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sincerelybubbles · 4 months ago

Note

ok shy bau reader and the team finally managed to get her to come a rossi dinner party so she can meet the rest of the team families that she hasn’t met yet, maybe after her first date with hitch and the team realized quickly she softened very fast with the kids and jack and her just seemed to click really fast and jack had her talking more than any of the team has so far… hotch is star eyes

hotch x shy!bau!reader \\ Dinner and Delights

Warnings: brief mention/allusions to Christianity. Otherwise, fluff! More insight into what Aaron is thinking :) I got very carried away, I hope you enjoy <3

"Woah hot stuff, where are you going so fast?" Morgan intercepts you with an arm around your shoulder as you attempt to slip out of the BAU unnoticed. "Hopefully to get ready for our big dinner plans?"

It's not that you don't want to go to one of Rossi's famous dinner parties, you're just afraid that your sub-par social skills would be noticeable by tenfold in a more casual environment.

At work, you can hide your quietness by talking about the psychology of the unsub, your specialty as a licensed psychologist. You can pretend you're not hiding in your shell when the team is all laughing and talking about personal lives by quietly listening while pretending to read your maps and journals. You can observe them and spend time with them, because you do truly love them all at this point, without feeling bad that you prefer to listen over talk.

And that's really it - you prefer to listen to them. You would say you've all but warmed up to all of them. You like Morgan's teasing, Emily's stories, Reid's rambling, Rossi's sarcasm, and Hotch's...

Everything, but the thought snaps you back to the present before you can dwell on memories of a sweet date in a dark restaurant.

"Of course," you succeed, nodding and sending him a tight-lipped smile.

"Hey," he slows you down and stops in the hallway, turning you to face him gently before lifting his hands in a placating gesture as if you were an animal he expects to run. "You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with but I promise none of us are trying to lead our little lamb to slaughter. We know you're quiet," the admission embarrasses you and makes you feel guilty pleasant that he sounds so gentle about it, "and nobody minds, I think it's cute and I think the rest are just happy our other genius isn't as vocal as Reid."

Your nose scrunches at the small dig and you open your mouth to protest at putting Reid down to lift you up.

"And look at that! Another thing we all love - you're quiet but won't let anyone say anything about the other behind their back. You're a good person, we all just want to spend some less-intense time with you. So, go home and doll yourself up, and get ready to see Hotch wine tipsy. We all know that's your main motivator." Morgan winks at you and moves quickly down the hall and away from you, laughing, before you can protest.

He's not wrong, though, and you shake your head as you move toward the elevator.

You end up on Rossi's doorstep, choking the neck of a bottle of expensive wine between two sweaty palms. Your heart is in your throat, nerves humming in anticipation.

Your team cares about you. Nobody expects you to be anything you're not. Gentle affirmations meant to soothe over your skin in gently lapping waves erupt into steam; like water hitting lava rock. You're too tense, too worried about not saying enough or too much; saying the wrong thing or saying the right thing only once and never living up to the expectation of repeated occurrences.

"Hey," Emily says from behind you. You turn to see her jogging up to stand beside you, brushing off her pants and adjusting her jacket. "You brought wine!" She cheers happily, reaching past you to turn the nob and open the door.

She gestures you inside, making no comment about your obvious hesitance. With her by your side, your nerves are calmed. Aside from Aaron, she's the easiest for you to be around. You don't feel any expectations with Emily. She doesn't talk too much or too little, doesn't push, doesn't ever send a pitying look when you opt out of activities outside of work.

"Château Lafite," you say to her, lifting the wine and shaking it gently in the air as you walk inside.

"Oh! Fancy wine."

"Wine?" Rossi asks, rounding a corner. He's dressed slightly more casually in a soft sweater and jeans, drying his hands off with a pristine dish towel. "The more the merrier, bring it in here."

You follow his gesture back into the kitchen, leaving Emily to go to what you presume is the living or dining area.

"Where did you find this?" Rossi asks, taking the wine from you to examine it and letting out a low whistle as he appreciates it.

"Just my local winery," you say, neglecting to admit that you go there often enough that the owner leaves the nicer stuff behind the counter for you.

Lonely nights crave wine, twisting them into lovely things you can appreciate. You enjoy your own company after years of quietly observing others. You've learned how to observe yourself, too, after all of these years.

And, even though you don't quite realize it, the self-awareness carries like confidence. That's what Aaron sees in you: observant eyes darting across a room and noticing everything, understanding flickering before anyone else catches a cue, deft movements across the paper while taking notes, and swift motions always with a purpose.

It's what he sees now, hands in the pockets of his dark jeans while he leans in the doorway of Rossi's kitchen, watching you. How could he not? You're a lovely creature, always begging for his eyes to settle on you for another second, and then another.

He knows the moment you realize he's in the room, minutes before Rossi. You stand straighter, tilt your chin lower, and are aware far before you tilt your head to the side to send him a soft smile. He returns it before Rossi can catch him. It's a warmth he wants to reserve for you.

"Dave," he interrupts the other man's monologuing about the wine he's sure you already know all about, "Jack would like to know if he and Spencer can use your chess set when he gets here?"

"Of course, I'll get it from my study." Rossi leaves, passing you the wine and gesturing to the opener.

Aaron steps in before you can start the process of opening the wine. He doesn't quite know why, but he wants to do it for you. He finds himself wanting that more and more recently: to do simple tasks for the sole purpose of you not having to do them. Opening doors and pulling out chairs are simple gestures that he did with Hayley, but he wants to do sillier, smaller, things, too. Straighten the pens on your desk back into their cup, reorganize the files on your desktop, untangle the wires of the headphones he really should reprimand you for using at your desk, open a damn bottle of wine he can't pronounce the name of but that he heard you say so gently to Emily as you walked in.

"Jack's here?" You ask, handing him the wine and crossing your arms over your chest as you lean back against the counter to watch him work.

He relishes how your eyes focus on his arms, pupils dilating, as his muscles work under his thin henley.

"Yes, I have him this weekend and he likes to spend time with Reid and Garcia."

He has to step closer to reach above you to get the wine glasses. He could ask you to step aside, tuck his hand against your waist to move you himself, or simply walk into the next room to grab the glasses sitting on the table. But, instead, he tucks one foot in between yours, puts one hand on the back of your head to guard it from the cabinet, and opens it to find the nicer crystal there.

Your breath hitches across his neck and he remembers the chaste kisses he's given you before. Nothing serious, nothing has been yet because he's waiting for you to lead him into that, but tantalizing nonetheless. He steps back to pour the wine, standing closer to you than he started.

A little for you, passed gently, and then a little for him. Dave could pour his own glass.

You take the wine and sip it slowly, tongue darting out to taste before you sip. He's reminded of communion as a child. The blood of christ, sacred, something to be tasted but not meant to satiate. Reverence in a sip, devotion in a small act.

He wants to give you the same thing. The desire hits him in the sternum, suddenly, leaving him winded as he watches you lower the glass. Your eyes are locked on his, you haven't seemed as hesitant about holding his gaze recently - something that makes him melt - and he wonders if you can feel how he wants to take care of you. How he wants to show you the same force that water uses to carve canyons. Persistence and pressure, time and care. He's willing to take his time, he's filled with the same patience as everything all together in nature. He's a rabbit perched on its hind legs, sniffing the wind for safety before darting forward; the bird hung in flight between beats of wings, the whisper of wind carrying small seeds miles away to wait and watch the growth. Wait, wait, wait, however long it takes, he's there. For you.

It's a strong feeling to fully realize in David Rossi's kitchen, but he's grateful for it, anyway.

"It's good," you comment softly, eyes smiling.

"Is it?" He asks, setting his glass down and retaking his spot nearer to you. He misses your warmth. "Can I?" He asks, brushing his fingers across your jugular before cupping your cheek.

"Taste the wine?" You tease, eyes flickering to his glass. The gentle jest pulls a chuckle from his chest. Another thing you've become more comfortable doing around him. His blood and bones sing at how familiar you can be with him.

"Yes," he says in a breath, dipping his head down to brush his lips against yours.

And you're reciprocating - you've always reciprocated, enthusiastically, just never in the pressing way you are now. You set down your own glass to hold his arms in both of your hands. Fingers dig into his arm as you sigh and open your mouth, new lands to explore, tilting your head back to grant him full access.

"Daddy?" Jack asks and Aaron pulls away, a man parched and staring at an oasis in the middle of a desert, before Jack can round the corner. He doesn't go far, though, hand traveling down to the small of your back as he turns.

"Jack?" Aaron replies, waiting for him to come around the corner.

"Hello," Jack says, stopping in the doorway and looking up at you with wide eyes.

You've met him a few times before, always in passing, but you still smile warmly and wave at him.

"Hi, Jack."

"Do you know how to play chess?" Jacks asks. Aaron smiles at the eagerness on his son's face.

"Yes, I do. Would you like to play?"

"Yes please!" Jack jumps forward to grab your hand, pulling you into the living room before you can react.

You go easily, though, following him with a gentle laugh that warms the coldest parts of him. Pieces of him he doesn't think have seen the light in years brighten at the sound. He's heard you laugh before but something about the sight of you laughing because of Jack illuminates needs that he didn't even know he had. Needs you're meeting before he can feel the yawning desire of them.

He follows, unable to resist the desire to see you two interact over and over again. You're setting up the board, listening to Jack chatter on, nodding intently.

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kiwriteswords · 2 months ago

Note

Hey, may I request a Hotch x Reader age gap story, where she's in her late 20s and not a BAU member. I think it would be a nice little twist into their dynamic, also he's such a daddy. Much appreciated and thanks in advance.

The Girl Next Door

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: I had a dream about Hotch being my neighbor the other day that sort-of inspired this one! Thanks for the request!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 8.1k

Tags/Warnings: Age Gap, Romantic Tension, Alcohol Consumption, Alcohol Mention, Insecurities, Mentions of Canon-Typical Plot Themes

Sypnosis: When you move into your new apartment, the last thing Aaron Hotchner expects is for his quiet, orderly life to be disrupted by his intriguing new neighbor. At first glance, you seem like a contradiction—poised, accomplished, and wise beyond your years, yet far younger than anyone else in the building. As a profiler, Aaron prides himself on his ability to read people, but you defy easy categorization, stirring something in him he hasn’t felt in years.

The day you moved into your new apartment, Aaron Hotchner wasn’t expecting much beyond the usual polite introduction. A quick hello in the hallway, a nod of acknowledgment over packages left at the concierge desk. But when the door across from his opened, and you stood there with a warm smile and an extended hand, it was as if something jolted awake in him.

“Hi, I’m your new neighbor,” you said, your voice confident yet gentle, the kind that demanded attention without trying. “I hope I’m not intruding. Just wanted to introduce myself.”

He shook your hand, taking note of the firm grip. His profiler’s instincts, so finely tuned, began to buzz. Your demeanor was composed, polished. You carried yourself as someone well-accustomed to holding their own in rooms filled with people twice your age. Yet, as he looked at you, he couldn’t reconcile your apparent youth with the sophisticated way you spoke or the fact that you could afford an apartment in a building like this one.

“Nice to meet you,” he replied, keeping his tone neutral. “I’m Aaron Hotchner.”

Your smile widened. “Aaron. Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N.”

He would have guessed you were in your early to late twenties if not for the depth in your gaze and the way you seemed to study him, as though cataloging details in the same way he was. But still, you couldn’t be older than thirty, could you? How could someone that young afford this building? Hotch, ever practical, knew he overpaid, even with his federal paycheck. And he wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much. Maybe it was because he couldn’t peg you, and as a profiler, that was frustrating.

Weeks passed, and though your paths crossed occasionally—quick hellos in the elevator or casual small talk in the lobby—Hotch found himself thinking about you more than he cared to admit. You were intriguing, beautiful in a way that made his chest tighten when you smiled, and far too mature for him to simply brush off as someone fresh into the adult world. But he told himself it was nothing. Jack, now a teenager, occupied most of his thoughts, and the idea of pursuing a neighbor felt inappropriate. Unprofessional, even.

Still, after a grueling case that left a bitter taste in his mouth and the weight of mortality pressing heavy on his shoulders, Hotch let Rossi convince him to grab a drink at the bar near the BAU.

It was a dimly lit, intimate place that felt quieter than most bars in the city. Rossi nursed a scotch while Hotch stared at his whiskey, his mind elsewhere. He thought of the case, the current emptiness that filled his personal life with Jack beginning to pull away into his own world, and then that’s when he saw you.

You were sitting at the far end of the bar, a glass of wine in one hand and a book in the other. The soft overhead light highlighted your features, and for a moment, Hotch forgot how to breathe. You seemed so at ease, lost in your book, unaware of the buzz of conversations around you.

“You’re staring,” Rossi said, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Hotch blinked, dragging his gaze back to his drink. “I wasn’t staring.” He almost mumbled it under his breath, feeling like a kid caught red-handed.

Rossi scoffed. “Sure you weren’t. Who is she?”

“She’s my neighbor,” Hotch admitted reluctantly. “She just moved in a few weeks ago.”

“Well, your neighbor has good taste in wine and literature,” Rossi remarked, glancing in your direction. “Go talk to her.”

Hotch shook his head, grimacing at the idea of making a move like that.. “She’s too young.”

Rossi raised an eyebrow. “How young are we talking?”

Hotch hesitated. “Late twenties, maybe. She looks young, but she doesn’t act it. It’s hard to tell. Either way, it would be inappropriate.”

“Why? Because she’s younger? Aaron, come on. She’s not a child.”

“I could be her father,” Hotch countered, his tone sharper than he intended; the words felt like poison on his lips. “What would she want with someone like me?”

Rossi leaned back in his chair, his expression amused. “You know, the younger ones have a way of keeping you young.”

Hotch rolled his eyes. “Not helping, Dave.”

Before Rossi could retort, you looked up from your book, your eyes landing on Hotch. Recognition lit up your face, and you smiled, raising a hand in a small wave. Hotch froze. The way you looked at him like you were genuinely happy to see him, made something in his chest ache.

“She’s smiling at you,” Rossi pointed out with a grin. “Now’s your chance.”

Hotch hesitated, his heart thundering in his chest. What would he even say? But then you beckoned him over with a tilt of your head, and for the first time in a long time, Aaron Hotchner allowed himself to take a leap.

Hotch lingered for a moment too long, his feet rooted to the floor as he debated whether to stay put or heed Rossi’s unsolicited advice. He wasn’t sure if it was fear, pride, or something else entirely keeping him from standing up. The thought of your smile, though—warm and inviting as it was—made the decision harder.

Rossi, ever perceptive, patted him on the back with a grin. “Go on, Aaron. I’m heading out anyway. Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow at his friend. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”

Rossi chuckled. “Fair enough. Let me put it this way—don’t think about it too much. You’re allowed to enjoy yourself, you know.”

And with that, Rossi tossed back the rest of his scotch, clapped Hotch on the shoulder one more time, and left Hotch standing alone with his swirling thoughts.

He exhaled, trying to quiet the insecurities gnawing at him. What could he possibly offer someone like you? Yet the way you had smiled at him just moments ago—so genuine, so effortless—spoke to something deeper. Maybe you didn’t see him the way he saw himself: older, wearier, with too many ghosts lingering in the corners of his mind. Maybe you just saw…him.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Hotch pushed back from the barstool, his steps steady but deliberate as he approached you. You glanced up as he neared, your smile widening. That warmth in your eyes—it was enough to melt some of the tension in his chest.

“Hey, Aaron,” you said, your voice carrying the kind of excitement that made it seem like you’d been hoping he’d show up. You patted the empty seat next to you. “Join me?”

He hesitated briefly before sitting down, your proximity somehow calming and unnerving at once. The soft scent of your perfume wrapped around him, and he caught himself lingering too long on the way your lips curved upward when you smiled.

“Nice choice,” you said, gesturing to the glass he’d brought with him. “I’d guess it’s a single malt whiskey. Neat.”

Hotch tilted his head, impressed. “That’s right.”

You chuckled, holding your own glass of wine. “You don’t strike me as anything less.”

His lips quirked in a subtle smile. “And what does that mean?”

“You’re precise,” you said easily, leaning slightly toward him. “Thoughtful, composed. Someone like you wouldn’t order anything overly sweet or complicated. You keep things simple, but you expect quality.”

He blinked, caught off guard by how accurately you had read him. It wasn’t often someone did that, not even outside his work at the BAU. Yet here you were, confidently pulling back the layers he thought he kept well hidden.

It also caught him off guard because here he was, someone who was taught to keep himself a mystery while reading others, but it was now the other way around. You read him like a book while he could not put his finger on what it was about you.

“You’re observant,” he remarked, lifting his glass. “Not many people would pick up on that.”

You shrugged, your smile modest but pleased. “I like to notice things. It’s useful.”

“You could’ve been a profiler,” he said without thinking, then quickly added, “Not that I’m suggesting a career change.”

You laughed softly, and the sound settled in his chest like warmth on a cold night. “I think I’ll stick to what I do for now.”

“And what is it you do?” he asked, genuinely curious. Despite your shared moments in the hallway and now this unexpected meeting, he realized he knew so little about you beyond the fact that you were maddeningly intriguing.

“I’m in finance,” you said, taking a sip of your wine. “Nothing too exciting, but it’s steady, and I’m good at it.”

That explained some things—your confidence, poise, and ability to afford an apartment in his building. Still, he found himself wondering how someone your age could have such a solid footing in life.

“You’re impressive,” he said honestly, surprising himself with the admission.

Your eyes sparkled, a mix of amusement and curiosity. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you seem like the kind of person who doesn’t give out compliments lightly.”

He laughed softly under his breath, shaking his head. “You’re not wrong.”

