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chithereader · 22 days ago

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jealousy, jealousy / aaron hotchner

here’s my masterlist! pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader / shy!reader word count: 2.4k genre & cw: fluff, a little jealousy and pining angst if u squint, mentions of made-up case, different use of cm character a/n: thank u so much for all the support i've been getting on my fics!! hope you love this one as much as i do, i really enjoyed writing this one the most!

Today was a bad day. That much was clear. From the moment you woke up to the minute you arrived at the BAU– you’re convinced that the universe has simply gone the extra mile to make your life a little harder.

You slept through your alarm and a few phone calls from Garcia, making your morning stressful and complete chaos. You didn’t have time to grab a cup of coffee or a snack, and apparently you also didn’t have time to remove the colorful pimple patches that adorned your face.

Your blouse is buttoned asymmetrically, your hair resembling a bird's nest, and you left your ID at home, making your arrival more delayed as you had to employ Garcia’s help in presenting a copy of your ID to let you through.

That too was not without stress given that your phone was on the verge of dying as you were in the call, but thankfully you could finally breathe in the elevator. Or so you thought.

There were two things that immediately caught you off guard as you walked into the bullpen: one, almost all the desks were deserted and two, Reid and Morgan were watching you- as if waiting for your reaction, which led you to look around in anticipation. Is there a surprise? A prank? Did I miss a patch? I’m…wearing pants, right?

Not wanting to prolong your search, you look at the two for any indication or clue. Tilting your head to the side as if to ask what? But to your surprise, they both nod their heads in one direction. Oh.

Strauss was in Hotch’s office, along with Rossi and a woman you don’t recognize. Hotch looked a bit tense, Strauss firm, Rossi is as relaxed as ever, and the woman… is looking directly at Hotch. Just Hotch. Huh.

You were stood just shy of your desk when you shook thoughts out of your head, slowly approaching your desk to settle your things. Dozens of scenarios were running through your head, trying to make sense of new additions to an otherwise normal day.

But the way she was studying him made your chest tight like someone was stepping on it.. and you couldn’t figure out why.

You approach the two rascals only to lean on Derek’s desk as you whisper under your breath, “What’s happening there?”

Morgan shrugs but his focused face remains, “I don’t know, kid. I tried Garcia but she doesn’t have a clue either.” Eyes studying the people in the room, noting anything that could tell them something.

Mulling over more possibilities, you hum in response. Turning to Reid, you ask him- hoping that his eidetic memory can tell you anything about the woman even if they’d only met in passing.

“Do you know anything, Spence?” But Reid only pouts at you, a sign that he’s thought about it hard but is coming up empty.

Shaking his head, he soberly replies, “No..I don’t think so. I– I’ve never seen her before. Sorry.”

Before any more thoughts could be voiced between the three of you, the door to Hotch’s office opens and all four of them file out- the woman walking a little too close to Hotch.

You’re approaching your usual seat on the jet beside Morgan and across from Hotch when suddenly Agent Seaver overtakes you and sits on your seat. Caught by surprise, your eyes instinctively go to Hotch who’s already looking at you.

He nods to himself, moving from the aisle seat to the one by the window. But it appears Agent Seaver misunderstood his gesture and moved beside him, “Oh! Thank you, sir.” Even going as far as touching his arm and leaning closely.

Now, you’ve never been a violent person. Rage has just never overcome your senses like that but today.. of all days– you couldn’t help the image of spilling your hot chocolate all over her cream blouse.

You don’t even notice that you’re frowning as you sit beside Morgan, somehow still unaware of how much their closeness really upsets you. You honestly thought you’ve maintained an expressionless face until Morgan looks up from his file and leans close to whisper in your ear, “You’ll need claws not paws, baby girl.” Winking at you as you separate.

You steal a glance at Hotch only to see him watching you and Morgan with furrowed brows. He almost looks normal if it weren’t for the clenching of his jaw that’s his tell of irritation. Moving your gaze to Seaver, in case you missed something that’s causing his new mood, you find her reading the case file.

As you return your gaze on Hotch, you watch as Seaver touches his arm again and engages him in conversation about the case. It’s through the whole jet ride that you had to stomach the constant Agent Hotchner, Agent Hotchner! paired with a giggle or a slight touch. UGH!

If it weren’t for Strauss personally recommending Agent Seaver as a consultant for this case, you would have done– …still absolutely nothing. You had no claim whatsoever over Hotch. Morgan and Rossi may tease the two of you occasionally, forcing that he treats you specially or whatever but his behavior could simply be chalked off as him being a good and attentive boss.

And yes, okay fine. You may have some moments here and there… but! they could honestly just be built up in your head because of the feelings you have for him. Like when he said he likes it when you stare? Come on, being stared at can be flattering and that’s just a universal truth.

After a whole day of coming up with theories, visiting crime scenes and M.E.’s, you’re all completely spent. Lounging in the makeshift discussion room, all of you are still working tirelessly on the case given that the unsub’s on a spree and his timeline is alarmingly short.

Reid’s been silently staring at the board for 20 minutes while Morgan’s pretending to read files of potential suspects with his legs stretched out and feet on the table, “This is impossible. We just don’t have enough.” He exclaims as he tosses the file on the table with a thud.

To the left of Morgan, you’re also silently mulling over files of potential suspects. Not wanting to admit that he’s right, you guys don’t have enough…bodies. You barely have anything on the guy, barely any clues- for a working profile.

You sigh heavily, peeling your eyes off the paper and looking at the board. “Reid?” The boy genius shakes his head softly, confirming that the known dump sites don’t say much about the unsub’s comfort zones or hunting ground.

You suddenly wonder where Seaver, Hotch and Rossi are. You and Morgan got back to the precinct at around 11PM, and you realize you haven’t seen any of them, “Where are the others?”

Morgan, in an effort to lighten the mood, jumps at the chance to tease you, “Hmm. I think what you’re really asking is: Where’s Hotch and is he with Seaver?” He punches your arm lightly, making it obvious he’s only teasing.

The smug, playful smile on his face makes you fight one of your own, desperately trying to not give yourself away, “Shut up,” hitting him in the head softly with the file in your hand.

While you two were exchanging playful glares, Reid interjects, “Seaver wanted to turn in early since she’s also the one meeting with the families tomorrow so Hotch brought her to the hotel.”

You instantly lift your gaze to him and watch as he removes the marker’s cap and scribbles rapidly on the board, quickly adding “And I’m pretty sure Rossi’s getting us coffee from the diner around the block.”

You want to blame it on your exhaustion– your inability and ineffectiveness at hiding how you truly feel about what Reid just revealed to you, groaning loudly in pain and frustration. You put your head in your hands, muffling the sounds you’re making that are somehow a combination of a laugh and a sob.

Morgan understands your reaction immediately and laughs out loud.

“It’s not funny!” There was honestly no point in hiding it. As much as Morgan teased you, you knew he wouldn’t tell anyway, and Reid.. well, he was honestly an even better keeper of secrets than Morgan, Rossi and Garcia.

He puts a hand on your shoulder to comfort you, “Baby girl, worry not. You know you hold a special place in boss man’s heart.” Then gripping both your wrists to pry your hands off your face.

Pressing your face even further into your hands, you let out a muffled version of “That’s not true!” that came out more as “Daffs noft thwu!”

When Morgan successfully pries your hands off your face, you’re surprised to see Reid’s moved from the board to behind Morgan, half leaning half sitting on the table, curiously watching you.

Morgan turns around to look at the door behind you, making sure the coast is clear before he says, “Kid. Be real with me for a sec… are you blind?” That was not the question you were expecting.

You must have looked so lost because he continues, “Hotch cares for you. Deeply. And not in the same way he does for us. You’ve gotta have felt that, kid.” Funny, you are starting to feel like a kid– the only thing missing are his hands on your shoulders to complete that huddle pep talk experience.

“That’s just not–” you try to start. But Reid swiftly raises his hand, signing you to stop–

“Did you know that every morning Hotch makes sure all the pens and mug handles on your desk are pointing to the right– the way you need it to be– in case the night janitors move any out of place?”

“Or that he never really ate lunch in the office before but started bringing sandwiches and other food he could microwave, while timing his lunches with yours presumably so he could strike up a conversation with you during break?”

“Or do you remember that one time the AC in the bullpen broke and we were all sweating badly, and I said the heat was making me too thirsty then he disappeared into his office and came back with a bottle of water and an orange juice box only to give it to you?”

Morgan lets out a loud laugh at that one while Reid pouts playfully, “I mean I was genuinely dying then.”

Not without his own input, Morgan smiles softly at you with a raised brow “Did you know he personally restocks your favorite hot chocolate in the pantry and on the jet? Including the marshmallows.”

You breathe in deeply, the revelations sounding too good to be true but winding nonetheless. You crack a small joke, trying to play it off “And I thought the bureau was just feeling really generous.”

The two, who have grown to be such brothers, give you the exact same look of Really?

As Reid rounds the table to go back and stand by the board, Morgan catches your attention and holds your eye, “Look, there’s so much more, kid. But they all point to the same thing.” He says this as softly as possible, as if to not scare you away.

You let out a soft, breathy laugh. Shaking your head, “That just can’t be true.”

With all three of your backs to the door, you don’t notice Rossi nearing. You just suddenly hear his voice from behind, rounding the table and settling the coffee cups in front of all of you, “Coffee, anyone?”

As if trapped in the null of the previous conversation, you’re still looking at Morgan as you lean back in your chair, slumping further to seek non-existent cover. Reid, who is now back in his own world with the board, is handed a cup by Rossi, who didn’t even turn to look- only stretching out an arm to receive it and mumbling a distracted “Thanks.”

Rossi, who is simply too smart for his own good, impressively senses something hanging in the air, nonchalantly asking about the tailend of a conversation he was not supposed to hear, “So… what can’t be true?”

Back to lounging excessively on a chair that is a tad too tiny for him, with legs outstretched and feet on the corner on the table– Morgan spouts, “That she’s Hotch’s girl, and has no reason to be jealous of Seaver– who by the way needs the HR orientation more than Penelope and I.”

Now– all of your backs are to the door except Rossi’s. Not one of you tried to move due to fatigue, let alone look.

Unbeknownst to you, Morgan, and Reid, on the way back to the precinct from the hotel, Hotch had the genius thought of picking up Rossi so the latter wouldn’t have to walk a block with trays of coffee on hand.

Hotch and Rossi arrived together. And as Rossi went around the table to give you your cups of coffee, Hotch stayed behind– leaning on the doorframe with arms crossed, watching you and the team.

Imagine his surprise, hearing what Morgan just said. His heart skipped a beat, his stomach dropped. His entire being froze entirely.. What? Jealous?

In his mind, he had two choices: Act like he didn’t hear it and save you from embarrassment or use it to his advantage and make his intentions clear..ish.

You gasp loudly at his bluntness– and in front of Rossi! Straightening in your chair and pointing an accusatory finger at Morgan, “You little– I am NOT jealous! and I am NOT Hotch’s–”

Cut off by someone loudly clearing their throat from behind all of you, you all freeze, including Reid who hasn’t been actively paying attention until now.

The hair on your neck stands up as you hear the nearing footsteps, already envisioning digging your own grave in your head when finally, Hotch is standing right beside you.

You’re all still pretty frozen, save from the slow movement which is your eyes slowly lifting its gaze to the man in question until they meet his hazel orbs. He holds your stare as he leans on the desk, arms straining in his shirt–

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Rossi fighting a smile, and just as you’re about to mentally curse him in your head, you’re broken out of your thoughts by a deep voice,

“You don’t think you’re my girl?”

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darkmatilda · 29 days ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you got used to running away from the consequences of your actions, but it turned out to be incredibly difficult when the consequences are your coworker and their name is spencer reid.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x fem!baureader, canon typical violence and topics, season 1/2 reid, GLASSES REID, queen elle greenaway herself, gideon being a little creep (as usual), reader clearly ovulating lmao, mention of a trauma connected with drowning, mention of one night stands of the reader, inspired by taylor swift song "the bolter", dominant reader (mostly), spencer being awkwardly sweet

𝐚/𝐧: i should be doing my history assigment now instead of writing another freaky long fic but here i am

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 10k

Fuck, you thought the moment you realized you’d woken up in someone’s arms.

Double fuck, you added as it dawned on you that this wasn’t some random guy you met at a club, the kind who’d bought you a drink, whose name you hadn’t even tried to remember, and whose life you could easily disappear from without a second thought. Instead, you were lying in the bed of a coworker—a teammate you saw almost every single day.

Triple fuck.

Maybe even quadruple, because of how much you liked it. That is, lying next to his bare skin. In a position where one of his arms was wrapped around your body, his face buried in your hair, in the curve of your neck. His breathing steady, occasionally tickling you. Pleasant. It was pleasant.

You were up to five fucks already, and you hadn’t even left the bed yet.

There was no doubt in your mind that you were going to do it. By the time Spencer Reid opened his gorgeous, chocolate-brown eyes, you’d already be gone. Long gone, behind the wheel of your car, speeding at the maximum legal limit with the window cracked open, despite the icy gusts of winter air rushing in.

You’d been perfecting this strategy for years. First, you’d lose yourself in strangers’ sheets with moans and gasps, only to slip away in the early morning, filled with a thrill even greater than what you’d felt just a few hours before. Why? A very good question. You wished you had the answer to it.

This situation shouldn’t have been an exception, though theoretically, it already was. After all, you’d never even considered doing this with people you knew so well. People you couldn’t just ghost without consequence. People you—leaning over to check the clock on the bedside table—were supposed to see again in less than an hour!

You rubbed your sleepy face with your hand, silently cursing yourself. If only you’d been drunk the night before. People dodge the consequences of far worse actions than having a sex with a coworker simply by blaming it on alcohol. But no—when all of this started, you’d been completely sober and fully aware. Incredibly turned on, it’s worth mentioning.

Before the memories of the previous night could start ambushing you, you scrambled out of the bed. First, of course, you had to untangle yourself from the mess of limbs—carefully, so as not to wake him. You gently moved his arm aside and adjusted the blanket over his hips. Where this sudden care and tenderness came from was yet another very interesting question.

Tiptoeing around the bedroom, you gathered your clothes. Your panties and bra you shamelessly clutched in one hand, intending to shove them into your jacket pocket later. Before heading for it, though, you paused for a brief moment in front of the bed, in front of the still-sleeping Reid.

The blanket, pushed low, revealed the upper half of his lean body—his prominent collarbones and the smooth, even tone of his delicious skin. His chest rose and fell steadily, his hand resting in the spot where you’d been lying just moments ago. As if you were still there.

What a shame it was only a one-time thing.

Some people, looking at his innocent appearance, had no idea how much he had to offer. Their loss, you thought, leaving the apartment on shaky legs, feeling soreness in most of the muscles in your body. When you finally got inside the car and the wind began to cool your flushed face and cheeks, the guilt faded away. You didn’t feel as good as usual, your heart wasn’t racing, and the adrenaline wasn’t surging through your veins the way you craved. Strange. Did it have something to do with who your one-night lover was? You shook your head, trying not to dwell on it.

You’d had a really great time together that one night, but that was it. You were officially leaving it behind, forgetting it.

Just like you always did.

It wasn’t an exception, you told yourself, as you took a quick shower in your own apartment.

It wasn’t an exception, and the fact that you worked together didn’t change a thing.

It wasn’t an exception, you kept affirming, crossing the threshold of the office with still-damp hair and the buttons of your fitted black shirt unevenly fastened.

“Are we not greeting each other anymore?” someone’s question snapped you back to reality.

