You have to share a bed with your sexy, older boss. You're in for quite the night.
Warnings: smut
Word count:3.8k
Of all the situations to be in, this was a doozy. The team was on a case, and the only hotel was pretty full, which means room sharing. Fine—except somehow you'd ended up with Hotch. The rest of the team had made a joke about you being the newest member, which automatically gave you the short straw.
Fine, you'd handle it. But the thought of being in such close proximity to Hotch was making you nervous. He was intimidating at the best of times. (Your huge crush on him didn't help at all). Yes, you were a walking cliché; you had the hots for your much older, stern, sexy boss. And now you are being forced together by sharing a room—God, it's like the plot of a rom-com.
You trail up the stairs behind Hotch, and he opens the door and gestures for you to go in—of course he does, ever the gentleman. The room is quite pleasant. It's tastefully decorated, there is a nice view from the window, and ... "shit" you say aloud. There's only one bed. Are you fucking kidding me? Let's just tick another rom-com trope off, shall we? By adding some forced proximity. Jesus.
Hotch comes up behind you. "Wha-? Oh."
"Yeah, oh," you say. "One bed, and not a sofa in sight."
"Hmm," he grumbles.
You decide to take charge of the situation. "You know what, this is fine. We are adults. We can cope with this, yeah?"
He clears his throat. "Yes."
"Ok. As long as you don't boss me around in the bedroom. "Oh God. You clamp your mouth shut and feel a blush spread across your face. "That came out wrong. I, erm... I just meant—" you croak, unable to quite finish your sentence.
Hotch tries to hide a smirk. Now there's an idea. Damn, of all the people to be sharing a bed with, it was you. With your curvy little figure and smart mouth, and right now a delightful rosy blush to your face all the way to the tips of your ears.
To spare your blushes, Hotch changes the subject and says, "Would you like to use the bathroom first?"
"Yes, please, thank you," you stutter out, anything to get out of his field of vision right now.
You dash into the bathroom and shut the door. You stare at your reflection in the mirror; great, your face is beet red. Really?! You think to yourself. Of all the fucking dumb things to come out of your mouth.
You take a deep breath and pull yourself together. Ok, shower, that's what you need. You set the shower away and strip. You step in, and ahh, yes, this is just what you needed. You take a sniff of the complimentary toiletries; mmm, nice. You lather up and enjoy the water washing the day away. You shower pretty quickly, as you don't want to hog the bathroom.
You step out and grab a towel. Ooo, nice and fluffy, and wait... pretty small. You grab the one that was beneath it and hold it out. Yup, same size. You wrap it around yourself; it thankfully covers your ass but barely reaches mid-thigh. The reason this is a problem is that in your embarrassed scramble to the bathroom, you didn't pick up your bag with your PJs.
You tentatively open the bathroom door; you'd just kind of dumped your bag when you exclaimed at the bed situation. It's not there now, damn! Ok, this is fine. Shoulders back, stand tall, shit! Not too tall, the towel rides up to an unseemly level; you tug it down again.
You walk into the bedroom. "Hey Hotch, did you move my bag?" He has his back to you and turns when you speak. His usual professional demeanor slips as his eyes briefly widen and then skim over your body.
You've taken him by surprise. He knows he shouldn't be looking at you like this, but God. Your hair is messily tied up with tendrils escaping and curling around your neck. Beads of water are resting on your skin, making you look dewy, and dear lord, that towel is short. There is so much toned leg on display. He definitely feels a stirring in his trousers, which is very unwelcome right now.
He snaps his head away from you and grabs your bag. "Here, sorry," he thrusts it out to you. Is Aaron Hotchner flustered? His eyes had lingered on you, drinking you in quickly before he turned away.
"Thanks." You head back to the bathroom. On your way past the mirror, you catch a glimpse of him, and he's staring as you walk away.
You close the door and lean up against it. Well, that was... something. You dig into your bag for your PJs. You'd packed teeny shorts and a tank top, knowing how warm you get. An exasperated sigh escapes your lips, for fuck's sake. You pull them on, and you'll be damned if you're sleeping in a bra, so you'll both just have to deal with it.
You walk out of the bathroom; the air-con has made the room deliciously cool but has the obvious unfortunate side effect of making your nipples stand to attention.
Hotch is sitting in a chair reading a file. He's removed his jacket and tie and undone the top buttons of his shirt.
"All yours."
He looks up at you—your pajamas cover about as much as the towel did. What torture is this? You're obviously braless, and your nipples are hard, he tries his best not to stare.
He clears his throat. "Thanks." He moves swiftly from the chair and says he has to make a quick call before he uses the shower. As he closes the door behind him, he looks up at the ceiling and takes a deep breath. This is going to be a long night.
Hotch's eyes had briefly lingered on you, and he seemed a bit flustered as he jumped up from the chair. Hmmm, don't read anything into it; he just hasn't seen you dressed in so little.
You climb into the bed and feel jittery. Hotch is about to be naked on the other side of that wall, and then he's going to come back and climb into bed beside you. God, how are you supposed to relax and sleep? What if you end up throwing an arm or a leg over him in your sleep? You need to do something to calm down; you could... No, you think to yourself, you can't do that. You squeeze your legs together to try and alleviate the ache that appeared at the thought of touching yourself with Hotch in the next room.
You hear his deep voice rumble through the wall. He's on his call; you don't know for how long.
You can't help but think about him unbuttoning his shirt, unbuckling his belt, and unzipping his pants—god, this is far more sensual in your brain than it should be. Your hand has absent-mindedly drifted to your nipple, and you're skimming your fingers over it.
Ok, here's the plan: really quickly get yourself off and then you'll be totally fine to spend the night beside Hotch, right?
Your body seems to have reached this conclusion before you, as when your hand finds its way between your legs, you're already wet. Damn, just thinking about him naked turned you on that much.
You don't have time to tease yourself, so you start rubbing your clit (no holding back). You keep brushing your other hand over your nipple, giving it the occasional pinch. In no time at all you're breathing deeper, trying to stay quiet.
You slip two fingers inside yourself, and your hips are writhing as you pump them into yourself. You think about how much better it would feel if they were Hotch's fingers. Your hand scrabbles for the headboard, and you hear a thunk. Shit, you've knocked something off the bedside table. You can't worry about that now. You bite down on your lip, but little breathy moans escape. You're so close; you're arching your back and trying desperately not to cry out.
What you haven't noticed because you are too focused on your pleasure is that the shower has stopped. Aaron was drying off when he heard a noise from the other side of the wall. A thump as something hit the floor. He stood still and listened, and he heard you make a noise; it sounded like a whimper (the walls weren't very thick). Wait... that definitely sounded like a moan.
He doesn't know what to do. He creeps to the bathroom door and eases it open as quietly as he can. The mirror on the wall reflects you on the bed. Oh god. It was a moan. He can see you gripping the headboard, your head thrown back and your body moving under the covers. He knows he shouldn't watch, but he reasons it would be worse if he had walked in on you.
He'd love to walk over to the bed right now and help you finish. His dick has stiffened, and he can't stop watching you. He watches your body twitch, and as you come, you let out a moan that you clearly can't hold back. Fuck, that image is going to be impossible to get out of his head. And now he's going to have to climb into that bed beside you knowing what you've just done.
He quietly closes the door and tries to pull himself together. He takes some deep breaths and puts his pajamas on. His erection has subsided (for now).
Hotch walks out of the bathroom, and you're convinced you've suitably pulled yourself together. You lie there and try to act cool. "Good shower?" Why are you asking that? Don't ask your boss how his shower was; this sharing a room and a bed situation has you all in a muddle.
"Yes, thank you. Look, are you sure you don't want me to sleep in the chair?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Hotch; just get in the bed."
He gets under the covers and tries to leave as big a gap as possible between your bodies. "Ok, well... goodnight," he says.
"Goodnight," both of you are stilted and awkward. You switch off the light and turn away from him. You do feel pretty sleepy, so hopefully you'll fall asleep fast.
Hotch, however, is wound too tightly (not having enjoyed the release you had). He lies on his back staring into the darkness. He hears your breathing change and knows you're asleep. He looks across at you; a sliver of pale moonlight illuminates the room. He stares at the curve of your shoulder and the back of your neck. There's something so vulnerable and intimate about it.
He huffs out a breath and tears his eyes away from you. He eventually succumbs to sleep.
Hotch slowly starts to wake up. The first thing he's conscious of is how warm he is and then that his arm is curled around ... oh. He opens his eyes. You've shuffled your way over to him in your sleep, and your back is pressed along the front of his body. He must have instinctively wrapped his arm around you.
He's worried if he moves you'll wake up, but if he doesn't... what then? You stretch in your sleep, which has the unfortunate effect of bringing your ass into direct contact with his crotch. Worse still, you wriggle and sigh. Oh damn, he can feel himself growing hard against you. Before he has a chance to work out what to do, you're surfacing from sleep.
As you wake, you feel an arm wrapped around you. Hmmm, that's nice. Wait... why is there an arm wrapped around you? Realization hits. Oh god, you move about so much in your sleep you should've known this would happen. That's Hotch's arm, which means that warm body pressed against your back is your boss. Shit!
Maybe he's not awake yet. You slowly wiggle, no sudden movements, to see if you can extricate yourself. Hold on a second, is he hard? You can't help yourself; you gently grind your ass against him (just to be sure). You bite your bottom lip. Oh god, yep, he is hard.
He makes a snap decision, and in a sleepy voice he says to you, "That was definitely intentional."
You gasp, "Oh my god, Hotch, I'm so sorry." You start to move away, but he pulls you back.
"I'm not."
Your brain short-circuits. "Wha-?"
He whispers into your ear, "Tell me to let go, and I will, and we forget this ever happened."
Your voice comes out breathy. "Please don't let go."
He kisses below your ear and then the back of your neck, sending tingles through your body.
"Is this ok?"
"Mmm yes."
The arm that's around you finds a bare strip of skin at your waist, and he traces his fingers along it. He traces them higher achingly slowly. You grind yourself back against him, and he lets out a gasp. In response to your movement, his hand grabs your breast and kneads it, his fingertips playing with your nipple. You let out a soft moan.
You turn over in his arms to face him and bring your lips to his. Now neither of you is tentative. You kiss hungrily like you've both been wanting this for so long. He breaks away to say, "I know what you did last night while I showered."
The look of shock on your face makes him chuckle. "Bad girl, I desperately wanted to offer my assistance."
"Fuck, Hotch." You felt like you'd turned to jelly at his words. "How did you-?"
"I heard the thump when you knocked something to the floor and then a noise that couldn't possibly be what I thought. I opened the door and could see your reflection on the mirror."
"Oh."
"I knew I shouldn't watch, but I couldn't stop. I'm sorry."
You smile. "The only reason it happened is because I was thinking of you naked on the other side of the wall."
Now it was his turn to look shocked.
"Can't you tell what you do to me?" Feeling bold, you take his hand and guide it down your body and into your shorts. He touches you and groans when he feels how wet you are.
"Turn your back to me the way we woke up." You turn, and he grabs you to him and hooks your leg back over his to get better access to you.
His hand dives back into your shorts, his fingers find your clit, and he strokes gently. You whimper. His fingers stroke and circle and add pressure. A moan escapes you, and he whispers in your ear, "Shh. As much as I'd love to hear you, the rest of the team are in rooms beside us, so you'll have to stay quiet."
You bite your lip and nod.
"That's a good girl."
Fuck—you're surprised you didn't just come on the spot. You badly want to feel his fingers inside you, but he's teasing. He keeps stroking so close—his fingertips are right there, then he pulls back to your clit. You grind back onto him in frustration. A not-so-subtle hint you want more.
He lets out a huff, so you do it again. His hips jerk, and he pushes against you, rubbing his erection against your ass.
Suddenly he slips two fingers inside you knuckle-deep. "Oh fuck," you cry out. You grab a pillow and clutch it to your face. You feel a laugh rumble through Hotch.
He fucks you with his fingers, and you use the pillow to drown out all the noises that you absolutely can't hold back.
Through the pillow clamped to your face, he hears you shout, "Oh god, Hotch." Your body stiffens and twitches against him, and you yell into the pillow as you come. The leg he has hooked around his shakes, and he feels you pulse around his fingers.
He keeps his hand cupped around the heat between your legs, and he kisses the back of your neck.
You let the pillow go and lie there panting. "And they said I got the short straw."
Hotch is kissing your shoulder, and he stops. "What's that?"
"The team thinks I got a raw deal sharing with you, but god, am I glad we shared a bed. Is now a good time to mention the huge inappropriate crush I have on you?" You smile at him; he reciprocates and says:
"Oh, I've had a fair amount of my own inappropriate thoughts when it comes to you." His hand wanders under your top to squeeze your breast. "What I'm thinking right now is how much I really want you naked."
"Well, Special Agent Hotchner, I think that can be arranged." You give him a sly little smile and move your hands to the hem of your tank top.
"Ah ah, he stops your hands. Let me."
With an eager movement, he's on top of you. He slowly starts to inch up your top, leaning forward to press kisses to the bare skin he exposes. You hum with pleasure. He stops just below your breasts and looks at you. "Don't stop," you whisper. He pushes it above your breasts and stares at you almost reverently.
Fuck, he's been longing to finally lay eyes on you naked even if he knew he shouldn't. He takes in the perfect swell of your breasts and your rosy pink nipples. He's painfully hard now. He traces his hands up your ribs, and you arch your back, pushing yourself towards him.
He is driving you crazy. You're desperate to feel his hands; you needily arch yourself towards him again, and finally he cups both hands over you. You sigh in satisfaction as he kneads your breasts and runs his hands teasingly across your nipples.
He dips his head to you and flicks his tongue over your nipple. You gasp at the contact of his tongue.
He sucks it into his mouth and alternates between sucking, gently grazing you with his teeth and swirling his tongue. You run your hand through his hair and tug; he lets out a small groan. You pull his head away and say, "On your back, Hotchner." He gladly complies.
Without further ado, you wriggle out of your shorts and pull his bottoms down and off. Jesus, he has a big beautiful dick. You reach out and grab him; you run your thumb over his head where there is a bead of pre-cum glistening. He hisses air through his teeth. You straddle him and guide him to you.
You've taken charge, and it's sexy as hell. You're on top of him, guiding him, and you look him straight in the eye as you sink down onto his length for the first time. You both groan.
You stay still for a moment, relishing the feeling of Hotch seated inside you, and then you start to move. You rock your hips first, enjoying the feeling of fullness, then you raise yourself up so just the tip of him is inside you and slam back down. Fuck, that feels good.
He grabs your hips and watches you ride him. Your beautiful breasts bouncing, your skin flushing a delicate pink. Then you lean back and start rocking your hips, head thrown back. You moan loudly. He grabs you and flips you so he's on top. He puts his hand over your mouth. "Pretty girl, what did I say about noise?"
First of all, fucking hot, and second, oh shit! You forgot. Before you can answer, he starts thrusting into you, and everything goes out of your head. His jaw is so tight, you think he's desperately trying not to make a noise; how you'd love to hear him moan and call your name.
He pushes one of your legs up, and my god, he's so deep you can't get enough. You whimper as he fucks you hard. You can't help yourself. "Oh god, Hotch, just like that," you pant. He crushes his mouth to yours in a bruising kiss.
He moves his lips to your ear and whispers, "I'm not going to last much longer."
"I'm so close, so close," you manage to utter. His thumb finds your clit, and he rubs. The pressure, the sinful sounds as he fucks you, and the way his thrusts never falter hurtle you to orgasm. Your whole body thrums with pleasure. You arch your back, and Hotch clamps his hand over your mouth again. Probably for the best as you cry out as you come.
You orgasm and clench around him, and he pulls out of you and fists his dick as he comes on your stomach. Sheer force of will stops him from groaning and shouting your name.
You're twitching and panting as Hotch pulls out of you, and you feel hot, thick ropes of cum land on your stomach. He flops beside you on the bed, breathing heavily. He takes a moment, then kisses you and tells you to stay there while he gets a cloth to clean you up.
After you're cleaned up and both back in your PJs, you curl up in his arms.
"So sharing a bed was fun," you say to him.
You can hear the smile in his voice as he says, "It certainly was; we should do it again sometime."
"Oh, absolutely, it would be rude not to."
He tilts your chin up to his face, kisses you, and says, "Next time I want to hear you properly."
A delicious shiver runs through you. "Mmm, and I want to hear you moan my name."
"Oh, you can count on that."
You fall asleep in his arms.
Later that morning when you enter the lobby, the team is already there waiting and chatting. Rossi sees you both and turns away from the conversation.
"Morning," you smile at him.
"Good morning. Sleep well?" He eyes you both.
You shuffle your feet as you answer, "Um, yes, thanks." He has a dangerously knowing look in his eyes.
"And you, Dave?" Hotch steps in, aware that your behavior is a little suspicious.
"Broken sleep."
Oh, no. He can't know, can he? Innocently ask a follow-up question; be cool.
"Ah, that sucks. Was it the heat?"
He gives you both a knowing look. "Headboard."
Shit! All the pillow biting and mouth covering was for nothing; Hotch had fucked you so hard the headboard had given you away. Fuck.
He smirks at you. "So it wasn't the short straw after all." He turns away, leaving you and Hotch to squirm.
I remember once JJ told Hotch that he's a bully. And that he is, he hides it very well, manages it nicely but give him a chance and you'll see how the most perfect gentleman can turn into the biggest bully.
Warnings: smut! minors dni!
p in v (wrap it up), creampie, power dynamics (he's your boss), teasing ? lmk if i forgot something (i prob did)
summary: You were off duty, enjoying a sunny afternoon in a tight, bodycon sundress that accentuated your curves, when you unexpectedly ran into your boss, Aaron Hotchner.
masterlist
a/n: i know it's fall but i just couldn't get this idea out of my head so here you go <3
(also it's 3 am rn and ill post my hugh story tomorrow for those who were waiting on it cuz now its getting a lil late)
The evening sun casts a warm glow as you step out of the café, its fading rays highlighting your sundress, a snug, bodycon fit that clings to your curves. It’s a casual weekend, far removed from the usual dark suits and crime scenes, and you feel a certain freedom in wearing something that shows off your figure. The dress is vibrant, hugging your waist and hips, and the neckline dips just enough to reveal a hint of cleavage, nothing too provocative, but more than enough to draw attention.
You’re not expecting to run into anyone from the BAU, especially not your boss, SSA Aaron Hotchner. But as fate would have it, there he is, standing near his car across the street, his gaze locking onto you as if he’s frozen in place.
You pause, surprised at seeing him, and the moment stretches out longer than you expect. Hotch, the ever-composed leader, is staring. Not just a glance, but a full-on, wide-eyed stare. His usual mask of professionalism cracks slightly as his eyes trace the lines of your dress, lingering briefly on the exposed skin at your neckline before snapping back to your face.
"Hotch?" you say, your voice light with disbelief, trying to break the tension. "I didn’t expect to see you here."
He clears his throat, his expression quickly shifting into something more familiar stoic, controlled. But there’s no mistaking the way his eyes flicker back to you, like he’s struggling to keep his gaze in check.
“I could say the same,” he replies, his voice a little more hoarse than usual. "I didn’t mean to stare."
You chuckle, trying to ease the tension. “It’s alright, I’m off-duty, you’re allowed to stare.” You give him a teasing smile, knowing full well how rare it is to see this side of him.
Hotch seems to struggle with how to respond, his usual sharpness dulled for a moment. He’s not used to seeing you like this, out of your professional attire, out of the controlled environment of the BAU. He’s not used to seeing you as…anything other than an agent.
“I... uh… you look nice,” he finally says, and you swear you catch a glimpse of something like admiration in his voice, something he’s clearly trying to suppress.
You smile again, feeling a bit of warmth rise to your cheeks. “Thank you, Hotch.”
For a moment, it’s just the two of you standing there, the sounds of the city buzzing around you. It’s strange, he’s your boss, after all. But here, outside the confines of the BAU, things feel different. There’s no case, no profile, no killer to chase. Just Aaron Hotchner, looking at you like he’s seeing you for the first time.
“Well,” he says after a pause, breaking the silence, “I should… get going.”
“Yeah,” you nod, not wanting the moment to end. “I’ll see you Monday.”
But as you turn to leave, you can feel his eyes on you for just a second longer than necessary, like he’s not quite ready to break the spell.
And neither are you.
Monday rolls around, and you’re back at the BAU, your professional self once again. You’re dressed in your usual work attire, nothing flashy, just your go-to blazer and slacks. But something feels off. Specifically, Hotch feels off.
You notice it almost immediately during the morning briefing. Normally, Hotch commands the room with his calm authority, making eye contact with every agent to ensure they’re on the same page. But today, he’s avoiding your gaze. Subtly, of course, but after working together for so long, you can tell. When he speaks, his voice is as firm as always, but there’s something different, an edge, a tension that wasn’t there before.
He keeps the briefing short, his eyes barely lingering on you as he assigns the team to tasks for the case. The second it’s over, he quickly retreats to his office, leaving the rest of the team exchanging confused glances.
“What’s with him?” you whisper to JJ, leaning in as everyone gathers their files.
JJ shrugs. “I have no idea. He’s been quiet all morning.”
Emily slides in next to you, overhearing the conversation. “Did you do something to piss him off?” she teases, her eyes glinting with curiosity.
You roll your eyes but feel your stomach flip, wondering if you should tell them what happened over the weekend. You and Hotch didn’t do anything wrong, but there was definitely a moment. One you haven’t been able to stop thinking about either.
“I didn’t… exactly piss him off,” you say, your voice lowering. JJ and Emily exchange glances, their interest piqued.
“Spill,” Emily demands, her tone playful but insistent.
You sigh, looking around to make sure no one else is within earshot. “I saw Hotch over the weekend. Outside of work. I was, uh, wearing a dress.”
JJ raises her brows. “Okay…?”
“A bodycon sundress,” you clarify, feeling your cheeks heat up. “And it was… well, more revealing than what I normally wear around here.”
Emily leans back, clearly enjoying this. “So, you’re telling me Hotch saw you looking all hot and couldn’t handle it?”
You shrug, a small smile creeping onto your face. “I don’t know about that, but he definitely stared. I mean, he was stunned. He couldn’t even look away for a minute.”
JJ’s eyes widen in amusement. “No way. The Aaron Hotchner showed an expression on his face?”
“Exactly!” you say, laughing now that you’re sharing it with them. “I didn’t think much of it, but today? He’s been acting weird. It’s like he can’t even look at me.”
Emily grins. “You broke Hotch’s brain. Well done.”
JJ chuckles softly. “He’s probably just not used to seeing you like that, out of work mode. It might’ve caught him off guard.”
“Off guard is an understatement,” you murmur, thinking back to how he couldn’t tear his eyes away. “But it’s not like anything happened. It was just… a moment.”
“A moment that Hotch clearly can’t stop thinking about,” Emily adds. “You’ve thrown him off his game, and honestly? I love it.”
JJ gives you a more reassuring smile. “I’m sure he’ll get over it. It’s Hotch. He’s probably just trying to re-center himself. Maybe he’s worried about crossing any lines.”
You nod, but part of you wonders if there’s more to it. The way he looked at you—it wasn’t just surprise. There was something deeper, something he clearly didn’t know how to handle.
“Well,” Emily says, grabbing her tablet, “this should be fun to watch. Let’s see how long it takes for him to figure out how to act normal around you again.”
You laugh, but internally, you feel that same curiosity rising. What was Hotch thinking when he saw you? And why does it feel like it’s affected him this much?
The rest of the day drags on, but you can’t shake the tension between you and Hotch. Every time you walk by his office or catch a glimpse of him from across the bullpen, there’s this undercurrent, something simmering beneath the surface. You try to focus on the case, to act as if nothing happened, but it’s impossible to ignore the way his presence feels so much heavier today.
By mid-afternoon, you’ve had enough. You need clarity, or at least to know that this awkwardness isn’t all in your head. So, when you notice Hotch heading for the break room, you seize the opportunity.
You walk in just after him, the door swinging shut softly behind you. He’s standing by the coffee machine, his back to you, shoulders a little more tense than usual. You take a breath before speaking.
“Hotch?”
He turns slowly, his eyes meeting yours, and for a second, there’s that flash of something, surprise, maybe even desire, before he quickly masks it with his usual professionalism.
“Agent” he says, the formality of your title jarring. His voice is cool, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s holding something back.
You step closer, trying to keep your tone casual. “I’ve noticed you’ve been… distant today.”
Hotch raises an eyebrow, but there’s a tightness in his jaw. “I’ve been focused on the case. Nothing more.”
You cross your arms, feeling a mix of frustration and something more personal. “Really? Because it feels like you’re avoiding me.”
He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he looks away for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, before his eyes return to yours. “I’m not avoiding you. I just—” He pauses, his expression faltering for the briefest moment. “I want to maintain professionalism, that’s all.”
You blink, caught off guard by the admission. “Is this about Saturday?”
There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, confirmation, maybe. He looks almost uncomfortable now, like he’s been caught in something he didn’t want to acknowledge.
“I didn’t expect to see you outside of work,” he says carefully, his voice a little quieter. “And… I wasn’t prepared for how you looked.”
You feel a warmth rising in your chest, knowing now that you weren’t imagining things. “It was just a dress, Hotch.”
He lets out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, his hands resting on the counter behind him as if he needs the support. “It wasn’t just the dress. It was…” He hesitates again, as if he’s struggling with how much to admit. “It was seeing you outside of this job. Seeing you as… more than just my agent.”
Your breath catches slightly at his words. More than just an agent? You hadn’t expected him to be this honest, to admit that there was something more to his reaction.
“And that bothers you?” you ask, your voice softer now.
“It complicates things,” he says, his gaze finally softening. “We work together. I’m your superior. I have to maintain a level of professionalism, not just for me, but for you, too.”
You step a little closer, feeling a pull between the two of you that you can’t quite explain. “But it’s not just about professionalism, is it?”
Hotch’s eyes search yours, and for the first time, you see the conflict written all over his face. “No, it’s not,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.
For a moment, neither of you says anything. The air feels thick with everything unspoken, everything hovering just beneath the surface. You can feel the distance between you narrowing, both physically and emotionally, and it’s like a magnet pulling you closer.
“I don’t want this to affect our work,” he finally says, breaking the silence. But the way he’s looking at you now, his eyes soft, his expression vulnerable, makes you wonder if he’s trying to convince himself more than you.
“It won’t,” you assure him, your voice steady. “We’re both professionals. But we’re also human.”
Hotch exhales softly, his posture relaxing ever so slightly, like the weight of his inner struggle is easing. He still looks conflicted, but there’s a shift in his demeanor, a sense that maybe he’s not entirely ready to let this go, either.
Before either of you can say anything more, the door to the break room opens, and you both immediately step back into your professional roles as JJ walks in, oblivious to the charged moment she’s interrupted.
“Hey,” she says casually, reaching for the coffee pot. “You guys okay?”
“Yeah,” you reply quickly, exchanging a brief glance with Hotch. “We’re fine.”
JJ looks between the two of you but doesn’t press further. “Good, because we’ve got a new lead on the case. Hotch, we need you in the conference room.”
Hotch gives you one last look before nodding to JJ. “I’ll be right there.”
It’s a warm, sunny afternoon when you arrive at the park for a team’s casual get-together, organized by Garcia, who insisted everyone needed some downtime outside the walls of the BAU. Laughter and conversation fill the air as the team relaxes, scattered across picnic tables and blankets.
You’re wearing that sundress again, the one that hugs your curves, the one that made Hotch’s breath catch in his throat the last time he saw you. It’s a bodycon dress that highlights your figure, with just enough of a neckline to show off a hint of cleavage, and when you walk up to the group, you immediately feel his eyes on you.
Aaron stands across the grassy clearing, wearing a simple polo and jeans that fit him perfectly. The dark material contrasts with the sunlit background, casting shadows across the strong lines of his jaw and the slope of his neck. He’s looking at you, his expression intense, his thoughts seemingly far away.
He’s quiet—Hotch always is during these gatherings—but you know what’s on his mind. It’s the same thing that’s been lingering between the two of you for days, the weight of unspoken words and unresolved tension. His eyes flicker from your face to your body, lingering on the dress, and you can see his jaw tighten. The rest of the team is laughing, eating, and enjoying the afternoon, oblivious to the tension that’s simmering just beneath the surface.
As you settle down near the picnic table, chatting with JJ and Emily, you can feel Hotch’s gaze like a physical touch. He tries to be subtle, to act like nothing is out of the ordinary, but you catch him glancing at you again and again. Each time, his eyes darken with desire, his body language betraying the thoughts racing through his mind.
You shift slightly, adjusting the hem of your dress, and you can almost feel the way his focus sharpens. Every movement you make seems to affect him, his grip tightening around his coffee cup, his posture stiffening ever so slightly. He’s trying to keep it together, trying to maintain that professional composure, but you can see him slipping.
From across the table, Garcia rambles about some new tech gadget she’s discovered, and Reid chimes in with his usual barrage of facts. But your mind is on Hotch, and the way his gaze hasn’t left you for more than a few seconds. You glance up, meeting his eyes from across the distance, and the heat between you is undeniable.
He looks away quickly, but you catch the way his fingers clench slightly into a fist before he releases them, exhaling as if to steady himself. You bite your lip, feeling a surge of confidence as you decide to tease him, leaning forward a little more as you laugh at something Emily says. You know exactly what you’re doing.
Hotch’s eyes flash again, and for a moment, you think he’s going to snap. His hand flexes against his thigh, and his gaze grows even darker, filled with barely-contained need. He wants to touch you, he needs to, you can see it in the way he shifts in his seat, the tension rolling off him in waves. But he can’t. Not here. Not in front of the team.
The rest of the group is oblivious to the magnetic pull between you two, but you know. And Hotch knows. His restraint is fraying at the edges, his focus divided between trying to keep up the pretense of professionalism and the urge to take you somewhere more private.
You catch his eye again, holding his gaze just a moment longer than before, and you swear you see the corner of his mouth twitch, the smallest hint of a smile, or maybe something more primal. His control is slipping, and he’s fighting it with everything he has.
As the afternoon stretches on, the laughter and casual conversation continue, but all you can think about is what’s going to happen when this gathering ends. When it’s just the two of you. When he doesn’t have to hold back anymore.
And by the way Hotch keeps looking at you, his thoughts following every move you make, you know it’s only a matter of time.
As you pack up your things, you notice him lingering by his car, his eyes still on you, and your heart skips a beat when he makes his way over to you.
"Need a ride home?" he asks, his voice smooth but heavy with something more.
You nod, sensing that this is the moment you’ve both been waiting for. There’s an undercurrent in his words, a promise of something more than just a simple ride.
The drive to your place is thick with tension, the kind that makes the air feel heavier, charged with anticipation. Neither of you speaks much. There’s no need to, everything has already been said in the heated looks exchanged back at the picnic, in the way his hand brushed your lower back for just a second too long as he led you to his car. It’s there in the way he’s gripping the steering wheel now, his knuckles white as he tries to keep control, though you can tell that his thoughts are anything but steady.
You glance at him from the passenger seat, noticing the way his jaw is clenched, the tendons in his neck tight as he stares at the road. His usual cool, collected demeanor is crumbling, and you know exactly what’s on his mind. You in that dress. The way he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it since he saw you at the park. The way you’ve been teasing him all afternoon, letting your fingers linger on his arm when you spoke, leaning just a bit closer to him than usual.
It’s like a silent game between the two of you—one that’s about to reach its breaking point.
The second the car pulls into your driveway, you can feel his restraint finally snap. The engine is barely off before Hotch is out of the car, quickly making his way around to your side. He opens the door for you, but as you step out, you can see the way his eyes are filled with a hunger that’s only grown stronger throughout the day. His hand is on your lower back again, guiding you up the steps to your door, but this time, his touch lingers. You can feel the heat of his hand through the thin fabric of your dress, and it sends a thrill through you.
You unlock the door with trembling fingers, your heart racing, knowing what’s about to happen. You step inside, and the second the door closes behind him, it’s like a dam breaks.
Hotch’s hands are on you before you even have time to turn around. His fingers curl around your waist, pulling you back against him as his mouth finds your neck. His lips are hot and urgent against your skin, and you can feel the rough stubble of his jaw scraping lightly as he kisses along the curve of your throat. His breath is ragged, and you can feel the tension radiating off him in waves.
“I’ve been wanting to do this all day,” he growls against your ear, his voice low and rough, filled with barely-contained need. His hands slide up your sides, his fingers tracing the outline of your dress, and the way he’s touching you, like he can’t get enough, makes your body heat up instantly. “Ever since I saw you in that damn dress…”
You gasp as his hands tighten on your waist, pulling you even closer, his hips pressing against you in a way that leaves no doubt about how badly he wants you. His mouth moves along your neck, hot and insistent, as his fingers slip beneath the fabric of your dress, hiking it up slightly so he can grip your bare skin.
“Aaron…” you breathe, your voice catching as you tilt your head to give him more access. Your body is already reacting to his touch, your pulse quickening, heat pooling in your belly. You want him just as badly, have been wanting him since the moment he first laid eyes on you in this dress.
You barely make it to the kitchen before Hotch lifts you up, his strong arms wrapping around your waist as he sets you on the counter with ease. The cool surface contrasts with the heat of his body pressing against you, and you gasp at the sensation. His hands are everywhere now, on your thighs, sliding up to your hips, then gripping your waist as he pulls you even closer to the edge of the counter.
He kisses you hard, his lips crashing against yours with a need that makes your head spin. It’s a kiss filled with everything he’s been holding back, all the tension from the past week finally spilling over. You kiss him back just as desperately, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as his hands continue to explore your body.
His fingers slide under the hem of your dress, hiking it up higher as his hands trace the curve of your thighs. The way he’s touching you is possessive, almost frantic, like he can’t get close enough. He breaks the kiss for just a moment, his forehead resting against yours as he catches his breath.
“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. His hands slide up your sides, brushing over the neckline of your dress. “This dress… you have no idea what it does to me.”
You bite your lip, your heart racing as you look into his eyes, dark with need. “I wore it for you,” you admit softly, your voice breathless. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it.”
Hotch groans softly "fuck you're such a slut for me" his hands tightening on your waist as he kisses you again, slower this time, but no less intense. "fuck yes aaron I am" you replied and his hands roam over your body, slipping beneath the fabric of your dress to touch your bare skin. You arch into his touch, your body responding to him in a way that makes it impossible to think about anything else.
One of your straps slips from your shoulder, and in an instant, Hotch freezes. His breath catches as he pulls back slightly, his eyes fixed on your exposed skin. The strap falls, and your breast is revealed to him. For a moment, he just stares, his eyes darkening even more as he takes you in.
“God…” he breathes, his voice barely a whisper. His hands move to your shoulders, gently pushing the strap further down until your dress is hanging loosely off one side. His eyes flicker up to yours, filled with a mix of awe and raw desire. “You’re so beautiful.”
He leans down, his lips brushing softly over your exposed skin, kissing along the curve of your breast with a tenderness that makes your breath hitch. But the tenderness doesn’t last long, soon, his kisses grow more urgent, more desperate, as his hands cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive skin.
You moan softly, your head falling back as his mouth finds your nipple, his tongue swirling around it before he sucks gently, sending a surge of heat straight to your core. His hands grip your waist, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter as he continues his assault on your senses, his lips and hands everywhere at once.
“I can’t… stop,” he groans against your skin, his voice rough and filled with desire. “I’ve wanted this for so long…”
His hands slide down to your hips, gripping you tightly as he pulls you against him, his erection pressing firmly between your legs. You gasp at the sensation, your hands gripping his shoulders as he moves against you, his breath hot and ragged in your ear.
“I need you,” he murmurs, his voice low and desperate. “Right now.”
You nod, breathless, as you pull him closer, your legs wrapping around his waist as he lifts you slightly off the counter. His hands slide under your dress, pulling it up higher as he presses himself against you and takes off your underwear, his lips find yours in a heated kiss that leaves you both gasping for air.
When he finally enters you, it’s like everything else fades away. The world outside, the past week of stolen glances and restrained touches, it all falls away as he moves inside you. His pace is slow at first, savoring the way you feel wrapped around him, his lips brushing over your skin with every thrust.
You arch against him, your hands gripping his back as he moves faster, his control slipping as the need between you builds. His mouth is on your neck, your shoulder, your breasts everywhere, as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge.
The strap of your dress falls completely now, both your breasts exposed to him, and Hotch loses it. His hands cup your breasts again, his thumbs brushing over your nipples as he thrusts harder, deeper, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
“You’re perfect,” he groans, his voice filled with awe and desire. “Everything about you… I can’t get enough.”
You moan his name, your body trembling as he brings you closer and closer to the edge. The way he moves inside you, the way he touches you, it’s all too much. You feel the tension coiling in your belly, ready to snap at any moment.
And then, with one final thrust, you’re falling. You cry out, your body arching against him as pleasure crashes over you in waves. Hotch follows seconds later, groaning your name as he shudders, his body tensing as he finds his release.
For a moment, neither of you moves, your bodies still connected, your breaths mingling as you come down from the high of it all. Then, slowly, Hotch pulls back slightly, his hands still holding you close as he looks into your eyes, his expression softer now, filled with something more than just desire.