The conversation flowed effortlessly from there, covering everything from favorite books to why this particular bar was a hidden gem. You were strikingly beautiful, yes, but it was your confidence and the way you carried yourself that held his attention. Yet, as much as he enjoyed your company, that familiar self-doubt crept in whenever the age gap came to mind.

“You look like you’re thinking too hard,” you said, interrupting his spiral.

“Just wondering,” he began carefully, “how someone so young ended up being so…accomplished.”

Your brow lifted slightly, and then you smiled, a touch of mischief in your expression. “Is that your way of asking how old I am?”

Hotch cleared his throat, a rare flicker of nervousness crossing his face. “I wouldn’t ask directly.”

“Well, for the record,” you said, leaning in just enough to make his pulse quicken, “I’m twenty-seven. And yes, I know I look younger. But I’ve worked hard to get here, and I don’t take it for granted.”

He nodded, letting your words sink in. Twenty-seven. It wasn’t that he was unfamiliar with the brilliance of those younger than him, he’d worked side-by-side with Reid, more years than he could count, but the gap still gave him pause. There was no denying the respect he felt for you, nor the pull that kept him rooted to your side.

You tilted your head, studying him with a playful smile. “Did I pass whatever test you were giving me?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You weren’t being tested.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you teased before lifting your glass. “To new neighbors, then?”

Hotch clinked his glass against yours, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “To new neighbors.”

As you both sipped your drinks, Hotch couldn’t help but feel that maybe Rossi was right. Maybe it was okay to let himself enjoy something—or someone—good for a change.

As the bartender passed by, you reached for your wallet, signaling for the check. Hotch, noticing, set his own glass down and spoke before you could finish.

“I’ve got it,” he said firmly.

You looked up, slightly surprised. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I insist,” he replied, already sliding his card across the counter to the bartender. “Consider it a welcome-to-the-neighborhood gesture.”

There was a flicker of hesitation in your expression, but eventually, you smiled. “Well, thank you, Aaron. That’s very kind of you.”

He nodded, feeling an odd sense of satisfaction as the bartender returned his card. It wasn’t just about paying—it was the subtle act of taking care of you. Even though he’d only known you for a short while, the protective instinct that came naturally to him was already stirring. His line of work had shown him too much about the world, and the idea of you walking alone at night didn’t sit well.

As you both stood to leave, Hotch glanced at you. “Where’s your car?”

“Oh, I don’t have one,” you said, adjusting your bag over your shoulder. “I take public transportation to work. I was just going to grab a cab home.”

Hotch frowned slightly. The thought of you waiting for a cab at this hour didn’t sit right with him. “That’s not necessary. We’re going to the same place anyway—I’ll drive you.”

“Aaron, you really don’t have to do that,” you said, but there was a softness in your tone like you were touched by the offer.

“I insist,” he repeated, his voice steady but gentle. “It’s no trouble.”

For a moment, you studied him, then gave a small, amused shake of your head. “All right, if you’re sure. Thank you.”

The two of you walked out of the bar, the cool night air brushing against your skin. Hotch instinctively slowed his pace to match yours, his hand twitching briefly at his side as though tempted to offer it. When you reached his car, he unlocked it and opened the passenger door for you.

“Chivalry isn’t dead, I see,” you teased lightly as you slid into the seat.

Hotch smirked faintly as he closed the door and rounded to the driver’s side. “Not entirely.”

The ride started quietly, the hum of the engine filling the space. You glanced out the window, watching the city lights blur past, but after a moment, you turned to him.

“So,” you began, “do you always offer rides to your neighbors, or am I just special?”

Hotch’s lips curved in a faint smile as he kept his eyes on the road. “Let’s just say I don’t make a habit of it.”

“Well, I’m flattered,” you said, leaning back in the seat. “But you didn’t have to. I would’ve been fine.”

“I know,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “But...I’ve seen too much in my work to feel comfortable letting you take a cab alone.”

You tilted your head slightly, curious. “What is it you do, exactly?”

“I work for the FBI,” he said simply, glancing at you briefly before returning his focus to the road. “Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

You blinked, clearly intrigued. “So you’re a profiler?”

“Something like that,” he admitted. “We study behavior to catch criminals. Serial offenders, mostly.”

“That explains why you’re so observant,” you said with a small smile. “And why you seem so serious all the time.”

He chuckled under his breath, a rare sound that surprised even him. “It comes with the territory.”

“Well,” you said, your tone thoughtful, “I think it’s a good thing. That you care enough to notice things, I mean.”

He glanced at you, caught off guard by the sincerity in your voice. “Thank you.”

The rest of the drive passed in a comfortable silence, the kind that felt natural rather than awkward. When Hotch pulled into the parking garage of your apartment building, he turned off the engine and looked at you.

“Thank you again,” you said as you unbuckled your seatbelt. “For the ride. And the drink.”

“It was no trouble,” he replied, his voice softer now.

You lingered for a moment, your hand on the door handle, before turning to him with a small smile. “You’re a good neighbor, Aaron.”

Hotch sat for a moment longer, his fingers gripping the steering wheel as he watched you head toward the elevator. Something in the way you said his name lingered in his mind, a warmth spreading through him that he couldn’t quite explain.

He shook his head slightly, snapping himself out of it, and grabbed his keys before stepping out of the car. By the time he caught up to you at the elevator, you were already pressing the button for your floor.

“Thought you were going to stay in the car all night,” you teased lightly, glancing over at him as the elevator doors slid open.

“Just taking my time,” he replied, his voice steady but faintly amused as he stepped in beside you.

The elevator ride was quiet at first, the kind of comfortable silence that seemed to follow your conversations. Hotch leaned against the wall, his hands tucked into his coat pockets, while you stood with your arms crossed lightly over your chest. He caught himself glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, taking in the relaxed way you carried yourself despite the late hour.

When the elevator doors opened onto your floor, you both stepped out and walked down the hall side by side. The muffled hum of the building at night—the soft whir of air vents and the occasional creak of floorboards—felt strangely intimate.

“I still can’t believe we live right across the hall from each other,” you said, breaking the silence as you reached your doors. You turned to face him, your expression playful. “Guess I’ll have to start baking cookies or something neighborly like that.”

He smirked faintly, a rare softness crossing his features. “I’m not sure I’d have time to return the favor.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll let it slide,” you said with a mock sigh, your grin widening.

You hesitated for a moment, your hand resting on the doorknob to your apartment. “Thank you again, Aaron. For everything tonight.”

He nodded, his dark eyes meeting yours. “It really wasn’t any trouble.”

As you unlocked your door and stepped inside, you glanced back at him one last time. “Goodnight, neighbor.”

“Goodnight,” he replied, watching as the door closed softly behind you.

For a moment, he stood there in the hallway, staring at your door. That same warmth from earlier crept through him, something he couldn’t quite name but wasn’t entirely unwelcome. Finally, with a small shake of his head, he turned and entered his own apartment, already wondering when he’d see you again.

The night you shared a ride home lingered in Aaron Hotchner’s mind longer than he cared to admit. He told himself it was nothing—just neighborly kindness—but the warmth in your voice when you said his name and the way you looked at him as if he weren’t just another face in the crowd were impossible to forget. There was something about you, something that stirred feelings he hadn’t allowed himself to entertain in years.

But life moved on. Cases came and went, the BAU’s relentless pace leaving little room for personal indulgences. Still, when he’d return home to the quiet comfort of his apartment, he often found himself glancing at your door across the hall, wondering what you might be doing, who you might be with. He chided himself for the thoughts—he was too old, too busy, and too set in his ways to be thinking of you like this.

It was a rare Saturday afternoon off when he found himself in the building’s mailroom with Jack. The teenager was practically vibrating with anticipation, tearing through envelopes in search of one in particular.

“Anything?” Hotch asked, glancing up from his own stack of bills and promotional flyers.

“Not yet,” Jack muttered, his brow furrowed as he sorted through the last few pieces of mail. “Do you think maybe it got lost?”

Hotch shook his head with a small smile. “It’ll come. Just be patient.”

The sound of approaching footsteps drew his attention, and when he looked up, there you were, a cheerful smile lighting up your face as you entered the mailroom.

“Hey, neighbor,” you greeted, your eyes flicking between him and Jack. “And who’s this?”

“This is my son, Jack,” Hotch said, stepping aside slightly so you could get a better look. “Jack, this is our neighbor, [Your Name].”

Jack looked up from his stack of envelopes, offering a polite smile. “Hi.”

“Nice to meet you, Jack,” you said warmly. “You’re the spitting image of your dad, you know.”

Jack wrinkled his nose playfully, glancing at Hotch. “I hope not too much.”

You laughed, the sound drawing a small chuckle from Hotch as well. “What’s got you so focused on the mail today?” you asked Jack, noting his eager expression.

“I’m waiting to hear back about a summer art program I applied to,” Jack said, his tone hopeful but tinged with nervousness.

“Art? That’s fantastic!” you said, genuinely impressed. “What kind of art are you into?”

“Mostly sketching,” Jack replied, his shyness melting under your encouragement. “But I’ve been getting into painting too.”

“Well, I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you,” you said sincerely. “I’m sure they’d be lucky to have you.”

Jack smiled, visibly more relaxed in your presence. Hotch observed the interaction quietly, noting how effortlessly you connected with his son. It tugged at something deep in his chest, that mix of admiration and longing he was becoming all too familiar with around you.

“Oh, before I forget,” you said, turning to Hotch. “I’m throwing a little cocktail party at my place next Friday night to celebrate settling into the apartment. Nothing fancy, just a few friends and some good drinks. You and Jack should come.”

Hotch hesitated, his mind racing. A cocktail party? With your friends? He imagined himself standing awkwardly in a room full of people your age, wondering if he belonged there at all. But before he could respond, you added with a playful smile, “I really hope you’ll come. It won’t be the same without my favorite neighbor.”

The glimmer of hope in your tone, the sincerity in your smile—it made his chest tighten. Still, the self-conscious voice in his head whispered doubts. Would your friends think he was too old? Would you regret inviting him once he showed up?

“I’m not sure,” he said carefully, his voice steady but uncertain. “With my schedule, it can be hard to plan ahead.”

“Well,” you said, your tone light but insistent, “I’m holding out hope. And Jack, you’re more than welcome too. I’ll make sure we have something non-alcoholic that’s party-worthy.”

Jack grinned. “Thanks. I’ll see if I can convince him.”

Your laughter was warm, and it stayed with Hotch long after you left the mailroom, waving goodbye with a cheerful promise to see him soon. As you disappeared down the hallway, he felt that familiar tug again—part curiosity, part hope, and part fear.

Did he imagine the glimmer in your eyes the other night? The way your words seemed to linger just for him? Or was it possible—just possible—that there was something real here? Something worth risking the carefully constructed walls he’d built around himself to explore.

As Jack tugged his sleeve, reminding him they still had to sort the rest of the mail, Hotch shook his head slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. Whatever the answer, he couldn’t deny the pull you had on him. Maybe he’d find out next weekend.

Friday night found Aaron Hotchner in his office, the quiet hum of the BAU’s bullpen far below offering no distraction from the thoughts circling his mind. The stack of case files on his desk was unusually light for a change, and the rare lull in their schedule had granted him a night off. Yet, instead of heading home or unwinding with a book, he sat at his desk, his gaze fixed on the invitation you’d extended days earlier.

Jack was spending the night at a teammate’s house for a soccer sleepover, leaving Hotch without the comfortable excuse of parenting duties. But the thought of showing up at your party, surrounded by people your age, feeling out of place—it made him hesitate.

He was still mulling it over when a knock sounded at his office door. Looking up, he found Emily Prentiss leaning against the frame, a file folder in hand.

“Final report from the Clarke case,” she said, stepping inside and placing the folder on his desk. “You’re officially done for the night.”

“Thank you,” he replied, his tone clipped but polite.

Emily tilted her head, studying him with the kind of perceptiveness he usually reserved for himself. “You look…pensive. Something on your mind?”

For a moment, Hotch considered brushing her off, offering some vague comment about work or letting the conversation drop entirely. But then he remembered how much he valued openness among his team, a quality he wished they were better about embracing. Perhaps it was time to practice what he preached.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve been invited to a cocktail party tonight. My neighbor’s hosting it.”

Emily raised an eyebrow, a slow smile forming on her lips. “A cocktail party? Sounds fancy. What’s the dilemma?”

“It’s not about the party itself,” he admitted. “It’s…her.”

Her curiosity sharpened, and she took a seat across from him. “Okay, now you have my attention. Tell me more about ‘her.’”

“She’s my neighbor,” he began, his voice even but hesitant. “She’s in her late twenties, successful, confident. We’ve talked a few times, and she’s…invited me tonight.”

Emily’s smile widened, though she kept her expression neutral enough not to tease. “And you’re debating whether or not to go because…?”

“Because I’m twice her age,” Hotch said bluntly. “Because I don’t want to feel like I don’t belong. And because I’m not sure if the interest I think I’m seeing from her is even real or if I’ve imagined it.”

Emily let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “Hotch, you’re overthinking this. And so what? Age is just a number. What matters is the connection.”

Hotch’s brow furrowed. “It’s not that simple. She’s…young, full of life. I’m a widower with a teenage son and a career that doesn’t leave much room for anything else.”

“All the more reason to go,” Emily countered. “Look, you’ve spent years putting everyone else first—your son, your team, your cases. When was the last time you did something for yourself? Took a chance?”

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze dropping to the file in front of him. Emily leaned forward slightly, her tone softening.

“Hotch, you’re allowed to let yourself be happy. And from the way you’re talking about her, it sounds like she could be someone worth getting to know better.”

He glanced up at her, a flicker of uncertainty in his expression. “What if it’s inappropriate?”

“Now, you’re definitely over thinking this,” Emily snorted, “You’ll handle it like you handle everything else—with class and integrity,” she said with a shrug. “But you won’t know unless you try. And who knows? Maybe tonight’s just a party, or maybe it’s the start of something more. Either way, you owe it to yourself to find out.”

Hotch let her words sink in, the weight of his own self-doubt pressing against the hope he’d buried deep. Finally, he nodded, a small, almost reluctant smile forming on his lips.

“You’re relentless,” he said, his tone carrying the faintest hint of amusement.

“It’s part of my charm,” Emily replied, standing and smoothing out her blazer. “Now go home, get dressed, and show up. And Hotch?”

He looked up at her, his brows lifting slightly.

“Make a move,” she added with a grin. “You’ve got this.”

As she left his office, Hotch sat for a moment longer, her words echoing in his mind. Maybe Emily was right. Maybe it was time to take a chance.

With a deep breath, he grabbed his coat and headed out, the decision finally made. Tonight, he would go to your party. And maybe, just maybe, he’d find out if the glimmer of hope he thought he saw in your eyes was real.

Hotch stood outside your apartment door, adjusting his tie as he willed himself to ignore the nervous energy thrumming through him. It wasn’t nerves, not exactly, but something close—a self-consciousness he hadn’t felt in years. The faint sound of laughter and soft music spilled out from your apartment, and for a moment, he considered turning around.

But then he thought of the way you’d looked at him, the hope in your voice when you’d said you really wanted him to come. That was enough to steel his resolve. He took a breath and knocked.

When you opened the door, Hotch’s breath hitched. You stood there, radiant, wearing an outfit that was the perfect balance of elegance and allure. It hugged your figure just enough to make his pulse quicken, yet the overall effect was sophisticated and tasteful. The soft light from your apartment cast a warm glow over you, highlighting every curve and detail.

“Aaron,” you said, your face lighting up with a smile that felt like it was just for him. Before he could say anything, you stepped forward and wrapped him in a hug, catching him completely off guard.

“Hi,” he managed, his voice steady despite the way your touch had sent a jolt of something warm through him.

“I’m so glad you made it,” you said, pulling back just enough to look up at him, your hands still resting briefly on his arms. “I’ve been wondering all night if you’d show.”

“I almost didn’t,” he admitted, his lips curving into a faint smile. “But I’m glad I did.”

You beamed at that, stepping aside to let him in. As Hotch entered, he took in the space, his eyes immediately drawn to the careful details of your apartment. It was stunning—every corner thoughtfully arranged, every piece of furniture and decor intentional. The warm, inviting tones of the room mirrored his own taste, but where his home was functional, yours was artfully executed.

Bookshelves lined one wall, filled to the brim with titles that made him want to linger and browse. His eyes caught on a few photographs interspersed among the shelves—travel shots, candid moments, and one of you laughing with someone who looked like an older family member. The charm of it all struck him immediately, and he couldn’t help but feel impressed.

“You’ve done an amazing job with this place,” he said, his tone genuine.

“Thank you,” you said, closing the door behind him. “I’m glad you like it. I put a lot of thought into it—wanted it to feel like home.”

“It does,” he said, glancing around again. “It suits you.”

You smiled at that, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Then your expression shifted to one of curiosity. “Where’s Jack?”

“He had teenage obligations,” Hotch replied, a hint of humor in his tone. “A soccer sleepover.”

You laughed softly. “Of course. Well, I’m glad you could come. I know your schedule’s crazy, so it means a lot.”

He was about to respond when you gently touched his arm, guiding him further inside. “Come on, let me introduce you to everyone.”

He wasn’t sure what to expect as you led him toward the small group gathered in your living room. But as you began introducing him, your words caught him off guard.

“This is Aaron, my favorite neighbor and new friend,” you said warmly, gesturing to him with a smile.

Favorite neighbor. New friend. The way you said it was so easy, so unselfconscious, that it disarmed him entirely.

The group—five or six people, all older than he’d expected, not just a group of twenty-something-year-olds partying like he imagined—greeted him with nods and polite smiles. It was immediately clear that you surrounded yourself with maturity and wisdom, which made sense. You were wise beyond your years, someone who fit seamlessly into this crowd despite being the youngest by far.

