#not much on Aaron as of yet but a little mention

[maladaptive-daydreamer-23]

Petrichor and Plasma

A/N: I wrote this for my dearest friend @cringeiknow <3 love you bestie <3 It's also posted on AO3 if you prefer to read there! I will drop the link below. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!

Love, Mal <3

Summary: On a case in Alabama you find yourself facing your worst fear- thunderstorms. To your surprise, you don't have to face it alone.

Warnings: mentions of canon typical violence, unsub critically injured via lightning strike, cursing, Thunderstorms, anxiety, implied age gap.

Tags: Aaron Hotchner/reader (No use of Y/N) Angst, fluff, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, soft Hotch, pre-relationship pining.

Word count: 5.4k

Ao3 link here

Aaron had always loved the smell of rain. He didn’t know why, there was no formative memory or specific reasoning for his love of the scent. He just liked it. So naturally he also loved rainy days. He liked to watch the raindrops run down the floor to ceiling windows in his office, and occasionally lightning would streak across the sky and he always thought it was so—majestic. Rain on the roof at night was the perfect way to fall asleep. It was soothing and it kept him in a deep sleep all night. Rain brought life in the spring and rainbows almost always followed. He just loved rain.

This week though, the rain was nothing but a hindrance. The team had been on the trail of an unsub in Alabama who was using the line of thunderstorms moving through the south as cover, and part of his ritual. This unsub only killed when it was raining, which doesn’t sound like a huge issue, it only rains every few weeks in the south in the summer so the team should have had plenty of time between the third kill and the next rainy day to make progress and complete a profile. Right? 

Wrong. The entire south was experiencing a tropical depression because of the hurricane that had just hit the Gulf a few days before. Which meant, it was raining incessantly, and the unsub was now officially on a spree. 

To make matters worse, the worst of the storms were due in the next few hours and they were coming with severe weather warnings. The local meteorologist was calling for strong straight line winds, hail, electrical storms, and—at the worst—possible tornadoes across the state. Reid had been watching the forecast all day, and Aaron was sure that thunderstorms and supercells were going to become his newest hyperfixation. 

The unsub hadn’t struck today. Not yet. That was the most frustrating part of this whole case, the team had racked their brains over it for the entire week, but they could not figure out how the unsub was choosing his targets! It was about to drive Aaron up the damn wall. 

“Hotch! We got another one!” Morgan called from the doorway of the breakroom where Aaron had been standing behind Reid, attention fixed on the radar and the line of storms that was bearing down on their location. “It’s on the other side of the county.”

Aaron sighed heavily and squared his shoulders. “Let’s go and see what we can gather from the scene before these storms hit.” He said, looking from Morgan to Reid. “Why don’t you stay and keep an eye on those storms, that way you can call us if we need to take shelter.” 

“Sure.” Reid said, barely glancing over his shoulder at him as he said it. His focus solely on the weatherman’s words and the bright colors splayed across the screen. Aaron shook his head at Reid—fondly, despite the circumstances— and started toward the door, where Morgan had already disappeared to gather the rest of the team. Until he noticed you.

You were sitting at a table in the corner of the room, eyes locked on the TV, brows furrowed. 

As the newest member of the team—having joined only three months prior—Aaron didn’t know much about you personally. He knew you were a hell of an agent, and a brilliant profiler for your age. He knew you got along great with the rest of the team and he knew that he’d like to get to know you a little better when he had the time. He liked to know as much as possible about his team, it helped him to lead. You were usually bright and cheerful. A bit of a smart ass, but in an amusing way that was never truly disrespectful. You often had the team in fits of laughter with a well timed one liner and he appreciated your ability to lighten the mood on occasion.

This afternoon, however, you were quiet. Skittish and even bordering on paranoid. You jumped at loud noises and every time he’d said your name it had taken him three or four tries to get your attention. It was unlike you to be so distracted—as far as he was aware anyway—and it was beginning to concern him. Currently, your knee was bouncing a mile a minute and you were snapping a hair tie against the skin of your inner wrist while biting your cheek. Christ, you looked tense.

“Hey.” He murmured, stepping between you and the TV to get your attention without startling you. 

“Huh? Sorry Hotch, did you say something?” You asked him, shaking your head as if clearing it like an etch-a-sketch. 

He smiled at you, though his concern was clear. “I hadn’t yet, no. I was just trying to get your attention.” He explained gently, stepping a little closer and studying you while you were disoriented. He’d often found himself studying you. He wasn’t sure what it was about your features that drew his interest so often. He found you pretty, beautiful if he was being totally truthful, but you were also… young. Young enough that he shouldn’t notice how pretty you were—but his brain didn’t seem to get the memo. It was an issue. 

“Oh.” You mumbled, your voice quiet as you barely managed to maintain eye contact. Thunder rolled softly in the distance and your eyes darted to the nearest window, widening slightly as you startled. Hmm. He’d ponder that later.

“Are you coming?” He asked you expectantly. “Morgan just said we have another victim.” 

You once again looked around him to the TV and then looked back at him. Then frowned. “Actually, I think someone should stay behind and pay attention to the weather. Just in case.” You volunteered. 

“Yes, that's what Reid is doing.” He told you then nodded his head toward the door. “Come on.” He prodded, not thinking anything else of it. “We’ll need you at the scene. We’re trying to get back before the next line of storms hits.” 

You looked like you wanted to argue, which was strange because you had never given any push back over a simple instruction before. He raised an eyebrow at you—waiting for some sort of explanation— and you sighed softly, standing from your seat and walking to the door without a word. He’d have to check in with you later. 

************************************************************************

You HATED thunderstorms, the only good thing about them is petrichor. You loved petrichor. However, lightning and thunder might as well have been the bane of your existence. You’d been dreading it all week. The last few days had just been incessant rain. A constant, miserable, humid downpour that had made you feel as though you were never going to be dry again. You hated that too. Tonight though, that would be the absolute cherry on top of a terrible week. You were so glad you had grown up in the Mountain West region of the States, where hurricanes didn’t exist and tornadoes were so rare there hadn’t been one in your lifetime. The high altitudes and dry air didn’t allow for it. Thank God. 

In the back seat of the SUV you noticed that Hotch kept glancing back at you in the rearview mirror. You didn’t know why, or what you had done, but you were sure you were in trouble— for something… That was just another thing to add to your ever growing list of grievances, but one you’d worry about later. Those thunderheads in the distance were growing ever closer, and the nearer they got the louder the thunder became. Every distant flash of lightning had made you more and more anxious. So Hotch’s possible ire would just have to wait. It was going to take all your energy to maintain focus on the scene, so you didn’t have any left to worry about him. 

The crime scene was at a trailer park. The last place you wanted to be with bad weather on the way. The poor victim had been killed sometime during the previous night. No one heard or saw anything because of the rain. Hotch had split the trailer into sections for you all to go over and pick apart. You could hardly focus as you looked around the small bedroom. It was girly frilly and soft, everything was either baby pink or cornflower blue. She had lived alone but she had pictures of friends and family everywhere. There was so much blood, it drenched the bed and splattered the walls and one word kept coming to the forefront of your mind: overkill. It was entirely unsettling, especially as the flashes of lightning grew brighter and the thunder got louder and louder. 

“What do you see?” Hotch’s voice made you jump and let out a small shriek. You’d been alone in the bedroom, and you hadn’t heard his footsteps coming down the hall over the a/c unit in the window. You panted as your heart rate spiked and you tried to settle yourself with a hand on your chest. “Sorry, I didn’t intend to frighten you.” 

“S’okay.” You breathed on an exhale, waving off his concern dismissively. You looked around the room once more before you attempted to give him a response, hoping to see anything you may have missed before. “She was loved. She wasn’t a loner like the last guy, she had friends and a family. She was tidy, there’s nothing out of place—besides the blood— and everything is completely aesthetically pleasing. She liked order, or she had just finished a deep clean. But more importantly, she made this space homey, she was comfortable here. It’s not the ritz but she was making it work. 

“She graduated from the University of Alabama in May. It’s August so she’s probably only been living here for three months at the most and look at what she’s done with the place. I mean, it’s not my style, but it’s nice. Very sorority, but nice. She wanted to feel at home here. The degree on the wall is in early childhood education, and I’ll bet Garcia is gonna tell us she was going to be working at the nearby elementary school we passed on the way over when school starts back next week. 

“Given the amount of pictures, the fact that she was in fact in a sorority, and seemed to be a ranking member, I’d say she was probably outgoing. That’s really all I can gather about her from the appearance of the room, I haven’t gone through her closet or drawers or anything like that yet. I had to wait for the coroner to move her body.” 

He studied you intently while you spoke and you just pretended not to notice. 

“Good, that’s good.” He murmured, glancing around the room as well and then nodding at you. “What about our unsub? What does this room say about him?” He asks you, looking you over with a soft curiosity.

That's when you realized this was a test. Or maybe a teaching moment? You were unsure, but you knew he was looking at you expectantly and you didn’t want to disappoint him. You know it’s probably silly, but you have a thing for Aaron Hotchner. He drives you absolutely crazy with his dad bod and unruly hair that he keeps cut short because of the cowlick above his forehead. You can’t help but stare at his enormous hands and sometimes you giggle to yourself at the way they dwarf absolutely everything. His phone, pens, the hands of other men when he shakes them, your hands… Which you know because he helped you down off a chair the other day when Penelope couldn’t reach something she needed on a shelf even with the chair. You and JJ were the only ones there to help her and you’re taller than JJ but still not quite tall enough to reach the shelf from the floor. So you climbed on the chair, then Hotch came into the bullpen and almost had a fit because apparently standing in rolling chairs is dangerous—as if you don’t hunt serial killers for a living—and he demanded that you get down. Carefully. He offered you his hands before you stepped down and so you accepted the help—because you thought he might actually pass the fuck out if you just jumped— and that was when you realized that your hands looked like they were tiny compared to his. 

Focus.

You cleared your throat and looked around, before looking back at him and answering. “I just keep thinking: Overkill.” You gestured around the room. “This is different than all the other scenes, he didn’t do nearly as much damage to the other victims, or leave such a huge mess. It’s overkill, I’m just not sure why…” 

“But you do have an idea?” Hotch prompted you gently, his mouth quirking up at the corner in a rare smirk. 

You sighed and nodded slightly. “I think she fought back.” 

“That’s exactly the conclusion we all were coming to. Good work.” He said, and the added praise had your cheeks heating to a shade of red you were sure was unflattering. He turned to head back out the door, but stopped and looked over his shoulder to say something else. 

A loud clap of thunder beat him to the punch, scaring you absolutely shitless. You screamed bloody murder and jumped nearly out of your own skin. “Fuck!” You hissed, bending down to rest your hands on your knees as you tried to catch your breath. 

He startled at your outburst and then turned back to you. “Are you alright?” He asked softly, stepping back to your side and laying a gentle hand on your shoulder, squeezing firmly. 

You tried to laugh it off, waving a hand and chuckling awkwardly. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” You chuffed, giving him a weak smile. “The thunder just startled me, that’s all. I’m not a big fan of thunder and that one was super loud, it’s not a big deal. I’m fine.” You tried your best to be convincing, standing up straight and doing what you could to mask your anxiety. 

He was frowning at you, but he nodded his head anyway. Stepping away from you, he removed his hand from your shoulder and then went back to the door. “I was going to say, we’re about ready to head back to the station. We’ve seen enough and we don’t want to get caught out in these storms if we can help it.” 

Then he simply walked away, leaving you to regain a semblance of composure in the gore of this once cozy bedroom. 

************************************************************************

Aaron was now sure that something had his youngest agent on edge. You were normally unflappable, a crime scene like that one would have been just another day on the job for you. You’d seen worse, he knew you had because he’d personally been there with you. Maybe it was that the victim was near your age, or that she had fought back and you could see yourself in her. Maybe he’d just caught you off guard and that was what had unsettled you. 

But none of that rang true for him, not really, because you’d been anxious all day. Come to think of it, now that it had drawn his attention, you had seemed a little nervous all week and the longer this case went on the more nervous you got.

He tried to tell himself that the only reason he really noticed was because you were still new and relatively untested. He was just keeping an eye on his newest subordinate, making sure you were settling in alright. 

But that was bullshit too, and he knew it. 

You had finished “settling in” weeks ago. You fit in with this team so perfectly it was almost like you’d always been there. Your giggles ringing out through the bullpen as you laughed at Morgan’s jokes had become a familiar sound. Your gentle teasing of Reid now an everyday occurrence that he barely registered anymore. The way you popped your hair tie against your wrist to focus had become as recognisable to him as the way JJ chewed on pencils and Prentiss cracked her knuckles. 

You weren’t as experienced as the rest of them, sure. But you belonged here, with them. There was no question about it. He had no doubts about your potential and often he found himself relying on your uncanny ability to mirror others. If there was ever a time when he wasn’t sure when a person was a victim, witness, or suspect he had figured out that he could throw you into the room with them and you would sniff it out like a bloodhound. An empath, Penelope had called you. Hotch had thought he knew how to make empathy a tool and often used it himself to get what he needed from a witness or a suspect. However, the affinity you had for it was something he’d never seen before. It was like you crawled into the other person’s emotions, learned them, understood them, and molded them to fit your needs. It was an impressive interrogation tool and one he had taken full advantage of in the last few months, when the situation called for it. 

So he really had no reason to watch you as closely as he did. There was just something about you that drew him in. It wasn’t your beauty alone, he’d worked with plenty of beautiful women in the past. It wasn’t your age, that was what made him agonize over this the most, he felt like a perv every time he found himself watching you. It wasn’t just your personality, your beaming smiles and your quirky little laugh. It was a combination of everything and it was maddening. 

Now, back at the station he found himself watching you again. This time however, he was watching with immense concern. You were wound tight enough to break, your muscles tense and your face drawn. Your leg was bouncing wildly and you were snapping the hair tie on your wrist with such force he could hear the slap of it against your skin from across the room, it made him flinch each time. It was pouring down rain outside and thunder rolled every few minutes, each rumble causing you to twitch anxiously. The worst of the storms were due to roll in any minute now and the team had moved from the break room of the station to the basement, built specifically for nights like this. There was plenty of space and light down here to continue working on the case and so that’s what they’d all been doing. You, however, seemed to have nothing to contribute to the conversation. Instead staring into the empty corner of the room, a blank but worried look on your face. 

Thunder roared, shaking the whole building down to the foundation and suddenly the room was pitch black. A shrill scream rang out followed by a loud scrape of chair legs on the floor, a crash as the chair in question seemed to topple over and several other loud thuds as someone fled the room. He didn’t need light to guess who had run. 

The power came back on shortly once the generator kicked on, and the lights flickered now but they could deal with the minor annoyance. What he couldn’t deal with, was not knowing where you had gone and if you were alright. You might have hurt yourself running in the darkness like that. He was going to have to find you. Just in case. 

“I’m going to go check on her.” He said to no one in particular. “I’m not sure what that was about, but she ran into at least two chairs and a table on the way out, so she could be hurt.” 

The team nodded their agreement and he set out in search of you. 

It was raining so hard now that he could hear the drumming of it on the roof all the way from the basement. The thunder continued to shake the building with every crash of lightning and the wind was howling so loudly it sounded like a band of demons wailing through the halls. He searched every room of the basement until he finally found you. 

You were in the very back corner of a supply closet sitting on the floor with your knees tucked to your chest. Your head was buried in your lap so you did see him come in and you were pressing your palms to your ears so forcefully your elbows were shaking. You were rocking back and forth and your body was trembling. He could just barely make out the sound of your sobs over the wind and rain. 

“You’re not a ‘big fan of thunder’ huh?” He said softly, just loud enough to alert you to his presence. You looked up at him with tears rolling down your face. Sniffling, you wiped at your tears, it was useless to try though. Your cheeks were soaked and you were just smearing mascara everywhere.

“Sorry.” You gasped, barely able to get the word out because your breathing was so erratic that your chest was heaving and you were doing the uncontrollable hiccup thing that was nearly painful. He smiled at you kindly. “I’m terrified of thunderstorms. It’s pathetic, really I’ll be fine.” 

“Don’t apologize, it’s not pathetic. Not at all. Everyone is afraid of something. Thunderstorms are powerful and dangerous, it’s a perfectly normal thing to be scared of.” He said calmly, trying to soothe you. Walking closer and squatting down in front of you, he noticed a box of Kleenex on the shelf just above your head. Grabbing it and tearing back the seal, he pulled out a couple and handed them to you. You wiped at your face, noticing as you pulled the tissue away that there were black streaks on the white tissue. 

“Fuck…” you muttered, wiping harder at your face to the point that he was worried you’d rub your skin raw. 

“Here let me.” He offered, grabbing a clean tissue and reaching toward your face. He gently dabbed at the black streaks until he was satisfied that they were cleaned up enough. “There.” 

He brought his eyes back to yours, finding you staring at him in what he could only describe as shocked awe.

“How can I help you?” He asked, hoping his voice was calming and patient. You shook your head. 

“You can’t.” You whispered, your voice shuddering as you looked down again, avoiding his eyes and wrapping your arms around your knees. 

“Hey.” He whispered back, reaching out again to move your hair out of your face so that he could see your eyes. “Let me try, I can’t just let you sit here alone, terrified. I won’t do it. So tell me what helps at home.”

You scoffed and shook your head, new tears falling from your eyes and splattering on your pant legs. “At home I put in earbuds, curl up in a ball under a blanket in my bed and cover my head with a pillow to drown out everything but the music.” 

You looked up at him, your face embarrassed and expectant. As though you thought he’d make fun of you. He just nodded his head, a plan forming in his mind. He could work with that. “I’ll be right back, stay right here.” He murmured.

“Don’t worry I will.” You quipped, a tad sarcastically and he smiled softly, deciding that attitude was better than tears. “My ass is firmly glued to this spot.” 

He chuckled quietly as he left the room, in search of something to help you.

****************************************************

You watched him go with curious eyes at first, but the first peel of thunder after he disappeared had you shaking and crying again. You wished, briefly, that he had just stayed. He made you feel safer, just with his proximity to you. But then you dismissed the notion. You didn’t want him to witness your tears. The shaking, breathless, sobbing mess you referred to as your ‘ugly cry.’ Not when he was always so perfectly composed and put together. 

You’d never once seen him crack. Nothing flustered him. Not that you’d ever seen anyway. Granted you’d only known him a few months, and he’d been chasing serial killers for over a decade. Of course he was solid as a rock under pressure. 

You didn’t hear him come back. He didn’t say a word, just got to work. He’d found a couch cushion—somewhere—which he placed on the concrete floor against the wall near where you were sitting. The puff of air was what had alerted you to his presence again. 

“This should be more comfortable than the floor.” He murmured, gesturing to the cushion and offering a hand to help you stand. You took it and then sat, as he instructed, on the cushion instead. He didn’t stop there though, no, he had a few more tricks up his sleeve. “I couldn’t find a blanket, but this should swallow you whole and it’s already warm.” He said taking off his suit jacket and draping it over you carefully. Then he turned to a nearby shelf and picked something up, handing it to you. It was a set of headphones. “I borrowed them from Morgan. Do you have music on your phone?”

You nodded but then frowned and shook your head. “I left it in the other room.” 

“That’s okay.” He soothed, sitting next to you on the cushion. “I’ve got mine.” 

