moonice20408 - Tumblr blog

moonice20408 · 11 months

Text

This is so cute!

steady hand

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader

summary: hotch catches you at the worst times, but you’re not mad about it. or: 4 times you need hotch’s help +1 time he needs yours.

word count: 6.1k

warnings: probably very inaccurate descriptions of r’s job (it’s for the plot, okay??), shy!reader, a very small injury description, yearning (?), first kiss, fluff !!!

a/n: hiiiii this is my very first hotch fic (gasp) so i hope i did okay!!! i’m excited to be writing for him and i have enjoyed it so far and i hope you will too!!! please please let me know what you think and if you’d want to see more of him from me <33

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People are usually impressed when you tell them you work at the BAU.

Which, you won’t lie, is something to be proud of, but their first thought is always that you’re doing something big and solving cases. They ask you if you were there when this case was solved or when that killer was caught.

Then there’s the nodding and dissipation of their excitement when you explain that you work a desk job there. Organize files, write reports, that sort of thing. That is a lot less impressive to most.

You’re no Agent Morgan, or Dr. Reid. Certainly no Agent Hotchner or Prentiss. Instead of being on the field, you spend your time fighting with a printer.

Getting the papers you needed should have been simple, a quick in and out that would have you back hiding behind your desk in minutes. Of course, the universe or something must be against you, because instead, you’ve spent at least twenty minutes trying to figure out what’s wrong.

It isn’t jammed (you’ve checked about five times to be sure) and you’re not educated in printers enough to know how to fix whatever’s going on. You’re just lucky nobody else has needed it yet.

“Come on,” you mutter, trying to pull it away from the wall to get a better look.

You’re sure there’s stress sweat building on your forehead. The last thing you want to do is ask someone for help, to make yourself too visible in this place full of important, intimidating people. You’d rather struggle on your own for now.

You make sure that the thing is plugged in (it is) and then check if it’s jammed. Again.

“Piece of shit,” you’re mumbling at the thing, leaning over it looking for anything out of place.

That’s when you hear someone clear their throat behind you. The sound has you jumping, your knuckles smacking against the wall where your hand had been wedged between it and the printer. You turn around to find Agent Hotchner.

He’d been walking by the printer room when he heard the grumbled curse words. Peeking inside, he’d been pleasantly surprised to find you fussing over the printer. He bit back a chuckle before making his presence known.

You tug your skirt down where it’d ridden up, fiddling with the hem as you try to push down your embarrassment. Of course he’d be the one to see you, in his crisp suit and all. He’s leaning a shoulder against the doorframe, his arms crossed loosely. You swallow and try not to look at his biceps.

“Sorry, sir. The printer doesn’t seem to be, um, printing.”

“I’m assuming that’s why you were fighting with it.”

You fight a wince, “you heard that?”

“Heard what?” He asks, though by the twitch of his lips, you know that he’s well aware of what you’re talking about. He then gestures at the cause of your issues behind you, “it’s not jammed, is it?”

“I don’t think so. It wasn’t when I checked, at least.”

You’re trying not to act as nervous as you are. You don’t think you’ve ever really spoken to Agent Hotchner, save for small ‘hello’s and that one time you apologized for bumping into him. He’s handsome—you’ve always thought so—and, more importantly, he’s basically your boss.

“Let me take a look,” he says, walking over. You step aside, staying out of the way.

“It’s alright,” you start as he looks over it, “I’m sure you have much more important things to do than fix a printer, sir.”

Hotch’s eyes flick over to where you stand, a hand still fiddling with the hem of your skirt, your hair a little messy, your eyes a little wide and worried. You look pretty, he thinks. And sure, he does have things he should be doing instead of trying to fix this printer, but he doesn’t really care.

“Don’t worry about that,” he tells you.

He looks back to the printer, and he seems pretty convinced about trying to help, so you drop it.

While he’s distracted, you take the opportunity to look at his profile. The slope of his nose, the cut of his jaw, the way his brows are pinched a little in focus. It’s unfair, you think, for him to be smart and brave, and be so good-looking on top of it all.

Like he’d heard your thoughts, felt your gaze, he looks over at you again. You turn your eyes toward the floor quickly.

It’s a couple of minutes before anyone speaks. You, staring at the carpet until your vision goes a little fuzzy. Hotch, pushing buttons and flicking switches trying to figure out whatever was going on with the damn printer.

Then, the sound of the ink swiping over the pages, the papers spitting from the printer. You look over at it, mouth slightly parted. What can’t he do?

The sound of your name has your eyes snapping up to his. It’s yet another surprise, him knowing your name. You’re not that important, in the grand scheme of things at the BAU, in the world, really. Someone meant to stay hidden in the background. And still, he knows your name.

“It should be fine now,” he says, grabbing your papers from the cartridge and handing them to you as he stands up straight. “Let me know if it gives you trouble again.”

You grab the pages from him slowly, still shocked at the whole exchange. Your fingers brush against his as you do. “I- Thank you, sir.”

He nods, moving towards the hall. He pauses in the doorway, turning back towards you. “Hotch is fine.”

“Sorry?”

“You keep calling me ‘sir.’ You don’t have to. Just Hotch is fine.”

“Right. Sorry, sir- I mean, Hotch,” you test it out. “Thank you again.”

Yes, Hotch thinks, he likes you saying his name a whole lot more. He sends you a kind smile, “no problem.”