Hotch felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders as you moved gracefully between your guests, checking on everyone while still managing to include him in the conversation. It wasn’t just your decorating style that impressed him—it was the way you carried yourself, the natural elegance and charm that seemed to radiate from you.

As the evening settled into a warm rhythm, Hotch found himself standing near one of your bookshelves, thumbing through the spine of a title that caught his eye. The sound of your laughter drifted from across the room, and he couldn’t help but glance in your direction. You were chatting animatedly with one of your coworkers, your smile radiant, your presence magnetic. He marveled at how effortlessly you moved through the room, making every guest feel like they were the most important person there.

A moment later, you appeared at his side, a delicate martini glass in your hand, the liquid inside a rich, dark brown.

“For you,” you said, holding it out with a mischievous glint in your eye.

Hotch raised an eyebrow, taking the glass cautiously. “And what exactly is this?”

“An espresso martini,” you replied, the corners of your mouth curling into a grin. “My specialty. I make a mean one, and I’m certain you’ll like it.”

He regarded the drink with a playfully suspicious look, tilting the glass slightly to inspect it.

“I know,” you said easily, gesturing toward the glass. “But I see you leaving in the mornings with your coffee cup. Think of it as adult coffee in a martini glass.”

He chuckled softly at that, his fingers brushing yours as he accepted the drink. “You’ve been paying attention.”

“Of course,” you said, your tone light but sincere. “Though, if this doesn’t suit your taste, I did pick up a whiskey I think you’ll like. It’s over by the bar.”

Hotch blinked, surprised. “You didn’t have to do that.”

You shrugged, your smile warm. “I wanted to. Besides, I hope this isn’t the last time we spend time together, so I’m sure we’ll enjoy that whiskey at some point—even if it’s not tonight.”

Something about the way you said it—the quiet confidence, the way you looked at him like he mattered—made his chest tighten.

“Well,” he said, lifting the glass slightly, “I suppose I can’t turn down a signature drink.”

“That’s the spirit,” you teased, nudging his arm lightly. “Try it. I promise it’s good.”

He brought the glass to his lips, taking a tentative sip. The rich, velvety flavor hit him immediately—the perfect balance of espresso, a hint of sweetness, and the warmth of vodka mingling with the coffee liqueur. He lowered the glass, nodding slightly as a small, almost reluctant smile tugged at his lips.

“It’s…better than I expected,” he admitted.

“Better than expected?” you repeated, laughing softly. “I’ll take that as a win.”

He shook his head, amused. “It’s good. Really.”

“I knew you’d like it,” you said confidently, your eyes sparkling. “It’s got just enough sophistication to suit you.”

He chuckled again, a rare sound that felt more natural in your presence than it had in a long time. As you stood beside him, the rest of the room seemed to fade into the background.

For the first time in years, Aaron Hotchner felt like more than just a profiler, more than just a father or a leader. He felt seen. And, for once, he didn’t mind indulging in the moment.

As the evening wound down, the energy in the room shifted. Guests slowly trickled out, offering you hugs and handshakes on their way to the door. Each one left with a warm smile, a testament to your natural charm as a host. Hotch lingered, sipping the espresso martini you’d made him, more out of a desire to stay close than a need to finish the drink.

You returned from the door after bidding goodbye to the last pair of guests, finding him still standing near the bookshelf where the two of you had shared most of your conversation that night. His shoulders looked more relaxed now, the edges of his stoic demeanor softened in the warm glow of your apartment.

“Well,” you said with a soft laugh, glancing around at the aftermath of the party—empty glasses, plates, and the faint echo of laughter still hanging in the air. “That’s it. A successful cocktail party in the books.”

“You made it look effortless,” Hotch said, his voice warm. “But I know it’s anything but.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you teased, giving him a playful nudge as you started gathering a few glasses from the table.

He stepped forward, setting his now-empty glass down and reaching for a plate. “Let me help.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” you said, waving him off. “You’re a guest. Go relax.”

“Consider it repayment for the drink,” he countered, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips.

You laughed softly, shaking your head but relenting as he began stacking dishes with practiced ease. The two of you moved through the space in comfortable silence, cleaning up the remnants of the night. Occasionally, your hands would brush as you both reached for something and each time, he felt a quiet thrill that he was certain he shouldn’t.

When the room was mostly back to its pristine state, you turned to him, holding a dish towel and looking a little sheepish. “You didn’t have to do all that, you know. But thank you.”

“It’s no trouble,” he replied, his tone soft but sincere. “I’m not much of a sit-back-and-relax type anyway.”

“I’ve noticed,” you said with a small smile, stepping closer to him.

The quiet that settled between you felt heavy in a way that wasn’t uncomfortable—just charged. Your gaze met his, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. He wasn’t sure what it was about you—the way you seemed to see right through him, the way you made him feel like he could finally let his guard down—but it made him want to say something, to do something, even if it was just a small step forward.

“I had a good time tonight,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I wasn’t sure if I’d fit in, but…it was nice.”

“I’m glad you came,” you replied softly. “I was hoping you would.”

The sincerity in your voice struck him, and before he could stop himself, he reached out, his hand brushing lightly against your arm. It wasn’t much, just a fleeting touch, but it was enough to make his heart race.

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you tilted your head slightly, your gaze searching his face. “Aaron?”

“I…enjoy spending time with you,” he said, his tone careful but honest. “More than I expected to.”

Your lips curved into a small, almost shy smile, and you stepped just a fraction closer. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he said, his voice steady now.

For a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you, the soft light of your apartment casting gentle shadows across the room. He didn’t know what he expected to happen next, but when you placed a hand lightly on his arm, your touch warm and grounding, he felt the last of his reservations slip away.

“It’s late,” he said finally, his voice low. “I should probably head back.”

You nodded, your hand lingering on his arm for a moment longer. “Thank you for coming. And for everything tonight.”

He gave a small nod, his lips curving into the faintest smile. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Aaron.”

As he walked back across the hall to his apartment, he felt a quiet sense of contentment settle over him. It wasn’t a grand gesture or a dramatic moment, but it was something—a step forward. And for now, that was enough.

In the day that followed, Hotch pulled his go-bag over his shoulder when he noticed something out of place under his apartment door. A small, cream-colored card peeked out from beneath the frame. He bent down, retrieving it with a curious furrow in his brow.

It was a card, handwritten in neat, elegant script.

Aaron,

Thank you for coming last night. It was wonderful having you there—it made the evening that much more special.

If you ever feel like sharing that whiskey, or even just enjoying each other’s company (with or without alcohol involved, haha), give me a call. I’d like that.

Hotch stood there for a moment, the weight of his bag forgotten. He read the note twice, his eyes lingering on the small smiley face you’d drawn next to your name. It was a simple gesture, but it left him feeling both surprised and oddly warm.

He slipped the card into the inside pocket of his jacket, shaking his head with the faintest smile. The timing couldn’t have been worse—he had a flight to catch and a case that demanded his full attention—but for the first time in a long time, he found himself wishing he didn’t have to leave.

Duty called, and as the jet soared through the sky, Hotch pulled the card from his pocket and ran his thumb over the textured surface. He wasn’t a man who took chances lightly, and his initial instinct was to keep the card tucked away to avoid what could become a complication in his carefully constructed life.

But then he thought of you—the way your smile had lit up the room last night, the effortless warmth in your voice, and the quiet confidence in the note you’d left. You weren’t pushing; you were simply opening a door, one he realized he wanted to step through.

He stared at the number on the card, debating. Finally, he reached for his phone, texting you something simple but deliberate.

Aaron: Thank you for the note. I’m currently out of state on a case, but when I’m back, I’d like to meet for coffee.

He stared at the message for a moment, wondering if it felt too casual or too formal. But then he thought of you—your easy smile, your genuine warmth—and decided that simplicity was best. He pressed send before he could overthink it.

For the rest of the flight, his mind kept circling back to the text. He wasn’t sure if you’d respond right away, or at all, but the act of reaching out was enough to stir something unfamiliar in him. A quiet kind of hope.

You: Coffee sounds perfect. Just let me know when you're back, and I’ll make sure my schedule is clear. Be safe out there, Aaron.

When he read your reply, a small smile tugged at his lips. He slid the phone back into his pocket, leaning back in his seat. The case ahead loomed large in his mind, but for the first time in a while, there was something waiting for him on the other side of it. And for now, that was enough.

The case continued far too long, but Hotch finally stepped off the BAU jet just as the first rays of morning light broke over the tarmac. The case had been grueling—long nights, dead ends, and the weight of too many lives disrupted. But they’d managed to close it, and now all he could think about was the coffee date waiting for him.

The team moved silently, exhaustion etched into their faces as they grabbed their bags and headed for the SUVs waiting nearby. Emily caught his eye as they walked toward the cars.

“Plans for the morning, Hotch?” she asked, her voice laced with curiosity.

“Just coffee,” he replied simply, his tone giving nothing away.

Emily’s brow quirked, and a sly smile tugged at her lips. She knew it wasn’t like Hotch to not go settle back into the constraints of his desk, post-case. She had hoped he’d taken her advice when it came to you.

“Coffee, huh? Well, enjoy.”

Hotch gave her a faint smirk in response but said nothing more. He loaded his bag into the trunk and climbed into the driver’s seat of his SUV, his mind already shifting to you.

He hadn’t told you the details of the case, of course, but he’d sent you a text two nights ago letting you know he’d be back this morning and suggesting the café.

He arrived at the café with minutes to spare, parking his SUV and grabbing a quick look in the rearview mirror. He looked tired—there was no denying that—but he decided against going home to change first. Something about coming straight here felt more honest, like he wasn’t trying to put on a front. Besides, he doubted you’d mind.

When he stepped inside the café, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wrapped around him, chasing away some of the lingering fatigue. He chose a table near the back, where the noise of the bustling morning crowd was muted. As he sat down, he checked his phone, confirming the time.

You’d be here any minute.

For the first time in a long while, he found himself anticipating something outside of work. And as he waited, he allowed himself the smallest flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something he hadn’t dared to imagine for years.

The sun cast a warm glow over the café, soft light filtering through the wide windows. Hotch had chosen a quiet table near the back, away from the bustling chatter of patrons. He arrived a little early, a habit born of years of precision and punctuality, and ordered a simple black coffee while he waited.

His gaze drifted toward the door as he wondered what to say to you. He’d thought about this meeting—about you—more than he cared to admit during the case. And now, with the moment so close, he wasn’t sure how to navigate the emotions that came with it.

The sound of the door opening pulled him from his thoughts, and there you were, stepping inside with an easy smile. You spotted him quickly and made your way over, looking effortlessly put together in a way that still felt warm and approachable.

“Hi,” you said, your smile widening as you reached the table.

“Hi,” Hotch replied, standing instinctively to greet you.

You set your bag down, glancing at his coffee. “Already ahead of me, I see. What’s your drink of choice?”

“Just black,” he said, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Nothing too exciting.”

“Classic,” you said approvingly. “Let me grab something, and I’ll be right back.”

As you stepped away to order, Hotch took a steadying breath. It was strange how easily you disarmed him with just your presence. When you returned with a latte, he stood again, waiting until you were seated before sitting himself.

“So,” you began, wrapping your hands around your cup. “How was the case?”

“Challenging,” he admitted. “But we managed to resolve it.”

You nodded, your expression thoughtful. “I imagine they’re all challenging in their own ways. I don’t know how you do it.”

He gave a small shrug. “It’s what I’m trained for. Though I’d be lying if I said it didn’t take its toll.”

“I can imagine,” you said softly. “It’s why I was surprised you even had the energy to come to my party last week.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “It was a good distraction. I’m glad I went.”

Your smile softened. “I’m glad you did too.”

For a moment, the two of you sipped your drinks in companionable silence. The warm atmosphere of the café seemed to cocoon you from the outside world, giving Hotch a rare sense of ease. But the weight of unspoken words pressed against him, and he knew he couldn’t leave without saying something.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said finally, his voice low but steady.

You looked up, your brows lifting slightly in surprise. “Oh?”

“More than I probably should,” he admitted, his dark eyes meeting yours. “I try not to let my personal life interfere with my work—or vice versa—but…you’ve been on my mind.”

Your lips parted slightly, and for a moment, you seemed at a loss for words. “Aaron…”

“I’m not saying this lightly,” he continued, his tone careful but sincere. “I don’t know where this is going or what it means, but I do know that I enjoy spending time with you. More than I expected to.”

A smile slowly spread across your face, warm and genuine. “I’ve been thinking about you too.”

That admission caught him off guard, though he didn’t let it show. He felt a quiet relief, a sense of validation for the risk he’d taken in being honest.

“Well,” you said, leaning slightly forward, your tone playful yet soft. “I guess that makes two of us who aren’t sure where this is going. But I think I’d like to find out.”

Hotch’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile. “So would I.”

The two of you sat there for a while longer, the conversation flowing easily as it always seemed to. For the first time in a long time, Aaron Hotchner allowed himself to consider the possibility of something more—and for once, he wasn’t afraid of what that might mean.

Tag List:

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dixonsbrat · 19 days ago

Text

── .✦ 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐀𝐅𝐄 ┆ 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 ; daryl gets injured on a run and can’t fathom why you’re so worried about him

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 ; ‘unspoken thing’ type of relationship, mentions of injuries, blood, angst if you squint, daryl being stubborn

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ; 1k .ᐟ

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ; this man is so stubborn and unaware of how loved he is it makes me so freaking mad sometimes

“‘m fine,” daryl states the second he walks out of the infirmary and sees you, knowing that you would’ve been worrying about him even if all he had sustained was a mere scratch. a part of him looked relieved to see you, but he also knew you were going to be pissed at him for being so reckless.

“no, you’re not,” you shake your head as you meet his side. “denise said you were close to hitting an artery.”

you had been pacing back and forth since the moment he and aaron had returned from their recruitment trip and you saw the blood dripping down his arm. in this world, even the smallest of injuries could turn into something catastrophic without the right medicine and treatment. so seeing him the way that he was had embedded a fear in you, that you didn’t know you had, deep inside your chest.

“denise is exaggeratin’,” he responds, his voice gruff and hoarse to cover up the way his heart fluttered as he saw the concern in your eyes. he hated seeing you like this, knowing that he was the cause of it. he knew you worried about him every time he left alexandria but he didn’t want it to consume you. “was just a scratch.”

“really?” your shoulders slump with disbelief of how nonchalant he was being about it.

“would ya relax?” he says after a few moments of silence, his voice stern yet soft. he places a gentle hand against your cheek, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone, “‘m alright. you’re gettin’ worked up over nothin’.”

you place your hand over his, holding his gaze as you stare up into his blue eyes, "it's not nothing, daryl. it could've been your life on the line."

his heart rate increases rapidly as he stared into your eyes, unable to look away as you gazed up at him. your words and touch causing him to soften as part of the tough persona he constantly displayed in front of others melts away.

“‘m’not dead. ‘s just a scratch. ‘s nothin’ i haven’t dealt with before.” he shakes his head, trying his best to reassure you and resolve the worry that was now causing a crease on your forehead.

“how can you be so calm about this? you could’ve seriously gotten hurt or worse!” you retort, your head lulling back out of frustration. you hated how careless he could be when it came to his own wellbeing.

daryl’s brows furrow at your words now, his fingers gently gripping your chin to force your head back down, so your eyes met his once more. he lets out an exasperated breath through his nostrils, his stare hardening.

“how many times do i have to say ‘m fine?” he replies, his voice sharp. “ya don’t need ta worry.”

you couldn't believe the audacity of him telling you that you didn't need to worry. as if you could just switch it off with a snap of your fingers. you could never understand why he was so careless about his own life, how he could constantly throw himself in danger for the sake of very little.

you turn away from him for a second, your fingers pinching at the bridge of your nose as you let out a deep exhale. you didn't know what to do to make him see just how important he and his life were to you.

he watches you with a slight frown, his irritation slowly melting into regret. he knew you well enough to know that you were frustrated, he could see it in the way your shoulders and jaw were tensing as you turned away from him.

“why can’t you see how valuable and loved you are? why do i have to break myself down just to prove to you how much i care?” you turn back to him, tears now pricking your eyes. “every time you leave alexandria i worry that i’ll never see you again, and the thought of something happening to you while you’re out there-” you stop, your emotions getting the better of you.

he sees the tears welling in your eyes and the look on your face and his heart drops. it was one that he had never witnessed before. you looked so vulnerable, your eyes glistening with unshed tears and your shoulders sloping with defeat. it wasn’t often that you had cried in front of him, but the look of disappointment mixed with hurt and frustration as you struggled to find the words was killing him.

he slowly steps closer to you, his uninjured hand coming to rest on your hip as his eyes soften. he was frustrated at first, unable to understand why his actions had such an impact on you, but seeing you like this made him realise how much he truly cared for you and how much you cared for him.

he swallows, his throat suddenly feeling thick and dry, trying to steady himself before he speaks, “‘m sorry m’puttin this on you. i know ya worry, i just…” he pauses for a moment as he searches for what to say, “…didn’t think it was worth worryin’ about.”

you involuntarily move closer, as if your body knew what you needed before you did, and you rest your forehead against his chin. you knew you were being over dramatic and that daryl could take care of himself, but the images of him being hurt had burnt so deeply into your head.

“just need you safe,” you say, closing your eyes against him.

he closes his eyes with you, feeling you relax against him as you spoke. he brings his hand up from your hip to the small of your back, gently rubbing his thumb against you through the thin material of your shirt, silently reassuring you.