He fiddled around in the pocket of his slacks and extracted his phone. Retrieving the end of the cord, he connected the headphones to his cellphone and started to search for the app he needed. 

“Hotch, you don’t have to–” You started to protest, desperately trying to let him off the hook. 

But he interrupted you with a gentle nudge of his shoulder against yours. 

“I know.” He murmured, smiling at you kindly. “I want to.” 

You were speechless. Breathless. Unable to comprehend the words he’d just said. Because why? Why did he want to sit here with you in this tiny little supply closet and comfort you through your juvenile fear of thunderstorms. 

“Here. Put those on.” He instructed you gently. 

You didn’t move, still flabbergasted at the improbability of Hotch sitting here, with you, just because he wanted to. He raised a brow at you expectantly but you couldn’t get your hands to reach up and put the headphones over your ears. So he did it for you. Gently taking your wrists in his hands and guiding your hands up to your head then situating the headphones so they rested comfortably over your ears. He let go of your wrists and you wrapped your arms around your knees again, pulling his suit jacket tighter around your body. You watched him carefully, still trying to find a reason for his kindness. His mouth turned up in a slightly amused smirk as he looked down at his phone again and tapped the screen once. Julie Andrews' voice flowed into your ears and you snorted a surprised laugh. “You think you’re hilarious right now, don’t you?”

You bumped him back with your shoulder, playfully, without thinking about it. The song was My Favorite Things from The Sound Of Music. The main character, Maria, sings it to the children she nannies during a thunderstorm to take their minds off the fear and the joke is not lost on you. 

He laughed softly and looked over at you with a mischievous smile. “I’m honestly just impressed you got the joke. That’s an old movie.” 

“I think I’m morally obligated to refer to you as Fraulein Hotchner from now on.” You joked, sniffling a little because your nose was still running and you’re sure you looked SO attractive, not. He laughed at your joke and bumped your leg with his, on purpose. Your stomach flipped, and he changed the song to something slightly more modern. You say slightly because it was late eighties rock and it was a song you’d never even heard before, but you weren’t going to tell him that. He had the volume high enough that you couldn’t hear the storm, but low enough that you could hear him perfectly. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Of course.” He murmured, giving you a soft smile that lit you up inside. 

“What are you afraid of?” You whispered, and immediately wished you could retract the question, rambling an explanation instead of letting him answer. “I mean– you said everyone is afraid of something… this fear I have of thunderstorms seems… ridiculous, juvenile even. But it's real and I can’t shake it. So I was wondering… If maybe you’re being so kind because you also have an irrational fear?”

The soft smile remained, and he opened his mouth to respond– but was interrupted by a brutal shockwave of thunder that shook the ground and everything else. You whimpered involuntarily, ducking your head and clutching your knees tighter to your chest. He put his arm around your shoulders—without hesitation— and tucked you tightly against his side. “You’re safe, I’ve got you.” He murmured into your hair and suddenly you forgot entirely about the storm. You nestled in closer, not really caring about the unprofessionalism of the entire situation. You felt safe tucked under his arm like this, so you rested your head on his shoulder and he let you. 

“I hate, hate, hate thunderstorms.” You grumbled, huffing frustratedly. “Which sucks because I LOVE petrichor!” 

“What’s petrichor?” He mumbles into your hair again, talking so softly to you that your stomach was having a literal butterfly rave or something. 

“The smell of rain.” You sighed quietly. “I love it, but I can’t truly enjoy it because rain itself makes me anxious.” 

His thumb was softly stroking your shoulder through the material of his suit jacket and he laughed softly. “Is that what it’s called?”

“Mm hmm.” You hummed back. “Why?” 

“It’s my favorite smell, I didn’t know it had a name.” He murmured, his breath moving your hair so that it tickled your forehead. His phone started to ring, but he didn’t move to answer it. 

Then you realized that he couldn’t hear it ringing because of the headphones. “Your phone is ringing.” You murmured sitting up straight. 

He unplugged the headphones and answered it on speaker phone without ever looking at the caller ID. “Hotchner.” 

“Hey, did you ever find her?” Spencer’s voice rang out in the quiet as you took off the headphones. Too quiet, you realized after a beat, you couldn’t hear the rain any longer.

“Yeah, I did. You’ve got us both, what is it?” Hotch asked him. 

“Oh, good. We’re all going back upstairs, the storm is past us and the weather channel says it's over for the night.” Reid informed you. 

“Thank God…” You muttered, relaxing fully into Hotch’s side. He squeezed your shoulder reassuringly and smiled at you. 

“We’ll be right up.” Hotch said and started to hang up but Reid hurriedly interrupted him. 

“Wait! I was also supposed to tell you that we think we have our unsub.” He rushed out. 

“As in, we’ve got a strong suspect or we have him in custody?” You asked in confusion, glancing up at Hotch with your brows furrowed, only to find your expression completely mirrored his. 

“Both… Kind of.” Reid answered. “We got a call about a man who was trying to break into a single woman’s house and was subsequently struck by lightning. He’s in the hospital, but they don’t think he’s gonna make it. Which isn’t surprising given that lightning is molten plasma that is generally around 30,000 degrees Kelvin.” 

“Woah.” You muttered. Hotch’s face echoed your sentiment. 

“Thanks Reid, we’ll be right there.” He said and ended the call. “Are you alright to go back upstairs?” 

“Yeah, if the storm is over I’m good.” You replied. “Hey, if this is our guy, do we get to go home and get away from this horrendous weather?” 

He chuckled softly. “Yes.” 

“Oh good! Now I’ll have two things about thunderstorms to kind of— sort of— appreciate.” You joked, leaning forward to look back at him. 

“Oh yeah?” He asked, smirking softly. “What would that be?”

You grinned at him cheekily before chirping. “Petrichor and Plasma.”

[dannymillerfansite]

John Sudgen article and interview (also featuring Isabel Hodgins) from inside Soap Magazine.

[hoe4hotchner]

Can you write a story where the reader, a BAU member, is on maternity leave after she and Aaron just had a baby? One day, she goes to the office to bring their daughter to visit Aaron, only to find him in the bullpen with the agent who replaced her while she’s been on leave. The replacement has a crush on Aaron and doesn’t know that he’s married to the reader. The replacement becomes jealous when she sees how much attention Aaron is giving their daughter and confronts the reader, but Aaron gets angry and ends up firing her."

Family first | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader | WC: 1.1k | CW: Fluff, mom!reader, they have a daugther, bitch of a replacement coworker who doesn't know her place.

As you stepped into the all too familiar bullpen you were met with the usual sound of phones ringing, keyboards clicking, and the occasional laughter bubbling up from conversations between team members. You hadn’t stepped foot in the office in months — your maternity leave had been an endless storm of sleepless nights, diaper changes, and indescribable moments of joy. Now, cradling your six-month-old daughter in your arms, you stood at the threshold of the office, taking it all in — realizing how little you'd missed working, as long as you got to spend your time with your daughter.

“Ready to surprise Daddy?” you cooed to your baby, brushing a soft kiss against her fluffy head. She giggled in response, her little hand grasping at your necklace — the one Aaron had gotten you with a charm of your daughter's initial. Her chubby fingers wrapped around the charm, and you couldn’t help but smile at her curiosity.

Heads turned as you had entered, and a wave of warmth spread through you as familiar voices from your friends greeted you.

“Y/N!” Garcia’s exclamation came first as she flew across the bullpen, pulling away from her conversation with Morgan, her colorful dress trailing behind her. “Oh my gosh, let me see that precious little angel!”

You laughed, carefully handing over your daughter as Garcia immediately began cooing at her. Emily, Morgan, and JJ soon gathered around, their faces lighting up at the sight of the baby.

“Look at those cheeks,” Morgan said, his voice soft as he tickled her tiny hand. “Hotch better have her signed up for karate classes already. Gotta keep the boys away.”

“Or girls,” Emily added. “She’s going to be a heartbreaker either way.”

You beamed at their affection, the team’s love for your little family filling your heart. “Where is Aaron?” you asked, glancing toward his office. The blinds were drawn, but you knew he wasn’t inside.

JJ nodded toward the conference room. “He’s in there, showing something to Agent Morrison.”

Your smile faltered slightly at the mention of Morrison, the agent who had been brought in temporarily to cover your leave. You hadn’t met her yet, but you’d heard through the grapevine that she was ambitious, skilled, and confident — maybe a little too confident.

You spotted Aaron through the windows, his back turned as he reviewed what you assumed were some case files with Morrison. He looked relaxed yet tired, his tie slightly loosened, though his usual air of authority remained in place. Morrison stood close to him — a little too close — her laughter ringing out at something he said.

Your lips pressed into a thin line, but you pushed the feeling aside. Aaron was your husband, your partner, and the father of the baby currently making grabby hands at Morgan’s face. You had no reason to feel insecure.

Morgan handed your daughter back to you as you went to greet your husband.

And still, as you approached, you couldn’t help but notice the way Morrison’s body language leaned toward him, her hand brushing his forearm as she laughed again. Aaron didn’t seem to notice — or if he did, he wasn’t encouraging it.

When you reached the conference room, Aaron glanced up, and the moment his eyes met yours, his entire demeanor softened.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice filled with warmth and surprise. His gaze immediately dropped to the baby in your arms, and he stood quickly, coming around the desk to envelop you both in a hug.

“You should’ve told me you were coming,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple before gently brushing a finger across your daughter’s cheek. She squealed in delight, reaching out for him, and he took her into his arms with ease.

“It wouldn’t have been a surprise if I told you,” you replied, grinning as you watched him cradle her. “I figured you could use a break.”

Aaron’s smile widened, and he kissed the baby’s forehead before turning back to you. “I always have time for my girls.”

Morrison’s voice cut into the moment, a hint of confusion lacing her words. “Wait, your girls?”

You turned to her, offering a polite smile. “Hi, I’m Y/N. Aaron’s wife.”

Her eyes widened, darting between you, Aaron, and the baby. “Wife?” she repeated, her tone almost incredulous.

Aaron’s arm settled protectively around your waist as he nodded. “Yes, my wife. Y/N used to work here before going on maternity leave.”

Morrison’s expression shifted, her initial surprise giving way to something more guarded. “Oh. I… I didn’t realize.”

“Well, now you do,” Aaron said firmly, his tone polite but edged with finality, hoping that your visit would make Morrison drop her antics.

The tension in Morrison’s posture was clear as day, but she pasted on a smile. “She’s adorable,” she said, nodding toward the baby. “You’re very lucky.”

Aaron’s grip on you tightened slightly. “I know I am.”

The interaction seemed to conclude there, and Morrison excused herself, claiming she had paperwork to finish. But as the day went on, it became clear that the encounter had unsettled her. You noticed her watching you from across the room, her eyes narrowing whenever Aaron’s attention lingered on you or the baby.

Finally, as you were gathering your things to leave, Morrison approached you near the elevator. Her smile was tight, her tone clipped.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” she asked, glancing around to ensure no one else was within earshot.

You raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

Her polite facade dropped almost instantly. “You don’t have to flaunt your relationship in front of everyone,” she said sharply. “It’s unprofessional.”

Your jaw tightened, but you kept your voice calm. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

She scoffed. “You know exactly what I mean. Walking in here with your baby like you own the place, acting like Hotch is your personal property… It’s distracting and completely inappropriate.”

You blinked, stunned by the audacity. Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

“Agent Morrison.”

Aaron’s tone was ice-cold, and you turned to see him standing a few feet away, his expression thunderous. “A word, please. Now.”

Morrison’s face paled as she stammered, “I… I didn’t mean…”

“My office. Now.”

You watched as Aaron led her away, his posture stiff with fury. The bullpen had fallen silent, and you could feel the eyes of your colleagues on you, but you held your head high, refusing to let Morrison’s pettiness rattle you.

Minutes later, Aaron returned, his expression softer but still serious. He placed a hand on your arm, guiding you toward the elevator. “Let’s go home,” he said quietly.

As the elevator doors closed, you glanced up at him. “What happened?”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Morrison won’t be returning. Her behavior was unacceptable, and I made it clear that we won’t tolerate that kind of attitude here.”

You nodded, your heart swelling with gratitude and love for the man beside you. “Thank you.”

Aaron’s eyes softened as he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “No one disrespects my family,” he said firmly. “No one.”

[mrs-kmikaelson]

Your Five Truths

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader Summary: You have five simple truths. But when your relationship and your life are put on the line, you start to question what you believe in anymore. Warnings: reader is a bau tech analyst, serious angst, aaron is being mean, big argument, mentions of haley's death, references to foyet arc, home invasion, graphic descriptions of violence Words: 3.5K

Masterlist

a/n: there will be a part 2.

1. Aaron doesn't yell at you. 

If all else was unsure, then this was one of the five things you knew for certain. You weren't sure if he yelled at all. Maybe at work with criminals, but never with you.

This was still true.

Right now, he wasn't yelling at you. He was speaking in an even tone, but you knew him well enough to notice the difference. His voice was as cold as his rigid stance, like ice ran through his veins. His arms were crossed, and so, even if you weren't a criminal—even if you knew you were his fiancé—you sure as hell felt like one.

Standing on the other side of the kitchen island, you were in opposition of each other in every sense of the word.

You took a deep breath before speaking. "Aaron—"

He cut you off before the words could even leave your mouth. "We've had this conversation before. I've already told you how I feel about it."

You repressed the urge to take another breath, knowing he was a profiler. Knowing he could profile the discomfort all over you, regardless. But you picked up a few profiling tricks, too.

You could see the way he was staring at you. Like you were an idiot.

Maybe you agreed on that.

Idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot— 

You took the breath, anyway. "Aaron, I said I'm sorry."

You tried to step closer to him, and he didn't move away. But he didn't usher you into his arms, either.

And despite the fact that Aaron doesn't yell at you, you could tell he really wanted to.

"And I'm saying you shouldn't have to say sorry. We shouldn't be having this conversation because you shouldn't have done it," he scolded.

You took another step closer, rounding the counter like your body was trying to get him to physically understand, to remind him that you were on the same side.

"What was I supposed to do?" Your voice was desparate now, almost like you actually wanted him to answer. "You were working. I had to work. You weren't picking up the phone—"

"That's right," he cut you off again. This time, he stepped closer to you. "I was working. You weren't."

2. You have an equal relationship.

The second truth was what had you tilting your head. You were already flushed from the heat of the argument, but now you could feel yourself getting a little angry.

"What do you mean I wasn't working?" you questioned. "Yes, I was. Garcia said you called everyone in; you said to get there stat."

He was quick. "I meant everyone that was necessary. You aren't."

You could feel the cut immediately, etched deep into your skin. It didn't matter how he said it, frivolous or not—the words were sharp enough to cut you effortlessly.

You aren't necessary.

The words echoed through your head. Words you'd heard before, but never from him. Never from the man who swore to be better than everyone else who ever hurt you.

Yet, no matter how much you'd been hurt in the past, it hurt a thousand times more to come from him.

You waited for him to say something else, waiting for any sign of regret to cross his face.

Nothing did.

There were many times when you wished you had Aaron's poker face, but right now, you didn't have to try. The sadness flooding your body remained internal; the only thing that showed on your face was rage.

Your eyes narrowed. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Hotch doubled down, staring you right in the eye. "It means your job is an accessory. Garcia does the same job as you—you aren't needed."

That was a lie so blatant it made you scoff. You were a technical analyst for the BAU, and you'd proven yourself time and time again. Hotch was the one that hired you—he's the one that said he saw something in you.

Apparently not.

"I'm not needed," you echoed, sarcasm lacing your voice. "Right. So when an alert comes out that there is an active hostage situation and a potential terrorist threat, what do you expect me to do? Not come into work?" 

"Yes," he deadpanned. "Not when you're picking up my son."

You ran a hand through your hair, stuck in disbelief. "You can't be serious—"

"When you're picking up my son, what I expect is for you to take him home."

You spoke over him, countering, "I brought him to a place where I knew he'd be out of harm's way. You weren't picking up the phone. I did what I thought was best—"

"You brought him to Jessica—"

"I brought him to his aunt—"

For the first time since the conversation started, Aaron raised his voice just enough for it to stop you dead in your tracks. "You don't get to bring him to his aunt. You are not his mother!"

3. You are not Jack's mother.

You knew that. God, you knew that. You were there to see the carnage in the Hotchner household after Haley's death. The blood that splattered the walls. The boy who was too young to spell the word devastation but still felt it in his bones.

You knew you were not Jack's mother. You lived in a house with her pictures on the wall. Jack was a mirror image of her; he was her son, and you knew that. It was one of the truths you held the most conviction in.

It was the truth.

But you still recoiled, almost like Aaron had slapped you. A part of you thought maybe that would've hurt less.

All the fire you had was extinguished. You didn't have a rebuttal for that. What could you say? It didn't matter if you loved Jack like he was your own—that didn't change the fact that he wasn't.

You avoided Aaron's gaze, choosing to stare at the pattern of his tie instead and trying not to succumb to the sting in your eyes. You liked this tie; it was one of your favourites. You were close enough to him to see all its beautiful details.

But, at the same time, you'd never been further away from him.

Aaron still hadn't said anything, and out of fear that the dam would break if the silence continued, you spoke up. "I—" your voice cracked. "I know I'm not Jack's mother, and I'm not trying to be." You paused. "I was just doing what I thought was best."

You left it there, not knowing if the right words to say the right thing even existed. Saying the right thing was always Aaron's thing, not yours.

But whatever words he was going to say were cut off by the shrill pinging of a cellphone. Two cellphones.

Aaron picked up his first, sighing immediately. You didn't have to guess what it said. "We have another case." The heat in his voice was gone; he sounded like himself.

That didn't mean you felt any less burned.

"Okay, um—" you couldn't stop yourself from sniffling even if you tried. "I'll stay here and watch Jack. You go."

Another sigh left him. "Y/N—"

The sound of your name leaving his mouth almost made you cry, but you persisted, "No, you can go, it's fine." You chuckled if not just to make light of it for yourself. "I'm not needed there, anyway."

"Y/N."

"Aaron." You fingally looked up at him, and you saw it. Remorse swirling in his brown eyes. The same eyes that crinkled at the sides when you said you'd marry him. Somehow, that made it worse, knowing that it was the same person who said both of those things. Who built you up from scratch just to bring you right back to the bottom. 

You repeated yourself, "Go." The team needs you, you wanted to say. The only reason you didn't say it was because he'd already accused you of trying to be his past wife; you didn't need to prove him right.

You could practically hear the churning of his inner turmoil, torn between staying and leaving. It was pointless; you both knew what his decision would be.

When he reached for his go-bag, it was final. And in some ways, he was leaving more than just the house.

As if he could sense that, he turned around. "We'll finish this discussion when I'm back," he said. That was an anchor: telling you something about the present by talking about the future. When I'm back meant that he'd be back. Discussion meant you had something to talk about, a two-sided activity. We meant you were still one unit; you were still a we.

Maybe that's what he meant by it. If you scoured through his words and read between the lines, maybe you'd find the beginnings of an apology—in his own way, at least. But he wasn't sorry, not for what he said. If anything, he was only sorry that he said it.

You wouldn't profile him and ascribe meaning to words that didn't mean anything. We'll finish this discussion when I'm back meant you'd finish the discussion when he was back. 

