#can aaron give him a chance please

[joejhang]

kevin day queen of exy BUT ALSO queen of fumbling bad bitches

[luveline]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝

You try to break up with your boyfriend. Aaron just wants to know why. (And what he can do to fix it.) [4k]

c: fem, stripper!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff epilogue, suggestive themes mdni. requested here 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

I don’t want to see you anymore. 

The text doesn’t compute at first. He reads it twice. Reads the sender’s name, his heart stopped clean in his chest. 

He puts down his pen.

The idea that the text wasn’t meant for him crosses his mind, but that might further break his heart. He knows you have clients, but you don’t contact them outside of the club. 

His second thought is that he’d been a client unknowingly, but he made it clear to you those few months ago that he liked you as you, not as a service provider, and not as something to be bought. You thought he was trying to acquire you as a private escort. He explained it as what it was truthfully, if vulnerably.

He’s being broken up with, he surmises. Over text. By a woman he adores, who he’d thought was happy. Aaron opens his phone to call you, clicking your contact, bringing it to his ear. You don’t answer. He calls again and he’s clearly declined three rings in. 

He puts his phone down and has a few minutes of unbreathable heartbreak. Just a few minutes, his hand to his stomach, trying to think of things as reasonably as he can. 

Aaron doesn’t care that you’re a stripper. He might’ve at first. Denied his attraction to you, because of course he had feelings for you when you were standing against the side of the club in your dancing lingerie, who wouldn’t fall in love with you? Every fool lucky enough to see you undressed must assume the same thing. He thought it wouldn’t work, and that you’d never be interested in a man like him. 

Interviews for information lended themselves to rare moments of conversation. He liked how you talked, how your eyes moved to his, the way you watched his mouth. Your unusual friendship with Spencer drew you closer, and activated a rare seed of jealousy within him that helped him place you in his life. He had real, tangible feelings for you. 

And now it’s over. 

He scrunches his eyes closed and gets up from his desk. Puts his coat on, but leaves his things where they are on his desk. 

“Hotch?” Morgan asks as he descends the steps down from his office into the bullpen. 

“I’m not sure when I’ll be back.” 

“What happened?” 

Aaron turns to Morgan, hiding his panic as well as he’s able to. “I have a small emergency. It’s fine. Can you make sure things are okay here?” 

“Hotch?” Morgan asks again. 

Aaron keeps on going. He tries your number again on the way down. Three times, a fourth by the time he’s at the parking garage. 

The fifth time, you answer. 

He almost breaks the phone, its plastic body creaking in his hand. “Honey?” he asks. 

“I don’t want to see you anymore, Aaron. Is it hard to understand?” 

He’s taken aback. Some part of him had held onto the hope that it was a mistake. “Yes,” he says slowly, struggling to pull his keys out as his car comes into view, “it is.” 

“I don’t want to be with you.” 

“Have I upset you?” 

“Would that make it easier?” 

“No. I don’t think anything would make it any easier. Honey, this feels so sudden. Can’t we talk about it?” 

“I don’t want to see you.” 

“Please.” He can’t imagine never seeing you again. Just a few days ago he was sitting at the dinner table with you laughing opposite, your socked toes brushing his ankle. “Please, give me the chance to fix this.” 

“Aaron, it’s not really fixable. Please don’t call me again.”

“Y/N,” he says, firmer now. Anger leaks into his tone —what’s going on? “Let me come over. We need to talk about this.” 

“No–”

“It’s not fair to me for you to do it over the phone.” 

“…Okay. Fine. I’m at home, but I have work at six.” 

“I’m on my way.” 

He hangs up. Your terse allowance is all he needs to get in the car and drive, checking his watch. There’s plenty of time between now and six. He can figure out what’s wrong and hopefully change your mind.

He thinks about it more seriously as he’s parking outside of your place. Perhaps he doesn’t want to change your mind. You aren’t acting like you, none of your kindness can be found in such a swift dismissal, but he thinks of your foot under the table, your sock rubbing along his ankle without comment. 

He takes the stairs to your apartment. It’s not the nicest place to stay, but it’s far from a slum, either. He doesn’t worry about you when you’re home beyond the usual everyday fears: Is she eating? Sleeping? Having a good day? 

Now he’s thinking, What did I do? 

He gets to your apartment and pauses at the threshold. After a moment's deliberation, he knocks. 

“Come in, Aaron.” 

He pulls down the handle and lets himself in. You’ve mail piled on the sideboard and your shoes tucked under it, a coat rack further in bragging scarves and coats and jackets of all different colours. He’s always liked the interior of your apartment. It doesn’t feel as cold as his own, parts of your personality peeking in through everything, from the flowered tiles in the bathroom to the glass lampshade in the bedroom. 

You’re sitting in the kitchen with the light off. “Hey,” he says, voice already laden with relief he doesn’t mean to share. 

“Hi.” 

“Can I sit down?” 

You gesture for him to do as he likes. 

Aaron sits down at your table. It’s a small square just big enough to share dinner, plain wood edged in a darker slate grey outline. Sometimes when you’re feeling especially pretty, you’ll lean heavily on an elbow and grin at him, enticing him in for a kiss.

“What’s this all about?” he asks quietly. 

“I just think we’re… at the end of our relationship.” 

You don’t sound truthful. He knew there was something strange in your voice over the phone. 

“What’s making you feel that way?” 

“Does it matter?” 

Again, avoiding and evasive. 

He meets your gaze unflinchingly. “I care about you. I love you,” he says. “I know I can’t be who you pictured for yourself, and if you really can’t see a future for us, then… I’ll have seen it alone. I just wish I could understand this sudden change. Did I do something wrong?” 

“You’re not who I picture for myself,” you agree. 

“No?” he asks. 

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong, but I can’t see us together. We’re not the right fit.” 

You twist a ring around your middle finger. He thinks he’s starting to understand. “Do you think we’re not the right fit?” 

“Please don’t use your psychoanalysis on me.” 

“It’s not psychoanalysis, sweetheart, it’s– I know you.” He grimaces. “I’d like to think I do. And I’m allowing myself the audacity to believe you were happy with me just a few days ago. What happened between then and now to change your mind?” 

You stare at your two-toned table. Your mouth opens to talk, little but air making it out. Your shoulders begin tightening like you’ve been keyed between them, twisting and twisting. 

“What do you want me to say?” you ask. 

Dramatic, he’d hope you could say you don’t love him, or don’t care about him enough to let him convince you the rest of the way. “Is this really what you want?” he asks instead. 

Your staring turns to squinting. With a start, he watches a small tear drip from the corner of your eye to your nostril, to your cupid's bow. 

“No,” you say carefully, “it’s not what I want. I don’t like you being against me.” 

“Then what’s making you feel this way?” 

You cover your eyes with one hand. “I wanted to do this over the phone,” you say in a squeeze. 

He reaches for you but doesn’t touch. “I couldn’t let you.” 

“I just want you to be happy,” you say, so high he can barely understand you. “I’ll never be like you, Aaron. You’re so smart, and you’ve done so much. You’re a hero, and you must look so stupid with me. What do you think people say when they realise what I am?” 

“It doesn’t matter to me what they say. I know you, and they don’t.”

“What about what I think?” 

“What do you think?” 

You wipe your face roughly, eyes lit with an anger he’s unprepared for. “I told you, don’t psychoanalyse me. I don’t want to have to explain it, I just want to say what I have to say. I don’t want to be with you because you won’t be happy, and neither will I.” 

Aaron isn’t too prideful to recognise when he needs to fight for what he wants. He reaches over the table and takes your arm into his hand, picking it up, feeling down The length of it until he’s curled his hand over your smaller fingers. “We are happy,” he says softly, giving your hand a small shake. “I understand where you’re coming from. When we first met, I couldn’t have predicted that I’d be here with you now. I do wonder what people think when they ask me what you do and I tell them you’re a performer. I know we agreed to it, but there are moments where I feel like I’m being cruel to you. But just because there’s a stigma surrounding what you do, it doesn’t mean that you’re any lesser than me. You’re not less intelligent, or less accomplished. We chose different paths and I’m glad we did. If you weren’t a dancer I never would’ve met you.” 

“Do you know how it feels for me to come home to you sometimes?” you ask weakly. 

“I’d hope it feels as it does for me. Every time I see you, I’m relieved.” 

“Aaron, I get this rush of safety, like you’re– I’m finally safe. I can take care of myself, you know that, but now I have you it’s that I don’t even want to. And that’s stupid. I know that that’s stupid.” 

“What I’m thinking,” he says, soft, not as worried about being without you now as he is of the horrible way you’re feeling, “is that you’ve thought about all of this a lot. I’m glad you’ve taken time to reflect on us and your life, but I wish you’d thought more about what we both want.” 

“I want you to be happy,” you argue, as you had a few moments ago. 

“And I’m never happier than when we’re together.” He shrugs. “Love isn’t about work. Your job shapes you as mine shapes me, but you have to know that who you are is what’s important.” 

“I don’t know who I am…” 

“I know exactly who you are,” he says, rubbing a loving thumb over your knuckles. 

“I’m… I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you, on the phone. I knew if I talked to you like this I’d be too much of a coward to really see it through.” 

“I see. You’ve planned my heartbreak weeks in advance.” 

You shake your head sadly. “Aaron, we’re not good for each other. You make me this awful, weak version of me, and I’m no good.” 

“We have been nothing but happy since we met.” Aaron pulls your hand up and kisses the side of your wrist. He isn’t ashamed of you. He doesn’t make you weak, you aren’t. “I don’t know how to explain it. Sometimes it feels like we’re from different worlds, but it’s not that melodramatic. You’re my partner. I love you. It’s hard not to think about what others think of us, but I know exactly what I think of you, and I know what you think of me, too.” 

You share a look. 

“I’ve never heard you talk so much,” you say, your frown fading. “I’m sorry.” 

“You haven’t done anything wrong.” 

“When I thought I couldn’t get any more embarrassing,” you mumble. 

“You aren’t embarrassing. Please, put the thought out of your head.” 

“Thought out of my head,” you repeat, still mumbling as you flex your fingers, pushing them between his and intertwining your hands. You bring them linked to your forehead and take a heavy breath. 

“Do you really want to break up?” he asks softly. 

Your breath warms his arm. “No.” 

“You can have the things you want, you know? I imagine that there are people who laugh when I tell them about you, but you have to know that their opinions would never matter to me.” He pulls his hand from your head to encourage you to meet his eyes. “No one else matters but me and you. We don’t have to factor in other people. We can just be together.” 

“I’m not worth all the fuss,” you say under your breath. 

“What, this fuss? Honey, a few weeks ago you cried in my lap because I got you that cake from the bakery. And you know what? I didn’t want you to cry, but getting to rub your back?” He chances a smile. “That made my night.” 

“You like making girls cry.” 

“Yes,” he says, trying not to grin like a fool as you stand from your chair and put yourself in front of him. He is no saint. He pulls you onto his thighs and wraps an arm around the small of your back, your legs either side of him. “That’s my goal in life, sweetheart.” His voice falls to a whisper as you hang your head against him, tip of your nose to a rough cheek. “Making you cry…” 

Your arms creep to his neck. Resting on him, rather than hugging. He doesn’t mind, he’ll do the hard work. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. 

“It’s okay.” He turns your face with his to press his lips to your cheek. “It’s alright, honey, bumps in the road happen with everyone.” 

“All my fault.” 

“Maybe next time, if you feel so strongly about something, you can just extend me that little bit of faith and… know that I’m here for you. Even if it did mean we wouldn’t be together, it doesn’t have to be that you’re alone, making such a big decision. Valiant,” he adds, enjoying the warmth of you seeping into his shirt, his face, his neck where your wrist is laid against it. “You’re not a coward. But I wish you wouldn’t be this brave about breaking my heart.” 

“Stop making me feel guilty.” 

His laugh is a breath against your cheek. “No, it’s fine, isn’t it? Use me and abuse me.” 

“Shut up. Stop, what is this weird guilt tripping you’re doing?” You laugh at his absurdity. “I’d never abuse you.” 

“I know. Just step on me a bit.” 

“Stop, stop,” you mumble, your voice turning slowly from self-pitying to honey, all that love for him he knew you still had like threads of gold shooting through it, “I don’t wanna step on you, I never would…” 

“Just rough me up a little.” 

“Never.” You press your face to his neck. “Thank you for not letting me do it.” 

“I won’t let you go so easily.” His hand trails up your back, feeling the softness of you beneath your t-shirt. Fat, muscle, all of it familiar, and treasured by his touching. 

He squeezes you rather tightly, then, but you don’t complain, you just sigh. 

“It’s not that you’re not who I picture for myself, like I said before,” you confess, leaning all your weight against him, barely held up by your legs either side of him. “You weren’t, but I didn’t realise that I could have you. I didn’t really know men like you existed. I should’ve known I was looking in the wrong age bracket.” 

“That’s not very nice. In my line of work they call that a feedback sandwich, honey. Something cruel between nice things to distract me.” 

“Sorry. Just had to get it in.” 

He considers your teasing a return to normalcy, guiding your head away from his with a hand to the back of your neck. “If this was a ploy to make me leave work early, consider it successful.” 

“I know your attention usually falls to other places, Mr. Hotchner–” You burst into giggles as he pinches the back of your neck, but it’s only to pull you in for a kiss, smiling against your parted lips as your laughter fades away.

You scrunch his shirt in your hand and kiss him nicely. 

“Sorry,” you say. 

“Forgiven.” Even if he did almost go into cardiac arrest at his desk. “I like begging to stay. It builds character.” 

“How long will you be like this?” you ask, shaking your head slowly, your smile poorly hidden. 

You’d needed a reminder, is all. Aaron isn’t solely business and sternness, he’s an idiot, your idiot, who likes to tease you, and doesn’t care who knows that. When he’s working he’s one person, and when he’s with you, he’s another. Both have their qualities and faults, but only one version is the one he needs to be with you. 

“At my age it’s perfectly normal to have a young and beautiful wife,” he says. “You’ve seen some of the other Section’s worker’s wives.” 

“I’m not that young,” you say. 

“So you admit it?” 

You reward him with a tired sigh, cuddling into his collar. 

—

…I'll never be your beast of burden. So let's go home and draw the curtains…

Aaron’s humming from the bedroom. He knows every classic rock song to exist, every word to every Beatles song. When the chorus comes, he sings under his breath, but you can hear him regardless. “Am I rough enough, am I rich enough? I’m not too blind…” he fades off. 

The music hums under your feet. Record player open on the floor, his Some Girls vinyl on the plate. 

You press a hand down your side. 

To inspire less worry on your part, you and Aaron are trying to be more open about the other sides of your lives. His work feels alien to you, and you worry that yours is dirty to him, despite reassurance that a job is a job. You know that already, but you can’t make yourself believe that he’s as happy as he could be if you were, say, a checkout girl. 

You’d make a cute checkout girl, he’d said. 

This is cute, too. Babydoll lingerie with feather edgings, starkly white against your skin. You fluff out the ends and neaten the crotch of your panties. Nothing is on show that shouldn’t be, but it’s still lingerie. It’s meant to excite. 

“Honey,” he says, dulcet tone carrying to the bathroom, “are you stuck again?” 

You laugh. “I bet you hope so.” 

“That’s accusatory in nature.” 

“I’m coming.” You give it a last glance in the mirror and head into the bedroom. 

Aaron’s sat against your headboard, flowery pillowcases behind his head and back. He discards the little figurine he’d been playing with out of boredom and looks you up and down, corners of his lips curling. 

“Home only,” he says. 

“I knew you’d say that.” 

“You look stunning.” His eyes seem darker. All pupil. 

“I have to wear some of these at the club, Aaron, that’s why I bought them.” 

Something in your voice makes him smile. “You said I could veto the ones that are too beautiful.” 

“I said too slutty.” 

“Honey, they’re all revealing in their ways. And I don’t have a problem with it…” He takes a breath. “Much. But some of these are meant for…” 

“The man who loves me?”

“Exactly.” 

He’d said something similar about the light blue set with darker flowers, the black set that showed the curves of your chest, and especially about the pink one-piece with white ribbons. That one gave him pause. 

“Spin?” he asks. 

One day it might bother Aaron that you dance, but for now he’s gently approving. Just wants you to be happy. So you do a little spin without any attempt to be sexy and beam when he whistles. 

“Beautiful. Really, honey, that’s the nicest so far.” 

“I have a confession.” 

“Yeah?” 

“This one was for you.” 

He’d know if you were lying. “For me?” he says, in that tone bordering stern, as much of his professionalism as you’re used to hearing these days. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Don’t,” he says, seductions gone as he tips his head back into a pillow patterned with lavender and peony. “Unless you’re done trying those on, I don’t want to hear it.” 

“This is the last one.” 

“In that case.” He covers his face with a cushion. 

You look down. Your stomach is a little bloated from lunch, and you have a shaving rash on your left knee, but Aaron won’t mind. He never does. Without worry, you tread to the side of the bed and climb onto it, one leg over his lap. The last time you’d been sitting in his lap, you’d been teary-eyed and regretful. Fuck, what was I thinking? you ask yourself, slipping a hand under his rising shirt to feel his abdomen. It’ll never not be weird, the FBI man and his stripper girlfriend, but it doesn’t have to make sense to anyone but him and you. 

You ease the pillow down his face. 

“Are you blushing, Aaron?” you ask. 

“Not purposefully.” 

“You look a little… hot.” 

“That makes two of us.” 

It starts slowly. The heat of you atop him, the pillows moved out of the way. You didn’t expect him to stay unbothered as you paraded your new spoils, but his willpower is remarkable, and he only breaks when you let yourself settle on his lap. His big hand cups your face. 

“That’s funny.” You lift up enough to be in kissing range, but don’t kiss. You just wait for him to react, holding your weight off of his chest. 

He finds the small of your back and drags. Your gasp isn’t your own, a breathy, excited thing as he brings your face to his for a kiss. Your lips almost immediately part in anticipation of his eagerness, of his hand on the back of your neck, and the unflinching heat of his mouth as he turns his head. Your noses brush. He wades in deeper, his own breath already failing him as the bridges of your nose press hard. 

They aren’t rough kisses, but there’s something desperate there. He holds you to him until he can’t, ushering you onto your back, his weight bearing down sudden and steady. 

“I can’t believe I nearly lost you,” he utters, stroking your cheek, edging back in to kiss you before you can reply. 

You wrap an arm behind his back and hike your leg, soft thigh naked and waiting for his touch. You didn’t nearly lose me, you think. To be lost, you’d have to be something worth losing, and you’re not sure you are, but Aaron? 

“I don’t think you could,” you mumble, forcing him to kiss your cheek, your jaw, the line of your throat. He nips at your neck, a shudder racing through you. 

“I have no intent of letting it come that close again, sweetheart.” 

His hand dances up your side to the soft hill of your chest. 

You hold the hair from his face and let him kiss you. He’s here to stay, no matter how odd a pairing you might make. You love him. That’s all he cares about. 

“Want me to do that thing you like?” you offer softly, mildly playful. 

He laughs into your neck. “No,” he says, “I think tonight is about you, hm? You’re all dressed up. I think that deserves a reward.” 

You knew he’d like the white babydoll. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

[monzabee]

the nanny - a. hotchner

criminal minds masterlist || part of the nanny series

Summary: there is a mysterious woman visiting hotch’s office... it’s his nanny? 

Pairing: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader

Word Count: 1.1k 

Warnings: nosy profilers, other than that none  

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

“Excuse me, can you point me to the direction of Aaron Hotchner’s office?”  

Thirteen words.  

Thirteen words is exactly what it takes for the BAU to lose their minds over the fact that there is a woman who is visiting their boss.  

“Do you think that’s his girlfriend?” Penelope whispers, failing rather miserably, as they watch you retreat into Hotch’s office.  

Emily’s eyebrows raise at the insinuation, “No way, when was the last time Hotch was even on a date?” 

“Not for at least two years,” Spencer scoffs, earning glaring looks from three of his co-workers. “What?” He asks, innocently shrugging his shoulders.  

“Look at her,” JJ shakes her head, she isn’t she isn’t convinced. “She doesn’t seem like just a random visitor.” 

“Maybe she’s a lawyer,” Derek offers, arms crossed as he leans against the desk. “Or, God forbid, a new profiler.” 

Penelope gasps dramatically, pouting. “Another profiler? In our sacred little family?” 

“I don’t think so.” Emily tilts her head, watching through the glass windows of Hotch’s office. “He doesn’t look like he’s briefing her. He looks… I don’t know. Different.” 

“Different how?” Spencer asks, squinting as if he could analyze the interaction better. 

Before anyone can respond, the blinds to Hotch’s office suddenly snap shut. The team collectively inhales. 

“Oh my God.” Penelope clutches at Derek’s arm. “He never closes the blinds. Never.” 

JJ exhales, shaking her head. “I don’t know what’s crazier. The fact that Hotch might actually be dating someone… or the fact that none of us had any idea.” 

If there is one thing Aaron Hotchner is good at, it would be compartmentalizing. He had to, as a unit chief who wanted to protect his team from all the bureaucratic headache that he had to endure, or as a father who wanted to shield his son from his line of work as much as possible.  

