Iâve seen posts where the Homeowner appologizes to the ohjects in their house when they bump into them even before they get the glasses but consider: homeowner who calls objects baby and darling before they get the glasses. STAY WITH ME cause I do this and have for so long so play in the space with me.
Bumping into a door or accidentally slamming the fridge shut and saying, âSorry darling.â The lights flicks and they go to the breaker box with encouraging, âYou can do it beautiful, you got this,â as they try and get the power back on. Throwing something away and absentmindedly saying, âThank you, baby,â to the garbage for taking their trash.
Then the dateviators come and they suddenly become so aware that they probably shouldnât call people they barely know pet names so it all stops. One day they put on the dateviators to see a small crowd gathered looking a mixed between annoyed, worried, sad.
Bev: âDid we do something to upset you?â
Dorian: âYou can be honest. We just want to know if youâre alright.â
MC: ?????
Cam: âItâs been weeks.â
MC: âSince???â
Freddy: âWell⊠you know, Cool Kid.â
Cam (pissed): âDonât act like you donât know, baby.â
Thats when it clicks that everyone misses the sweet nicknames and wants to be doted on again. Its cleared up that the MC isnt mad and was just trying not to be weird, but clearly should go back to calling everyone pet names.
Bonus is when theyâre giving Cam trash with the dateviators on he will just stare afterwards and not tell them to leave until they give him a âThank you, Babyâ even tho they now know cam likes trash and should be thanking them. Doesnât matter though cause the light flush on his face is worth it.
Dropping this and running. This is from my cameo that @snailsinamarchingband @theghostofcosmichorrorpast and @maladaptive-daydreamer-23 / @mals-fic-reblogs got me for my birthday in November!
WHICH THEY ARE SO SWEET AND KIND AND I NEARLY PASSED OUT.
Dropping this and running. This is from my cameo that @snailsinamarchingband @theghostofcosmichorrorpast and @maladaptive-daydreamer-23 / @mals-fic-reblogs got me for my birthday in November!
WHICH THEY ARE SO SWEET AND KIND AND I NEARLY PASSED OUT.
I'm sorry, but I just need to put this out there...
Has anyone ever thought or wrote anything regarding whether Hotch would jerk himself off??
Like... I see this man, so serious and brooding, but maybe every once in a while he's... Needing some release? Like... Do you think he would jerk off to something? Porn? Magazines? His own fantasies? Would he do it slow? Fast because he just wants the release not the caress to himself? Would he really take care or just do it rough?
I NEED to read something about this but idk who would take this request ngl mmmmhhhhh and I'm not that creative đ«đ«đ«
Quick edit: I also wonder if... Yk, what if he just gets this urge sometimes? Like... Not necessarily at work, but perhaps like when seeing some other women besides the BAU girl or idk?? I mean, he's a man at the end of the day, so what if he fantasizes sometime about someone he saw? Or would he be too prude for that? Would he feel guilty about that??
this is my favorite hotch fic iâve ever written! husband hotch i love u
âYouâre married?â Emily blurts out in disbelief, standing beside your desk in the bullpen. Her brows shoot up as she takes a step closer, eyes locked on your left hand.
She gently grabs it, tilting it toward the light to get a better look at the ring on your finger. Her fingers hover like sheâs afraid to touch it. The ring, gorgeous yet very obviously expensive, shines under the office lights.
âHow have I never noticed this before?â she asks, laughter spilling into her voice. She glances at your face and back to the ring, thoroughly entertained by her own obliviousness.
You give a small shrug from your chair, leaning back slightly as you glance at the ring yourself. âItâs not really an oversized ring, I guess. Subtle enough to not be flashyâ unless youâre actively staring at my hands.â
Emily snorts at that and settles down on the edge of your desk, her curiosity now fully piqued. Her eyes drift from your hand to the desk surface, scanning it for any signs of personal life.
Her smile falters slightly as she takes in the minimalistic setupâ neatly stacked files, a couple of pens, your badge, but no photos. No hints of the mysterious spouse sheâs only now just discovered.
âNo picture of your husband anywhere?â she asks, clearly surprised.
