in which Jack Hotchner comes to your classroom after spotting Mr. Scratch on school grounds
margovember
who? spencer reid x fem!reader
category: flangst
content warnings: takes place during early season 12, mr scratch/peter lewis, kindergarten teacher!reader, mom!reader, wife!reader, the spencer reid dilf agenda, nondescript illness, lying to your spouse
word count: 1.9k
a/n: this just popped into my head while i was watching season 12 AND @lilacsandlavenderhaze has a request in for kindergarten teacher!reader angst AND i wanted to give lia reading material for her train ride so we are killing three birds with one stone
You’d just turned your monitor off when you heard a knock at your door. Initially, you assumed it was Janet, a member of the custodial staff, coming to see if you had left for the day, but as you approached the door, you didn’t see anyone through the small window.
Your footsteps faltered, hesitating to open the door because you weren’t sure what you’d find on the other side, you were certainly surprised to find Jack Hotchner standing outside of your door. Frowning, you stepped to the side as he shoved into your classroom, “Jack? What’s wrong?”
Sometimes, Jack would sit in your classroom while you finished work, and you’d take him home to help out his dad and aunt, but as far as you knew, the BAU was in town, and Hotch didn’t need any extra help today. “He’s here,” Jack said ominously, his tone enough of a warning to prompt you to close your classroom door.
“Who’s here?” You asked, clicking the door shut and turning back to him. He was nervous, clutching the straps of his backpack like it was a lifeline.
Wide-eyed, Jack peeked out the windows next to your door, “Peter Lewis.”
Instinctively, you locked your classroom door, before standing in front of Jack, “Honey, how do you know who that is?”
He gulped, probably wondering if he’d get in trouble for knowing something he shouldn’t have, but in this case, his knowledge might have protected him. “I saw my dad’s files out on the kitchen table, I recognize his face.”
Technically, Peter Lewis wasn’t a name you were supposed to recognize, and yet, you’d heard the name from Spencer’s lips countless times in the last year. Even more so since he managed to escape from prison, “Where did you see him?”
“Outside by the busses,” he told you, following you through your classroom until you made it back to your desk, searching for your cell phone. “Are you gonna call Uncle Spencer?”
You shook your head, scrolling through your contacts until you came across one Aaron Hotchner, “I’m calling your dad.” Blood drained from your face as realization dawned on you, “Jack, do you know where Henry is?”
He tapped on your desk anxiously; the fidgeting was the only movement that clued you into his nervousness. Jack’s facial expression was completely stoic, and you wondered, not for the first time, if it was genetic. “He went home early,” He told you, “His dad picked him up.”
Nodding to yourself as you clicked the call button on your phone and held it up to your ear, grateful that you didn’t need to be a haven for multiple BAU kids. You’d had both boys as students in kindergarten, but Henry was in second grade and Jack was in fifth now.
“Hello?” A familiar voice came in through the phone, instinctively, you reached out a hand and smoothed Jack’s hair back.
You smiled sadly at Jack, you didn’t call Hotch often, and when you did, it was seldom good news. “Hey, Hotch,” you greeted him, “I’ve got Jack here in my classroom, and I think we have a bit of a situation.”
Explaining the events of the afternoon to Hotch, you heard him packing up to leave work on the other line—the click of his briefcase, the placement of pens in a mug. “Can you put me on speakerphone?” He asked. Of course, you obliged, letting Jack take the phone in his hands, “Hey buddy, you did the right thing by going to Mrs. Reid’s classroom.”
“I saw him in your folders,” Jack said, trying to explain himself.
There was a fine line that needed to be walked when it came to what you all decided to tell your children. In this case, Jack’s snooping might have been what kept him safe. It made your chest ache, and it made you anxious to get home to your own kids. “I know, it’s okay. I’m gonna leave work and come pick you up…” His voice trailed off for a moment, “Can you give the phone back to Mrs. Reid?”
Jack handed the phone to you, and you smiled softly at him, “Hey, why don’t you take a seat in one of the bean bag chairs?” You gestured to your classroom’s comfy corner and brought the phone back up to your ear, “Hey.”
“Would you mind staying at the school with him? Just until I can get there, I just have to make sure I let Dave know that I’m leaving,” he informed you.
You swallowed thickly, it was a wonder that you were more nervous than Jack was right now, but maybe that was a blessing in disguise. “Yeah, that’s fine, Hotch. I’ll be here for as long as you guys need,” you assured him, watching as Jack dutifully opened his backpack and pulled out a binder.
Hotch released a sigh of relief, “Thank you, Y/N.”
After hanging up the phone, you went over to your snack cabinet and pulled out a package of goldfish crackers, bringing them over to Jack and holding them out for him to take. They were his favorite when he was in your class, and you hoped they still were. Maybe he was just humoring you when he took them gratefully, “Do you want something to drink?”
“Just water is fine,” he answered, focused on the pages on his lap.
You hesitated, “Are you sure?” You wandered over to your desk and opened the small fridge that you stashed beneath it, “I have some yogurt drinks… I have apple juice. Does your dad usually let you have juice?”
Holding out the juice box like an offering, you let him see it before he answered, “Sometimes.”
“Well, I think he’ll forgive me today,” you admitted, acknowledging the extenuating circumstances. You kept the juice boxes in your classroom in case of a low blood sugar, but you worried about giving him too much sugar without his dad’s permission. Then again, Jack could probably handle more sugar than your toddlers could.
He thanks you again, this time for the juice box, and sets it on the small side table with his opened bag of goldfish.
You noticed his drawings in the binder, he was in the process of coloring in a bunch of spaceships, but it wasn’t his precise coloring that you took note of, it was the fact that he was coloring in lines that he had drawn himself. Quickly, you texted your nanny to let her know that you’d be a little late getting home before sitting down in the bean bag next to him. “Those are really well done, Jack.”
“Thanks,” he murmured, focused on getting the straw into his juice box.
Deciding to try again, you wiped your clammy palms on your skirt, “Is that what you want to do when you grow up?” You asked him, peeking over at the papers again, “Design spaceships.”
Jack shrugged in response as he took a sip from his juice, “I’m not sure.”
Nodding in understanding, you let him sit and continue his drawing, smiling when he periodically snacked on a goldfish. You wondered if Hotch had the same fear as you. That one day, one of your kids would come up to you and proclaim that they wanted to be an FBI agent just like their dad. You wanted the best for your kids, and you wanted them to follow their own dreams, but not at the cost that the FBI took.
You both startled when a knock came at your door, you gently touched the side of Jack’s chair, “It’s probably just your dad,” you reassured him, “I’ll go look.”
Setting down your snack, you warily approached your classroom door, releasing a sigh of relief when you saw Hotch on the other side. “Hey,” you said, opening the door for him, “Jack, he’s here.”
He started shoving his things in his backpack, minding his juice and snack on the table as he tossed the bag over his shoulders. “Hi, dad,” he greeted.
“Hey, bud,” Hotch greeted with a small wave before he turned to you, “I didn’t say anything to anyone before I left, and I was wondering if you could refrain from mentioning anything to Reid.”
You shifted uncomfortably on your feet, “I don’t keep secrets from my husband, Hotch,” you told him, shrugging slightly as you did.
Hotch nodded, “Could you just… delay it by a day, then? Just until I’m able to sort some things out.”
Meeting his gaze, you recognized the fear in them; it was the same fear you saw in Spencer’s eyes every time an UnSub got a little too close to the team. The look you saw when you and the kids were put into protective custody. With that in mind, your head bobbed, “Sure thing, Hotch.”
A day, you could do a day, you assured yourself as the three of you said your goodbyes, leaving you to relock your door and return to your desk. You took a seat, resting your chin in your hands as you eyed a photo on your desk. It was from last Christmas when you and Spencer took the kids to meet Santa. They were all grinning at the camera, even your youngest, who usually bore a scowl.
Closing your eyes, you tried to convince yourself to get up and head home when your phone started ringing. You sighed at the sight of the Caller ID: Spencer.
Swiping the screen, you brought it up to your ear, “Hi, honey.”
“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asked you immediately, “You sound upset.”
You sniffled, “No, it’s fine. I just…” you searched your mind for a fib, “There’s something going around the school. A stomach bug or something.”
In the background of the call, you heard the dinging of elevators, familiar BAU sounds, “Yeah, it sounds like Henry’s picked something up, so JJ’s headed home early. I’m worried Jack might’ve gotten it too, Hotch left in kind of a hurry not too long ago.”
Chewing on the inside of your lip, you nodded to yourself, “Uh, yeah. I’m just about to head home myself.”
“Well, with the team down two, Rossi decided we should just call it a day, so I’m actually on my way out too,” he told you. “I was wondering if you wanted to try to take the kids to that new playground out by Falls Church, but if you’re not feeling well, I can just take them and let you rest.”
You laughed weakly, more at the situation than anything, “I’d love to, and the kids will like it too.” At the very least, they’d sleep well tonight after playing their energy away.
He hummed over the phone, “Perfect, I’ll see you when I get home?” He asked, acknowledging that you had a shorter commute than him and would likely beat him home.
“Yeah,” you confirmed, standing up and gathering your things with your phone wedged between your shoulder and cheek. “Hey, Spence?”
“Yes, lovely?” He chirped in response, clearly in a much better mood than you.
You sighed, “I love you.”
He was silent for a moment, “Are you sure you’re alright? Is something wrong?”
Shaking his head even though he couldn’t see, you answered, “I just really, really love you.”
“Well,” he responded, his grin apparent in his tone, “I really, really love you too.”
Summary: You have a tattoo that you`re teased for by others but when it`s just you and Spencer, you realise that it`s all worth it.
Warnings: MDNI(18+), fem!reader, tattoo, smut/sex briefly mentioned, swearing, alcoholic drinks, ownership kink??, English is not my first language
WC: ~1.2k
A/N: Came up with this a few weeks ago but only now wrote it, hope you enjoy!!
You knew, deep down, when you first got the tattoo that it would raise eyebrows. If anyone found out about it, you could already imagine the reactions: weird looks and perhaps a few teasing comments. You were prepared for the judgment. You understood that most people would likely think it was strange and that was okay.
What mattered was that you liked it and that Spencer did as well. After all, you are the one who has it permanently engraved in your body and he’s the one who’ll be staring at said print on your body for the rest of your lives.
As soon as Spencer mentioned the idea, you were obsessed. Not a single feeling of hesitance found itself into your body the day you got the tattoo. Only pure excitement made shivers run down your spine as you walked into the tattoo parlour, which Spencer had deduced was the best one courtesy of tons of hours of research on online reviews, distances and health department tattoo regulation inspections.
_________
The team had organized a little get together at a bar; family, friends and all, so naturally Spencer brought you.
Spencer wore a white button-down shirt, but it wasn’t a pure snow white—more of a faded off-white, as if time had softened the fabric just a little. The shirt was messily tucked into a pair of black slacks. His hair, which was even messier than the cloth he tucked under his belt, lay unruly and untamed in tousled waves on his head, as if he had just rolled out of bed and let them fall where they may. It was the usual look for him, and you couldn’t help but love how effortlessly charming it seemed.
You chose a pair of blue low-rise jeans, the ones Spencer had always said were his favorite. You paired them with a light grey shirt with three little buttons at the top. You deliberately left two of them undone just enough to catch Spencer`s eye without being too revealing.
The bar was cosy but packed with constant laughs and conversation crossing the table you sat at. Unaesthetically pleasing lights shone from the ceiling a few flickering with the same rhythm as the nostalgic party songs that were played from the big speakers spread out all over the room. Rossi announced the first round be on him, no surprise there.
He and Emily had left to get the drinks, disappearing into the crowd for a few moments, only to return a short while later, their hands full of glasses. Rossi’s arms were loaded with tumblers filled with alcoholic beverages, while Emily was gripping a few more in her grasp. The sight of them juggling so many glasses brought a smile to your face as you watched them make their way through the room.
“Oh, you guys need some help?” you called out, already rising from the stool you’d been sitting on, eager to lighten their load. You moved swiftly, offering your hands to take a few glasses from their arms. He smiled, looking grateful for the assistance.
“Thank you, you`re the fucking best,” Emily praised, a soft chuckle leaving you at the sweet thank you involving such unfitting, vulgar language which infected her to let out a small laugh as well.
After you took a few drinks off their hands, the three of you started moving around the room, weaving through the different people and their conversations, delivering the drinks to their designated drinkers. Each time you made your delivery, you shared a brief exchange with the person before turning to pass the next drink along.
“Okay, last one! Who ordered a bud light?” Your eyes studied the different faces, landing on Derek’s as his voice announced, “Me, pretty girl.”
Rolling your eyes at the nickname, matching to your boyfriend’s, you made your way to the smirking man, placing the bottle in front of him. “Hear ya go.” You smiled sweetly before turning around, looking to walk back to your seat but being stopped by Penelope’s voice.
“What’s that? Is that Spencer’s signature?” She asked, confusion and a giggle present in her tone.
You stopped dead in your tracks, the ones you had barely made your way down, the sneakers you were wearing making a slight squeaking noise against the friction of the sticky bar floor.
The rest of the teams and their companion’s faces turned to you, more specifically your back, even more specifically, the little sliver of skin revealed between the blue and grey materials of your jeans and shirt. The skin clad with a tattoo reading “Spencer Reid” in his finest handwriting.
Slowly, you turned around, an awkward expression on your face before you met your boyfriend’s eyes and widened your own as a bit of a distress beacon.
“Oh- um…” for a guy with an IQ of 187, he probably should have been able to come up with something to say in that moment, but god was it hard in that stuffy room with countless expecting eyes peering at him.
“Didn’t know you guys were… that. Gee…,” Emily chuckled, her black hair gliding over her shoulders as she turned to look at the both of you one after the other.
“What is that-…,“ You tried to speak up but the rest of the words never even made it past the stage of being formed by your brain cells, the ones you were now hoping would explode so you could die before the situation got any more embarrassing. Defeated by your own inability to speak you looked down, gaze falling on the spotty floor of the bar.
“My man,” Derek grinned proudly, giving Spencer an encouraging pump of his prominent eyebrows as he laughed.
Spencer’s eyes met yours, both of your guys’ cheeks burning different shades of rosy and peach out of embarrassment, but the eye contact between the two of you communicated what you both knew.
It was worth it.
It was worth people thinking you were weird, every time Spencer laid his large hand on your lower back in public where his name lay written in the crevices between your skin’s atoms, reminding you what lay there, reminding you who you belonged to.
It was worth the embarrassment, every single time Spencer’s slender fingers, warm and delicate, gently traced the intricate pattern of ink that adorned your skin. Whether you were in the shower, the steam clouding the air around you, or snuggled up together beneath the soft sheets, his touch was always so tender, almost reverent, as if the tattoo held some hidden meaning only he could understand.
It was worth the teasing and the giggling, every time his eyes, barely hazel anymore because of his blown out pupils, stared intently at his signature, his mark, his claim, dug deep into your soft skin and your even softer soul as he fucked into you relentlessly.
It was worth it because it was proof you were his. Forever. The black ink sewn into your body that is immortally yours, always there to convey how no one could ever love you like he could and how you would never even have a trace of the same love for some other person that you feel for Spencer.
synopsis: in the middle of a case, your worst fear comes true. you have to go on an a date with aaron hotchner, the boss you've been crushing on for months.
content: canon-typical violence, tropey, kissing, flirtatious aaron, mentions of alcohol, afab reader who wears a dress.
word count: 4k+ a lil bit oops
author's note: ahhh my favorite trope in crime shows. enjoy!
"so based on this geographical profile y/n and i worked on, there's only two bars our unsub could frequent with his victims. the first one is more of a nightclub and we don't think it's likely that he'll be bringing them to such a rowdy environment," reid spoke to the crowd of officers and agents awaiting instruction. "the other bar also has a restaurant attached so we'll be keeping our investigation here."
jj grabbed a handful of papers with the bar's information and passed them out to the officers. once reid had stepped to the side, aaron came forward to wrap up their profile.
"he's cunning, yet incredibly violent. do not ambush him. he will escape your grasp and hurt you in the process. be on the lookout officers," he said with a tap to the desk that sent everyone back to work. with a subtle turn, aaron gazed at you and reid. "good work on the mapping. meet back up in the conference room in 5."
"thank you, sir," you and reid echoed before beginning to organize your files back into a folder.
all the while you tried to remain professional, your heart throbbed in your chest at the smallest ounce of praise from your boss. the way he held the room in his hand and demanded respect without ever having to actually ask for it was a part of the reason why you've had a crush on them for the better part of a year.
crush, now, felt too small. it was an infatuation at this point.
it didn't matter much, however, because would you ever confess your feelings for your boss? the boss who has been nothing but stoic your entire time of knowing him? absolutely not.
shrugging the butterflies in your body away, you head over to the impromptu coffee station created for the large number of people inside the police station and pour a cup of stale yet hot and much needed energy. this case was a doozy, one that had every agent just wishing for its end. and it felt like it was soon to come to a close. they had been coming up with some kind of plan. what that plan was, you weren't entirely sure.
when you managed to snap a lid on the coffee cup, you headed into the conference room where the rest of the bau were seated haphazardly around the room. you took a spot between emily and reid, eyes focused on aaron and rossi standing in front of a whiteboard.
"that coffee's not any good, is it?" rossi asked, noting the cup in your hand.
"every sip is somehow worse than the last, but i think we all need it," you said, following your statement up with another pained drink. rossi laughed and out of the corner of your eye, you could've swore that the corner of aaron's lips titled into a smirk. you ignored it, though, and began reading the words on the board.
"so, we're hoping to catch the unsub tonight," aaron started suddenly, turning with his ever-present air of professionalism. "if he's still following his schedule, he'll find his next victim tonight, most likely at the bar reid and y/n found. we've thought about how we're going catch him and i think we'll have to go undercover. two of us."
"under what pretenses, exactly?" derek asked on the other side of the table.
"on a date," rossi answered. just faintly, a red tint appeared on aaron's cheeks. you wondered what could possibly have made him- "we've picked our two already. y/n and aaron."
"oh!" you said surprisedly. "what led to this decision, pray tell?"
aaron looked down at his folders as if they were the most important thing in the world in that very moment. rossi glanced over, shook his head, then looked at you again.
"you two just seem the most likely out of any of us to go on a date. we don't want to look suspicious, no?" rossi answered.
"i-uh-i suppose not," you said. "my go bag isn't really packed with date wear clothes. mostly just pantsuits and academy t-shirts."
aaron finally cleared his throat and met your eyes for the first time since it was announced that you two would technically be going on a date. even if you would be wearing bulletproof vests under your clothes.
"that's okay. we won't be going out till 7pm. it's only three now. you're free to find something. as long as it's easy to move in," he said in a voice that felt an octave deeper than usual. and then he did something that almost made you faint on the spot. aaron dug into his pocket, fished out his wallet, and pulled out a credit card. his credit card. "use this."
sheepishly, you took the card from his hands and placed it into your own bag. "thanks," you muttered. an elbow jabbed its way into your side from beside you and emily was smirking at you. you dismissed her with your hand and stood to exit the room.
"hotel lobby at 7, yeah?" aaron said.
you forced a nervous smile to your face and nodded, then left the room. with aaron's credit card in your bag. about to buy an outfit. for a date with him. you weren't entirely positive you could safely drive.
౨ৎ
with the information you had about the bar, you picked a semi-formal, simple dress that paired well with heels you already packed. aaron was already paying for the dress. you couldn't ask him to also pay for the accessories.
after some test laps up and down your hotel room, you declared the outfit was "easy to move in" and grabbed your bag, ensuring that his credit card was still inside. the time was only 6:45, but you knew aaron would already be there, waiting.
with a check that your holster was properly attached to your thigh, you left the room and took the elevator down to the first floor. your heart was beating irregularly in your chest and your hands were clammy, but the reflective surface of the elevator's walls let you know that you looked good. for a fake date with aaron hotchner.
the elevator dinged when the doors opened and immediately, you saw aaron sitting in a lobby chair. he looked up at the sound and stood. he was dressed impeccably well in a suit with his hair done in its usual middle part. handsome was the only word on the tip of your tongue.
"you look beautiful," he said upon reaching your figure. it seemed like he didn't mean for the words to slip out, but instead of retracting them, he simply held out his arm for yours to wrap around.
your mouth went dry, but you knew you had to say something back. "thank you, hotch. you look handsome yourself."
"i think for the purposes of tonight," he said, "you can just call me aaron."
you nodded, finding words hard to muster up. instead, you allowed him to lead out of the hotel to one of the least suspicious looking SUVs parked outside. when he reached the door, he opened it for you.
you couldn't hold back a little laugh at the gesture. "you know...we're not on the date yet," you said. regardless of the light humor of the situation, you allowed him to help you into the passenger seat. he smirked, shut the door, then walked around to his door.
when he got in, his usual stone expression found its way to his face again. "forgive me for wanting to make this feel as natural as possible. i'm sure it's awkward going on a date with your boss. even if it is undercover."
"oh, no!" you blurted out. his eyebrows raised as he backed out of the parking spot. his arm wound its way around your seat, neglecting the back-up camera for the traditional method. "sorry. it's not awkward. you don't have to worry. promise."