“You’re incredible,” he whispers, his voice full of awe as he brushes a stray hair from your face. “I don’t know how I’m ever going to keep my hands off you after this.”
You smile, breathless, as you lean in to kiss him again, slow and deep, savoring the moment. “Then don’t,” you whisper against his lips, and the way he kisses you in return tells you that he has no intention of letting go anytime soon.
taglist (lmk if u wanna be added): @looking1016 @pear-1206 @doe-eyed-diva @ssa-aaronhotchner @sweetpinkchampagne @totallyjovialblaze @pastelpinkflowerlife @donttrustlove @actualdeemon @jencole214 @fandomawesomeness @devilslittlehelper
Summary: Years after a brief romance with Aaron Hotchner, you’re raising your son, Noah, without telling Aaron about him. When Aaron returns on a case with Rossi, he discovers Noah and realizes the truth.
wc: 2.4k
A/n: I want a child with this man so badly, you don't understand. Also Haley exists in this universe but there was no infidelity going on cuz they were already divorced
As you opened the door, the familiar figure of Aaron Hotchner took your breath away, just as he had the very first time you’d met him years ago. He stood there, stoic and intense, dressed in his crisp suit, his FBI badge clipped neatly to his waistband. Beside him was Agent David Rossi, who offered you a warm, knowing smile. Your heart fluttered despite the years and the reasons you’d had for staying away. Aaron’s presence had a way of grounding you and scattering your thoughts all at once.
“It’s good to see you, Aaron,” you managed to say, your smile a bit hesitant as your eyes met his. It was surreal to see him here, standing on your doorstep, knowing what you knew—knowing you shared a bond far deeper than anyone else in the room could understand. He nodded, his face softening for a moment, but only slightly. Aaron wasn’t one to let his emotions slip easily, especially when he was on duty.
The memories hit you like a wave. Years ago, during a particularly intense case, one night of letting your guard down, of allowing yourself to forget the pain of your own past, had led to a night that changed everything. You and Aaron had been working late, tracking leads that kept twisting into dead ends. He’d looked exhausted, and there was a sadness in his eyes that he never quite allowed to reach the surface. And you, needing comfort just as much, found yourself drawn to him in ways you hadn’t expected.
That night left you with more than just memories—it had given you Noah, your beautiful son who had his father’s deep, piercing eyes. But fear had silenced you. Aaron’s life was complicated, even dangerous, especially after the tragic loss of his ex-wife, Haley. You had no doubt that he would’ve done anything to protect you and Noah, but you’d chosen silence, unable to bring yourself to risk it. You couldn’t imagine Aaron’s pain if he lost another family.
Now, he was here, with Rossi, to question your older son, Matt, who’d witnessed something related to their latest case. Matt’s father was out of the picture, and you’d raised him on your own before Aaron ever came into your life. He was old enough now to understand the importance of keeping quiet, of paying attention, but his heart was still innocent. You could see him from where you stood, a bit nervous but doing his best to remain calm under the weight of Aaron’s questions.
Rossi lingered near you, watching the exchange from a distance, and his eyes softened as he turned to you. “It’s been a long time, huh?” he asked, his voice kind, carrying that subtle warmth you’d always associated with him. It was almost as if he’d known, all along, about the connection you shared with Aaron.
You nodded, your gaze drifting back to where Aaron was crouched, speaking to Matt with a gentleness that made your heart ache. “Yes,” you replied softly. “It’s… nice seeing you two again. I just wish it wasn’t under these circumstances.”
Rossi gave a knowing smile, nodding slightly. There was something in his gaze that hinted he was piecing things together in a way only he could. He didn’t know what you and Aaron had shared, not fully, but he had always sensed something—an unspoken bond.
When Aaron finished with Matt, he stood, thanking him before walking back to join you and Rossi in the hallway. “Thank you for your cooperation,” he said, his voice formal but kind as he glanced between you and Matt. “We’ll let you know if we need anything else.”
You managed a smile, and Aaron held your gaze just a little longer than necessary before turning to look around the room. You felt his eyes moving over the walls, the hallways, and there was a pang of anxiety in your chest as he seemed to study every detail.
“Would you mind if we take a look around?” he asked, his tone polite yet firm.
You swallowed, pushing down the spike of fear. “Of course,” you said with a nod. “Whatever you need.”
As Aaron moved through the house, you couldn’t help but feel nervous. In one of the bedrooms, down the hall, Noah was playing quietly. You hadn’t told him about Aaron—he was too young to understand the complexities of adult life, of secrets and choices made out of love and fear. You hadn’t planned to introduce them, and yet you found yourself in a situation that you hadn’t anticipated.
Aaron’s footsteps echoed as he moved room by room, a meticulous investigator at heart. You heard a slight creak, then a soft thump coming from Noah’s room, followed by a small giggle. The sound made you freeze, and you forced yourself to stay calm.
Aaron stopped just outside the door, turning back to you with a furrowed brow. “Is someone in there?” he asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.
“Oh, uh…” You stammered, struggling to come up with an excuse. “It’s probably just… the cat,” you said quickly, even though you knew he’d never buy it.
Aaron’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he stepped closer to you. He was so close you could feel his breath, the familiar warmth of his presence stirring feelings you’d tried to bury long ago.
“Mind if I take a look?” His voice was soft but insistent.
You hesitated, then gave a small nod, stepping aside as he reached for the door. Your heart pounded as he opened it, revealing Noah, sitting on the floor, surrounded by his toys. Your little boy looked up with a bright, innocent smile as he saw you.
“Hi, Mommy!” he chirped, scrambling to his feet to give you a hug. You hugged him back, feeling the warmth of his tiny arms, knowing that this moment was one you couldn’t control anymore.
Noah then turned his attention to Aaron, studying him with the same thoughtful curiosity that Aaron often had when he observed a room. “Who’s that?” he asked, pointing at Aaron, his wide eyes brimming with interest.
You glanced between Aaron and Noah, forcing a smile. “He’s a real-life FBI agent, sweetie. Isn’t that so cool?”
Noah’s face lit up, excitement bubbling over. “That’s awesome! I love FBI agents, they’re the best!”
You swallowed, feeling a mixture of pride and sadness as you watched Aaron’s expression soften, his gaze fixed on Noah. Aaron knelt down, reaching Noah’s eye level, and smiled gently. “Hey, buddy. I need to talk to your mom for a second, okay? We’ll be right back”
Noah nodded eagerly, distracted by his toys as he plopped back down on the floor. You led Aaron out of the room and as the door clicked shut behind you, an intense silence filled the hallway. You turned to face Aaron, nerves twisting in your stomach as you took in the look on his face. He seemed almost haunted, his eyes searching yours, his expression tight with emotions he rarely let surface.
“How old is he?” Aaron asked again, voice barely above a whisper. There was a heaviness in his words, a weight that seemed to settle over both of you. You swallowed, feeling the enormity of this moment crashing down on you.
“He’s seven,” you admitted softly, your voice thick. There was no point in hiding it anymore. You could see that Aaron had already pieced it together, every detail you’d tried so hard to keep hidden.
He closed his eyes for a moment, taking in a shaky breath. When he opened them again, they were filled with an ache that went straight to your heart. “You know better than to lie to me,” he murmured, a faint edge of hurt in his tone, though his words carried more sadness than reproach.
You felt your heart sink, realizing just how deeply you had wounded him. He took a step closer, his tall frame filling your vision, and lifted a hand to your chin, his fingers gentle as he tilted your face up toward him. “Is he mine?”
It was a simple question, but you could feel the years of unspoken words, hidden fears, and bottled-up emotions woven into it. He wasn’t just asking about Noah, he was asking about everything you’d kept from him, every quiet decision you’d made, alone, to shield him from this truth. You could see the vulnerability in his eyes, a rare and fragile openness that you knew he didn’t offer easily.
“Yes,” you whispered, the word barely audible, yet heavy with the truth. “He’s yours, Aaron.” The relief of finally saying it out loud, of finally sharing this secret, was immediate and overwhelming.
Aaron’s gaze dropped, his shoulders sinking under the weight of the revelation. He took a steadying breath, his jaw clenched as he struggled to compose himself. “Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was soft, carrying a trace of hurt that you couldn’t ignore. “I had a right to know. I had a right to be a part of his life… of your life.”
The words cracked something open inside you, bringing a wave of regret that left your chest feeling tight. “I know, Aaron. I know,” you whispered, looking down. “I was scared… After what happened with Haley, I just—I couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. Or losing you. I thought… I thought if I kept quiet, it would be safer. For both of us.”
Aaron’s face softened, his gaze growing distant as he absorbed your words. He was silent for a long moment, as though he was processing every choice, every decision you’d made, the sacrifices you’d shouldered in silence. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. “I understand why you were afraid. But that was my choice to make too. He’s my son… I wanted to be there for him. For both of you.”
Tears stung at the corners of your eyes as you looked up at him. His words were so tender, filled with a sorrow that cut straight through you. You could see in his eyes that he meant every word, that the years he’d missed with Noah weighed heavily on him.
“I’m so sorry, Aaron,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought… I was protecting him.”
Aaron’s hand came up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear that had slipped down. The touch was achingly tender, his gaze filled with a depth of understanding you hadn’t expected. “You don’t have to do it alone anymore,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, yet brimming with a fierce determination.
His words hung in the air, offering a lifeline you hadn’t realized you needed. You felt a rush of relief, of gratitude, mingling with the regret that still lingered. “Aaron, I… I don’t know what to say.”
He shook his head, giving you a faint, bittersweet smile. “You don’t have to say anything. Just… let me be a part of his life. Of your life. I don’t want to miss anything else.”
A flood of emotions washed over you—hope, relief, and something you hadn’t dared to feel in years. You reached out, covering his hand with yours, and squeezed it tightly, grounding yourself in the warmth of his touch.
“You’re welcome in his life, Aaron. Always,” you said softly, your voice filled with a promise.
And with a deep breath, you and Aaron walked back into the room where Noah was, sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing quietly. He looked up, his face lighting up as he saw you both walk in. Aaron took a step forward, crouching down to be eye-level with him, and your heart raced in anticipation, knowing what he was about to say.
“Noah,” Aaron began, his voice soft and steady. He glanced at you for reassurance, then continued, “I want to tell you something important.” He paused, his gaze holding Noah’s with a mix of warmth and vulnerability that made your chest tighten. “I’m not just an FBI agent… I’m also your dad.”
Noah’s eyes widened in surprise, blinking as he processed Aaron’s words. You could see the wonder and a spark of happiness glimmer in his expression, his small face filled with curiosity. “You’re… my dad?” he repeated, a hint of awe in his voice.
Aaron nodded, a smile tugging at his lips as he watched Noah’s reaction. “Yes, buddy. And you know what? You have a big brother, too. His name is Jack, and he’s going to be so excited to meet you. I know you two will be great friends.”
A slow, happy smile broke across Noah’s face, and without hesitation, he reached out to hug Aaron. Aaron’s face softened even more as he wrapped his arms around Noah, pulling him close. In one smooth motion, he lifted Noah into his arms, holding him as if he’d been waiting to do so for years. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from them, your heart swelling as you watched this long-awaited connection unfold before you.
Aaron looked at you, his eyes filled with gratitude and love as he held Noah. He took a few steps closer to you, and, without another word, he leaned in and kissed you. The kiss was warm and full of unspoken promises, his free hand resting gently at your waist while Noah nestled comfortably in his arms. Your hand drifted up to his hair, fingers tangling softly as you deepened the kiss, savouring the feeling of being this close to him.
When you pulled back, both of you were smiling, a new warmth shared between you. As Aaron held Noah, still beaming, you felt as if a missing piece had been found, and in that moment, you truly looked like a family.
A soft sound from the doorway caught your attention. There stood Rossi, his arms folded and a knowing smile on his face as he took in the scene. He gave you both a small nod, his gaze filled with warmth and approval.
“I knew you two had something going on.” Rossi remarked with a grin, his voice laced with affection.
You shared a laugh, the moment filled with happiness, the weight of the years you’d spent apart finally lifting. There was still healing to be done, and wounds to mend, but for now, the three of you were together. The future felt promising, and with Aaron and Noah by your side, you felt ready to face whatever lay ahead.
taglist (lmk if u wanna be added): @looking1016 @pear-1206 @doe-eyed-diva @ssa-aaronhotchner @sweetpinkchampagne @totallyjovialblaze @pastelpinkflowerlife @donttrustlove @actualdeemon @jencole214 @fandomawesomeness @devilslittlehelper @mrs-ssa-hotch @gamingfeline @rousethemouse
Summary: Your new neighbor bumps and spills coffee onto you on your way to work.
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader
------------------——— 🔎--------------------------
“I’m sorry,”
This attractive older man’s first words ever to you since your move to the complex was an apology.
Your white blouse and his shirt were soaked and stained brown from the homemade iced coffee in your hands moments ago. His pocket square is incapable of much absorption to do anything.
“I’m so sorry,” his deep voice a distraction from the damp clothes, “I can pay for the laundry,”
“If we’re both going to be late today, why not make the most of it?” you suggested, as he was about to object, “I can tell you don’t get much time to yourself from the way your tie is so uptight,”
His lips turned up a bit at the jab and faintly laughed.
“Okay, so, what’s the plan?”
“If you can give me a ride to the nearest specialty coffee shop and tell me what has you distracted, I can forgive your transgressions,”
“That’s quite a tall order, Miss?” he inquired, as you introduced yourself, and did likewise, “Aaron Hotchner, Behavioral Analysis Unit, FBI. You can call me Aaron,”
“Okay, that enough tells me that you desperately need to go and probably save a life,” you ushered him on his way, “I’ll be fine,”
“No, I insist. I…” he paused, “To my team, my definition of early is too early and their early is on time. I’ll actually be on time for once,”
“Okay then, Aaron,” you returned by your door, “Where’s our rendezvous point?”
“Just meet me out front,”
“Okay, just don’t bump into anyone else anymore,”
He smiled.
Your cheeks briefly burned at the sight of his dimples before he walked away. In ten minutes, both of you were seated in his car, in fresh clothes, on your way to the specialty coffee store you texted ahead.
“Are you sure it’s okay for us to detour?” you asked.
If he's from the FBI then they do important work and you don’t want to hinder that.
“I promise it’s okay,” he assured, turning a corner closer to the store, “It also keeps them on their toes. By now, they’d be betting on why I’m not there yet and their ideas can get crazy,”
“This is my stop,” you observed the bright lights and slow activities, “Let me know when you get back?”
“I never did tell you what distracted me about work,” he turned, in realization, and you smiled, “But I did distract you from it,”
“Can you wait for one last moment?” you asked. He conceded, to savor being late for once, and came back drink at hand, “For you. I know how coffee in government offices tastes,”
“They leave much to be desired.” he acknowledged, and taken with a smile, “Thank you,”
“Thank you for driving me here,” you kissed his cheek, as he stiffened for a second, “Now go save a life, g-man,”
In the bullpen, they’d briefed the team of the situation, and then his thoughts wandered on how he’d ever contact you when you never left your number. He could knock on your door but the case would take days and asking Garcia was a death sentence in itself. However, when the sticker on his coffee cup peeled there was a printed note that he hadn’t seen before.
From the moment I saw your suit, I knew you take black coffee but maybe we can change it up sometimes. Just hit me up when you get back.
Your number attached, but he wasn’t going to wait. From the other side of the city, your phone rings.
Summary: Hotch is a workaholic and you’re just… helping everyone out (mouth fucking him senseless).
Word Count: 1.1k
A/N: reader is kinda bratty 🤭 Hotch is canonically a giggly kisser and weak to teasing, sooo… I did what I had to do. Idc. Porn no plot.
warnings/tags: adult content, mdni. Sex in public? Don’t do this at your workplace guys. No use of y/n. Praise kink if you squint.
enjoy 🤍
———————
You wait until everyone’s distracted to slip into Hotch’s office and close the door behind you. He smiles at your presence.
“Hello”, he says softly.
You walk over to seat yourself in his lap and he wraps an arm around your waist to keep you steady.
“Want to do something fun?”, you tease, playing with his tie. He looks at you apologetically.
“Honey, I have so much work to do”.
Lying workaholic. He needs a break and you both know it. You give him a playful shove.
“No you don’t. You’ve already finished everything for today. Let’s go home”, you insist. He rubs his thumb against your hips.
“I know, but I want to get this extra stuff done today”, he says, taking your hand off of his tie to kiss it.
You take the other hand and palm him through his trousers and he groans. You grin, sliding in closer and grinding against him. He doesn’t do much to stop you, losing himself in the movement of your ass on his cock.
“L-look”, he stammers, his breath hitching in pleasure. “Maybe later we can-“
He stops talking as you unbutton your blouse to reveal your breasts, held in place by lacy black lingerie. He groans into your neck and you grin, feeling his cock swell under your hips. You lean in to put your lips to his ear.
“Want to see the matching underwear?”
His eyes immediately darken in interest, and he practically picks you up and places you on his desk. Giggling, you unbuckle his belt.
He smiles as he leaves soft kisses down your neck.
“You’re so perfect”, he murmurs into your skin.
It almost makes you feel bad to push his face away start buttoning your shirt back up.
He frowns.
“What are you doing?”
You smile at him not-so innocently.
“I thought you had to work?”
He smirks.
“If you don’t take off your skirt right now-“
A rap on the door makes you both freeze.
“Agent Hotchner? It’s Anderson. May I come in?”, a shaking voice asks.
You look down at your half open shirt and his unzipped trousers. Shit.
You push Hotch into his chair and crawl under his desk. You hadn’t exactly told anyone you’re dating yet and this is not how you want them to find out. So somehow you find yourself on your knees in front of Aaron’s cock, with an agent only 10 feet away.
Hotch straightens his tie and you settle into a slightly more comfortable position. The precum from when you were grinding on him earlier glistens in front of you. You feel yourself throb at thought of it in your mouth.
“Yes, come in”, Hotch calls out.
You pull his chair closer into the desk. You know you shouldn’t, but you can’t help but run your tongue up from the base to his tip, lightly sucking the head. Hotch takes a sharp inhale, barely stifling his gasp. You grin as you slowly lower your mouth onto his cock and see him grab onto his desk for dear life. This was what he gets for refusing to go home on time.
Anderson walks in, his anxious hands fiddling with a file.
“Sir?”, he asks. “I was wondering…”
You hear him shuffle his feet on the carpeted floor. Hotch furrowing his brows in a desperate attempt at a poker face was probably not helping the poor agent’s nervousness. Hotch runs a hand soothingly along the top of your head, trying to signal to you to slow down. It only makes you hollow your cheeks and squeeze the underside of his cock with your tongue, causing his stomach to flex in restraint.
The young agent is still stammering.
“Spit it out Anderson”, Hotch grits through his teeth.
From his angle, he can see the way your lips look on his cock and your breasts peeking out from your barely-there bra.
You make sure to catch his eye before taking him all the way all the way to the hilt. It makes your eyes water a little, but the way he has to literally close his eyes to take a deep breath makes it totally worth it.
“I was wondering if I could go home early today?”, Anderson asks. “I know that I’m-“
“Yes. Sure, just go”, Hotch says breathlessly. But your movement makes him frown in an attempt to stifle a moan, which gives Anderson the wrong impression.
“Sir I know that it’s last minute and I should have asked earlier, but I just want to say-“
You use your hands to move with your head up and down his shaft which causes Hotch’s hips to buckle up slightly.
“Anderson”, he hisses. “Go. Home. Now.”
The poor agent scurries away, barely remembering to close the door.
Now without the threat of someone overhearing you, Hotch whimpers, which only makes you move faster.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck”, he whispers breathlessly.
He’s desperate to not make any sounds but he can’t help but let out a soft moan. You feel his cock twitch.
“Sweetheart I’m- fuck- I’m going to come-“, he splutters. “God, you’re so-“
You cup his balls and fuck him so good he sees stars, throwing his head back in ecstasy as his cum explodes in your mouth. He’s gripping his chair so tight to keep himself from shouting out your name.
When you’re certain he’s come down from his high, you release him. He brushes your hair away from your face and pulls you up into his lap.
“I can’t believe you just did that”, he whispers.
“You liked it”, you smirk, giving him a kiss. He smiles, but doesn’t deny it as he kisses you back.
“I’m going to get you back for it someday”, he grins.
You raise an eyebrow. He is going down.
“You still haven’t seen my underwear”, you tease. Hotch immediately perks up.
“I’m calling it an early day today! Everyone go home!”, he yells through his closed door. Outside Hotch’s office, everyone looks at each other, confused. They can’t tell if he’s joking and no one moves to get up.
You, however, get up from his lap, seating yourself on his table and bringing your hands under your skirt, slowly peeling off your now soaked underwear. In the process, Hotch catches a glimpse of your glistening cunt.
“If you don’t go home now I’m making you do 2 hours of extra paperwork!”, Hotch barks.
You giggle as you hear everyone frantically packing up their things.
Hotch watches as you drop your underwear to the floor, followed by your shirt.
“You’re going to be the death of me”, he whispers.
“Lock the door”, you tell him.
He looks at you with a glint in his eye, and you know you’re about to get exactly what you deserve for being so naughty.
It’s really only fair that he makes you come so many times he has to carry you to his car.
A/N: You guys wanted to read my one-shot, so here it is. :)
Warnings: Angst, fluff, unrequited love (or is it?), neighbors, best friends, good friends who would go through fire for you, meddling BAU team, David Rossi is the GOAT, Aaron is blind (not really), Aaron is a great profiler, just not when he's personally involved, Jack Hotchner is the cutest, Beth plot, heartbreak, alcohol consumption, eventually SMUT (18+ only, minors DNI!), reader-insert, but no mention of Y/N. (If so, I've forgot to change that, so PLEASE let me know <3)
Wordcount: 11.9k (I can't shut up, okay?)
Summary: You were hopelessly in love with your widowed neighbor, the surly FBI agent Aaron Hotchner. His son was the light of your life and your best friend. Will he ever notice you as someone else than his neighbor, his friend who takes care of him? Or will your heart get broken beyond repair?
“Jack, pack your bag, let’s go, we’re gonna be late!“ You called out to your neighbor’s son who you were watching over while he was away on a work trip.
“Coming“ was the only answer you got from the 6 year old boy who came running around the corner, his sweater stuck on his head, his backpack in his hand, almost running into the wall.
You chuckled and reached out to help him.
“Your head is getting too big, maybe we should stop reading to you or sending you to school, you’re just getting too smart for your clothes“ you joked, laughing when his head appeared with his hair sticking out in every direction.
You smoothed it over and he just grinned at you “No! I want to be as smart as Daddy when I’m grown up!“
You knew that it would be quite a feat to become as smart as his father, the big, surly FBI agent who chased the worst of the worst people this earth had to offer.
Your crush on him had been a thorn in your side for quite a while. You knew he was recently widowed, so your crush was very much not appreciated. But you had grown close and you took care of Jack sometimes.
When his aunt Jess didn’t have any time, if there was an emergency or she had her own work functions to go to, you relieved her often of her duties.
When you had moved into the building, you hadn’t expected to make any friends. And never in a million years would you have thought about befriending the small family unit across from your apartment.
It had been a coincidence how you met each other one quiet night, when Aaron had tried to open your apartment door instead of his own when they had just moved in.
You had heard the scratching of a key on your door, the telltale signs of someone trying to fit their key into the lock.
It was after 3 am, you had been working on your master thesis and you were scared beyond belief, thinking there was someone trying to break in.
So you had been about to call the police, when a quiet “Shit“ had interrupted your process. You had listened with a hammering heart and bated breath, if the person on the other side of the door would try again. You hadn’t expected them to knock.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, ma’am. I’m new to the building and I must have mistaken our doors“ When you didn’t answer him, he had added “It’s not a ruse to get you to open your door, I promise“ (Yea right, wouldn’t every perp say that?)
“I’m holding up my badge so you can see I’m not one of the bad guys. And I can see the light under your door, so I know you’re in there“ he had said in a calm, non-threatening voice.
You had crept to your door, looking through the peephole, seeing the aforementioned badge, so your shoulders fell a bit. He had removed it and you were faced with your very handsome neighbor you had only seen in passing until now.
You had unlocked the door and had opened it hesitantly.
“I’m really sorry, ma’am“ he had said again, holding out his hands in a placating manner.
“It’s 3 am“ you mentioned, dumbfounded and still pumped full with adrenaline.
“I know, I just returned from a week long case, so I haven’t slept that much. And we lived on this side of our old building. I apparently got confused in my half-asleep state. I hope I didn’t wake you“ he had sounded terribly apologetic, so you took him in from head to toes.
His suit had been wrinkled, the bags under his eyes very dark and way more prominent than you remembered them to be.
“You didn’t wake me, I was up writing anyway“ you had conceded, cutting him some slack.
“Oh? You’re a writer?“ His eyebrow had seemed to lift, the same as his mood.
You had chuckled and answered “Well, trying to. But nothing fun. It’s the thesis for my master’s program in uni.“
That had seemed to impress the man, he had nodded his approval.
“That sounds ambitious. Look, I’m dead on my feet here, but I would like to hear more about your thesis. Can I make it up to you with a cup of coffee some time?“
That had made you instantly blush. “Not in a creepy way“ he had added, holding up his hands. “Don’t worry. My son wants to bake some cookies tomorrow and I think he’d be thrilled to get to know some other people in the building.“
You had smiled at the idea of this very serious person in front of you baking cookies with his son.
“How old is your son?“ You had asked before you could stop yourself. You had always loved kids and you loved watching your sister’s kids.
Your neighbor’s smile had been almost blinding when he talked about his son “Jack is 5“.
“Okay, for Jack’s sake I’ll be coming over for cookies“ you had answered his request.
“Great, thank you! Just knock whenever you’re ready. He’ll be up in about 3 or 4 hours, so I better get to bed“ he had said, going to his door on the other side of the hallway.
“Good night, don’t stay up all night writing“ he had joked before closing the door, never hearing your whispered ‘Good night’.
That incident was the start of a beautiful friendship with Family Hotchner.
Jack had been a hoot, always joking, asking you about your favorite superheroes and if you could draw with him.
The initial invite for cookies was extended to some shared dinners a few days after. After a few of those dinners, there was the first time you kept Jack company when Aaron got a call for work.
You had offered to watch over him as soon as Aaron got off the phone with his sister-in-law who was in a different town on a work congress she had to attend.
His hesitation was clearly written on his face and you tried to not let your disappointment show on yours about him not trusting you, but when he unexpectedly agreed, he gave you a list of numbers from his colleagues, a Penelope’s number right at the top.
“She can reach me the easiest if you can’t get to me“ he explained while pacing his apartment, packing up his stuff.
“Got it“ you answered, following him around, trying to memorize the many timelines Jack had. When he was to get up from bed, when he had to go to school, when he had to be picked up etc.
Your mind whirled with all the information, but this wasn’t your first rodeo watching over someone else’s kid.
So you packed some of your clothes, toiletries and other necessities for a sleepover from your apartment and went over as soon as you were done.
When he emerged from his bedroom, dressed in a dark suit, you willed yourself to stop drooling over him, and tried to be professional. He had said goodbye to Jack already, so you just had to get him to bed.
The boy was unhappy about his evening plans being destroyed, but he perked up when you told him about your expert story telling abilities.
After only two stories, he had been asleep and you were free to sleep on the couch.
The next day, you told a very concerned Aaron everything you two had been up to and soon enough, after a few nights spend on his couch, watching over Jack, he trusted you implicitly with his son.
This one instance turned into many more. Jess was glad that she wasn’t Aaron’s sole support system anymore and you were asked more and more to watch over him, especially when the case was semi-local and Aaron knew it wouldn’t be more than a couple of days before he could return.
You loved it. Jack was a sweet, considerate boy and you never had any trouble with him.
After a while, he had opened up about the death of his mom and that he missed her.
You had asked him, if there was some kind of ritual he had established with his father to remember her, so he got up from bed, picked up a candle from his small desk and gave it to you to light it up.
You had to suppress your tears when he talked about his day with the candle and asked his mom to watch over him and his Dad. But the fight with your tears was lost as soon as Jack asked “And watch over auntie Jess and our neighbor“ telling the ‘candle mom’ everything about you.
He was such a beautiful soul and you asked yourself if he was his father’s mini-me or came more after his mother. You were in awe with his strength and his compassion.
You told Aaron about it when he came home the next day, exhaustion on his face. Jack was already asleep, so Aaron sat down on the couch with you, wanting you to tell him everything that happened with his son.
Understanding dawned in his eyes, followed by an immense grief and sadness. Your heart broke for both of them.
He told you about how Haley had died and how he still thought it was his fault, even over a year later.
You laid your hand on his arm without thinking, just to express your sorrows for him and his situation, but he flinched and you retreated as fast as you could.
You hadn’t meant anything with your gesture, but his reaction was all you needed to know. Your crush was already forming, but you knew that he was grieving and wouldn’t be ready for something new, so you buried your feelings so deep down that you forgot about them yourself at times.
Now, a year later, you were still trying to get Jack to leave the house with you.
He was still the sweetest kid you had ever met, so it didn’t feel like a chore to you, watching over him while his Dad was on a case.
You knew of the importance of Aaron’s job and his team, so you tried to be as helpful as you could.
If you weren’t watching him, you’d do their grocery shopping, you’d do the cooking and you would bake for them, whenever there were some holidays around the corner.
So you became slowly but surely an integral part of their family unit.
Jess and you had become friends and you met frequently with her, to drink a cup of coffee or just to gossip.
Your work was remote, so you could work from home or from Aaron’s office whenever you were over there.
Today was Jack’s science fair at school and he had worked hard on his test, if a plant grew better or faster if it was watered with tap water, sugar water or milk.
The results were pretty easy to see and he had been proudly showing it off to you the day before.
You were carrying the three plants, while he hoisted up his backpack that was full of pages with his discoveries and conclusions and you both left to drive to the fair.
Aaron had promised he would meet you there, not wanting to miss his son’s first science fair.
So you weren’t surprised, when he showed up just in time for Jack’s presentation to his teachers.
His proud smile brought tears to your eyes. He was an amazing father even if he wasn’t always present.
Jack waved excitedly at him when his eyes found him and he chuckled wetly, his own tears appearing.
He looked down at you, took your hand and squeezed it softly in gratitude.
You were glad that his gaze found his son again, because the blush you’d been sporting would have been an absolute giveaway of your feelings for the man beside you.
After Jack’s presentation was over, you met up with him and congratulated him.
“Dad! Did you see me?“ He asked excitedly, jumping up and down in front of his father.
“Yes, buddy, I saw you. You did so well! And you didn’t forget anything in your presentation, that’s great“ he replied, referring to Jack’s fear that he would forget everything and wouldn’t be able to present his experiment. He was painfully shy, so you weren’t surprised by his fear.
“She helped me, we practiced a lot yesterday and today over breakfast“ he looked at you, smiling widely. Aaron’s gaze found yours, a softness in them you weren’t used to.
The moment was interrupted by an older man who cleared his throat next to their group.
“Hey Jack! Great job“ he praised the six year old who immediately ran to him and hugged him around his middle “Thanks uncle Dave!“
You couldn’t remember ever hearing about a brother from Jess and you knew that Aaron’s brother was much younger than him, so your questioning look must have given you away.
“I’m David Rossi, I work with Aaron“ he said to you, holding out his hand to shake. You recognized the name now, so you shook his hand and introduced yourself “I’m their neighbor from across the hall. I’ve heard much about you“ - “Oh? I hope only good things?“ He asked in Aaron’s direction.
If you weren’t mistaken, he had a slight blush on his cheeks, but Dave commanded your attention back to himself with the invitation to celebrate Jack’s success with a dinner in an ‚Italian-approved‘ restaurant.
You tried to back out of the celebration, not wanting to take up more of Aaron’s and Jack’s private time with each other, but Dave insisted.
So you found yourself sitting in a booth next to Jack, Dave and Aaron sitting across from you.
The dinner was delicious and you had a lot of fun, but you knew that Dave had an agenda. His questions seemed to be just out of interest, but they seemed too targeted to be only curious about you. He asked about your marital status, your family, if you wanted kids, what you did for a living etc. until Aaron put a stop to it with an intimidating look that would bring other people to their knees, shivering in fear, but just brought a smile to Dave’s lips.
“Thank you for keeping us company, bella. It was really nice to get to meet you“ he said at the end of the evening.
Jack was yawning, so the three of you said goodbye and drove in your car back to your apartment building. Dave had been Aaron’s driver from Quantico, so he didn’t have his car with him. His car was in the shop for a routine inspection, so he would take a ride-share to work tomorrow morning.
He thanked you for the day when you were in front of your respective doors.
If you weren’t mistaken, his eyes strayed down to your lips for just a second, before he turned around and said goodbye.
You were in over your head. You knew you had fallen in love with him a long time ago over shared bottles of wine, quiet hours in their home, conversations over phone that had been solely about Jack at first but turned into something more intimate. Shared grievances about both of your pasts, about his cases, about the state of the world.
You enjoyed his dark, gravelly voice a bit too much and you knew what all the butterflies in your stomach, the redness to your cheeks whenever he was smiling at you, the swirling of emotion inside your head amounted to, but you would never voice your feelings for him, knowing that he was still grieving his wife. You didn’t want to add to his stress, didn’t want to pressure him into moving on.
The second anniversary of her death had been emotional, Jack had cried a lot because his mom couldn’t be with them. It hit him especially hard on occasions like this, or on birthdays, Christmases and other holidays that were supposed to be spend with family.
You always tried your best to assure him that he was allowed to grieve her, that it was okay for him to still miss her and that his Dad wasn’t sad if he showed his emotions so clearly.
But oftentimes it was only Aaron or Jess who could calm him down in these situation, which made you feel expendable, an unneeded addendum to their family unit that didn’t have a place of their own.
All your self-consciousness was erased as soon as Jack threw himself in your arms whenever you came over or when he just needed a hug.
You loved him dearly and you told Jack as much, not wanting to hold back with your affection for him. He deserved to know that he was loved, that he had people in his life who would do anything for him.
The love you felt for his Dad would be left unspoken, at least for the time being.
****
A week later, Aaron asked you, if you could stay with Jack in the mornings, because he wanted to start training for the FBI triathlon. He was already in great shape, but he knew he would need to take his regiment seriously, if he would want to finish the race.
You agreed easily, knowing you’d just show up in your PJs and sit on the couch until either he returned or Jack woke up.
So when he returned from his training one day, with a big smile on his face, you thought it was directed at you at first, but you saw how distracted he was when he made his way over to his bathroom, thanking you in passing for keeping an eye on Jack in his absence.
You were confused about his sudden good mood until he told you about the woman who trained with him, Beth.
“It’s great to have a partner in training, we’re both more motivated and we both don’t like to lose, so most of our runs end in a competition“ he chuckled under his breath, not realizing how your heart broke right in front of him.
So he was ready to move on, just not with you. It hurt like hell and destroyed all your hopes for a shared future in which you weren’t just the part-time nanny for Jack.
In which you weren’t living in your own apartment but would come home to them. Because you really loved both of them and in the deepest parts of your soul you knew how much you wanted them to love you back.
But apparently that wasn’t in the cards for you.
Every time he mentioned his new 'training partner‘, your smile became more forced, your voice wavered and your heart broke into a million pieces you didn’t know would heal any time soon.
So you began to retreat.
It was subtle at first. You didn’t take his calls all the time, only writing him messages back, relaying information about Jack, but nothing more.
You didn’t cook for Aaron anymore, you didn’t bring over any cookies or cakes. But all those things remained undetected by the man who seemed to be so happy, now that he had found a real partner.
Your breaking point came, when you were with his whole team, witnessing his success at the triathlon, standing between Dave and Jack, who was sitting on ‘uncle Derek’s‘ shoulders, holding out the sign you had made with him for his father. You hadn’t met his other team members so far, so you stuck to David, but everyone was really nice and was great in making you feel included.
The female team members had gone drinking the night before, so their less enthusiastic approach of the day filled you with amusement, you felt yourself chuckle at Penelope who you overheard saying to Derek “You’re in the FBI. Can you get the entire crowd to stop cheering?“
You loved that Aaron had people around him that showed up for him even if it came with a lot of pain for them.
Jack asked Dave if he could see his Dad and your attention became laser focused on the man when he said “I think I do, kiddo. Right there. There he is!“ He pointed Aaron out and the cheering rose in volume.
When he was in sight, you cheered with them, loudly, feeling excited for this great achievement he had managed.
He grinned at your group, took an offered water from the woman behind the finish line, waved at Jack and his team and got a medal, which he laid around Jack’s neck as soon as he was in front of him. You had followed the team and Jack, loving the big smile on Aaron’s face.
His son showed so much pride for his father and your feelings went haywire in that moment.
“Did you see my sign?“ Jack asked him, jumping up and down in front of him. “I did! Your sign is fantastic“ Aaron replied, still hard of breath after his run. You got a warm feeling in your chest, knowing you had helped create the sign.
“Look at you, how do you feel?“ asked Dave next to you. Aaron just answered “I think I’m going to live“ which earned him a sarcastic comment from one of his colleagues “Pretty impressive, I had money on the swim killing you“. Everybody chuckled and Aaron replied with an easy “I practiced“.
In that moment, your heart broke again, knowing who he had practiced with.
