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ddejavvu · 8 months

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Hii, I hope you’re having great day/night. I just wanted to say that I absolutely love your Aaron writing, especially Aaron Hotchner x single mom!reader. I read your requesting rules and I hope that this qualifies (I’m really sorry if it doesn’t), but I’ve been thinking about this concept for a while so I thought I’d give it a try. I absolutely adored how reader’s child always adored Hotchner but this time I was thinking what about reader’s daughter (around 4 or 5) who actually feels intimidated by Hotch (because you know this ‘scary bossman persona’) or maybe reader’s daughter that is not the biggest fan of Hotch and is possibly very sassy with him and is protective of her mum but reader and Hotch have this slightly flirty or like the very beginning of their relationship with a possibly fluffy/happy ending if that’s possible.

You really do feel bad knocking on Hotch's office door at 7:30 in the morning, for both your sleepy daughter and your formidable boss. He's a kind man, you know that with all of your heart, but to your tiny four-year old, he's tall, mean, and scary.

"Come in," Hotch calls, his voice muffled through the door. At the sound, your daughter curls tighter into your embrace, whining pitifully through the blanket that she's wrapped around her head.

"I know, Olivia," You hum, trying to soothe her nerves, "Just for a minute. You can sit on the couch, that's all."

She squirms in your hold while you open the door, smiling hesitantly when Hotch looks up from his paperwork to find you cradling your groggy daughter.

"She's got a cold, and the sitter cancelled," You lament, "And- uh, I need to use the bathroom."

You're constantly surprised at how strongly Aaron cares for children, because someone with his scowl doesn't seem the type. But his eyes flash with worry, and he leans back from his desk in his chair, "Do you think she'll let me hold her?"

Olivia writhes in your hold, a firm no.

"It's okay," You hum, kissing her head though it helps little, "It's okay, baby, I'm gonna put you on the couch, okay? Get cozy with your blanket," You hum, laying her on the cushions before she has the chance to curl her fingers into your blouse and never let go, "And just try to sleep, I'll be back in just a few minutes, okay?"

She moans something that sounds an awful lot like 'not okay!' but you can't afford to listen, not when your bladder is making its contents uncomfortably known.

"Okay, I'll- I'll be right back," You promise Hotch, straightening your clothes that were wrinkled by your clingy daughter, "I'm sorry about this, I'll make sure she's at home tomorrow."

"Don't worry about it," Hotch urges, "Go, I'll make sure she's okay."

"Thanks," You grin, exhaustion seeping over your features after the long, nearly sleepless night you'd had. You duck out of Hotch's office with no further delay, rushing over to the elevator bay and the bathrooms on the other side of it.

"Olivia," Hotch hums after a moment of silence where the little girl tries burrowing between his couch cushions to escape his presence, "Did your mommy give you medicine already?"

She's scared, but she's still polite.

"Yes," She calls, from inside of her blanket cocoon, but there's no further response.

"Alright," Aaron hums quietly, fingers fiddling awkwardly with his pen, "Do you want anything to eat or drink?"

"No."

'Okay. Just... let me know if you need anything, okay?" He calls, any foolish hope he'd had of connecting with the little girl seeping out of his chest when she doesn't answer.

Thirteen minutes. It takes you thirteen minutes to get through the line outside of the restroom, who knew this place would be so packed early in the morning? It takes you longer still to actually use the bathroom, and you're teetering on twenty minutes when you jog back up the stairs of Hotch's office to collect your sullen kid.

You don't bother knocking, too rushed to get inside and apologize for sticking Hotch with your sick, terrified toddler for almost half an hour, and to apologize to Olivia for abandoning her with the big scary man who tells you what to do all day.

But Hotch isn't displeased with your rather impolite and abrupt entrance, staying silent as he peers over the blanket hood that Olivia has fashioned for herself. She's held against his chest, her clammy face tucked against his tie. His arms hold her tight and close, and he bounces her ever-so-slightly up and down as he soothes her whiny cries.

