his personal space without hesitation where you can openly admire the small amount of chest hair peeking over the collar of his t-shirt which immediately cancels out the disappointing discovery that even in this heat he's wearing multiple layers.

"It probably does, Mr. Hotchner," you practically purr in reply, your voice almost unrecognizable to your own ears as you bring your hands up to his chest.

Your eyes never stray from his when you nudge his hands away from his shirt and replace them with your own, your fingers shaking visibly as you slowly, deliberately slide another button through its respective hole for him. And he lets you, his lips slightly parted, his gaze so much heavier, so much more heated than before that you have to suppress a full-body shiver.

You know it's not appropriate to do what you're doing right now, not with a man who is easily ten years your senior, who you never met in person before today and—most importantly—who is not only your father's superior but also his friend. And before today you would have never given in to your impulses like that, simply shoving them to the farthest corner of your mind where they would come back to haunt you during sleepless nights, making you wonder what could've been if you had just taken a chance for once in your life.

You don't know why it's different now with Aaron Hotchner of all people, what it is about him that makes you act like this so suddenly, so uncharacteristically bold, but you can't stop yourself—and to your thrilled delight, it doesn't seem like he wants you to either.

Not when you can clearly see the nice blush dusting the apple of his cheeks pink. Or when you notice the anticipation in his eyes, his tongue absentmindedly peeking past his dry lips to wet them. Or when you catch his pupils dilating as his attention snaps down to a droplet of water shining on your collarbone, his eyes following its path utterly transfixed as it slowly runs down between your breasts, the soft swell of your chest on full display for him thanks to your bikini top hugging you so perfectly.

To your astonishment, his gaze doesn't make you uncomfortable or exposed and you don't shy away from his attention—quite the opposite. You let yourself revel in it, a pleasant tingling sensation spreading from the very tips of your fingers to the rest of your body, making you feel confident and desired in a way few, if any, people have in the past.

He makes you feel cherished, the (poorly hidden) want in his eyes only increases this feeling.

But most importantly—he makes you feel safe.

That's what's so different about him.

So it's not surprising that you're lightheaded in the best way possible when your fingers slowly trail further down his shirt, smugly smirking up at him when he realizes he was caught red-handed ogling his friend's daughter's scarcely clad chest.

You see his Adam's apple work uneasily in his throat as he tilts his head slightly, not being able to meet your eyes anymore, his whole posture suddenly uncomfortable and stiff and the look on his face downright terrified. You find everything about this incredibly endearing and equally entertaining, the way his cheeks are now deeply red and probably burning hot to the touch, the tips of his ears very much in the same condition and his hand flexing by the side of his body as if debating whether physically pushing you away and creating some distance between the two of you would somehow remedy the situation.

But he doesn't, instead his gaze guiltily flickers to meet yours for a split second and then his lips part for the first words of a sincere yet deeply embarrassed, stammered apology. Yes, Aaron Hotchner, the ever-serious, ever-composed, big bad FBI agent who stares down serial killers for a living, who doesn't even flinch when the barrel of a gun is pressed against his head, actually stammers, evidently not used to losing control like this, not used to allow himself to give into temptation, anything that would expose that behind his almost perfect mask is simply a man, a human, with tragically repressed wants and needs and desires.

But you smile up at him, kindly, giddily, because you're really not used to someone like him giving you this kind of attention and you refuse to let yourself feel bad about it now and start to overthink it, so you simply say, "It's okay. I don't mind."

And then, because it's the truth, you add, "Not when it's you."

Your words cause a quick succession of emotions to flash across Aaron's face—regret, surprise, doubt, relief—only to finally settle on something so soft, so gentle, so close to adoration that your first, entirely instinctual reaction is to shrink and hide away from gaze.

But he doesn't let you, holds your gaze steadily and brings his hand up to yours still lightly resting against his chest. His fingers curl around your much smaller palm and he has the audacity to smirk at your very obvious, very telling reaction to this as if your roles weren't reversed just moments before. But then he gently presses your hand against his chest, his hand still covering yours and you immediately forgive him.