You let out a soft laugh, fingers still tapping away at your keyboard. âNope. I see him every single day. I donât exactly need a reminder of what he looks like while Iâm working.â
Emily cocks her head, pretending to be shocked, though the sparkle in her eyes gives her away. âWow. Cold. At least tell me you have a photo of him on your phone. I want to see what this mystery man looks like.â She shifts forward slightly, elbows on her knees like a kid in gossip mode, the grin on her face growing.
Before you can respond, her eyes flick over your shoulder, drawn by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. She watches as Hotch makes his way down from the upper level, coffee in hand, moving with his usual composed stride. He crosses the bullpen and stops at your desk, setting a to-go cup next to your keyboard.
âDid you know sheâs married?â Emily grins up at him, her tone light and teasing.
Hotch doesnât miss a beat. âYeah,â he says plainly. âI married her a couple of years ago.â
He glances down at you, his expression unreadable to anyone but you, and casually adds, âThey were out of hazelnut creamer, so I got you caramel.â
Emily blinks and thereâs a pauseâ one of those silences where time seems to stutter. Her eyes dart between you and Hotch, her brain clearly trying to process what she just heard. Then she laughs, shaking her head.
âOkay, very funny,â she scoffs. âGood one, Hotch.â
âIâm not joking,â he says, his brow slightly furrowed as he lifts his left hand and shows her the plain gold wedding band resting comfortably on his finger.
Emilyâs laughter dies immediately. âWait. What?â
âThereâs no way in hell she would marry you,â she exclaims, half-laughing again, though the disbelief is starting to sound a little forced.
Hotch glances down at you with a look thatâs equal parts amused and wounded, eyebrows raised as if to say Did she really just say that? You shake your head, already laughing as you push your chair back and rise to your feet.
âOh, you poor thing,â you murmur affectionately, stepping toward him and looping your arms around his neck. You pepper kisses across his cheeks, offering exaggerated sympathy. âThat was so mean!â
Hotch stands stiffly for a second, sighing as you shower him in affection. But the corners of his mouth twitch with amusement, and his hand comes to rest gently on your lower back, anchoring you to him even as he rolls his eyes.
Emily just stares, jaw hanging open slightly, her expression slowly morphing from incredulity to full on horror as the reality sets in. âOh my God,â she breathes, shooting to her feet. âI am so sorry, Hotch. I didnât knowâ I thought you were kidding! Youâre not the kind of person who jokes like that!â
Hotch glances at her, unimpressed but not angry. He doesnât bother respondingâ heâs far more preoccupied with your continued affection as you nuzzle his cheek again, giggling softly.
âPoor baby,â you coo, hands coming up to gently squish his face between your palms as you press one last kiss to his lips. âDonât listen to her. Iâm very happy to be married to you.â
Hotch hums in quiet agreement, still avoiding Emilyâs wide-eyed stare as she blurts out a stream of apologies, her hands flying in every direction like sheâs trying to physically take the words back.
He finally looks from her to you, amusement flickering in his eyes. Then, with a mischievous smirk thatâs rare but undeniably real, he leans down and gives your backside a light, playful swat before placing a kiss on your forehead.
âPut a picture of me on your desk by tomorrow,â he murmurs low enough for only you to hear. âPlease?â
You smile up at him, eyes warm and full of fondness as you nod. âPromise,â you say softly, reaching up to kiss him once moreâ quick and sweetâ before sitting back down at your desk, already mentally selecting which photo to frame.
yes! i do!! you have jjâs role and an unsub is shot dead infront of you and his blood literally soaks you and youâre shaking and speechless and aaronâs focus is to get to you and keep you safe and bring you back to earth đ„Čđ„Č
stay with me
cw; fem liasion!reader, protective!aaron, multiple blood descriptions, panic attack descriptions, no established relationship but aaron and reader are close, there's also one small mention of aaron's shirt being big on reader, fluff <3 wc; 1k
your ears are ringing. whether it's from the gunshot or the blatant shock, you have no idea.
you're frozen in place; everything's fuzzy, your body is buzzing and your lips, hands, everything is numb.
you're not used to this. this isn't what your job usually entails. you look at pictures like this, you don't live or experience it.
in the haze, someone's approached you. someone's talking to you. someone's embraced you. there's a hand on your back, an arm attempting to shield you away. but your feet don't move. internally, you're screaming at them to move.
why won't they move?
