summary: One weekend. One ex who won’t let go. And one man who finally stops pretending he doesn’t love you.
word count: 4.9k
tw: fake dating, abusive/controlling ex, age gap. Aaron is protective. Threateningly.
masterlist
~♡~
You hated weddings.
Not weddings themselves, exactly. You loved the flowers, the dresses, the embarrassing speeches that somehow always ended with somebody crying into champagne.
What you hated was this wedding.
Because your sister was marrying the love of her life.
And your abusive ex-boyfriend was one of the groom's closest friends. For nearly two weeks, the knowledge had sat in your stomach like poison. Every morning you woke up thinking about it. Every night you fell asleep dreading it.
You had escaped him years ago.
Built a life.
Joined the BAU.
Become stronger.
Happier.
But trauma wasn't logical. It didn't care how many years had passed. It didn't care that you could now take down armed suspects and stare serial killers in the face.
Some wounds remembered.
And unfortunately, Aaron Hotchner noticed everything.
By the third day of your misery, he cornered you in an empty conference room. The second the door closed, his dark eyes settled on you.
"What happened?"
You sighed.
"I'm fine."
"No."
His response came instantly. You almost smiled. Nobody ever won arguments against Aaron Hotchner. Certainly not when he was looking at you like that.
Concerned. Focused. Gentle.
Unfortunately for your sanity, Aaron being gentle with you had become increasingly dangerous over the years.
You looked away.
"My sister's wedding."
His eyebrows lifted slightly.
"Congratulations?"
You groaned.
"That's exactly what everyone keeps saying."
"So that's not the problem."
"No."
Silence stretched. Aaron waited. Patient. The way he always did. Eventually the truth slipped free.
"My ex is going to be there."
The atmosphere changed immediately.
Aaron sat straighter.
"The abusive one?"
You nodded.
His jaw clenched, only slightly. Most people wouldn't have noticed. You did.
You always noticed him.
"He'll be there with someone," you admitted quietly.
"And?"
You laughed bitterly. The sound hurt.
"Because that's what he does."
Aaron listened. Never interrupting. Never judging. Not you.
"He always compared me to other women. Made me feel like I wasn't enough. Like I was lucky he even wanted me."
You swallowed hard.
"And now he'll show up with some gorgeous girlfriend and I'll be standing there alone."
Aaron was silent for several seconds. Then he leaned back.
Thinking.
You immediately became nervous.
Aaron-thinking was rarely a good sign. It usually led to decisions. And when that happened, even God himself took notes on how to close the deal.
Finally he spoke.
"I'll go with you."
You blinked.
"What?"
"I'll attend the wedding."
"No."
"I'll take leave."
"Aaron—"
"I'll be your boyfriend."
You stared.
"My what?"
"Fake boyfriend."
His expression remained perfectly serious.
As if this was a completely normal conversation. As if your boss wasn't casually volunteering to pretend to date you.
"Hotch."
"Your ex wants control."
You looked away.
"He wants a reaction."
You hated how accurate that was.
Aaron's voice softened.
"Then let's not give him one. Beside, Rossi said he'll be there too? He's some family of your future brother in law? You won't be alone"
You spent the next week trying not to think about the fact that Aaron Hotchner was taking you to a wedding.
Trying and failing. Mostly failing.
Because Aaron approached the role with alarming dedication. He learned the names of your relatives. The wedding schedule. Your family dynamics. By the end of the week he knew enough about your life to pass a federal examination.
Meanwhile you couldn't survive a five-minute conversation without noticing how attractive he was.
The rehearsal dinner was somehow worse than the wedding itself. At least at the wedding, there would be distractions.
Music. Dancing. Champagne.
Here, there was nowhere to hide.
Especially when your mother spotted you walking into the restaurant with Aaron and immediately froze.
"Oh."
You closed your eyes. That oh. Every daughter knew that oh.
The one that meant your mother had just noticed something she intended to investigate immediately.
"Aaron," you muttered. "Run."
His mouth twitched.
"I face serial killers for a living."
"Trust me. This is worse."
Your father looked up at the same moment.
His eyes moved from you to Aaron and back again.
Slowly.
Suspiciously.
"Mom. Dad."
You smiled weakly.
"This is Aaron."
Your mother immediately stood. Your father did not. Which somehow felt more threatening.
Aaron extended his hand.
"Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N."