"yeah?" he asked, putting the car back into drive and heading to the downtown area of the small town you were in. at a stop sign, he turned to look at you. if you weren't such a highly trained profiler, you would've certainly missed the way his eyes raked up and down your body, taking in your dress of choice. "you made a good pick."
your cheeks warmed with his flattery. to avoid meeting his gaze, you fished the credit card out of your purse to offer back to him. "thanks," you muttered. "you didn't have to pay for it, you know?"
he took the credit card from your grasp and shoved it into his pants pocket. "don't worry about it," he said with a wave of his hand. "figured if you're forced into going on a date, you should have something nice to wear at least."
you looked over to his body in the driver's seat, his face focused on the road ahead of him. "why do you keep assuming that i'm hating every second of this? i mean...how rare is it that we get to eat somewhere nice while on a case? and i'm getting paid for it while in the presence of a handsome man. could be worse things." you didn't know what compelled you to add on the last bit, but when you saw his cheeks flare up, you didn't regret it.
instead of responding, aaron's body relaxed in the driver's seat.
after several minutes of driving, the bar came into view and you bit your lip in nervousness. this unsub was pretty intense and you were heading directly into the lion's den. you tried to cram the nervousness deep down in the pit of your stomach as aaron pulled into the small parking lot next door.
before turning the car completely off, aaron turned his body towards yours. "now we really need to look as inconspicuous as possible. it might feel weird, but we need to look like a real couple on a date, okay?"
"yes, sir," you responded on impulse. "i mean...yes, aaron."
despite his attempts not to, he breathily chuckled. "already off to a great start," he joked. you chuckled with him and unbuckled your seat. "i'm gonna text the team that we're heading in. don't open your door. let me do it."
a minute of quick texting passed by and aaron shut off the car, then stepped out. a few seconds passed before your door opened and aaron was extending his hand to yours. you took it with a sweet smile and let him lead you out of the car. he shut the door behind you and your arm found his own again.
regardless of the reason being for the case or for just the pure want to be closer to him, you leaned into aaron's strong body. he took to the gesture immediately and held you even closer. it was intoxicating, but you kept your gaze focused on the bar ahead.
after what felt like agonizing hours of walking side by side, you came onto the host stand at the front of the restaurant.
"how many?" the host asked.
"two," aaron responded. the hand that was holding on to your arm began rubbing the skin there up and down. every touch of his fingers left goosebumps.
the host gestured for the two of you to follow her. quicker than you'd like, she led you towards a table in the middle of the restaurant. your eyes surveyed the restaurant and bar around you, scanning for someone that resembled the unsub's profile. once the host walked away, you and aaron looked at each other and shook your heads, signaling that nothing felt out of the ordinary so far.
"order whatever you'd like," aaron said, his head pointing towards the menu in your hand. "hon," he added.
the petname rolled from his tongue naturally, as if it was a name he had been calling you for years. you tried to not show that it affected you much, but aaron noticed the way your breath caught in your throat. despite the nervousness that settled over your body, you decided to take another leap and with a shift in your seat, your heeled foot grazed over his leg. he was shocked at the sudden touch, but spread his legs further nonetheless.
you didn't pull away either when the server came forward.
"welcome, guys. date night tonight, i'm guessing?" she asked with a smile.
"mhm!" you answered first. "decided to get out and dress up for once in a while."
aaron looked at you with an almost impressed look. maybe rossi was right. you did look like a couple.
"isn't that nice? well, what would you two like to drink tonight?"
"an old-fashioned, please," aaron responded. "and a water."
"i'll take a cosmopolitan and a water," you added.
the server noted down the drinks and walked away. your foot continued sliding up and down aaron's legs, becoming a subconscious act at that point. he flipped through the menu once, then glanced around the room again. still nothing.
"an old-fashioned, hmm?" you asked, eyeing one of the meals on the menu that sounded particularly tasty.
"is that shocking?" he asked.
"no," you answered honestly. "just learning more about you, aaron."
aaron hummed, as if he were about to say something, but instead focused on his menu again. a few minutes of comfortable silence passed before the server came over with a tray of your drinks. she sat them down on the table, along with the waters, then pulled out a notepad again.
"had enough time to pick what you'd like?" she asked.
"know what you want, dear?" you asked, looking up at aaron.
"i'll take the steak frites," he said to the server.
both he and the server looked at you. you told her what you'd like from the menu, hoping it wasn't expensive enough for aaron. he barely registered the price, though, and instead collected your menus to hand to the server. if this was what dates were usually like with him, you could definitely tolerate them.
"you look like you're thinking about something," aaron said from the other side of the table where he had been watching both you and the door intently.
you took a sip of your drink and sat it back down. "i thought we said no profiling your coworkers, dear," you teased. "i feel like that applies tenfold when you're on a date."
he chuckled and took a sip of his own drink. you noted just how attractive he was with a glass of whiskey in his hand, laughing.
"pardon me for wanting to know what my beautiful date has in her head," aaron said. his words made you bite your lip and look down at the table. suddenly, though, his demeanor shifted as his eyes connected with someone coming in at the door. "don't turn around."
"is he here?" you whispered.
he nodded and picked up his drink, eyes following him to the bar. almost imperceptibly, he tilted his head towards the bar. "fifth seat," he whispered back.
sure enough, an unsub matching the physical profile had seated himself next to an alone woman at the bar. almost immediately upon sitting down, he began talking to her. the fact that the man you had been trying to catch for a long time, the man who committed some really gruesome murders was that close to you made you almost ill. you passed your emotions off by taking a drink.
"i'm gonna grab another drink, baby. i haven't seen the server around," aaron suddenly said. he nodded to you, perhaps for reassurance, before standing and adjusting his blazer to ensure the holster on his side was covered. luckily, the seat directly next to the woman was empty and he positioned himself on the other side of it. the unsub barely registered his presence, which was good. you took note of his clothes, his hair, everything, just in case she slipped through your grasp again.
eventually, aaron had flagged down the bartender, ordered his second drink, and came back with it in his hand.
"he's just flirting with her," aaron whispered once he was out of earshot. "but she's falling for it. probably not long till he tries to leave with her."
"i won't get to finish my food," you said half-seriously.
"i'll get it boxed up for you, hon," he said. though that time, aaron's voice was a whisper. the petname was for you alone.
just as aaron had expected, the unsub stood from his seat at the bar, the woman next to him following suit. together, they headed towards the back where the bathroom was, along with an exit inside the kitchen which he was likely going to use. both yours and aarons followed them and with a curt nod, you both stood to head towards the back, several paces behind them.
suddenly, they went through a door, to what seemed like a closet first before going into the kitchen. you and aaron paused at the beginning of the hallway. then some noises erupted from the closet, ones that would make an older woman blush and hold her hand to her mouth.
aaron looked back at you with a confused look on his face. at that very moment, the closet door opened. you and aaron looked at each other in panic, but just before they stepped out of the closet, you grabbed aaron by his tie and pulled him closer to you.
within seconds, you had hiked your leg up his own, revealing your thigh in the dress. his hand quickly came to the skin and he squeezed tightly. to add to the scene, you wrapped a hand around the base of aaron's neck and pulled him down. his lips met your own with a rough clash, but then the kiss smoothed out.
at first, he was still, lips unmoving against yours. when your fingers tangled themselves into the short hairs at his neck, he finally kissed you back. acting, he thought to himself as he deepened the kiss and pulled your leg higher up his. undercover, he tried to remind himself when your lips let forth a whimper into his mouth.
neither of you wanted to pull away. you only pulled your head back when you heard the kitchen door swing open and closed. you inhaled a deep breath and met aaron's dark brown eyes. they were wide and his cheeks were flushed.
"sorry. i-it was all i could think to do," you stuttered out.
aaron shook his head. "don't be," he said quickly. "come on, he's about to leave. we'll talk after."
you felt the warmth of aaron's body leave yours as he pulled the gun from his holster. you retrieved your own from your thigh and followed him through the kitchen. he flashed his badge towards the chefs to get them to stop yelling and they pointed towards the exit where the unsub had just left.
both of you picked up your pace. had the kiss deepened for a few more seconds, you would have certainly missed him. however, as soon as you threw open the exit door, the unsub was forcefully shoving the young woman into his car.
"fbi! put your hands up and back away from the car!" aaron yelled. the unsub didn't do immediately as asked, despite two guns pointing in his direction. "i won't ask again! put your hands up and back away from the car!"
in a quick flash, the unsub reached inside his jacket. in the streetlight, you saw the glint of a gun. hardly a second passed before he pulled it out, aimed, but then fell to the asphalt.
your finger came off the trigger and before lodging it back into the holster, you turned the safety back on. you hadn't killed him, only immobilized him in his right leg. it was enough for aaron to run forwards, take the gun and throw it to the side. while he placed handcuffs on the unsub, you ran to the other side of the car and rescued the woman from the passenger seat. crying, she fell into your arms. suddenly, you were surrounded by the town's police department, along with the rest of your team who had been waiting just down the street.
before everything got too hectic to seek each other out, you and aaron took a long look at each other. he nodded with a smile, his form of praise, before hauling the unsub into a police car.
౨ৎ
a few hours had passed before everyone was released from the scene. the bau loaded up into their SUVs, aaron taking the one you had rode together in. much to your chagrin, his car filled up before you could get in with him. instead, you rode with emily and reid on the way back to the hotel to gather your belongings.
when you arrived to the hotel, everyone split off into their rooms. aaron seemed to be speaking privately with rossi so you opted to go upstairs and change out of the outfit you had been wearing for the better half of the night.
as you were unbuckling your heels and placing them back into your go-bag, you heard a faint knock on the door. you rose from the bed, feet aching, and answered it.
there, aaron stood with a white t-shirt on, having had to change out of his clothes from the scene.
"hey," you said.
"can i come in?" he asked.
only then did you notice that he was holding something behind his back. you stepped to the side to allow him to enter and he scooted the item in front of him to prevent you from seeing.
"what do you have there?" you asked. slowly, he brought forth two boxes of food, having kept his promise from earlier.
"it's probably not the freshest anymore, but nothing that a microwave can't fix," he said sheepishly.
you could've cried on the spot. smiling brightly, you took the food from his hands and sat it on the hotel desk. a grunt escaped his lips as your arms engulfed him in a hug. his arms wrapped around your body and your feet lifted from the ground a little.
"thank you," you said genuinely.
aaron watched as you took the food and warmed them up, going for yours first so that he could have the slightly warmer meal. once they were both ready to be ate, you found some plastic silverware in the little coffee tray and handed one set to him.
"round two?" you said with a shrug.
"round two," he agreed. "but...i wouldn't mind a round three, or four, or five, when we get back home." he picked up a fry from his plate and popped it in his mouth.
"glad to know my impulsive gift didn't scare you off," you joked. you paused for a second and set the food down. "which, i mean, i wouldn't mind a round two on that either."
aaron paused too, setting his own box back down on the desk. he stood and offered his hand to help you up from the bed. you took it and rose. then, his hand wrapped around your back where his palm was splayed across the skin there.
"i wouldn't mind a round two either," he said quietly. "but i call the shots this time."
your knees felt weak being so close to aaron. you didn't miss the way his cheeks flared and one of his hands shook nervously. had he been feeling the same way for you for this long too?
"you can call the shots anytime, hon," you teased, echoing the petnames for earlier.
smirking, his free hand ghosted up your side till it met your chin. his fingers titled your head upwards and ever so softly, he leaned in. this kiss was much more romantic, more loving, less rushed. he had time, now. he wasn't kissing you to hide from someone else. he was kissing you because he has been wanting to for oh so long.
minutes must've passed before the two of you pulled away to a pure need to breathe. he smiled. "good round two?"
"i think i'm gonna need a few more just to double check."
part 2 to jealousy, jealousy!!!!
word count: 2.1k
pairing: aaron hotchner x f!bau!reader, shy!reader
genre & cw: hotch being so in love!! jealousy plot, made-up case, and different use of cm character
a/n: i got so much love for jealousy, jealousy it has been so surprising to me how much u guys loved it!! i really hope you enjoy this part 2 as we finally get some clarity to their feelings for each other!!
With your jaw slightly dropped, you manage to get out an “Uh..” Then you clear your throat as if that will make actual words come out then— “Uhh..”
Now you didn’t know how long you were staring at Hotch. Yet somehow you were aware that the silence— your silence was stretching out for too long. Like a fish out of water, you continue to move your mouth soundlessly.
And if you were actually underwater, you knew a series of air bubbles would come out in a line from your lips.
Deep inside, Hotch was getting a little worried. That maybe he came on a little too strong.
Was that too bold? Was that out of the blue? What if you think he’s joking? Or worse, what if you think he’s not taking you seriously?
On the outside, Hotch is trying very hard to maintain his calm and collected composure, not letting too much emotion seep through his expression. Making sure he doesn’t look worried or too proud, too scared or too smug.
The small smile on his face is one that he hopes to convey what he means: that he seriously likes you and that he doesn’t mean to embarrass you. But it is a smile that slowly fades the more he sees the panic growing in your eyes.
Loud clapping shakes you both out of your individual worries as Derek teasingly cheers for the development in your romance— hooting and whooping about how the boss man has finally made his move.
As if suddenly remembering that there are other people in the room, you both look around to check the other team members’ faces.
To your surprise, Reid is blushing even more than you and Hotch are, and to absolutely no one’s surprise, Rossi is looking straight at Hotch with a smug grin. Raising his hands theatrically slow to clap painfully slow for his best friend.
“My man.” Derek proudly says still clapping, and if he was brave enough to risk losing a hand tonight, he would have stood up to pat his boss on the back.
Hotch shakes his head bashfully, cheeks turning increasingly red. He looks down at his shoes to hide his face a bit, mumbling a low, “Shut up.”
But Rossi being Rossi, was not gonna let the moment go, “I gotta say, Hotch, I didn’t think you’d ever do it…or anything actually.”
Looking at Hotch, you start to giggle. He’s got his head facing the ceiling, acting playfully exasperated at his team’s antics. No doubt already regretting his public expression a little bit.
But the laughter dies down into soft giggles, and he straightens a little to look at you. Catching your eye, you smile back at him softly, also hoping that he’d understand what you’re saying with that little smile. I like you too. Don’t worry, you didn’t embarrass me.
Hotch’s worries are instantly quieted by your smile. Like dust settling on the ocean floor, he feels at peace.
Your little staring moment though, is suddenly interrupted by his cell ringing. And the room’s mood sombers knowing that there can only be one reason someone will call one of your cells late at night— a new body was just found.
—
It’s 7:00am and the sun has risen brightly. Reid and Rossi went to the ME with the body to further examine what’s been done. Meanwhile you, Morgan, Seaver and Hotch stay behind at the crime scene, knowing a fresh scene can tell you the most right now.
You’ve been staying close to Morgan as he theorizes the unsub’s movements. Following and coming up with theories of your own in terms of the order of the unsub’s entry and exit.
But as much as you are focused on the case, you look at Hotch and Seaver every now and then, who are interviewing witnesses and authorities on the side.
Hotch catches you looking at him and Seaver, just as Seaver holds on to his arm to fix the strap of her heel. You may have looked extra irritated but you’d blame it on the sun being on your face.
Looking back at Derek who had gotten quiet, you find him smiling at you teasingly. Already aware of what you were just looking at— more like who. You roll your eyes at him, “Shut up, chocolate.”
Derek shakes his head as he laughs, taking his sunglasses from where it hung his shirt and wears it on you.
“Calm down, Cyclops. You might just kill the two of them if you’re not careful.”
You gasp at his audacity, watching his back as he walks away, not even giving you the chance to respond to his teasing.
Not wanting to stare at his back any longer, you turn around to pick up right where you left off. Only to have the fright of your life seeing Hotch right in front of you.
With a hand on your chest you catch your breath, “Oh my god! How even—“ One second he’s more than 6 feet away from you, the next second he’s not even 4 inches from you.
Your heart beats even faster as Hotch’s hands reach up to your face to remove Derek’s sunglasses. “Morgan!”, he shouts and tosses Derek his glasses.
Derek catches it instinctively and looks to the both of you in confusion, but Hotch looks back at you and takes his own sunglasses off his face to wear it on you.
Seaver watches all of this unfold from behind Hotch, and you could see it annoyed her. But she puffs her chest and turns to the people she and Hotch were talking to, continuing the interviews they were conducting.
—
Now during the case, obviously there wasn’t really any time for you and Hotch to discuss the romance brewing between the two of you. Absolutely no time to indulge in personal matters at a time where other people’s lives depended on you.
But that’s not to say that Hotch has not followed up his advances with more actions. Not at all— the complete opposite actually.
He has only become increasingly affectionate and bolder with his actions. He seems to have given up on holding himself back around you. He’s constantly sitting beside you, placing his hand on your lower back as you walk, then he stands behind you constantly towering over you whenever, wherever.
He’s even given you his handkerchief multiple times so you could wipe your sweat, and when you guys ordered takeout for the night, he made sure to unpack yours for you and hand you your utensils, even standing to get you water from the pantry before he even touches his food.
He’s been crazy sweet and even more protective than usual, you almost didn’t need words to confirm how he feels about you… if it weren’t for Seaver who has also gotten bolder with her advances towards Hotch. Then I mean, maybe a little reassurance would be nice.
It seems as if the recent development in yours and Hotch’s romance was something Seaver saw as a challenge- a hurdle she has to get over to win Hotch.
Annoying you even more, when she arrived at the precinct the next day wearing a revealing top and tight pencil skirt. She looked good, you had to admit.
Looking down at your own attire, with jeans, boots, and a plain shirt. You felt a little defeated. Obviously you weren’t going to attract Hotch being this plain.
But you also wanted to be ready. The team was closing in on the unsub who has become more and more erratic, you could almost predict a chase and maybe even a tussle.
You were standing beside Reid, looking at the board trying to uncover a pattern in the unsub’s dump sites when you heard an agitating little voice say, “Hotch, I think my top unbuttoned at the back. Could you get it for me?”
Tension instantly brews. The team, who has caught on to Seaver’s ploy early on, awaits your reaction. You could feel their gazes on your back, even from Reid who you could feel checking on you from the corner of his eye from where he stands to your right.
But you refuse to give in. You continue- more like pretend to- analyze the map on the board. Even tilting your head a little to sell that you’re really not paying attention to the two. However in all honesty, all your other senses are very much attuned to whatever’s happening behind you.
Rossi cleared his throat, making you check the room’s reflection on the window on your left through the corner of your eye. And you watch as Seaver turns in her seat away from Hotch, anticipating him leaning close and putting his hands on her.
Now you thought that since Hotch had an idea about how Seaver makes you feel, that he’d keep his distance. You know, set those boundaries to appease you. But to your surprise, Hotch leans over the distance between his chair and hers, and reaches over to button her top.
You could feel your face heating up. You don’t know if he simply didn’t care, if he was oblivious, or if he did it on purpose. But now was not the time to act up and make a big deal out of something so trivial. You were all so close to catching the unsub, you poured your focus on the case instead.
But you need a moment to yourself, maybe a little fresh air or even a pep talk in the bathroom mirror will do. Just as you were about to excuse yourself stepping back from the board, you hear Hotch close the file he was reading- before he was interrupted- loudly.
His stern voice soon follows, “Just a little advice, Agent Seaver: if you’re assigned to the field, dress like it. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about buttons popping or heels snapping while you’re chasing an unsub or racing to save someone’s life.”
You couldn’t stop yourself even if you wanted to. Their reflection on the window was blurry enough that you couldn’t make out their facial expressions, so when you hear Hotch’s stern voice your head snaps to look at him in surprise, not expecting him to be annoyed at Seaver given that he’d just helped her.
You almost feel bad for Seaver who’s turning red in embarrassment. She’d obviously put together an outfit for Hotch. You all knew she was an outstanding agent, so to jeopardise her performance for a man’s attention seemed weird even for her.
–
To your surprise, her advances towards Hotch did not stop even after his dig at her unprofessionalism.
As you were all boarding a jet well into the night, exhausted from the long case, you all noticed Seaver subtly rushing to sit first. Unsurprisingly, she chose the seat beside Hotch’s usual seat. Acting normally, she pulled out a blanket settling in her seat.
But Hotch, who has been behind you the whole time, was just shadowing your movements. The most exhausted out of all of you, he wasn’t even thinking about where he’ll sit. He was blindly following you like a puppy, with a hand on your waist as if to not get lost.
He was actually just waiting for you to sit somewhere, then he’d sit beside you. So you chose a couple-seat on the far end of the jet, away from Seaver. Neither of you have the energy to deal with her antics.
In a last attempt to get Hotch to her, Seaver calls out “Hotch, I saved you your seat!”, even opening up her arms that are covered by the blanket as if to invite him to her warmth.
But Hotch only looks at her silently, blinking. Then in less than 10 seconds, Hotch takes your hand, intertwines it with his, kisses yours softly, and crosses his arms as he closes his eyes to sleep- leaving your hand somewhat trapped to his body.
You’re surprised at the bluntness of his affection, considering most of your team members were looking at you after Seaver called him out.
Stealing a glance at Seaver, you catch her shoulders drop before she settles back into her seat, while Morgan mouths to you “Told you,” from across her.
Turning your head to look at Hotch, you can tell he isn’t asleep yet though his eyes are closed. You squeeze the hand intertwined with yours, trying to get it out of his grip and crossed arms– he opens his eyes to look at you and softly whines, “Stoopp.”
“Hey!” you whisper.
He breathes out a grumpy, “What?” to which you smile softly and say, “Fine. I guess I’m your girl.”
Hey!! I love love LOVE your criminal minds content so much, especially the Hotch with unexpected daughter reader. Is there any chance you’re gonna write more for that series? I’d literally take anything, the comfort vibes are off the charts with your works and I need some Hotch comfort. But no worries if not, hope you have a great week <33
thank you for requesting! fem, 1.4k
Jack peers at you from over the furthest armrest. “Y/N. Are you grumpy?”
“Do I look grumpy?” you ask.
“Yes.” He pokes his eyebrow. “You do.”
“My face is betraying me then, because I’m not grumpy.”
“Mine does that to me all the time but mom doesn’t believe it.”
You give him a small nudge. “Your mommy probably knows you better than you know yourself, like, knows how you’re feeling before you do.”
“But how does she know?”
“I think it’s because she loves you. She really loves you, babe. You’re lucky.”
“So lucky.” He climbs over the armrest and onto the couch, smiling at you politely, like a friend he’s just found at school.