So, it came as no surprise to him to not talk about his nanny—well, not his nanny per se, but rather Jack’s nanny.  

“You’ve caused quite a scene downstairs, you know that, right?” Aaron asks you as he makes his way back to his desk from the small window overlooking the ballpen.  

“I only asked them where to find your office,” you shrug, hands folded primly on your lap — something rather uncharacteristic now that Aaron realizes. “They were very nice, though.” 

Aaron sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “They're not used to seeing unfamiliar faces here. Especially in my office.” 

You raise an amused brow. “I figured as much from the way they all gawked at me like I had grown a second head.” 

He exhales, shaking his head. “You should've called. I would've met you downstairs.” 

“And miss the chance to see your team’s collective meltdown?” You smirk, crossing one leg over the other. “No way.” 

Hotch gives you a pointed look, but there's the ghost of a smile threatening to break through his usual stoic expression. “What are you doing here?” 

“I brought you lunch,” you simply shrug, placing the brown paper bag on his desk and leaning back into the chair, “I got you a sandwich from that place you like near the park.” 

Hotch looks at the bag, then back at you, his expression unreadable. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

You roll your eyes. “I know I didn’t have to. But let’s be honest, you were either going to skip lunch entirely or eat some sad excuse for a meal at your desk.” 

Aaron exhales through his nose, the closest thing to amusement you’ve seen from him in days. “I eat just fine.” 

You arch an eyebrow. “Last week, I caught you eating dry cereal straight from the box while reviewing case files.” He opens his mouth to say something in retaliation, but you stop him before he can get a word out, “Do not even dare to say it was late, I left you a whole plate of food out.” 

He gives you a pointed look, but you only grin in response. There’s a beat of silence before he reaches for the bag, opening it to inspect the contents. His lips press together in what you assume is reluctant approval. “Roast beef?” he asks. 

“With extra mustard, just how you like it,” you confirm. “I even got you one of those overpriced iced teas you pretend not to like.” 

He pulls out the bottle, eyes flicking up to you in mild disbelief. “I should consider adding you to my team.” 

“Jack and I have a system,” you reply breezily as you shrug again. “He tells me your weird habits, and I use them against you.” 

That actually earns you a soft chuckle, and for a brief moment, he looks lighter. Less like the hardened unit chief, more like the man who lets his son climb onto his back during bedtime stories. 

But the moment doesn’t last long. His gaze shifts back to you, more serious now. “Was this really just a lunch delivery, or is there something else?” 

Damn profilers. You hesitate, then sigh. “Jack asked me to check on you.” Hotch stills. “He’s fine,” you add quickly, knowing where his mind just went. “He just… he worries. He said you looked ‘extra tired’ this morning, which, considering your usual level of exhaustion, is saying something, and I’d thought I’d check up on you.” 

Aaron closes his eyes briefly before exhaling. “I don’t want him worrying about me.” 

“He’s a kid, Mister Hotchner. He’s going to worry about his dad.” You soften your tone. “And honestly? I get it. You do look extra tired.” 

He looks at you then, really looks at you, as if trying to figure out how you always manage to see right through him. 

“You know,” you say, leaning forward slightly, “you’re allowed to take a break every once in a while. Eat your sandwich. Maybe even come home before Jack falls asleep tonight.” 

Hotch doesn’t answer right away, but eventually, he reaches for the sandwich, unwrapping it with a sigh of resignation. “I’ll try.” 

“Good,” you say with a satisfied nod, standing up and brushing imaginary dust off your skirt. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go face the firing squad out there. I’m assuming Penelope is probably two seconds away from storming in here for answers.” 

Hotch smirks, shaking his head. “You brought this on yourself.” 

“I promised Jack,” you say over your shoulder before heading toward the door. 

And sure enough, the second you step out of the office, six pairs of eyes snap to you, curiosity burning in their expressions. 

You grin. “What? Never seen someone bring their boss lunch before?” 

You can hear the pandemonium that ensues as you make your way towards the exit. 

[mariasont]

Please, Don't Prove 'Em Right Pt 2 - A.H

a/n: im not quite sure how i feel about this i feel like im really bad with resolutions but practice makes perfect and you all really wanted a part two so here we are i hope you beautiful angels like it:)

also if you commented on the first part which can be found here, i put you on the taglist for this one!

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotcher x fem!reader

summary: is it possible to forgive the man who broke your heart the most?

warnings: angst, creepy man in a parking lot, hurt lots of hurt, idk man i still wouldn't be able to forgive him for this, CURB STOMP

wc: 1.6k

The sound of your stupid heels against the pavement only served to fuel your irritation. A rough patch of asphalt snagged the stem of the shoe, jolting your ankle sharply. With a hiss and a muttered curse, you bent down, yanking off the insufferable things, all the while attempting to block out the thought of the grime that was now undoubtedly coating your skin.

Your stupid dress now dragged against the ground, collecting dirt, and your stupid makeup, once perfect, was now smeared by the tracks of your tears.

"Hey there, pretty lady, why the long face on such a beautiful night?"

The voice came from a man who materialized as if from thin air, towering over you. His clothes were worn, his tie hanging crookedly, and a predatory grin fixed on his face.

You tried to sidestep, your mood souring further, but he mirrored your movements, blocking your path, his eyes examining you with an unsettling sense of familiarity.

"Come on, don't be like that. A girl like you shouldn't be all alone. Let me keep you company."

His words were like oil, slick and unwelcome, making your skin crawl. You clutched your heels tighter, completely prepared to use them as a weapon if necessary. "I'm fine, thanks."

But he wasn't taking the hint, stepping closer, his breath reeking of booze. "No need to be shy. I'll treat you right--,"

This was it. Instead of being known for winning a Pulitzer, you'd be known as the girl who got kidnapped in the parking lot after the ceremony. The cherry on top of the evening.

"I think you're misunderstanding the situation. She's not interested."

The man of the hour. You knight in a suit and fucking tie. The stranger's gaze shifted to him, and for a moment you saw the hesitation, the calculation of a prey assessing whether he can take on his predator. The man finally scoffed--a sound meant to be dismissive, but even he couldn't mask the defeat. With a sneer, he walked away.

You released a pent-up breath, one you hadn't realized you'd been holding.  Aaron turned to you. "Are you alright?"

"Am I alright? You know what fuck off, Aaron." Your words came out laced with a venom that shocked even you, their acrid taste lingering on your tongue. The tears you'd been staving off now flowed freely. You jabbed the certificate into his chest, the paper wrinkling under your fingers. "I won, by the way."

Your turned on your heel, not waiting to see his face. The concrete was frigid under your bare feet, but your pride swallowed any reaction.

"This isn't the place to be alone and without shoes." Aaron's voice followed you.

You came to an abrupt stop, anger bubbling through every surface of your body as you spun around to face him. "Neither is the Pulitzer ceremony where I'm supposed to have a supportive husband."

"I'm so sorry, honey. I got caught up with that case and there was—,"

"Aaron, stop," you cut him off, tears burning the corners of your eyes. "I can't hear more excuses because you know what? I give you excuses all the time, and you take advantage of it. You take advantage of me and the chances I give you. And you just... you just keep letting me down. All I wanted was for you to be here for this one thing. That's it. And you couldn't even do that."

"I messed up, I know," Aaron said, his usual eloquence failing him. "There's no case, no job, no damn good reason for me not to be there. I failed you, and it's not something I can just fix with an I'm sorry, but I am I'm so sorry."

The floodgates open, and you're sobbing. "I hate this. I hate that I want to forgive you. But I can't... I can't because I know you'll do this again. And every time, it chips away at me, at us, until there's nothing left."

"Oh, honey," Aaron says, reaching out, but you shrink away, the space between you filled with more than just air.

"P-Please, don't," you gasp, the tears relentless. "I can't... I just need some space. I'll get my things and stay with my sister, okay?"

You walk away, the knot in your throat growing tighter, the distance between you stretched out and you can feel his eyes on you. You slide into the driver's seat, starting the engine, and glancing in the rearview mirror. Aaron's figure lingers there. A wave of nausea hits you. Isn't it wicked when the very thing you love inflicts the greatest hurt?

The drive home was silent, the stereo left untouched. Your fingers clenched and unclenched around the steering wheel, your chest rising and falling with heavy breaths that you couldn't seem to control. The reflection of your tear-streaked face was lost in the blur of streetlights streaking past. Your mind replayed every missed anniversary, every birthday, every empty seat beside you. You were tired of being alone.

Before you knew it, you were sitting in front of your garage. Each movement was a chore--unbuckling the seatbelt, opening the car door, the garage door, and finally the front door.

You stop dead in your tracks, eyes roaming over the living room. Balloons lie strewn about the floor, streamers dangling from the mantel. Almost every surface glimmers with the soft glow from the intermittent flickering of battery-operated candles. Aaron had an insistence on fire safety, which always negated the use of actual candles.

Tears threatened to spill again as you closed the door behind you, your steps leading you down the hallway to the kitchen. A congratulations banner hung over the island, done in Aaron's chicken scratch handwriting but it made your heart give out all the same.

The scent of chrysanthemums, your favorites, wafts through the air before they come into view--large, splendid blooms of pink and yellow cradled in your largest vase. Your hands, trembling, ran over the accompanying card, fingers fumbling to unfold it.

For My Pulitzer Prize Winner,

I realize I'm writing this before the ceremony, maybe I'm jinxing it, but in my heart, I know you will win. I know this not just because of the undeniable quality of your work, but because of the sheer force of will and passion that drives you. You are the greatest thing in my life, and every day, you inspire me to be the best version of myself.

When we first met, you told me your favorite flowers were Chrysanthemums. I remember asking if it was because it was your birth flower, but you shook your head and told me about your favorite story instead. You told me about a book that showed the beauty and strength in being unique, and that sometimes, it takes a bit of time for the world to recognize the splendor of what's different.

This has been your journey—filled with moments of doubt, but ultimately, a triumph of self-belief and talent. You've blossomed in the most extraordinary ways, and tonight, the world sees what I've always seen.

Love, Aaron

Tears speckled the paper as you dabbed at them with your sleeve, trying to clear the blots. Your focus moved to the present, wrapped neatly and sitting beside the flowers. You tugged at the ribbons, unraveling the wrapper paper with deliberate gentleness.

A shaky giggle slips out as you draw out the book. Chrysanthemum by Kevin Henkes. But what really starts the tears isn't the book itself, not, it's the familiar loops and lines of your nine-year-old self's handwriting.

This is my favorite book because it's about being special. I am special too.

This was the copy you had as a little girl, the on you lost. How did he find it? Turning the page, another stifled sob breaks free. The margins are crowded with affectionate notes penned by your family, friends, colleagues, the BAU team, and Aaron.

Fuck.

The door creaked open and clicked shut, and in no time at all, he was standing behind you. He stopped, a few steps away, as if too scared to close the distance and scare you off.

"Did you do this?" Your voice was soft, book clutched to your chest.

The pause stretches on, his breath the only sign of life. "Yes."

You turn to him, searching his eyes. "Why?"

"Why?" Aaron repeats, as if it were a stupid question. "Because I love you."

He takes a cautious step forward, like he's all too aware you're getting that shaky feeling in your stomach that's telling you to run.

"I am so sorry. You have every right to be mad, to be upset with me, and I get it. But I love you, and I want to work on this. It's tearing me apart to see you like this."

"I'm scared, Aaron." You voice breaks. "Scared you're going to do this to me again."

He steps closer, close enough to share the same breath. "I'm scared too," he admits. "But I'm more scared of losing you. I'll prove it. Today and every day after."

The room is still, the only sound the ticking of the clock. You're standing at a crossroads, the kind you read in books and see in moves, the power to forgive or walk away. You watch him, the man who is the love of your life and also the bane of existence, and you see it in his eyes. Something you haven't seen in a long time—fear. Not the fear of consequence, but the fear of loss.

It's a humanly glimpse into the man you fell in love with, the man who you know is still there beneath his layers of work.

"I'll be waiting."

Maybe you could be considered stupid, naive, with no self-respect. Maybe one day you'll curse yourself for not walking away. But maybe, just maybe the man you love will make his way back to you and prove the rest wrong.

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[kisses4reid]

not our scene | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,, - part 1

summary - an undercover mission creates distance between you and spencer, but his hands on your waist closes it.

genre - fem!shyish!reader x spencer, forced proximity, fake relationship, awkward idiots, fluff

warnings - awkwardness, general cm violence and gore, spencer and reader are both awkwardly in love with each other and don’t know it yet, mentions of trafficking

w/c - 3.5k

a/n - was writing this in one part and realised i just couldn’t. *jennifer coolidge aoughhe* sorry that its a bit inconsistent with writing style, and its not my best. trying to get back into writing fics longer than 1k.

part two

A familiar scene, an unfamiliar circumstance. The breath mint you swirled around your mouth had now disintegrated in your surprised stillness, your boss Aaron Hotchner passed you a thick case file with an attentive glance. Spencer cleared his throat, “At parties?” 

“Yes,” your boss’ hard voice returned, “The girls are swapped at banquets and ballroom dances, disguised as simple partner swapping.” Aaron turned towards the large panel screen and motioned towards an ID photo of a balding man. “This is Quinn Webley, he controls all transactions and coordinates the parties and most importantly, security.” 

“That’s why Reid and Y/L/n will be undercover. No offence but you two aren’t very noticeable,” Rossi added onto Hotch’s explanation, earning a small snort from Morgan.

There was no doubt more reasons to be chosen than that. Morgan was too impulsive, Emily could get hot-headed, JJ wasn’t trained for it, and Rossi and Hotch simply had to make sure everything went well from the outside. You and Spencer were the best options for this type of case, not only because of your skill, because of the obvious chemistry that you and Spencer shared. “Now, you’re not to make contact with Webley, all you have to do is watch him and everyone else. Pay close attention to couples, older men in small groups, and to the dances that might take place.” Hotch was not giving you or Spencer a chance to object, or to deject the idea. This was set, no negotiation. Not that you would want to be replaced in this case, it was just the fact that you were: 1. A terrible dancer, and 2. Not the most extroverted person. You nodded along, opening the case to create a personal profile of the women who were trafficked, before the discussion had come to a close, and everyone left the room to start collecting their things. 

Spencer cleared his throat, bringing you out of your analysis to meet his warm eyes. Suddenly, the easy-going banter you and Spencer shared had evaporated, replaced by suffocating silence. He didn’t meet your gaze back, only muttering in the silence, “Can I assume you want me to take the lead on this one?” 

“Oh, yes please.” You smile smally, trying to melt the ice that had somehow solidified between you two. Spencer was awkward, introverted, preferred alone time, but you were shy, quiet, and verbally uncoordinated (and physically). 

He nodded and exited the room, sighing off nerves that had piled themselves onto his shoulders since finding out he’d have to go undercover with the one girl he didn’t want to ruin his relationship with. He didn’t think the case would ruin your friendship, but it could make it harder for him to keep it that way.

Spencer stood straight with Derek peering over his shoulder and into the mirror. Derek picked at some dust on Spencer’s suit jacket as the nervous boy attempted to loop his tie neatly. 

Derek chuckles under his breath and turns the boy by his shoulders to face him, lifting his strong hands to help Spencer with the dark crimson red tie. Spencer silently thanked him with a nod.

“What are you so nervous about, Spencer?” He asked, half joking half serious, “It’s just an undercover mission. You’ve done this plenty of times.” 

“Not like this,” Spencer quickly replied, “Not with…” Her. You. 

Derek opened his mouth slightly and nodded, finally understanding the true reason for Spencer’s bouncing leg and sweaty hands. 

“Don’t freak out too much okay? You need to act like you love her, which won’t be too hard- But you need to do it without looking like you’re afraid of her.” Derek finished tying Reid’s tie and patted him on the chest as a hype up, smiling at him brotherly like. He knew Spencer’s feelings for you, that he liked you. A lot. 

He didn’t know Spencer wouldn’t have to act like he loves you. Spencer bit the inside of his lip nervously and turned to the mirror again, taking his eyes over his slightly unfamiliar reflection. 

The suit is tailored perfectly to his body, making him look trim, lean, and tall. Derek handed him a black bottle of cologne and headed for the door, before a sudden question stopped him.

“Do you… do you think she’s too good for me?” Spencer looked at Derek with big eyes, blinking rapidly. The man stood in slight shock before laughing away the silence, shaking his head in disbelief. He knew Spencer wasn’t accusing him of anything, it was a genuine question. Spencer thought he was lesser, less than what you deserved - even if it was just for a night. 

“Pretty boy, I think she’s happier to be doing this than you know. I think she likes you- I know she likes you-“

“That doesn’t mean-“

“Uh uh uh. No. Trust me, Reid,” Derek opened the hotel door and gestured for Spencer to follow him, “If you don’t trust me, ask her yourself.”

The girls whistled loudly at you like a bunch of old men when you emerged from the bathroom. You spun on your heel (which was way too tall for your liking) to entertain the ladies, JJ clapping her hands together and Garcia smiling so hard you felt your own cheeks burn. 

“Why do fake couples always have to be straight, huh?” Emily joked, and you giggled back at her. You crossed your arms over your chest as you turned to face a standing mirror in the corner of the fancy hotel. 

Your body was wrapped in a silky red, floor length dress, with wide and long sleeves draping over your covered arms like a cloud surrounds a mountain. It cinched at your waist, and stopped at just the right length to expose your 4 inch, black heels. You couldn’t deny that you looked incredible, although your nerves were playing with your head. 

“You look stunning,” Garcia repeated what she said when she was doing your makeup - simple and accentuating - when she noticed your slight anxiety.

Dressing up like this and wearing makeup and styling hair? Not your thing. It’s not that you didn’t like it - you loved being girly. It was just your own insecurities and personal preferences that caused you to wear sweaters and sneakers (anything that wouldn’t bring attention to yourself). 

The girls knew this, and dressed you simply and modestly so as to not add to your nerves that an undercover mission usually invites, and you appreciated it greatly. Although the heels were really high.

You were especially nervous to present yourself like this in front of him.

That’s why you fiddled your hands together, why you looked yourself over in the mirror three times before leaving, why you let the girls completely take over your look. 

You walked out into the hallway, pushing some hair behind your shoulder and letting the other side drape, still getting used to walking in those heels, when you were met with more whistles and compliments. Aaron nodded at you, knowing how abrasive you were to the idea at first, and Rossi and Morgan both asked you to give them a spin - and you did. 

The encouragement lifted your spirits slightly, a smile exploding from your face as a soft blush covered it. This is probably the best you’ve looked in front of them. 

“Where’s her date?” JJ asked, she mentioned that Morgan had the job of matching Spencer’s tie but she didn’t trust him.

“Don’t worry, he’s got on the best dark red tie that we could find. He’s downstairs in the foyer.” 

You scrunched your eyebrows together before Hotch added, “You have to leave together just in case. Precautions, okay?” 

Spencer swapped the position of his hands at least five times in a minute, glancing at the elevator in the all too fancy hotel every time someone emerged from it. He adjusted his tie, and sniffed his wrists to make sure he smelt good for you. He always made sure of it, after you offhandedly mentioned to Emily how smells could either make or break your day. 

You had a lot in common with Spencer, other than the obvious career choice. You were both… weird. Talkative around each other, silent around others. Shy, but confident in your abilities. You both had your things - your’s is smell, his is germs.

And luckily, whenever you went to Spencer’s apartment to drop off or pick up a book, his place always smelt like cleaning products and cologne.

Though now, he smelt like cedar wood and smoke. You tapped him on the back, nerves rushing through you like a teenager on her first date. He jumps slightly, not hearing the last elevator ding in his own worries, and turns on his heels - nearly bumping into you. 

“Woah.” He let that simple word slip before he could even bite his tongue, and a red wash painted his cheeks and ears.

You looked stunning, and Spencer was simply awestruck. 

You pushed a straightened piece of hair behind your ears and smiled shyly down at your feet, not letting yourself look at him for too long in fear that you’d melt into a puddle. Spencer cleared his throat to contain himself, and held out his arm for you to thread your own through. 

“Are you okay? Your hands are shaking.” You ask timidly - very unlike how you normally were around him. You avoided taking his arm, scared he’d feel uncomfortable with the contact before he straightened his back and reluctantly pulled your elbow through his. 

“Just nervous, you look-“ He coughed, “Nice.” 

A smile slipped from you as you thanked him quietly, the two of you heading out the large foyer doors and towards a black limousine.

The ride was mostly silent other than the quiet music playing from the radio. And despite the large amount of room in the back, the two of you stayed conjoined at the hips. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re both nervous, maybe it’s the job.

Maybe it’s because you’re both going into a place you’d never purposefully enter. 

“You smell good.” You broke the silence, your knee tapping his. He brought his attention from the window to your face, now noticing the small amount of makeup that accentuated your already beautiful features.

“Thanks. You too.” 

Suddenly, Morgan’s playful voice cut through the weirdly comfortable silence, through to both of your earpieces. “Alright you two. Now, you both know you’ll have to be all lovey-dovey, no acting needed, but don’t over do it. We’re not trying to make contact with Webley, just to get close enough to watch him. If you lose sight of him, hit the dance floor, he and his wife enjoy moving around.” Spencer’s eyes don’t leave your face as you stare at the black floor in concentration. His hands start getting a bit sweaty and he has to clear his throat to coax himself into listening to Morgan. 