When you replied, that was what you were replying to. "Okay."

You weren't okay.

This wasn't okay.

Aaron cast one last look at you before he crossed the threshold. You looked away.

And then he was out the door, leaving you in a house that no longer felt like your own.

—

"Y/N, my love, I thought I'd die without you!"

Penelope was on you as soon as you walked into the bat cave, shooting up from her chair and hugging you so tightly that you would've thought you'd been gone for ages. Really, you were only gone for a night.

You told Aaron that you wouldn't be coming in, and you were holding true to that, but you weren't gonna make Garcia work alone if she had to, even if she was perfectly capable of it.

You knew you weren't needed. Hotch was right: this ship could sail just fine without you. But you could help.

You'd just dropped Jack off at school, so now you were here, ready to work until you had to pick him up again.

You forced yourself to laugh at her words, causing her to hit your back. "No, I'm being serious! You're my oxygen—I can't live without you."

At that, you snorted. "Okay, Penelope."

She pulled back, resting her hands on your shoulders. "Seriously, though." She looked deep into your eyes, seeming to be looking for something. "Are... are you okay? I don't even think you've taken a sick day since... since forever."

You smiled at her exaggeration, even if it didn't really reach your eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine, P. I just have to leave early to go get Jack, and um... I'm gonna stay off camera today. And off the phones." You shifted your weight. "Not like it matters or anything, but I just don't really want Hotch knowing I'm here. I just want to stay in the background today, if that's okay?"

Her brows raised, but she quickly affirmed, "Yes, that's okay! Totally okay. We'll keep this 100% incognito."

It was in Garcia's nature to ask questions, so you knew she had them, but she didn't voice a single one.

You talked about work, and new bureau technology, and your next girls night, and everything but what you asked of her.

You'd never been more grateful.

—

It'd been two days since the team left, two days of bouncing back and forth between the office and back home with Jack. The son that wasn't really yours. The son that felt like yours, anyway.

If you were doing as good as you thought you were, then nobody knew you were even there. Garcia was telling the rest of them that you were sick. Your phone had been flooded with get well soon messages from everyone except the one person you really wanted one from.

Aaron hadn't spoken to you since he left. You wished it didn't hurt as badly as it did.

"Okay, Jackers! I think it's time we head to bed."

"What?" You held back a laugh at the incredulity in his voice, knowing that—for an 8 year old—this was a very serious matter. He looked at you with traces of shock, somehow looking everything and nothing like his father at the same time. "But it's only ten o'clock!"

"Ah, and yet it is still past your bed time. Mine, too."

Jack frowned—and there it was. There was that bit of Aaron you were looking for. "You say that, but you're just going to stay up after I go to sleep."

You couldn't suppress the smile on your face any longer. "No, Jack. I promise you I'm so tired, I'll be out as soon as my head hits the pillow." You ruffled his hair, your smile becoming a grin as he groaned. "Now go brush your teeth, little man."

Jack got up from the table, his little feet pitter-pattering across the floor as he made his way to the stairs. It didn't sound much like a pitter-patter anymore now that he was getting older, but he would always be the same little boy to you. So, "pitter-patter" it was.

Until suddenly, you heard a different noise.

Not pitter-patter.

The door.

Your eyes darted to Jack as he stopped in his tracks, then they darted to the door. The knob, turning lightly, gold glinting in the light. The sound of your own heart beating was just as loud as the turning. The person got impatient, the knob turning faster now, like someone was trying to pry it open.

Fuck. Fuck.

Your mind ran a mile a minute. That wasn't Hotch. You weren't expecting anyone, and whoever was at the door certainly wasn't asking for an invite in.

They were trying to force their way in.

Somebody was breaking in to the house.

With that realization, you were moving. "Jack." You caught his attention easily, spotting the fear on his face right away. More than fear. 

Familiarity.

He went through his before. Oh, your Jack. He'd been through this before, and he would know what to do. You did.

Conversations with Aaron flashed through your head, just-in-case scenarios, if then statements. Emergencies.

You knew what to do, too.

You just never thought you'd have to.

You grabbed onto Jack's shoulder, immediately feeling how his body was trembling. "Jack, I need you to listen to me." The knob got louder. You lowered your voice. "I need you to work the case, okay? Like with your dad. Do you understand me?"

His eyes went wide. "Wait, Y/N. What about you—"

"Jack. Do you understand me?" He went quiet, and then he nodded, making you sigh in relief. "Okay, take my phone. Call 911, but don't make a sound." You handed him the phone, and then you let go of him. "I love you." Your throat closed up. "Now go."

Jack ran up the stairs, and you were up automatically, trusting he'd do as you said.

It was like someone else was in your body, telling you what to do. You opened the pantry, looking where you'd never looked and typing numbers into a keypad you'd never touched.

Why do we need a safe in the kitchen? you had laughed at the time.

In case of an emergency, Aaron had said. You thanked his forward thinking.

The only way you knew that you were still there was by the violent shaking of your hands as the cool metal touched your skin. You'd only ever operated a gun once or twice. Did you even remember how to load it?

The door banged, making you jolt. You had to remember now. Come on, Y/N. Load the fucking gun. 

You thrusted the magazine into the well and then pulled back the slide. Another bang. You turned the safety off.

Hold the gun with both hands.

God, Hotch, when will I ever need to do this?

Well, I hope you never have to. But we can never be too safe.

Another bang hit the door, this time more forceful. We can never too safe. Tears flooded your eyes, and you promptly blinked them away.

Then. There was another bang, and this time, the door hit the wall.

You intook a sharp breath, hearing footsteps thump against the floor. You closed your eyes, focusing on the noise. One set of footsteps. 

Aaron's voice echoed throughout your head. Are you sure?

You screwed your eyes shut tighter, straining your ears. Yes. One person. Loud. Heavy. Male.

Okay, that's good. What else do you know?

You knew they spent a long time fiddling with the door knob before busting the door open. That could either mean they lacked physical strength or they were trying to taunt you. The second option. You knew this was a low-risk neighbourhood. You knew your car was out front. This wasn't about money. This was personal. Intentional.

You knew this was an FBI agent's house. You knew—

Wait. You strained your ears more, following the footsteps. They weren't heading for your direction. No. No, no, no, no.

Jack was upstairs.

You couldn't let this man go up there.

4. You love Jack Hotchner unconditionally.

Knowing number four makes you act fast with a determination you'd never felt before. The pantry door swung open as you left the enclosed space, instantly raising the gun in the air like it was weightless. 

You pointed it at your stairwell where a masked man stood, motionless. 

"You better stop right there, you son of a bitch," you threatened, cocking the gun like it was second nature to you.

The man raised his hands into the air slowly. He tilted his head at you as if he was trying to mock you.

And then he smiled.

Before you could even realize what was happening, he was running at you. Your eyes widened, pulling the trigger. You barely got to see if your shot made it before he was tackling you to the ground, knocking the gun out of your hands.

The back of your head hit the ground, making a sickening crack. You gasped for air, and then you were wheezing as the man's hands wrapped around your neck, squeezing tightly.

You looked up into his demented eyes, hearing not the sound of your own voice but Hotch's. Use what you see. Frantically, your eyes flew all over the unsub's body until you saw red staining black, right at his shoulder. 

Without thinking about it, you stuck your finger into the wound, hearing him scream. He was stunned enough that he loosened his grip, giving you the chance to kick him off of you.

You scrambled to your feet, searching for the gun and finding it in the middle of the living room floor. You dove for it right as he got back up, getting to you before you could try shooting again.

His hands wrapped around yours, trying to wrestle the gun from your hands. You held on like your life depended on it because it did. Your life depended on it— Jack's life depended on it. 

You fired a shot into the ground and then another into the wall as he fought you, knocking a picture frame off the mantle. You couldn't see where the gun was pointing anymore, but then, suddenly, pain radiated throughout your lower abdomen, and you knew it was pointed at you.

You gasped, looking down and seeing blood spreading through the white of your tank top.

You looked back up, seeing the asshole smile at you with his teeth. They were pearly white. So clean for a man so dirty.

You sought to make them red, too.

In a surge of energy, you twisted the gun out of his grasp and didn't think before pointing it at his head and firing.

You watched the bullet penetrate his skull before he fell to the ground. Like a domino, you followed, crumpling against the couch.

The gun slipped out of your hands and they immediately went to your wound, making you hiss in pain. You pressed down on it, feeling blood flow between your fingers like a river. 

Keep swimming. Keep your eyes open.

The fatigue hit you like a train. You blinked, trying to keep your eyes open, but they felt so heavy.

Jack. Jack was upstairs. He called the police.

He was okay.

You heard sirens in the distance. The police were coming.

You could sleep now.

And so, as you remembered your fifth truth, your eyes started to flutter closed.

5. You love Aaron Hotchner. And he loves you.

You let yourself fall into a dreamless sleep, hoping that somehow, on some plane of consciousness, he could hear you say I love you one last time.

You loved Aaron Hotchner. You knew that for certain.

You just hoped he still loved you.

[mariasont]

PRIORITIES & PRETTY THINGS - A.H

your beauty routine is sacred, but so is aaron's favorite way to decompress. looks like tonight you'll have to manage both

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI, smutty smut, kinda free use policy, hotch using u for stress relief, p in v, twinkie (boycotting the name creampie), alexa play CPR by cupcake, AFAB, fem!reader, praise, dirty talk, aftercare, maybe a little breeding kink? talk about kids for like a singular line at the end, also mention of their first kiss which can be read here but not necessary to understand wc: 2.9k

Your love affair with beauty did not have the glamorous, instantaneous sparkle like most people choose to assume. In truth, it began behind a bedroom door barricaded tight against preteen anxieties, something that was constructed by braces flashing in garish shades of bubblegum pink and galaxy purple and bangs unevenly chopped by an overly eager parent.

Yet, somehow, fumbling with frosty blue eyeshadow and watermelon-scented gloss taught you self-expression, how to build confidence from the ground up.

Puberty decided to throw you a bone eventually (thank god), but by then makeup had embedded itself as more than something done for vanity. You would consider it a soul-mate level connection nurtured through midnight eyeliner tutorials, endless afternoons reading magazine spreads, and racking up Sephora points that probably rivaled some small countries economies.

Aaron loves giving you endless grief about your overflowing vanity drawers. Overflowing being his word choice, by the way, not yours. He loves grumbling about the avalanche of cosmetic boxes spilling from your shared closet, loves sighing (dramatically) each time another package lands on your doorstep.

Your face looks perfect without this, he insists regularly, always cupping your cheeks so you’re forced to meet those sincere eyes of his. 

But he overplays his hand — all gooey-soft affection pulsing through his pupils, twitch tugging his mouth upward.

He would never actually begrudge something that makes you so shamelessly happy, even if your spending habits are probably sending him toward an emotional breakdown. Therapy’s overdue anyway, in your opinion.

But nothing, absolutely nothing, brings out Aaron’s inner drama king quite like watching you spend approximately a million years applying the very products he loves to call a sparkly money pit.

You’re wrist-deep in said sparkly money pit when Aaron materializes behind you. Not that it fazes you. Your boyfriend-detecting instincts are now advanced to border on psychic talent (and way hotter than being able to predict lottery numbers).

“Hi, handsome,” you greet, flicking your eyes up briefly to gift him your best flirty, mirror-reflected smile. 

You hope he’s sufficiently distracted by your lips to overlook the fact that you’re still nowhere near ready. And true to form, Aaron’s eyes drop obediently.

His fixation on your mouth is practically Pavlovian by now, something you first discovered when he walked headlong into a door frame mid-argument simply because you had pulled your lower lip through your teeth to avoid saying something that might’ve gotten you bent over his knee.

Needless to say, the fight was quickly forgotten, replaced by a much more enjoyable, hands-on type of interaction.

“Honey.”

You recognize that tone instantly, hearing it countless times before. It’s his signature prelude, a gentle warning shot before he points out the obvious — that Spencer and his girlfriend are undoubtedly sitting at your reserved table right now, politely studying menus, patiently pretending to understand your stylish definition of on time.

And then, right on cue, will come the entirely fair (but completely predictable) mention of your solemn promise to be ready to go the nanosecond his work call ended.

“Nearly ready, cross my heart. Just two more seconds. Okay, maybe three. But four tops. Five, like, absolutely worst-case scenario.”

Aaron’s fingertips skate possessively along your waist, slipping beneath your robe to reclaim their preferred real estate.

“I’m not particularly worried about being on time right now,” he murmurs into the shallow dip at your neck, nose nudging the sensitive spot just below your ear.

Your mascara wand skips slightly, completely giving you away. Not that Aaron’s much better at hiding it, his poker face vanishes at moments like this, evident both in the rigid slope of his shoulders and (oh, hello there!) in the very prominent, enthusiastic proof making itself known against your ass.

“Yeah,” you giggle, bumping your hips back against him for emphasis. “I can feel how not worried you are.”

You struggle to fathom how he managed stress before you. Occasionally, you entertain yourself by picturing it — Aaron Hotchner being told to inhale deeply through a mindfulness app? Or earnestly attempting downward dog stretches in your living room? (You’d pay good money to see that.) Or perhaps he’d stress bake, an apron hugging his waist, forehead creased in the cutest serious-face as he glares suspiciously at measuring cups.

Each scenario gets progressively more funny and less believable.

Once, in those deceptively ‘innocent’ days before your relationship became official, you suggested Aaron adopt a new workout regime to help loosen that chronic, tightly wound demeanor of his. Admittedly, you were implying something a lot less treadmill-focused and considerably more… horizontal.

He diplomatically chose to ignore your entirely transparent proposition. Outwardly, anyway. 

What neither of you anticipated, however, was just how accurate your advice would prove. Because nothing drains Aaron’s tension faster than having you trapped beneath him, diligently working out every ounce of strain against your eagerly receptive body.

Which is precisely why, employing your best bedroom voice, you once generously offered Aaron permanent, round-the-clock access to you anytime the mood might arise. No rules, no red tape. Just full, unrestricted access to you.

In hindsight, you should have anticipated the lengthy, serious discussion that ensued after.

Your easy-going, no rules proposition quickly evolved into an impressively comprehensive negotiation, complete with detailed guidelines and exhaustive clarifications.

His eyebrows had knitted together with that intensity of his, repeatedly insisting that you were always in complete control, and then thoroughly checking — then double-checking, then triple-checking — that your consent was crystal clear, until your cheeks burned hot from the combination of embarrassment and sheer excitement. 

Emphasis on excitement.

Knowing him though, you weren’t necessarily too hopeful that he would actually take you up on your offer.

But when he did, it happened so fast, your brain hardly registered the transition from scrubbing dishes to being perched on the countertop, skirt punches around your waist and legs spread.

He’d walked in fresh from a meeting with Strauss, appearing completely unruffled except for the thunderclouds brewing darkly behind his eyes.

Without even a hint of warning, he had hoisted you up onto the island, plunging into you with such sudden decisiveness that all you managed was a surprised little squeak, fingers digging into his shoulders as he split you open in demanding strokes.

Afterward, he casually tucked himself away, tidying his clothes as if straightening his tie after an entirely routine briefing.

He leaned back against the countertop — yes, the one that had been slicked with both your juices — and resumed your unfinished dishes, nonchalantly asking, “Did you do anything interesting today?” like nothing had happened.

Your cheeks run hot at the memory.

“You do realize Spencer will totally freak if we’re late, right?”

“Then you’d better keep working on that makeup,” he murmurs, sliding his hands lower, “and I’ll handle my own priorities.”

Aaron never bothers fully stripping down when taking advantage of this arrangement. And you know that some part of you should be frustrated at that. It should promote at least some token complaint about fairness or reciprocity or whatever.

But instead, the sight of him, belt hitting to floor with a decisive thunk, pants unfastened just enough to take what he wants, well, it melts any kind of objection from your head, leaving only knees feeling more akin to jelly.

You barely suppress a shuddering breath as his cock springs free, hot and demanding against your thigh, marking your skin with a tacky trail of precum.

You attempt to steady your hand, refocusing on your left eye, guiding the wand in patient strokes from base to tip, each swipe sculpting them into perfectly fanned-out strands.

Aaron, however, is far less concerned with patience or perfection. His fingers hook into your robe, tugging it upward to reveal your hips and ass in one movement.

Goosebumps burst along your freshly moisturized skin at the exposure, and even so, you swear the air feels about ten degrees warmer. His right palm flattens between your shoulder blades, tipping you forward, presenting your body like an inviting dessert for ravenous eyes.

He positions himself between your folds, the thick tip of his cock flirting at your entrance before gliding over your puffy clit in sluggish, repeated motions. Your lips fall open on a soft, breathy gasp, eyes blinking dazedly around the blackened spoolie.

A very distant (and honestly not very reliable) part of your brain registers mild surprise at how soaked you’ve gotten. Which is stupid because you should really should expect it by now.

Being with Aaron has transformed you into a creature constantly on the edge, trembling in anticipation, your senses warped in a constant, intoxicating fog of lust.

Living together had only exacerbated that lust a thousandfold. You were constantly surrounded by his addictive pheromones, wrapped nightly in sheets saturated with his heat, body trained to climb him on any remotely available surface — the couch, the corner of his desk, the shower, the bed (obviously), and even once, tipsily, sprawled across the living room floor after a bottle of wine dissolved all remaining inhibitions.

“Easy, sweetheart,” Aaron whispers, dragging his head at your now sopping opening. “Wouldn’t want to mess up your pretty face before dinner.”

“Awh, baby, you know I look even better when I’m —” The retort snaps into a choked-off whine as he pushes into your cunt with one fluid thrust. 

Your wrist spasms without permission, sending the mascara wand skidding haphazardly across your eyelid and streaking your cheek in sloppy black lines. Your pelvis crashes clumsily into the countertop’s hard edge, a sharp little reminder that maybe multitasking is apparently not your strong suit.

Aaron’s fingers card through your hair, sweeping it aside to bare your neck and shoulders. His other hand slowly peels your robe downward, exposing inch after inch of bare skin to his warm mouth.

Tender kisses rain softly down your spine as he draws his hips back, leaving you momentarily empty, only to surge forward again, ripping a sweetly startled whimper from your lips. 

The spoolie clatters into the sink, splattering the porcelain in the process.

“Guess it’s a good thing I don’t mind explaining to Spencer exactly why we’re late.”

He wouldn’t dare, of course he wouldn’t, but your body still preens at the implication, cunt tightening greedily around him as though daring him to prove you wrong.

Because, lately, Aaron has grown noticeably more brazen, perhaps due to the ease and intimacy building in your relationship, or maybe he’s finally giving into your bad (amazing, really) influence.

You’ve noticed it in tiny habits, like when he purposely rolls his sleeves up, putting those mouthwatering forearms on display after overhearing you confess just how much they distract you. Or how he picks ties that perfectly match his suits in ways you’ve gushed about, enjoying the obvious ways your eyes get stuck lingering in team meetings.

He’s even developed a charming habit of pointedly mentioning how wonderfully rested he feels each morning, making clear eye contact when Rossi wonders aloud why he looks so content.

He drives into you again, deeper, sending your nails clawing over the marble, arching yourself forward chasing every ounce of friction you can get.

But Aaron’s hand snakes around your waist, palm splayed across your stomach, guiding you upright until you’re pressed flush against him, the new angle forcing pleasure to surge hot and fast through every nerve ending.