You try to see the similarities in your faces. He looks more like Haley than he does Aaron. You look more like your mother, too. There are bits of Aaron in both of you, yours not quite as physical —Jack’s tame when it comes to expressing emotion, and you both talk in a measured tone. (Though your tone is coincidence or genetics, but not learned. You’d have to have known him growing up for it to be learned.)
“Did dad tell you what mommy said?” Jack asks.
You glance over his head but see no one. Aaron said he was going to get chips for movie night, and Haley tends to find things to do. “No.”
“It’s a secret.”
“Well, you don’t have to tell me.”
“You can’t tell anyone,” he says.
Your stomach feels not your own. “I won’t,” you promise.
“Mommy says you’re here too much.”
You nod slowly. Jack frowns at you as though waiting for you to be upset, but you’ve suspected she thinks so for a while. It’s not something you blame her for.
Jack watches you.
“Dad got really mad.”
“I’m sorry, Jack. That must’ve been scary.”
Jack drops his face into your arm. “No. Dad doesn’t yell. But he slept in my room with me.”
“Want a hug?” you whisper.
Jack squirms under your arm. You pull him toward you and try to divide your feelings into boxes. Embarrassed and horrified and a little annoyed that Haley thinks you’re here too much. Sad and again embarrassed that Aaron defended you.
This is Haley’s house, and she never signed up for you. She’s never made you feel unwelcome but that doesn’t mean she wants to see you every Saturday. You're a huge new wedge inserted in their married lives, and now you’re affecting Jack, making his parents argue.
“I’m sorry,” you say, suddenly flooded by a wave of hot, awkward regret.
You knew when you found out that Aaron was your father that you would change his life. You’ve always hoped it would be for the better, but maybe it isn’t.
“Jack…” you say. What is it about hugging him that makes you feel like crying? “I’m real sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“It’s not your fault. I like you here. You’re fun.”
“Thanks, Jack.”
He looks up at you. “Will you stop coming over?”
“I guess it’s up to your mommy.” You falter. “Jack?”
“What?”
“I’m sorry if having a new sister isn’t as fun as you thought it would be. I don’t want to make things harder for you, but I guess I did.”
“Mom says everything is hard now.”
You bite the inside of your cheek in efforts to hide how you’re feeling. “I’m sorry. Um, listen, can I have a big hug? I just remembered I have to go help my mom at home.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Sorry, Jack.”
Jack gives you a hug. You gather your things and rush to the door to shove your shoes on, but your dad catches you before you can leave.
“Where are you going?” Aaron asks, his smile falling.
“I–” He makes you nervous, and you know your stammer gives you away. “I forgot I had to do the laundry for my mom tonight, if I don’t do it she’ll be mad for days.”
“I’m sure you can make it up to her tomorrow,” he suggests gently.
“I better go.”
“Honey, what’s really going on?”
“The laundry is really going on,” you say, unconvincing. “I have to go, I’m really sorry.”
“It’s okay. Well, I’ll see you on–”
You open the door before he can finish or offer a hug, image of him in his loose t-shirt carrying a tray of sandwiches burned into your guilty conscience.
—
You don’t see Aaron for three weeks before he corners you. You owe your great avoidance to his busy job, but it didn’t feel good to reject him, to refuse to make time for him as he does for you.
“You!” he says, clearly kidding but not entirely where he’s waiting outside of your university building. “Beautiful young woman in the blue! I have some questions for you.”
It’s so absurd for him that you immediately burst into shy laughter. “Dad, what?” you ask, hiding your face.
Classmates part around you, seemingly unperturbed.
Aaron retrieves his badge. “See this? I could detain you, but I won’t if you come quietly. In fact, if you don’t argue I’ll buy you lunch.”
“You’d buy my lunch regardless.”
He grabs you. Kindly, but grabbing all the same, like he’s worried you’re about to scarper. “Where have you been hiding?” he asks, giving you a quick hug. You feel tenseness in his arms you're unused to, hear a sadness in his voice that makes your throat burn.
Putting a table between you helps marginally. Aaron pretends he doesn’t know why you’ve been avoiding him and the Hotchner house, and you’re more than happy to go along with it, until.
“I have something to tell you,” he says.
You press against a piece of soaked fruit with your spoon. “Okay.”
“Haley and I are probably going to separate.”
You bite your tongue so hard it makes you flinch, spoon scratching the bottom of your bowl. “What?”
“We’ve been having problems ever since Jack was born.”
You stare.
Aaron is very still. He talks carefully. Not without emotion, but stilted, perhaps. “I’m not as good a father as I wish I were. And Haley sees that. Sweetheart, I haven’t ever wanted to burden you with the, uh, less than happy details of my life. I think you’ve suffered me enough. But I’m telling you because I know Jack told you about my most recent argument with Haley.” He smiles at you. “Honey, we fight too much. That day, it was about you, but it’s not all about you, and she doesn’t… Haley’s a good woman. She is. I’ve changed her life a hundred different ways and she hasn’t had many choices, and she…” Something vulnerable crops up, a wavering in his breath. “Sometimes I think she isn’t fair. She holds me to standards I can’t reach, no matter how hard I try, but we’ve stopped arguing about it so much recently, and I’m afraid that that’s… the death knell.”
“I’m sorry,” you say softly.
“I’m going to keep trying. I don’t want to lose her.” He drinks what’s left of his soda and presses his napkin under the edge of his plate. “But I won’t lose you, you know? I just want you to understand that you’re not the problem, and you never could be.”
“I don’t want to add another thing to your levy, dad,” you say, still soft.
“Meeting you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Well, tied with your brother, of course. You aren’t a thing to be added to anything, you’re my daughter, and Haley might not like it but my home will always have a place for you.”
What if that’s the problem? From his perspective, you’re not a hindrance to his marriage so much as a separate issue, but from your own, it sounds like you’re just making things worse.
You’ve missed him, though, and you can’t argue that his reassurances aren’t working.
“It’s not that Haley doesn’t like you,” he adds, reaching for your hand, “more that she’s unhappy. I’m sorry that that’s something you had to carry.”
You often think to yourself that Aaron talks like he’s telling a story. He’s so calm and steady, the same as the feeling of his thumb on your wrist.
“I’m sorry I stormed out.”
“I wouldn’t call that storming out,” he says. “You’re too quiet sometimes. I wish you’d be upset out loud.”
“I just don’t want you to fight about me.”
“Honey,” —he holds your eyes, giving your wrist a gentle squeeze— “I’m always gonna fight for you. That’s what fathers do.”
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Bombshell!Female Reader||Word Count: 6k
Tags/Warnings: canon-typical themes, flirting, fluff, finance talk, banter, Hotch is a softie for Penelope.
Sypnosis: Aaron Hotchner’s weekly budget meetings with you, the sharp-tongued BAU financial analyst, become an unexpected mix of humor, wit, and simmering tension as professional boundaries blur. Between team antics, Penelope’s creative expenses, and your playful challenges, Hotch finds himself navigating far more than just numbers.
Aaron Hotchner wasn’t sure if he hated the newly implemented weekly budget meetings because they disrupted his already packed schedule or because of you, the BAU’s Operations Department Budget Analyst.
No--that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t that he hated you. It was that he hated how much he didn’t hate you. You were sharp-tongued, confident, and armed with a wit so quick it could cut him to ribbons before he even knew he was bleeding. It didn’t help that you looked like you belonged on a movie set rather than in a conference room dissecting every penny spent by his team.
He adjusted his tie as he entered the room. You were already seated at the head of the table, a tablet in front of you and a pen in hand, tapping it rhythmically against the desk as you scanned a detailed report. He knew that was meant for him. It was always meant for him.
“Good morning, Agent Hotchner,” you greeted without looking up. “Let’s talk about how your team managed to burn through three months of budget in--oh, a month and a half.” Your eyes finally met his, and the smile you gave him could only be described as predatory.
“Good morning, Miss. Y/L/N.” He placed his briefcase on the table and sat across from you. “I see we’re getting right into it today.”
“Well, Aaron”—and wasn’t that a bold move? Using his first name like that—“I’d love to make small talk, but someone”—you leaned forward conspiratorially, voice dropping as if this was the world’s biggest secret—“decided we needed to order customized iPad cases last month. For everyone. Including” You looked back down to the itemized invoice,"‘Penelope Garcia’s-second-backup-iPad.’”
Hotch rubbed a hand over his face. “That would be Garcia,” he said dryly.
You laughed, and the sound was like a reward he didn’t know he was aiming for. “Oh, Aaron. It’s always Penelope, isn’t it?”
The meetings became a staple of his week, though not by choice. What had started as a quarterly formality became a monthly necessity when you joined the department and discovered Penelope’s propensity for colorful, extravagant expenditures. But the kicker came two months ago, when Penelope had gone rogue with the budget to fund her “absolutely vital” initiative to replace paper case files with digital ones—complete with the max amount of storage, of course. You’d retaliated by instituting weekly budget reviews.
“She knows,” Hotch told Penelope one afternoon in her lair. “She knows it was you.”
Penelope gasped dramatically. “How does she know? Wait—does she have surveillance on me? Did she bug my office? Tell. Me. She didn’t bug my office.”
“She didn’t bug your office, Garcia,” Hotch said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She knows because you send her invoices.”
Penelope frowned. “But those were justified expenses!”
“She’s not convinced.” Hotch sighed. “Neither is the finance department.”
“Well, maybe if she’d loosen up a bit—”
“She’s very loose, Garcia,” Hotch muttered before realizing how that sounded. Penelope’s grin was instant, and Hotch scowled. “Don’t.”
“I’m just saying,” she teased, “you’ve been spending a lot of time with Miss. Y/N Y/L/N. Maybe you like these meetings more than you’re letting on.”
He left her office before she could get another word in.
The meetings evolved into more than budget disputes. You had a way of challenging Hotch that nobody else did. You questioned his decisions—not about cases, but about expenses. You turned a dry meeting into something that felt like a battle of wits, and despite himself, Hotch found he didn’t mind the sparring.
“So, tell me,” you said during one particularly contentious meeting, “why does Penelope need a beanbag chair? Let me guess—‘it fosters creative thinking.’”
Hotch cleared his throat; his years of being quick on his feet as a lawyer somehow always did him good when it came to defending Penelope’s spending. “She has unique requirements for her workspace.”
“Unique, huh?” You leaned back in your chair, crossing your legs, and Hotch caught himself looking before he forced his gaze back up. “And the collection of...neon gel pens? Also, a unique requirement?”
“She…has a system.”
You laughed again, and Hotch felt the corners of his mouth twitch. He’d smiled more in these meetings than in most social situations, not that he’d admit it.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you said casually, pointing your pen at him, and Hotch stiffened. You were already standing, gathering your papers. “Meeting adjourned. See you next week, Aaron.”
It wasn’t until two months into weekly meetings that things finally shifted.
You caught him in the break room late one evening, well after everyone else had gone home. “Aaron,” you greeted, leaning against the counter with a mischievous glint in your eye. “Did you know your coffee expenses are also over budget?”
Hotch turned, mug in hand. “Should I expect an itemized report on my caffeine consumption?”
You smirked. “Already on your desk.”
The air between you crackled, and for the first time, Hotch saw something beyond the wit and the barbs. He set his mug down and stepped closer, his voice low. “You enjoy giving me a hard time.”
You tilted your head, smiling. “And you enjoy taking it.”
“Do I?” he challenged.
“Don’t you?” you shot back, and the look in your eyes was enough to make him question every professional boundary he’d ever adhered to.
He took another step closer, close enough that he could see the faint trace of amusement in your expression. “This feels like it’s about more than the budget.”
“It definitely is,” you said, your voice softer now. “Maybe I think you could use a little…loosening up.”
Hotch let himself smile just a little. “And you think you’re the person to help me with that?”
You grinned, pushing off the counter and brushing past him, close enough that he caught the faintest hint of your perfume. “I know I am.”
The budget meetings continued, but now, the tension between you and Hotch wasn’t just professional. It simmered, unspoken but palpable, until it was only a matter of time before one of you crossed the line.
And Hotch couldn’t wait to see who would make the first move.
Hotch had a long day ahead of him. Between case briefs, team check-ins, and the weekly budget meeting you’d so gleefully instituted, he felt like the universe was conspiring against him. It didn’t help that Penelope Garcia had texted him earlier with an ominous, “Sir! Big news! You’ll thank me later.”
When he stepped into the bullpen, the team was gathered around Penelope, who stood in the center like a magician about to unveil her latest trick.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she announced, waving her hands dramatically, “I give you the latest and greatest tech upgrade to grace the halls of the BAU!”
Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose as the team collectively oohed and aahed over the sleek new monitors now adorning every desk.
“Garcia,” he said, his tone low and measured, “please tell me this was approved through the appropriate channels.”
Penelope turned to him with a smile so wide it could only mean trouble. “Of course it was, sir!” Then, after a beat, she added, “I mean, I may have pulled a few strings. But can you really put a price on efficiency and team morale?”
Rossi, seated casually nearby, chimed in. “I’ll admit, it’s a nice touch. Maybe next month, you can swing for some leather chairs in the conference room. The kind that recline.”
Hotch shot him a withering look. “Don’t encourage her.”
Penelope pouted. “Come on, Hotch! You know these upgrades are totally needed. Plus, they match my aesthetic.” She gestured to her own office.
He sighed. “You know who’s going to have to explain this, don’t you?”
Her grin didn’t waver. “That’s why you’re the boss.”
Later, Hotch found himself standing outside your office, mentally preparing for the inevitable. When he knocked, you barely looked up from your screen. “Ah, Aaron,” you said, your voice dripping with mock sweetness. “What brings you to my humble lair? Let me guess—Penelope strikes again?”
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “You heard?”
“I always hear.” You gestured to the chair across from your desk. “Sit, and tell me why I shouldn’t slash your team's budget to nothing.”
Hotch sat, rubbing his temples. “She upgraded the monitors.”
Your laughter filled the room, light and musical. “Monitors? Really? Did she bedazzle them too?”
“She might have,” he muttered. “Look, I know it’s excessive, but the team…they rely on her. She keeps things running smoothly.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Running smoothly or running through money?”
Hotch gave you a flat look, which only made you grin wider.
“Alright, Aaron,” you said, leaning forward. “Here’s the deal. We can refinance a few line items. Maybe cut back on travel expenses for conferences nobody attends. But I need you to do me a favor.”
“What kind of favor?” he asked warily.
You tapped your pen against your desk, pretending to consider. “How about you keep coming to these meetings on time? And,” you added with a smirk, “try not to look so grumpy when you do.”
Hotch’s lips twitched, threatening a smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”
The next meeting was no less contentious, but there was a new edge to the banter.
“You really went to bat for Penelope this week,” you said, flipping through your notes. “Is she holding something over you? A dark secret, perhaps? Did she catch you sneaking an extra slice of cake at Rossi’s last party?”
Hotch gave you a pointed look. “She’s an integral part of the team.”
“And I’m sure the sparkly monitor really enhances her skillset,” you quipped. “What’s next? A gold-plated stapler?”
“Don’t give her ideas.”
You laughed, and he found himself staring at the way your eyes lit up when you did. It was distracting. You were distracting.
“So,” you continued, turning serious, “how do you propose we make this work? I’ve crunched the numbers, and unless you want to start holding bake sales, something’s gotta give.”
Hotch straightened in his chair. “Rossi suggested cutting back on the print subscriptions.”
“Oh, no,” you said, feigning horror. “What will he do without his monthly shipment of Fine Living Magazine?”
Hotch sighed. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”
“Maybe,” you admitted. “But only because you make it so easy.”
As the weeks went on, the tension between you and Hotch became undeniable. The banter turned sharper, the lingering glances longer, the air in those meetings thicker with something unspoken.
It all came to a head late one evening, long after everyone else had gone home. Hotch was leaving his office when he saw your light still on. Against his better judgment, he knocked and stepped inside.
“Still working?” he asked.
You glanced up, surprised. “Someone’s gotta keep the lights on.”
He closed the door behind him. “You don’t have to do it alone.”
“Is that an offer to help?” you asked, leaning back in your chair. “Because I could use a second set of eyes on these reports.”
Hotch stepped closer, the tension crackling between you like static electricity. "You’re good at what you do. The team is lucky to have you.”
For once, your usual smirk faltered. “Thanks, Aaron.”
The silence stretched, heavy with possibility. Then you smiled again, playful and challenging. “Careful, Hotchner. If you keep talking like that, I might start thinking you actually like me.”
He let out a rare laugh, low and genuine. “Maybe I do.”
Your eyes widened slightly before you recovered, your grin turning sly. “Well, that’s a start.”
The next budget meeting arrived with its usual dose of tension—and not just the financial kind. Hotch entered the conference room early, a strategic move to reclaim some semblance of control. You were already there, of course, seated at the head of the table, the tablet glowing in front of you.
“Early today,” you said, glancing at your watch with mock surprise. “Did someone finally read my strongly worded emails about punctuality?”
"I'm always on time, and I always read your emails,” he replied dryly, taking his usual seat across from you.
“Sure you do,” you said, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “That’s why you never respond.”
“I’m busy running a team of federal agents.”
“And yet somehow Penelope has time to order monogrammed pen holders.”
Hotch sighed, his hand already moving to rub at the bridge of his nose. “You’re never going to let that one go, are you?”
“Not a chance, Aaron.”
The meeting was halfway through when Penelope barged in, her presence as colorful as ever.
“Sir!” she chirped, holding a bright pink folder that screamed unnecessary expense. “Quick update—I managed to upgrade the entire team’s software licenses. State of the art, cutting-edge, only the best for my BAU fam.”
Hotch stared at her, his mouth a thin line. “Garcia, we discussed this.”
“I know!” she said, beaming. “That’s why I made sure to get a bulk discount. I saved us 12%.”
You leaned back in your chair, biting your lip to stifle a laugh. “Twelve percent? Wow, Aaron, she’s practically a financial wizard.”
Hotch glared at you. “Don’t encourage her.”
“I’m just saying,” you continued, “with savings like that, we’ll be out of the red in no time. What’s next, Penelope? A popcorn machine for movie nights in the bullpen?”
“Oh my God,” Penelope gasped, her eyes lighting up. “That’s genius. The camaraderie…I—”
“No,” Hotch said firmly. “Absolutely not.”
Penelope pouted, but she left without further incident. As soon as the door closed, you turned to Hotch, eyes gleaming with amusement.
“She’s incredible,” you said, shaking your head. “Completely unhinged--but incredible.”
“She’s a lot of things,” Hotch muttered. “Mostly expensive.”
“And you,” you added, grinning, “are such a softie for her.”
Hotch scoffed, leaning back in his chair, but the slight upward twitch of his lips betrayed him. “Softie? I’m her supervisor, not her enabler.”
You laughed, a low, melodic sound that Hotch had come to recognize as the precursor to trouble. “Please. You bend over backward for her, and we both know it.”
“She’s part of my team,” he replied evenly. “It’s my job to advocate for them.”
“Advocating for a new monitor system with glitter decals?” you teased, leaning forward slightly, your grin widening. “Aaron, that’s not advocacy—that’s indulgence. She's like your team's equivalent to 'happy wife, happy life.'"
Hotch crossed his arms, his stoicism cracking just enough to let his dry humor slip through. “I’d call it picking my battles.”
“Oh, really?” you shot back. “And what battle are you avoiding by letting Penelope order custom beanbag chairs?”
His lips pressed into a thin line, but you caught the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Do you know what happens if I say no to her?”
“I can only imagine,” you said, leaning your chin on your hand. “Please, enlighten me.”
“She gets creative,” Hotch said gravely. “Very creative. The last time I vetoed one of her purchases, she launched a campaign with color-coded charts and heartfelt video testimonials from the team about how much they needed a slushie machine in the bullpen.”
Your laughter filled the room again, and Hotch let the corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly. “A slushie machine? You’ve got to give her credit—that’s bold....and random.”
“She called it a ‘hydration initiative,’” he deadpanned.
You leaned back, shaking your head in disbelief. “You are such a softie.”
“I’m pragmatic,” he corrected, his tone firm but not unkind. “It’s easier to approve the monitors than to explain to Strauss why there’s a PowerPoint presentation titled ‘Ice-Cold Justice.’”
You clapped a hand over your mouth to muffle your laughter, and Hotch found himself momentarily distracted by the way your eyes sparkled with amusement. It wasn’t often he let himself relax enough to notice those things, but with you, it was becoming harder to keep the line between professional and personal intact.
“And yet,” you finally said, regaining your composure, “you’re here, pleading her case to me instead of just putting your foot down.”
“She has her merits,” he admitted, his voice softening just enough to remind you why people followed him so loyally. “The work she does is critical. Even when it’s…excessive.”
“See? Softie,” you said triumphantly, pointing your pen at him. “You can’t fool me, Hotchner. You’re all gruff on the outside, but deep down, you’re just one big teddy bear.”
“I’m not sure that’s how the rest of the Bureau would describe me,” he replied dryly.
“Well,” you said, leaning forward with a sly smile, “the rest of the Bureau doesn’t get to see you begging for beanbags.”
He gave you a long, measured look, and for a moment, the air between you seemed to shift. “I don’t beg.”
“No?” you challenged, raising an eyebrow. “What would you call this, then?”
“I’d call it negotiation,” he replied, his voice low but steady. “And if you’re not careful, I might actually win.”
Your grin widened. “Now that I’d like to see.”
Hotch allowed himself a small smirk, the kind that was so rare it felt like a reward in itself. “Don’t tempt me.”
“Oh, Aaron,” you said, leaning back in your chair, your tone playful and just a little daring. “I live to tempt you.”
For a brief moment, the tension crackled, sharper than the wit you both wielded like weapons. Then you straightened, tapping your pen against the table as if to signal the end of the moment.