You took a small step back, distancing yourself from the group a bit.
Then you heard a woman calling out “Hotchner!“, waving at him.
You knew instantly who this beautiful woman was, even before he said “Beth! Jack, there’s someone I want you to meet. Come here.“
So you watched the two people you loved most on this earth, walk over to her and knew you had lost them forever.
When you took the next step into the background, you didn’t go unnoticed. Dave saw your retreat and the expression on your face. But you didn’t stay to say goodbye. You went to your car, drove to your apartment and cried yourself to sleep, taking a nap on your couch, knowing you would never feel the love of the man next door.
———————————
Aaron was happier than he had been for a long time.
His training had paid off, he had successfully finished the triathlon he had been training for the last months.
When he introduced Beth to his son, he couldn’t be more proud.
She asked him a question about his sign “Hey, don’t tell me you made that“ - “Yep, I colored it myself. And put the sparkles on, too.“ He grinned at his son’s reply.
“You know what? I look at art all day long, and that, my friend is pretty good“ Beth praised his son. Jack got shy and told her “Thank you. I had help from our neighbor.“
That’s when his eyes turned over the crowd, looking for you. He was confused when he didn’t see you next to Dave anymore, but he knew that his team was waiting for something to eat, so he asked Beth if she wanted to join them, thinking you’d be waiting at the restaurant for them.
But you weren’t there, so he tried to think of a reason why you wouldn’t join. Had he forgotten something? A meeting you had? An appointment? He couldn’t think of anything.
He felt your absence the whole morning but was distracted by his colleagues, more his family, meeting Beth for the first time.
When Jack went to the bathroom, alone - that was really important for him - but still in his line of sight, he heard Dave asking Beth if she enjoyed the training with him.
“Oh, I sure did! He’s a great partner and improved my form quite a bit“ she replied, grinning at Aaron who turned red at the praise.
He was glad that he had met Beth. She was an exceptional woman and brought a playful side out in him that he had almost forgotten.
After losing Haley, he would have never thought of dating another woman again. What was the point? With his job, every woman he would love, had already a target on her back and Aaron wouldn’t do that to anybody.
He would never admit it, but he had been smitten with you from the moment you had opened up your door after his failed attempt to open his own door that was on the opposite site of the hallway.
You telling him how late it was, telling him how you were writing on your thesis. It had all been effortless with you, despite his faux-pas.
But he wouldn’t dare cross that line with you because you were too important for him and for Jack. You were the third person in their family unit and he couldn’t even bare the thought of you being in danger because of him.
When Jack returned from the bathroom, the conversation around the table shifted to other topics, taking him out of his thoughts about you.
He had taken Beth on a couple of dates whenever Jess could take care of Jack.
The spark between them was there, but he couldn’t stop thinking that something was missing. It was like a profile that just wouldn’t fall into place, that wouldn’t click for them.
He knew it wasn’t fair to Beth, but he wouldn’t give up so soon. Maybe he just wasn’t used to being with another woman after his long marriage and relationship with Haley.
Jack suddenly asked “Dad, didn’t she want to go to breakfast with us?“, asking about you.
Dave threw Aaron a curious look, watching him falter slightly.
“I don’t know, buddy. She said she would, but maybe she had an appointment? We can ask her later, okay? Do you want to order something for her?“
Jack ordered pancakes for you and Aaron missed the disbelieving look David threw in his direction.
When they said goodbye to Beth and the team, Jack and Aaron took off with their takeout order for you. But you didn’t open your door when they knocked on it, much to the disappointment of Jack.
He was beginning to get worried, so he send you a message, asking if you were okay, trying to calm his instinct that something had happened to you. His thoughts turned into the direction of his job, something ridiculous like that you had been taken from the event, that you were in danger.
He received an answer almost immediately.
“Congratulations to you for finishing the triathlon. I’m okay, thank you for asking.“
His brows furrowed. You were too clinical, too distant. Normally, you’d tease him for worrying. And he had expected you to be at the finish line. He had seen you there, hadn’t he? Was his mind playing tricks on him?
Jack demanded his attention, so he spend the rest of the day with him, trying to cope with the aches in his body. But the ache in his heart stayed with him, although he didn’t know where it came from all of a sudden.
In the next few weeks he noticed your retreat. Your smiles seemed forced and fake, you almost never laughed with him. On the phone, you tried to end the conversation as soon as all relevant information regarding Jack had been exchanged.
He had a feeling you were avoiding him, but he couldn’t put a finger on it.
When he got a text from you, blowing off his invitation for dinner again, Dave entered the elevator with him, seeing his expression he didn’t hide fast enough.
“Everything okay?“ Dave asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I don’t know…“ he answered truthfully, pocketing his phone without messaging you back.
“Something bothering you?“ Dave’s question threw his mind into a tailspin. What was happening? Why were you distancing yourself from him?
He decided to open up to his friend. Dave knew more about conflict with women than he was ready to admit, so maybe he would understand his dilemma.
“My neighbor, she is distancing herself from me. Not from Jack, she’s her usual self with him, but lately she’s avoiding me and I don’t know why“ he said quietly.
The elevator reached their floor, so Aaron exited, missing Dave’s eyebrows rising to his hairline.
“Aaron, you’re a profiler. A damn good one. But sometimes you’re blind“ Dave’s voice was hard, almost hostile and Aaron didn’t know why. What had he done to David?
Why was everybody mad at him?
He got angry now himself. He snapped at everyone that day, demanding almost impossible things from the people in his team. And he was glad that they didn’t have a case, his head wasn’t in it and he knew he wouldn’t have been able to give his all to his job right now.
But as soon as Aaron thought about confronting you a few days later, they got called to another case. He got Jess to take care of Jack, send you a message that you didn’t need to worry about Jack and all he got as a reply was “Okay, thanks for letting me know“. Usually he would get at least a “be safe“, but nothing. He managed to solve the case with the team, his contributions weren’t on his usual level though and everybody noticed.
When Friday came, he wasn’t any closer to solving the case of your disappearance from his life. He knew he had to talk to you and he planned on doing it tonight.
Upon their return to Quantico, they took the elevator together and were greeted by Garcia, welcoming them back, glad that they were all healthy and okay.
“I’m so happy to see you all. And we haven’t had a night out in so long, I demand that we all go out tonight“ Garcia spoke, leaving no possibility to object to her plans.
JJ asked if she could bring Will, so Garcia said to them “Partners welcome after this week from hell, you must have missed them“, glancing his way.
He knew she was thinking of Beth, but he hadn’t. Not once. He had messaged her back, when she reached out, but his thoughts were completely occupied with the case, Jack or you.
He got a cold feeling in his gut and went white, something a team full of profilers didn’t miss, but they didn’t comment on it.
He gave an uncommitted answer, saying something along the line of “I’ll ask her, but I don’t know if she has the time“ and went into his office.
His thoughts spiraled and the blood rushed in his ears, so he wasn’t aware of Dave entering his office a couple of minutes later.
“Who were you talking about just now, Aaron?“
The question confused him, so he asked “What do you mean?“
“You told Garcia that you would ask ‘her‘, but didn’t say a name. Who were you thinking about?“ He clarified and Aaron knew where he was heading with his question.
“Beth, of course. Who else would I be talking about?“ He avoided the older men’s gaze.
“Well, I think you know who I am insinuating. The woman who has been on your mind for a long time now and whose absence you’re feeling like a missing limb“ he paused, taking in the stricken expression on Aaron’s face.
“I’m talking about the woman who fits so effortlessly in your life that you were too afraid to lose her. But in denying your feelings for her, you lost her anyway…“
Aaron exhaled loudly, shaking his head. “You’re wrong“ he replied weakly.
“I’m not blind. I saw her heart break right in front of all of us when you introduced Jack to Beth. There’s a reason why she wasn’t at breakfast with us.“
Aaron thought back to that day and felt a sudden chill run down his back.
“Oh God“ he mumbled.
“Yeah, you might want to fix that instead of going to O’Keefes“ David headed out of the room, knocking on the doorframe, leaving Aaron to his thoughts.
Aaron stayed in his office for a long time, not knowing how to fix the situation with you and if he would want to break Beth’s heart, too.
——————————
You were scheduled to leave your apartment to meet up with some friends and co-workers, putting your phone into your purse, checking your outfit in the full body mirror next to your front door.
You had chosen a slightly shorter dress than usual, your friends wanted to go for a drink first before going dancing.
You weren’t 20 anymore, so a bit of liquid courage was appreciated when it came to a night out.
Additionally, you were trying to mend your broken heart.
Jack had asked you today if you were mad at him because you weren’t over as often as you were before. Your tears came instantly and you had hugged him, hard.
“Oh honey, no. I’m never mad at you. There’s just a lot going on at the moment. I’ll come over to play with you on Sunday, or we can go out and buy you that new lego set we have talked about, okay?“ Jack had sniffled at first, but had nodded then, always brave and composed.
It broke your heart that you had hurt him in trying to spare yourself the pain of seeing the man you loved with another woman.
Jack wasn’t guilty in this situation, at all. He loved Beth and why wouldn’t he, from what you had heard, she was great with him.
And he wasn’t at fault that you had gotten your hopes up. He couldn’t know how devastating it was to see someone else live the life you wanted for yourself.
You tried to shake off the feeling of dread at the thought of going out tonight. You gave yourself a last once-over before you went out anyway, wanting to meet your friends.
You had never been to that specific bar, but you loved the cosy, a bit run-down interior and the music was great. They had a healthy mix of all different kinds of decades.
You and your friends were on your second round of drinks, when you heard a commotion from the entrance of the bar. You turned your head in the direction of the loud exclamation of happiness, of people greeting their friends they hadn’t seen in a while.
The woman from behind the bar waved a group of people over, yelling at them “It’s been too long“. Your small smile dropped, as soon as you recognized the members of the BAU who had just entered. They looked worse for wear, like they hadn’t slept a wink for the entire duration of their case.
You knew that they had been away, but you hadn’t asked any details. Just like you hadn’t asked Aaron anything in the last few weeks. Your plan to distance yourself from him had worked. You had felt a bit better now that you weren’t as often in his vicinity.
You didn’t have to hear his voice at night, talking to you about everything and letting you know how the case was working out. You didn’t have to see the fond smile on his face whenever you interacted with his son. You didn’t have to hear him call you any pet names by accident. And best of all, you didn’t have to see him with his arms around someone else.
But now you stood in the same bar as his team, your friends trying to get your attention. You hadn’t seen him yet, but you knew he would come, so you turned your back to the group and tried to be as invisible as you could be.
“You okay?“ The concerned voice of your friend brought you back to them.
“Y-yes. I am. But… could we go dance now? I’m kinda over this bar“ you asked, trying for a nonchalant answer, but by the looks your friends gave you, you hadn’t been successful.
They shared looks with each other, seeing your almost frantic expression.
“What’s going on, honey?“
You didn’t want to get into it. You had told them in broad terms that you had your heart broken recently, but they didn’t know that it was by Aaron.
They knew of him and Jack, so you didn’t want to tell them the whole story.
One of your friends, Maria, looked over to the BAU members, seemingly interested in one of them, throwing him flirtatious looks.
“Stop that“ you hissed at her, not knowing who she was flirting with.
“Why? He’s hot!“ She hissed back, smiling at the person behind you. You just hoped it wasn’t Aaron.
But the smooth, dark voice of Derek Morgan reached your ears and you silently thanked the universe for a second before tensing up again.
As soon as he would come over to flirt with your friend, he would recognize you and get the attention of the rest of the team. You didn’t want that, so you were just about to excuse yourself to the restroom, when Penelope called out your name.
Your shoulders bunched around your ears in mortification. Your friends looked at you questioningly.
You slowly turned around and donned your fakest smile “Hey Penelope“
The group came over to your table and you introduced them all to each other.
Derek sidled up next to Maria, starting an instant, easy conversation.
You noticed now that Aaron wasn’t with them, so you relaxed slightly. Dave’s knowing eyes stayed on you, but you ignored him for the moment.
“So, how do you know each other exactly?“ One of your friends asked, gesturing between you and the FBI agents.
“Well… you see…“ you began, grabbling for words that wouldn’t come.
“Our boss lives across the hall from her“ Penelope came to your rescue.
“Are you guys that close with your boss that you know their neighbor?“ Your friends couldn’t fathom the possibility, never having experienced the kind of bond that came with so many hours together, so many close calls and so many life or death situations they lived through.
Aaron had explained it to you one evening, that the BAU was more like a family, so you tried to explain it to them in the broadest terms “They’re really close. You have to be if you rely on your team to have each other’s back.“
“We’re all FBI agents and in the field, you have to trust that your co-worker saves your ass sometimes“ Derek chimed in, grinning at Maria, who blushed at his attention.
You internally rolled your eyes, knowing that she never took any fling seriously, but maybe that was what Derek wanted, too.
Dave got your attention, laying a hand on your arm.
“Have you talked to Aaron today?“ He asked, an intense look in his eyes.
“No, why? Did something happen?“ Your heart was gripped by a sudden fear for his safety.
“Oh no, he’s alright. But I know he wanted to talk to you“ His reply just confused you more. You were reaching for your phone, seeing that you had 5 missed calls from his number.
“What? What’s going on?“ You asked, more yourself than anyone particular.
“Maybe you should call him back?“ Dave squeezed your arm, leading the rest of his team to their own table, leaving Derek with you and your girls.
“Honey? What’s going on?“ Your friend Lisa asked from next to you, seeing your confused expression.
“I… I don’t know. I think I need to make a call?“ You voiced it more as a question, because you had a sudden feeling of standing on a precipice, but didn’t know what would happen if you took another step.
You didn’t know why, but you kind of trusted Dave and hoped he wouldn’t lead you to more heartbreak, so you excused yourself from the group and went outside into the cold, forgetting your jacket in your hurry.
You hesitated for a moment, asking yourself if you were really ready for the conversation. Your heart squeezed painfully, because you had missed his voice so much in the last weeks.
You missed him.
So you were just about to hit send on his number, when the phone in your hand started to ring. It surprised you so much that you almost threw your phone away in shock, but at the last moment, you got a good grip on it, hit ‚accept‘ and held the phone to your ear.
“Hello?“ You asked, breathlessly. “Hey“ came the soft greeting from the other end of the conversation, sending warmth through you.
“What’s wrong?“ You were still worried something had happened to him.
“You’re not home“ was his only answer.
“N-no, I’m… I’m out with friends.“
“Where are you?“ He asked without preamble. “Aaron, what’s going on? Can’t this wait until tomorrow? Your team is here, so I know you don’t have an urgent case“ You didn’t want to prolong this torture.
“You’re at O’Keefes?“ He asked, sounding incredulous. You turned around to read the sign above the bar.
“Yes, I am. Now, can you please tell me what’s going on?“ Your vision turned blurry, your broken heart hurt worse now that you heard his voice. You knew it would be a bad idea to call him. Why couldn’t you listen to yourself? Just once?
“Stay there, I’m on my way“ was the only thing he said to you, hanging up the phone, leaving you speechless.
God, he was infuriating.
Your mood was hitting an all-time low and you had the sudden urge to flee. So you entered the bar again, settling the bill for your table with the bartender and joining your friends.
Derek had apparently flirted enough, he was sitting with his own friends now.
“Come on, let’s go dancing“ you urged your friends who took in your almost panicked expression and just nodded.
Dave stood from the table, reading your behavior like the profiler he was and knew he needed to stop you from leaving before Aaron could be here.
He called out your name, walking over to you. Your panicked look into his eyes said everything he needed to know. He had to act, otherwise Aaron would lose you all over again.
He got a text from the man himself, telling him he was on his way to them.
“Dave, the girls and I, we’re going dancing. Can… can we talk another time?“ You tried to evade him, to escape. Your eyes were drawn to the front door every few seconds, expecting someone. And Dave knew who you were trying to avoid, again.
“No, it can’t wait“ he tried to softly grasp your arm, but you slipped out of his hands, sudden tears in your eyes.
“I… I c-can’t do this, Dave. Please, let me go“ you pleaded with him.
Dave just nodded. He didn’t want to cause you any pain and if you weren’t ready, he wouldn’t force you to stay.
Just then the door opened and Aaron stood, imposing, almost threatening in his search for you.
You saw him, turned white and in a move nobody expected, ran to the bathroom.
Your friends were watching the spectacle, one of them going after you.
Aaron tried the same, but was met with a wall of furious women. They didn’t know what was happening, but your reaction told them enough that they wanted to protect you from Aaron.
“Would you please let me through?“ He asked, not unfriendly but clear in his intentions.
“No. Not before we know that she’ll be okay“ Maria stepped up, glaring at Aaron.
Dave had to suppress a smile. The big bad FBI agent, unit chief, who routinely questioned serial killer, rapists and other scumbags, was in a standstill with 4 women whose looks could kill.
The friend who had gone after you, returned and whispered to the other girls who stood down, making space for Aaron to slip through their line of defense.
Dave was impressed, so he got their attention “Ladies, let me buy you all a drink. Rosa, give them everything they want and put it on my tab“ he told the owner of the bar, a longtime friend of his.
“Okay. Ladies, what can I get you?“ - “What if we want a bottle of champagne each?“ Maria asked him with a raised eyebrow.
Dave chuckled “Do your worst. People this protective deserve only the best“
With that, he left them at the bar and returned to his seat at the table.
———————
You heard Aaron frantically calling out for you, his voice came clear and panicked through the door to the ladies’ room.
“Go away, Aaron“ you called out, pacing inside, trying to control your breathing.
“I won’t go. Please talk to me, honey“ he pleaded and by the sound of it, he stood directly at the door, his face pressed as close as he could get.
“Why would you call me that?“ You tried to suppress the sob that tried to escape you. He had a girlfriend and he should call Beth pet names, not you.
“Please, I need to tell you so much. You can’t keep hiding in this bathroom forever. Please come out.” He never tried to open the door, respecting the space too much, fearing there were other women inside. You were alone, but you had locked it anyway.
“Watch me! I can sleep everywhere, you know that“ you replied, knowing that you were acting childish. But he had hurt you so bad.
“I don’t want to have this conversation through a door. I want to look you in your eyes when I tell you this“ his voice was soft, still pleading with you.
“Whatever you have to tell me, just do it“ your voice shook, tears streaming down your face now.
You wanted so badly to go out to him, to see him again, but you feared the worst. Maybe they would move in together? Would he take Jack from you, too? Would he marry Beth?
“You really want to do this here?“ he asked, resolve in his voice.
“I don’t even know what ‘this‘ is, Aaron.“ He could probably hear the tears in your voice, but you didn’t care.
“Okay, if that’s what you want to do. I didn’t want to have to tell you through a door that I love you, but I will.“
Your world stood still. You couldn’t have heard him right. That didn’t make any sense.
“You… what?“ You whispered, but he had heard you anyway.
“I love you“ came his answer instantly, sure of it. Before you knew what you were doing, you unlocked the door, opening it. Your jaw was on the floor and you watched his face for any signs of a stroke or something else that would explain the things he had just said.
“What… what are you talking about?“ You asked.
He took a step closer to you and reached for you, but dropping his hands when you flinched in surprise.
“The last few weeks were hell for me. I knew you were avoiding me, I knew I had driven you away, but it took some harsh words from Dave for me to see the truth.“ He exhaled loudly, avoiding your eyes.
*****
“I went over to Beth’s tonight“ he started, noticing immediately how you retreated and took a step back. “Wait… please let me get it all out before you close that door in my face“
Your tears were a dagger to his heart. He had caused so much pain. Now it was time to make this right.
“I talked to her, because I ended our relationship tonight“ that made you look up, so he continued, hope in his heart “And she wasn’t surprised at all“
Your brows furrowed, confused about the unexpected turn.
“She knew I hadn’t been all in. That we had no deeper connection and that my heart was otherwise… occupied.“
Your arms wrapped around your middle, hugging yourself.
“After losing Haley, I promised myself to never get close enough to another woman that she could be hurt in the same way. I promised to stay alone until I retired from the FBI, until the people in my life wouldn’t be in constant danger. But then you came into my life“ he risked taking one of your hands in his and chose to interpret it as a good sign that you didn’t take it away immediately.
So he continued “You made everything easier. You fit so effortlessly into our midst. Jack loves you, Jess loves you. You are one of the people who are able to make me laugh. Who I can be myself with. Who sees me in all my flaws and still choses to stay. Who gave me time to grieve my wife, who never once tried to pressure me to be anyone I’m not.“
Your other hand came to your mouth, stifling your sobs.
“I’m so sorry that I hurt you. I was afraid. It’s no excuse, but I really couldn’t lose you, sweetheart. I couldn’t live with myself if you were ever in danger because of me.“ He felt his own tears rise in his eyes, his vision of you blurring. He squeezed your hand in his, just to remind himself that you were still here, still standing in front of him.
“I was a coward when I didn’t tell you that I fell in love with you. I took the easy way out, too scared to cross that line with you, with my best friend.“ His voice shook, trying desperately for you to hear his truth.
“So, I’m telling you now. I am in love with you… I love you, sweetheart.“
When you didn’t react immediately, he felt his desperation rise. Was he too late?
You took your hand away from him and his heart stopped for a second.
You wiped under your eyes, trying to erase the tracks your tears had formed on your beautiful face.
“I can’t believe you’re telling me that you love me for the first time in the ladies’ room of a bar“ you mumbled, grabbing his hands. His eyes lifted to yours and when he saw a small smirk on your lips, he dared to hope.
“Well, you wouldn’t talk to me, so I had to corner you somewhere“ he said in a sarcastic voice.
You winced “Yeah, not my proudest moment“
Chuckling, he squeezed your hands in his. “I hurt you“ his voice was small.
“You did. But to be fair, I haven’t told you that I love you, so how could you have known?“ His heart stopped again, but he tugged at your hands, bringing you closer.
“Say it again“ he whispered. Your eyes met his, determination in them.
“I love you“ you whispered back.
His hands cupped your jaw, your own hands finding their way to his waist, gripping his shirt.
“Again“ he demanded. You chuckled and said a bit louder “I love you, Aaron“.
That was all it took for him to break. He closed the distance and kissed you senseless.
Your lips on his felt perfect. The buzzing he felt in his veins didn’t go unnoticed.
He saw fireworks behind his lids, so full of love and relief.
When he deepened the kiss and you let out the sweetest little moan, he guided you to the wall behind you, pressing you against it, wanting to feel you everywhere.
Too soon, you both needed oxygen, but he didn’t want to lose the feeling of your skin under his lips, so he peppered kisses along your cheeks, under your ear and down your neck.
You sighed his name and Aaron thought he had gone to heaven.
“God, sweetheart. I love you so much“ he whispered into your ear, biting the earlobe softly.
Your moan was music to his ears.
But then there was an obnoxiously loud sound, someone who cleared their throat, seemingly scandalized by the public display of affection.
You both looked with guilty expressions toward the intruder, Aaron instinctively shielding you with his body so nobody could see you in this state.
“I hope you guys will join us soon. Or get out of here, before someone else finds you“ was all Dave had to say before winking at Aaron, leaving you both alone again.
Aaron’s head dropped to your shoulder, groaning.
You laughed loudly, covering your mouth with your hand.
“Are you laughing at me?“ He asked incredulously.
“Well, I don’t have to face him at work on Monday“ Your grin was a sight for sore eyes, so he kissed you again, wanting to chase your laughter.
After a few more minutes of passion, he took a small step back, touching his forehead to yours.
“I did everything in the wrong order. Can I take you out on a date soon?“ He asked, nudging his nose to yours.
Your arms were around his shoulders, your fingers playing with his soft hair. If he was a cat, he’d be purring at the feeling.
“You better. And maybe we can have dessert at my place afterwards?“ He groaned loudly and kissed you again, pressing you against the wall, letting you feel how your words affected him.
You softly pushed him away and grinned at him. “Come on, love. I need a drink“
“I think I need a minute“ he winced, readjusting himself in his pants.
Your heated gaze didn’t help the situation, and neither did the way your hips swayed in your pretty dress when you walked away from him, joining your friends who had merged with his team while you both were in your own world.
You threw him a smirk over your shoulder and winked at him.
Yeah, Aaron would definitely need a minute. But he had never felt better.
******
When you came back to the now merged tables and friends, you tried to regain control over your expression, trying to quell the lovesick grin that kept tugging at your lips.
Your friends just raised their glasses to you, and Aaron’s team, as if they had practiced it, applauded you. Your cheeks were burning and you grabbed Maria’s beer to hide yourself behind it, feeling flushed in more ways than one.
“You’re in my seat“ came the deep voice of the man who had kissed you senseless just moments ago. You knew what his intentions were, so you stood, stepped next to the seat and let him sit down. A small yelp escaped you nonetheless, when he tugged you into his lap immediately after.
“I want to propose a toast“ You all looked up to see Dave standing. Aaron just sighed, but his arms around your middle tightened.
“To the lovely bella and Aaron, two idiots who finally found the courage to trust their love for each other. It was about damn time“ Everybody cheered and laughed with you.
You were close to tears again, so happy you couldn’t believe it. You turned your head sideways and gave Aaron’s cheek a small kiss.
He smiled at you, his gaze full of love.
After several rounds of drinks, you had both switched to water, Aaron’s hand on your thighs started to wander and he drew nonsensical pattern onto your skin. The hem of your dress had ridden up a bit and you felt your pulse between your thighs.
The way he smiled let you know that he felt it, too.
Your heart sped up a bit and you wondered if you’d leave a wet spot behind on his pants whenever you had to stand up.
When he tugged you closer again, you felt his straining erection poking your butt.
You leaned back onto him and wiggled a bit which earned you a soft, reprimanding pinch to your thigh.
His lips were on your ear when he growled lowly, just for you to hear “Be a good girl for me and stay still“
God, you wanted to press your legs together so badly, just to get some of the pressure you needed.
Your eyes closed involuntarily when his hands wandered again.
Maria cleared her throat next to you, snapping you out of your lust-filled state.
“If you guys don’t get out of here, we’re going to be thrown out for indecent exposure“ she hissed through her teeth, but her grin took some of the bite away.
“I think that’s a good idea. I think you’re very tired, aren’t you, honey?“ Aaron asked, the last question a bit louder.
The knowing smirks on everybody’s faces let you know that your ruse wasn’t successful. But you didn’t care.
You wanted Aaron’s hands on you, wanted him inside of you and you wanted it soon.
So you stood, keeping Aaron close to your backside to hide the evidence of his arousal while you both told everyone goodbye.
Once you were in the taxi Aaron had called for you both, his lips were on yours and he tugged you across the bench to him.
Forgetting about safety, he just needed to feel you as close to him as possible in a public space.
His hand was on your thigh again, stoking the fire in your veins, his lips were pure sin and you felt like you could melt right into these seats.
His lips trailed over your jaw, to your ear and his delicious, dark voice sounded just for you to hear “God, I can’t wait to get you out of this dress“. If the taxi driver weren’t there, you would have thrown your leg over his lap to straddle him, but you had at least some restraint left.
You played with his necktie and tugged him back toward your mouth. You deepened the kiss immediately, opening your lips for his tongue to explore yours.
You were dizzy from the lack of oxygen, the kisses and the feel of his hands on your naked thigh.
In a dark stretch of the road, Aaron’s hand found its way under the skirt of your dress, teasing you, stroking your inner thigh softly.
Your legs parted automatically a bit more and to reward you for your compliance, his fingers found the apex of your thighs. He rubbed his hands over your panties, feeling the wet spot he had caused. He broke your kiss, looked you deeply into your eyes and traced your slit. When he nudged your clit, you had to bite your lip to keep from moaning loudly.
Your reaction was enough to let Aaron know that you liked what he did, so he repeated the movement. God, it felt so good. Your hips lifted in the same rhythm, trying to get more pressure to your clit and he obliged, reading your body like a book.
He softly bit down on your neck and you were so close, so so close, when the taxi came to a sudden halt and you had to brace yourself against the headrest in front of you to not drop down onto the floor.
Okay, the taxi driver was definitely annoyed at the couple in the back that couldn’t keep their hands off each other, but Aaron just threw him a couple of bills, bit out a ‘keep the change‘, took your hand in his and helped you out of the car.
As soon as you stood on solid ground, he dragged you with him, almost sprinting to your apartment building.
On the way up in the elevator, he pushed you up against the wall, grinding against you, lifting one of your legs around his hips and kissing you senseless.
With a -ding- the elevator announced your arrival at your level, causing Aaron to growl at the interruption, but again, he took your hand and lead you to your door.
You tried to find the key, absolutely in a hurry to get inside, when he kissed your neck from behind, groping your breasts. Your head fell back on his shoulder and you shuddered.
“Get the door open, pretty girl“ he growled, biting your neck again.
Your knees were weak and you needed multiple tries to get the key into the damn door, but finally you succeeded.
As soon as the door was open, you let your purse and your keys fall down wherever, turned around, stepping out of your heels with your lips attached to his.
Aaron closed the door blindly, shrugged out of his suit jacket and helped remove his necktie which you had been fighting with. You needed him closer, you needed him naked, to feel his skin under your fingertips.
He was so hot under your touch, you needed to feel the source of this heat.
His hands wandered over your body, touching every inch of you. When his hand found the zipper of your dress, he broke your kiss, asked you silently if you really wanted this.
You opened one of the buttons of his shirt in answer, returning to the frenzy from before.
He understood the silent clue and got to work pulling your zipper down, freeing you of the confines of your dress.
His fingers traced the newly uncovered skin softly and his gaze was full of heat and longing.
He removed the bodice of the dress and you let it pool around your feet, standing only in your bra and panties in front of him.
He took a step back and let his eyes travel down your entire body, registering every inch of skin, every part of you.
You became self-conscious and were just about to cross your arms over your soft belly, when Aaron stopped you.
“You’re so beautiful, honey. Please don’t hide from me“
You looked up in his eyes and didn’t see any hint of a lie, so you uncrossed your arms again and let them fall to your side.
“Look at you“ he said, voice full of awe, stepping closer, his hands finding your waist to tug you into him. He kissed you softly, not as desperate as before, but full of promise and love.
Your hands wound around his neck, he bent a bit down, tapped your legs and made you jump up, folding your legs around his hips. He carried you to your bedroom, turning on the small bedside table for soft lighting and dropped you off at the center of your bed.
You giggled a bit, feeling like you were on a trampoline, but your giggle turned into a moan, when you saw Aaron remove his dress shirt.
You sat up and brought your hands to his chest, running your fingers through his sparse, coarse chest hair, over the scars he had told you about.
Your touch was soft and sure, never hesitating. You were so glad that he had survived the attack of his wife’s murderer.
He watched you taking him in, looking for any signs of disgust or hesitation on your end, but when your hand reached for his belt, he let his head drop back and moaned loudly.
“Wait, honey“ he remembered his manners for a second. You looked up at him, questioning him silently.
“I don’t want to rush anything with you. We can take our time, if you’re not ready. I don’t just want you for this, okay? I love you and I want a relationship with you“ he said, holding your gaze with nothing but love and honesty in his eyes.
“I know, Aaron. But if I don’t have you inside of me in the next 5 minutes, I might combust. So please, please Aaron, fuck me“ you replied, tugging his belt free.
“God, that mouth“ he mumbled, removing his shoes and his pants.
You enjoyed the striptease, biting your lip when his lithe, muscular legs came into view.
“Lay down“ he commanded and you obeyed immediately, opening your legs for him to lay in between.
He crawled over the mattress to you, laid himself exactly like you had intended to, caught himself on his arms to not crush you under his weight and kissed you again. Finally.
His hips met yours, just separated by two layers of fabric, grinding into all of your sensitive spots.
You moaned loudly into your kiss, so he repeated the movement, nudging his erection against your clit with every thrust.
If he kept this up, you would come like a teenager dry humping for the first time.
Your hands traveled down his back, scratching a long line down, reveling in his shudder.
When you reached his butt, you squeezed both his cheeks with your hands, earning you a surprised gasp from the man above you.
Kiss broken, he stared down at you with a grin. “How long did you want to do that?“ He smirked.
“Only since I first met you“ you replied cheekily.
“God, I can’t believe we’re finally doing this“ His lips trailed kisses down your jaw, your neck and over your cleavage.
You arched your back, wanting his lips everywhere and he took it as an invitation to remove your bra. As soon as the garment was out of his way, he cupped one of your breasts and squeezed it in his hand.
“You’re so perfect“ he groaned, closing his lips around one of your nipples, teasing the other with his fingers.
You moaned his name out loud. He grunted, grinding his erection against you again.
Desperate now, you tilted your hips up in time with his thrusts, feeling yourself close to your high.
“Come for me, baby“ Aaron growled with your nipple still in his mouth, biting down on it softly. That was it, you were flying, squeezing around nothing, arching up from the bed, contorting in ecstasy, reaching a high like none before.
“Good girl“ he whispered into your ear, never stopping the soft touches to keep you tethered to this plain of existence.
„Oh my God“ you whispered, simultaneously boneless, sated and desperate for more.
You pushed a hand between your bodies and cupped his erection, Aaron’s groan your reward.
He thrusted into your hand, kissing you passionately. When your hand traveled under the waistband of his boxer briefs, he bit down on your lip.
Your hand enveloping his shaft felt heavenly, but he felt himself get too close, so he retreated a bit, making you pout.
“Do you have protection?“ He asked softly, kissing your neck again.
“Bedside drawer“ was the immediate, desperate answer. You wanted him inside you, now.
He hurried to roll the condom on his cock, noticing your heated gaze.
“Like what you see?“ He asked, encouraged by your reaction.
“I’m not so sure if you’ll fit but I’m absolutely willing to try“ Your hand reached out again, jerking him slowly.
He pushed your hands away, wanting to finish inside of you.
Both his hands went to your panties’ waistband and he only commanded “lift up“, so you did.
Removing your panties, he traced the newly uncovered skin with his mouth, placing little kisses every few inches, trailing down to your pussy.
Your legs fell open wider in invitation and Aaron’s mouth descended on you, parting your lips with his tongue. He started to feast on you like he had been starved.
After a few minutes of delicious torture, you cried out when his lips closed around your clit, sucking it into his mouth. Your hands found purchase in his hair, tugging slightly when his moves were too good.
“God, Aaron, I’m… I’m so close“ you breathed out and Aaron hummed against you. The vibration send you over the edge and you bit down on your hand to stifle your screams of pleasure.
Aaron kissed his way up your body, catching himself on his elbows, leaning down to get as much skin to skin contact as he could get, nudging his erection against your center.
You looked deep into his eyes and whispered “I love you“. That’s when Aaron’s restraint broke and he entered you in one deep thrust, making you scream out.
As soon as he was fully inside of you, he stilled his movement, giving you time to adjust. The initial stretch had been a bit painful, but now it just felt wonderful. His cock reached places inside of you that you had never felt before.
“Oh God, you’re so tight and perfect for me, pretty girl“ he praised you, making you clench around him.
He felt your squeeze and groaned, dropping his head onto your shoulder.
“Move, please. I need it“ you breathed out.
His hips retreated so that you felt almost empty, only leaving the tip inside of you.
But the thrust back in stole your breath. He was so deep, so hot, so hard inside of you, you felt yourself clench around him again.
He soon found a rhythm, the only sounds were both your heavy breathing and skin slapping on skin.
His hips tilted a bit and he hit your g-spot head on, making you moan loudly.
“There it is“ his voice sounded smug and proud.
“Don’t stop“ you commanded, crossing your feet behind his back, letting him in deeper.
His hips stuttered for a second, but then pistoned with more force. He bit down on your neck, rubbing his pelvis over you clit with every thrust.
“Come for me, pretty girl“ he breathed, now desperate. “Need to feel you come on my cock“
You moaned his name and felt yourself reaching your high again.
He moaned too, feeling you squeeze him so hard that he followed you one, two, three thrusts later, emptying himself inside of you.
The feeling of him coming inside of you made you feel another, smaller wave of ecstasy and your eyes rolled back into your head.
He whispered nonsensical, sweet nothings into your ear, kissing your cheek and stroking one of his hands through your hair softly, getting it out of your face.
When he pulled his softening cock out of you, you whined at the loss, but he only kissed you, reassuring you he wasn’t going to leave.
“I’m right back, sweet girl“ he promised. Your eyes closed as you came down, exhaustion pulling on your limbs.
Suddenly you felt a warm washcloth between your legs, cleaning the mess you had made of yourself.
“Mhhh, thank you“ you grumbled under your breath, close to falling asleep.
“Sleep, honey. I’ll be here when you wake up“ came Aaron’s soft voice and you felt yourself enveloped in his arms, surrounded by the duvet he had taken from under you.
He kissed your head and cuddled up against you, telling you again and again, how much he loved you.
If he said anything else, you wouldn’t have noticed, sleep claiming you fast. And different to the dreams of the last weeks, in which you had to live through your heartbreak again and again, this night you only dreamed of the bright future you had ahead of you, with the love of your life and his sweet, sweet son.
pairing | Aaron Hotchner x female! reader [no mentions of y/n, little to no physical descriptions]
disclaimers | Everything I write is intended as adult content. Please do not read if you are underage or sensitive to such.
chapter content warning | alcohol consumption to the point of being drunk and giddy, slight description of a dead body, hints of guilt, grief and panic, sexual tension and banter as usual <3 i cant remember much else honestly
MDNI
summary | Wonderland University has been covering up the murders of female students, and rumor has it the victims have all been associated in one way or another with professors... The Bureau has decided to initiate an undercover operation.