His voice rumbles in your ear, “Keep working on your makeup, sweetheart. Or I’ll have to stop, and neither of us wants that.”

“Aaron,” you whine, drawing out his name in the most petulant, bratty tone you can muster, “I can’t.”

Instantly, he stills, cock fully seated inside you. You try to buck backward, trying to force your hips back against him, but his fingers clamp down around your waist, gripping with the kind of force that leaves marks you’ll admire later (like really cute, private trophies).

His free hand slips lower, fingertips pinching your clit.

You cry out, writhing against him. “Okay, okay, I’ll behave, just, please.”

Your hand fumbles along the vanity, nails knocking loudly into bottles and compacts until, finally, you find your lipliner. 

Aaron rewards your compliance by ramming back into you, obliterating any remaining hand-eye coordination. Your fingers wobble uncontrollably, resulting in an uneven, messy trail of color from your cupid’s bow to who-knows-where.

“That’s more like it. Look at you,” Aaron taunts, “Mouth open, looking so damn pretty.” His thumb lethargically grazes your overly-sensitive nub, causing your lips to part further, deepening your pout. He chuckles softly, clearly amused and more than a little cocky as he studies your reflection, eyes darkening. “Yeah, exactly like that, sweet girl.”

Aaron accelerates his motions, hips snapping roughly, hard enough to send you bouncing onto your tiptoes. Honestly, if his dick was any bigger, you’d need heels just to reach the floor.

Your robe begins to fall away from your shoulder, silky fabric separating to expose the swell of your breast, instantly capturing Aaron’s full gaze, pupils blown wide.

His hand deserts your waist, reaching up to cup your tit, thumb rolling over your nip, coaxing it into a tight little peak. You moan helplessly, eyes mascara-blurred as you attempt to keep your lip color within the lines of increasingly messy lips.

“Having trouble concentrating?” Aaron asks mildly, sounding completely unaffected for someone who’s currently buried eight inches deep inside you.

“I’m — I’m trying.”

He responds by squeezing your nipple a little harder. “So I noticed.”

You squirm wildly beneath him, his chest pressed down against your back, each thrust hitting a spot that makes your brain fizz into pink bubbles. 

Your thoughts spin in a dizzy disaster — Oh my god, Aaron, I can’t, wait, no, I definitely can, please keep going, love you, love you, love you, until half-formed thoughts turn into breathless declarations from your lips about how perfect he is, how you’d marry him tomorrow (white dress, cake and vows) if he’d just keep doing exactly this.

His control frays simultaneously, composed grunts fading into needy, unfiltered whispers against your flushed skin.

His words tumble out just as desperate as your own ramblings — how beautiful you are, how he’d buy you anything, give you anything — a ring, maybe even a baby, anything that would bind you to him forever.

The words send you careening into ecstasy, orgasm igniting within you in bright, syrupy bursts more saccharin than you thought possible. Those perfect promises twist around your core like velvet ropes, pulling tighter with every dreamy picture they paint (domestic bliss, pretty nurseries, endless forevers) until you’re seeing stars and giggling between gasping moans.

Your spine bows as you pulse around him, waves of pleasure radiating outward, turning you both into a trembling mess of sweaty, feverish harmony. 

You feel Aaron spill inside you, and for one fleeting, impulsive second, you catch yourself wishing your birth control would magically fail, just this once.

He slowly eases out of you, legs immediately trembling in complaint, his cum trickling down your inner thighs. You slump against the counter, breath uneven, as Aaron grabs a washcloth to dampen it.

The mirror does not go easy on you. Mascara in streaks across your eyelids and cheeks, lipstick color smeared, well, everywhere. You shoot him a half-hearted glare. He has the audacity to return a proud smirk.

“What?” he shrugs, biting back a laugh. “I think it’s a good look on you.”

You wiggle impatiently, trying to escape Aaron’s hold, your overstimulated body shivering and twitching at every careful wipe of the cloth. 

You glance at the clock. “Spencer is so going to hate us forever.”

 “The reservations got pushed back.” He tightens his grip, one strong arm cinching around your waist. “Spencer texted, they’re running late, something about forgetting stuff at home.”

You spin quickly in his arms. “That is literally the first thing you should’ve told me!”

“And miss watching you get flustered? Not a chance.”

You stick your tongue out defiantly, because that’s obviously the mature, adult way to handle your boyfriend teasing you.

The reward, though, is immediate — a soft, genuine laugh bubbles from Aaron, warming every little corner of your heart and fluttering down to your toes. 

He reaches past you, plucking a packet of makeup wipes from the counter, and his touch, as he gently presses it to your cheekbone, is stupidly gentle, dabbing at your face in a lazy, affectionate path.

You melt right into his palm, almost feline in your contentment, purring with how sweet it feels to be touched like this.

“You know what I’m thinking about?” Peering up at him through your lashes, you flash a smile, “Our first kiss.”

“Funny, so was I.” Aaron’s whole face shifts, eyes crinkling at the corners, the tenderest smile spreading openly across his mouth. “You know, after you fell asleep that night, I sat awake for way too long, worrying you might wake up in the morning regretting it,” he admits softly. “I had a whole speech planned, this overly formal, completely unnecessary lecture about workplace ethics and chain of command. You would’ve rolled your eyes so hard.”

You giggle, sliding your arms snugly around his middle, tipping your head back to look up at him.

“You and your speeches,” you tease. “Lucky for you, I was already planning how to seduce you the second I woke up.”

His mouth finds the corner of yours.

“Well, you’ve always had much better instincts than me.”

You tap his chest lightly. “So, um, did you happen to mention something about giving me a baby earlier or was that just my post-orgasmic delirium talking?”

Aaron laughs. “I might have gotten carried away.”

“No baby, then? Just empty promises?”

“Who said anything about empty?” He smirks, fingertips dancing along your spine. “I just thought it’d be polite to give you my last name before we start creating miniature versions of ourselves.”

“Careful, talk like that will earn you all kinds of privileges.” You reach up, pinching his cheek.

“Good.” He grabs your wrist, kissing the inside of it. “And just so we’re clear, I plan to extensively take advantage for the next, oh, forty or fifty years.”

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanded! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[alinathinkstoomuch]

1-800-CALL ME, FAKE FIANCÉ

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader (part of my fake!fiancee series, but can be read as a standalone) summary: the fbi agent you met at the bar helped you out of a jam so you decide to pay him a visit at work. warnings | a/n: unhinged reader, rossi being a lil instigator, reader has no shame in her game at ALL & makes the first move, the usual banter & chem, channelling all the rom-com feels word count: 3.3k

✧ masterlist

It had been a week since your little fake fiancé fiasco, and while it had been enough to satisfy your mob group of fake friends and stop them from asking questions, it wasn’t enough to satisfy your questions.

Because now, you were curious – dangerously so.

You couldn’t concentrate on much else. It was ridiculous. Absurd. Completely unnecessary. And yet…

You had googled him.

You had googled Aaron Hotchner.

And oh boy did you find things.

FBI Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner. Head of some ultra-serious-sounding department in behavioural analysis. There were articles. Court cases. Mentions of serial killers – plural. You even found a grainy news clip of him giving a statement outside a police station, looking all important and broody.

And as if that wasn’t enough, there were forums. Entire internet threads dedicated to the man. Debates on how often he smiled. Speculation on his past. A truly unhinged corner of the internet where a small but passionate group of people seemed convinced he had once been a male model.

You may or may not have spent a questionable amount of time scrolling through that last one.

But none of this answered the real question: why did an FBI Unit Chief go along with your ridiculous fake fiancé charade without hesitation? That was not normal federal agent behaviour. You were pretty sure actual government employees had policies against indulging unhinged strangers.

Which led you here. More specifically in the FBI headquarters parking lot.

Okay, you were actually insane. But you had good intentions. Intentions of thanking him properly for the night of madness he had endured.

So, you had baked him cookies. Because, according to your mother, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach – which was a wildly inappropriate saying to be applying to an FBI agent, but here you were.

You took a deep breath, staring up at the intimidating glass doors, clutching your box of cookies like it was a ticking time bomb. This was fine. Completely normal. People brought cookies to law enforcement all the time… right?

Swallowing your nerves, you marched inside, heels clicking against the polished floor as you approached the receptionist’s desk. The woman behind the counter barely glanced up as she typed away at her computer.

“Hi! Uh, could you do me a favour and give these to an Aaron Hotchner?” you asked, setting the box down with a nervous smile. “He’s, um, Unit Chief of something very official and serious, which I’m sure you already know, but I just wanted to thank him because he helped me out of a situation – not like a legal situation, nothing weird, I’m not a criminal or anything – oh my God, that sounded suspicious –”

The receptionist finally looked up, blinking slowly. “Ma’am?”

You let out an awkward laugh, waving a hand. “I mean, technically, everyone is a criminal in some way, right? Like, who hasn’t jaywalked or taken a pen from a bank? Oh my God, I’m not confessing to anything, I just –”

“Ma’am,” the receptionist interrupted, her voice flat. “Are you delivering something, or…?”

“Wow, you guys are really strict on the whole professionalism thing, huh?” You huffed, then quickly corrected yourself. “Not that I’m not professional. I can be professional. I wore a blazer once.” You paused, glancing at her name badge. “Clarissa! I am delivering cookies. They are divine, you can have one if you’d like?”

Clarissa squinted at you, clearly debating whether or not to press a panic button – one that, realistically, would probably result in you being swarmed by tactical agents in full riot gear.

Was that even the FBI? Or was that, like… SWAT? Was SWAT part of the FBI? Were you about to go down for cookie-related crimes?

“Are you cleared to be here?” she asked.

“Depends on your definition of cleared –”

“Alright, sweetheart, let’s take a breath before you actually incriminate yourself.”

You spun around to find none other than David – if you recalled correctly – standing behind you, looking just as entertained as he did back at the jazz bar, his eyes bouncing between the cookies and you. “Well, well. If it isn’t Hotch’s fiancée.”

“Not his fiancée anymore!”

“Sure. And I’m not Italian.”

You shook your head, exhaling dramatically. “I just made him some cookies as a thank you. Do you mind passing them on to him, please? And then I can get out of yours and Clarissa’s hair. You have fabulous hair, both of you, by the way.”

Clarissa stared at you like you were personally responsible for every inconvenience that had ever befallen her. Rossi, on the other hand, grinned like you had just made his entire day.

“You know what? No,” he said, shaking his head. “You should give them to him yourself.”

Your stomach dropped. “Oh, no, that’s not necessary –”

“I insist.”

Clarissa folded her arms. “She’s not authorised to be here.”

Rossi rolled his eyes. “Clarissa, I’ve worked in this building longer than some agents have been alive. If I say she’s authorised, she’s authorised.”

Clarissa let out a long-suffering sigh but didn’t argue further.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go surprise Hotch.”

You let out a weak laugh. “Oh. Yay.”

Rossi led you through security and about four different hallways before you found yourself in an elevator. You barely had time to process what was happening before you were stepping into a bullpen that made your brain go fuzzy. There were far too many people in suits, all looking intimidatingly competent.

A woman with blonde hair and a bright cardigan – finally someone who understood the power of colour – shot you an intrigued glance over the top of her glasses.

“I really don’t think this is necessary, David,” you whispered. “You guys look like busy, busy people, and I just wanted to bring some cookies. I don’t think Hotch will appreciate being called out of his very legitimate FBI career just for me.”

“Oh, I know he won’t.”

“Okay, now you’re making me panic, and I have a habit of jumping to conclusions when I’m under a lot of stress. Please, really, it’s no big deal –”

“Yeah, Hotch mentioned something along those lines,” Rossi hummed as the two of you came to a halt in front of a door, to which he knocked before stepping inside.

You followed hesitantly, barely making it over the threshold before you locked eyes with Hotch, who was standing behind his desk, looking very confused.

Rossi gestured at you grandly. “Look who I found wandering the FBI headquarters.”

“Okay, that makes me sound like a stalker and – wow, okay, I guess maybe I am a stalker, but the good kind, I promise! I come in peace. And with cookies… as a thank you.”

“I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it,” Rossi grinned, giving you a nudge as he sauntered out, shutting the door behind him with far too much enthusiasm.

Hotch, still staring at you like you had just crash-landed into his office from another dimension, slowly folded his arms. “Should I be concerned?”

“Not until you try one of these,” you said, flipping open the lid of the cookie box, only for your smile to falter the second you actually registered what was inside.

Heart-shaped cookies. Pink frosting. Extra sprinkles.

Oh no.

You stared at them. Then at Hotch. Then back at them.

He was still staring too, looking at the cookies like they were an active FBI case file he wasn’t quite sure how to classify.

You let out half a laugh. “Oh. Oh, boy.”

Hotch raised a brow, arms still crossed, looking every bit the intimidating federal agent he was.

“Okay, I know what this looks like,” you groaned, snapping the box shut like that would somehow undo the visual catastrophe. “I got slightly carried away – as I tend to – and my mind just kind of… took its own course when I was making them. I wasn’t thinking about you – well, I was thinking about you, but not like that, I swear. I just – ugh – I put a little bit myself into them.”

Hotch tilted his head. “Yourself?”

You nodded, slowly reopening the box as if the cookies might suddenly jump out and throw up edible glitter all over his office. “You know… they’re kind of chaotic but well-intentioned, possibly too much but ultimately harmless –”

“How did you find me here?”

“Oh. That.”

He just stared at you.

You cleared your throat, suddenly very interested in the cookie box. “Well, it’s not that hard, you know? I have a great memory, and I did get a pretty solid look at your badge – after I thought you were going to murder me, of course – so I just… searched you up.”

His brows lifted.

You panicked. “But only to figure out where you work so I could bring you cookies! That’s it! I had every intention of leaving them with Clarissa but your friend David saw me and said I should bring them up myself. And well… now I’m here.”

Hotch’s hand pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course he did.”

You rocked on your heels, watching him carefully. “Sooo… does this mean I’m officially on an FBI watchlist, or is that, like, a separate process?”

Hotch exhaled, lowering his hand. “You’re not on a watchlist.”

“Oh.”

His brows furrowed. “Would you like to be?”

“I feel like I shouldn’t answer that without a lawyer present,” you mumbled, setting the cookies down on his desk.

“So, let me get this straight. You looked me up, managed to talk your way into a federal building without authorisation all just to bring me heart-shaped cookies?”

You lifted a finger. “Okay, first of all, let’s not make this sound like an obsession – I googled you. That’s a normal thing people do! It’s called being informed. And second, the hearts were an accident. I only had one cookie cutter. You think I wanted to show up here looking like some lovesick lunatic?”

Hotch glanced at the cookies, then back at you. “…Yes.”

“Okay, well, this has been fun,” you said, dusting your hands before adjusting your jacket. “Enjoy the cookies, and thanks again for the other night,” you continued, already backing toward the door. “I have not had my name mentioned once in the Veronica Posse group chat since, and for the first time in years, I have actually known peace.”

“Wait,” he called just as you reached for the door handle. You spun around to face him. “Why did you really come here?”

You paused before speaking.

“I need a fiancé again,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. “Yup. Need one again, preferably the same one, but this time it’s my parents hounding me, and they’ve already arranged a dinner and everything.”

Hotch opened his mouth, then closed it. A second passed. Then another. Finally – “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“I am,” you beamed, completely unbothered by the scowl on his face. Hotch looked like he was about to reply, but his phone began ringing. He glanced down at it on the desk.

“Alright, really leaving now. I’ll let you get back to all this serious business,” you said, but then a realization dawned, making you pause.

Hotch looked back up, brows raising slightly. “What is it?”

You shifted, glancing toward the door, then back at him. “So, funny thing… I don’t actually know how to get out of here.”

Hotch sighed, shaking his head as he pressed a button to silence his phone before slipping it into his suit jacket. “I’ll walk you out.”

“Oh, no need,” you replied quickly, waving him off. “I’ll just ask David – he loves helping me.”

Hotch gave you a flat look. “Absolutely not.”

You blinked innocently. “Why? He was so excited to see me earlier. You should have heard him, all like Oh, if it isn’t Hotch’s fiancée! He really sells it.”

“That’s exactly why,” Hotch muttered, already moving toward the door.

You followed Hotch out of his office, barely managing to keep up with his long strides. “Wow, you walk fast,” you huffed, adjusting your purse on your shoulder. “Is this an FBI thing? Do you all just power walk everywhere?”

He slowed his pace ever so slightly so you could catch up. As you glanced around, you noticed several pairs of eyes discreetly watching the two of you – one of them being David who had zero shame in making his interest known. You offered him a small wave to which he responded with a not-so-subtle wink. When your eyes landed on Hotch he was watching the exchange.

“Keep walking.”

“I am,” you whispered back, trying not to laugh. “I just happen to also be social.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

You gasped, doing a light two step jog to catch up. “Gosh, what happened to ‘Marry me, sweetheart?’”

“You called it nonsense, remember?”

“I did,” you admitted. “But that was after you said something that was incredibly true about me.”

Hotch threw you a curious glance. “And what was that?”

“That I’m too good to consider that group of women my friends, especially ones I feel the need to impress.”

Hotch didn’t say anything right away, just reached for the door, pushing it open and holding it for you. As you stepped past him, you caught the smallest trace of something in his expression, something very close to approval.

Stepping into the hallway, you glanced around, already feeling disoriented. “This place is like a maze,” you muttered, spinning in a small circle before looking back at him. “How do you manage to not get lost here?”

“Spatial awareness.”

Before you could question him further, you felt his hands on your arms, gently guiding you to the left just as you were about to head right.

“Oh. Wow. Okay.”

His lips twitched. “You were about to walk into a closet.”

You glanced back at the door you had almost pushed open. “That’s not a closet. That’s –” You squinted at the sign. “Okay, that’s definitely a closet.” You sighed dramatically, walking ahead this time – making sure to pretend like you totally knew where you were going. “See? This is why I need a fake fiancé. Navigation assistance.”

His voice followed you, dry as ever. “That’s what Google Maps is for.”

You turned, walking backwards now, arms crossed. “Yeah, well, Google Maps doesn’t have your spatial awareness, does it?”

“You’d rather rely on me for directions?”

You stopped walking, tilting your head. “Huh. Good point. Maybe I should just take my chances with the closet.”

Hotch sighed, stepping past you. “Come on. I’ll make sure you get out of here without accidentally locking yourself in a supply room.”

You grinned, following him. “See? Fake fiancé duties are still active.”

This time, you definitely didn’t miss the half-smile he tried to hide.

After what felt like literal hours of navigating the endless, identical floors and hallways of the FBI, the two of you finally stepped outside. Freedom at last, you thought, basking in the sight of the actual sun – something you’d only glimpsed through windows you were convinced had some kind of tint designed to make the inside of the building feel even duller.

“Do you know where you parked?”

You scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “Uh, duh. What do you take me for?”

Hotch just looked at you.

You blinked.

Then, very slowly, you turned your head, scanning the parking lot.

Oh, no.

Where did you park?

You wracked your brain, desperately trying to retrace your steps, but the problem was… you hadn’t exactly been focused when you arrived. You had just parked somewhere and hoped for the best. But now, with Hotch watching you like a disapproving parent, the pressure was on.

You pointed vaguely toward a random row of cars. “It’s… that way.”