“Alright, Mr. Softie,” you said lightly, “I’ll see what I can do about those monitors. But don’t think this means you’re getting that cappuccino machine Rossi asked for.”
Hotch stood, smoothing his tie as if to regain his composure. “One victory at a time.”
As he turned to leave, you called after him, your voice laced with amusement. “Don’t forget to tell Penelope her beanbags are still on the chopping block.”
He paused at the door, glancing back at you with a look that was almost fond. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
By the time Hotch left the meeting, he felt thoroughly defeated. You had grilled him on every expenditure, from coffee pods to the mysterious disappearance of two office chairs. You’d teased him mercilessly, of course, but you’d also offered solutions, which only made you more infuriatingly attractive.
Later that afternoon, Rossi cornered him in his office.
“Aaron,” Rossi began, settling into the chair across from his desk. “I have a proposition.”
“Should I be worried?”
“Not at all,” Rossi said smoothly. “I’ve been re-thinking about how to improve morale around here. You know what we need? A cappuccino machine. The kind they have in those fancy Italian cafes.”
Hotch blinked. “A cappuccino machine. We talked about this. We have coffee in the break room.”
Rossi looked hurt by Hotch's definition of coffee. “That isn’t coffee. This is an investment in productivity. Caffeine keeps the team sharp.”
“You’re serious.”
“Completely.”
Hotch exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “You do realize I have to explain this to Y/L/N?”
Rossi grinned. “You’re good with words. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
That evening, Hotch found himself in your office again, this time with what he knew was a losing argument.
“A cappuccino machine?” you repeated, arching an eyebrow. “Is that really where we’re at again?”
“Rossi insists it’s for team morale.”
You laughed, leaning forward on your desk. “Aaron, if I approve this, what’s next? A hot tub in the break room? A second private jet for local cases?”
He gave you a long-suffering look. “I wouldn’t put it past Rossi to suggest either of those.”
Your laughter bubbled out again, and a small smile that tugged at Hotch’s lips. “You’re impossible,” he muttered.
“You mean brilliant,” you corrected, your tone playful. “Come on, admit it—you love these little matches.”
Hotch hesitated, just long enough for the moment to stretch between you. “I do.”
Your smirk softened into something more genuine. “Well, don’t get too comfortable, Hotchner. You might actually win one of these someday.”
“And if I do?”
Your grin turned sly again. “Guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”
The tension between you and Hotch simmered like an unsaid promise, lingering in the spaces between your words and the way your eyes lingered just a beat too long. It wasn’t until another late night when the office was quiet and the shadows stretched long, that Hotch found himself once again at your door.
“You know,” you said as he stepped inside, “if you keep showing up here after hours, people are going to start talking.”
“Let them,” he said, surprising himself with the bluntness of his response.
You raised an eyebrow, leaning back in your chair. “That sounded suspiciously like flirting.”
“Did it?”
You smiled, slow and dangerous. “It did. And for the record, Aaron, I don’t mind.”
For once, Aaron Hotchner didn’t have a retort. Instead, he let the silence speak, the weight of it filled with possibilities he hadn’t dared entertain before.
And when you smiled at him again, he thought that maybe—just maybe—this was the start of something worth breaking the rules for.
Hotch stood frozen in the doorway for a moment longer than necessary, your words echoing in his mind. “For the record, Aaron, I don’t mind.”
He cleared his throat, stepping fully into your office and closing the door behind him. It wasn’t often that Aaron Hotchner found himself at a loss for words, but there was something about you—your sharp tongue, your disarming wit, the way you looked at him like you knew exactly what you were doing—that threw him off balance.
You leaned back in your chair, studying him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “What brings you here this time? More cappuccino machine negotiations? Or did Rossi decide the bullpen needs a wine fridge?”
“Neither,” he said, his voice steady but quieter than usual. “I wanted to talk.”
“Oh, talk,” you said, your lips curving into a playful smile. “That sounds serious.”
“It is,” he admitted, surprising himself again with his own candor.
You arched an eyebrow, tilting your head slightly. “Alright, Aaron. You’ve got my attention. What’s on your mind?”
He hesitated, not because he didn’t know what to say, but because he wasn’t sure how far he was willing to let this go. The boundary between professional and personal was already blurred; one more step and it might vanish entirely. And yet, as you sat there watching him with that sly, confident smile, he found he didn’t care as much as he should have.
“You,” he said finally, the single word weighted with more meaning than he intended.
Your smile faltered for just a second, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. Then it was back, brighter and sharper than ever. “Well, that’s unexpected. Flattered, of course, but unexpected.”
He allowed himself a small smile, stepping closer to your desk. “I doubt anything surprises you.”
“Not often,” you admitted, leaning forward slightly. “But I’ll admit, I didn’t peg you as the type to make the first move.”
“Who says this is a move?”
You laughed, the sound warm and low. “Oh, Aaron. If this isn’t a move, then I’m very curious to see what one looks like.”
He didn’t answer right away, letting the silence hang between you like a challenge. Finally, he leaned forward, placing his hands on your desk, and met your gaze head-on.
“What if I am making a move?” he asked, his voice steady but tinged with something that made your breath catch.
For the first time since he’d met you, you seemed genuinely caught off guard. Your confident smirk wavered, replaced by a flicker of something more tentative. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, and it struck him in a way he hadn’t anticipated.
“Well,” you said after a beat, your voice quieter than before. “In that case, I’d say it’s about time.”
His heart thudded once, hard and unexpected, and for a moment, he forgot where he was. Forgot who he was. All he could think about was how close you were, how easy it would be to reach across the desk and close the distance.
But then you leaned back, your smile returning with a hint of mischief. “Of course, if this isn’t a move, I’d hate to embarrass myself.”
“Consider yourself safe,” he said, straightening but not stepping back. “For now.”
Your laughter filled the room again, light and teasing. “Careful, Aaron. I’m thinking you actually enjoy these little games.”
“I do,” he said, surprising himself once more with his honesty.
You tilted your head, studying him with a newfound intensity. “Well, in that case, I’ll make sure to keep things interesting.”
As he left your office that night, the air between you charged with unspoken tension, Aaron Hotchner realized something he hadn’t allowed himself to consider before: he wasn’t just drawn to you because of your sharp wit or your undeniable charm. He was drawn to you because you made him feel something he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Alive.
The roundtable room was unusually quiet when Hotch gathered the team for an impromptu meeting. That should have been his first clue. They were always at their most dangerous when they were waiting for the hammer to drop.
“All right,” he began, standing at the head of the conference table. “We need to talk about the budget.”
Rossi leaned back in his chair, a smirk already forming. “This is about the cappuccino machine, isn’t it?”
“It’s not about the cappuccino machine,” Hotch said firmly. “Though that’s still off the table.”
“Good thing I didn’t submit the requisition for the margarita blender,” Morgan muttered, earning a stifled laugh from JJ.
Hotch gave him a pointed look before continuing. “We’ve been asked to cut back on end-of-year expenses. That means scaling back on travel accommodations for the next few cases.”
“Scaling back how?” Prentiss asked, her tone cautious.
“Fewer hotels,” Hotch said. “We’ll have to bunk up where possible.”
There was a collective groan around the table.
“Bunk up?” Garcia appeared in the doorway, her dramatic gasp signaling she’d overheard. “Do you mean to tell me we, the esteemed agents of the BAU, are being reduced to sharing rooms? What is this, a slumber party?”
“Garcia, you rarely travel with us. Would it kill you to share a room with JJ or Emily for a few nights, if and when you do?” Hotch asked, his tone dry.
“It’s not about me, sir,” Garcia replied, clutching her chest like he’d wounded her. “It’s about the principle. We’re public servants, heroes even. Heroes deserve better than twin beds and bad room service.”
Morgan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Come on, Hotch. We all know you’ve got an in with Y/N in finance. Can’t she pull some strings before Garcia does?”
Hotch’s jaw tightened, but he kept his expression neutral. “Y/N is doing her job, just like the rest of us.”
“Oh, is that what they’re calling it now?” Rossi said with a grin, earning a ripple of laughter from the team.
“Funny,” Hotch deadpanned. “But unless any of you have a better solution, this is how it’s going to be.”
“Sure, sure,” Morgan said, his grin widening. “But if anyone could sweet-talk Y/N, it’s you, Hotch. You’ve got that whole brooding, stoic charm thing going for you. She loves that.”
“I’m not sweet-talking anyone,” Hotch said, his tone clipped.
“Really?” Prentiss chimed in, raising an eyebrow. “Because rumor has it you’ve been spending a lot of time in her office lately.”
“That’s called managing the budget,” Hotch replied evenly, though his ears felt uncomfortably warm. “The budget we keep going over. Which is what I’m trying to do right now.”
“Right,” JJ said, her voice full of mock seriousness. “Managing the budget.”
The laughter around the table grew louder, and even Garcia joined in with an exaggerated wink.
Hotch sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This conversation is over.”
“But the bunking isn’t,” Rossi said, still grinning. “Good to know.”
Later, Hotch sat across from you, his tie slightly loosened after the long day. The hum of your sarcasm was already in the air, a comfort he’d never admit aloud.
“Back so soon?” you asked, glancing up from your tablet. “What’s the crisis this time? Let me guess—the team didn’t take kindly to the budgeting suggestion?”
“They had…questions,” Hotch replied, his tone dry. “And commentary.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” you said, smirking as you leaned back in your chair. “Let me guess: Rossi wants to requisition a wine fridge instead of a cappuccino machine? Garcia--who if I remember correctly doesn’t even travel with the team--staged a protest? Or did Morgan suggest you charm me into pulling some strings?”
Hotch blinked, caught momentarily off guard. “Actually, yes. That’s almost word for word what he said.”
You laughed, the sound warm and far too satisfying. “I knew it. The whole team thinks I’m your budgetary fairy godmother, don’t they?”
“They’re not subtle about it,” he admitted, leaning forward slightly. “And if I’m honest, they’re starting to have…suspicions.”
Your eyebrows lifted, your smirk turning into a full-blown grin. “Oh, suspicions, huh? About what exactly?”
“That I might have an ‘in’ with you,” he said, his tone measured but carrying a hint of something wry. “And that I use it to get my way.”
You tilted your head, resting your chin on your hand. “Well, you do have an in with me, Aaron.”
“I do?” he asked, raising a brow.
“Mm-hmm,” you said, your grin widening. “You come in here all brooding and stoic, with that deep voice and those puppy-dog eyes, and I’m supposed to say no to you? Please.”
He let out a rare chuckle, low and brief. “So you’re saying you find me…persuasive?”
“I’m saying I find you irritating,” you replied, though the teasing lilt in your voice betrayed you. “But occasionally charming.”
“Occasionally?” he repeated, quirking an eyebrow.
“Don’t push your luck,” you said, though your smile hadn’t wavered. “Now, what exactly are you hoping I’ll do?”
Hotch straightened, slipping back into his professional demeanor. “The travel budget is tight. We need to cut back on some of the accommodations for the next few cases. If there’s any room to reallocate funds or find efficiencies, I’d like your input.”
You studied him for a moment, your pen tapping against the desk. “You know,” you said finally, “you could’ve just sent an email. But you didn’t, which means you wanted to have this conversation in person.”
“Maybe I thought it would be more effective,” he said, his voice steady.
“And maybe,” you said, leaning forward with a sly smile, “you just like spending time with me.”
Hotch’s gaze held yours, the tension between you thick enough to cut. “Maybe the team isn’t wrong to have their suspicions.”
That caught you off guard, and for the briefest moment, your confident grin faltered. Then you recovered, your smile turning soft around the edges. “Well, if you’re going to keep coming to me, Aaron, I guess I’ll have to live up to their expectations.”
“So you’ll help?” he asked, his voice quiet but steady.
You rolled your eyes, though your grin didn’t fade. “Of course, I’ll help. But only because I’d hate for Garcia to have to share a room on the rare chance she joined you on a trip. Can you imagine the drama?”
Hotch stood, his lips curving into a rare, genuine smile. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” you said, your tone playful. “I might make you owe me one.”
He paused at the door, glancing back at you. “I think I already do.”
Your laughter followed him out, and Hotch didn’t mind giving up a little control.
The next few weeks blurred into a whirlwind of cases, budget meetings, and what Hotch could only describe as a game of mutual teasing with you that he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to win. The team’s jabs about his “in” with you only got more relentless, but the truth was, they weren’t wrong. He found himself seeking out your company more often than he’d care to admit, and not just because of budgetary crises.
One evening, well after most of the team had gone home, Hotch walked into your office to find you perched on the edge of your desk, heels kicked off, and a pen tucked behind your ear as you typed furiously on your tablet.
“You work too much,” he said by way of greeting, leaning casually against the doorframe.
You glanced up, smirking. “Says the man who just came from his own office. What brings you here, Aaron? More budget drama? Or are you just here for the company?”
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “Would it be so bad if it were both?”
Your eyebrows lifted in surprise, but the smile that followed was slow and dangerous. “Well, well. Are you finally admitting that you like me?”
He hesitated for half a second before replying, his voice low but steady. “I think you already know I do.”
That made you pause. Your usual sharp wit seemed momentarily replaced by something softer, something vulnerable, before you quickly masked it with your trademark confidence. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you flirt before, Hotchner. You’re better at it than I expected.”
“I don’t flirt,” he said, stepping closer. “At least, not intentionally.”
“Oh,” you said, your voice dropping slightly. “So this is just you being your naturally charming self?”
“Something like that,” he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting in a faint smirk.
You laughed, shaking your head as you set your tablet aside. “You know, if you keep talking like that, I might start to think you’re actually serious.”
“What if I am?” he asked, taking another step closer.
Your grin faltered, replaced by a flicker of uncertainty. “Aaron…”
He stopped just in front of you, close enough that he could see the faintest flush on your cheeks. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said quietly. “But I don’t regret it.”
You tilted your head, studying him as if trying to determine whether he was being sincere. Then, slowly, your lips curved into a soft, almost shy smile that he hadn’t seen before. “Well, that’s good,” you said, your voice lighter now. “Because I’d hate to think I’ve been wasting my time trying to get under your skin.”
“You’ve been very effective,” he admitted, his voice laced with dry humor.
You laughed again, the tension between you easing slightly. “Good to know.”
For a moment, the two of you simply stood there, the air between you charged with possibilities. Then you leaned forward just enough that your shoulder brushed his, your voice dropping to a near whisper. “So what now, Aaron? You going to keep playing it safe, or are you finally going to make a move and follow through?”
Hotch held your gaze, his pulse quickening in a way that was entirely unfamiliar and yet oddly welcome. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” you replied, your grin returning.
Before he could overthink it, he leaned down, his hand resting lightly on the edge of your desk as his lips brushed against yours. The kiss was brief but electric, leaving both of you slightly breathless when he pulled back.
“Well,” you said after a moment, your voice a little unsteady but filled with warmth. “That’s one way to balance the budget.”
Hotch chuckled softly, his forehead resting lightly against yours. “I hope that’s not the only thing you take away from this.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” you said, your grin turning wicked again. “I’ll send you the itemized breakdown tomorrow.”
He laughed, a rare, genuine sound, and as the two of you stood there in the quiet of your office, Hotch couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was exactly what he’d been missing.
The next morning, Hotch walked into the bullpen, his usual stoic demeanor firmly in place—at least on the outside. Inside, he felt lighter than he had in years. But any illusion of subtlety was shattered the moment he saw Morgan smirking at him from across the room.
“Morning, Hotch,” Morgan said, his tone far too casual. “You look…different today. Get a good night’s sleep?”
Hotch raised an eyebrow, choosing not to dignify the comment with a response. He made his way toward his office, but before he could escape, Garcia intercepted him, practically bouncing on her heels.
“Oh, boss man, you’ve got that look,” she teased, waggling her eyebrows. “The look of a man who’s either won the lottery or—” Her eyes widened in dramatic realization. “—had a life-altering, swoon-worthy moment with a certain someone in finance.”
Hotch sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Garcia—”
“Don’t deny it!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “I have sources.”
Before he could reply, the elevator dinged, and you stepped out, striding confidently into the bullpen with your signature blend of poise and sass. You caught Hotch’s eye and shot him a subtle, knowing smile that sent a ripple of warmth through him.
Garcia caught the exchange and gasped audibly. “Oh my God! It’s true!”
Morgan leaned back in his chair, grinning. “I knew it. Didn’t I say he had an in with her?”
“You said it,” Prentiss confirmed, her tone amused. “Repeatedly. But he's really getting it in with her.”
JJ just shook her head, smiling. “Well, at least we know why the budget meetings keep getting longer.”
Hotch leveled a calm, measured glare at his team. “I don’t recall calling a team meeting on my personal life.”
“Ah, but your personal life is so much more interesting than budget cuts,” Rossi said with a wink. “You should let us enjoy it.”
“I’m glad you’re all entertained,” Hotch said dryly, turning toward his office. But as he walked away, he caught your voice behind him.
“Don’t be too hard on them, Aaron,” you called amusement lacing your tone.
The laughter that followed was warm and genuine, and for once, Hotch didn’t mind being the subject of it. As he stepped into his office and closed the door, he glanced back at you through the glass, catching your playful smile once more.
Yes, this was definitely worth breaking the rules for.
A/N: I feel like every few months or so I rise from the dead to post something, so here is a James fic I started, gods only knows when and have finally finished! Let me know your thoughts because I liked writing for James, I want to more.
Summary: James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter need help for a special resource for their pranks, so who better to go to than the best charms student Hogwarts has to offer- also the girl James seems to be in love with.
---
James was staring at you; you could feel it.
You’ve always had a pretty good sense at telling when people were staring at you, but as you look up to meet James’ eyes for the fourth time today during breakfast before he quickly looks away, your stomach was swimming in nerves.
“Lys, do I have something on my face?” You ask your friend Alyssa as you run a hand across your face, hopefully knocking away whatever has pulled James’ attention from the Gryffindor table to the Slytherin one.
Alyssa furrows her brows but shakes her head. “None that I can see, why?”
You frown. “Potter keeps looking at me.”
“James Potter?”
“Is there another Potter at this school that I haven’t met yet?” You press your lips together as Alyssa rolls her eyes. “Yes, James Potter.”
She rolls her eyes before looking over at James. “I dunno, maybe he fancies you.”
Her words cause your laugh to escape. “Are you mad? You think James Potter fancies me? James Potter?”
“If we keep saying his full name like this, he’s bound to hear and look at us more.” Alyssa says before her eyes find the Gryffindor table again and a frown appears on her face. “Or rather they all will?”
You pause in eating as you keep your eyes on Alyssa. “All of them?”
She tilts her head. “Well, James and Sirius are because they’re sitting on the side of the table that lets them, but Remus keeps turning back every once and while. The only one who hasn’t is Peter- oh, he’s doing it too. Yeah, it’s all of them.” You groan at her words, scooping the last bits of your breakfast into your mouth before hurrying to grab your things. “Where are you going?”
“Anywhere they are not.”
James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter watch as you practically run from your table. “You really think she’d help us?” Peter asks as he turns back to his food.
James doesn’t look away from you until you were at the door of the Great Hall, looking at his table in confusion one last time before you’re gone. “I don’t see why not.” He finally says.
Remus chuckles under his breath. “Maybe because you just stared at her throughout her entire breakfast?”
Sirius took a bite of his cereal before pointing his spoon at James, talking through his food. “Yeah, that was creepy.”
James smacks his arm as Remus mumbles a ‘close your mouth’. “Well, I’ll just convince her then.” Remus, Sirius, and Peter all share a look as James leaves the table, knowing this could either end very well, or be a complete disaster.
---
You end your escape in the library, finding a quiet table in the back as you finally let out a large breath and fall into the seat. You weren’t truly finished enjoying your breakfast, but you suppose at least now you can study in the library for a bit, hoping James and his friends focus their sights on someone else for the day.
Unfortunately, by the sight of James Potter sticking his head around the bookcase to your left, you realize that won’t be the case.
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake.” You mutter to yourself and bury your face in your book. When you bring your head up, James stares back at you from across the table, shining his pearly white teeth as if this interaction between the two of you was normal.
“Hello!” He says. You can’t help but just stare at him, blinking in confusion, but you don’t say anything. James’ smile slowly fades, and he clears his throat and furrows his brows. “I thought this would go easier.” He mumbles and you can just barely hear him.
You scoff, dropping your book on the table in front of you. “Okay, I think you’re going to have to try someone else if you want to add stalking to the list of hobbies of you and your merry men.”
James can’t help the upturn of his lips as he leans into the table. “Merry men?”
“Robin Hood?” You roll your eyes. “Robin Hood and the-”
“No, I uh, I get the reference. It’s just- you think I’m Robin Hood?”
This had to be the weirdest conversation you’ve ever had with James.
This had to be the weirdest conversation you’ve ever had.
“Why are you here?” you say slowly and cross your arms, choosing to lean back in your seat to put as much distance between the two of you as possible.
James sat up, suddenly remembering why he had “stalking” you, as you put it, all morning. “Oh, uh,” He sucks in a breath. “How are you?”
You groan, throwing your hands in the air. “James Potter, we are 5th years now and have barely talked more than 20 times since day we met. I know you do not care how I am. Now. What. Do. You. Want?”
“We want your help with a prank.”
Now this sounds like James Potter and his “merry men”.
“A prank?” You ask, already skeptical of how you can be of help. “What kind?”
“It’s more of a resource, really.” He rubs the bottom of his face, staring off at your books in front of you in thought. You slap your hand over your books, causing the boy to finally meet your eyes. Your eyes flicker between his two hazel ones.
“Why would you need my help with a resource for your prank? If it’s my house, there are loads of Slytherin’s and some of them might actually be willing to help you.”
“It’s not your house.” He shakes his head. You can’t stop yourself from watching the sight of his curly dark hair falling in front of his face. “You’re the best in our class at charms.”