Lost in thought, you realized you’d passed your friend Elle’s desk without even nodding at her. She was sitting on the edge of it, arms crossed over her chest, her dark eyes seeming to pierce through your skull, sifting through your memories. She was sharp—sometimes, too sharp. With nothing more than a sly smile, she let you know she knew something was going on.

"Sorry. I'm still half asleep," you said, approaching her for a hug. You let out a chuckle. "Or maybe I'm completely asleep if I missed such a hot chick in my path."

Elle pushed you away by a finger’s length, her eyebrows raised in a challenge.

"You think you're gonna distract me with compliments? Better start talking—who's the guy?"

“What guy?” someone asked, surprisingly not you, but Derek, who stepped into the room with a massive cup of coffee, nearly dropping it as he tried to greet both of you. You loved the laid-back atmosphere of the early mornings at work, when you had a moment to chat about whatever. “Well, good morning, ladies. From the looks on your faces, I’m guessing you had a nice weekend?”

"From that huge cup of coffee, I’m guessing you did too, if you need that much caffeine. Partying on a Sunday night, you should be ashamed," you replied sarcastically, eyeing your coworker.

His eyebrows shot up.

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," he whistled.

"She's just trying to change the subject," Elle informed him. "I was just interrogating our little bolter.

You rolled your eyes at hearing that nickname again. They’d started using it a while ago, as soon as they found out how you handled things with guys. There was nothing judgmental about it—they just really liked to tease you.

It took Morgan a moment to piece together what was going on. When he did, laughter burst from his lips.

"Is that why your hair is still wet? You left in such a rush you didn’t even have time to dry it?"

"She was afraid the sound of the hair dryer would wake the guy up," Elle snorted. "And, heaven forbid, they’d actually have to talk to each other."

“Oh, screw you both,” you muttered, aiming to act your age—in this case, by flipping them off. Before you could, Derek caught your hand, stopping you from spinning on your heel and stomping back to your desk.

“You know,” he said, suddenly a touch more serious, as if the question genuinely intrigued him, “I can’t help but wonder why you actually do it. For me, personally, waking up next to a lovely lady who made the night worthwhile is kind of the best part...”

"Are you asking about the psychological aspects behind it?" You raised an eyebrow. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Elle tilt her head slightly, clearly intrigued. "I don’t know. Something from childhood, probably. Everything stems from there, doesn’t it? Or maybe the reason is something else," you lowered your voice to a near conspiratorial whisper, leaning in closer to their faces as if about to reveal some great secret. "I simply enjoy it. As they say, you don’t pry into people’s bedrooms or wallets."

"That rule doesn’t apply to our friendship, sweetheart."

You chuckled at the remark; sometimes, you really did share a lot with each other. In any case, your response had nothing to do with modesty or shame on those topics. You chose to answer evasively because you didn’t feel like describing how addictive that feeling of escape was, how much control it seemed to give you. How your heart would race in those moments, and how all your fucking lives seemed to flash before your eyes then.

It was sick, many people have already told you that. Still, you couldn't stop.

"Good morning, everyone." Suddenly, JJ burst in, clutching a briefcase the size of an encyclopedia under her arm. "Hotch wants to see us all in five minutes, we have a new case. You'll find out everything in a moment, but I’ll say right away that it looks like a little trip is in store. Bring warm jackets."

"Mercy, not another case from Alaska..." Morgan started, rolling his eyes.

"Not this time. By the way, has Reid already arrived?"

Elle glanced around and shrugged.

"I don’t see him. Besides, if he were here, he’d already be telling us everything about the weather conditions in Alaska."

"Strange," Derek muttered under his breath. "I can’t remember the last time he was late."

You fixed your gaze on your shoes, as if there was something fascinating about them.

"It’s not like him," JJ agreed, a little worried. "Maybe I should call him..."

"He’s definitely stuck in traffic," you interjected quickly, forcing yourself to sound casual, though you tensed up involuntarily. The thought of confronting Spencer slightly scared you, though you wouldn't admit it to yourself. "I’m almost 100% sure. Anyway, shouldn’t we be heading out?"

You changed the subject, nodding toward the exit with your chin. And then, by accident, you made eye contact with Elle.

Elle, who knew you better than anyone.

Elle, who always, always knew when you were lying or hiding something. And whose eyes widened when she realized.

Feeling the blood rush to your ears, you subtly shook your head, silently pleading for her not to speak. But she, to your horror, opened her mouth.

"You two, go ahead," she directed at Morgan and JJ. Then she fixed her intense, demanding gaze directly on you. "We’ll join you in a minute. I need to have a word with our girl, privately."

Barely were you alone when she exclaimed:

"Did you sleep with Reid?!"

"Goddammit, Elle, could you say it any louder?" you hissed, glancing toward the door where your colleagues had just disappeared moments ago.

"Why not? So, you had sex with Dr. Spencer Reid...!"

"FOR GOD'S SAKE..."

"...our genius boy and a member of the same team?!"

"I’m fucking sure even Strauss heard that in her office," you sighed. "But yes, I did it, I regret it, and most importantly, this has to stay between us. Not a word to Derek, JJ, or Penelope, understood?"

To your surprise, Elle burst into laughter and raised her hands in a defensive gesture.

"You know I wouldn’t tell anyone without your permission. I was just playing around Anyway..." she sighed. "I find it hard to believe. You two? Honestly, there’s always been something between you…”

"No," you interrupted her sharply. The words left a ringing in your head. "There was nothing between us."

"So, you decided to sleep together just like that, out of boredom?"

"We need to go, Elle. The rest is probably waiting for us."

You moved forward, your friend trailing right behind you, like that little voice in the back of your mind urging you to order pizza at midnight.

"Oh, one more thing. You said you regret it. So, what, our genius didn’t meet your expectations..."

"End of discussion..."

"Last thing, you told me not to mention it to Garcia, Morgan, or JJ. What about Hotch? Can I tell him?"

You couldn’t keep up the seriousness any longer and burst into laughter, joined by Elle.

"Tell me what?" a voice called from behind you.

Fuck multiplied by twelve thousand seventy-nine.

Somehow, your boss appeared in the same hallway, probably heading to the same room where you were going to be briefed on your next case. You noticed how all the amusement disappeared from Elle’s face. You both exchanged a look, like teenagers caught smoking a cigarette by their parents.

You both turned, silently negotiating through eye contact—arguing, really, over who should speak up and save the situation. It fell to you.

"Um... we were wondering... if we should tell you... that we absolutely love your tie. It's so... red and... long..." It was only then that you noticed it was a gray tie. "Not that one. Another one. Absolutely stunning. And I’m actually looking for a birthday gift for a friend. He’s... a huge fan of... ties."

You tried not to look at Elle, fearing she might burst into laughter. She already seemed like she was suffocating inside. Improvisation was never your strong suit; you always had to say too much.

"So, I hope you don’t mind me asking where you bought it. That’s exactly the kind of tie I’m looking for. Red..." You bit your tongue before you could say long again. "Good quality. One that you’d just want to untie..."

Hotch’s completely stoic expression didn’t help.

"Oh." Suddenly, you realized you hadn’t even greeted him. "Good morning, boss. Are you having a good day?"

"Average," he replied, completely ignoring your whole tie spiel.

Silence fell. Elle stared at the floor, and the corners of her mouth twitched dangerously.

"Let’s get to work," Hotch suggested, clearing his throat. He extended his hand, gesturing for you to go ahead. As soon as you turned, you squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment. "I got it from Hailey," he spoke to you in a quieter tone, opening the door to the room where the rest of the team was already gathered. "But if you really care, I can ask her where she bought it."

Sometimes you had a hard time figuring out if the guy was serious or just messing with you.

"I’d be greatly appreciative," you managed to say, quickly passing him and taking a seat at the long table.

You heard Elle whispering to Morgan something that started with "You won’t believe this…” and contained a combination of the words red, long, and untie.

Actually, saying that all the team members were inside wasn’t entirely true. One of them was missing.

"Reid’s late?" Penelope wondered, just as your gaze fell on his empty seat.

"Let’s start without him," Hotch decided. "This can’t wait. JJ?"

She handed out the case files to everyone and moved to the screen, where the most important details and photos related to the case were being displayed. Before he could even say a word, a late Spencer burst into the room.

"Sorry, really, sorry..." he said frantically. "I know this never happens, but I overslept..."

He stopped mid-sentence as soon as his eyes met yours. It felt like he might as well have shouted, Hey, you know we had sex last night? and it would have been less suggestive. Or maybe it was just your inner paranoid voice talking.

"You could’ve informed us you’d be late," Hotch said.

Reid was still desperately trying to catch your eye, even though you were determinedly focusing on everything except him. It wasn’t until a moment later that he realized Hotch had said something to him, and he sighed in surprise, snapping back to reality.

"Oh... yeah, I should have. Definitely. Actually... I actually sent a message to y/n."

At that moment, all eyes turned to you. You furrowed your brow. There was no way he had written or called you — you would have heard it… which, of course, didn’t mean you would have replied. Your hand went to your pocket…

"I forgot my phone."

Only then did you look at Reid, your expression should have given him the message you intended. I left my phone at your place...

“I’ll look for it for you,” he offered. He immediately panicked, probably realizing that you'd rather keep your night together a secret. “I mean, I’ll help you look for it. If you want…”

“Reid, please, sit down,” Hotch stopped him from completely humiliating both of you. At that point, you had a burning desire to bang your head on the table. “And close the door.”

“Right…”

He followed the order and took a seat next to JJ, across from you, sending a small, uncertain smile. You didn’t react, your face remained unreadable, even irritated by how much he was giving away about what had happened between you.

Still, seeing his slightly wrinkled shirt, the same one he wore the previous evening when he opened the door for you, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander. Those small imperfections in the fabric were, of course, from how hastily you had removed it and tossed it to the floor, where it had stayed all night…

The first time you had met outside of work, as two ordinary friends and not colleagues, was a few weeks ago. You had to drop by his place in the evening to pick up some documents you needed for the next day at work.

“Thank god,” you sighed as the door opened. “Elle isn’t picking up at all. I have no idea what she’s doing or where she is, and I seriously need this. If I don’t bring it, I can pretty much say goodbye to BAU.”

Only then did you lift your gaze to the man standing in front of you, too absorbed in your panic over the missing papers to actually take a good look at him. One hand rested on the doorframe, dressed in a sweater vest with the collar of a shirt peeking out beneath it.

“I’m glad I could help,” he replied. Thin-framed glasses rested on his nose, which he only wore occasionally for work. It was a shame because they suited him well. “But I’m sure Hotch wouldn’t throw you out just for being one day late.”

“I’ve been putting it off for three weeks.”

“That definitely changes things. Are you coming in? I need to... check if I have everything. “I’m really sorry, but you actually called just a moment ago and I didn’t manage to…”

“Don’t worry about it,” you waved a hand reassuringly. “I should’ve reached out earlier and not bothered you at this hour. But since you’re inviting me, I’m coming in. I’ve never been to your place before.”

“You’re not bothering me at all,” he assured you as you both walked further into the apartment. The lighting was dim, creating a cozy and relaxed atmosphere.

You stopped in the living room when a familiar sound reached your ears—a melody you knew all too well. Without a second thought, you followed it to its source.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you huffed in surprise, coming to a halt in front of the glowing TV screen, its bright light cutting through the dim surroundings.

“What?” Spencer finally noticed you had wandered off and joined you a minute later. “Oh, sorry. I was watching it earlier and forgot to turn it off…”

“No!” You stopped him before he could reach for the remote. “Don’t you dare. History’s Mysteries is my favorite show.”

Spencer looked at you as though he expected you to burst into laughter any second and admit you were joking. But no, you genuinely, wholeheartedly loved that program. Especially the episodes about extraterrestrial life—deep down, you’d always been a bit of a nerd.

You crossed your arms over your chest, pretending to be annoyed.

“What?” you challenged, raising an eyebrow. “You think just because I’m hot, I can’t have any intellectual interests?”

He widened his eyes, shaking his head.

"Don't put those words in my mouth. I’d never say—or even think—something like that."

"That I’m hot?"

"No! What? I mean… I wouldn’t assume you couldn’t have intellectual interests just because you’re…"

"Hot," you finished for him, letting out a laugh. "Relax, Reid, I’m just messing with you. By the way, you have a really nice apartment. Honestly, I kind of expected, I don’t know, a lab or something."

"Well, so far, you’ve only seen the living room," he replied.

"And I'd love to see the rest of it," you announced, rocking slightly on your heels. "But I haven't seen this episode yet, and I'm very curious about what it's about."

You noticed him hesitate, clearly unsure how to respond.

"Unless, of course, you don’t want me to stay. Maybe you're expecting someone. A girl or a guy?"

"No, no, I’m not expecting anyone," he replied quickly, swallowing nervously. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—barely noticeable, but it was there. "You’re absolutely not bothering me. Actually, it’ll be... it’ll be nice to have you stay. But, um... the documents. I should—I'll go get those ready for you. Would you like something to drink?"

"...Four bodies were retrieved from a hole in the ice of a completely frozen lake. All the victims were young girls, aged thirteen to nineteen and each of them was involved in prostitution."

You were brought back to reality by JJ's words. You felt someone's gaze on you, surprisingly not from the direction you had expected. It was Gideon, and you were sure he had noticed the strange tension between you and Spencer. That was likely the reason behind his scrutiny. You had always thought he was a solid guy, but at times, he scared you. He looked at people as if he could see their original sin, not just theirs, but also that of five generations back in their family.

You shuddered, but for another reason. The subject... frozen lake, bodies pulled out... even though so many years had passed, and you could barely remember the event, the chill still crept down your spine, and your heart raced like you were running away.

"Wait a minute," Derek said, furrowing his brow thoughtfully. "How thick could the ice be on that lake?"

"Given the current almost extreme temperatures, probably around 50 inches. That's thick enough for even cars to move safely on it," Reid explained without hesitation.

You sighed, trying to hide a fleeting smile. You just... sounded like a fetishist, but you couldn't deny that it was a little exciting when he did that. He delivered long, flawless explanations, all while looking genuinely fascinated by the topic. It didn't matter what you were talking about.

Elle raised an eyebrow. You decided to ignore her.

“Doesn’t it make you wonder how he managed to cut a hole in the lake, in such thick ice, without anyone noticing?” Morgan continued.

“Actually, he didn’t have to do it personally,” Reid replied again. He took off his glasses and thoughtfully turned them in his hands. “Under different weather conditions, we might consider that, but these were most likely holes made for other purposes. Fishing, mostly, but also to test if the ice can support vehicles, for example. The unsub could have simply shown up, discarded the body, and that’s it.”

You all started the discussion on the topic without your input. You should have stayed focused, but you couldn't help but keep glancing back at his long fingers, holding the glasses...his touch so delicate and skilled…

The door opened once again, just like every Sunday, when the two of you caught up on the weekly episode of the show. After you stayed over at his place once to watch it together, it simply became a tradition. An unspoken one.

With each meeting, you talked less and less about work. It was still kept in a purely friendly atmosphere—otherwise, you wouldn't have shown up. You weren't looking for a committed relationship, but lately, the usual physicality wasn't enough, and you needed a new conversation partner on a deeper level. The range of your topics was vast, from casual chatter to deep analyses of the content you watched (you could talk for hours about conspiracy theories), or serious yet comforting conversations about life and the world.

"Where's my pillow?" you asked, pointing to the spot on the left side of the couch where you always sat.

"I spilled coffee on it, by accident. It's in the laundry. Sorry."

"Did you really just apologize for taking your pillow from your own apartment?"

"Sorry, It’s just my thing”

You both burst out laughing, sitting side by side on the couch.