“And if he heads for the kitchen, let us know, we’ve got an officer that’s acting as a bodyguard at the back door that can tell us when he’s left.”

Spencer thanks him over the ear piece, holding down a small microphone under his cufflinks. Your hands fiddled with each other, threatening to chip off the nail polish Emily so carefully painted. Spencer felt his heart pump in his chest, but ignored it and took a small mint tin from the inside of his jacket, holding a small white pellet out to you. “Y/n,” he caught your attention and smiled at you sweetly, easing your nerves almost immediately. You took the mint from his palm, your fingertips tracing the lines on his palm softly before you popped it into your mouth. You didn’t have to ask how he knew you needed that, you had grown comfortable with knowing Spencer knew more about you than anyone else in the team. 

The venue was a mansion mixed with a theatre. There were expansive columns lining the outside, countless balconies looking out onto the cityscape, and gardens paired with ponds that were home to some unexpectedly calm swans. You and Spencer both stood there for a few seconds, taking in the architecture, as well as the amount of people entering and exiting the main doors. For a second, you felt giddy and childish. You weaved your arm under his and he let his other hand land over yours to squeeze it gently - he must feel just out of place but weirdly excited as you are. 

Don’t lose sight of the real priority here, Y/n. 

But it’s hard to do that when you’re entering the conjuring of your childhood dreams. 

When you start walking up the large stairs, your heels click and Spencer tightens his arm slightly, your stepping becoming a little uneven. These damn heels. 

“You okay?” He asked, one eyebrow raised slightly. His hair was combed back, his long locks more tamed than usual, but one curly strand just escaped and covered the left side of his forehead. It looked effortless, handsome.

“Um- Yeah, sorry. I’m not used to shoes like this.” You laughed like it's funny and Spencer continued to basically lift you up the stairs with no complaining.

When you stepped foot into the main foyer of the building, there were multiple chandeliers that swayed safely in the bustling movement of the quartz floor. There were multiple vases of red and white flowers, almost matching your dress, and multiple suited guards at every entrance and staircase. They smile at guests, and offer them menus and directions, and smartly conceal their weapons in case of intruders. Intruders being you and Spencer.

When Spencer leads you up to them, his hands finally still and confident, the guards smile at you both - offering you an extra look over that has Spencer angling himself to cover you. 

“Names?” One of them asked, pulling out a checklist from behind his back (you almost thought they were pulling out their small guns - you really were not confident in how to act… well… confident.) 

“Mr and Mrs Conner.” 

“First names?” 

First names? You weren’t given first names. Garcia had made sure that nobody else on the guestlist was by the last name of Conner. You could practically see the cogs churning in Spencer’s head - creativity wasn’t really his strong point. 

“Did you just ask for our first names?” You scoff, your voice becoming a bit whinier than usual, “You obviously live under a rock, there are no other Coopers.” 

The guard widened his eyes, scanning the list again and stuttering, “I’m sorry ma’am. You’re obviously- Have a good night.” The guard lifted an arm as an invitation inside, and you gave him a glare. Spencer smiled once you were both out of sight and squeezed your hand with his own. But there are no words, as you’re too taken aback by the sheer size and beauty of the room, if you could even call it that, to focus on the contact. Even larger chandeliers, expansive marble floors and painted ceilings with naked bodies. The warm lighting nearly convinced you that this was just some rich party that people get drunk at and talk about nonsense, but Hotch suddenly talking in your earpieces brought you out of the spell that the pure aesthetics had lured you with. “In the back left of the dance floor, you’ll see Webley dancing with his wife, talking to a pair of aristocrats. Try to get closer, don’t be obvious.”

You released a breath and Spencer adjusted his arms to intertwine his fingers with yours, causing you to meet his gaze in surprise. “We’re in love, remember?” His eyes creased with a smile, his thumb caressing the back of your hand in comforting patterns you couldn’t decipher. Oh, you couldn’t forget that. “Right,” you respond, straightening your back and walking with him towards the dance floor. 

His hands carefully rested on your waist, his fingers gripping slightly against the silky fabric of your dress. The contact made your skin burn, a permanent pink painting your cheeks and increasing whenever you made eye contact with the tall and undeniably good looking man you were dancing with. Spencer didn’t look anywhere other than you and the back left of the dance floor. You had almost grown bored of the nerves in your heart before you noticed something you didn’t see before. 

“Hey, your tie matches my dress.” You said softly, barely audible over the music that echoed around the hall. Spencer glanced down at his tie (thankfully still properly tied) and then at your dress. That was a mistake, because now his breathing is deeper and he can’t take his eyes off of you. 

Spencer nodded and sent you a small smile, “Morgan made sure of it.” 

“Didn’t that spoil it for you?” You asked, finally meeting his gaze. It looked deep, it looked… heavy. 

His swirling brown eyes shot electricity at you when he replied, “Why would it be spoiled?” 

You lowered your head away as you smiled sheepishly, “This is probably the nicest I’ve ever been in front of you. Probably wasn’t as special as I wanted it to be.” 

“You wanted it to be special?” You felt his fingers twitch on your waist as your own fingers twiddled with each other behind his neck. You lifted your face and found him clearing his throat, “I mean, it was still special. Although, I disagree with it being the nicest you’ve ever look.” 

You laughed, and it caused Spencer to crack a smile. 

“I show up to work bare-faced, in second-hand pants and sweaters two times my size. I feel like this is pretty good.” 

“You always look good.” 

You almost stopped your soft swaying with him in shock, and Spencer’s cheek reddened as if he was also shocked he said it. Spencer cleared his throat again, and bit the inside of his lip. 

The others couldn’t hear them right now. The music was soft, people chattered and to be honest, the whole mission had been erased from his mind. Spencer took a long, deep breath.

“I think you look beautiful right now, of course. But you’re still beautiful when you’re dressed like how you like to. I know what it feels like to not want to bring attention to yourself, and how sometimes your clothes can hide you. But…” Spencer stopped your movements with his hands lowering to your hips, he had been instinctively pulling you closer throughout the dance. “There’s nothing you could do, or wear, that could possibly take my attention off of you.” 

You felt your world stand still, although the blur of people didn’t seize, and fluttered your eyelashes at him unsure of how to respond. It was the most he’s spoken to you in one time - excluding random facts and the babbling you accept everyday.

“Spencer…” 

The tall man raised his hands to your waist again, the motion leaving waves of nerves to tumble over you, before he cleared his throat and started darting his eyes from yours to someone’s in the background. 

“Y/n. I think I saw Webley.” His grip only slightly tightened on your silk dress, his fingers curling slightly to move you across the dance floor slowly. You were definitely the more uncoordinated of you two. 

He moved skilfully across the dance floor, avoiding bodies and feet like it was rehearsed. 

“Not too close.” You muttered, Spencer’s attention flickering to you for only a second to nod in agreement. You need to watch him, not make contact with him. 

You grimace slightly, your ankle wobbling at an awkward angle for a second before you recover and-

“Are you sure you’re okay?” 

You meet his eyes again, his own already burning a hole through you and your heels. 

“I’m fine, again it’s just the heels.” 

“They seem to be causing you a lot of harm,” Spencer furrowed his eyebrows and cleared his throat. Maybe he can distract you. “Did you know that heeled shoes were originally designed for Medieval Soldiers? They were made to make rising horses easier, putting a heel in the stirrups instead of your armoured shoe. And in the 16th century they weren’t supposed to be… to be seen…” He rambled and stopped abruptly.

He didn’t stop because you told him to, or you looked annoyed, or you lost interest. He stopped because you looked… too good to say anything. It made him nervous like a school boy seeing his crush in her prom dress - although he never got to experience that. It felt pretty close.

You tilted your head, a piece of straightened, silky hair falling over your shoulder. Spencer gulped, and before he could stop himself, he lifted a hand and twirled the piece in his pointer finger. 

It was like an optical illusion, something you know can’t be real, but intrigued you anyways. That’s what you felt, because whatever was happening right now could not be real. 

Spencer Reid looked entranced, hypnotised without knowing. And you looked red. 

“Th-they weren’t supposed to be seen?” 

Spencer snapped out of his trance but didn’t continue, only pulling you forward by the waist and moving that strand behind your ear. Your heart pumped, your ears matching the colour of your dress. 

He didn’t try to kiss you, even if he wanted to so badly. Instead, he lowered his lips to the shell of your ear and whispered, “Let’s go. Webley opened the kitchen door.” 

And your heart dropped.

taglist (open!!) - @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es @0108s22m @aurorsworld @theoraekenslover @c-losur3 @littlelearningbrat @khxna

[hoe4hotchner]

I loved bakery owner reader x loyal customer hotch SO MUCH 😭😭😭

Can you please make one where the team finally meets her? Maybe on Penelope’s birthday since she is the most excited about the relationship 😅. Maybe he shows up at Dave’s house with reader by surprise

A sweet surprise, a warmer welcome | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x bakery owner fem!reader | WC: 0.8k | CW: it's fluff so none

String lights hung in the backyard, casting a warm glow over the patio, and the smell of grilling steaks, vegetables, and whatever vegetarian dish Penelope had brought along filled the air. Music played softly in the background, and laughter mixed with the hum of conversation.

But despite the cheerful atmosphere, the team couldn’t help but wonder about one thing: Hotch.

Ever since Penelope had found the picture of him with you the team had been curious about the woman who had brought some light into their usually reserved boss’s life. Penelope, in particular, was buzzing with excitement, though she had promised to let Hotch decide when to introduce his partner to the team - and hold her horses on looking into your background.

"Do you think he's coming?" Penelope whispered to Emily as they watched Morgan tend to the grill. “I mean, I don't expect him to bring her, but it would be the best birthday surprise.”

Emily smiled, taking a sip of her wine. “Who knows? He’s full of surprises lately.”

Meanwhile, Hotch parked his car in Rossi’s driveway, your hand resting in his as he turned off the engine. You had been nervous about meeting his team - they sounded like a close-knit group, full of strong personalities - but Hotch had assured you they would welcome you with open arms. Still, the nervous energy in your stomach was undeniable.

“You ready?” Hotch asked, his voice calm and reassuring as he turned to you, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

You took a breath and smiled softly. “As ready as I probably can be.”

Hotch chuckled. “Don’t worry, they’re excited to meet you, especially Penelope.”

You laughed at that. “Penelope, your tech guru who figured out we were dating just from a picture? That Penelope?” You tried to recall the information he had told you about each member of the team.

He smiled. “That’s the one. She’s been asking about you ever since.”

The thought of the team being so eager to meet you made you feel more at ease. With a final glance at each other, Hotch led you to the front door, the faint sound of laughter and music drifting from the backyard. As he opened the door, you could hear what you assumed was Penelope’s voice, based on the information Hotch had told you, and the reality of the moment settled in.

Before stepping outside, Hotch paused, turning to you with a soft smile. “I’m happy that you wanted to come.”

Your heart fluttered at the sincerity in his words. “Me too.”

Together, you walked into the backyard, hand in hand. The conversation started to quiet as people noticed you arriving. It was JJ who spotted you first, her eyes widening as she nudged Will. “Guys, look.”

All heads turned in your direction, and for a moment, the team was silent, taking in the sight of Hotch with his arm around you. Penelope, however, couldn’t hold back her excitement for long.

“Oh. My. Gosh!” she squealed, practically bouncing with joy. “You brought her!”

Hotch smiled at her enthusiasm. “Surprise.”

She rushed forward, arms open as she enveloped you in a warm hug before you even had a chance to introduce yourself. “It’s so nice to finally meet you! We’ve all been waiting for this day!”

You returned the hug, smiling. “It’s nice to meet you too, Penelope. I’ve heard so much about everyone.”

Penelope pulled back, beaming, and gestured to the rest of the team. “This is Emily, Derek, JJ, and of course, you already know Rossi.”

Rossi walked over with a grin, wiping his hands on a towel. “Welcome. Hotch hasn’t said much, but we’ve been looking forward to this.”

You chuckled. “I’m just glad to finally meet all of you.”

The rest of the team gathered around, offering greetings and introductions. Morgan shook your hand with a grin. “So you’re the one who’s been making our boss a little less strict lately. Nice to meet you.”

You blushed slightly. “I just make the coffee and bread, really. He did the rest himself.”

Hotch smiled softly. “You do a lot more than that.”

Emily leaned in toward Penelope with a teasing smile. “Okay, you were right. Best birthday surprise ever.”

Penelope practically glowed with happiness. “I knew it! Hotch, you’ve been holding out on us, but I forgive you because she’s perfect.”

You laughed along with the group, feeling the warmth and acceptance from each of them. Hotch stayed close by, his hand still gently holding yours. He seemed more at ease, surrounded by his friends and with you by his side.

Rossi raised his glass, signaling for everyone to do the same. “To Penelope’s and to meeting the woman who’s made Hotch happier than we’ve seen him in a long time.”

The group cheered, glasses clinking together in celebration. As the night went on, you found yourself fitting seamlessly into their dynamic, sharing stories and laughter. Hotch remained close, always attentive, and though it was Penelope’s special day, it was clear that you were the true surprise that made the evening unforgettable.

[boybandbaby]

Easier (Aaron Hotchner x Fem!BAU!Reader)

summary: 5 times you and Hotch make each others’ lives easier but don’t take credit

word count: 5481

warnings/tags: mention of case involving children, mentions reader not liking subtitles on screen (personally I love them but it’s for the story), some suggestive content (for that please mdni 18+), mention of Jack but he’s not in it, mention of going to morgue but does not talk about experience there, pre-established/ early stages of relationship, use of y/n, as always if I missed anything lmk

note: inspired by this Brooklyn 99 scene of Jake and Amy (starts at 45 seconds)

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

1️⃣

When you had started with the BAU, Hotch didn’t treat you much different than he would any other employee. Of course, he’d known the team for longer and they’d experienced plenty of hardships together.

He’d wanted you to feel comfortable and also promised Rossi (your mentor) that he’d give you a chance before judging. He found pretty quickly that you were just as intelligent as Rossi had stated and found himself looking forward to working with you.

Slowly over a few months time, he found himself growing a soft spot for you. You were a great team player and he felt confident that he could trust you. Not only that, he thought you were beautiful. Sure he shouldn’t be thinking about his employee like that but the first time he’d made you laugh (the entire team couldn’t get over him actually cracking a joke), he was entranced by your smile.

The first time it happened, you’d had a rough time with the case. While you were able to save the victims, this was your first time working with children. Hotch had checked on you several times after the case but you either brushed him off respectfully or assured him you were fine.

He knew you weren’t because you spent several hours starting, then restarting the report. When you finally turned it in, he didn’t have to heart to make you correct small mistakes seeing as you’d struggled to get through it. He told himself he’d only do it this one time but eventually it became a habit.

“Agent, can you sign this and turn it back into me by the end of the day?” Hotch’s calm but commanding voice says from behind you.

You swivel in your chair to see him holding out a file to you. “Sure thing, boss.” You take possession of the file and meet his eyes briefly.

He gives a curt nod before making his way back up to his office. You set the file aside to complete for later.

Just before you start packing up for the day, you catch a glimpse of the file sitting at the corner of your desk. You figure you’ll just sign your report, since Hotch didn’t give any corrections, and call it a day.

When you open the file to your report, you don’t immediately notice it. As your fingers flip the pages and your eyes briefly scan the pages, you catch it.

It’s almost unnoticeable at first glance but then you squint and your eyes focus in on the corrected word. If it hadn’t been for the slight change in ink, you wouldn’t have noticed it. The word “behavior”, in your hurried writing looked a lot like “bchavior” but now had a small deep black loop to close off the “e.”

The consistency of the ink didn’t match the rest of the report, definitely someone with a heavier hand than yours. Hotch did always scold you for writing too fast and must’ve added the loop to your “e” instead of making you do it. Not just that but he’s done it several times throughout the report adding that little line to your “u” that sometimes looked like “v.”

As you came to the end of your report, you quickly (you never learn) signed your signature and closed the file. You sit back in your chair and keep your gaze fixated on the closed manila folder. You don’t know why but you feel your heart racing. You take a chance peek to your left and through Hotch’s office window.

He’s as composed as ever, opposite to your spiraling thoughts. You pick up the file and make your way over to his office with a quiet knock. “Come in.”

“Hey boss, sorry for the delay, here’s the signed report.” You hold onto the door frame as step into the office.

“Great, just place it over there please.” He points the end of his pen to a stack of finished reports at the end of his desk.

You do as instructed and linger back in the doorway. “Everything okay, agent?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You shake your head, an attempt to clear your thoughts. Hotch pauses his pen just centimeters above the paper in front of him, head still slightly angled down at his desk but gaze focused on you. He hears your soft, “nevermind” then your louder, “have a good night, Hotch.”

He watches as you walk away, respectfully keeping his eyes above your waistline of course. He knows you must’ve noticed his corrections on your report, but he’s not sure how you hadn’t caught on that he’s been doing it for months, ever since he’d started developing feelings for you.

•

Aaron Hotchner was a busy man. Juggling the duties of being a father of a growing preteen boy and the unit chief of the BAU meant he often didn’t have a lot of time for himself.

You notice how tired he looks and how he suppresses his exhaustion to be the best leader and father he can be. While you admire his perseverance, you also know he could use a hand in his daily life. You take it upon yourself as his employee and admirer to help him out.

Hotch was running late and by running late, you meant barely making it to work in time for his morning meeting. You knew he’d be late when he hadn’t shown up before you and several other members of the BAU, like normal.

You make your way to the coffee machine and began brewing a fresh pot of coffee. It only takes minutes before it’s hot and ready. You’d seen how Hotch makes his coffee, even heard him order on coffee runs or late nights at a diner after a long day.

You grab a clean mug from the cabinets and get his cup of coffee ready. Slowly taking it to his office and setting it down on his desk, you fix the stack of papers into a neat pile before closing the door behind you.

Just as you’re sitting back at your desk, you hear the elevator doors open and the bell signal someone’s arrival. Hotch hurriedly but still as composed as ever, makes his way to his office.

You watch briefly as his stops in his tracks, the smell of a familiar perfume and coffee hitting him as soon as the door opens. He shuts the door behind him and notices the steaming cup on his desk as he rounds it. You keep your eyes to your computer but can sense his intense gaze on you. Minutes later, he’s exiting his office. He never mentions it and neither do you, but when you see him holding the mug as he heads to his meeting, you feel giddy.

2️⃣

You’re not sure when it happened but somewhere along the way, the lines between yours and Hotch’s relationship had blurred. Nothing was quite official or set in stone but things were definitely progressing from boss and employee to something more.

A few weeks ago you had called Hotch and let him know you would be late to work as your car battery died. Hotch asked if you needed a ride to work. Never one to deny more time with him, you agreed and let him know what car shop you were at.

When he arrived, he had hopped out of the car and greeted you with a kiss to your cheek. “You’re cold.”

“I am.” You laugh.

“Well let’s get you in the car then.”

Since then, Aaron had started picking you up every Friday morning when you worked a local case or had a day at the office. These were the days when he didn’t need to go in earlier than everyone else and didn’t have to rush into the office.

While Hotch preferred to meet you at your doorstep and walk you down to his car, you’d assured him you would meet him at the curb so he didn’t have to get out.

You were already waiting outside of your building when he pulled up. He parked the car and stepped out, bringing you into a hug.

“Good morning.” He whispers while rubbing his hands over your back. He pulls away, keeping his hand on your biceps.

“Hi, handsome.” You speak with a slight teeth chatter. Aaron rubs your arms up and down before pulling your door open and sliding his hand down your back as you enter. Ensuring all limbs are in, he shuts the door behind you and makes his way around the car.

You’d complained before and Hotch knew from experience how cold you get but today you wouldn’t have to complain. Immediately you’re enveloped in warmth not only because of the heat blasting from the vent but also by the heat from your seat.

Taking a quick glance, you see that Aaron’s turned on your seat warmer already. Your cheeks flame and you feel a flutter in your stomach. The door opens and Aaron gets in. “Don’t forget your seatbelt,” he reminds and confirms you’re strapped in before driving off.

As he drives off, you can’t help but take a glance at him. You don’t think you’ve ever met someone so sweet and considerate before. You sink further into your seat as heat continues to spread all over your body.

•

When Hotch had ruptured his eardrum after the car explosion, he refused to take time off being as stubborn as he is.

You knew his ear bothered him from time to time but he never mentioned it. When you tried to bring it up, he’d assure you he was fine.

About a month after the incident, you were lucky enough to share a hotel room for the night. Hotch had strict rules about sharing a room and maintaining professionalism so the night would be spent either talking about the case or winding down.

You tried to get Hotch to do the latter most days and tonight was a success. After you had showered, which Hotch always let you go first, you propped yourself up against the headboard and turned on the tv.

“Find something good.” Hotch had said against your forehead, his pajamas draped over his arm. “And don’t fall asleep on me.”

“Okay, boss.” You roll your eyes before gently pushing his chest and peering around him at the screen.

As the bathroom door opens with steam wafting into the room, Hotch catches the glow from the tv amongst the darkness of the room.