“Any one of you is just as good as me.”
James shakes his head again, running a hand through his curls, ignoring the curls getting caught on his fingers as he pushes through. “No way. Remember last week? You were the only one in the class who didn’t walk out looking as orange as a pumpkin that lasted two days.”
“That’s because I was the only one who read the book.”
“No, it’s because you’re brilliant.”
You don’t have a response to James’ comment. It was obvious he was just trying to get on your good side so that you’d help with whatever this resource was. You hated the fact that it was working a bit.
You sigh and push your books closed in front of you. “What is the resource?”
James’ face lights up and he quickly moves to the seat in next to you, pulling out a journal from his book bag. “That part is still a work in progress.” He flips through the pages, giving you a few quick glances at pranks he and his friends had come up with previously. You chuckle and shake your head. “Basically, what we are hoping for was a way to find anyone in the castle, wherever they are.”
He must be insane.
“What makes you think this would be something I knew how to do? I’m brilliant, Potter, but I’m not a bloody miracle worker.”
James was about to object as he turns to face you, but instead he just stares at you. Before you turn your head, James takes a sharp breath and pushes his glasses higher on his nose. “Well, we can work on it together. We’ll come up with something.”
“Potter…” you trail off, looking at the scrawled messy handwriting of the boy’s quick thinking on the page in front of you. You close the book. “Look, it sounds interesting. A challenge even, and I love challenges, but I don’t have time to waste with your silly little Gryffindor pranks. You’ll just have to find someone else or do it yourself.”
James wants to object, saying you’re the best person for the task, but you were packing your things into your bag, and it wasn’t until you had almost left the table before he finally says, “We can use it to prank Snape.”
That got your attention.
It wasn’t a secret to everyone in Hogwarts that despite being in the same house, Severus Snape and you hated each other.
Your hand clenches and for a moment, James thinks he might have you. That is, until you turn around with a frown. “Sorry, Potter. Still not interested.”
---
“I told you she wouldn’t go for it.” Remus says, barely looking up at James over the book in his hand.
James just grunts, keeping his glasses from slipping of his nose as he hangs upside off the couch, his curls reaching to the ground. “I don’t understand.”
“Why would she say no?” Sirius asks. He head was laying across Remus’ lap and he tries to annoy the boy while he’s reading by pushing the book away, but Remus is far too used to his antics as he slaps Sirius’ hand away without missing a word on the page.
“Why would she say no!” James’ dramatic throw of his hands causes the other three boys to laugh at him.
They sit in silence for a moment, silently brainstorming where to go from here before Peter speaks up. “You didn’t flirt with her, did you?”
James stays silent.
Remus, Sirius, and Peter can’t help themselves this time as their laughter filled the room, gathering the attention of other Gryffindor’s in the common room as James’ cheeks turn the darkest shade of red that they’ve ever seen.
“Blimey mate, what did you say?” Sirius chucks a pillow at James, and he can’t catch it in time, letting it smack his chest before he moves to sit up.
“Nothing! I swear! I didn’t- I didn’t… I may have flirted just a tiny- a teensy tiny bit.” His voice is quiet at the end of his sentence out of embarrassment.
If James thought his friends laughing at him earlier was bad, it was nothing compared to now. He does nothing but cover his face in his hands, waiting for the sounds to stop.
“What did you say?” Sirius jumps to the couch next to James, throwing his arm around his shoulders and bring him closer to his side.
“Nothing!” James claims, but even he knows it was a lie. He sighs in defeat. “I just- I called her brilliant, that’s it.”
“Oh, Prongs, you might as well have gotten down on a knee and proposed!” Sirius claps him on the back before laughing at his best friend’s humiliation once more. Remus and Peter’s laughter grows with Sirius’ comment. James just shakes his head and heads out of the common room throwing his middle finger up to his friends.
He’d dealt with his friends joking around about his crush on Lily for years, but it was different with you.
That might be because James never told his friends about his crush on you, they just figured it out. Even before James knew.
Walking toward the black lake, wanting to get some fresh air, James stops at the sound of a familiar voice. He ducks behind a pillar.
“Snape, just leave her alone!”
It didn’t take a genius to figure out that was your voice. He glances out, watching as you jog over to two other people. One of them obviously being Snape. The other James could barely make out, until Snape takes a step away from her and he realizes that she was your friend from breakfast. There’s an argument that James can’t hear from where he’s standing between you and Snape and Alyssa ducks behind you. You turn around, wanting to walk away with Alyssa before Snape pulls out his wand.
James’ eyes widen and he reaches for his own, only to realize he left it in the common room in his quick leave. He curses himself, hoping you turn around before Snape curses you behind your back. Instead, Snape aims for Alyssa and before you can stop it or before James can sprint out from behind the pillar, Snape is holding Alyssa in the air above the water.
“Put her down!” you yell and point your wand at him. Snape can only snicker before he lets Alyssa fall right into the lake. “Lys!” You yell, knowing your friend isn’t the best at swimming. You jump in to help her out, and by the time you both are back on land, soaking wet, Snape was gone and James was helping you both out of the water.
Once Alyssa was out first, you take James’ outstretched hand soaking his sleeves, but he doesn’t care. He makes sure you’re okay, but he’s stopped when you grab both of his arms, getting him to look you in the eyes.
“I’ll help you with that resource.” You tell him, tired of Snape bullying your friends and you. “I want this to be something that’s going to haunt Snape for years and years to come.”
James can only smile at you.
You smile back.
---
“Ok, just start again from the beginning.” You plead the four boys in front of you as you crowd around a table in the library as the 6th hour of reading resources starts. You’ve never really seen the group of friends really in action of planning their pranks, but keeping up with them as you flip through the library books you’ve all read from the shelves has been really hard.
“We want to be able to know where anyone is at any time.” Sirius says as he lays across the table, kicking his legs up in the air. You nod, looking down at the book pile in front of you as you pick up a book and toss it behind you where Remus is standing to let him put it back on the shelf.
“It only needs to be in the castle.” Peter points out, earning hums from his friends. No use for a prank resource outside of the castle, apparently. You toss two more books back.
“Oh!” You hear Remus say as you flip through pages, he glances over your shoulder, looking at the books you have. “We should have all the secret passages marked on it too!”
You sigh and add 4 books to your discard pile. You’re left with 3 books, each of them potentially having information you knew would be useful to the friend group, you just had to figure out what information.
James slides into the seat next to you and you quickly meet his eyes. James’ sucks in a breath, not having expected to meet your eyes as he sat down. There’s a moment where James almost forgets his friends are in the room and you’re not just helping him. He only grounds himself back to reality when you turn your head, chewing on your lip nervously. “We uh, we were also thinking it can be something only we can use.”
James’ voice was quieter than he normally was, but it didn’t matter.
You knew the perfect spell to use.
“The Homonculous Charm.” You tell the group, turning your book around and showing the marked charm to the others. “You cast it onto a blank parchment, and it tracks where everyone is around the castle, whenever, wherever, and whoever.” The group of boys in front you have different looks of astonishment.
But, if you were being honest with yourself, you knew that Remus, Sirius, and Peter were looking at the book in your hands and James, well, he was looking right at you.
You clear your throat, hoping to push the boy’s attention off of you. “All you have to do is cast the charm on a parchment and map the place.”
“Easy!” Sirius yells, giving Peter a high five. “Let’s cast it and get to pranking Snivellus!”
“Doesn’t look like its that easy, Pads.” Remus puts his hand on Sirius’ shoulder as he reads over the page you show them.
You nod your head. “If you want a place to show up on the map, you have to actually cast the charm in the place.” There were 4 groans from the boys, and you hold back a laugh.
“That could take weeks.” James sighs, leaning his head back in the chair. “Do you know how big this castle is?”
“It wouldn’t take weeks, maybe just a few days and I’m sure you guys can do it.” You tell them, pushing on James’ shoulder. James’ frown turns up a little at your playfulness and you’re quick to pull your attention of him. You start to pull your things together and stand up. “Now, if we’re done here-”
“Wait, where are you going?” Sirius asks, tugging on your bag.
You swat his hand off your bag. “Leaving. I helped and now you can prank Snape to your heart’s desire.”
“To our hearts desire?” James questions, standing up to be at your height. His eyes meet yours and there’s a pause in his speech before he practically drags his eyes away, forcing himself to look at the book. “Time would go a lot faster if you helped.”
You guffaw and throw yourself into the seat again. “You have like a million friends. Can’t you trick some of them into helping you?”
“We could.” Peter shrugs and moves to stand on the other side of the table than you, placing it between the two of you.
Sirius threw his arm around Peter. “But then you wouldn’t really get revenge on Snivellus.”
Remus stood next to them, his hands buried in his jeans as he smirks. “And isn’t that what you wanted when you agreed to help?”
James joins them as well, squishing together as all four stare directly at you with various forms of mischief on their faces. “So? What do you say?”
They were right.
Screw them, but they were right.
You sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. “What’s the plan?”
---
Alyssa had been laughing for what seemed like an hour as you both lay on your respective beds. You told her all about your little study session with the boys today and she apparently found it quite amusing what you’ve got yourself wrapped into. “It’s not funny, Lys.”
“Are you mad? You, being forced to spend as much time as you can with your crush and his best mates mapping the entire school to get back at Snape?” She chuckles. “This is the funniest thing that has happened to you since you blew up your book bag practicing for exams last year.”
“I don’t have a crush on James.” You groan, throwing your arm across your eyes, blocking the stray sunlight coming in from the window.
“James?” Alyssa asks seemingly confused. “I was talking about Sirius.”
You couldn’t help your snort of laughter at her comment. You knew she was joking, and she knew you were harboring secret feelings for the curly dark-haired, glasses wearing boy. “Can I just get some sleep?” You ask her, ignoring the fact it was barely dinnertime. “If I have to stay up all night mapping the castle with them, then I am sleeping now.”
“Fine by me.” Alyssa tells you, chucking a pillow at you before pulling out a book since she didn’t have plans to sleep early. You get smacked by the pillow and send a weak attempt at slinging it back at her before finally heading to bed.
---
“I’m going tonight.” James says to his friends the moment they step into the common room, making sure his voice is hushed. “If Y/N is going, then I’m going.”
His friends don’t bother hiding their laughs. “Mate, as if we would keep you from roaming the castle in private with the love of your life.” Sirius snickers, giving James a little push that has him falling onto the couch. “Besides, you only have the one invisibility cloak and last time we had 3 of us in there, Remus had his hand on my butt.”
“Remus would have his hand on your butt even if we didn’t have the cloak.” James grumbles, feeling Remus smack him in the back of the head. “Ow!” James groans, rubbing a hand on the back of his head. “Am I wrong?” He asks, only to look over and see Remus starting to lay across the couch coincidentally, or not, laying his head on Sirius’ lap.
James rolls his eyes at his best friends before he pulls out his books, thinking he’s going to get some studying in before dinner. “You’re not going to get some sleep?” Peter asks, seeing his friend studying. James shakes his head, knowing if he tried to sleep right now, there would only be one person on his mind.
---
This wasn’t the first time you had snuck out of the Slytherin common room, but this was the first time you were just standing around begging to be caught out of bed. You tap your foot, glancing every direction for any of the boys to come around the corner, but you didn’t see them. You were about to give up, not wanting to be caught by a professor. You had taken one step before James appears, standing right in front of you. His presence scares you and you can’t hold back the scream you release.
James jumps at the sound. He should have figured you would’ve reacted to him taking off the cloak, but he didn’t expect you to start screaming. He jumps forward, covering your mouth with his hand as he presses you against the wall. “It’s just me! It’s James!” He whispers as loud as he can, wanting you to stop screaming but not wanting anyone else to hear. Your eyes flicker back and forth between his and when he was certain you were done screaming, he brings his hand away. He didn’t realize how close your bodies were to each other until you were looking at each other. A moment passes before James clears his throat. “Um, hi.”
The spell is broken as you shake your head, pushing him away gently and slapping his arm. “What the hell is wrong with you? Where did you even come from?”
James chuckles a bit at the situation, gripping the cloak in his hand as he puts his other on your arm to calm you down. “I’ll tell you.” He assures you. “I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to freak out.”
You just blink in confusion. James doesn’t say anything else before he throws the cloak around his shoulders, affectively leaving him as a floating head. You suck in a breath. “An invisibility cloak?” You had never seen one before. James liked looking at the amazed smile on your face, he hoped he see it again soon.
“Who’s there!” James and you jump at the sound of a professor, obviously looking for the source of your scream from earlier. James was quick to pull you into him, wrapping the two of you in the cloak as you press your body against his. James’ arm wraps around your waist as he keeps the cloak closed and you both watch the professor pass right by, completely unaware of your presence.
James gives it a few minutes before he pulls the cloak off, slowly letting go of your waist. You exhale heavily, taking a step back from James. The two of you stand awkwardly next to each other, neither of you truly knew what to say to each other.
“Nice cloak.” Your voice was higher than you’d like it to be but, in your defense, the closeness you had to James was still high on your mind.
James hoped the night light had hidden the blush on the cheeks that he knew was going to be there. “Thanks- Thank you.” He stumbled through, avoiding looking at you.
You suck in a breath, trying to think of what to say before forcing a smile. “Should we get going?”
“Yep. Yeah, let’s just uh…”
James’ sentence had trailed off, but it didn’t matter as he pulled out a piece of parchment paper from his pocket. You raise a brow at it and cross your arms. “Is that supposed to be for the map?” James nods. “Potter, have you seen the size of this castle? One corridor wouldn’t even fit on that page.”
James frowns. He thought the paper he brought was large enough, but you might have a point. You roll your eyes and take him by the arm to a nearby classroom, knowing the professor kept larger pieces of parchment on hand. James hoped greatly that you didn’t notice how eager he was to remain with your arm locked with his.
“Take this.” You hand James a folded piece of parchment, and being the curious person James Potter was, he let it unfold. The parchment kept unfolding until it was taller than him and then some, hitting the ground with a soft thud. He looks at you, widening his eyes. “You wanted a map.” You remind him. “Let’s just hope this one is big enough.”
---
You let James take the lead with holding the cloak, ready to throw it over you both the moment he needed, and you would cast the spell onto the soon-to-be map. Unfortunately, you both found yourselves quite bored with the task. “How’s Quidditch?” You ask James, desperate for a distraction.
James smiles, glad to talk about a subject he enjoys. “Amazing, as usual. Haven’t lost yet this year.”
You smirk. “Well, that’s because you’ve haven’t played Slytherin yet.”
James has to hold back a laugh. “Please,” you bite your cheek hearing James’ playful tone. “We’ll beat Slytherin next weekend just as easily as we did Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.”
“I don’t know, we got a new seeker. Heard he’s quite good.”
“Better than me?”
You choose to glance at him, and you’re not surprised to see the cocky smile sitting pretty on his lips. This time you don’t fight the smile on your face. “I’ve never seen you play, Potter. How am I supposed to know how good you are?”
James stops walking and it takes you a moment to notice before you stop as well. “You’ve never watched a Gryffindor match before?” James looks as if his head would explode.
“I’ve never even seen a Slytherin match before.” You admit. You would admit only to yourself that you were a little embarrassed.
James just stares at you, his mouth fallen open in pure shock. “You’re joking.” He says before you slowly shake your head. “You’re joking!” You chuckle softly, amused at his response. He shakes his head and starts walking again. “You’re coming. Next weekend, when Gryffindor beats Slytherin, I expect to see you in the stands.”
You can’t help but smile at his comment. “Yeah, we’ll see.” You say, turning down the corridor as you cast the spell again, watching the paper map out the corridor. James smiles and nudges your shoulder softly with his.
“Come on, we’ve got a lot more to map.” He says before the two of you start down the hallway quicker, almost racing each other to the end. You both laugh as you reach the end of the hall, stopping and leaning against the walls as you catch your breaths.
“I so won.” You say to him, despite knowing you didn’t.
James rolls his eyes affectionately. “In your dreams.” He breathes out. You look at him, holding his gaze with a smile for a few moments before the two of you hear a door open down the hall and footsteps coming. James turns the way of the sounds before he pulls the cloak over the two of you, pressing you into the wall again.
You stop breathing as he presses you against the wall, hiding you as a professor walks down the hall, completely unaware of the two of you there. Once they are gone, James and you relax and he lets the cloak fall, but doesn’t move back. It isn’t until you glance down to the map and see something moving. You gasp. “James.” You whisper, holding it up for the two of you to watch as the map shows you the professor moving down the hall, his name remaining on the map until he walks into an uncharted area.
James looks at the map before looking at you. “It works.”
You smile and nod, in shock that this resource was actually working. You couldn’t stop yourself from throwing your arms around his shoulders for a hug if you tried, but you also didn’t try.
James was shocked for a moment before he hugs you back, smiling and blushing over your shoulder.
You pull away a bit embarrassed. “Sorry… I got excited.” You say, stepping away from the wall and from him.
James shook his head with a smile, obviously not minding. He clears his throat and pushes his glasses higher. “Um, should we get back to it?” He says, unable to stop the smile on his face.
You nod, barely looking at him long enough to notice as you start walking again, holding the map up and focusing on it as James and you walk the halls until a few hours before morning.
You yawn for the hundredth time that hour as James does as well. “I suppose we should get back.” James says, running a hand through his curly hair.
You nod, feeling exhausted. “You four can map a few places in the day too.” You tell him during the walk back to the Slytherin common room.
James nods, knowing you’re right. The conversation finds a comfortable low again until you see the Slytherin common room ahead of you, relieved that you and James didn’t get caught. “See you tomorrow?” James asks you, his smile still on his face, only softer. You turn and look at him, matching his smile as you nod.
“Goodnight, Potter.” You whisper, handing him the map.
James takes the map, your fingers brushing lightly together before you drop your hand and he’s left with the tingling sensation of your touch as you turn and walk away. “Yeah. Goodnight.” He says barely loud enough for you to hear as he watches you enter your common room. He swallows thickly and looks down to the map before turning around and heading back to the Gryffindor common room.
When he gets back, Remus and Peter were still asleep, but Sirius wakes up when he hears James comes back. “How was it?” Sirius whispers to James, not wanting to wake up his other friends. James tosses him the map, showing him how much you and him covered in the castle. Sirius looks at the large parchment and the small, yet decent sized for one night, portion of the castle mapped and nods while widening his eyes. “Good job,” He says, putting the map in his bedside table. “but you know I wasn’t asking about the map.” Sirius says with a smirk.
James blushes in the darkness and slips into his pajamas. “It was good.”
Sirius rolls his eyes at James’ simple answer, but he’s not stupid. He can see the blush on his best friend’s face. “Fall in love with her yet?” He teases James who groans, falling into his bed.
James stays silent, closing his eyes. “She hugged me.”
Sirius can’t help the amused chuckle as he lays back in his bed, ready to sleep again. “Well, I better be best man at the wedding.” He mumbles sleepily.
James can’t help but grin, staring at the ceiling above him until he falls asleep as well.
---
The next few days and nights happened similar to the first night, only with different pairs of the 5 of you. Sometimes you wouldn’t map out the castle, or sometimes you’d map it with Sirius or Remus. It took a few days before you and James were given the chance to go together again and unfortunately, the map was almost completed. The two of you had seen each other in the day time a lot as you started to hang out with the 4 boys, but James and you hadn’t gotten a lot, if any, alone time together.
You were leaning against the wall at the Slytherin common room, wondering who you were going with tonight before James’ smiling face pops out of nowhere. You don’t scream like the first night, instead, you match his smile. “So, it’s me and you then?”
“You and me.” James says before offering you his elbow. You roll your eyes with a soft smile and interlock your arm with his. You walk towards one of the last corridors you have.
“We’ll probably finish this tonight.” You say, glancing over at James.
He nods, his smile falling slightly before he looks at you and it returns. “It’s been fun.” He says and you nod. “Is it wrong that I wished we had more to map?”
You think for a moment. “I don’t think so. But we also have been mapping for almost a week straight.” You chuckle. “I think I’m ready to be done with it.” He laughs but agrees. As much as he enjoys this, it will be nice to finally have the map finished. You turn to James and narrow your eyes. “Also, I thought Peter was supposed to map with me today, you have your game tomorrow.”
“I just wanted to make sure you would come tomorrow.” James lies. He did want to make sure you’d come to watch him tomorrow, but he also wanted to make sure you and him would get some alone time again without his friends or yours breathing down his neck.
You laugh at his comment, looking down at the map. “I promise I’ll come.” You tell him, before looking at him the same time he looks at you.
For a moment, with your closeness, the two of you just stand there, staring at each other before James’ eyes move down to your lips.
For a moment, you think he might kiss you.
Until he clears his throat and looks away.
You feel a little embarrassed, but you don’t let it show. You start walking again, James and you falling into a weird silence as James screams at himself in his head. He keep taking glances at you, but you don’t look at him, not until you reach the new corridor and you pull out the map. “Here, help me out?” You say, handing him one of the ends of the map, needing to find the corridor on this map to map it. James takes it and holds it out as the two of you look for the corridor.
“There it is.” James points to where the map had to be changed, adding flaps and such to represent the different levels of the rooms. You pull open the flap and smile when you find the corridor.
“Perfect!” You say before folding the map carefully so you could keep that section free. James helps you, trying to keep his mind from running crazy when your fingers brush again. You cast the charm and James and you continue with mapping the castle. The conversation was simple with him. After the two of you get pass the awkwardness of your moment from before, you found it easy to talk about anything. About your family’s, your friends, your hobbies, your dreams. It seemed James and you didn’t stop talking, just like that first night, until you find yourself in front of the Slytherin common room again.
The Slytherin common room was the actual last place the map needed. The plan always being for you to take it and map it without the need for any of the boys to sneak in like they did with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff common rooms.