Hotch walks away, probably towards his office where he has very important things to do. Stuff that was surely delayed because he paused to help you. You stare at the doorway for a minute, until you give yourself a papercut and look down at it.

Aaron Hotchner knows who you are.

You’re two shitty coffees deep so far, your report open on your desk, the typing bar blinking on the screen of your computer.

There’s pages to go, though you’re not sure how many. You’ve been doing the sort of mindless, robot typing you do when you’re tired. When you’re preoccupied with trying not to glance in the direction of Hotch’s office.

The team got back sometime last night, long after you’d already gone home. From somewhere in Indiana, you think. You’re not sure how they do it, flying about and still coming into the office. You’re tired and you can’t even remember the last time you’ve been on a plane. Add the crime fighting and you’d be a goner.

Blinking yourself from your thoughts, you look back at the blank pages spread out in front of you. It’s not unusual for you to be missing pieces that you need to complete things, it’s just inconvenient. You always end up having to ask someone for the files you need, and then you feel like a burden.

It’s stupid, but in a place full of important people, it’s easy to feel like you’re just in the way.

Anyway, it’s your job, so you push away from your desk and stand, tugging the sleeves of your sweater over your hands.

Your first thought is to go to Reid. As far as friendship goes, you’d consider yourself closest to that definition with him. He’s also the least intimidating of the bunch, probably because you see the most of yourself in him.

You find him in the kitchen with Agent Jareau, both holding their own mugs, probably filled with the same coffee as the one that sits on your desk. You knock gently on the door even though it’s open.

“Hi, sorry to bother you. I was just wondering if either of you have the files from that case you worked a couple weeks back. The one in Ohio,” you shuffle on your feet under their gaze. “I need them for this report.”

“Hey,” Reid speaks first, smiling kindly, “I don’t remember keeping them, but I can double check in my desk if you would like.”

“Oh, that’s okay. You don’t have to do that, I’m sure I’ll find them somewhere.”

You’re about to head out the door when Agent Jareau stops you, “wait, I’m pretty sure Hotch has them. I can go ask him for you.”

It’s silly to feel nervous talking to them, especially when nobody’s ever been anything but nice to you. A little bit of the twist in your gut comes undone.

“No, no. I’ll go ask him if he isn’t busy, thank you though.”

“You should be fine, the door’s open,” she tells you.

You nod, sending the both of them a smile you hope doesn’t look awkward. “Thanks again.”

Their voices picking up their conversation follow you out the door. You cross the space, saying small ‘hello’s to Agent Morgan and Agent Prentiss when they greet you. You try to ignore the prickle of eyes on you as you climb the steps and head to Hotch’s office.

His jacket is draped across the back of his chair, his sleeves rolled up on his forearms. It’s probably the most disheveled you’ve ever seen him, and he’s only missing a single layer. You look away from his arms when he says your name.

Hotch had his head bent, looking over a case when he’d heard footsteps, and he’d been glad to find you standing in his doorway. You work in the same place, yet he barely sees you. That’s probably why something lightens in his chest every time he does. The rarity, that’s all.

“Is this a bad time?” You ask.

“Not at all,” he leans back in his chair, “what can I do for you?”

“I’m really sorry to bother you, sir-”

“Hotch,” he reminds gently. His voice is easy, a hum that you think would sound good no matter what he was saying.

“Right, sorry. Hotch. I was just looking for some files that I need from a case you guys had for this report.”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

Then, he smiles in that way that Aaron Hotchner so often does. A small twitch of his lips, a lift in the corners. One that you probably wouldn’t have caught if you weren’t paying so much attention. One that feels sort of like a gift.

You shake your head at yourself and elaborate, “the Ohio case. Three weeks ago, I think. I asked Agent Jareau, but she said you had them, so…”

Hotch wants to reassure you, but he’s not sure how to do it without standing up and letting himself grab your hand and squeeze it the way he’d like. And he can’t do that, not when you’re already nervous. Not when he’s not sure he could hold back after one touch.

“It’s no problem,” he opens one of his drawers, flips through folders until he finds what you’re looking for.

He stands up and walks around his desk until he’s in front of you, and he lets his gaze flick over your face while he has the chance. Your eyes find his easily, and you hope he can’t hear the catch in your breath.

Aaron isn’t usually so quiet with his affections, but that’s because he’s never found himself feeling this way at work. He wishes your desk was on his way to his office, just so he’d have an excuse to stop and talk to you. He makes sure never to use your favorite mug from the cupboard, just so you’ll be more likely to have it.

Hotch clears his throat, “here they are.”

He holds up the folder between you, his hand holding it loosely, the other hanging by his side. His fingers twitch.

You’re embarrassingly distracted by his exposed forearms, eyes trailing from his hand to the skin of his arm, to the way his shirt is tight where the sleeves are rolled. Then, it’s the color of his tie today, the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows.

His hand reaching for yours is enough to erase everything else. He lifts it and places the folder in your hold for you. Your skin burns even when he pulls away.

“You alright?” He asks. Probably because you’d been staring at him like a weirdo.

Get it together.

“Yeah. Yes, sorry. Just sort of spacey today, I guess.”

When you look back to his face, there’s nothing but a sort of softness in his eyes you can’t identify. He smiles at you, and for the second time, you feel like you’ve won something.

“Is that what you needed?” He asks.

You open the folder and peek inside. You find exactly what you’d been looking for, not that you’re surprised. Hotch knew what you’d meant and you didn’t doubt that.