Hotch would be playing your professor, and you would be his student.
Will you be able to fool the other students and faculty at the university?
wc: 4.5k [not proofread]
mission identities | Aaron Hotchner as Professor Edward Thomas Jameson. You as Isabella Evans (rarely used, other than 'Miss Evans')
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chapter five: drinks and shivers
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"Are you joking?" Lizzie giggled and swallowed the rest of her drink. You shook your head, laughing, "No, I'm serious, he really said that." It was freeing, finally having a girl around you. It had been over a month since you last saw your friends back home, only having Hotch and Spencer around would make anyone go crazy. Who would you talk to about them?
"Wait." She said with a straight face, standing up from where she sat cross-legged on her bed. Lizzie stood in front of you and did her best glare, lowering her voice to a grumble, "You and your perfect grades can't run from me, darling."
"I'm getting goosebumps." You snorted. Her impression was spot on, Emily would be given a run for her money.
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Lizzie lead you through the gates of campus, the chill night air sending shivers down your spine, you suddenly regretted not bringing a jacket. Fishing your phone out from your purse, you opened your messages to send the text Hotch had forced you to agree to send.
There was already a message in the chat.
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From: You | To: Professor Hot.
Let me know when later is.
Yesterday, 1:32PM
─﹒﹒★﹒──────────
What was that supposed to mean? You did not remember sending that.
You scanned the message again, scrunching your nose reading the contact name. Hotch had grabbed your phone yesterday to add his own number, and apparently create his own contact name. He probably sent himself a message from your phone, to ensure he had your number as well. Fucker.
You wondered if he intended to call himself 'Professor Hot' as a way to ensure it fit in with the roles you were playing, or if he simply meant it was short for 'Hotchner'.
It was undoubtedly the latter.
With a huff, you typed a quick 'Leaving campus now' before stuffing it back in your purse.
Three steps later, your phone chimed. Lizzie glanced over her shoulder, looking as confused as you were feeling. For an old guy, he certainly replied quickly.
"Sorry, just have to reply to this text." You gave her a tight lipped smile and she nodded in understanding.
──────────﹒★﹒﹒─
From: Professor Hot.
Where are you going and with who?
[9:55PM]
── Reply to: Professor Hot.
Sunshine with Lizzie, Sophie and Summer. Is that to your liking, kind sir?
[9:55PM]
From: Professor Hot.
Yes.
[9:56PM]
─﹒﹒★﹒──────────
You rolled your eyes and dropped your phone back into your purse again, you took Lizzie's outstretched arm and started walking.
'Sunshine' was a bar on Sunshine Road — only a 5 minute walk from the campus entrance — which was a 5 minute walk from the western dorm building. Summer had called it 'vintage', although you thought creepy sounded more fitting as you took in the stone building in front of you.
The bar was dimly lit and old fashioned. Whimsical. A lot more cozy on the inside than the cold stone exterior. Lanterns of various sunset colors swung from the wooden beams on the ceiling, casting patters of dancing light throughout the room. The tables were of dark stained wood with burnt orange stools around.
It was bustling, the sound of glass clinking and laughter mixed with the loud chatter of people trying to hear each other over the music. The smell of alcohol and perfume tainted the air.
"Come, let's get drinks!" Summer dragged you by the wrist to the bar across the room. You glanced over your shoulder with pleading eyes, hoping either Lizzie or Sophie would pity you and follow.
They just giggled and waved from the table they had sat themselves by.
Summer bent over the counter, "A tequila sunrise for the cutie, and the usual for me, please!" The bartender grabbed two glasses and started mixing. She turned to you and chewed on the inside of her cheek, realizing she had not asked you what you wanted. "That's okay, right?" You nodded and smiled as she beamed, you had never seen someone so happy before. It was addictive.
As Summer chatted with the bartender, you pulled out your phone to begrudgingly send Hotch the text message. You would not have his ass on you for not upholding your end of the stupid promise.
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From: You | To: Professor Hot.
At Sunshine.
[10:27PM]
From: Professor Hot.
Good.
[10:28PM]
─﹒﹒★﹒──────────
You shook your head, refusing to acknowledge the nauseating giddy feeling in your gut thinking about Hotch waiting for your messages. Jesus, did he not have better things to do?
Summer paid for the drinks and handed one of the glasses to you. You thanked her, grabbing the drink as you put the phone back into your purse.
The colorful drink in her hand looked similar to yours, only hers had a pineapple garnish, instead of an orange. "What's your usual?" You asked, pointing to the glass she was gripping at an angle. The liquid swooshed close to the brim with her quick movements, it was all you could do to not take it from her and hold it yourself.
"Summer sunset, of course!" Summer chirped, pushing it to you. "Taste it! It's like a tequila sunrise but with vodka and lime seltzer, and I like it with a dash of pineapple juice, so I guess it's more like 'Summer's sunset'." Okay, you were convinced, the excitement in her voice had grown on you slightly.
Only after did you realize it was not, perhaps, the most thought through decision you had made, drinking from a strangers glass. Since she was a stranger, technically.
Still, the drink was refreshing. Fruity. Like a concoction of happiness, which you supposed was perfect for the personification of the sun standing in front of you.
You gasped, "Woah, I think you're onto something."
You slid between the bodies of the room as you navigated back to the table. Summer had grabbed a hold of your hand to make sure you did not lose each other in the sea of people. Finally, you sighed in relief as you slumped into one of the burnt orange chairs.
Sophie was gawking at you, you realized, and Lizzie was laughing so hard she was gasping for air. "What?" Did you have something on your face?
"No way he called you 'darling'." Sophie's jaw was on the floor, her wide eyes almost popping out of her head. Summer squealed and whipped her head to you, "Professor Jameson?"
Oh. You shrugged, flickering your attention to the sticky table in front of you, "It was probably a joke, I don't know. He probably does it to everyone." Raising your drink to your lips, you tried to hide the smile threatening to appear.
They had to believe it and you would undoubtedly give yourself away if you laughed in their faces every time you lied.
"Don't you see the way he looks at you, Bell?" Lizzie crossed her arms and scowled to make a point. The two other girls copied her, glaring at you with their best efforts. The slight buzz of alcohol convinced you it was the funniest thing you had seen, and the laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it, "Like he wants to give me detention?"
Sophie rolled her eyes and raised an eyebrow, "If detention was a code word for pounding you, yes." Your jaw hit the floor as she smirked. Summer hid her face in her hands and you struggled with the effort it took to not do the same. Lizzie even winked at you, before raising her glass to make a toast.
"To Bell and Professor Jameson–" She suddenly gasped and slapped her hand over her mouth. Lizzie started cackling, folding over as she laughed. The three of you exchanged confused looks, watching her wipe tears from her eyes. When she finally calmed down enough to explain, she pointed to you, giggling between each word, "You're Bella and Edward!" Lizzie grabbed the edge of the table to keep herself upright as she doubled over in another fit.
Sophie snapped her eyes to you, shaking her head frantically, "No way." She bit her lip to hide her smile. You groaned and dropped your face into your hands, muttering a string of curses you hoped would find their way back to Quantico. They would be hearing from you, whether it was allowed or not. You would find a way to get revenge.
The laughter around the table was like a light sweet melody, and soon you found yourself laughing with them. It was rare to laugh like this, you could feel the weight on your shoulders lifting.
"Wait," Summer said, scrunching her eyebrows when you finally quieted, all of you wiping away tears from your cheeks, "Like Twilight?" Sophie nodded between gasping for air, and the four of you lost it again.
The buzz of your phone on the table served as a reminder of the promise to Hotch. You sighed, fighting the urge to roll your eyes as you typed the message.
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From: You | To: Professor Hot.
Still at Sunshine.
[11:01PM]
From: Professor Hot.
Okay.
[11:03PM]
─﹒﹒★﹒──────────
God, he had to have something else to do. What was the reason for this, anyway? To keep tabs on you?
You looked up to find Sophie's eyes on you and you put your phone away.
"Just be careful." Sophie said as she placed a hand on top of yours. She suddenly turned serious, her blue eyes darkened as she frowned, "You've heard about the–," Sophie scanned the loud sea of people — unsure if she should say it out loud — then she leaned closer to you and whispered, "The murders?"
You nodded gravely and leaning to whisper back, "Not much, though." Sophie chewed on the inside of her cheek, twisting the empty glass in front of her to busy her hands while she thought.
After a minute of staring at the table, you debated on moving on when finally, she met your gaze again, "The last one was my friend." You furrowed your brows trying to remember the names from the files back in Quantico, though it was all hazy — the time passed and the alcohol in your system was not making it easier for you.
"I'm so sorry, Sophie. What was she like?" It felt awful, questioning her like this, but it was the only thing you could do. You hoped it would help her, as well. If you knew what the victims were like, it would significantly improve the chances of the profile.
Her eyes turned glassy and you laid a hand on hers, like she had done to you a moment ago. "Annie was the sweetest girl." Sophie smiled softly, a tear slowly falling down her cheek, "She was really smart and really funny," She turned to face you as you lifted a hand to wiped her tear, "You kind of remind me of her."
Well, you supposed that was the point, even if it hurt to think of.
"Annie sounds great." You smiled sadly, and Sophie huffed a laugh at the hint of a joke you had not realized you made.
"Let's get more drinks, Bell, I don't want to cry any more tonight." She sniffled before standing from her chair and reaching out a hand, you took it with a nod of understanding.
"You guys want anything?" Sophie asked the two girls sitting at the table. They told her what they wanted and returned to the heated discussion you could only barely make out over the noise.
"Jacob is like a warm hug, who wouldn't choose him?" Summer threw up her hands in exclamation and Lizzie shook her head.
"He's a dog, Summer. Edward is a sexy older guy, like twice the size of Bella, that's so much more hot!"
Exactly. Lizzie gets it.
Not that it related to your current situation, because that was entirely different. Hotch was not a vampire.
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The night went on, the drinks kept being drunk and the music vibrated in your bones. You were having a great time with the girls — the dance floor had become your stage, the alcohol had turned to confidence and Lizzie had become your dance partner — it was an endless time of giggles and dancing, of easy fun with your new friends. You were floating in the clouds.
Sophie and Summer had found themselves slow-dancing with a couple of slightly older guys. You and Lizzie glanced over to them every now and then, pointing and giggling, like you had for hours. Soon, they had whispered goodbyes in your ears and left with the men of interest.
So, you and Lizzie got a couple more drinks, gave a toast with slurred words and danced some more.
"I'm having so—much fun, Bells!" Lizzie shouted over the music and you nodded in agreement.
You looked at each other and fell into a laughing fit. Lizzie pushed on your shoulder lightly, and you clumsily stumbled a step backwards, swaying with the lack of balance. She tried to stretch out a hand to steady you, but she bent over laughing before you could even attempt to grab it.
Strong hands gripped your upper arms from behind you and lifted you upright. You stiffened, finding Lizzie's wide eyes with your own. The smirk growing on her face told you exactly who was standing behind you.
Aaron Scowls-a-lot Hotchner, wearing his favorite expression.
You blinked, giggling when you noticed the deep scowl itched into his face, "Hot-"
"Miss Evans." He interrupted, stepping closer to you. A flush of color painted your cheeks as Hotch towered over you with an intense glare. He had to know you hated it when he forced you to tilt your head to look at him.
He bowed to whisper in your ear, "You seem to have forgotten something, darling." Disapproval laced his words, almost venomous. Your eyes flashed with panic as you tried to figure out what you had done wrong.
"Where's your phone?" Fuck. Shit.
"Uh–" You tried looking for your purse, turning your head from side to side to find the spot you had thrown it to when you started dancing. Instead, you spotted Spencer over his shoulder, and squealed.
"Spence!" He whipped his head up in time to see you lunge for him. You wrapped your arms around him, smiling brightly as his stiff posture softened. Spencer muttered your name lowly, barely audible, but you felt the air shift. He glanced up to Hotch who was watching you with utter seriousness, and you straightened. Something was wrong.
"What's–" You spun back to face Hotch without calculating the effect on your balance with the alcohol coursing through you. Cursing yourself, you stumbled again. Hotch reached forward, pulling you to stand, again. You had to get it together.
His hand pressed firmly against your lower back, "Let's go." With the light pressure, you took a couple small steps toward the exit before you remembered Lizzie. She could not be left alone, just because Professor Scowls-a-lot decided to whisk you away on some fairytale. Probably.
"Lizzie!" You snapped your head to look at Hotch and gasped.
He sighed, turning to Spencer and said something you could not hear over the music echoing from the speakers and the roaring in your ears. Spencer nodded, his gaze flickering to you for a second, then he turned around and walked back to where you had the time of your life just moments ago.
─﹒﹒★﹒──────────
The silence outside the bar was dizzying. Hotch had his hand still firmly pressed on your lower back, forcing you forward and away from the many eyes at the bar.
As you stepped around a corner into what looked like an alleyway to the other street, you finally had enough of his silence, "What's going on, Ho–" He slapped a hand over your mouth and pressed you up against the brick wall. The reaction had you frozen, blinking up at him in confusion.
"You know better than to call me that, don't you, darling." He growled in your ear. You shivered.
That was why he interrupted you back at the bar, you realized. You had almost blurted out 'Hotch' twice now, and by the looks of it, he was furious. Fuck, he was attractive.
You tried to apologize, but his hand muffled your words. He dropped it to your shoulder to keep you pinned against the wall, "What did you say?" The gleam in his eyes unnerved you, or perhaps it was butterflies, it was hard to tell.
"I'm sorry, Sir." You repeated yourself, apologizing again. It was a real apology, for once. It seemed like he was worried about you for some reason.
He stepped back, dropping his arms by his side. You watched as his jaw tightened, his fists clenched, just like he usually did when there was bad news on a case…
"Another one?" You whispered, taking a step away from the wall. He nodded gravely. "Found on a bench outside the library entrance."
You had studied there with Spencer once. The entrance was in a fairly open area, easy to spot. There should have been witnesses, or would have, had it not been the middle of the night. No one sane went to the library past midnight.
"Have they identified her?" You asked. What if it was someone you had run into during your time on the island? The thought had your heart racing.
He shook his head, "Her face had deep slashes. There was a pool of blood under the bench. Fresh. The only identifying trait I could see from the distance was blonde hair—"
"No." You shook your head furiously, panicking, "No, no, no!"
Sophie and Summer had left hours ago. With men you had no idea who were. They had not seemed suspicious but you had absolutely no trust in your drunk profiling abilities.
You turned to run back, to campus, to the bar, to wherever you could look for any of them. The faint glow from the streetlamps did little to show you the way as you ran, you had barely paid attention when you walked from campus earlier. It was hopeless.
Stopping in the middle of the street, you snapped your head around to look for any street signs, or anything you could remember at all. Tears were flowing down your cheeks, the adrenaline rushing through your body, it was hard to think.
"This way." Hotch spoke softly, pointing to the street he was facing. He had no clue why you suddenly panicked, but he saw the terror in your eyes and knew not to push. The desperation. He was still furious with you.
You pushed to a sprint as the campus gates coming into view.
You had to know. It would never stop eating you alive if one of them had died because you did not pay attention. Because you were too busy drinking and dancing. You had let them leave, not thinking about the possibility of one of them being murdered. All for another drink. All for another song. Another dance. A laugh.
The crowd was thick. Quiet murmurs vibrated the cobblestones. You would have to push through them to get to the body, though the police had likely already taken it.
"Bell!" The high-pitched shout of your name sent you spinning around to find the owner. Twenty feet behind you stood Summer. Your knees wobbled as she ran for you.
That meant…
"Thank god." Sophie cried from behind you. The two girls wrapped around you, sobbing. "I thought it was you." Sophie said into your hair. "I don't know what she looks like and I–" She sniffled, "I thought it was you."
Again, no matter how much it wrecked you to think about, you supposed that was also the point of this.
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"You're staying with me."
You whipped your head to the man leaning against the stone pillar of the campus gate, his arms crossed over his chest. "What?"
Did you say that a lot? Perhaps. Although it made sense, confusion seemed to be a dominant emotion lately.
You blinked, wishing it would clear the haze in your head. Hotch raised an eyebrow, looking you up and down as it was clear what he meant. It was not. He heaved a sigh and straightened from the pillar, lowering his voice only for you to hear, "You're drunk and I don't trust you to not snoop around the crime scene." Fair enough. Although it had not been your plan, now that he had suggested it…
"M' not drunk, you just want to get in my pants and you can't when I'm sober." You crossed your arms. The adrenaline had worn off, the world spun again, though that last part referred to the earth's rotation around the sun or whatever. Not the way the cobblestones looked kind of like waves.
Hotch licked his lips, trying to hide the slight hint of amusement on his face. "Let me get this straight. I can only get in your pants when you're drunk, which you are not, but you're not sober?"
"Uh-huh!" You agreed with a nod, eyes focused on his lips. Until the words repeated in your brain. You furrowed your brows in confusion, looking up at the man smirking in front of you, "Wait, what?" He made no sense. Had those been actual words coming from his nice mouth?
"Yeah, you're coming with me whether you like it or not." He decided and placed his hand on your lower back. The warmth of his hand spread up your spine like flames as he lightly pushed you forward, to fall into step beside him to go wherever he lived on the island.
You rolled your eyes, the heat had traveled to your face, "Wow, such a handsome guy but he has to force girls to go home with him." Hotch clenched his jaw to suppress the satisfied smile threatening to form. The compliment was lost on you. The waves of heat from his body next to you made it hard to string together coherent thoughts.
Eventually, he gave up suppressing the smile. He needed the change of mood after the bad news on the case. It was not like he could do anything other than keep playing his role and hope to get something out of the faculty. It felt nice to finally smile.
Your eyes widened at the sight. The smile on his face made him look like an alien. A handsome, dark and sexy kind of alien. The propaganda was working, it seemed.
His dimple made an appearance, the one you had barely and rarely been in the presence of, and this time you reached up to poke it. To your surprise, and perhaps also relief, he did not bite your finger off like you suspected he would. He just stared at you.
─﹒﹒★﹒──────────
You stopped in front of a small house on the same street as Sunset, though a good few stumbles and curses away. It was yellow, sort of like an old-lady-house. The thought of Hotch living here had you giggling.
"Penelope wants to talk to you," Hotch said as he reached the front of the house, "She's been calling me non-stop." He pulled out a key from the pocket of his dark slacks and unlocked the white-painted door.
"What?" You asked and cursed yourself for saying it again. He stepped through the door and made space for you as you stepped in beside him. "About what?" You tried again. The second attempt sounded better, though you were still slightly annoyed now that you were aware of the habit.
Penelope had been calling him and she wants to talk to you. You missed her, and it seemed like she missed you, too. It made you emotional, not unlike how sappy you usually got when you were drunk, although that was absolutely not the case here. It was a coincidence. Just like how climbable Hotch looked as he folded up the sleeves of his shirt was a coincidence.
Wait, hold on — did that mean it was a sober thought? You were drunk. Shit-faced, in fact. Now that you really thought about it.
You kicked your shoes off by the door, sighing. Your feet ached, pulsed, after dancing and running for hours.
"She's been talking my ear off about some Twilight thing, and keeps asking me over and over again if I have taken you out yet, or even kissed you yet—" He trailed off and scratched the back of his neck.
You hummed, following him to the living room. "How did she react when you said no to all of those things?" The couch called your name and you decided to grace it with the presence of your butt. It thanked you, you could feel it.
You watched as Hotch poured himself a glass of whiskey, glancing over to where you sat slumped on the gray couch, before he downed it. He poured another one and set the flask back on the round wooden table, ignoring your whines of wanting one.
He took a sip from his drink before he lowered himself to the far end of the suddenly way too small three-seat-couch.
"She started screaming." He finally said, as he pursed his lips and winced, like he could still feel the sound lingering on his eardrum. Poor guy probably got tinnitus from that phone call.
"I can see it." You laughed, deeply. Honestly. Hotch watched you laugh, the soft sound was somehow foreign to him. He wanted to hear it again.
"Wait." It hit you like a train. A win-win. Checkmate, if you will. You gasped loudly, and jumped closer to him on the couch, pushing your face close to his. More as a method to threaten him than anything. "We can cross one off the list." You said, raising your brows.
Hotch stilled, frozen, a breath away. The only movement was his eyes flickering between yours and your lips. His focus lingered on your mouth before he cleared his throat, "Which one?"
Ding ding ding.
Who would have thought it would be so easy?
You hummed and tilted your head as you scanned his face. Silence stretched for the long second you contemplated your words, "I was thinking watching Twilight, but if there's another one you would rather do…" You trailed off and looked down to his lips, before reaching out to take the half-drank glass of whiskey from his hands.
You slowly raised it to your mouth and watched him over the brim as you drank, savoring the burn as you emptied his glass.
Hotch stared at you and he swallowed. His lips parted slightly as you licked yours. With a sweet smile, you leaned so close to his face, the heat of his breath sent shivers down your spine.
"Your choice, Professor." Your whisper fanned across his lips.
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thank you so so much for reading
if you enjoyed this, please consider liking and reblogging, it fuels my little ego!
let me know your thoughts and if you have anything you would like to see! your comments and messages are everything to me<3
i’ve been a little sick so if it doesn’t make sense… don’t look at me— i just work here
Mal's Notes: Listen... I can't prepare y'all for the rest of this series... I don't even have the energy left to make this post as pretty as I normally do... So you're on your own. So sorry.
Love,
Mal <3
Warnings: MDNI 18+, Brief Sex Scene at the Beginning, PnV probs no protection (say it with me now, "Don't be silly, wrap your willy"), Aaron is very interested in boobs (who can blame him?), Looooootsssss of Angst... Lots, Mentions of mental, emotional, and physical abuse, Mentions of canon typical violence, Mentions of narcissism, READER'S VIEW OF NARCISSISM IS SKEWED, Reader's self talk and self love are ATTROCIOUS, mentioned death of a loved one, Reader's view of the abuse she lived through is flawed, PLEASED PROCEED WITH CAUTION.
WC: 10.2K
Ao3
Mal's Masterlist
Things had been different since the night of the gala. Aaron wasn’t sure what exactly had changed, because he’d never gotten you talking that night. You had fallen asleep with tear streaks full of mascara marring your gorgeous face. Then, the next morning when he’d woken up you’d been in the shower and the both of you were running late.
Since then, there had never been a good time to broach the subject, he’d thought about it every day since. It had unsettled him that much. He thought about it the most every time you were in bed together, terrified that it was going to end the same way it had that night. It wasn’t that he was frightened of your tears—dear God, any emotion out of you was better than none—the problem was that he didn’t understand what had caused them. He couldn’t fight an unknown adversary, he couldn’t stop your pain if he didn’t know what was hurting you, and something was definitely hurting you because those certainly hadn’t been tears of joy. They’d been anguished.
It’d been the first time he’d truly made love to you, hoping that would finally be the thing that got you to drop your guard and let him in. The actual effect hadn’t been exactly what he’d been going for, but something was definitely different.
You’d been softer, gentler—in every part of the relationship, not just the bedroom—more reserved… Hell, you were almost shy, something he’d thought you were incapable of, but the evidence was right there in front of him.
At that very moment, in fact.
You’d not made it to his bed when you’d returned from the bar that night, and now he sat with his head thrown back on the couch. Watching your perfect breasts heave with your labored breaths as you slowly pulled yourself up and down the length of his cock.
Never once before tonight had he ever seen your cheeks flush at his praise, at his insistence to watch you ride him, you’d always seemed to bask in it. Tonight though, he’d had to coax you into his lap, convince you that you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on, and—once he’d gotten you settled into the rhythm he knew you liked best—you’d continued to seek reassurance in every single move you made. That was something he’d never witnessed from you in the year and a half he’d been sleeping with you.
As it seemed that you were finally letting yourself enjoy the moment, losing yourself in the pleasure…
The goddamn phone started ringing.
“Don’t stop.” He panted, shaking his head when your pace faltered, “They’ll leave a message if it’s important.”
You seemed unsure, so he gripped the back of your neck and pulled you down to meet his lips; kissing you senseless while his voice gave a standard voicemail greeting in the background. It only took moments for your lips to respond to his, hips finding their rhythm again…
Just as the fucking answering machine beeped.
“Hotch. It’s Gideon. Pick up the fucking phone, would ya? I’ve paged you four times, and I had to go through the goddamn yellow pages to get your number. We’ve got a case and I need you both at the office in twenty minutes. I’m assuming she’s with you, cause I can’t fucking find her either!”
The rant continued as you nearly launched yourself across the room and started gathering your clothes.
Aaron groaned, letting all his frustration out—dramatically—before flopping to the end of the couch and picking up the receiver; putting it on speaker so you could listen in silently.
“Gideon? Is that you?” He asked, giving you a mischievous grin as he pretended he’d only caught the end of it, then stood to grab his own pants. “Who can’t you find? Is someone missing, is it Jill? Is she alright?”
He was pleased when you bit your cheeks to keep from laughing as you hopped around trying to get your pants up over your hips. Which was making it so hard for him to focus because your boobs were bouncing with every hop and—
“What? No, Jill is fine, I was talking about your fucking partner. Neither one of you are answering your pagers and I can’t get her on the phone. Is she still with you? Who am I kidding, you’re not gonna answer that either way.” Gideon harangued, and Aaron took a glance at the clock as he pulled his t-shirt on.
It was after eleven pm and the team had gone out for drinks after work, but they’d called it a night around nine.
“No, I dropped her off at her place about nine thirty. She was pretty hammered so I bet she’s just asleep.” He winked at you, earning an eye roll of unmatched annoyance—as you, regretfully, hooked your bra back into place—but he knew you’d much rather him tell that story than admit you were still with him nearly two hours later. “That’s certainly what I was doing, but don’t worry, I’ll pick her up and fill her in on the way.”
“I didn’t remember her being that drunk… but sure that’s your story.” Gideon muttered, and Aaron could practically feel the sarcasm in his tone as it came through the phone.
“Do we need our go bags, or is this one close to home?” Aaron asked him, choosing to ignore the prior comment as he fastened his pants and buckled his belt.
“Pack your bags, and get her sobered up. We’re all going and it’s gonna take us all night to get there, so she’s gonna have to take a turn driving eventually.” Gideon responded, “We’re all waiting, and you’ve got fifteen minutes. Don’t fucking crash trying to get here.”
The line went dead then, though it sounded like he’d slammed the receiver down.
“He was pissed…” You whispered from the corner, as though Gideon might still be able to hear you, fully dressed now and looking absolutely mortified.
“He’ll be fine,” Aaron promised you, “especially if we make in under ten minutes… You still have a spare bag here?”
“In your hall closet.” You nodded, pointing to the closet in mention.
“Good, we don’t have to go by your place then. You ready?” He surveyed you from head to toe, pulling his button down on, but not bothering with the buttons.
“Yes, but Aaron…” You murmured hesitantly, your eyes straying to his neck.
He gave you a second to finish the thought but you really didn’t have all night.
“What is it, baby? We have to go.” He coaxed, trying to be as patient with you as always, while he slipped on his shoes, but if the whole team was going then this case was bad.
“I got lipstick on your collar.” You whispered, your eyes full of… fear?
But that couldn’t be right… could it? He knew he’d certainly never given you a reason to be afraid before…
“I don’t have time to change so I’ll just go in my tee.” He shrugged, not even bothering to look at the stain, as if it was that inconsequential. “Or… should I leave it on and see if any of them notice?” He teased, wiggling his brows at you in an attempt to get whatever the fuck you were afraid of as far out of your mind as he could chase it.
He saw the surprise flicker across your face, and he wasn’t sure what part you found surprising because almost immediately you scowled.
“No, because it’s my shade and Jill would notice.” You scolded him, “I’ll get it out for you when we get… wherever we’re going. Just throw it in your bag.”
Now it was his turn to be surprised.
You had never offered to do anything so… domestic? For lack of a better word. He didn’t know what to make of it.
“You don’t have to—”
“We don’t have time for you to argue with me. We’re down to nine minutes.” You warned him, heading for the closet. “Grab your bag and let’s go.”
“It’s in the trunk of my car, come on.” He met you at the door and took yours from you, shouldering it as he ushered you out and locked up.
In the car, Aaron made it five minutes down the road before you gasped, leaned over, and started scrubbing at his neck with your thumb.
“Lipstick?”
“Yeah.”
When you pulled in at the academy, the parking lot was empty save for one Chevy Suburban with the headlights on.
Aaron got both your bags and headed for the trunk of the suburban as you headed for the back passenger door. Rossi got out and slid the seat forward for you to climb into the back.
“Rough ride?” Aaron heard him ask, and knew by the tone that he hadn’t been referring to Aaron’s driving.
“Excuse me?” You asked, but your tone said that you knew exactly what he meant and were giving him a chance to take it back.
“You look anxious, I just assumed it was from Hotch’s driving.” Rossi feigned innocence, but Aaron hurried to put the bags away before you decided to light into him anyway.
“Yes, well, you would be too if someone barged into your house, dragged you out of bed, and deposited you into their vehicle without explanation. Then drove Mach five all the way to your destination.” You grumbled, making Aaron bite his lip to keep from laughing at how easily you sold his lie. “If I wasn’t sober then, I definitely am now.”
You were just settling into the middle seat of the back row when he slammed the trunk and headed around to the other side.
“Jesus Christ, Hotch, it’s barely been twelve minutes.” Gideon eyed him in the rear-view mirror as he put the car in drive, not waiting for Aaron to fasten his seat belt.
“Well, you only gave me fifteen, and all you said was I couldn’t crash.” Aaron shrugged, grinning impishly.
“How’d you get into her apartment?” Jill asked from the passenger seat, a knowing smile inching across her face.
“He has a key.” Your voice had him giving himself whiplash to meet your eyes, because he most certainly did not have a key. “For emergencies.” You clarified when the other three turned to stare at you too.
“Where was your gun? Seems like given the nature of our job you would react poorly to someone ‘barging in and dragging you out of bed.’” Rossi teased, giving you a raised brow before turning back around.
Aaron didn’t know why they seemed so keen on catching you in a lie tonight, when they’d been letting it go unspoken for over a year now, but if they wanted to play this game he was happy to participate. Especially if it made you feel more comfortable.
“On her nightstand, but I was yelling, ‘it’s Aaron, don’t shoot,’ and she was still too drunk to aim anyway.” He explained, holding up a finger gun and waving it around haphazardly to mimic what he had described.
“Yes, well, your driving took care of that.” You sneered, giving him a saccharine smile, but he could see the gratitude lurking just behind it. “Where are the others?” You asked, leaning forward to make sure Gideon heard you from the front. “Hotch told me we were all going.”
“We sent the grunts ahead nearly an hour ago,” Rossi answered instead, “we decided they couldn’t be trusted to deliver you both safely all the way to Jacksonville, Florida.”
With that, Gideon cut him off and started reciting the case details as he drove, while Jill pitched in here and there. Your head was between his and Rossi’s so you could hear Gideon over the rumbling of the interstate, but Aaron couldn’t help himself so he leaned over a little to get closer to your ear.
“We’re saying I have a key to your place now?” He whispered, just loud enough that you had to tilt your head to hear him.
“Technically, you do.” You murmured back, making his heart rate skyrocket as your breath tickled his ear. “I just haven’t found the right time to give it to you yet.”
He didn’t know how he was meant to act naturally after that little bombshell.
To go from refusing to let him keep a toothbrush and a drawer of clothes at your place, to giving him the key in a single bound…
He thought he really might have whiplash.
His questions—such as: what does this mean, what made you decide this, and are you sure—would have to wait for a more private moment. Which was good, because now that he thought about it, asking if you were sure sounded like a terrible idea.
If you revoked the key before he’d even gotten to use it he’d be crushed.
As Gideon rambled on in the front seat, Aaron couldn’t focus, he kept thinking about the about the goddamn theoretical key that he still wasn’t sure existed. Eventually Gideon stopped talking, Jill reclined her seat—into Rossi’s leg space causing him to unbuckle and scoot over toward Aaron—and fell asleep. A glance to the back seat told him that you had followed Jill’s lead, laying down across the entire back seat, where you were already snoring softly. Being so close in proximity, Rossi began to try and converse with him to make it a little less awkward.
“So…” He murmured, pulling—rescuing really—Aaron from his thoughts. “She gave you a key?”
Or maybe not.
“Hmm?” Aaron hummed, to give himself time to come up with a response that didn’t sound… forced. “Oh, the key thing… It’s really not a big deal, her power went out one night so she gave me a key because I couldn’t get her on the phone, and when I showed up I couldn’t wake her up by knocking.”
“That’s interesting…” Rossi murmured, his eyes flicking up to Gideon’s in the rear-view mirror, a slight smirk on both their faces. “Because when she said it, you looked like she’d shoved said key right up your ass so you’d be able to produce it.”
Gideon chuckled quietly so as to not wake Jill, and Rossi was pinning him with such a knowing look that Aaron didn’t know why he bothered to keep feigning innocence. He would try though, because that’s what you would expect of him.
“I don’t—”
“Cut the shit.” Rossi demanded, “She’s asleep, and neither of us are gonna tell her anything. That girl has been dragging you around by the balls for three goddamn years, and it’s getting painful for the rest of us to watch. So did she give you a key or not?”
Aaron sighed, dropping his head to the back of Gideon’s headrest and surrendering.
“I don’t physically have it, but she told me—right before she fell asleep—that I do have one, she just hasn’t given it to me yet.” He admitted in defeat, chancing a glance up at them only to find Jill looking right at him and smiling.
“It’s cute, the way you humor her and try to lie to us…” She murmured, “It really shows how much you care about her feelings.”
“Yeah, well it’s a good thing she can’t fake sleep like you can.” He snorted, shaking his head. “Otherwise, I’d be up shit creek.”
“There you go telling on yourself again.” Gideon chuckled, then explained when Aaron looked up at him in confusion, “I knew Jill was faking, because I know what she looks and sounds like when she’s really sleeping. Anyone can fake sleep as long as the person they’re faking for doesn’t know what the real thing looks like.”
“I only lie about it because she—” He shook his head, not knowing how to explain what it was like… Loving you when you couldn’t seem to love him back. “She is so… scared? I guess? Scared to let me in, scared to admit she has feelings for me—whatever those might be—scared to let me love her. Her whole outlook on whatever we are is so full of fear and caution, I don’t know what else to do to convince her that she’s… safe.” He glanced back at you to make sure you were still sleeping soundly, just in case. “Something happened before she met me, and I’ve never been able to coax it out of her. Which is so frustrating, because I can’t fight an invisible enemy! I can’t convince her that whatever was done to her will never happen again if she’s with me, that I would never cause her any harm, because she’s already certain that if she lets me in something terrible is going to happen!” Aaron ranted, and it felt good, it felt so fucking good to get it out, to tell someone who wasn’t going to run away from his emotions exactly how he felt. So he kept going. “God, I’m so fucking hopeless, aren’t I? I’ve never loved anyone the way I love her, and I can’t… I can’t stop. I tried. I really did, but she’s the one, and I am never going to get over her. I just have this feeling… this horrible, awful, terrifying feeling that she’ll never be able to love herself enough to love me too. It doesn’t change anything though, because I’m hers… I’m hers and there’s not a damn thing she could do to change that.”
He looked up then, and found six eyes staring right back at him in total shock. That was the most he’d ever said about it out loud, so he didn’t blame them for being surprised.
Jill reached out, cupping his cheek with one hand and swiping a tear—that he hadn’t even felt escape—off his cheek with her thumb.
“You’re not hopeless,” she murmured, and smiled at him fondly, “and neither is she… that girl… she just requires more patience than most. She’ll get there Aaron. She’s changed so much already in the year you two have been sneaking around. You’re good for her, and I know she sees it. Just hang in there.”
“I’m trying.” He whispered, if only because if he spoke any louder he might start to sob. Just then, Gideon hit a pothole bigger than Texas, and he felt something thump against the back of his seat. “Damn it, I think she’s in the floor now.” He sniffed, wiping at his eyes, as he tried to glance over his shoulder to check.
“Surely that would’ve woken her up…” Rossi muttered, trying to do the same, but failing because he had even less room than Aaron with Jill’s seat in the way.
“You don’t understand how hard she can sleep sometimes.” Aaron chuckled, shaking his head. “Like the dead, I swear.” He unbuckled his seat belt and got to his knees, looking into the floor of the back seat. “Yeah, she’s nearly under our seat, Dave, you’re gonna have to pull over so I can get her out, Jason.”
“My ankle is starting to fall asleep anyway. We’ll stop at this gas station up here on the next exit. We can all stretch, get a snack, and find more comfortable seating arrangements.” Gideon gave Jill a meaningful look, and she scowled at him, but put her seat back in the upright position anyway.
Rossi took the opportunity to scoot back to the passenger side and that gave Aaron room to climb over the middle bench and into the back.
“Hotch what the hell are you doing?” Gideon asked, sounding exasperated, “I said I was gonna pull over.”
“I know, but she’s not in a good crash position, and I just can’t leave her like that.” He explained, settling in on the back row and gently maneuvering you out from under the middle bench. Guarding your head with his hand as you started to stir so you wouldn’t bump it on the seat bottom. “It’s just me,” he soothed, “easy, don’t hurt yourself.”