“I should be finished by morning.” You assure James as you fold the map and slip it into your robes. He nods, his smile pulling up on one side as he pushes up his glasses.
“Well, you can give it to me at the game. Tomorrow. 9 am.”
You bite your lip as you smile and nod. “Goodnight, Potter. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You whisper before leaning up and kissing his cheek. James just stood there stunned as you chuckle lightly and run off to your common room.
It was only when he hears the door close that he’s pulled from his trance. He calls out your name, but it was too late. He runs a hand over his face, making sure not to touch his cheek you’ve just kissed before he throws the cloak over himself and heads back to his room. He was going to try and get a few hours before his game, but now, he knows he won’t.
---
James was bouncing the next morning as he stands on the Quidditch Pitch, preparing for the game and looking around the stands for you.
“Turns out when you don’t go to any games, you don’t really know where to sit.”
James turns around fast at the sound of your voice, surprised to see you down here and not in the stands. He chuckles, shaking his head as he walks over to you. “I thought you weren’t coming for a moment.”
You smile at him and lean against the wall. “Yeah, I made a promise.” James nods, walking until he was right in front of you and smiling at you. He had sweat in his hair from his pre-game practice and his uniform was a little dirty, but he made it work. You take a deep breath and reach into your bag. “I finished it.” You pull out the map, showing him the completed Slytherin common room before holding it out to him.
As soon as James grabs the map, you pull it toward you, affectively pulling his as well until you put a hand on his shoulder and kiss him. When he doesn’t kiss back, you let go of him and the map, your eyes wide as you stumble backwards a little. “I’m sorry. I- I- I thought-“
But you don’t get to finish your sentence because once James gets over his shock at the revelation that you were really kissing him, he puts his hand on your waist and pulls you back, letting the map fall to the floor as he holds you close and kisses you deeply.
You swear that the stands were cheering for the two of you, not for the game was soon to start.
“Oi!” Sirius’ teasing voice calls out from behind James as you both separate and look behind him, seeing Sirius’ grin as he leans against his broom. “Are we going to play or not?”
James gives him the middle finger as you slap his hand down playfully, keeping his hand in yours. James chuckles and looks back at you before he picks up the map and looks at it. “Why don’t you keep this safe for a bit longer. Wouldn’t want it to fall into someone else’s hands, now would we? You can watch everyone in the castle with this.”
You take the map before shrugging. “Well, almost everyone.”
James furrows his brows in confusion for a moment before sighing and grinning. “You’re the exception, aren’t you?”
You smile and pat his chest. “You think I’m going to give you, James Potter, a map to where I am every moment of the day? You must be mad.” James just grins at you before your eyes widen excitedly. “Oh! Something else!” You say before turning the map over, showing James the cover of the map you created for them.
James was shocked as he looked at it, not knowing I had done something like that for them. He reads the words before chuckling. “The Marauders?”
You blush and shrug. “Figured it was better than calling you lot the Merry Men.”
James hums. “I thought I was Robin Hood?”
“Face it,” You chuckle before joking, “I’m Robin Hood.”
James nods slowly as he puts his hands on your waist again, pulling you against him. “Alright, alright.” He says before leaning towards you again and stealing another kiss which you happily accept. James chases your lips for a second moment as you two separates before he reaches into his bag. “Maybe you could keep something else safe for a bit too?”
You watch him, not knowing what he was grabbing before he grabs out another one of his jerseys and holds it up to you. “James-“
“Wear my jersey.” He interrupts you and you have to look away and smile. He sees the smile before he steps forwards and slips the jersey over your head, helping you get your arms through before stepping back and enjoying the sight.
“Go win your game.” You say to him, reaching forward and squeezing his hand. “I’ll find you afterward.”
James squeezes your hand back before slowly walking backwards with a goofy grin. “Well, you have the map, love. Should be easy.” He gives you wink before he runs off, meeting up with Sirius who throws his arm over his shoulder to tease him.
You laugh as you watch them before heading up to the stands where Remus and Peter were, neither of them surprised to see you in James’ jersey.
And when Gryffindor wins against Slytherin, none of them are shocked to see James point at you in the stands as he smiles.
•
Don't come at me if I don't really know how the charm works, I had a cute idea and went with it lol.
note : if there was an award for dropping short drabbles you’ve written in the span of twenty minutes but don’t even like, i’d be the winner. i didn’t proofread this and english isn’t my first language but enjoyyyy maybe??? happy belated third of december btw!! did anyone celebrate????
you loved the jet. it was spacious, the seats and the couch were comfortable, the little coffee / tea corner had expensive delicious coffee you definitely couldn’t afford on your own. everything about the jet was perfect except for the fact that you always got cold.
spencer always noticed that. it would take you approximately ten minutes until you started to shiver lightly. he didn’t understand why you never just wore an extra layer when you were quite literally freezing. he’d asked you about it plenty of times but you always dismissed him. a casual “it’s fine. i’m not that cold” would escape your lips. so instead of going back and forth with you, he secretly started packing an extra sweater of his for you. it’s not like you could ever say no to him. and that’s how during almost every jet trip, he’d offer you a sweater whenever you started feeling cold.
well, that was until ashley’s arrival…
she was amazing, beautiful, smart, young and so much more. truly a sight for sore eyes, you thought.
ashley was a sweetheart. everyone in the team adored her. even jj, who wasn’t even part of the team anymore, loved her. so, you were beyond confused on why you couldn’t warm up to her yet. maybe it’s because she’s somehow supposed to replace jj? or maybe because she’s landed a permanent job at the bau right after her graduation? you didn’t know.
but then it clicked.
you sat across from spencer on the jet, right next to emily. the second she had seen you at the bullpen she insisted that you sit next to each other on the jet as she had pictures she wanted to show you. jj had sent her adorable pictures of henry during their vacation. both you and emily had stared at the screen in complete awe, noting that after this case, you’d definitely have to visit jj and her son.
engrossed in your conversation with emily, you almost didn’t notice ashley walking by and sitting next to spencer. you tried your best faking a smile at her. the blonde started talking to spencer about whatnot. just the mere sight of her and the man you’ve loved for so long talking was enough to get your brain to shut down.
you excused yourself and got up to get a cup of coffee. and that’s when you saw it.
“is it always this cold in here?”, ashley asked with a giggle.
rhetorical question, of course.
spencer rummaged through his satchel, “oh! i have an extra sweater, if you’d like.”
she gladly accepted the sweater and thanked him.
you turned around, your eyes focusing on the drink you were making. you take a few sips once it’s done, trying to ignore that whole interaction you just witnessed.
“looks like you’re not the only one getting sweaters from pretty boy anymore.”, derek pointed out in a mere cocky whisper as he passed by you.
you rolled your eyes at him in an attempt to look unbothered, but you were bothered. you were so insanely bothered, you could’ve lost your mind.
he packed that sweater for you, but he gave it to her.
✧ hands, hands and hands: spencer and you compare hands
✧ framed fascination: you wear glasses for the first time
♡ climb you like a tree: you tell spencer you’re going to climb him like a tree… not meaning it the way it comes out
♡ sundress season: spencer helps you out with some research and gets more than he bargained for
✩chloe or sam or sophia or marcus: in which spencer choses the drugs over you
♡ sweater: in which you struggle with your body and spencer helps you
♡ ✩ beyond the grave: spencer fakes his death and comes back into your life like nothing happened
♡ brooding: goth!bimbo!reader wants to sketch spencer but he won't stand still!
♡ arachnophobia: you compare spencer to a spider in an attempt to flirt
♡ i want it in ink: spencer finds your secret tattoo… with his initials
✩ ♡ when the swallows come again: spencer blames you for maeve’s death…or does he
✩ ♡ be so stupid: you make a mistake while on a case nearly getting spencer killed, morgan has some choice words and spencer is ready to beat his ass over it
✧♡ looking after you: you have called off sick for a few days now and spencer has been "looking after you". spencer gets caught red handed when morgan and garcia drop by
♡ fangirl: you're the newest member and you have a slightest obsession with dr. reid and his works.
♡ make a wish: shy!reader gets a little flustered anytime post!prison spencer comes around
♡ thump, thump: in which you and spencer get stuck in a cramped closet together
bimbo!receptionist!reader
♡ the receptionist: spencer meets chief cruz’s new receptionist
♡ lip gloss: in which spencer really likes bimbo!receptionist!reader 's sparkly lip gloss
♡ dress code: in which spencer reid doesn't appreciate an agent questioning the length of bimbo!receptionist!reader’s skirt
♡ cause im a sinner: you keep singing the lyrics wrong and spencer has to fight the urge to correct you
♡ tie a tie: bimbo!receptionist!reader asks for spencer’s help with tying a tie
✧ undo you: spencer and bimbo!receptionist!reader having sexy time!
♡ tedium: spencer is not having the best time at the FBI gala, well, until bimbo!receptionist!reader shows up
a/n: this has been sitting in my WIPs for so long and i finally finished it! now going to reward myself with online shopping xoxo
kind of inspired by when jj and reid split up in season 2 i think? when morgan was kinda being rude to her but i picture like season 12-13 spence
masterlist
pairings: spencer reid x fem!reader
summary: you make a mistake while on a case nearly getting spencer killed, morgan has some choice words and spencer is ready to beat his ass over it
warnings: morgan being a little shit simply for the plot, mention of spencer almost dying, spencer being a protective king pussy boss
wc: 1.4k
How could you be so stupid?
Those were the words that had been on replay, a constant loop, for the past two days. It's because, somewhere inside, you knew Morgan was justified in what he said. How could you have been so stupid to split up with Spencer at the unsubs house?
He was taken by the unsub, a trigger pull away from death. But the team got there, and he was okay. He was alive and breathing and healthy, and you tried to focus on these facts when your chest tightened with that familiar agonizing twinge.
It was a relief not to face anyone afterward. As soon as you got home from the case, you holed yourself up in your apartment, obsessively dissecting the events until the recollections twisted your insides with a nauseating sense of dread. You had run through every potential scenario in your head, agonizing over the grim outcomes if you hadn't arrived when you did.
You would've never forgiven yourself.
So here you were, hiding out in Penelope's lair, doing your paperwork. You convinced yourself it wasn't hiding; rationalizing it as a need for more peace and quiet than the bullpen could offer. You knew it was bullshit, and so did Garcia.
"Just so you know, I'm fully prepared to kick his ass on your behalf," she announced, swiveling to face her monitors, the ribbons in her hair trailing her movement like colorful comets. "It was totally uncalled for. Everyone agrees."
"Everyone?"
"Well, okay, not Spencer, but that's only because he doesn't know," Garcia continued, her pen tapping a silent code against her cheek, followed by the clack of keys. "If he did, he'd definitely kick his ass."
"I don't know about that," you said, repeatedly stretching and releasing the hair tie around your wrist, each snap a self-inflicted reprimand.
"He called you stupid." She was shaking her head so vigorously her blonde locks tumbled into her eyes as she paused her typing to look at you. "And you, my gorgeous friend, are anything but."
"Generally speaking, sure, but this time, Pen, I really screwed up."
"Who called you stupid?"
Spencer's voice was incredibly hard to ignore, distinct—you would recognize it anywhere.
Garcia and you stopped dead, your eyes growing impossibly large as she gave you a look as if to say, Morgan is screwed.
"No one."
"Morgan."
You and Garcia blurt your words out at the same time, your voices clashing in the air. You whipped your head to Garcia, the betrayal written on your face as she only shrugged her shoulders.
"Why would he say that to you?"
Spencer's steps towards you were measured, but each one amplified your unease, you hands wringing together as you looked away. He could read you like a book, and most times that was a good thing, but today it was definitely not.
"It's really not a big deal, Spencer," you insisted, pursing you lips as you dragged your gaze up and over him. "But how about you? How are you holding up?"
You were on your feet in an instant, a little too quickly, wobbling on your heel just a tab before Spencer grabbed your elbow. You ignore his touch, or at least you try, and press the back of your hand to his forehead.
He wasn't warm, but you sure were.
"You know, I don't think you should be back at work so soon."
You weren't lying when you said that. It seemed to soon. Was he looking a little pale? You couldn't tell. He should be home.
His hand was suddenly around your wrist, soft but firm, easing you away from his forehead, his eyes narrowing at you.
"Hey, I'm alright." He was trying to be assuring, offering a faint smile that only served to make your stomach do backflips. "Really, I am."
His fingers frapped around your wrist, not quite letting go, as he directed his attention to Garcia. "Why did he say that to her?"
"I'm right here," you grumbled under your breath, but Spencer was paying you no mind.
"I'm aware," Spencer answered without looking at you as his hands found their way to your shoulders, thumbs tracing absent patterns on your skin. "But you are not providing any answers."
Garcia cut in, folding her arms over her chest as her eyes pinned you with an unspoken accusation. "He said it because you two split up on the case."
Her words seemed to thicken the air itself, snatching away the previous ease as Spencer's expression darkened. It was a new and unsettling sight--the tightness in his jaw, the faint crease in his brows, and the steely sharpness in his eyes.
Without uttering a single syllable, he spun on his heel and strode out the door. You didn't hesitate to chase after him, an inkling of his destination propelling you forward. The look on his face had planted a seed of fear about what he was going to do.
Sure enough, there he was, just as you anticipated, in the middle of the bull pit. His gaze locked on Morgan with a laser-like precision, like a hawk eyeing its prey.
"How could you say that to her?" His voice was jagged, hands thumping against Morgan's shoulders in a way that you frantically looked around for Hotch. "What? Were you trying to make her feel bad? What's the matter with you?"
"Easy, Spencer, what are you getting at?" Morgan's hands went up defensively. But when Spencer's eyes flickered to you, the puzzle pieces clicked into place. "Oh..."
Morgan's eyes found yours. "Come here, sugar."
Morgan was your friend, a good one at that, and you really didn't blame him for what he said. He had good intentions. But here in the bullpen being open and exposed you found yourself stalling, glancing towards Spencer.
Only after he gave you a nod did you take that tentative step forward, clammy palms running down your pants as you stood in front of Morgan.
"Look, I was out of line. Calling you stupid was stupid of me," he started, hand grabbing on your upper arm as he spoke. "We've all been in tough spots and I was an asshole for adding to the pressure instead of helping you through it."
And you knew he meant it, even if it took Spencer nearly coming to blows to bring it about.
"It's okay, I know you didn't mean it, Morgan. And it was my fault really, for not staying with Spencer."
"First off, we made that call together, so if anyone's at fault, it's both of us," Spencer reminded, his hand settling on your lower back as he moved closer to you. His gaze then drilled into Morgan. "And second, Morgan, she's too nice. I say you owe her a month's work of paperwork at least."
You opened your mouth to object, but Morgan cut you off, his hand on your shoulder stopping me mid-breath. "After what I said? I'll do you one better--I'll handle your paperwork for two months."
He was gone before you could even thank him, making his way towards the break room, leaving you and Spencer.
"Hey, look at me." You did, raising your eyes to meet his. "What happened on that last case—it's not on you. We made a call, and we did it with the best intentions. It's not your fault."
He regarded you so... softly. It stirred a flutter of goosebumps across your skin, your hands rubbing up and down your arms as if to smooth away the sensation.
"Seeing you in that situation, so close to..." You paused, drawing in a ragged breath as the sickening memories came flooding back. "I can't help but feel responsible. It's a tough guilt to shake."
He rearranged a lock of hair behind your ear.
"It's a cognitive distortion to assume sole responsibility, but that's just your brain tricking you." Taking your hand he pressed it over his heart. "A human heart beats over two billion times in a lifetime. And every beat right now is telling you, I'm all good."
You could feel his heartbeat—thump, thump—against your palm. You caught yourself wanting to know what it would be like to fall asleep to the sound.
You were so close to each other now, the distance, or lack thereof, slightly overwhelming. "You're all good?"
He gave your hand a squeeze. "I'm all good."
You remained motionless, hand pressed to his chest, wondering if your heart could ever beat in sync with his.
a/n: i feel like this is kind of shitty but alas here we are!
masterlist
pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader
summary: the team thinks you're pregnant and you decide to have a little fun with it
warnings: reader is not preggers promise!, honestly the team gossiping is so lol, suggestive content per usual
wc: 1.3k
"I mean she has been kind of moody lately."
The gasp that rose in your surprise was quickly smothered as you pressed yourself against the wall, pushing into it as if that would make you invisible somehow.
"Well, interestingly enough, there has been considerable growth in her chest area. It's due to elevated levels of estrogen and progesterone, which I've noticed with her." Spencer stopped abruptly, the sound of Morgan's muffled laughter in the background. "I'm not saying I make a habit of such observations. Okay, um, don't tell Hotch I said that."
Casting a skeptical eye down your shirt, your frown deepened. Sure, your boobs had grown, but that was a testament to a little happy relationship weight, not the fodder of their theories.
"Nice one, kid," came Rossi's voice, and you could almost see the smirk on his face.
"Oh my gosh, guys, this is like, the best news ever! A mini-agent in the making! Can you imagine how cute she's going to be? I'm going to get her the cutest outfits!"
"Garcia, how do you know it's going to be a girl? Did the baby send you a text?"
The baby? Was rational thought absent among them? It must be. You crossed your arms defensively.
"Okay, maybe we should pump the breaks everyone. Why do we even think she's pregnant in the first place?"
JJ—your voice of reason. You could kiss the ground she walked on.
"I'm just putting two and two together. She walked out, and there was a pregnancy test in the trash that wasn't there before."
Your eyebrows drew down, and the increasing shuffle from the room prompted you to make a beeline for Hotch's office before anyone saw you snooping. But in your defense, Emily snooped first.
The moment the door clicked shut, you lunged for the blinds, bypassing any attempt at a greeting with Aaron. The blinds clattered shut, so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash.
"Honey, what are you—?"
His words hung unfinished as you whirled around, pressing your pointer finger to your lips as if he were a kindergartner about to walk down the hall.
"They think I'm pregnant!" you hissed indignantly, jabbing a finger toward the door as if it were a portal to the rumor mill itself.
His face drained of color as his eyes darted from your face, down to your stomach, and finally rested on your tits. "Are you?"
You slapped his shoulder. "No!"
"Then why do they think that?"
You recounted every piece of evidence they had collected, giving special attention to Spencer's bodily hypothesis as a subtle form of retaliation.
"He said what?"
You laughed, draping your arms around his neck as you made yourself at home on his lap. He leaned back in his chair, arranging you so your legs were stretched out across his lap.
"Focus," you said desperately. "They think I'm pregnant."
"Sweetheart," he chuckled, his hands finding their way to your waist. "Does it really matter what they're assuming?"
Your lower lip jutted out, fingers threading through your hair as you mulled it over.
"You're a genius." Your arms were around him in an instant once again, leaving a big, messy kiss on his cheek as you hopped down from his lap and strode towards the door.
Who cares if that's what they think?
So, you devoted your day to your greatest talent: stirring the pot. If they were set on believing you were pregnant, why should you interfere? Better yet, why not enjoy their theories and have some fun along the way?
You pulled every trick in the book.
In the morning, you bolted from the briefing room with a hand clamped over your mouth, you later reappeared, ginger ale and crackers in tow--which you knew JJ would understand. No one said a word.
In the afternoon, you turned up your nose when Emily offered you coffee, which in turn caused her eyes to bulge out of her head, but still she said nothing.
In the evening, you staged a sudden craving for the strangest of snacks, convincing Spencer of your dire need for pickles dipped in peanut butter. You sent him on a wild goose chase for it, and he did it, no questions asked.
All of these, as some would say--childish antics, lead to a big pile of nothing because no one was brave enough to just ask you.
So now that you were all gathered around Rossi's living room, with the day's efforts in vain, you were forced to drastic measures.
The wine glass was mere inches from your lips when the whole lot of them were up in arms--a blabbering, spiraling mess.
Garcia, her mouth a perfect 'o' of scandalized red, was quick to wrestle it from your grasp, hoisting it just beyond reach as Morgan promptly confiscated it, placing it atop the tallest bookshelf, as if you were a child meddling with contraband.
"What are you thinking?"
"Are you crazy?"
"What are you doing?"
"Hotch, do you see this?"
Their words bombarded you all at once, a rapid-fire of overlapping sentences that was impossible to decipher. A giggle escaped you, hand instinctively rising to your lips. Sure, you had braced for a reaction, but this was beyond anything you had imagined.
You played dumb, your head canting to one side as your brows contracted. "What?"
You basked in Aaron's exasperated eye roll, his hands coming together as if in prayer while he let you revel in the moment. He was a good man.
"What do you mean what? I love you so much, but you have to be out of your mind," Garcia probed, her hands clutching on to her necklace as she looked side to side at the others.
You opened your mouth, ready to provoke her further, but Spencer beat you to it.
"Given the potential impact on blood volume and plasma osmolality, it's really not advised to drink alcohol, considering your condition," he said, fidgeting with his tie while nodding to your belly.
"What condition?"
"Oh, come on! We found your pregnancy test in the trash today!" This time it was Emily speaking, her hands on her hips as she gave you a knowing glance. She quickly muffled her exclamation. "Hold on, you've told Hotch, right? If not, I'm prepared to get on my hands and knees and beg for your forgiveness if necessary."
"You all are ridiculous!" you declared, rising from the couch and moving toward your abandoned wine. Aaron was quicker, offering the glass to you. "I'm not pregnant, and if you nosy nellies had bothered to ask rather than speculate, you'd know that.”
You took a large gulp of your wine. For emphasis. Your colleagues' mouth hung agape, all but Rossi, who smirked and toasted to the absurdity with his whiskey.
"You heard us?"
"Reid, let's just say, I'd appreciate if you would reserve those observational talents for the case files, not on my girlfriend's anatomy," Hotch suggested, the warmth of his hand seeping through the fabric at your back as he casually sipped his scotch.
You watched Reid's complexion turn a spectrum of pink hues, his apology barely above a whisper as laughter bubbled around us.