"Your mommy's here," He hums, craning his neck down to peer at her, and you're still partially frozen in shock at seeing Olivia cradled up in the arms of the man she runs from at dinner parties, "Would you like to see her?"

Olivia's responsive whine is less-than-clear, neither a yes nor a no. But you advance anyways, eyes surely showcasing your surprise at Hotch's sudden success with your daughter. Upon closer inspection, her tiny hand is gripping his tie tightly, the way that she holds the collar of your shirt when she doesn't want you to let her go. She's all bundled up and sniffling against his chest, surely feeling the symptoms of her cold that the medicine didn't cover.

"My poor baby," You lament, leaning down to kiss her forehead. It puts your face tantalizingly close to Hotch's own, and you'd be lying if you said you weren't feeling some butterflies through your stomach at the sight of him bouncing your baby girl in his arms, "Will you come with me? We can go sit at mommy's desk, and you can go to sleep."

This time, you understand her response.

"No!" She whines, desperately burrowing further into Hotch's warm embrace, "I'm- tired!" She sobs, voice raw from crying, "I want to stay!"

Before you can figure out how to bargain her out of Aaron's arms and into your own he shushes her, leaning down to kiss her feverish temple like she's his own. The sight flips your stomach even further, and you're very glad Aaron can't read your mind at the moment.

"It's okay. You can stay here if you really want to. Are you sure?" He squeezes her to prompt a response, but the only one she gives is nodding her head and pressing her face into his tie.

"Hotch, I'm sorry-" You start, but he smiles kindly, warmly up at you.

"It's alright. I can keep her in here for a bit, if you want to get started for the day."

"But you've got work to do. And you might get sick," Your shoulders slump, because even though you're thrilled that Olivia has finally seemed to get over her Hotchnerphobia, you don't want to push your luck after being fifteen minutes late to retrieve your daughter that isn't supposed to be here in the first place.

"Easy paperwork," Hotch waves it off, smiling as Olivia readjusts her grip on his tie, "Just signatures, really. I've got time. Plus, if I'm gonna get sick, it'll probably be from Jack. He brings home germs from school all the time."

"That's their special talent," You muse, stroking a hand over Olivia's wispy hair, "If you're sure..."

"I'm sure, Y/N," Aaron nods, continuing to bounce her lightly in his arms with a fond grin while her eyes remain loosely shut, "I finally got her to like me - I'm not sure I'd be able to put her down if she did want to go with you."

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ddejavvu · 8 months

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Can‘t stop thinking about the usually so confident hotch getting yk kinda shy and clumsy all of a sudden, everyones just so confused as to why he‘s getting a bit quieter or redder in the face with seemingly no reason

But when in a case meeting they notice Hotch gripping the sides of his chair, biting his nails (nervous tick), making himself small in his chair and his leg shaking so much that they can feel it in through the floor

And you just standing behind him, one hand on the back of his chair not even really touching his shoulder with your fingertips and listening to whatever Garcia has to say with your full attention that they realize how Hotch has it bad BAD for you

You don't make it into the round table room until after everyone else is already seated, and unfortunately for you, that means you're out of a chair. Your typical seat is filled by Strauss, who looks less-than-pleased at your late entry, but holds her tongue.

"I'm sorry for being late, everyone," You linger behind the seat facing the screen that Garcia has prepared, your hands resting on the back of Hotch's chair, "There was an accident right in front of me, and I had to give a witness statement. Have we started yet?"

The team is used to Aaron leading conversation, but it's not necessarily weird that he doesn't, and Derek shakes his head.

"All good- uh, Y/L/N." He seems to have been going for a nickname that Strauss would not be amused with, and wisely reels himself in, "We barely got halfway through."

"I'll-" You lean down over the back of Hotch's chair, and it creaks as he shifts in it. You peer down at the case file that's open in front of him, and his eyes are glued to the word victim as you scan the details over his shoulder. He can't move them, he can't act natural, he's stiff as a board and tense in his seat.