"I miss something to rest my head on," you complained after just a minute. "I’ve got neck pain from sleeping on the jet."

"So, you should definitely sleep on a flat surface," he teased. "See, I took the pillow out of concern for you."

"Ladies and gentlemen, Spencer Reid before you. The man who will always find a scientific reason to make your life harder. Maybe I should just sleep on a bed of nails instead of a mattress, huh?"

“I just suggested a slightly flatter surface! Where did the nails come from?”

“That’s the same to me. I need softness.”

Spencer shook his head.

“I can bring you a pillow from my bedroom.”

“The episode is starting.”

“I’ll be back in a second…”

“Oh, and then you’ll complain you can’t talk about the plot because you missed the first minute, and so much probably happened,” you stopped him from getting up, grabbing his wrist. “Sit. I’ll survive the neck pain. Or… or I’ll just lie down here.”

Saying this, you simply rested your head on his lap, settling comfortably on your side.

“What did the autopsy reveal?” Elle asked. “Did the victims die from drowning, or were their bodies just dumped in the water with a different cause of death?”

You should have focused on the case at hand, but you couldn’t shake the discomfort this topic caused you. No wonder your thoughts kept straying to more pleasant places as you tried to distance yourself from it. Still, you read through the case files, knowing you had to stay focused to solve this. Lives depended on it.

“They were all alive when they were thrown into the water,” JJ said with tightly pressed lips. “And each of them suffered a heavy blow to the head.”

“That’s how he abducts them,” Derek summarized. “Knocks them unconscious with a strong hit. Maybe he pretends to be a client, and once they leave with him, he strikes.”

“The question is, why specifically the lake’s ice hole?” you mused, tapping your nails on the table in an anxious gesture. “Is it purely practical? Did he think it was the easiest place to dispose of the bodies?”

You couldn’t take your eyes off the photos of the drowning victims—it felt like self-inflicted torture. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Reid staring at you differently than before. Once, you’d told him a story about something that happened to you as a child, more like a casual anecdote than a heartfelt confession. Even so, you thought you saw some worry etched on his face.

For the first time since he walked through the door, you met his eyes directly, responding to his desperate attempts to catch your gaze. Surprised that you finally looked at him, he froze, his slightly parted lips emitting a short sound as if he wanted to say something but forgot what it was at the last second.

"No... I don't think so," he finally said, drawing out the syllables absentmindedly. The slight furrow in his brow suggested he was deep in thought. "Bathing in water symbolizes cleansing from sin in many religions, both physically and spiritually. For example, in Christianity, baptism washes away original sin. Prostitutes are often the targets of serial killers who believe they’re purging society in some way. Since we’ve ruled out a sexual motive, maybe this is where we should focus our attention."

"That’s a good lead," Hotch agreed, as the rest of the team considered the analysis in silence. "In that case, we’re likely dealing with a religious fanatic. Such perpetrators often believe they’re acting in the name of God or some higher good. Worse still, they see their actions as morally justified, which means they feel no remorse."

"And that, in turn, means they won’t stop killing until they’re caught," Gideon concluded.

"Then there will soon be another victim. We need to move now," your boss decided, quickly straightening his papers against the table before tucking them into his briefcase. "See you on the jet in fifteen minutes."

Throughout the meeting, you'd laid out the victims' photos in front of you, studying them closely. Preoccupied with gathering them up, you could hear everyone heading toward the door, convinced you'd been left alone in the room.

But when you looked up, you found yourself face-to-face with none other than Reid. Your breath hitched for a moment. You knew this confrontation was inevitable, but you'd worked so hard to push the thought of it away…

"Hey," he greeted with a small smile on his lips. He seemed almost excited about the conversation. "I just wanted…to ask how you're doing."

You shrugged, forcing indifference.

"Fine, I guess."

You finished sliding the photos back into the case file, closed it, and pressed it to your chest.

"We should get going. Hotch gave us fifteen minutes, but the sooner we leave, the better..."

"You don't even want to talk to me?" he asked unexpectedly, shaking his head slightly in genuine disbelief. He swallowed hard and added, "About last night?"

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment. You hated this—hated it with every fiber of your being. That awful moment when you had to tell someone you'd spent the night with that it didn’t mean anything to you, that you didn’t want to keep seeing them, let alone get involved. And it was so much worse this time. This wasn’t some random guy. This was Spencer—your friend, someone you genuinely cared about, whose friendship you couldn’t afford to lose, especially since you worked together.

Your body was conditioned to run, to escape. Waking up in someone else’s bed always signaled an immediate sprint to the finish line. But this time, it felt like you’d tripped over an untied shoelace barely a meter in.

"There’s nothing to talk about," you replied. The strange tension of being in the same room with him again, just the two of you in this small space—so much like last night—settled over you. "Actually, wait. There is. I think I left my phone at your place, though it might’ve fallen somewhere in the car. Could you look for it when we get back?"

He didn’t respond. You weren’t sure why, but you kept your gaze fixed anywhere but on him—his shirt, the space behind him, anything to avoid his eyes. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe you should look directly at him, let your words carry the weight they were supposed to.

Spencer suddenly let out a short, sharp laugh, filled with shock and maybe even… sarcasm?

"Did it really mean so little to you that you can't even look at me?"

You gave in and lifted your gaze. His head tilted slightly to the side, his brow furrowed. He looked somehow hurt even though hurt seemed too strong a word.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean how you disappeared this morning. I thought maybe you were in a rush or didn’t want to wake me, but when I got there, you barely even looked at me. Sorry—actually, you looked at me only once”

"What did you expect, that I’d throw myself at you and kiss you?"

"No, I expected that we’d talk about it like normal people."

"But there’s nothing to talk about. It happened, and that’s it. I don’t see any reason we should have to debate about it..."

Spencer wasn’t angry, like others might have been. He was simply stunned.

"I don’t understand this," he finally confessed, adjusting his glasses on his nose. It was as if they suddenly became a bother, so he adjusted them again, then, after a moment of hesitation, took them off. "Do you regret what happened?"

“No,” you answered quickly, it was the first honest thought that came to your mind. You pinched the bridge of your nose, unable to find the right words. “Well… I don’t regret it in the way you might think. It’s just… I’m not sure what you expect from me now. We spent one night together, it was amazing, but I don’t have anything more to offer you.”

“I don’t want you to offer me anything,” he said, irritation beginning to creep into his voice, though it didn’t seem to be directed at you. “The only thing I want is… to understand where we stand now. Look, we’ve been spending a lot of time together lately, I thought you liked me…”

“Because I do like you,” you interrupted him mid-sentence. "Let me be honest with you, Reid. I don’t do relationships. And just so you know, I don’t usually sleep with my friends either, but it happened, and I can’t undo it, nor would I want to. Because I enjoyed it, I like you, and I have a great time when I’m with you. And up until now, I’ve really enjoyed how things have been between us. I don’t want anything to change."

You summed up what had been weighing on your heart, hoping with all sincerity that he’d understand. Spencer leaned his hands on the back of an empty chair, turning his body slightly toward you.

"So," he said, letting out something between a chuckle and a pained sigh. "Maybe you shouldn’t have gone to bed with me."

"Listen, sex doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a physical act, it doesn’t affect our friendship in any way."

"Do you really believe that?"

“Yes, I do,” you insisted stubbornly, refusing to let yourself even blink. Spencer turned his face toward you, looking for signs of a lie or uncertainty in your expression.

He wouldn’t have been able to find any, even if he tried with all his might. Because you were a brilliant actress. And it wasn’t that you hid your feelings so well. It was more that everything about you was so contradictory that it created a whole range of possible interpretations. And Spencer, with his deeply rooted need to hurt himself and test his own worth, chose to settle on the one that would guarantee him that.

“Well, good for you,” he finally replied, before leaving the room completely, not even turning back over his shoulder.

For a moment, you stood in silence, unable to identify what you were actually feeling. In truth, your earlier words had been honest. You cared about your friendship, the connection, the conversations, and the time spent together. But at the same time, you couldn’t deny that he simply attracted you. Just yesterday, you had convinced yourself it was probably just curiosity. Sometimes people wonder what it would be like to try something with a friend, they do it, and then all those similar thoughts fade away.

But was it the same for you two?

Your head and shoulders had been resting on his lap for a while, your cheek comfortably pressed against his thigh, and the glow of the TV occasionally lit up your focused face when something brighter appeared on the screen.

Spender seemed tense about the position for just a minute, then, for the next five, he was simply surprised. Although you focused your attention on the program, you could feel his gaze falling on your figure from time to time, stopping on it for a moment. After ten minutes, you were both lying comfortably, with mutual ease, and after an unknown amount of time, one of his hands was resting on your side.

Every now and then, you spoke to each other, exchanging short, often sarcastic comments about the episode. During one of these interactions, something caught your attention.

"Where are your glasses?" you asked. You turned onto your back, resting the back of your head on his lap instead of your temple and cheek.

You could look up at him from that amusing, lower perspective, from which everyone looks particularly unflattering. You smiled at his expression when he tilted his head to look at you.

"Oh, I have them here," he replied, lifting the glasses he must have set on the couch.

"But why aren’t you wearing them?" You could swear that when you started watching, they were on his nose. You had noticed because you really liked how he looked in them.

He shrugged.

"You’re straining your eyes. Put them on," you asked.

Spencer moved his hand as if he wanted to reach for them, but at the last moment, he hesitated.

"I... I don’t exactly like how I look in them," he finally confessed.

After those words, you stared at the ceiling for a moment, then pushed yourself up on your elbow, almost aggressively. His eyebrows shot up at that.

"You must be joking."

"What?"

"I said, you must be joking. You look great in them. They really suit you," you assured him, sitting up. "You know, when I was a teenager, I always wanted to wear glasses. I even envied the girls with poor eyesight."

"You know, I’m fully aware you’re saying this just to get me to wear them?"

"True, you got me. Did it work?"

"Not really."

You bit your lower lip, thoughtfully considering a certain idea.

"Okay, give them to me for a moment," you asked, extending your hand. "I’ll tell you something that will convince you to wear them. From now on, you’ll even sleep in them. Well, maybe especially sleep in them."

He tilted his head, trying for a moment to read your intentions from your face, but he couldn’t. He sighed and handed you the glasses.

"Don’t..."

"Don’t grab them by the lenses, I know that," you finished, rolling your eyes. "I’m not some animal."

With his glasses in hand, you changed your position on the couch, kneeling so that you were more or less facing each other.

"I’m waiting for your arguments," he said, his voice sly, to which you raised an eyebrow.

"Well, this will be an argument combined with a little presentation," you clarified. "Have you ever heard of the glasses theory?"

"Is that an actual concept in human psychology, or something you just made up? If it’s the latter, I’m afraid I haven’t”

Listen, it’s very simple, but you’d better focus on me," you demanded, ignoring his previous remark.

"I’m focused."

Indeed, he was. His gaze was fixed on you with such intensity and engagement, as if you were about to deliver a speech that could change the fate of the universe. Or maybe it just seemed that way because you were so close to each other.

"Forgive me for the unacademic language, Doctor, but I don’t like to complicate things too much. This theory says that with glasses, you can only look one of two ways: smart or hot."

Spencer had already chuckled, ready to jump in with a sarcastic comment, but you pressed your finger to his lips, moving even closer.

"Don’t interrupt me for now, I’m not done yet. This theory also says that your look in glasses will always be the opposite of your usual, everyday look. So, if without them you look like the typical intellectual who knows the meaning of every word in the dictionary, then in them…" You paused, tilting your head to the side. Up until now, your finger had been resting on his lips, which it had landed on by chance, but you couldn’t stop yourself from trailing it along his chin and jawline. He didn’t take his eyes off you, which only made it harder to stop. "In them, you look really, really attractive. Like, you know, sexually attractive”

You felt his chest rise. You felt it because one of your hands was resting on it as you sat on his lap, though you had no idea how you had ended up there. Spencer had been entirely focused on your face until now-on your speaking lips, not on how your bodies were positioned in relation to each other. He exhaled, loudly, far too loudly for comfort, the breath he'd been holding in. The sound escaped as you settled your full weight on his lap instead of just hovering above it.

“Do you really mean that?”

Yes, you wanted to respond briefly, right into his ear.

“That’s the theory. And I… I agree with it. I even have another example. You won’t deny that I’m hot, right? It’s just something people think when they see me. A statement of fact. So… when I put on glasses…” Saying this, you slid his glasses onto your own nose. Your entire field of vision blurred slightly, making it hard to see his reaction. You could only feel how his body responded..“Well? How do I look?”

He didn’t answer. His breathing grew deeper, his pulse quicker. You knew this because your hand, which had been exploring every corner of his face, had already made its way to his neck and decided to stay there for a while.

“Spencer,” you prompted, “I asked how I look.”

He lowered his head, the top of it brushing against your sternum, lingering there for a moment. When he straightened again, his eyes were in constant flux, like those of someone torn by too many desires at once.

“Smart,” he replied, his voice barely audible, the word catching in his throat. “Now you look really smart.”

You shifted higher on his lap, drawn to him by the pull of his voice.

“Smart,” you repeated with a laugh, your tone edging toward a whisper, slipping between the two of you and filling the small space like liquid poured into a vessel. “That confirms the theo—…”

You broke off when his lips finally surged toward yours, impatient and pushed to the very edge of restraint. His jaw pressed against yours, forcing your entire body to tilt back. You swayed on his lap, both of his hands falling tou your hips, his fingertips pressing firlmy into your skin to hold your body at the same place, right next to him, close, closer.

The kiss, born of desperation, quickly transformed into the release of a long-hidden hunger shared by you both. It was equal on every level, matched in intensity and force.

In the midst of it all, you lost your breath, repeatedly pulling your lips away from his to gasp for air, only to reconnect moments later. One of those brief pauses drew a wretched, urging whimper from him.

It was around then that you felt the pressure, growing stronger against your core.

An involuntary smile spread across your lips, breaking the kiss, during which you briefly took control, tilting his neck back for better access. Pulling away by barely an inch, you managed to notice that his barely open eyelids were still fixed on your lips, glistening with saliva and flushed with desire.

“Spencer? What is it? “

After asking that question you pressed yourself to his hips, pointing to the obvious hardness. His eyes widened, as if all the previous actions had taken place far beyond his body, to which he had only just returned. He inhaled sharply, his fingers gripping your body firmly and decisively as if trying to slide you off his lap. Something in the intensity of his touch and his attempt to take control only made you cling to him more.

“Didn’t expect you to be that hard after a kiss, but maybe it’s my fault” You muttered a joke under your breath, your lips briefly marking the space along his jawline, chin, and finally his lips. In the meantime, while one of your hands remained firmly on his neck, the other decisively reached its target. Then, griped it through the fabric of his pants. His lips parted, b loout no sound came out; it seemed to have been swallowed by his surprise. “Do you want me to take care of it?”

Your hand remained still, waiting for an answer. At first, he was silent, focused on his own breathing, not looking at your face, which you found quite unsettling.

"Spencer, I want you to answer me."

When he hesitated again, you gently brushed your lips against the lobe of his ear. But before you could repeat your request, he unexpectedly pulled both of you to the side, positioning you beneath him.

You gasped, surprised by the shift in dynamics.

“I want this” he whimpered into your ear, covering it with his mouth along with the space around it. “I really, really want this, please…”

But was it the same for you two?

You repeated the question in your mind and recalled how, arched like a bow, you placed the glasses on his face, wanting to see him wear them as he made you come.

You stood there in the empty room, replaying that moment in your head, well aware that you should join the rest of the team, but not so sure about the answer

"Please don’t tell me that those fifteen minutes when you were alone..."

"Disgusting, Elle, you’re just disgusting."