“Aaron, why am I under the seats?” You groaned, a hint of annoyance in and confusion in your tone.
“Jason hit a pothole that looked more like a moon crater and threw you into the floor.” He explained loud enough to be heard from the front, smiling at the scowl on your face as you climbed up—with his assistance—back into the seat.
“Hey, it covered most of the fucking road!” Gideon defended himself, glaring into the rear-view mirror. “What was I supposed to do, drive into the ditch?”
“I think he’s still mad about having to look us up in the yellow pages.” Aaron whispered in your ear, earning the giggle he’d been searching for as you looked up at him with a twinkle in your eyes.
“Whoa.” You gasped, your face falling into a worried expression as you studied his own. “Your eyes are red… are you alright?”
“Oh…” He muttered, forcing a chuckle as he rubbed at them, which probably only made them worse. “Rossi and I were talking when Jason hit the crater, and his forehead slammed into my nose. Don’t worry, I’m fine.”
“Hmm, well, I’d ask if Rossi’s head was okay, but his is harder than yours.” You teased, “You’re lucky your nose isn’t broken, that’d be such a shame… it’s one of your best features.”
“Hey… I heard that.” Rossi grumbled, shooting you an affronted glance.
“I think she meant for you to.” Aaron shrugged, grinning at you as he egged Rossi on.
“Probably…” He joked, giving you nearly as fond a smile as Aaron, but you’d always been Rossi’s favorite. “Mean as a snake, that one.”
He was only joking, but Aaron saw the dart hit a mark Rossi hadn’t intended. Your eyes shuttered, the light in them winking out, and though your smile stayed in place… It wasn’t real anymore.
“Where are we?” You asked, all the playfulness gone from your expression, even though you tried to keep pretending.
“Nearly to Richmond, we’re stopping at the gas station just off the exit if you need anything.” Jason called, as the turn signal started to click.
“Feeling better?” Jill asked, turning around in her seat to talk to you.
“Uh, yeah, I’m fine.” You smiled hesitantly, “Nap took the edge off.”
When Jason pulled into the gas station parking lot and Rossi stepped out to slide the seat forward—letting the two of you out—Aaron offered you a hand to help you down. He immediately cringed at the short sightedness of that choice, because usually you were insistent that in public he shouldn’t do chivalrous things for you. It was too intimate, you often reminded him.
So he prepared for the scathing look, the refusal to take his hand, possibly even for you to bat it away and give him the cold shoulder— but you didn’t do any of those things.
Instead, you took his hand and offered him a sweet smile.
“Thank you.” You murmured, and then jogged to catch up with Jill, linking arms with the slightly older woman as you both walked into the convenience store.
He stood there staring after you with his mouth agape, his heart racing to the point of pain, while flexing the hand you’d so easily accepted.
“Okay, lover boy. Are you gonna go in and get a snack or are you just gonna stand there staring at her through the window?” Jason asked, over the hood of the car as he started pumping gas into it. “If you’re not going in, come stand with this so I can go take a leak.”
“Uh, sure…” Aaron muttered, still staring after you as he shuffled around to the driver’s side. “Did– was that– This is gonna sound stupid, but did she just… accept my help in front of you guys?”
“Yeah, I guess she did… Is that a weird thing?” Gideon was giving him the same careful gaze he used to study lunatics, which made Aaron feel even dumber.
“Never mind, I should have waited for Jill or Dave.” He sighed, knowing it was his fault for expecting Jason to notice something that small with members of the team. “Seriously, how do you see so much and yet so little?”
Aaron knew that Gideon was well aware of what was going on between you, obviously, he was even pretty sure that they all had a bet going on it… Gideon simply didn’t give a fuck one way or the other unless it was effecting the way you did your jobs.
“Because, unlike the rest of you, I’ve learned not to profile my teammates. It never does anything but cause problems.” Gideon shrugged, leaning back against the side of the SUV. “If you wanna know what’s going on in her head, you’re gonna have to ask her. However, if you’re looking for advice… take Jill’s. You know Dave is somewhere between wives number two and three.”
“That’s a good point.” Aaron chuckled, then nodded toward the building. “Go on, I’ll sit with this.”
“Thanks, and uh… by the way, you missed a spot.” Gideon smirked, pointing to the side of his own neck and Aaron knew immediately that there was a stray lipstick stain that had been missed in your inspection.
He started rubbing at it, checking the side view mirror to be sure he got it this time, knowing you’d die if you saw it.
Gideon clapped him on the shoulder, squeezing once, before he took off across the parking lot.
The tank didn’t take more than a minute to fill up, it had only needed a top off apparently, but Jason being Jason probably didn’t intend to stop again until he had no choice. So Aaron locked the car and jogged to the building to take a leak himself.
When he returned to the store lobby, he found you waiting for him—the others already crossing the parking lot—with a coffee in each hand and two bags of chips tucked under your arms. He could see his favorite flavor under your left—something he wasn’t aware you’d noticed—and yours under your right.
“That for me?” He asked with a cautious smile, pointing to the left coffee and chips.
“Yeah, and so are the chips. I thought you might need it.” You smiled softly, a faint flush spreading across your cheeks as he gently took the coffee, being careful not to spill it on you.
“Oh?” He asked, before taking a careful sip, looking at you over the rim of the cup.
“I’m pretty sure Gideon’s gonna make you drive.” You scrunched your nose up at him in the most adorably apologetic way. “He started complaining about his bad back and how he doesn’t see as well at night as he used to.”
“He’s thirty nine!?” Aaron exclaimed in amusement, shaking his head at Jason’s antics. “We should start acting like he needs help crossing the street and climbing stairs, but it has to be publicly or he’ll just think we’re being weird.”
“He’ll think we’re nuts either way!” You giggled, the light that had disappeared earlier making a glorious return to your beautiful eyes.
“Probably…” He agreed, raising his brows and tilting his head in the silly way that you found so funny, earning an outright laugh.
He found himself staring into your eyes, soaking in the brief moment of pure joy between you, as he often tried to do because he knew that any one of them could be the last he’d ever have. Not because he was expecting death or something, but because he knew that there was a chance—which was more than slight—that you’d spook and run for good. As fast and far as you could go.
“Want me to sit up front and navigate for you?” You asked, when your laughter had quieted, and he saw the little flicker of anticipation in your eyes.
You wanted him to say yes, even though you both knew it was as simple as hopping on I-95 and following it all the way to Jacksonville.
“Sure, I’d appreciate that.” He smiled, then took the bag of chips from under your arm and—in light of the way you’d reacted to him all night—risked tucking you under his.
He held his breath as he started toward the door; waiting for you to reject the affection.
You simply wrapped your free arm around his waist and rested your head against him as he pushed out into the parking lot.
He wouldn’t hold onto hope just yet… He wouldn’t let himself get comfortable, because he knew deep down that it probably wouldn’t last… but he knew, he knew in that moment that something had changed.
He only prayed that it lasted long enough to make a difference.
“He’s getting bolder…” You told Aaron, as he came back into the little room at the back of the precinct bearing two cups of coffee.
It was nearly midnight, and you were both exhausted.
“I know.” He nodded, handing one cup to you and pressing a kiss to the side of your head before retreating to the other side of the table.
Speaking of getting bolder…
Granted, you were the only ones in the small conference room at the back of the station, but a few days ago he never would’ve dared do something like that while on duty.
Normally you would’ve scolded him, but you’d given up. You’d stopped trying to keep him and arm’s length because you simply couldn't resist him anymore, you didn’t have the energy.
Or the self control.
So you said nothing, offering him a soft smile instead and taking a slow sip of the coffee he’d brought you from the little twenty four hour café down the street. The precinct’s coffee was swill, so you were more than grateful that he’d made the short trek up the block.
“I mean it Aaron… this is getting—” you hesitated to say the word, “unpredictable.”
If you couldn’t predict the unsub’s next move, then you were as good as useless. To the locals, to the bureau, to the team… and right now to him.
This was your area of expertise. You should be more useful.
The unsub was a narcissistic sociopath who preyed on underprivileged young women. It had started slowly. After the first victim he’d taken a three month break, but it wasn’t a cooling down period. He’d hunted for a second victim almost immediately and when he’d found her the grooming began. When she stopped being what he wanted after a couple months, he killed her in a fit of rage. The third victim had turned up dead two months after that. Number four a month after, and number five—the girl who’d gotten them called in—had been brutally murdered in broad daylight and left where he’d killed her. In the middle of an alley, just off a busy street. Only two weeks after the girl before her.
That had been the kill that changed everything. He was spiraling, devolving at a dangerous pace, and the only way to stop him was to catch him.
There had been another body by end of business on your first day in Jacksonville, and another two days later. That’d lit a fire under everyone and even ‘the grunts’ as Gideon and Rossi called them—a group you and Aaron had been part of until you’d been promoted to SSA—were getting frustrated.
His movements just didn’t make sense anymore…
“I know, honey, but we’ll get him.” Aaron was certain, the set of his jaw and the way his eyes were locked on the evidence board in front of him told you everything you needed to know. “He’s impatient, and his urgency is making him sloppy. He’s gonna slip up, and when he does we’ll be there.”
This case was gonna haunt you all long after it was over.
There was a burst of sudden noise in the station, it had been quiet with all the on duty officers out patrolling—hoping to catch him in the act of dumping a body—and when three familiar voices filled the silence it startled you. They were fighting about something, which was par for the course with them.
“No, Jason, I didn’t mean it that way—”
“Yes you did, Jill, you literally said, ‘Well maybe if you just listened to David when he suggested—’”
“Stop putting words in my mouth!”
“That’s not what she said, Jason… She only meant that—”
“David just don’t, you’re only gonna make it worse.”
Aaron made eye contact with you over the table, seeming annoyed with them already as he rolled his eyes. You fought a giggle and struggled to put on a straight face—burying your nose in a file—before they came into the room.
“Here we go again…” Aaron whispered, hold up his fingers to count down the seconds until your little haven of peace and quiet was invaded. “Three, two, one…”
He pointed to the door just as it opened, but quickly dropped it and pretended he was so focused on the board that he didn’t hear them come in. Which left you fighting for your life not to laugh.
“You two are always ganging up on me! It’s almost like you’re his wife not mi— Oh. Hello…” Gideon trailed off, realizing that he had an audience he hadn’t counted on. “I thought we sent you two back to the hotel to get some rest?”
“No sir.” You murmured, not making eye contact for fear of losing it. “Not us, we’re right where you left us.”
“For once…” Rossi muttered, earning a sharp jab to his ribs by Jill’s elbow.
“Well, go get some rest, you two have been at it since four this morning.” She said, and neither Jason or Dave dared to argue with her.
She wasn’t wrong either. The last body had been left on the steps of a homeless shelter at four am, and you had been the ones to go check it out. The other girls had all been beaten to death, brutal slow deaths that made your stomach turn. This one had been shot. It was a deviation from his MO but you all agreed it was him and speculated that he was gearing up for a spree, or maybe he was finally going to go after the true target.
“Yes ma’am.” Aaron nodded, setting down the file he’d held and coming to your side to pull you to your feet, eager to escape.
“I’ll need you back by nine in the morning, dressed nice.” Gideon said, his eyes falling on you specifically. “I’m gonna put you in front of the cameras, have you give a press conference.”
“Why me?” You asked, that was something Dave often did.
“Cause you’re prettier than me.” Rossi joked, then got serious. “People will pay more attention to you, especially the young girls he’s targeting.”
“Got it…” You murmured, you didn’t mind doing it, it wasn’t a big deal, you just didn’t appreciate the insinuation that it was only because you were pretty.
Aaron ushered you out of the room before anything else could be said, leaving your five dollar coffees behind on the table. Not that you really needed them now that you were going to rest.
He held your hand on the short walk to the hotel, the kind of affection you usually shied away from. Kissing and touching was a precursor to sex in your eyes, and that was fine with you, but holding hands…
That was connection simply for the purpose of connecting. It was more intimate to you that anything else, and you felt like your palm was on fire the whole time, but you didn’t pull away.
When you reached your floor of the hotel—with his room right across from yours—you tilted your head up for a kiss, expecting it because he always at least tried to give you one. This time though, he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you, as he tucked your head under his chin and held you.
No kiss.
And at first… you thought he was pulling away. Putting a little distance between you to make the inevitable a little easier.
Part of you—the damaged, acid soaked, sour part—was relieved at the idea that he might’ve been coming to his senses.
The other part—the part you kept hidden away, buried deep, and inaccessible—recoiled into itself, withering like a flower that had been denied sunlight for too long.
“Stay with me tonight.” He murmured into your hair, throwing you completely off balance. “I’ve barely slept a wink the whole time we’ve been here, and I think having you beside me would help.”
The flower unfurled again…
Somewhere deep inside your chest, it was reaching for that small ray of hopeful sun. Even as the acid rose around it, threatening to drown it out—poison it, burn it up, and destroy it—to protect your heart…
And his.
“I’m tired, Aaron…” You whispered, tears welling in your eyes.
The acid might have won… In fact, you knew it would have if he’d done anything other than what he did.
“I don’t want sex, it’s not your body I’m after right now.” He murmured, pulling back to look at your face, pushing your hair back away from it. “I just want you, your presence, your company… It’s soothing, and I would be very grateful for it tonight.”
You couldn’t deny him, not when he seemed so hopeful, so desperate— so ridiculously tired. If you could help him sleep, you wouldn’t be so cruel as to refuse.
So the flower bloomed.
You nodded before you could second guess yourself, your head cupped in his hands so that they tousled your hair a bit with your movement.
“Thank you.” He murmured as a smile split his lips, and he offered you one chaste—but lingering and emotional—kiss. “Your room or mine?”
You needed to shower and get the grime of the day off, you wanted your pajamas, you wanted to feel in control….
“Mine.” You sighed, letting the acid gain a little ground.
He kept his hands on your waist as you unlocked the door, not groping… just holding. As though he needed the connection.
It wasn’t until you were both inside with the door locked that he released you, shrugging off his suit jacket, and reaching for his buttons. You watched him for a moment noticing that he seemed anxious, his eyes flicking up to you every few seconds, like he needed to reassure himself you were still there.
You had done that to him… You’d made him so unsure of himself, unsure of everything… He’d never been that way before you.
“I’m gonna shower.” You murmured, starting toward the bathroom, needing a moment to compose yourself without his eyes searching you for any sign of panic.
He caught your arm as you passed him.
“Can I join you?” He asked, his voice careful and soft, like he might frighten you away if he wasn’t careful, and you couldn’t blame him for it.
You’d left him reeling too many times to expect him to trust you. You didn’t even trust you. No one should.
The acid tasted of bile in your throat.
“You said you didn’t—”
“I don’t, sweetheart, I really don’t.” He promised, and he was always steadfast, truthful in his emotions, never wavering in his convictions, so you believed him.
“Then what?” You asked anyway, unable to understand how showering with you could possibly benefit him at all if wasn’t to initiate sex.
“I just want to be close to you.” He answered, and it was truthful, but there was that anxiousness you’d noted. It was coursing through him and keeping his body taught like a rubber band stretched thin.
“Why?” You narrowed your eyes on him, unmoving until he answered, even though you knew you were going to say yes regardless.
“I–” He paused, his tongue flicking out to wet his slightly chapped lips—he’d been gnawing at them all day and you were still wondering why—then he took a breath. “I’m feeling very anxious, and being able to see and touch you… it’s helping.”
“Okay.” You relented, pulling your arm from him, only to take his hand and lead him to the shower.
You didn’t understand how proximity to you would help him, not when you were certain that you were the cause of his discomfort to begin with. That was as clear to you as the nose on his face, the way he watched you so carefully…
You were doing it already… You’d given in less than a month ago, he didn’t even know you had, and already—
You were destroying him. Like the cruel, wicked, bitch you knew yourself to be.
His hands stayed on your waist as you adjusted the water, then he helped you undress with a tenderness that even he had never shown you before. He was so careful, so gentle, nearly reverent, but he never touched any part of you with anything resembling lustful intent. You returned the favor, simply unbuttoning buttons in silent numbness.
The water was what he usually referred to as molten lava, but this time he didn’t say anything to complain about it. Instead, he dealt with the pain just to be near you, and that was what broke your resolve.
“Why do you want this?” You whispered, barely audible over the stream, unable to meet his eyes.
“A shower?” He asked, and you knew he wasn’t that dense… he just wanted you to say the dark thoughts out loud.
“Me.”
“Because I love you.” He said it with zero hesitation.
That always baffled you. It was like he had nothing to lose in offering those words to you, and there had been no sign from you that there was anything to gain. Still, he said them loud and often, even though you never said them back.
“And what have you gotten for it?” You scoffed, shaking your head as you turned to let the water hit your chest, your back to him so he couldn’t see the tears you were trying not to shed. “Nothing but trouble.”
“I don’t know what you mean…” He murmured, and you felt a warm cloth—slick with soap—gently scrubbing at your back. “If you’re trouble, then you’re the sweetest trouble I’ve ever been in.”
“Aaron…” You sighed, letting your head fall forward so that the water hit you right on the crown, streaming down your face into your eyes, nose, and mouth.
You couldn’t be bothered to care.
“Where is this coming from, honey?” He asked, and you heard it clear as day.
There was fear in his voice.
“Look at you…” you muttered, turning to face him, “just listen to your voice,” you reached up and cupped his cheeks, “look at what I’ve done to you.”
“What do you think you’ve done to me?” He reached up for the towels—draped over the curtain rod—and pulled a corner over to dry your face around your eyes.
“I’m wrecking you.” Your voice trembled, as you laid it out for him. “You’re always so nervous, so anxious and careful… You were never that way before me. You look at me with fear in your eyes. Like you’re absolutely terrified of what I might say or do next.” Every little observation you’d made, every card you had to play, you were laying it all out for him. “Why do you stay?” His eyes flickered with pain, as though you’d slapped him. “I mean it Aaron? Why are you putting yourself through this? I’m— I’m not… I am not worth—”
“Don’t you fucking dare.” His eyes flashed with anger now, and it startled you into silence. “Don’t you dare try to tell me what you are or are not worth, because you’re worth something to me! Fuck, sweetheart! You’re worth everything to me! How do you still not see that?”
Everything. You couldn’t be worth everything… Being his everything would only make him hate you in the end.
“You don’t mean the that…” You whispered, your bottom lip trembling. “You’ll hate me… Before the end… You’ll hate me, because I— I’m just… I’m—”
“You’re what?” He asked, his tone stern, as though he hadn’t an ounce of patience left. “Tell me, get it out! Whatever horrible thing you think you are, tell me. Right now, because I can’t keep guessing how bad it’s gonna be when you implode.”
The acid won, bubbling up and burning your throat as all the words you’d kept buried rose like a tidal wave, bursting free and blazing a trail of ruin.
“I’m rotten!” You sobbed, the anger in him finally enough to make you explode, and it felt good to warn him, even as it was agony to tell him what you really were. “I am hateful and selfish and mean. I am manipulative. I break everything and everyone I touch, and I don’t deserve to lick the bottom of your shoes. You’ll see…” Your voice cracked on a sob. “One day you’ll look back and you’ll hate me just as much as I do, because I am poison. I will suck the life right out of you, because you’re pouring all your goodness into a goddamn black hole. I have nothing to offer you. I am nothing… Nothing, but a narcissistic piece of shit, and I will ruin you.”
“Who told you that?” He asked, and though the anger in his tone was still there, his eyes were what scared you the most, because they were broken. “Who told you that you were poison, who said you were a narcissist, who—”
“Me.”
“Why?” He breathed, tears mixing with the water on his face.
“Because it’s true, and I have to keep reminding myself. I have to. I have—” you couldn’t focus… not while he was in tears. “Aaron, I’m sorry, please don’t cry…”
“Don’t apologize to me, this isn’t your fault.” He murmured, reaching behind you to turn off the water, then pulling a towel down and wrapping you up snugly. “Tell me why you think those things. Why do you have to?”
“So that I don’t wreck your life too.”
Aaron pulled down his own towel, drying off and wrapping it around his waist. Then he pulled the curtain back and stepped out. Turning to you, he swept you off your feet and carried you back to the bed in the other room.
He didn’t bother with clothes, he just made sure you were dry before he placed you between the sheets and slipped in beside you. Wrapping himself around you, and pulling the covers up tight.
“Talk.” He murmured, his voice much gentler now, but no less firm.
You didn’t know where to start, or if you even wanted to… But if he couldn’t be scared off, he at least deserved to know what you were trying to protect him from.
“I wasn’t always such a monster…” You whispered, settling in close to him because you knew there was no sense in trying to pull away.
“You’re not a monster.” You could feel his scowl against your forehead.
“We’ll see how you feel about that later…” You muttered, and that caused him to scoot down and rest his forehead against yours, looking into your eyes.
“It won’t change.” He promised. “Nothing could convince me of that.”
“I had to be a monster to survive the monsters that made me.” You closed your eyes, and let yourself drift through your memories to the girl you’d been once upon a time. “My parents weren’t bad people… They didn’t beat me—not really—they didn’t starve me, or molest me… but they didn’t know how to love me either. They kept me fed, kept me clothed, took me to the doctor, but they didn’t know how to nurture me. They saw my tears as manipulative, they saw anger as disrespect, they saw individualism as rebellion.” You explained, mourning that little girl. “So I learned to do the opposite. I kept my tears in check, instead manipulating them with smiles and perfect grades. I bottled up my emotions, learned how to stay serene even as they found fault in everything I did. I was perfect and respectful, even as I hated them with every breath. I conformed to their idea of a well rounded person. I dressed how they thought I should dress, I ate how they thought I should eat, I went where they said I should go… I didn’t express myself until they weren’t looking… and God, did I over compensate when they finally looked away.”
You paused to take a deep breath, and he must’ve thought that was the end, because he leaned forward and kissed your nose with such sweetness, murmuring, “Honey, none of that makes you a–”
“That’s only the start.” You cut him off, sighing softly and closing your eyes.
“Okay.” He whispered, and waited patiently for you to continue.
“I was so naive and attention starved…” you muttered, “that when I got to college I was willing to take whatever kind of love I could get my hands on. That’s when I met him.”
Aaron stiffened slightly, but didn’t interrupt.
“He was so good to me at first, and I know now that he was love bombing me… but at the time it felt so good.” You explained, opening your eyes to see if you could decipher his thoughts from his expression.
His face was blank, simply patient, maybe a little expectant.
“As it turned out, he was a narcissist… A world class manipulator. He made me feel like everything was always my fault and nothing I did was ever good enough, among other worse things… I had enough of a goddamn brain to get out the first time he put hands on me…” You saw anger fill his eyes again, pure burning rage, and it made you pause. “I had learned to use all his tactics against him just to survive— and that day I tried to gaslight him into thinking it wasn’t me who out a dent in his car door… I hadn’t done it on purpose, and he was right there when I did it, but he'd been looking the other way. I accidentally knocked into the car next to us when I opened the door.”
You blinked back tears at the memory, and Aaron held you closer. You rushed on so he wouldn't come to his own conclusions.
“I didn’t think he’d go ask the store for their camera footage… but he did, and then he slapped me so hard I passed out.” You whispered, not daring to look at him. “The store manager called the cops, and they pressed charges on him because there were other witnesses, not just me. I went straight to our apartment while he was in custody and grabbed everything that mattered to me, then I got the hell out. I was a psychology major… I knew what he was by that point and I’d just been waiting for an opportunity to run. It was too late to save my mind… my soul… but my life was still mine and that was all that mattered to me at the time. I’d turned myself into a mirror image of him to survive without realizing it, so when I thought I’d healed I moved on.”
This… this was the hard part. This was the part that made you a villain, a monster…
“Hey…” he murmured, running his fingers through your wet hair, gently even though they got caught in tangles. “I am not going to think any less of you for… whatever comes next—”
“Don’t make any promises…” You covered his lips with a finger. “It’s bad Aaron, and I wouldn’t blame you if you never spoke to me again.”
“Honey, that’s not—”
“I killed him, Aaron.” You said, just to shut him up and it worked, he stopped talking and his face went white. “He’s dead, and it’s my fault.”
“What do you mean… you killed him?” He whispered, “There’s a huge difference between that and ‘he’s dead and it’s my fault—’”
“I didn’t… physically kill him, Aaron, it’s… complicated, but ultimately it was my fault.” You explained, in a round about sort of way. “His name was Eli… and he was a good man. He didn’t know that I was— damaged, and I didn’t know how damaged I was. I love bombed him, exactly how the man before him had done me. He thought I was an angel—that was what he called me, Angel—and I didn’t even realize what I was doing. I knew… of course. I had a psychology degree, so I knew… I just didn’t… notice.”
“Notice what, baby?” He murmured, still trying to treat you with the same tender affection he always had, even though he had to realize you didn’t deserve it.
“That I was manipulating him. Apparently, it can become your default setting if you do it enough that it feels natural.” You admitted, shame flooding your body. “At first it was simple things, like convincing him to go to this restaurant I loved. It was so expensive and he tried to tell me he didn’t think he’d like it, but I begged him to take me cause I was sure that he would if he tried it. The next week, I went to his apartment and I got hungry so I went to see what he had in the refrigerator. It was empty. He had only eaten at my place since the night at the restaurant because he had to choose between his bills and groceries.”
Something flickered in Aaron’s eyes then, and you weren’t sure what it was, so you kept talking.
“A couple months later, he was frustrated because his mother—who still hates me, by the way—wanted him to go into dentistry, to take over the family practice when his father retired. He hated it though, he couldn’t stand how disgusting the insides of peoples mouths were, and he’d never wanted to do that. So I convinced him that it didn’t matter what his parents wanted him to do because it was his life.” You explained, thinking back on how much Eli had hated the thought of being a dentist for the rest of his life. “He rescinded his applications to all the dental schools—for which he would’ve had a full ride—and instead, he chose to go to law school. For which he took out thousands in student loans, you know how expensive it is… His mother called me that night and told me I was ‘a manipulative little bitch who was going to ruin her son’s life.’ She wasn’t wrong… I called him crying, and he cut her off that night. Just stopped talking to her, with no hesitation. Which meant that he lost out on a relationship with his father, and even his grandparents.”
He was looking at you with so much sympathy and you knew that somehow, he still didn’t see how any of that was your fault.
“It sounds like he loved you very much…” Aaron murmured, dropping a kiss to your nose again.
“He did.”
That was the problem. Eli loved you, he was the only person who ever truly had, and loving you had killed him.
“He never saw his family again… he chose me over them. He chose to love me…” You whispered, barely able to say the next part aloud. “He’d made it into law school, and he was doing so well a couple years in that he got invited to this fancy dinner party. If he hit it off with some of the lawyers there, then he’d have a shot at landing an internship. I knew how important it was, but when my friends called and asked me to go out with them that night I didn’t see the harm.”
Tears rolled down your cheeks, and Aaron kissed them away.
“We got so drunk… all of us, and the girl who was supposed to DD was the worst of all. We were in a completely different city, and we were all going to have to take cabs, but I didn’t have enough money left over to cover a fair that big…” You hid your face in your hands, unable to look at him as you finished the tale. “So I called him. He only had an hour before that dinner party, and so he raced to get me… but he— He— There was a crash and he—”
“He died.” Aaron finished it for you, his voice so gentle you barely recognized it. “And you think it’s your fault.”
You nodded, sobs wracking your body because this was the first time you’d ever admitted to anyone else what you’d done.
“His family took the body.” You cried, “They buried him without me, and told me if I came to the funeral they’d sue me for emotional distress. So that day, I went through our apartment instead… to see what needed to be returned to them, and what I wanted to keep.”
“That was wrong of them… you deserved to be there.” Aaron seethed, he was nearly shaking with anger again. “They couldn’t have actually sued you for that either, that’s bull shit. As a matter of fact, you probably could’ve counter sued and won.”
You knew all that now, and you’d already had your moments of rage over it, so you let him have his for a moment before you told him the worst part.
“I found a ring.” You whispered. “A beautiful diamond ring, set in gold… with our initials and a date carved into the band. The date was our upcoming anniversary… he– he was gonna propose, but I killed him.”
“You didn’t.”
“Yes–”
“No.” He refused to let you argue with him.
“I ruined his entire life.” You glared at him, tears streaming down your face. “I was poison from the beginning, costing him more money than he had, wrecking his future and his financial stability, then his relationship with his family, and finally… causing his death with my selfishness. If I had never been in the picture, none of those things ever would have happened!”
“Answer me this,” Aaron demanded, “if he were laying here with us right now, listening to all of this, would he agree with you?”
“What?” unsure that you were understanding him.
“If Eli knew that you thought you had ruined his life, would he agree with you?” Aaron asked you again.
“It doesn’t matter, because Eli is dead.” You hissed, pulling free from him… or trying to, but he kept an iron grip on you. “He doesn’t know and he never will.”
“It does matter, and you know it.” He growled back at you, “If he loved you enough to buy a ring, then I promise he’d have a hell of a lot to say about this, and the very first thing out of his mouth would be that you did not ruin anything!”
“You don’t know that! You didn’t know him!” You shouted, struggling to get out his hold.
“I don’t have to know him to know how he felt.” Aaron declared, “I don’t have to know him to know that he knew loving you was the most import thing he’d ever do! I don’t have to know Eli, to know that he would give anything to see you happy again… To see you forgive yourself! I don’t have to know Eli… because I know you, and I know what loving you feels like.” You froze, staring at him in shock, as he moved his hands to your cheeks with such tenderness. “I wouldn’t trade a second of the time I’ve had with you for anything… even my next breath.” He swore, “So trust me… If Eli bought you a ring… you did not ruin a single moment of his life. You were the highlight of it.”
You couldn’t say anything, not for a long time… and the moment you tried you dissolved into tears.
“Aaron…” You gasped, reaching for him in pure desperation for something to anchor you here, so that you wouldn’t get lost in the sea of your grief.
A sea of absolution.
“I’m here.” He grabbed you, pulling your body closer to his. “I’m not going anywhere, because you could never wreck my life… you could only complete it.”
For the first time… you believed him, and you let him love you without guilt.
Now you only had to work on loving him in return, without fear.
summary: you've spent years convincing the bau that your love life is chaotic, casual, and completely detached—while quietly dying every time aaron hotchner looks at you. but when your dating profile attracts the wrong kind of attention and your unit chief is forced to look a little closer, it turns out there are very few things more dangerous than being profiled by the man you're hopelessly in love with.
notes: i've been a little conflicted about posting lately, but... it's my birthday, and i want aaron hotchner—so here you go! i've been working on this for a while and had a very very smart friend help me with the "profiling" parts (especially reid) so i hope y'all enjoy! i also really wanted to actually write the smut, but this fic hit the block limit so hard and fast it actually hurt. as always, please please let me know what you think!
warnings: swearing / cursing, blushing, italics, reader wears a skirt (and heels), reader has a cat, implied age gap, best friend!reid, some pretentious ranting, horny thoughts, likely incorrect behavioural and psychoanalytical information, likely incorrect technical information (sorry garcia), canon-typical themes (homicide, etc. referred to off page), stalker / stalking behaviour, ambiguous use of "online dating" (because i tried to keep it vaguely around s6/s7 era), kind of rushed ending? and... fade to black / implied sex (i’m so sorry) 18+ only still, mdni.
word count: 19001
MONDAY 9:25AM
Working for the FBI means having secrets is difficult. Working with the BAU makes it downright impossible.
Not because your colleagues are nosy—no, they’re just… perceptive. Which means if you want to keep something to yourself, you need to know how to manipulate their perception. Even if it doesn’t work on all of them—you glance at Reid, already seated at the round table with his nose buried in a book—at least it works on most of them.
At least, it works on Aaron Hotchner.
Your boss. Your unit chief. The man who absolutely cannot find out about your big, fat, massively inconvenient, deeply inappropriate crush on him.
Reid glances up from his book as you drop into the seat beside him. “You’re wearing a skirt.”
You cross your legs and lean back. “Excellent observation, Reid.”
“It’s impractical,” he says simply. “Especially with heels. Your centre of gravity shifts forward by almost fifteen degrees, which shortens your stride length and reduces balance recovery time. You’re significantly more likely to trip while running.”
You roll your eyes. “Good thing I’m not planning on fleeing the scene of a crime today.”
“Ignore boy genius, baby girl,” Morgan says as he steps into the room, heading straight for the espresso machine. “You look good.”
You flash him a grin. “See? Somebody appreciates me.”
Reid hums as he glances back down at his book. “Interesting how your clothing choices become statistically less practical in direct correlation to Hotch’s proximity.”
Your stomach flips. “Spence.”
He lifts one shoulder. “What? He’s not listening.”
You glance back at Morgan, whose eyes are glued to his phone, brow furrowed just slightly as he waits for the whirring coffee machine to fill his cup.
“That’s not the point, Spencer,” you mutter, turning back to him. “You need to—”
The conference room door swings open again and Hotch walks in—files tucked under one arm, the rest of the team trailing behind him.
“Morning,” he says, dropping the files on the table. “Hope everyone had a good weekend.”
Morgan snorts. “What weekend?”
“Yeah,” Prentiss mutters, dropping into the seat beside Reid. “I was here until five on Saturday finishing geographical profiles.”
“That’s because you alphabetise your paperwork,” you point out.
She gives you a look. “I enjoy being proficient.”
“Well,” you say lightly, leaning back in your chair “some of us managed to finish our paperwork on Friday and still have a very enjoyable weekend.”
Garcia gasps dramatically as she falls into the last empty chair, coffee in hand. “Ooh, look at you. Was there a man involved?”
You shrug one shoulder, biting back a smile. “I’m choosing to plead the fifth.”
Morgan points across the table. “That means yes.”
“Or,” Reid says without looking up from his book, “it means she enjoys making people speculate.”
“Aw, Spence,” you tease. “Don’t sound so bitter.”
He finally looks up from his book and fixes you with a look so flat it borders on threatening—because he knows what you’re doing. It’s what you always do. It’s how you manipulate their perception. How you keep your secret.
You perform.
You swipe through dating apps, talk about men, brag about your weekends without ever being too specific. You flirt with almost everyone on the team—Reid more than the rest, because he’s your scapegoat... and your best friend.
He’s the only one who can see through the charade. Not because he’s emotionally perceptive, but because he did the math. He noticed the pattern. He realised very quickly that every time Hotch walks into a room or says your name, you react in a way that can only mean one thing:
Hotch is the secret you’re trying so hard to hide.
Because if you give a team of profilers an easy explanation—harmless flirting with a messy dating life and a weakness for attention—they won’t notice the way your entire body betrays you whenever your infuriatingly gorgeous boss gets too close.
Hotch clears his throat. “Well, lucky for all of you, it’s a quiet week.”
Reid shuts his book and sets it on the table.
“No active cases as of this morning,” Hotch continues. “Which means we’ll be catching up on consults, court reports, and the mountain of paperwork everyone’s apparently been neglecting.”
His eyes meet yours for the briefest second, and your pulse skitters.
“I’m bored already,” Morgan sighs, leaning back in his chair.
Hotch ignores him. “We’ve got two local consult requests from Fairfax County and a follow-up review from the Richardson case. Dave, I’ll need your notes finalised by this afternoon.”
Rossi nods once. “You’ll have them.”
“Garcia,” Hotch continues, “the Milwaukee office wants that digital forensic review by Wednesday.”
Garcia gasps softly, pressing a hand to her chest. “But I already colour-coded my entire week. That review wasn’t supposed to be due for another fortnight.”
Morgan blinks. “You colour-code your schedule?”
“Obviously,” Garcia says. “How else would I maintain my sparkling personality under crushing institutional pressure?”
Reid straightens. “Technically, organising information activates the same reward pathways as—”
“Don’t,” Prentiss says immediately.
Reid frowns slightly. “I was just going to say gambling.”
You snort softly before you can stop yourself, covering it quickly with your hand. Reid shoots you a look. Prentiss just shakes her head. And when your eyes finally flick back to the front of the room, Hotch is already watching you.
Not the team. You.
Your stomach twists.
That signature Hotchner scowl should not be as hot as it is. It shouldn’t make you cross your legs a little tighter or make your heart race the way it does. You should be used to that scowl by now. You’re on the receiving end of it often enough—whenever you crack a poorly timed joke or flirt a little too hard with Morgan.
Yet somehow, you still feel like you can’t breathe until his gaze finally shifts.
“Moving on,” he says evenly, “JJ will forward the consult details after the meeting.”
He spends the next thirty minutes briefing the team on consults and court appearances while you do your best to stay focused—but it’s hard. It’s hard because every time you look at him, your gaze drops to his mouth and your mind fills with all sorts of filthy ideas. Then he starts moving his hands as he explains something and you can’t help but wonder what they might feel like wrapped around your waist, your thighs, your throat.
His voice is a low rumble at the back of your mind, warm and firm, but you have no idea what he’s actually saying. All you can do is think about how that voice might sound, wrecked and rough, telling you how pretty you look when you—
“The briefing ended three minutes ago,” Reid says.
You blink hard. “What?”
He closes his notebook with a sigh. “The meeting’s over. You can stop internally monologuing now.”
You frown. “I’m not—”
He gives you a look.
“Ugh,” you groan. “You’re so annoying.”