“It is. Thank you, Hotch,” you grin lightly when you get that part right. “I’ll get out of your way.”

“You’re not in my way.”

Hotch says the words like he’d known you needed to hear them, like he’d known what runs through your mind so often, like he can read you. He probably can, you think. He is a profiler after all.

Still, the words make your heart do a stupid little jump.

“I’ll bring them back when I’m done,” you say.

“No rush. They’ll just be going back in the drawer anyway.”

“Well, thank you again.”

“It’s no problem, really.”

Hotch watches you walk back to your desk with your head down. Looking at the folder in your hand, he thinks, at least it’s an excuse for you to come see him again.

Hotch isn’t in his office when you return the files.

Since you can’t thank him in person—assuming he’s off with the team somewhere saving lives—you leave a sticky note on top of the folder. You drop it on his desk and leave before you second-guess yourself and rip the note off.

You can’t help but think that the office feels sort of empty without the team there. Without Hotch there. It’s how it is most days, so you’re not sure why the absence feels so present now. You shake it off.

The day passes by, then your drive home, and the rest of your night, too. Through it all, you can’t stop wondering what Hotch is doing, wherever he is. Hoping he’s safe.

You’re certainly not expecting to see him the next day, back so soon, but you can’t say you’re upset about it. It’s a brief glance, him walking into his office, the rest of the team and their chatter following, but it’s enough to make your work seem less tiring for some reason.

It was a quick case, and Aaron was glad to at least get a couple of hours of sleep in before coming into the office. When he sits at his desk, the first thing he notices is the folder you’ve left there. The small note in your handwriting.

‘Thank you :)’

He peels the note away and folds it up. Without thinking, it ends up tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket. It’s a simple piece of paper, but it’s heavy where it sits. He rubs a hand over the pocket where the note is and gets to work.

It’s not until a couple of hours later that Hotch ends up leaving his office. Conveniently, in the direction of your desk.

You’ve been burying yourself in your work, your leg bouncing nonstop, your nose inches away from the pages on your desk, your chair pushed in as close as it’ll go. You have to, because if you take a break, if you look away, your eyes will search for Hotch, and you don’t really want to think about what that means right now.

About the ache in your chest when he’s gone, the urge to go ask him a stupid question just to talk to him. It’s awful.

The pen you’re using suddenly runs out of ink, and it makes you pause long enough to feel a cramp in your hand. You sit up and huff, pulling your drawer open and digging around for another pen. Your name in Hotch’s voice has you shutting the drawer and spinning quickly.

It’s just your luck that your shirt gets caught, that the sound of the rip is too loud to play off or ignore.

“Oh gosh,” you whisper, looking down at the damage.

It’s a cheap shirt, you shouldn’t be surprised, but it’s worse than you’d expected. This is what you get for sitting so damn close. The side seam is split, and if you move too much, your bra would probably be visible.

“This is so embarrassing,” you say, holding the rip shut with one hand and holding the other on your forehead. Of course this would happen to you in front of him.

Aaron’s eyes hover where your skin had been exposed, even now that you hold your shirt shut, wondering if it’d feel as soft as it looks. He can’t even remember what he came over to do or say.

He swallows and looks at your face, “do you have another?”

You shake your head, still hiding behind your hand, “no. I really, really wish I did, though.”

“I have an extra one in my go bag. If you’d like?” He hears himself say the words, and he doesn’t regret them, necessarily, but it’s clear to him that you mess with his brain. He doesn’t think straight where you’re involved.

You peek up at him, dropping your hand to your side. “Are you sure? I could probably just use some paper clips, or something.”

“Nonsense. I’ll go get it, okay? I’ll bring it to the bathroom so you can change.”

“You don’t have to-”

Your name leaves his mouth again, gentle but firm. “I’ll grab it.”

“Okay.”

You speed-walk over to the washroom and walk in, closing the door only to block out the rest of the office, who surely noticed what just happened. You’re probably never gonna live this down.

Your overthinking doesn’t get very far, because after only a minute, Hotch is knocking on the door.

“It’s just me,” he says. ‘Just,’ like that word could ever be used to describe him. “You can just open the door a crack and I’ll pass the shirt through.”

You do as he says, tugging the door open until you can see a white dress shirt (of course) in his hand. You reach out and he hands it to you easily.

“Thank you, Hotch. I’ll wash it and give it back, I promise. Sorry for this.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You can’t see his face, but you can hear the sincerity in his voice. “I mean it.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly, closing the door.

His shirt is wrinkled from being packed in his bag, and the sleeves are long when you put it on, but it smells like him and isn’t ripped so you really can’t complain. You roll the sleeves and tuck the bottom into your pants, looking in the mirror to make sure you look at least a little bit put together.

Holy shit, you think. I’m wearing Aaron Hotchner’s shirt. What world have you been living in recently? To be interacting with him more often, to be feeling this sick skip in your heartbeat whenever you do.

You toss your ripped shirt in the garbage, look up, and huff out a breath before leaving the bathroom. You’re surprised to see Hotch still standing there.

“Oh,” you nearly bump into his chest when you walk out the door, but the warmth of his hand on your shoulder steadies you. “I didn’t know you were still there, sorry.”

“You don’t need to say sorry so much, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. You’re dreaming, surely. You pinch yourself on the inside of your arm, just in case. You don’t wake up.

