Criminal Minds Imagines

blow my cover - aaron hotchner

Your job led you to many dangerous, precarious, and downright terrifying situations. You had grown used to controlling your fight or flight and trained yourself to expect the unexpected.

However, nothing in the realm of catching serial killers prepared you to pretend to be Aaron Hotchner's wife.

"What'll you be having?" The gruff bartender asked, snapping you out of your racing thoughts.

Before you could speak, the weight of a calloused hand on your waist stunned you into silence. "She'll have a mai tai. Scotch for me."

The way Hotch confidently ordered you the correct drink, meaning he had paid attention to you during team outings to the bar in DC, made your insides feel all fizzy. Or maybe that was from the contact of warm hand on your hip, his fingers drawing tiny circles on the tight, black silk. Maybe it was a little of both.

He leaned in close to your ear and you could smell his heady cologne. It smelled expensive. Versace? Saint Laurent? Whatever it was, it made you want to bury yourself in the collar of his crisp suit and breathe it in like oxygen.

"To your right, three down," he whispered.

The unsub, the logic side of your brain whispered, remember why you're here.

You turned your head casually to your right, glancing at the man three stools down. That was your guy for sure.

"One mai tai and a scotch." The bartender slid your drinks in front of you and you thanked him, taking a sip.

"I don't know how you drink those things," Hotch grumbled, his nose scrunched up as he scrutinized the red and yellow cocktail.

"And I don't know how you drink that," you scoffed, gesturing to the amber liquid in the small tumbler in front of him. "It's practically cleaning solution."

He rolled his eyes and you giggled, taking an appreciative sip of your fruity drink. Hotch stepped toward you once more, this time his face inches from yours as he brought a finger up to brush your top lip.

You shuddered, looking up at him with wide doe eyes. "What was that for?"

His signature half-smile appeared. "You had sugar on your lip. From the drink."

You glanced down at the sugared rim of your glass and your face heated. "Oh."

"If we're going to be a convincing couple, Y/N, you have to stop acting like a scared deer whenever I touch you. Or look at you for that matter." He looked somewhere between perplexed and bemused.

You pushed a stray hair from your eyes. "Me? Scared? Nah, I'm cool as a cucumber. All natural." Even as you spoke, your voice wavered.

"What's got you on edge?" He frowned, moving his hand up your back and down your arm. Meant as a soothing motion, it only served to light your nerves on fire.

You. My hot boss. Your insides were screaming and you fought to ignore it.

"Surely it's not the case," he surged on. "I've seen you as unshakable as a mountain in the face of deadly killers on an almost weekly basis. And now you're fidgety, shy."

It was your turn to frown, your bottom lip jutting out slightly. "Don't profile me."

He took a step back, took your wrist between his fingers, and then stepped close to you again. Instantly, your heart pounded. "Does me being close to you make you uncomfortable?"

You shook your wrist free. "No. It doesn't. We have a job to do, Hotch. Focus, please?"

"Why are you so defensive?" He questioned, leaning on the bar in attempt to meet your averted gaze.