Because like this, you can feel the heat of his skin slowly bleed through the wet fabric of his shirt and into your own skin. You feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, the low hum forming there when your other hand moves with a mind of its own to rest on his shoulder, anchoring you to him further.

But most importantly, like this, you can clearly feel his heartbeat mirror the almost frantic, thundering pace of your own.

It's as confusing as it is exhilarating, knowing that for some bizarre reason, you and this stranger (because as many times your father has talked about Aaron, you have never met him before today) feel the same magnetic pull towards each other, and without knowing who moved in first you're suddenly breathing the same air, your faces close enough for you to count each individual dark eyelash and admire every single detail and imperfection of his handsome face.

Questions linger unspoken in the small space between you—Is this okay? Should we really be doing this?—but the small impatient noise escaping you is enough to dissipate them immediately.

He moves in even closer and you let your eyelids flutter shut, your heart stuttering in your chest when you feel his breath fan across your face, feel his lips hesitantly brush against your own, the faint touch enough to send a spark of overwhelming pleasure down your spine, the eruption of butterfly wings in your belly like nothing you ever felt before in your life, before finally—

Finally—

—the devastating sound of the front door falling shut echos through the whole house, your father's cheerful voice calling out both your and Aaron's name.

Your eyes snap open in horror, your heartrate spiking alarmingly, and like you were burned you push away from Aaron, desperate to create even the illusion of distance between the two of you. You're lucky you don't fall in the fucking pool again but only because of Aaron's quick reflexes, his arm wrapping around your naked waist and urgently pulling you flush against him, thankfully not losing his footing this time.

Terrified, you stare up at him, both of you frozen in this blatantly incriminating position—entirely too close, too intimate for two strangers, a daughter and her father's friend—his palm burning into your naked skin while your dad's footsteps are coming closer, and closer, and closer—

In a last, desperate attempt to save yourself and Aaron from being discovered like this your tardy fight-or-flight response kicks into gear again, urging you to—albeit reluctantly—exit his hold and rush towards the house, fleeing the scene of the crime and leaving poor Aaron to explain what happened to your father.

You don't stop when you run past your dad, only squeaking something unintelligently about getting some dry clothes when his confused voice calls after you, your wet feet almost causing you to slip and fall on the cold and hard marble floor but somehow you make it to the safety of the upper story, making a beeline to the master bedroom's dressing room.

With your heart beating painfully inside your chest, you curl up into a miserable ball of anxiety and regret in the middle of the room, not caring that you're dripping pool water onto the expensive carpeted floor, your shaking hands coming up to cover your face.

What the hell were you thinking? How will you be able to face your father—or worse, Aaron—ever again?!

You press the heels of your hands hard enough against your eyes that stars and shapes overtake the darkness of your vision, contemplating if staying inside this dressing room for the rest of your life is really that bad of an option.

But you're startled back into action when Aaron's calm but carefully controlled voice followed by your father's boisterous laughter travels up the stairs to you and you pick yourself off the floor before hectically digging through your father's clothes until you find something passable for Aaron to change into.

As you descend the stairs, knees weak and threatening to give out underneath you, your anxiety pressing heavily against your chest, you wonder helplessly how you will survive the rest of this day, how you will ever survive seeing Aaron again after today.

Because this afternoon, while he fell in the pool with you, you fell for Aaron Hotchner.

(And he fell in love with you, too.)

series masterlist || ⋆ part 1 ⋆ part 2 - part 3 coming soon-ish :3

divider by @/cafekitsune

[oo-delallymrcrow]

In the midst of a high-stakes period drama, actor Cooper Howard finds himself unexpectedly falling for his co-star, you, who plays a young debutante. As their on-screen chemistry ignites, so does a behind-the-scenes romance, filled with passion, challenges, and the blurred lines between fiction and reality.