“I- um,” you’re fumbling for words because he’s standing there, looking at you softly, calling you ‘sweetheart’ in that voice of his.

Aaron doesn’t know where that came from, but he’s said it and it’s happened. With the way he thinks about you, how often he does, he can’t really be surprised. Besides, seeing you get flustered because of him is absolutely worth it.

“I wanted to thank you for getting those files back to me so quickly.”

Your eyes flick over to his arm, and it’s then he realizes that his hand is still on your shoulder. He pulls it away and stuffs it in his pocket. He’s probably imagining it, but he swears his palm is tingling.

You wipe your hands over your thighs, “right. It was no problem, really. I was mostly done with my report, so… Thanks for giving them to me.”

“I’m glad to be able to help,” he says. Then he walks back to his office.

You’re standing in front of the bathroom for what’s surely an odd amount of time. Even back at your desk, you can’t shake the haze you feel, a pink tint to your vision, a flutter in your gut.

You spend the rest of your day with your nose buried in the collar of Hotch’s shirt, avoiding the gazes of your coworkers around you.

Aaron spends the rest of the day thinking about how you looked in his shirt. About how you’d look in it and nothing else. He drags a hand over his face when that pops into his head.

“You good, boss?” Morgan asks from the doorway.

“I’m fine.” He doesn’t miss the knowing smirk on Morgan’s face.

It’s very rare that Aaron leaves work at a reasonable time. So rare that he can’t remember the last time he wasn’t the last person there.

He’s used to the late nights, the empty spaces, deserted desks. Even so, it’s nice to finish up earlier than he’d expected. He looks forward to the extra sleep he’ll get, the longer time frame to decompress.

Leaving work early already felt like a small victory for the day, and he feels like he’s won something bigger when he sees you in your car, still in the parking lot.

You’d left maybe twenty minutes before Hotch, though you’d assumed he’d be leaving hours after you like he usually does. Everything was fine, normal as you bid your goodbyes to your desk neighbors, as you rode the elevator down.

The sun has started setting, and the air gets cooler as it sinks. You fish your car keys from your bag and unlock it, getting in quickly and tossing your bag onto the passenger seat.

You like your job, sometimes you love it, even, but you look forward to going home either way. You think about the warm shower you’ll take, the shitty dinner you’ll end up eating. Your lonely plans are ruined as you twist your car key in the ignition, it sputters and doesn’t start.

“No, no. Come on,” your head falls back, you huff and take the key out.

You try again, and still, no luck. And again, and once more until you’re fed up with it and drop the keys in your lap. Your head is dropped against the steering wheel, allowing yourself a moment of dramatics from your defeat.

A knock on your window startles you upright. Your heart races for reasons other than fear when you look at who it is.

Hotch stands outside, leaning towards your window with a scrunch in his brows. When he catches your eye, he steps back from your door and gives you room to open it and step out.

You shut your car door behind you and lean your back against it, “hi.”

“Hi. Sorry to scare you, but I wanted to check that you were alright?”

“It’s okay,” your arms are folded behind your back, your hands twisting. “Um, it’s nothing, just some car troubles.”

“That doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“I guess not. It won’t start for some reason. I don’t know.” If he wasn’t standing right there, you’d probably smack yourself for how unsure you sound. “You keep catching me at the worst times, Hotch.”

He disagrees. Aaron can’t think of a time where seeing you could ever be a bad thing.

“You’re fine,” he says, his voice suddenly softer, “trust me.”

Despite the bite of the wind outside, the way he speaks warms you. He’s so honest in the way he speaks, in the sense that he sounds sure, even if it isn’t necessarily vulnerable. You don’t know how he does it.

A small smile spreads on your face before you can stop it, “okay, good. And thank you for checking on me. I’ll just call a cab and figure this out tomorrow.”

There’s no way he can let you take a cab. It’s obvious that with what he does, the things he sees, he’d rather know for sure you’d be safe getting home. But then, there’s the sort of floating feeling he has when he’s around you, one he’d like to feel for a little longer if he could.

“Let me drive you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, really. I’ll be fine.”

He ducks his head a little, catches your eye and holds you with that soft gaze of his. “Please, it’s not a problem. For my peace of mind.”

It doesn’t take much convincing, really. You’d much rather sit in a car that probably smells like him than in the back of a cab that smells like sweat.

“For your peace of mind, then. That’d be great.”

You grab your bag from your car before following Aaron to his, where he opens the passenger door for you and makes sure your legs are tucked inside before shutting it. He jogs around the front of his car and gets in.

“Where am I taking you?” He asks, starting his car. The radio hums softly through the speakers, and Hotch reaches over to turn on the heating when he catches you shivering a little.

You tell him your address, “you don’t have to drive me if it’s out of your way, Hotch. I mean it.”

“It isn’t out of my way,” he assures you, and he could easily be lying, but you accept it anyway.

It’s quiet for a little bit, besides the odd question from Aaron for which way to turn. You take the chance to look at him as he drives, his hands on the wheel, the street lights hitting his face. Your head lulls against the seat.

“You’re finished earlier than usual today,” you say. “Not that I know your schedule, or anything, I just-”

“Sweetheart,” he stops you, a smile spreading. It’s wider than what you’ve seen at work, unguarded enough to show his teeth. It’s really pretty. “It’s alright. It’s work I can be doing at home.”

“That’s good. A change of scenery, at least.”

“Exactly.”