Hotch didn’t even bother looking. “No, it’s not.”

You spun back to him. “Excuse me?”

“You’re guessing.”

“I am not.”

“You’re stalling.”

“I am not!”

Hotch arched a single, knowing brow.

You huffed. “Fine. I may be stalling. But in my defence, I had a lot on my mind when I got here!”

Hotch inhaled, glancing at his watch. “Just describe what your car looks like and what you remember seeing when you got here.”

You frowned, thinking. “Okay, so, my car is… car-shaped.”

His stare was unmoving.

You cleared your throat. “It’s, uh… blue. Or, like, bluish. Depends on the lighting.”

“Anything else?”

You squinted at the parking lot, hoping for divine intervention. “I think I was near… a pole?”

“There are multiple poles.”

“A very specific pole.”

“Right.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Ugh, this is so unfair. I have many talents, okay? Parking lot navigation is just not one of them.”

“Shocking,” he muttered before moving toward one section of the parking lot. “Let’s start from here.”

You followed, chewing the inside of your cheek.

A few minutes later – after much grumbling, a completely unnecessary debate about why all parking lots look the same, and one slightly humiliating moment where you tried to unlock someone else’s car – Hotch finally spotted your actual vehicle.

“Would you look at that! There she is, in all her glory!” you sang and this time, when you hit the unlock button, the lights actually flashed. Progress.

You pulled open the driver’s side door and tossed your purse inside before turning back to Hotch. “Thank you… again.” You let out a laugh. “It feels like that’s all I ever say to you.”

Hotch gave a small shrug, hands finding his pockets. “You do seem to require a lot of rescuing.”

“Alright, alright.” You pointed a manicured finger at him. “Despite what you might think, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I just happen to have a mild navigational deficiency and… questionable taste in men. And friends, apparently – according to my ex fake fiancé.”

“Sounds like you’re finally learning.”

You rolled your eyes, sliding into your seat. “I hate that you’re good at this.”

“Good at what?”

“Reading people.” You gestured vaguely in his direction. “It’s very annoying.”

He smiled at you, one hand slipping from his pocket to rest against the edge of your car door. “I’ll try to be worse at my job next time.”

You leaned forward, placing your arms on the steering wheel with a playful spark in your eye. “Listen, Hotch, Hotchner, Aaron – I have a slight confession to make before I go.”

“That sentence doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.”

“This one’s harmless. Promise.”

Hotch stood there, shaking his head like he could not believe he was still standing there entertaining this conversation.

You tapped a finger against the wheel. “So, if mid-cookie bite you accidentally choke on a piece of paper, do not be alarmed – well, actually do be alarmed. I don’t want you to die before you’ve asked me out on a date.” You flashed him a pointed look. “But it’s my number – since apparently, having my address isn’t enough.”

“You hid your number in food?”

“Listen, it was either that or carve it into your desk with a knife, and I figured that would raise some concerns with your co-workers.”

Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose again, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like why me?

“But, you do have my number now, so really, the ball is in your court, Hotchner.”

“Is it?”

You nodded, sitting up straighter. “Mhm. And just so we’re clear – I expect a dramatic, over-the-top use of it. Maybe a cryptic, we need to talk text. Or a mysterious meet me at midnight type of situation.”

Hotch’s lips twitched. “You’d rather I text you about urgent matters than, say… just a normal conversation?”

“Aaron Hotchner, are you saying you want to have a normal conversation with me?”

He sighed, stepping back from your car. “Drive home, before I change my mind about letting you leave.”

You smirked, finally turning on the ignition. “Oh, so you let me leave now? That is so controlling of you.”

Hotch shook his head as he shut your door—just in time for you to lift a hand, making a finger phone gesture and mouthing Call me.

tags - @fandomscombine @dohmeti

divider by cafekitsune

[monzabee]

loooove nanny!reader so much!

if you're still open to requests, I have an idea for nanny!reader as Hotch's emergency contact, getting a call that he's been injured at work, expecting the worst but it's actually some minor thing not even unsub-related and Hotch is just stressed because he knows that she's going to use this to fuss over him and boss him around while he recovers (and trying to ignore an excitable Garcia who's just there for the nanny!reader gossip again)

totally do whatever you want with the prompt if you fancy it!! I'm in love with everything new you put out for them ❤️

emergency contact - a. hotchner

criminal minds masterlist || part of the nanny series

Summary: the nanny gets called in as hotch’s emergency contact, he can’t remember having her number added as such. 

Pairing: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: something is brewinggg, mentions of hospitals and hospitalization, penelope garcia is a guardian angel and also their biggest shipper (rossi’s got competition), they are in love your honor, FLUFF

Author's Note: okay thank you SO MUCH for this request because it fit in perfectly with my plans for this series and i hope you like it!! i think i might be obsessed with this series as much as you guys, and thank you so much for all the love you've shown to nanny!reader! just a little reminder that my requests are still open if you want to see a particular scenario!

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

The entire situation is ridiculous, is what Aaron decides as he lays on the hospital bed. He has been in this situation more times than he’d like, and this time is no exception.  

Except, maybe it is. 

Because when the door creaks open, and he expects a nurse or maybe Penelope—who insisted on getting him to the hospital as his ‘designated guardian angel’, her words, he gets you. You, with your oversized sweater and piano tiles on your skirt and that “I dropped everything and came running” look in your eyes. You, with your hair still a little windblown and your bag falling off your shoulder, clutching your phone like you’re prepared to swing it as a weapon if need be. 

And you look terrified. 

“Mister Hotchner,” you breathe out, rushing to the side of the bed before he can say anything. “Oh my God. What happened? Is it Jack? Is it you? Are you okay? You’re not bleeding, right? Is it internal bleeding? Did you lose consciousness? Why didn’t anyone call me sooner?” 

He blinks. “They called you because you’re listed as my emergency contact.” 

You freeze. “I am?” 

“Apparently.” 

There’s a beat. Your eyes narrow. 

He knows that look. That’s the nanny look, the one you give Jack when he tries to hide broccoli in his napkin. He’s about to say something reassuring, or at least divert your attention, but you beat him to it. 

“What do you mean, ‘apparently’?” you hiss, already examining the ID band around his wrist like you can cross-reference it with your own records. “You don’t just accidentally list someone as an emergency contact.” 

“I didn’t list anyone. The Bureau updates those files automatically if you don’t fill them out.” He exhales and looks at the ceiling. “And clearly, someone thinks you’re the best person to call if I pass out at work.” 

Your expression softens just slightly. “Wait. You passed out at work?” 

Penelope appears in the doorway like she’s been waiting for her cue. “Because he hasn’t been eating or sleeping or listening to anyone, and apparently twisting your ankle in the bullpen because you're dizzy is what gets you admitted to a hospital now,” she says brightly. “Hi, sunshine.” She waves at you and leans in for a quick hug. “You look very panicked and very pretty. Please tell me you yelled at someone on the way in. Or better yet—are you staying with him tonight? Do I need to ‘accidentally’ forward Jack’s bedtime routine to the team chat?” 

“Garcia,” Aaron groans. 

You ignore both of them and lean closer. “You twisted your ankle?”  

“It’s fine,” he grits out. “A minor sprain. The doctor was... insistent.” 

“Oh yeah, his ankle is totes fine.” Penelope assures you, then nods towards the monitors beside his bed. “They admitted him because they were scared he could have internal bleeding, again.” 

It’s a good thing you’re at the hospital, because you’re fifty percent sure you’re having a brain aneurysm to all the new information you’re getting about your boss. “Again?” You ask, then blink. “Internal bleeding, again?” 

He shifts on the bed, trying to sit up straighter without wincing. Fails on both accounts. “It wasn’t like that,” Aaron mutters, eyes flicking to Penelope like she’s the one who betrayed him. “They were being overly cautious.” 

“They always are when it comes to him,” Garcia says sweetly. “Big scary FBI man walks into the ER saying he got a little dizzy, and everyone suddenly wants to scan his organs like he’s an alien specimen.” 

You ignore her and press the back of your hand to Aaron’s forehead. “No fever,” you murmur, more to yourself. “How’s your vision? Any nausea? Headache?” 

“She’s doing the thing,” Penelope stage-whispers. “The ‘I read the entire WebMD archive just in case Jack ever gets sick’ thing.” 

You don’t look up, it’s not exactly a secret to Aaron that you’ve been reading the parenting blogs and all the medical journals you can get your hands on—just in case. “That’s because someone forgot to mention any of this when I dropped Jack off at school this morning.” 

Aaron sighs and closes his eyes like he’s summoning the patience of a saint. “Because it wasn’t a thing this morning.” 

“And yet,” you say, crossing your arms, “you still managed to faint in front of your coworkers and twist your ankle. Not exactly a clean record for the day.” 

“I didn’t faint.” He dissents in his Unit Chief voice, which does nothing to scare you, or Penelope for that matter. 

“Dizziness-induced collapse,” Penelope clarifies. “It was very dramatic. Like a Victorian woman overcome with emotion. We almost broke out the fainting couch.” 

“I tripped.” Aaron offers. 

Penelope sheepishly adds, “While dizzy.” 

You huff, your worry solidifying into full-blown exasperation. “You tripped because you haven’t been eating or sleeping properly, right?” 

Aaron says nothing. You raise your eyebrows.  

Still nothing.  

Garcia makes a game show buzzer noise from the doorway. “Survey says: guilty!” 

He closes his eyes. “Exactly what I was afraid of.” 

“What?” You turn your attention back to him.  

“This. The fussing.” He sounds almost fond through his exasperation. “You're going to make me soup, aren’t you?” 

“Of course I’m going to make you soup!” You gasp. “What kind of monster do you think I am?” 

“Honestly?” Garcia pipes up, biting into a vending machine granola bar. “The kind of adorable, overprotective, secretly-in-love nanny monster that fanfiction is built on.” 

“Penelope.” “Garcia.” The of you complain at the same time. 

“Okay, okay, I’m leaving. But only because I want to check if the hospital’s security cameras got a good angle of the ‘nanny crashes into waiting room’ moment. I’ll pick up Jack and he can stay with me—and don’t you try to suggest he stay with JJ, she got him last time! Okay, bye!” She wiggles her fingers in a wave and disappears. 

The moment Garcia’s heels click down the hallway, you finally allow yourself to breathe. You hear Aaron let out a similar exhale, and then he asks, “Do you think she added you as my emergency contact on her own?” 

“Oh, Mister Hotchner,” you scoff, laughing lightly as you nod, “she ‘totes’ did that on her own.” You sit back in your chair and cross your arms. “I’m making you soup,” you announce with conviction. 

Aaron shoots you a tired look as he lets out a soft chuckle. “I’m sure you are.” He then takes you in—really takes you in. He takes in the scared look in your eyes, as if seeing him didn’t calm you down enough. He takes in the way you’re breathing—how you’re still breathing erratically. He takes in the way your hands are gripping the armrest of the chair, the way your jaw clenches as if you’re holding back. “I thought you were still mad at me.”  

“God forbid my worry for you overpowers my distaste for your short fuse, Aaron.” You mumble, not quite looking at him as you shift in your chair, trying to appear more composed than you feel. The fact that you’re still holding onto the armrest like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded feels a little ridiculous, but you can’t bring yourself to let go. You glance at him, catching the quiet way he’s watching you. There’s something in his eyes—a mixture of vulnerability and exhaustion—and it makes your heart tighten in your chest. “I’m not mad at you.”  

“Hm,” he mumbles sleepily, his voice low, like he’s not sure whether he believes you or not. “You have piano tiles on your skirt.”  

You glance down at your skirt, noticing the piano tile print for the first time since you rushed to the hospital. The tiny pattern almost feels like a personal joke between the two of you now. Of course, this would be the thing he picks up on, not the fact that you just ran here, practically on the edge of a panic attack, because your boss was in the hospital.  

You snort, letting the tension in your chest shift into a light chuckle. “I’m aware. Thanks for the fashion critique, Mister Hotchner.” You catch the way his eyes drop drowsily, “Go to sleep, Aaron.” 

Aaron lets out a low hum, his eyelids fluttering as if he’s trying to keep them open, though the exhaustion is clearly winning. “I’m not... I’m not that tired,” he mutters, the words slurring just a little. His eyes meet yours, but there’s a distant look in them, like he’s trying to fight the sleep pulling him under. 

You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward just slightly. “You’re exhausted. You’ve been running on fumes for days.” You sigh, feeling that familiar mixture of concern and frustration. “Stop pretending like you’re invincible. Please.” 

He gives you the smallest of smiles, the kind that says he's aware of how ridiculous he's being but doesn't have the energy to argue. “I never claimed to be invincible,” he murmurs, his voice nearly a whisper. “Just... don't let me sleep too long, okay?” 

You nod, your heart doing that soft ache in your chest again. “I promise. But right now, I think you deserve a few hours of rest.” You stand, your hands still lingering on the armrest of the chair as if to make sure you're still anchored to the world, to him. The idea of him lying there, vulnerable and fading into sleep, makes something shift inside you, like maybe it’s not just about the soup anymore. It’s about him. 

With a soft exhale, you reach over, adjusting the blankets over his legs. “I’m making soup,” you repeat in a whisper, but this time, it’s not so much a declaration as a quiet promise. 

Aaron’s eyes flutter close, the last flicker of awareness leaving him as his breathing deepens. “I’ll... I'll hold you to that,” he murmurs, already halfway to sleep. 

You watch him gradually fall asleep, your heart tight in your chest. The steady rise and fall of his chest, the softness of his features as he finally lets go, all seem to slow down time. It’s such a simple thing, watching him sleep, but it feels like a privilege, something you never expected to witness. You move in an attempt to go back to the chair, but his hand reaches out to still you. Then, you hear his voice again, barely above a whisper. “You’re still here?” 

And this time, you can’t hold back. You reach over, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead, your hand lingering there for just a moment longer than necessary. “Rest, Aaron,” you whisper. “I’m here.” 

[sincerelybubbles]

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.

[kiwriteswords]

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:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

[hotchner-edu]

Let's Fall Together | Aaron Hotchner

Synopsis: You go on a blind date and accidentally get set up with your best friend's father. — part 2 here

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Younger (Of Age) F!Reader

Warnings: Age gap (r is over 22, Aaron is in his late 40's bc i said so), fluff, Jack being a fool

The ominous pit in your stomach when you first arrived at the restaurant should have been the first indicator that something was terribly askew. The second should have been the fact that Jack was almost too eager to set you up with someone when you mentioned wanting to date. 

Yet, you somehow ignored those warning signs and now you were sat in a fancy Italian restaurant with Jack’s father. 

“Mr. Hotchner…” You say breathlessly, mouth going dry as you stare at the man like a fish out of water. 

Approximately three minutes had elapsed since Aaron had entered the restaurant and was led to the table you were sitting at. Jack had made the reservation under his name and told you the only rule was that you actually show up and give it a chance. 

Aaron had walked toward your table with a bouquet of flowers in his hand, eyes taking in your stunned figure. 

“You can just call me Aaron, sweetheart.” Aaron raises his eyebrows a bit in amusement, looking a bit confused about the entire situation as well. He had always been adamant that you call him by his first name whenever you came over to his house to hang out with Jack, but now that same sentiment seemed a bit more intimate given the current circumstance. 

You clear your throat softly and nod, smiling a bit shyly as you try to gather your thoughts. “So… Aaron, you’re my mystery date then?” 

“Yes, it would appear so.” He answers back with a little smile that you interpret as one of discomfort, though little to your knowledge, it was actually a nervous smile. 

You frown a bit and rest your hands in your lap, trying to search for a way to quickly diffuse the situation without attracting any attention from the diners around you. “Ah… I’m sorry. We don’t have to continue this, I know it must be weird for you.” 

“Weird?” He asks, his tone indicating he knew what you meant, but also wanting you to explain anyway. 

You nod and continue. “Yeah… I mean, I’m Jack’s friend. So feel free to just head back home, I’m sorry to disappoint.” 

“Are you disappointed?” He asks and places the bouquet of flowers on the table. 

Glancing at the flowers, you aren’t sure how to answer. After a few moments, you decide to be honest. “No. I’m not disappointed.”

Aaron gazes at you in contemplation for a second before he regains his bearings and speaks to you softly, his tone kind but also direct. “Well, I wouldn’t mind continuing our date… If that’s okay with you?” 

You stare at him, trying to suppress the bright smile that threatens to break out on your face. “I would like that.” The relief and happiness you feel cannot be masked in your tone, and Aaron immediately picks up on it, his shoulders relaxing as he nods back to you.  

Dinner with Aaron goes without a hitch and conversation flows naturally with him. In the three years you’ve been best friends with Jack, you were certain you'd only ever spoken to Aaron in private a handful of times, and you were starting to kick yourself for it as you begin to realize just how wonderful your chemistry together was. 

When you’re both done eating, you begin to pull out your wallet, smiling from ear to ear from the eventful night. 

“Dinner’s on me, honey.” Aaron says softly and reaches over to scoot the bill closer to his side of the table. 

“Aren’t blind dates supposed to be split?” You ask with a grin, silently relenting and putting your wallet away despite your words. 

Aaron chuckles and shakes his head as the waiter comes back to collect the check and his card. “Is that so? I don’t have much experience with blind dates, but I thought that happens when a second date is out of the question.” 

You gape at him a bit and smile in disbelief, your thoughts a whirlwind as you picture yourself on another date with him. “Is that the rule? Well, I have a hard time believing that you don’t go on very many blind dates. I mean you’re a catch, Aaron.” You blush a little at how the words seem to spill out before your brain can restrain your tongue. 

To your utter bafflement, you see his cheeks turning a bit pink along with his ears as he tries to wave off your words. “I appreciate that but believe me, it’s been quite a long time since I’ve been on a date.” 

“I somehow still doubt that. Though, I suppose most women may be a bit intimidated to make a move on you.” You comment, thinking back to your own reluctance and personal vow to die with your crush on him. 

Aaron gives you a fond smile that has your heart stopping momentarily, his eyes twinkling under the dim pendant lights of the restaurant. “You think so?” His voice is smooth and pleasantly wrapping you in a warmth that further drags you down into your embarrassingly massive crush on him. 

“Yeah.” You nod with a small quirk of your lips. “The soccer moms at Jack’s games certainly admire from a distance… I think you just have this aura about you.”

“I must look very unapproachable in a t-shirt and jeans then.” He jokes softly and wordlessly reaches for your hand on the table, his larger fingers brushing against yours. 

You nod gently and respond in a near whisper. “Oh, definitely. I reckon you’re even more intimidating when you’re wearing something other than a suit.” You glance down at his black button up, trying to rein in your wild thoughts. 

“Should I wear a polo shirt during interrogations then?” He grins and slips his fingers between yours. 

“It would mean less dry cleaning.” You tilt your head and shift your gaze to your joined hands. 

Aaron’s thumb rubs against yours gently. “You’re right, but I have an image to maintain unfortunately.” He quips with a playful grin, his eyes staying on yours as the world around you both seems to melt away.

“Well, I envy your coworkers. They get to see you in a suit everyday.” You say with a sudden burst of confidence as the waiter walks back with the receipt and Aaron’s credit card. 

Aaron’s grin widens a bit as he thanks the waiter and looks back at you. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind when I’m choosing what to wear for our next date.” 

