Welcome to the angel corner. Click below to explore.
Masterlists
The Big Masterlist [including blurbs]
The Glory of Sunshine Masterlist [hiatus]
Taglist Form
Currently Tracking: # s m o o c h
Requests
Status: OPEN 🤍 Please be patient when sending a request.
🤍 Requests can be sent anon.
🤍Please specify if the reader has a gender or is neutral if requesting a Y/N fic.
🤍 No underage characters or minors in romantic/lust relationships.
🤍 I write for characters, not real people.
🤍 If I feel that a request crosses my boundaries or can be viewed as insensitive, I have to right to refuse the request.
🤍 Smut, angst and nsfw requests are welcome.
Ask Box
Status: open.
🤍 any hateful or offensive messages will be deleted.
🤍 kink talking / horny rambles allowed.
🤍 anons allowed.
🤍 irl chat allowed.
🤍 #s m o o c h for daily character pictures
This one is going to break your hearts.
Hotch dies. Yes, he dies.
If you don't want to read this, it's okay. It's incredibly sad, with a tiny silver lining in the ending, but it's still a heart-wrencher. Please do not read this if you are not comfortable.
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader
Contains: Heartbreak, Angst, Major Character Death, Pregnancy, Adult Language.
CM Timeline: AU exists after Haley's death, Jack is around 9.
Word Count: 1.7K
Request from @ssamorganhotchner
Masterlist
Once again - please do not read this if depressive writing / death is a trigger for you. My inbox is open to anyone who is struggling. Take care of yourselves.
It was a blur. It still is a blur.
One minute, you're surrounding an unsub's home, bracing yourselves before doing a soft entry and then the next, Aaron is screaming.
He screamed like you'd never heard a man scream before.
There was a threat of traps, so none of you could run to him. Morgan had to hold you back as you desperately tried to scramble past the SWAT agents.
It wouldn't have made any difference. You heard the gunshot afterwards. No one from the team or SWAT had fired - you held your breath, waiting for Aaron's voice to echo around the house, saying that everything is fine - he's got the unsub, there's no threat, he's okay.
You never heard his voice again.
You hated the color blue after that day.
That's all you saw. Everywhere you looked, flashes of electric blue, illuminating the crevices of the dark house, the beams of light splitting you into two as the flashers of the ambulance rolled on and on outside.
Morgan got to him first and you knew it was bad. It was really bad.
"Don't let Y/N in here!" He roared. You felt arms pulling you out of the house, the opposite way from Aaron, and you screamed and kicked until your body felt like it wasn't yours to control anymore.
You didn't even see the paramedics when they wheeled Aaron out of the house and into the ambulance. Emily covered your eyes.
Hospitals were always too bright and cold. Spencer said that the average temperature of a hospital wasn't low, but that our bodies tend to feel colder when in fear.
You didn't feel fear. You didn't feel anything at all.
Your soul was hollow as your mind washed blank, your fingers fidgeting and wringing absent-mindedly as you waited on tenterhooks. The rest of the team were pacing, apart from Morgan, who stared down at the ground with tears spilling down his cheeks. You couldn't even see his pupils through the blur of water that constantly welled up in his eyes.
You didn't even wish for Aaron to be okay. Deep down, you already knew.
Aaron Hotchner wasn't coming home.
But hope was a cruel thing and when the head surgeon appeared in the doorway of the waiting room, you were the first one to stand up. Just for a moment, a tiny fraction of a second, a glimmer of hope took over as you waited for the surgeon to speak. He's fine, he's very lucky. He could walk out of here in a few days.
"There was nothing that we could do. I'm sorry,"
You blinked. And blinked. And blinked again, until the soft sobs echoed in your ears from the team, confirming what you'd heard the doctor say.
Aaron Hotchner wasn't coming home.
He was never going to hold your hand again. He was never going to watch you as you made pancakes in the morning, with a coy grin on his face as he caught you fisting the air when you flipped a pancake perfectly. He was never going to run a hot bubble bath for you and wash your hair when your arms were too tired from the day. He was never going to hold you in a crushing embrace when a case was finished, just thankful that you were okay. He was never going to wink at you when he made a sly joke in front of the team, knowing that it made Penelope excited seeing her two favourite people in love. He was never going to love you in the way that only he could.
He would just become a painful and, maybe one day, beautiful memory that you would carry with you until you joined him in whatever afterlife there was, if any.
"I need to see him," You said. There was no emotion in your face, you were the only one that wasn't crying or pacing. The surgeon nodded, reluctantly. The team had the decency not to stop you, but Emily followed you as the surgeon walked you towards the operating room that he was occupying only half an hour ago.
You were about to step into the room when a young voice caught your attention.
"Where's my dad?"
Emily's eyes widened as she saw Jack, stood at the other end of the hallway. JJ appeared from the waiting room, enveloping Jack into a hug that he pushed away.
"Y/N, where's dad?" He asked.
He already knew. His tears shone on his cheeks as he watched you, desperately hoping he was wrong. You held your hand out to him and he slowly tumbled down the hallway, burying himself into your leg as he sobbed.
"He's with mom, isn't he?"
The tears nearly made an appearance in your eyes. This little guy, such a strong and intelligent little guy, had to ask you if his dad was in Heaven with his mom. You barely believed it yourself, but you knelt down in front of him.
"He is," You whispered. Jack nodded, and you wiped the tears away from his cheeks as JJ crept behind him. She placed a hand on his shoulder, pulling him away from you, but Jack refused to budge.
"Can I see him?"
You couldn't bear to say no, even though it should have been your response. Instead, you took a deep breath and picked him up.
"Jack, are you sure?"
He nodded.
"Your dad lost a lot of blood, buddy. He might not look how you think," Emily warned, but Jack was adamant.
You turned back towards the operating room and walked in.
He was covered by a sheet. The surgeon slowly pulled it back, revealing his face.
Slightly pale, but peaceful. You could have sworn he was just sleeping.
"Dad?"
Your heart shattered into pieces as Jack clambered out of your grasp, propelling forward and locking his arms onto his father's shoulders.
"Dad," He mumbled, over and over again until Emily had to pry him away. He screamed, kicking his legs into you and Emily as she pulled him off Aaron, taking him out of the room.
"You can't do this, Aaron," You whispered. You took a hold of his hand, expecting it to be colder than it was, and kissed his forehead softly. You stilled, sheepishly hoping that his eyes would flutter open.
"You can't do this, Aaron! You can't just leave us. You can't leave me!" Your voice slowly became erratic as you grasped his limp hand tightly. "You fucking asshole. You can't just leave - that's not what you promised!" You yelled, the words bouncing around the cold, metallic room. "Aaron!"
The tears still didn't fall as Emily pried you away, too.
"Tell me it's just a dream, please. Please,"
You took one last glance at him before you left the room.
You still hadn't cried by the time his funeral date rolled around. The sun shone, just like it had done the day that Haley was laid to rest - the golden glow caressing you all as you gathered around his coffin.
You couldn't speak at his funeral. You could barely mutter a thank you when condolences were given to you. When they offered you the flag, you shook your head, motioning to Jack, who hadn't left your side since the hospital. You'd held it together, partly from shock and partly because you needed to be there for him, now more than ever. As the funeral ended and everyone slowly began to walk away, you and Jack stayed sat. His eyes flickered from his dad's coffin to his mom's grave. Side by side. Aaron's voice was a whirlpool inside your mind.
Will you look after Jack? You know, just in case.
I'm not leaving you, Y/N. Not until we're old and grey...stop laughing, I'm not completely grey yet!
I promise.
You'll be a great mom.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
You didn't break down until four weeks later. It was only a simple thing, a small tribute to him, but it broke you all the same. The first case back - JJ had presented the case and you were all ready to leave, but neither of you could move.
As if by magic, in unison, the team all glanced at each other, then muttered the simple phrase together as if they were being directed in a choir.
"Wheels up in 30,"
And the tears came - the sobs wracking your body, ripping your heart apart and caving your chest inwards as you let everything go whilst Emily rubbed your back. Then came the wave of sickness, and you threw up in the nearest trash-can.
The sickness didn't stop. You still went on the case, but had to dash off regularly to throw up. You put it down to the truth finally settling into your mind, but after three days of sickness, you'd had enough.
Aaron may have left you. He may have left all of you, but a small part of him still managed to stay within your realm, as the final push brought half of him back alive. Eight months later, in a hospital room that actually felt warm for once, your son cried for the first time.
He laid on your chest, with dark hair already growing from his head, dark eyes that you swore weren't going to change like other babies' did, and the same facial features that the love of your life had.
Aaron Hotchner didn't come home, but parts of him filled your life every day: in Jack's grin whenever you gave into allowing him sugary cereal in the morning, in your newborn baby's eyes every time you fed him - memories of him were twisted and interweaved into your home, into your mind. He would live on forever, even if you'd never feel his touch again.
-- and a year later, as you grabbed a washing basket of dirty laundry, you brushed past your sons just in time to catch the moment.
"That's your dad," Jack pointed to his favourite photo of Aaron in the album. Your youngest smiled, tapping the photo with his chubby finger.
one shot where hotch has a wet dream about the reader and avoids her just to not get 'tempted' but she thinks hes mad at her <3333 bonus could be where during one of their hotel stays, he sees her wearing the same clothes as his dream and loses it ifykyk.... ;)
hiii <333 i combined these two asks i hope you don’t mind 😌
this got 1.8k words long lmfao
nsfw-minors don’t interact
♡ ♡ ♡ ♡
“I guess you’re stuck with me then,” you giggled shyly, but turned your head to look into his eyes anyway.
Aaron felt his knees get weak at the eye contact, since the last time he looked into your eyes was the night before; when you were on top of him, moving slowly up and down and up again.
He hadn’t dared to look into your eyes ever since. And the sweetheart that you were, probably thought he was mad at you. Because you had no idea that he was inside you last night. You had no idea that he avoided eye contact with you like it would burn him alive because he was afraid it actually would. You had no idea you were starring in his last night’s dream.
He shut his eyes, breathing deeply, trying not to think about you in his old t-shirt, riding him to bliss.
Opening them again, he saw you bite your lip with a frown on your face. He mentally slapped himself. You obviously translated his reaction as annoyance and not as a desperate attempt not to get hard in a random hotel lobby.
How was he going to survive sleeping next to you?
Aaron cleared his throat, pulling himself together.
“Come on, roommate,” he smiled, trying to show you that the idea of sharing a room with you was the last thing in the world that would annoy him. He thought that your frown made you look impossibly cute, but he still hated to be the reason you were upset.
- -
Aaron tried to fight with you when you walked in and found one bed instead of two, he really did.
He offered to sleep on the couch, but you argued that it was way too small for him. He offered to sleep on the floor, but you were worried he’d wake up with back pain the next day.
He ran out of excuses. And if he was being honest, he wanted nothing more than to share the damn bed with you.
“Hotch?” you said, opening the bathroom door.
“Hmm?”
“Do you maybe have a t-shirt I could borrow?” you asked, looking hesitant. “I didn’t know we’d all be sharing rooms tonight, so I don’t have anything… appropriate to wear.”
Were you trying to kill him?
“Sure,” he said casually, and thought he definitely deserved an Oscar for that performance.
Going through his suitcase, he found the t-shirt you were wearing when you were making love to him in his dream. He grabbed it and stared at it for a moment, licking his bottom lip.
“Here,” he offered it to you.
“Thanks, Hotch,” you smiled innocently, before disappearing behind the bathroom door.
How could he help himself from thinking of you in there? Of you taking off your shirt, slipping out of your panties and stepping into the shower with water running all over your body?
How could he help himself from thinking of his t-shirt that would soon be touching your bare skin?
Aaron felt himself getting hard and the thoughts wouldn’t stop from coming. The memories of your sweet moans and your delicious open mouth made him physically ache that he couldn’t touch himself at that moment. And mostly that he couldn’t touch you.
When he heard the door open, he quickly covered himself with the blanket so you wouldn’t see how much of a pervert your boss was.
“All good?” he asked, looking anywhere but you.
“Yeah,” you sighed, laying on your back, and from what he could tell you were not under the covers. Why were you not under the covers? Was the universe punishing him for having dirty dreams about his colleague?
“I needed this shower.” You moved closer and turned to your side to face him, but his eyes were glued on the ceiling. You smelled good.
Aaron didn’t respond.
“Are you mad at me?”
He didn’t expect that. And the sadness in your voice completely broke his heart. Not at all, sweetheart, he wanted to whisper sweetly.
“Of course not,” he replied instead.
“Then why have you been avoiding me all day? If I did something wrong, I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t mean it,” you said apologetically and he finally looked at you.
“You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s all me,” he said; his gaze frozen into your eyes so he wouldn’t see his t-shirt hugging your body in all the ways his hands couldn’t.
“So it’s not in my head. Something is going on,” you said.
“Please don’t worry about it.”
“Thanks, that helped a lot,” you said, making him laugh.
“I swear it’s nothing,” he tried to convince you. “Go to sleep.”
“Okay,” you gave up, clearly not convinced but maybe too tired to push the topic further.
He was ready to direct his gaze to that day’s most interesting part of the room: the ceiling; but he made the mistake of checking the rest of you out instead. His eyes travelled from your eyes down to your neck, and then your chest and then your thighs and he was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t notice how obvious he was being.
He quickly averted his gaze from your body and looked back into your eyes, only to find you smirking at him.
“Can I help you?”
“Sorry,” he said, but he really wasn’t.
“What’s going on with you?” you asked.
He couldn’t help but give you a smile by seeing your playful one. “You,” he said.
You furrowed your brows in question , but the smile hadn’t left your face yet.
“You’ve been driving me crazy,” he continued.
“What can I do to help?” you asked reaching out for his hand.
He took it in his and intertwined your fingers. “You can come here,” he said patting his lap with his free hand.
Your smile got even bigger and you climbed in his lap, after getting the blanket that was covering him out of the way.
“Mmm…there’s my girl,” he sighed.
“God…” you said, feeling him underneath you.
“I’m sorry,” he said, worried about what you were thinking, finding him hard already.
“Don’t be. I wanna take care of it,” you said and finally leaned in to kiss him.
As the kiss got deeper you started moving back and forth on him, rubbing yourself against his crotch, in a completely self-indulgent way. The idea that you were moving just for your pleasure, turned him on even more than he already was.
“Aaron,” you moaned and broke the kiss.
“That’s exactly how my dream started last night,” he admitted.
“You dreamed about me?” you asked, grinding against him slowly; steading yourself with your palms on his broad chest.
“Mmm…”
“Show me what we were doing,” you asked and he oblidged.
He lifted your – no, his – t-shirt slightly to reveal your panties. “You’re so pretty, baby.”
You only moaned in response, clearly affected by his touch as much as he was.
“Can I please take them off?” he asked and you nodded.
He grabbed the side of your panties with his fingers and started to pull them down. You left his lap for a few seconds to completely take them off and returned on top of him.
You shifted, trying to remove your t-shirt too, but he stopped you. “Keep it on for now,” he said almost whimpering.
“With this on?” you asked him.
“Yeah.”
“Was I wearing it in your dream too?”
“The exact same one.”
“You pervert!” you laughed and kissed his mouth again. “And you made me wear it,” you said against his lips.
“You asked,” he smirked, before biting your lip.
“I need you, Aaron,” you said and it sounded like begging. Maybe you were just as desperate as he was. “I need you inside me.”
“Wait,” he said, and reached out for his wallet that was resting on his nightstand. He took out a condom and ripped it open with his teeth. He could feel your eyes on him the entire time. It made him feel desirable. And even more desperate.
“Let me,” you said and took it from his hand.
You moved yourself lower and carefully took him out of his boxers, rolling the condom on his cock. You left a little kiss on the tip of it and straddled him again.
That smile on your face was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “You’re perfect, do you know what?” he asked, bringing his hand between your legs.
He found you soaked, just like he expected. He used two of his fingers to stretch you open, but he could tell you were ready.
“Now, Aaron,” you begged him again and you didn’t need to ask a second time.
He grabbed you by the hips and before he knew it he was inside you. And it was magic.
“Fuck,” he moaned, surprising himself. He wasn’t usually the vocal type. “Fuck, it’s heaven.”
“Aaron,” you cried out, moving desperately; taking him deeper and deeper.
This, the real thing made the pleasure he felt in his dream completely fade in comparison. You looked like an angel on top of him, and all he could think about was you. Everything was you.
“I wanna feel you,” he heard you say, and felt your fingers touching the skin under his own t-shirt. “Take it off,” you whined, and of course he did. He knew he would never be able to deny you anything for the rest of his life. Anything you would ask, you could have it.
You lips were soon behind his ear, and your moans sounded even more delicious from that close.
“Aaron, it feels so good.”
“I know, baby,” he moaned back.
He helped you take off your t-shirt too. It might have helped him complete the fantasy, but he needed to see all of you. And of course he adored every single inch.
“God, how are you real?” he whispered, running his thumb over your right nipple.
“Touch me, Aaron,” you cried out to him and he moved the thumb of his other hand to your clit, rubbing it softly in circles.
“Does that feel good, sweetheart?”
You didn’t respond in words, but the loud moan you let out let him know he was doing a good job.
It didn’t take long for both of you to finish and you laid your head on his chest, his hand travelling up and down your back.
You kissed any skin you could find under your lips and whispered, “That was perfect, Aaron.”
“I know,” he said and kissed the top of your head. “I know.”
“Was it as good as your dream?”
“As good? Baby, I’m not gonna let you sleep tonight,” he said and a second later you were on your back with him between your legs.
I would love a fic about Reid’s friend coming to visit him at work and as soon as Hotch lays eyes on her it’s love at first sight. But she’s like really girlie and bubbly so the rest of the team is so confused as to why Hotch is so whipped for her :)
“She said that to you?”
“Yeah…I mean the audacity of some people,” you said shaking your head. “I’ve had enough of her. And I promise you, next time I’m telling our manager.” As if to prove the harshness of your words you dropped on his desk a stapler you had been playing with to occupy your hands.
Spencer smiled, entertained as always from your stories involving your least favorite coworker.
“Anyway, enough with her. We can go now, right?”
“Yeah, just let me get all my stuff.”
A deep voice coming from behind you right before you opened your mouth stopped you from complaining. “Reid, that last report needs-
The fact that you turned around to search for the owner of that voice seemed to stop him from speaking any further.
You blinked softly at him melting under the man’s gaze. He was tall, handsome, and looked like he could easily kill you: just your type.
“Hotch?” you heard your friend’s voice.
That was Hotch?
“You’re Hotch?
“Yeah,” he breathed out a laugh. “And you are?”
“Y/N,” Spencer introduced you to him. “Sorry, she’s just picking me up.”
“That’s alright,” Hotch replied to him while still looking into your eyes. “So I take it you’ve heard about me.”
“Only the best,” you giggled.
“Yes, I’m sure Reid has never complained to you about paperwork or having to work on a weekend,” he rolled his eyes, not entirely convinced.