Hello everyone! I’m sorry I haven’t been as active as I should but I was coming up with a new story idea. Since Bridgestone just came out with season 3, it’s the only thing that’s been on my mind so….. I’ve decided to start a series! It’s the first time I’m doing something like this so please be patient with me. I’ve started on the first chapter and it should be out sometime next week.

And the picture above is something I whipped together as a little movie poster for the story!

[what-am-i-doing-in-this-fandom]

Is there a lore reason vampire fiddleford wears stereotypical vampire clothes or is he just Silly Like That /genq /pos

Yes, lore reason!!! That actually probably won't come up in the comic, so I'll answer it here!!

Fidds was actually wearing it for a vampire "meeting"!! Yess, he has been a vampire for a while, and he doesn't particularly like it, but he has to participate in vampire culture 🙏 And y'know, you have to dress up for those things. Stan just caught him at a bad time, he usually doesn't wear stuff like that!!!

So when he said costume party, it wasn't that much of a lie, who would've figured!!

[senipsenipsenip]

Eventually, the scrapbook ended. The sun had fallen beneath the horizon hours ago, and some nagging part of Stan's brain was telling him kids shouldn't be up this late. Unless they're breaking into a mini golf course. He jerked his head back, furrowing his brow. That was...oddly specific.

"Grunkle Stan?" a little voice - Mabel - questioned. He looked down at his knee to see where his great-niece was sitting, eyeing him with no small degree of concern. "Are you okay?"

He ruffled her hair. "'Course, Pumpkin. Just trying to shake some of those memories back in the right place, huh?" He gave an exaggerated shake of his head, smacking the side like he was trying to get water out his ears. "Got a straggler! Hup! There we go," he grinned, lowering his hand. "Good as new!"

Whatever he said must have been the right thing, because Mabel's eyes had lit up like he'd told her he was turning the Mystery Shack into a cotton candy emporium and Dipper had a sudden death grip on his other leg.

"Geez kid, you're clawing through my pants here," he grumbled, making no move to take away his nephew's hand. "Haven't you chewed your nails off by now? How're they so sharp?"

"You called me Pumpkin," Mabel whispered.

"You remembered I chew my nails," Dipper said in awe. Then he frowned. "Hey, how come Mabel gets a nice one and I get a gross one."

Stan shrugged. "'Cause she's nice, and you're gross."

"Ha! Zoom!" Mabel pumped a fist in the air before collapsing back into Stan's lap in a fit of giggles. Dipper rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as he settled back against Stan's other side. Ford stayed perched on the arm of the chair, smiling fondly, but eyebrows still drawn together.

"What's the matter, Sixer?" Stan frowned as Ford grimaced at the nickname. "What?"

Ford waved off Stan's concern. "It's nothing. It's..." Ford sighed. "I'm sorry. It's not nothing. I just don't want to..." He pursed his lips.

"Don't leave us hanging." There was a shake in Stan's voice, and Mabel shifted closer to her Grunkle.

"I'm glad this has been helpful to you," Ford muttered. "But...you don't remember everything. Not really."

"Whaddya mean?" Stan asked. "I remember you, the kids, Soos. The freeloading jerk who steals my sandwiches." Stan glared at Waddles who simply oinked and started trying to eat his shoelace. Whatever. Free pass for jump starting his memories. He better not get used to it.

Dipper sat up. "Yeah, what do you mean, Great Uncle Ford?"

Ford frowned. "I just... Hm." He seemed to be weighing something in his mind before turning to Stan with some resolve.

"Stanley," he began slowly. "I hope you appreciate what I'm about to do for you."

"That's not terrifyingly ominous," Stan muttered, glancing around at the available exits.

"Do you remember my - " Ford cleared his throat. "My first kiss?"

Stan froze. "What?"

"My first kiss, do you remember it?"

"I was there?"

"Yes. Unfortunately a lot of people were."

Mabel squealed beside Stan. "Ooo! Romance memories! How old were you? Was it high school? Was it a high school romance? Was it star-crossed love between the nerd and the cheerleader?"