“I thought I said something good.” He teases, though he hasn’t actually seen what’s on the tv. He ruffles the towel through his hair before hanging it up in the bathroom.

When you don’t respond, he shuffles towards the bed and sees you fast asleep. He chuckles and takes the remote from on top of your stomach. When he goes to turn off the tv, he sees that you’ve put on a some baking show and the closed captions.

Hotch turns back to you, going to comment on the discovery when he remembers you’re already knocked out. His pride has prevented him from really talking to you or a doctor about his condition and fears of actually losing his hearing.

He knows you’ve seen him struggling lately trying to keep up with Reid’s factual rambles or Rossi’s whispered comments. He also knows how distracting you think words on the tv screen can get which is why he’s so surprised you’ve done it now, and for him.

Hotch has an internal debate on whether he should call it a night or whether he should indulge himself in his guilty pleasure of seeing cakes get crafted. He figures since you’ve gone out of your way for him, he’ll watch just one episode.

Hotch gets comfortable on his side of the bed, scooting just a little bit closer to you than he normally would on a case. When his leg brushes against your arm, you hum and shift just slightly, head now resting against his thigh.

Hotch makes no attempts to move or wake you. He thinks maybe a little unprofessionalism won’t do too much harm.

3️⃣

Aaron usually is the first one to arrive at work meaning he frequently leaves before you wake.

You’d only been officially together for a few weeks but you’ve been staying at his place more often. Often enough to know which shirts he wears with what suit and tie.

You usually sleep a bit later than him, watching a show or reading a book you’re currently hooked on, and sometimes even scrolling through your phone.

Aaron always tries his best to make minimal noise as to not wake you, tip toeing around the room to gather his items before heading out. You reassure him that he’s allowed to make as much noise as he wants in his own home and that you wouldn’t be upset if he did wake you.

Hotch wakes with a slight ache in his body, probably from the strenuous activity the night before. He smooths a hand down your back before he gets up to start his routine. After a steaming hot shower, he quietly patters towards his closet. He opens the door, feeling an extra bit of weight on the door as he does so and hearing the crinkle of plastic.

His brows furrow as the backside of the door comes to light. Hung on the back of the door is a deep navy blue suit (you still argue with Hotch that it’s really just black), a white button up and a deep maroon tie under a clear plastic for protection.

Hotch gives a close lipped smile to himself, left arm across his chest, while his right is perpendicular on top of the left. His right hands rests under his chin as he examines the outfit on the door. He rubs his thumb over his chin and takes a peek outside of the closet and towards the bed.

He sees you sprawled under the mess of covers, only the back of your head visible. It’s no question that you must’ve did this while he was sleeping as a late night endeavor. He shakes his head with a small chuckle before taking the hanger off the hook.

Just before he leaves, he leans down over your figure, smoothing his tie to his chest so it doesn’t tickle you awake. He bends down to your ear, “see you later, honey” before kissing your temple and leaving for the day.

•

You were hardly ever a person who showed up to work late but you can’t say it hasn’t happened a few times. Lately, it’s happened more frequently as a result of your late nights of scrolling on your phone.

“Sorry, sorry. I know I’m late.” You mumble in a rush to get to your desk.

Aaron had already been propped against your desk, sipping on his coffee. “Good morning, agent.”

“Morning boss.” You sigh, “I’m sorry.”

“Everything okay?” He stretches his empty hand towards yours on the desk, a subtle gesture.

“I forgot to set my alarm last night.” You reply sheepishly. “Won’t happen again.”

Hotch’s pinky rubs on the top of your hand. “Good, or I’ll have to write you up.” It’s an empty threat as he makes his way up to his office.

A few days later, you rushed in to the office again, barely making it in time for the briefing.

“You know you can set a reoccurring alarm, right?” Morgan teased.

“I have a reoccurring alarm, thank you very much.” You sass, slinging your jacket on the back of the chair. “I fell asleep on my phone last night, forgot to charge it.”

“Let’s get started.” Hotch commands, ceasing all conversations for now. After the briefing and instructions to be on the jet in 20 minutes, the team files out of the conference room. “Agent? A word?”

You nod, sitting back down abruptly. Emily and Morgan “ooh” as they exit the room, receiving two eye rolls in return.

“Hotch, I’m so sorry.” You peer up at him as he towers over you, not threatening.

“I did always recommend you limit your phone time before bed.” He tisks. “You’re on your second strike for tardiness.”

“And when I get my third?” You raise a brow.

“You won’t.” He gives you a pointed look. “But if for some reason you do, we’ll have to find a suitable punishment.”

“Aaron Hotchner, are you flirting on company time?” You gasp.

Aaron’s lips twitch with a smile before he quickly suppresses it. “Charge your phone, Agent.”

Later that day, yourself and the team are slugging your bags into the hotel somewhere near midnight. Hotch and Rossi descend from the check in desk with room cards.

Hotch allows the team to decide who they want to pair up with and which one of them is lucky enough to get a room and bed all to themselves (usually Rossi.)

He hands you one of the cards, bending down to grab your bag for you. The team were quite suspicious of the dynamic between you and Hotch considering how often you roomed together, but no one ever had the guts to say anything.

You both retreat to your room, tired and ready for a few hours of sleep. After your night routine of showering before Aaron, you check a bit of social media while you wait for him to join you.

When the door opens up, you set your phone down on the nightstand and slink down on your elbow. Aaron’s squeaky clean and ready to snuggle with you. He’s become more accustomed to bending the rules behind closed doors.

You smile when you see him, rubbing the mattress in circles and then patting it a few times. Hotch shakes his head but obliges you because he really does want to lay with you.

As soon as he gets in the bed, he pulls you into him. It’s not long before you’re both sleeping soundly.

In the middle of the night, Hotch wakes to use the bathroom, a result of the endless cups of coffee throughout the day. You groan when he leaves you, rolling over onto his side of the bed as a form of protest.

“I’ll be right back.” He brings your limp hand to his lips for a kiss then disappears. When he’s done, just before he shuts the light off, he catches a glimpse of your phone on the nightstand.

He uses the light from the bathroom to search through your bag and pull out your charger. He plugs it into the wall and then into your phone.

A quiet ding and a 15% charged battery pops up on the screen. He chuckles and rolls his eyes before padding over to shut the light off.

In the morning, Hotch is already gone, most likely talking about the case over free continental breakfast with Rossi. Your alarm rings, waking you abruptly. You turn over to shut the noise off. Your phone is attached to its charger and you accidentally yank it out of the wall as you grab it.

You check the time and see that your phone is 100% charged. Below that is a text from Aaron.

Aaron: Good morning, honey. I’m downstairs with Rossi. Don’t rush to get ready, there’s plenty of food and we don’t have to leave until 7.

You: Good morning, my love. Be down soon.

You lock your phone and press it to your chest, throwing yourself back onto the mattress. A dreamy smile makes its way onto your face. You’re not sure when or even remember Aaron getting up during the night to plug your phone in but who else could it be?

You toss the blankets off of yourself, feeling energized enough to work the case but also excited to spend another day with the man that shows how much he cares for you in such little ways.

4️⃣

Hotch was currently reading Rossi’s latest book. He’d been doing so for the past few nights. You loved it because you got to see him pull out his rare nighttime reading glasses and sometimes he’d read to you with that smooth voice of his.

You laid beside him, a movie playing softly as not to disturb his reading. You’d both been engrossed in your own hobbies for quite a bit of time, no conversation needed, just being in each other’s company enough.

Your movie had ended and you realized you hadn’t heard a page turn in quite some time. You looked over to see Aaron’s head resting on the head board and the rest of his body on the mattress. You hadn’t even felt him sink further down beside you. His glasses stay perched on his nose and his book rest gently on his chest, hand still tangled in the pages.

With a small laugh, you shuffle off the bed. Aaron must be exhausted because he doesn’t make a move when you slide off the bed. You round the bed and remove the book from his chest, slipping in the Polaroid he uses as a bookmark. It was a picture Penelope took of you at one of Rossi’s dinner parties and Hotch had asked to see it, slipping it into his pocket and never giving it back.

You then softly took his glasses off, folding the arms and setting it on top of the book. You shut his lamp off and bring the blanket from his shins up to his chest. You don’t want to disturb him too much but his head and neck will ache in the morning.

You grab your discarded hoodie from your side of the bed and ball it up, crawling onto the bed. You shove it under his head, pressing a kiss to his hairline.

Hotch wakes in the morning, hands immediately flying to the lump under his neck. His hands pull at whatever he can grab, the string of the hoodie pulling and causing it to bunch around the hood.

He yanks it from his head and holds it up, laughs. He brings the hoodie to his nose, smelling one of his favorite scents: you.

He sees that you’re still beside him and allows himself a few more minutes before his morning run. He neatly folds the hoodie into a pillow and packs it beneath his head. His hand finds yours under the covers before he closes his eyes. He skips his run that morning.

•

It had been a long few days without Aaron. He’d taken some time off (a rarity) for Jack’s birthday and you were away on a case. Hotch had asked you to come over when you got back, missing you.

You agreed without hesitation and made your way over as soon as you landed.

Aaron was waiting at the door when you arrived, pulling you in by the waist as he kissed you hard, causing your bag to fall.

“Well, that’s a new greeting.” You giggle, squeezing his bicep and letting your hands trail down to his lower back.

“I missed you.” He says earnestly.

“Yeah? I missed you too.” You pinch his butt. “And I’m hungry.”

“For food right?” He jokes.

“Yeah, and maybe something else.” You wink.

“Alright, get in here.” He rolls his eyes and shuts the door, picking up your bag.

“My love, I’m going to shower. Do you need to use the bathroom?” You called out to Aaron as he made his way to the laundry room to get your clothes in the wash.

“No, honey.” He softly called back, “taking a long shower?”

Your bare feet patter down the hallway as you approach. “Yeah! I’ll be in there for a bit. I’ll leave the door cracked in case you need me.” You wrap your arms around his waist and pull his backside flush to your front.

“Don’t take too long, already ordered us some takeout.” He begins taking your clothes out of the bag.

“I’ll be out in a bit, promise.” You run your hands over his chest and kiss his shoulder.

Aaron knows when you take your long showers, you’re in there for no less than 20 minutes.

Once he’s gets the washer going, he hears a knock at the door. He opens the dryer and grabs the two white pieces of cotton. As he passes the bathroom, he slips in and lets you know the food has arrived.

You hum and turn off the water. When you open the curtain and step onto the bathmat, you can hear the sound of Aaron opening the takeout bag. You reach for the towel on the rack.

All logic leaves your brain as you try to comprehend why the towel is so warm. With slight confusion you wipe your body and grab your robe from the back of the door. Just like the towel, it’s warm. You touch Aaron’s towel that rests beside your robe on the door hook, just to be sure. His towel is not wet but not completely dry and definitely not as cozy as your items.

Then it dawns on you, Aaron had threw your items in the dryer before you got here and slipped them back onto their spots for you to have when you got out. As you wrap yourself in the toasty robe, you feel butterflies in your stomach.

Just as you’re about to exit, you meet with Aaron’s chest. “I was just coming to let you know that I served your plate. I didn’t know if you wanted chow mein or rice so I put both. Is that okay?”

You pull him down by his shirt and give him a kiss. “More than okay.” You mumble against his lips.

His hands reach for your hips, “go get dressed.” He pats the side of your thigh, just below your butt cheek.

“I think I’ll just wear this for now.” You wink at him, pulling him out of the bathroom and towards the living room where he’s already set the dinner able with your plates and drinks.

5️⃣

You’d had enough of your constant struggle and you planned to do something about it.

“Boss, can I come in?” You called out to Hotch through his open door.

“Yes, agent. Shut the door.”

“When can we get new chairs? My wheel keeps getting stuck and I nearly tipped the chair over.” You whine, closing the door behind you.

“We don’t have the budget for new chairs this year.” He sighed. “It’ll be first on the budget list for next year.”

“I have to wait a whole 7 months?”

“I’m sorry, honey. I’ll put in a work order to get yours fixed.”

“Right, like that works. How many times have I asked maintenance to fix it and nothing happens? Like a billion.” You throw yourself into one of the chairs across from him.

“Dramatic.” He rolls his eyes, “I’m sure they’ll listen to me.”

“Why because you’re a man?” You joke.

“Because I’m the unit chief.” He deadpans. “Why are you giving me a hard time?”

“Because I’m cranky and want a new chair.” You pout.

“I’m sorry.” He reiterates. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

“Kiss?” You plead. Hotch reaches across the desk to grab your hands. He looks out of his window and when the coast is clear, he kisses a knuckle on each hand.

“Work from the conference room if you need to.” He offers.

Barely even a day later, you get to work and sit in your chair, the wheels gliding across the floor and nearly knocking you into Spencer as he stands with Morgan.

“Shit. Sorry, Spence.” You look at him apologetically.

“You nearly took him out.” Morgan laughs. “Like a bowling ball.”

“Hey!” You and Spencer say at the same time. “Are you calling me fat?”

“Are you saying I look like a bowling pin?” Spencer crosses his arms.

“You guys are impossible.” Derek rolls his eyes.

You roll yourself back to your desk and stand up, turning the back of the seat. The little acetone smudge you made when you tried to get rid of the “hotch + y/n” doodle that Garcia and Morgan drew on your chair, is gone.

You take another seat and lean back cautiously in the chair, testing the waters. The back doesn’t recline like yours did, ending months of back aches from sitting too straight as to not fall back.

Interesting, you think. Maybe Hotch’s status did get your chair fixed or you’ve gotten a replacement. It isn’t until about an hour later, you hear a frustrated huff.

You turn and watch as Hotch tugs and tugs at the chair, the wheel stuck on his office carpet. When the chair finally gets to where he wants it, Hotch exhales and smooths his tie down, picking his pen back up.

He writes for a few seconds, touches the end of the pen to his chin and leans back. You see as he flails just a bit before steadying himself straight. You look away with a giggle just before his eyes check to see if anyone saw him.

Your smile doesn’t leave your face at the memory of his temporary loss of control. You know Hotch’s back will be killing him by the end of the day and what better way to thank him than a back massage.

•

Normally, Hotch would be out of the door already but he was spending extra time in the bathroom this morning. “Damnit.” You heard him mumble.

“Babe, we’ve got to go!” You slip on your jacket. “The team is waiting downstairs.”

“I’m sorry.” He sighs, exiting the bathroom and turning his back to you. You slip his button up over his white shirt, his fingers rushing to button it. You throw the tie over his shoulders, flipping the collar of his shirt up.

“What’s going on, Aaron?”

“I forgot my travel razors. Does it look bad?”

“Can barely even tell.” You slip his blazer onto his arms.

“I look-.”

“Handsome. As always.” He rubs his jaw. “Don’t worry about it, I promise I’d tell you if it was bad. Plus, you know how much I miss the beard.” You cup his face and kiss his jawline. “Now seriously, we’ve got to go.”

You both head downstairs, the team already staring as you two exit the elevator.

“Long night?” Rossi raises a brow.

“Fun morning?” Morgan winks.

“Stop.” You roll your eyes at him.

“My apologies, let’s get going.” Hotch orders, not unkindly as he leads the group outside to the cars.

You already know your assignments and split up in three groups. You’re headed to the morgue with Emily and Spencer for your first task.

“Be careful today.” You whisper to Hotch as he hands you the keys to the car.

“I will. You do the same. I’ll see you later today.” You nod at his words and send each other a small, closed lip smile.

“I still can’t believe you guys are together.” Emily nudges you, taking the keys from your grasp.

“It took you long enough to say something.” You laugh. “Can you give me a minute? I’ve gotta run to the front desk. I’ll be quick.” Emily nods.

You run back inside and ask the concierge if they can send some razors up to the room. The concierge happily agrees and tells you it’s at no charge. You thank him and run out to the car.

It’s a long day of working the case but everyone feels good about where the team is at. Hotch calls it a night sometime after 11pm, urging the team to atleast try to get 6 hours of sleep and hopefully finish up tomorrow.

The team walks with a pep in their step as everyone branches off to their rooms. As you step off the elevator with Hotch, you cling to his arm, not worrying about policies or anyone’s prying eyes.

Hotch immediately unravels his tie and takes a seat on the desk chair. He undoes his watch and places it on the desk. His eyes meet the plastic box holding two razors with a small white card attached on top.

Just below the hotel logo, in neat handwriting states “just as you requested, thank you and enjoy your stay.”

Aaron looks up at you as you gather your pajamas and travel sized toiletries. You feel his gaze, looking up from your bag. “Hi, baby.”

“Hi, gorgeous. Can I shower with you?”

Your face brightens just a bit more, “yeah, of course.” You’ve never showered together. Ever.

“I’ll meet you in there. Can you get the water started?” He starts to unbutton his shirt.

“Don’t keep me waiting, Hotchner.” You pass by him, kissing his forehead. Aaron could just shower and shave tonight but he’ll just have to wake up a bit earlier and shave then. For now, he’ll enjoy your first shower together.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

[ddejavvu]

Hey, I know you haven’t really been writing for hotch as much lately, but is there any chance you would write more of dbf!hotch x fem!reader? Maybe where they almost/do get caught by her parents (totally up to you for how and it doesn’t have to be smut)

If not no worries at all, but if you do feel like writing something like this, definitely feel free to make any changes or add on to it, thank you!! ❤️

more dbf!hotch please :) <3

--

You're sure there's worse positions that Mr. Hotchner could have caught you in, but ass-up, stuck beneath the flower box in your front garden still wouldn't have been your first choice.

"Y/N?" His voice breaks you out of your internal monologue, something along the lines of 'this fucking hose', and you startle so badly that you slam your head into the underside of the flower box.

There's a strong, warm hand on your shoulder that slips beneath your arm to pry you out of the crawlspace. "Sorry, sorry." He murmurs, guiding you out of the dirt with firm but gentle hands. You let yourself be pulled out, and when you emerge from beneath the wood you squint in the bright daylight. Aaron's staring down at you with wide, concerned eyes, probably from the impact of the dull, throbbing pain in your head.

"I didn't mean to startle you." He hums, his hand still holding your shoulder, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I- I think anything would have startled me. I wasn't paying attention."

"What were you doing?"

"The hose is stuck on an old nail down there. And I can't reach it to unhook it, and if I just yank on it it'll rip in half. I'm just trying to water the roses."

"Concussing yourself probably won't help," Aaron muses, his hand snaking up your neck to cup the back of it, "Does your head hurt? Are you dizzy, is your vision blurry?"

"I'm fine." You insist, but he kneels anyways, crouching in the dirt to meet your eyes. He looks directly into them, searching for signs of a concussion that he won't find. Your head doesn't hurt that bad, really. His hand cradling the back of your neck, his thumb pressing into your cheek, his eyes boring into yours are affecting you much more than a bump on the head. But he's satisfied with what he finds, and he nods once before letting your face go.

"Why don't you come inside and have something to eat? Your dad invited me over to watch the game."

"You mean you didn't come to help me garden?" You feign disappointment, and you feel a rush of satisfaction when he smiles, laughing breathily.

"I don't have a green thumb. Jack won't let me touch his strawberry plant for school." Aaron admits, "You don't want me anywhere near this garden."

"That's just what people say when they have one bad experience," You groan, "You could take care of a plant, you're just choosing the wrong ones."

"You have too much faith in me," Aaron calls, but it's too late, you're already walking towards the rose bed.

"Try these," You hum, snipping four roses at the base of their stems, carefully so that your fingers don't catch the thorns, "Put them in water, with plant food I'll give you inside, and try to keep them alive long enough to switch out the water. Then you can try actually growing them instead of just having them on display."

"I will try." Aaron procures a handkerchief from his pocket to wrap around the roses, taking them carefully from your hands, "But I can't guarantee they won't fall apart tomorrow."

"They won't." You assure him, and you hear the screen door slam as you safely transplant the roses into Aaron's waiting hands.

"I thought I heard your car." Your dad calls, "And then i thought I heard someone slam into the side of the house."

"That was my head." You admit sheepishly, your cheeks burning as Aaron wraps your roses in his cloth and keeps them safely held to his chest, "I didn't know he was here, and I was under the house so I sort of slammed my head into the flower box."

"She's not concussed," Aaron promises, "I checked."

Your dad's expression is fond, but it's one of exasperation, and you know he's got a lecture cooking up about being aware of your surroundings. You wouldn't be surprised if you get one from Aaron too, because he's always informed you of the grittier parts of his job in an effort to keep you safe.

"Well let's all get inside before someone else nearly kills themselves," Your dad holds the door open, "Aaron, you're taking up gardening?"

"I was given orders," Aaron teases, stepping aside to let you into the house before him, "She's determined to help me grow something."

"Roses aren't always easy," Your dad glances sideways at you, "Aren't there better flowers for beginners?"

You shrug, trying to keep the movement light and casual, "Roses are what I've got. Maybe if you keep them alive, Aaron, Jack will let you farm strawberries with him."

"Not a chance." Aaron laughs, "But I'll take the roses anyways. They'll look nice on my nightstand."

And really, truthfully, that's why you'd given him roses. Maybe there's a better plant for someone who's got a shady history with gardening, but thinking of Aaron with your roses on his bedside table-? Your dad doesn't need to know.