"Well, perhaps you can pick me up next time too so we have no more surprises in restaurants." You say with a flustered smile, watching him write out a generous tip and put away his card before pushing his seat back.

Aaron nods in agreement at your words before he stands up and walks around the table, offering his hand to you. When you're both walking out of the restaurant, his hand is on the small of your back and you're clutching the bouquet of flowers to your chest.

"You know... Jack's known about my crush on you for a while." You admit bashfully, feeling a dizzying high rush through you from how surreal the night has been.

Aaron looks stupefied by the revelation and he chuckles softly, his hand rubbing your back a bit as he walks you down the sidewalk. "Really now? And how long have you had a thing for me?" He asks with an amused grin.

"It's silly, really... but it started when you came back home after that case in Wisconsin while I was over studying with Jack. You walked in and threw your tie off, and I don't know..." You stumble a bit on your words as you recount the memory, omitting some other vivid details from that encounter as to not give away how often you think back to that day.

He gives a deep chuckle at your answer, his hand moving from your back to squeeze your waist a little. "I'm starting to see a trend here with you and me in suits."

"Yeah, yeah, well I gave up my story, what's yours? I mean, when did you realize you were interested in me, even if it was just a little." You teasingly ask, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks as you subtly lean in closer to his side.

Aaron looks off into the distance as he confesses, a small boyish grin tugging at his lips. "When you brought Jack back home from a party last year. He was completely wasted and you were all disheveled in your pajamas, scolding him while he was unconscious."

"Me in sweatpants gets you hot under the collar, does it?" You suppress a laugh, smiling widely as you think back to that night. Jack had stayed out at a club and taken enough shots to send any ordinary person into the emergency room, but he had called you in a drunken haze at three in the morning, begging for you to take him home.

Before he can retort, you feel your phone ringing and you peek down at it. "Ah, speak of the devil." You sigh, showing Aaron the caller ID before picking up.

"Hey, what's up?" You ask casually, feeling Aaron leading you further into the parking lot and toward his car.

Just from his tone, you can tell he's sporting a smug grin. "You haven't called to complain. I was starting to worry you were dead. So, the date went well then?"

Aaron helps you into the passenger seat of his car as you respond with a pleased lilt in your voice. "More than well, but don't let that get to your head."

But of course, it does anyway. "I told you! You didn't trust me when I said you needed to just put yourself out there. I'm relieved though. I was worried you'd be obsessed with my dad for forever." He replies with a victorious chortle.

"Okay, fine, whatever, thanks for setting him up with me." You smile happily, watching as Aaron lifts your hand to give a kiss to your knuckles before he turns on the car engine.

Jack gives a faux sigh of exasperation, about to continue on his self-satisfied ramble before he immediately pauses. "Wait, what?"

"What?" You ask as Aaron pulls out of the parking lot, his hand mindlessly moving to rest on your knee.

"What do you mean 'setting him up with you'?" Jack asks, suddenly serious and sounding a bit like when he realized he misread his Philosophy exam deadline as being 11:59 pm instead of 11:59 am.

You pause too, glancing at Aaron before answering with an equally reluctant tone. "Uhm... as in, thank you for setting me and Aaron up."

"Huh? What the fuck! You went on a date with my dad?" Jack suddenly gasps out, choking on his spit halfway through. "What happened to Eric?" He wheezes out.

"Eric? Who's Eric?" You ask in confusion.

Jack is silent for a second as you hear muffled tapping followed by him cursing under his breath. "Ah, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck! I sent you the wrong address."

You tap Aaron's wrist, giving him a look that has him pulling over to the nearest curb and parking. He gives you a small frown and you put Jack on speaker.

"Jack, what the hell are you talking about?" You ask, blushing as Aaron draws shapes on your knee with his finger.

You can almost feel Jack cringing through the phone. "Okay, so I may have set you and my dad up on dates tonight but at different restaurants. And I also may have accidentally sent you the wrong restaurant address."

You and Aaron sit in appalled silence before you breathe in deeply and pinch the bridge of your nose. "You set Aaron up with someone else tonight?"

"Well, yeah! I mean, do you really want to be my stepmom?" He asks in an aghast voice, lacking any genuine disgust and telling you he's not as upset as he's pretending to be.

You suck in a breath and shake your head. "Don't worry, when I'm through with you, Aaron won't have a son anymore."

"In my defense-" Jack starts, sounding a bit more playful now.

"Goodbye, Jack!" You cut him off, hanging up and sighing. Looking up from your phone screen, you meet Aaron's gaze and you both can't contain your amusement anymore.

You snort softly and shake your head. "How mad do you think he would be if we kissed right now?"

Aaron doesn't respond with words, instead leaning over the car's center console to cup your cheek and press his lips to yours. As you're both lost in the kiss, neither of you notice your phone vibrating with text messages and silenced calls.

Jack: You both better be coming back right now

Jack: Answer me

Jack: I swear to god if you guys are making out right now

Jack: Please omg Eric just texted me, it's not too late

Jack: HELLO?!!

Jack: I will be taking credit for this at your wedding

part 2 here

[jamiedc-they-them]

Please a The Rookie Tim Bradford x Shy!Adopted!Daughter!Reader? Where it’s her senior year and she’s a cheerleader and she’s doing her senior solo cheer and the stations there (Angela, Wesley, Nyla, James, Wade, Luna, Lucy, Aaron, Celina) and this is their first reaction to her cheer (her cheer can be this one: https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTYognBE1/) and they’re cheering her on and you can finish the rest

Family Matters (Platonic)

Summary: Lucy likes to think she knows Tim at least a little, he is dating her best friend after all. However, what she learns is not something she ever expected.

Notes: Sorry to the requester as I think some of the other characters you mentioned come in later in the show, I'm only up to Season 2 Episode 6. Apologies!

Also, I'm from the UK and also very tired so I apologise if anything about cheer is wrong :)

Lucy knew Isabel was hard for Tim, a spot to not bring up. But, something was eating at him today. It wasn't anger, more...dare she say it? Nervous to him today.

He kept looking at his watch. Even Angela seemed to lighten up a bit with their friendly teasing.

Lucy didn't pressure him, though. So, she kept it casual, keeping their conversations how they normally would, when Tim's phone went off. He had put it in the holder, letting the audio book she recorded for him play as they went on patrol.

"It's Angela," Lucy said, picking up the phone, eyes going confused when she read the text - well, she only read the first part, when it was snatched from her grasp.

"Uh-uh," Tim said. His strict TO voice coming through, but also something else. Something like his look this morning.

"Sorry," Lucy said, hands going up.

"Relax, boot," he said, voice softening a little - ever so little, and yet she still picked up on it. See, she did know him at least, "I ain't gonna arrest you."

She snorted, despite herself, "just never seen someone so defensive over a phone before."

"Look, today's not the day, alright?" he said, sharpness coming back. He looked at her, and she saw a silent plead in his eyes.

"Of course, sir," she said. Then again, curiosity and all that --

"Who's Y/N?" it slipped out before she could even help it.

He looked at her again, this time a look she hadn't seen in his eyes since...well, maybe ever:

Life. Love. Hope.

"She's my daughter," he said.

Her eyes widened.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You loved your parents, both of them. You knew what had happened with your mother, your father had told you as gently as he could.

You just hoped that she would be able to make her way out of her addiction. You wanted her to be ok.

She was getting there, taking actual steps to do so.

You would go see her, one day. Your dad had told you that she was ok with that, only wanting to go see her when you were ready.

As for you? You threw yourself into your cheer team.

You had a natural talent for it when younger, and your father had supported you with all he had.

However, as things took a turn, you and him ended up going a bit further into work and hobbies.

You weren't estranged, you still spoke and had parent and child bonding times of watching films. It was just more difficult as you both tried to deal with everything changing.

Tonight was a special performance, a solo cheer that you were doing. You had been doing all you could to practice for it. A chance to prove yourself.

You had been texting your aunt, as you knew your dad didn't like to use his phone much when at work.

She had assured you that herself and some of the others would be there, but that most importantly he would be there.

The other people in your cheer place were nice, friendly and fully got you for you. You didn't talk that much, preferred to be in the background - not that it was a bad thing of course, pieces to a puzzle and all - but they and your coach convinced you to do this solo.

So, you looked at the crowd before the game.

You took a breath, as one of your team mates can up to you, taking you away from the curtain to try help with your nerves.

Your friends were great, but you wanted your family.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lucy now knew why Tim had taken a half shift that day. She knew why Angela had texted him. She knew why he was more on edge than usual.

He wanted to make sure he made it.

"Hey, we ain't having you miss this," Angela promised back at the station, putting a hand on Tim's shoulder as he sat on the corner of a desk, arms folded and staring at his watch every few moments.

A hard half-day had been the last thing he wanted. It had wasted time, even if he made people safe.

"We still need to book this guy," he said, looking to the criminal him and Lucy had brought in for...god, he was so distracted today. He'd missed things like this before, but this one he knew was special from what you had said about it when he got home from work.

He stood up, putting his face in his hands. Sure, he didn't like being as vulnerable as this at work, especially in front of rookies, but from the look Nolan gave him when he met his eyes for a minute, right now it didn't matter about work or ranks, it was a family matter.

"I can book him," Nolan even offered.

It was kind, but Tim waved him off, "she'd want to meet all of you, especially you new rookies. Just..." he looked back at them all, "just...she's a bit shy, ok? So don't like, pressure her to talk or anything."

Nolan was dead serious with the shake of his head, "oh, no, I wouldn't dream of it, sir."

Tim had a growing respect for Nolan, and this was just another reason to add to that list.

"Officer Bradford," Sergeant Grey said as he joined them all, "you are aware that we have other officers here and that this precinct isn't just you all, correct?"

"Of course, sir," Tim said, the others also nodding.

Grey nodded, sly smile, "so why are you all acting like we can't get another officer to book this man in, thus letting us all go and see Y/N's cheer?"

"You're coming?" Tim said and Lucy didn't think she could ever see him so happy.

"Course I'm coming," Grey said like it was obvious, "I've seen that girl grow up, Tim. I'm the favourite uncle."

"Wouldn't you be the gran--"

"Something you'd like to add, Officer Nolan?" Grey asked, eyebrow raised as he pretended not to hear that.

Nolan shook his head instantly, then coughing from Nyla hitting him with her elbow, "no sir."

Grey nodded, "just what I thought. Now," he said, looking at the rest of them before nodding to Tim, "lead the way, Officer Bradford."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You took a final breath, your team giving you silent support before you walked onto field, to the centre. Your team hyped you on from the background, all eyes on you.

And so, you began.

You looked at the crowd for a moment, stumbling slightly but managing to catch yourself before anyone noticed.

You looked back to your team, joining in with your chants and pointed subtely.

There they were, old and new faces.

And right in the middle of them? Tim Bradford, your father.

He was clapping, everyone else joining in, both in rhythm and in the chants.

Just like that, it was over.

You all went to the sidelines, and the game went on.

It went by like a flash.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After it, you got changed and made your way out, but was swept up in a hug by your father, "there she is!" he said, his guard completely down, "you were amazing, sweetheart!"

You giggled, hugging him close.

"Y/N," he said, putting hand on your shoulder and gesturing for the others to come over, "I'd like you to meet Lucy Chen, my boot; John Nolan, Nyla's boot - previously Bishop's - and Jackson West, Angela's boot."

Lucy came forward, beaming smile and hand outstretched, eager to meet you. You clasped her hand gently, shaking it.

"Hi! It's so good to meet you! You were amazing out there! Tim, I'll send you some photos later and oh, sorry --" she said, knowing she was rambling.

"It - it's ok," you assured. Her smile grew more, before she stepped back, letting her friends go forward as well.

"I agree with Lucy," the older one said, holding out his hand, "John Nolan, pleasure," he had a parental feeling to him that made you feel safe, that he got that you wanted this to be quick.

"Pleasure, ma'am," Jackson said, hand outstretched, "and I concur, you were incredible. You should be proud."

You nodded, giggling a bit before turning to your aunt, "he always this serious."

Angela shrugged, "I'm trying to tire it out of him. We only did a half day, remember?"

You nodded, "...right."

She came over, hugging you before ruffling your hair - something she'd done since you were young, even if now in your late teens, "I'll get there. 'sides, he's a good guy. All three are."

You nodded, "I know, I know," you said.

"I gotta say," Grey said, "that was some cheer. You've grown a lot, Y/N."

"Thank you gr-uncle Grey," you said, looking to your dad who gave you a wink: nice save.

"Hi, Wesley," a man in a suit said.

You shook his hand, eyes coming to life more as you looked back at your aunt, "ah, so this will be my uncle-in-law."

He went red at that, Angela letting out a laugh and cough at that.

She looked to Tim, "traitor!"

Tim raised his hands, "hey, you know the rules when it comes to family -"

"'No secrets', yeah Bradford, I remember," Angela said, rolling her eyes fondly. You did clock how she held Wesley's hand after that.

You looked to Nyla, giving a smile and approaching with hands together.

"You must be the new TO," you said, "I know you're still getting used to being back from undercover. So, I understand if just a hello is ok for now. But, I hope I can get to know you more?"

Nyla smiled softly, "perceptive, aren't you?" she said in a soft tone, "ever thought about being an officer?"

You shook your head, "I'll leave that to you guys. I think I'd prefer just a simple life, however I can."

Nyla nodded, "understood. But, keep that sharp eye of yours."

You tilted your head, looking at her and then at Nolan, "do you both have kids?"

They nodded, "a son, Henry," Nolan said.

"A daughter. Quite a bit younger than you," Nyla said, "I don't know what she wants to be yet, she's still learning. But, and don't tell anyone else this," she said, leaning down a bit, "I might just start bringing up cheer more after seeing moves like that."

You smiled, nodding, before making a zipping motion to your mouth.

You went back to your dad, who put an arm around your shoulder.

This was your family, with new additions.

They loved you for who you were.

Your dad knew you worried. You always would. But, you also had friends to help ground you, just as he did.

Neither of you were alone.

[gf2bellamy]

vest — aaron hotchner

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: hotch helps you with your vest content warnings: mention of an unsub holding a hostage , mention of guns , mention of snipers a/n: hotch in a fbi vest <3 hope you guys enjoy this !!

You sat in the SUV for a moment, gathering your thoughts as you watched the flurry of activity outside. Police cars were scattered across the street, their lights painting the scene in sharp flashes of red and blue. Officers stood with their guns raised, their focus locked on a house at the end of the block. 

Taking a deep breath, you stepped out of the vehicle, following Derek Morgan as he strode toward the rest of the team.

This wasn’t your first case with the BAU, but you were still new enough to feel a little out of place. You’d learned quickly that there wasn’t much time for hesitation in this line of work, and standing on the sidelines didn’t help anyone. 

The unsub was holed up inside the house, refusing to come out, with a hostage trapped inside. Every second felt critical as the team discussed their plan. 

“Snipers are in position, but we don’t have a clean shot,” Emily said, her tone clipped and professional. 

“There’s only one way in and out,” Rossi added, nodding toward the front of the house. “If we breach, we need to control the situation immediately before he hurts the hostage.” 

You stood quietly at the edge of the group, listening intently but not speaking up. You weren’t sure if your input was expected yet, and you didn’t want to risk saying something that wasn’t helpful. 

Then Hotch’s voice cut through the discussion, calm and authoritative as always. “I’m going in.” 

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and before you could process them, his dark eyes shifted toward you. 

“You’re coming with me,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. 

You froze, caught completely off guard. “Me?” you asked, your voice betraying your surprise. 

“Yes,” Hotch replied, already moving toward the house without waiting for further questions. “You’ve studied his profile. I need you in there.” 

You swallowed hard. The weight of the moment pressed down on you—this wasn’t a training exercise or a simple debrief. This was real, and the stakes couldn’t be higher. 

You walked back to the SUV, the cool night air doing little to calm the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. Opening the door, you grabbed your bulletproof vest and slammed the door shut.

Your hands trembled as you fumbled with the vest, trying to slip it on and tighten the straps. You cursed softly under your breath, annoyed at yourself for not being able to steady your movements. 

“Do you need help?” 

The deep, steady voice startled you, and you turned quickly to see Hotch standing just a step away. His face was calm, unreadable as always, but there was a faint softness in his gaze that caught you off guard. 

You hesitated for a moment before nodding. Without another word, Hotch gestured for you to turn around with a light touch on your arm.

You swallowed hard as you turned, your back to him now. The faint pressure of his fingers lingered against your arm, and you felt your heart pick up its pace. You cursed yourself silently.

Hotch’s hands moved with precision as he adjusted the straps of your vest. His knuckles brushed lightly against your sides as he tightened the straps, and you couldn’t help the nervous flutter that rose in your chest. 

“Follow my lead,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. His breath was warm against the back of your neck, and you felt heat rising to your face. 

He finished securing the vest, his hands lingering just a moment longer than necessary before he stepped back. “And stay close to me,” he added, his tone leaving no room for argument. 

You turned around slowly, meeting his eyes. His expression hadn’t changed—calm, stoic—but there was something in the way he looked at you that made you feel just a tiny bit less terrified. 

“You’ll do okay,” he said simply, his voice firm but not unkind. 

For a moment, the chaos around you seemed to fade. You nodded, swallowing hard as you tried to appear confident.

Hotch gave a single nod before turning, his focus already shifting back to the task at hand. But as he walked away, you couldn’t shake the lingering sensation of his hands on your vest—or the way he’d looked at you.

[amordixon]

  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, 1k words .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.”

[contentfiend]

“Anywhere” by Medina

Pairing: Aaron Piere x Y/N

Warning(s): 18+Content, Smut, Profanity (Name Calling), BDSM (Some Tying Up),Spanking, Slight Breeding Kink

Summary: It’s been months since he’s seen your face in person. Between all of the press runs, being a family man traveling back home to London, & new potential acting opportunities. Aaron is pretty much over all the texts & FaceTimes. He has so much pressure pinned up, he’s liable to devour you onsite 😏

Word Count: 5k+

“Mr. Pierre, we have about 2 more stops today and then a quick dinner with your agent to go over a few new potential contracts.”

“Thank you Bryan! I appreciate the update”

“Oh and you also have a FaceTime scheduled with your Mum & also Miss (Y/N)”

Mmmm, just hearing your name made his heart grow a size & his lush thick member plump up a little.

You & Aaron have been a thing for about 8 months now. Ever since you two crossed paths while you were assisting your stylist cousin the day he was on the Jennifer Hudson Show. Right before he was slated to walk out, you were in the background recording and in awe of how beautiful and well put together he is. Did you also mention the man has moves? Lol

“Aaron Pierre… that’s Mufasa!”

“Aaron Pierre… that’s Mufasa!”

“Aaron Pierre… that’s Mufasa!”

Such a cutie and that smile was so contagious. You teased him for weeks chanting that song, but he didn’t mind, because he always loved the sound of your voice saying his name.

“I love when you sing my full name. Hope you keep that same energy with your legs wrapped around me”

Mmmm you couldn’t help but to bite your bottom lip and place your tongue at the roof of your mouth to suppress a moan from escaping your lips. It was getting to you two about reuniting again. With your busy entrepreneur schedule of running 2 businesses, while preparing to open a 2nd location & him being the hottest newest actor on the scene; there was literally no time. You did adore him for trying to make up for it as much as he could.