You’re not sure what it is that feels different now, in the car. Maybe it’s because it’s only you and him, no prying eyes in the office, no concerns about what this is, what’s allowed. It might only be you, that feels this sort of spark with him, fizzing i’m the air between you. Either way, you’ll soak it up for the duration of the ride to yours.

Maybe that’s why you’re saying, “you know, I always thought you didn’t even know who I was. Until the printer thing.”

Aaron peeks over at you, leaned in his passenger seat. You look like you belong there, like there’s always been a spot for you in his life. Even when you’d started at the BAU, when he first saw you, he felt like it was right that you were there.

Hell, he’d asked Garcia who you were and has had your name in the back of his head since.

“I’ve always liked you,” he admits. He doesn’t say he’s always known you. Liked.

“Really?” You can’t help but ask. Someone like him even noticing you seemed unfathomable. But liking you? He’s gotta be lying.

“Really. Even when you were bumping into me.”

“You remember that?”

“Yeah, I do. You were looking down at the ground, walking like you were being timed. And you had on this light pink sweater.”

Your eyes go wide, focused on his face. You had been wearing a light pink sweater that day. And he remembers all of that? You think, if you looked at yourself in the mirror right now, your eyes would be in the shape of hearts, pulsing in your pupils.

“I can’t believe you noticed all of that.”

“I notice a lot of things,” he says.

Aaron has always had his guard up around new people, has always made himself more serious at work than anywhere else. Then you came along and he had to fight to keep things that way. It makes sense that the minute he sees you outside of work his walls would crumble to dust.

It was inevitable, really.

“I’ve always liked you, too.” Then, before he can say anything, you point at your building, “it’s this one here.”

The car rolls to a stop slowly, his turn signal flashing as he pulls over by the entrance of your apartment building. He puts the car in park and turns to you fully.

“Thank you for driving me.”

“No problem, sweetheart.”

His hand reaches out before he can really think about it, fingertips featherlight over your cheekbone, sliding over to tuck your hair behind your ear. Then, like it was never there, he pulls back. There’s a glow in his fingers where they’d brushed your skin, golden.

It matches the one you feel on your cheek, sparkling.

“Get in safe, okay?”

“It’s a few feet from here to the front door, Hotch. I’ll be alright.”

He huffs softly, twin smiles on your faces. Lovesick and shy, nervous and pink-hazed all at once.

“For my peace of mind,” he says.

“Fine, then. Your peace of mind,” you reach for the door handle, tugging it and pushing the door open. You look at Hotch again, like you can’t get yourself to stop. “Thanks again.”

“See you, sweetheart.”

“Bye.”

You step out and head to your door, turning around before walking inside to give him a wave. Aaron grins and waves back, watching you walk inside.

He stays parked by the curb until he sees a light flick on a couple of floors up.

There’s a reason that Hotch is Unit Chief. He thinks quickly, keeps his head straight even with what he deals with every day. There’s also a reason his leadership has been questioned before, but never revoked.

He can be reckless, throwing himself into situations when he knows he probably should’ve waited for backup. This time, it only got him a split eyebrow and a few stitches. It’s been worse; this is nothing.

It is, however, proving to be an inconvenience. He’d gotten stitched up in the ER of whatever hospital was closest to where the team had caught their unsub. It had to be quick, from the hospital straight to the jet.

They’d told him to clean it up again and put a new bandage on it when he got back, which is what he’s trying to do now, in his office, with his laptop’s grainy camera as a mirror. He has the supplies the hospital gave him on his desk, but he can’t really see what he’s doing, and the task is taking much longer than he’d like.

His hands are a little shaky from the adrenaline of his day, and every time his arm comes up to reach his stitches, it blocks his view.

Then, he sees you walking up to his office.

Usually, you’d already be home by now, but you’d been yourself and messed up some of your paperwork, so you had to stay late to re-do it. When you catch sight of Hotch in his office, you’re not so annoyed with yourself.

You notice the things on his desk, the blood on the front of his shirt. Your feet carry you to his doorway easily. Last time you’d really spoken to him was that night in his car, and ever since, there’s been something boiling, a noticeable shift.

You tap your knuckles on his open door twice, “you okay?”

He gives up on dealing with his cut and looks at you instead, the slightly rumpled state of your clothes from a long day, the smile you wear that doesn’t exactly hide the concern in your eyes, the light from the hallway a halo around you. You’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

“I’m alright. Just can't seem to do this right,” he says, gesturing to his eyebrow.

“Do you need help?”

Aaron has never been one to accept help easily, always one to do things on his own. But, when you’re offering so sweetly, when your help means your hands on his skin, how could he ever say no?

“That would be great.”

He pushes his chair back to give you room to stand in front of him. Your legs between his, leaning against the edge of his desk. His knees bump into the sides of your legs, little bursts of the kind of warmth sunlight emits on skin.

You reach for the wipes first, holding them in one hand and reaching up to his eyebrow, the other grasping his chin gently to keep his head steady.

His hand reaches up to hold your elbow. It could so easily be innocent, be almost nothing, but it feels like more. His thumb running back and forth, your face close enough to his to have your breaths mingling. It really feels like more.

“You’re here late,” he says, low and quiet.

“Spilled coffee all over my work. Had to start over. Can you believe it?” You speak just as quietly, eyes flicking from his cut down to his, just for a second.

“I can, actually. You’re sort of clumsy.”

“Hey!” He’s right, of course, but the warm chuckle he lets out is worth your dramatic gasp.