Your father shook it firmly, evaluating him the way fathers apparently had since the beginning of civilization. Aaron met the scrutiny without hesitation. Of course he did.
The man interviewed psychopaths for a living.
"You work together?" your mother asked.
"Yes, ma'am."
There it was.
The narrowing of her eyes. The realization.
Then—
"Oh."
Again. Much worse.
Your mother looked between the two of you.
"Oh."
You groaned.
"Dad."
Your father hadn't said a word, which was terrifying. Finally he leaned back.
"How old are you, son?"
You wanted to die. Immediately.
Aaron somehow remained composed.
"Forty-two."
Your father looked at you. Then at Aaron. Then back again.
Your mother cleared her throat.
"You know our daughter is—"
"Thirty."
Aaron answered calmly. Your parents blinked. Aaron looked completely unbothered.
"Yes."
Another pause.
Then your father crossed his arms.
"And that doesn't concern you?"
You nearly dove through a window. Instead Aaron surprised everyone. Including you.
"It did."
The honesty caught your parents off guard. Aaron glanced toward you, his expression softening.
"It still does sometimes."
"Why?" your father asked.
Aaron smiled faintly.
"Because I care about her."
The table fell silent.
"I never wanted her to feel pressured."
He spoke calmly, not trying to impress anyone. Simply telling the truth.
"And more than capable of deciding what she wants."
Something warm spread through your chest. Because that was the difference.
Your ex had always talked about you.
Aaron talked about your choices. Your independence. Your agency.
Your father seemed to notice too.
"Most men who say they're protective of a woman mean they want to make decisions for her."
Aaron nodded.
"I know."
"And you don't?"
"No."
The answer came immediately.
"I'd stand between her and anyone who tried to hurt her."
His gaze found yours.
"But her life is hers."
You swallowed hard.
"If she tells me no, it's no. If she tells me she's fine, I trust her."
Your mother looked suspiciously emotional.
"And if she asks for help?"
Aaron smiled.
The small, genuine smile.
"The world would have to move first."
You laughed, but the words triggered something unexpected.
Because everyone kept talking about Aaron protecting you.
And suddenly you realized he already did.
Every day. For years.
An armed suspect in Baltimore. Aaron stepping in front of you before you'd even registered the threat.
A hostage situation in Virginia. His hand pushing you behind him as a weapon appeared.
A raid in Chicago. Gunfire. Chaos. Aaron's arm across your chest, holding you back while he moved first.
You had always assumed it was leadership. Now you weren't so sure.
You nearly stopped breathing.
Your father stared at him for a long moment. Then suddenly laughed.
"What?"
He shook his head.
"I've spent ten minutes trying to figure out if you're pretending."
Aaron looked confused.
"Pretending?"
"To be this gone over my daughter."
You immediately covered your face.
"Oh my God."
Your mother laughed. Aaron looked vaguely horrified. Which somehow confirmed everything.
Because Aaron Hotchner could stare down serial killers.
But discussing his feelings? Absolutely not.
Your father grinned.
"I've never met a man who looks at her the way you do."
Aaron looked genuinely trapped.
"I don't know what you mean."
The entire table laughed.
"You absolutely do."
Your mother reached over and squeezed his hand. A gesture that visibly surprised him.
"Thank you."
Aaron blinked.
"For what?"
"For making her smile again."
The table grew quiet.
"We haven't seen that smile in years."
Emotion flashed across Aaron's face. Gone almost instantly. But not before everyone saw it.
Love.
Your father saw it too. The suspicion disappeared from his expression. Replaced by understanding.
He leaned forward.
"One piece of advice."
Aaron nodded.
"If anyone at this wedding bothers my daughter..."
Aaron's expression sharpened immediately.
"...make them regret it."
For the first time all evening, Aaron smiled.
Not the soft smile he gave you.
The profiler smile.
"Yes, sir."
Your mother sighed dramatically. Before anyone could say more, a familiar voice interrupted.
"Excellent."
You groaned.
Rossi. Of course.
He dropped into the empty chair beside Aaron.
"If we're forming a protective detail, I'd like my name added to the list."
Your father laughed.
"And you are...?"
"David Rossi. Friend, co-worker, bestselling author. And your daughter is like a granddaughter to me, if you dont mind putting it that way."
"Weren't you like a groom's distant family?" you asked, raising your brow at him.
"Yes, I am."
