summary : after hayleys death, hotchner need a full time helper for jack. that’s when he hired you, not realizing that he needed you just as much as jack.
word count: 9k | warnings: smut, alcohol mention, lots of mentions of death, serial killers, other bau stuff
song inspo: domestic bliss by glass animals
It had now been two weeks since you lost your job, and every day you felt more and more hopeless that you’d never find work again. You called every family you could get ahold of, but everyone already had a nanny. You kept checking in with your contacts to see if any Diplomats and their families were moving here to DC, but there was nothing. The need for a nanny; or specifically, your kind of nanny that works with government families, was all dried up. You were hopeless, broke, and could only sleep on your sisters couch for so long.
Your days were usually filled with you wandering random streets, hoping to bump into a friend who could help you out of your slump. You thought about the kids who you nannied for, last. Twin girls, six years old. They were perfect, and you missed them dearly. But their father was a Diplomat, and was swept away to South Africa. You scrolled through pictures of them on your phone, walking up the street to a nearby coffee shop. You smiled at videos of them, losing yourself in your phone, before bumping into a building and almost breaking your kneecap.
You groaned in pain as you sat down on a close bench, hugging your leg. You took a deep breath, on the verge of tears as you thought, “Could life get worse than this?” Everything around you was crumbling, and it was only a matter of time before you suffocate under all the debris. You felt your phone vibrating in your hand, rolling your eyes, not ready to deal with whoever needed you at this moment.
You didn’t recognize the number, but recognized the DC area code. You were worried it might be a hospital or something, your anxiety giving you a weird instinct that you needed to answer the phone. You accepted the call and brought the phone to your ear, grinding your teeth as you awaited your fate of the mysterious call.
“Hi, I’m looking for (Y/N).” A man’s voice requested, his tone filled with authority, a mild twinge of desperation laying underneath.
“Uh, yes, this is her.”
“My name is SSA Aaron Hotchner. I got your contact information from Ambassador Gardner. I hope it’s okay to call you on this phone.”
“Oh, of course,” you perked up, the thought of the Ambassador and his family filling you with happiness.
“Well, as it turns out, I am desperately looking for a live-in nanny. He told me you were fantastic and he was heartbroken that he had to leave you.”
“I wish I could’ve gone with him, and the girls. I would’ve, in a heartbeat, but I have some… things that have kept me here.”
“I am meeting with a few other applicants, but Ned’s recommendation was so high, I really wanted to meet you. If you have time, of course. I’m sure you are highly sought after.” You could hear a twinge of nervousness in his voice, as if he was worried he wouldn’t be good enough. You were very highly qualified and highly praised in your field, but the market was dry, right now. And no one was begging for your services. But, it wouldn’t hurt if he didn’t know that, right?
Pursuing my new goal as an irresponsible sophomore meant both cutting hours babysitting and lengthening the amount of time I spent barhopping and nursing hangovers.
If Aaron noticed that I was avoiding him, he didn’t let on. I went from watching Jack at least four days a week to one. When we were forced to interact, it was kept cold and impersonal on my end. I would give him the rundown and leave. All my jokes stopped, too. The last five texts I sent him were just some variation of “Okay.” Over and over again.
So, my days started quickly blurring together. I drank, I jumped up and down in crowded frat houses to music that shook the floor, I perfected my hangover cure, and I did not think about Aaron Hotchner. My shirts got tighter and my shorts got shorter. Sometimes I went home with boys, sometimes not. Finally learned how to shotgun a beer.
I kind of assumed he wanted to let it go just as much as I did. He never brought it up directly, barely even talked to me, but sometimes I saw him looking at me. The same way he did when I was on my knees, in David’s house. It was too easy to imagine him grabbing me, pushing me against the wall, making me scream his name when he looked at me like that. I tried not to look too closely at him.
Summary:Reader is the new press liaison to the elite Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. A stray comment from her leads to a lot of questions from her teammates, especially her unit chief, Aaron Hotchner. When they’re thrown together on a case that hits close to home for Reader, will that comment tear them apart? Or will it bring them closer together?
Pairing:Aaron Hotchner / (Female) Reader
Rating:Mature
Category:Angst then smut, with plenty of fluff sprinkled throughout.
Word Count: 8.4k
Content Warning: This gets pretty angst heavy in places. The team is chasing an Unsub that’s a serial r*pist/mu*derer. Mentions of an attempted a*sault to someone Reader cares about. Providing comfort to victims of the unsub. It’s dark in places, but if you can stick with me, I promise I will mend the angst and take you to the land of smut and fluff. Because there is plenty of smut.
A/n: Have you ever had a story that just grabbed hold of you and refused to let go? This story was supposed to be half this length and pure fluff. Reader and Hotch dug their claws into me and made me tell their own story. I’m not mad at it, and if you give it a chance, I hope you love it as much as I do. masterlist
y/n = your name. y/l/n = your last name. italicized text = reader’s thoughts
“You’re not my type”
The clock was moving so slowly, I couldn’t help but think it was moving backwards.
Come on, hurry up. I wanna go home.
I sighed, resigning myself to the fact that it was going to be 4:30 pm for the rest of my life. I still had some files to hand out to the team; I usually do that part of my very glamorous job in the mornings, but since I had nothing but time now, I thought why not.
I had been a “sort of” member of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit for 5 months. Jennifer- wait, JJ, had the job as media liaison before me; she was the last person to officially hold the position. When she left the unit chef of the BAU, Aaron Hotchner, and the technical analyst, Penolope Garcia, had split the roll. That is until Chief Strauss had decided that she wanted the BAU to run more efficiently. Meaning that Hotch got less paperwork, Garcia got a break from talking about mutilated bodies, and I got shuffled around from the public relations office.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed working with the team, I really did; but I couldn’t help but feel excluded sometimes. They’re all practically a family. I didn’t really have any sort of family anymore, just a best friend that has always felt more like a sister.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I made my way towards the bullpen, shoving the doors open to see the team sitting on various desks talking to each other. Loudly.
“Shut UP, man!” Derek Morgan’s voice was loud, but amusement was clear on his face. Actually, everyone seemed sort of amused. Rossi and Hotch were leaning on the railing near their respective offices, watching the events unfold with smiles on their faces.
this is the last full length chapter of YMP :’))))) we will have an epilogue on Saturday that’s roughly 3/4th of a regular chapter length. Man oh man am I so excited for you to read this one. I’ll save the sappy stuff for the epilogue, but I hope you enjoy this <333
story summary: Scandal! AU– your mentor, David Rossi, has recruited you to make Senator Aaron Hotchner the next President of the United States. Once described as a political nun, the Senator helps you see that maybe you can mix business and pleasure.
“Mr. President,” Lauren says as she opens the door to the Oval Office. “This is Siobhan Roy, here for your scheduled meeting,” she says, inviting the guest in.
“Thank you, Lauren,” Aaron says as he rises from his desk. Lauren nods politely and leaves, closing the door behind her. “It’s nice to meet you, Siobhan,” he smiles, extending a hand for her to shake and then leading her over to the two couches in the middle of the room, sitting across from her.
“The pleasure’s mine, Mr. President,” she insists as she takes her seat. “You can call me Shiv.”
“Shiv,” he nods. “You went to Brown as well?” He asks, hinting towards your connection with her.