"Mabel, I think Grunkle Stan is supposed to figure that stuff out."

Mabel sat up and stared at Stan expectantly. "Come on Grunkle Stan! I need details!"

Stan shook his head, nose wrinkling like he'd smelled something rotting. "How should I know? Who asks their brother that sort of thing?"

"Precisely." Ford spoke with the same air of professionalism he adopted when explaining his theories, despite the alarming shade of red his face was becoming. "So far it seems that your memories are returning based on external stimuli, whether that be Mabel's scrapbook or our own prompting."

"So, wait, you're saying I won't get all my memories back?"

"No! No that's not what I'm saying," Ford held up his hands. "What I'm saying is we can't expect them all to come back at once. And at the risk of turning the Shack into the set of the Johnny Carson show, we'll keep asking you questions."

Stan frowned. "What if I don't wanna remember my brother smooching some babe?"

Ford turned redder. "You do."

"I do? Geez, I was a perv."

"In the meantime," Ford pressed. "It's important to take note of any stimulus you experience that makes you remember something. Even if it doesn't paint the whole picture for you, we can fill in the blanks. Or prompt you to remember more details."

Dipper grinned. "And then we get to learn more about the secrets you've been hiding, old man."

Stan lifted his hand to give Dipper a well-earned noogie, but paused before he could make contact. "Old man...did you...did you tell me to shut up one time and then punched me?"

Dipper balked. "What? No I - "

"YEAH no WAY that'd be CRAZY!" Mabel interjected a bit too loudly. "Anyway let's get back to that kissing story, huh?"

"Actually Mabel, I don't know if I want to hear about Great Uncle Ford kissing anybody either."

"Oh come on, Dipper. Are you jealous that The Author got someone to kiss him and you didn't?"

"What? No!"

"Some girls like nerds."

"Mabel I don't want to think about anybody in this room kissing anybody."

"You could learn from him Dipper! Figure out how to wield your nerdish charms. Soon you'll be like a kissing machine!"

"MABEL -"

The twins were silenced by a sudden gasp from Stan. His eyes were wide and unfocused, his jaw hanging open as if someone had knocked the wind out of him.

"Holy - " he choked out softly.

"Grunkle Stan?" Dipper sat up fully. "Are you okay?"

Stan didn't acknowledge him, eyes darting around minutely.

"Grunkle Stan?" Mabel asked softly. "Did you remember something?" Moisture had begun to gather in the corners of Stan's eyes, one of his hands covering his mouth as he began to shake.

"Great Uncle Ford?" Dipper turned to Ford, worry stitching his brows together. But Ford didn't look worried. If anything, he looked like he wanted to disappear through the floor. His face was an alarming shade of red, nearly identical to his sweater. Stan let out another choked sound.

"Are you..." Mabel trailed off. "Grunkle Stan are you laughing?" He was quaking now, his hand falling from his mouth to reveal a wide, open-mouthed smile. He began slapping the arm rest with his free hand, eyes squeezed shut and tears rolling down his cheeks. Dipper and Mabel shared a look. Sure, they'd seen Stan laugh before, but it was usually a loud guffawing thing. They'd never seen him like this. They shared a tentative smile. Either this was the hardest they'd seen him laugh, or he had really snapped.

Ford seemed to pick up on their worry. "He's fine," Ford offered. "He's just...remembering my first kiss." At Ford's words, Stan let out a loud cackle, burying his face in his hands.

Mabel cocked her head. "But what's so funny about -"

"You children must be exhausted," Ford blurted out, standing abruptly. "Come now, go wash up then head to bed!"

"Oh no you don't!" Stan shouted. He wiped tears from his eyes, still smiling. "You're not getting out of this one, pal!"

"Stanley, this conversation is hardly appropriate for children -"

"You brought it up!"

"And now I'm putting a stop to it."

Stan grabbed his head. "Ooooo ow," he gave an exaggerated groan. "My poor head. The mean man won't let me share my memories so they're all going away!"