[carlsangel]

YOU’RE WHINING

carl grimes x reader

(carls whining gets irritating.)

tags: oral sex (m!receiving), needy carl :P

masterlist here!

Carl was never really one to pry for things. He really did love taking care of you whenever he had the chance, he enjoyed the traditional ways of handling your relationship. He would love to hold doors open for you, let you enter places first (unless dangerous), cooking for you, or even when it came to your intimate relationship.

Most of the time, he did what he could to pleasure you. Whatever position allowed you to feel best, he did it for you. He also made sure you finished first every time. Not to mention he loves going down on you, not just because it pleasured you but he just absolutely adores it. Anyway, the first time you’d done something for him, he realized how nice it was to be to one receiving the head.

You didn’t realize how needy he could get before then. That man is vocal. The first time he let you give him head was when you guys were insanely bored while no one was home.

It’s a good thing no one was home as he practically couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

Anyway since then he’s been begging for it again. Unfortunately there was never really a right time. You were always on runs and even then you were always having some sort of trouble whether it was walkers, issues with the car, even people. It all got worse when you were assigned on different jobs for a week. Aaron had found a new horse and you were put the task of breaking it. Meanwhile, Carl had perimeter watch.

After a long and frustrating day with the new horse, you pull her into a newly built stable to brush her down n such. Despite your struggles in breaking her, she was beautiful, you had to admit. You were just about done before you heard footsteps approaching, so you turn around to be greeted by the sight of Carl. He said he’d come meet you after his shift.

“Hey.” You smile and he almost swoons completely. He greets you back with a small hello and a kiss on the cheek before giving his attention to the horse in front of you. He stroked her for a moment before looking back at you, admiring how you looked. He wanted you to suck him off so bad, he was practically yearning for it. He felt this feeling in his throat, almost like a moan, but not. You look back over to him and look at him sort of oddly, wondering what the expression on his face was about.

“You okay?” You ask, sort of setting him off. Then he lets out a noise, one that sort of baffles you before he started rambling. “Please, I really need it can you-” His breath is heavy and he pulls his hat off to cover his crotch where you can assume there’s a tent in his jeans. Your eyes widen and you’re not quite sure how to respond. “Jesus, Carl you’re whining.” You state, completely taken aback by his demeanor.

“I know m’really sorry but I…I really need you to go down on me I’m begging here.” He takes a step closer to you and takes your hand in his, holding it real tight because he is, in fact, begging. “Just behind the stable, no one will see.” He pleads.

Well…how can you say no to that?

Soon after, you’re kneeling down in front of him in the grass between the large steel wall (of Alexandria) and the wood of the stables. He was right, no one would see you there but they could definitely hear you so you warn him. “You’re gonna need to be quiet.” You start to work on getting his belt off and he nods, his breath getting heavier the longer he sees you on your knees in front of him.

As you work on his belt, you decide to tease him a little because, why not? So you press kisses to his (very hard by the way) dick through his jeans, causing him to moan already. You haven’t even gotten to the real thing. “I told you baby you gotta be quiet.” You smile up at him and he looks down at you so frustrated. Frustrated because you’re teasing him and you know how long he’s been wanting this. Except, that only makes it hotter for him.

You finally get his belt unbuckled and you unbutton his jeans. You tug them down, along with his underwear, just to see how needy he really was. He was rock hard, he couldn’t help it with the way you looked when he walked into the stable, your hair a mess, tired eyes and sweaty. It got him really, really aroused. You take a hold of his length which draws a sharp hiss from his mouth.

Just looking up at him like the way you were prompted him to leak a little which you very clearly took notice considering you took that as a go ahead to take him in your mouth. “Oh god-” His arms were practically nailed to the wood behind him and you continued to take him, sliding his cock in and out of your mouth repeatedly, your saliva building up and following each movement of your mouth. Your other hand goes to the base of his cock and it sort of lingers there, your fingers gently massaging. It was taking everything in him to not rut his hips into your mouth.

“I can’t..” His hands now go to your hair where he gently tries to steady himself but he seriously can’t take it. The wet noises coming from your mouth as you still won’t stop. “Please baby I’m close.” He moans, prompting you to pull back a moment, pulling a whine from him as well. You still slowly twist your hand around his dick while you look up at him, admiring him and how gorgeous he looks. His bottom lip is red from biting it so hard trying to keep quiet, but his mouth is agape and he’s breathing so hard. Meanwhile his eyes are half lidded and he just looks so fucked out.

“Is this what you wanted?” You giggle and swirl your tongue around his tip, prodding your tongue into the slit of it. All the air leaves his body and eyes roll into the back of his head. He moans so fucking loud, your eyes widen at his volume. “If you don’t close your mouth I will stop.” You laugh and he nods, taking in a deep breath to get ready for you to start again.

“Good?” He looks down and nods yes. “Yeah, good.” So you start again, moving your hand with your mouth too, spreading the saliva down to cover him with it completely. You go back to bobbing your head at a steady pace, feeling his cock twitch in your mouth. Carl resorted to just letting out soft groans, quiet enough for just the two of you to hear.

Soon enough, he was close again and this time you wouldn’t stop. You’d move quicker, taking more and more of him into your throat while he pushed your hair back out of your face. “M’gonna cum please don’t stop-” He speaks breathlessly and you comply, not stopping until he grips the back of your head still against him while the warm liquid spills down your throat. Once every drop is out of him, he lets go of your head and you pull away, doing everything you can to make it look somewhat attractive. A string of saliva follows your mouth from his dick.

You wipe your mouth with your sleeve and he gets himself back situated in his jeans. All he wants to do at this point is love on you. You treated him so well. He pulls you into a hug, leaning back against the stable wall while he kisses you all over your face.

“That good?”

“No that was incredible.”

a/n: so let’s talk about this LMFAOOOO LISTEN!!! i got this request and started writing it right after T-T and then finished it an hour after it was requested. where did that motivation come from? no idea. but also this made me realize i have never posted a fic where the reader gives him a blow job so…that might be why?

anyway this was very impromptu, match ups done soon blah blah ghost in the woods blah blah

tag list: @zomb-1-egutzz @lunarnightt @ilikestrawberriesandwomen @hiro--aoki @h00d-tr4sh @callsignwidow

[writtenbyan-aries]

Summary: Reader goes on a run with a few of the others but they end up getting blindsided by another group, reader and Rosita take the most damage.

Warnings: strong language, twd apocalypse setting, not-so-secret feelings between reader and Daryl but nothing is official right away, mentions of alcohol, mentions of fighting, reader gets injured and needs stitches, reader giving and receiving punches, kicks, etc. mentions of blood, cuts, weapons such as knives and guns, heavy mentions of killing (FAKE OF COURSE!!), a kiss or two, maybe three if you’re lucky ;)

Word count: 5.8k

ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ᖭི༏ᖫྀ

“Y/n. You comin’ or what!?” Rosita yells over to you, “or are you too bus-“

“I’m comin’, alright!” You yell back, cutting her off, and all she does is smile.

You look away from the group, cheeks turning red as you look up at Daryl. His head tilts to the side as he looks at you confused, “What’s she mean by busy?”

You shake your head, “Nothing just.. girl talk.”

Daryl scoffs, shaking his head, “Good luck out there.”

“You sure you can’t come?” You bat your lashes, which definitely does something to him, but he just shakes his head, “Y’know I would if I could.”

He reaches up to pinch your chin between his fingers, “Be fuckin’ careful out there, a’right.”

You give him a smile, “I always try my best.”

He hums lowly as he watches you walk away, keeping his eye on you until you and the group were out of the gate.

If Daryl didn’t have a prior commitment to help Aaron with the one wall, he would definitely be going with you.

“Try and convince him to come along again?” Rosita asks as you walk with her. You roll your eyes, trying not to laugh, “Can you give me a break?”

Rosita is your best friend, has been since you saved her life. She had six walkers on her, you were moving by and decided to stop and help her and she instantly liked you, so away to hilltop you went.

One night later on, when you both were giggly off some liquor you found, you admitted to her that you had a thing for The Archer in your group - Daryl Dixon.

Which, you and him also did end up taking a liking to one another. It only took one look from each of you and that was enough to not keep each other off your minds.

“I think it’s really cute.” She glances over at you, “Seeing you guys in looove.”

“Please. He is not in looove.” You scoff, a laugh following right after, “Now you’re just being dramatic.”

“You guys talking about you and Daryl?” Michonne elbows you and you sigh, “Not you, too!” You groan, “Oh my god.”

“I think it’s cute, too. Never really seen Daryl look at someone the way he looks at you, and I’ve known him a while.” Michonne raises her brows and you just shake your head.

Someone even mentioning his name has your cheeks turning a rosy color.

“You know it’s true.” Rosita adds, “C’mon y/n. Just take a chance already.”

“I’ll think about it and get back to you.” You laugh, everything becoming serious when Rick holds his hand up, signaling to stop.

“Walkers?” Michonne asks, moving closer to Rick, and he nods, “About seven or eight? Some might be in the side tree line.” He looks back at the group, “I think we can take ’em.”

You nod, getting your knife gripped in your hand before you continue to walk down and take out the small group of the dead.

——

About an hour later, you come to the few houses at the end of the one road, “Wait.” You grab onto Rosita’s arm, “I don’t think we’re the only ones here.”

Rick snaps his head towards you, “What do you mean by that?”

“Something just fe-“

Bullets. Lots of them flying your group’s way.

“Get down!” Rick yells as you all duck behind old cars and trees. You get your gun ready, along with everyone else and aim, looking through the sight to see if you can see anything.

As soon as you see a body you fire, which leads everyone else into shooting blindly in the direction of where gunfire came from first.

“We move on three. You two go that way.” Rick points to you and Rosita and motions towards the houses, “You two go that way.” He motions for Carl and Michonne to go the opposite.

“I-“

“I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere.” A voice from behind and the sound of a shotgun loading makes you all whip around.

Six men coming to form an arch around her.

“Who are you?” Rosita asks and the woman with the gun laughs, “Hell, I should be asking you all the same. Damn. Thing.”

“Wait.” She squints her eyes at you and points, “You. I’ve seen you.. with that long haired, crossbow wielding, psycho.”

You clench your jaw, tilting your head slightly, “I’m sorry, what did you say?” The lady with the gun tilts her head, “I think you heard me. I don’t really like repeating myself.”

“What do you want?” Rick asks, ready to negotiate, “We didn’t come to cause any trouble we-“

“I don’t fucking care about your bullshit we need supplies sob story, although.” She purses her lips, eyes scanning over your backpacks and weapons, “It really doesn’t look like you have a sob story at all, so I’ll just go ahead and let these men pick you off one. By. O-“

“We will give you our guns and walk away.” You say with a shrug, “How about that?”

She hums, gun now pointed at your chest, “How about… no.. and instead, we bring you inside and try to find out a little bit about you mysterious, pathetic looking people.” She looks at all of you again, “And where you came from.”

“No. We’re not-“ Rosita is cut off by the woman pointing the gun at her, “Was I talking to you?”

“Well, you said, you mysterious people, so I’m guessing I was included in that, too?” Rosita fires, sarcasm on her words.

The lady just sighs, “You made it so easy to pick who the first one is going to be.”

She steps closer to Rosita and you all move a step closer, too, “I’m just sayin’, you mess with one of us. You mess with all of us.”

You stare at the woman, a cold stare, “Put the gun down, and we’ll fucking talk.”

“We can talk this out. If you just let us explain why we’re here.” Rick steps up and the gun is now on Rick before it’s lowered to the ground, “Who’s in charge here?”

You all motion to Rick and he nods. The lady raises a brow, smirking as her eyes fall onto you, “Really? Because it seems like she’s running the show.”

“Walk.” The woman points towards the one house, “Now. Before I change my mind about killing you where you stand.”

You all move in a line and her men take your stuff.

Guns, knives, backpacks. Everything.

You were racking your brain for a way to get out of this, just like the others were.

“I have to pee.” You blurt out, instantly going with it, “Can I use the bathroom, or a tree, or something?” You cross your leg over your other one to make it more believable.

The woman looks you up and down, rolling her eyes as she motions to you, “Take her around back. Bring her in when you’re done.”

The man grabs you by the arm and pulls you, “Wait, I-“

“I have to pee, too.” Rosita does exactly what you did and the woman looks between you and her and squints, “If this is some kind of a ruse to escape, I swear, I’ll keep the kid hostage until I find you again, and then.. I’ll make him watch you all die a slow and extremely painful death.”

“No.” Rick and Michonne says instantly, “You can trust them.” Michonne assures the woman, but she didn’t believe it.

“I don’t trust you.” She shakes her head, “Do what you want, but just know, I warned you.”

You try not to laugh at the stupid woman as you and Rosita are walked back to behind the one house, with only two guards.

You share one glance with her, and that’s all it took for her to be on the same page as you.

You both turn around to face the men, giving them both the stink eye as you squat down. You bring your thumbs up to connect them to your belt loops.

“Are you going to piss or wh-“

You and Rosita lunge forward, knocking them both back onto their backs by the knees with a grunt.

You’re in fight or flight mode, and you weren’t going anywhere, not without a major fight.

“Fuckin bitch, get-“ you stomp the heel of your boot on his wrist and he yells, letting go of his gun. You go to try and kick it away, but he manages to get you on the ground and his hands quickly moving to go around your throat.

You grab his wrists, trying to pry his hands away as painful whimpers and squeaks are forced out of you.

He brings one of his hands back, quickly delivering a punch to your cheek bone. You’re dazed instantly as the punch jarred everything in your skull.

He delivers another punch, this time harder, which busts your cheek open.

As your vision is turning darker by the second, you try your best to kick him anywhere you can connect at. A sudden wave of panic sets in as your vision is almost totally back now, causing you to fling your legs up, your ankles on the opposite sides of his head.

You straighten your legs out to tighten them, pushing his arms together as you bring your knees in. He starts to lean backwards, and it’s just enough for you to bring you foot back, kicking him directly in the face.

He falls backwards off of you, his hands instantly moving to feel the blood that’s gushing from his nose, or mouth, hard to tell.

You go straight for the knife, lunging over to grab it before whipping around to stab him.

His hand catches your wrist, pushing your arm away from him as you try your damdest to keep pushing down. You groan loudly, smashing your knee into his groin area, which gives you the opportunity to push down and plunge the knife, handle deep into his throat.

You look over at Rosita as quiet choking fills your ears. You’re still dazed, in pain and your breathing just as rapid as hers.

She stands up, and you notice she’s got a decent cut on her forehead, “You good?”

She looks back at you, eyes going wide, “Holy shit, y/n.” She rushes over to look at your cheek, “That looks.. bad.”

“M’fine. We don’t have time.”

You stand up, looking down at the corpse with the knife in its neck. You bend down, pulling it out with a squelching noise as it comes out.

As you both gather up the weapons and supplies as quickly as you can, you flick off the bodies lying on the ground and Rosita can’t help herself, “I see why Daryl likes you.”

“You’re still on that?” You ask quietly as you move with her to the back of the house, looking around to make sure no one is coming to investigate.

“Honey, I’ll be on that until you’re on him, okay.”

“Oh my god. Okay, I promise, I’ll make it clear to Daryl, but only if we get out of here with everyone alive.”

“I swear to god if-“

“On your knees! Now!” One of the two guards starting to run towards you yells, but it was only a split second later that you were being shot at, again.

You and Rosita book it around the building, stopping her once you see the woman come out of the house with another guard.

Rosita leans around, firing a shot right into the one guards head, but the other one is still back there somewhere.

You go to pull your gun up and you hear your name being yelled.

“Y/n!” She’s pulled back and slammed against the old garage door, falling to the ground with a groan. You turn your gun on the guy who threw her, “Step the fuck back or I wi-“

He smacks the gun up in the air, it fires one time before the man kicks you in the torso, causing you to fly back onto the concrete, “Fuck.”

The man kicks your gun before moving to stand over you and your hands desperately search for something sharp or hard enough to crack his skull open with as you kick to keep him back.

Rosita jumps on his back, yelling as she tries to choke him out.

You scramble to pick up a rock you felt, and as he flings Rosita off, he quickly bends down to try and grab the collar of your jacket, you quickly slam the rock into his temple.

He stumbles back, groaning, and you get up as quick as you can, moving to grab your gun as you glance back at the porch.

One of the guards from

You turn to warn her, but the man you hit with a rock runs at you, slamming you into the brick wall, back first, before he grips your shoulder and neck and delivers another hard slam.

He does it again, this time throwing you away from him you roll across the dirt a few times and groan, coughing from the dust that your body stirred up on impact.

. He steps back, looking towards Rosita who is now standing up, gun in her hand. The guards cant even say or do anything before Rosita shoots both of them, back to back, not even giving them time to think about what they even wanted to say.

Which meant there was only one guard.. and the main bitchshow left.

And speak of the devil, Rosita points the gun to the door as the woman walks out first, Michonne, Rick and Carl all follow, and they have the final guard on their tail.

The woman comes down the steps, walking over to you and Rosita. Her eyes move over to examine the dead bodies of her people.

“There’s more outback, probably making their way up here right now.” Rosita says as she walks up next to you.

“Should have just listened, you now.. because now, I’m going to fucking kill you two in front of everybody.” The woman raises her gun and you scoff, “Go fuck yourself.”

You step towards her, “We never wanted this.”

“That’s funny..bbecause once you’re on my land, this is usually the only way it ever ends up.” The woman looks around, “Looks like we got more than the two out back.”

Walkers push their way through the trees and brush, moaning and groaning as they move towards where the gunshots and yelling has been coming from for the last half an hour.

You swing quick, hitting the gun out of her hand which catches her off guard, “Rosita. Go. I got this.”

She nods and grabs her weapons, making her way up to where Michonne and Rick had just taken out the last guard.

The woman goes to hit you but you grab her arm, jamming your knee into her ribs as she groans, catching your leg and body slamming you onto the ground.

You cough as she stands up, placing her boot on your chest, pressing down as you’re now looking at the shotgun from the bottom of the barrel up.

“If you kill me, you’ll have people after you.” You lay there, looking up at her as you wait a few seconds for your chance to swipe her legs out from under her with yours.

She falls to the ground with a grunt, trying to quickly get to her feet but you tackle her to the ground, instantly starting to wail on her.

“More walkers!” Carl yells loudly and you wrap your hands around the woman’s throat, “Kinda busy here, kid.”

“You got this?” Michonne asks as she looks down at the woman turning purple in your grasp, and you nod.

As soon as Michonne walks away, the woman brings her knee up, hitting you right in the middle of the back.

You tense up, “Fucking bitch!”

She leans up, head butting you in the nose and you fall back, with a quick and blurry glance around, you see walkers, at least twenty or so making their way in from the field.

She moves her body onto yours, straddling your thighs as her knees pin your hands down before she delivered a hard punch to your face, “You really think you can kill me? I’ve been doing this for years.”

“I’m gonna.” You spit blood at her, clenching your jaw as her hands tightens around you neck, “Maybe if I get you out of the picture, I can have that rugged lookin’ archer all to myself.”

“S-say one more fucking thing about him.” Your voice is strained from her grip, “I swe-“ you squeak as she squeezes, lifting your head up off the ground.

She leans in, “I bet he would make me feel so-“

Now you were pissed.

Everything in you felt like it was on fire, “Fuck you.” You manage get out before getting one of your hands free.

You reach up and grab as much of her hair you could get. She groans through gritted teeth as you pull her down with a hard yank, her body lifting to free your other hand.

You immediately try and deliver a punch, but she beats you to it. She cracks you over the mouth, the force busting your lip open again your teeth, and you instantly taste blood, lots of blood.

You grab her by her shirt collar, heaving yourself forward as far as you could go before throwing yourself backwards.

You’re able to get your leg under her, which helped you throws her body over yours.

You quickly move, getting into a standing position, just like her. Your chest rising and falling quickly, face swollen and broken.

More walkers keep coming, but you weren’t leaving this bitch alive.

“Give it up already.” She pulls a knife from her side holder and spins it around over her finger before gripping it.

You keep your stare on her, ready for whatever was about to come.

“Y/n! duck!”

You duck, watching as the knife she threw, land perfectly in the bitches chest. Michonne helps you up before going to take care of the walkers that are a little too close for comfort.

The woman falls to her knees, gasping as she sluggishly brings her hands up to the object protruding out of her chest.

You walk up, putting a hand on her shoulder as you grip the knife with your other hand, “Who are you?”

She smiles up at you, “Oh honey. I’m am only the start of what’s about to come.” Without another second, you twist the knife, pushing it in more before you push it upward.

The woman gasp, groaning in pain as you twist it again, “Oh, and the crossbow wielding psycho, just happens to be the love of my life, and the people you pointed your guns at, are my family.”

“Family doesn’t mean shit.” The woman chokes on her blood, droplets splashing all over, “They just.. screw you over in the long run.”

“Not my family.” You stand up, getting ready to walk away when you fall, due to the slash to your thigh.

Your hand slaps over the open cut in your blood soaked jeans, crying out in pain, just hoping someone can stop bashing heads in enough to hear you.

You look over, quickly trying to push yourself over the broken concrete and stones to get closer to a knife that’s lying on the ground.

The woman moves over as fast as her knees could carry her, “It’s not over until one of us is dead.” She grabs your ankle, holding you from moving any closer.