"Oh," Your nose wrinkles at the word enucleator, "Gross. Okay, well- uh, go ahead, Garcia. I think I'm caught up."

"Okay. So victim number three was just last night, in this parking garage," She grimaces as the image on the screen, "And wow, that's nasty. But- um, Houston PD has asked for your help, and I really don't want to look at this anymore, so I'm gonna go, and- and let you take over. Do your- profiler genius thing," She stammers, gaze averted from the screen as she rushes out, emphasizing her command with a wave of her hands, "Be gone!"

Reid gets right into things by rattling off statistics on enucleators. They're fascinating, really, but not entirely helpful, and you lean down once more to inspect the case file.

"Sorry," You murmur beside Hotch's ear when your fingertips brush against his shoulder, "My seat was taken."

He doesn't answer, can't afford to open his mouth and hear his voice waver. All he does is nod, once, stiffly, and it casts an uncomfortable ache over your chest. Is he angry with you?

He could be annoyed, perhaps. That you were late in front of Strauss. But he's never been afraid to chew out an agent in front of an audience if it's what they truly deserve, and if he had a problem with your tardiness you're sure he would let it be known.

"Are you okay?" You ask him in that same low murmur, one that sends shivers down his spine to a place he can't think about with you hovering above him. He nods, vigorously so, and his tie moves with the gesture. You decide that he's just uncharacteristically nervous about Strauss's presence, perhaps she's threatening once more to demote him or fire him altogether.

You reach down to place your hands on his shoulders in what's supposed to be a supportive gesture. You squeeze gently at them, feeling his muscles impossibly tense, and the room falls silent as Reid's ramble ends.

"Okay, so these victims aren't connected," Morgan reads off of his case file, "Different genders, different races, different tax brackets, nothing in here that suggests there's a common thread. Opportunity, then?"

"It looks like it." JJ agrees, "I mean, a parking lot at night? That's high-risk. I'm willing to bet this guy just stumbled upon his first chance and took it, then couldn't stop."

There's a quiet round of agreement, some 'yeah's and a thoughtful nods, and the room falls silent. This is Hotch's moment, his time to share his conclusions, his thoughts, his doubts, his orders,, but he can't bring himself to do any of that. Not when your thumbs are gently rubbing out the kinks in his muscles, hidden from view like a comfort you're sharing with him in secret. He can't bring his mind to generate any adequate responses, so he pretends to busy himself with the file in front of him to avoid the probing gazes of his coworkers.

They're smirking. They know what's going on, they see the pink tinge on Hotch's face, they hear his foot tapping the floor beneath the table, they know he's fumbling for words like a lovesick teen.

Strauss is not as amused.

"Agent Hotchner, might I remind you that you're the chief of this team? They are awaiting your instruction."

You press your hands harder into his shoulders, thumbs digging further into his tense muscles to soothe him through his nerves. He feels your hands hold him tighter, feels that staticky feeling threaten to envelop the last part of his brain that had remained clear, and speaks before it can overtake him.

"Wheels up in thirty." He snaps, voice forcibly firm, "Dismissed."

Strauss seems rather displeased with his mediocre orders, but she doesn't say it. She lets Dave herd her out the door with the promise of freshly brewed coffee in the kitchen, and Aaron pointedly ignores the thumbs-up that the older man shoots behind his back as he leads her away.

"She's gone," You breathe, patting Hotch's shoulders as you release your grip on him, "God, she's scary."

"Derek," Emily calls sweetly, "Can you come with me to my desk? I had a newspaper clipping I wanted to show you."

Your nose wrinkles, newspaper clipping? Emily doesn't read the newspaper.

"I'd like to see it too," Reid rushes to follow them, "Uh- JJ, come on, Garcia said she wanted to see you before we took off. She wanted to give you that- uh, thing."

"That thing!" JJ repeats, grinning madly at you as she tails Reid out of the door, "See you on the jet!"

"That thing," You echo in a scoff, "Hotch, did you ever follow through with that drug test on Garcia? I think they might both be on it. Whatever it is."