“I haven’t!” Spencer defended himself.
Hotch laughed and a beautiful smile stuck on his face. No way this was the same man Spencer had talked to you about that ‘never smiled’ and ‘never blinked’.
“Um…you wanted to tell me something about a report?” your friend awkwardly positioned himself next to you trying to get Hotch’s attention.
“Right,” he said. “It’s…it’s fine. It can wait until tomorrow.”
“Oh, okay.”
--
“Do you see that?” Penelope whispered, grabbing Emily with one hand and JJ with the other.
“What is it?”
“Look,” she said pointing at you from afar.
“Who’s that?” Emily asked.
“And why is Hotch looking at her like he’s about to eat her?” JJ added.
“It’s Y/N, Reid’s best friend.”
“Oh…well good thing she’s not his girlfriend ‘cause…”
“Right?” Garcia said. “Oh my God, do you guys think they’re gonna fall in love? It would be so cute…they will start going on dates and we’re gonna get the weekends off!”
JJ tilted her head observing the pair of you. “You wouldn’t think that’s his type. She looks so…sunshine-y.”
“Well, I think that’s exactly what Hotch needs,” Emily said. “Some sunshine.”
--
“Why didn’t you tell me he was hot?” you asked when you were finally out of everyone’s sight.
“Who?”
“Hotch!”
“Ew…he’s like my dad!”
“To you!” you said opening your car door. “How am I supposed to drive now? My hands are shaking.”
“Because…of my boss?” Spencer asked, sounding confused.
You got into your seat and started giggling, covering your mouth with your hands. “Fuck,” you sighed moving your hands to cup your own cheeks feeling their heat. “This has never happened to me before. I think I just fell in love.”
Spencer gave you a side eye. “We’re still talking about Hotch, right?”
You bit your bottom lip and pulled a little card out of your pocket. “He gave me his number.”
“When did this even happen?”
“When you were putting your stuff in your bag.”
“So he likes you too?”
“I guess,” you smiled.
For a few moments the two of you stared at each other before bursting out in laughter.
“And I always thought Derek would be the one going after you.”
You let out a heavy sigh like a lovesick schoolgirl. “He’s really handsome, Spence.”
“He’s a good man too,” he said.
“So you approve?”
“I would never stand in the way between you and my father figure.”
warnings: fake!dating, SO much pining, mentions of murder, only one bed, Hotch is very whipped lol, this is so cliché it should be a crime
an: the moment y’all have been waiting for! i hope you kids enjoy! this will probably become a lil series so stay tuned for part 2 :)
summary: murders along the glistening white coast of Cape Cod was not a good look for anybody. especially not the BAU. the case needs a turn around, a big break, but most importantly: a Mr and Mrs.
Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader (3.9k words)
Also available on AO3
Summary:
“You know, if you combined all the men on the team… they’d make the perfect man.”
“What?” Emily sputtered into her wine.
Penelope giggled while JJ looked intrigued
***
A drunken night out with the girls leads to some interesting revelations.
***
“Let’s play Fuck, Marry, Kill.”
A round of groans sounded from the table, but Penelope Garcia was not to be dissuaded.
“Come on, ladies. It’ll be fun!”
Her best puppy dog eyes firmly in place, Penelope implored her friends and coworkers with a practiced look. You were holding strong until she brought out the big guns and pouted at you.
A mere ten seconds later you caved.
“Okay, fine,” You sighed. “But can we use kick instead of kill? I always hated that option. Why do you have to kill them when kicking would be just as effective in showing your lack of interest? No death required.”
“Ooh, I like that,” Penelope immediately agreed with a nod. “You know I’m a pacifist at heart.”
She turned to the other two women seated at the table, pout back in full force. JJ gave in first, patting Penelope’s hand with an indulgent smile and a nod.
Seeing that she was outnumbered, Emily shrugged. “Sure. But I’ll need another drink if we’re doing this. I haven’t played this since college.”
“I’ll get us all another round.” Penelope jumped to her feet to join her and they made their way to the bar, weaving through the other patrons.
It was a rare Friday night off and the women of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit had decided to go out for a much-needed night of ladies-only fun and frivolity. They had happily left the guys to sort out their evenings and escaped the second the clock struck five.
They were all a few drinks in at this point, which is most likely the reason Penelope had suggested the game. She always got a bit playful when she drank.
They returned a few minutes later, fresh drinks in hand.
Once settled, Penelope leaned in, an eager smile on her face. “Okay. Fuck, Marry, Kick. Henry Cavill, Ben Barnes, Zachary Levi. And go!”
Emily took a sip of her drink and wasted no time in voicing her choices, followed by JJ and you. You took turns coming up with more and more outlandish options, and pleasantly spent the next hour drinking and laughing with your friends.
You had just finished giggling over Penelope’s reasoning behind her choosing to kick Willy Wonka and marry Jareth the Goblin King so she could enjoy a night with Conan the Barbarian when Emily leaned in with a smirk.
“I’ve got a good one. Hotch, Morgan, and Reid.”
The table erupted in a chorus of ooohs and laughter.
JJ bit her lip in thought. “Okay, since we know them personally and I’m a happily taken woman, I’m going to change mine to kiss, because it’s weird to say I want to fuck any of them. So, uh, I’ll go with kiss Morgan, marry Reid, and kick Hotch. But only barely, because I do not want him angry with me.”
“Easy,” Penelope chirped. “Fuck Morgan, marry Morgan, and kick Reid and Hotch.”
You, JJ, and Emily burst into laughter, with JJ swatting Penelope on the arm. “You can’t double up like that!”
“Can too! My game, my rules. Besides, it’s special circumstances with Morgan as an option.”
Emily snorted, then grinned. “Hmm. I think I’d go with fuck Morgan, marry Hotch, and kick Reid.”
All eyes then turned to you as you stared into your drink, taking entirely too long as you overthought the options.
Eventually, Emily cleared her throat and you looked up to see her watching you expectantly.
“What?” You grinned sheepishly with a shrug. “It’s harder than you’d think!”
The ladies teased you good-naturedly until you finally said, “Okay, okay! Um, I think…”
You blew out a breath in a long sigh. “Fuck Reid, marry Hotch, kick Morgan. No wait… Maybe fuck Hotch, marry Reid?”
Emily and JJ cackled while Penelope put on a fake offended air. “Why you gotta kick my beloved cinnamon hot chocolate Adonis not once, but twice? He’s the perfect man!”
"I mean, a lot of women would think that, yeah, but not me.”
Penelope gasped and pressed her hand to her chest dramatically. “Why, I never.”
You giggled with a shrug. “Sorry?”
“You’re forgiven.”
“What I want to know,” JJ chimed in with a mischievous grin, “is why you can’t decide between Reid and Hotch on who to marry?”
You buried your face in your hands to hide your blush. “I don’t know! Both seem like solid choices. I think they’d both make good husbands.”
Emily smirked. “Sure it wasn’t because you couldn’t decide which you’d rather fuck?”
Penelope and JJ burst into laughter again while you groaned into your hands.
“You all are menaces. I don’t know why I spend time with you.”
“Because we’re wonderful people and you love us.” Penelope teased.
“That’s debatable.” You mumbled.
“Oh, come on,” she leaned into your side and laid her head on your shoulder. “You know you adore us.” Penelope batted her eyes and you couldn’t help but grin.
“Yeah, I do.”
She cheered and called for another round of drinks.
The game wound down and devolved into a rather extensive list of men and women that each of the ladies wouldn’t mind enjoying some personal one-on-one time with.
You had been sitting in a comfortable silence for the past few minutes, chin in hand and elbow on the table, your mind pondering on something Penelope had said earlier. Your voice took on a contemplative tone as you mused aloud, “You know, if you combined all the men on the team… they’d make the perfect man.”
“What?” Emily sputtered into her wine.
Penelope giggled while JJ looked intrigued.
“Okay, just hear me out. Now, granted, everyone’s idea of the perfect man is different but for me… If we go by physical attributes first, you have to admit that each guy is objectively attractive on their own. I mean seriously, was it a prerequisite that everyone has to be outrageously good-looking to be a member of the team?”
The ladies heartily agreed with laughter and nods, but you gestured across the table to them. “I’m including you three in this too. Have you looked at yourselves? You’re all absolutely gorgeous.”
“Damn right, we are,” Emily exclaimed as she high-fived JJ.
You raised your glass to her and took a sip before expanding on your premise. “So by themselves, each man is handsome but combined…”
You tilt your head in thought. “For me, it would be Reid’s hair. I’ve always liked longer hair on a guy and have you seen those curls when he lets it grow out? And then add in Hotch and Rossi’s dark hair and … yeah. Next would be Morgan and Rossi’s facial hair. I don’t know about you ladies but I like a man with a bit of scruff, you know what I mean? Goatee or full beard or just a couple of days growth, hell even a good five o’clock shadow, as long as it’s maintained and not all scraggly, I like it. Oooh, remember when Hotch came back with a beard?
“Yeah,” you sighed, a bit more dreamily than you had intended, surely caused by the late hour and not the memory of a casually dressed, bearded Hotch. “Like that.”
All three ladies shared a knowing look, but you paid them no mind.
“Though there is something to be said about a freshly shaved face. It’s so soft…” You sighed again.
“And then there’s height.” You knew you were rambling, but with the alcohol fueling you, there was little chance of stopping you now. “They’re all at least 6 foot so the height difference is perfect for both cuddles and forehead kisses.”
At this, Emily snorted. “Forehead kisses?”
“Yes,” you snipped primly. “They are the pinnacle of non-lip-to-lip kisses and they are my favorite thing. They just make you feel so adored. Now shush.”
You shooed her and rested your chin back in your hand. “Let’s see… Eyes. Honestly, I think they all have lovely eyes. I’m not picky on eye color really but I think Hotch’s stand out the most to me. I mean, have you seen his eyelashes? It should be criminal for a man to have such beautiful eyelashes.”
Another round of nods and hummed agreements sounded from the table.
“You know,” you continue with barely a pause, “I’ve never been a fan of really buff dudes, which sorry Pen, but that’s kinda why poor Morgan got kicked twice.” You shrugged unapologetically at her.
“I’ve always preferred lean guys. Not scrawny but not bugling out his shirt, you know? Strong but not shoved in your face. But!” You sit straighter in your chair, index finger raised to emphasize your point. “That’s just looks. Personality-wise, I’m drawn to kindness first and our boys all have that in spades. And they each show it in different ways, but it’s always present.”
You met Penelope’s eyes. “And Morgan’s kindness absolutely overrides his excessive muscle mass. He’s honestly one of the kindest people I know, even if he’d deny it. He’s not humble about a lot of things, but he is about that.”
Your eyes dropped to the table as your finger ran along the wood grain. “I also like intelligence and while yes, first thoughts go to Reid, the others are all brilliant too. Like, Rossi is so wise! It seems like he always knows what’s going on with someone before anyone else, and always seems to know just what to say just when you need to hear it. And they each have strengths that I admire. I genuinely like each of them as a person and I’m proud to know them and am honored they consider me a friend. Honestly, I feel that way about all of you.”
“Aw!” Penelope sniffled. “That’s so sweet. We love you too, you know.”
You gave her hand a quick squeeze and took another sip of your drink.
“What about lips?”
You blinked at JJ. “Lips? I’m not sure. I don’t know that I look at them much.”
Emily tilted her head. “You seriously don’t look at men’s lips?”
“Not really? I mean, I notice smiles. And honestly, how did I not start with that? It’s usually one of the first things I notice about someone. Smiles make everyone look twice as attractive. Oh, and a sense of humor! Gotta love a man who can make you laugh.”
“This one is definitely Morgan,” Emily chimed in and you nodded in agreement while Penelope raised her glass.
“Absolutely. He always makes me laugh, but so do the others. Rossi is snarky, which I appreciate as a fellow snarker. I can’t tell you the number of times he’s made me hold back a laugh during a round table. Reid can be really funny, too. Especially when we’re making Star Trek or Doctor Who references that no one else gets. Except you, Pen, but you’re usually in your lair. And Hotch—”
“No,” Emily cut in. “No way you think he’s funny. The man barely smiles.”
You tsked and leaned in, your tone turning a bit haughty. “First of all, I think it’s a good thing that he holds those back because have you seen how handsome he is when he smiles? His whole face transforms and he has dimples. Dimples . It’s ridiculous and no one would be able to focus on work if he was blinding us with his smile all the time. And secondly, yes. He’s hilarious, actually. He has a dry sense of humor that gets me every time. And he is so straight-faced about it. I laughed embarrassingly loud once at something he said and I had to leave the room because I couldn’t stop giggling. And the man had the nerve to be smug about it later.”
You shook your head with exasperated fondness, not noticing the raised eyebrows and pointed looks the other ladies were sharing.
“Anyway,” You sighed and leaned back in your chair. “Morgan is my biggest supporter, Reid nerds out with me, Rossi gives the best advice, and Hotch makes me feel safe. All things that would attract me to someone. So, with their powers combined…” You spread your hands in a sweeping motion. “The perfect man.”
“Huh,” Penelope hummed. “You know, I kinda see it.”
“See?” You grinned triumphantly. “We really do work with amazing guys.”
A cry of ‘hear, hear’ sounded around the table and the four of you leaned in to clink glasses.
Emily settled back in her chair with a smirk, her eyes focused on you. “Okay, you waxed poetic about the guys. Now, what about us?”
You grinned. “You, my darling lady loves, all hold a special place in my heart. There’s no way I could choose. You are each the perfect woman.”
Another cheer went up and everyone downed their drinks, laughing merrily.
The outing wound down about half an hour later. You each stumbled your way outside, Emily and Penelope deciding to share a taxi.
You stood with JJ as you waved the other two goodbye; you waiting for your own taxi and JJ waiting for Will to pick her up.
“You know,” she said conversationally, her eyes on the street. “You mentioned Hotch quite a few times describing your perfect man.”
You blinked. “What? I did not.”
She turned to you with a wide grin. “Oh yes, you did. No denying it now.”
You sputtered, not sure how to reply.
She chuckled and laid a hand on your arm, just as your taxi arrived. “Seems to me like he ticks quite a few of the boxes for your perfect man.” She leaned in to whisper, “So what are you going to do about it?”
JJ winked as she stepped back to open the door of the car that pulled in behind your taxi and slid in. “Just think about it, okay?”
You nodded numbly, mechanically climbing into the back seat of the taxi while Will and JJ patiently waited to make sure you were safely on your way.
You mumbled out your address and barely noticed the drive home, arriving much sooner than expected, as your mind was focused on JJ’s words.
You shook your head as you entered your apartment, determined to think no more of it. It was just a silly statement born out of one too many drinks.
There was no way you thought of Hotch that way.
No way at all.
***
The rest of the weekend was miraculously quiet and work-free. You couldn’t remember the last time you had so much time to yourself, so you took full advantage of it.
As days off always tended to do, they flew by too quickly and Monday morning arrived before you were ready for it. You greeted everyone when you entered the department, nodding to Rossi and waving at Morgan and Penelope as you settled in at your desk.
No new case had come in, so today would be an in-office day catching up on paperwork and caseloads.
You were productive throughout the day, completing most of the pending work assigned to you, and you were feeling quite accomplished with the diminishing stack in your inbox.
Only a few minutes remained in the workday when you stood from your chair, stretching your stiff back, and made your way up the stairs to Hotch’s office to drop off an armful of completed reports.
You knocked on his door, only having to wait a second before he bid you enter.
He was focused on the open file in front of him and he didn’t look up until you spoke. “These are ready for you to review, Hotch.”
His eyes shot up to meet yours before dropping to the folders in your arms. He gestured to the corner of his desk nearest you and went back to scribbling notes on the report. “You can just leave them there, thank you.”
You set them down next to another stack and grimaced. There were multiple bundles of files littering his desk. While in-office days were great for clearing your desk of work, it unfortunately always added to Hotch’s workload.
“Looks like everyone had similar offerings for you today. Will you be able to leave at a reasonable hour tonight? I’d be happy to help with anything if you need it.”
Hotch finished the line he was writing and looked up at you through his long lashes, a small, shy kind of smile curving his lips. His cheeks were just a touch pinker than usual and you blinked because you’ve never seen that look on his face before.
He looked almost bashful, a word you would never have associated with Aaron Hotchner.
But damn, was it a good look on him. He really was a handsome man, wasn’t he? Kind, funny, successful, and a great father. He was practically the perfect man.
You froze and blinked again at the realization.
“Oh, uh,” his deep voice broke you from your thoughts. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ve got it covered. I shouldn’t be here too much longer.”
“Right, of course.” You nodded and prayed he couldn’t see the blush you knew was rapidly spreading across your face. “Well, good night, sir.”
You spun on your heel and opened the door, ready to flee as fast as your feet could carry you.
His low, murmured good night followed you out the door and you nearly shivered because holy hell, even his voice was attractive.
You quickly grabbed your things and nearly sprinted to the elevators, not wanting to stay one second longer around skilled profilers who could read you so easily, knowing they would spot your flushed cheeks instantly and want to know what caused them. Or worse, they’d already know, and that was not something you were ready to discuss with any of them at the moment.
You had fully intended on ignoring JJ’s words from Friday night, but after your reaction just now, you knew she was right.
Hotch was pretty damn close to fitting the idea of your perfect man.
Or maybe, the idea of your perfect man came from Hotch.
You sighed as you entered the thankfully empty elevator, finally admitting to yourself the truth that had been staring you in the face for longer than you’d ever care to admit.
You had it bad for Aaron Hotchner.
Oh, you were in so much trouble.
***
Aaron watched as you left his office, your face a delightful shade of pink.
His eyes followed as you rushed to your desk, snatched up your things, and darted out the door.
He hadn’t meant to overhear Prentiss and Garcia’s conversation that morning as they reminisced over their night out last Friday. He certainly hadn’t meant to linger when they mentioned you and your adorable—according to Garcia—rant about the perfect man. And he most certainly hadn’t meant to lean in rather eagerly when they whispered about just how many times his name had come up as an example during said rant.
He had been pleasantly surprised and somewhat stunned by the information. He’d never thought of himself as an ideal for the perfect man.
Sure, he supposed he had a few attributes that some women might find appealing. He had a successful career and tried to keep in shape, though that was more for his job than vanity.
But he never imagined that anyone would look at him and think that he was a paradigm of their perfect man. Least of all you.
You were a brilliant profiler, exceptional in the field and able to hold your own in a fight when needed, but you were also caring with the victims and their families. You were witty and kind and easygoing. You were someone who smiled freely and laughed readily and did your best to cheer and encourage the team on tough cases.
Not someone who would think of stoic, hardass Aaron Hotchner as the perfect man.
Still, he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes from drifting to the window of his office throughout the day, seeking you out.
He thought back to when you joined the BAU and how quickly you became not only an essential part of the team but a much-welcomed member of their little family. Everyone adored you and Aaron himself had to admit that you had wormed your way into his heart.