"hey," it's aaron. you don't hear him, or process that it's him, until he shakes you ever so gently and again, he says, "hey."
you don't want to be used to this.
"i..." you rigidly stand there, staring at the unsub laid in front of you, the pool of blood around him growing as the seconds pass. you think you're articulating words, but you're not sure.
aaron follows your eyes - he opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. a swirl of emotions fill him - first and foremost, relief you're safe and unscathed, but also horror at what you just encountered - what you shouldn't have encountered.
"it's on me." you manage to choke out, feeling rather lightheaded as you view your shaky hands, and then your blouse, both spattered with red. it's on your neck, your face, and it's like you can feel every singular dot, singeing into your skin like it's bound to be permanent. a new fear fills you - will you ever be able to not feel it?
"don't look, just look at me." your head whips towards aaron, finding his gentle and concerned brown eyes. the sight allows your chest to loosen, finding the smallest bit of normalcy when it comes to breathing. you're remembering how to breathe.
aaron wants to bring the cuff of his sleeve to your skin, to wipe away the residue but he can't. he fears it would make it worse, and remind you again that it's littered on you - the last thing you needed. he wanted to calm you, not further panic you. "or better yet, just close them, sweetheart."
the term of endearment goes right past you, as you grip onto his vest, the sleeves of his shirt, anything your fingers can hold onto as he's guiding you out of the house. he's talking to the rest of the team, relaying instructions, but you only focus on keeping your eyes shut.
"it's okay, you're going to be just fine." aaron assures you, his voice low and even, soothing. "hear the leaves crunching under your feet? there's a cool breeze tonight, too. can you feel it?"
you nod gingerly. the sound is distant, but it's there. and just as he stated, you feel the cool air hit your cheeks, the wind also tousling your hair. it feels colder than cool, though, due to the stream of tears trailing downwards - have you been crying too? "i can hear it in the trees."
"that's good. how about smell, can you smell anything?"
copper.
aaron realizes his mistake the second the sentence leaves his mouth, your face paling as well as his.
"your aftershave." you blurt out, surprising yourself. despite the sheer panic, it was fairly easy to redirect your mind to him. your fingers clutched onto the fabric of his shirt more forcefully. "it smells spicy, sweet too. it smells like you. familiar. safe."
you resist the urge to tuck your face into him, but after a moment's thought, you do. you need it. you need him.
and to further secure you, aaron holds you to him, his large hand spanning the side of your head and keeping your face buried close to his chest.
your eyes open when you reach the suv; when the two of you come to a stop, when aaron's hold is suddenly absent, the sound of the door opening deeming it safe - far away from the scene.
but at the loss of his contact, involuntarily your eyes fall back to your blouse. it's stuck to your skin, soaked by the... blood.
"stay with me." aaron manages to grab your attention before you begin spiraling again, his hands lifting and hesitating. "may i?"
you nod, frantically and this time, you can feel the tears resurfacing. "please get it off me."
first, aaron unvelcros his vest, and then removes his tie, his dress shirt, leaving him in just his white tee. he drapes it over the passenger seat - at the ready.
aaron ushers you closer to the interior of the car so the open door fully covers you, blocking any view that isn't his. he unbuttons your blouse with gentle fingers, acting rather quickly as well. and respectfully, he averts his eyes - either looking strictly at his hands, the buttons on each shirt, or your face, checking in on you.
he helps you into his shirt, holding it open so you can slide your arms in. it envelopes you, and just as fast as he unbuttoned, he fastens it shut.
it feels as if a small weight is lifted off your shoulders, and aaron tosses your soiled shirt onto the ground in the backseat. he leads you to sit sideways in the passenger seat, facing him.
"i don't want to be alone." you don't know why that's the first thing to exit your mouth, but it is. your eyes lift to his, frightened and pleading.
aaron nods as he gets down on a knee, cupping your cheek with his hand. "you're sleeping in my room tonight."
"with you?"
with a stroke of his thumb, overtop those bloodstains he's desperate to wash and rid you from, he nods again. "with me."