"Then be distant, please"
Rossi smiled, ignoring your comment, then pointed at Aaron.
"Let me assure you. Aaron becomes frightening, when it comes to anyone he cares about."
Hotch sighed.
"And Dave becomes annoying."
"Creative," Rossi corrected.
"Dangerously creative." you said under your breath. Your mother laughed into her wine.
"For the record, if anybody hurts her, Aaron will profile them. But not the matter of fact way. The I-don't-want-to-know-what-he-can-do-with-it way."
Aaron rubbed a hand over his face.
"And you, David?" your father asked, briefly looking at you, before he focused back on your boss and colleague.
Rossi grinned.
"I'll add some decades long creativity to it."
The three men exchanged a look that made you deeply concerned.
Your mother noticed it too.
"Oh dear."
"What?" your father asked.
She pointed between the three men.
"Now there are three of them."
The wedding arrived.
You stared at yourself in the hotel mirror. The bridesmaid dress was stunning. And completely unfair.
The fitted fabric hugged every curve. The slit exposed one toned leg. The neckline somehow managed to be elegant and dangerous simultaneously.
You felt beautiful.
Which was unfortunate because Aaron was about to see it.
A knock sounded. Your heart immediately betrayed you.
You opened the door.
And forgot how breathing worked.
Aaron stood there in a black suit. Broad shoulders. Perfectly tailored jacket. Tie.
The whole devastating package.
For several seconds neither of you spoke. His eyes moved over you. Then froze. Then moved back.
The faintest hint of color appeared in his cheeks.
Aaron Hotchner.
Blushing.
You nearly died.
"You okay?" you asked.
He cleared his throat.
"Yes."
Pause.
"You look beautiful."
The sincerity nearly knocked the breath from your lungs.
The chapel was already filling with guests. You had almost convinced yourself you could survive this.
Then your ex walked through the doors. Your stomach dropped instantly. Years disappeared.
The confidence. The smile. The arrogance.
You recognized it all.
And apparently Aaron recognized your reaction. Because he looked up from across the room immediately. The warmth vanished from his expression. Replaced by something colder. More dangerous.
You watched him study your ex.
Evaluating. Assessing. Profiling.
Then Aaron crossed the room. Without a word he took the seat beside you. His shoulder brushed yours.
Solid. Steady. Safe.
"You okay?" he murmured.
You nodded.
A lie.
Aaron knew it was a lie. He didn't push. Instead he subtly shifted.
Just enough that your ex's direct line of sight to you disappeared. Now the man had to look directly at Aaron instead.
Your ex visibly hesitated.
Good.
The ceremony itself was beautiful.
Your sister cried. Her husband cried. Half the audience cried. You cried.
Mostly because every time anxiety started creeping in, Aaron's hand quietly found yours.
His thumb brushed your knuckles. A silent reminder.
I'm here.
At one point your ex glanced toward you only to find Aaron already looking back. The man immediately looked elsewhere. You nearly laughed.
The reception began. You sat at your table next to Aaron, slipping a glass of champagne.
"Are you profiling the guests?" You asked looking at your fake boyfriend with a small smile.
His eyes stayed forward.
"Yes."
"Aaron."
"One of the bridesmaids hates the maid of honor."
You nearly snorted.
"What?"
"Table seven is having an affair."
"Oh my God."
"The groom's uncle stole something once."
"You can't know that."
Aaron finally looked down at you.
"I absolutely know that."
For a while things were actually enjoyable.
You danced. You laughed. You forgot to be afraid. You actually enjoyed yourself.
And then Rossi arrived.
Unfortunately.
"Interesting."
You immediately groaned.
Rossi looked between you and Aaron. Then smiled. The smile of a man about to become unbearable.
"I've seen hostage negotiations with less tension."
Aaron closed his eyes.
"Dave."
"You know," Rossi continued, "for two people pretending to date, you're doing an exceptional impression of two people desperately in love."
You choked. Aaron nearly did the same.
Rossi looked delighted.
Later, the music softened into something slower. The kind of song that made conversations fade and the room seem smaller.
You were halfway through explaining to your cousin why you absolutely did not need another glass of champagne when Aaron appeared beside you.
"You disappeared."
You looked up.
"So did you."
"I was making sure Rossi wasn't teaching your nephews how to pick locks."
You laughed.
"Valid concern."
His gaze lingered on your face for a second. Then he held out his hand.