As she moves up, she puts pressure on your wounded thigh with her knee, making you cry out in pain. You opened your eyes, watching as she brings the knife up,

It all happened so quick, right as her arms went up, you struck, gripping the the knife and plunging it into the side her skull, causing what little life she had left in her, to fully die out.

She falls over, revealing Michonne, who is looking at you, “I’d ask if you were alright, but..” she cringes in a joking manner as she moves down to hold pressure on your thigh. , “..you don’t look it.”

“What the fuck was that?” You ask, laying back on the ground, “I feel like none of that made sense.”

Rosita runs up, falling down as she digs through her bag for medical supplies, “Shit, all I have is gauze, and you need stitches, y/n.” She looks up at you, “Oh my god, your face.”

“Have you seen your face, yet?” You try to raise your brows but you just can’t, “You need em, too.”

Rosita nods, “I can feel that it’s bad.” She laughs slightly, “Alright, lift your leg so I can wrap it quick.” She sighs, “And then we can get the hell out of here..”

“You guys ok-“ Rick stops talking when he sees how beat up you and and Rosita actually are, “I’m so sorry.”

“Rick why are you apologizing?” Rosita asks as she glances up at him. You have your eyes screwed shut as you push through the stinging pain of Michonne holding pressure on your thigh.

“I brought us here I-“ Rick hakes his head and you look at Michonne, “Tell him it’s not his f-ah, fuck.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Rosita says in a mumble.

You look back to Michonne, “Please tell your man that this isn’t his fault. We’ll be okay. We’re the one who live, right?”

Michonne nods, a smile spreading across her face as she looks at Rick and Carl, “We are the ones who live.”

——

About two hours later, you finally reached home.

Your adrenaline has been keeping you going. That was until you seen Daryl’s face fall and him running over to you the second your past the gate.

“What the hell happened?” He yells, looking over the beaten and exhausted group as he goes right to you, “Y/n, hey. Ya still with me.” He cups your cheeks, tilting your head up and holding you with one hand as he snaps with his other.

“We were attacked, they’re dead. But..” Rick shakes his head and Daryl looks down at you as he feels your head move.

You slowly look up at him, a slight smirk on your lips, “I kicked ass, Dixon.”

That’s all you get out before you fall into him again.

“Whoa, hey, alright, alright.” He catches you, holding you up as he turns Rosita’s face to him. He looks at Maggie, nodding towards Rosita, “Take her to get help. I’ve got y/n.”

Daryl picks you up bridal style, carrying you over to the medical trailer. He kicks the door and Dr. Carson opens it, immediately rushing Daryl to bring you in.

You come to again, looking around as you try to figure out where you are exactly.

“Has she fallen asleep or passed out at all?” Carson asks as he moves with Daryl to look at you.

“yeah, yeah, uh..” Daryl’s mind is a mess right now, “..few minutes after they got back, then she collapsed on me right before I brought’er over.”

He lays you down on the table and you groan in pain, “S’okay. We’re gonna get you better.”

“Try and keep her talking.” Carson turns his attention to you, “Y/n, hi, it’s Dr. Carson, do you want any pain medication?”

You shake your head, whimpering at the pain setting in more and more, “No. no.”

“We have plenty, y/n. I sug-“

You cut Carson off in a snappy tone, “I said no.”

“Alright.. Do you know what happened, y/n?” He asks as he shines a light into your eyes, “Can you see me?”

You nod, groaning as you close your eyes again. He moves to get an IV ready while you mumble memories about the day you’ve just encountered. You try to move your leg but you forgot about your injury first a second.

You groan, “The fucking bitch in the woods.”

Daryl and the doctor look at each other then back to you.

“Hey.” You can feel Daryl lean in, interlocking his fingers with yours. You give it a weak squeeze and slowly turn your head towards him, wincing in pain. He lays a hand on your head gently, “None uh that shit, don’t be forcing yourself to look at me.” He shakes his head, trying to blink away the gloss coating in his eyes.

“But.. I like looking at you.” You smile slightly and Daryl sniffles, giving you a slight laugh, “I know whatcha mean, darlin’.”

You raise your hand up slowly, laying it on his cheek, “If.. i-f it makes you feel any better, I ki-lled her because she s-aid shit, shit.”

Your body starts tensing as Carson wipes the excess blood from your thigh. You whimper, returning your attention back to Daryl, “About you.”

He scoff, shaking his head slightly, “Me?”

“Said.” You grit your teeth, squeezing Daryl’s hand and the table below you, “You were a long.. haired.. c-crossbow wielding psycho, but.. but that was before I-I pissed her off.. enough to say some.. more dumb shit.”

Your words are almost a mumble, but Daryl focuses enough on you to understand what you’re saying, “what else she say?”

You shake your head, “I’ll tell… you later.. Where’s Rosita?”

“She’s with Maggie and Enid.” Daryl assures you, “She’s fine. Jus’like you’re gonna be.” He brings your hand up slowly and gently presses his lips to your turning purple knuckles.

“Y’sure you don’t want any pain meds, y/n?” Daryl asks, his words full of concern. You nod slightly, “I’m sure.”

You squeeze Daryl’s hand tight and he lays his other one on top of your hand. You arch your back slightly, “Fuck, Carson that hurts.”

“I know, I know but I have to clean it out.” Carson answers as he continues to work on your thigh.

“Tell me more about what happened, hm.” Daryl reaches in ever so gently as he moves hair from your face without trying to touch any bruised and swollen skin, but you didn’t care what he did, “Y’think you can tell me how you kicked ass?”

“Mhm.” You close your eyes and reopen them slowly, “We.. went, to that apa-apartment complex and a-ah..” you wince, “..As we were deciding on where to go, they came up behind us, held us at gun point while she ran her mouth.”

“They, who?” Daryl asks, “What did they say, what did they want?”

You work through telling Daryl about when those people first arrived behind you and what all happened in the woods.

“She thought you were the leader’n not Rick?” He smooths his free hand over your hair, “You did kick ass, huh.”

You smile, letting out a sigh, “I wanted to e-end her the-” You wince at the sting from the second round of the antiseptic on your leg, “Second I s-saw her stupid smug looking face.”

You tense up, groaning lowly as tears form in your eyes, “Um, she.. she wanted to know why we, we were on her land? Took our weapons, back..packs..” you let out a long breathe, “Said she had other questions?”

You go into telling him about how you and Rosita got alone and what you were able to do to kill the first two guards and how dumb the woman was because she were to only send two.

“They didn’t ..do nothing, right?” Daryl asks, tensing up as he let’s out a huff, “I’ll fuckin’ kill ‘em all.”

“They’re both dead, Daryl.” You whimper out, taking a deep breath, “They’re all dead. Rosita and I took care of them.”

“Wait, hold on a minute. Y’both took out.. how many guards yourselves exactly?” Daryl asks and you fight back a laugh, knowing it’ll hurt, “Five. Rick and Michonne got the.. last guard.”

“Alright, y/n, I’m going to ask you one last time.” Carson looks at you and you turn your head slowly, “No.”

“Alright. Sutures are going to be going in soon, okay? I’m going to need you to try and sit as still as you possibly can, do you think you can do that?”

“Like I have a choice to go anywhere.” You mumble, “Sorry i-“

“Nah, stop that.” Daryl shakes his head, “You’re in pain, we get it.” Daryl glances up at you, squinting his eyes as he leans in to look at your neck.

He lets out a low growl, “If there’s more. M’gonna find them ‘em. They’re fucking dead.” Daryl’s leg was bouncing up and down.

“Stop, stop, Daryl. I’m fin-.” You dig your nails into his hand as your back arches with the first stitch going through your skin.

Your eyes start to close then reopen as you try to keep yourself awake and talking to Daryl, but you cannot form any words right now.

“Hey, hey.” Daryl tries to comfort you but he doesn’t really know how, “Stay right here, darlin’.” He lays his hand on your head leaning in towards you more, “Don’t y’even think about leavin’ me.”

“I’m not..” you whisper out, “Going anywhere.”

You clench your bruised jaw, keeping your lips shut tight whenyou feel Carson do another suture, “The l-eader..” you groan, taking a deep breath, “..said that-that this is just.. the beginning.. I don’t..”

Carson squeezes a little bit harder and you are forcing yourself not to kick him in the face, “Fuck I want to kill you now, too.”

He shrugs it off, knowing that it’s just the pain and anger talking. He just shakes his head as he keeps his eyes on his work.

Daryl lays his hand on the lesser bruised side of your face, “Y’don’t gotta keep talking, if ya don’t want to.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, “You’re doing so good, almost done, baby.”

You can’t lie, your heart absolutely fluttered out of your body with his words, “I-I got..” you squeeze your eyes shut as you feel the final two sutures go in, a sigh of relief falling from your lips when Carson steps back, “Thigh is done, now let me have a look at that cheek.”

You turn your head, following commands from Carson all while Daryl still holds your hands.

He hates that you’re going through this, he’s kicking his own ass over not just going with you like you asked.

He blames himself, and you knew that, too.

Two hours has gone by, Carson said you could sleep so that’s what you did.

You opened your eyes, looking around to see that you’re in an actual bedroom and not the medical trailer anymore.

You try to sit up, just as Daryl comes back into the room, “Thought you would have been out longer, m’sorry.”

“Don’t do that.” You say soft as you look up at him. He shrugs and shakes his head, “Do what?”

He’s avoiding eye contact with you, that’s how you know something’s up.

“Can you help me sit up?”

Daryl is right there, sliding a hand on your back as you hold onto his other one to sit up.

“Good?” He asks, “How’s your pain?”

“I’m not taking any meds.” You argue and Daryl chuckles slightly, “Why are you are so stubborn sometimes.”

“Says you.” You smile up at him, shaking your head, “I just… I didn’t want to be taking it away from someone who needed it more than me, I-“

“Y’needed it though, baby. Somethin’ could’a-“ He stops for a second, “why ya lookin’ at me like that?”

You shake your head, a small smile resting on your lips, “What meds did I get?”

He sighs, “Look, I had Carson give ya antibiotics, a’right, but thats it.”

You nod, “Thank you.”

He looks up at you confused, “Y’not mad at me?”

“Mad at you for, what? Caring about me?” You shake your head, “I don’t think I could ever be mad at anyone who tries anything they can to keep me in their life.”

Daryl looks up at you, nodding as his eyes scan over you purple and stitched up cheek and your voice is low, “Could’ve happened to anyone.”

“But It happened to you.” Daryl stands up, walking over to the window before you can grab his arm, “Daryl.”

He keeps looking out and you sigh, “Don’t make me get up.”

He turns slightly, sighing before making his way back over to you, because he knows you’d try, “Don’t y’even think ‘bout it.”

“Look at me then.” You reach out, moving your finger slightly. His hand immediately finds yours and you can hear him trying not to get upset.

You give his hand a squeeze, “Hey.”

He leans over, careful not to put pressure on your hurt thigh. His arms wrap around you, holding you as you close your eyes.

You hand moves up and down his back, squeezing him tighter when you feel his body jolt slightly with a sniffle, “Daryl.” Your voice is just enough for him to hear, “it’s not your fault.”

You feel him nod, but he still doesn’t let go, “jus’don’t wanna loose ya.” He mumbles into your neck, laying his hand on the back of your head, “I like ya, a lot actually.”

“I told Rosita the same thing about you.”

He lifts his head, leaning back as he wipes his cheeks on the back of his gloved hand, “Been goin’ on t’me bout you, too.”

“That’s no surprise.” You laugh slightly, closing your eyes at the pain, “I’m good.” You look at him, knowing that he hates seeing you in pain, “I promise I’ll ask for medicine if it gets worse.”

Daryl goes to say something, but you cut him off, “Just shut up and kiss me.”

He rubs his thumb over his fingers, giving you a slight shrug and nod, “If y’want that,”

You tilt your head, reaching your hand out to him, “I want you.”

He smirks, laughing slightly as he shakes his head, “You’re gonna be the death’a me.” He leans over, hand moving up to rest on your neck.

You lean in, closing the space between you as your hands move up to cup his cheeks.

“You know you called me baby a few times.”

Daryl laughs softly, “I know.”

There’s a soft knock on the door before it opens, “Y/n?”

Daryl leans in, pecking your lips a few times before he tilts his head to kiss your cheek, “M’gonna go talk to Rick, ya good?”

You nod, brushing your thumb over his cheek, “More than good.” You smile and he kisses you a few more times before he stands up.

Rosita is standing there, arms crossed as she watches Daryl with a smile, “See, what did I say?”

He just shakes his head, a small on his face as he looks up at her, “You doin’ a’right?”

She nods, “I’m good.” You watch as Rosita comes over to sit next to you on the bed, “We’re good. Now, go.” She laughs slightly as she waves her hand, “We have things to talk about.”

——

Let me know what you think! I truly love each and every one of you. Thank you so much for reading! 🖤

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[redstarwriting]

his girl | ii. envy me

earth 42!miles morales x fem!reader | miles morales x fem!reader

word count: 2.1k

genre: angst to fluff

warnings: language, insults, spoilers, probably bad spanish, 42 Miles and reader get into a little spat, stubborn 42 Miles, violent 42 Miles, Miles and Miles almost fight twice

a/n: teehee and so it begins 🤭 didn’t expect this to turn into a whole series but i’m not mad. i hope y’all enjoy the storyline i thought up and please, by all means, give me your input! thank you all for the support 🖤 enjoy :)

previous chapter: i. his girl

now reading: ii. envy me

next chapter: iii. all the riches

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Miles, in fact, did not run. He was too taken aback to do anything, even though his body was screaming at him too. And he was too focused on your confused face. You looked exactly like his (Y/n), and it made his heart ache. And that is how other Miles was able to knock him out so fast. And why he just woke up in his Uncle Aaron’s apartment, chained to the punching bag, just like he did to Peter after first meeting him. He hears his uncle's music blaring from his record player. He looks in the direction it’s coming from. His eyes widen as he sees his Uncle Aaron. He’s alive. “Uncle Aaron?”

“Not your tío,” 42 Miles says, and Miles glares at him. “I’m just tryna go home, bro. Why are you doing this? What are you getting from this?”

“You said you’re from a different dimension?”

“Yeah. And?” Miles asks, narrowing his eyes at him. “Why are you here?”

“I told you I was sent here by mistake! I just wanna get back to my world, man. Dad’ll die,” he says, exasperated, and Miles stares at him with a blank expression. “Your dad alive?”

“Yeah, of course, he is,” Miles says, and 42 Miles frowns slightly. “Oh.”

Miles normally would be able to piece together what the disappointment in his voice would mean. But he's a little preoccupied with multiple other thoughts currently to necessarily care to psychoanalyze his own behaviors. He also doesn’t have the chance to see Aaron’s face drop and see the sadness in his eyes. Or the way you immediately look at your Miles to make sure the news didn’t break him. “But he’s gonna die if you keep me here,” Miles explains, and 42 Miles nods. “Yeah. Well, you ain’t leaving.”

“…Please. You have to let me go,” Miles pleads. But 42 Miles just stares at him, unmoved. “Why would I do that?” he asks, placing his gauntlet next to Miles’ head. Miles frowns, placing his finger on the piece of metal linking the chains together, ready to electrocute it and make his escape. The other him stares at him with an unreadable expression, seemingly no emotion behind his eyes, and just as it feels like shit is about to go down, he hears your voice ring out. “Miles. Just let him go.” Both your Miles and 1610 Miles turn their heads to you. It’s the first time 1610 Miles noticed you were in here. “(Y/n)? Bro, why are you letting her around your business?” Miles asks, and 42 Miles shoots a venomous look at him. “She insisted on coming. This is her first time around this shit,” Miles hisses at him. 1610 Miles can’t help but feel a tightening in his chest. He wants nothing more than for you from his world to be here with him. Not even in a romantic way, at least that’s what he’s trying to convince himself. He just misses you. He chased you away, and now he doesn’t even know if he’ll be able to fix it. His thoughts are interrupted when you clear your throat. Both of the boys look back in your direction. You’re on Aaron’s couch, staring at your Miles with such intensity it makes even 1610 Miles lock up. He can only imagine what it’s like being the one on the receiving end of that look. He sees other Miles’ eyes soften in his peripheral vision as he removes his fist from beside Miles’ head. “Mi amor…”

“No. Let him go, there’s no point in keeping him here,” you say, and 42 Miles frowns. “Not one to let people go, (Y/n). You know that.”

“I don’t give a fuck, Morales.”

“Damn, ma! Not even callin’ me Miles now?” Miles asks, an edge to his voice. You frown. “No. Not right now. Let him go, and we’ll see.”

“Why you want me to let him go? Got a crush on him or something?” Miles asks, and you raise your eyebrow. You glance at Miles, then back to your Miles. “Technically, yeah. I do. Unless you’d prefer I break up with both of you right now,” you say back, your voice just as cold as your boyfriend’s. “You tellin’ me you’d rather have this guy? Sayin’ this guy is like me? Estás de broma…” he mutters, and Miles looks between the two of you. “Not to piss you off more, but this guy is still technically you,” Miles says, and 42 Miles glares at him. “Cállate. No one was talking to you.”

“Man, why do you hate me so much?! I’m you!” Miles says, exasperated. He just doesn’t understand why this version of him is so hostile to him. They’re basically the same! Except Miles is a superhero and other Miles is a supervillain, but they still both have super in the title so how different can they really be? “Is this a call for help or–”

Miles gets cut off but 42 Miles punching the punching bag, right by Miles’ head. Enough force is exuded that the sand from the bag flies out, starting to pour down the side of it. His eyes widen, and you gasp. Even Aaron reacts a bit to it. But maybe it’s just because someone who looks exactly like his nephew is on the receiving end of it this time. This time. “Miles!” you yell, standing up. “What?!”

“What do you think you’re doing?!”

“What I gotta do! You don’t get it, (Y/n)! This is the job!” Miles yells, and you roll your eyes. “Oh, please, Miles. This is the job? He’s you! Wouldn’t you be trying to get home if you knew you could save your dad?!” you yell, and he glares at you. “(Y/n). Don’t.”

“You know you would be,” you walk over to him, placing your hands on his cheeks. He subconsciously relaxes, but only slightly. You sigh. “You don’t have to be such a hardass all the time, amor,” you mumble, and he shakes his head. “No comprendes, amor… I have to be this way. Or else— “

“Miles, he’s not a part of the cartel. He’s not gonna tell anyone here that you let him go… he’s not even from here. It’s okay for you to think with your heart instead of your head just this once,” you say, and he huffs. “Nah. I stopped thinkin’ with my heart a long time ago,” he says, and a hurt expression crosses your face. “Then what am I? A calculated move for you to use as an adavantage when you need it?” you ask, venom in your words. “No, (Y/n), don’t be estúpida. You’re mi vida, but him? How I know he ain’t just some experiment they made? To get to me?” Miles asks, looking at you with a skeptical look. You sigh. “Dude! I don’t even know what you’re talking about! I have spider powers, is that a thing anyone else here has?!”

“No.”

“Exactly! Why would whoever you’re talking about make a carbon copy of you with enhanced biology just to use me for this?!” Miles asks, and you shrug. “He’s got a point, Miles,” you say, and 42 Miles looks at you again. “Thank you, (Y/n),” 1610 Miles says, and 42 Miles rolls his eyes. “(Y/n) you have to understand that I can’t take no chances. You know that the cartel will go after—”

“I know. I know, Miles, but I really don’t think that—”

“You don’t know that (Y/n). You don’t know them like I do,” Miles says, and you sigh. “Miles. Mi amor. Mi vida. Mi sol, listen to me. If he wanted you dead, he would have done it by now,” you try to get through to him. He glances back at Miles, and Miles can literally see the distrust and paranoia in his expression.

He must have been through so much shit. This is a world with no Spider-Man after all. And all this mention of a cartel? No wonder Miles turned to the Prowler. It’s similar to Aaron in his world, he thinks. He thought that he had nowhere else to turn, so he turned to crime. But deep down, he can’t be that bad. Right…?

“Amor, I need to be cautious. I just have to ask him some questions before… letting him go,” he mumbles, glancing at Aaron. Aaron nods. 1610 Miles gets the feeling they’re not planning on letting him go. You must get that feeling too, because you shake your head, pulling your hands away from Miles’ face. “I can’t believe you right now,” you say, and he frowns. “(Y/n), please just try to understand—”

“No, Miles! I’m done trying to understand you when you never try to understand me!” you yell, and he clenches his jaw. “What do you mean by that, huh?” he asks, and you scoff. “I just. I need to leave. Before I do something I regret.”

“Like what, huh? Break up with me? Fight with me? Actually understand where I’m coming from for once?” Aaron cringes at that. You’re probably the most understanding person in his life other than him. That wasn’t the right choice of words. And you let him know it. “FOR ONCE?! Miles! Oh my god! Are you serious right now?! How many times have you tried to understand me?! I lost people too, you know! And I’m not out here—”

“Do you think I want to do this, (Y/n)?! Be fuckin’ for rea! I do this for you!” he yells back, and you shake your head, frustrated to the point of tears. “I never asked you to do this!”