“It’s not a bad thing,” he assures you, squeezing your elbow. “I think it’s cute.”

“Well, thank you, then.”

You set the wipe aside and reach for the bandage next, placing it over his eyebrow and smoothing down the edges with a light touch. When you’re done, you pull back but don’t go far. Your hands fall from his face to grasp the edge of his desk instead.

“All done,” you say.

Aaron’s hands have shifted to your waist. His touch is so delicate, but you’d never ignore it. It might as well be bruising, the way his hands affect you.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Hotch.”

Now would be the time to walk out the door, to say ‘goodnight’ and head home, but you’re in no hurry. Not when his eyes are shining in the dimmed light of his office, soft and practically melting.

They seem to beckon you closer, and though you don’t have a reason this time, your face ends up near his, noses almost touching. It’s as far as you go, afraid you’re misreading things, afraid you’ll be wrong about this.

Hotch closes the space for you.

His chin tilts up, his mouth catching yours softly at first. His hands tighten on your waist, his lips slightly chapped and completely perfect against yours.

You think your knees might buckle, so you put your hands on his shoulders, thumbs digging into his skin, like you’re trying to make sure he’s real. You’re not sure how you manage to kiss him back but you do, and you hear the sharp intake of breath he takes when you push back.

The kiss doesn’t deepen, but it doesn’t have to. You can feel plenty in it already.

It’s not long before Hotch pulls away, leaning back in his chair and tilting his head to look up at you. He removes one of your hands from his shoulder and holds it in his.

“We shouldn’t do this here,” he says, his thumb running over your knuckles.

You look down at your feet, at his legs next to yours. The hand still on his shoulder falls to your side, suddenly feeling nervous.

“You’re right, I’m so-”

“But,” he stops your apology before you can say it. As if you’d ever need to apologize for kissing him. “I’d like to take you to dinner sometime. If you’d want that.”

You look back at his face, eyes searching. He smiles so softly at you, it’s the kind of smile you could only ever give someone you like in this way. Someone you like enough to kiss.

“I’d really like that, Hotch.”

“Good,” he stands, but his hands don’t leave you. “And sweetheart?”

“Hm?”

“Call me Aaron.”

When you test it out, he’s sure of it; his name on your lips is his absolute favorite sound.

༄

thank you so much for reading!!! please please consider reblogging if you enjoyed, it helps a whole bunch more than you’d think and would mean a lot!! <3

#crimnal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fluff

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moonice20408 · 1 year

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Pairing: Emily Prentiss x SubFem!Reader Category: Lil bit smutty. Nothing graphic, but still 18+ ONLY PLEASE Summary: You’re exhausted after back to back cases, and some friends ask if you wanna ‘hang out’ that weekend. Seems like the perfect way to destress. Then you run into your boss at a sex club. Content Warning: Brief mention of a missing child case, Dom/Sub dynamics, talks of non-penetrative BDSM scenes, submissive relationship to a male/female couple, Bi reader, oral, sex toys. Word Count: 2981 A/N: So I posted this forever ago, then lost ~everything~ on my memory card. But, I managed to recently save a few things, this being one of them, but I lost everything else I wrote for it, so for now, it will remain a one-shot. Someone was asking where it went, so I thought I'd at least post the first chapter. ALSO the names James and Natasha are also used for characters, just in case that happens to be your name. Cause seeing my own name in a fic throws me sometimes.

To say you were tired was the understatement of the century. The team had gotten back from one case, only for Garcia to meet you in the bullpen with an apologetic look and a file in hand. JJ, Matt and Rossi had excused themselves to call their families before joining the rest of you in the briefing room. And it was a bad one. A kid had gone missing that afternoon. From a park in the middle of the day. You had until the jet was refuelled and you were off again. Thankfully, and against what all the statistics told you, you found the boy after two days alive. He was scared and hungry, but you’d been able to reunite him with his family. Given the police presence, the unsub hadn’t managed to do anything to the kid; too scared of getting caught. When you found the scumbag, you’d managed to give him a black eye as he tried to escape, and then watched as he begged for some kind of mercy while he was taken way in cuffs. The exhaustion of it all seemed worth with when JJ had pulled up to the scene with the boys parents, and they ran out to embrace their son. The case ended as well as it could of done given everything, and the entire team passed out when on the jet home.

It was a Friday afternoon when you got back, and Emily had instructed you all go straight home, and not to come back till Monday. No one argued. You opted to call a cab. Two demanding cases, very little sleep, and your diet for over a week now had been mostly coffee and whatever was in the closest vending machine. You figured it’d be best not to drive. Upon returning home you had dropped your bag at the door, kicked your shoes off and promptly fell forward onto your couch, falling quickly to sleep.

After a few hours though, the awkward way you fell overpowered the need for sleep, and you woke up stiff and unsure of the time. Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself up. You stretched your hands above your head, and brought them down to rub your face. You took advantage of the burst of energy you now had, knowing it wouldn’t last long, and set about doing the laundry from your go bag, and heading for a decent shower.

Clean, dry and now in comfier clothes, you head back to the couch, find something to watch and order takeout for dinner. You had just finished the food when your phone buzzed.

Your stomach dropped. You almost didn’t want to look. The dread of a new case coming up and Garcia was calling you back in. But, reluctantly, you reached out for the phone, and let out a sigh of relief when you saw the message was from James.