Your friend, sitting across from you on the jet, smiled as if you’d just given her a compliment. The rest of the team either engaged in conversation with each other or reviewed the case files once more, looking for new clues. Reid belonged to the latter group, though his absent expression didn’t suggest he was deep in thought about the case. But you made an effort not to look at him, feeling a bit guilty for how things had unfolded.

"What exactly did you tell him?"

"That I don’t date and I’m not looking for anything serious."

"You just told him that?"

"What was I supposed to do, draw him a picture?"

"It’s not about that, it’s just..." Elle hesitated, unsure of what she wanted to say. She didn’t seem as cheerful as before. "I guess you didn’t say it that directly, right? Don’t get me wrong, but it’s kind of... cruel."

Her gaze briefly shifted toward the subject of your conversation, looking concerned.

"Would you have come to that conclusion if it were any other guy you didn’t know?"

She sighed.

"Probably not, and that’s why I think I’m having some sort of moral crisis."

You fell into a bit of an unpleasant mood for the rest of the flight. Unsure of what else to do, you decided to think a bit about the case and the murders. You even came to a conclusion and were about to stand up to discuss it when it hit you that you wanted your conversation partner to be...Reid. You sighed and stopped halfway, not knowing if he was ready to talk to you again.

Soon enough, you arrived in the small town where the murders had taken place. Naturally, you headed straight to the site where the bodies were discovered. Bundled up in thick down jackets, the crunch of deep snow underfoot accompanied your every step. You busied yourself talking to the local police, deliberately keeping your distance from the lake. The vast expanse of frozen water seemed to glare at you, challenging and mocking, as though daring you to come and play. Every glance at the ice awakened an inexplicable urge to sprint to its center, to feel the chills coursing through your body and surrender to a reckless exhilaration.

Rain drummed against the bridge like a barrage of tiny bullets, sharp and unrelenting, as if determined to pierce straight through you. You stood huddled beneath an umbrella with Reid, but both of you were already soaked to the bone, shivering from the relentless cold.

“Where the hell are they?” you asked through chattering teeth.

As part of your investigation, you and Reid had been sent to a nearby high school to interview the teachers of a missing teenager. The rest of the team had been assigned different tasks, and someone was supposed to pick you up at the agreed-upon spot and time so you could regroup and share your findings. But the wait was dragging on far longer than expected.

“I’d just like to remind you that you laughed at me when I took this umbrella, saying there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky and it definitely wouldn’t rain,” Spencer remarked, switching the umbrella from his red, cold hand to the other one he had been keeping warm in his coat pocket.

You looked at him with envy. Your jacket didn’t even have pockets, and you started wondering why you’d even bought it in the first place.

“This is not the time to point fingers at me,” you retorted. “This is the time to make sure I don’t die of hypothermia. Come closer. And don’t stand so close to the railing.”

“We’re nearly two meters away from it,” he pointed out, but still followed your request and stepped forward. You took the opportunity to shove your hands into his coat pockets for even a momentary bit of warmth. His coat smelled like rain, and your nose accidentally brushed against it. Your hands touched his in one of the pockets.

“Jesus, it’s like touching an ice cube,” he muttered.

“You still have feeling in your hands?”

“Still do, but I’m afraid it’s only a matter of time,” he replied.

“They’ll freeze and have to be amputated. We’ll be the only two handless FBI agents. Hotch will never send us on an assignment together again,” you joked.

He chuckled softly and shifted the umbrella to his other hand once again. For a moment, you both stood in silence—him staring at the river flowing beneath the bridge, and you gazing toward the direction where you hoped your rescue would arrive.

“Can I ask you a question?” he broke the silence, looking down at you.

You were standing so close, your hands buried in his coat pockets, that you had to tilt your head back significantly to meet his gaze.

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Are you afraid of water?”

You stared at his face, taken aback by the question. His wet hair was plastered to his forehead, and for some inexplicable reason, you felt a sudden urge to push it back.

“Why do you ask?”

He shrugged.

“It’s just something I noticed today—though, of course, there’s a possibility I’m wrong. But we’ve been standing on this bridge for twenty minutes, and you haven’t looked down once. And you keep telling me to step away from the railing.”

“I’m just looking out for your safety, klutz,” you teased, lowering your gaze. He wasn’t wrong about the water, and it surprised you that he had even picked up on it.

“When I was six, I almost drowned in frigid water,” you admitted, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

Spencer’s brows furrowed with concern.

“At least, that’s what I’ve been told,” you added before he could say anything. “Apparently, my dad took me and my sisters to a lake to go ice skating. He used to go there as a kid with his siblings, and the ice was always thick enough that no one even considered it might break. But that was twenty years earlier. He didn’t account for climate change. The ice cracked right beneath me.”

“God,” he sighed. “You know… maybe it’s for the better that you don’t remember it. At least not exactly.”

“Maybe. Apparently, I spent the next two weeks in the hospital with pneumonia, but I don’t have a single memory of that. Still, it doesn’t change the fact that I shudder at the mere sound of water.”

“Your body must remember what your mind suppressed. But wait, didn’t you have to pass a swimming test to get into the FBI?”

“I did. But it was in a pool, where the water was calm and not trying to kill me. Hey, do you see that car? Isn’t that for us?”

After a few hours, you began to appreciate living in a state where winters were mild. Your hands were even colder than they had been that time on the bridge, despite wearing leather gloves. The hood over your head muffled the sounds around you so much that the first time Hotch called your name, you didn’t even hear him. You only approached him when you noticed him waving in your direction.

Something in his expression made you quicken your pace.

“We have the unsub’s identity,” he said before you could open your mouth to ask what had happened.

The rest of the team had already gathered. Reid’s cheeks were red from the cold, and he wasn’t wearing his glasses. He wasn’t looking at you, so you avoided looking at him.

“What?” you blurted, surprised. “How?”

“He abducted another victim, but this time he wasn’t as careful, and one of the cameras caught him. Using the footage, Penelope tracked down his information. She also found out that he came from a very poor family, and his sister turned to prostitution at the age of fourteen to support both of them.”

“I don’t understand. Then why does he kill young girls, just like his sister, who sacrificed herself for their survival?” Elle asked, suddenly appearing behind you.

Her question echoed in your mind.

“He thinks that by drowning them in freezing water, he cleanses them of the sin of prostitution—a sin he believes was unjustly forced upon them because of poverty,” you said suddenly, the chill biting into your body far more sharply than before.

“The unsub might even think he’s doing them a favor,” Reid added, animated, picking up your line of thought. “That he’s their savior, granting them a departure free of that sin.”

His eyes met yours, a flicker of admiration glinting in them. But then, as if reminded of everything, he quickly looked away. You felt like sighing. So this is how every single one of your interactions was going to look from now on?

“We need to catch him before he drowns another victim. We don’t have much time; it’s getting dark,” Hotch issued commands quickly. “Gideon, me, JJ, and Elle will head to one lake, Morgan, Y/N, and…”

“I should go with you,” Reid interrupted. “Elle can go with Morgan, and…”

“This is not up for discussion,” Hotch replied in a firm tone, a flicker of surprise crossing not just his face but everyone’s. When it came to time, his decisions were final. You all knew that. "Go," He commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Before you knew it, you were in the speeding car. The tension and sense of mission always left you silent, focused, and most of all, determined.

“He’s here. Do you see him? He’s dragging her toward the hole in the ice!”

Throughout all of it, not once did it cross your mind—the obvious fact that you’d have to set foot on the frozen lake. Before you even had a chance to react or fully realize it, Reid unexpectedly grabbed your sleeve, pulling you toward him. He seemed surprised by his own action, his eyes darting with adrenaline across your face.

“The ice won’t break, do you understand?” he said, not letting go of your arm. “It’s thick enough that cars can drive on it. “It’s safe, trust me. And if you feel like you can’t do it, just stay behind,”

His voice was surprisingly steady, offering a sense of comfort that you hadn’t expected. You listened, almost stunned, not just by the care in his advice, but also by the fact that he was even speaking to you at all.

You didn’t have time to respond or even nod; the car came to a stop, and every second counted. Somewhere deep inside, though, you felt a surge of gratitude for his gesture and words. Because as soon as you set foot on the ice, it was as though your senses vanished. All that mattered was the water—cold, sinister, and waiting for you deep beneath the blue surface.

Morgan and Reid moved ahead of you, with the latter turning his head over his shoulder. You saw it, even as the darkness quickly closed in around you.

“If you feel like you can’t do it, just stay behind,” echoed in your mind.

But you couldn’t just stand there and watch while the victim’s life was hanging by a thread. Focusing entirely on his words and voice, you moved forward, gripping your weapon tightly, yet with a steady hand.

And it was your shot, fired in a moment of desperate resolve, that brought the unsub down, giving Morgan the chance to catch the unconscious victim in his arms and rush her to the shore as quickly as possible.

You stood there, breathless, still holding the gun high, completely unaware of it until someone gently touched your hands, guiding them downward.

“It’s me,” Reid said quietly as you flinched. Only then did it start to sink in that you were standing on the ice. Your imagination began to feed you the feeling of the bone-chilling cold, the water pressing against your body with all its might. After all these years, still so vivid. You grabbed onto his arms tightly, your legs suddenly slipping beneath you. Why hadn’t they slipped before?

“Hey, careful. The ice is thick, remember? It won’t break,” he reassured you.

He held you tightly, offering you support as you both made your way to the shore, taking small, uncertain steps. You could barely breathe, let alone speak. Yet, a question loomed in your mind, one you were desperate to ask: why was he even still with you? Why hadn’t he just left you there, maybe for some internal satisfaction?

Finally, you were on solid ground, no longer gripped by panic. Still, your breath was rapid, every cell in your body shaking in spasms, but not in that teasing, playful way it had when you played the role of the bolter.

“Why did you do it?” you asked, still holding onto him like a lifeline. “I thought you were mad at me.”

Before answering, Reid studied you in silence for a moment.

“I could be furious with you, but I wouldn’t leave you there, alone and scared,” he said.

You opened your mouth, a warmth spreading across your chest, something that felt almost like a comforting embrace. But before you could say anything, the rest of the team reached you, with Elle hanging onto your shoulder, her voice full of concern as she asked how you were feeling.

In the darkness and the flood of emotions, his face blurred, along with the faces of the others. You closed your eyes for a moment, surrendering completely.

It was only then that you began to calm down, though it would take many hours before your hands stopped shaking.

You nervously paced around the office, two pairs of eyes watching you with clear amusement.

"Do you think he called me in because of that whole tie incident?" you asked, nervously biting one of your nails. "Shit, it’s definitely about that. It was so inappropriate, he’s probably going to fire me."

"Calm down," Derek said to you, the corner of his mouth constantly rising and falling. "First of all, if Hotch were going to fire you for every dumb thing that comes out of your mouth, you'd be gone after a week. Second of all, it probably has nothing to do with that. Knowing you, it’s probably some overdue paperwork..."

"You’re not helping," you said, raising a warning finger.

Elle’s laugh mixed with her yawn.

"God, I’m exhausted from this day. I’m out of here. Call me later and let me know what this was all about," she kissed your cheek as a farewell.

You briefly hugged her with one arm.

"Keep your fingers crossed," you asked them as they walked away.

Both of them raised their hands, making the gesture.

It was evening, and you had just returned to the office after closing the case. You had hoped to head home and sleep off all the emotions from the day, but then you found out that Hotch had called for you. And you had no idea why.

Before opening the door with his name on it, you crossed yourself in your mind.

"Listen, Hotch, about that tie, it was really just some messing around," you blurted out, before even fully stepping inside.

The man sitting at his desk raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t alone—across from him, in a chair, looking like a student called to the principal’s office for punishment, sat Spencer, looking just as confused as you felt.

"Did you want to see me now? Or did I mix up the time or the days...?"

"I wanted to see both of you," he replied, pointing to one of the two chairs next to Reid.

You exchanged a brief glance with your colleague. Since your last interaction on the frozen lake, neither of you had spoken a word, but the atmosphere wasn’t as tense as before. That didn’t, of course, mean that everything between you was back to normal.

"Listen, I’m just as exhausted as you, but I need to have this conversation with you now so we can resolve it as quickly as possible."

You shook your head in confusion.

"Resolve what?" Reid asked.

"Whatever happened between you two," Hotch started seriously, his gaze moving between your faces. "Any argument, I don’t care what it was about or how serious it is, it cannot affect your work or professional relationship in any way."

You couldn’t help it and let out a laugh. You imagined Elle’s expression on the other end of the phone when you’d tell her the real reason behind this summons…

"Hotch, there was no argument," you assured him, maybe not entirely honestly, but in an attempt to wrap up this somewhat, let's be honest, embarrassing conversation as quickly as possible.

Spencer nodded enthusiastically.

"Absolutely none. Never."

"I'm not blind or, as you’re both well aware, stupid," Hotch continued, his gaze shifting between you both. "I can see what's going on, and I’m telling you now—I don’t want any conflict in my team."

You let out a snort.

"So what are you going to do?" you asked challengingly. "Force us to shake hands and make up? If we do that now, can we finally go home?"

He met your gaze, his expression as stoic as ever, but you were certain—absolutely certain—that deep down, he was amused by it all. To your surprise, he suddenly stood up from his desk.

"No, I'm going to do something more effective," he declared. "I'm leaving you two alone for ten minutes. No one leaves this office. When I come back, everything needs to be settled. Understood?"

"Isn’t this some sort of elementary school method of discipline?" Spencer asked, raising his eyebrows, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw that beneath his amused expression, there was also a hint of concern.

"Exactly how it sounds," you agreed, briefly meeting his gaze before shifting it to your boss with a pleading look. "You're not our father, Hotch. We're adults, stop treating us like children..."

His hand landed on the doorknob without a moment’s hesitation.

"Then stop acting like children and talk to each other," he said, glancing at his watch. "I’ll be back in ten minutes."

You could’ve sworn there was a subtle smile playing on his face as he left.

You watched his figure disappear in disbelief.

And then, you turned to Spencer, who was already staring at you.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds smut #spencer reid criminal minds #bau team #doctor spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #dr spencer reid #criminal mind #dr reid #spencer reid smut #aaron hotchner #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

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ddejavvu · 1 month ago

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omg pls pls pls hotch x nerdy reader like everyone would think you’d be the perfect match with spencer, having the biggest love of reading and all things art, literature, sci-fi and all things nerdy but NOPE it’s hotch who catches your clumsy eyes and he wouldn’t have it any other way!

You're right in the middle of reading about the USS Enterprise's next big adventure when your novel is rudely whisked from your hands, and a strong arm wraps around your waist, yanking you back into a firm chest.

"You were going to fall down the stairs," A deep timbre comes from behind you, and you glance around bewilderedly to find yourself, in fact, at the entrance to the stairwell instead of the elevator. Evidently you'd been too engrossed in your reading to realize you'd gone past the elevator bay and into the stairwell, and you'd have fallen right down the concrete steps if it weren't for Aaron's help.

"Thanks." You stammer, struggling to free yourself from his tight grip, "Aaron- Hotch, lemme go. I'll pay attention from now on, just- don't let anyone see us."

"I don't care if anyone sees us right now. I care that you were so distracted that you almost fell blind down at least one set of stairs, if not seven." His eyes are stern as they regard you, but loving as the reason.

"I know! I know, I get too into it." You try prying your book from his hands but he flips your bookmark into place and tucks the pocket sized novel into his suit jacket lining, "Hey!"

"I'm confiscating this until you're back from the deli. You can have it back when you're sitting down at your desk."

"Agent Hotchner, that's hardly your right to take away a subordinate's property."