Aaron quickly took time out to FaceTime his Mum first of course. He wanted to make sure he had plenty of time to talk to you also.

“Stone sweetheart, I know it is late where you are but are you taking care of yourself? All of this moving around. I know when you are tired”

”I am a bit knackered Mum, but I’ll manage. “I am enjoying the love thus far”

”Okay, sweetheart. You know I would be on the first plane to the states if need be.”

”I know Mum. How is the old man?”

“He’s alright of course. Not much of a fuss. Your brother and sister are working as usual. I’m so proud of you, Stone. I couldn’t be more proud than I already was.”

Aaron can see the tears and cry held back through the screen

”Aww Mum, don’t cry. I know you enjoy seeing me happy and thriving. I’m your favorite, why wouldn’t you be.” He throws a wink and laughs to the camera

”Oh hush she laughs. Speaking of happy and thriving. Where is your Miss y/n?”

Like it was right on queue, your FaceTime and photo popped up on the screen. Aaron had to bite his bottom lip to keep his smile from growing any wider on his face.

“Well, I think there goes my answer. lol”

”Stop it. I love you and I will talk to you later when it’s not so early.”

”Mmhmm. Love you too!”

He ended the call with his Mum and quickly answered yours before you had any time to hang up.

”Well…Hello Mr. Pierre, I thought you were ignoring me.”

”Never love. I was on a call with my Mum. You called just in time. She was just speaking of you.”

”Hmm, I know she told you how perfect I am for you and how much she loves me. lol”

”She was getting there before my little Miss Perfect FaceTimed me. It was like you heard your name or something.” His big bright smile illuminated the screen.

You and Aaron haven’t officially said the “I love you” sentence yet, but if you could fall in love from just his smile alone, you would scream it into the phone.

”Yea, I got great timing like that! lol”

A comfortable silence fell upon you both as you just admired each other a bit through your screens

”Speaking of great timing - Are you ready to see me?” Because I for damn sure need you”

He then begins to prop up his phone and fold those thick toned arms over his chest. How did I not notice before he has his chain dangling outside of his shirt the way you like it.

A slight chuckle leaving your lips “When you say need…how bad is this need?”

He looks over his shoulder to make sure no one could hear or see what he was planning to say or do. Then proceeds to lean closer to the phone.

”That’s what we’re doing?

You acting innocent?

I see you want to be dominated. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you anyway. I can only show you.”

In that moment, he leaned back in his chair, and you could see the imprint of his thick, brick hard monster pressed against his thigh. He slowly began to stroke it and close his eyes and slightly part his lips. Head leaned back, he slowly looked down at the screen and proceeded to tilt his head slightly with those piercing eyes looking like a lion ready to pounce.

From his view, all he could see was that dumb struck look on your face, head slightly tilted to your right. Almost as if you were focused on etching the site before you in memory. Lips slightly parted. You were in a trance. Imagining everything at each minute what you planned on doing to that beast the moment you see him.

”y/n…y/n darling.” He laughs lightly.

Voice in that deep octave like he just woke up.

“You got my favorite look on your face. That’s the same look you have when I go real deep, real slow. Then I pullout even slower and you splash everywhere on me.”

You snap out of your thoughts due to the words you just heard. Feeling like you may have already wet your panties for the day, you then immediately ask…

“What time is the plane scheduled for me again?”

You both go into a quick fit of laughter at how intense the moment had gotten.

In that small cute voice that he also loves,

“Daddy, can you do me a favor?”

“Always anything for you princess.”

“Can you please let me see it? “It��s been months and I don’t think I remember what it looks like”

You had the cutest look on your face with an even cuter pout on your lips that he would love to rub his tip on and gloss your lips with his precum. Fuuuck! This woman.

”So cute lol I’ll give you just a little preview”

As he stood up, he made sure he did it painfully slow to where you were damn near panting at the screen. Slowly pulling down the band to his grey sweats, he pulled his boxers down with it. Freshly shaven and fully erect, his dick popped out like you winded up a jack in the box and the prize was specifically crafted for you. He grabbed it up and started to moan in the screen and you almost lost it. Like a little puppy in heat, you moved closer to the phone and began to pull your shirt above your ample breast and massage them into the screen so he had a good view.

“Damn y/n. I wasn’t expecting to be doing all of this right now. You make me crazy for you.”

”I know Daddy. I can’t wait to see you later so I can slurp that dick up into these thick lips. I wanna spit on it so bad. My baby has been stressed I know it. I’m your stress reliever. Take it all out on me.”

He takes a beat to think if he wants to take this further.

”Fuuck! I gotta go. You about to make me nut all on this screen”

”It won’t be long Daddy. I’ll see you soon”

y/n blew a wet kiss to the screen with her titties still in hand.

Aaron hurries to take a screen capture.

You just giggle and end the FaceTime. Now you need to get your life together before you spend the weekend with Aaron. Not a single bag has been packed and there is makeup and clothes spread everywhere. What to wear when she sees him is the real question. Something with easy access for sure. A quickie or any type of touch from her man would suffice.

After ending the call, Aaron quickly takes a picture and sends it over to you with the text…

“Look what you got me walking around with…”

you respond “stiff enough for me to sit on…perfect!”

Aaron sends back the face palm emoji 🤦🏽‍♂️.

Enough playing, he has to get himself together for a somewhat busy day of press. He straightens himself up and washes his hands before he heads back to choose an outfit for the day.

Backstage Dressing Room:

You arrived about 30 mins early to the airport. Aaron had a driver ready to bring you straight to his interview that way you could leave together directly after. 1 hour and a half minute flight wasn’t too bad.

You made sure your outfit was professional, yet sexy enough to get your babes attention. Y/N let Aaron know she was almost at his location. Sneaking into the back room, he was nowhere in site. Perfect! You wanted to really see the surprised look on his face. You refreshed your perfume, re-applied gloss, & popped some gum in your mouth. Right as you were smoothing your outfit out & giving your look a once over; he walks in. Smile big and bright and eyes roaming all over you, Aaron lifts you off of your feet into a big embrace. Nose in your neck breathing in deeply, he releases a long drawn out low grunt.

”Mr. Pierre you have about 15 mins before you go on” the show producer quickly steps in and out without missing a beat.

After a quick head nod, Aaron turns his attention back to you and starts to speak.

“Now back to you. Why did you show up looking this damn sexy knowing I can’t put my hands on you yet.”

y/n laughs in the cutest little voice. Aaron moves closer to her. Pulling her near the side where the bathroom is out of sight.

“Uhh uh, you just said you can’t put your hands on me right now!”

“Who said I was using them?”

He moves slowly closing in on her personal space. He starts at her forehead, placing soft kisses from his lush soft lips. Down to her nose with a small peck. Aaron gets to your lips and you slightly part them waiting for some type of wet collision. You both stand there breathing heavily inviting each other’s small pants. Aaron bypasses your lips after what seemed to be an eternity teasing a kiss. Now on your neck, he continues his assault on your senses. Tongue full on snaking its way from left to right with the skill of showing how well he can work his mouth.

“Damn you smell amazing. You got my dick so hard right now. Good enough to devour you where you stand.

Eyes rolling to the back of your head. You moan “oooh shit Aaron” as he proceeds to roll his wet tongue down your throat.

You look down to capture the view of this 6 '3 tower of a man kneeling down to your 5' 5 height just to get a taste of you in any way possible. He knows you all too well when your eyes meet as if you’re trapped in the sea of those heavenly blue, green, or is it grey eyes. It doesn’t matter at the moment because this man was doing all types of hypnosis to you. All of this without even using his hands as stated. Right as he was moving his way down to your heaving chest continuing to wet his path and the cool air sending chills up your spine…

“Mr. Pierre, Mr. Pierre, it’s almost time, are you ready?”

If looks could kill, this man would definitely be the suspect. The look of pure lust and want he displayed as he looked at you and quickly, but somewhat slowly showed himself from around the corner to his assistant.

“Yes Bryan, I’m ready”

Bryan had a somewhat questionable look on his face as he led Aaron out to the stage area. Still there up against the wall, still in the moment as if waiting for his return. Needing some form of release. You contemplate whether you should finish the job at hand. Like clockwork, this man.

You receive a message on your phone

“You better not finish without me!”

Uggghh how did he knowww!!!” He already knows it’s been 2 whole months I haven’t had his touch, his tongue, or his dick and he leaves me hot and horny. Hmph! you shout as the brat you are. A small smirk creeps on your face. You decide to send him a visual of what he’s started.

Feeling the vibration of his phone as the makeup artist ensures there isn’t an ounce of shine on your face, you look at your Lock Screen to see a message from y/n.

“I know she is cursing me out lol” a big smile splayed across his face.

Aaron gets through the first portion of the interview and as the commercial break comes about, he decides to check the text that y/n decided to send at the start of the interview.

Bad idea.

There with her legs spread, panties to the side, and sticky dripping fingers still up against the wall.

“But Daddy, I need it!”

The heat that slowly transcended from his chest to his lap was immense. He quickly felt his member fatten the longer he peered at the photo. He felt like he was going to combust. Thank God he was wearing black today or his erection would be too noticeable. Also gratefully he was seated in a huge chair where he had space to let his legs separate a bit because his pants are painfully uncomfortable. Interview over, Aaron said his thank you’s, posed for pictures with some fans in the audience, and photos with the host for Socials of course. He wasted no time hurriedly getting back to the backstage back room to find y/n.

Sprinter Van:

You felt like your legs were about to be snatched from under you with how fast you walked to catch up with Aaron.

“Baby, please slow down. I have on heels.”

All you got was a menacing glance over his big broad shoulders.

You felt a knot in your throat.

“I am in serious trouble”

Aaron opens the door to the back of the building to let you out and then opens the door to his sprinter van for you to step inside. You sit near the window and watch as his tall stature makes it’s way inside. His shadow sending even more chills down your spine. Turning you on more than that session in the backstage back room. Not a word was spoken as he silently looked at you from head to toe. Unblinking looks and nostrils flaring.

“Daddy, I’m sorry!” I didn’t mean to tease you like that. I just missed you so much and you know how I get when you press my buttons like that. Can you forgive me, please?”

“I’m not mad, my little brat. You like this shit. I’m just observing you. I like to watch you squirm.”

The driver then knocks on the partition to let us know security will be on watch while he has to step inside the building to relieve himself to the bathroom before we head to the hotel. He also instructed us that Aaron’s manager needed to provide him with the updated itinerary since he will be the weekend driver. As soon as the driver closes up the partition, Aaron struts his way over to your seat and proceeds to continue where he last left off. Dragging that same thick tongue down your throat to the top of your breast. He proceeds to take both of his large hands and place them on each one.

Squeezing, massaging, and pinching the nipples through your shirt. Seeing as you didn’t wear a bra with your attire, the sensation was an instant feeling that blasted you back into the state of mind you had on that wall once more.

“You enjoy having my dick as rock hard as possible while everybody watched me fight to contain my composure? That shit gets your pussy wet or are you only that bratty and bold through text? You ain’t got nothing to say now, huh?”

“Daddy…I *moans*

He was now unbuttoning your shirt so he can get better access. Just enough for your titties to sit outside of the shirt. All you could do was stare as he twirled his tongue around each nipple leaving a spit trail on each one.

“You got me salivating at how much I want you.”

Biting each nipple gently and pulling them to then suck them back up.

“Goddamn!” “You about to make me cum from nipple play. Daddy please fuck me already. I can’t take this torture”

“Nah, I want to take my time. I deserve this. “It’s been months. I’m about to savor this.”

You could’ve sworn at that moment you created a whole brand new lake between your legs that was just newly named after you. While hovering over you, Aaron proceeded to pull the lever on the side of your large recliner style chair slightly enough to get a glimpse of your red lace thong with the large circumference of a wet spot in the middle. All the times he has been mistaken for a lion, you would believe every theory from the low but boastful grunt that proceeded to travel through his body & up his throat.

“Mmm pussy phat asf. I can’t wait to slide my dick between them lips. Creamy ass pussy too. Damn near feel like I’m hitting a geyser when you get to squirting me.”

“Can you please stop talking…please” A little sprinkle of y/n’s wetness seeping through to the seats this time.

He catches you by the neck with those extremely large appendages & squeezes lightly while staring you down.

“What’s wrong baby? You don’t like when Daddy plays back? Sending me pictures of this phat pussy while I’m working, but I can’t even get you worked up without some back talk? I got something for that”

He then proceeds to keep his hand on your neck as he gets down on his knees. Grabbing at your soaked panties, he rips them off to receive a gasp borderline moan from you. He smirks while then placing both hands under your ass cheeks to angle you up higher so he can really feast.

“Pussy smells amazing.”

Licking your inner thighs on each leg, kissing your knees in the most sensual & caring way, and making his way back down to the main attraction. He places small but intentional kisses on your mound and slightly blows cool air on your clit.

Aaron has this technique where he can blow cool & hot air while lapping at the sweet spot that makes you go stupid. Darting his tongue around, licking, suckling, and enjoying even more of the mess he was creating between your legs. If it wasn’t already for the stars that sprinkled the roof of the van, you could’ve sworn he took you beyond the stars & light years into another galaxy.

“Oh my God, yesss. Eat me up Daddy. Right there. Stay right there.”

He then added his middle finger to the mix. Fingers so long and fat it felt like 2. Rubbing gently against your spot while also massaging your opening with his knuckles.

A Man of Many Talents.

Right at your wits end & on the brink of creating a tsunami in your seat, you notice the driver walking back.

“Mmmfuck the driver’s coming back.”

“So, I’m not done eating yet.”

“But Daddy, he's going to hear me. I’m going to be super loud.”

Your plea falling on deaf ears at the moment while Aaron continues the task at hand, you feel that feeling of flutters & pressure building.

“Baby, he’s coming. He’s almost at the door… ahhh shit I’m cumming, I’m cumming. Mouth agape.

The driver door opens & immediately closes. You can see the driver standing outside the door as if waiting for a cue that it's okay to enter again. At that same moment, you begin to cream & spray that seat like a fresh coconut had been cracked open. Trying to catch your breath, Aaron moves to his seat smiling like a Cheshire Cat. Licking his fingers & lips to savor your essence from all over his face.

Watching you breathless and sated was really doing things to that now extra uncomfortable bulge in his pants. He was still hungry and he definitely had his prey marked. He gently taps on the van's window near his seat to notify the driver he can enter. Sure enough, you see the driver enter again, but stay inside & crank up the vehicle. Thankfully Aaron had other shirts on the van because you soaked him to the point of seeing his ab outline from the shirt clinging to his body. The teasing this man was doing was making you delirious. You couldn’t get to the hotel fast enough.

Elevator:

Finally making it to the hotel, Aaron checks you both in & remembers he has that dinner with his agent. With a roll of your eyes, it’s almost as if you were never going to get your man alone and get your lick back the stunt he pulled in the van.

You both step into the elevator after security makes sure no one else is on it. Aaron signals for them to take the next ride up. The other half of the security team took the first ride up alone to make sure everything is clear before you step out. You both step on heading up to the penthouse suite. Knowing this, you also know that there is a lot of time to do some very naughty things. Aaron steps on first and stands in the corner near the elevator buttons and you step in, right in front to press for the suite since he always lets you press the button.

Soon as the doors close, he pulls you close with your back to him. He leans over you to squeeze your thigh and to snake his hand up your leg. Aaron then takes a moment to lick his fingers and place them right on your clit. He circles around your clit and you throw your head back to release a moan so drawn out. You knew it’s been buried deep for a while. A slow hiss leaves your lips shortly after. It felt like he was working overtime to make you cum before you made it to your floor.

*ding* 7th Floor.

He flips you around to face him as a woman with her dog steps onto the elevator. Aaron, the gentleman that he is, he at least speaks to the woman. You on the other hand, still had Aaron’s hand suction to your pussy like it was an attachment. Taking this moment to dominate him, you take a step back just to remove yourself from his hold. You turn to speak to the woman so you can turn your back to him.

“Hi, such a cute and trained dog!”

”Thank you dear. He is like my baby. I take him everywhere with me!”

”Aww, I’ve wanted this exact dog babe. Maybe for my Birthday this year?”

As you skillfully speak to the woman, you snake your hand around and on Aaron’s dick well enough to unzip his pants. With better access, you can now massage his shaft and squeeze his tip which you know drives him to insanity.

*perks of being so short to his tall stature*

His arms over your chest now and his head turned towards the wall. You could feel him squeeze down hard on your arm and shoulder letting you know he’s struggling not to cum. You continue the assault for payback as you still are able to carry on a conversation with the older woman. Aaron then begins to move closer to your ear.

”I’m going to cum so hard. You better stop before we really give this lady a show”

Giving him a little relief, but not much, you slow down but don’t halt your movements.

”Fuck y/n. I’m going to punish you so good for this. I’m going to bury my dick so deep in you. I don’t wanna hear you can’t take it either.”

*ding* 14th Floor.

The older lady begins to step off to head to some sort of outside patio area.

”You two love birds have a great night. I was young once myself.” She leans in and whispers to you “Don’t hurt him too bad!” With a quick little wink as she steps off with her dog. You begin to snicker at the lady knowing.

“That old lady was a lil freak. I should’ve just did what I needed to do!”

You shout ”Eww Aaron no!” As you both go into a fit of laughter.

He says in your ear “I meant what I said too” licking your earlobe and biting it.

*ding* What felt like an eternity we were finally in the suite

It was beautiful. Very nice furniture. Huge layout. Nice size bed and a huge tub you planned on relaxing in at some point.

“Okay babe. I wanted to make sure you got to the room safely. I still have this dinner with my agent. I promise it shouldn’t take too long. Want anything while I’m down there?”

“No baby. I’m ready hop in the shower and relax a little.”

“You better not fall asleep because I don’t mind waking you up.” He laughs

“Boy get out of here. I’ll be ready for you when you get back.”

Placing a soft longing kiss to his lips, you both moan at the unfinished business you two need to resolve. Aaron reluctantly pulls away and heads toward the elevator to make a swift return.

Bedroom:

You step out of the shower with the music still blasting. Soaking wet, you reach for one of the plush hotel towels to help assist in soaking up the beads of water pouring from your skin. Dry enough with still a sheen of mist to your body, you put on one of the soft cotton robes. Looking around for your vanilla scented body bronzer Aaron loves the smell of. Stepping out of the bathroom and near your luggage, you bend over to unzip your bag. You see the bronzer body oil and then decide you need your matching scented moisturizer to really drive him insane. Spraying some brown sugar scented gourmand parfum on your ankles, you still can’t find the moisturizer.

“How did I pack these 2 and not the most important one? Knowing my skin needs it” you chuckle slightly to yourself.

You take your arms out of the sleeves, resting the robe on your shoulders in order to apply the oil. Unaware that the man of the hour has quietly made his way back to the suite, you go to check your backpack purse. As soon as you bend over again to check for the moisturizer and find it, your robe falls perfectly around your feet. Aaron slowly walks into the room and is greeted with a sight that has him dumbfounded. You hear movement and quickly stand up out of being startled.

“Shit! Babe you scared me. I still have my music turned up and I didn’t…”

“Uhh uhh. I need you right back where you were. That amazing view I walked in on is exactly how I should be greeted into the room. Pussy looked delicious and that phat ass in the air like that.”