“You didn’t need to because I love you enough to want to without you asking me to! You need it, Mamá needs it, everyone needs it, and I can provide it for all of you!” You angrily wipe a tear away, trying desperately to keep the rest of them contained. Miles softens. “Amor, no necesitas llorar—”

“Stop, Miles. Just… just stop. I need some air, don’t follow me,” you turn, hurrying to Aaron’s door. Miles steps forward to go after you, but Aaron puts a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head. “Nah, man. Give her some space. She’ll come around,” Aaron says, and Miles clenches his fists. As soon as he sees you slip out of the door, closing it behind you, he turns to Miles. “This is your fault,” he says, pointing at him. “Miles,” Aaron says, crossing his arms. While he is also weary of this new Miles, his Miles isn’t thinking rationally right now. Then again, he is only 15. That’s why Aaron is here, sometimes he needs some assistance. “Why you lookin’ at me like that?” Aaron asks the other Miles. Miles hadn’t even realized he’d been staring. He shakes his head. “Nothing… nothing. Just… good to see you. Haven’t in a while,” he mumbles, and Aaron raises his eyebrow. That could mean a few things. Best not to dwell on it, though. 

“Who are you, really?” 42 Miles asks, and 1610 Miles groans. “I’m you, dude! Why is that so hard to understand?! I’m not a part of a cartel or anything I just want to get home!” Miles is frustrated. Seeing the world they live in from Aaron’s window, he gets why Miles is so… paranoid. But honestly, how long can he keep this uncertainty up? “Explain how you got here. And don’t just say ‘by mistake,’ alright?” Miles says, showing the claws on his gauntlets. Miles rolls his eyes. “I’m Spider-Man, right? And there’s tons of different Spider-Mans… men? Not important, there’s other me’s! And Spider-Women, Spider-People in a bunch of different dimensions, one of them, Miguel, figured out how to travel dimensions and we all met each other… except I wasn’t supposed to meet them because the spider that made me Spider-Man actually came from this world so someone here was supposed to get bit and I wasn't supposed to exist like this, but—”

“Wait… you sayin’ my world ain’t supposed to be like this…?” Miles asks, and Miles nods. “Yes. The people at Alchemax on my world built a collider and had the spider come to my world and it got out and—”

“You’re the reason for this?” Miles looks at himself, who is not even angrier. “I… n-no, but yes, I—” Miles gets cut off by a gauntlet getting placed way too close to his head again. What he doesn’t know is 42 Miles just put together everything in his head. This Miles was Spider-Man. And his dad was still alive because of it. If that were the case for him, maybe his dad wouldn’t have died. Maybe he wouldn’t have been like this. 

He could have had everything that was taken from him. 

“That’s enough talking, cabrón,” he growls, ready to escalate things yet again. Miles gets ready to break out of his restraints again, and Aaron gets ready to help Miles out. Then, over the music, they hear a scream.

A scream that undoubtedly belongs to you.

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[watermelongirl01]

In Between Kisses

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Criminal Minds x Supernatural

Summary: What you and Aaron did back in Colorado follows you to Virginia.

Content Warning: Violence, fluff, not a lot of supernatural on this one though. It contains pieces of S6:E4, but with my fixes.

Hotch watched you from across the room, sitting at Prentiss's desk, laughing and chatting with her. Your skirt had ridden up just enough to catch his eye, but it was your smile, radiant, effortless, that held his attention. If this were a beauty contest, Hotch was certain you'd win. But it wasn't just your smile that captivated him. It was the way your pink lips seemed to draw him in, pulling his attention every time, as they had ever since Colorado. The kiss you'd shared for good luck was still vivid in his mind, and ever since, he found himself unable to look at you without thinking about it.

He knew it was wrong, so wrong. You were much younger, with a promising career ahead of you, full of life and potential. And yet, the only thing that had consumed his thoughts since that moment was kissing you again. And he was determined to make it happen, before leaving for the next case.

——

“We need to help them.” 

“They haven’t requested our assistance, Pen.”

“They never will, but they need it.” She took your hands between hers while looking at you hopefully. “Please, please.”

“Fine, let’s do it.” You sighed in surrender.

Ever since the kiss in Colorado, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Hotch had been avoiding you. Maybe, just maybe, you’d crossed a line. You hadn’t expected it to happen, at least not yet, but at that moment, with your life on the line, you’d wanted, no, needed, to kiss him before the chance was gone. And, if you were honest with yourself, you loved every second of it. But that didn’t mean you wanted to force yourself into his space or disrupt his cases, especially if he was actively trying to avoid you.

You grabbed your bags, previously packed, and followed Penelope as she led the way to Hotch’s office.

And there he was, his trademark frown firmly in place. He looked up at you both, his stern look and a hint of intrigue in his eyes. You let Penelope speak first, stepping back, well, more like hiding slightly behind her. You didn’t want to suffer Hotch’s intense stare, the one that made you feel as if he could see straight through you.

“What's that?” He asked looking at the bags on your hands 

“Our go bags.” 

“Where are you going?”

“With you, hopefully.” Penelope quickly replied. “Sir, I think we’re all still reeling since JJ is on vacation, and you need a communication liaison.”

“Garcia…”

“Sir, please hear us out, our jobs overlap with JJ’s the most.” She looked at him, voice steady. “Every time you are out in cases, she coordinates your needs with me. It makes sense.”

“Garcia, there are aspects of the job for which you have no training.” 

“But I do.” You stepped away from Penelope, moving right in front of Hotch. You swallowed hard. “I know how to interact with families and local law enforcement, and the media.” Hotch’s eyes flicked to yours, and you met his gaze

“You hate to deal with the media.” He said flatly. You rolled your eyes at his read of you, of course, he knows everything about you, but nodded. It was true; you hated it.

“Sir, I’m willing to tone down my wardrobe choices, we are ready to make sacrifices if you please give us the chance.”

"Wait, you’ll actually use neutral colors?" You raised an eyebrow, surprised. Then you looked back at Hotch. "That’s how you know it’s serious," You added with a smirk.

Hotch's gaze lingered a bit longer on you, before shifting back to Garcia. but he finally nodded.

“Alright. We could explore this on a trial basis until JJ returns. We’ll see how things go.”

“Are you two up to speed on the case?” He asked.

“Yes.” You both answered in unison.

“Can you be ready in three hours?”

“We are ready now.”

He nodded. "See you on the plane." He turned to Garcia but then looked back at you. "I’ll need to speak with you first."

"Oh, shit." You mouthed under your breath but quickly nodded. "Yes, Sir."

You watched in confusion as Hotch closed every single blind in his office. When he noticed you standing far from him, he gestured for you to come closer.

“Closer,” He said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You obeyed. "Sir, if this is about the kiss... look, I’m really sorry." Before you could say more, he raised his palm, silencing you.

“It is about the kiss,” He said, his voice low. You swallowed hard. “But I figured, before you leave today to act as our communication liaison, you’ll need all the help you can get.”

You frowned, confusion clouding your mind as you tried to make sense of his words. But then, his breath brushed against your face, shutting down all your thoughts. His hand cupped your chin, tilting your head back so you had no choice but to look up at him. Your knees trembled when his thumb traced the curve of your bottom lip.

“You want me to wish you good luck?” He asked. You nodded, unable to trust your voice.

Your heart raced as his lips pressed against yours in a soft, fleeting kiss. Your eyes fluttered shut, but Hotch wasn’t satisfied with just a peck. He deepened the kiss, his lips capturing yours with an intensity that left you breathless. It only lasted a few seconds, but when he pulled away, you felt a sudden emptiness. A soft whimper escaped you before you could stop it.

“See you on the plane,” he said, his voice colder now, as he turned and left the office. You stood there for a moment, stunned, before you slowly opened your eyes, unsure of what had just happened.

What the fuck just happened? 

——

“Swingers?” you asked, clearly confused. “How does that go wrong?”

Everyone in the room, except for Emily and Derek—who hadn’t arrived yet—looked at you with surprise.

“I mean, I’m not into that, obviously.” You raised your hand defensively. “I’m just curious.”

“Apparently his partner left or cheated, so now he comes back to revisit old patterns to see if they still work.” Spencer explained to you.

“And when he finds that they don’t, he’ll be compelled to destroy them.” Hotchner added and you nodded in understanding. “And anyone engaging in them.”

“And yes, we know you’re not into that, you’re too possessive for it.”  And with that Spencer left the room, leaving in shock. 

Am I?” you asked, looking around the room at the remaining team. “Am I possessive?”

They exchanged looks and decided not to comment on it.

“Cowards.” You said under your breath, but before you could concentrate back into work, your gaze landed on Hotch.“So Hotch.” You began. “This means it’ll be an undercover operation, right?”

He glanced up at you, his expression as unreadable as always. “No.”

“Oh, come on. This case screams undercover.” you pressed, leaning forward.

For a split second, you thought you saw the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes, but it was gone in an instant.

“No.” he repeated, his voice firm.

You grinned. “I’m just saying, keep it in mind. Right, Pen?”

Penelope barely acknowledged you, too engrossed in her work to care.

“Busy,” she muttered, almost annoyed, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

You nodded and turned back to your laptop, but after just a few seconds, you couldn’t help it. You looked over at her again.

“Pen, do you think I’m too possessive?”

Oh, if only looks could kill.

——

“I knew it, undercover operation.” You grinned at Penelope, who seemed to be in a better mood today, her outfit bright and colorful again.

Morgan had just barged into the office that had been lent to you at the precinct to inform you and Penelope about the mission. As usual, you could tell exactly what he meant when he said "low profile operation to get the Unsub"—undercover, no doubt.

“Don’t get too excited,” Derek warned, his eyes locked on you as he took a seat at your desk. His smile was smug, a little too confident. “You’re coming.”

A laugh bubbled up as he tossed a set of clothes into your lap. “What? No, no, no,” you said, shoving them back at him. “I didn’t sign up for this, and I’m acting as a communication liaison right now.”

“You aren’t anymore, besides, you wanted in.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But now you are,” he insisted, unbothered.

You sighed in defeat. “Fine, fine. But no offense, bros before hoes.”

You placed a hand on Penelope’s shoulder, giving her a pointed look. Derek crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow at your choice of words.

“Really?” he asked, amused.

“Yep. Sisters before misters.” You mirrored his stance, crossing your arms too.

Derek chuckled, but you weren’t done yet.

“Walls before balls,” you added with a wink.

“Are you done?”

“Sis before dicks.”

Derek's amusement only grew, but then he raised a hand, cutting you off. “I’m gonna stop you right there. The operation isn’t with me.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion. “Spencer?” you guessed.

He shook his head.

“Nope. You’re going with Hotch.”

You blinked, surprised but... well, pleasantly surprised. You hadn’t expected that. “Wait, Hotch?”

“Yep,” Derek said, standing and heading for the door with a final grin. “Get ready, and don’t keep him waiting.”

——

“Ready?” Rossi asked, looking at you in your new outfit.

The whole team was about to get into the bar, Derek had already spotted the Unsub and now it was on you and Hotch to get him.

You nodded, your gaze falling on Hotch. “Does he know?”

“He knows.” Rossi assured you.

“Oh okay, I mean it is hard to say if he is okay with it, he’s kinda hard to read.”

“He's okay with it, don’t worry about it”

“But, did he want me to do this with him?” You asked. “Emily is here, she’s better with undercover assignments.”

He leaned his head a bit. “You being there it’s my idea.”

“Well, that makes sense.” You said looking down at your black high heels.

“But he didn’t resist it, not one bit,” Rossi said with a smile, his eyes twinkling as he glanced at you. “Besides, with all the undercover work you’ve been doing with the supernatural stuff, it’s practically in your job description.”

You nodded. “You’re right.”

“Alright.” You heard Derek’s firm voice, cut through the moment. “He’s there in the middle of the bar, he will shoot up the place, and you guys will act as a distraction.” 

You and Hotch nodded. 

“We will keep his focus off the crowd long enough for you to take him down.” Hotch said and then leaned forward closer to you. “Keep your gun in your purse.” 

You gave him a small nod.

“Remember, you two need to act all lovey-dovey like you’re into each other. Make it believable.” Emily reminded you.

“Like it’s hard.” Rossi snorted under his breath but quickly tried to disguise it with a fake cough. But you heard him. And so did Hotch 

Hotch’s eyes narrowed slightly, his tone cold but amused. “What was that?”

Rossi gave an exaggerated pout and shook his head. “I said, good luck,” he said quickly, trying to play it off.

But you could see the smirk tugging at the corners of Hotch’s mouth, the briefest flicker of amusement before his usual stoic mask returned.

“Let’s go, then.”

You, Hotch, and a few members of the team made your way into the bar. Hotch guided you to a corner, giving you a clear view of the Unsub. You studied the man, noting how he stood casually with his hands in his jacket pockets, likely concealing a gun.

Hotch leaned against the bar, and you positioned yourself in front of him. Without warning, his arm slipped around your waist in a bold but necessary move, pulling you closer. Your arms instinctively draped over his shoulders, and your fingers locked together behind his neck. The proximity sent a wave of awareness through you. You were too close.

“Is he looking?” you whispered to Hotch, your voice barely audible over the noise of the bar.

Hotch shifted, leaning back just enough to check on the Unsub before looking at you again. “Yeah, he is.”

You had the unsub's full attention.

“I should go and talk to him.” You said pulling apart a little but Hotch didn’t lose his grip on you.

“Careful.” His voice tone was firm and serious, you nodded in understanding.

You walked and stood beside the Unsub.

“James, hey! I thought that was you.” You greeted him. “How's Mary Ann?

He looked at you, puzzled.

“Oh!” You giggled. “You don’t remember me, do you?” You grimaced. “We met at a party.”

“We did?” 

“Yeah. That was a crazy night.”

He smirked, nodding with his head. “I bet it was”

You tried to make a conversation with him based on what you figured out of him, for a while he seemed to follow the conversation but in the end, he caught your lies.

“You don’t know me and I don’t know you.” He said, he was clearly pissed.

Everyone could see how the conversation got heated, how the tension started to build up, and how he reached to grab something from his jacket.

You froze, but you got to hear a distant.

“Move, move.”

From Hotch.

And then you heard a gunshot, and you felt like everything stopped for a moment, you couldn’t breathe and your chest felt heavy. You looked at his eyes, they were still looking at you but then he dropped to the ground. Right on your feet.

Your eyes slowly lifted, and there she was Emily, standing in front of you with a gun in her hand. She had just saved your life.

“Thank you,” you mouthed, barely able to believe the moment.

She gave you a reassuring smile, then reached out, pulling you away from the chaos. Her arm slipped around your shoulders in a comforting embrace.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “Let’s just get on that plane and head home. We deserve a girls’ night after all this.”

“The Lord knows we do,” you replied, your smile finally reaching your eyes.

——

After a flight back home where you slept most of the time, it was time to get off the plane. Hotch saw your sleepy form trying to get a cab on the cold night.

“Need a ride?” You jumped a little.

“Oh, I don’t want to bother.” He shook his head 

“It’s not, your house is on my way.”

You looked at him with a smile, softly shaking your head. “No it’s not, and I’m sure Jack is waiting for you.”

He looked at you. “Let me get you home.”

“Alright, Sir. Lead the way.”

The car ride was quiet, the soft music in the background, the steady rhythm of the engine, and Hotch’s presence beside you relaxed you. Your head rested against the cool glass of the window, your gaze drifting between the road ahead and the focused expression on his face as he drove. You couldn’t help but steal glances at him multiple times until you arrived at your house.

Hotch insisted on helping you with your bags, walking inside to make sure everything was in order. He still wondered why you hadn’t moved out of your apartment after the Gordon incident, but he didn’t bring it up. Not tonight.

“Thanks for going out of your way to give me a ride home,” you said as you both stood on the porch.

“My pleasure,” he replied, stepping a little closer. “I should go.”

You nodded, moving a fraction closer as well. “Say hi to Jack for me.”

Both of you lingered there, the space between you growing smaller, tension hanging in the air.

“And good luck, on the road.” Being so close to Hotch stirred something within you, emotions that had been lingering after what happened in his office a few days ago. 

Hotch’s gaze darkened, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. 

Without another word, Hotch drew you even closer, your lips brushing for a moment before he took the final step. He kissed you like he knew exactly what his kiss was doing to you. You had been kissed before, yes, but never like this, not with this raw intensity, this urgency. His free hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing across your skin, and the hunger between you both became palpable.

Your tongue gently traced his bottom lip, and without hesitation, he parted his lips to welcome you in. The kiss was slow but fierce, a dance of desire that felt like it had been waiting to happen for far too long. You knew you needed to stop, you had to, his kid was waiting for him. But once again when he finally pulled away breathless, you couldn’t help but whimper at the loss of him, desperate for more.

He looked at you, your lips slightly parted and red from the swollen.  “See you tomorrow?”

You quickly nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

Tags: @adrienneleclerc @hayleym1234

[luveline]

could you pleaseee do more hotch x bombshell reader

cw suggestive —you and Hotch have a shared secret you’re hiding from the rest of the team. fem, 1k

“He’s too old for you, you know.” 

You give Elle a charmed smile. “He is not.” 

“Is too.” 

“How old do you think I am, Greenaway?” you tease. “I know I look good for my age, but I’m fully developed. He is not too old for me.” 

“Who?” Spencer asks, placing down his dinner tray with a smile. 

“Gideon,” you say. “What do you think, babe, do I have a chance with our great leader?” 

“No,” Spencer says, giggling as he spears a dehydrated looking green bean with his fork. He’s getting good at recognising jokes for what they are. 

As the younger (but, despite Elle’s insistence, not young) crowd, you have complimentary avoiding of work to do, free with your employment. You spend your lunch hour trying to stretch it into two, driving Gideon insane, and prompting Hotch to come and find you. He hasn’t appeared yet, but when you check your watch you’ve got about ten minutes left until you need to get back. 

“The line was so long,” Spencer says. “They could reduce the foot traffic in here by half if they had two people working the register.” 

“Maybe if we had our own offices we could eat our lunch alone from a brown paper bag like everybody else does, and we wouldn’t need to line up,” Elle says wryly. 

“You don’t like lining up like middle schoolers?” you ask in feigned shock. 

“I don’t,” Spencer says earnestly. 

“She’s being sarcastic,” Elle says. “You couldn’t tell?” She looks over your shoulder suddenly, but there’s a velvet voice in your ear before you can turn around.

“Can I borrow you?” 

You smile because he can’t see it. “That depends, Agent Hotchner, will I get to finish my lunch?” 

You don’t have a tray in front of you. It clearly doesn’t matter to Hotch. “I’ll take care of it.” 

You’d let him drag you around by the collar, but that’s none of his business. You turn to meet his eyes over your shoulder, disappointed that he’s already a few steps back waiting for you to stand up. 

What Elle doesn’t get, what nobody seems to see but you, is that Hotch had no need to lean in and talk so close to your ear. He could have sent you an email, paged you, and he’s here in the cafeteria waiting for you to follow him out. 

You send both Elle and Spencer a suggestive look and climb off of the bench. Hotch senses when you’re near rather than looking, starting out of the cafeteria and down the hall to the elevator bank. He does a sharp turn you aren’t expecting to the photocopying rooms, where you refuse to go, lest you get killed by a falling stack of printer paper. One minute you’re walking together and the next he’s taken your hand and pulling you into an alcove, suddenly sliding his hand behind your back. 

“Aaron–”

He dips his face down and kisses you. It’s surprising and not, one slight nipping kiss before he looks you in the eyes. He’s asking if you’re alright to be kissed, and if it’s him, he can shove you up against a wall —you lift your head and he pulls you right back up to be kissed again. His hands slide over the tight fabric of your blazer and hold you chest to chest, his nose crushing yours, his lips unwavering. Pinpricks of heat ricochet from your mouth to your neck, a shudder he feels that has him laughing hot against your lips.

“That’s not very gentlemanly,” you say, weaving your fingers into the soft crop of hair behind his ears. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. He lifts his hand, cleaning the smudge of your lipstick with his pinky finger, before stroking your cheek with his knuckle.  “What sort of note was that, this afternoon? Why do you think that’s alright to leave at my desk?” 

“How’d you know it was me?” you ask, dropping your hands from his hair to poke at his waist. 

“I hoped it was you,” he admits. He looks like he might say something else, but he steals a rough kiss instead, and then another. 

“Okay,” you say, pleased to be kissed like this by him, “it was me. And you deserved it.” 

“Did I?” He takes your face into two hands. “Did I?” 

You stutter momentarily at his repeated question. “You– yeah, Hotchner, you did. It was supposed to be nice, like a promise.” 

“Are you promising?” he asks, giving your cheek a sweet, gentle stroke with his thumb. 

You kiss his nice jaw, ruffle the hair that curls over his forehead playfully, and laugh as he catches your hand. He doesn’t grab. Hotch isn’t ever aggressive with you (though he can get a little excited). 

“Decide what you want for dinner tonight, and we’ll go after work,” he says, returning your hand gently to your side. 

“Another kiss?” you ask. 

Hotch kisses you sweetly. “Come on, honey, lunch is over.” 

“Just one more?” you ask. 

He falls for it every time. You must harvest half a dozen extra kisses, incensed because it’s him, because nobody thought for a minute he’d bend to your whims. 