"It's my boyfriendly duty to make sure that my girlfriend doesn't plummet to her death with her nose in a book."

You're definitely stable on your feet now, and you try one more time to shimmy out of his hold to no avail, "Aaron! Someone's really going to see, come on."

"Promise me." He glares at you, a slight squinting of his eyes that makes you understand every single squirming unsub for their fear of him.

"Okay, okay! I promise." You nod vehemently, and he lets your waist go. You straighten your blazer, smoothing a hand down your trousers, "Now, can I please have my book back? I promise I won't read while walking anymore."

"You can have it back when you get back from the deli." He repeats, "You can pick it up from my office when you bring me a pastrami sandwich on rye."

"Pickles?"

"Extra. Here." Aaron fishes his wallet out of his pocket, handing you his card, "Get something we can split for dessert. And you'd better not have a backup novel hidden in your purse for the walk there."

For the record, you do, but Aaron's firm glare is enough to dissuade you from using it.

"I don't! I'll be back in twenty minutes." You promise Aaron, tucking his card into your pocket and entering the stairwell on purpose this time, "Be careful with my book!"

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction #aaron hotchner smut

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corinthianism · 1 year ago

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corinthianism's fic recs

here are my personal favorite fanfics! idk how often i'll update this, but i hope you like them as much as i do :) *indicates smut

last updated: march 26, 2024

MARVEL

loki laufeyson - from the void, with love — by whirlybirbs (my fav fanfic of all time!!! i think about this fic several times in a day bro) - riptide — by starks-hero - the tailor* (series) — by birdofhermes (ao3) - time after time (series) — by goldencherriess (ao3) - a friend from work — by cozy_the_overlord (ao3)

thor odinson - god of fertility* (request) — by charnelhouse - highway don't care (but i do, i do)* (part one, part two, part three) — by spacelabrathor

peter parker (andrew garfield) - agree to disagree — by delicate-dorothea - nerdy peter (request) — by webslingingslasher - good boy x bad girl trope (request) — by webslingingslasher - hold you here, my loveliest friend* — by p3mybeloved - your friendly neighborhood sensitive spider* — by jin0 - glad you're home — by withahappyrefrain - the mechanics of a soul — by irndad - 3 is the magic number* — by withahappyrefrain - crush — by ptersparkers - as it goes — by forever-rogue - here comes the sun (part one, part two, part three) — by withahappyrefrain - stability, reciprocity, and a romance for the ages (series) — by privateanxieties (ao3 - need an account to read)

steven grant (moon knight) - hold me close — by stormkobra-5 - gift of min* — by astroboots - puzzles* — by stormkobra-5 - first time* — by luvpedropascal - domestic adonis* — by peterman-spideyparker - where it starts — by silversweetpea - fallen from heaven, grown on earth* (series) — by davosmymaster (ao3) - call me poe* — by kittyfandom (ao3) - elemental — by batsingotham (ao3) - the boy with the thorn in his side — by eating_flowers (ao3)

marc spector (moon knight) - not him — by loud-mouth-loser - it's worth it, it's divine* — by the-archxr - i'm getting to know someone — by davosmymaster (ao3)

wade wilson (deadpool) - tea and sympathy (series) — by bucketsoffrogs (ao3)

SHERLOCK (BBC)

sherlock holmes - your hidden strength — by okay-j-hannah - sublime dexterity* (part one, part two) — by daydreamtofiction - literally everything by starks-hero

SUPERNATURAL

sam winchester - playing house (part one, part two) — by uncouth-the-fifth - baby i'll stay (heaven can wait) — by uncouth-the-fifth - move over.* — by ggwritesstuff - where's your head at?* — by beau55515 - birthdays: sam winchester style* — by karleekarma (ao3) - the comforts of home — by zepskies - under the hood* — by shawslut

dean winchester - whether you like it or not — by kbeautimous (ao3) - reading you wrong — by zepskies - cherished — by thatonewriter15 (ao3) - soft touch — by wearywinchester - i love her, that's why* — by kaleldobrev - drivin' me crazy* — by lis-likes-fics

castiel - salt n' lick* — by aperfectgrace (ao3) - a bite of apple pie (series) — by ac_deanc (ao3)

THE SANDMAN

the corinthian - bring me a dream* (series, ongoing) — by placeinthemiddleofnowhere - nihil — by lis-likes-fics

dream/morpheus - sweet dreams (are made of this) — by stranger-nightmare

CRIMINAL MINDS

aaron hotchner - from eden — by heliotropehotch - gold star — by honeypiehotchner - love, an abstract concept — by luveline - honeymoon phase* (series) — by hotchsbitch (ao3)

THE BOYS

soldier boy (he's absolutely horrible but so. so. hot.) - break me down* (series) — by zepskies (go read their other stuff too!) - talk to me — by zepskies

homelander (also absolutely horrible. would sleep with him.) - if i can't have you — by watchstarscollide - milky white* — by after-witch

GAME OF THRONES

jaime lannister - i'm not made by design — by ichorai (this legitimately changed my brain chemistry)

STAR WARS

obi-wan kenobi - like turning on the light* — by full-time-make-believer (deactivated acc) (this also changed the trajectory of my life) - where it wasn't* — by 221bshrlocked - your thoughts are loud — by spidersbane - empty me out* — by 221bshrlocked - house of memories* (series) — by meshlasolus - bad idea, right?* (series) — by mischiefling (ao3) - you make me feel like dancing — by saradika (ao3) - it's a wonderful lie — by firstofficerwiggles (ao3) - temptation's kiss — by karasong (ao3) - you make my dreams* — by wickedscribbles (ao3) - like a living mirage — by karasong (ao3) - broken drought* — by rosalindbeatrice (ao3) - never grow up — by doihavetoloseyoutoo (ao3) - never ending story — by kybercrystal (ao3) - volveré* — by kxnobi (ao3)

din djarin (the mandalorian) - the savior* (part one, part two, part three) — by dindjiarin - significant — by softlyspector - touching din — by archieimagines - uncharted territory* — by pedrito-friskito - creed* — by wheresarizona - home is wherever i'm with you* (part one, part two, part three) — by saradika

DRACULA (BBC)

count dracula - the székely* (series) — by theplumsoldier

LOTR/THE HOBBIT

thranduil oropherion - a boon* (series) — by inksplots (ao3) - beauty and the beast (series) — by tamurilofrivendell (ao3)

DOCTOR SLEEP

dan torrance - of monsters and men* — by helaintoloki & obitwo - domestic life (headcanons) — by thornsinmycrown - smut alphabet* — by daincrediblegg

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aureatelys · 1 month ago

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like cherries in the spring

pairing: aaron hotchner/fem!bau!reader rating: explicit w.c.: 4k bc i cant stop myself

content warnings: 18+ PLEASE MDNI, porn without plot, consensual somnophilia (mentions of discussing it beforehand), intercrural sex sorta, thigh fucking sorta idk what to call it but thats close enough, brief v fingering, eventual p in v, light dom/sub undertones because thats who i am, light bondage (being held down), light choking (just a hand on your throat), unprotected sex, no y/n, established relationship, employee/boss relationship duh, self indulgent <3

summary:

You were barely conscious when you felt something poking your butt.

read on ao3 here or below <3333

You were barely conscious when you felt something poking your butt.

You try to blink awake, immediately blinded by the sunlight filtering in through the blinds. For a second, you think you’re still in Los Angeles with the California heat making your clothes stick to your back, working on a kidnapping case, which means you need to get up and get ready fast.

However, someone stirs behind you, and you realize you’re not in California. You’re home, in your bed, and being spooned by Aaron.

You try not to sigh in relief so as not to disturb him. He needs the rest, obviously, based on the fact that Aaron tends to get up like clockwork at 8 in the morning, even on his days off. You crane your neck to check the clock on your bedside table. Nearly 9:30 in the morning.

You’re almost tempted to wake him up, knowing that Aaron will be secretly annoyed and feeling like he slept the day away, but then you remember how late it was when you got in last night. The team just got done with a case in a Los Angeles suburb and decided to fly back home despite how late it was, which meant that it was really late when you finally made it back home. You distantly remember leaning on Aaron’s shoulder, trying not to fall asleep standing up, and him grunting for everyone to take the following day off and hearing everyone let out a tired cheer. You weren’t able to sleep on the jet, envious at everyone else’s ability to take a nap as soon as they closed their eyes, and kept Aaron company while he finished his notes.

You remember sitting across from him, the glow of the reading light shining on him with his head ducked over his files. He was clearly exhausted just like everyone else, evident by the bags underneath his eyes and the way he attempted to hide his yawn every couple of minutes, but you know that he always makes an effort to try and finish the paperwork the same day while the case was still fresh on his mind.

You had a book open in front of you, long forgotten, as you rested your chin in your palm and stared at your boyfriend.

He glances up at you every now and then and shakes his head to himself, smile on his face, when you make no move to stop staring almost dreamily. It’s not your fault he’s so handsome, even when he’s running on 4 hours of sleep.

“Ridiculous,” he had muttered, feigning annoyance, however you felt him knock his feet against yours underneath the table. Something warm settles in your chest at that.

You remember stumbling into Aaron’s apartment, through the living room, and falling face first into the bed. You hadn’t even bothered to change into your pajamas, but you were just too tired to care, evident by passing out as soon as your face hit the pillow.

It didn’t matter now, however, as you felt Aaron’s body pressed up against yours, so warm it was nearing unbearable. You felt his soft exhales against the nape of your neck, sending shivers down your spine, and the beginning line of his morning wood poking your ass. You felt the soft comforter brush against your bare legs and realize that Aaron must have changed you in your sleep, leaving you in your panties and a tank top.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling utter want tugging at the bottom of your stomach. It had been a couple of days since you guys had done anything, even with the shared hotel room. Working on a kidnapping case in a shitty hotel with thin walls didn’t really set the mood, no matter what anyone said. Sure, you and Aaron were able to sneak in some heated kisses and touches, but never more than that before both of you were falling asleep with case files and medical reports at the foot of the bed.

You carefully pushed your hips back against him, feeling his cock twitch against you. Aaron shifted, throwing his arm over your waist, however his breathing was still deep and heavy. He was usually a light sleeper, a result of the job, so him not waking up from that must mean he was more tired than he let on.

You’re still groggy, but an idea slowly forms in your head. Of course, you two didn’t get the chance to discuss this last night, but you distantly remember a conversation several weeks ago where you told Aaron you wouldn’t mind too much if he woke you up by touching you or going down on you and whether he would be interested in you doing the same to him.

He had given you a look so dark, pupils blown and a smirk slowly forming on his mouth, that you wanted to drop to your knees right there in the kitchen.

Instead, he leaned forward to press a kiss to the side of your head and mutter a “Some other time, dirty girl.”

Now seems like the perfect time.

You move your hips back again, relishing in the way you can feel Aaron’s cock grow bigger, harder. You wiggle and let out a breathy sigh when you feel him migrate to between your ass cheeks. It’s not enough and definitely not close enough to where you really want him, but it feels good. Dirty, just like Aaron had said.

You move up on the bed a little more, careful not to stir too much, lifting your hips from the bed a bit until his clothed cock was between your thighs and pressed right against your pussy.

You moan at that, clenching your thighs when you feel that familiar throbbing in your cunt, wishing he was already inside of you.

But this feels good too. Two layers of clothes between Aaron’s thick cock and your wet pussy. You start to move your hips against him, breathless at the way the head of his cock barely grazes your clit. You can feel the wet spot undoubtedly forming on your panties, your wetness helping his cock glide against you.

You feel yourself get carried away, chasing the small sparks of pleasure running up your spine just from feeling the girth of his cock against your hole, when you feel Aaron’s arm that’s draped over you move.

You freeze, though you’re not sure why, it’s not like you’re doing anything wrong, when you feel his hand come up to grope at your breast over your top.

You hear him hum, still breathing warm air against your neck, and feel him somehow press closer against you. You wait for him to say something, either teasing you for being so horny and rubbing up against him or wordlessly tugging his briefs down to press his cock against where you need him, but there’s nothing.

He’s still asleep.

You exhale in relief, ignoring the nagging thought in your brain saying why are you into this, you freak, but then Aaron’s hand on your breast starts moving, just barely groping.

You’ve known that Aaron has always been a touchy guy behind closed doors, always hungry and wanting to be close to you wherever he got a chance. He’s said it’s because he loves your body and not being able to touch you at work drives him crazy, and you can tell he’s telling the truth from the way his jaw clenches when you lean over his desk to hand him a file or the look he gives you when you cross your legs sitting across from him on the jet and your skirt rides up.

At home, you let him have his fill. He’s constantly groping your tits, pinching at your nipples. He’s grabbing a handful of your ass, squeezing, and grabbing your hips so hard he leaves bruises. He has a hand on the back of your neck and pushing your face into the mattress or wrapping his large hand at the base of your throat, putting light pressure as if a reminder of who you belong to. He loves touching you and you clearly don’t mind, however you’re seriously wondering how obsessed he is with your body if he can touch and grope you in his sleep.

He's squeezing your breast and canting his own hips against you. You feel his cock twitch again and the wet spot he must be leaving through his briefs drags against you and your thigh. You bite your lip at that, unsure whether Aaron was about to wake up or not.

You feel his hand move from your breast to your abdomen, fingers just barely brushing over your nipple, making you almost jump, and wrap his arm around your middle. You hear him grunt, something masculine and deep that makes you want to lose your mind, and feel him thrust into you, rutting into you like he can’t control himself.

You whimper at the feeling of being constricted, imagining Aaron’s veins popping out of his forearms. Not caring whether he’ll wake up, you reach down to pull at his briefs just enough so his cock pops free. You sigh at the feeling of hot flesh against your thigh and your mouth waters when you feel precum leaking down the head of his cock, smearing on your panties and thighs.

You wait and strain your ears to listen to Aaron’s breathing. Somehow, it’s still steady.

You’re starting to get impatient, just about to throw this all away and wake him up to sink down on him, but then you feel his bare cock press against your hole through your panties and it just feels so good. You know that if Aaron wakes up, he’s going to want to fuck you fast and hard and honestly, you’re having a lot of fun teasing yourself.

He stops humping into you, the arm around your middle relaxing, and he grumbles a bit and presses his face against the nape of your neck. His breath tickles you.

You start moving your own hips again, just barely, enough to feel the slow drag of his cock against your clit through your panties. They must be absolutely soaked through right now and you desperately wish you could just take them off without waking Aaron up and press the head of him into you, stretching you out. A sweat starts to break out on your back and on your neck and Aaron’s body heat, naturally running warmer than you, isn’t helping but you don’t care.

You hear a sharp inhale, a particular deep thrust against your pussy, and then a “What do you think you’re doing?”

You freeze, feeling like you got caught with your hand in the cookie jar and not like you were humping desperately against your boyfriend like a teenager. “Uhm.”

His left arm moves up from where he was still wrapped around you, brushing purposefully against your nipples and making you whine, to wrap his hand around the base of your throat. He doesn’t put any pressure, but just the weight of his hand is enough to make your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“I said,” he whispers, exhaling against your ear. He thrusts his hips once against you, making his cock slide against you better in a way you could never replicate. “What are you doing?”

You swallow, unsure on how you want to play this. The low deep rasp of his voice this early in the morning always sends you reeling. “Nothing.”

Aaron hums and the grip he has on you tightens just a bit before he’s trailing down your chest. This time, he flicks your left nipple, making you jump and bite your lip at the same time, and moving down past your stomach and to your pussy. “This doesn’t feel like nothing, honey.”