"Wait so then whose pregnancy test did I find?" Emily's words caused a collective breath to catch, glances shifting suspiciously around the room.
JJ's hand shot up, laughing as Garcia barreled into her side, arms wrapping around her before she could even get the admittance out. The room buzzed with congratulatory cheers, everyone sharing hugs and kisses as JJ told the story.
Aaron chose that instant to lift his hand to his neck, his lips meeting yours in a kiss so gentle it turned your insides to jelly. He eased back, his breath mingling with yours as he mumbled, "you know, the idea of you pregnant...it's not something I'm opposed to."
You let out a soft giggle, nestling your head against his chest, the steady beat of his heart bleeding into your ear. Your gaze drifted to your friends, toasting with raised glasses--minus JJ--with laughter and chatter filling the air.
"Is that so? Cravings, mood, boobs and all?"
You felt the rumble of his chuckle through his chest, the sensation tingling against your cheek. "All of it."
Rising onto your toes, you reached up to cradle his ear, lips grazing lightly against it. "How about we head home and practice? And then if you put a ring on it, I’ll consider it.”
That was the first time you had Irish goodbye-d a party.
a/n: im writing what i want !!!!!!!!!!!!! i have a gun kink SUE ME !!! if you don't like it don't read it !!!!!!!
anyhow HAPPY READING
masterlist
₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧
pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader
summary: in which hotch comes home to find you reading and finds out you have a gun kink
warnings: 18+ MDNI, a lot going on here yall idk, gun going in ur vag, reader loves smut she's just like me fr, gun kink!, dirty talk, established relationship, yada yada
wc: 2.3k
When Hotch returned home from work, the ritual he had was comforting in its predictability: shedding his coat and shoes, setting down his briefcase, and locking up his gun. Then, he'd find you, as he always did, nestled into the couch, book in hand.
It was something he could count on, as reliable as the sun rising in the morning. Your bookshelf was a spectrum of genres--science fiction, poetry, mystery, historical, fantasy--name it, you've likely read it. Among these, he had noticed a trend--your favoritism for romance. It was fitting, as you've always been an ardent believer in fairytales and happy endings. It was a belief he intended to uphold, a fairytale ending he was set on creating for you.
The book you held today had a cover he didn't recognize. He cleared his throat, announcing his arrival. Your eyes met his in an instant, and he was struck anew by just how pretty you are. Effortlessly so. He told you as much, though you seldom accepted the compliment.
"Hi, handsome," you said, infusing your words with honey as you folded the corner of your page and laid the book aside. Spencer would scold you for that. "How was work?"
A shrug rolled off his shoulders, fingers working to loosen the tie that felt like a noose after a long day. Stepping further into the living room, he sighed, "Heavy with paperwork."
"That's no fun," you said, lips curving into a delicate pout.
It was an invitation he couldn't ignore. Leaning in, his hands found your face, and as your lips met, you giggled, pulling back just enough to study his face, the harsh lines under his eyes, reading the fatigue on his features like a well-thumbed novel.
"What are you reading?" he questioned, easing down next to you, the couch dipping to his weight.
You dodged his eyes, fingers absently fidgeting with your earlobe as you gave him a half-smile, tilting the book just enough so he couldn't catch the title.
"Just some romance book," you admitted, with a slight uptick in your voice. "Garcia recommended it."
He regarded you with a contemplative frown. Normally, a book you would have gone on for hours, detailing every character, plot twist, and subplot, dissecting its layers and intricacies in exhaustive detail.
Aaron watched as you placed the book on the side table, movements deliberate. You positioned yourself across his lip, a seemingly innocent distraction. It almost worked. Your soft thighs sinking into his calloused hands, as if they were crafted just for him. He recognized your ploy, though, giving your leg a squeeze a little tighter than necessary.
You leaned in, your breath tinged with the minty traces of your afternoon tea, a detail as intimate as any secret shared between lovers. He nipped at your lip, a gentle diversion, as his hand crept towards the book.
You wriggled in his hold, vying to get there first, but he was faster. Much faster at that, although you loved to challenge him on that. He secretly loved when you did. He loved you.
"What are you doing?" Your voice was rising in a panicked pitch. You stretched your hand out, trying to reclaim it, but he kept it just beyond reach.
Aaron's arm formed a band around you, effectively pinning your arms to your torso while you writhed within his grasp. A groan was stifled in his throat. "Quit that."
You smiled, a hint of tease in the curve of your lips and stilled. You were acutely aware of the effect you had on him, and it was a feat achieved with little effort.
"Why are you being so secretive about this?"
He nodded to the book. The cover was unassuming, black with a smattering of designs that sprawled across it. It looked like any other book you read.
"I'm not being secretive," you insisted, deliberately avoiding his probing gaze. "You're just being nosy."
"Oh, am I?" He couldn't help but laugh, nose crinkling as he dismissed the notion with a shake of his head.
You nodded, not saying anything in response. He thumbed through the book, opening it to a random page.
"Wait--," you pleaded, but his attention was already glued to the ink. You wrapped yourself around him, your face buried in the folds of his crisp dress shirt as you murmured into the fabric, "please don't."
His arm shifted from your waist to cradle the back of your neck. "Gasping at the cool metal of the gun running across my belly, I want him press it into my panties."
Your breath caught, warmth flooding your cheeks as you pressed your face deeper into his chest. "Aaron, stop."
But he didn't, of course, he was far too intrigued.
"Parting my legs, I roll into the metal. He runs it back and forth across my pussy, wetting it against the barrel to my entrance," He continued, wetting the pad of his thumb as he turned the page, eyes meeting yours.
He cocked an eyebrow as if waiting for your response. You didn't give him one, huffing a sigh as you plucked the book from his hands and flung it onto the cushions of the couch.
"Are you...into this?" He articulated each word with deliberate slowness, as if navigating a minefield. "This is a little intense."
You groan, tucking your chin down to your chest as you fought against the tingling sensation clawing up your spine.
"I don't know." The words tumbled out in a murmur, a feeble shield against the embarrassment flooding your senses.
It was the truth. You didn't know. Ink on a page was a far cry from reality. Nonetheless, your recent daydreams were filled with images of Aaron with his gun. God, forbid you see him on duty.
He shifted you off his lap, and you felt the corners of your mouth turn downward involuntarily. You watched his retreating figure vanish down the hall, your thoughts racing at breakneck speed, gripped by the fear that you had scared him off, that this was his tipping point.
The welling tears were poised to fall, but they paused as he came back into view. Holding his gun.
Your breath halted, a knot forming in your throat as you clumsily rose to your knees on the couch, your eyes wide and transfixed on him.
You watched, more like ogled, as he methodically removed the magazine, opening the action and ejecting the cartridges of the gun, putting the safety into place. Your throat felt dry. His advance towards you was predatory, a slow march that rekindled a well-known flutter in your stomach.
"Aaron?"
He stepped in front of you, the firearm dangling loosely at his side. You gazed up at him, peering through the shelter of your lashes.
"Do you want me to fuck you with this?"
You knew you said you didn't know if this was something you were into, yet here you were, retracting every syllable. Suddenly so incredibly turned on it almost hurt.
You nodded vigorously, your enthusiasm outpacing your self-awareness.
The look he gave you was one you recognized instantly, eliciting yet another soft pout before you gave in. "Yes, please, Aaron."
"Good girl," he said, making your heart skip a beat as he pressed the nose of the gun into your chest, forcing you backward. "Always so good for me."
You nodded again, even though there was no need to, but you weren't really focused on his words. You were focused on the gun pressing into your body, imagining it pressed against your clit, up your pussy.
"You're sure, um," you managed, trying to catch your breath, pausing in the middle of your sentence to clear your throat, "that all the safety stuff is on?"
You sounded dumb, you were aware, but all intellectual thoughts were out the window.
He let out a deep chuckle, the sound sending another wave of desire straight to your core. "Yes, baby, all of the safety stuff is on."
"Okay, good."
He pressed his lips to yours, the gun still flush against your chest, now grazing your nipple as you arched into him.
He pulled back only enough to speak into your mouth. "What's your safe word?"
"Mercy."
He hummed in response, fingers threading through your hair as he pushed the barrel of the gun down your stomach. You froze, a subtle gap forming between your lips as your eyes remained locked on the motion.
He brought his mouth to your ear, nipping at the skin lightly as he pushed the metal further down your body, lifting the hem of your shirt with it. You gasped at the feeling, pulling your bottom lip through your teeth as you tried to hide just how affected you were.
"Do you trust me?"
"Yes." It was immediate. Without hesitation.
He kissed your lips, gentle and unhurried, as if he was savoring the sensation, like he thought I might crumble under too much pressure. He might be right.
"Take these off."
His gun pressed against the waistband of your shorts. You didn't waste a second, lifting your hips and shimmying out of the fabric. A sound of approval vibrated from his throat, his fingers entwining in your hair, gently drawing your face closer to his.
"Are you sure about this?"
A nod came naturally, followed by a yes breathed out like a prayer, as your eyes trailed down to in between your thighs where the gun was now sitting.
"Aaron, I need it."
"Oh, you need it, huh?" He tsked his tongue, running the nose of the gun over your clothed heat. "I can tell."
You let out a sharp gasp, bucking your hips into the device as you met his eyes, willing him to keep going. You had never been more turned on in your life. His hand moved from your neck to the small of your waist, pinning you in place. With one hand. Fuck.
He laid the gun beside your hip on the couch in order to pull your panties off. You squirmed at the rush of cold air encompassing between your thighs. His eyes were glued to your pussy, tongue darting out to swipe across his lips.
"Christ sweetheart," he hissed, sliding one finger through your slit, showing you the moisture you had produced. "Needy girl."
"Aaron, please." You needed something inside of you.
He laughed, at your expense, but you didn't care, concentrated on his hand grabbing the Glock and repeating the action his finger just did.
You choked out a sound, stuttering against the touch. He in a merciful mood apparently, pushing the gun slowly into your sopping cunt. You were writhing against it, your mouth parted as you tried to get used to the foreign object.
"You okay?" He asked, pausing his motions, giving you a second to adjust.
You swallowed; gaze drawn down to where he was sliding the gun into you. You bit down on your lip hard enough to draw blood.
"Yes."
"You can take it," he said, but the way the firearm was stretching you made you unsure.
It wasn't the size necessarily, but the way the groves and magazine were cramming into you was making hold your breath, which him being him he noticed immediately.
His hand rested gently against the pouch of your stomach. "Breathe."
The pent-up breath escaped your lips, and he rewarded you by sinking the gun further into your pussy. You fingers wrapped around his biceps, the tips digging slightly into the constellation of freckled skin.
One final thrust and it was fully in you. You could feel every groove and contour of it, cunt clenching and unclenching at the sensation.
"Look at you," he drawled, beginning to fuck you with it. It transcended the prose of any book, a sensation that no array of printed words could fully capture. "You like that?"
Nodding was your only recourse, mouth hanging pathetically open as you moaned and whined. You were in a daze-like state, every sound and motion involuntary.
"This is the Glock 17," he explained, thrusting the gun faster, causing you to tighten your hands around his neck, bringing him so close his words were melting into your skin. "It feeds from a staggered-column magazine that has a 17-round capacity. It sends 115 gr bullets downrange at about 1200 feet per second."
You could feel your arousal leaking to your thighs, coating his forearm in the process, but that would never stop him.
"This gun has taken the lives of nineteen unsubs."
You know this should make you coil away, that it should feel wrong somehow, but all you felt was that growing tightness in your core, your legs shaking, your chest rising and falling at a more rapid pace.
"You don't even care, do you? All you care about is getting yourself off." His chuckles wove through his words, and his motions didn't falter, intent of ushering you to your peak. "My dirty girl."
You were so close, the edges of the gun managing to hit every spot just right.
"Come on, honey."
Fuck. You let out another strangled gasp, way louder than intended as your back arched like a string of a bow, and then suddenly you released.
A prism of colors exploded behind your squeezed eyes. A collage of musical notes falling over your ears. Your whole body was being ignited as you gushed around the gun.
"Christ." His new favorite word as of late. He withdrew the weapon from you.
You let out a subdued hum, propping yourself on your elbows, your eyes lazily rising to meet his with a tender flutter.
"You're so pretty," he murmured, the compliment settling on you like dew on morning flowers. Your gaze caught the gun, now bathed in a liquid gloss, cradled in his hands.
"Oh my god," you said, hand covering your mouth.
He laughed softly, placing it on the coffee table before his lips brushed against yours, a soft and measured caress that belied his previous urgency.
"You might need a new one," you said sheepishly, heat creeping into your ears as he pressed another soft kiss to your cheek.
"Absolutely not," he murmured into your flushed skin. "It just became my gun of choice."
You were going to give him the best head of his life.
summary: in which you overhear your boyfriend aaron's phone call
warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, miscommunication, self-doubt, happy ending but also a terrible ending bc i SUCK at endings xoxo
wc: 2.3k
You had called out your boyfriend's name multiple times as you wandered into his house. He had asked you a while ago if you wanted to come over for a movie night tonight and hell would have to freeze over before you ever declined that offer. However, upon arrival, you were greeted by silence; no response to the doorbell, his phone, or your voice. Thankfully, the key he'd given you last year jingled in your pocket as you let yourself in.
You had a pretty strong suspicion he'd be in his office--after all, this was Aaron Hotchner, a man who definitely did not believe in leaving work at the office.
And sure enough, his voice filtered through the slightly ajar door, the rich hue of his mahogany desk framing the gap. You were about to move towards the living room, assuming he was on a work call of some sorts, but his words stopped you dead in your tracks.
"It's just... sometimes I feel like I'm speaking, but the understanding isn't there. You know what I mean? It's like the concepts just float in one ear and out the other."
You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, brows drawn together, as your hand found the wall, leaning towards the door. He couldn't have been talking about you, right?
"I try to share details, to get her involved, but it's met with this vacant nod. As if the depth of it all just doesn't register."
Oh. Her. You tried to fan away the wetness that threatened to fall down your cheeks, each rapid motion a desperate attempt to convince yourself you were imagining things.
"And I'm patient, I really am. But when you're met with that blank look, it's... disheartening. You start to wonder if it's worth explaining at all. It's like talking to a wall."
Okay, that stung. It was like an immediate punch to the gut, your heart seeming to drop into the pit of your stomach. Your shoulders slumped slightly as you tried to rationalize his words, but nothing was really making sense right now.
The internal battle was a cruel one: stay and endure the sharp sting of his words or leave and miss more of what he had to say. The latter won, pulling you away from the door.
You knew you were never going to be the smartest person in the room, and in the past, it was a source of deep-seated insecurity, always a silent specter in the corners of your mind. But then you met Aaron. And he made everything just better. His own intelligence and impressive job never became a yardstick for your worth; he ensured you knew you were more than enough, just as you were.
He had always been the voice reminding you that you were smart in your own right, telling you that your worth transcended any numerical measure of intelligence like a stupid IQ score. But now you were questioning everything.
Anger seemed like the appropriate response, right? But it was hard to be when his words carried a weight of truth to them.
You did have a hard time keeping up when he talked about the complexities of his cases, sometimes feeling like an outsider looking in. But, even if you didn't understand, his passion for what he did was infectious, and you hung on to every word when he explained all the ways his smart brain was able to deduce things about people.
Still, a part of you imagined it was hard for him, that it probably got old fast when you weren't able to hold an intelligent conversation.
Your knuckles were white against the steering wheel, and it somehow took you only ten minutes to get home when it should've taken you twenty.
It was only when you had taken a shower, put on your favorite pair of pink sweats, brought out some Ben and Jerry's, and turned on Legally Blonde, did you check your phone.
Hi honey. What time are you coming over?
You tried to ignore the sensation of an invisible band drawing tighter across your chest.
so sorry, not feeling good. rain check? xoxo
You hated lying to him. Hated lying in general, save for the occasional white lie to protect someone's feelings. The fact that you weren't lying to his face was a small mercy, because obviously he'd be able to see right through you.
Do you want me to come there? I can bring food.
You wanted to be with him, you really did, you had been counting down the days to this movie night all week. But the thought of sitting beside him, wanting to ask about his day, about his work, now seemed like an intrusion. Knowing that your well-intentioned questions might be a chore for him or a source of frustration. The realization pressed down on you, a heavy weight that threatened to snuff your light.
no that's okie! thank you though <3 i don't want to get you sick!
Your phone was ringing, his name lighting up the screen for a FaceTime call, it felt like a betrayal of your own making. It was a skill you had recently taught him (which took forever), and of course now he was using it. Your finger jabbed at the red button, your cheeks turning the same color.
i look & sound disgustinggg rn
I know for a fact that's incorrect. You have a magical talent of looking incredible no matter what.
I want to see your pretty face.
you can be so flattering when u want to mister!
im going to take some medicine & then ill call u l8, k?
Hmm, okay.
love u! xoxo
I love you too, pretty girl.
You hated this. Your eyes were puffy, swollen and wet as you discarded the phone onto the nightstand. He deserved someone who wasn't so pathetic.
You wallowed in self-pity all night, and then all day, and then all week. You went through the motions--getting up, going to work, and then making up some lame excuse when Aaron asked to see you. Name it, and you had probably said it. In reality, you had been holed up in your room, trading glossy magazine pages for confusing behavioral books.
The subject matter was as dull as dishwater, making paint-watching seem thrilling. But you were committed to bringing some depth to your next conversation with him.
Today's excuse had been some half-truths about being buried in work--which in hindsight seemed comical, given you worked at a bakery and there wasn't much that could take up your time outside of contract hours.
You were splayed across the couch in an upside-down sprawl as you attempted to focus on the scholarly gibberish that filled the pages. 'Homology,' 'dichotomy,' and 'typology' melded into a migraine-inducing blur, tempting you to slam the book shut. You were fighting every urge to throw it out the window and paint your nails with that new glittery polish you've been dying to try.
At the insistent knock, you clapped the book shut (thank god) and stood, brows knitting, as you navigated to the door with a soft scuffle of slippers on polished wood.
Flinging it open, you halted, breath caught. "Aaron? Oh, hi, what are you doing here?"
The words sprang forth before you could catch them, your hands scrambling up to smooth the evidence of your couch-induced disarray.
He fixes you a pointed stare as he steps into your apartment, invitation be damned you guess. "I find myself repeating this, yet it seems necessary--peephole first, then the door, sweetheart."
You clamp your teeth onto your lip with such force, you're convinced you've tasted blood. "Oh, right, sorry... I should've remembered."
A flicker of foolishness and a heavy dose of self-consciousness threaten to surface. However, you quickly subdue them, tucking them away as you wrapped your arms around your body, offering him a small smile. Despite everything, your heart leaps at the sight of him. You missed him.
His face softens, his touch soft as he tilts your chin upward. "Look at me. It's fine. I just want to make sure my best girl is safe, that's all."
The temptation to simply crumble there and then, to forget everything and cocoon yourself in his arms, was overwhelming.
You leaned into his hand without thinking, which now claimed the entire area of your cheek. He was always so warm.
You watch as Aaron glances around the room, no doubt noting the absence of work-related clutter. "Still working?"
"Oh, I was, I told my boss I'd help with inventory reports." That part wasn't totally a lie, but it still made your conscience squirm with guilt.
"Do you want help?"
The proposal touches a raw nerve, sparking a defensive reflex. Did he think you were incapable?
"Thanks, but I'm actually all done with them," you lie, your a smile a little too rigid as you head into the living room.
You're keenly aware of his approaching footsteps as you hastily stash that stupid book under a magazine, silently praying he didn't notice. You settle onto the couch, and he joins you, casually drawing your legs over his lap as you recline against the cushions.
"How was your day?"
You wince internally at the automatic question.
"Not too bad," He replies with an easy shrug, his fingers sneaking under your sweats at the ankles, tracing lazy circles on your calves. "We wrapped up some paperwork, had a couple of briefings, and oh, we were introduced to our new consultant today. She specializes in crypto linguistics--really fascinating stuff."
Your eyes flutter briefly, a constriction forming in your throat, a twist in your gut. The mere mention of the consultant being a she amplifies your feelings of insufficiency. It leaves you wondering, why would Aaron ever be interested in someone like you?
"Crypto linguistics?" you repeat, trying to sound curious rather than lost.
He leans in closer to you. "It's a specialized area of linguistics focused on decoding encrypted languages."
You offer a nod, managing a convincing "Yeah, of course," even as your eyes unwittingly drift away from his unwavering stare, betraying a hint of your confusion.
Aaron's hand cradles your head, his fingers sifting through your hair. "Hey," he murmurs, drawing your attention back, "what's going on in that pretty head of yours?"
Your chin touches your chest as you mumble, barely audible, "hardly anything."
Aaron's expression turns to a frown, his broad hands guiding your ass and thighs as he positions you atop his lap, face-to-face, leaving you exposed with no place to hide. Your name escapes him with a sigh. "I don't believe that for a second."
You match his frown with your own pout, nestling your face into his neck, concealing the rosy hue that has claimed your cheeks. "Just a rough week is all."
"Is that so?" His voice was a gentle murmur, his hands soothingly moving in gentle sweeps across your back as you breathed out unsteadily. "Funny, that's been my week too. My gorgeous girlfriend seems to have been avoiding me all week."
"Have not," you mumble, your breath warm against his skin, fingers weaving through the hair at the nape of his neck.
He hummed. "Why don't you tell me what's wrong."
"It's silly."
He guided your face back to his, eyes searching yours. "Listen to me. No, it's not. I don't like when you try to diminish your feelings. Talk to me, honey."
That was your tipping point. A wobble in your lip betrays the onset of tears as your voice breaks.
