Summary:
You and Hotch have a complicated relationship. Amidst your questioning as a suspect, and now being left alone with him - tension builds up.
Notes:
this was an (unhinged) req by @laurensprentiss who wanted iceplay hotch ;D and it caused me a lot of existential dread so pls lemme kno how it is lmaoo
thanks to my frien @themodernmary for ltierally readin anythin i hand her lolNSFW WARNING - get out if not over 18 or istg
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Having spent a whole week under the close watch of profilers, you've grown accustomed to them – almost in the same way as one who has mold in a corner of the house and knows it should be addressed before it spreads.
It's how you can explain the dreary state you're in. The impatience, the frustration, the ever-present annoyance at being questioned over any single action you make. Like now, when Emily Prentiss and JJ – the only two female profilers, nod at you when you point at the bathroom nearby.
Luckily they don't follow you in, so you're more than glad to spend some time alone. You use the washroom first, adjust the tights clinging to your skin, before deciding against them. Then you take in your reflection in the wide mirrors of your hotel room bathroom: room which the BAU paid for the sole purpose of this mission, as they'd called it.
Emily had been the one to find the dress, and it's her taste, because you'd never go for something skin-tight and this short, not even attempting to reach your knees. Maybe it's not without a purpose: you'd never be able to conceal a weapon under it.
It's a price you will have to pay for being with only one of them the entire night, without comms or ways for them to help.
The one man who has been in your mind needlessly ever since you met him: Aaron Hotchner. Quiet, frowning and impossibly stern – that man held authority like no other. Nothing money and born privilege could ever grant. And he does make your logic jumble up. He makes your knees weak and you've been fighting the feeling since your first encounter.
You sigh, and take a few deep breaths, regulating your posture, and fix in place your persona again. It takes more than a few minutes because there is a knock on the door, then JJ's quiet voice:
"______, we are ready to go. Hotch is already here."
The hold you have over the sink tightens at his name. The one person who's supposed to accompany you during this fake gala event, and the man who's convinced, without a sliver of a doubt, that you are responsible over your husband's death.
Back into the hallway where everyone of them stand guard, joined by the men too Agent Aaron Hotchner stands out.
He's shed the suit jacket he usually has with him in every situation you haven't been privy to: in the precinct, in the crime scenes, and even as he interrogated people....including you. He looks casual, laid back, though the frown he regards you with is the same as always.
Hotch meets your eyes first. You take your time to do so when you're taken by the rest of him. He dons a dark green button-down and dark slacks. His collar is popped open too, and your breath catches at the sight of him: the material snug around his arms, tight on his biceps and his firm torso. His hair is swept differently today, few strands of hair curled over his forehead and there's something strangely regal about it. Something that feels familiar but out of your grasp, because his brows rise up in question, catching you staring so crudely at his athletic frame.
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YOU ARE READING
Short stories (Hotch x fem!reader) // ✔
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