He loved the time he got to spend with you when the team got together to unwind after a case and the little moments of levity you all shared in between working. He recalled the times he managed to make you laugh and the occasions where he found himself chuckling as well. You were easy to talk to and more often than not, the two of you fell into conversation whenever everyone else was either asleep or preferred to be left alone on the jet going to and from cases.
He genuinely enjoyed your company and found himself wishing he could enjoy it more often.
His eyes wandered to the bullpen again, zeroing in on you almost immediately. Prentiss and Morgan were standing by your desk when one of them said something that made you laugh.
Your eyes squeezed shut and your mouth opened to release an enchanting sound of delight. Aaron couldn’t look away and had to admit that you really were quite lovely. Inside and out.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat looking at you but knew it was longer than appropriate. He shook his head and forced himself to focus back on his work.
He managed to shove all thoughts of you from his mind for the remainder of the day until a soft knock sounded on his door late in the afternoon.
He didn’t bother to look up from the report he was notating after giving a gruff come in until he heard your voice.
Aaron couldn’t keep his eyes from darting up to meet yours before dropping them to the large stack of files in your arms.
He gestured for you to place them on the corner of his desk next to the ones Reid had deposited earlier and thought that would be his singular interaction with you for the day.
But then your caring side came out again and you sweetly offered to help him, a proposition that both filled him with fondness and nervousness.
After all his wayward thoughts about you throughout the day, he wasn’t sure if being in close proximity with you was a good idea or not.
Aaron looked up at you again, the late afternoon sun enveloping you, enhancing your features, and his only thought was that he’d been wrong earlier.
You weren’t just lovely. You were stunning.
In that moment, he was completely captivated by you and his thoughts ran rampant as he cataloged every minute detail of you. Your beauty, your kindness, your brilliance, and all the little things that made you you . Everything that endeared you to him.
But his thoughts came to a crashing halt when he realized that he was staring at you. He felt his face flush and he stammered as he gently declined your help.
You bid him a good night, but Aaron couldn’t take his eyes off the spreading blush on your cheeks. It kept his attention until you were out of sight.
He blinked and dropped his eyes back to the forgotten report in front of him, a slow smile creeping across his face.
He may not have meant to overhear the conversation that caused him to think about you all day, but he was starting to be glad he had. It seemed it was all he needed to face a few truths he had been in denial about for a long while now.
summary: you butt dial your boss during a girls night … the girls night where you told them you’d fuck aaron hotchner for three cents.
word count: 1.2k
warnings: talks of big dick energy, prostitution if you squint, red wine, gray sweatpants (mentioned)
Girls' night out was wild, no one knew where you would end up. One night, you ended up on a boat and the next you were on a train to NYC. After getting thrown in jail with Emily, JJ, and Penelope during another night out, you all vowed to keep whatever happened during the night a secret from everyone, specifically Derek Morgan. Derek Morgan who had bailed all four of you out of jail, Derek Morgan who teased you relentlessly for weeks after.
After a long case, Emily suggested another girl’s night which all of you agreed on, desperately needing a celebratory drink after saving a little girl. It was around one in the morning when you got back to Quantico and though Aaron gave you the day off for tomorrow–or well, later today–all four of you decided to crash at Emily’s and drink to your heart’s content.
Popcorn and Hersey kisses lay on Emily’s coffee table, bottles of half-empty wine and jello shots litter the floor and you’re all giggling about whether to prank Derek by getting phone cases with a picture of him shirtless. You’re all on board and Penelope is getting them custom-made through a website she’s found.
“Speaking of Derek’s abs.” JJ drags the ‘s’ creating a hissing noise. She turns to you, grinning. “I’ve wanted to ask ever since you went to that Doctor Who convention with him. Do you like like Spence?”
You giggled, taking a small sip of wine, thinking about the genius. “Noooo. Spence is my friend. And he runs with his gun like it’s weighing him down. Besides, I only went to that Doctor Who convention because he went to see Barbie with me. He’s, like, too young for me, too.”
“He’s older than you.” Emily points out, smirking, knowing full well you liked older men. “He’s adorable and sweet.”
“Spencer is definitely cute and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t had a sex dream about him,” you confessed, smiling as the girls burst out laughing. “But he’s too … inexperienced. I like my men like I like my wine. Old.”
Your phone had been on mute since you entered the plane, not wanting to abruptly wake anyone up if they were resting, so not a single person in the room had heard your phone ringing or Aaron’s multiple “hello’s” trying to get your attention. All of you were oblivious to your boss listening in to the conversation.
“Is Rossi too old for you?” Penelope asked, inciting another round of giggles.
You nodded, finishing off your glass of wine. “Just a bit. I’ve seen pictures of him when he was in the Marines though, and I definitely would’ve been the fourth Mrs. Rossi back then.”
Emily cackled, a bit of red wine spilling from her full glass. “Okay, I have a question. Would you guys fuck Hotch for ten million dollars? Be honest here.”
“No!” both JJ and Penelope spit out. They all turned to you, grinning like madmen.
You shrugged, filling another glass. “I’d do it for three.”
“Damn, three million? That’s–“
“Nope,” you smirked, taking a sip.
Emily paused, head tilting in confusion. “Three … hundred thousand?”
“No.”
“Three thousand?”
You shake your head, grinning at the confused woman. “Nope.”
“Three hundred?”
“No.”
Emily’s eyes widened, jaw-dropping a little further as you denied her guesses. “Three dollars?”
“No.”
“THREE CENTS?” JJ was the one to shout, mouth dropping open when you giggled and nodded.
Penelope threw a pillow at you, and you giggled, dodging it, nearly spilling your drink in the process. “Hey! This is supposed to be a judge-free zone. I’d suck and fuck Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner for three measly cents.”
“Okay, I’d understand if you said Derek but Hotch?” Emily exclaimed, shaking her head at the thought. “He’s like twenty years older than you!”
“Exactly! That’s part of the appeal,” you replied. You were sure by tomorrow no one would remember your confession–though you were positive you wouldn’t either–and that they wouldn’t tease you too much over it. “He’s the literal definition of a DILF.”
The girls laughed at your words, JJ having to clutch onto a pillow to control herself.
“And!” you continue. “I was working out with Derek once and Hotch came in the gym with gray sweats and his dick looks humongous. It was a huge fucking bulge. I think I saw it twitching.”
Penelope slaps her hands over her ears, playfully grimacing at your words while Emily chugs the remains of her glass, absolutely baffled. You didn’t mind, sex and boys were common conversation topics during girl’s night (and sometimes when Emily would catch you making eyes at someone.
The rest of the night continued the same, though less talk about Hotch’s big dick and more on whether you all should make more jello shots. By the time you’re coming up with an answer, it’s five in the morning and all four of you are knocked out from the alcohol in your system. Even in your drunk state, you knew you’d wake up to a pounding headache.
When Derek calls in the morning, telling everyone about a new case, you’re all moody and grumpy. Hotch wanted everyone in even though he had given the day off, so no one was jumping for joy especially not in your hangover state.
Despite drinking the most, Emily drives the four of you back to the BAU, mumbling obscenities under her breath on the way. When you enter the elevator, Derek is there, causing all of you to groan at his presence. One look at you and he laughs loudly, knowing what had transpired the night before.
You wish you could shoot his foot.
In the briefing room, Hotch apologizes for having you all come in on your day off, pausing to glance at you before presenting the case. Truth be told, you hadn’t paid that much attention to it, your headache taking up your attention. Fire, serial arsonist, fifteen dead, Seattle.
“Wheels up in thirty,” Hotch announces, walking across the table. As the team filters out of the room, he calls your name. “In my office, please. I want to discuss something with you.”
Confused, you follow him to his office, pushing through your headache to think about what he could possibly want to speak to you about. You come up blank, even more confused when you see him lock the door to his office as you enter. “Did I do something wrong?”
Hotch shook his head, moving past you to his desk. He picks up something and turns around. In his hands are three pennies, and he’s holding them out to you. “Three cents.”
You’re getting deja vu on the words, and it’s not until several seconds of standing in silence and confusion that it clicks. Three cents. You blush, looking at the pennies. “I don’t understand.”
“You said you’d suck and fuck me for three cents,” he smirks at your shock, placing the coins in your hands.
“What–”
Hotch unbuckles his belt, causing you to stop mid-sentence. “You’ve got twenty-eight minutes to suck my cock. Get to work.”
Warnings/Contains: illusions to reader suffering "some" attack earlier, nightmares, reader and hotch are goofy idiots, inappropriate boss/employee relationship, unprotected pinv sex, dirty talk, pulling out, splash the back, mentions of m!masturbation, swearing, blasphemy, hotch has a size kink if you squint.
Word Count: 4.7k
Can you believe it? I've finally posted Hotch smut? I recently picked CM back up again and turns out he's still irresistible. Enjoy this, I did.
You'd only been back a week, after having two off, and Hotch already wanted to see you in his office.
This normally wasn't a cause for concern, usually you actually liked seeing Hotch in his office. Usually because it was for praise, he'd remark good work you'd done or feed you back something good he'd heard about you from another department.
It was also in that low, calm voice and he'd always have a hint of a smile working it's way to the surface.
But this time it'd be different.
You'd been off for two weeks and everyone was worried it wasn't enough. You'd been, quite literally, through hell and back and nobody wanted to push you too hard to get back into the field.
But you'd reassured Strauss, reassured everyone, that this was the best thing for you. You'd been going stir crazy on your couch in your little apartment, watching everything the TV had on offer.
You needed to get back into things, you needed to get back to helping people.
So you made the slow ascent up to Hotch's office and quietly knocked on the door, feeling it slowly swing open against your hand. He looked up from his desk, eyes connecting with yours and his brow raising slightly.
"You wanted to see me, sir?
He waved you in with his hand, gesturing towards the chair in front of his desk. You took a seat, doing your best to relax back into things and not let him know how nervous this had made you.
“I just wanted to see how you’re doing?”
You smiled, only gently with your gaze picking out flaws in the carpet of Hotch’s office. Nodding slightly, you lifted your head to lock eyes with him.
“Good, actually,” That was honest but you could tell he was a little hesitant to accept it. “I’m glad to be back with everyone and making some difference.”
“And how are you sleeping?” Clear and level headed as ever.
You hesitated, it was only a second but there was no getting past him. You knew you had to be honest now.
“Not well, that's only when I finally get to sleep, and when I do I’m right back there again.”
Hotch’s expression was as hard to read as ever but you could see a hint of sympathy? Sadness? Concern?
“And are you seeing a therapist?”
“I am! She’s great, she says the best way through it is to keep living until I have enough good memories to replace those ones.”
You thought there may have been a hint of a smile on his face but it was gone as quick as you saw it.
“If there is anything I can do to help you, just ask- or call.”
You gave him a smile, an earnest one and you nodded as you spoke. “I will, thank you, Sir.”
That went better than you expected. He didn't want to recall you back to the office for desk work, he was just checking in. You found yourself back to feeling how you normally did when you left his office.
Not really wanting to go.
-
Your apartment was dead quiet, you couldn't even hear the usual hum of your fridge as you left the bathroom. Your home was darker than you were used to, the moonlight struggling to get through the windows.
As you stepped into the kitchen, you felt the unmistakable air of company. Something was telling you that you weren't alone in the darkness. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as your fingers reached for the light switch.
So close, you were so close when you suddenly felt a strong grasp wrap around your wrist-
Awakening with a scream, you felt your heart fight it's way out of your chest. Your neighbours would probably be leaving another not-so-passive note in your mailbox about this.
Sitting up on the couch, you found your lights still on and your TV still playing some mindless background noise. Another nightmare taking your sleep right from you when you needed it most.
Your cellphone lay on your coffee table in front of you, black screen staring back at you. Mulling it over in your head, you weighed up your options.
On one hand, he quite literally said to call if you needed him. But on the other, he probably just said it as a courtesy, something everyone says.
Either way, before you could really talk yourself out of it- you were dialing Hotch’s number and pressing your phone to your ear.
Zoning out a little at the dial tone, you were quickly snapped back by the sound of his voicemail service, a robotic voice asking you to leave him a message.
It all happened too quickly, your lips were firing off before you could stop yourself.
“Ah- oh God- uh sorry, I’m sorry this is- oh it’s actually me by the way. I’m sorry I called it’s just- I uh had a nightmare. That sounds really lame now that I’m saying this and I really shouldn’t have called- uh I realise now you didn’t pick up because you’ve got a life or you're sleeping- but I'm not and I uh- shit-sorry- Sir, this might be a record for the world’s most pathetic voicemail so maybe take this to a museum- or to a lab to have me tested because what the hell is this- anyway- shit- sorry again and enjoy your night- see you at work tomorrow morning, please- uh please don’t mention this or I will have to go into hiding. Anyways- good night- sorry.”
Hanging up after the message, you threw your phone at the couch and watched it bounce off the cushions and onto the rug. Stuffing your palms into your eyes you let out a pained groan.
“Please throw your phone into the ocean!” You begged, getting up from the couch. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?”
You had almost forgotten the cringiest voicemail known to man. With how focused you were on perfecting this terrible boxed mac and cheese, your mind was nearly elsewhere.
Just as you’d managed to find a bit of peace, a knock at your front door made you jump out of your skin. Doing your best to calm yourself down, you brought your bowl of macaroni with you to the front door to investigate.
One eye to the peep hole, the minute you saw the person on the other side- your heart dropped. Slowly twisting the lock, you pulled the door back to reveal one Aaron Hotchner.
A very cozy looking Aaron Hotchner.
“Sir-“
“I got your message, you had another nightmare?”
Your words got trapped up in your throat before you could get them out. “Uh yeah.”
“What about? Are you okay”
Clearing your throat, you did your best to focus your gaze on him, remind yourself that you were here- safe in your apartment and not back there.
“Same old, I’m alone in the dark and then suddenly- he’s there.”
There was that expression on Hotch’s face again, this time you were sure it was concern, genuine concern. It was unmistakable.
“I’m sorry this keeps happening to you.”
Just as you were about to brush it off, pretend like it wasn’t driving you crazy, you could see a faint smile appearing as he kept speaking.
“I couldn’t find a museum that'd accept your voicemail but I did find a 24 hour convenience store with ice cream.”
He lifted the bag in his right hand and you could faintly see the tub through the plastic. “Is that cookies? That’s my-“
“Your favourite, yeah it is- do you mind sharing?”
You felt a heat rise in your cheeks as you nodded, quickly realising you’d been having this whole conversation in the hallway.
“Oh yeah, come in- get out of my hallway would you?”
Hotch laughed, quietly, but he still laughed as he walked in. He went straight to the kitchen as you hovered by the couch.
“I can even share my gross looking boxed mac and cheese if you ask nicely.”
That got the rest of the laugh out of him, smiling over his shoulder as he made himself at home in your kitchen. Trying to give yourself something to do, you picked up the TV remote.
“Sorry, the TV’s just been on as background noise but we could watch a movie- only if you want- I don’t even know how long you-“
Thankfully, Hotch cut you off again. “I’d love to watch a movie, as long as it isn’t a cartoon, with dinosaurs or superheroes.”
As he rounded the couch and passed you a bowl of ice cream, you looked up at him with an incredulous expression on your face.
“I literally just rented ‘cartoon dinosaur superheroes’, what the hell?"
Your face broke out in a grin before you could even finish your dumb joke and it had an instant effect on Hotch.
“Yeah well, I preferred the TV series- it went into much more detail.”
Spoon in your mouth, you shot a look at your usually-very-serious boss. You weren’t used to seeing this many smiles- let alone hearing this many jokes from the man.
“Which one was your favourite? The green one?” You pushed the corny little joke a little further.
He glanced back in your direction as he lifted his own spoon to his lips. “I liked the one that put out fires.”
Immediately a grin broke out across your face as you couldn't contain your giggles. You quieted down to a hum as you nodded at his quip. “There totally would be one that put out fires.”
Leaning back into your couch, you picked up your feet to lean them on your coffee table.
“You can put your feet up by the way, I don’t mind.”
As quickly as you said it, Hotch was reaching out a long arm to wave at your legs. “I do, get your feet off the table.”
Looking at him in (slight) faux-shock, you shook your head as he did his best to fight off an impending chuckle.
“Excuse me? This is my house!”
Hotch’s smile only grew. “Hardly a house, it’s a living room with a bed in the back of it.”
Stunned expression painted across your face, a series of unintelligible noises fell past your lips as it was your turn to try not to laugh.
“Alright then, next time I have a trauma induced nightmare then I’ll be coming to your house.”
“Perfect, I’ll have the boxed macaroni cheese and dinosaurs.”
“Great, and I’ll pick apart every stylistic choice you’ve ever made in.”
Hotch finished off another spoonful of ice cream as he shrugged. “I think you’ll find I’m a very skilled interior decorator.”
You cocked your head towards him, eyes narrowed as you played on the bit. “Suuuurely not?”
“I am, and don’t call me Shirley.”
Eyes wide in excitement as he said the words, you couldn’t believe Aaron Hotchner was a certified funny-guy. Your stoic boss, your always knowing what to say, what to do, boss. You quickly reached for the TV remote off the table as the next thought struck you.
“That’s the one, I wonder if they're streaming Airplane!”
It wasn’t like you even lasted the first 20 minutes before you fell asleep. You felt so warm, so cozy, so at peace that you hadn’t even realised you were drifting off until you did.
Hotch didn’t mind either, just happy to see you finally sleeping. His right arm stayed firmly around your side as your cheek and hand laid against his chest, snoring only quietly.
He smiled from above you, tilting his neck just enough to gently rest his chin against the top of your head.
That night you dreamed, for the first time in weeks. You were in your apartment, but the lights were shining and the moon had cast a glow over the room. You could tell you weren’t alone, you felt the company, but you couldn't find it to be scared.
Somebody else was in your apartment and he remembered your favourite ice cream.
-
As you rushed through the door of the conference room, all eyes switched from the round table fell on you. Within an instant, heat was rising up your cheeks.
“Nice of you to join us.” Morgan teased as you slipped into a seat next to Spencer.
“Sorry,” You mumbled, scrambling to grab some of the files in front of you. “Slept in.”
A simple sentence quieted everyone back down as expressions softened across all of them.
“Slept?” JJ asked quietly, full attention on you. “You’re sleeping again?”
A smile cracked at the corner of your lips, nodding gently as you tried to keep your head down. “Yeah, first time in weeks last night.”
Everyone let you off the hook after that, it was all back to work and start filing the reports from the last case. As you all shuffled out to head back to your desks, you heard a voice behind you call your name.
Leaving just you and Hotch in the room, you felt that same heat creep right back up your neck. You stepped over towards him, only bringing yourself to meet his eyes once you were right in front of him.
“Sir, listen, about last night-“
“I’m sorry,” He stopped your babbling before you could even start. “I was out of line.”
Not what you were expecting. This morning had been hazy, Hotch slipping out with a sore neck from sleeping upright. You not even waking as he left.
But this was still-
“I shouldn’t have let myself get as close as I did,” He continued, his tone back to as professional as always. “It won’t happen again.”