His hand traces the waistband of your panties and the curve of your hips. The callouses on his fingers are rough, but familiar, making you squirm against him. Aaron hisses at that and it’s like he finally snaps as he reaches between your legs and roughly pulls your panties to the side to thrust his cock against your bare cunt, hips slamming into yours.

“In fact, it feels like you’re being a dirty girl, rubbing up on me like you can’t help yourself.”

Your gasp morphs into a moan when you feel the head of his cock finally brushing your swollen clit, no clothes in the way. Now you can feel how sopping wet you are, making the glide of his throbbing cock against your pussy smooth and perfect. This whole thing feels dirty, like you’re trying to take what you can get before you can get caught even though there’s no one else home with Jack being at a sleepover. The thrusting of his hips against yours to rub against your wet folds just makes you think about him fucking you into the mattress until you’re a whining mess. “Aaron…”

“What do you want, baby?” Aaron murmurs, starting to press soft kisses behind your ear. Hearing his early morning voice again makes your insides turn into a puddle. The warmth of his body and his cologne from yesterday still barely detectable is intoxicating, making you spread your legs a little so his cock nestles deeper against your wetness. You start to move your own hips to meet his and the lewd sound of your pussy and his hips slamming into yours is so so hot.

“Please…” you whine, the words dying in your throat because your head is swimming, and you don’t know exactly what to say. You secretly hope he knows what you want—what you need.

Aaron suddenly gets up to sit on his knees and moves you with a hand on your hip so you’re laying flat on your front, face pressed into your pillow. You nearly cry at the loss of pressure against your clit, but he quickly puts a hand on the back of your head to shove your face into the pillow. He straddles your thighs, roughly moves your panties aside again to insert a thick finger inside of you.

You moan wantonly at the feeling of finally being filled, the sound muffled against the pillow. His finger goes in easily due to how wet you were, but the feeling of being stretched even just a little bit make you feel drunk.

“Is this what you want, pretty girl?” He moves his finger in and out of you fast, almost rough, but it’s still something and it can still make you come if you try really hard since you’ve been playing with yourself for what feels like hours.

You already start to feel the beginning pressure at the pit of your stomach, clenching and unclenching around just one finger. Your clit is barely getting anything out rubbing against the sheets, but you don’t even care, having been on edge for days. “Yes, yes—Aaron…”

Aaron hums casually from behind you, as if you guys were talking about the weather. “Are you going to come for me?”

You nod furiously into the pillow, moving your face to the side so you can breathe more easily. “Yes, yes, please—”

Suddenly he takes his finger out of you with a loud and vulgar noise, nearly making you scream in frustration. You’re about to yell at him, maybe even turn around and smack him on the shoulder, until you feel your panties being quickly tugged down your legs, the head of his cock up against your hole, and then pressing in.

“Oh…,” you moan, nearly sighing in the familiar feeling of being properly filled. There’s a slight burn from that stretch you secretly love. The hand he had pressed against the back of your head migrates to the back of your neck, grabbing a hold of you so possessively it makes you squirm.

Aaron leans over you until his face is next to yours, his soft moans like music to your ears as he bottoms out. “Fuck, baby, you’re still so tight…”

You try to crane your neck to look at him, desperate to see his face. He has his eyes closed, brows furrowed in concentration, most likely trying to resist immediately fucking into you. His hair is almost artfully mussed, fluffy and falling into his face. Yesterday’s stress is gone and instead is replaced with absolute desire. His other arm is pressing into the mattress so he can hold himself over you and you nearly start to drool at his bicep bulging out, the veins in his thick forearms prominent.

And as if he can feel your eyes on him, his eyes open. They’re dark and piercing, pupils nearly blown out. There’s a hint of that damn smugness in the corner of his mouth, but it smooths out into something softer around the edges when he leans in to press a closed-mouthed kiss against yours. He knows how much you hate morning breath.

The tender action makes something clench in your chest and you wonder again how you got so lucky.

All sweet thoughts fly out the window when Aaron pulls out slowly until just the head of his cock is in you. You moan at the sudden loss and squirm, knowing how much he likes seeing your hips move.

Just like you predicted, he growls and slams back into you, pressing his hips against the flesh of your ass. “So needy.”

“Aaron, please…” you beg, moving your arms from underneath you to behind you in an attempt to touch him, feel him, something.

Because Aaron is Aaron and somehow can read your mind, you feel him grab both of your wrists together in one hand to press against your back. You have no leverage now and can breathe a little easier now that he’s not pressing down on your neck, instead his other hand gripping onto your hip.

“Don’t worry, I’ll give what my dirty girl needs,” Aaron coos, almost mockingly in the way that makes your heart stutter, and then he starts fucking you so hard the breath gets knocked out of you.

He’s relentless, no more teasing and rubbing up against his cock. The grip of his fingers on your hip and wrists are tight, hopefully enough to leave bruises, as he essentially pulls you on and off his cock. He fills you out so good, hitting that spot inside of your pussy that sends sparks up your spine, making you feel like your brain is short circuiting. It’s like you can’t even think anymore, which is a normal occurrence when Aaron fucks you like this, and all you can hear is the wet sounds of your pussy, his hips slamming against yours, and moans that he’s not bothering to hide anymore.

You distantly can hear yourself begging to come, nearly screaming yourself hoarse. You’re sensitive, nearly overstimulated with the way Aaron is pounding into you, and you just want to come already. The sheets are wrapped around your thighs, barely rubbing against your clit, and it’s not enough and you arch your back the way he likes, move your hips in an effort to tell him to touch you. “Fuck, oh my God, Aaron.”

“You need me to touch you, baby?” Aaron says, breathlessly, and you know he’s close too, probably holding off until you come first because you know that’s something he likes.

He must be just as impatient as you are because he’s immediately releasing his hold on your wrists to wriggle a hand underneath you and rub your clit in a way that was delicious but almost rough, almost painful enough that it sends you over the edge.

You choke on your moan as you feel your pussy clench on his hard cock, squeezing your thighs together. Your hands find purchase clawing at the sheets underneath you, wrists tingling from where he held onto you. Your mind blanks out, empty besides the sheer bliss wracking your body. Aaron keeps fucking you, keeps flicking your clit, groaning your name and it just adds to your orgasm, nearly making you roll your eyes back into your head.

You feel him fuck you faster, harder, and you had just begun floating down from your orgasm when Aaron comes inside you with a deep and guttural moan. You’ve always loved hearing the noises he makes; how manly he sounds, how deep his voice can get, and the way he whispers your name like a prayer. The noise he makes when he comes, however, is definitely in your top 3.

“Fuck, you take my cock so well,” Aaron grunts, thrusting into you one last time. The hold he has on your hip is nearly painful, definitely bruising. You moan unabashedly at that and the feeling of his warm come inside of you, filling you up. You clench down on him one last time, milking him for all he’s worth, and you hear Aaron’s choked laugh behind you.

He slips out of you, and you feel his eyes on your pussy; probably swollen and absolutely a soaking mess with your wetness smeared all over your inner thighs. He hums, finally satisfied, at the sight of his come dripping out of your cunt, dripping down your slit and onto the sheets. You feel his thumb come and trace your hole, gentle, but making you squirm nonetheless at how sensitive you are and sending a shock through you. His hand is on your hip again, squeezing in a warning, silently telling you to take it.

And you do, keening softly when you feel the rough pad on his thumb brush your clit, smearing his come around. You always had an inkling that Aaron was dirty, with his domineering voice and the way he so easily takes control of a room when he walks in, but you were in for a rude awakening when you both finally stopped dancing around each other.

You hear Aaron inhale sharply when you clench and unclench, probably pushing more wetness out onto the sheets, and you almost brace yourself for his cock to press against your hole again when you feel the bed dip and Aaron getting up to the bathroom to help clean you up. You’re only slightly disappointed, but then remember it’s not even noon and you got the rest of the day left. You bring your arms to cross and rest your head on them while you wait, smiling to yourself as the languid relaxation seeps into your bones the way only getting fucked out of your mind does.

Aaron is tender and gentle while he cleans you up. Underneath all the stoic and cold demeanor, Aaron has always been a huge softie and loves taking care of you, no matter the occurrence. You feel that care when there’s large hands and a towel, warm on your thighs, your hips, your ass as he presses his lips to the bottom of your spine. You feel the barely there scratch of his stubble and hum.

When he’s done, he crawls up the mattress to his spot and settles down with a huff. He immediately is wrapping around you, flinging his arm and leg over you to pull you in closer as you laugh. Your face is pressed against his chest, flushed pink, and you impulsively press a kiss there against the wiry hair. You feel him kiss the top of your head, no doubt smiling because he secretly loves the attention you give him.

“You okay?” Aaron asks, so soft in a way that makes you want to wiggle further into him.

Instead, you push back a bit to look up at him where he’s already watching you, eyes affectionate. Your legs are tangled with his, hips pressed against each other’s despite knowing how sweaty he is. His mouth, usually in that straight line, has softened, and the sight of his bedhead and relaxed brow makes you want to spend the next week touching him all over. His cock pressed against your thigh, half-hard, tells you that may be possible.

“Perfect,” you say, and then you push at his shoulder until he flops on his back, gazing up at you almost reverently as you climb on top of him to straddle his hips.

One of his hands wander up your thighs until he settles on your hip. His hair falls into his face, his eyes still drowsy but the hunger plain as day. He brings his other arm to rest above his head, against the pillows, in a clear show of his muscles that makes your mouth water. He looks devastatingly handsome and just so hot, it’s really not fair.

“Good morning,” he says, casually, as if you’re not quietly losing your mind.

You give him a devilish grin and push your hips back until you can feel the head of his cock against you, already hard and leaking precum against your ass. Satisfaction curls up your spine when his small smile falters and his jaw clenches. You lean down, knowing that he loves the feeling of your breasts pushing against his chest and nipples dragging, until you’re hanging your lips right above his.

“A very good morning, it is.”

#i hope yall enjoy pls let me know what you think <3 #my horniness for aaron strikes again #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner smut #mine

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lavenderspence · 5 months ago

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A bunch of cuties in love | A.H.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

Content warning: fluff, nicknames (i think that's about it?)

Word Count: 2.2K

Summary: Running late to a meeting with Strauss, Hotch leaves Jack with his favorite person - you. The scene that greets him when he comes back leads to some realizations.

Request: Hotch request: BAU!Reader is Jack’s favorite and always spends the day with them when he’s brought along to the office. They have a cute bonding moment that Hotch secretly watches. Cue the “oh god I’m in love with them aren’t I”

A/N: it’s been two months today since I made this blog, and it’s been wild, it’s been fun, and it’s been a little teary. thank you for the love and support! Please enjoy this cute little hotch piece, I had a blast writing it! Thank you to the anon who requested this, and I’d love to hear what you think! Also, I miss old Disney😭

masterlist

9:23.

On the days you weren’t working on a case, and the only thing you really needed to catch up on was paperwork, your usual start time was 8:30. Yet almost an hour had gone by and he wasn’t in his office like he usually would be.

With a punctual Unit Chief like Aaron Hotchner, it was a shock, and a little nerve-wracking that he was late.

You’d lie if you didn’t say you were getting a little worried, taking into account the last and only time he’d been late - Foyet attacking him in his own home, leaving him with long-lasting trauma, scars, and without his family.

You'd never forget that day, and every day after where he was left to suffer, laying the blame on himself. No matter how many times you said it, how many times Rossi patted him on the back, reminding him it wasn't his fault, you knew a part of him still didn't believe it.

And the part of you that cared about him, maybe a little more than you should, didn't have the heart to watch him do this to himself - the silent guilt, the long empty looks.

You’ve known him awhile, seen him through many of his ups, and just as many as his downs. You’d seen him laugh in glee and beam with happiness, you’d seen him lose it in anger and anguish and you’d seen him cry in heartbreak.

So much of your life spent beside him, so many memories linked with him, and your team. And much of it you knew was friendly love - your love for Emily and Spencer, JJ and Morgan, Penelope and Rossi. But the love you felt for him was just a tiny bit different, deeper, not the friendly kind.

You’d only recently started to understand what you were really feeling for him, as recent as the last few weeks. Still new and a little unexplainable at times, you were learning to balance that, within your friendship.

You didn’t think you wanted to pursue anything, right now. It had been a little over two years since he’d lost Haley, since he’d needed to start navigating his life as a single dad, a widower.

You could still see the pain in his eyes, fresh as the day it had happened. You knew he was managing, but it was still apparent, that it was hitting them both hard.

And Jack? He was a little ray of sunshine in the otherwise gruesome life all of you led - the same could be said about Henry. But Henry was Reid's favorite, as his godfather, you knew the bond between them was unbreakable.

But Jack? You were his favorite, and he was yours.

He was your little buddy, your partner in all things art, cartoons, and Disney shows. He was your little helper during all things baking - you'd babysat once and he'd requested chocolate chip, peanut butter cookies and you'd been more than happy to help him make them.

He was a natural baker and a little taster.

Your love for the little cutie ran as deep as your feelings for his dad.

At the end of the day though, you were a friend, a shoulder both could use to lean on and rely on. You were comfortable in your role within their little family and weren't looking to make any changes then.

9:28.

You were playing with your watch, already having decided you’d be giving him a call if he didn't arrive by 9:30.

Worry was making your hands sweat, and just as you went to wipe them on your pants, the door to the bullpen opened, and in walked a very frantic Hotch - his tie was a little crooked, shirt a little wrinkled, and Jack - a little backpack on his back, and a curious look paired with a timid smile.

Aaron's eyes searched the bullpen, as did Jack's, the little Hotchner noticing you seconds before his father did. You stood up, watching as the blond pulled away from his dad, and on a little run, made his way towards you.

“Cutiee.” He called out, using the nickname you called him, to address you too. You leaned down when he was a few steps away, accepting his hug, his little arms wrapping around your neck.

“Hi, cutie.” You greeted him, a wide smile on your face. Hotch had made his way over to you by then, giving you a barely-there smile, but his eyes shone.

“You're late.” You started, pulling to your full height.

“Yeah, Jessica was called on an emergency at the last minute, and Liah is away on a hiking trip, so here we are.” Liah was Hotch's neighbor, she looked after Jack for a few hours when Hotch couldn't stay with him, or Jess was busy.

He looked at his watch, running a hand through his hair, messing it up a little.

“I have a meeting with Strauss…well, right now. Can you please watch him until I get done?”

“Go, don't make her wait. We'll be okay and we're going to have fun. Right, Jack?” You watched him nod at both you and his dad before Hotch exhaled.

“You're a lifesaver. Be good for Y/N, okay buddy.” Another nod from Jack, and he was on his way to Strauss's office.

‘’Okay Jack, let's see if Aunt Penelope can download a few episodes of ‘The Suite Life’ for us, and then we'll go color and draw for a while. Does that sound good to you?”

“Very good. Can I also have orange juice?” He asked, taking your hand in his small, soft one, fingers wrapping around your own.

“Let's go see if we have any.” You walked towards the small communal kitchen space, checking the fridge and then you checked the pantry…and, “Bingo. Let's go see the lair.” You led him to Penelope's office.

“Knock, knock, may us mortals enter?” You joked, making your little partner giggle.

“Us?” Her voice rang from the other side of the door.

“I have sir Hotchner with me. The smaller one.”

“Hey,” Jack said in outrage

“My favorite Hotchner.” You added.

Penelope pulled the door open, beaming at both of you, before she made space for you to enter.

“Jack, my love, hi,” She raised her hand, letting him give her a high five. Even though she was affectionate, Jack wasn’t as much, especially after Haley. He only hugged a few people now - Jess, his dad, and surprisingly, you.

It really showed how comfortable he was with you.

“What brings you to my tech cave?” She asked. You raised your brows at him, prompting him to do the talking.