“m’not goin’ anywhere,” he says, his other hand coming up to gently run through your hair. he slowly wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest to feel the steady, yet fast, thump of his heartbeat. “‘m always gonna come back.”

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dixons-sunshine · 9 months ago

Text

Pregnant Pause | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your life was the epitome of a mess. You had just witnessed two of your friends get brutally murdered, your community was forced to serve an antagonistic group called the Saviours and your partner was taken by the same group, undoubtedly being tortured to try and force him into submission. It wasn’t the best moment of your life, and it definitely wasn’t the best time to start suspecting that you might be pregnant.

Genre: Angst to a little bit of fluff.

Era: Alexandria, Saviour arc.

Warnings: Swearing, blood, mentions of death, typical TWD warnings

Word count: 6.9k

A/n: I had so much fun writing this! To the person who requested this (they asked to remain anonymous), thank you so much. I really hope you like this and I really enjoyed swapping ideas with you for this fic.

—

Tears were streaming down your face with no sign of stopping anytime in the near future. In front of you, you could see the disfigured and maimed bodies of two members of your group, two of your friends. Glenn Rhee and Abraham Ford, brutally beat to death with a wired baseball bat. It was a fate that nobody deserved, especially not somebody as kind and pure as Glenn, or somebody as caring and courageous as Abraham. But they were gone, and with them, the remaining group member’s goodwill and hope.

Their deaths weren’t the only things that weighed on your shoulders. Negan, the leader of the so-called ‘Saviours’, had taken Daryl, your partner and love of your life, hostage. You had pleaded to them to let him go, but your pleas had fallen on deaf ears, and with one last tearful look at your archer, the doors to the truck had closed and taken off, taking a huge chunk of your heart with the retreating vehicle.

You could vaguely hear the sound of voices conversing and the shuffle of footsteps around you, but your attention remained fixated on the dirt beneath you. Your mind was racing at the speed of light at that moment, and yet simultaneously, you struggled to think of anything at all. It seemed that with your partner’s involuntary departure, your ability to function evaporated into thin air. You had no idea what to do.

You barely registered when Rick shook your shoulder, desperately trying to snap you out of your daze. “Y/N, look at me.”

You hesitantly looked up to meet the striking blue eyes of Rick Grimes, his eyes bloodshot from the tears he had shed earlier. He was tired, that much you could tell, and he seemed to be consumed by grief, the prior events to that moment taking an obvious toll on everyone, including your fearless leader.

“We have to go. It’s not safe here,” he whispered, gently urging you to stand. He was patient and caring, knowing full well that the events that had just transpired bore down into your soul. This would traumatize each and every one of the people present, of that much he was sure.

You remained silent, refusing to say anything until you’d had time to fully process everything. The remaining people in your group wordlessly split, Maggie and Sasha heading to the Hilltop and the rest of you heading towards the Alexandria safe zone. Aaron dutifully walked beside you, glancing over at you in concern every few seconds. He opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off before he could utter anything.

“Please, don’t,” you whispered weakly, furiously wiping at the tears in your eyes.

Aaron frowned. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly, careful not to alert the others who were walking in front of you.

You shook your head and let out a bitter laugh. “No,” you admitted, pursing your lips. “I’m pretty sure none of us are.”

Aaron’s frown deepened, but he ultimately left it at that. The rest of the trek back to Alexandria was spent in a deathly silence, the only audible sounds being footsteps and animals scurrying around in the forest. When you all finally reached the safe zone, dread filled in your heart, because with the Saviours now fit to come knocking at the gates whenever they pleased, the safe zone would never truly be safe ever again.

—

Four days had passed. Four days since Glenn and Abraham had been brutally murdered in front of you. Four days since your partner had been taken hostage by the hostile group who claimed to be saviours. Four days since your world turned upside down.

The fellow survivors in the community had not taken well to the news of the Saviours’ deal with Alexandria, but you had expected that much. They weren’t there. They didn’t know what could happen if you rubbed the Saviours the wrong way, but you did, and they would figure it out soon enough.

You sighed as you laid on the bed in the basement you shared with Daryl, staring up at the ceiling with a frown on your features. For four days, you had tried to think of a solution to the problem at hand, but you had shot point-blank each time. And anytime you had even attempted to talk to Rick about retaliating, about fighting back, he had shut you down in an instant. You couldn’t blame him, however. You had witnessed the brutality that Negan possessed and didn’t wish to anger him again. You just wanted to find a way to get Daryl out of his clutches and back home, safe. You needed him there with you, especially if your suspicions about something proved to be correct.

For the last two weeks, you’d been way more tired than usual. Your body had grown accustomed to the short hours of sleep or no sleep at all, but now it seemed as if you couldn’t function even if you’d slept ten hours. You’d been getting nauseous quite frequently and although you had no way of keeping track between your periods, you were pretty sure it was late.

You weren’t stupid. You knew what those implications meant and what they were leaning towards, but the possibility of it being true scared you. You and Daryl were as careful as you could be, but there were times when you weren’t careful, when you were reckless, so the possibility of motherhood could be an impending thing.

You and Daryl hadn’t ever really discussed having kids before. The topic came up once or twice, but that was during the earlier stages of your relationship back at the prison when neither of you were ready for that kind of commitment just yet. And with the whirlwind of chaos that ensued, from the Governor’s wrath in Woodbury, to the Governor’s annihilation of the prison, to Terminus and then to the fall of Alexandria when the walkers infiltrated, the topic never got the chance to come up again.

And now the possibility of you being pregnant was high, and there was a chance that you’d have to raise the baby without their father.

You quickly shook your head to rid the thoughts from your mind. Groaning in frustration, you got up from the bed and headed up the stairs towards the kitchen. There you found Rosita, who was seated at the dining table, her features contorted into a frown while she was fiddling with a gun in her lap. She glanced up at you when she heard your footsteps and offered a silent nod of acknowledgement.

You gave her a nod back and headed towards the kitchen. You retrieved a glass from one of the cabinets and headed over to the sink, filling the glass with water. You leaned back against the kitchen island and slowly sipped at the water, your eyes trailed on one of little Judith’s drawings that were stuck to the fridge. It was a picture of stick figures meant to represent everyone in the group, and your heart sank when your eyes trailed over the figure meant to represent the archer.

“What’re you looking at?” Rosita asked, grabbing your attention.

“Just this picture that Judith drew of all of us,” you responded, half-heartedly motioning at the drawing stuck to the fridge.

Rosita walked over to you and positioned herself on your right, leaning back against the kitchen island as well. She smiled weakly at the drawing.

“Back when we were happy.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, averting your eyes from the drawing to the woman next to you. “Now everything’s just gone to shit.”

“All thanks to that Negan puto,” she spat, her tone holding resentment and anger. Her anger was justified—she had witnessed Abraham getting beaten to death, and afterwards Negan had taunted her about it. He found what he did justified. You knew that Rosita wanted him dead, and you did, too.

“Yeah,” you replied with a heavy sigh, placing the empty glass down on the countertop. The two of you stood side by side in silence for a few moments, before Rosita broke the silence again.

“What’s up? It seems like something has you down.”

“Yeah. Daryl is being held hostage only god knows where and we have three days to find shit for those assholes or one of us dies,” you stated matter-of-factly, crossing your arms over your chest.

Rosita sighed. “I know, but that wasn’t what I meant. It’s something else, I can tell.”

You fixated your gaze on the ground, suddenly finding the tiles more interesting than anything else. “No, I mean... I don’t know. It might be nothing, but...” You trailed off awkwardly.

Sensing your awkwardness, Rosita quickly tried to reassure you. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it.”

You shot her a grateful look and she gave you a small smile. You brought your hand up and lightly patted her on her shoulder before pushing away from the counter.

“Where are you going?” Rosita inquired, raising her eyebrows in question as she watched your retreating figure.

“I need some air.”

Without waiting for a reply from the woman, you closed the door behind you and leaned back against it momentarily, before pushing away and setting off towards the infirmary.

After a short walk, you arrived at the infirmary. After opening the door and seeing that nobody was inside, you breathed a sigh of relief. You wanted to get this done without anybody knowing. You didn’t want people kicking up a fuss when there were bigger problems at hand.

Moving towards the cabinet you knew held the object you were looking for, you could feel your heart racing. When you retrieved the small box with the test that could quite literally change your life, you felt overwhelmed. You never thought that a small box would intimidate you, but that particular one did.

Wanting to be extra sure of the results, you grabbed another test from the cabinet. Slipping both tests out of the boxes and into your waistband and letting your shirt fall over them to cover them from prying eyes, you quietly slipped from the infirmary before anyone could notice that you were there. You walked with a haste in your step back towards the house, but the sight that awaited you at the gates quickly drew your attention. You quickly made your way over, where you saw none other than Negan beyond the gates, taking out an approaching walker.

You walked up next to Rosita, who looked over at you, anger dancing in her eyes. You were sure that your eyes mirrored the same emotion.

“Easy, peasy, lemon squeezy!” Negan laughed. His eyes strayed to his right, and you could see Rick following his gaze. From your point of view, you could see surprise spread across his face.

“Alright, everybody. Let’s get started. Big day,” Negan started, talking to people who were out of your line of sight. “Hey, Rick. You see that? What I just did? That is some service! I mean, we almost get turned away at the gate. Who is that guy, anyway? Do I get mad? Do I throw a fit? Do I bash some ginger’s dome in? Nope! I just take care of one of these dead pricks that could’ve killed one of y’all. Service.”

Your gaze strayed downwards when Negan locked eyes with you. He chuckled before walking through the gates, handing Rick his baseball bat. “Hold this.”

As Negan walked in, the rest of the people he brought with him followed behind their leader. However, you looked up when Rosita let out an almost inaudible gasp. You followed her line of sight and locked eyes with Daryl, and your heart both soared with relief and filled with dread. You were relieved that Negan hadn’t killed him, but you could see that he wasn’t being treated fairly, either. He was dirty and his face was cut and bruised, and he wasn’t wearing any shoes with his ‘uniform’.

You frowned, your eyes not straying from Daryl. Your partner kept his eyes locked on you until Negan spoke up again.

“Hot digidy dog!” Negan exclaimed, his eyes sweeping over the community. “This place is magnificent. An embarrassment of riches, as they say. Yes, sir, I do believe you are gonna have plenty to offer up.”

You looked away from Negan and took a step towards Daryl, hoping to at least say something to him. “Daryl—”

“No. Nope. He’s the help. You don’t look at him, you don’t talk to him, and I don’t make Ricky here chop anythin’ off of him,” Negan cut you off, his eyes shifting to Rick.

When Rick averted his gaze, Negan turned to you, his eyes holding a certain malevolence as he gazed down at you. “Do I make myself clear, darlin’?”

“Yeah, you’ve made yourself transparent. I can see right through you,” you spat bitterly, refusing to meet his mocking gaze.

Negan chuckled wickedly. “Careful. We don’t want anythin’ to happen to your little lover boy over there.”

You slowly looked up at the man, your jaw clenched as you glared at him. A few beats of silence passed, until you broke the stare first, angrily walking away from him and back towards the house. Tears of frustration welled up in your eyes, but you willed them away, refusing to let them fall. You wouldn’t give that tyrant the satisfaction of your tears, no matter if he saw them or not.

When you reached the house, you practically flung the door open, storming into the house. Carl, who had been sitting at the dining room table, looked up at your sudden appearance and gave you a concerned look.

You mustered up—what you hoped was—a reassuring smile and sat down on the chair opposite him. He gave you a questioning look, silently asking what was wrong.

“Negan’s here,” you plainly stated, not missing the way his jaw tightly clenched in anger.

“He said a week. He’s early,” Carl grumbled furiously, curling his hands into fists.

“Yeah, but he’s here anyway. And he brought Daryl.”

Carl perked up at the mention of the archer’s name. “He’s here?” When you nodded, he continued. “Is he gonna stay?”

“I doubt it. Negan said that Daryl’s here as the help, so I’m pretty sure that Negan’s taking him back as soon as he’s done here.”

Carl's mood visibly deflated. He sighed and shook his head. “We can’t live like this. We should just kill Negan.”

You shook your head. “Believe me, I want Negan dead, too, but even if we kill him, one of his other goons will step up and take his place. We have to kill all of them, not just Negan.”

“I don’t know.”

“How? There’s too many of them.”

Carl shook his head before standing up, pushing the chair back. “I’m gonna go check on Judith. Make sure she’s alright.”

At the mention of the small child’s name, you suddenly remembered about the two tests that were stuck in your waistband. You got up, too, and nodded at the teenager. “Okay. I have to take care of something real quick.”

With a parting nod, you headed up the stairs and into the bathroom. Quietly locking the door behind you, you inhaled deeply, trying to ease the anxiety that had started to build. You took the two tests from your waistband and held it in front of you, knowing that the results that would show in a few minutes were going to change your life.

Shaking your head and inhaling deeply, you went over to the toilet, two tests in hand. You quickly did your business and placed the two tests on the countertop. You paced around in the bathroom, trying to work up the nerve to see what results awaited you. However, just as you were about to look at the potentially life altering results, a loud banging on the door startled you.

“Hey, hurry up in there! We don’t have all day to wait on you!” A voice you didn’t recognise bellowed from beyond the door, and you could only assume that it was one of Negan’s men. Sighing, you grabbed the tests without so much as peeking at them and slipped them back into the waistband of your jeans. You walked over to the door and opened it, coming face to face with a Saviour.

“What were you doing in there that took you so long, huh, pretty lady?” The man asked, eyeing you up and down with a primal intrigue.

Suddenly, a gunshot rang through the house. Startled, you sprinted towards where you heard the sound and saw Carl holding two Saviours at gunpoint, the Saviours in question holding crates with all of your medication.

You shivered in disgust, shooting him a glare. Without a word at the man, you walked off, needing to clear your head. The pregnancy tests in your waistband pressed against your skin and reminded you that you had to look at them, but you decided that would have to wait. You weren’t about to look at them around prying eyes.

“Put some back,” Carl started, pointing the gun at one of the men. “Or the next one goes in you.”

“Carl, what’s going on?” You questioned, moving to stand next to the teenager.

“They said that they were only taking half, but now they’re taking everything,” Carl explained, keeping his gun trained on the man in front of him.

The man simply laughed, wickedly smiling at the boy. “Kid, what do you think happens next?”

“You die,” Carl stated matter-of-factly, death glaring the man.

You looked over at the sound of approaching footsteps and saw Rick, his eyes meeting yours questioningly. You simply shrugged nonchalantly and put a gentle hand on Carl’s shoulder. He looked over at you and you gave him a small, tight-lipped smile.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” you advised, before leaving Rick to calm his son down. You passed by Negan, who shot you a teasing smile, but you ignored him, moving out onto the porch.

You leaned over the railing, observing the people quietly. You could vaguely hear the voices from inside, but you paid it no mind. After a couple of minutes of just standing there and attempting to calm your racing mind, you saw Aaron walking alone, a frown on his face. You walked down the porch stairs and hurried to catch up to him.

“Aaron, hey!” you called, stopping the man in his tracks. He turned around and saw you approaching, and he offered you a weak smile.

“Hey.”

“Let me guess, the Saviours are ransacking your house right now,” you asked with a heavy sigh.

“They took our mattresses. Why the hell would they need that? And our coffee tables? What could they possibly need those for?” Aaron asked, exasperated. He ran his hand through his hair in frustration, his shoulders slumped to show his exhaustion.

“I think they’re just taking them because they can,” you started. “They’re trying to prove that what they say is law. They’re trying to prove that we have no say, that they can take whatever they want simply because.”

Aaron sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping even more. “I hate this.”

“Me too,” you agreed, nodding sagely, “but what can we possibly do about it now? We’re outnumbered and outgunned. We can’t take them on even if we wanted to.”

Aaron shook his head. Silently motioning for you to walk with him, the two of you set off, walking to nowhere in particular. “I’m glad to see that Daryl’s okay.”

You slightly flinched at the mention of the archer’s name, and flashes of his current state flooded your mind. He looked awful, not just from the filth on him but from the bruises as well. He was being tortured and you wanted to do nothing more than to kill Negan for making the love of your life suffer like that.

“Define ‘okay’,” you sighed, walking up to Aaron’s house with him.

“Alive,” he said simply. The two of you sat down on the porch steps, keeping your gazes ahead on the Saviours who bustled around the community, taking whatever they pleased.

“Yeah, well, let’s hope it stays that way,” you whispered, feeling tears well up in your eyes. However, you wiped them away in frustration.

Aaron placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, giving you a small smile. The two of you quietly sat side by side for a while, simply looking at the chaos of the afternoon. You’d catch glimpses of Daryl from time to time, and he’d shoot you nervous glances as well, before returning to whatever task he was meant to do. Your heart shattered at the thought of what Negan was doing to the love of your life. You silently vowed to yourself that you would find a way to get Daryl away from them, one way or another.

“Aaron, Y/N, meeting in Gabriel’s church in five,” Rick’s voice called, snapping you from your thoughts. He appeared at the bottom of the steps, his tone holding a frantic urgency.

“Rick? What’s wrong?” You inquired, getting up from the steps, Aaron following your lead.

“The Saviours, they’re takin’ all of our guns, but we’re two handguns short. They’re threatenin’ to kill Olivia if we don’t find them.”

“Who would have them?” Aaron asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

“I don’t know. That’s what we’re trying to figure out. Like I said, meeting in the church.”

“Nuh uh. Not so fast.”

You clenched your jaw at the voice that sounded behind you. Turning around, you came face to face with Dwight, his mouth upturned in a mocking grin. He was nonchalantly leaning against the wall of the house.

“The missus over here is gonna take me back to whatever hole she and Daryl calls home, and then she’s gonna give me his shit,” he stated, pushing away from the wall and walking over to you.