Jack Hotchner is out there in he world doing the tiktok trend on Hotch being like: âIâm so hungry I could eat Kate Joyner,â and Hotch is just sitting like: đïžđđïž
⥠summary: reader wears a sundress. hotch goes insane
pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader
warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, reader wears a dress,slight description of readers body
wc: 1.5k
The sun was out, the weather was hot, and the BAU was on vacation. They all had the day off so they were spending it at Rossi's mansion, in his backyard for a barbecue.
The smell of burgers, hot dogs, and summer wafted through the air. Rossi stood at the grill, swatting at anyone who tried to come too close to his precious meat with his spatula. Emily and JJ sat in folding chairs, drinks in hand, sunglasses on as they relaxed. Spencer sat cross legged on the grass, teaching Henry chess while Morgan sat on the porch with Hotch.
You... well you were definitely entertained. You and Jack were playing some made up game, a cross between tag, hide and seek, and the floor is lava. Currently, you were chasing him across the lawn, sandals left on the porch next to Aaron's chair for him to dutifully watch over. Your sundress flowed behind you in the wind, fluttering around your legs when you stopped. You caught up to Jack, wrapping your arms around him and laughing as the both of you tumbled to the ground. Your fingers danced along his sides, tickling him as he squirmed on top of you. You stopped, letting him rest as his giggles became more breathless.
"You've been caught. The tickle monster wins again!" You cheer as he smiled wide. He lets his head drop down to your shoulder, huffing out a breath, tired from all the activity. "You hungry bud?" You asked, rubbing his back gently. He nodded.
"Uh huh."
"I think Rossi's almost done at the grill. What do you want, burger or hot dog?"
"A hot dog!" Jack sits up on your stomach. You glance over, seeing Rossi start serving out burgers.
"Well, go get one before they're all gone." You smile and he climbs off of you, running over to Rossi. You lay on the grass, staring up at the sky and breathing in the fresh air for a few peaceful moments. Soon, a face appears above you. Your lovely boyfriend Aaron Hotchner.
"Having fun?" He asked, smiling down at you.
"Loads of it." You grinned. He holds out a hand to help you up and to take it gratefully. He pulled you to your feet, steadying you with a hand on your waist. "Mm, handsy today, Hotchner." You grinned at him.
"It's hard not to be when you're wearing that." He murmured lowly, leaning close so only you can hear him.
"You like it? I had you in mind when I picked it out."
"I love it. You look gorgeous. Are you hungry?" Sweet, sweet man.
"I could eat."
"Let's get you some food." He says, holding an arm out to guide you towards the grill. Once you pass him, Aaron spares a quick glance to make sure the others aren't watching before he plants a firm smack on your behind.
"Aaron!" You giggle, looking over your shoulder at him. He wears a smug grin as he follows you to the grill.
That fucking dress. He couldn't stand it. He hated it. He loved it. He loved the way it fluttered around your ankles. He loved the way it hugged your curves so well, accentuating your form. He loved the pattern, the length, the cut, everything. It was absolutely perfect. And he despised it.
He watched from the porch, where Morgans chatter was drowned out into nonsense, as you chased his son around the yard. He felt like a perv for staring but he absolutely couldn't help it. When you and Jack toppled to the ground, his jaw clenched at the way the hem off your dress rucked further up your thighs. The wind blew it up high enough that, if he were close enough, he might be able to see your panties.
"Yo, are you listening?" Morgan's voice cut through his thoughts.
"Yes."
"What'd I just say?" Derek asks, but luckily Hotch is saved by Rossi's voice calling out.
"You two! Burgers or hot dogs?"
"Burger for me!"
"I'll have the same." Hotch agrees. He watches Jack get off of you and run towards the grill, faintly hearing him say 'can I have a hot dog please?'. Hotch gets up, making his way over to you. You look angelic, laying on the ground, hair splayed out around your head, your chest rising and falling softly. He helped you up and you went to get burgers from Rossi, the team all sitting down to eat together. A few bites in, you stood up from the table.
"I'm gonna run and get napkins, does anyone need anything?" You asked politely. They all declined so you headed inside. You were searching Rossi's kitchen to find some extra napkins when you heard the door open. You turned to find Aaron entering the house, the door swinging shut behind him, blocking the others from seeing or hearing the two of you. "Hey, what do you need?"