“Can you, please, download a few episodes of Zack and Cody for us?” His voice rang with its usual child calm and sweetness, fingers intertwined in front of him.

Penelope's smile softened even more, “Sure thing, sweetie,” Her eyes turned towards you then, “Your tablet?”

“Yes, please.” You knew it was a work tablet, but no one had to know.

“Any requests?” She asked the little guy.

“You pick.”

“Okay-dokey. Should have it in about 10 minutes, my loves.”

“Thank you, Aunt Penelope.”

“Thanks Pen.” You gave her air kisses before you led Jack out and towards his father's office.

His day had started rocky, hell, the whole night had gone that way.

Jack had woken up from a nightmare - twice at that. After the second time, he’d asked Aaron to sleep in his bed, too scared and sad to stay in his room.

He’d snoozed his alarm, just once, and had a hard time waking his son up too. He’d had 20 minutes to get himself ready, but Jessica had called 10 minutes before she was supposed to arrive - apologizing because she’d been called on an emergency at work.

Aaron had to rearrange his whole morning then, already aware he’d be late for work. He’d had to get Jack and his backpack ready and cook him breakfast. All of that, and be in the office before his 9:30 meeting with Strauss.

Breakfast and preparing Jack for a day at the BAU, he’d done successfully. Arriving on time had been a little tricky, with barely 2 minutes to spare.

But when he’d walked into the bullpen, Jack spotting you just seconds before he did, and he’d watched your smile grow, he’d known all would be okay.

Watching you with Jack always brought a warm feeling within him, like he was watching something sacred. You were always patient and kind, always interested in listening to him talk, even though he was a quiet kid, who appreciated quality time more.

You gave him that too, and a lot of it - you watched cartoons and shows with him. Colored and drew, baked cookies, and played with him whenever he wanted. Any time spent with Jack was about what he wanted, what he liked doing, and above all, making him comfortable.

Even if it meant cleaning flour off your kitchen floor and whatever had gotten in the drawers too.

He appreciated, even loved the bond you had with his son, every smile, every hug, and every minute you spend with him. He loved hearing about you from Jack - what you’d done together, what you’d told him, the stories, the jokes, the conversations.

Hearing his son proclaim you as his favorite person in the BAU had made his heart soar. Taking into account all the time you spent with him, it wasn’t really a surprise. He bonded hard, but once he did, he never went back.

He was much like Aaron himself in that regard. His trust had to be earned, as did his friendship, and it required hard work. Jack was much the same. And you’d successfully earned both of theirs with your beautiful and caring personality.

He exhaled a breath, checking his watch, step fast, and briefcase in hand.

11:18.

His meeting with Strauss had run longer than he’d anticipated - over an hour and a half. Diplomacy, politics, budgets, and cuts, they’d run through countless things, half of that meeting already fully blacked out from his memory.

He was tired - every meeting with Strauss left him drained. Worried, about Jack and his state of mind after last night. All he wanted to do was get to his office and check up on his son.

Walking into the bullpen for the second time that day, he quickly made his way towards his office, only to stop short at the window. The blinds were open, having forgotten to close them last night, so he had a clear and full view of his office.

You were sat on the couch close to the armrest, Jack cuddled against you, cheek squished against your collarbone, face almost buried in your neck.

Your work tablet sat propped on the coffee table, and your arm wrapped around his small body, keeping him close. His eyes were almost closed, your thumb running soothingly on his back.

He watched, mesmerized by the scene. He felt himself soften, all of him. His face, the furrow in his brow, and the tight set of his lips. His whole body, his heart, suddenly at peace.

For months he'd observed the kindness you showed everyone - the families of victims, heartbroken by the injustice of life. Passersby, people you might never see again. Your team, especially, your work family. Jack, and even Aaron himself.

And as he watched you with his son, the one person left in this world who truly loved him, no matter his rights or wrongs - he couldn't help but feel himself unravel.

Every little thought he'd had about you, every feeling he might have somehow suppressed in order to protect himself and his child, they all attacked him, in seconds.

Because the truth was, you earned his trust, his friendship, and somehow along the way, you'd won his heart as well.

Right at that moment, his heart pounded in need, in adoration, in pure, clear love. Love he hadn't allowed himself to feel since Haley. Love, he'd frankly hadn't felt in years, ever since he’d put his signature down on the dotted line.

He wanted to get home to see this. He wanted to see you put Jack to bed, and kiss his forehead with a whispered ‘good night’.

He wanted to stroke your cheek tenderly, pull you into a kiss that made you melt, and stroke a fire within you like no one else could.

He wanted to tell you he loved you - in the car, as he drove you to work. In the kitchen during breakfast and dinner. In his office, a few stolen moments as you worked. And under the sheets, while you made love.

And even through the fear that gripped him in a vice, of rejection, separation, and even trust - he still wanted to love you, as if he was loving someone for the first time again.

“Everything okay, Aaron?” David asked, passing on the way to his office.

Aaron barely spared him a glance, nodding his head a little, “Yeah, it's okay.”

He pushed the door to his office open and walked in, greeted by his new favorite sight, and his two favorite people.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#aaron hotchner x fem!reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x you #hotchner x reader #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner request

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zvdvdlvr · 1 month ago

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savior complex + Aaron Hotchner

“Hey, baby! So sorry I’m late, I got caught up at work,” you say with an overly saccharine tone.

Aaron looks up from his phone as you approach him, eyeing you skeptically. He opens his mouth, but closes it when you shake your head ‘no’ frantically.

Quietly, you rush out, “I’m so sorry. There’s been a man following me from the last four blocks and I don’t want to go home. Please just act like you know me until he goes away.”

Without raising an eyebrow, Aaron’s eyes dart up and he sees the person you’re talking about. A man dressed in all black, eyes intently on you. “Don’t apologize, honey, I know how busy you get. Up for dinner?” Aaron wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you close to him. He hopes he isn’t overstepping boundaries. “Just follow me,” he says quietly, leading you further down the sidewalk. “When we get to the bookstore up there, go inside. If he’s still following us I can take care of him.”

“Okay,” you nod. “Thank you. I’m so sorry to ruin your night.”

Aaron hears the truthfulness in your voice and he looks down at you with uncharacteristically soft eyes. “You didn’t ruin my night. I’m just glad it’s me who helped you instead of some other weird guy,” he says lamely.

You side-eye him. “I’m sorry, but who are you?”

Aaron pulls his wallet from his pocket with ease. “Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner with the FBI,” he tells you. He watches you scan his ID with wide eyes until he turn to the street with the bookstore. He took a quick glance over his shoulder and saw that the man wasn’t there. “He’s gone,” he informs you.

However, you stay in Aaron’s grasp. Despite knowing the threat is gone, you choose to stay in this hot FBI man’s arm. You know you’re fooling yourself but you just wanted to imagine- for a couple more moments- that you do have a hot FBI boyfriend that escorts you to mundane places like the bookstore and calls you honey and protects you from all the bad guys.

“Is there any way I can say thank you without saying it?” You ask with a nervous chuckle when he leads you to front of the building.

Aaron watches you for a moment before checking his watch and scratching his head. “If you’re offering, I could eat- but don’t feel compelled. It’s really no proble-“

“Agent Hotchner, it’s really no problem. Where do you want to go?”

“Call me Aaron,” he smiles. “And… I could go for some burgers.”

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irndad · 10 months ago

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won't you be my sunshine-a.h.

a/n: runner!hotch x sunshine!reader !! sooooo fluffy, first hotch fic of mine so be gentle with me! lots of pining and happy end <3 happy to continue with these two in an au!

Aaron Hotchner is not a particularly emotive man.

This is a skill he has honed, a cherished quality that was not born of luck or of natural ability, but a skill that he has honed down to a fine tip point. He needs to be, in this job. It’s cost him things, of course, but for the most part, Aaron is happy with his choices. He takes a firm line with people he works with, and does not always let up in his personal life.

The only time this sometimes causes a hitch, is in his romantic life.

Which isn’t to say that he has one.

There is a woman who reads in the park every morning. Aaron affectionately thinks of this bench as her bench, as it is marked by wisterias and hyacinths on either end of it. It’s something of a ritual, after his runs, that they talk.

It’s fun. He doesn’t have a lot of space for fun. He’d collapsed on the bench one day after siphoning his anger at a particular case into a difficult run. He’d crashed onto the bench, sweaty and exhausted and hadn’t even seen her there. Which is a bit impressive, as she’s hard to miss the sight of. It is also in equal measure embarrassing. It’s not every day you collapse in front of a gorgeous woman, disturbing her from what is likely a lovely afternoon in the park.

That’s how it started, anyway. She doesn’t run, so each break is punctuated by her company. He’s actually not sure if they’re flirting. He’s not very good at that- the last time he has to he was 17 and so full of unearned confidence, he lucked into a partnership.

Now, he’s a bit older and a lot more scarred. She’s younger than him, not by much. She laughs with her whole chest at his dry, glib humor- and this is something Aaron had forgotten. The joy of a beautiful, wonderful woman’s company beside you.

He feels a little out of place next to her. Romance is not something he does. Ever thought he’d do again, really. That’s not to say that this is romance. Their romance is almost entirely hypothetical. He thinks of her at work, which is a monumental development in and of itself.

“So, how was the paperwork? I know you’ve been taking a little more on since your colleague had a baby. It’s so kind of you to do it.” She asks him on a beautiful August morning.

He fights off a blush that she remembers what he’s done for JJ. He’s not big on mentioning his own good deeds. Aaron believes that this would cancel it out. Still, her praise is a warm balm to the exhaustion that plagues him. It’s hedonistic, the way he wants her to say more about him. He wonders absentmindedly if she knew everything about him that’s hard to love, she’d still paint him with such a light and warm glance. She’s bright enough, he’s tempted to tell her everything about him just because she asks.

“It was…alright. My team is excellent. I’m lucky to work with people like them, it makes the process better. I couldn’t ask for more.”

She giggles a little at this, and there’s that roar of affection.

He feels a sense of ease around her, one that is suspicious for him. He tries not to romanticize, but this connection is hard not to. She’s beautiful- this is obvious to anyone who meets her, a simple truth of her. But Aaron is trained to notice things little factors that show the truth of someone.

He likes to watch her- it’s a pleasant thing, getting to be in her presence. It’s a little addicting, the way she looks at him. It makes him feel like all of the things he knows to be true of himself- his relative failures, the closed-off nature of his demeanor- are things that not only can be overlooked, but don’t seem to be in her line of sight at all. It’s an honor, to have her doe eyes rake over the sight of him, to meet him with gentle conversation.

He tries not to notice that she is gorgeous. Aaron has been around beautiful women, of course- this is not something that should surprise him. But there’s something effervescent about her, something that his him wondering if it’s possible that she might feel the same way about him. He knows that he used to be a more attractive man, but now. Well, he’s a bit bruised, both metaphorically and physically.

It feels odd to even think of this happening. She’s just got a warm, sweet tone and he replays what it’s like when she greets him. She smiles her brilliant grin and sometimes hugs him. It’s embarrassing how much he likes the feeling of it- soft curves against hard muscle and scarred skin. She always smells wonderful, and he wonders how nice it would be to have more of this.

“I like your new shirt, by the way.” She smiles at him, and his heart jumps. It feels juvenile, but- she’s wearing a new lipstick, it seems. Her beautiful pout looks awfully tempting.

“I like the lip color,” he tries to compliment back amenably, but that doesn’t stick. Instead, it comes out too earnest. He’s hyper aware of the fact that she’s right by him. She flushes, and Aaron feels a surge of pride.

“Thank you,” she says, voice softer and flattered, and isn’t that a pretty sound? He’d love to do that for her, make her feel seen, make her feel like she’s as beautiful as she is, “I thought you might like it.”

It’s her directiveness that breaks the seal, he supposes looking back. Because she wore the lipstick for him. That’s just about the only thing it can mean, and he is struck with a particularly sensory fantasy of what it would be like to slot his mouth against hers- he gets the feeling it might be worth it even if he gets the color on his mouth.

He’s a gentleman, though, he decides after a decidedly ungentlemanly amount of time spend staring at the gorgeous curve of her lips.

“Would you want to get dinner with me?” He hears himself say it before he’s processed it, and then it’s out into the world. His heart is hammering and he’s blaming on the run, when god, it’s absolutely about how breathtaking she looks, the sunlight reflecting off her hair like a halo. When she beams back at him, she looks particularly angelic.

It’s then, she leans over and kisses him on the cheek.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

(Months later, when she is sitting on his kitchen counter and he is standing between her legs, gazing down at her with unabated fondness because he is entitled to that, he reflects on this moment and thinks god, how lucky am I, that I ran past that bench?)

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colmiillo · 3 months ago

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"I notice i start getting nauseous in the morning and my period is a week late"

Girl i need to fantasies with a hot man that i don't have a chance on, not with a baby,please kill that thing

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luveline · 7 months ago

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could you write bau!reader x aaron, reader is pregnant and baby is so restless and kicking a lot as reader is at her desk working and aaron is the only one who can calm baby down

ty for requesting <3 pregnant!reader, 1k

“Woh,” you mumble, almost clipping your head on your desk as you lean forward. “Oh, my gosh.”

“What’s wrong, mama?”

You wave your free hand weakly at Derek, the other to your bump. “Nothing’s wrong, handsome.”

Derek laughs warmly and stands from his chair. “I don’t believe you. Come on, tell me what’s wrong. Or I’ll go get the big man and he can force it out of you himself.”

Hotch’s never forced anything out of you, but he has kissed a confession from you before. He could do it again easily.

You right yourself as the baby’s rampant kicking makes you feel as though you’ll pee your pants. “Derek, there’s some crazy stuff happening inside of me right now.”

He smiles at you fondly. “I bet there is.”

“She’s kicking the shit out of me.” Sitting up, your back twinges and relaxes, the weight of your baby bump spreading out. You’re very pregnant and the baby is extremely active. She kicks pretty much 24/7 these last few days, and it’s driving you crazy. “Do you wanna feel?”

Derek presents his hand for feeling. You stand up, and Derek lays a hand across your bump. You don’t have to move it anywhere: the second he touches you, he can no doubt feel the baby’s aggressiveness. She’s aiming her little feet almost like she knows where your most fragile organs are.

One rough kick has Derek taking back his hand. “She’s beating you up, mama.”

“She hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Spencer says, twirling in his chair to give one of his innocuous tidbits of information, “babies kick for all sorts of reasons. They kick when they’re hungry, or after you’ve just eaten because of the extra glucose shared via the placenta. Sometimes they kick because they can feel sensation through your skin.”

Spencer stands up. You raise your brows. “You wanna feel?” you ask.

He grins and offers his hand. You take it and place it against the baby’s restless feet, smiling at Spencer’s smile, a little enchanted by how fascinated he seems. At Spencer’s touch, she starts to kick quickly like she had been with Derek, and eventually you have to move his hand in the hopes she’ll stop. She slows, but the occasional stretch pokes at your stomach. You can see the distension of her limb even through your shirt.

“She’s really going for it today,” you say. “Maybe I had too much brown sugar in my oatmeal.”

“You know babies can tell the difference between hands?” Spencer asks.

“I sort of guessed,” you say distractedly, rubbing at the baby’s kicking with the crest of your palm. “She doesn’t act like this with Hotch.”

“Good to know he has that effect on everyone,” Derek says with a laugh.

“I might go and ask him to make her stop. I’m gonna need a change of clothes if she doesn’t.”

Derek laughs again, full-bellied, his arm wrapping around your shoulders in a pitying hug. “Aw, sweetheart, you’ll be okay. Just two more months and this will all be over.”