“It won’t?”
Hotch couldn’t bare the look on your face. Eyes dropping in confusion and bottom lip daring to wobble. He had to steel himself, he had to walk out of that room before he did something that'd cost his career.
-
He'd completely closed down any chance for the two of you. You'd sort-of-kind-of resigned yourself to the fact it was never going to happen, but having it come crashing down right in front of you hurt more than you'd expected.
You didn't realise that you'd designated a space to him in the centre of your chest until you felt it break. Thinking back on it now, it will completely foolish to think your boss would ever dare to pursue anything with you.
But there was last night.
You'd woken briefly, just the once, and you'd felt his arm around your waist. You'd heard the beat of his heart just under your ear. You could've sworn you'd felt him press his lips against the top of your head.
That was all said and done now. If you'd known it was your only chance, you probably would've held onto it for just a little longer. You thought a hot shower after a long day would help to dissipate your feelings, but you still felt it weighing heavy on your mind.
Shuffling to the kitchen, you decided there was no other choice but to get on with things. What'd your therapist said? Keep moving forward until you have more good memories to replace the other ones?
Besides, you'd gotten on just fine before, without him. There was no reason for this to change anything.
Even after you knew how it felt to fall asleep beside him.
Swinging open the box freezer, you scanned the shelf for something to eat before your eyes fell on the scene of the crime. Last night's ice cream stared back at you with cruel intent.
You decided you'd make a spectacle of it, retrieving it from the freezer to stab a spoon right through the middle of it. The first mouthful stung, the rest was just...ice cream.
Dragging your feet towards the couch, you were nearly close enough to collapse into comfort when a knock at the door sent a fright through you that you'd never get used to. Cautiously, you pressed your eye back to the peep hole and screwed up your face in confusion.
"Sir?" You asked as the door swung open, finding Hotch back in that same place on your doorstep.
"Listen, I'm sorry-"
It was your turn to cut him off. "You really don't have to be. Like you said, it shouldn't have happened."
You'd been hesitant to look him in the eye as you spoke, roaming the spotted ceiling of your apartment hall instead. But as you shifted to catch his eyes, you found him- preocupied.
Hotch's eyes trailed further down, serious expression fixed to his features as his eyes moved to your legs. Only when you went to follow his gaze did you realise.
You'd answered the door fresh out the shower. Skin still a little damp, only in a t-shirt and a thin pair of panties.
You were standing in front of your boss in next to nothing.
And he looked like he wanted to eat you whole (he did).
He managed to clear his throat, to tear his eyes off your body and back to your face. Mustering up the courage, tensing his fists and relaxing his shoulders, he began speaking before he could think.
"I am sorry and I need to say it. I overstepped a boundary here and I put my own feelings for you over everything else and I shouldn't have. I'm sorry if it made you uncomfortable-"
"Hotch-"
"I thought I was fine with keeping this in my head and I never wanted to-"
"Hotch-"
"But I just need to tell you that this wont change anything with-"
"Sir."
Finally, your interjection managed to cut through and he stopped himself. "Hotch, you've never asked me what I actually want."
His features softened a tiny amount, his fists unfurling as he willed himself to relax the rest of himself. "What do you want?"
Taking a long stride towards him, you found yourself nearly chest to chest with the man. Your hand gently ran his tie through your fingers, twisting a little to grasp it for leverage.
"You."
Hotch sucked in a deep breath, his head tilted towards you but his eyes closed. "Please don't say that."
You looked up at him from under your lashes, finding him slowly opening his eyes to watch you move even closer to him.
"Got no reason to lie to you, sir."
You heard his breath catch in his throat as Hotch moved his hands, until they were just and only resting on your hips. You felt the heat radiating off his large palms, closing in until they spanned across your lower back.
"I really shouldn't do this." His voice was a hush, he was still trying to talk himself out.
Not like you were going to let him.
"Then let me."
Closing the space between the two you, your lips pressed against the hard line of his until he opened up for you. You lead things just long enough for him to get comfortable, falling into motion and his tongue pushing forward into your mouth.
His hands tightened, gripping onto your waist like he might lose you if he let you go. Walking you back into your apartment, he blindly kicked his leg back to shut the door. Surging forward, he had the backs of your thighs against the arm of the couch.
Pulling back to take a look at you, his eyes moved to you swollen lips. His thumb came up to brush against your lower lip, gently gripping it between his fingers.
"Pretty, pretty girl," He sighed, you could feel his thigh slotting between your legs. "Such a good girl."
You couldn't stop it, the heady little moan that fell from your mouth at his words. Mixed with the soft feeling of his suit pants pressing to your core, undoubtedly you were leaving some kind of mess on the expensive trousers.
Hotch flexed his thigh, enjoying the feeling of you grinding yourself against his leg like a desperate slut. He watched as you tipped your head back, exposing the column of your throat to him.
Ducking his head, he pressed his lips in a line down your neck and biting gently at the join of your shoulder. "Get up on the couch."
His voice was a rumble in his chest, but there was a command in there that had you moving without being told twice. You went to sit down on it, but Hotch caught you and spun you slightly till you were falling onto the cushions on your knees.
Arms slung over the back of the couch and ass pointed out, you looked back over your shoulders with hazy eyes. Hotch slipped his suit jacket off, throwing it across a chair as he started to roll up his sleeves.
It was so simple, such an easy move but it had an effect on you like nothing else. His strong arms came into view and the veins on his hands flexed as he rolled the fabric. You could feel the damp spot growing on your panties.
This was a different Hotch than the one that stayed over the other night. This was closer to the one that sat behind his desk, stoic and unshakeable. Part of you knew the desperation that was hiding behind the stern look on his face.
You two really had one shot at this. The voice in the back of your head was telling you to enjoy this, it'd never happen again.
Snapping you from your thoughts, you felt two long fingers run up the length of your cunt. Even through the thin fabric of your underwear, you could feel his rough grasp as he gently began to rub at your clit.
Your head lolled forward, a gasp sounding from your chest as you backed your hips towards his touch. As he slid your panties to the side, fingers now running right through your wetness, you could hear the sound of him drawing down his fly.
"I've tried so hard- from the moment I met you-" The words fell from his lips, his knee coming up on the couch to get closer. "I've thought about this moment every night."
Your eyes nearly rolled back in your head, feeling his firm chest press to your back as his words spurred you on. You could picture it in your mind, your boss in the shower, alone in his bed- his hand fisting at his cock as he thought of you.
Pretty you, sweet and kind you. Always the first to do what he says, to look at him with those glassy eyes and say "yes, sir." To him, this was inevitable.
It was only ever a matter of time.
Swiping up the slick from between your legs, you looked back quickly to see him running it across the head of his cock. Your jaw dropped slightly, seeing the size of him as he dragged his hand down the length of it.
"Fuck- that's big."
You didn't even mean to say it out loud. Hotch chuckled as your words, his brows raising slightly as he did.
"Don't worry, sweetheart," He cooed, lining himself up with your entrance. "We'll make it fit."
Your eyes squeezed shut and a drawn out, frankly pornographic, moan fell out. Hotch groaned deep in his chest as he sunk into you, feeling the tight grip of your soaking cunt.
Feeling the press of his lips on your shoulder blade, he made it in fully before he stilled. He was giving you a moment, letting you catch your breath despite the ever-present need to absolutely wreck you.
Reaching back, you franticly tapped at his hip. Quiet pleas of "move, please move" filling the space around you. He was kind, he gave you exactly what you needed as he began to roll his hips into yours.
One of his hands firmly held your hip, the other ran underneath your t-shirt so he could grip at your chest. He cupped one of your breasts, rolling it round in his large palm as he groaned into the crook of your neck.
"God- you feel so good, sweetheart."
You whimpered for him, a pathetic whine sounding from you as you bucked your hips back against him. The hand on your hip began to slip forward, fingers coming around to rub against your clit.
From the speed in which he was fucking into you, the frantic movements of his fingers, the clip of his breath- he was trying hard to hold on. He was doing whatever he could to keep his cool but he was finding it increasingly difficult.
The prettiest girl he'd ever laid his eyes on, the subject of all his inappropriate desires was knelt in front of him. You were somehow tighter than he'd dreamed, somehow sounded sweeter than he'd imagined.
You were calling out his name, chants of "Aaron, fuck, Aaron-" that were no doubt slinking through the thin walls of this apartment and keeping the neighbours up.
He didn't care, he'd get you to tell the whole fucking city if he could. When you felt this good, when you looked this pretty for him? He'd throw his whole career to the fucking wind if it meant he got to do this whenever he wanted.
Maybe- maybe not that far. But Hotch wasn't really in the position to be thinking logically right now. Not when you were turning back over your shoulder to capture his lips, moaning straight down his throat as he continued to sink his hips into you.
"Fuck- you're so deep, sir."
Hotch could've come right then, there was no way he could keep it together when you were saying it like that. He knew good and well that this is why this was never meant to happen.
How was he meant to go back to work and deal with you calling him that, when he's heard just how good it could sound?
He sped up his fingers, messy circles rubbing at your clit as your whole body began to tense. He felt your back arching, pushing back into his chest as you cried out.
"God- I'm gonna'- Aaron- I'm gonna' cum-" Was all you could manage before you clenched around him.
Suddenly, your vice grip released and you were falling limp against the couch with a whimper. Hotch fucked you through it, feeling the shocks wracking your body as he drew out your orgasm as long as he could.
Hotch watched over you, seeing the blissed out expression on your face as you came for him. He looked down to see the way your cunt fluttered around him, a wet mess left on the shaft of his cock.
Taking mental note, he knew that he'd never be able to forget this. His one chance to have you like this, to hold you and feel you gripped around him. The sight of you took over him, his hips stuttering as he gripped hard on your hips.
You opened your eyes just in time to see his head tipped back, strong arms and chest straining against his dress shirt. Hotch's lips parted as a quiet moan of your name ripped from his chest.
Quickly, he slipped himself out as he stroked himself over your ass. Long fingers pulled your panties down around your thighs as hot ropes of cum painted your lower back and behind. Your eyes were growing hazier but you kept them open to watch as he did it.
You were slumped over the back of the couch, high dissipating through your body as you heard him tuck himself back into his trousers. You could hear him moving away, but soon he returned with a warm cloth against your back.
Slipping your panties back into place, he turned you around gently and settled you into his side. Right back where things had started, your sleepy body falling into him.
You both knew it, that this would be the last time. This would never go anywhere else. But there was part of you that'd become content with that, getting used to the strong beat of his heart beside your ear.
Feeling a strong hand brush against your face, this time you were sure of it. His lips pressed softly against the top of your head as you began to drift off asleep.
You knew he'd been gone again when you woke up, you'd both show up to work like all of this hadn't happened. But that was okay, you felt the sleep overtaking you- a feeling that you'd missed.
You slept absolutely soundly, for the second time in weeks.
or, Hotch being frustrated with the local police department is hot. mdni
"I'm busy," the sheriff snaps, burying his nose in another case file to avoid looking at Hotch. You purse your lips quietly, trying to decipher your almost illegible handwriting on the report.
"I can come back with a warrant."
Your head snaps up, report forgotten. Hotch's scowl is even more severe than normal, his arms crossed over his chest. The sheriff pushes his chair back, standing face to face with Hotch.
"Excuse me?" the sheriff snaps. The conversation is turning heads all over the precinct, a quiet hush seeping over the desks, but your eyes are glued on Hotch. He braces his hands on the sheriff's desk, and you almost swoon.
"You have deliberately concealed evidence to protect multiple unsubs throughout this entire investigation. All those people had to die for what reason, sheriff? So you could keep your drinking buddies? So you could keep living your twisted lies-"
"You son of bitch," the sheriff spits at Hotch. The entire precinct is silent now, all eyes on the argument. Hotch waits for a beat, two, before abruptly turning away.
"We're leaving," he orders shortly. It takes a second for the words to reach you in your daze, but you scrabble to pack up your papers.
"Hotch, what-" Derek starts, but stops when Hotch fixes him with a dark scowl.
"That's an order." Hotch snaps. Chills, actual chills run down your spine as you follow him out of the precinct, anger rolling off him in waves. You bite your lip, teeth digging into the delicate skin. Bitterly, you wish they were his.
◇─◇──◇─◇
The ride back to the hotel is silent. The team splits up almost as soon as you get back, Hotch storming off to his room as soon as the car stops. You change into conformable clothes and wait for the inevitable knock on your door.
It comes just an hour later. You open the door to see Hotch, his tie loose and his hair mussed, coat jacket gone.
"Can I come in?" he asks quietly, just like he does every time. You smile and nod, and he walks in, closing the door behind him. He waits until the lock clicks.
Just as you pull him in by his button down, he's reaching for you. Your lips collide in clash of teeth, tongues dancing. It's the same battle for dominance like it is every time.
"You loved it," Hotch gasps between kisses, hands sliding up your sides, dragging the material of your (his) shirt with it. You drag your fingers through his hair, nails scraping his scalp, and he groans, low and throaty.
"Yeah? You couldn't even wait an hour before coming here," you spit back, furiously working on the buttons of his shirt. You try to ignore the tremors in your hands as Hotch cups your breast in his hand, massaging slow circles on your nipple.
"Do you want be to boss you around, angel? Want me to tell you what to do?" he asks, and oh god, you didn't even realize your shirt was off. The wall is cool against your back when you collide with it, and you realize he's doing it again.
"I think I'd rather die," you snap, but it comes out breathy as one of Hotch's hands trails down your stomach, disappearing underneath the hem of your sweats.
"Yeah?" he asks in his stupid smug voice, his paw-like hands cupping your pussy. You grind down against him, almost unconsciously. His thumb starts to work lazy circles on your clit, and your eyes flutter shut. You bite back your moans, opening your eyes to glare at him hazily.
He only chuckles, slipping two of his fingers inside you. His thumb works at a cruel pace, and your fingernails dig into his arm, trying to keep yourself upright. Hotch's fingers arch once, twice, before rubbing against the sweet spot inside of you.
You can't help it: you moan, high and breathy in his ear and Hotch's head falls back, a groan escaping his throat.
"There we go, angel, there we go," he coos, and the world spins and you realize he's picked you up. He sets you down on the bed, his hands shaking as he pulls off sweats and underwear. Your legs are still shaking as he settles you in his lap, and your head spins when you realize he's still in his (open) button down and slacks.
"Aaron," you whine as he slides his fingers back into you, and he runs a soothing hand down your back as you grind down on them. As his fingers rub against your walls, you can only bury your head in his shoulder.
You gasp as his fingers rub against both your clit and g-spot, crying out. You writhe in his arms, hazy with pleasure, dragging your nails his back. Hotch is moaning freely, rutting up against you.
"It's so-" you gasp, clinging onto his shoulders, nails leaving marks, "Aaron, ugh, it's so good-"
"I know," he groans in response, "I know, sweetheart. Just let me take care of you, yeah?"
◇─◇──◇─◇
"casual sex implies the existence of ranked competitive sex" this is the ranked competitive sex
Hotch touches your face much more than a boss should. Or, 5 times you have a nosebleed +1 time Hotch does.
8k words, a slightly bloody coworkers to lovers, fem!reader, nosebleeds, reader works in the BAU but isn't a profiler, jack is a sweetheart, hotch has game fr, fluff + hurt/comfort
༺༻
You like your desk job. You handle paperwork primarily, and act as a sort of assistant unofficially. Anything to be useful — you get paid either way. It's why you don't mind trying to be helpful in the office and take on some of the office administrator's overflow.
Today, that's fixing the coffee machines. The office can function on one at a stretch but both being broken means an entire roster of grumpy agents and all of them are on your back. And when they have to see all the stuff they say? You figure fixing the coffee machines is the least you can do.
You're ignoring the weight of their waiting, elbow deep in one of the machines. The instruction manual had mentioned a little spout that can get clogged with detriment. Hopefully, you can clean it out and get at least one machine working by midday.
"Oh no," you murmur.
The piece you're trying to unscrew is tightly wound, too tight for your fingers to work behind. You're probably going to need a small tool, like an allen key.
"No luck?" Agent Prentiss asks, sounding defeated.
You look up from the machine and smile quickly. "I need smaller hands," you joke, letting the machine sit back on the counter and pulling out your aching fingers. "I'll have one working by the end of the day, Agent Prentiss. Scout's honour."
She shrugs and waves a hand at you. "It's alright. What's one day without caffeine?"
You laugh at her good-natured sarcasm and go back to your machine. When you're certain you can't jimmy it you turn your attention to the second machine and run through the steps. You're too determined to lose. Your coworkers depend on you.
You start by changing the filter and are unsurprised when that doesn't work. You check the button connectivity, the fuse, and then you turn again to that small piece that needs to be washed.
"Yes," you cheer under your breath, pulling the piece from its home to assess the problem.
It's a tiny pipe with a piece of mesh that acts as a sieve to trap dust. Maybe. Whatever it is, it's full of caramelised coffee grounds. You move to the sink basin and turn on the faucet to clean it, washing with anticipation as the burned coffee trickles down the drain.
You're pleased enough to feel a mild adrenaline rush, and your excitement leads to butter fingers: you drop the prized piece of pipe and it rolls out of sight.
This is not a good time for business casual.
You tug your too-tight pants from your thighs and bend down in search. When it doesn't reveal itself you get on your knees and run your hands along the seams of the kitchen cabinets, face lowered.
"Is everything okay?"
You wince at a very familiar, very unfortunately timed voice.
"Yes, sir, everything is perfect," you say, looking up to meet the eye of your boss' boss, unit chief SSA Aaron Hotchner. "I've misplaced a piece but I'll have the coffee machine working again in no time. I'm sorry."
He raises his eyebrows at you. It's a very nice expression on him, his eyes light with an emotion you don't often see on him. "Is fixing the coffee machine in your job description?" he asks.
You think it might be a polite reprimand. You won't insult him by insisting you're always on time with your actual delegated workload because he and your supervisor have to send you emails asking for missing paperwork all the time, so you try to disarm him.
You beam.
You're not a supermodel but everybody is pretty when they smile. "Sir, I thought I could sacrifice my lunch break for the good of the Bureau."
"Yes, well." He looks like he wants to smile back. You might be seeing what you want to see, though. "That won't be necessary. Take your time."
Your smile falters as you feel a telling heat at the back of your nose. "Thank you," you say quickly, covering your nostril with the pad of your index finger.
You're hoping your swift words will send him on his way, but he's literally the lead profiler of the BAU. He knows suspicious activity when he sees it.
"Is something wrong?"
Blood starts to trickle down your palm. You slide your hand up to cover your nose the best that you can. The alarm on his face when he spots the blood sliding down your bare forearm can't be understated.
"It's just a nosebleed," you placate, sounding stuffed up.
He's a quick thinker, tearing a wad of paper towel off of the dispenser above the microwave and offering it to you.
If you weren't so distracted by your current predicament you'd say thank you.
He turns back to the paper towels and tears off another wad. To your horror, Hotch bends down right there in the kitchenette and waits for you to open your palm, feeding the towels into your spare hand.