Hotch manages a weak chuckle, and it brings a frown back to your face.

"Hotch, come on." You plead, "Are you really worried about Strauss?"

No. He's not. He always is, a little bit, but that's not what has his attention. He can't shake the feeling of your hands on his shoulders, rubbing out the knots in his muscles and pressing flush to his form. He wants to feel your hands over him again, in the same places and in others, but there's a bozo running around Texas removing people's eyes, and he can't afford to focus on that now.

"She's got nothing on you," You take his silence for an answer, smiling sympathetically at him, "Come on, Hotch, just forget about her, and lead like you normally would. That's enough to impress her, I guarantee it. You can do this, Hotch."

Looking at your earnest smile, standing only feet away from you when you reach out to grab hold of his hand and squeeze sympathetically, Aaron is certain of only one thing: He cannot do this.

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ddejavvu · 11 months

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yk that scene of morgan and elle in the car where he says “that must be the boyfriend 😏” and when she answers its gideon

could i request a blurb with that prompt but with hotch?

say when reader picks up the phone dereks shocked (the facial expression he pulled with elle) and he thinks the reader was joking. but she really wasn’t and her and hotch are in a secret relationship 🤗 and derek ends up catching them making out in the conference room later on and says “i thought you were joking 😨”

thank you! :-)

You love riding along with Morgan, because the two of you engage in banter so foul that Strauss's head would explode. There's no shortage of bickering, swear words, and insults between the two of you, but there's also no shortage of laughter, and riding with Derek anywhere is guaranteed to be fun.

Lately, though, he's had a leg up in the teasing game. He's caught you acting odd, and he's insistent that he's discovered your secret relationship.

If only he knew.

Your phone rings while you're on the highway, and he looks over at you smugly, "Aw, that must be the boyfriend."

You glance at the phone, seeing Aaron's contact there, and smiling wickedly.

"It is." You nod, and he slaps the steering wheel in victory while you answer, "Hey, Hotch."

"Y/L/N," Aaron greets you, sure to use your last name on working hours. As quick as Derek had celebrated his guess he retracts it, grimacing in horror as you stick your tongue out at him.

Aaron's only calling to tell you that there's been a new lead uncovered, and that JJ and Reid are investigating. It means you're still on track for an interview you're conducting with Derek, and as you hang up, settling back into your seat, Derek whistles lowly.

"You got me good," He shakes his head, "Would'a veered right off the road if you were dating the big man."

"Oh, you'd flip," You agree, laughing to yourself, "Just be glad you haven't caught us making out."

Derek's luck doesn't last. Hopped up on adrenaline from kicking both doors and ass, he struts into Hotch's office two days later to turn in his report on the case you've just closed. But what he finds behind the closed door stops him dead in his tracks, the file falling from his hand and landing in a messy heap at his feet.

You're making out with Hotch. You're- you're making out with Hotch!

"You're making out with Hotch!"

The two of you were both a little too wrapped up in each other's presence to notice the click of the doorknob, but Derek's bewildered shout does the trick. You jolt away from Aaron, standing were you'd been straddling his lap on the couch. He tries straightening his tie, as if that's the biggest issue and not the lipstick smeared over his face.

"Morgan, close the door." Hotch commands, and the agent tries to escape with it. "Not-! Get back here."

He steps square on the folder he'd dropped when coming in, standing there looking close to tears as you stand with your hands behind your back.

"You two have been," He lowers his voice, glancing around at what you presume are ghosts in Aaron's office, "Fooling around together? Really?"

"In my defense," You smile sheepishly at Derek, "I told you yesterday. You just didn't believe me."

"Yeah, because-!" Derek motions between you frantically, "I- I didn't know you were robbing the grave, Y/N! And Hotch! You're- ah, man, how long?"

"Two months." Aaron states, expression neutral although he's fiddling with his fingers at his sides, "We need your discretion."

"Discretion? Discretion?" Morgan ogles Aaron, "You expect me to walk out of here like I didn't just see her tongue down your throat?"