"Dance with me."
You blinked.
That wasn't really a request. Not because he sounded demanding. Because Aaron only asked when he already knew the answer mattered.
"You dance?" you asked.
A faint smile appeared.
"I can."
"That's not what I asked."
"It's the answer you're getting."
You laughed and let him lead you onto the dance floor. The second his hand settled at your waist, some of the tension you'd been carrying all day eased without permission.
Aaron noticed immediately.
Of course he did.
He didn't comment on it.
Just adjusted his hold slightly, steady and secure. The dance floor wasn't crowded. Couples moved around them in slow circles beneath strings of warm lights.
For once, nobody needed anything from either of you.
No cases. No reports. No emergencies.
Just music.
"You seem calmer," Aaron said quietly.
You looked down at your joined hands.
"I think I forgot I was supposed to be nervous."
His thumb brushed lightly against your hand.
"Good."
Something about that simple response made your chest ache. Because he wasn't taking credit. Wasn't asking for reassurance. He just sounded relieved.
You glanced up.
"You've been watching me all day, haven't you?"
Aaron didn't even attempt to deny it.
"Yes."
The honesty made you laugh.
"Hotch."
"I was making sure you were okay."
The answer came so naturally it almost stole your breath. Not because it was surprising. Because it wasn't. That was what he always did. The realization settled over you with unexpected warmth.
Aaron guided you through another turn.
Not flashy.
Not complicated.
Just steady.
Reliable.
Like everything else about him.
"You know," you said softly, "most people would be enjoying the wedding."
"I am."
You raised an eyebrow.
"You are?"
His eyes met yours. For a moment the noise of the room seemed to disappear.
"Yes."
The answer was quiet. Certain.
And somehow it felt like it meant more than it should. Your heart stumbled.
Aaron must have noticed the shift in your expression because his gaze softened.
Immediately. The way it always did with you. Without thinking, you stepped a little closer. His hand remained at your waist.
Solid. Warm. Safe.
The song continued around you, but you barely heard it anymore.
For one brief moment, surrounded by family, music, and fairy lights, the fear that had followed you to the wedding finally loosened its grip.
Not because your ex was gone. Not because the memories had disappeared. But because Aaron was there.
And somehow, whenever he was there, carrying things alone didn't seem quite so necessary.
The disaster arrived later. You had stepped away toward the bar when your ex intercepted you. Again.
"Look at you."
You rolled your eyes immediately. He caught it anyway. His smile tightened, like it had miscalculated its own charm.
"Your boyfriend seems old."
You laughed once. Clean. Unbothered.
That was the mistake.
"Still doing this?" you said.
"Doing what?"
"Trying to make women feel insecure because you're insecure."
Before he could escalate, Aaron appeared.
Not entering the conversation.
Closing it.
Aaron didn’t look surprised to find you there. He looked like someone who had already reviewed the situation internally and was now simply confirming details.
"Everything alright?" He asked you first.
Not him.
That detail landed immediately.
Your ex scoffed. "We’re having a private conversation."
Aaron’s gaze shifted to him.
There was no hostility in it. That somehow made it worse.
"Interesting," Aaron said.
"What’s that supposed to mean?"
"It means you keep using words that don’t apply to your behavior."
A few guests nearby stopped pretending not to listen.
Your ex straightened. "I wasn’t cornering anyone."
Aaron nodded slightly.
"As an interpretation," he said, "that would require a significant degree of self-deception."
Your ex bristled. "Who do you think you are?"
That was when Aaron finally let the answer land fully.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Just precisely.
"Special Agent Aaron Hotchner," he said. “Unit Chief of FBI Behavioral Department"
The words changed the air.
Even people who hadn’t been paying attention were now paying attention.
Aaron’s voice stayed level.
"And you are currently addressing another FBI agent and my partner in a way I’ve already determined is at least inappropriate."
A pause.
"You should understand something very clearly. I don’t escalate quickly. I don’t need to. But I do finish what I start."
Your ex blinked. "What does that even mean?"
"It means," Aaron said, "that you are not the first person I’ve seen mistake persistence for entitlement. And you will not be the first to learn the difference the hard way."
From across the room, your father had gone still, watching now with full understanding.
Not alarm. Relief.
Rossi arrived like he had been there the entire time.
He took in the scene, then exhaled a soft laugh.
"Oh! The ex," he said.
Your ex turned. "And you are?"