"Should you tilt your head back?"
"I think that's a myth," you say.
Your skin starts to scrawl with embarrassment, the itchy, awful feeling of being pinned by his eyes.
"How long do they usually last?"
"Not very long, sir. I'm sure you're busy."
He tilts his head slightly to one side as if conceding your point. "Let me help you up," he commands.
You can't make yourself reject his help. Honestly, it's nice to have somebody care even if the nosebleed is purely superficial. His fingers curl around the crook of your elbow and he helps you onto your feet just in time for Agent Prentiss to return.
"Hotch, what did you do?" she asks, bewildered.
You try not to laugh too much, worried you'll force another burst of blood.
—
Confidential information. You hear it, you ignore it. Harder to ignore the whiteboards in the conference room that are currently choc-a-block with prints of crime scene photos.
You don't mean to gawk at them. It's severely unprofessional and you shouldn't really be in here to begin with. The electronic screen is off, as are the monitors, so you know the room isn't in use.
That could change any second, and it does.
You hide your clammy palms behind your back at the sound of footsteps and try not to rush obviously toward the mug you'd come in here to collect.
The door creaks open as you're leaning over the table.
"I'm sorry," you say without looking.
"You don't have to clean up after anyone."
"Actually," you say quietly, abashed at having been caught, "this is my mug."
You turn to face him.
Agent Hotchner is tall and handsome. These are two undeniable facts and yet every time you see him it feels like a surprise. It might have something to do with how composed he is, how deliberate his movements are, or it might just be 'cause you have a crush on him.
It's anybody's guess.
"I can make Reid wash it," he says.
You're so whipped that your chest confuses his offer for something much worse. Like, he's on your side.
"That's okay, I don't wanna punish him for my own fussiness." You cover the mugs printed sides subtly, or as subtly as you're able.
"What's special?"
You smile at him, lips pressed together tight and eyes squinting slightly. You know what he's getting at but you ask anyways, stalling now he's caught you. "About what?"
"About the mug."
You peer behind him.
"You can't tell anyone," you murmur, rounding the table to stand by his side with your shoulders to the door. "I'm not sure anybody knows it's mine."
The mug is a corn-husk yellow and printed with a scene from a vintage Peanuts comic, dark-haired Lucy standing behind her lemonade stand that boasts 'Psychiatric Help 5¢'. Charlie Brown sits in front of it looking morose.
It's hard to describe why you like it so much.
"I see," Agent Hotchner says.
It's become something of an office joke, offering each other five cents on bad days, calling someone Charlie Brown when they look lost. You doubt very much that anyone is making fun of you, you're just hiding that it's your mug because that's part of the fun. The mystery of the Peanuts mug.
"I can't drink out of anything else," you confide, turning your face to his.
He's definitely smiling this time. "Why would you?"
You nod in genuine delight. "Exactly! Vintage Peanuts, and I searched so much for this because they used to use lead in glassware paint, and-"
The nosebleed comes on suddenly. There's a drop of blood running down your lips before you've even realised. Agent Hotchner's eyes follow it all the way down.
"Oh, no," you say, blood dripping to the hill of your chin.
You use the back of the hand that's holding the mug to catch what's rolling down your neck and the other to pinch your nose closed, bending forward on instinct to hide your face. You're seasoned in nosebleeds. You know how you look — scary. Ridiculous.
"Here," Agent Hotchner says.
His hand comes into your eyeline, offering a dark square of fabric. You cringe at the idea of marring his likely expensive handkerchief but you can't not accept, pressing it haphazard to your bloody nose.
"What were you saying about lead?"
You're so frazzled about the blood you don't realise he's made a joke until it's too late to laugh.
"Do you know what causes them?" he asks.
"I'm not really sure, sir. I used to get them all the time as a kid, um…" You pull the handkerchief away from your nose to check if it's still bleeding. When it doesn't continue, you say, "They're pretty harmless. It's done already."
"If you need time off for a check-up, I'm sure the office administrator can find a sick day for you."
You smile at him, and then remember the blood and grimace. I must look like Carrie right now, you think morosely.
"That won't be necessary, sir, thank you. It's apparently the dry air." You're starting to feel more and more warm under his serious gaze. There's a startling amount of concern there. "I'm gonna go clean up now. Excuse me," you say, face glowing with heat.
"Of course."
You cover your bloody face with the back of your hand, his handkerchief held in red-stained fingers. You pass Agent Prentiss on the stairs, hurrying past her with an I'm okay smile.
"Hotch, again?" you hear Agent Prentiss ask incredulously. "Where do you get off?"
—
You can't return Hotch's handkerchief, it's a biohazard, but the fabric had felt so soft and the monogram in the corner had cued you in on how expensive it must have been. Your guilt manifests itself into three new handkerchiefs with the embroidered A.H. They aren't half as nice as the one he'd let you ruin. You leave them on his desk — or rather, you get Dr. Reid to leave them on his desk, as walking into his office doesn't feel like something you're allowed to do — and try to forget about them.
For a week, you do. Agent Hotchner doesn't visit his office, Agent Jareau apprehends him on his way in that morning and the profiling team gather around their round table, and you don't see any of them for four days. The Friday they return, you're already on your way home.
That's why his actions the following Monday shock you.
It's unusual that he walks anywhere that isn't a straight shot to his desk. You're doing paperwork for once in your life, sitting awkwardly with your foot hooked under your thigh and a pair of wired earphones in. It's not technically allowed but he really doesn't venture over to you often. You've become complicit in your unsupervised nirvana of a desk job.
You snatch your earphone out and struggle into a normal position. "Agent Hotchner," you say, wondering if you should call him Special Supervisory, or maybe something cooler, like your Highness. Your grace. He's intimidating in his accomplishments at the FBI, and he's super handsome.
"Can I see you in my office? Ten minutes."
You nod brainlessly.
Your desk buddy doesn't wait long after he's left to investigate.
"What did you do?" they ask from across the short partition.
"I really don't know," you say, though you have your suspicions.
"Were you reading on your computer again? I told you, read under the desk like a normal person."
"No, I learned my lesson with that one when Agent Morgan started reciting Pride and Prejudice from over my shoulder."
You check your face in a compact before you report to Agent Hotchner's office. Your heart beats in your throat as you knock his open door.
"Come in," he says without looking up.
You take a cautious step.
He finishes off quickly and lifts his chin. His eyes are dark in the early morning light, his hair in mild disarray from the wind and drizzle.
"Come in," he says again.
You wish there was a word that could describe his voice accurately. He talks in the peaceable kind of cadence that comes with hushed tones without truly being hushed.
"Sir…" You bite the bullet. "If this is about the macadamia cookies, I promise I'll replace them. I didn't actually eat any of them. They kind of fell out of the cabinet and exploded, it was a freak accident."
He holds up his hand. "Thank you. For the handkerchiefs. They were unnecessary."
He says 'unnecessary' with a smile.
"Actually, sir, I think they were entirely necessary." You just disagreed with your boss. "Sir. I couldn't return the first, I ruined it and I- I didn't think you'd want it even if I got it dry cleaned."
He raises his eyebrows. "It was unnecessary," he repeats, the word drawn out carefully. "But, I appreciate the gesture. Thank you."
Two thank you's. You stop while you're ahead. "You're more than welcome, Agent Hotchner, sir."
You share an amicable glance and turn to leave.
"L/N?"
You stutter to a halt. "Sir?"
"Hotch is fine."
You try not to swallow your own tongue. "Hotch," you say, and then worry that's something people only do in movies.
A few days later, your humming along to your earphones and wading through the chaos of the bullpen feeling pretty happy. The office has been busy but not in the scary, suffocating way, and you're happy to be here. The BAU can be hard (and that's as someone who isn't on the front line). Times like this are cherished.
You pause a foot from your desk, eyes creasing into a suspicious squint.
There's a small box on your desk.
"What is that?" you ask your desk buddy.
"What?" they ask.
"That. There's a thing on my desk."
"Nothing to do with me."
"Think I should call the bomb squad?"
"I'm sure you'll be alright. Maybe read the note before you raise the alarm."
"There's a note?" you mumble, caution swiftly overrun by a burning curiosity.
You'd be sincerely worried about a bomb, only this is the FBI. If a bomb got this far into the building half the people in it would lose their jobs. You kick your bag under the desk and drop your ipod onto the desk, tinny music blaring from your earphones.
"What are you?" you ask under your breath.
The box is wrapped in crepe paper and a yellow sticky note has been attached to the top.
Rest assured, made without lead.
That only confuses you more. You're hesitance has your desk mate sitting up in their chair. "Wait," they say, peering over the glass partition, "should I raise the alarm?"
You slide a trim fingernail under a neat stripe of tape. "No, I think we're good," you mumble.
And lo and behold, a mug is homed inside. A Peanuts mug no less; the mug has been printed with a Peanuts comic panel. Charlie Brown lays on the floor in a straight plank, and standing overy him is his friend Linus, who says, "I have been asked to tell you that your cries of anguish are keeping the whole neighbourhood awake!"
You laugh loud and instinctively, shrill enough to attract the attention of half the office. Slapping a hand over your mouth, you slouch down as low as possible in your desk chair. Heat pools in your cheeks.
"What is it?" your desk mate asks.
"A present."
And hence your new favourite mug is brought into life. You write your name on the bottom with black sharpie and continue to deny all knowledge of the first, which you retire to the drawer of your desk.
For a while your nosebleeds go away. You know exactly who left the mug on your desk, and you remember the joke he'd made. Maybe Hotch had been on to something, and you'd inadvertently poisoned yourself.
You smile practically every time you see your new mug, and you're unsurprised when others appreciate its humour.
You're not sure how to explain it to an eight year old, though.
You're slumped over, nose to the desk and hand working diligently across your notes. Having a crush on your boss makes doing your work easier because you're constantly trying to impress him — an impossible task, but trying all the same. Your earphones bump a soft love song, something sweet to cut through the unhappy details of the case file you're working on.
"What are you listening to?" a small voice asks.
You drag your gaze up slowly and find Jack Hotchner standing beside your desk. You've seen him in person a few times, and once as Hotch's phone wallpaper, but he grows so much between visits you almost don't recognise him.
"I'm sorry," you say, pulling your earphone out, "what did you say?"
"What song are you listening to?" he asks, hands creeping up over the lip of your desk.
You sit up and smile at him. You can't say he looks like Hotch, though maybe you can see it in his tiny grin, that hint of cheekiness. "I'm listening to a song called At Last. It's a love song. Do you… want to listen?" you offer quietly.
He nods.
You push your chair away from your desk and turn down the ipod's volume so it doesn't damage his hearing. "Here," you say, offering one of your earbuds. "Don't push it in, okay? I don't want it to hurt your ears."
Jack takes the proffered earbud but doesn't seem super interested. "Do you have The Beatles?" he asks.
"The Beatles! Is that what you and your dad listen to?"
He nods, pleased, and you nod yourself, flicking through your songs in search of what he wants.
"I have Here Comes the Sun. Do you like that one?"
He beams. "Yes! Me and dad sing that one in the car."
That's a really nice image, Hotch and Jack belting happy lyrics together in the busy mornings. It's also odd. Hotch singing isn't an image you can say you've ever thought of before.
"I love this one," you tell him, letting your elbows dig into your thighs so the two of you are eye level with one another.
"Me too."
You share the earbuds, Jack combing your desk for something interesting no doubt. You cover a case detail that involves some gory images and almost knock over your mug in your haste.
"What does that say?" he asks, pointing.
Jack looks between you and the mug for answers.
You lick your lips. "Uh, do you want me to read it to you?"
He thinks about it. "Can I try?"
"Of course you can."
You clear a path for the mug and place it in front of him.
"I have been asked to tell you," he begins confidently, "that your cries of an-" He frowns. "Anguish are keeping the whole ne… I don't know that."
"I'm sure you do, it just looks weird. Neighbourhood."
"Neighbourhood," he repeats. "Keeping the whole neighbourhood awake." He huffs a boyish, gentle laugh that makes your heart spin.
"Good job, buddy."
He melts under your praise. He's a cute kid, and his hair shines golden under the office lighting. It flops to one side as he tilts his head. "What's 'anguish'?"
"Anguish. Uhm, it's like sadness."
"Oh." He takes this in. "Do you have Let It Be?"
You eventually give up your chair and let Jack sit with your ipod in his lap, playing through all The Beatles songs that you have. Nobody seems to be watching you and Hotch has yet to come out of his office and tell you off for supplying his son with technology, so you work around him, leaning over the back of the chair to fill in what's missing from your reports.
Jack leans back in his chair, his adorable singing coming to a stop. "Do you have movies on the computer?"
Yes, but should my boss' son know that? "It's for work," you say regretfully.
"Not even FernGully?"
"I'm sorry."
He shakes his head. "It's okay, it's not your fault."
"Do you like to draw? I don't have many colours, but we can play a game."
He smiles for a moment, then hesitation crawls over his features. "Dad says not to disturb anyone."
"I'm on my lunch break," you assure him. You hadn't been, but you don't mind taking it now. "Are you hungry? I have oranges."
You and Jack end up sitting under your desk. You really don't mean to end up like that; you sit on your knees because your back has started to ache and Jack wants to sit with you. You can't say no to him. (You could, you just don't want to.)
"What did she say after that?" you ask, fingers digging into two orange segments to pull them apart. You shave off all of the strands of white pith before you pass it to Jack, who says thank you every time.
"She said to ask Stacy who said to ask Morgan P who said to ask Joan. And Joan said she didn't wanna know, but then she changed her mind after I told her abd she said to ask Cooper."
"What did Cooper say?"
"Cooper says he doesn't think he knows where it is."
You nod, chewing your own orange slice slovenly. "Well, what did your dad say?"
"I haven't told dad."
You lift your head from the paper where Jack has drawn an impressive house with five windows. "You haven't told your dad?"
"He worries about everything."
"That's his job, Jack. He has to worry about you."
"He worries about everybody."
"Some people do." You clean another orange slice for him, and he says thank you again. "You're welcome… Jack, I really think you should tell you dad. It sounds like somebody might have taken your pencil case on purpose. And even if he can't find out who did, he can get you some new pencils for school."
"I told mom but she hasn't done anything yet."
Your stomach hurts.
"Well," you murmur, picking up the green pen, "I'm sure she's trying her best, baby. Can I help colour in these trees?"
You and Jack fall into a companionable silence, his head bobbing to You Make My Dreams (Come True) the cutest thing you've ever seen. You're not sure how long you sit there, but all good things must come to an end, and your half hour for lunch draws to a close.
"Hey, Jack?" you say, straightening where you kneel and preparing to stand. "I have some stuff I have to do but you're welcome to stay there."
Unfortunately, you don't manage to grab his attention. Double unfortunately, somebody else does.
"Morgan, where's Jack?"
You peek past your desk chair. A little ways away, Hotch stands looking sick to his stomach, and Agent Morgan looks lost.
"I didn't have him?"
"I asked him to sit with you," Hotch says miserably, throwing his gaze over the office. "Jack?"
Jack hears that loud and clear. Something in his dad's tone must spark some urgency, as he stands in a rush and trips on his own shoelace, smacking the top of his head into your nose.
You gasp.
"Ouch," Jack moans.
Blinking, you shake off your disorientation. "Oh no, are you okay? Here, sweetheart, stand up," you encourage gently, "I'm so sorry, have I hurt your head?"
Jack's gaze to the floor, he rubs the top of his head with a clumsy hand. "It's okay, Miss Agent, it wasn't you and-" He stares at you.
"What?" you ask.
"Dad!" he shouts, backing away from you. "Daddy!"
Jack runs out of your little alcove and straight into his father's legs, almost bowling him over. Hotch drops two relieved hands down to his small shoulders. "What?" he asks, startled, "What happened?"
Your nose stings, admittedly, but you've felt worse. It's a light throbbing that distracts you entirely from the blood racing down your lips until you taste it.
Shit, you think, crawling out from under the desk with one hand, the other clamped over your bleeding nose. Your movement draws Hotch's attention, which in turn gathers at least a quarter of the office's.
"I didn't mean to," Jack says shrilly.
"It's okay. It wasn't your fault," you say stuffily, clambering onto shaky legs.
You turn your head away from the collective gaze of the office and start toward the kitchen and hear at least three different people say, "Wait!"
You ignore them, using your elbow to help tear off a paper towel from the roll and pushing it without finesse against your face. You squirm under the weight of tens of eyes, more embarrassed than anything else, worse when a warm hand turns you by the shoulder.
"He really didn't mean to," you say, looking up into Hotch's concerned face.
"I know."
"Is he okay?”
"He's not the one with a nosebleed," Hotch says, neither kind nor unkind.
"I honestly didn't even feel it."
His fingers curl around your wrist, a slow tightening. "That doesn't surprise me, Y/N."
You bite your tongue to stop from laughing. “He bumped his head into me."
"Mm. Just a red mark. It won't even bruise."
You deflate in relief. "Oh, good."
Hotch's hands have found their way onto yours. He pulls one from your nose, gaze hardening at the strong river of blood that makes its way into the dip of your cupid's bow.
"I'm sorry, sir."
He shakes his head and gathers another wad of tissue paper, a light blue that quickly turns to a wine dark when he presses it to your face. Your heart hammers at his proximity, a thousand and one nerves aflame.
He's close but not too close, nothing anyone could mistake for something else, and still it feels like a strangely intimate moment. His careful touches. He directs your hand to hold a fresh paper towel to the stream of blood and discards the bloody tissue. You watch him push up his sleeves carefully and give his hands a quick rinse in the sink before he dampens another paper towel.
It's cool against your neck.
"I think your shirt is ruined," he says, dabbing at a line of dried blood.
You shiver at the feeling of cold water dripping under your starched collar.
"Does it hurt?" he asks, moving up to your jaw.
You don't know how to admit it to him. No, it doesn't hurt. Your hands are really warm, and you're touching me so gently I can barely feel it.
"A little."
"Well, Jack is very sorry."
"He doesn't have to be. He tripped, he…" You fade off as Hotch lays his hand across your cheek, thumb lifting your head slightly so he can clean your chin.
"How are you faring?" he asks.
You pull your tissue away and wait for the tell-tale heat of continued blood flow. You're ashamed to admit it but you're almost glad it hasn't stopped, Hotch's hand warm and large and impossibly comforting. Nosebleeds don't stress you out, exactly, but it's not fun to be covered in your own blood at work where everyone can see you. It's nice to have somebody wiping it away.
"I think I'll live," you say.
—
Jack sends you an apology card.
It's hand delivered. Hotch is coming up to the BAU main floor as you're heading out. Like a rock dividing a river, his teammates stream from the elevator around you and Hotch remains inside.
"I'll catch up," he promises.
Agent JJ raises her eyebrows. Agent Morgan chuckles.
You draw in on yourself self-consciously. You don't dress as nicely when he isn't here, and today you're rivalling Dr. Reid for most lovable dork in a pair of brown pants and a big sweater. Teetering the line between professional and unprofessional.