"Yes," You nod, "We do."

"Well-!" Morgan stammers, throwing his hands up in defeat and letting them slap his thighs on the way back down, "I- ugh, that's- that's gross. How am I supposed to know you'll work together if we leave you at the precinct, and not canoodle in the bathroom?"

"You don't." Aaron muses, and Derek's face scrunches in disgust, "But if you learned how to knock, Morgan, you won't be witness to any more."

"I am gonna walk out of that door," Derek decides, leaving the files where they are in preference of his peace of mind, "And we are never gonna talk about this again! Never, I won't tell anyone, I swear, but never let me catch you doing that shit again, you hear?"

"Loud and clear," You promise, calling after him as he heads out the door, head ducked and shoulders shivering slightly, "Have a good weekend, Morgan!"

"Don't talk to me!" He snaps back, yanking the door shut behind him. He's only halfway down the stairs from Hotch's office when he hears the lock click into place and his face warps in discontentment once more.

"Oh, come on guys, really? I'm not even out of the building!"

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ddejavvu · 8 months

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for mvm, aaron doing a cognitive interview to reader, who has really bad memory (like she cant remember what she had for breakfast that morning and it's 12 pm)

"I'm not going to be very helpful," You warn the agent in front of you, correcting yourself when you realize you sound like you're resisting, "Uh, not like- I mean, I'll try, but my memory is really bad."

His face softens from where it had been bordering on stern, and he smiles kindly, "Don't worry about that. You might be surprised how much you can remember if you trust yourself."

You're fairly certain you trust yourself every day, but it doesn't mean you can remember much of anything. You blink at him, unconvinced, and he dims the lights in the room.

"Close your eyes," He instructs, "And try to think about where you were yesterday morning at 11AM."

That's... an issue. You'd been at work, sure, because this whole thing is about a man who'd put six bullet holes in your customers, but you have absolutely no idea what you were doing, or where you were standing. You let yourself think about standing at the cash register, hoping that something else will come back to you if you just squeeze your eyes tightly enough.

"What were you wearing?" He asks, and your brows furrow.

"I dunno."

"Think. Think about the clothes that you put on yesterday, what were they? Look down at yourself, what are you wearing?"

You're sure it's an exercise in memory, but the problem is, you're particularly weak in that area. You know it doesn't really matter what you were wearing, but you can't even remember that, so it's hard to hope that you'll ever be able to help him.

"Agent Hotchner?" You hum worriedly, and when he responds, you admit, "I don't even know what I'm wearing today."

There's a beat of silence, and it stretches just longer than you'd like it to, then he decides" "Let's try a different approach. What was it like directly after the shooting started? Take yourself back to when you heard the first gunshot; tell me about it, what did you do? What did you hear, what did you see?"

You heard a gunshot. You saw the backs of your eyelids.

"Agent Hotchner," You inhale sharply, eyes flying open and muscles tensing, "I'm sorry. I just- can't. I'm not the kind of person that these things work on," You stumble to your feet, but he catches your hands, and pulls you back down to your chair.

"Trust yourself," He repeats, voice smooth and easing your nerves, "You saw the entire thing. And your brain is more capable than you give it credit for. Just try one more time, that's all I'm asking."

You sit back down again, if only for the comforting warmth of Agent Hotchner's hands on your own after your the past 24 hours left you sufficiently rattled.

"Close your eyes," He reminds you, leaving his hands over your own, squeezing gently, "Okay. You're at work. It's 11:14 AM, and you're behind the counter. That's where they found you. Do you remember the customer you're serving?"

Your initial instinct is to say no, but your hands are still firmly anchored by his own, and you let yourself relax into them.

"Um," You try, "I think they were buying- something glass. Because it broke when I ducked behind the counter."

"Good. You have cuts on your hands," Agent Hotchner reminds you, "What were they buying that was made out of glass?"

You see a flash of purple lodged into your finger, "A vase. It was- a vase, for flowers. She was buying it for her daughter. As a wedding gift."