You push up from your chair and walk out of the conference room without waiting for him, but you’re not surprised that he’s right behind you by the time you reach the bullpen. You drop down at your desk with another indignant huff, watching Reid do the same from the corner of your eye.
Everyone else is already settled at their desks—keyboards clicking, pens scribbling—and there’s a fresh stack of files next to your computer with a sticky note on top that reads: Fairfax files. Prioritize pages 12–18. – Hotch.
You want to laugh at the little sign-off, as if anyone else would have put these files on your desk. Your fingers trace over the note once before you peel it off and stick it to the bottom corner of your computer screen.
Reid snorts. “You know most people throw those away, right?”
You glance sideways at him. “I don’t want to forget the page numbers.”
He hums. “Sure.”
“You know,” you say, turning your chair to properly face him, “you’re being particularly judgemental today. What’s your problem?”
He stares at you for a moment, then glances back at the sticky note still attached to your monitor.
“I’m experiencing prolonged second-hand embarrassment,” he says plainly. “And repeated exposure tends to increase irritability.”
You roll your eyes. “Yeah, well—you’re increasing my irritability.”
“Exactly,” he says, already turning back to his computer.
You glare at the side of his head for a long moment, searching for a comeback—but your mind is completely blank. So with another irritated sigh, you turn back to your own screen, scoot your chair into the desk a little harder than necessary, and settle in for what’s shaping up to be a very boring Monday.
The next two hours pass by in a blur of interview transcripts, witness statements, and crime scene photos. The Fairfax County PD files detail the death of a woman in her late thirties who accidentally overdosed in her Reston home early last week. No prior history of substance abuse, financial instability, or high-risk behaviour—until forty-eight hours before her death.
In just two days, she withdrew a large amount of money, missed work without explanation, visited several bars she’d never been to before, and bought herself thousands of dollars’ worth of expensive jewellery and lingerie.
To anyone else, it might look like some sort of breakdown—an impulsive spiral that led to the kind of recklessness you can’t come back from. But to you, the behaviour feels too... artificial. As if someone is trying to construct the narrative of a troubled woman—checking all the right boxes to give investigators an easy explanation for a tragic overdose.
Only there isn’t enough concrete evidence to support your instinct. No stalker. No ex. No clear unsub who could have orchestrated this kind of ruse to cover what might actually be homicide.
You sigh. “Reid.”
“Hm?”
“Tell me if I’m overthinking this.”
Reid pushes back from his desk and scoots across the narrow stretch of carpet between your workstations. He doesn’t stop until his chair bumps the side of your desk, causing your pen cup to topple over and spill across the files you’ve got carefully laid out.
“Oops,” he says absently, pushing the pens aside.
You roll your eyes and start gathering them while he scans the files.
“The behavioural shift feels manufactured,” you say, dropping the pens back into their cup. “But there’s enough legitimate stressors here that I can’t tell if I’m forcing a pattern because it’s too clean.”
Reid examines the highlighted timeline for another few seconds.
“You’re focusing too much on the existence of the stressors,” he says. “Stress explains escalation. It doesn’t explain inconsistency.”
You frown slightly.
“She suddenly becomes impulsive socially, financially, and sexually, but her organisational habits never change.” He taps the timeline. “She still pays bills early. Still meal preps. Still attends a dentist appointment two days before her death. Real behavioural deterioration isn’t usually selective.”
Your brows lift. “So, I’m right?”
Reid nods, leaning back in his chair. “You’re right.”
“What’s she right about?”
You nearly jump at the sound of Hotch’s voice—low and even, a little rough around the edges in that way that always makes your stomach tighten.
“She thinks the behavioural shift is staged,” Reid says. “And I agree.”
He scoots back slightly as Hotch leans in, one hand braced on the back of your chair while the other pulls the file closer so he can read it properly. His tie falls forward, brushing lightly against your thigh—and suddenly, you can’t breathe.
He’s close. Way too close. You can feel the heat of his breath on your skin. Smell the bitterness of coffee beneath his cologne. Hear the quiet creak of leather from his belt as he leans in further.
“It’s too compartmentalised,” Reid says, his voice more distant than it was just a second ago. “Real behavioural spirals usually bleed into every aspect of a person’s routine. Sleep disruption, missed payments, changes in grooming habits, social withdrawal—something.”
Hotch lifts his hand off the desk and presses his thumb to the tip of his tongue—then flips the page.
Your pulse jumps so hard it almost hurts. Heat crawls up the back of your neck. Your whole body feels too hot, your clothes suddenly too tight, the bullpen too small—but you can’t move. Not with Hotch’s hand still on the back of your chair.
“But this is curated,” Reid goes on, tapping the timeline with the end of his pen. “The impulsive behaviour escalates while the foundational routines stay completely intact, which suggests intentional narrative construction.”
Hotch turns his head just slightly, dark eyes finding yours. “You caught that?”
You clear your throat. “I just... thought the escalation pattern felt off.”
“Her behavioural analysis is spot on, actually,” Reid says. “I can’t find a flaw in it.”
Hotch hums quietly as his eyes move back over the file.
“Good girl,” he says absently.
Your entire nervous system short-circuits.
“Keep it up,” he adds, smoothing his tie as he straightens.
You don’t say anything as he turns and walks away. You couldn’t even if you wanted to.
Reid just sits there, hands folded in his lap as he watches Hotch disappear into his office before slowly turning back toward you.
“You know,” he says thoughtfully, “the age-gap preference is actually more interesting than the authority fixation.”
You finally blink. “What?”
“Because the authority thing makes perfect sense. High-pressure careers tend to reinforce attraction to competence, decisiveness, emotional restraint—especially in workplace environments where leadership qualities become psychologically linked with safety and stability over long periods of exposure.”
You frown. “What are you—”
“But the older man preference is statistically more complicated because you don’t actually display the attachment markers usually associated with paternal absence or instability.”
Your eyes go wide. “Spencer—”
“You have a healthy relationship with your father, no documented authority issues, and relatively secure interpersonal attachment patterns, which suggests the preference is less psychologically compensatory and more rooted in behavioural reinforcement.”
“Reid.”
“For example,” he goes on, ignoring you completely, “you spent your formative professional years surrounded almost exclusively by older men in positions of intellectual and behavioural authority. Gideon, Rossi, Hotch—which likely created a reinforcement pattern where emotional competence became unconsciously associated with attraction, arousal, and sexual interest.”
You freeze. “Reid, I swear to—”
“You don’t react this strongly to older men generally,” he continues. “You react strongly to Hotch because he’s emotionally controlled, professionally authoritative, intellectually intimidating, and—”
He pauses, tilting his head.
“Very obviously your type.”
You glance frantically around the bullpen, scanning the desks for the rest of your team.
Morgan has his headphones on, completely focused on whatever report he’s typing. JJ’s desk is empty, as usual—she’s probably with Garcia. And Prentiss is only halfway back from the kitchen, still stirring her fresh cup of coffee.
Your gaze cuts back to Reid. “You are so lucky no one heard that, Spencer.”
He shrugs. “Wouldn’t matter if they did.”
Your brows pull together. “What’s that mean?”
“You’re good at redirecting attention,” he says, slowly pushing his chair back toward his desk. “You’re less good at hiding physiological responses.”
Your hand flies up to your cheek, palm pressing flat against the burning skin.
“Whatever,” you mutter. “It’s warm in here.”
Reid glances around the bullpen. “It’s sixty-eight degrees.”
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
You shoot him one last glare before turning back toward your computer, aggressively waking up the monitor with your mouse.
You stay chained to your desk for the next few hours, finishing up the victimology report for the Fairfax files before taking them to Rossi for final review. Then you head out with JJ to grab a late lunch from the deli down the street, and when you get back, there’s a brand-new stack of files on your desk—only this time, with a tall takeaway cup of coffee set on top.
“Hotch got dragged into some last-minute Section Chief meeting across town,” Morgan says, pushing his headphones down. “Said he needs those cross-referenced before tomorrow morning.”
“Great,” you mutter, dropping into your chair.
Morgan chuckles softly as he pulls his headphones back up, turning back to his own pile of reports.
You grab the coffee from the top of the files and find a sticky note stuck beneath it—written quickly but still in his unmistakable handwriting: I owe you one. – Hotch.
Your stomach flips.
God. That’s pathetic.
You peel the note off and drop it into the top drawer of your desk, not wanting another psychoanalytic lecture from Reid if he were to spot that note stuck to your monitor.
The rest of the day passes the way every other caseless Monday afternoon does. JJ’s the first to head out—not long after five—taking advantage of the slow week to spend a little extra time with Henry. Rossi leaves about an hour later, announcing to the bullpen that he’s got a date with a bottle of wine and reruns of his favourite medical drama. Morgan manages to clear the files on his desk before seven, finally putting his headphones away before bidding the rest of the team farewell.
Prentiss and Reid linger until nearly nine, and only when the motion sensor lights blink out does Prentiss finally glance up, realising how late it is. She gathers her things and nudges Reid, who’s been firmly stuck in hyperfocus mode despite the rest of the world quietly slowing down around him.
“You coming?” he asks, adjusting the strap of his satchel.
You look up slowly, your brain buffering as it untangles itself from the files spread across your desk.
“Not yet,” you reply, blinking tiredly. “Hotch needs these by morning.”
Reid tilts his head. “Want me to wait?”
You wave a hand. “Nah, go ahead. I’ll get security to walk me to my car.”
“Alright,” he says, already turning away. “Just remember that positive reinforcement loses effectiveness when the subject becomes emotionally dependent on it.”
You glare at his back. “I’m reporting you to HR.”
“You’d have to explain the context,” he calls over his shoulder.
You roll your eyes as you turn back to the last file on your desk, taking a deep breath and flipping it open.
With the bullpen almost completely silent and the promise of sleep so close you can taste it, you manage to get through it in record time. You even give it a quick second pass to make sure you didn’t miss anything glaringly obvious in your tired state—but you’re used to working through sleep deprivation, and by ten p.m., you finally start packing up.
You organise the files back into a neat pile, then open the top drawer of your desk for Hotch’s note. You stick it to the top file and grab a pen, scribbling just below the words he wrote: Dangerous thing to promise me.
And, just as he did, you sign off with your name.
Then you gather the whole stack in your arms and cross the bullpen toward his office. Unlocked, as usual. You nudge the door open with your foot, warm lamplight casting an orange glow over the quiet space. It smells faintly like coffee and his cologne—enough to make your heart start racing the second you step inside.
You set the files neatly on his desk, trying not to linger on the quiet traces of him scattered throughout the room.
There’s still half a mug of cold coffee abandoned beside some paperwork, and the cashmere sweater he’d been wearing beneath his jacket this morning is draped haphazardly over the back of his chair. Quiet evidence of just how suddenly he’d been called away.
It makes you feel a little better knowing you really have helped him out.
You adjust the files until they’re perfectly straight, then take the sweater from the back of his chair and fold it neatly before setting it on the chest of drawers beside his desk. You hesitate for just a second before grabbing the mug of cold coffee and heading out of his office, straight for the break room. You empty it, wash it, dry it, then return to his office, placing it back on his desk exactly where you found it. Then you switch the lamp off on your way out, pulling the door most of the way shut behind you—the way it’d been before you stepped inside.
It doesn’t take long for you to gather your things, head down to security, and badge out. One of the guards escorts you to the parking garage, waiting until you’re safely inside your car with the engine running before he takes the elevator back up.
Once home, you quickly feed the yowling Leia—your cat, who’s very unimpressed by your late arrival—take a quick shower, change into your comfiest, threadbare sleep shirt, then crawl into bed with your laptop balanced on your knees. You know you should just try to get some sleep, but you’ve been ignoring a few personal messages and emails for a couple days now, and you know that if you don’t get to them soon, you’ll start to feel guilty.
You open your emails, reply to a couple, then pull up a new browser tab and type in the login address for the dating site Garcia set you up for. Not that you couldn’t have set up your own profile if you’d really wanted to.
No—this profile is just the unintentional byproduct of your ongoing attempt to redirect attention.
One slow Thursday evening in the bullpen, while you’d been loudly complaining about how impossible it was to meet men with a job like yours, Morgan had the brilliant idea of making you a dating profile. Garcia immediately lit up at the idea, pulling the site up on her computer while Reid launched into a rambling statistical analysis about the probability of finding genuine compatibility online.
Hotch hadn’t contributed to the conversation, but you’d known he was listening.
That had been the whole point. You always perform a little harder when Hotch can hear.
The site finally loads and you type in your credentials, waiting a few seconds for your profile to pop up.
Twelve notifications.
You click on the ‘messages’ tab and start scrolling. There are a few old conversations that fizzled out and you’ve long since decided not to reply to. There are a couple of messages from people you never intend on starting a conversation with. Then there are two new messages—ones you’d seen pop up on your phone but couldn’t be bothered to engage with over the weekend.
After all, you’re not actually looking to date anyone.
But one of the messages catches your eye.
DCRunner00: You seem like the kind of person who’s either very funny or very mean. I’m willing to risk it.
You snort, then type out a reply.
You: Unfortunately for you, those traits aren’t mutually exclusive.
Just as you hit enter, Leia leaps up onto the bed.
“Hey, sassy girl,” you coo, moving your laptop to reach for her.
Your fingers graze her soft coat, and she gives you an incredibly disapproving look.
You roll your eyes. “Alright. Sorry for loving you.”
You settle back against the pillows as she makes her way to the other side of the bed, curling up as far as she can possibly get from you.
Ping! Ping! Two more messages pop up.
DCRunner00: That’s probably the best possible answer you could’ve given.
DCRunner00: So what’s your worst personality trait? I feel like that’s more interesting than hobbies.
That answer comes a little too easily.
You: Workaholic. You?
DCRunner00: I get bored easily.
DCRunner00: Which usually means I either start running or annoying people for entertainment.
You: Sounds like a public safety issue.
DCRunner00: Depends who you ask.
DCRunner00: You should probably get some sleep, Workaholic. It’s late.
You glance over at Leia as she rolls onto her side, stretching her front legs, and only then do you realise you were actually smiling at your screen.
You shake your head, typing quickly.
You: Yeah, I should.
You: Night, Running Man.
Then you shut your laptop before he can send another message.
TUESDAY 9:50AM
“Morgan, you’re with me at district court this afternoon,” Hotch says, closing the file in front of him. “The defence attorney’s pushing back on the Richardson testimony, so we’ll need to review our timeline before the hearing.”
He’s wearing a grey suit today.
You can never think straight when he’s wearing a grey suit.
Morgan sighs dramatically. “Nothing says excitement like four hours in a courthouse basement.”
Hotch ignores him completely.
“JJ, I want the media requests filtered through Strauss’s office before lunch. Reid, finish the geographic overlays from the Fairfax case and send them to Rossi when you’re done.”
He glances once around the table.
“If anything urgent comes in, you’ll be notified. Otherwise, continue using this downtime to catch up on reports.”
Then he gathers the files into a neat stack and stands, turning toward the door.
The rest of the room starts moving slowly. Morgan mutters something to JJ about the court hearing, Prentiss turns to Reid, asking something about a case you don’t quite catch, and Garcia is already explaining something on her laptop to Rossi, who’s watching the screen with quiet concentration.
Which leaves you to shamelessly stare at your boss’ ass as he walks out of the room.
“You should probably blink.”
Your head snaps toward Reid, frown already forming. “I’ll blink when I want to blink.”
He presses his lips together to keep from laughing, and you know he’s fighting the urge to launch into some deeply unwanted psychoanalysis of your behaviour—but thankfully, the rest of the team is still too close for him to risk it.
Eventually, everyone starts filing out of the conference room and back into the bullpen. You end up being the last to leave, behind Reid and Garcia who are chatting animatedly about some new phone app they’re both obsessed with.
You’re just about to pass Hotch’s office door when—you hear your name.
You turn your head, and he gestures for you to come in.
Reid glances briefly over his shoulder, an irritatingly knowing look on his face as you turn and step into Hotch’s office.
You clear your throat, stopping a few feet from the desk. “Sir?”
“How late were you here last night?” he asks.
You lift a shoulder. “About ten.”
His jaw shifts as he leans back in his chair. “That’s late.”
“Morgan said you needed them done by the morning.”
“I didn’t mean first thing,” he says, smoothing the end of his tie. “You could’ve finished the rest before lunch.”
You blink. “Oh.”
His gaze holds yours for a second too long.
“You don’t need to stay late to impress me.”
Your eyes widen slightly before you force out a small, awkward laugh. “Oh—uh—good to know.”
He glances briefly at the navy-blue cashmere sweater still folded neatly on the chest of drawers.
“Still,” he says, lower this time. “I appreciated it. The files, and… everything else.”
Your breath catches softly in your throat.
“Anytime, sir,” you manage.
He nods once, then drops his gaze back to the paperwork on his desk.
You don’t need any more of a dismissal than that, so you turn quickly and step out, pulling the door shut behind you. He prefers it closed, even if he won’t admit it because he doesn’t want the team to think he’s shutting them out. He’s just more comfortable in private—it helps him focus.
By the time you get back to your desk, everyone else is already settled and working quietly. Not even Reid glances up or offers a teasing remark.
You drop into your chair and wriggle your mouse, grabbing your phone while you wait for the screen to wake up.
Two new messages from DCRunner00.
DCRunner00: Running Man?
DCRunner00: Great book. Slightly concerning nickname, though.
You can’t help yourself, so you type out a quick reply.
You: Better than ‘Workaholic’.
You: You read Stephen King?
“Hey, you busy?”
You glance over at Reid. “Aren’t we all?”
He tilts his head. “You’re on your phone.”
“I could be working.”
“Are you?”
“No.”
“Good,” he says, shuffling the files on his desk. “Hotch wants us to prep the full geographic and timeline package for the Fairfax files in case it turns into an active investigation.”
You sigh, already pushing back from your desk. “And by ‘us’ you mean...?”
“I could use your help.”
“Fine,” you mutter, setting your phone down.
He scoots over as you roll your chair toward his desk, settling in beside him. The files are all laid out, including your victimology report with Rossi’s few annotations. There are crime scene reports, autopsy summaries, witness statements, geographic overlays, and maps—everything needed to justify escalating the case into a full BAU investigation.
“Where do you want to start?”
“I’m trying to rebuild the geographic timeline digitally,” he says, “but half the field reports were logged out of sequence and now the movement patterns don’t align.”
You nod. “Okay, walk me through where it stops making sense.”
Three hours later, you feel like your eyeballs are bleeding. You’ve read the same witness statement at least twenty times now, but with every pass it only makes less sense. How could Annabelle Hutton possibly be placed in two different counties less than forty minutes apart?
“It’s physically impossible,” you mutter, rubbing your eyes.
Reid hums quietly beside you. “Not necessarily.”
You stare at him. “Care to elaborate?”
“Well, depending on traffic conditions, inaccurate timestamp reporting, and the reliability of eyewitness memory retention, there are at least four scenarios where the timeline could still technically work.”
You sigh, leaning back in your chair and staring up at the ceiling. “If you know so much, then why can’t you figure this out?”
He still doesn’t turn away from his screen. “I will. Eventually.”
You groan softly, dragging both hands down your face just as a familiar voice cuts through the quiet bullpen.
“No, listen to me carefully.”
Both you and Reid glance up automatically.
Hotch is walking slowly past the desks with his phone pressed to his ear, expression calm but impossibly stern in a way that immediately makes heat crawl beneath your skin.
“You don’t need to explain the problem again,” he says evenly. “You need to tell me how you’re fixing it.”
He pauses briefly beside Reid’s desk, listening.
“Then prioritise the transfer first,” he says. “If the paperwork isn’t filed before opposing counsel reviews discovery, the timeline becomes vulnerable and the entire testimony gets picked apart.”
He rests a hand on the partition between the desks, gaze fixed somewhere distant as he listens to the person on the other end.
“No,” he says after a moment, voice lower now. “I’m not asking you to stay late. I’m telling you this needs to be finished tonight.”
Your stomach flips.
This absolutely should not be as hot as it is.
“Good,” he says calmly into the phone, straightening again. “Call me when it’s done.”
Then he keeps walking, cutting through the bullpen before turning sharply toward his office.
You stare after him, the thought slipping out before you can stop it. “Do you think he talks you through it?”
“Probably,” Reid says, turning back to his screen. “High-control personalities usually prefer maintaining verbal direction in intimate situations because it reinforces predictability and compliance dynamics.”
You go still. You hadn’t actually expected an answer.
“Someone like Hotch would probably place a pretty high psychological value on responsiveness,” Reid continues. “The immediate compliance aspect reinforces authority, which means verbal direction would likely become part of the overall intimacy dynamic rather than just communication.”
Your face heats.
“Especially because he’s not impulsive enough to rely on unpredictability. He’d want constant awareness of how the other person is responding emotionally and physically, so talking them through things would help maintain control of the situation while also reinforcing trust.”
Oh my God.
“And honestly,” Reid goes on, “people with highly structured leadership personalities usually develop pretty strong positive associations with obedience because it confirms stability, attentiveness, emotional investment—” He pauses briefly. “Which means he’d probably find it disproportionately attractive when someone follows instructions immediately or responds well to praise because it validates both the authority dynamic and the emotional trust beneath it, so statistically speaking he’d—”
He stops.
Then slowly turns toward you.
“...I crossed a social boundary somewhere in there, didn’t I?”
You nod slowly, your voice coming out unnaturally high. “Just a couple.”
He sighs, dropping his chin slightly as he turns back to his screen.
You huff out a breathless laugh and lean back in your chair again. You need a minute to recover from that, because now you’re hot all over and the only thing you can think about is your boss hovering over you, praising you in that low, steady voice while his hand settles around your throat—
Fortunately, it doesn’t take Reid long to start rambling about geographic overlays again. You do your best to focus on what he’s saying, but after another hour of scrutinising the timeline inconsistencies, you decide you need an actual break.
You grab your phone and your jacket and head out of the office, sending a quick text to the team chat asking if anyone else would like a coffee from the cafe down the road. It’s a thousand times better than break room coffee.
When you step out of the elevator on the ground floor, you bring up your messages with DCRunner00. You’re not sure why, because normally you only check your profile when you feel like you need to keep up the act, but something about this guy keeps making you want to reply.
DCRunner00: I’ve read a few.
DCRunner00: What does a workaholic do for fun?
You type your reply as you step out of the building.
You: Work, mostly.
You: And sleep.
By the time you return to the office with a tray of four coffees, you have two new messages—but you can’t reply to them until you set the tray down at your desk.
“Thanks, pretty girl,” Morgan says as he takes one, flashing you a grin.
You smile back. “Anything for you, gorgeous.”
Then you pull your phone out of your pocket and bring up the message thread.
DCRunner00: What’s your schedule even like?
DCRunner00: You strike me as an “answers emails at midnight” type of person.
You: Nah. That’s my boss.
You: My schedule is chaos, though.
“Thanks,” Reid says as he takes his coffee, leaving only two.
You set your phone down and take the last two coffees out of the tray, leaving one at your desk before taking the other to Hotch’s office. You can see through the window that he’s not on the phone—for once—so you knock twice on the slightly ajar door before stepping inside.
He glances up, his brows pulling together slightly. “I didn’t ask for coffee.”
“I know,” you say quickly. “But it’s almost three, and you always need another coffee around three, and I figured you probably didn’t answer the team message because you still feel bad about me staying so late last night, which you shouldn’t, by the way.”
He straightens, brows drawing tighter.
“And I know you’ve got court with Morgan this afternoon, and you’re going to try to leave early, but someone’s definitely going to call at the last second and derail that plan, so you’ll only have enough time to get to the courthouse—not enough time to stop for coffee.”
You set the cup down in front of him.
“So,” you tilt your head, “coffee.”
He leans back in his chair, studying you for a second.
“That’s some pretty solid profiling, Agent.”
Your face heats instantly.
“Well,” you say, backing slowly toward the door, “maybe now you owe me two.”
The corner of his mouth lifts, just slightly, but it’s enough for the butterflies in your stomach to explode. You can’t help but grin as you turn away, slipping quickly out the door before your lungs forget how to work entirely.
You spend the rest of the day at Reid’s desk, finishing the case package for the Fairfax files and complaining about unreliable witnesses. Hotch and Morgan head off to court just after three, announcing to the rest of the team that they won’t be back. JJ is the first to head home again around five, followed by Prentiss, then Rossi—then you and Reid finally decide to call it a day just after six.
Which is also when you finally check your messages again.
DCRunner00: Chaos how?
You type a quick reply while you wait for your car’s AC to warm up.
You: Long hours.
You: Weird hours.
You: And a deeply unhealthy relationship with caffeine.
Then you tuck your phone away and head out of the parking garage.
Leia is already yowling by the time you step through your apartment door. She’s always hungry, even though she has an automatic feeder for dry food—but apparently that isn’t good enough. She prefers the wet stuff.
You quickly peel open a packet of fishy-smelling chicken jelly sludge and drop it into her bowl before washing your hands and moving into your bedroom. You flip the ensuite light on and start the shower, pulling your phone out of your pocket while you wait for the water to warm.
DCRunner00: Ah. So you’re one of those people.
You: Rude.
He replies almost immediately.
DCRunner00: Accurate, though?
You: Unfortunately.
You drop your phone on the bed and start undressing.
Ping!
DCRunner00: What do you actually do?
You hesitate. It’s not like you can just say you’re in the FBI. Contrary to what some people might think, real FBI agents can’t just go around bragging about their highly classified work status. It’s dangerous.
You: Mostly admin.
You: Governmental stuff.
You toss your phone back onto the bed and turn into the steamy ensuite. You shower quickly, dry off, run product through your damp hair, then pull on a shirt and a pair of sweatpants before heading back out into the kitchen.
You’re not in the mood to cook tonight, so you grab a protein bar out of the cupboard and start boiling the kettle while you check your phone for what feels like the hundredth time.
DCRunner00: Sounds boring.
DCRunner00: Do you get days off, though?
You drop a teabag into your mug before typing out a reply.
You: Sort of.
You: But if my boss calls, I answer.
He replies instantly again.
DCRunner00: I’m starting to think you secretly enjoy being overworked.
You: I think I’d get bored otherwise.
You pour the boiling water into your mug and watch his next reply pop up.
DCRunner00: That sounds suspiciously unhealthy.
You: Probably.
What about you? What do you do?
You tuck your phone into your pocket, then grab your tea and protein bar and head to the couch. There’s nothing you’re really interested in watching—since you don’t usually have the time to keep up with any shows—so you turn on the nightly news before grabbing your laptop and pulling up a new browser.
He’s already replied by the time you log in.
DCRunner00: Run.
DCRunner00: Read.
DCRunner00: Annoy people professionally.
You: That sounds made up.
You open your protein bar.
DCRunner00: It mostly is.
DCRunner00: So your boss actually calls you outside work hours?
You hesitate at the sudden redirection. Most men on dating apps prefer talking about themselves. Their jobs, hobbies, gym routines, childhood dogs—whatever makes them seem interesting—but this guy seems far more interested in observing than being observed.
You type out a vague response.
You: Sometimes.
You: Occupational hazard, I guess.
DCRunner00: And you always answer?
You: Pretty much.
You: He’d only call if it mattered.
His next reply takes almost two minutes to come through.
DCRunner00: Hm.
DCRunner00: I’m starting to think your boss gets more attention than I do.
You almost choke on your tea.
That’s... weird.
Maybe you have mentioned your boss a little more than strictly necessary, but he’s the one asking all the questions about your job. It’s a little hard not to mention your boss when your life practically revolves around him—in more ways than you care to admit.
You: Jealous already, Running Man?
DCRunner00: Should I be?
You sit up straighter, suddenly a little nauseous.
You: I think you’re spending too much time talking to strangers online.
DCRunner00: Maybe.
DCRunner00: You still replied, though.
“Okay,” you say, startling Leia who was half-asleep on the other end of the couch. “That’s enough.”
You: I’m going to sleep.
You: Try not to spiral while I’m gone.
His last message pops up just before you shut your laptop.
DCRunner00: No promises.
WEDNESDAY 8:10AM
“Come on,” you mutter, mashing the elevator button for the doors to close.
You’re a whole thirty minutes earlier than usual this morning. You didn’t even make a coffee in your travel mug before running out the door. You just woke up, brushed your teeth, checked your messages—and decided you needed to talk to Garcia immediately.
“Hey—woah.” Reid steps out of your way as you rush into the bullpen. “You’re early.”
You drop your bag on your desk and quickly shrug off your jacket.
“Is Garcia in yet?”
He frowns slightly. “I think so. Why?”
You pull your laptop out of your bag.
“I just—I need her.”
You’re already walking away before he can press any further, moving back through the bullpen with your laptop hugged against your chest. You’re just about to round the corner toward the elevators when—
“Hey—” Hotch stops short just as you nearly run into him. “Slow down. You alright?”
His hand is hovering near your waist—not quite touching, but close enough for you to feel its warmth.
You blink up at him. “Sorry. Yeah. Uh—totally fine. Just going to see Garcia about... a case.”
His brows pull together slightly.
“Alright, well, Garcia’s not going anywhere,” he says evenly. “Take a breath.”
You nod slowly, already stepping around him.
“Right,” you mutter. “Breathing. Got it. Sorry, sir.”
You can almost swear you see the corner of his mouth lift—but then the elevator dings behind you, and you have to hurry to slip through the doors before they slide shut.
It feels like an eternity before they finally open again, but once they do you practically sprint down the hall to Garcia’s lair and burst through the door without warning.
She startles so hard she nearly drops her coffee. “Sweet mother of encryption, knock first!”
“Sorry,” you say, breathless. “I need you.”
“Well, obviously,” she mutters, checking her shirt for any spills. “I’m the backbone of this entire operation.”
You drop down into the spare chair and open your laptop, setting it on her desk.
“You cannot judge me for what I’m about to show you.”
She glances up, brows lifting. “Oh. So this is serious?”
You grimace. “I don’t know.”
“Okay,” she says slowly. “Slightly less reassuring than I was hoping for. Tell me what’s happened.”
You take a deep breath, then let it out in a rush.
“You remember the dating profile you set up for me?”
She nods.
“Alright, so, I won’t lie, I haven’t really met anyone on there yet, but I check the messages occasionally. When I’ve got time, you know? And I don’t have a whole lot of ongoing conversations, but this one guy sent me something that was kind of funny, so I responded, and the conversation was pretty normal for the most part. I couldn’t reply all that quickly, but he didn’t seem to mind.”
You shift awkwardly, scooting your chair closer to her desk.
“Nothing really felt out of place until—well, he wouldn’t talk about himself much, which is strange because most people on dating apps are usually more interested in presenting themselves than gathering information. He kept asking questions about my job, actually. Not that my job is on my profile, but he was really curious about my schedule, or—I guess—lack of schedule.”
You wince.
“So now that I think about it, that was probably the second sign something might be off. Or maybe he just wanted to meet up, I don’t know.”
You hesitate.
“But then he sent me this message at like... two a.m.”
She squints at the screen.
DCRunner00: Bet you answer your boss faster than you answer anyone else.
“Mmm. Nope. Don’t love that,” she says, shaking her head. “That is not a normal amount of emotional investment for a stranger.”
You sink back in your chair. “That’s what I thought.”
She starts scrolling back through the messages.
“Have you told Hotch?”
“Nope.”
She glances at you from the corner of her eye. “You answered way too fast for that to be a normal response.”
“Because the answer is no,” you say firmly, leaning forward again.
“Mm-hm.” She keeps scrolling. “Okay, well... technically this could still be nothing. He could just be some lonely basement cryptid with Wi-Fi and poor social skills.”
You groan, dragging both hands over your face.
“You do mention Hotch kind of a lot.”
Your head snaps up. “He’s my boss.”
Garcia gives you a long look.
“Okay,” she says slowly. “Sure.”
“Garcia.”
“I’m just saying, if a man talked about a woman this much online, we’d all be making faces.”
You point at the screen. “Focus.”
“Right. Yes. Creepy internet man. Sorry.”
Her expression settles into something more focused as she turns back toward her array of monitors.
“Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. Don’t block him yet.”
You sigh. “I don’t love that idea.”
“Neither do I, babycakes, but if he’s routing through the website normally, I might be able to pull connection data if we keep him talking long enough.”
You frown. “In English?”
She gives you another look. “Timestamps, login patterns, regional pings, possible VPN usage, device signatures if he slips up—basic digital stalking fun.”
“Oh, of course,” you say sarcastically. “Normal stuff.”
“For me, it is normal.” She points toward the laptop. “Now reply to him. Something casual. I want to see if he responds immediately again.”
Your fingers hover over the keys for a second before you type out your reply.
You: I thought I told you not to spiral.
He replies so fast that even Garcia flinches.
DCRunner00: Relax. It was a joke.
DCRunner00: Mostly.
She stares at the screen. “Okay, I officially don’t like him.”
You lean back in your chair again, nausea twisting low in your gut. “I feel sick.”
Garcia’s expression softens slightly. “Maybe you should tell—”
“No.”
She sighs quietly. “Okay. Fine. Can you keep replying from your phone?”
You nod.
“Good. Don’t overdo it, just enough to keep him engaged.” Her fingers start flying across the keyboard. “I’ll work my magic down here and call you if I find anything.”
You push yourself out of the chair, clutching your phone a little tighter.
“You’re the best, Pen.”
“I know.” She waves a hand without looking away from her screens. “Now go pretend to be emotionally stable upstairs.”
By the time you get back to your desk, almost everyone is already in the conference room ready for the morning briefing. You drop your phone beside your keyboard—too anxious to have it with you during the meeting—then quickly unpack your things and grab a notebook before making your way up.
Reid nods at you from his usual seat, gesturing to the empty one beside him.
“Hey,” you mutter as you drop down next to him.
His brows pull together. “Everything alright?”
You nod. “Yeah. Fine. I’ll explain later.”
Hotch keeps the morning briefing quick. He goes over yesterday’s court hearing, outlines the Fairfax briefing package in case it escalates into an active investigation, then gets JJ to run through the highest priority consultation requests.
You spend most of it toying with a loose thread on the cuff of your blouse. You’re pretty sure it’s the first briefing in years where you haven’t spent at least part of it staring at Hotch instead of your notes—and when the room finally relaxes and everyone starts to filter out, Reid turns to you.
“Okay, now I’m concerned,” he says.
You glance at him. “Why?”
“You didn’t look at Hotch once during that entire meeting.”
You roll your eyes. “Spence—”
“Something must be seriously wrong.”
You let out a long exhale, glancing briefly around the almost empty room. Only Morgan and Rossi are left, halfway to the door, deep in discussion about something that happened at the court hearing yesterday afternoon.
“Okay,” you say quietly, turning back to Reid. “I’m having some... trouble, I guess, with a guy.”
His brows shoot up. “A guy—”
“Online,” you add quickly.
He tilts his head. “I’m confused again.”
You sigh. “Remember that dating profile Garcia set up for me?”
“You mean the profile you allowed Garcia to create as part of your increasingly unsustainable performative dating strategy?”
You glare at him. “Yes. That one.”
“Then yes, I remember it very clearly.”
“Well,” you mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose, “I had this guy message me a couple days ago. It was normal at first but now it’s gotten... weird. So, I’m getting Garcia to look into it.”
His forehead creases. “Have you told—”
“No.”
“Maybe you should—”
“I said no.”
“Alright.” He raises both hands in surrender. “Okay. I’m dropping it. It’s just…”
You narrow your eyes at him.
“Well, statistically speaking, the majority of uncomfortable online interactions don’t escalate into actual stalking behaviour. Most people displaying premature emotional fixation online are socially isolated rather than violent.”
You lift a brow, waiting for the punchline.
“However,” he adds, “cyberstalking offenders also tend to develop parasocial attachments disproportionately quickly because the perceived emotional intimacy bypasses a lot of normal social barriers, which means escalation patterns can become highly personalised in a very short period of time.”
You stare at him.
“In cases where the fixation becomes grievance-oriented, the offender is usually highly organised rather than impulsive, so the behaviour tends to be significantly more deliberate and psychologically targeted.”
He pauses, frowning faintly.
“That was supposed to be reassuring.”
“…Thanks, Reid,” you mutter, turning away from him slowly. “Now I feel so much better.”
When you get back to your desk, you decide it’s time to reply again. You grab your phone and bring up the messages, taking a minute to think about what to type—knowing Garcia will be seeing the conversation too.
You type out the only mildly casual response you can think of.
You: You’re weird.
He replies just as fast as usual.
DCRunner00: You disappear a lot.
You: Workaholic, remember.
You: I told you my schedule was chaos.
You’re about to turn your phone over on your desk when a different notification pops up—from Garcia.
Garcia: If this is your version of flirting, baby girl, I think I just figured out why you’re still single.
You snort softly, typing out a quick reply.
You: Trust me, that’s not the reason.
Garcia: So there IS a reason?
You: Shh. I’m working.
Garcia: Boo!
You huff another quiet laugh as you turn your phone over, nudging it toward the edge of your desk in the hopes that you might be able to focus on work rather than creepy internet man for at least a few hours.
It doesn’t work.
Barely half an hour later, you lift your phone to check for another notification—but there’s nothing there. You pull up the message thread again and scroll up, checking the timestamps to see if he’s ever gone quiet on you before—but he hasn’t. Not really. So you type another message.
You: You went quiet. Should I be concerned?