"Sir," you greet, stepping into the elevator.
He presses the ground floor button. "I have something for you."
Your eyebrows jump up high. Hotch unzips the main zipper of his duffle back and threads between clothes and papers for a smaller envelope.
"It's for you."
You accept, careful not to tear the thin sheet of folded paper as you pull it free. You're thrilled to see a drawing of Charlie Brown on the front, crudely drawn but clearly him with his head-wrapped in bandages. His puppy Snoopy sits beside him with something in his hands. You're not sure what.
The inside is even sweeter.
To Y/N
I am sorry if I made your nose angwished. Please feel better soon
Love, Jack Hotchner.
"Oh, I love it," you say, rubbing your thumb over a heart drawn in red crayon. "He's really something else, Hotch. He's brilliant, and so smart. I mean, anguished."
He laughs and it twists your chest in five different directions. "He is."
"It wasn't his fault though. If my nose weren't so sensitive it really wouldn't have bled at all, I didn't bruise. How is he? Did his head feel better?"
The doors open. You hesitate, waiting for his reply.
"Children are made of harder stuff than we are," he says.
You step backwards out of the elevator. "I felt so bad. I don't suppose he'll want to come and sit with me again."
"Actually," Hotch says, stepping out of the elevator just as the doors close again, "he thinks you're, uh, in his own words, the 'coolest friend' I've ever had."
"Friend," you repeat with a smile.
You've focused on the wrong word, and you worry an awkward silence will ensue, but Hotch steps up to the plate and says, "Yeah. He wouldn't stop telling me about all the cool songs you have on your ipod."
"Purely for non-working hours."
"Right." His smile says that he's seen straight through you.
You're thinking maybe he likes what he sees.
"This is really amazing," you reaffirm, pressing Jack's card to your chest.
"He felt guilty."
"He doesn't have to. Please, tell him I said thank you. And that he's amazing. And that my nose was being dramatic." You smile softly. "He can sit with me whenever he likes."
"Maybe at the desk, next time, rather than under it."
"Yes, sir."
You nod at him and he nods back, and you take it as a dismissal, turning on your heel. You've barely walked a metre when he's speaking up.
"Y/N?"
You look at him from over your shoulder. "Yeah?"
"Are you hungry?"
You bite your cheek in a hurry to answer, “Yeah. I’m starving.”
Your heart is basically a ticking time bomb in your chest as you and Hotch make your way into the heart of the city. He's a fast walker with long legs and you rush to keep up. That’s totally why you’re breathless. Not because he makes you nervous.
Hotch is a really surprising guy, though maybe he isn’t surprising at all, you’re simply unversed in how he is outside of work. He talks more and his voice grows louder the further into the city you go, more expressive.
You’re no profiler, but you’d bet money on Aaron Hotchner being nervous.
Good thing you’re nervous, too.
“It’s not far now. You like Thai?” he asks.
“Yeah, of course. Have you ever had Tom Yum?”
“With shrimp?”
“Exactly.”
“I think I’ve tried it. I lived off of pad Thai when I was a prosecutor,” he says, head tilting back very slightly. His Adam’s apple works under the skin.
He looks back down, a sheepishness to his voice as he continues, “A lot of late nights.”
“More than now?” you ask skeptically.
His laugh is low and warm. “No. The firm was much closer to the city than the bureau. It’s a long walk.”
“It is,” you say, taking a small step closer to his side to share a secret smile, “but it hasn’t felt that way tonight.”
You try to keep it light. You don’t want to scare him off.
“No,” he agrees. “It hasn’t.”
You duck into a fragrant Thai restaurant and order fast, the two of you knee to knee in the very corner. A potted plant threatens to blind him every time he moves, and so he endeavours to stay very still.
The food's a little on the spicy side, and while you're laughing you can't find it in you to feel embarrassed about your runny nose.
"You didn't like Seinfeld?" you ask, and how you got here's a mystery, but Hotch is extremely passionate about it in the best way.
"No, of course not. How could you? George was always worrying about something, he was the definition of a self-fulfilling prophecy and he never learned!" he debates, all in a rush, chopsticks moving in emphasis.
You snort and wipe your nose again. "It was like a relief, though, that it was happening to him and not to you, you know? You might be having a bad day but George Costanza's having a worse one."
"Oh, honey," he says.
It takes you a second to realise that he's talking to you.
"What?" you ask, perplexed.
Hotch stands up though there's no space for it, chopsticks ditched and hand pushed into the recesses of his pocket swiftly. He pulls out a small packet of tissues, and he lifts his chin, a jut. You lift your own, and he's quick to press the tissue to your nose.
"It's bleeding?" you ask, startled.
"Just a little."
"Sorry."
"No, no," he says, bent down, a comforting hand around your shoulder, "don't be. It gives me an excuse."
"To do what?"
"To be this close."
Your smile is a slow, molasses thick thing. You can't get a handle on it, and Hotch's answering one is worse. He looks so happy to be here with you, to be wiping your bloody nose.
It's only a small nose bleed. Hotch pulls the tissue away once or twice to check, wiping at it tenderly and giving you a comforting squeeze each time. The silence feels natural as breathing.
"There," he says eventually, pulling the bloodied tissue away with a smile. "All done."
"Thank you, Hotch."
"I'd think you'd better start calling me Aaron, considering."
"Considering what?"
His hand climbs from your shoulder to the column of your throat. He doesn't make you wait any longer, leaning down with a sure, brave deliberateness. He presses his lips to yours.
A sweet kiss but too short — barely two seconds and he's taking a half-step away, your lips tingling in want.
You go to stand and he pushes you down into your seat, not unkindly. "I'm gonna go see if I can get some hot water for you," he says, placating your gutted look with a kiss to your cheek.
He wipes it thoughtlessly with the pad of his thumb before he goes.
You're genuinely surprised your nose doesn't start bleeding again at the look he gives you as he turns the corner toward the restaurant's kitchen. Protective, knowing. Your heart races in your chest.
You probe at your face, elated. Your sensitive nose is good for something after all.
—
The first time you sleepover with Aaron is an accident. You don't "mess around," as you'd crooned over the phone, joking but with enough salaciousness to make him smile. The gas and hot water had stopped working in your apartment, and though the landlord had promised they'd fix it the very next morning, Aaron couldn't stand to think about you cold and alone when you could easily be warm and with him.
So here you are.
"Are you sure this is okay?" you whisper, peering over his shoulder at Jack.
His son stands in the living room in his pyjamas.
"It's okay," he says, "I asked him, and you know he's obsessed with you. His one condition is that you watch FernGully."
"FernGully," you say, enthused.
"You'll like it."
You actually really do. Showered and dressed in your own pyjamas, a little shy but not too much to stop from laying against his side on the sofa. He's got one arm around you and one around Jack but he might as well be invisible, the two of you talking in murmurs across his chest.
"And that's-"
"Pips," Jack supplies helpfully.
"Pips," you say, hand spread over Aaron's chest.
If he didn't know better he'd think this was a slice of heaven.
"So many people," you whisper in Aaron's ear.
"More in the second one."
"There's two?"
After the movies finished — "It was better than you said, Jack," — and dinner’s been eaten and cleared away, Aaron takes Jack to bed.
"Do you want a story?" Aaron asks, flitting around the room in a half-hearted attempt to square away the mess.
"No."
"You sure?"
Jack's eyes are heavy, and they have been since dinner. "Yes," he mumbles, face turned into his pillow, hands lax on top of his blanket.
Aaron smiles and makes his way to Jack's side. He kisses his son's cheek, and strokes the soft hair from his face. He smells like strawberry toothpaste and kids shampoo.
You're sitting on the end of the bed when he gets to you, face damp with skincare and shining in the light. Aaron kisses you without touching it, worried he'll mess it up.
“He’s wiped. All the excitement,” he says.
“Excitement- From me?” you ask.
“From you.” He puts his hands carefully either side of your neck.
You haven’t been dating very long, and still he knows how easy it is to fluster you. And while he loves to see it, see you giddy and shy, blinking at nothing like there’s a light shining in your eyes. He’d once pressed his thumb with the very faintest of pressure into your windpipe while kissing you, and you hadn’t been able to look him in the eye for three days.
He loves that, but he’d prefer if you slept facing him. He wants to see what you look like asleep, as odd as it sounds, he assumes you’ll be beautiful. He wouldn’t be surprised if you were more.
“Aaron,” you whisper.
“What?”
“Want me to massage your bad shoulder?”
He wonders, as he thinks is more than allowed, if that’s a seduction trick, but you genuinely just give him a massage, as you have a couple of times in his office after noticing how sore it gets now the weather’s cold.
You rub into the problem spot carefully, sighing with sympathy. “Oh, baby,” you say, more to yourself than him.
He fucking loves the way you say it. Aaron’s never been called baby like that — like it’s his name, and it’s sweet to say. Your tired yawns warm the back of his neck as you go. He doesn’t think he’s getting lucky tonight, and he doesn’t care one bit. He feels pretty lucky just having you near.
He gets you under the covers before you can fall asleep against his back and makes sure you know how grateful he is for the massage with two kisses. The first is a genuine thank you and the second is to make you laugh, nipping and playful under your jaw.
Aaron falls asleep thinking about it.
He wakes to something much less idyllic.
It’s that strange feeling. Being a dad has honed it, but he’s always had it. It’s one of the things that makes him so good at his job, a prickling at the back of his neck. At first he can’t pin it down.
Your waist rises under his hand with your breathing. He remembers that you’re there and smiles contentedly, hand sliding behind your back to pull you in. You’d fallen asleep on your back, and you’ve turned toward him in your sleep.
The metallic stick of blood is sudden and sharp in his nose. He knows what it is before he opens his eyes. The room is dark, lit only by the red light of his alarm clock on the nightstand. His eyes ache with fatigue, and he knows in his gut that it’s too early to get up.
Blood pools under your nose. Not a lot, nothing to panic over, but blood all the same. He sits up, quickly turns on his bedside lamp, and rouses you as gently as he can, a hand slid under your shoulders to drag you up.
You blink blearily. “What?” you ask, voice scratchy.
“Nosebleed,” he informs, pinching your nose before blood can slink down your neck and ruin your pyjama shirt.
You wince and he hates the way you flinch away from his touch, your clouded confusion. It’s only a second but it doesn’t sit right with him.
“Sorry, honey.”
You catch hold of his bicep and blink some more.
“You okay to pinch it yourself? I’ll go grab some tissue paper.”
You nod robotically and replace his light pinching with your own, much less kind. He rushes to grab a roll of toilet paper from the bathroom, and when he returns you've pulled yourself into an alert sitting position, awaiting his return.
He tears you off a wad of paper. “Here, honey.”
“I think it’s stopped.”
“Yeah? Let me grab you a towel.”
Back to the bathroom. When he returns for the second time you’re holding his given toilet paper against your face. He’s alarmed to find your eyes glassy with tears, shimmering in the bedroom light.
“What’s wrong?” he asks softly, sitting across from you.
He’d been right about sleepy you. You look lovely, a little funny with your rumpled pyjamas, and now quite sad because of your tears. “Honey,” he says again, pulling your hand from your face so he can assess the damage, “you’re okay. Is it hurting?”
You’ve told him before the nosebleeds are painless, but maybe they’re a symptom of something, maybe you’re sick—
“I ruined your pillow,” you mutter.
Ah. That’s much better than your being sick. He can work with that easily.
“You didn’t ruin anything.”
He takes your chin between his thumb and his forefinger to lift your head. The blood has stopped already; your nosebleeds are often a whirlwind, over by the time you’ve started panicking.
“I’m sorry.”
He drops your bloodied tissue into his lap and brings the dampened towel to your face. He’s cautious. Your nose gets irritated and any roughness could disrupt the blood clot or agitate the anterior blood vessels inside.
“You think I’m mad over a pillow?”
“No, of course not.”
You sound stuffy. It’s adorable. Adorable and sad. He rubs the hill of your chin in a show of affection.
“Then why?”
“Sorry, I think I’m just tired. I- I was trying to make tonight perfect because,” — a small tear bumps down your cheek — “it’s our first night together even if it was accidental.”
He dabs at your upper lip and the wet blood there with a smile growing. “It was perfect. It is perfect. You getting a nosebleed on a seven dollar pillow doesn’t change that.” His hand moves to your cheek, squashing your baby tear. “You know I love any opportunity to touch you… Now, do you want a glass of water?”
You close your eyes and lean your face heavily into his palm. “Can I have one of those kisses from earlier?”
“Can you keep your blood inside your body?” he asks with a smile, rubbing your cheek with his thumb.
“Depends how hard you bite me.”
He’s very, very gentle.
—
+1
Aaron breaks his nose. You are not supposed to know that he breaks his nose, only he breaks it so bad that he has to go to the hospital to get it set, and he decides he’d like you there.
Technically, somebody else broke his nose. The details aren’t important. What matters is that Aaron makes a rookie mistake and he has to deal with the consequences, which is a biting, aching pain behind his eyes and a trip to the ER. He does not let them take him in an ambulance, and it really isn’t urgent. He sits in a waiting room chair with a stiff back and it doesn’t take long before you’re striding inside looking terrified.
“Hey, baby,” he says, testing it out. He doesn’t really like it.
“What did they give you?” you ask, bending at the waist to take his face into your kind hands.
“Vicodin when I got here.”
“Lucky you.” You turn his face in your hands.
“You look beautiful,” he says.
“I wish I could say the same, but somebody messed you up bad.”
He laughs and takes your face into his hands, the two of you smiling way too much for the situation that you’re in. “I was so worried,” you say with a little laugh.
He kisses you soundly. It hurts, but it’s worth it.
They call his name not long after and a nurse takes you both into a grey examination room. The doctor is a short, stern woman who has to use a stool to reach Aaron’s face, and she sets his nose with a swiftness that even he manages to recognise for the brutality that it is in his drug haze.
You hold his hand. He has to try very hard not to crush your fingers.
It starts bleeding immediately.
Aaron meets your gaze over the doctor's head, eyes wide and in similar fashion as your own, and he knows it’s an adverse reaction to shocking pain but he starts giggling. Aaron Hotchner doesn’t giggle, really. He laughs, and sometimes when he’s with Jack that laugh can get super loose and high, but this is a bona fide giggle.
You try to gasp in shock but you’re laughing too. “Aaron,” you reproach.
He holds his breath as the doctor presses gauze to his face.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” he says.
You snicker behind your hand. The doctor presses gauze to his face and rolls her eyes. She likely does not get paid enough.
“You’re still handsome,” you say giddily.
“Oh, well that's good.”
There’s a small silence rife with tension, and when it breaks it bursts like a dam. You laugh so hard you end up clinging to his arm, chest pressed to his bicep. He strokes the back of your head with a wobbly hand, wondering how miserable he’d be if you weren’t here with him right now.
“What happened to keeping all your blood inside your body, Hotchner?” you ask, delighted.
He beams at you dopily. “I’ve never been any good at that.”
Summary: You forget about the hickeys on your neck and when your boss finds out, he's not happy about it.
Warnings: Smut, jealous!Hotch, degrading (slightly), semi public sex (they're in an empty office).
I think this is the single dirtiest fic I have ever written. Enjoy!
wc: 3.2k
It was the hot days in July where you were forced to come into the office that took away your will to live. You'd rolled out of the mysterious man you'd slept with the night before's bed, driving home early so you'd have time to shower and change before coming into work. Deciding on opting out of wearing any makeup other than a little mascara, you changed into trousers and a cotton tank top, shoving a field-appropriate top into your bag just in case. You were already dreading the inevitable hair-sticking-to-your-neck type of heat so much that you forgot about the hickeys littering your neck, the hair tie on your wrist an enemy in disguise, waiting to launch its attack.
When you finally entered the bullpen nearly an hour later, you observed your teammates' attire. Emily had done something similar to you, her blouse hanging from the back of her chair, JJ wearing a thin but figure hugging t-shirt. Derek was sporting a loose, plain t-shirt, while Spencer decided to forego his usual sweater vest, his shirt rolled up to his elbows. Of course, you already assumed that Penny was wearing a sun dress without having to see her.
Placing your iced coffee onto your desk, you busied yourself with finding the paper work you had to finish in your desk drawers. "I should have worn a dress." You complain almost immediately, looking up to the sound of rolling wheels from someone's chair. "I agree. You'd send the big boss into a coma if you did, and we'd all be able to go home." Derek retorts almost immediately, to which you scoff. You never told anyone about your crush on Hotch, but you wouldn't deny it to a room of profilers, so they resorted to teasing. "Ignore Hotch, I'd go into a coma if you wore a dress." Emily adds. You grin, looking up at your best friend from your papers.
You huff, already feeling the sweat on your hairline. Your hands busy themselves with gathering your hair at the back of your head, fishing for the hair tie on your wrist when you see your coworkers' faces. "What?" You look behind you, fully expecting a scene in the kitchen based on their slacked jaws and wide eyes, but there's nothing there. Furrowing your eyebrows, you repeat "What?" Derek starts laughing, and Emily brings a hand up to her face, biting at her thumb nail to hide her smile. You let go of your hair as Spencer and JJ turn to observe the scene, which is you apparently, tilting your head quizzically as you tried to recall what you did this morning.
This morning. You rolled out of the unknown man's bed. The man who you'd slept with last night. You audibly gasped, a hand coming up to cover your mouth. You dove down to look through your bag, fetching your pocket-mirror. "Wow Y/N. Such a busy woman that you forgot you slept with someone." Two things happened as Emily spoke these words: Hotch opened the door to his office, hearing every single syllable that came out of her mouth, and you opened your compact mirror, eyes widening at the number and colour of the hickeys on your neck. A trail of three dark red hickeys painted your neck, and you hadn't even thought about covering them before you left your apartment.
Hotch frowned when he heard the words, almost flinching at the thought of you sleeping around. 'Such a busy woman that you forgot you slept with someone'. Did you sleep around? Is that what Emily meant or was she making a joke? Hotch saw you stand quickly, your hips hitting the wood of your desk and his pupils dilated at the sight, his tongue poking out to wet his lips slightly. "I'll be right back!" You yelped, turning to the direction of the bathroom, Emily immediately standing to follow you.
As you smudged concealer on your neck, you silently thanked whatever higher power was out there that you'd had a makeup pouch in your bag, or you'd be totally fucked. Like, way more than you were now. The door was thrown open by Emily, a massive grin on her face. "You got laid! Was it good? Who was it? Why didn't you tell me!" Your eyes fleeted towards her, and you chuckled quietly. "Yes I got laid, it was good - regular good, guy I met at the grocery store. Devon? David? Doesn't matter. I probably would have told you some time today but looks like you beat me to it."
"Oh. Well if it makes you feel better, I think Hotch looked pretty jealous." You spin towards her, your beauty blender in one hand. "What!? He heard!?" You groaned, throwing you head back. Scratch what you said earlier, Emily was the only person you'd confessed your crush to. You sighed. Well now you probably would never get the chance to be with him. You and Emily walked back to the bullpen, separating when you went into the kitchen, and she went back to her desk. You stopped abruptly at the sight of the one and only person you'd been speak of.