Another encouraging squeeze to your hands, "Good. Now, you hear the gunshots. Do you drop to the ground immediately, or do you look around?"

"I dropped- no, I- I froze for a second. And looked around."

"Did you see him?"

"The- what, the shooter?"

"The shooter," Agent Hotchner confirms, your hands secure in his hold, "Did you see the shooter?"

"I don't remember."

"Think."

"I don't- I don't remember!"

"Yes you do. You remember, you looked around, did you see him?"

"I don't know," You feel like sobbing, your chest tight, "Agent Hotchner, I don't know. Please-" You try pulling your hands away, uncomfortable with the pressure on your lungs as you recount the most traumatic experience of your life mere hours after it had transpired, "I can't!"

"You can," Agent Hotchner's voice rises with your own, driving an unstoppable force against your immovable object, gripping your hands like a vice, "Did you see him?"

"Yes!" You wail, and the weight on your chest evaporates. "Yes. I did. He was- he was white, and I don't know how... tall, but he was- he was white. And he was wearing black."

"All black?"

"Yeah. No- uh, grey pants. Black shirt."

"We have a lineup ready," Agent Hotchner informs you, standing and rounding the table without ever letting go of your trembling hands. "Let's go now, while the memory's fresh."

"You want me to see him?" You verify, cowed by the thought, "Like- I have to go in there, and- look at him?"

"He might be there, he might not." Agent Hotchner squeezes your hands again, the pressure soothing despite it's strength, "But I will be. Will you look at the lineup?"

He watches you with hopeful eyes, dark and kind despite having raised his voice only moments ago. You marvel at how his harsh tone had brought back the hazy reminder of the shooter's own, how they'd strung together like beads trailing one after the other in your mind.

"If you're there," You conclude in a shaky voice, "I'll go."

"You'll be safe with me," He promises, and though there's no smile on his face, you think that his intense gaze might calm your nerves more than a smile ever could. He's not being nice to you, he's being honest with you, and you believe him: you're safe with him.

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ddejavvu · 11 months

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bfd!hotch comes to drop off some of your stuff that you'd been asking your bf to but he's been "too busy" to and when he sees you, lounging in the shortest shorts and your bf's shirt (which is actually an old t-shirt of hotch's), he looses his mind

this post is 18+ (and so are its characters), minors dni.

i changed this to ex!bf's dad, and this is not with jack because i could not make him anything other than the sweetest boy in the world </33 this is just an unnamed unspecified character that reader used to be dating!!

Aaron can't believe he's treating you better than his son did. He thought he'd raised the boy right, but apparently his son had run away from him. After finding someone new and cutting all contact with you instead of telling you outright, Aaron's son had then refused to return any of your things, and his breaking point was when he caught the boy's new girlfriend using your leftover facial soap in the bathroom.

So here he is now, a box of your things in his arms as he braces it against the door to ring the buzzer.

When you open it your eyes meet his chest, then trace up to his face like you were expecting someone shorter at the door. Maybe his son. He feels a little guilty that he isn't the boy.

"Oh! Mr. Hotchner," You smile, cocking your head to the side, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Uh, my son still had some of your things," Aaron manages to murmur, but his brain is slowly emptying, reading over the words on the faded t-shirt over your chest: GWU.

Why are you wearing his shirt?

"Oh! Um, thank you," You laugh awkwardly, reaching for the box. Aaron feels guilty by association, and can't imagine how embarrassing it must be for your ex-boyfriend's dad to dump a box of stuff on you.

"Is.. that all?" You raise a brow, watching as Aaron stands aimlessly in your doorway. He blinks, then you notice his eyes are on your chest, and you make the connection with your shirt.

"Oh! Right, my- here," You set the box down, reaching for the hem of the shirt you're wearing and pulling it over your head, "Sorry, I forgot I was wearing his shirt."

Aaron's heart pounds in the split second that you strip the shirt off, and it doesn't slow down when he sees the sports bra beneath. It's perfectly modest, something he'd see a woman jogging in on a hot day, but it's more than he's ever seen of you. And the fact that it had been his shirt concealing the vision he's faced with now? He's starting to feel a little bit like a horny teenager, chubbing up at the sight of boobs.