It’s a calculated move. If he’s paying attention to response patterns—and at this point you’re pretty sure he is—then following up first helps maintain the illusion that nothing has changed. No sudden distance. No obvious discomfort. No reason for him to think you’re pulling away.
If he is dangerous, the last thing you want is for him to feel rejected.
An hour later, Rossi drops a legal pad onto your desk, asking you to take another look at a witness timeline that doesn’t feel right—which keeps you occupied for a good forty-five minutes. Then Morgan leans over the partition between your desks, asking if you can translate Reid into English. That takes up another hour of your day, and by the time you grab your first afternoon coffee, you’ve got three notifications.
One is a missed call from Garcia. The other two are from creepy internet man.
DCRunner00: Depends. Are you worried about me?
DCRunner00: Blue looks good on you, by the way.
Your stomach drops. “Oh my God.”
You immediately call Garcia back.
She answers on half a ring. “Are you wearing blue?”
“You saw me this morning.”
“I can’t remember,” she says. “Are you?”
You drag a hand through your hair. “Yes.”
“Holy shit,” she whispers. “You’ve got to tell—”
“No.”
“Are you insane?”
“Maybe, but—” You squeeze your eyes shut for a second. “Okay, just—hear me out. Blue is a statistically safe guess. It’s a neutral professional colour with high frequency in workplace attire, especially in government buildings.”
Garcia goes quiet for a second.
“And does this unsub know you work in a government building?”
“Don’t call him that,” you snap. “And—well, kind of. I didn’t tell him exactly, but I said... government adjacent.”
“I swear to God,” she mutters, “if I have to identify your body next week, I’m going to kill you.”
You press your free hand against your forehead.
“You won’t,” you say firmly. “Alright? We’re getting ahead of ourselves.”
Garcia scoffs loudly.
“Seriously,” you insist. “It could still be nothing. A weird coincidence, maybe an awkward guy with boundary issues and too much free time. We deal with actual predators every day. I can handle a few creepy messages.”
The line goes quiet again—then she sighs.
“Why are you so against telling Hotch?”
“Because I don’t want to bother him,” you say quickly. “We’ve got a quiet week, he finally seems slightly less stressed, and I don’t want to cause a whole fuss over something that might turn out to be nothing.”
She sighs again, louder this time. “Fine. I won’t go to Hotch.”
Your shoulders sag. “Thank you.”
“On one condition,” she adds. “I’m sleeping over tonight.”
You nearly choke. “What?”
“Non-negotiable.”
“Penelope, that’s insane.”
“No,” Garcia says firmly, “what’s insane is you trying to casually explain away potential stalking behaviour while actively refusing to inform your unit chief.”
“He is not stalking me,” you protest, keeping your voice low.
“Mm-hm.”
“You’re overreacting.”
“And yet,” Garcia says, “if you die, I become morally complicit because I knew about creepy internet man and failed to intervene.”
You frown. “…Morally complicit?”
“Accessory to murder-adjacent,” she corrects. “And my guilty conscience requires eight hours of sleep minimum, so congratulations. We’re having a slumber party.”
You let out a long sigh. “Okay. Fine.”
She hums, satisfied.
“I need to reply to him again.”
“Well, don’t ask me,” she mutters. “You’re the one who’s apparently fluent in creepy internet freak.”
You laugh despite yourself. “Thanks, Pen.”
“Mm-hm. And just so we’re clear, tonight we are watching wholesome romantic comedies and eating enough sugar to kill a Victorian child.”
“I was actually thinking psychological thriller marathon.”
“Absolutely not.”
You smile faintly, leaning back in your chair. “Fine. Romantic comedies it is.”
“Good,” Garcia says firmly. “Now hang up before I change my mind and march upstairs to Hotch’s office myself.”
You roll your eyes as you hang up, then open the message thread again. You don’t have to think too hard about what to type. You don’t want to escalate or accuse him, but you need him to stay engaged. You want him to explain himself to see how he reframes the behaviour.
You: Lucky guess.
The next few hours slip by in a strange blur of routine tasks and fragmented conversations.
At about three o’clock, Prentiss drops a file on your desk and asks if you can double-check a victim timeline while she’s stuck on the phone with Chicago. Then Rossi calls you into his office to sanity-check a profile theory he’s working through out loud—which means fifteen minutes of listening to him argue with himself while you sit there trying not to focus on Hotch’s voice through the wall.
When you finally get back to your desk, Reid spends twenty minutes walking you through a probability model nobody asked for but everyone somehow ends up listening to anyway. He only stops when Hotch appears, carrying a stack of files from the Richardson case he wants Morgan to look over before he signs them off—and for the first time in God knows how long, you don’t stare shamelessly at his ass as he walks out of the bullpen.
By six p.m., JJ and Rossi are gone, Prentiss is helping Morgan with the Richardson files, and Reid is building a tiny tower out of paperclips while he reads over a file Rossi dropped on his desk before he left.
At exactly six-fifteen, your desk phone rings.
“Hello?”
“Pack your things, baby girl. Your government-issued sleepover is about to begin.”
You snort softly. “Alright. I’ll see you soon.”
You hang up the phone and start clearing your desk, organising paperwork into piles and packing away stationery while you wait for your computer to shut down.
“See who soon?” Reid asks.
You glance at him. “Garcia.”
He tilts his head.
“She’s staying over tonight.”
His brows lift. “Because of your stalk—”
“Girl’s night,” you interrupt, eyes widening. “That’s all.”
His gaze narrows. “Should I be worried?”
You scoff. “About me? Never.”
You slide your arms into your jacket then finally pick up your phone, finding two new notifications from creepy internet man waiting for you.
“Really?” Reid asks, turning his chair to face you. “Because you’ve spent most of the day staring at your phone like it’s a bomb, you spent most of Rossi’s profile discussion peeling the label off your water bottle instead of contributing, and you reorganised the same stack of paperwork three separate times.”
You pause mid-motion.
“Also,” he continues, “you usually correct Morgan when he misquotes case statistics and today you let him do it twice, which honestly might be the most concerning—”
“Okay!” you cut in quickly, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Good talk. Love the observational skills. Bye.”
He doesn’t say anything else as you walk away, murmuring goodbyes to Morgan and Prentiss as you pass, but you can still feel him watching you. You’re just about to press the button for the elevator when—
“Agent.”
You stop automatically, turning to find Hotch with a file tucked under one arm and that signature frown etched between his brows. Only this time it isn’t frustrated or disapproving—it’s curious.
You force a small smile. “Sir.”
His eyes move over your face briefly. “You alright?”
You nod once. “Of course.”
He takes a step forward, his voice dropping lower. “You sure?”
Your breath catches.
He’s close now. Too close. You have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. You can smell his cologne, feel his warmth, count the beauty marks dotted across his cheek.
“You’ve seemed distracted today,” he says.
You swallow hard. “Uh—no. No. Sorry, I just—I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
His brows draw a little tighter, and he opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something else—press harder, maybe—but then seems to think better of it.
“Alright,” he murmurs. “Get some rest tonight.”
Then he nods once and steps back, his jaw tightening for just a second before he turns away.
You don’t move immediately. You can’t. Your mind is reeling, your pulse is still hammering, and your breath is caught somewhere between your ribs while your lungs try to remember how to work.
“Hello?” Garcia calls from behind you. “I cannot hold these doors forever, babycakes.”
You shake your head. “Shit. Sorry.”
You turn and hurry into the elevator, slipping in beside her just before the doors slide shut.
For a moment, neither of you says anything.
Then—
“So, that thing you said earlier about there being a reason you’re still single…”
You shut your eyes. “Penelope.”
“I’m just saying,” she continues lightly, “unless I hallucinated whatever just happened in that hallway, I’m starting to develop theories.”
You ignore her, watching the numbers on the elevator slowly descend like counting down the days you have before the entire team figures out your secret. Because if this guy really is a creep, if you do have to tell Hotch, then it’s only a matter of time before the BAU are dissecting your dating life and realising what a ruse it really is.
And you know better than anyone that once these profilers start looking too closely at something, they rarely stop until they’ve pulled it apart completely.
The second you step through the door to your apartment, Garcia rushes past you to sweep the place. Leia startles almost immediately, running from the couch to your bedroom while Garcia complains about the fact that Leia is the only cat she’s ever met that doesn’t like her.
“Leia hates everyone,” you tell her, kicking your shoes off by the door. “Even me.”
Garcia just rolls her eyes, continuing from room to room to check the window locks and balcony doors.
Once she’s satisfied that everything is secure, she sets her laptop up on your kitchen counter and starts running a program that looks like hieroglyphics to you.
“Have you seen his latest messages?” she asks.
You shake your head, setting your phone on the counter. “No.”
She opens your laptop and logs into the dating site—because apparently she knows your password now.
DCRunner00: Maybe.
DCRunner00: Or maybe you’re just easier to read than you think.
You type out the first response you can think of, not wanting to seem like you’re overanalysing this.
You: Or maybe I’m just not trying so hard to be mysterious.
Garcia then spends the next ten minutes trying to explain her process to you in terms that almost make sense. So far she’s managed to narrow him down to a general region through login patterns and routing behaviour, but she still can’t lock onto a direct IP address. Not because she can’t—apparently that part would actually be pretty easy—but because doing it properly would mean running requests through systems that leave a trail. And right now, this definitely isn’t an official investigation.
“The second I start pulling the fun federal strings,” Garcia says, typing furiously, “there’s paperwork, access logs, oversight, and approximately twelve thousand ways for this to become a whole thing.”
You lean against the counter. “We don’t want that.”
“Not yet.” Her expression sharpens slightly. “Also, if creepy internet man is more sophisticated than he seems, there’s always a chance he’s monitoring for targeted tracing attempts. If he realises someone’s looking too closely at him before we know who he is, he could disappear completely.”
Your stomach twists. “Or escalate.”
You spend the next couple of hours keeping creepy internet man engaged while Garcia rambles tech jargon that makes less sense the longer the night wears on. At some point, you order pizza, then you migrate to the couch, and eventually you both end up sitting through the credits of Two Weeks Notice while waiting for one last reply in the hopes that he might finally answer something about himself.
DCRunner00: Refreshing
DCRunner00: Most people hide too much.
You: Depends what they’re trying to hide.
DCRunner00: What are you trying to hide?
You: Besides the fact that I’m exhausted? Nothing.
DCRunner00: You seem distracted tonight.
You: Long day.
DCRunner00: I noticed.
You: How was yours?
You wait until almost midnight before finally deciding to call it a night.
Garcia checks all the windows and doors again while you brush your teeth and change into pyjamas. When you step back out of your bedroom to say goodnight, Garcia is trying her hardest to lure Leia onto the couch with her, but Leia is very stubbornly curled up beneath the TV unit.
“Night, Pen,” you murmur, rubbing your eyes. “Thanks again... for everything.”
“Night, gorgeous,” she calls, peering over the back of the couch. “Wake me up if you hear literally anything suspicious. Or if Leia finally decides it’s my time.”
You laugh softly, blinking slowly as you turn back into your room and fall face first into bed.
THURSDAY 6:45AM
You’re not sure whether to be relieved or concerned when you wake up to no new messages from creepy internet man. He hasn’t gone quiet for this long before—but if he is just a normal, slightly awkward guy with boundary issues and an internet connection, well... it’s not that hard to believe he might just be sleeping.
Garcia is already up making coffee by the time you step out of your room, trying to bribe Leia out from under the couch with a tube of tuna paste.
The second she sees you, she jumps up and launches into another long-winded explanation about login activity and movement patterns across different access points. Apparently, creepy internet man logged in from three different geographical locations over the course of a few hours last night—which is normal, right? That means he was out doing normal human things, not just lurking in his mother’s basement, stalking women online.
Garcia isn’t entirely convinced that him moving locations is enough to get him off the hook as the BAU’s next unsub, but it at least shuts her up until you’re both back at the office.
“Hey,” Reid says as soon as you walk into the bullpen. “You haven’t been murdered.”
You frown slightly. “Good morning to you too, Spence.”
Morgan glances up from the file on his desk. “Uh—why are we getting murdered?”
Reid gestures vaguely in your direction. “Because she’s potentially being cyberstalked by a—”
“Oh, wow, look at the time,” you interrupt, glaring at Reid. “Wouldn’t it be such a shame if we all started minding our own business right about now.”
Prentiss turns in her chair, brows raised. “Cyberstalked?”
“Nobody is cyberstalking anybody,” you say as you drop into your chair. “And nobody’s getting murdered—but great start to the morning, everyone. Love the energy. Now leave me alone.”
Morgan chuckles quietly. “Damn. Thought you said you got laid last weekend.”
Your hands slip off the desk as you try to pull yourself closer.
“Technically,” Reid says, “she only implied it by refusing to answer Garcia’s question during Monday morning’s briefing.”
“Ah.” Morgan leans back in his chair. “I knew this was a drought issue.”
You scowl at him. “A drought issue?”
“Statistically speaking,” Reid adds, “people experiencing prolonged romantic or sexual dissatisfaction often display lower frustration tolerance and increased agitation in familiar social environments.”
Morgan looks at him. “Man, just say she needs to get laid.”
“Oh my God,” you snap. “I do not need to get laid. I am having a completely normal amount of sex already, thank you very much—and frankly I think it’s deeply inappropriate that you’re all this invested in whether or not I’m orgasming regularly.”
Reid tilts his head. “You’re having sex?”
Morgan’s brows shoot up, Prentiss chokes on her coffee, and you open your mouth to fire back at him when—
Someone clears their throat behind you.
Heat crawls violently up your neck—but you don’t turn around. You can’t.
“Briefing room. Five minutes,” Hotch says, his voice dangerously even. “JJ’s got an update on the custodial interview with Wallace.”
Morgan presses a fist against his mouth, trying—and failing—to smother the strangled sound of laughter.
Very slowly, you turn in your chair.
Hotch is standing at the edge of the bullpen with a coffee in one hand and a file in the other. His expression is almost perfectly composed, but there’s something dangerous lurking beneath it—something suspiciously close to amusement in the tightness of his mouth.
“Be right there, sir,” you blurt, lifting two fingers to your forehead in the most ill-timed attempt at a salute the FBI has ever seen.
Hotch just looks at you, the muscle in his jaw jumping once before he turns away.
You want to die.
The second his office door clicks shut behind him, Morgan drops his fist and smacks his palm flat against the desk with a choked laugh.
“Oh, you are never recovering from that,” Prentiss mutters, smirking behind her coffee cup.
Morgan leans back in his chair, grinning. “Baby girl, that was painful to watch.”
You drop your head into your hands.
“You somehow escalated the situation at every possible opportunity,” Reid says thoughtfully.
“I hate you all,” you mumble into your palms.
You spend the next half hour with your nose buried in your notebook, avoiding eye contact with the entire team while JJ explains the month-long back-and-forth that it took to finally get approval for the Wallace interview.
Apparently, the prison is limiting the interview to a single hour and reserving the right to terminate it early if the inmate becomes uncooperative—which Rossi thinks is less about policy and more about Wallace trying to dictate the terms of the interaction.
It’s not ideal, especially considering you were the one who convinced Hotch to push for the interview before Wallace is transferred to death row. His case was one of the first you ever studied during the BAU training programme, and there isn’t much you wouldn’t give to pick the sociopath’s brains. One hour with him feels dangerously short—that is, assuming Hotch actually picks you to be in the interview with him.
“We don’t have enough time to waste managing personalities in the room,” Hotch says, gathering the files in front of him. “I’ll decide on a second agent and send out the interview schedule later today.”
Chairs start scraping back almost immediately, files and notebooks snapping shut as everyone gathers their things and starts filtering out of the room—but you don’t move. You stay firmly planted in your seat, chewing thoughtfully on the inside of your cheek while you debate whether to follow Hotch into his office and ask to be part of the interview. You don’t even have to be asking the questions, you just want to be there. You were the one pushing for it in the first place.
But then your brain very helpfully reminds you that Aaron Hotchner heard you say the word orgasming less than an hour ago and suddenly, being on death row yourself feels infinitely preferable to making eye contact with your unit chief.
“You alright?” Reid asks, lingering beside you.
You sigh heavily, finally closing your notebook. “Yep. Just thinking about how I’ll probably have to fake my own death and change my name after this morning.”
He shrugs. “Hotch probably isn’t even thinking about it anymore.”
You glance up at him hopefully.
“Morgan definitely is, though.”
You roll your eyes, letting out another resigned sigh as you stand up and follow him out of the briefing room.
The rest of the morning manages to pass without incident. You stay chained to your desk, reviewing reports and processing any files that come your way while very deliberately not glancing up any time Hotch steps out of his office. At around eleven, Morgan and JJ head out to the cafe down the street and come back with coffees for the whole team. Then there’s a printer jam that gives the rest of the office a rare glimpse at just how angry Emily Prentiss can get when frustrated.
It isn’t until just before midday that you finally get up to go to the bathroom, and when you return to your desk, there’s one new notification in your inbox.
From: Aaron Hotchner
Subject: Wallace Interview
You’re with me next Thursday. We leave at 0700.
Your stomach flips.
“Wow,” Reid says, suddenly standing right beside your desk. “He picked you pretty quickly.”
You shoot him a warning look. “Spence.”
“I’m just saying, he usually deliberates longer.”
You glance back at the screen, rereading the first five words that make your pulse skip a little faster.
“You and Hotch do work unusually well together in confined conversational environments,” Reid adds.
You turn back to him, frowning.
He tilts his head. “That sounded more suggestive than I intended.”
You open your mouth to tell him how deeply unhelpful he’s being when your phone buzzes twice against your desk—like it does several times a day, but something about it feels different this time. Wrong.
You reach for it slowly, your stomach twisting tighter as you turn it over.
Two new notifications from creepy internet man. The first since last night.
You open the message thread—and your stomach drops.
DCRunner00: [Image attachment]
DCRunner00: Did you and your friend have fun last night?
The image is of your apartment building. It’s grainy, slightly crooked, clearly taken from somewhere across the street—but your living room windows are unmistakable. Warm light glowing through the glass. The blurred silhouette of someone inside.
Ice floods your bloodstream.
You stop breathing.
“Is that... your apartment?” Reid asks, leaning over your shoulder.
You don’t answer him. You can’t.
The bullpen dissolves into white noise around you.
Until—
“I’m done!” Garcia’s voice cuts through the static. “I can’t do this anymore!”
She’s marching right toward you, your laptop—that she’d still been monitoring—tucked under one arm.
Reid gasps. “Wait. Is that—”
Morgan straightens in his chair. “What’s happening?”
“Hotch’s office,” Garcia says, her expression dangerously stern as she stops beside your desk. “Now.”
You nod slowly, your shoes almost slipping against the carpet as you push your chair back. Reid steps aside just enough to let you stand, but before he can get too far, you reach out and wrap your fingers around his wrist, silently dragging him with you as you follow Garcia back through the bullpen.
Hotch glances up the second Garcia pushes open his office door.
“What’s going on?”
His tone is calm, automatic, already slipping into that low, calculated cadence he uses when he’s trying to talk someone down from the ledge. His gaze moves from her to you—and something in his expression shifts. Hardens. That muscle in his jaw ticking just once before he turns back to Garcia.
“What happened?” he asks, sharper now.
Garcia crosses the room quickly, opening your laptop and sitting it on his desk while you hover uselessly in the doorway with Reid still caught in your grip.
Hotch glances at the screen, his eyes flicking through the messages.
Then he looks back up—right at you—and something unreadable settles across his face. Something dangerous.
“Who sent this?”
Garcia spends the next five minutes explaining the entire situation at hyper speed while you just... stand there, leaning slightly against Reid like the whole world has tilted on its axis.
It’s funny how you can spend years building a career around finding bad people. Thinking like them. Predicting them. Profiling them. But the moment something happens to you—something real—that’s when all the theory suddenly stops feeling theoretical. And maybe it’s because you know exactly what people like this are capable of, or how quickly situations like this can escalate once someone decides they’re emotionally invested in you.
Or maybe it’s just the horrifying realisation that some part of you knew where this was heading all along. And you still didn’t do anything about it until now. Not until you put yourself—and your friend—in danger.
“Get everyone in the briefing room,” Hotch says the second Garcia finishes. “Now.”
Garcia nods once before slipping back out the door, and only then do you finally let go of Reid’s wrist—making a mental note to apologise later for the excessive physical contact.
Hotch’s eyes drop down briefly, following the movement almost automatically. Something tightens in his expression for half a second before his attention snaps back to the laptop still open in front of him.
“Reid,” he says. “Print the entire message history and document everything. Full timeline, screenshots, attachments—all of it. I want copies ready for the team in ten.”
You swallow hard. “The—the entire message history?”
“Yes,” Hotch says simply. “Every message.”
Could this day get any worse?
Fifteen minutes later, you’re back in the briefing room with the entire team flipping through printed copies of your dating profile and messages. It almost feels like an out-of-body experience. Like one of those mortifying dreams where you watch everything unfold from above without any real ability to stop it.
“Okay,” Prentiss says. “Where do we start?”
“Victimology,” Morgan answers immediately—then he glances at you. “Sorry, baby girl.”
You wave him off. “Reid’s been profiling me all week. Go for it.”
There’s a quiet ripple of laughter around the table, but Hotch barely blinks. He’s sitting on the opposite side, between Prentiss and JJ, with his arms folded tightly across his chest and gaze fixed on the copies spread out in front of him like he’s trying very hard not to look directly at you.
“We need to be careful building a victimology this early,” he says evenly. “Especially considering how well we know the victim. Personal familiarity creates bias.”
Reid tilts his head. “Normally, yes. But stalking crimes are often highly individualised.” He starts flipping through the printed messages as he talks. “Statistically speaking, stalking victims are usually targeted for a very specific reason. The motivation is generally rooted in either resentment, fixation, revenge, or romantic obsession.”
You grimace. “Fantastic.”
“Most victims also know their stalkers,” Reid continues. “Approximately seventy-five percent of stalking cases involve some form of prior relationship or perceived emotional connection.”
“Okay,” JJ says carefully, looking toward you. “Is there anyone you can think of who might hold a grudge against you? Someone you arrested, rejected, testified against—anything like that?”
You snort quietly. “Does every criminal I’ve ever interviewed count?”
The room goes still for half a second.
“Wait,” Prentiss says, sitting forward slightly. “Actually, that makes sense.”
Hotch’s eyes flick up as Prentiss pushes one of the printouts into the middle of the table, tapping the page.
“This escalation happened fast. Less than a week. That’s not somebody slowly building emotional trust from scratch—that’s somebody who already came into this interaction emotionally invested.”
“Or angry,” Morgan adds.
“Exactly,” Prentiss says. “He doesn’t lash out until she has Garcia over. That’s jealousy. Possessiveness.”
You sink lower in your chair.
“And he starts reacting every time she brings up her boss,” Rossi says, flipping through the printouts. “That’s territorial behaviour. He’s fixating on a prominent male figure in her life.”
“Not the only one fixating on him,” Reid murmurs beside you.
You elbow him immediately.
“Ow.”
Hotch glances up sharply. “Something to add, Reid?”
Reid straightens. “Uh—no. No, I think Rossi covered it.”
Hotch’s eyes narrow slightly, like he knows there’s something he’s missing, but he lets it go.
“Garcia,” he says instead, “tell me you found something useful.”
“Oh, I found things,” Garcia says immediately, the rapid clacking of her keyboard echoing loudly through the conference room speaker. “Deeply unsettling things. Our creepy little internet goblin has been very busy.”
Prentiss frowns slightly, mouthing ‘internet goblin’ across the table to JJ.
“Okay, so—profile was created nine days ago using a burner email and a VPN bouncing between three different states, which normally would make me want to set my computer on fire, but our boy got sloppy.”
Hotch leans forward slightly. “How sloppy?”
“Sloppy enough that one login pinged off a public Wi-Fi network less than six blocks from her apartment last night,” she says. “And before anybody asks, yes, I’m already pulling traffic cams.”
Hotch nods once, already shifting into command mode.
“Morgan, Prentiss—start canvassing within a ten-block radius of her apartment. Garcia will feed you anything useful from the traffic cams. JJ, coordinate with local PD and see if there’ve been any complaints of suspicious activity in the area. Peeping, prowlers, stalking complaints—anything that fits this escalation pattern. Rossi, start pulling names from old cases. Anybody with a history of fixation, stalking behaviour, or inappropriate attachment to investigators. Garcia, keep digging and keep me posted.”
Everyone starts moving immediately, papers shuffling and chairs scraping back as the room shifts into motion.
“I want to help,” you say suddenly. “This is my mess, let me fix it.”
“You can help,” he says evenly, “by going home, locking your doors, and staying there until we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
You open your mouth to argue.
“I mean it,” he adds, voice low.
“I’ll take her,” Reid offers immediately.
“No,” Hotch says, gathering the printouts into one neat pile. “You go with Morgan and Prentiss.”
Then his eyes flick up, meeting yours.
“I’m taking her home.”
The next hour is one of the strangest of your life.
Hotch tells you to take your laptop back down to Garcia, who’s already in full FBI investigation mode—her screens covered in maps, metadata, CCTV stills, and enlarged screenshots of your own dating profile staring back at you in horrifying definition. When you finally make it back to your desk, Rossi spends twenty straight minutes walking you through every violent offender you’ve interviewed in the last three years, forcing you to revisit dozens of interactions you’d long since filed away as routine.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, Morgan drops a schematic of your apartment building onto your desk and starts questioning you about entrances, exits, blind spots, and security cameras while Reid quietly replaces the coffee you forgot existed an hour ago. It isn’t until Morgan leaves and JJ immediately takes his place beside you that you realise nobody has let you out of their sight for more than a few minutes at a time.
Then, finally, Hotch steps out of his office—files in one hand and his go-bag in the other, like he fully intends on staying the night if necessary.
“Ready?” he asks, stopping beside your desk.
You stare at the go-bag for one long, deeply horrified second.
“Yep,” you manage, voice tight as you slowly push out of your chair.
Hotch drives. You don’t even try to argue. You just sit in the passenger seat with your knees pressed together and your heart beating out of your chest. It’s not like you haven’t been in the car with him before. You have, plenty of times. This just feels... different.
Neither of you speak until he cuts the engine in the parking garage of your building, and you have to try very hard not to dwell on the fact that he hadn’t asked for directions the whole way here.
“Wait,” he mutters before climbing out of the car.
He grabs his bag from the back, then moves around the car and opens your door.
It takes an embarrassingly long time for you to unbuckle your seatbelt—your hands are shaking and your pulse is still pounding hard enough to make you dizzy—but once you finally do, you slip out of the car and lead him toward the fire stairs.
He never leaves more than a foot of distance between you. Never checks his phone. Never glances down. He stays glued to your side like a real protection detail. And thanks to your avid and wildly inappropriate imagination, you’ve already mentally written an entire bodyguard romance plot starring Aaron Hotchner and yours truly by the time you finally reach your apartment door.
“I—uh—wasn’t really expecting company,” you say as you push the door open. “Sorry.”
The second you step inside, Leia leaps off the couch with a loud, rumbling trill—probably wondering why you’re home before dark for the first time in years.
Hotch pauses, his brow furrowing slightly. “You have a cat.”
You glance back at him as you kick your shoes off and nudge them out of the way. “Is that really the most surprising thing you’ve learned about me today?”
He watches Leia for another second before glancing back at you. “It’s unexpected.”
You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the way your heart skips when he quietly toes off his shoes beside the door without even asking. Like he already expects to stay awhile.
Leia chirrups again as she pads through the living room toward you, no doubt about to demand an early dinner—until she catches sight of Hotch and abruptly stops short. Her ears flicker, her tail waving from side to side as she assesses the new man in her apartment.
Hotch crouches slightly, holding one hand out toward her.
“Oh, she doesn’t really like people,” you say quickly. “So don’t take it personally if she—”
Leia immediately walks straight up to him. She sniffs his hand once before pressing directly into his palm with a loud purr rumbling through her entire body.
Your eyes go wide.
Traitor.
Hotch’s mouth twitches faintly as Leia leans harder into his hand.
Oh my God. Are you jealous of your cat right now?
He gives Leia one final scratch behind the ears before straightening, the softness in his expression fading almost immediately as he slips back into work mode. He scans the apartment briefly before setting the files down on your tiny dining table and shrugging his jacket off, draping it over the back of a chair.
You stand there for a second longer than you probably should, watching him move through your apartment with the same calm focus he brings to crime scenes and briefing rooms and interrogation tables. He checks the windows, the balcony doors, glances briefly—thank God—into your bedroom, then double-checks the locks on the front door.
The whole thing feels weirdly surreal. You’ve imagined Aaron Hotchner inside your apartment a thousand times in a thousand different ways—just not like this. And nothing you imagined could have possibly prepared you for the reality of it. The way everything feels so much smaller. Warmer. More exposed.
Every object in every room suddenly feels mortifyingly personal.
If he lingers long enough in your kitchen, he’s going to notice the unusually empty trash can and realise you survive almost entirely on caffeine and convenience. If he looks too closely at your bookshelf, he’s going to find an unhealthy collection of romance novels with more trigger warnings than plot points. And if he looks into your bedroom again and turns his head just a little more to the right, he’s going to see your vibrator sitting on the nightstand—and then you’ll actually have to fake your own death.
Because you’ve spent years carefully curating a version of yourself that keeps people from looking too closely. Flirty. Casual. Detached enough to joke about bad dates and hookups and sex without anybody ever realising that none of it means anything. It’s easier that way. Easier to let everyone assume your attention is scattered in every direction instead of fixed very specifically on the one person you absolutely cannot have.
But this?
This feels dangerously close to being found out.
The next couple of hours pass in strange, uneven waves of normalcy and low-grade psychological torture.
Hotch sits at your tiny dining table without complaint, dwarfing it as he hunches over files and asks careful questions about your routines, your neighbours, and whether anyone in the building has seemed overly interested in you recently. His phone rings a lot, which isn’t unusual, and every time he answers it you spend almost the entire conversation staring unashamed at the way his shirt pulls tight across his back when he reaches for another printout.
Which is wildly inappropriate considering the circumstances, but you can’t really help it. You’re strung out, on edge, and, as Morgan so helpfully pointed out this morning, severely under-fucked.
And Leia, unfortunately—but not unsurprisingly—remains no help whatsoever.
By seven o’clock she’s fully abandoned you in favour of draping herself across Hotch’s lap while he reviews new data from Garcia, completely oblivious to the fact that you haven’t been able to breathe normally since he walked through the door.
“Are you hungry?” you ask eventually, moving back into the kitchen as if you have anything in there to offer.
Hotch glances up from his laptop, one hand resting absently against Leia’s back while she purrs in his lap.
“I’m fine.”
You lean a hip against the kitchen counter, folding your arms tightly across your chest. “Any updates?”
He glances back down at his screen. “Garcia narrowed the traffic footage down to three vehicles that stayed in the area longer than they should have—Morgan and Prentiss are running the plates now. And Rossi’s pulling relatives connected to your previous cases. Family members who attended trials, sentencing hearings, interviews. Anyone who might’ve had access to your name outside the official reports.”
You nod slowly, silence settling again for a moment before you exhale sharply.
“Are you sure sitting here doing absolutely nothing is really the best use of me right now?”
His eyes flick back up, that signature Hotchner scowl set between his brows.
“You think this is nothing?”
His voice stays calm, but there’s something firmer underneath it now.
“You’ve spent the last four days being threatened, surveilled, and followed by someone we still haven’t identified,” he says. “Morgan, Prentiss, and Reid are out chasing leads because somebody targeted you. Rossi’s pulling case files because somebody targeted you. Garcia’s been at her desk for six straight hours because somebody targeted you.”
His jaw tightens slightly.
“My job right now is making sure nothing happens to you,” he says quietly. “Let me do that.”
Your breath catches, something warm and uncomfortably familiar twisting in your chest as Aaron Hotchner just sits there watching you like he hasn’t said anything unusual at all.
Which, to him, maybe he hasn’t.
He’s just doing his job. Looking out for his team. He’s not here because he wants to be. He’s here because someone threatened one of his agents.
That’s all.
You clear your throat, pushing away from the counter before the silence stretches too long. “I’m—uh—I’m just going to shower quickly. If that’s alright.”
He nods once. “Want me to clear the—”
“No,” you say immediately. “God, no. No. It’s fine. Totally fine.”
His brows pull together slightly, confusion flickering briefly across his face before you turn and hurry into your bedroom, shutting the door a little harder than necessary behind you.
Then you take the longest shower known to mankind. You stand beneath the scalding spray for at least ten minutes before even touching anything. Then you scrub, exfoliate, shave, condition, rinse twice, and stand there for just a little longer before finally gathering the courage to step out. All the while trying desperately not to think about the fact that your unit chief is only two thin walls away while you’re dripping wet and completely naked.
You rummage through your dresser until you find an oversized sweater that isn’t totally threadbare and a clean pair of pyjama shorts. Technically, they’re just striped flannel pants you cut into shorts, but at least they’re not as short as the rest of your pyjama collection that definitely needs replacing.
If only you actually had time for things like shopping... and emotional stability.
“No, wait for Morgan before you approach,” Hotch says as you step quietly back into the living room, phone pressed against his ear while he paces slowly beside the dining table. “If the registration’s fake, I don’t want you making contact until we know exactly who’s inside.”
He pauses, expression sharpening slightly.
“Alright. Keep me updated.”
He lowers the phone slowly before looking over at you for the first time since you re-emerged—and for half a second, he visibly loses his train of thought. It’s only tiny. Barely there. Just a brief pause before his expression shutters back into place.
“Garcia tracked one of the vehicles from the traffic footage to a motel outside Arlington,” he says, glancing back down at the files scattered across the table. “The driver’s been masking his activity through multiple VPNs, so she couldn’t pull a clean trace from the motel Wi-Fi, but only one room in the motel was actively using the network.”
Your stomach tightens.
“The name on the reservation was fake,” he continues, “but the room was paid for using a credit card belonging to Daniel Mercer.”
The name hits you immediately.
“Ethan Mercer’s brother,” you say quietly.
Hotch nods. “Rossi confirmed it about twenty minutes ago. Morgan and Prentiss are waiting for local PD before they move in.”
You nod slowly, your pulse fluttering anxiously in your throat as you move toward the kitchen. Not because you actually need anything in there, but because standing still feels almost impossible right now.
“Ethan barely spoke during the trial,” you murmur, folding your arms as you lean back against the counter. “I don’t think I ever even met his brother.”
“You wouldn’t need to,” Hotch says, already gathering the files into a neat pile. “People build attachments to investigators without ever interacting directly. Especially when they’re looking for someone to blame.”
Your skin prickles. “You really think it’s him?”
“It fits,” Hotch replies evenly. “Established emotional investment, personal motive, no prior record. Which explains the inconsistency. The escalation without follow-through. The long gaps between contact attempts. He knows enough to be cautious, but not enough to stay controlled.”
He straightens, turning back toward you—and for the briefest second, his eyes drop to your bare legs before snapping back up to your face almost immediately.
He clears his throat. “This probably isn’t something he’s done before. But his brother has.”
The apartment falls quiet again after that. Hotch returns to collecting files while you stare absently toward the dark balcony doors, your pulse still refusing to settle beneath your skin.
“Well,” you mutter eventually, gripping the edge of the counter to hoist yourself up. “On the bright side, I still think I’ve dated worse.”
The joke leaves your lips lightly enough, the same way they always do—easy, detached, halfway between genuine and ironic so nobody ever pauses long enough to look too closely.
Except this time Hotch does pause.
“Why do you do that?”
You frown. “Do what?”
“Deflect.” He straightens again, one hand still holding a stack of printouts. “Every time something gets too serious, you make a joke. Or you flirt. Or you say something just inappropriate enough to throw people off balance.”
You lift a shoulder. “Maybe I’m just charming.”
“No.” His eyes narrow slightly, brows pulling together. “No, because it changes depending on the situation.”
Your pulse stutters.
“With Morgan it’s competitive,” he continues, setting the papers back on the table. “You tease him because he pushes back and it keeps conversations superficial. Garcia gets exaggerated stories because she responds emotionally instead of analytically. Half the things you say to Reid are specifically designed to make him flustered enough to stop examining what you actually mean.”
“Wow,” you murmur, shifting your weight against the countertop. “Starting to feel a little attacked here.”
But Hotch doesn’t seem to hear you.
“The dating profile doesn’t fit,” he says, almost to himself. “Neither does the apartment.”
Your stomach twists as his gaze moves briefly across the room. The bookshelves. The carefully organised clutter. Leia now curled up asleep on the couch.
“You project someone impulsive. Social. Sexually confident. But nothing in here supports that.” His eyes flick back toward you again. “You live like someone who protects their space carefully. Even the cat.”
“Leave Leia out of this.”
“She doesn’t like strangers.”
“She likes you.”
The words slip out too quickly, and something in his expression shifts.
“You keep people at a distance,” he continues slowly, close enough now that you can hear the quiet rasp beneath his voice. “Even the team. You let people think they know you because it keeps them from looking closer.” He hesitates, brow furrowing. “Except Reid.”
Your fingers tighten instinctively around the edge of the counter.
“You trust him,” Hotch says. “Not just socially. Behaviourally. You anchor yourself to him when you’re stressed. Physical proximity. Eye contact. Redirecting conversations through him.” He pauses, watching you carefully now. “And earlier you said he’d been profiling you all week.”