You stepped back, glaring angrily at the man. “You already have his crossbow and his vest. What else could you possibly want?”

“His bike, but Rosita’s already taking care of that,” Dwight said, crossing his arms over his chest. He turned back towards Rick and waved him off. “Go on, go find out where those guns are.”

Dwight moved forward and gripped your wrist tightly, wordlessly tugging you behind him. You exchanged a nervous glance with Aaron before turning your attention back to Dwight. You ripped your wrist from his grip and glared at him.

“Touch me again and I’ll fucking chop your fingers off one by one.”

Dwight chuckled and walked ahead, expecting you to follow him. When he realised that you remained still, he turned to you with a warning glare. “Just so you know, I’m basically Daryl’s primary caretaker at the moment. Your behaviour today can either persuade me to make his stay with us better, or make it so much worse. Your choice.”

You hesitated for another brief moment, before sighing and walking ahead. Dwight’s footsteps could be heard from behind you as you silently lead him back to the house, your jaw clenched in anger as you stared ahead.

After a short walk, you lead Dwight up the porch stairs and into the house. You opened the door and stepped inside, the man following closely behind you.

“This is your home?” Dwight questioned, slowly closing the door behind him as he looked about the house in slight awe.

“Mine, Daryl’s, Rick’s, Michonne’s. We all live here,” you confirmed in a bored tone, walking forward until you reached the door that lead down to the basement. “Our room’s down there.”

“You live in the basement?” Dwight asked dubiously, staring down the stairs in question.

“Daryl and I do. We wanted our own space away from everyone where we wouldn’t be bothered, hence why we chose the basement.

“Well, then,” Dwight started, lowering his upper body down in a mocking bow. “Lead the way, m’lady.”

You rolled your eyes at him and descended down the stairs. You opened the second door at the bottom of the stairs and pushed inside, the warm air of your shared space with the archer suddenly feeling overwhelming. You disregarded the feeling, focusing instead on the man that followed you down. The sooner you helped him, the sooner you would be rid of him.

You motioned over to the dresser that held most of Daryl’s things. “There. You’ll find it all there.”

“Daryl doesn’t own a lot of things that hold sentimental value to him,” you voiced and shrugged, sitting down on the bed as you watched the Saviour rummage through the dresser, carelessly tossing pieces of clothing over his shoulder. “Jesus, can you stop? He doesn’t have anything else you could want.”

Dwight raised his eyebrows. “All of it? In that one measly dresser?” When you nodded, he continued. “That can’t possibly be it.”

Huffing in frustration, Dwight turned around to face you. However, just as he was about to let out a string of crude remarks, he stopped, spotting something poking out of your waistband. “Stand up.”

“What?”

“Stand up, before I make you,” he threatened in a low tone.

You hesitantly stood up. However, you nearly stumbled back when he lunged at you. “What the hell are you doing?!” you exclaimed, trying to push him away.

Dwight simply ignored you. Before you could stop him, he pulled the two pregnancy tests from your waistband, taking a few steps away from you. He eyed the tests, and a look of surprise spread over his features.

“You’re pregnant?”

Time stopped. Your heart started pounding against your ribcage, and your eyes widened. You were pregnant. Both tests came back positive. Words completely eluded you as you simply stared at Dwight.

Dwight shook his head and threw one of the pregnancy tests back in your direction, and you hastily caught it. He quickly pocketed the other one. “Congratulations. I’ll be sure to tell Daryl the good news.”

Before you could deny or force him to hand it over, Dwight hurriedly left the room. You sank to your knees on the ground, tears starting to well up in your eyes. You felt helpless, completely and utterly helpless. Sobs wracked through your body as you clutched the pregnancy test in your hand, wishing more than ever that Daryl was there to comfort you, to reassure you that everything would be okay.

But with him being in Negan’s malicious clutches, you knew that wouldn’t be a reality anytime soon.

—

“Hell of a place you got here, Rick,” Negan told Rick, turning around to face him as you all walked towards the gates.

Roughly two hours later, the Saviours were done ransacking your homes and taking whatever they pleased. You had gotten your feelings under control and walked with your leader towards the gates, hoping above all else that you could persuade Negan into letting you at least give the archer a hug.

“Give me a second,” Rick replied, his eyes shifting between the hostile leader of the Saviours and the building beyond the gates.

Negan followed his gaze, before turning back to him. “No.”

“Please, can you just... Give me a second,” Rick pleaded, looking up at Negan, the height difference very noticeable when he did that.

Negan finally agreed, giving him a nod, a malicious smirk on his face. When Rick jogged over to the building, that left you in Negan’s sights, and the man let out a low chuckle.

“Well, darlin’. I see you’ve actually listened to me. No interactions with your loverboy whatsoever. I’m impressed,” he complimented, taking a step towards you.

Standing your ground, you simply glared up at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sarcastic retort. That simply elicited another chuckle from the man.

“You know, there is a way the two of you could be together again. You could always come work for me. Be one of my soldiers, so to speak,” he began, eyeing you up and down. “Usually, I wouldn’t offer that straight away, but for a looker like yourself, I’d make an exception. Or you could make Daryl’s life a hell of a lot easier if you want. You could become one of my wives.”

Unable to resist the urge, you drew your hand back and slapped Negan across his face. Taken aback, he stumbled, but that grin of his soon returned. His eyes raked over your form hungrily. “Just so you know, I’m so much more attracted to you now.”

You could hear a scuffle behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, you spotted an angry looking Daryl being held in place by Dwight. The archer glared daggers in Negan’s direction, the urge to attack him evident on his face.

However, before anything could happen, Michonne came marching through the gates with a small deer hung over her shoulders, Rick hot on her tail. She wore a blank expression, refusing to meet Negan’s stare.

“Look at this!” Negan exclaimed, eyeing the deer on her shoulders.

“I thought she was scavengin’. She was huntin’,” Rick explained to Negan, handing him a gun. “This one never came inside.”

Negan took the gun and smirked. “Look at this. This is something to build a relationship on. Good for you, Rick. This is reading the room and getting the message. I said it before, Imma say it again. You, sir, are special.”

Rick looked at you, sympathy clear in his eyes. “Now that you know we can follow your rules...”

“Yes?” Negan drawled.

“I’d like to ask you if Daryl could stay.”

“Not happening,” Negan refused instantly. However, he turned around to look at you, a smirk on his face. “You know what, just to make the missus happy, maybe he can stay. Maybe Daryl can plead his case. Maybe Daryl can sway me.”

Negan turned to Daryl. The archer remained quiet, his eyes shifting between you and Negan. It was evident that he wouldn’t beg to stay; Daryl’s pride would never allow him kneel to the likes of that tyrant. Although a part of you wanted Daryl to just drop his pride this once, you were proud of him. Despite what he was going through, he remained steadfast in his beliefs. He would never bow to Negan, no matter what pain it could inflict on him.

“Daryl?” Negan pressed, amused by the archer’s silence. When Daryl remained silent, Negan turned back to you. “Well, Rick tried. Sorry, darling.”

You looked down, missing the apologetic look Daryl sent your way. Unbeknownst to you, Daryl had wanted to do nothing more than beg Negan to leave him here with you, but he couldn’t. Not when Negan had threatened to hurt you if he tried to return to Alexandria. Not when his hostage situation could ensure your safety.

“Now what you gotta do, is get over that tall wall of yours and try harder out there,” Negan began, looking at Rick. “Earn for me, because we’re coming back soon. And when we do, you better have something interesting for us, or Lucille? She’s gonna have her way. I want you to hear that again. If you don’t have something interesting for us, somebody’s gonna die. And no more magic guns. Arat, grab that deer. It’s getting late. Let’s go home.”

Michonne angrily dropped the deer and turned around. You shot one final lingering glance at the archer, your partner and love of your life, before following suite. Michonne put her arm around your shoulder and together the two of you walked back to your shared home, ignoring Negan’s mocking laughter.

“Something’s wrong, I can tell,” she whispered quietly.

You shook your head. “I wouldn’t necessarily say something is wrong,” you denied. “I just really need Daryl more than ever right now.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed. “But not without Rick. I need his opinion too.”

—

“You’re pregnant?”

You physically winced at the incredulous sound of your leader’s voice. For the second time that day, someone had asked you that pivotal question, but this one finally made it register in your mind. You were pregnant. And Daryl wasn’t there to help you through it.

Michonne wrapped an arm around you, allowing you to lean into her side for support. She rubbed your arm, hoping to bring you some form of comfort under Rick’s disbelieving stare.

“Rick,” she scolded, sending her partner a pointed look, as if telling him to read the room.

“Sorry,” he apologized, shifting his attention back to you. “When did you find out?”

“Today,” you whispered, your voice hoarse all of a sudden. “Right after Dwight took me down to the basement to rummage through Daryl’s things. He saw the tests and took one. I think he’s gonna use it against Daryl. How could I let that happen?”

Michonne pulled you tighter against her side, allowing you to cry into her shoulder as she whispered reassuring words into your ear. “It’s not your fault. Hey, it��s okay. We’ll figure it out, I promise.”

You hesitantly nodded against her shoulder, withdrawing from her hold and standing up. You began to pace the room, anxiously fiddling with your fingers.

“What should I do?”

“Go to the Hilltop,” Rick advised, effectively stopping your pacing. “They have a doctor there who can ensure that you and the baby are okay. And you’ll have Maggie and Sasha by your side. It’ll be safer for you there.”

“I can’t just leave,” you shut him down, shaking your head. “Negan is fit to come knocking at the gates whenever he pleases. We need more supplies, and soon. We need more people going out there.”

“Like hell I’m letting you out there,” Rick argued. “Daryl would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you or the baby, whether he knows about it now or not. The best thing you can do now for yourself and your baby is to go to the Hilltop. It’s safer and it’s relatively out of harm’s way. Please, if not for yourself, do it for Daryl. Do it for your baby.”

Sensing your hesitation, Michonne stood up, facing you head-on. “Rick’s right,” she began, capturing your undivided attention. “Go. We’ll be okay here. Your primary focus should be your wellbeing right now. Once things cool down around here, I’ll come get you myself. I promise.”

You remained quiet for a few moments, pondering over their words, before nodding. “Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll go.”

“We’ll have a car ready for you in the morning,” Rick responded, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You’re doing the right thing. Daryl would’ve wanted this.”

“I know,” you sighed. “It doesn’t make it any easier, though.”

The next morning came way too soon for your liking. Packed up and ready to go, you exchanged goodbyes with everyone. You were busy hugging Carl, the teenager clutching to your shirt tightly.

“Don’t die,” he told you when he pulled back from the hug.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” you retorted, playfully pushing his hat down over his eyes, successfully coaxing a laugh from him.

After a few more exchanges, and another hug from Carl, you got into the car and drove off, heading towards the Hilltop Colony. The drive was spent in an anxious silence. You were wondering if you’d made the right choice, if leaving Alexandria for a while was really the best decision, but as your hand drifted to your abdomen that would soon grow, to the life that fluttered there, you knew that Rick and Michonne were right. Your primary focus should be your baby right now, and you’d be damned if you let anything happen to them.

After a while, the gates to the Hilltop came into view. You got out of the car as the gates opened, soon being engulfed in hugs by Sasha and Maggie. Jesus stood off to the side with a smile on his face.

“What are you doing here?” Maggie asked, pulling back from the hug.

“It’s a lot to explain,” you said, giving her a tight-lipped smile.

“Come inside. We’ll get you something to eat,” Jesus offered.

You smiled at him and nodded. “Sure. That sounds great.”

—

“That Gregory guy is such an asshole,” you spat angrily, sitting on the bench outside of Jesus’ trailer.

Sasha rolled her eyes. “Welcome to my world. We’ve been dealing with this prick for a week now and he still hasn’t gotten better.”

You shook your head, your hand absentmindedly rubbing over your stomach. A mere two days with the Hilltop’s leader breathing down your neck and you were just about ready to shoot him. He kept on sending crude remarks in your direction, voicing his obvious disdain that he had yet another Alexandrian he had to keep hidden from the Saviours. Thankfully, Jesus was there to put him in his place whenever you were the object of his distasteful glares, and since the day before, Enid as well.

Suddenly, shouts could be heard from the gates, before they were opened. You perked up at the rumble of a motorcycle, standing up to move closer and get a better view, instantly spotting the familiar glint of a familiar motorcycle coming to a halt, and an even more familiar man getting off of it. Your heart started pounding against your ribcage, and before anyone could stop you, you started running.

“Daryl!” you called, running as fast as your legs could carry you.

Daryl turned around at the sound of your voice. As soon as he saw you, he started running as well, meeting you halfway. You practically flung yourself into Daryl’s arms, and he instantly reciprocated the hug, burying his face into your shoulder. You hugged him to you tightly, holding the back of his head as you tried to withhold the tears flooding in your eyes.

“C’mon,” Jesus urged gently, prompting you and Daryl to pull apart. “There’s a room in the Barrington house. You can use it to get cleaned up and changed into something else.”

Daryl hesitated, but you nodded. “It’s okay. I’ll be there with you.”

You took Daryl’s hand in your own and followed behind Jesus. The two of you were soon in the aforementioned room, Daryl sitting down on the bed while you cleaned up one of the cuts on his face. He remained silent, his eyes locked on your face. He lifted his hand and cupped your cheek, halting your movements.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, placing a hand over his one that rested on your cheek.

“M’jus’ remindin’ myself that this is real. That this ain’t some trick my mind s’playin’ on me. That this ain’t another dream.”

You gently took his hand and lead it to your heart, placing his hand over it to feel the steady beating of the vital organ. “I’m here,” you whispered. “You’re here. This isn’t a dream. It’s real.”

Daryl swallowed and nodded, before letting his hand trail down to your stomach. “Is... S’this real? Are ya pregnant?”

Your heart dropped. The only way he could know was if Dwight did what you suspected—he mentally tortured the love of your life with the knowledge that you could’ve been pregnant.

Your silence confirmed it for the archer. He sighed and swallowed heavily. “You are. You’re pregnant.”

You nodded slowly, guilt creeping up in you. “I am. Did Dwight tell you?”

“He showed me the test. Said it was yours, that he found it with ya that day we were at Alexandria. I didn’t wanna believe him at first, but the more I thought ‘bout it, the more I started believin’ him,” Daryl replied. “When did ya find out?”

“The first time Negan showed up with all of you,” you admitted. “Dwight took one of the tests from me before I could stop him. I’m so sorry. I should’ve tried harder. You were already going through so much shit with the Saviours, and then he had to go put more shit on you because of me.”

Daryl pulled you into his arms, hugging you tightly. “Don’ blame yourself. What do ya have to be sorry for? Findin’ out you’re pregnant?”

“For allowing him to take the test and use it against you.”

“You’re really pregnant?” he asked with a slight laugh, rubbing your stomach affectionately.

“Don’ be sorry. S’okay,” he whispered into your hair, stroking your back softly. Once you had calmed down, Daryl allowed one of his hands to travel back down to your stomach.

You laughed in wonder and nodded. “Yeah. There’s a tiny you in there.”

“Nah, they’re gon’ be a tiny you. Sweet, kind and a badass, jus’ like their mama,” Daryl countered, placing a kiss against your forehead. “Our baby. Our lil’ peanut.”

“You really wanna do this? Are you ready to start your own family?” you questioned, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“With you?” Daryl began, pulling you closer to him. “M’ready for anythin’.”

1K notes · View notes

tlou-reid · 11 months ago

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Finishing Gifts ❤︎ Aaron Hotchner

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.

♡ SUMMARY: after a few days of ignoring him, Aaron makes an effort to get your behavior to return to normal

♡ WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI, smut, female and male masturbation, phone sex, mentions of watching porn, sex toys, drinking, small mentions of criminal minds-esque themes and violence, pretty much porn with very little plot, this is not edited like at all

♡ NOTE: something about writing aaron masturbating makes me go brrrrrr

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You had thought you were keeping your cool. Honestly, truly, you had thought no one would notice the small changes in your behavior. You had tried to be subtle in dodging Hotch, doing it slowly and over time. It had started with piggybacking Spencer’s theories in the field, which led to pushing to go look at a crime scene rather than to the police department with Hotch. Then evolved into getting deep into conversation with JJ as you approached the jet, using it as an excuse to claim a seat next to her rather than your normal position between Hotch and the window.

These acts had gone unnoticed, or, at least, you’d thought. In your determination to avoid them, you hadn’t noticed the strange looks Derek and Morgan had thrown each other, and then Aaron, as you relaxed next to JJ. You missed Garcia questioning what had been up with you as you extended your time making coffee before a briefing, just so you didn’t have to walk behind Hotch into the room.

But, your latest change to avoid your unit chief definitely didn’t fly under the radar. This one was loud and clear, and absolutely threw off the entire BAU.

You’d just completed, by all possible metrics, a very successful case. It was a rare one, looking at terrorism in the DC area. A group of people who were planting explosives around the city, in unsuspecting areas. Instead of targeting political buildings or memorials, they focused on smaller-scale destruction. The team had been able to put the perpetrators away with no more casualties than those that were gone before the team landed. All in all, it was incredibly stressful, but a win for the team.

So, after Emily’s suggestion and Derek’s reminder that it was an extended weekend due to a government holiday, the team was getting ready to head to the bar. You had begged to go home to shower, promising you’d take an Uber (so you could, in Penelope’s words, “get fucked up with the girls”) and meet them at the bar in about an hour.

You put on your best outfit, showing an appropriate amount of cleavage, and did your makeup to the best of your abilities. After you’d cleaned up, you went to open your Uber app, excited to have a night to relax.