James: Hey, me and Nat are going out tomorrow night. Would love for you to join if you’re free?

A smirk crossed your face.

You: Great timing. Would love to! Normal place?

James: Actually, we were thinking somewhere new. Been a few times, you’ll like it, promise ;) Will send you the address x

You had met James and Natasha not long after you’d moved to the area. After settling in, at home and work, you’d decided you should look into places that helped you… de-stress. You had a stressful job after all, and what better way to relax then to get back on the scene?

It had taken a little research, but you had found a few clubs around. Then on your free weekends, you’d sampled them out. It was just in the second club you’d met James and Natasha. You had been taking a walk around, just checking the place out and maybe sticking around some rooms to watch the couples or groups in there. They had been by the bar when you’d ordered a drink, and James came over, had complimented your dress, and pointed out he’d never seen you around before.

“Well, I’ve just moved here.” You smiled at the man. “So am scouring the local scene.”

He nodded. “Ah, well then welcome! I’m James, very nice to meet you.” You shook his hand, laughing a little with him. Then he pointed to a little table, where a pretty woman was sat watching the two of you. “And that over there is Natasha.”

You gave her a little wave, and she smiled at you as she sipped her own drink.

“And, if you like,” James continued. “We would be interested in showing you around.”

You had stayed with them for most of the night. The three of you made polite conversation while you finished your drinks, and they gave you a tour of the club. During said tour, they had quickly expressed their interest in having you join them some time. You had learned they the two of them were also in a romantic relationship, and while on the scene, James was dominant, while Natasha was a switch. They were looking for someone who would like to be a submissive to the both of them when Natasha was in a dom mind set. And given the fact they were both very attractive people, and you fell naturally into a submissive role, you too were interested in the proposal. You still wanted to get to know them a little more before agreeing, to which they agreed, so when their small tour was over, you had written down your number, and let them get on with their plans for the evening.

You got a text from Natasha the next day, asking if you were still interested, and if you’d want to meet up to discuss things further if you were. Texting back right away, they’d met you for lunch that same afternoon, and you’d talked more about limits, and set up some rules and boundaries. The main thing for them was that it wasn’t sex. You understood, they weren’t just BDSM partners, they were in a romantic relationship, and neither were comfortable with the other having sex with someone else. Oral and the use of toys were on the table, but no penetrative sex. Not having any issue with that, the conversation moved to your own limits. They had agreed with you on most of your hard limits, and took careful note of the soft. You’d gone over your sexual health, and had agreed to meet them for a proper scene the following Saturday.

It was pretty light compared to some of the stuff the three of you do know, but they hadn’t wanted to push you too much too soon. But it was amazing.

All that was about a year ago now. Your relationship to the couple only grew stronger in that time. You could trust them in a scene like no one else. And as the trust grew, you had been willing to try out new stuff for them. They acknowledged that you did still want to have sex, and so long as you let them know and got tested before you’d meet up with them again, they were okay with it. They always stayed with you afterwards in case you dropped, and they never got mad or upset if you got called in for a case last minute. They didn’t know exactly what you did for a job, just that you could get called away at a moment’s notice. Eventually, Natasha had even been submissive alongside you sometimes, with James in control of you both. So when James text you about a new place, it didn’t worry you in the slightest.

***

They were both waiting outside for you. And from their posture alone, you could tell it was only you being the submissive one tonight. The though made you grin as you rushed over to them.

“Well don’t you look pretty.” Natasha put her hand under your chin. The gesture giving you that warm, dizzy feeling. The stress of the past week had been a lot, and you were more than ready for tonight. As a result, you slipped into a sub space pretty quick, and they could tell, as you leaned into Natasha’s touch.

James smirked. “Eager tonight, are we sweetheart?”

You just hummed and nodded, your hands reaching out to them both.

They lead you inside, and James took you to a small table in the corner. Natasha had gone to the bar, and grabbed the three of you a quick drink. Nothing alcoholic. James had strict rules about going into a scene sober. Natasha had drunk hers quickly, then left the table, telling you she was going to get the room ready. The glint in her eyes as she spoke made you giddy, and you wrapped your arms around James.

“What are we doing tonight?” You asked.

“Well, we’re in room five.” He grinned at you, putting his arm around your shoulders.

“And what happens in room five?”

“Depends on whether or not you behave.”

You faked a gasp. “I always behave!”

He just chuckled at you.

As you finished your drink, you set the glass on the table with the other two.

James rubbed your back. “How about you be a good girl, and take those back to the bar, hm? Then we can go find Nat.”

You bit down on your tongue at the pet name, and were quick to move, collecting the glasses carefully in your hands and making your way through the crowd. The bartender smiled at you as you put them down, and you turned back. Walking straight into someone as you did.

“Oh I’m-” The words stuck in your mouth and your stomach dropped, as you looked at the woman in front of you with wide eyes.

Emily.

Emily Prentiss.

Your literal actual boss. Eyes also wide in surprise.

You snapped your mouth shut. “I, erm… Hello.” You gave a nervous smile.

“Hey...” She said slowly.

“So… This is happening…” Your eyes wondered down her body, suddenly very awake of the tight, revealing black outfit she was wearing.

It looked good.

No! Stop it. She’s your boss.

…Your boss in a very well fitted outfit at a sex club!

“Apparently.” She said, her voice seemingly calmer than it was a second ago.