"I just--I know I'm not as smart as the people you work with or even your past girlfriends. I know I don't get things right away especially when you talk about work, and I see how everyone else is so quick, and I'm here, always a few steps behind. I know that it must be frustrating for you, and I'm scared that one day, you'll get tired of explaining, and your patience will run out, and well, you'll see... you'll see that--"
"Baby, whoa, slow down," Aaron urges, his palms tenderly framing your face, a frown plastered over his face. Your heart hammers against your chest, its rapid beats almost audible, as if it might jump from your body. "Take a deep breath, okay? Can you do that for me?"
You draw in a breath.
His thumb delicately erases the tears that have made their way down your cheek.
"When there is something about my work you don't understand, I will gladly go over it as many times as you need. I don't expect you to know everything about that stuff, why would you? That's not why I'm with you. I'm with you because of your incredibly kind heart and the way you see the best in people. I love you because you are you. What is making you think this way, honey? It's breaking my heart."
"I overheard you Aaron," you said, "saying that sometimes it feels like you're talking to a wall when you talk to me."
"What?" he questioned, but his confusion was quickly morphed into concern. "Oh, sweetheart, no. I was talking about Strauss and her lack of understanding of our fieldwork."
"Oh."
"I would never speak about you like that, you know that, right? And if, in some alternate universe, I did, you need to break up with me, or better yet, set me straight." His hands stayed firmly on your face. "You should never tolerate that from me or anyone else, understood?"
You bit down on your lip, hands resting on his shoulders as you nodded. "Yes, sir."
He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, sending fireworks to every inch of you as he mumbled against your mouth, "that's my girl."
Summary: No matter how hard you try to impress him, Agent Hotchner never seems to be satisfied with your work. And it all comes crashing down when you decide to confront him.
Words: 2,7k.
Warnings & Tags: mentions of crime. reader was injured (nothing serious). angst WITHOUT happy ending. hotch being a father figure. soo much angst (yes, again). father and rebellious daughter type discussion. temporarily located in the first season. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).
Note: He is so ❤️🔥daddy❤️🔥 but also 💔dad💔 for me, okay?
This was painful to write, so I loved it (I literally wrote it with I Bet On Losing Dogs by Mitski in the background).
♡ Enjoy! ♡
Anyone who knows you knows that your lifelong dream was to help make the world a better place.
And from your day one at the BAU, you felt like your wildest dreams had come true. You were saving lives, reassuring victims, and helping to bring to justice those who tormented them so they could never do it to anyone else again. You were making a real difference in the world, even if you weren't the caped superhero you wanted to be as a kid.
But, as they say, nothing's perfect. And your job had more contradictions for your mental and physical health than there were fingers on your hands to count. The long and unstable schedule, the few hours of sleep, nightmares about the atrocities you saw, no social life outside the team...and of course, the constant disappointment you felt from Aaron Hotchner, your boss.
From day one, you had worked tirelessly to prove yourself. You craved the approval of your superiors, the respect of your colleagues. The job was demanding, yes, but you wanted to show that you could not only handle it but thrive under the pressure. And you had earned the trust and admiration of everyone around you, except for him.
Agent Hotchner was an enigma to you. There was something about him that both intrigued and intimidated you. He was always so calm, without showing much emotion, without so much as a smile for you. He was a wall you couldn't break through no matter how hard you tried. You had tried so hard to impress him, to make sure he saw your dedication, your work ethic, but you always seemed to fall short. His approval, or lack thereof, hurt more than anything else. You had gotten used to it by now, but it didn't make it any easier.
And now, here you were, in his office, watching him scrutinize your medical diagnosis. He had just glanced at the report from the doctor that had followed you back from the Utah case. Your shoulder, a minor injury, but one that could’ve been avoided if you hadn’t thrown yourself headfirst into the danger in the way you did.
Finally, after several moments of awkward silence, you dared to speak. “What do you think? I am practically at my best.”
Deep down, you knew you were lying through your teeth and that you were not well with an injured shoulder, a concussion, and several bruises, but you refused to say so out loud. You were a brave girl, and he should know.
Hotch looked up from the report in his hand and stared at you. It was the kind of look that made your hair stand on end and gave you a feeling that something was wrong.
“No, you're not.” He sighs and closes the folder before walking over to the desk you were sitting behind. He leans against it as he looks at you, arms folded across his chest. “You disobeyed a direct order during the case. You abandoned your partner.”
“I didn’t abandon Reid,” you replied, your voice sounding more defensive than you intended. You straightened in your chair, wincing slightly as your shoulder protested the movement. “I simply suggested he wait behind me. And it worked, didn’t it? He saved the victim, and I stopped the unsub.”
Teamwork, as you liked to call it.
“It paid off this time,” he said, his voice low but firm. “But that doesn’t excuse disregarding protocol. You put yourself and your partner in unnecessary danger. That’s not the kind of decision-making we can afford here.”
Oh no, here comes the usual chatter you didn't want to hear this time. Normally, you would be quiet, listening and nodding at his every word, but this time there was something different. You just longed for congratulations. Was it really so difficult for him to tell you once that you did something right?
You stiffened in your chair, the ache in your shoulder suddenly more pronounced. “With all due respect, I evaluated the situation and made a hard decision. I’m not some rookie who doesn’t know how to handle themselves in the field.”
Even as the words came out, you felt very nervous. You didn't know if it was the drugs they gave you in the hospital to fight the pain or if it was just your shyness leaving your body completely for no reason.
“I’m not questioning your skills,” he replied sharply. “But you’re not operating at one hundred percent, and that affects your judgment. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard for months—longer, maybe. And now you’re injured. You need time to recover and think about this.”
God, no.
“I don’t need time; I need to work,” you shot back, frustration lacing your tone. This job was your lifeline, your purpose. Without it, who were you?
“You know we work as a team. A unit. And when one part of the unit breaks down, there are consequences.” His voice wasn’t just firm; it was unyielding, like a warning. The way he said it almost felt like he was speaking to a child—a reprimand you didn’t want but knew you had earned. “No one is above the team, not even you.”
You didn't know if it was the way he said it or the words he used, but it was like the straw that broke the camel's back, and you were tired of putting up with the situation. This was the first time you had made a decision on your own, the first time you had not discussed your ideas with the team only to have them ignored and then spoken louder by someone else. Finally, you had acted, and even that was wrong.
You were tired, fucking tired of being ignored and judged much more harshly than the rest.
A bitter laugh escaped your lips, barely audible but heavy with frustration. The ache in your shoulder seemed to flare as if your body was responding to the tension in the room. “And what consequences are you thinking of, sir?” you asked, your voice dripping with sarcasm. There was no hiding the venom now. “What’s worse than not being valued even when I do my job?”
His gaze turned hard as if your tone had cut him deeper than any physical injury could. He didn’t take kindly to disrespect, especially from someone who had otherwise followed his orders without question. You saw the shift in him, the quiet fury simmering beneath his usually controlled exterior. If you were anyone else, the conversation would have already escalated. But you weren’t anyone else. You were someone he knew far too well.
“Don’t use that tone with me,” he bit back, his voice low and steady but carrying a weight that made your stomach twist. There was no mistake now—this wasn’t just about the case. This was more personal. “You are suspended. Your gun and badge on the table. Now.”
Oh, oh, oh.
The words hung in the air between you like a guillotine, sudden and final. The room seemed to close in on you, the breath in your chest catching in surprise. You didn’t know if it was the shock or the disbelief, but your mind struggled to grasp the magnitude of his command. Suspended? Your world was spinning.
You opened your mouth to speak, to argue, but the words caught in your throat, leaving you with nothing but a hollow sound of confusion. “What? Why?”
“Agent, you disobeyed a direct order and endangered yourself and your partner,” he said firmly. “I don’t take your actions lightly. Suspension is not a punishment—it’s a consequence. You need time to heal, both physically and mentally.”
The idea of being sidelined was incomprehensible. The thought of doing nothing—being stuck in your apartment, forced to be still—felt suffocating. No. You couldn’t accept it.
“This is ridiculous. I did my job! I stopped the unsub! Reid saved the victim because I made the right choice!”
You saved a life, even if it meant risking a little of your own. You did save it.
“And what happens next time?” Hotch shot back, his voice rising slightly. “What happens if your judgment falters again because you’re running on empty? What if next time, it’s Reid who doesn’t come back?”
Then, silence.
The thought of Spencer getting hurt turned your stomach and made you question your actions. If anything happened to him, you would never forgive yourself…His life did matter, a lot.
“Gun. Badge. Now.” Your boss talks again. He gestured toward the desk.
Your fingers trembled, betraying you as you reached for the gun on your hip. The cool metal felt foreign in your hands, like something that had never truly belonged to you. Your mind screamed for you to stop, to stand your ground, to fight this. But your body, exhausted and broken, refused to cooperate.
You opened your mouth to speak, but your voice cracked before you could get the words out. “I…I didn’t mean…I just…”
Finally, with a shaky breath, you placed your gun on the desk. The thud it made as it landed felt like the sound of everything you had worked for being shattered in front of you. You could feel the sting of unshed tears burning in your eyes, but you wouldn’t let them fall. Not here. Not in front of him.
It didn’t matter what you said. It never seemed to matter, not with him. You had tried so hard to be the one who did everything right, to be the one he could rely on, and yet all you had earned was this—this cold, final judgment. He wasn’t just your boss in that moment; he was the embodiment of everything you had tried to prove yourself against. A reminder that, no matter what you did, it still wasn’t enough.
The words spilled from your mouth before you could stop them, the bitter taste of them already familiar. “You think I’m weak, don’t you?” The tone you had intended to be defiant came out more like a desperate plea. “You think I can’t handle this, that I’m just some liability?”
He didn’t flinch at your outburst. His gaze softened, but just barely. “No,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle but firm. “I think you’re pushing yourself too hard. You’re not weak. But you’re hurting, and I can see it. You need time to recover.”
The words hit you like a slap, unexpected and unwelcome. You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips as you tried to fight back the burning in your chest. You refused to let the tears well up, to let them gather where he could see them. Not here. Not now. Please, not now.
“I don’t need time,” you said, your voice sharp, biting. But underneath the defiance was something raw and desperate, a quiet plea that you couldn’t fully suppress. “I need to be here. I need to do my job. I need to save lives.”
The last part came out as a whisper, as though saying it too loudly would shatter the fragile conviction you had left. You felt like you were slipping, like the ground beneath you was crumbling, and all you could do was cling to this one thing—the job. The only thing that made you feel like you mattered.
“The only life you need to save now is yours,” he said, his voice quieter but still heavy with authority.
You froze, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a crushing tide. Your stomach churned, and you fought to keep your composure, to keep from lashing out, even though every part of you wanted to scream. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t.
A bitter, trembling laugh bubbled up from your throat, unbidden and full of venom. “If it had been Reid or Morgan, you wouldn’t be doing this,” you snapped, the accusation like a raw wound exposed to the open air.
For the first time, something flickered in his eyes—anger, hurt, or something you couldn’t quite place. His jaw tightened, his posture stiffening, and when he spoke, his voice was sharper than before, each word deliberate and cutting.
“No,” he said, the firmness in his tone slicing through the room like a blade. “Because they would never have done this.”
The silence that followed was deafening. It slammed into you like a tidal wave, drowning out every other sound. His words rang in your ears, echoing in the hollow space left behind by your crumbling defenses.
They would never have done this.
Your chest tightened, a deep ache settling in your ribs, and for a moment, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. The accusation hung in the air, heavy and unforgiving. He wasn’t just saying you’d made a mistake—he was saying you were the mistake. That you weren’t good enough. That you never would be.
“Is this because I’m a woman?” you asked, the words coming out sharper than you intended. There was a bitter edge to them, a question that had been gnawing at you for far too long. “Because Elle is too, and even she has more, or is it because of my age? Reid is younger, and you never doubt him.”
“It’s not about any of that,” he said finally, his voice low and tight. But it wasn’t reassuring. It only sounded like an evasion, like he was brushing your concerns aside, and it made your chest ache all over again. “It’s not about your gender or your age.”
“It’s about me,” you said, the words like glass shards scraping at your insides. “It’s about how you don’t trust me.”
For the first time, you saw a flicker of something in his eyes—something almost like guilt, but it was fleeting, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. He opened his mouth, but the words he spoke next were measured, controlled. Too controlled.
“No,” he said, his voice so steady it almost hurt. “That’s not it.”
You stared at him, heart racing, hands trembling, as the truth wrapped around you tighter than you ever thought possible. His words weren’t just dismissing your feelings—they were rejecting everything you had ever believed about your worth, about why you were here, in this moment, fighting so desperately for something you couldn’t even name.
But this time, it was different. You weren’t going to back down. Not anymore.
“Then what is it?” You whispered, voice breaking, tears finally threatening to spill. “What is it, Hotch? What is it about me that isn’t enough?”
“It’s not about you,” he said, but his voice lacked the certainty it usually held. “It’s not about trusting you…It’s about protecting you.” His gaze softened just enough for you to notice, but it only made the pain worse. “I can’t lose…I can’t let you lose yourself.”
The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You were trembling, your pulse racing in your ears, but now there was only a terrible stillness. You swallowed, trying to push down the bitterness that rose up in your throat.
“You don’t get to make decisions for me,” you snapped, barely holding back the frustration that bubbled to the surface. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me. You don’t get to act like you’re my father, making me follow some imaginary line, keeping me under your control. If you want to raise someone, you already have a baby at home.”
The moment the words left your lips, you saw it—just the faintest flicker of hurt in his eyes. The barest flinch. But it was enough to make you feel the weight of your accusation like a stone, sinking into your chest. The silence that followed was thick with it, suffocating, and you could feel the air growing heavier between you.
“I’m not your dad,” he said, the words low, the icy calm of his voice unmistakable. There was no anger in it, just a hollow, painful truth. But the sting of it was sharp enough to leave a mark.
You blinked, the sharpness of his response cutting through you like a blade. You wanted to fight back, to lash out with everything you had, but something stopped you. Instead, your voice came out quieter, almost hollow as you whispered, “I know…Do you know that?”
And then, just like that, you turned away, your breath ragged in your chest. You didn’t wait for his answer, didn’t wait for anything. You couldn’t stand the ache that had taken root in your chest, the fear that had begun to take shape in the corners of your mind.
Summary: When you arrive at the police station to defend a client's innocence, you don't expect the man accusing her to be the same man you've been dating for months.
Words: 1,6k.
Warnings & Tags: fem!reader. mentions of crime and serial killers. established relationship. aaron already divorced. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).
Note: I just love Hotch and wanted to write something with him here. To me, he is definitely the kind of man who is so tired from work that he tries not to mention it on a date (of course, after all the trauma he has been through).
Also, I'm warning you that this is all very chaotic because I'm doing a lot of serious writing lately and I need pink love, comforting and even uncomfortable chaos to relax. So I've been re-watching the first season of the show (sorry, I'm just a girl and not a fan of the last few seasons🥲) and I want to salvage a little of the Hotch we were introduced to before so much misfortune befell him.
♡ Enjoy! ♡
It wasn't that you were annoying, particularly aggressive, or obsessed with being right, you just did your job to the best of your ability. Even if that meant being the villain of other people's stories and mentally going over every law to make sure it was obeyed.
The issue was that not everyone saw it the same way. In the workplace, where you managed, your exact memorization of the rules wasn't always appreciated if you were the one carrying the defense and doing everything to overthrow the other side's theories. For the same reason, you usually had to argue with cops, prosecutors, judges, and—on this occasion—even an FBI agent who wasn't happy with your presence.
You had in your hands an alleged confession of several murders delivered by your client under the coercion of the man who was interrogating her, without your presence there and with some pretty questionable methods to put her in an empty room without concrete evidence or an order from the judge. Unbelievably, it was a fairly common occurrence in your day-to-day work.
At least it was until the boss of the agent you were arguing with showed up and everything started to get complicated.
“What's going on here?”
The cross words and your intensity in emphasizing the injustice of the manipulation of the confession did not allow you to realize that there was someone else in the room. Much less that it was someone who looked exclusively at you until one of the police officers present cleared his throat.
“There has been a violation of the law.” You slowly turned to look behind you, and that's when you saw him.
Aaron stood stiffly, trying to look professional and serious, wearing a tie that matched your dress.
“There wasn't one, Hotch. We just got the confession.” Agent Morgan interjected into the silence provoked by the exchange of glances between you and his supervisor.
For the first time in the half hour you'd been there, you were completely silent. Even when two more agents showed up to try to defuse the situation, you didn't stop repeating the same arguments and insisting on your point. Now, however, you seemed to have lost the ability to speak.
There was a long pause before Aaron spoke carefully. “I'll take care of clarifying the situation.”
Trying to remain serious and stoic, he led you to one of the station's offices with the excuse that he wanted to talk about the case quietly so as not to attract the attention of his team. The strange thing was that he called you by name in front of everyone, without anyone having introduced you before. Maybe one of you two would have noticed if you had been a little less attentive to the other and more attentive to how the situation looked in the other's eyes.
“What are you doing here?” He asked as soon as he closed the door behind you, loosening the tension in his jaw a little, at least now it was just the two of you.
“Where's my 'Good to see you, sweetie. Please don't sue us' or anything like that?”
He raised an eyebrow at your comment, hoping you would take it seriously. Automatically and unconsciously, he had begun to move away from you and sat down on the other side of the desk, marking a distance between the two of you. Aaron had brought out his work side and you had hidden it at the mere sight of him.
“The woman your team pressured into confessing to a crime is my client.” You finally spoke in a serious tone, staring at him with some surprise. This wasn't the usual dynamic with him—you usually had a more relaxed side to him.
“Since when do you take cases like this?”
“Since it's been assigned to me.” You said, raising your shoulders. “One of the buffet partners is on vacation and left me to his clients, as I mentioned the other night.”
The other night when you were in his car, when he had his hand on your thigh as he drove home, when he smiled at you every chance he got to turn around and look at you. When the two of you weren't on completely different sidewalks and weren't supposed to act like strangers.
“This is pretty weird.” You said after watching him for a few seconds and noticing that he seemed lost in his memories. “I hope the agent I was arguing with isn't your friend. That would be awkward.”
Aaron looked at you, trying to figure out what could have happened before he showed up. He already knew you were a good lawyer, very capable and, above all, a good striker. It was too weird for him to think that you had been using your skills against his own team, against the friends he once wanted to introduce you to and that you had now met for the first time in the most unimaginable way.
“What?” You asked.
“Nothing.”
“You look at me like I'm a ghost.”
His brow furrowed again.
He didn't want to say out loud that everything related to his work had ended badly and was completely destroyed, just like his ex-marriage and any attempt to fix it. He had always felt comfortable with you because your work was just as demanding but less dangerous than his. You usually handled family cases, divorces, estates, and coordinating child care. You were away from the blood, the killers, and all the atrocities he lived with.
“I'm worried about you being in the middle of this. It can be dangerous.” He showed his concern for you and had to hold back from holding your hand.
“You should worry more about the lawsuit.” You pointed out in a tone somewhere between teasing and serious. You didn't like him worrying too much. “I'm very good.”
“This is serious.” He finally let his guard down and placed his hand on your knee from under the table, giving it a gentle touch.
That was the man you know and love.
“Me too, it's my job.”
“And you're making my job harder.” He pointed out with a small smile in response to yours.
What were the chances of your love life and work life crossing paths like this? You thought they were pretty slim, which is why you steered clear of talking about work when you were together.
You were just about to answer when you heard a tap on the door and one of the agents who had been watching you during your discussion came over to give Aaron some information about the profile. You couldn't understand him very well because he seemed to be speaking in code because of your presence.
“I'll be there in a moment, Rossi. Get the team together and we'll talk.” Hotchner finished earnestly. You could still feel the warmth of his touch on your knee. “I'm just finishing up here.”
As soon as he left the office, you looked at Aaron with surprise.
“Is he who you always mention?” You asked, and he nodded. “I thought it was 'Rosie,' not 'Rossi,' and that he was a woman.”
“Now I understand why you grimace when I mention his name.” He replied with some amusement. “You were jealous.”
Yes, especially when you found out that they'd shared a room once.
“Don't mock me, I'm about to sue you.” You advertiste in a fake threatening tone, pointing a finger at him. “And I don't care how handsome you look right now, I'll do my job.”
“Me too.” He replied, trying to ignore your compliment to keep a serious expression on his face. “And you look pretty too, I like that dress.”
The love between you seemed to be bubbling anyway, and it was impossible to hide it when you had breakfast together just a few hours ago. You went from making him coffee to offering him a lawsuit if he didn't agree with you.
“I know, I'll use this dress while I debunk your profile theory.” You got up from your seat suddenly after taking your phone out of your bag. It was then that you looked him in the eye. “Are you going to release my client now or should I call the judge?”
“You're not going to take a suspect in five murders. I'm not going to let her off the hook.” He copied your action.
“Give me the evidence then, love.”
Oh, to call him that at that point was a cheap shot, especially when you were the one who won because he had no concrete evidence, only theories and his complex profile.
“But stay away from her anyway, she can be dangerous. My agents will keep an eye on her.” He snorted after a few seconds, trying to find an argument, but failing.
At that moment, you gave him a little smile, proud of yourself and what you had accomplished. “See you at dinner?”
“Sure.” He replied without being able to help but give you a small smile in return. “But I'll pick the place.”
“Well, that's an argument I'll let you win.” You put your phone back in your bag and took a couple of steps towards the door, stopping when you saw him coming after you. “Can I kiss my opponent?”
“This is pretty unprofessional.” He said, putting a hand on your waist and leaning you against the door. Without hesitation, he kissed you firmly on the lips.
After a few minutes, the two of you walked out of the office as if nothing had happened, and the professional scene continued. Your heels clicked towards the exit with your client at your side, while Aaron met with his team, trying to find new ways to solve the case and refine the profile. The only problem was that he happened to be working with people who were very detail-oriented.
And, gosh, it was impossible not to notice the traces of your lipstick on his lips.
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