However, you were cut off when a phone call overtook your screen. “Aaron” the contact name read, indicating it was your unit chief, and that he was calling from his personal cellphone. You let ring a few times before picking up, not wanting to seem too eager to talk to your boss.

“Hellooo,” you practically sung into the phone, too excited to be worried about embarrassing yourself in front of him. He simply replied with a formal “hello,” followed by your name. “Please don’t tell me you’re ruining my longggg weekend,” You said to him, and he swore he could hear some of jewelry shaking. You couldn’t keep your excitement in, shaking your wrists, which made your bracelets make noise.

He chuckled a bit at your reaction to him calling, “No, no. I was just calling to see if you had left yet.” You smiled against the phone, knowing where this conversation was going. “Nope! I was actually ordering my Uber when you called,” you informed him. “So, you haven’t ordered it?” He questioned again, to which you replied with a “uh-uh”.

You couldn’t tell but your excitement about going out with your friends was essentially oozing through the phone, causing Aaron to maintain a bright smile on his face. You weren’t aware of how your vibe, your energy, was able to lift a weight off of Aaron’s shoulders that had been there for as long as he could remember.

“I also had to run home before meeting the team. If you’d like, I can pick you up.” Your smile, somehow, grew even bigger. Any excuse to see Aaron was a good one, you’d thought.

However, your face quickly fell when you reminded yourself that you were supposed to be avoiding him. You felt a pang in your heart as you said, “Thanks, but I have a few things to finish up here! I appreciate the offer, Hotch.”

With a quick, formal goodbye, the called ended. Aaron tried to ignore the fact that you lied to him as he drove the rest of the way. You had said you were about to call your Uber, and he heard your jewelry, meaning you were putting the finishing touches on your outfit. So why wouldn’t you accept his ride?

He tried to ignore the blow to his chest when you called him Hotch. Something about the use of his last name made him feel as if he’d done something wrong. Not that it was unusual for you, or anyone really, to call him that. It was the emphasis you’d put on it. As if you were trying to make it known he was Hotch and not Aaron.

Aaron tried to turn off his profiling ability, but it was proving to be had as all of his thoughts were currently encompassed by you.

The night, and the whole weekend if you were being honest, went by in a blur. You could tell Aaron had noticed the change in your behavior. You were standoffish at the bar, pretty much avoiding any conversation with him. You just hoped by the end of the long weekend it would be forgotten, and you’d be able to continue work as normal.

This dream was quickly demolished as Aaron was summoning you into his office before you had the chance to even put your bag down and unpack your files.

The sound of calling your last name both frightened and intrigued you. You couldn’t help but be attracted to the authority in his voice, even if it could mean you were going to be in trouble.

As you stepped into the voice, Aaron didn’t even look up. He mumbled a “shut the door, please,” as he finished recording some notes on an opened file in front of him. You stood awkwardly by the door, waiting for some kind instruction or reasoning from him.

“Please,” he gestured to the seats in front of his desk. You nodded, clumsily making your way to them. “I didn’t mean to scare you or make you uncomfortable by calling you in here,” he began.

You weren’t sure if you were more scared by being called into his office, to have a conversation that required you to both sit down and shut the door, or the intense eye contact he was maintaining as he introduced whatever discussion you two were about to have.

“I just couldn’t help but notice,” he paused for a second, trying to find the right words to say, “a recent change in your behavior.” You hoped he didn’t notice the way your eyes went wide, knowing you’d been caught. You didn’t have to ask what he was talking about to know you’d been caught, but you did anyway, “What do you mean?” You thought you were playing your part well, furrowing your eyebrows to truly emphasis your fake confusion.

“It feels as though you’ve been avoiding me.” Aaron says. His tone isn’t angry or even authoritative, but rather, disappointed. There’s a slight huff in the way he spoke. He didn’t give you a chance to defend yourself before he continued, “Which is fine if you so choose to do so. I would just like to know if it was because of something I did and if I could fix it. I want the team to function as well as it can, and I feel as though it would not if there was conflict between you and I.”

Aaron had to find a professional spin to throw his statement, knowing the professionalism of this situation was debatable at best. “Oh, sir,” you blushed, not really knowing what to say, “I don’t believe there is any conflict between us.” Your voice was formal, too formal. It was obvious you were under pressure. “So, what is it then?” He questioned.

You could feel yourself growing small under his intense stare. You could also feel the wet patch growing between your legs, making you slightly uncomfortable.

“You, uh, you kind of make nervous.” With your quiet voice and stutter, and the way your thighs squeezed together, it was easy for Aaron to pick up on the reason he made you nervous. His cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink instantaneously. “Oh,” his voice trailed off, followed by your quiet, “yeah.”

There was a few beats of silence before he cleared his throat. “Well, I’m glad to hear there’s no issues between us.” You nodded with his words, growing even more nervous. Your mouth was moving before your brain could catch up, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to, it’s just been a minute since I’ve, ya know, and I know you’re boss but I will be completely professional and this will not effect my work in or out of the field.”

While you mean to be assuring your boss that your attraction to him was no detriment to your work, you just admitted that it’s been a minute since you’ve had an orgasm. You needed to end this conversation quickly.

“If that’s all,” You said as you stood, “I have a few more reports to finish.” Aaron simply nodded, dismissing you back into the bullpen. You made a break for the bathroom, hoping to have a few minutes to collect yourself before facing the race of the team. You felt exposed, knowing you were entering a room of profilers after since a painful experience. You needed some time alone.

After a mini-breakdown, and cleaning up your messed up mascara, you made your way to your desk. Calm and collected. That’s all you had to be. Calm and collected.

Serial killers and other criminals had quieted down for the week, in an unlikely turn of events. You’d only had to travel for one day, quickly solving a kidnapping case and the finding the perpetrator. The week flew by swimmingly. Nothing odd had happened.

Until you opened your door Saturday morning.

You hadn’t ordered anything, that much you were sure of. Even if you did, you tended to shop at places with bright packaging that made you feel like you were opening a gift when it was delivered. This unsuspecting, plain box was not here on your accord, yet it had your name and address on it.

The FBI agent side of you flipped into protection mode, racing to grab your phone and dial up the one person you knew that could tell you what to do if there happened to be a bomb inside of the box. Derek Morgan. “Pretty girl, why are you facetiming me at 8:27am on a Saturday?” He teased with a smile on his face. No matter what time it was, Derek was ready to listen.

“I got this box and I don’t know what it is. I just want someone to be around when I open it.” You informed him, sitting down next to the box. You should probably be standing, just in case you had to make a run for it but you were too worried about getting it open to think that far ahead.

“Alright,” He said, urging you to open it. You nodded to him, setting up the phone so he could you see and the box in the frame. You carefully tore off the tape, and let out a sigh of relief when nothing happened when it moved. You lifted the flaps slowly, taking a loud gasp when you saw it was. You hoped Derek didn’t see, and moved quickly to pick up your phone to hang up before he could.

“It’s not a bomb! I’m good, thanks Derek!” You rushed, hanging up before he could say anything. Your eyes didn’t leave the box as you let your arms fall to your sides. Sitting inside of it was a small, pink rose toy. A vibrator. That you definitely didn’t order.

You grabbed the box, hoping none of your neighbors saw it. It’s not that masturbation was wrong or immoral or that you didn’t partake, it was just weird if the people around you were aware of your toys.

So, you made sure your door was tightly closed before putting the box on the table and digging through it. There was all the normal things, the vibrator itself, large bubble wrap, and a paper receipt with the name of the product: Intimately GG Rose Suction Simulator from Pink Cherry.

However, there was another piece of paper at the bottom of the box. It was a typed note that read, “I hope this helps us go back to normal. A.H”. You knew exactly one person with the initials A.H. so it wasn’t rocket science to figure out who had ordered you this sex toy.

You weren’t sure if you were more turned on or embarrassed.

Aaron was your boss. Your kind, protective, strong, hot, sexy, boss. But still your boss. You wondered if this is something he would’ve done for someone like Emily or Penelope if they’d been in your predicament. It clicked quickly that it definitely wasn’t, and that made you special in Aaron Hotchner’s eyes.

So, you made a mental note to give him a call, after you tried out your toy. Luckily, you had your cleaning solution and an old bottle of lube from your past encounters. You made quick work of getting the toy clean and finding a video to help you get yourself off.

Of course, the man in the video was a white man who was bit older, with broad shoulders and black hair. No coincidence there.

You started with your boobs, taking time to massage each one before pulling on and pinching them to get yourself warmed up. Between the sounds coming from the video and the excitement of finally having time to yourself, your hands didn’t take long to move downwards, tracing along the length of your body. One hand continued caressing your side as the other made its way to your core.

The thought of Aaron going out of his way to help you get off and the visual of a man who looked similar to him getting his dick sucked had you borderline dripping on your bedsheets as you used your hand to start toying with your clit. You started with small circles, matching the speed of the girl sucking Aaron’s lookalike’s dick.

You stayed like this for a while, allowing yourself to go slow, really take your time pleasuring yourself. The guy in the video had already finished on the girl’s tits by the time you reached for your rose toy. You didn’t need the visual anymore, perfectly crafting dirty scenarios of your unit chief in your head.

You started on low. There was gentle sucking on your clit as you imagined the way Aaron would kiss. He’s experienced, you know that for sure. You could imagine the way he’d start gentle, maybe even cupping your face as he pulled you close. He’d let you feel like you were in charge, before his tongue made its way inside your mouth. His dominant side would take over, using his body to press you against whatever surface you were sat on.

As you fantasized about his dominant side, you cranked up the toy to the next level. You let out a loud moan at the new feeling. Your free hand moved back to your breast, squeezing, while you did your best to imagine Aaron’s large hands doing it instead.

You could feel the coil in your tummy getting tighter and tighter as you imagined Aaron slowly stripping your body, dragging his hand along each and every curve. With a sharp pinch to your nipple and a cry of Aaron’s name, you came undone all over your rose toy.

You could feel your slick dripping down your hand as you worked yourself through your orgasm, making sure to enjoy it for as long as you could. You wished you could savor this feeling. It was the strongest, best orgasm you’d ever had. Nothing could compare to the euphoria you felt right now.

You flicked the toy off and sat it to the side once the feeling became too much. You couldn’t bring yourself to move from your position. “Fuck,” you breathed out, trying to relax the hard rise and fall of your chest.

Once you were able to relax, you made your way to the shower. You knew you had to call Aaron, but you needed to be much more relaxed than you were right now to have that conversation. The sting from the hot water helped ground you, allowing you to clear your mind. After you cleaned yourself, you cleaned the toy and put everything in your nightstand drawer for future use.

Then, you reached for your cellphone. You quickly found Aaron’s personal number and hit the call button before you could overthink what you were doing. He picked up on the second ring. “Hotchner,” he said, probably out of habit. “Hello, Aaron,” you smiled. This is the conversation you’d had with him in a while that didn’t make you feel nervous. “Hello,” he echoed with your name. You didn’t know, but he was smirking on the other side of the phone. He’d been waiting for this call.

“You sent me a gift?” You asked. “I did. Have you received it?” He wasn’t sure what grew more, his smirk or his cock. “I have. I’ve opened it and took it for a test run as well.” The way you two were beating around the bush was a turn on, but the way he sounded so self-assured, as if he knew what you were going to say, had you clenching your thighs together.

“How did it perform?” Aaron questioned, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table in front of him. This tightened the dress pants he was wearing against his hardened cock. “Very well,” You smiled. “I’m happy to hear that. I hope this is the end of all of your weird behavior.” Aaron chuckles. Just the sound of his laugh has you reaching your hand to squeeze the fat of your thighs.

“What weird behavior, Aaron?” You questioned, teasingly. This conversation is very different than any you’d had before, and it was turning you. You didn’t think it was possible with the strong orgasm you’d maybe an hour ago. But, Aaron was a special individual. He had that effect on you.

“You were avoiding me,” He scoffed. “I don’t know if I was. I think it was self-control,” You smiled, knowing you were baiting him. Without missing a beat, he took the bait, “And why did you need to practice self-control?”

Aaron leaned back in his chair, opting to press his hand against his cock instead of using the soft fabric to provide some kind of friction. He needed more, that much he knew.

“Because I was trying not to jump your bones, Aaron.” You breathed out. Your words had him squeezing his bulge, feeling like he could bust just from knowing you were attracted to him. “Fuck,” Aaron groaned into the phone. You giggled at his reaction, moving to press your hand against your core, again.

“Tell me about your toy,” He demanded, finally using the authoritarian tone that helped you get into this situation in the first time. “So you can touch yourself while I do?” You questioned, assuming he was in the same position as you. “Is that okay?” He questioned. “Of course it is, Aaron.” You promised, and used your permission as an excuse to unbutton his pants, and shove his hand under the waistband of his boxers.

As you started talking, he spread the precum, that’s been oozing from his pretty pink tip since he saw your contact name, along the length of his dick. “It was so good, Aaron. That was the best orgasm I’ve ever had.”

“Yeah?” Aaron encouraged you to keep going as he started stroking his cock. “Yeah,” You whined out, “I wish you could’ve seen me. My legs were shaking and I was leaking so much.” You smirked as you heard him groan in to the phone. His strokes had quickened in length. All he could picture was you spread out on his bed, cumming around his cock.

“What did you think about while you came?” You were surprised he was able to get the question out, especially because he only stuttered once. You wished you could see the way he squeezed his eyes together as he tugged on his cock. “You, obviously. I was thinking about your lips and your hands. I finished before I could get to the good part. I wanted to picture you fucking me from behind, pressing my face into the mattress.”

You were going to continue describing your fantasy to him, but he cut you off with a “Fuck!” as he came down his hands.

The line was silent for a few minutes before you spoke, “Hey, Aaron?” He hummed out a “yeah?”, before you asked, “Do you want to come over?”

“Give me ten minutes,” He promised, “and have the toy out.”

Well, you couldn’t refuse that.

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

2K notes · View notes

miley1442111 · 10 months ago

Text

the problem with arguing

a/n: Hi, this is my first story, any constructive criticism is welcomed. This had not been properly edited nor read through because icba lmao :) also I wrote it for a fem!reader but I don't think there's much mention other than Jack calling reader 'mom' so... yeah :)

pairings: aaron hotchner x reader, platonic BAUteam x reader, motherly(If that's a word?)reader x teen!jack hotchner

summary: aaron and you are in a fight, but what happens when a meeting with a witness goes south?

warnings: criminal minds levels of violence, angst, fluff, couple fighting, reader in distress, reader getting injured, mentions of knives, mentions of being stabbed, mentions of being tied up, mentions of hospitals, mentions of killing, mentions of general injury, mentions of guns/shooting, minimal use of y/n.

1.6k + words.

“We’re here, we’ll update you if anything comes of it,” Morgan promises Hotch over the phone as we walk to the front porch of one of our witnesses. Something about his story is messed up and we were the unlucky ones who had to go talk to him. It’s a pretty house I guess, a little expensive for what a 26 year old man could afford, and what he would want to buy. It’s all fifties style, the entire estate is. Big-enough bungalows with pastel walls and inviting doors with a small porch, just enough for the entry-way and a chair. I knock on the door, exhausted from the past 72 hours. Aaron and I got in a fight before we got to Ohio, it was unnecessary, but we fought all the same. He was mad at me for giving Jack advice that led to a fight between them. I just wanted to kiss and make up 3 days ago but he won’t budge. Maybe it’s because he knows I’m right and doesn’t want to confront it or maybe it’s because I took it too far and overstepped. Jack calls me ‘mom’, I live with him, and Jack came to me for support, he wanted guidance and I gave him it. He was mad at his dad because he missed meeting his girlfriend. His girlfriend, Ava, was a lovely girl, I had been the one there when Jack brought her over for dinner, I was the one trying to suss out if they actually liked each other, and I was the one Jack sat down with for 2 hours after and told everything about her to. All because Aaron was too busy with paperwork in his study. Jack was hurt, which is difficult to do because he’s such an understanding 16 year-old boy. It was also hard because I saw both sides. I’ll be the first to admit that what Aaron did was wrong, but our job is hard and demanding, especially his since he’s the leader of our team… But Jack just wanted 2 hours of his time, not even, just a dinner. A dinner to meet his girlfriend, and Aaron still couldn’t make it.

I knock again as I huff.

“Everything alright?” Morgan asks, the regular playful glint in his eye.

“Tired, mad, over this job. You?” I sigh.

“Sounds about right,” He chuckles. “How’s Jack doing?”

A smile spreads across my face. “He has a girlfriend,” Morgan’s face lights up in a smile.

“My man,” He smirks and I chuckle. “You two met her yet?”

My face drops again. “I have, Aaron… couldn’t make it to the dinner though. She’s lovely, perfect for Jack. It's so funny, it’s just opposites attract. Jack is so sporty and outspoken and she’s one of the quieter, more into her studies kind of person.”

The door swings open and we’re met with David, our witness.

“You two know what time it is?” He yawns.

“Oh trust us, we know,” Morgan sighs. “Can we ask you a few more questions?”

“It’s 10pm at night? Can’t this wait ‘till the morning?”

“It’ll only take a few minutes,” I reassure.

He looks between us for a moment, then sighs. “Quickly.”

We walk inside and are immediately hit with an awful smell. I know that smell. That’s when I see it, a body.

And that’s when it all goes black.

I wake up in a new room, tied to a chair. I don’t see Derrick anywhere. I don’t see David anywhere. I’m all alone in this grey room. I don’t see a door but I notice a camera, and a screen in front of me. I see Penelope on the screen, then a sign above it with “Don’t make noise” scribbled. I look to my left and see a plastic window, I see Morgan through it, tied up too. He sees me.