Loving how turned on he is, you turn back around purposely hinging slowly at the waist. Spreading your feet apart a little more, you jiggle your ass while placing your hands on your ankles.

“y/n, you ready for me baby? Because once I’m in there I’m not stopping. You looking too good and I need to stay inside you until I’m finished”

“Yes Daddy, please hurry up and fuck me”

The room definitely got even hotter than what that shower made it. Your playlist of sexy r&b songs made for the perfect tracklist to how loud you were about to get. Aaron was relentless and anytime away from that dick,it always felt like the first time.

Aaron begins to kneel down behind you. “No moving or running you hear me? Let Daddy make his princess feel amazing”

“Yes Daddy” you said as a moan

Aaron chuckles at your eagerness

You can feel him doing something near your feet. He was grabbing up your robe and removing the cotton belt.

“I’m going to place this around your wrist. Soft enough to tie it as tight as I need it.”

Eyes rolling back and pussy clenching at the thought of him holding on like the reins of a horse. He was about to do you in something serious.

Suddenly feeling cool air and wetness, Aaron had flattened his tongue and was licking from your clit to damn near your asshole. Moaning like crazy and trying your best to not sway back and forth so he can tongue fuck you. Him knowing you oh so well, he makes his tongue stiff licking his thumb. He places his thumb on your clit as he begins to use that same tongue to move in and out of your folds. You couldn’t resist the urge, so you began to rock back and forth anyway.

“Aht aht, I told you no moving. You gone be a bad lil slut or a good one” Aaron spoke in that deep vibrato that made your knees buckle.

Pulling you up by your hair. You lean back against him to catch your footing. Aaron immediately attacks your neck while walking you over to the bed. Pushing you down with enough force, but still gentle, he continues to speak

“You been kind of bratty today. You must want me to spank you too love?”

“No Daddy. I just really miss your dick that’s all”

“I told you I would take my time because I miss you too. If that’s not okay with you, I’ll give you what you want”

Without notice, Aaron then swiftly lined himself up with your opening and took the slowest stroke into you. Filling you up until the base met with your ass cheeks. You lift your head while rolling your eyes back.

“Babyyy…fuuuuckkk”

He pulled out slowly and entered just as slow again to warm you up to his length. Picking up the pace and holding on to the cotton belt with both hands now. He was definitely showing he was a skilled equestrian. Rhythmic strokes and smacking your ass without missing a beat. Rolling his hips from left, right, and in the middle, he was definitely showing out.

Feeling like you were high. You can’t even grasp the moment really. Confused. Euphoric. Lethargic and downright spent, this session was for sure as hell worth the wait.

“Ohhhh my God! Daddy, why are you fucking me like thissss?!”

He chuckles at your plea

“All of this good dick is here for you love. You gonna cum for Daddy? I need to feel this good wet tight pussy squeeze down on me. Can you do that for me princess?”

You were already halfway there before the pep talk. Aaron started to steady his strokes then he held his dick all the way in & pulled it out slowly again.

This time you couldn’t hold it any longer.

“Yesss Oh My God I’m cumming! I’m cumming”

“Mmmhmm wet Big Daddy up. Just like that. Ooooh she’s squeezing me. I don’t think she wants me to leave. You want me to keep stroking you like this? You love this dick don’t you? *Smack* Don’t you princess?

What the fuck is this man trying to do? It’s like he’s trying to ruin me. Make me what?! Fall in Lo… That’s it he’s trying to fuck me into submission to say that I love him. I gotta fight back a little bit. It ain’t gone be that easy.

“Mmmhmm Big Daddy I love this dick” you began to finally speak. Devious plot now clouding your mind. He was in for a surprise

“I know you love Big Daddy too” as he massaged your ass cheeks and steadied his pace

I knew he was up to something, but it didn't matter. He’s about to get an award worthy performance.

“Hmm I think you love me more. Why don’t you tell your princess you love her first?

Aaron laughs a deep voiced somewhat dark vibrato laugh in your ear

“Y/n, you not making demands right now. You always want your way. Let me have this one baby. You can’t win. You’re tied up.

Challenge Accepted!

Without notice you stand all the way up on your tippy toes as high as you can go (perks of wearing heels so much). Grabbing as much of your ass cheeks and spreading them apart, you began to move back and forth on that massive still hard dick.

Aaron takes in a small gasp of air as he plants his feet better to enjoy you.

Chest and chin to the bed, you were about to work him into overtime.

Panting. Some “oh shitttts. A couple of approving mmm hmms” He was bound to be singing I love you.

“Fuck baby! I know what you trying to do. Gahh damn she’s gripping me. Sheesh!” “Y/n just let Daddy have this one”

“Not a chance”

You place your right leg up on the bed. Bouncing on your left foot to make sure you were correctly in position and comfortable. You needed to be stable in order to throw all this ass back.

“Ohhhh shit! Keep working that pussy baby. I feel like I’m close. You about to make daddy buss right in you”

“Tell me you love this pussy baby”

“Fuckkk I love it!”

“What else do you love Big Daddy? Please tell me…doesn’t she deserve it?”

“She deserves anything she wants princess” Aaron moans

Thrusting at an increased pace, you feel the throbbing pulses. He was definitely close. Stilling your movements, you allow him to take over since you were for sure winning the war. Seconds later, Aaron came so hard you could feel him fill you up. Satisfied and Sated he speaks in a low tone..

“Mmm baby I love you so much. I been wanting to say that shit for a minute now”

Allowing the moment and the words to wash over you and consume you, you say in return…

“I love you too. Been loving you”

*Thank you for reading my first fic! It took me awhile to actually post this, but I’m glad I did. Definitely feel relief & a whole new respect for the amazing writers on here. Hope you enjoy ❤️*

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes

@uzumaki-rebellion

@wildcardmelaninfreak

I would love some feedback from you all if you don’t mind & have the time

[softtdaisy]

your favorite brother / Aaron Hotchner

summary. you thought you would never deal with Hotchner brothers again. And here came Aaron. Arresting you. And making up for the arrest.

words count. 3,055

what to expect. mention of murder, mention of abuse, mention of Sean (guess it's important to say it) not a real smut because i'm still uncomfortable writing it but it's implied

a/n. this might be one of my favorite fic since i started writing again, i really took the time to do something sensual. and i'm trying to something new with the gif so??? i hope you will love it 🤍

criminal minds masterlist | F1 masterlist | general masterlist | request

You’ve seen Aaron Hotchner more these past two days than the whole time you were dating Sean, his brother. 

It’s not like you didn’t try to back then. You always found it sad that both brothers weren’t in touch and didn’t seem close at all. Sean didn’t seem very fond of his brother, criticizing him a lot for many things that you didn’t even understand most of the time. You often thought that he was looking for excuses to blame Aaron for many things in his life that were not his fault. But it wasn’t your place to defend a man you never met. 

You only met Aaron once, in your ten months relationship with his brother.

You guessed he tried to do some effort by inviting him to Jack’s birthday that year. You almost didn’t come. It was the beginning of your relationship with Sean and you weren’t sure it was right to be there after months (years?) of the Hotchner’s brothers not seeing each other.

But Sean insisted. Saying he didn’t want to go alone in case they argue. So you were there. 

You remembered the first time you saw Aaron Hotchner.

He looked nothing like your boyfriend. Neither physically or mentally. Maybe that’s why it was harder to contain the immediate attraction you had for him.

Aaron had this dark masculine figure, so serious and imposing, yet with a little light coming from the happy look on his face that it was impossible to miss him. It was his son's birthday and Aaron was the center of attention.

You guessed the FBI outfit was different from the one he was wearing that day: a dark blue shirt that was revealing his biceps and veins and a dark jean that looked so good on his long legs. His hair was not styled, almost like he woke up a few minutes before you arrived.

And when he turned around to greet you, the smile that he gave you was easily one of the most beautiful ones you’ve ever seen. Sincere, genuine and glowing.

He was far from the gloomy figure that Sean described to you. You even wondered if he didn’t overstate that description to prevent you from falling for his brother. 

Funny coming from a confident man that never seems to fear losing his women.

As much as you tried to fight it, you ended up daydreaming about Aaron more than once that day. 

The way he bent over the table, talking to his coworkers, got you lost in your mind about being in this position too. With him.

The way he put a hand on your shoulder to thank you for being here got you thinking about the heat of his skin and how good it would feel elsewhere on your body.

Your brain even memorized his features so well that Aaron was even part of your dirty dream that night. You claimed it was the other Hotchner brother but you could never forget the feeling of the dark haired hands on your body. 

But the two brothers ended up fighting only a few days after Jack’s party and you put aside everything you remembered about Aaron right after. Not only because of the fight but because of the way Sean ended up treating you.

You never wanted to hear about the Hotchner brothers ever again.

And you could have easily gone with that state of mind for the rest of your life. If your coworker wasn’t killed in the elevator. 

Real problem.

You weren’t sure why the FBI got called on the case. Sure it was terrible and premeditated, you don’t kill someone on an elevator out of nowhere, not even after a bad day. And that man had a few complains against him for sexual harassment. It didn’t take two detectives to get the motive.

So when your boss told you that the FBI would work on the case, you didn’t really get it but accepted it.

But when you saw Aaron Hotchner coming through the door, you thought that maybe fate was behind it.

If the attraction was born on Jack’s birthday with his casual look, it came back bigger when you saw him. The charcoal grey suit, the burgundy tie, the dark hair perfectly styled, the silver watch shining on his wrist and the serious look on his face, everything made you lose it that day.

You weren’t the only one surprised by the unplanned and supposed-to-never-happen-again reunion. 

“Didn’t know you were working here.” Aaron said after he finished talking to your boss. He walked straight to your desk, his knees barely touching it. Like he was trying his best to not enter your life again.

“It’s not like you knew a lot about me.” you replied, folding your arms against your chest. You noticed his eyes looking down on you before going back to your face. This was almost a criticism. But could you really blame him for not staying in touch with his brother’s ex-girlfriend?

Aaron sighed, looking away to make sure nobody was listening. “Listen, I know you complained about the victim. We need to hear you.”

You tried not to look disappointed that it took him less than a minute to change the conversation and focus on the case. There was so much more you wanted to say. 

But you also noticed that it took him that same amount of time to change his mind about his place in your life and put a hand on your desk.

“What do you want me to say?” you asked, frowning. “He was convinced every person that walked through this door wanted to have sex with him. To the point he didn’t mind cornering people to get what he wanted.”

You noticed how the hand Aaron had put on your desk turned into a fist. “I slapped him, once.” you added. “It was during last year Christmas’ party. Apparently, my red dress attracted him like a bull to the point he followed me to the toilet to finally have his rest. He said it was my fault.” you took a break, breathing. “He’s the one who’s dead now.”

Maybe you dreamt it but you’re sure you saw a smile on Aaron’s face. Short and very small. But a proof he heard you. Anything else, Aaron?”

“I’ll tell you.” you loved how his eyebrows went up and down, just like his eyes on you. He took one second from his time to look at you before walking back to his team. 

You spent the whole day searching for him in corners and other rooms. Your colleagues always laughed about you being closed to the coffee machine as a way to satisfy your caffeine addiction. Which wasn’t completely false. But you were more than glad when the man haunting your thoughts came to take one more than once. It was good a distraction from work and the mess happening that day.

Next thing you knew, it was 8 p.m., your day was over and Aaron Hotchner was waiting for you. But not casually. 

He was waiting to bring you to the police station. 

“That’s a joke, right?” you asked, chuckling at the idea. It was kind of funny to be arrested by your ex brother-in-law. But there was no sight of fun on his face. 

And when he walked behind you to escort you, Aaron leaned closer to your ear. “Don’t make things more difficult.” he whispered. You closed your eyes for a second, imagining other moments where this man could whisper things in your ear. But only for a second. Because Aaron was walking quickly behind you, hurrying you up outside.

He was the one helping you get in the car. You appreciated the irony of him opening the door like a gentleman. Aaron noticed the look in your eyes, the anger of being arrested for something you clearly didn’t do. And the betrayal of him being the one arresting you. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled so softly you almost didn’t hear it.

But you did. And it was the melody that stayed in your head the whole ride.

The questioning was pure torture.

Aaron asked to not do it, a conflict of interests that the team quickly learned about when they did some research on you. So you met agent Prentiss and Morgan. Well, meet again technically because you remembered seeing them at Jack’s birthday. But there was no time for chatting.

Maybe it was because of your connection with their boss or they saw the sincerity in your words, but none of them seemed to believe in your guilt.

But you still had to stay there because you were one of their unsub. Telling the same story over and over.

“You said you wanted him dead.” Prentiss said, showing you a screenshot from a conversation with your colleagues. 

You couldn’t contain your laugh. “That son of a bitch tried to abuse me. He tried to abuse almost every woman that walked in our office. He was waiting for them like a goddamn hunter. And I should ask for his happiness? He’s better where is now.” you looked at her in the eyes. “But that doesn’t mean I killed him.”

This continued like that for hours. Of them leaving the room and leaving you alone. Even if you could still feel Aaron’s look on you through the glass -at least you liked to think he was there. And both of them coming back to ask you more questions about work and the victim. 

It was midnight when you finally were allowed to come home. This time, you didn’t look for Aaron at the station. But you found him in your dreams. Whether you wanted it or not. 

That was how you ended spending the day at your apartment instead of work. You took your day off and learnt in the afternoon that the real responsible had been caught. 

And again, you thought this case being solved meant you were finally free from the Hotchner brothers.

When the sun started to come down, you heard three knocks on your door. The atrocity of what happened the day before didn’t stop you from opening your door to strangers.

Except it wasn’t a stranger.

It was the man hunting your dreams and fantasies. 

“What do you want Aaron?” you asked, moving away to let him come in.

You weren’t the only one to whom the first meeting between you two was engraved in your mind. Aaron perfectly remembered the day Sean brought you to Jack’s birthday.

His brother didn’t tell him he would bring someone. And when he heard the gossips when you arrived, before seeing you two, he regretted inviting Sean. Of course his brother would do something to annoy him.

Then he saw you.

You had lowered to be at Jack’s level and were laughing at a joke he apparently told you. You looked mesmerised, like his son was the most interesting person in the whole garden. And if you asked Aaron, he would say it’s true. But to see that look on someone that didn’t know either him or Jack was flattering. And appealing.

It wasn’t only the way you acted with Jack. It was you, entirely.   

He remembered the glow in your eyes when you first talked. He remembered how you always seemed to look for him. He remembered seeing you get lost in your thoughts, wondering if he was the cause.

He remembered the necklace you were wearing: a gold chain with an emerald. A gift from Sean. He remembered thinking how his hands would look so much better around your neck. 

Aaron felt bad for having such a sudden and massive desire for his brother’s girlfriend. And just like you, you were the only one in his mind when he went to sleep that night. Or during the showers that lasted longer than usual the following days.

Then life carried on. He somehow forgot about you or his attraction for you. And after his fight with Sean, he wasn’t even aware that you two broke up. Not until yesterday, when you revealed during the questioning that you were single.

“Apologize.” he finally replied. You turned around to look at him. Aaron leant against the wall, like a statue that belonged there. You guessed his day was over by the way his tie was a little less thigh around his neck than yesterday or how the first button of his shirt was undone. He looked tired. This case was draining. Not only by the murder itself but by you being part of it. 

You nervously chuckled at this. “Don’t worry Aaron, I’m used to the Hotchner brothers hurting me.” 

You haven’t thought about Sean since your breakup. You even erased the memory of him in your apartment. The way he would always sit at the same place, the mug he always used -one you got rid of- or how his perfume would always stay for a day or two after he left. These were gone from your mind and you were glad that your life didn’t change after he went away.

Aaron being here could have revived this.

But it didn’t.

Seeing him here made you want to create new memories. With him. 

It started with him taking long steps to catch your wrist. “I’m not Sean.” a fact he needed to hear more than you. Thank god he wasn’t his brother. Otherwise he would never have come. “What did he do to you?” 

Anger. Passion. Eager. You could see all that in his eyes. You could feel it in his hand, how he was gripping your wrist but softly touching your skin with his fingertips. You could hear it in his breathless sighs. 

“Does it matter?” you whispered, close to his lips.

You didn’t know which one of you was leading this dance that couldn’t be seen but you soon felt the wall against your back and Aaron’s body against your chest. “Maybe we should focus on what I can do to you now.” 

Next thing you knew, Aaron's lips were on yours. Angrily kissing the memory of his brother on your mouth away. Passionately biting your lips to taste more of you. Eagerly taking your shirt off to discover your body. All his thoughts went silent with you around. All he wanted was to get more and more of you.

His hands felt exactly like you thought they would on your body: hot and firm. He was grabbing your hips, pressing his body harder against yours. Soon your legs were around his waist. You felt the tense in his arms being tighter holding you like this. But not like it was hard. Like he was living every single second of that moment with appetite. 

When his lips slid on your neck and your hands got lost in his hair, you knew you never wanted this moment to end.

Later, you would find it funny how Aaron found the way to your room without even looking. He was too concentrated on kissing every piece of skin he was unveiling to think about that. Yet, he had no problem walking through the corridor and laying you on your bed. He followed his gut and his gut was driven by his need to be inside you.

When Aaron started untying his tie, you stopped him by putting a hand on it, meticulously placing it on his heart.  “Let me do that.”  you said, your lips so close to his ear that you almost kissed it.

You always had a thing for undressing men. Especially men in suits. 

You took your time with his tie, letting it slide all along his neck in a soft way. You slowly did every button of his shirt, kissing his chest centimeter by centimeter. You lost it for a few seconds looking at the strand of hair running through his chest. This would be a new addition to your dreams, you knew that.

His belt fell on the floor, his pants made the best noise sliding through his legs. And there you were, both naked, and you in front of the man with whom you had the most insane fantasy.

Aaron took a moment to look at you. You were close to it, with him on top of you. You got lost in the beauty of his eyes while he was admiring you. “What does it mean?” you asked him, softly bringing a hand to his cheek in a moment of tenderness that you didn’t expect to happen. 

You saw the conflict in his head. Being torn between knowing he shouldn’t be there with you -because of his job, because of his brother, because of who he was as a man. And putting everything aside for once in his life. “I don’t know.” he replied, still leaning closer to you. 

“And I don’t care.” he added, finally letting his body explore yours entirely.  

You got lost in Aaron’s arms that night. Every minute felt better than the past one. Every kiss felt nicer than the post one.

And every moment, you let yourself fall for him harder.

You couldn’t say you had feelings for him already, except for the obvious attraction you both had for each other. 

But looking at Aaron, asleep in your sheets at 4 a.m. after making love to you multiple times, you thought that maybe. Maybe. You could let yourself be in love with a Hotchner brother again. 

“I see you,” you heard him say in his hoarse sleepy voice. You were a little to blame for it after making moan harder than you thought he even would.

You laughed a little which caused a sweet little smile on his lips.“With your eyes closed?”

“I can see you everywhere.” he replied, opening his sweet eyes. “Even when you’re not there. And I know you did too.”

“Are you a magician, Aaron Hotchner?” you asked with a fake surprise. Slowly, his hands guided you on his lap again. A place you never wanted to leave.

He never answered your question. Not now nor ever. He simply kissed your lips in the softest way, his arms tightening around you so you could lie on his chest.

An offer to discover that yourself, if you were willing too. 

[dixons-sunshine]

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’.”