Your eyes snapped up to hers, realising you were staring at… not at her face. She smirked a little bit, and you could feel your cheeks getting warmer. Any trace of shock or surprise had vanished from her face, and she was looking at you with a amused glint in her eyes.

“Umm… I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say here…”

“Don’t think there’s anything you’re supposed to say.” She raised an eyebrow and took a sip of the drink in her hand.

She was acting so casual about this. Like you’d ran into her at the store.

How was she being so calm about this? So composed?

“You’re a dom?” The question was out of your mouth before you could stop it. And you immediately smacked a hand over your mouth.

IDIOT!

She huffed a laugh. And you noticed the way her eyes quickly looked you up and down “You think I’d be anything else?”

You shrugged, dropping your hands. “I dunno!” You flapped your hands at her. “You’re my boss. I not supposed to think about that.”

She stared at you, and bit the tip of her tongue. “Not supposed to, hm? Not don’t?”

You blinked. “What?”

Her tongue ran across her lower lip, and her eyes bore into you. “You said you’re not supposed to think about it. Not that you don’t think about it. Just an interesting choice of words.” She lifted her shoulders slightly and gave you a smug look.

“I-” You found yourself speechless again. “I mean I…” You took a deep breath. “I have to go!” And you went to stomp passed her.

Of course you’d thought about it, had she seen herself? Can’t say you ever had the whole sleeping with your boss fantasy before you joined the team. But you couldn’t admit that!

“I have.” You froze. “For what it’s worth.” Spinning back on your heel, you looked back to see her shrug, taking another sip of her drink nonchalantly. She didn’t break eye contact.

Was she saying that she… No. There’s no way. She thought about you? Like that? Like this? No. She’s just in a dom space while she knows your in a sub space. She’s playing. Just taking control of an awkward- and potentially job-jeopardising- situation?

Your mouth opened and closed a few times, and your heart was hammering inside your chest, as you tried to figure out a response. She only smirked behind her glass as she waited.

Then two hands came down protectively on your shoulders.

“Everything okay here?” It was James.

You span around to see him looking at Emily.

“It’s fine, I promise!” You assured him, and he looked at you to check for any deception. “We just, um, know each other…” His body language shifted. Running into people you know from else where was something that was better sorted out sooner rather than later. You never had until now, and you certainly never expected it to be your boss if it did happen.

He gave Emily a quick look again, who was apparently unfazed by the man. She looked him up and down, before her gaze fell back to you.

James nodded at you. “Nat’s almost ready.”

“I’m right behind you.”

James gave your arms a quick squeeze, giving you a moment.

“Seems nice.” Emily said once he was out of ear shot, in a way that you couldn’t tell if she was being genuine or not.

“Yeah, he is. They both are.” You told her, though your mind was stuck on what she said a moment before.

“Both?” She raised an eyebrow, a tone of surprise to her voice.

You shifted a little bit, looking down. The team didn’t know about your sexuality. Not that you thought they’d think badly of it if they did, it just never seemed to come up at any point. And the longer it went that you didn’t tell them, it just seemed to be more awkward to bring up. “I, um, yeah… James and Natasha.” Taking a deep breath you looked back up to Emily. “I met them not long after I moved here. They were looking for a sub, I was looking for a new partner, so…” You trailed off, giving a small shrug.

She hummed. “You moved her over a year ago, why have we not run into each other before?”

That’s what she was taking away from that admission? “Um, well we normally go somewhere else.”

“Ah, well then.”

Silence fell over the two of you, and you didn’t really want to leave James and Natasha waiting any longer. You were her with them afterall.

“So, um,” You fiddled with the hem of your dress. “Do we just… pretend we never saw each other, or..?”

Her face dropped, only slightly, but you noticed. She narrowed her eyes. “Is that what you want to do?”

“I want…” You averted your gaze.

You had always found Emily to be an attractive woman. Anyone who couldn’t see that was a fool. But she was your boss. Your boss in a job where you couldn’t let personal feeling get in the way. So you pushed your little crush aside and ignored it. Right now however, the way she held herself when James came over, and the way her eyes remained on you, and the fact she had admitted that she’d thought about you in this sort of environment…

So no, you didn’t want to pretend you didn’t see her. It’s not like either of you spoke about your sex life around the team, so that wouldn’t change, surely. But you could talk about this with her. Exploring this with her was what you really wanted, but you weren’t sure if that’s something you should admit to her. Like you already said, she was in a dom mind set right now, she could just be playing.

But you could play too.

At the thought of playing with her, you felt that dizzy feeling creep over you.

You looked at her in the eye, and given the once over she gave you, she could tell you were slipping back into a subspace.

“We’re gonna be in room five.”

She paused, as if waiting for you to take it back. When you didn’t, “Five huh?” She smiled at you.

The smile reassured you, and you bit your lip. “Yup. Door’s open. Y’know, if you’re interested.”

Then you turned and walked away from her, and to James who was waiting at your table for you. He raised his eyebrows at you as you approached and you just shrugged innocently. Rolling his eyes with a smirk, he placed a hand on the small of your back and lead you away.

“Thought you said you’d be behaving tonight?” He joked.

As much as you would love to talk more with Emily about everything, you were James’s and Natasha’s tonight. So, you shifted your thoughts back to them. You focused on the feeling of his hand on you, and thought about whatever it was him and Natasha had in store for you.

James however, looked back, and caught Emily with her eyes still on you. Drinking her drink a little faster.

#criminal minds #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss smut #own fic

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