“Y/n? Y/n?! Where are you?” Penelope squeals. I shake my head and she picks up her phone and tries calling mine, it rings and I feel something go into my side. I scream out in pain as I see the blood start trickling out of me. Penelope drops her phone, then picks it up, dialling someone else’s number.

I get switched to a joint call with Penelope, and the rest of the team, excluding Aaron.

“Y/n?” Spencer asks and I nod, sobbing in pain. Spencer runs off-screen, leaving Jj and Emily to stare in horror at me.

Spencer comes back with Aaron and we make eye-contact through the screen, and he starts breaking. He’s shouting orders at the policemen in the precinct, he’s shouting orders at the team, and he’s trying not to cry. I know that. I also know I’m the only one who knows that. He hides it pretty well but not from me, not after all of our years together. His eyes squint, his eyebrows furrow more than usual, he starts biting at the skin around his nails.

“We’re coming to find you. We will find you,” he promises me. I nod slowly as the pain in my side becomes unbearable as the knife is pulled out.

“Is Morgan with you?” Emily asks and I nod as I bite my lip until it bleeds to stop myself from making too much noise.

“Is he in the room with you?” Spencer asks.

I shake my head no. After what feels like an eternity of yes or no questions, they think they’ve located us.I hear banging on the door and then it opens. Spencer is standing there with an entire Swat team behind him. I shake my head to tell them to not make noise but they talk anyway and another knife is put into my leg, I don’t have the strength to stay quiet this time and another finds its way into my arm. I pass out.

I wake up in a hospital bed, an IV in my arm, Aaron on one side and Jack on the other. Aaron’s asleep in a chair on my left, I grimace, knowing his back will hurt.

“Mom?!” Jack exclaims as he sees me open my eyes. “Mom!” His eyes fill with tears as he gets up and wraps his arms around me on the bed.

“Jack,” I sigh in relief.

“You’re okay! You’re awake!” He smiles brightly, happy that I’m alive.

Aaron wakes up from the commotion and rushes to my side. “Honey?” He takes my hand and squeezes. “You’re okay.”

I smile at both of them.

“I’ll go get the doctor,” Jack smiles and he rushes off to find a doctor.

“Honey I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have-” He starts but I cut him off.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” he sighs, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Don’t go all soft now Aaron,” I joke.

“You make me soft,” He smiles and presses a soft kiss to my cheek.

Jack comes back in with a doctor. She tells me that I lost a lot of blood and that I will be out of the field for a few months, with 2 weeks of mandatory bedrest, then 4 weeks of physical therapy.

The next day, the team come in to visit.

“Hey,” Spencer smiles, walking in first. I’ve always been close to Spencer, he’s always felt like a little brother to me.

“Hey,” I smile and wince when I hug him, but I know it’s worth it. The rest of the team filter in, smiles on their faces.“So what happened after I went out?”

“Well, they got me, no injuries apart from a concussion,” Morgan says.

“We got the guy-” Emily starts.

“Aaron got the guy,” Spencer interrupts. “He saw him and just shot him-”

“And then he beat the crap out of him,” Jj says. “It was pretty intense.”

I nod along as they tell me the story, and then we just talk about whatever until Aaron comes in and says visiting hours are over. Spencer leaves me a few more books to read and Jj brings Jack to Ava’s house for the night. Aaron walks in with my dinner on a tray.

“Hungry?” He smiles.

“You shot someone for me?” I ask as he places my tray down.

“Yes.”

I roll my eyes and smile at him. “Is he alive?”

“No.”

My face drops. “Oh.”

“It was the combined bleeding and head trauma that killed him.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I did.”

I look at my food. “I understand you wanted to protect me-”

“I did that because he doesn’t get to live after doing this to you. Honey, you and Jack are the most important people in my life and I would do anything if it meant that you were safe and sound. Do you want to know how it felt to have what could’ve been my last words to you be ‘stop bothering me’? I was an asshole to you over the Jack situation because I knew you were right. I knew it wasn’t fair to not go to dinner when I was in the house. I knew it was important and it just felt too real. It felt like he was growing up and I just couldn’t take it because I missed so much of his childhood! So I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry that I said everything I said and did what I did, but I am not sorry about hurting that fucking monster,” He takes a deep breath. “Now eat up, it’ll go cold.”

“I love you Aaron, it’s ok. It wasn’t your fault, being a parents is hard.”

His eyes fill with tears and he looks at me like an injured puppy.

“Come here,” I smile and move over, allowing room for him to sit with me. He climbs into bed beside me and wraps his arms around me, being careful of my wounds.

“I love you,” he whispers as I slowly eat my food.

“I love you too.”

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pedroscowgirl · 3 months ago

Text

Our little secret

aaron hotchner x afab!reader

fluff/ bit angsty ?

don't read if you're uncomfy with pregnancies or if you don't like them!

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, throwing up, anxiety , secret relationship

summary: You and Aaron Hotchner are secretly dating while working a BAU case when you start feeling sick, blaming it on food poisoning. The truth, however, is that you're pregnant, a fact you’ve been hiding from the team and Hotch

wc: 2k

A/n: this is a short one srry

The day started like any other—early, cold, and demanding. You and the rest of the BAU team were called to the scene of a particularly brutal murder. The sight was horrific, even by your standards. As the team gathered around the body, discussing the unsub's potential profile, you felt a wave of nausea rise in your throat.

You've seen worse. You’ve been to enough crime scenes that the blood and gore should be something you’re used to by now. But this time, it felt different. You tried to focus on Hotch’s voice as he calmly led the discussion, but the queasy feeling in your stomach was only getting worse. Your vision blurred slightly, and you knew that if you didn’t leave now, you were going to embarrass yourself in front of everyone.

You quickly excused yourself, turning on your heel and walking away from the scene as fast as you could without drawing more attention. As soon as you were out of sight, you broke into a run, reaching the nearest alley and doubling over to vomit. The sickness was sudden, but the relief was almost instant. You leaned against the wall, catching your breath and trying to steady your heart.

“Hey,” a voice startled you. You looked up to see Emily standing a few feet away, concern etched across her face. “Everything okay?” she asked, her eyes scanning your face for answers.

You wiped the back of your hand across your mouth, embarrassed to have been caught. “Uh, yeah. I think I got food poisoning or something,” you said, trying to shrug it off.

Emily didn’t seem entirely convinced, but she nodded slowly. “Alright. Let’s head back.”

Together, you returned to the crime scene, hoping no one else would notice your sudden absence. But of course, as soon as you rejoined the group, Morgan was quick to ask. “You good?”

You could feel Hotch’s eyes on you, and for a split second, your gaze flicked to his before you answered. “Yeah, just food poisoning,” you repeated, your voice a little too casual. You hoped the explanation would suffice.

But Hotch raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. You’d been spending a lot of time with him lately, especially with the two of you sneaking around during the case. You’d shared several meals together over the past week, and if you were sick from something you ate, wouldn’t he be too? His mind was already working, but thankfully, he didn’t push the issue—not yet.

The nausea didn’t go away after that day. Every morning brought new waves of sickness, and every time you thought you were getting better, it hit again. You were careful to hide it from the team, but you couldn’t hide everything.

It didn’t take long for JJ to notice. She caught you sneaking off to the bathroom more than once, and after everything she went through with her own pregnancy, she didn’t need much to figure it out. She pulled Emily aside during a quieter moment, her voice low as she shared her suspicions.

“I think she’s pregnant,” JJ whispered, glancing over at you as you leaned against the wall, looking pale.

Emily’s eyes widened. “What? Is she even dating anyone?” she asked, surprised. “I mean, not that she has to be dating anyone to be pregnant, but you know…”

JJ shrugged. “I don’t know. But I recognize that look.”

Meanwhile, you were doing everything you could to keep yourself together. During another meeting later that afternoon, the team was deep in discussion about the unsub’s motives and next moves when you felt another wave of nausea. You excused yourself quickly, heading for the bathroom once again to throw up. When you returned, Hotch was waiting for you, his concern clear in the way he looked at you.

“Maybe you should stay in the hotel, rest up,” he said, his voice gentle but firm.

The suggestion hit a nerve, though. You were already feeling on edge, not just from the constant sickness, but from the stress of keeping your relationship with him a secret. Add to that the fact that you’d just confirmed your pregnancy with a couple of tests you bought in a small pharmacy that morning, and the last thing you wanted was to feel weak or out of control.

“I’m fine, Hotch,” you replied, your voice more stern than you intended.

His brow furrowed in confusion. He didn’t understand why you were suddenly so defensive. The two of you had always been careful about how you spoke to each other in front of the team, but this time, something was different. You could see the wheels turning in his mind, but for now, he let it go.

That evening, back at the hotel, you finally had a moment to yourself. The stress of the case, the secrecy of your relationship with Hotch, and now the realization that you were pregnant had all been weighing heavily on your mind. You paced around your room, trying to figure out how to handle it all. How would you tell Hotch? Would he be angry? Would he even want this?

A knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts. You opened it to find Hotch standing there, his expression softer than usual.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady. You hadn’t expected to see him this evening.

“I just wanted to check on you,” he said simply, stepping into the room when you gestured for him to come in.

“Thanks,” you muttered, unsure of what else to say. You were too tired to keep up the pretense, but you weren’t ready to have the conversation you knew was coming, either.

Hotch looked at you, his concern deepening. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked, his voice soft but cautious.

You didn’t have time to answer. The nausea hit you again, and you barely made it to the bathroom before you were throwing up once more. Hotch followed you, kneeling beside you as you sat on the floor, resting your head against the cool tile.

“How is it that you have food poisoning, and Jack and I don’t?” he asked quietly, his hand resting gently on your back.

You let out a soft, bitter laugh, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “You know, Hotchner, for a professional profiler, you really suck at this.”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard by your words. “What do you mean?” he asked, still confused.

Taking a deep breath, you realized there was no point in hiding it anymore. You looked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “I’m pregnant, Aaron,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

The silence that followed was deafening. Hotch just stared at you, his expression unreadable. The longer he stayed quiet, the more your nerves began to fray. You weren’t sure how he would react, and the uncertainty was eating away at you.

“Aaron… please say something,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly.

He blinked again, still processing. “I… I don’t know what to say,” he admitted, his voice quiet and full of emotion.

Your heart sank at his hesitation. You had feared this might be too much for him, that maybe he didn’t want this as much as you were starting to. But just as you were about to apologize or say something to ease the tension, you saw the tears well up in his eyes.

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Aaron?”

Before you could react, Hotch leaned forward and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. “I’m so happy,” he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. He held you tightly for a moment longer, his hand gently rubbing your back as he tried to process everything. You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, feeling a strange sense of calm despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling around you. The silence was comfortable, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to just exist in it, soaking in the relief that came from finally telling him.

Aaron pulled back slightly, his hand moving to cup your face. His thumb brushed your cheek, and he gazed at you with a soft, adoring expression you rarely saw from him in public. It made your heart swell, and you could see how much he meant those words.

“I love you,” he whispered again, his voice filled with a tenderness that made your chest tighten. You smiled, your hand resting lightly on his chest, feeling the warmth radiate from him.

He leaned in, his lips inching closer to yours, but before he could kiss you, you instinctively put your hand on his chest and gently pushed him back. "Aaron…" you began, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment. "I literally just threw up. You really don’t want to kiss me right now."

Aaron blinked in surprise and then chuckled softly, a rare sound that made your heart skip. "I don’t care," he said, the corners of his lips turning up into a small smile. He leaned in again, but you kept your hand firm against his chest, shaking your head.

"I care," you insisted, giving him a playful glare. "Trust me, you’ll regret it."

He laughed again, the tension between you easing, and nodded. "Alright, alright," he conceded, his voice warm and full of affection. "I’ll wait. But only because you insist."

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a little lighter as you sat back, leaning against the bathroom wall. The reality of the situation was still sinking in. You were pregnant. With Aaron’s child. It was overwhelming, but having him by your side made it feel less terrifying.

He sat down beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours as he took your hand in his. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice now more serious. "With all of this?"

You looked down at your intertwined fingers, the weight of the question pressing on you. "I… I’m scared," you admitted quietly. "I don’t know what’s going to happen. With the team, with us…"

Aaron nodded, understanding the unspoken worries. "We’ll figure it out," he said gently. "One step at a time. You don’t have to do this alone."

You squeezed his hand, the reassurance soothing the storm in your mind. "What if the team finds out?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "We’ve been so careful. But now…"

Aaron sighed, his thumb absentmindedly tracing patterns on your hand. "We’ll cross that bridge when we get there," he said after a moment. "Right now, you need to focus on taking care of yourself. And… if it comes out, then we’ll deal with it together."

The weight of his words settled over you, and though the fear was still there, it was more manageable with him by your side. You rested your head on his shoulder, the exhaustion from the day catching up with you. "What if I’m not ready?" you asked, your voice so quiet you weren’t sure if he heard you.

Aaron gently lifted your chin so you were looking into his eyes. "You don’t have to be ready right now," he said softly. "We’ll figure it out as we go. I’m here for you, always."

Your heart swelled at his words, and despite everything—the nausea, the uncertainty, the secrecy, you felt a flicker of hope. Maybe things wouldn’t be perfect, and maybe you weren’t fully prepared, but you knew you weren’t doing this alone.

Leaning against him, you closed your eyes, finally allowing yourself to relax. He held you close, his presence steady and comforting.

But just as you were starting to drift into a peaceful moment, a knock came at the door.

"Y/N?" It was Emily’s voice, followed by a second knock. "You in there?"

Your eyes shot open, and you and Aaron exchanged a look. Panic quickly replaced the calm.

"I think we’ll need to discuss our cover story soon," you muttered with a smirk, earning a quiet laugh from Aaron as he helped you to your feet.

taglist (lmk if u wanna be added): @looking1016 @pear-1206 @doe-eyed-diva @ssa-aaronhotchner @sweetpinkchampagne @totallyjovialblaze @pastelpinkflowerlife @donttrustlove @actualdeemon @jencole214 @fandomawesomeness @devilslittlehelper @mrs-ssa-hotch

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotch #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner angst #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #aaron hotch x reader #thomas gibson #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch hotchner

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h0ttestgrlinm0urgu3 · 11 months ago

Text

your friend isn't always a genius

request

dom! aaron hotchner x brat reader

summary: Aaron's been on a case for to long reader decideds to be a brat but he gets home sooner than expected, turns out aaron got some advice from his friend.

warnings: use of y/n, masturbat!on fem, consensual voyeurism, being a brat, punishments, recording, daddy kink, mentions of spencer reid

it's been almost two weeks since aaron went on a case. it wasn't anything major, but with the towns police hindering the investigation due to a lack of knowledge and experience, he's had to stay longer than planned.

you know you can't blame aaron for being on a case, but having a break in routine always results in you bratting. so honestly, he shouldn't have expected less.

you currently sat on your knees infront of your full body mirror dressed in only a pair of pretty pink lace panties and one of aarons sleep shirts, taking pictures that you knew you'd get in trouble for. it didn't matter tho, you loved aarons punishments. you loved the way his hand felt when he spanked your ass or when you'd go brain dead from him fucking you so good. if you were being honest it was one of your favorite things.

sending the pictures to aaron you sit and wait for him to see it. it's around nine, and he's usually in the hotel by now unless they had a break in the case. you check and seeing that he read the text you pussy dampened and your heart speed up. waiting for a reply you sit there, and sit there, and sit. it's about 5 minutes when you decide to call him.

the phone ringing 3 times before he answers. 'hey sweetheart' he answers like he would normally. 'why didn't you answer my text?' you question, opting out of a greeting. 'because your not supposed to do that' he replys plainly. 'so? what you were just gonna ignore me?' you ask him letting your voice raise.

' I was' aaron says as if it's a normal thing.

' you never ignore me ' you say pouting as if he could see you. ' and you continue to be a brat. ya know spencer and I got the talkin and he said that if someone constantly has the same punishment every time they acted out, it'd become less effective.' he states, making you wonder what in their conversation made them talk about this and why he thought it pertained to you.

because it does.

'and? the fuck does that mean aaron?' you pout feeling the urge to really pass him off now. I mean if he was gonna change up punishments you can change up what your getting punished for.

'watch it' he warns urging you to not play this game. decideding he was beyond wrong and that you'd not only play this game, but win. you hung up the phone, removing your underwear you sat up the camera to where your pussy was on full display. hitting record, you let your fingers travel down your cheest, over your stomach past your clit collecting all of your juices on your fingers. bringing then back up to your clit you make eye contact with your camera as you start to play with your pussy.

moaning at the pleasure, you couldn't deny how good it felt, but you also couldn't deny how much it felt nothing like aaron. bringing your fingers down to your entrance, sliding them in as your eyes roll back and toes curl.

'oh fuck it feels so good' you moan out. you continue to fuck yourself on camera for about five minutes before you realize something. 'fuck I can't cum' you groan out. not knowing why but still wanting to win. so you crop the last bit of the video and send aaron the gold parts.

confused on why it's been five minutes of really good pleasure, and yet you haven't cum yet. you decided to get a toy, recording yourself play with it for a while before groaning and giving up at the same out come.

editing that video and again sending only the good parts you guessed that you must have became camera shy out of nowhere. so you play with your pussy while the camera isn't on. you try everything in the span of 6 hours, reaching for your phone at hour 3 to watch porn because maybe you need a little help.

which lead to realizing aaron once again left you on read.

you genuinely felt as though you could cry now. that's when the realization hits you. you've must of been so hardwired to aaron that it's impossible for you to cum without him now.

feeling angry, not necessarily at aaron, but at the fact that he probably knew you couldn't come without him, that's probably why he was okay with ignoring you.

getting cleaned in the bathroom before going back to the bedroom with a frown on your face, you let out a huff as you plopped on the bed.