Oh God.
“Which means Reid already noticed the pattern.”
He goes quiet for a moment, his expression tightening almost imperceptibly as he looks back over the last few months—years—in real time. You can practically see it happening behind his eyes. Every interaction. Every joke. Every look you thought you’d hidden quickly enough.
“You track me.”
The words come quieter now. Less certain. Like he’s still realising them.
“You know my routines,” he continues slowly. “You anticipate questions before I ask them. You look up when you hear my office door open even when you can’t see me.” He steps closer again. “You know when I need coffee before I do. You watch my reactions before anyone else in the room.”
Your breath stutters.
And Hotch notices immediately.
His expression shifts slightly as his eyes flick across your face, your posture, your hands still locked around the edge of the counter hard enough that your knuckles have gone pale beneath the kitchen lights.
“Your breathing changes when I get too close to you,” he says quietly.
He takes another slow step forward, close enough now that you have to tilt your head back slightly to keep looking at him.
“You stop fidgeting,” he continues. “You go completely still.” His gaze drops briefly to your hands before lifting again. “Like you’re afraid movement alone is going to give you away.”
Your heart is beating so hard now you’re half-convinced he can hear it.
“You lose verbal fluency,” he says, voice lower now. “You trip over words you normally wouldn’t. Your pupils dilate. Your heart rate increases. And every single time I get close to noticing it—”
His eyes lock onto yours.
“You redirect.”
You can barely breathe now.
He’s standing right in front of you, close enough that the heat rolling off him sinks straight into your skin, close enough that one more step would put him between your knees where you’re perched on the counter.
And somehow the worst part is that he still sounds calm. Thoughtful. Like Aaron Hotchner is profiling you with the same careful focus he’d bring to an unsub—except this time the thing he’s slowly uncovering is the fact that you’ve been hopelessly in love with him this entire time.
You swallow hard, your gaze catching just briefly on his mouth before you drag it back up to his eyes, pulse hammering so hard you can barely think straight.
“Figured it out yet, Agent Hotchner?” you ask softly.
He goes still for half a second, something unreadable flickering across his face as his eyes drop to your mouth before lifting back to your eyes again.
The apartment suddenly feels oppressively quiet.
His throat shifts slightly.
And then—
His phone rings.
He steps back immediately, his expression shuttering back into something careful and unreadable.
“Hotchner,” he says, pressing his phone against his ear.
You don’t hear much after that. Not really. You recognise Morgan’s muffled voice, but you can’t quite hear what he’s saying. Not while Hotch slowly paces your living room. You catch fragments of the conversation. Questions. Short answers. The low, steady cadence of his voice slipping effortlessly back into work mode while your own nervous system continues actively collapsing in on itself.
Because holy fuck.
Holy fuck.
What the hell just happened?
“They got him.”
Your head snaps up. “They what?”
Hotch moves back to the dining table and starts gathering his things.
“It was him. Daniel Mercer,” he says. “Morgan and Prentiss found him in the motel room with multiple burner phones, printed screenshots from the dating profile, and enough surveillance material to establish intent.”
“Oh.”
“Local PD recovered notebooks too,” he continues. “Names, schedules, work addresses. Everyone connected to Ethan Mercer’s conviction. Judges, prosecutors, witnesses. You were first because you were the arresting agent.”
A cold shiver slips down your spine.
“Garcia also confirmed the motel Wi-Fi matched the same VPN chain used to access the dating profile,” Hotch adds. “Once Mercer realised the Bureau was involved, the direct contact stopped. After that he shifted to surveillance. Morgan said the room was covered in trial material. Photos. Notes. Newspaper clippings. He’d been building the grievance for months.”
He pauses, then looks at you.
“But they got him.”
“Good,” you say quietly.
Hotch nods once before turning back to the dining table, slipping his laptop into his bag with careful efficiency before gathering every file and printout into one neat pile.
“Local PD will hold Mercer overnight until federal transport clears,” he says, sliding the papers into his bag. “Garcia’s already started coordinating with the U.S. Attorney’s Office. You’ll need to give an additional statement tomorrow regarding the dating profile.”
You nod. “Okay.”
Hotch reaches for his jacket, draping it over one arm.
“There’ll still be additional officers patrolling the area tonight,” he says. “And if you don’t want to be alone, I can have Reid or Garcia stay here.”
“I’ll be fine,” you mutter, glancing down at the kitchen tiles. “You can stop babysitting me now.”
Hotch stills.
Then slowly, deliberately, sets his jacket on the table.
“Babysitting?” he repeats.
“You know what I mean.”
He steps toward you, brows drawn. “I don’t think I do.”
“You solved the case,” you mutter, heat crawling up the back of your neck. “You profiled me. Thoroughly. So congratulations, I guess. You figured out the whole sad little secret, the weird avoidance issues, the entire personality disorder cocktail—” You let out a short, humourless laugh. “You can go back to pretending none of this ever happened now.”
He closes the distance between you before you even fully realise he’s moving, stopping directly in front of the counter again. Exactly where he’d been when you asked him if he’d figured it out. Close enough that you can feel his warmth. Close enough that you can see the day-old shadow of stubble lining his jaw.
“You’re being deliberately provocative now because you’re embarrassed,” he says. “But embarrassment isn’t actually your primary response here.”
His gaze drops to your mouth again, and your pulse stumbles.
“If it was,” he adds quietly, “you wouldn’t still be looking at me like that.”
Your breath catches in your throat.
You want to say something. Anything. Another joke. Another deflection. Something sharp enough to cut through the tension in the air and stop him looking at you like this. Exposing you like this.
But you can’t.
All you can do is stare at him. At the steady intensity in his eyes. At the way his tie has loosened slightly over the course of the night. At the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath the white shirt you’ve spent an embarrassing number of years picturing on your bedroom floor.
You swallow hard, and he notices. Of course he does.
Something shifts in his expression then. Something softer. Less guarded.
His hand comes up beneath your jaw, his thumb pressing gently into your chin as he pulls you closer. You fall forward without hesitation, and he leans in, dark eyes still searching yours as if he isn’t entirely sure he has permission yet.
Then he kisses you.
It’s not rushed. Not messy. If anything, the first press of his mouth against yours feels almost unbearably controlled, like he’s still holding himself back even now.
But the restraint doesn’t last long.
Your hand catches his tie, tugging him closer, and something rough slips from the back of his throat as he steps in, his hips slotting between your thighs. His hand slides from your jaw into your hair, fingers tightening just enough to tilt your head back exactly as far as he wants it.
Your lips part against his with a broken sound, and he deepens it slowly, his tongue moving against yours like he has all the time in the world. Tasting you. Learning you. Mapping every small sound and ragged exhale with the same focused intensity he brings to everything—and somehow that’s what undoes you the most. Not urgency. Attention.
His breath mingles with yours, hot and uneven, and when his teeth catch your bottom lip it’s deliberate, measured—a sharp little spark shooting straight through your spine. Your hips roll toward him without permission, and his answering groan rumbles through his chest, vibrating beneath your palm and making you ache everywhere you’ve been starving for him.
Then he pulls back just enough to look at you properly again. His hand still tangled in your hair. Thumb dragging once across your jaw. His eyes move over your face with the same intensity he uses in every debrief, every case, every crisis, except right now you are the thing he’s making sure of.
Like he needs to be absolutely certain this is real.
“Aaron—”
“Bedroom,” he says immediately, voice low and rough enough to send heat crashing straight through you. “Now.”
FRIDAY 6:15AM
Your alarm blares somewhere beside the bed, startling you awake hard enough that your heart immediately starts pounding. You reach for it blindly, determined to silence it before it wakes—
Oh God.
The second your hand hits the snooze button, you freeze.
Your heart is beating faster now, your pulse thrumming in your throat as you turn slowly—so slowly—toward the other side of the bed, where Aaron fucking Hotchner stirs sleepily.
Your stomach swoops.
You slept with your boss last night.
With a shallow, shaky breath, you carefully start to move. His arm is heavy at your waist, but you manage to slip out from underneath it without fully waking him. You shove the covers off and shiver at the sudden exposure, leaning over the side of the bed to find your discarded sweater. You pull it over your head before quietly padding toward the ensuite, refusing to glance back at your very hot, very naked unit chief still tangled in your sheets.
You only just make it around the other side of the bed before something tugs at the back of your sweater. You stop, glancing back to find Hotch half-awake, eyes half-lidded with one hand caught at the hem of your sweater.
“Do you really get up this early?” he asks, voice rough with sleep.
“Yeah,” you murmur. “Most days.”
His brows pull together slightly. “Why?”
You let out a small, breathless laugh. “Because my boss is kind of a hard ass about punctuality.”
Something that almost resembles amusement flickers across his face.
“Sounds like a terrible boss,” he murmurs.
Then he tugs on your sweater again—hard enough this time that you let out a startled laugh as you stumble backward onto the mattress and into him. He catches you easily, one arm wrapping around your waist before you can even fully recover, pulling you back against the warmth of his chest.
“Yeah,” you murmur, laughing softly as his mouth brushes beneath your ear. “He’s awful. Very demanding.”
He hums, breath warm against your skin.
“He’s really hot, though,” you add, smiling despite yourself. “So I like having time to put in a little effort, you know? Hope he notices.”
“Oh, he notices.”
Your stomach flips. “Really?”
“Mhm.”
His arm tightens around your waist. “He notices the skirts.”
Heat floods your face. “Aaron—”
“He notices the tights.” His mouth brushes against the nape of your neck. “The ones with the seam up the back.”
“Oh my God.”
You try to turn your face into the pillow, but he just holds you tighter, pressing his lips firm against your neck.
“And the red bra,” he murmurs.
Your breath catches.
“Noticed that so much I had to wait until everyone left the conference room before I could get up.”
You let out a strangled sound, squirming in his arms, but it’s no use. His chest vibrates against your back, something suspiciously close to laughter.
“My washing machine broke that week,” you whine. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“Mm, sure.”
You twist around immediately. “I’m not lying.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, like he doesn’t quite believe you, but before you can protest again—he kisses you. Warm, slow, sleep-soft. His mouth moves against yours almost lazily, his hand tightening slightly at your waist when a pathetic little whimper slips out before you can stop it.
“Careful,” you murmur, breathless against his mouth. “Don’t want to be late.”
You feel his lips curve.
“Good thing I’m the boss.”
10:35AM
You made it to work well on time. Even after three orgasms, a shower, and an awkward attempt at a ‘What Now?’ conversation—that ended in the aforementioned third orgasm. Because fortunately for your rapidly fraying nervous system, Hotch hadn’t even hesitated when you’d finally asked what happens next. In fact, he’d answered a little too quickly.
The first thing he’d asked was whether you’d be comfortable keeping things quiet for a while. Not because he’s worried about the team finding out—he trusts them. Trusts you. The concern is Strauss, and the Bureau, and keeping you in the BAU while he figures out exactly how much trouble the two of you have just created for yourselves. At some point he’d even started muttering about reporting structures and supervisory chains, half-thinking out loud while pulling on his tie. Something about possibly moving your reporting line over to Rossi. Something else about needing to review the Bureau’s fraternisation policies before making any moves.
That was when you kissed him—effectively, and very quickly, kicking off round three.
Because he’d clearly been thinking about this for a while, which means Aaron Hotchner has been noticing a lot more than just short skirts and inappropriately coloured underwear. It means that the second he decided to kiss you in your apartment last night, he’d already known exactly what he was getting himself into.
“Alright, gorgeous,” Morgan says, startling you as he raps a knuckle against your desk. “They’ll be ready for you downstairs in ten.”
You glance up at him, brows drawn—and it takes an embarrassingly long second for you to figure out what he’s talking about.
“Oh.” You blink. “Right. Yeah, I’ll head down soon. Thanks.”
Prentiss looks over from her desk. “You gonna be okay?”
You lift a shoulder. “Sure. What’s another case report?”
Morgan frowns, dropping into his chair. “It’s not exactly every day you’re the victim, baby girl.”
“Yeah, but nothing really happened.”
Morgan and Prentiss both stare at you.
“Because of the team,” you add quickly. “You guys caught him before he actually did anything. So... you know, nothing bad happened.” You plaster on a smile that feels reasonably convincing. “Thanks for that, by the way.”
Prentiss narrows her eyes, but before she can say anything else, Reid appears.
“You’re in a remarkably good mood for someone who was being actively cyberstalked twelve hours ago,” he says, stirring his second coffee of the day.
You turn back to your screen, trying to ignore the heat creeping into your cheeks. “Maybe I just have a newfound appreciation for life.”
Reid studies you for a moment, clearly unconvinced—but he doesn’t push. He just moves slowly back toward his desk, setting his coffee down with unnecessary care while the rest of the team turn away, finally deciding to mind their own business.
You force your attention back to the report in front of you, determined to at least look productive for the next ten minutes—when a familiar voice cuts through your concentration.
“Rossi’s taking Wallace with you next week,” Hotch says, setting the file down on your desk.
You blink up at him. “I thought you were leading the interview.”
“I was.”
Something in his expression tightens briefly before he lowers his voice.
“Wallace has a long history of using sex, intimidation, and emotional targeting to destabilise people during interviews,” he says. “Especially women.”
You frown. “Hotch, I—”
“And if he says something to you in that room,” he continues evenly, “or looks at you the wrong way, I need to know the agent sitting beside you is still capable of thinking objectively.”
Your stomach flips as his eyes meet yours—steady, intense, devastatingly honest.
“Right now,” he says quietly, “I’m not sure that’s me.”
Then he’s gone. Moving through the bullpen back toward his office like he hasn’t just set your pulse racing and your head spinning. You watch after him for a moment before shaking your head, glancing back at your computer screen as if you’d been focused on it at all in the first place.
“…Huh.”
You turn toward the sound and find Reid staring at you again. Not rudely. Just watching with the same focused curiosity he’d been wearing since your suspiciously cheerful comment about cyberstalking.
pairing | Aaron Hotchner x female! reader [no mentions of y/n, little to no physical descriptions]
disclaimers | Everything I write is intended as adult content. Please do not read if you are underage or sensitive to such.
Case related violence, suggestive language and explicit content is to be expected. No one is forcing you to read if it makes you uncomfortable. MDNI
summary | Wonderland University has been covering up the murders of female students, and rumor has it the victims have all been associated in one way or another with professors... The Bureau has decided to initiate an undercover operation.
Hotch would be playing your professor, and you would be his student.
Will you be able to fool the other students and faculty at the university?
mission identities | Aaron Hotchner as Professor Edward Thomas Jameson. You as Isabella Evans.
wc: 2.5k [not proofread]
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chapter two: plan and prepare
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Wonderland University was huge. The campus was shaped like a square, large buildings surrounding a courtyard and a couple small cafes scattered throughout it. There was a bookstore on the far end of campus, right next to one of the cafes you would frequent. It was closed for the time being, as the university cleaning staff frantically scrubbed away any remaining blood after the most recent murder.
How they could get away with it, you had no idea. It was sickening to know not only were students being murdered, but the university took the job of cleaning it off. It made you wonder, were the numbers of victims in the case file even close to the truth?
It had been weeks since you last saw anyone on the team, except Spencer who had knocked on your dorm room door a couple of nights before to ask if you had done the reading for your classes.
Hotch had left Quantico three weeks earlier to settle into his new job, get ahead of his own work and start establishing himself amongst the faculty. You wondered if he was nice to the professors here, if he had spent the time at Wonderland University, going out to get coffee with his new friends/colleagues/suspected murderers/confirmed creeps.
Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner, pretending to be a creep to solve some murders. Hot.
The idea amused you.
The dorm room you had been assigned to was a corner-room at the end of the third floor corridor. It had its own bathroom, thank every fuck, and the view overlooking the courtyard was a bonus.
Even if it was a temporary arrangement, only serving as your residence for the duration of the mission — or at least until you would start sneaking off to wherever Hotch would be living — there was still something thrilling about being back at university.
All the while it was terrifying being back.
You suffer from a condition called 'LFF' (Lack of father figure), and the main symptom of the disease in your case is the extreme desire for academic validation. Which would not be great for you, considering who exactly was to give you said validation.
So, when Spencer came knocking on your door with a message from Hotch, and to ask if you had done the reading, and you shook your head to say you had not done it, panic climbed up your throat.
It would be fine, right? You had a degree in the Social Sciences for fucks sake. Not to mention you were a trained federal agent with experience in the field. The same theoretical framework making up the readings were the same ones you used out in the field to profile serial killers. You would be fine.
When you opened the closest textbook and stifled a sob, you realized it would most likely not be fine.
So you studied. And read. A lot.
Perhaps just this once could your fear of failure and need for academic validation be useful. A teacher’s pet, they had told you to be, so that was what you would become. Whatever it took.
Though, with any normal professor, you could probably get away with flashing a little cleavage and twirling your hair. But this was not any normal professor. It was Aaron Scowls-a-lot Hotchner who was to judge your capabilities, to deem you worthy of becoming his favorite student. And you knew he would not make it easy on you.
You would have to impress him. Catch him off-guard.
Blow his mind like they wanted you to blow his– nevermind.
Despite the exhaustion weighing you down after a long day of trying to get ahead of your studies, and despite the surprisingly soft dorm-mattress, you slept fitfully. The nerves buzzed like ants under your skin and a headache pressed against your eyes as you tossed and turned.
Somewhere around 4 in the morning you gave up, even if sleep felt just out of reach. It never was.
So you opted for a shower instead.
Hotch had told you to meet him a few hours later at the small cafe by the bookstore, at the far corner of campus. Communication was a challenge, you were not allowed to text him or call him until your roles had been established. You wondered if he would send a dove or something, but it was Spencer who came bearing the message.
The nerves had built up during the time you had spent alone on campus, though you felt like it should have been comforting knowing you would see the familiar face of a man you saw every morning back at the Bureau.
However, he would not be the same pain-in-your-ass-man as he was back home, Hotch would be your forbidden desire — the man who would have you throw everything resembling morals out the window — to be with him. Gross. Right?
He was now something a lot more complicated than just your unit chief and colleague, all while he was someone a lot less complicated.
The rules were written out. Playing the game however, was an entirely different thing.
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Hotch was quiet when he handed you the vanilla latte in a to-go cup. He did know your coffee order, then. Penelope would swat him if she learned he had lied, before she would squeal and say something stupid that would earn a glare from the man sitting in front of you.
His silence did absolutely nothing to help calm your nerves. Nerves which you blamed on exhaustion, obviously, and not the anxiety and anticipation buzzing under your skin.
This was not the same as being back at the Bureau, with the insufferable suggestive comments about you coming from your other team members. It was something far more scary. Two adults having to pretend to like each other to solve some murders.
Chills.
"How do we do this?" You turned the paper cup in your hands before placing it on the table in front of you, staring at it like you were fascinated by the intricate design on the plain white cardboard. Anything other than looking up to meet his piercing stare.
The coffee shop was empty in the early morning, save for the two servers behind the counter. The sputtering sounds of the espresso machine and soft jazz music floated from the speakers offered little distraction.
Hotch stayed quiet for another heartbeat, pinching the bridge of his nose and drawing in a breath. "At first, mostly during the lectures." He exhaled slowly and scanned your face, "If they told you to be a teacher's pet, then that's what you'll be."
"I believe the words Pen used were 'good little student girlfriend', wasn't it?" You watched him purse his lips and smiled sweetly.
"Look," glancing around to the still empty coffee shop for any ears listening, "We'll have to suck it up and do a damn good job about it." Even if you could not see anyone listening, you would not take any chances. "It doesn't matter how much you dislike me, the She-Devil is on our asses about this and I know you dislike her more, even if you won't admit it." Strauss had it out for you two, that was certain.
Not that you had done anything to earn her distrust. You know, other than the occasional not-listening. It was not your fault she spewed bullshit, you were just using your critical thinking skills. Obviously.
Hotch furrowed his eyebrows, though if it was regarding the code name you just made up for Strauss, you were not entirely sure.
You looked at him, like really looked at him. He seemed tired, the bags under his eyes looked even darker, his hair slightly disheveled like he had dragged his hand through it repeatedly.
You wondered if that was what he looked like when he woke up. Shirt and slacks included, you guessed. The tie probably stayed on as well.
You imagined him sleeping in a coffin, like a fucking vampire, or a corpse. It would explain the permanent scowl on his face, it could not be comfortable. Oh, it could also explain the back pain you originally assumed was because of his age.
"You might be annoying and infuriatingly bad at following orders, but I don't dislike you—" He pursed his lips to stop himself from saying your name, and furrowed his brows again, "What do I call you?"
The hint of a resemblance of a compliment still held your attention. Did he say he did not dislike you? You would think about it later.
"What do you call the other students?" You asked, leaning back in your chair. He had already held a couple of lectures before you arrived, a product of Strauss' argument of really making an entrance. A late entrance, that is.
Hotch licked his lips, as if trying to figure out what the name would taste like when he said it, "Miss Evans, then." It felt foreign on his tongue, wrong even. You tried to hide the slight wince, it would be hard to get used to, especially having to respond to a name that did not belong to you.
"Anyway, Professor." You crossed one leg over the other as you steered the conversation back, “I’ll be a shameless suck-up, answer every question you ask and you’ll start giving me the attention I so desperately need?”
The thought of his attention on you that way unnerved you more than you would like.
“Yes, but,” Hotch nodded slowly, a sheepish smile forming on his lips, “Only if you answer them correctly.”
Just what you expected.
With a tilt of your head, you asked, “What happens if I don’t?” You held his stare as you reached for your cup, taking a sip as he contemplated his response. Would he watch over your shoulder as he forced you to study? You shivered.
“Since you’re supposed to act as my TA at some point, I expect you to be able to know the material. If that’s too hard for you–” He trailed off, pursing his lips and a little dimple appeared on his cheek. You wondered if he would bite your finger if you poked it.
Bingo.
“Don’t worry, professor,” You licked your lips and smiled sweetly at him, “I like when things are hard for me.”
Hotch sighed, “Focus, please.” The muscle in his jaw ticked as he glared across the table at you.
You hummed, not quite finished yet. It was too enjoyable to watch him struggle. The way his arms flexed against the fabric of his shirt as you closed in on him. How he held his breath, like he could not stand sharing the same air as you, and you wondered how he would react if you closed the distance entirely.
“Are you prepared to-” You raised a finger on your lower lip and pouted innocently, “Kiss me, Sir?”
He could practically taste the sweet coffee on your breath and his mind no longer functioned properly.
The image flashed behind your eyes, of your lips crashing together, his teeth sinking in your bottom lip, his hands firmly placed on your hips as he...
You shook the vision out of your head as silence stretched between you, the air felt so thick you almost suffocated. Hotch released a shallow huff, not nearly as nonchalant as he hoped it would sound. "Sir?" The way his voice dropped to a near growl sent a shiver down your spine.
The title change was intentional, knowing it would mess with him and blur the lines between this pretend-mission and the real relationship between you. It was not uncommon you called him 'Sir' back at the BAU, though usually just to annoy him.
Although if he got annoyed by it, or if he just got turned on, you would not know. It seemed like it would look the same on him.
That little realization got tucked safely in the back of your mind.
Another deafening silent moment passed. “You’re supposed to ‘not be able to keep your hands to yourself’,” You remind him, tilting your head to the side, “And I’m supposed to be a good girl and let you. Should be easy enough, don’t you agree?”
You shrugged, more in hopes to shake off the lingering feverish warmth than an act of indifference. Hotch ran a hand down his face and exhaled.
"If we're doing this to draw them out, they have to believe it's something worth going after, right?" You asked, chewing your lip as you went over the information you managed to remember.
"You mean they have to believe you are worth going after." Hotch reminded you, his jaw clenching at the idea of endangering you like this. If only the mission allowed him to actually investigate, like he should have done, none of this would be necessary. You would not have to risk being targeted. No, not 'risk being targeted', you were supposed to be targeted.
He struggled with it more than he should have. Not only the part where you would be targeted because of him, but the part where you had to play the part of being with him for it to happen. He could not stop thinking about it.
Just thinking about sneaking around with you, holding you, kissing you, kept him up at night. It haunted him.
You were insufferable and so insanely stubborn, he could not even get you out of his own head.
So he decided to do exactly what you said, suck it up.
“Promise me you’ll tell me if you get uncomfortable, and please-” He sighed and his eyes locked on you, “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
“Title of your sex tape.” You grinned. “But I promise,” Stretching out your hand, you pointed your pinky out, “I won’t make suggestive comments regarding our mutual attraction when you’re unprepared.”
“Fine.” Hotch muttered with a sigh and reached out to partake in your pinky-promise. He wondered if you meant for it to sound real, if you noticed the way you said ‘our mutual attraction’ like it was a fact. You did. It was.
You pointed to his face after he released your finger from his, “But you need to fix that scowl, you look like you’re about to give me detention, not bend me over your desk.”
It seems you had forgotten there was no longer any professionalism to hide behind. To keep him biting his tongue. Hotch smirked, “Two things can be true at the same time, can’t they, Miss Evans?”
If the suggestions behind his words were not enough to send your jaw to the floor, the shit-eating grin on his face was. The shock of hearing him say something like that would probably never wear off.
But as you saw the satisfaction gleaming in his eyes and his face brighten to a little healthier shade, it stirred something inside you.So, you decided the only thing left to do was bite back and play the game you had laid out. Might as well enjoy it, right?
Hotch found himself staring as you bit your lip and lowered your voice, “Tell me when and where, Professor.”
Derek would have pissed his pants.
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if you enjoyed this, please consider liking and reblogging, as it fuels my little ego!
Summary: Hotch is frustrated with his failing marriage and Y/N wants him to know she's there for him...in more ways than one.
Warnings: SMUT!! cheater!hotch, unprotected sex, oral (m+f), choking, degradation (if you squint). Disclaimer: i do not condone cheating.
Word Count: 2.7K, first hotch piece so please leave feedback!!
Hotch had been in a bad mood the entire time the team had been working on this case; it had been 3 days of dismissive looks and tempered conversations with the local PD. Whispers between the team let you know that he’d been fighting with Hayley...again. You could practically feel the anger radiating off him as he’d sat next to you on the car ride to the hotel, his face buried in his phone and thumbs typing away furiously.
So you weren’t surprised to hear yelling from the room next to you, though you were trying your best to ignore it - honestly, you tried to mind your own business. But Hotch’s frustrated tone was getting louder, and you were starting to get concerned. You waited until the conversation ended before rolling out of bed and tiptoeing out of your room to the room next door, your hand hovering for a moment, debating on whether this was a good idea. Before you could second guess yourself, you knock, the sound of your knuckles hitting the door overtakes the narrow corridor, and for a moment, regret begins to take over you. You can hear mumbling and shuffling from behind the door, and when he finally opens it, you have to fight against staring at him; his shirt is unbuttoned slightly, sleeves rolled up and hair a mess - clearly from running his fingers through it.
“What?” He doesn’t see you for a moment, his gaze stuck on his phone, yet the tone of his voice sends a shiver through you.
“Are you ok?” You let out, almost meekly. He looks up from his phone as the words leave your mouth, and you don’t miss the way his eyes soften apologetically.
“Sorry Y/N.” He says, but you just shake your head. He slips his phone into his pocket, crossing his arms as his eyes quickly glance across your body, and you’re suddenly very aware of how underdressed you are for this conversation.
“Oh...it’s ok, I just wanted to check in.” You give him a small smile, trying not to let your obvious worry show, but he can tell... simply by how you were looking at him.
“Thank you Y/N but I’m fine...really.” He smiles back at you, his usual half-smile that would be mistaken for a grimace by anyone else. It’s silent for a moment; your mouth feels dry as you try to formulate something- anything to say.
“Well, if you ever want to talk - I’ve been told I’m a great listener.” You’re tempted to reach out to him just to let him know you were there for him, but you don’t - it would be unprofessional. So you smile at him once again and turn around to begin the short walk back to your room.
You don’t get far before you hear him call your name and feel his hand wrapping around your arm. You turn back to face him, and his hand lets it go immediately, almost like your skin was flame and the simple touch had burned him. “Actually, talking would be great.”
He leads you into his room, and you’re suddenly overwhelmed. In the 6 months you'd been at the bureau, you hadn’t gotten to know Hotch as you had the other, so being in his personal space - where the air smells of him, his jacket lay strewn across the bed and papers scattered across his desk - is almost too much too soon.
He leans against his desk, and you make the decision to sit opposite him, right on the edge of his bed,his gaze focused on the floor beneath him. It’s quiet for a moment, and then he takes a deep breath, “Hayley wants a divorce.” He says, his face contorting into what you could only describe as a mixture of pain and anger. You go to open your mouth, to say something - anything, but he continues. “I mean, things weren’t great. I think we both knew that but I never thought she’d actually leave.” His fists are clenched as the words continue to spill, and you can’t say anything. You daren’t interrupt him, not when he was opening up to you like this.
It’s not until he looks back at you that you speak up, “I-I’m so sorry Hotch.” And against your better judgment, you walk over to him, gently placing your hand on his arm and squeezing it as reassurance. Your hold lingers for longer than it should, and you can’t stop the way your heart clenches as he looks at you, his own hand coming to rest above yours. You can’t pinpoint the emotion on his face. If you didn’t know him, you would almost mistake it for awe. “You don’t deserve this.” You breathe out.
It’s unexpected... what he does next. His hand tentatively reaches out, his palm pressing against your heated cheek as his thumb lightly strokes it. You swear you’re dreaming; there’s no way this is happening- especially not after what had just happened. You should tell him to stop, tell him he’s too emotional, too angry to know what he’s doing. But you don’t. Instead, you instinctively lick your lips, your gaze darting between his eyes and lips. He’s not stupid, he can sense the hesitancy that has taken over you, but through that, he can sense you’re undeniable attraction to him; he’s a profiler, for god’s sake. So he pulls your face up close to his, his lips brushing over yours for a moment before pressing against them. It’s soft at first, almost unsure, but then you kiss him back, and he lets go of any restraint.
He brings both hands up, holding your face tight as your arms wrap around his neck and your hands grip his hair. Before you can even begin to comprehend the situation, his lips are making their way down your neck, placing small kisses against the heated skin. Your hands trail down his chest, dancing across the silky material of his shirt until you reach his belt. You feel his hand come over yours once again, guiding it until you can feel his semi-hard cock pressing against the fabric of his pants, and you can’t stop the moan that leaves your lips as you realise that it’s all for you. You leave soft kisses down his neck and chest, unbuttoning his shirt as you go before sinking to your knees to place your lips against the slight bulge in his pants. You barely begin to unbuckle his belt when he stops, gripping your wrists and drawing your attention to his face - his signature stern look taking over. “Y/N we don't have to do this - we shouldn’t be doing this.” Your mouth opens slightly as you continue to pull down his pants and boxers - grasping his cock in your hand.
Your eyes are still looking into his as your hand begins to stroke him, using his precum to help your movements, “Sir... I’ll stop if that's what you want.” You whisper, holding back a giggle at the way he gasps as you grip him tighter. “But if you want me, you have me - in every way you want.” You finish your sentence by spitting on the head of his cock and using your thumb to spread it around before taking him in your mouth.
“Fuck… Y/N.” He breathes out as his hands tangle in your hair, pulling you further onto his cock, the tip hitting the back of your throat making you gag… he lets out a groan at the sound, and that has your thighs clenching together - you needed to hear him do that again. You place your hands on his thighs as your eyes dart up to look at him, and you’re grateful the way your hands are squeezing his thighs is enough to let him know what you need. He delicately flips the hair out of your face before pushing himself into your mouth again, bringing you further and further along until your nose is pressed against his tummy. You can feel the tears spilling, and your lungs are on fire from not being able to breathe, but you don’t care; you would happily stay like this forever. He continues to move his hips, relishing in the crude sounds that leave you, and you can feel him twitch against your tongue. You can’t stop the whine that leaves you when he pulls away- already missing the feeling of him in your mouth, but he just pulls you up and wipes the tears from your eyes and kisses you.
It’s sweet yet rushed, and before you can enjoy the feeling of his lips on yours, he flips you around, so you’re pushed against the desk. He gets on his knees quicker than you can comprehend, and he immediately begins to place small kisses along your inner thigh, inching closer and closer to where you needed him most. His hand pulls your panties down, slow and gentle, kissing down your legs until you're free of any restrictions - you’re ready for him, to feel him. But that doesn’t happen; instead, he stands up and picks you up, placing you on top of the desk. He makes quick work of removing your shirt, throwing it haphazardly onto the growing pile of clothes. He stands back for a moment, looking at you - admiring you…drinking in the sight of you completely naked in front of him. “Hotch…” You whine, and he laughs,
“Don't be impatient.” He says, but you can’t help it. You pull him in, and he kisses you. His lips on yours is enough to make your head fuzzy, and you don’t even register his fingers trailing down your body until he runs a finger through your slit. He slowly uses his hand to spread your wetness across your cunt before rubbing circles against your clit. You gasp into his mouth, and he smiles as he keeps looking into your eyes, his fingers finding their way into you - pumping in and out with no mercy as his thumb continues to work at your clit, and before you know it, you’re coming undone. He’s whispering in your ear, telling you how good you are, how good he feels, how he can’t wait to taste you, and you swear you’ve died and gone to heaven. He lets go of you suddenly, and you can’t stop yourself from falling against the cool wooden desk, your fingers gripping at the edge as he begins to kiss down your body.
He removes his fingers from you and pauses for a moment, you think he’s going to find something to wipe them on, but he doesn’t. Instead, he lifts his hand up and taps his fingers against your lips, smiling as you open your mouth to let them in. He lets you suck on them as his lips find your clit. It’s overwhelming, the feeling of his tongue dragging across your slit, pressing against your clit. His fingers drop from your mouth as your jaw drops, your hands finding his hair and begin to tug as short gasps and moans left your lips. The action was met with a deep groan from him and the vibrations sent shivers through you - you were already so close to your second orgasm, and he had barely done anything. It doesn’t take long before you’re falling apart again, his name leaving your swollen lips like a mantra as you ride out your orgasm. He presses a small kiss to your clit , laughing to himself as you shake from the overstimulation.
You sit up quickly, bringing his lips to yours again, and you can taste yourself on him - it makes you dizzy. “Sir…I need you.” You mumble against his lips. He pushes you away slightly, watching you as he strokes his cock against your slit, loving the way your legs trembled when his tip hit your clit.
“Need what sweetheart? My cock?” He teases, you nod, tears threatening to spill from the amount of desperation that was rushing through you. “Say it out loud sweet girl, tell me you want to be my whore?” His words almost send you into shock, but you don’t hesitate to answer him.
“Yes yes sir I wanna be your whore… want you to use me, do whatever you want.” You beg, and if you weren’t so insanely desperate, you would laugh at how easily you had submitted yourself to him. Your words please him though, because the next thing you know, he’s flipping you around and pushing you flat against the desk, his chest pressing against your back as his cock pushed its way into your cunt. You feel his fingers squeeze your hips, and you’re almost certain there are going to leave bruises, but you don’t care - all you can think about is him. He’s all the way in you now, and you’re sure if you pressed hard enough, you’d be able to feel him in your tummy.
“Please move.” You whimper out between moans. His hand comes up to wrap around your throat, pulling you up against him and the feeling of his wedding ring pressing into the heated skin has you shaking.
“What was that honey? Say that again, I couldn't quite hear it over your pathetic whining” You clench at his words, they should disgust you - make you feel awful, but it’s the opposite. It’s thrilling.
“i need you to move sir, please fuck me.” You almost yell, and he obliges. He lets go of your throat, and you gasp for air as you fall against the table again. He's pounding into you like a man on a mission. It’s beautiful...how he can make you feel and for a moment you forget where you are - that you’re in a hotel room on a murder case, fucking your boss - your married boss, but then you remember, and you feel the emotions rush through you before you reach back to hold him. his arm wraps around your body, keeping you in place.
“I want you to cum again.” He says, one hand making its way to your clit, rubbing at the same pace his hips were moving at. You all but scream at this new movement. “C’mon pretty girl, cum on my cock, cum like the whore that you are.” His voice is gruff from holding back his groans, and that gets you - you feel yourself cumming on his cock, your whole body trembling. He stops for a moment, and you think he’s going to let you recover, but you should’ve known better.
He turns you around again so he can see your face, see how he’s absolutely ruined you. His hips continue to move against yours in an almost bruising manner, and his hand comes back down to your throat, pulling you up to kiss you; it’s sloppy and messy, and unlike the other kisses you two had shared, but you loved you. You could feel his own desperation, the way he was panting against your mouth… he was so close you could feel it. “Cum for me Aaron.” You say, the sound of his name falling from your lips sending shockwaves through his face body as he pulls out and cums across your stomach, almost claiming you as his with the very action. He all but collapses on top of you, kissing against your neck as you run your hand down his back to soothe him through the aftershocks of his orgasm. He looks down at you and smiles as he watches a grin form on your face. You push him back slightly as you collect his cum on your fingers and push it back into your cunt, watching his jaw drop as you pull them out and into your mouth, moaning at the taste of you both mixed together. He leans in to kiss you softly, holding you close to him, and you fall limp against him, the events of the last hour washing over you. “It’s all going to be ok Aaron, I promise.” and at that moment, he doesn’t want to do anything but believe you.
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