“Well, you never know. The longest overdue pregnancy in human history was almost a hundred days, that’s more than an extra three months.”

“Spencer!” you say, not truly shouting, but your volume escaping you as the horror of a year long pregnancy sinks in. “Don’t jinx me.”

Your loud voice, or perhaps Derek’s roaring laughter, draws the attention of JJ and Hotch, who appear from the depths of his office with matching curious expressions. JJ begins down the steps to the bullpen, while Hotch stays at the balcony waiting for an explanation.

“Baby Hotchner’s giving it large,” Derek says, rubbing your upper arm.

“She won’t stop,” you complain, relieved to see your stern husband. “Can you come and set her straight?”

You aren’t always so quick to complain to him, but this is too much. It feels as though she’s about to start doing spin kinks against your spine —it’s honestly the most she’s ever moved. When you were just a few weeks pregnant you’d longed for her to wriggle and show you a sign that she could feel you, but now you’d appreciate a few minutes of calm.

Hotch follows JJ down obligingly, and he, surrounded by your curious coworkers and colleagues, without any hesitation (but certainly some care), slips his hand under your blouse to feel at his baby’s sharp kicking. He presses against what might be a foot for a few moments, his smile barely hidden, his palm warm.

“She really is giving it large,” he says, the deep softness of his voice like a signal.

The baby’s kicks soften, until, barely ten seconds later, they stop. Your spine ceases vibrating, and you can finally stand there without having to press your thighs together.

“Thank you,” you say, holding Hotch’s elbow. He’s well and truly saved you.

He rubs your stomach with his thumb. His dark eyes stay set on your bump. “You’re welcome.”

“I guess baby just missed her dad,” JJ says.

You look at Spencer. He doesn’t say anything. “No correction?” you ask.

“No,” he says, pouting that you’d ask. “Either she missed the sound of his voice, or your reaction to seeing him has calmed her down. That’s not a big difference.”

“It’s both, I think,” you say, paused by a big yawn.

“Are you tired?” Hotch asks.

“Urgently.” You let yourself sag forward toward him, gesturing for Spencer, Derek and JJ to look away. “Thanks for your help, boys, but I need something no one else can give me.” You collapse into Hotch’s chest for a hug.

The bump is very much in the way, but he reacts accordingly, ushering your chest to his, cheek pressed gently to your forehead. “She’s exhausted you,” he teases under his breath.

“She really has.”

“I love how she settles with me,” he says, rubbing your back for a long, slow handful of seconds, before he pulls away enough to grin at you. “But I suppose she gets that from her mother.”

“You’re very calming.”

“So I’ve been told.”

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble #criminal minds

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headkiss · 1 year ago

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something more

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader

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

word count: 6.6k

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

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

༄

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatcha doing?” You’d asked.

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

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

“I should really get this done-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, put me to work, boss.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he still wanted to check on you.

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

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

“Get in here, Hotchner.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who taught you that one, huh?”

“I like to keep my sources anonymous.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The flight home from a case always feels the longest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hopeless, she thinks.

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

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

“Should we wake them up?” JJ asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We fell asleep, but we landed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s going on?” You ask Aaron.

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

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

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

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

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

He likes that idea, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You guess that this time might be up for debate.

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.” And then, you hung up.

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

So, your instincts weren’t so bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If you say so, Hotchner.”

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

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

“Learned from the best,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll clean it all up, too, I prom-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s perfect,” he says.

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

Similar words come from the rest of the team.

“Finally,” from Emily.

“About time,” from JJ.

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

A sweet, “yay,” from Penelope.

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

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

༄

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

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chithereader · 1 month ago

Text

first impressions / aaron hotchner

pairing: aaron hotchner x f!reader

word count: 2.6k

genre: fluff

cw: shy!reader / naive!reader, hotch has a crush!! a bit of mutual pining

a/n: i feel like this is a little all over the place but i love a pining hotch too much so i just had to post it!!!

Anderson has been doing his case reports in the pantry for the past four hours. Perhaps it does have its perks– one, he’s closer to the coffee machine and two, he’s farther away from all the chatter that is coming from the place he should actually be working in– at his desk.

That’s because for the past four hours, the whole BAU team or what’s left of it– being Derek, Rossi, Garcia, and Reid– have been crowding the rows of desks directly across Hotch’s office. Occupying desks and chairs that are definitely not theirs.

The rowdy bunch has been debating, gossiping, and most importantly, profiling their unit chief for the past four hours. Figuring out which applicants impress him, disappoint him, or straight-up irritate him– all through his office window.

They’ve seen a total of seven applicants walk out of his office without a handshake, which is Hotch’s tell on whether he would consider that candidate or not. Out of those seven, two were way prettier than they were smart, three way too confident than they were competent, and two solely able to step foot in Quantico because of their last names.

As for those that did walk out with a handshake were… well.. non-existent. If anyone were to ask someone from the team, they’d insist that they don’t need a new member. They don’t need anyone new to replace the beloved ones that have left.

However, remembering the previous cases from the past two weeks– the truth is, they all felt a little like they were drowning. It felt like the more days that went by, the more cases there were to filter, solve, and close. The more killers there were to profile, hunt, and stop. The more reports there were to fill out, file, and submit;

Each member of the team was doing double the workload of what they usually handle which had started to take its toll on their health, both physical and mental. And Hotch being the responsible leader that he is, recognized what had to be done. Especially after Reid fainted while running and Morgan’s strength notably faltering while in a tussle with an unsub.

Now, the team didn’t know if it was perhaps because Hotch was measuring all these potential agents against Emily and JJ but none of them appeared up to his standard. Although accepting applications was his idea, judging by the way his brows had furrowed permanently they could tell Hotch was starting to regret it. Rossi, who knows Hotch a little better than everyone, could tell that he was about to give up.

He could tell by the way he had his lips pressed in a thin line for the past forty minutes unwaveringly.

He could tell by the way his shoulders were more obviously rising and falling, his breaths deeper- like he was calming himself.

He could tell by the way Hotch would stand with clenched fists, unclenching them slowly on his sides.

He could tell by the way Hotch was staring at the files, not reading.

But just as Rossi was about to go up to Hotch’s office so they could all call it a night. To give his friend a pep talk about being there for each other and how tomorrow’s another day. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone entering the BAU walking briskly.

The profiler in him skims over the figure quickly: 5 foot 3. Tiny. Mid-20s to early 30s. Young. Cardigan, jeans, sneakers, and a messenger bag. Is this kid Reid’s twin or what. Soulful round eyes, cute nose, pink lips. Pretty.

“Uhm, hi.. I’m here for an interview? with uhm.. Mr– Agent Hotchner, sorry. Could someone point me to his office? Please?” Interesting.

For some reason, none of the members of the team spoke, mainly surprised by the sudden addition of this stranger’s presence. One by one, like falling dominos, they slowly pointed to Hotch’s door. Simultaneously taking their precious time assessing whatever they can from what they’re seeing.

Their observations didn’t stray far from what Rossi had seen. You’re pretty. That’s the first thing one can deduce. The incredibly-adorable kind of pretty, Garcia thinks. You seem smart, the same way anyone knows boy genius is smart– darting eyes like you’re thinking at a thousand miles per minute. Like you’re studying your surroundings, assessing threats, friendlies, and potential threats.

You’re shy. You speak softly as if scared to intrude. Your movements are precise as if scared to impose. You stand still as if scared to take up more space than necessary. But your posture says otherwise. You may be introverted but your intelligence reeks in your diction and the way your head is held high, a part of you you’re sure of. Literally a lot like Reid, it’s creepy.

You’re young. Young enough to steal pretty boy’s title as the baby of the team if you were to be accepted. To be honest, you look like a college student. Like a straight A, extra credit, shy and quiet type of student– and they weren’t wrong.

You didn’t find anything weird about their behavior, the silence with which they responded to you. Probably because you were too nervous about your interview. Everyone knows the BAU is the team that’s the most difficult to get into, and that their unit chief’s the most intimidating man in the FBI that the Director himself avoids running into him altogether.

So it was definitely a surprise when you were called in by Erin Strauss. A fresh graduate from the academy, you had no field experience at all. You’d only been working as a forensic scientist for the Organized Crime Division for a little less than a year, and more often than not you were in laboratories and morgues. Mainly there as a junior consultant than anything, having the more seasoned agents out in the field, on active crime scenes.

Your gaze followed where they were pointing to, nerves permeating through your body. As you make your way up the stairs to get to his door, you’re trying to even your breathing- desperately. You don’t want to seem incompetent and inexperienced, pathetic even.

Raising your hand to knock, you take in one last deep breath. Suddenly aware of all the people watching you from behind, possibly profiling you– you knock. Loudly. Like you were trying to prove something, show false strength and confidence.

Maybe a little too loud, you realized. Shit.

You’re in your own head when the door whips open and you see him. You knew he was good looking. You’ve seen him on TV and in pictures but god they did not do him justice. Just as you were processing how good-looking he was and how it would be a crime to embarrass yourself in front of him, your body decides it’s time to let out that big breath you inhaled before knocking.

Now it appears you’re just blowing cool air into his chest, frozen while he stands there towering over you, most likely curious about why you knocked on his door so hard, why you are blowing cool air into his chest and more importantly, who the heck were you?

“Hi, I’m, uh, here for the interview. For, uhm, the vacant position at the BAU team, Sir– Agent!” clearing your throat you scramble to make a good impression, or at least salvage what’s been established.

Swallowing your pride, you bow your head in embarrassment, softening your voice as you say “Sorry, Agent Hotchner. What I meant to say is that I’m applying to be on your team. I’m here for the interview.” Looking up at him eye-to-eye, to hopefully convey your sincerity, you held his stare and his breathing stuttered.

Let’s be honest. Hotch just went through four hours of his personal hell, getting to know people he doesn’t want to get to know. Asking questions, engaging in small talk, studying mannerisms and language– all to assess whether that person could be the much needed addition to his team. And the last thing he wants right now, as it nears the end of the work day, is another applicant to entertain.

So Hotch, along with the rest of the team, becomes quite surprised when he moves his body out of the way to let you in his office when seconds ago he looked like he was about to give a very tempered advice at whoever just banged on his door.

While he gestures for you to sit walking around his desk to sit on his own chair, he convinces himself that it’s because he is a good person and because he would do anything to help his team even if it meant enduring another painful interview.

Definitely not because of your eyes. Or pouting lips. Or the adorable way blood rushed to your cheeks in embarrassment. Or your soft, soft voice that said his name in such a way that he’s dying to hear it again.

Nope. It is simply his duty to lead and care for his team, and that means interviewing you. Somehow.

It was quiet. You were nervous. It was obvious. He was waiting for you to talk but you’ve been staring at his tie instead of his face. You’re fiddling with your rings, wiping your palms on your jeans. And you were still very obviously trying to even your breaths.

Observing these were enough to make him soften his voice slightly as he spoke, “Could you tell me about yourself?” He said slowly and softly– soft enough that if the air conditioning was a little louder you probably wouldn’t have heard him at all.

Hotch became extremely conscious about coming across as demanding. He simply didn’t want to intimidate you further. He knew that if he wanted you to talk, open up, and present yourself justifiably, he would have to tread lightly.

Now, he didn’t know when exactly he had started to care about whether he came off as intimidating or not, nor does he know why he’s the one adjusting for someone applying to be on his team– but apparently the times have changed.

He’s brought out of his thoughts by your faint reply, “Well I, uh, have a bachelor in Psychology and in World Literature. Uhm, and.. I also have a Masters in Criminal Psychology but pursued Forensic Psychology for my doctorate.” You sounded almost hesitant to list all your achievements, which made him think you’ve probably been told once or twice that it is impolite to talk about such achievements to one’s face.

The thought of someone invalidating your achievements, your brilliance infuriates him. You’ve achieved so much so early in your life, you deserve to be celebrated. There’s a subdued smile on his face, hopefully one you interpret as encouragement to continue.

With a small smile gracing your face at his kind reaction, you added, “I only recently finished actually– I did it simultaneously with the academy’s progr–”

He cut you off, “Congratulations– sorry.” Too eager. Since when am I the one doing the impressing? “You like studying,” he observed. The smile on your face, although small, seemed genuine. Your face and your posture increasingly relaxed the more you talked.

You breathe out a laugh, “A little.. A little too much maybe.” Looking at your hands, rearranging the rings that adorn your nimble fingers.

Hotch’s face has softened. He didn’t notice by how much, but it has relaxed a lot more the longer he observes you, everything about you. He commits your every movement to his memory, every mannerism, chalking it up to some part of his assessment. Words that describe you flashing in his head: introverted, intelligent, beautiful, accomplished– He hasn’t read your file. He gave up on reading files three candidates ago and has been relying on his profiling skills to get him through.

But there’s something about you. Something that he can’t figure out, can’t name or explain. He felt it the very first time your eyes met, which isn’t even an hour ago but feels damn near to ages ago. He’s feeling it deep in his bones– a tingling feeling, an electric current, a rush of excitement. His heart has been beating slower yet louder. He feels it strongly in his chest.

It had made him silent for a minute, so you look up from your hands subtly to check if he’s alright. For a second you were worried that he had said something that you just didn’t pick up on, and he’s been waiting for you to respond.

But as your eyes meet again, he feels he’s suddenly in unfamiliar territory, treading powerful waters, and he can do nothing but go along with it.

You’re surprised by the look in his eyes, but the sudden silence is at the forefront of your mind and you try to diffuse it, “Uhm–”

He cuts you off again, “Tell me something about yourself that I won’t read on your file.” He had the same idea- to talk. But for you, it was to diffuse the silence you thought was a dead giveaway of how disastrous your interview’s turning out to be. To him, it was to get somewhere, anywhere.

He’s got this weird feeling– a desire to get you talking more, even though soon enough there will be an awakened part of him that is certain there will be more talking in store for you two in the future.

“What?” You don’t know why you said that. You understood what he said. Now you probably helped him affirm in his head that you’re ditzy and possibly the least reliable candidate to make agent.

But..you just caught him looking at you like he was in love with you. Now you’re officially crazy. Dark, compelling eyes calling to you– it threw you off. It wasn’t even the usual sickening look of love, it was more of this serious, earnest yearning- almost pained.

Now while the two of you were battling awkwardness and inexplicable feelings, the team was watching the whole thing unfold through his office window like a silent film. In fact, Garcia and Derek were already sharing a bowl of popcorn he ran to microwave the second they all saw Hotch’s entire existence falter at your presence.

“What– what is happening? They’re barely talking!” Garcia worries. You’re tiny and adorable, and you look so kind and so incredibly soft and fragile. She just wants to protect you regardless of having met you less than briefly, minutes ago.

“Baby girl, look closely. Both are just nervous, blushing idiots. They’ve just gotta push through this. Aren’t I right?” Derek’s smart mouth smugly adds. Looking to Rossi for any confirmation that he had guessed right: Hotch has a crush.

Ever the skilled lip-reader, Reid comments “It’s been six whole minutes and Hotch has only asked her to tell him about herself.” He ponders for a moment, tilting his head “And judging by his relaxed jaw movements, gestures, and the decreased amount of strain his neck shows, I’d say he’s speaking softer than his usual volume.”

Essentially Hotch’s best friend, every member looks to Rossi for his reaction. If they need any sort of confirmation that they’re reading their boss man right, they only ever have to read his right hand man Rossi who wears how he feels and what he thinks like Garcia wears her individuality.

But Rossi’s only looking back at Reid with twinkling eyes and a smug smile growing bigger by the second. He lets out a quiet laugh, turning back to see Hotch smiling at the girl who is unaware of the fool grinning at her, “Addition to the team my ass– he'll be adding her to his life."

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