☆

waking up the next morning, you check your phone. feeling your heart drop and crawl it's self back in place you read the one message from aaron. sent hours after you went to bed, about 1 a.m., telling you how they had a break in the case and caught the guy in the act. which means he'd be home anytime today.

that'd usually make you ecstatic, but with aarons newfound discovery of ignoring you only God knows what your punishment will be.

☆

you spend the day cleaning the apartment, cooking aaron his favorite meal, even going as far as making brownies. also thinking it was better to clean the whole apartment too just in case.

☆

almost perfectly on time, when you're taking the brownies out, aaron walks through the door. 'hey baby' he greets, walking over to hug you. "at least he's not that mad" you think to yourself. 'hi' you reply shyly, letting your head rest on his chest.

you've missed this, and if kinda makes you feel bad for being a brat. looking around the kitchen, aaron smiles fondly at the food you prepared. then picks you up whole he spins to look at the whole apartment, he knows it's because you didn't expect him home so soon after acting out, but he still loves it.

'enjoy the time you have sugar, cause after we eat your ass is done for' he smiles grabbing a handful of your ass and pecking your lips, before letting you down and making his way to the table.

let let out a groan, but honestly expecting that food and dessert wasn't gonna save you from your punishment.

☆

your weren't that hungry so you finished before aaron. as soon as the last piece was gone from his plate, you shot up to start cleaning the kitchen. 'Ah, that can wait baby' aaron tells you as he gets up from the table and motions for you to follow. 'what? noo, I got it' you answer starting to wash the dishes.

aaron walked behind you, an amused smile on his face. which goes away after he sees that your purposely washing slowly 'the longer you take on the dishes, the more time is added to your punishment' he says, making you drop the fork out of your hands. 'what? that's not fair'. you try to argue only for aaron to turn around and make his way to your shared room.

saying fuck it you decided not to do the dishes and follow him to the room. 'you done?' he asks 'fuck you, yes' you reply. making him laugh while he sat on the edge of the bed.

'get undressed baby' aaron commands you. decideding to choose your battles wisely and not have you outfit ripped apart, knowing aaron is not only good for buying clothes but destroying them, you undressed.

moving over, you sit in the center of the bed like he always tells you. waiting for him to say something you patently wait playing with your fingers.

he gets up from the edge of the bed and turns to you 'had fun without me?' your boyfriend asks you. 'not at all daddy, it was so boring' you answer back. ' so glad your back now' you add smiling up to him.

he lets out a loud laugh at your answer. 'seems to me you had all the fun in the world' aaron says. shacking your head no, while he shakes his head yes 'I know you did baby and it's okay.' he speaks as he makes his way to the chair in your room. 'how many times did you cum?' he ask while getting comfortable.

'don't ask me that daddy' you groan. he chuckles while un doing his tie. 'you don't want to tell me baby?' he questions. Shacking your head no he just smiles at you before speaking 'go ahead nd show me baby'.

confusion feels your body as aaron watches you from across the room. 'what?' you whispered, silently praying that you misheard him.

'baby I want you to play with your pussy while I watch' he admitted as if it was a mundane request. 'show me what you did while I was gone' he told you with a smirk.

shacking your head no, you desperatly thank of anything to get you out of this. 'that's so embarrassing daddy' you tell him as you pout.

your pussy is getting wetter by the second but you didnt know if you'd be able to cum. or even worse if you'd be allowed to.

before you could blink aaron got up and exited the room. you were confused to say the least and once he returned with a lighter that confusion only grew.

that was, until he went into your shared closet.

your jaw hit the floor as you see him walk out with one of your favorite pairs of heels. 'aaron what are yo-' 'shh baby' he cuts you off tossing your heels infront of the bed.

'they're just encouragement' he says as he reclaims his seat, lighter in hand 'but know that you'll be punished one way or another' he says plainly.

letting out a whine 'this isn't fair' you tell him wich in return earns you an eye roll. '10 minutes' he speaks. 'huh?' you question '10 minutes' he repeats.

'10 minutes to cum or you'll have 10 minutes to say goodbye to your shoes. you pick.' he clears up slightly shrugging his shoulders.

expecting your embarrassment you lay back down and prop your knees up. 'is that good?' you ask to which you get no reply. you drag two fingers through your slit and to your entrance. collecting your juices before letting them dip in.

you let out a moan, letting your body relax as you bring your finger out and back in. you cant lie about how good it feels, humiliation and all.

dragging your fingers out you bring them to circle your clit. you look at aaron and notice his intense gaze on your pussy in return you let out a whine and feel your pussy clamp around nothing.

you speed up your fingers and bring your other hand up to grope your breast. surprisingly to you, you can feel your orgasm building up.

adding more pressure to your clit to chase your orgasm it seems to finally click for aaron that your about to cum. to say you could see the disappointed on his face would be an understatement, "ill let her have this tho" , he thought to himself.

your shut your eyes as tight as they could as your feel the coil in your abdomen burst 'oh fuck daddy' you moan out as your orgasm washes through you.

breathing deeply as your legs twitched you finally opened your eyes to see your boyfriend on his phone. 'aaron what the fuck are you doing' you question as you see him typing away.

he barley spears you a glance before going back to typing and saying 'spencer said you wouldn't be able to cum on your own by now'

tag : @jxvipike

a/n☆ this is the 3rd version of this story bc tumblr deleted the other two 😺 not proof read, so mb for any mistakes😻😽 - daisy

#girlblogging #aaron hotchner x reader #black fanfic writer #x black fem reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #bau x reader #aaron hotchner x reader smut #aaron hotchner x you #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds smut #anon ask #bimbo reader #hottest girl in mourge #brat reader #bd/sm brat

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certaimromance · 3 months ago

Text

ꫂ ၴႅၴ Effects of the Curse.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!reader

Summary: After receiving some outside comments, the topic of marriage comes up. Unfortunately, you and Aaron have different views on the matter.

Words: 2,7k.

Warnings & Tags: mention to marriage, divorce, jack and haley. angst WITHOUT happy ending. established relationship. about a year after hotch's departure from the fbi. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: As a person who wants to get married, this is pretty personal lol.

You were leaning against one of the kitchen counters as you waited for the water you had put in the kettle to heat up and allow you to brew coffee. Behind you, you could hear your boyfriend rummaging through the cupboard for your favorite mug and carefully placing it next to his, going through the same routine the two of you had already established.

But something was feeling different this time.

It had more to do with your memories of the family dinner you'd gone to the day before, where there hadn't been a single person who hadn't asked when you were going to officially become Mrs. Hotchner, when you were going to take that big step down the aisle, and maybe even expand the family beyond that. It was a little silly for you to think so much about it, because those were the typical comments people made when they saw a functioning couple, and it had happened to you before with ex-boyfriends you took home, but this time it felt more serious.

Maybe it was because of how your heart was racing as you imagined wearing a ring that would show your total commitment to love someone to death, or maybe it was how Aaron reacted, or rather his lack of reaction, and how much that bothered you.

The sunlight streaming in through the kitchen window and filtering through the trees in the yard had you so mesmerized at that moment that you barely felt when his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer to him. You were so caught up in your thoughts that you let out a slight sound of surprise and relaxed a little under his touch.

“What is on your mind? Perhaps the new coffee maker we should definitely consider purchasing?” He asked with a cheerful tone.

Yes, you two definitely had to buy a new one after the old one suddenly stopped working. But that wasn't what you were thinking about. You were a long way from that.

“Sure, we should do that.” Your answer was blurted out almost out of obligation and came out robotically.

He wasn't stupid, nor had he lost the habits of a profiler after so many years as one. He knew you well enough to know that something was troubling you, even if he didn't know exactly why. He pulled you a little closer and planted a small kiss on the top of your head, tightening his grip on your waist a little more to comfort you as he spoke.

“Darling.” He murmured softly, wanting you to give him your full attention. “I can practically see the gears turning in your head, what's wrong with you?”

You, were what you wanted to say.

“Nothing, just...it's been a long day.” That was all that came out of your mouth.

To tell the truth, it had been an exhausting day, and at least you hadn't lied that much. You had been very restless, trying to do many things to keep the destructive thoughts out of your mind, and it had made you quite tired.

“Don't try to fool me. I know you well enough to know when you are lying.” He gently pinched the sides of your waist and turned you to look into his eyes.

“I...I was just thinking about some things my family said yesterday.” You finally confessed, your voice a little shaky, as if telling him would embarrass you.

“Like what?” He furrowed his brow in concern, brushing a hand against your cheek in that way that always made you feel a bit weak in the knees.

His touch was so warm and loving against your skin, and for a moment, it almost made you forget what you were thinking about. Almost.

“Just a few things about how I haven't married you yet, and...” You didn't even want to finish the sentence, feeling your heart beat a little faster as the words got stuck in your throat. “That we don't have, you know, kids.”

Aaron took a quick look at your face as he heard your confession. His heart clenched a little as he realized what you were talking about, and he couldn't help but be curious about it. The topic of marriage and having children hadn't come up much since you started dating because he already had Jack and had been married once. It was a goal he'd already achieved. However, he knew it was a topic that needed to be discussed, as he saw your worried expression and slightly trembling voice.

He put his hands on your shoulders, giving them a gentle massage to relieve the tension. He didn't want to seem careless or unconcerned, so he spoke after pausing.

“And you were worried because...?”

He looked at you with a kind of intense gaze that made you feel like your heart was going to burst out of your chest at any moment. As he massaged your shoulders, you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself.

“Well, from the way you reacted, I guess.” You admitted, your voice full of doubt. “I mean, I know we haven't really talked about it, but...it's hard to know what you're thinking when the subject comes up and you have that cold expression on your face, like it's nothing relevant.”

His expression softened, and he brought his hands to your face, cupping your cheeks to make sure you were looking directly at him.

“You know very well that I have already taken care of that.” He said softly, trying to find the best words. “Marriage, children...I had that. I have Jack. And he's enough for me.”

Enough for him. Were you too?

His words had a surprising effect on you, leaving you with a somewhat bitter taste in your mouth. Despite this, you maintained a calm exterior, striving to conceal your true feelings.

“And what about what's enough for me?” You inquired, addressing the issue with a candor you had previously avoided. The words emerged from your mouth almost involuntarily.

Hotchner was taken aback by your question. The way you asked it gave the impression that you were accusing him, although he was unsure if this was the intention. He took a deep breath, searching for the most tactful way to respond to your words.

“I...I didn't realize.” He began, pausing for a moment to collect his thoughts. “You never mentioned that you wanted to get married or have children. I thought you were happy with our current situation.”

“Not really.” You admitted, avoiding eye contact as you looked down at the floor. “I mean, I really love Jack, he's a wonderful boy.”

Aaron listened intently as you continued, your words coming out hesitantly.

“And being with you...it makes me so happy.” You sighed and leaned back against the kitchen counter. “But…I feel like I need more. I want more, and I'm not necessarily talking about a child. I want to know that you belong to me as much as I belong to you.”

Aaron walked over and stood in front of you, placing his hands on your hips. He stared at you as he spoke, his voice soft but firm.

“Darling, my love...I belong to you, and you belong to me, and you don't need a ring to know that. If you want one, I'll buy it for you, that or whatever you want.”

You let out a small sigh and leaned closer to him, resting your head on his chest. You could hear the steady beat of his heart as he held you tightly and his body enveloped you in a warm embrace.

“I know.” You said quietly, the words somewhat muffled against his shirt. “But it's not just about the ring. It's about the commitment, the symbol of our union...and how that gives me security.”

He ran his fingers through your hair gently as he listened, his touch soothing against your scalp.

“Listen to me.” He began, his tone affectionate. “I've always been committed to you. From the moment I allowed myself to open up to you to the first night we spent together, and every day since. You know it. Does it really take a ceremony to make you believe it?”

When you looked at him, you felt a rush of emotions. You knew he loved you, and he was right. He had shown you his commitment many times. You had even been living together for a couple of years. But there was still a part of you that longed for that tangible symbol of love.

“I don't doubt you.” You said, choosing your words carefully. “But it's about symbolism. Having physical proof of our commitment shows the world how firmly bound we are to each other. And I know you believe in it. You were married once for a reason.”

Oh, that's a sensitive topic.

He let out a small sigh when you mentioned his previous marriage, and his fingers stopped stroking your hair. It was an uncomfortable and painful subject he didn't like to talk about, especially with you. The memories of his failed marriage were difficult to process, not only because of Haley's death but also because of the many problems that had plagued their relationship before its sad end.

“Maybe I believed that before, or at least I thought I did.” He replied after a short pause. “But that doesn't mean I want to go through it all again.”

“Even with me?” You asked softly, lifting your head to look into his eyes. There was a hint of vulnerability and sadness in your expression, your heart trembling slightly in anticipation of his answer. “Even in the future?”

Aaron observed your expression and the slight shift in your demeanor. He was aware of the impact his words could have on you, and he took care to choose them carefully. He gently traced your features with the back of his hand, his thumb gently moving across your face.

“This isn't about you or time at all.” He said in a soft voice, trying to express his love for you. “I just couldn't go through that again. The expectations, the disappointment, the divorce. It's too much.”

As he spoke, he paused and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to contain his emotions. His previous marriage had left him deeply scarred, and the thought of suffering the same fate again, especially with you, filled him with dread. He silently prayed every day that history would never repeat itself.

But your situation was quite different. The concerns he expressed, which he did not fully explain, only served to increase your doubts. You were aware that Aaron had every reason to be fearful after experiencing so much in the past, but you were surprised that he seemed to be afraid to be with you in front of the law.

How could he be so sure that a marriage with you would end in divorce? If his demanding job could no longer be the cause of the failure, could it perhaps be something else? Could it be you?

“You're not the same as before, and I'm not-” You started to say when you were interrupted by a loud whistle.

The unexpected sound of the kettle whistling gently interrupts the moment between the two, if only for a brief moment, allowing you both to take a breath.

He carefully put out the fire and poured the steaming water into the cups he had thoughtfully prepared earlier. He then added a teaspoon of sugar to each and a little milk to yours, taking care to ensure it was just the way you liked it. As you both watched the hot liquid swirl in the cups, he let out a sigh. Aaron felt a sense of responsibility, knowing he wasn't able to deliver what you desired.

Hotchner handed you your cup with care, ensuring that he did not accidentally burn himself in the process. The kitchen fell silent as he stood next to you while you both sipped your coffee, lost in your own thoughts.

The taste of coffee with a little milk on your tongue distracted you from the heavy atmosphere that had settled between you and him in the kitchen. In that moment, you took the opportunity to watch him closely and try to decipher what he was thinking. Maybe use a little of what you had learned from being with a profiler for so long.

His face was set, and you could easily see the emotion in his eyes. He was not happy with the conversation, and his expression had given him away from the first crossword on the subject.

When Aaron noticed you staring at him in the midst of his silence, he looked up into your eyes and held them for a few seconds. He knew exactly what you were trying to do, but it didn't bother him. Being a profiler, he found it ironic, and a small smile appeared on his lips.

“You can look at me all you want.” He said with a dry laugh. “And try to profile me if you want.”

“It's not that...” You began to say, but you knew he was right. That was precisely what you were attempting to do, trying to discern his feelings, even utilizing some profiling techniques he had taught you himself. You let out a small sigh, feeling a little foolish for your lack of subtlety.

Of course he'd realize. The man could leave the FBI, but the FBI couldn't leave the man.

“I find it challenging not to.” You confessed, tilting your head and taking a sip of your coffee. “I've picked up on some of your habits, I suppose.”

He let out a soft chuckle, acknowledging that you were trying to get a read on him and feeling relieved to see the earlier tension ease. He lifted the cup to his lips and took a small sip, letting the hot liquid warm his insides before speaking in a friendly tone.

“And what have I taught you?” He asked, raising an eyebrow curiously.

“A few things.” You replied, with a hint of sarcasm. “Like how to spot lies, read body language, and how to read people well. Basically, all the skills required to be a profiler, except how to not profile your loved one.”

“I see your point.” He replied, a soft smile on his face, grateful that things between you were feeling good again. “Perhaps I should have taught you that last part too, but you would have made a good profiler.”

“I would have made a good wife too.” The comment came out before you could stop yourself, and you immediately covered your mouth with your fingers after saying it.

Aaron's smile faded as soon as you spoke, and the tension in the room intensified. He exhaled, a combination of fatigue and frustration, and placed the half-finished coffee on the counter behind you before crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“I'm sorry.” You spoke up before he could even open his mouth, hoping to get a word in first.

“Don't.” His answer came almost automatically.

It was then that you grabbed your cell phone after hearing it vibrate, hoping to avoid the situation. “It's the seamstress. Jack's costume is ready.”

He nodded silently as you picked up the cell phone from the kitchen table. The comment was still in the air, and you sensed that he had heard it, but he didn't react at all. Instead, he seemed relieved that the awkward moment between the two was over, if only temporarily.

Thank you, Halloween.

After a brief pause, Aaron inquired gently. “Would you like me to accompany you to collect it?”

“I believe it would be best if I went alone.” You replied after a moment. “I need to take some time to process things, and you need to wait for your son. He will be out of school soon.”

Aaron felt a slight discomfort in his chest at your words. He recognized the truth in what you said, that some time apart might be beneficial for both of you to reflect on the conversation and all that was left unsaid.

And after that, you proceeded to retrieve your keys and walked through the door without so much as a moment's hesitation. This time, there wasn't even an ‘I love you’ or a goodbye kiss as a reminder that all was well. This time, the silence conveyed a message that was perhaps more profound than any gesture or sweet word.

In the end, the marriage was scarier than any Halloween costume.

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