"Stanley, please don't joke about that."

"I'm fading away - "

"Stanley."

Stan crossed his arms. "You know, you really know how to take the fun out of amnesia."

"Yeah! Come on Grunkle Ford," Mabel pouted. "You can't just leave us hanging!"

"Yeah!" Dipper joined in. "If it's a funny story I want to hear it."

Ford spluttered, pulling at the sleeves of his sweater and looking around for an exit.

"Come on, Sixer," Stan chimed in. His eyes had gone soft around the edges. "I think the kids deserve a funny story."

After today went unspoken. Ford met Stanley's gaze, already feeling his resolve melting before he even turned to his grand-niece and nephew's inquisitive smiles.

"Alright," Ford conceded. "But to maintain the integrity of the exercise, Stanley will be the one to tell it. Whatever he doesn't remember, I can fill in."

Stan rubbed his hands together. "Oh boy, this'll be good."

"I regret this already."

"It's alright Great Uncle Ford," Dipper patted his shoulder. "We have a whole summer's worth of stuff we get to make fun of Grunkle Stan for. This just gives us stuff to use against you now. Levels the playing field."

Ford frowned. "Is that meant to be comforting?"

Dipper shrugged.

"Alright you two, enough yapping." Stan grinned, leaning forward in his seat and spreading his hands out in front of him. It was the same way he started his campfire tales. Mabel and Dipper met each other's eyes and smiled.

"Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl named Kiss-Bot..."

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Heh...Literally nothing personal, kid.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[pussyfever23]

white lotus is insanely good at showing capitalism and the state of western society as a prison that it is. the entire point of this ep was i think that so many characters got so close to breaking out of the cycle only to end up stepping back into the cage of it, locking it after themselves, and willingly throwing out the key.

piper, who like so many young people saw the injustice of the world and felt helpless in the face of it. wanted to give up her privilege and get away from her family who represented everything she hated only to let those values she resented pull her back in. the desire for comfort, the privilege of watching the world end from your comfortable seat at the top, the practiced line of “if we don’t enjoy what we have it’s a waste”. that was her breaking point and she will never go back. 30 years and she’ll be undistinguishable from her mother.

gaitok, whose story mirrors piper’s so closely in how he rejects his entire worldview because barely anyone is strong enough to uphold it in a system that will break you if you try to oppose it. to have once felt so helpless in the face of evil and to side with it since you can’t defeat it. to be pushed to find the violence within yourself when all you ever wanted was to treat the world kindly.

belinda, whose formative experience was being wronged by a millionaire, to have money and convenience prioritized over her, to experience the fickleness and complete lack of backbone of someone who has enough money to afford to have no morals. and to give up everything she believed in, all qualms about greg’s blood money, all dreams grounded in the reality of mortals to advance up to the realm of the wealthy. and to repeat what was done to her with the exact same carelessness and fickleness. to be so swept up in money that pornchai immediately becomes just inherently lesser to her.

rick, who had plans to kill the man who murdered his father and didn’t go through with them only to see that man again and get enraged by his words, again, and still, choose to control himself. he did not believe in therapy for a second at the beginning but, when everyone thinks he gets up from the table to give into murderous impulses, he actually seeks out mental help. only to be denied. to be denied when he comes to the therapist with tears, begging, willing to change and willing to believe in a better future he wants, needing just one chance, just someone to talk him through and believe in him in return. only to be turned down because another appointment is already scheduled. because the customer is king and because there is a line to wait in. he can’t take a chance he’s never given in the first place, so he reverts. the cycle never breaks.

laurie, who stays with the friends who make her miserable. lochlan, who drinks the seeds following in his family’s footsteps again but lacks conviction to fully commit, even in death. i could go on.

nothing ever changes. the status quo remains and the cycle continues and the wheel is never broken. you can never escape and, if you’re the one who the system benefits, why would you want to in the first place? lock your cage, throw the key away and enjoy a piña colada that won’t kill you anyway while the world burns.