Hotch doesn’t bend. He just wants you like you want him. 

“One more,” he says as you pull away. “Just one.” 

It tickles your lips. You curl your arms behind his neck and try to make it one that’ll linger, your fingers scratching lightly at his scalp as he presses your back to the cold wall. You yelp a laugh and he covers your back with big hands, mumbling a sorry that gets completely lost. 

You don’t know how he’s going to explain this to Gideon. 

[midiosaamor]

First big fight with Aaron Warner? With hurt/comfort/angst??👀

AHHHHHH okay so i havent wrote angst yet but HERE IT GOES!!

❪ ★ ❫ 𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: aaron warner x fem!reader.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: you thought that the two of you could fix it together. turns out it was when he missed your birthday was when it all fell down.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: angst, crying, use of Y/N, fem!reader, kissing, arguing, breaking up, angst with fluff at the end, aaron warner crying, stress, missing special days.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 1530

𝐀/𝐍: redid this too. i feel like i made this too dramatic though😭😭 idk. BUT I LOVR MY MAN HAHGGHDHGAGEGR🫶🫶 also this was my first angst work so DONT GET MAD AT ME FOR THIS BEING TRADHY OKAY

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. 𝐀𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐑.

𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐃: ✗

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: nahh

it’s been too much. at first, it was just going to bed late, but he still slept with you. then it was not seeing you for a while. then he missed your birthday. your birthday.

you understand that aaron has a lot on his hands, he needs to do his work. but lately, he hasn’t been spending time with you. at all.

yes, juliette and the others are a great company. but it’s nothing compared to the company you have with your boyfriend. or, at least, you used to have. now, you two are in your bedroom. arguing.

you two have never argued, it was mostly just small disagreements that you two immediately fixed. but this—this was a real argument.

“i just—i just feel like you haven’t been spending time with me. like you put your work above me,” you argue, looking at the blond man in front of you. he looks at you with a mix of hurt and frustration.

“love, you have to understand that i have work to do—” he begins, but you cut him off. “and i know that! but you missed my birthday, aaron. my birthday,” you cry, your eyes getting blurry with tears.

aaron sighs and runs a hand down his face. “i know, and that was a mistake. and i’m sorry, angel, but i have to do my work. i have to take care of the reestablishment or it will all come down.”

You blink at him in surprise, before chuckling softly. “right, so, what I’m hearing is: I do love you but my work is more important than you because the reestablishment is more important than my girlfriend?” you ask, looking at him in disbelief.

he looks at you with his eyebrows scrunched up, looking at you with the same expression you have. “no—what—i’m just saying that i have to do my work—wait—no, that’s not what i’m—”

“aaron. if you don’t love me anymore, just say it. don’t slowly push yourself away from me, because that’s much worse than just doing it straight up.”

you’re lying. it’ll hurt either way. this hurts. the argument; aaron not paying attention to you anymore; him missing your birthday. he looks at you with wide eyes.

“what—no, that’s not what i’m saying. i—i have my work to do and—”

“—and i understand that. you have to take care of the reestablishment while i have to take care of north america. it’s just—i tried to make time for you, aaron. i tried to let juliette and nazeera help me with my work so i can spend time with you—but you just want to take care of the reestablishment.”

he gapes at you, looking for words. “what are you saying, love?” you bite your trembling lip. “don’t call me love. let’s—let’s take a break, aaron,” you whisper.

he freezes before words come out of his mouth frantically. “no, no, no, no—wait, love. we can work this out—i’ll make time for you, just—”

you take a deep breath, putting your head down. this is for the best. “you tried doing that, and you just ended up hurting me,” you whisper, looking up at him.

your heart breaks at the sight, but you keep standing. his eyes are filled with tears but none fall, the opposite of you. tears from your eyes fall from your eyes, landing on your cheek.

“love, please. I know you don’t want to do this—I feel it. please, just give me a chance.”

before you could give in, you took a step back and put your head down. “i’m sorry, aaron.” You don’t know why you’re saying sorry. “love, please,” he whispers, looking at you desperately.

you keep your head down as you turn on your heel and walk out of the room.

it’s been a week. a week of you and Aaron not even talking to each other. the only time you look at each other is when he has to pass you the work he did. but you feel him glancing at you, watching from afar.

you moved out of the room you two were sharing and moved in with juliette. she listened to your vent and tears, comforting you when it became too much.

but you’ve changed ever since the two of you—or more like you—broke up. you’ve begun to smile less. you’re starting to have eye bags underneath your eyes and you don’t feel good nowadays.

“Y/N,” juliette says, bringing you out of your daze. “hm?” you hum as you turn to the brunette girl, looking at you with worry. “are you okay?”

you blink at her, looking at you with an expression you know all too well. “yeah, i’m okay. why do you ask?”

“you look terrible,” nazeera butts in. juliette turns to her and frowns but she doesn’t disagree. you sigh and look back down at your papers. “i’m fine, just out of it,” you mutter.

you look at the two girls and smile at them, but that doesn’t clear their worry. instead, that makes them worry more. “alright,” juliette mumbles.

the door knocks and the person behind it waits a moment before opening it the door. In front of it, is a familiar blond. “warner,” juliette says, looking between you and him.

you resist the urge to stare and look down at your papers, going back to work. “i just wanted to hand you some papers,” he says, taking a few steps into the room.

that’s always been him. he doesn’t fully step into the room until you’ve said he could, unless on bad days when he just needs you.

you grit your teeth and scold yourself for thinking like that again.

papers settle down on your desk and you realize that nazeera and juliette left, leaving you alone with aaron.

you make a mental note to yell at them later.

aaron stands there on the side of your desk, not talking or doing anything. “yes?” you ask, looking up at him. not to look into his green eyes. no. of course not.

he stares at you, not blinking. until he finally says, “you have eye bags.” you blink up at him before putting your head down, a blush of embarrassment flooding your cheeks.

“yeah, i know.”

“and your hair looks unbrushed.”

“yeah, i know.”

“and you’re sad.”

you don’t answer. “love,” aaron whispers, making your stomach flutter. you don’t do anything. “love, please, at least answer me.”

you blink and look up at him again. you realize how messed up he is, too. his hair is unruly and his tie is unloosed; his suit looks like it was messily put on.

“yes?”

he slowly sits down, as if warning you what he’s doing. you look at him curiously but then look back down to your papers.

“please, look at me,” he asks. you don’t look at him and instead start to write something down on your paper. “love,” he tries again. you don’t look at him.

his hands find your chin and he turns your face to look at him, his jaw clenched. “you can yell at me, scream at me, punch me, slap me—revolt me, but do not; ignore me.”

your eyes widen in surprise and soon the two of you are staring at each other. “my love, i know you’re hurting,” he finally whispers.

“i’m not,” you finally answer. he closes his eyes before opening back up, looking at you. “yes, you are. i feel it. you’re tired and hurting.”

damn his powers of sensing emotions.

“please, let me take care of you. i promise i won’t hurt you again, i swear,” he begins, “i just want to take care of you like we used to. hug you like we used to—kiss you like we used to. it’s only been a week but, god, it has felt like a century. i’d rather die than live like this, without you; please.”

your breath catches in your throat as he looks at you with watery green eyes, his thumb caressing your cheek. “please, i promise, i won’t break your heart again. i’ll spend time with you, i’ll make time for you, i swear,” he goes on, holding your face with his two hands.

“aaron—” you start, but he interrupts. “please, don’t say no to me. i feel like i’m dying, darling. like this world means nothing to me without you—”

“aaron,” you interrupt. he looks at you desperately, visibly wishing you’ll say yes. you decide to break your rule. i mean, how can you say no when he’s saying something like this?

you nod at him, making his breathing stop. “yes,” you assure. “i’ll—i’ll give you another chance,” you whisper. he freezes; before bringing you into a tight embrace.

“oh, god, love. i promise i won’t lose you again. i won’t hurt you. neger again,” he whispers, kissing your head frantically. tears start to swell up in your eyes as his kisses travel down to your lips, kissing you.

you wrap your arms around his neck and return the kiss, kissing him with an urgency you didn’t know you had in you.

“i love you,” he says in between kisses.

“i love you too,” you respond.

[xan-izme]

Dubble Life (ACTSV x Reader x Batfam) 3

A/n: I forgot to mention that the universe reader is in is earth-42. So, the Prowler is Miles, but he switches with Aaron here and there. and reader has the same last name as Miles.

Part 2, Part 4

Summary: Life with the Waynes so far was pretty good. Damian is still being a brat, so reader decides to be a good big sister. Someone from the past shows their face. In the need of readers help, for Spider-woman.

"I win!" Tim couldn't help but smirk in triumph. You stare at the 'Game over' on your screen. "Nah, nah. You gotta be cheating! Bro what is this!" This was the third time you have lost street fight with Tim.

"You two are acting like children." Damian spoke, watching two play video games for almost 2 hours. You rolled your eyes and gave Damian a look. "Cuz we are. You're like what, 9?" Tim chuckled as he packed his things.

"I am 12!" Damian argued. "Boy, like that makes any difference." Damian began to argue with you, you just stared down at him an announced you were getting a drink from the kitchen. You poured yourself a drink. Suddenly, your Spidey senses were warning you. You quickly turn around, just to see Damian. You scoffed.

It was funny how your Spidey senses always acted up when it came to Damian. You wondered if he wanted to hurt you so you couldn't take the Wayne throne. You turned back and continued to take a gulp from your cup. you paused for a moment before glancing to Damian you was eating a snack that Alfred made.

You thought that maybe the reason that you two haven't fully gotten along was due to both of you not even trying. So why not be the bigger person and try to be nice.

You slide yourself to the table Damian was at and set yourself in front of him. The boy frowns as he sees the smirk you had.

"What do you want, you bug."

You couldn't help but chuckle at that. If only he really knew.

"Look, demon. I think we haven't really gotten the chance to bond as siblings." You leaned in with a smile. Damian looked at you with distaste. "Did father put you up to this? What are you planning Davies?"

"No, I ain't planning nothing. What's wrong with wanning to hang out with you?" You arched your brow and leaned back into your chair. Damian sighed "I don't have time for you. I have work to do. So, if you'll excuse me." Damian stood from his chair and walked away.

"Alright, if you change your mind my door is open!" Literally, you leave your door open sometimes. You just forget to close it. A habit to try and get rid of.

After a few days. Damian did come to your room.

"Oh, look who's here. Is there something my little demon needs? hugs, kisses? whatever sisterly love can provide?" You smirked as you watched him give you a look of disgust.

"I don't want your useless affection. Father wants us to go with him to a meeting. Please wear something that doesn't look like a Hippe made it." With that, Damian walked out. He paused and took a glance of a picture you had hung on the wall; it was of a woman. Your mother no doubt.

You sighed and got yourself ready. Wondering why the hell Bruce wanted you to come along.

"Hey Alfred. Do you know why Bruce needs me at the meeting today?" you asked. Alfred handed you a drink you requested for

"It is a meeting at the Wayne enterprise. You will mistily be there to observe the working environment and understand what the Wayne family is about." Alfred escorted you down and helped you fix your dress up, so it was perfect.

Bruce couldn't help but smile as he watched you come down those stairs in one of the dresses Dick picked for you.

Once you reached the bottom, Bruce took your hand into his "You look beautiful."

Your smiled. Your smile faltered.

Remembering the time, your mother had a date with some man you didn't approve of.

It was cold out. Your mother was going to be with a man named Jim Bolton. You were happy she was happy. But you didn't trust this Jim guy. You asked, practically begged your uncle Jeff to do a background run on the man.

Jim was married at the age of 22, awfully young. He got divorced and has two daughters 3-4 years younger than you. he also had 3 DUI's. Your mother has told you he doesn't drink anymore. But you still didn't like him.

You watched your mother walk down the stairs, with a red dress on, her hair fixed up. Shinny jewels on. She looked amazing. You already saw her as a goddess, this just added onto the beauty you already saw in her. You couldn't help but look at her fondly.

"Okay, remember to lock all the doors. Your uncle Aarons going to be here in an hour to watch you and- . . . what?" Your mother noticed that small smile on your face. You were being silent. Just staring at her.

You chuckled and held her hands to yours "Nothing. . . you just look beautiful."

You missed her. You've been trying to not think too much of her. Not think of the time you two spent. Not think of her hugs. Her smile, her voice.

You have night terrors of what happened that day. At times you stay awake, too scared to close your eyes. Afraid to see every wrong thing you've done as a daughter. You make it worse for yourself by calling her number, only to hear no answer.

The Wayne building was big. Many people in uniforms rushing too somewhere. Rushing to get work done, rushing to get home.

You walked beside Damian. He has been quite this whole time. You wonder what was making your dear little weirdo so silent.

You sat in one meeting with Bruce and Damian. It was rather boring. But you did think Bruce was cool with the way he took over. Bruce had two other meetings that suddenly came up. He was going to take the two of you downtown to look around, get something to eat. Go to the movies even.

"It's alright. Me and De- Damian can go and hang around with Alfred. Can get a little Sibling bonding out of it." You held yourself back from calling the boy, demon. Almost let it slip for a second there.

Bruce liked the sound of that. When he agreed, you gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Bruce isn't the best with affection, but you have been doing these little gestures, hugging, the kisses on the cheek. You would even do the occasional 'I love you's Bruce is starting to think that you might just be getting closer to him. So, he buys you more things.

Sometimes you decline so he just gives you money.

Damian rolled his eyes as you dragged him to the car. Alfred Started the car and you two were now going to be closer than ever. Well, you hope.

"So, little brother, you have anyone that has cached your interest?"

Damian frowns "That is none of your business."

"I see, you must really her then. Or him, I don't discriminate on who you love." You felt a smirk creep up when you catch a glimpse of the look on the young boy's face. It just felt so fun toying with him like this.

"I don't have time for something like dating. Stop talking, you're giving me a migraine." Damian did visibly look tired of you, which made it even more enjoyable for you.

The first few weeks that you came to the manor. This boy has been activating the need for violence. You can't just cuss him out and flip him off like you did with Miguel.

You can tell Damian ain't stupid. He's sharp and very aware of his surroundings. One slip up and your done for. So, you decide to do what you did best.

Be annoying.

Damian ignores you more when you act like that. On top of that, you loved the reactions you got out of him.

You and Damian went to a music shop where they had those old timey records that you liked.

"Why do you need these things. You know you can listen to music like this on your phone, right?" Damian watched as you picked up a record and held it like it was precious. The most fragile thing in the world.

". . .The neighborhood I used to live in. Was loud. I could hear screaming, gun shots. And other things I wasn't supposed to hear." You gently put the record down and continued to walk down the aisle. Damian and Alfred followed behind.

"One night, there was a gang fight right outside. I got so scared. I ran into her room crying. She played a song. . ." You found a song you haven't seen in a while and grabbed it.

"She held me. . . and said, 'son solo sondios, mi amor.' and told me to listen to the music. Let that be the only thing you hear." You let yourself laugh, remembering at how much you cried.

"So, that's what I do. Instead of listening to sounds that give me fear. I listen to these."

Damian watched you happily go through the records.

Damian scoffed to himself. It was the first time he saw a real smile from you. Of course, you smile a lot. But everything was fake. You were putting on a facade. He didn't like fake people.

Lying all the time. People who lie, can't be trusted. And you lie a lot. he knows. You just haven't been caught yet.

But that, what you just did. You were actually being real. You don't seem too bad. For a bug.

"What's this?" Damian spoke up when he picked up a record that had big words on it with a blue background.

"Oh, Boney M. I love these guys." You know Uncle Aaron had full blown collocations of the band.

You looked down to see the look of confusion on Damians face. "Oh, my Go- Come on man. You really don't know these guys?"

"No, should I? . . . My mother wasn't like yours." Damian mumbled. He sets down the record. You stared at him, then glanced to Alfred. You don't know much about Damian's mother. Just that she left him with Bruce.

Due to the boy's uptight attitude, you assume his mother was strict. And based on Alfreds expression, she probably wasn't the best.

You put your hand on his shoulder. "Let's go watch a movie. Yeah?"

The movie was a comedy, it was funny to you. Even more funny that Damian couldn't understand the jokes in the movie. Just watching you laugh so much just because he wasn't understanding the jokes, Damian couldn't help but laugh himself.

"I liked the ending." Damian spoke as you two exited out the theater. "What? for real? . . . why? The ending was kind of butt." You say, Wanting to know why Damian actually liked the ending.

"Well, the main character, Lisa. She found out she was being played by that Moses guy. Even if he caught feelings for her at one point, he didn't have those feelings when he went with that dare. When he kissed her at the prom as some stupid form of an apology, she just slapped him. She knew her worth."

You just stared in utter disbelief. You couldn't help but giggle, then burst out laughing.

"What? Why are you always laughing!'' Damian was scolding you as you continued to laugh and try to explain why you were laughing.

Suddenly you felt your Spidey senses go crazy. Thats when an explosion was heard.

"Oh shi-"

people started running in panic. "It's joker. . ." You heard Damian mumble. You quickly grab Damians hand and try to get to the car where Alfred was parked. Damian let you drag him. So many people were crowding up in a panic.

Damian looked up at you, then to the multiple explosions Joker was dropping. Hearing his damn laugh echo. He was putting his Job as Robin first. And let your hand go. You felt him let go. You quickly turn around. Panic sets in you. You called out his name as you tried to shove people away so you could get through.

"DAMIAN!" You tried to help a few people who got hurt by the falling rubble around them. But all you could think of was Damian. You kept calling the boy's phone. But it would go straight to voicemail. You cussed multiple times.

You went back into the theaters, calling out for Damian, asking anyone if they had seen a little boy come back in.

You didn't know he had left to fulfill his role as Robin.

You were currently in an alleyway. Trying to get to Damian on the phone, no answer. You try to contact Bruce, you lost service. You got frustrated and decided to just run around like an idiot to try and look for the boy.

But you accidentally ran into someone and knock them down.

"Oh no. I'm so sorry Ma'am. Are you alright?" You were quick to help the girl up.

"Thanks. . . you look good, Y/n."

You paused. Who was this? how did she know your name. Your look of confusion started to fade as you recognized the voice. You began to step back.

The girl fully showed her face. Starring you right in the eyes.

"Gwen?"

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tag list: @lockofspades @redsakura101 @ruby-izo

[hoe4hotchner]

Heyy! I had this idea with hotch

Imagine he’s dating a doctor but he hasn’t told anyone but Dave yet. And remember the fisher king episode when Spencer jumps from that bomb? So during a case hotch jumps from a bomb (he’s fine but he goes to the hospital anyway to check if everything is okay) and while he and the team is waiting on the doctor to check his wounds, guess who shows up? His furious girlfriend ready to freak out about her boyfriend dangerous work. And hotch just stays quiet and listens to her/them (you choose) and the team is just there watching their grumpy scary boss being scolded like a little kid.

Idk why but I loved the idea of the scary grumpy unit chief hotch being so whipped for his partner that he doesn’t even argue when she’s/they're mad at him :)

I love this idea!!! I had to stop myself I could've made it into a whole thing hehehe.

A/N: I swear to god me and a few CM writers had this discussion years ago and I don't remember what the conclusion of Hotch's middle name ended up being. If anyone remembers please remind me ;)

Link to my requests

The team sat in the exam room, all tense after the recent case. Hotch seated on the bed in the middle, waiting to be discharged. Except for a few burn wounds on his right arm, he was otherwise fine.

“You know, Hotch, you could’ve just asked for a day off. Jumping on a bomb seems a bit extreme,” Morgan chuckled, breaking the silence while trying to lighten the mood.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Hotch replied, his voice stoic as usual.

Suddenly, a door at the end of the hall burst open, and a voice echoed through the corridor. “AARON JAMES HOTCHNER!” You stormed into his room, eyes blazing with fury. “What on earth were you thinking?”

Before Hotch had the chance to respond, you continued, “Jumping on a bomb? Do you have any idea how reckless that was? You could’ve been killed!”

“Did she just call him Aaron?” Emily whispered to JJ.

“I think she did,” JJ murmured back, both of them wide-eyed.

Rossi tried to stifle a grin, while the rest of the team watched in shock, realizing for the first time that Hotch was dating a doctor.

“And don’t you dare tell me it was part of the job! Your job is to stay alive so you can come home in one piece, not to play hero with your life!” You sighed, your anger giving way to worry. “Aaron, please… I can’t keep doing this if you’re going to keep risking your life like this. I need you to be careful.”

Hotch finally spoke, his voice low and sincere. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’ll be more careful, I promise.” You hugged him, relieved that he was okay.

The team exchanged glances, a mixture of surprise and amusement on their faces. This was a side of Aaron Hotchner they’ve never seen before.

“You better be,” you said firmly. “And next time, you call me as soon as you’re in the hospital. I don’t want to hear about it from someone else.”

You give him a pointed look before exiting the room, leaving the team in stunned silence.

After a moment, Morgan was the first to break the quiet. “Hotch, you didn’t tell us you were dating a doctor,” he said with a grin on his lips.

“I didn’t think it was relevant.”

“Not relevant?” Emily chimed in, in disbelief. “Hotch, they just chewed you out in front of the whole team. I think it’s pretty relevant.”

Hotch just shrugs, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

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