"Thank you," Aaron reaches for the shirt, "It's- I think this is actually my shirt, he must have grabbed it one day."

"Oh!" Your brows raise and you pick the box up again, "Well, thank you for letting me borrow it. Even if you didn't know I was," You crack a sneaky smile at him, and Aaron can't help but let a kind one slip over his own face.

"It was good seeing you," He hums, and he means it, because the girl traipsing around his house right now is grating on his nerves.

"It was good seeing you too, Mr. Hotchner," You agree after a moment of tense silence, "I- I wish things would have ended differently."

"Me too," Aaron nods, fist tightening around his shirt, "If you ever need anything, Y/N.. You're always welcome to call me. My son might have the moral backbone of a paper straw but I'm not going to turn against you because he did."

You're barely able to stifle a laugh at Aaron's open insult, gazing appreciatively at him, "Thank you. Really, I- I appreciate that. A lot."

Aaron nods, shirt in hand, "Have a good day, Y/N."

The 'You too!' that you offer him as he steps down your walkway rings in his ears well after he gets into his car and drives away. He stalks through his house on autopilot, ignoring both his son and the new girl he's with when they try to half-ass a greeting towards him. He beelines for his room, shutting the door behind him. His back meets the wood of the door as he leans against it, and he finally takes a good look at the shirt in his hands. There's a smear of what he thinks is your makeup on the neckline, and he feels like a depraved teen as he cautiously raises it to his nose. It's like you've drowned it in your scent, a sweet mix of perfume and laundry detergent that he's caught on spare pillows or the couch cushions after you leave.

He locks the door behind him and looks at the shirt like it'll tell him where to put it. When it doesn't, he tosses it onto his bed, hoping that some of the perfume will stick to his pillow.

He heads into the bathroom in a daze, head spinning and fingers heavier than they need to be while flicking the light switch: He needs a shower.

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ddejavvu · 7 months

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Hi Mei!!! I Hope you’re well 🧡

I’m just watching the first season of criminal minds for the first time, and I was on the episode where they go to Mexico. Elle’s ability to speak Spanish made me think of Aaron and reader where he just assumes reader can speak Spanish and tries to get her to interview witnesses but she’s like no babe I said I could get through a resort if we took a vacation!

Thank youuuuuuuu for sharing your writing with us 🧡

i also do not speak spanish so i did use google translate for the pet name that i put in at the end my apologies if it's awkward </3

Your brain has managed to tune out Elle's fluent Spanish conversation because you can't understand a word of it, but when the pair approaches you, you stiffen, throwing a kind smile at the woman beside her.

Elle says something to the woman, what you're not quite sure, because she's still speaking Spanish. But she looks expectantly at you, and you stare blankly back at her.

"Hello," You offer cautiously to the woman, wondering if she can manage an English interview, and maybe Elle needs to focus on those who can't, "Can I help you?"

"In Spanish," Elle prods, looking slightly inquisitive at you, "She doesn't speak English."

"I don't speak Spanish..." You shake your head ever-so-slightly, hands hanging limply at your sides.

She rears her head back, "You don't? Hotch said you do."

Your brows raise, "He did? I don't."

"Oh." She laughs lightly, and you assume the Spanish phrases that she offers to the woman beside her detail your predicament, because her words ease the nervous woman into relaxed laughter. Elle places a hand on her shoulder, bidding you goodbye, and resumes talking to the woman in Spanish.

You turn as soon as they leave you, eyes scanning the building you're stationed in for your boyfriend. He stands tall against the wall opposite you, filling officers in on the warning signs that they're looking for.

"-above all else, be vigilant. This person seems to know about our proceedings here, which means it could easily be someone in this room. Stay alert, and be careful who you trust."

With that bone-chilling warning, he dismisses the officers, and you feel bad for them when you see their paranoid glances to each other.