Rossi smiled faintly.
"Special Agent David Rossi. Someone who’s been called in when people don’t respond to social correction," he said. "I strongly recommend you prefer social correction."
A sip of wine.
"Because when it moves beyond that, it stops being a conversation entirely."
Your ex looked between them, anger trying to reassert itself and failing.
"You’re threatening me in public?"
Aaron shook his head once.
"No," he said calmly. "You’re being informed of how boundaries work when they’re enforced."
Then, a beat.
"Even if that mean more paperwork for me afterwards."
Rossi added lightly, almost conversational:
"And if support is needed, I’m available."
Not as a threat. As confirmation that this wasn’t a one-person warning.
That was the shift.
Not fear.
Finality.
Your ex’s confidence didn’t just drop—it collapsed into something smaller and panicked.
He stepped back.
Once.
Twice.
Then he was gone.
Rossi took another sip.
"Always the same outcome," he murmured. "They runaway before I can have more fun."
Aaron didn’t watch him leave. The moment the threat was gone, his attention was already back on you.
You didn’t realize you were shaking until the adrenaline started to crash all at once.
Aaron noticed immediately. Of course he did.
His hand came to your waist first—steady, grounding, instinctive.
"You alright?"
You nodded.
A lie.
And for once, Aaron didn’t call you on it immediately. Not with words.
Because then your composure finally broke.
It wasn’t dramatic. Just quiet. Sudden. Like something inside you had been holding its breath too long and finally let go.
Your eyes stung. Then blurred. Then the tears came before you could stop them.
“I’m fine,” you tried anyway, voice breaking halfway through.
That did it.
Aaron’s expression changed—not into alarm, not into urgency—but something far softer. Controlled concern, tempered by certainty. Like he already knew exactly what this was.
He guided you gently away from the crowd, one hand at your back, the other still holding your arm as if anchoring you to the present.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
Just that.
You shook your head, embarrassed, trying to breathe through it.
“I hate that he can still— I hate that he can still do that to me.”
“I know,” Aaron said.
No correction. No minimising. Just acceptance.
That alone made your throat tighten harder.
A few seconds passed with nothing but the noise of the reception fading behind you.
Then Aaron lifted a hand and gently brushed your tears away with his thumb. Slow. Careful. Like you weren’t something fragile, but something worth handling with care.
“You’re safe,” he said.
Your breath hitched.
“I’m here,” he added quietly.
And then, as if it wasn’t even a decision so much as an instinct he’d stopped resisting, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead.
Soft. Anchoring. Protective in a way that didn’t ask anything of you.
Your eyes closed immediately. Like your body understood before your mind caught up.
The noise of the room behind you faded further.
For a moment, there was just him.
When he pulled back, his hand lingered at your temple.
“You’re okay,” he murmured again, firmer this time. Not a question anymore. A statement he was choosing to make true for you until you could believe it yourself.
And something in your chest finally unclenched. Just slightly.
Not healed. Not fixed.
But held.
Hours later the reception was winding down.
Your shoes were gone. Aaron's tie was loosened. The fairy lights above cast everything in gold.
You stood together outside.
Alone.
Finally.
"You were very convincing today."
Aaron smiled slightly.
"The boyfriend thing?"
"Yeah."
"You think so?"
"I think half the wedding believes we're engaged."
That earned an actual laugh.
A rare one. Beautiful. Dangerous.
Then silence settled and something changed.
Aaron looked at you. Really looked at you. The way he'd been trying not to all day.
"You deserve better than him."
Your heart skipped.
"You deserve someone who makes you feel safe."
"Hotch..."
"You deserve someone who loves you."
The world stopped.
His voice softened.
"I've been in love with you for a long time."
Everything inside you shattered. In the best possible way. You smiled through sudden tears.
"Good."
His eyebrows lifted.
"Good?"
"Because I've been in love with you too."
The relief on his face was breathtaking. For a moment neither of you moved. Then his hand cupped your cheek.
Gentle. Careful.
As though you were something precious.
"Can I kiss you?"
You laughed softly.
"Please."
The kiss was everything.
Slow. Tender. Years of restraint finally giving way.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
Safe. Loved. Home.
Behind you, Rossi's voice suddenly echoed across the courtyard.
"I KNEW IT!"
Aaron sighed. You burst out laughing.
And for the first time all weekend, neither of you cared who saw.
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