"You." He said huskily, striding over to you, pushing you against the island and capturing your lips in a bruising kiss. His hands grip your waist, yours moving to wrap around his neck. "You look so beautiful." He trails his kisses down your neck, sucking a patch of skin between his teeth and biting down. You let out a small gasp as he leaves a mark on your neck. His lips trail further down to your chest, pressing firm kisses onto the skin of your breasts. He brushes the hair off your other shoulder, moving to that side to press kisses to the other parts neck.
"Aaron," You say breathlessly.
"Shh. Now, turn around and bend over." He murmurs into your ear. You turn, pressing your hips against the counter as you lean onto it. "So pretty." Aaron hums, his hands gathering the fabric of your dress, lifting it up. He rucks it up your body until its collected above the curve of your ass. The hand that's not holding your dress up starts undoing his belt buckle. He unzips his pants, pulling them and his boxers just low enough to free his cock. He pulls down your pretty lacy panties, his eyes landing on the slick between your legs. You're already wet for him. He moves forward, holding his hand under your chin. "Spit." He orders. You comply, spitting into his hand. He moves his hand back down, slowly pumping himself.
"Aaron, please." You whined, pushing your hips back towards him.
"Be patient, honey." He grabs your hips, slowly inserting himself into you. You let out a moan as he sheaths himself inside you, pausing to let you adjust to his length. "Shh. Don't want to get caught, do you?" Aaron teases. "We have to be quick, sweetheart, or else they'll come looking for us." He starts moving, pulling himself nearly out of you before slamming back in. You moan again and his brings his hand back to your mouth, muffling your moans. He keeps a steady pace, thrusting in and out of you, pressing you against the counter. He lets out a few low groans, stifling the louder ones through clenched teeth. His hand pushes your dress further up your back as he fucks you against the counter.
"So good for me. So, so pretty." Aaron grunts, quickening his pace. You moan out against his hand, yours coming up to pull it away from your mouth.
"I'm close. 'M so close, Aaron." You whined, the symphony of skin slapping against skin, the scent of arousal encasing your words.
"Me too. Almost there, honey." He fucks into you harder and faster, sweat dripping down his brow. He leans down, kissing you sweat slicked spine, his hand trailing down your side, feeling your soft skin under his fingers. His grips your ass harshly.
"I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna-" You cut yourself off, moaning his name as your orgasm washes over you. Aaron follows soon after, his upper body collapsing onto yours with a grunt. He kisses behind your ear before standing, tucking himself back into his pants. He pulls your panties back up, snapping the elastic waistband against your skin teasingly. He pulls your dress back down, fixing it so it sits nicely. He spins you around by your waist, checking you over.
"How do I look?"
"Ravishing. How do you feel?"
"Ravished." You grinned, slipping past him on wobbly legs to find your purse. You pull out your compact concealer, covering up the fresh hickeys on your neck and chest. You meet Hotch's gaze over the top of your compact and notice the smug look on his face. "You are something else Mr. Hotchner." You shake your head smiling. You flick the compact shut and drop it back into your purse, taking his hand. You walk back out of the house together, heading back over to where the team was eating. Derek looks up, his eyebrows furrowing.
"Hey, where are the napkins?"
a/n: this it my first time writing smut, what do we think? I have a lot more planned so stay tuned! let me know if you think I should start a tag list or something :)
summary: it takes you almost kissing someone else for him to realise just how much he cares
pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader
warnings: angst, tension, angry kisses, jealous!hotch, he's so hot, did i mention tension? bcs there's so much tension tension tension, a few swears, her bag sort of disappears.. oops
word count: 5.2k (oops x2)
Aaron doesnât even look at you anymore.
Okay, thatâs not true â he does. When he has to. When thereâs a case file in his hands and youâre just another member of the team he needs to brief â another agent heâs in charge of. When thereâs a question about geographical profiling or victimology and youâre the one who can answer it. When heâs assigning roles and has to say your name.
But everything outside of that? Nothing. Cold silence. Controlled distance.
And it killed you.