"Aaron," You step up to him once they disperse, "Did you tell Elle I could speak Spanish?"

"Yes I did," He nods, brows furrowing a fraction, "Did you not want me to?"

"Uh, well, I can't," You laugh, and he blinks blankly, "So, no, I'd have preferred for you not to tell her."

"Oh." He offers, "But I thought- When we were discussing our vacation plans..."

"I said I could survive a Spanish-speaking resort," You correct him, "Because anyone can download Duolingo. But I haven't yet, and I don't know an ounce of Spanish."

"Oh." He repeats, lighter this time as he chuckles sheepishly. He pulls you into an embrace, keeping it casual and quick as he bends down to kiss the grin off of your face. He backs away before he can give into his urge for more, but his hand stays clasped around your own, "Sorry. I didn't-" His shoulders shake with a chuckle as he glances at the floor, "I guess I should know that about you. I don't know why I assumed."

"It's okay, Aaron." You lean against his shoulder, "I'm not upset. But maybe we should download Duolingo."

"Maybe we should." He chuckles, "We'll do it in the car when we go for lunch."

"Deal," You nod, reluctant to let go of his hand even though you know you need to get back to work. Your eyes light with an idea, and you retrieve your phone, typing with the screen facing away from him while he watches, waits. Then you pocket it again, grinning devilishly at him, "See you then, mi amor."

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ddejavvu · 2 years

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could i please request hotch with a s/o whose love language is acts of service but she gets anxious and starts doing them when she thinks someone (him) is mad at her? and hotch comforts and reassures her? thank you so much!

The steaming hot cup of coffee is placed on Aaron's desk as silently as possible, but he still hears you. His eyes raise from his paperwork, surveying you with a questioning glance.

"I just thought.. I know you're tired." You start, rambling nervously, "And I'm sorry I accidentally ruined your papers."

"It's alright." Aaron smiles kindly at you, a genuine one that crinkles his eyes at the corners, "I'm not upset with you."

"But you have to fill it all out again." Your lower lip protrudes slightly, your brows scrunching with guilt.

"It's an easy fix." He assures you, shaking his head dismissively as he sips from the mug. A thoughtful expression curls over his face in the form of another smile, "How do you make my coffee better than I make my coffee?"

"I knew it had to be extra good." You tease, pride flaring in your chest as you preen at his compliment.

Your joke doesn't go over the way you thought it would. Instead of drawing a breathy laugh from Aaron, it weighs down his brows, his smile fading as he processes your words.

"Y/N," He sets his pen down on the desk, gesturing to the cup of coffee, "Is this an apology?"

You nod silently, unsure of why he's acting so strangely. You hadn't expected a cup of coffee to become such a mystifying gesture, but the longer you sat under his scrutinizing gaze, the more self conscious you became.

"You don't need to do things for me to apologize. You told me you were sorry, and I told you it was okay. That was the end of the incident." He stares you down, his lips firmly set in a thin line. He wouldn't grant you a smile, not yet.

"I just thought-"

"You just thought that you needed to overexert your apology. But you don't," He sets the mug down on the counter. "I'm not angry with you."

You sit in a comfortable silence afterwards, taking in his speech. The dreadful anxiety that had been weighing on you since you'd ruined his paperwork is starting to dwindle, and you feel almost relaxed sitting in his office.

"Are you gonna finish it?" You finally speak, looking up at him hopefully.

"What?" He arches a brow.

"Finish it." You nod towards the drink, your commanding tone bringing a smile to his face, "I made it for you."

"Yes sir." He quips amusedly, bringing the cup to his lips and downing another sip. You're satisfied at his appreciation of your gesture, even if the logic behind it was faulty, and you settle back in the chair across from him at his desk.

"Are you staying?" He takes hold of his pen again, but keeps his eyes on you.

"Mhm," You nod cheerily, pulling your phone out from your back pocket, "I'll try not to ruin any more of your paperwork, but if I do, you're not getting a coffee out of it this time, so you'd better keep it away from me."

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