50 shades of Hotchner|| Aaron Hotchner x reader

♕ Chapter 1 ♛

    I groan in frustration at myself in the mirror. Damn my hair— it just won't stay down, and damn Chanel Rose for being sick and putting me up to this difficult tasks. I should be studying for my final exams, which happen to be next week, but here I am trying to tame my hair to lay down. I attempt once more to brush it down.

    I roll my eyes in annoyance and stare at the dark bags underneath my eyes, red bitten lips, and give up. I quickly fix my make up, put my hair into my ponytail and hope I look somewhat professional.

    Chanel is my roommate, and she choose one of the many days that I can't afford not to study to catch a cold. Meaning, she cannot attend the interview she'd arranged to do, with some behavioral analyst leader I've never heard of, for the student newspaper. So I have been volunteered.

    I have final exams to cram for and one essay to finish, and I'm supposed to be working this afternoon, but no—today I have to drive 90 miles to Quantico, Virgina in order to meet the cold (so what i heard) leader of the best bau team in the country. As an exceptional leader and occasional one of our teachers at the university, his time is extraordinarily precious—much more precious than mine—but he has granted Chanel an interview. A real deal, she tells me. Damn her curious and active mind.

    Chanel is curled up on the couch in the living room.

    "(y/n), I'm sorry. It took me eight months to get this interview. It will take another five to reschedule, and we'll both have graduated by then. As the president of the club and the editor, I can't call this off. Please," Chanel begs me in her rasping, sore throat voice. How does she do it? Even ill she looks gorgeous, highlighted brunette hair in place and gray eyes bright, although now red rimmed and runny. I ignore my the sharp pain in my heart of sympathy.

    "Of course I'll go, Chanel. You should go lay in bed. Would you like some NyQuil or Tylenol?"

    "NyQuil, please. Here are the questions and my digital recorder. Just press record here. Make notes, I'll transcribe it all." She says while showing the buttons on the recorder.

    "I know nothing about him," I murmur, starting to sweat from how nervous I am"The questions will help you out. Go. It's a long drive. I don't want you to be late"

    "Okay, I'm going. Get to bed. I made you some chicken noodle soup to heat up later." I stare at her fondly. Only for you, Chanel, would I do this.

    "I will. Good luck. And thanks, (y/n)—as usual, you're my lifesaver."

    I gather the things Chanel gave me and put them in my over the shoulder purse. I smile softly at her, then head out the door to the car. I cannot believe I have let Chanel talk me into this. But then Chanel can persuade anyone into anything. She'll make an exceptional reporter. She's hardworking, strong, persuasive, argumentative, beautiful, she's my closet and dearest friend.

    The road is surprisingly clear as I make my way to Virginia . It's still early though and I don't have to be in Quantico until two in the afternoon. Fortunately, Chanel let me borrow her gray Jeep. I'm not sure my old VW Beetle, would make the journey in time. I'm in love with Chanel Jeep and the miles start to decrease as I jam out to my favorite singers at the moment.

My destination is the headquarters of the federal Bureau of investigation. It's a huge twenty-story office building, it's a brick building and you can tell it's been here for a while. It's a quarter to two when I arrive, greatly relieved that I'm not late as I walk in-front of the enormous—and frankly intimidating—glass door.

    Behind the solid sandstone desk, a very pretty, groomed, African American young woman smiles pleasantly at me. She's wearing a bright blue suit jacket and white shirt. She looks immaculate.