You only just noticed what he was wearing. He abandoned his usual blazer, probably left in his office, and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows. Hotch turned around, mug in hand whilst the water was boiling to find you wide eyed and mouth open in shock. The top two buttons on his shirt were undone, his collarbones just barely visible. He nodded his head shortly, but you immediately averted your gaze, unable to maintain eye contact with him. "I-" At the sound of you speaking, Hotch's gaze shot back at you from his mug, putting the kettle down. "I'm sorry about what you had to hear this morning, Sir." Hotch shook his head, returning his stare to his mug. "Don't worry about it L/N. We're all adults." He picked up the kettle again, offering it to you. "Oh no thank you. I just want some water. Normal, cold water."
You stared at his steaming mug in bewilderment and laughed quietly. "That's kind of manic of you, I'm not going to lie." Aaron raised an eyebrow and turned to face you completely. "Right but forgetting you slept with someone isn't." Your eyebrows shot up in surprise at his retort and you felt the blood rush to your face. Aaron let one of his rare smiles pass at his amusement, and took his mug, beginning to walk away. "I'll see you around Y/N".
Hotch's comment had left you absolutely speechless. For the rest of the day you had thought about the smile that graced his face, only for you to see in the office. He'd even joked about the inappropriate comment Emily had made. It was only when JJ had left, and both Emily and Derek were beginning to pack their things up that you glanced up to where Hotch's office was. The blinds were closed, but you imagined he sat at his desk, vigorously writing reports, whilst occasionally throwing his head back and shutting his eyes in exhaustion.
"Now's your time to make a move lover-girl." Emily's breath hit your neck at she whispered and you jumped, looking back to where she stood just over your shoulder. "You scared me!" She didn't say anything else, but winked at you before speeding up to catch up with Derek so she wouldn't have to wait for the elevator alone. Maybe you shouldn't have told her about the encounter in the kitchen, but you decided that she was right. Maybe you wouldn't make a move, but speaking to Hotch would already be a step forward.
You stood up, wiping your hands on your trousers, attempting to ignore Spencer's unforgiving stare. You weren't holding any papers or folders. That was a big tell for Spencer, who knew more than anyone the liking you had taken to your boss, having to endure several car rides with the two of you alone, sitting in the back seat while you spoke. Walking up to Hotch's office, you took a deep breath - last chance to turn back around. But Spencer was watching, and nothing would be more obvious than if you just turned around and sat back at your desk; the walk of shame.
You knocked twice, waiting for an answer. "Come in!" You peeked your head through the gap of the door before letting yourself in, smiling at Aaron, who sat at his desk with his fingers interlocked behind his head. You shut the door behind you quietly. When he realised it was you, he sat up straight, his hands coming down to rest on the desk. "Y/N. What do you need?" He scanned you for papers to sign, or a bag slung over your shoulder as a sign that you were leaving; you were empty handed. "Hi. I just wanted to say I'm sorry again about what Emily said. I'm really glad you weren't bothered about it. I'm sorry. Again."
Aaron stood up from his desk, and your eyes followed his figure as he stood. He stepped aside from the desk, walking towards you. "Actually Y/N," he starts, his body looming over you as the distance between you decreased. "I was quite bothered with what I heard from Prentiss." Your breath caught in your throat, a hand crossing over your body to clutch your other arm. "What?" He nodded solemnly. "Mhm. I was quite upset to hear that you were with another man."
"Oh."
Your jaw went slack, and you looked into his eyes for any sign of a lie. You watched as one of Aaron's hands came up to your cheek, softly holding your face. His hand trailed down until it held the side of your face and his thumb caressed almost the exact spot you had covered with concealer earlier that day. "I don't like the idea of other men being with you. Other men having sex with you." Your breathing quickened, and you were almost certain he could feel your pulse beneath his hand. "Then do something about it."
Aaron's second hand went around your waist, and this time much less gently pulled your body towards his. His second hand snaked around the back of your neck and pulled you into a kiss. You moaned in shock, both hands resting on his chest. You returned his kiss immediately, going on your tippy toes to push yourself further into him. Aaron grunted into the kiss, walking forward to press you against the door. His hand came off your neck to lock the door behind you and he broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as you caught your breath.
He watched you almost predatorily before moving to press kisses on your neck. Your sweaty neck covered in makeup. "Aaron. Aaron." You spoke, pushing his head away from you. He looked down at you worriedly, now taking a couple of steps back, and putting his hands up in surrender. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make-" "Aaron stop." He looked up at you from the floor, going silent. "I-my neck is covered in hickeys. From-" You watched his face dawn with realisation. He frowned, turning his back to you and your shoulders slumped in disappointment. "Aaron." He walked to his desk, pulling a couple of tissues, soaking them in water from a bottle he kept on his desk. "Aaron." He then turned to face you again. "Take it off. Whatever is covering them. Take it off."
Your gaze switched between the tissues in his hand to his face and you sighed. Men knew so little about makeup. Despite that, you still walked towards him, taking the wet tissues from his hands, rubbing it against your neck, exposing the hickeys that lay underneath the makeup. "Happy- oh!" Your arms wrapped around Aaron's shoulders as he picked you up, placing you on his desk. He returned his lips to yours in an instant, hands gripping your hips. His lips moved to your neck but this time he's sucking the skin on the other side, replicating the hickeys the other man gave you. "Do I remind you of him? Covering your skin in hickeys?" He grunts, his teeth scraping against your skin. You gasp and your leg twitched, wrapping around one of his legs.
Aaron pulled away from you, his lips swollen and hair out of place. "Answer me." He snapped, his eyes glaring into yours. You shook your head quickly. "No! No, I don't even remember him!" You whined, attempting to pull Aaron closer to you. "What a slut. Can't even remember someone you were with 24 hours ago." Your hips buck against Aaron's hands when they come to the front of your trousers, beginning to unbutton them. "Stand up." You blindly follow his orders, used to obeying him. He spins you around so you're facing the desk and gives you a nudge, hard enough for you to fall forward, but gentle enough for your hands to catch you before you hit the desk.
Before you know it, your trousers are being pushed down to the floor, and you hear a rip of fabric. You gasp, the air hitting your now bare pussy. Looking behind you, you spot Aaron pocketing your ripped panties. "Aaron!" You whimper, but that only gets you a slap to the ass. "Be quiet! Do you want everyone to hear just how much of a whore you are, begging your boss to fuck you?" His words only make you moan, but his hand makes contact with your ass again. "I'm sorry." You whimper. "Good girl." His hands trail up from your hips to the skin under your shirt. "Now take these off."
Both your tank top and bra come off and suddenly you're standing completely naked in Aaron Hotchner's office, while he stands completely dressed. There's a moment of silence, then the sound of metal clinking. Your eyes follow as he places his belt on the desk next to you and he mutters "Don't make me use this." before pressing kisses on your neck and shoulder. You see his trousers hit the floor, followed by his boxers and you so badly want to turn around and see what he's packing, but you do nothing.
Aaron's dick slides between your thighs and you gasp, bending over slightly and spreading your legs farther. You hear Aaron chuckle at your desperation and suck in a deep breath, but you're given no warning when he begins to enter you. He goes in inch by inch, giving you time to stop him if you feel discomfort, but you don't. "Are you okay?" He asks once he's fully inside, the hand at your hips caressing your skin softly. "Yes." He nods, and just like that his soft demeanour is gone and he's thrusting into you at an unforgiving pace, his pupils dilated as he stares fixedly at the spot where his dick enters your pussy.
His pace slows so he can grab both your hands from the desk, holding them in one of his hands as the other one pushes you down so your torso lays on the desk, the cold wood hardening your nipples. Aaron's hands let go of yours - a silent command for you to keep them behind your back - and he gathers your hair away from your face. He can see the sweat glinting on your skin, it must be uncomfortable, he thinks, but the truth is that you're so deep in pleasure you can't think of anything else but that and trying to stay quiet. You shut your eyes tightly, biting your lip to keep you from screaming Aaron's name uncontrollably for the whole building to hear.
Quiet moans still escape you, and you imagine the sound of skin on skin must be loud, but none of that bothers you, not when you're having sex with Aaron. You squeeze your legs together, a subconscious sign that you're close to your orgasm. Aaron clearly sees it because he's tapping one of your legs and muttering "Spread them for me baby." You feel like you're just laying there limply, but you manage to do as he says, and you moan his name louder than you should when you feel his hand snake between your legs in search for your clit. He finds your clit quickly and begins rubbing circles on it, and even with you so lost in pleasure, you realise that Aaron's thrusts are becoming sloppy.
He's close to finishing too. Aaron's grunts begin getting louder and the hand on your clit is getting quicker and more desperate. Your pussy clenches against his dick and you hear a "Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck." In response. Aaron's cum is instantly filling you up, and the extra stimulation triggers your release too. You whimper as you come, legs shaking while Aaron begins to slow his movements, the hand on your clit coming to a stop. He stops his movements completely when your eyes open once more and you stop moaning. Instead, he averts his gaze to where his cum is leaking out of you and running down your thighs.
"Shit baby. Let me clean you up." He mimics his earlier movements, getting damp tissues to clean up your thighs before he pulls out of you. "Aaron." You whimper again at the emptiness, hands coming in front of you to push yourself off the desk. "Shh, baby, it's okay. Stay where you are. Let me take care of you." Once Aaron quickly cleans himself up and pulls his boxers up, his whole attention goes to you, crouching down to clean his orgasm off your skin. He even pulls your trousers back your legs, buttoning them up for you before wrapping his arms around your torso, his back against yours. You lay your head on his shoulder and exhale deeply, moving your neck to the side so Aaron can press kisses there.
"Are you okay?" He asks pulling away from you completely so he can observe your face. "I'm more than okay Aaron. Thank you for- for all that." He presses a kiss to your cheek before pulling away to get the rest of your clothes. "Let me take you to dinner." "Now?" He hums yes and you smile, watching as he puts his belt on. "I'd love that. But Spencer-" "Oh forget Spence," He insists "I'm pretty sure the entire building knows." You smile, fingers looping in his belt hoops to pull him closer to you. You kiss him softly and smile. "Right, well let me go to the bathroom and I'll meet you in the lobby?" Aaron nods, so you turn around, exiting his office with a smile on your face.
At your desk, you grab your bag and look up to meet Spencer's eyes. Your face falls at the look on his. He looks partly traumatised, partly smug. "Well how did it go then?" You feel the blood rushing to your face again and you nod "It went well. Yeah, pretty good." But you run off before he gets to reply, dialling a familiar number on your phone.
summary: part two! in the midst of investigating a serial killer who chooses victims based on the seven deadly sins, aaron hotchner finds himself entangled in more than just the case (inspired by hozier's song 'too sweet') - read part one here
word count: 2.6k
warnings: obesession, kissing, crossing professional boundaries and general talks of CM violence and murder (nothing graphic):
a/n: hi! in a surprise turn of events my friend requested a sequel. so here she is!
Sunlight bathed the office in warmth, casting long shadows across the room. The brightness of the new day offered a similar newness to what Aaron was feeling in his chest. A glow from within, matching the sky of optimism. How was it that after finally giving into sin he was being rewarded with such virtue?
With newfound clarity, Aaron saw the remaining sins in a new light, no longer as abstract concepts, but as human desires that ran deep within all of us. He thought of envy - the yearning for what someone else had, wrath - the uncontrollable fury born out of injustice, and lust - the overwhelming desire for another. He understood, perhaps for the first time, the power these emotions held, and the destruction they could bring when left unchecked.
He found himself drawn to the memory of lust - the overwhelming desire for another. It was a sin he'd experienced first-hand, a sin that had changed him irrevocably, a wickedness he had no intention of seeking redemption for.
He allowed himself to be drawn to the unholy memory of the night before, eyes falling closed. It felt as though he’d never left the office. The bullpen outside his internal windows began to buzz and hum with the life of his colleagues arriving freshly rested and ready to reface the case.
Surrounded by the remnants of the night, he let out a deep breath, his mind wandering back to the sweet taste of her lips, the feel of her body against his, and the soft whispers of their shared passion still echoing in the room. This was their shared iniquity, their secret temptation, a dance of desire they had surrendered to.
He could still smell the faint hint of her perfume in the air, the lingering scent of her dancing around his office. He was surrounded by the remnants of their night. He sighed deeply, flooding his senses with everything that had transpired over the last 24 hours. There was a watermark ring imprinted on his desk from their shared glass, subtle reminders of their hidden transgression.
His heart hammered in his chest at the thought of her, a sweet symphony of debauchery and his personal surrender. He traced the watermark with his finger, the texture grounding him, reminding him that it wasn't a dream. This was their secret, a clandestine dance only they knew the steps to. The memory of her gentle touch still lingering on his skin, he felt a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
He was pulled from his thoughts by Morgan, his firm knock at the door reminding him that he had work to do and that there was still a killer that he should be focused on. Noticing Hotch’s unusually dreamy expression, Morgan eyed him suspiciously. The ability to read body language was a profiler’s best weapon, and Morgan was looking at him with knives in his gaze.
‘What’s going on?’ His voice was firm but even. Aaron felt like it could lead to an interrogation if he didn’t pull himself together, but with her scent in his head and the memory of her on his lips, it was harder than he would like to admit.
Before a response could leave his lips, his gaze was drawn to the sight of her walking into the bullpen, the memory of their shared secret making his heart race anew. He quickly composed himself, turning back to Morgan with a steely gaze, ready to face the day and with newfound confidence ready to catch the son of a bitch before he could take another sin as victim.
Taking a deep breath, he nodded curtly at Morgan, his voice steady as he said, "Let's get to work." He stood from his desk, posture straight as a soldier. He moved to follow Morgan with surety towards the roundtable where the team had gathered in quiet conversation.
He traced his fingers over the corners of the files in his hands. Each one was a call to action, a reminder of the duty he owed to the victims and their families. Yet, beneath the weight of responsibility, he found a new source of strength - her. Her words echoed in his head, her tone of confidence pushing him with a passion and determination he had never known before.
As he stepped into that circle of familiar faces, he allowed himself one last lingering glance at her - she was as bright as the morning that shone through the window. With a renewed sense of purpose, he began discussing their next steps in the case, her presence and the memory of her certainty; a powerful source of inspiration.
He could feel her gaze on him as he laid out the details of the case. Her eyes traced over his features and he could swear he could feel her touch. The presence of their shared secret added a new layer to the dynamic, a furtive thrill that spurred him on. He could almost feel the anticipation in the room, the team ready to delve into the depths of the details printed in front of them.
A sense of camaraderie filled the room as they all settled into their roles, ready to tackle the challenge that lay ahead. Each member of the team settled into their familiar rhythm which made their team unique. Hotch sat in his chair, eyes glancing over the summary of the crime, he could feel the weight in the room on his shoulders.
He felt wrapped up in more than just the case. He’d settled back into his dominance and role as team leader, but he hadn’t quite shaken the thrill of letting go, and he was excited by the chance to do it again once the case was over. The memory of her touch, the echo of their whispered promises, strengthened his desire to solve the case. Hotch felt an unfamiliar lightness, a secret sweet sense he could hold close to his chest that could drive him to catch the killer.
‘Garcia still hasn't been able to uncover any kind of paper trail linking the victims together.’ Spencer spoke, his voice typically rushed but there was a twinge of frustration, he pushed his hair from his face in a flurry. There was a pause amongst the team, a collective moment of thought.
'Perhaps the Unsub is choosing victims based on personal encounters, not premeditated selections.' She added. Hotch had already been looking at her, but with the sweet sound of her voice, the rest of the team’s eyes followed where his gaze rested. Hotch’s watch flicked away from her for a moment as if scared his colleagues would see the intensity in his eyes. With the attention on her, she continued. 'I know it’s hard but maybe we should focus on potential spontaneous interactions the victims might have had.’
Amid the team's collective returned concentration to the evidence, he couldn't help but steal another glimpse at her. The soft glow of her skin, the vehemence of her gaze as she poured over the case files in front of her - she had looked at him that intensely. He couldn't dwell on it too long or his mind would be flooded with all reminders of their shared connection.
'Let's explore that possibility then,' he said, his voice steady despite the rapid beating of his heart. He could sense they were onto something, a familiar drum in his chest caused by trust.
The morning sunlight seemed to brighten and illuminate the room with a renewed sense of determination. The team worked diligently, diving headfirst into the mire of possibilities and potential leads.
‘We know he’s focusing on the seven deadly sins to guide his mission but perhaps one of them is what he focuses on to find his victims and then he assigns them another.’ JJ mused, looking over some of the victim reports. ‘I mean, look at this, two out of the four had at one time used the same hook-up site, the other two might have used a different form of online dating site.’
‘He’s focusing on lust.’ She stated factually, and Hotch’s ears burned at the tips.
‘How can you tell, honey? The victims are different genders, different physicality's and different races? There’s no distinct type. How can you tell his motive is sexual?’ Morgan quipped, curiosity in his husky tone. Pet name making Hotch’s mouth twitch.
'If all of the victims so far were active on at least one form of online dating site.' She answered, her voice steady. 'And if you consider the sin of lust, it's about a strong sexual desire. Online dating, especially sites used for hook-ups, could be where the Unsub is selecting his victims. Maybe he’s using different aliases’ on different sites, which could be why we haven’t been able to find any similar connections.' Her words hung in the air, a new avenue of investigation opening up before them.
This new lead could be the breakthrough they needed. 'Let's pursue this angle. Everyone, start digging into each victim's online footprint, especially their activities on dating platforms.' Hotch commanded his voice firm yet tinged with a hint of excitement. He stole a second to look at her, her words still echoing in his mind from the night before. He felt a sudden confidence that they would catch the Unsub, just as she had said.
The Unsub's sanity mirrored Aaron’s own, he too was thinking of lust. His eyes remained trained on her once the team were back at their desks working the new angle. But where the Unsub's actions led to destruction, his had led to connection, a bond that invigorated him. He was living within a paradox, sinning in one breath and upholding justice in the next, he wouldn't trade this newfound complexity for anything.
He was drawn from his thoughts by the muffled voices of Spencer and Morgan.
Spencer was gesticulating wildly with his hands, his eyes filled with the spark of new evidence. Morgan, ever the listener, nodded along with a thoughtful expression, calling on the other members of the team to gather around. This was their rhythm, their way of working through the intricacies of the case, they were a well-oiled machine.
‘Guys, the kid’s got something.’ Morgan’s voice was clear across the bullpen, a sense of urgency running through it as the members of the team stood from their respective desks to gather around and listen.
Spencer cleared his throat, all eyes on him as he started unravelling his newfound evidence. His words filled the silence, a new rhythm in their symphony of investigation. The rush of the new lead, another piece of the puzzle.
‘Garcia and I looked over some of the victim’s online accounts and I think we’ve found something.’ He gestured in a typically enthusiastic manner, voice hitching in animation from the breakthrough. Once the team were hooked on his words he continued his explanation.
'While on different sites we found that each victim had a private chat with a user and their IP address can be linked to multiple accounts. Each account had an avatar with hidden messages and symbols related to the seven deadly sins.' His revelation echoed through the room, pushing them one step closer to uncovering the Unsub. ‘We know where he is.’
As Spencer spoke, Aaron didn’t try to hide the glance he shared with her, their eyes meeting for a fleeting moment. She’d been right. Of course, she’d been right.
His gaze was still on her when Morgan's voice echoed through the room, "Then let's bring him in.’ With a tilt of her head, she smiled at Hotch, a true and natural smile that made him feel like he was on fire. It was a smile that declared ‘How could you ever doubt me?’.
The room buzzed with renewed energy as everyone began to mobilize. Garcia worked her magic in the background to send the location and information they needed to their phones. This was it, the moment they had been working towards. The moment they would finally stop the killer before he took any more lives.
***
With the Unsub in custody, the team had headed back to the office, each slowly slipping away for the night, ready for a peaceful night’s rest knowing they had another success under their belt. From the security of his office, Hotch breathed a deep sigh. He was about to file away the closed case file, his back to his office door.
‘I told you.’
Her voice startled him, but it was not an unwelcome feeling. He didn't turn, he didn’t need to. He heard her heels stepping across the floor, heading to where he stood. He let her words wash over him, a sweet affirmation of their shared victory. He closed his eyes, absorbing the moment - the scent of her perfume, her voice, their shared triumph. She placed both hands on his shoulders, pulling on the right slightly so he’d turn to face her.
‘I remember.’ He spoke, low and deep. Lifting a hand to push a strand of hair from her face. She captured his hand in hers before it could fall. A strong and certain
‘Is that all you remember of last night?’ She tilted her head - intertwining her fingers with his - a smirk toying on her lips. He couldn’t think about anything other than how she tasted.
His eyes met hers, a spark igniting deeply within him. His senses were flooded with her. He didn’t think, he simply leaned in, capturing her lips with his.
Releasing the grip on his hand so he could hold her waist she moved her hands from his shoulders she tangled them in his hair, tugging lightly inciting a low moan from his throat. She was pulling him impossibly closer, their bodies sharing the same heat.
He didn't want to stop - to break the connection. But he knew they had to. He pulled back reluctantly, his breath hitching as he looked into her eyes. Darkened with the tension between them. He was lost in her, consumed by a sin that tasted so sweet.
He was a man who had always held onto his composure. But with her, he was willing to let go, a man falling, and he knew he would willingly drown in her.
He wanted her. More than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. He’d do anything to have her. He would repent, he would go to confession every Sunday and live the most virtuous existence.
‘God, save me.’ He whispered, breath fanning across her lips as they remained inches apart. More tangled together than separated.
‘Did you suddenly turn religious, Aaron?’ She giggled, hand tracing down the side of his face, mapping out his strong features. Her intoxicating laugh echoed through the empty office, a sound he wanted to become familiar with. He craved the softness, the sweet taste of her lips again, and again, and again. He’d do anything to hear the symphony of surrender he could find in her.
His response was non-verbal. he simply let his lips find hers again, their bodies pulling each other into a dance as old as the world itself, but as new and thrilling as the first time. He was used to bitter coffee, cold showers and his mind being corrupted with murder. She was new, she was all sunlight and syrupy covering his senses and submerging him in damnation.
He was a man lost, a man found - in her. Her, the sweetest sin, his only redemption. She was a vice that tasted like heaven.
Aaron Hotchner was a sinner, she would be his redemption.
summary: in the midst of investigating a serial killer who chooses victims based on the seven deadly sins, aaron hotchner finds himself entangled in more than just the case (inspired by hozier's new song 'too sweet'):
word count: 3.4k
warnings: heavy tension, hurt comfort, crossing professional boundaries and general talks of CM violence and murder (nothing graphic):
a/n: hi! i wrote this entire thing for a friend, but maybe you might enjoy it too! this is my first piece of writing on this new blog so if you like feel free to like, reblog or even just let me know! and hopefully if it goes well there'll be more soon!
a/n update: it went well, here's part two!)
From the dim lighting of the office it was almost impossible to tell the exact lateness of the night. His watch consistently ticking, remained a steady rhythm. He ran a hand across his face, his tie undone and lying, long discarded on his desk. The first few buttons of his shirt undone, unbuttoned and an almost vulnerable step away from his usual armour. Papers containing violence were spread haphazardly and with chaos across his desk. A nearly forgotten glass of strong neat whiskey sat in place of his usual bitter coffee.
His team had been on the case for nearly a week, and Hotch felt they were no closer to catching the Unsub. The whole team was feeling the pressure. The profile told him they were dealing with a moral enforcer, a highly organised, violent offender with a clear mission. It should have been easy for them but bodies seemed to be continuously appearing and everyone was feeling uneasy and frustrated.
He was drowning in the details of this case, the Unsub's pattern ever-present in his mind. He thought of the remaining sins - envy, wrath, and lust - and something burned deep within his chest. It was a dangerous game they played, one where the stakes were higher than any case he'd ever worked on.
Being head of the team he felt the responsibility more vehemently than the rest, and he was doing something he’d promised the team he wouldn’t. He was letting it get to him.
There’d been four victims so far, each killed to match one of the seven deadly sins. So far his victims had been; gluttony - an overzealous upscale restaurant critic who binged food that he slated publicly, greed - a high-profile stock broker with the inability to control his obsession with obtaining more of his client's money, sloth - a wealthy trust fund baby who squandered their university scholarship out of laziness and pride - a wealthy woman with a shopping addiction who frequented beauty salons and had an intense social media presence flaunting herself.
Each victim came from a different geographical area of the city and Garcia hadn’t been able to uncover any crossover between their lives where it might have been somewhere they could have met the Unsub. There were no leads and the team felt at a loss.
Knowing the Unsub was three victims away from the end of his mission, Hotch knew they were close to losing him if they didn’t catch a break soon. He’d sent the team home to get some sleep and told them to be ready bright and early the next day. Yet Hotch couldn't bring himself to leave the office, hoping the crime scene photos might uncover something he'd missed. He thought everyone had listened to his orders until he was drawn away from the graphic images in front of him by a gentle knock at the door.
"Come in." He croaked harshly, the hours of not speaking catching up to his vocal chords.
It was her. Of course, it was her.
She always had a way of pulling him from the edge, of grounding him when the world became too much. In the chaos and uncertainty of their work, she was his constant, his unwavering beacon of light. She was his solace, his calm in the storm, and in that moment, he allowed himself to get lost in her.
She was like honey, dripping out and pooling where flies could get stuck on the intoxication and drown. He could feel it, the danger she could be. If he’d been a man less controlled he could see how she could be his every downfall and triumph. In her, he saw a reflection of all his desires and fears. She was every strength and weakness. In the moment, he couldn't help but want to drown in the intoxicating allure of her, his deadly and dangerous, yet irresistibly sweet sin.
‘I’m heading home for the night…’ Her voice trailed off in a quiet hush to match the silence of the office.
The creases in his forehead from pouring over crime scenes and endless theories seemed to smooth out. He breathed out hours' worth of tension in a single breath, allowing the corners of his mouth to turn upwards so quickly that unless she’d been a profiler paying attention she might not have noticed. The way his body language shifted was subtle enough to the untrained eye, but not to her. He couldn’t conceal himself in his controlled, cold-edged front as well as he usually could when she was around.
"I gave those orders hours ago." He mused, leaning back in his chair, the breath of a sigh dying on his lips.
She gently shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her. "I thought you might be used to me defying your orders by now, Hotch. You should take your own advice, didn’t you promise to stop working so late," she replied, a glint in her eyes that held an irresistible challenge. Their playful banter was a welcome change from the dark seriousness that he’d been so consumed by moments ago.
She smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief waiting for his retort.
"I didn’t promise anything." He huffed.
She didn’t wait for an invitation, she didn’t need to. Crossing the threshold of his office and making her way to the imposing desk of the Unit Chief.
She’d not seen her boss look so troubled by a case in a long time. Her gaze was drawn to him as his elbows leaned against the desk, his usually impeccable suit dishevelled. She noted the way the top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a hint of the man beneath the stoic FBI Unit Chief. It was a stark contrast to the man who was always put together, always in control. Yet, in that moment, he looked anything but. Not yet unravelled, but on the edge of it.
She moved further into the office, she was not someone who second-guessed her decisions. She walked with confidence, and perched herself on the edge of his desk, letting her legs dangle over the edge her black work trousers tight across her thighs. She rested her hand on the desk, dangerously close to her Hotch’s, mere centimetres.
His gaze shifted from the papers in front of him and followed the contours of her face, lingering a moment too long on her lips. He swallowed hard, his mind flickering with thoughts he'd held at bay for far too long. But he was Unit Chief, and professionalism might as well have been his middle name. He lightly shook his head, feeling the back of his eyes burn from the focus he’d had all day.
Hotch wasn’t one to open up, he was always controlled but around her, there was a tug at the stitches of his personality.
‘I have a bad feeling about this case.’ He hummed, the night breeze catching against the window. He could smell her perfume, mixing with the scent of burnt coffee and paper. He dare not think about it too long.
He reached across his desk and grabbed his near-forgotten whiskey, downing it in one drag. He bent towards where her legs were hanging over his desk, motioning for her to lift them. She drew them up towards her chest and he opened the drawer beneath her pulling an expensive-looking bottle from it and refilling the glass, this time handing it to her. Their fingers grazed slightly with the exchange. His warm, hers icy cold - meeting to form the perfect temperature.
‘We have no leads. I always trust the profile, but this case… We’ve got nothing.’ His eyes watched her as she swirled the liquid around the glass, her eyes watching it splash against the sides. He sighed in defeat, rubbing his eyes with both of his hands before leaning his head back, a deep exhale exiting his thin lips.
‘We’ll get him.’ She said confidently, something shifted in her tone. It was like a dagger's sharp edge, certainty dripping off it like blood. He almost believed her, but she could see the already dim light dissipating from his dark eyes. She felt sympathy pooling in the tips of her fingers. If she didn’t hadn’t been holding their shared glass she might have reached out and touched him so that it could bleed from her into him, so that he would feel less alone.
She leaned back slightly, her eyes searching his. It was unclear what she was searching for in them. He couldn’t read her entirely, even with all his years of profiling. When she smiled, he felt his heart catch in his throat. It was like looking directly at the sun. Burning and bright hot.
‘You should follow your own orders… And for once so should I. Go home. Get some rest.’ She downed the liquid with a swift tip of her head. Hotch watched the curve of her neck as she moved and the way she licked her lips catching a fallen drop of liquor. She laid the glass down on the desk, allowing her hand to brush over his. His skin crackled with electricity.
She moved with grace as she climbed down from his desk. That one moment shared more intimate than she’d expected it to feel, with their proximity, the lateness of the hour and the unusually undone Aaron sitting at his desk.
His eyes followed her every movement, skin stinging as if he’d been burned. She was halfway to the door before he heard himself call out to her. It almost didn’t sound like his own voice.
‘Wait. Don’t go yet. Come here.’ His voice was firm like it always was, but there was a depth to it that she hadn’t heard before. One she’d always longed for. His eyes glinted with dark hues as he watched her turn from the door. He almost breathed out in relief.
She had an unreadable expression. One that set the blood in his veins on fire. She lowered her head, and with it, her eyes darkened. He stood from his desk, making his way over to her with steps that felt dreamlike. Their eyes met with an energy never shared before and once in front of her he reached out, gently tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear so that he had an unobscured view of her whole face. The same face that had the power to completely undo him.
Her eyes widened slightly as if surprised by his gentle touch, but at the same time, there was a knowing in them as if she’d been waiting for it all along. She remained still, and his heart pounded in his chest as he looked into his eyes, an unspoken conversation passing between them. It felt like any words would have made the moment less intimate.
His hand lingered against her cheek, the warmth radiating from his touch was a stark contrast to the cold, sterile environment of his office. Her skin felt like it was burning under him. The silence between them was palpable, filled with the yet unspoken words and emotions that threatened to bubble to the surface. Hotch, usually so controlled in his feelings suddenly felt so unsteady. His heart beat suspiciously with the feeling that perhaps he’d crossed a line.
‘How do you know?’ He whispered, eyes scanning hers as if he were a detective trying to uncover the evidence that gave her certainty. In the light of the office, she looked like she’d been hand carved, art that he’d been lucky enough to be in the presence of. He traced his thumb over her lips, eyes heavy with a mixture of desire and something else she couldn't quite place. It was a dangerous gesture, one that could endanger his whole career.
'I trust you, and that’s all I need to know that we’ll get him.' she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, eyes glazed with a devotion that almost made him groan. The conviction of her words pierced his wavering confidence. He’d gone from feeling almost hopeless to buzzing with determination.
He let his hand fall away from her face, but the warmth lingered, an almost promise that what she’d been sure she’d felt moments ago had indeed been real. Reality swarmed his brain, aware of the situation he’d almost found himself in. He straightened up, posture contrasting his relatively dishevelled exterior.
"You’re right, you should follow my orders. Go home, get some rest. I told the team we’d start fresh in the morning," he instructed, a softness in his voice that was rarely displayed. But she didn’t move, and he didn’t either.
He watched her eyes for any sign of discomfort, the tension in the room was palpable, an electrifying current that Hotch didn’t dare to break. Silence blanketed them, only broken by the ticking of his watch. It was a solitary reminder of the passing time, yet the urgency of their case had fallen to the back of his mind.
‘Close the door.’ She instructed, using the same authority that Hotch usually spoke with. The change in dynamic almost made him falter, but with a small smirk, he moved towards the door. He’d been aware of the power imbalance he held in his position but with the tone of her voice, there was a subtle shift in the air between them. She moved back towards his desk with certainty. Moving his name tag so she could perch to face the dark space of the office.
Their eyes met across the room. She tilted her head to the side, examining his body language. As he locked the door behind him, the air seemed to constrict around them, the room becoming a world of its own where only they existed. The only sound in the room was the soft click of the lock and their breathing. It echoed throughout the office, bouncing off the walls and settling into their bones. The tension escalated, but it was different now, charged with an anticipation that neither of them could ignore.
He might have been unit chief, but right here, right now, she was in charge. The line between professional and personal blurred dangerously as their eyes locked, a promise of something more hanging in the balance. The air was charged now, they were poised, daring each other to make the first move. They both knew that they were on the precipice of something dangerous, something that could have dire consequences professionally.
Yet, the pull was too strong to ignore, and for the first time, Hotch allowed himself to teeter on the edge, his resolve tested by the powerful undercurrent of desire that crackled between them. Tonight, they were not just colleagues, they were two individuals drawn together by an irresistible force. In the room, the undeniable chemistry that had been simmering under the surface for far too long had nowhere to hide.
On the desk, she rested each hand palm down to the side of her thighs and opened her legs wider to create space for his body to fit. She moved her head in a motion for him to step forward. Hotch couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, pupils were blown wide from more than just the darkness of the room. How long had he craved something so forbidden, how long had he denied himself the idea that this could ever happen?
As he moved closer to her, he couldn't help but think about the deadly sin of lust, a strong passion or longing that was deemed sinful. Here he was, teetering on the edge of crossing professional boundaries, something he’d never done. The balance of energy in the room was no longer solely from the stress of the case, it was about them - about her. He could have tried to argue that it was, but no jury in the state would believe him. If this were a trial, he was about to be found guilty.
The Unsub's deadly pattern echoed in his mind - the three sins he’d yet to kill for; envy, jealousy over another's life or possessions, wrath, a violent anger driven by hatred, and finally, lust, a powerful desire that can become all-consuming, much like the craving he was experiencing in that very moment. Looking upon her he felt envious of anyone who had ever been allowed to touch her, he felt wrath for anyone who had ever wronged or hurt her, and most of all he felt lust. He definitely felt lust, his desire for her taking over all his senses.
Was he caught between duty and desire? No, he had no doubt in his mind. The sheer intensity of her shared gaze and the way she was beckoning him forward smashed the boundaries of their relationship. He’d never seen her in this light, never dared to allow himself to think of her like this. But now she was in front of him how could he ever deny himself something so sweet?
Hotch had always been a man of control, a man who kept his emotions in check. But in this room, with the charged atmosphere heavy between them, he felt his resolve wavering. He was caught in the powerful current of the desire for her that he’d managed to keep at bay. He didn’t want to be in control anymore.
He closed the distance between them, fitting himself between her legs, his hands landing on her hips as he looked down at her, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
She brought one hand off the desk to hold the waistband of his suit trousers, tugging lightly.
“Are you finally going to kiss me, Agent Hotchner?” She asked, voice dripping with honey. Sweetness laced with danger that hit him right in the chest like a bullet.
She was an intoxicating mix of all seven, a deadly sin in her own right. She was his lust, his unending desire. She was his gluttony, the one he wanted to consume endlessly. She was his greed, the one he wanted all for himself. She was his sloth, his reason for inertia. She was his wrath, the one who could ignite a fire in him like no other. She was his envy, the one he admired and coveted. And she was his pride, the one who made him feel like he was on top of the world.
‘You will be the ruin of me.’ He breathed, his eyes almost black. He looked down at her taking in the sight of her flushed cheeks and the way her eyes sparkled with a mixture of mischief and satisfaction. He was entirely wrapped around her finger. Tonight, he decided, he would willingly drown in this sweet sin, consequences be damned.
‘That is entirely my intention.’ She chuckled and he groaned, a guttural sound that felt foreign to him.
"Only if you promise not to tell the team," he murmured, a playful undertone to his voice.
As he leaned down to capture her lips with his, he knew without a doubt that this was a deadly sin he was willing to commit. It was both sweet and intense, a perfect reflection of their now complicated relationship.
Her lips tasted of the whiskey they'd shared, sweet with a hint of burn that left him wanting more. She tasted like a curse, sickeningly sweet as if to cause him decay. He deepened the kiss, pulling her impossibly closer. He was standing on the cliff of the unknown, and he was more than willing to jump and fall headfirst.
As he pulled away, he couldn't help but study her face. He’d come face to face with endless serial killers, and been in the presence of pure evil. But he’d never been so close to something so dangerous. She was a temptation he couldn't resist. Sweeter than any apple in the Garden of Eden. He traced the contours of her face with his fingers, his gaze never leaving hers.
He could still taste her on the back of his tongue, sugar and shared whiskey burning. He’d never been so certain that he’d been willing to trade his control for the intoxicating sweetness that was her. She was a forbidden fruit that was too alluring to resist, and Aaron Hotchner had no more resistance left in him. Not now he’d tasted something so delicious.
After all, wasn't life about balancing the deadly sins and virtues? Tonight, he chose to sin.
(you can now read part two here!)
keep it clean & don't call me honey @angelhotchner - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