You wouldnât even know you kissed him. More than once. Wouldnât know how his hands felt in your hair, or how heâd said your name like it physically hurt him. Wouldnât know that there was a moment â no, a string of moments â where he looked at you like you were the only thing grounding him to earth.
Because now? Now heâs pretending none of it ever happened.
And the worst part?
You know he still wants you.
Not in the arrogant way. Not in the Iâm-so-irresistible kind of way. No â you know it because you see it. In the way his eyes flicker to you when he thinks youâre not paying attention. In the way his jaw ticks when Morgan jokes too casually with you. In the way he goes quiet when your laugh cuts across the room â his lips pressing into a thin line while his body tenses, almost like heâs trying to stop himself from laughing along.
He wants you. And heâs made that clear before.
But heâs also your boss. Older. Emotionally constipated. A man who shuts people out just before they get too close.
So of course, he made the decision for both of you. Of course, he pulled away, said it wasnât appropriate, said you needed to keep it professional. Of course, he slammed that wall up between you and iced you out like he didnât miss you the moment he left.
And now? Now youâre in Florida. The local PD is stretched thin, thereâs a suspected spree killer hitting tourist-heavy areas along the I-4 corridor, and youâre operating out of some small, humid precinct where the AC rattles and no one knows how to use a case board.
Hotch pairs you with Officer Pretty Smile â an actual cop, around your age, golden tan, charming, full of casual grins and easy compliments. You donât even hear most of what Hotch says when he assigns you; youâre too busy fuming at the fact that heâs done it again.
Just like the last two cases, he pairs you with some random officer, keeps you away from the scene, away from the precinct, away from anywhere he might be â in a way, heâs not letting you do your job.
Distanced from the rest of the team, youâre not much help.
How is that professional?
You know the game heâs playing. Avoidance. Distance. Control.
Youâre sick of it.
But Officer Pretty Smile â his nameâs Ryan â doesnât seem to mind the stormcloud hanging over your head. He makes it easy to forget, just a little. Heâs perceptive, actually listens when you talk, knows when to make you laugh and when to stay quiet. Itâs a relief.
He flirts â lightly, respectfully â and you flirt back. Why shouldnât you?
Aaronâs the one who put this wall up. Heâs the one not speaking to you.
You donât owe him your loyalty if he wonât even look at you outside of a damn case briefing.
The case wraps up after a few days of gruelling profiling, false leads and one late-night stakeout that finally caught your UnSub at a rest stop. Youâre debriefing the locals, coordinating transport and starting to pack things up when Ryan walks you out to the parking lot.
He offers you his number, and you take it, pocketing it with a smile that widens when he leans in to press a soft kiss to your cheek. Itâs innocent, really. Careful and sweet, but when he pulls back, he doesnât go far. His face stays close, breath brushing against your skin as his eyes lock onto yours.
Then his gaze drops â not just to your lips, but the space between you â like heâs weighing the distance and what to do about it. It takes a breath or two before he meets your eyes again.
He leans in, slower this time, and his lips just barely graze yours. A featherlight touch that barely classifies as a kiss. Itâs more of a hesitation. A silent question â do you want this too?
Yes, you do.
You answer by lifting a hand and placing it gently on his jaw, your touch light but certain.
He exhales softly, and his hands move to your waist, holding you like heâs been wanting to all day.
Your lips are so close, a breath away, and just as youâre about to close the gapâ
âAgent!â
Aaronâs voice cuts through the humid Florida air like a gunshot, sharp enough to turn heads. Itâs not just a call â itâs a warning. A demand. His tone carries weight, and everyone nearby instinctively pauses, glancing over to where he stands near the SUV, his jaw tight, posture coiled like heâs seconds away from snapping.
You freeze.
Where the fuck did he spawn from?
Ryan pulls back, but not completely. His hands stay on your waist, holding you close, as his eyes look over your shoulder.
You, however, donât turn around â stubbornly refusing to give Hotch the satisfaction of ruining this moment.
He can wait.
He can watch.
You keep your gaze locked on Ryan. On his lips that are a bit further away than before, parted in confusion as he stares at your boss.
Your fingers shift slightly against his jaw â a gentle nudge meant to draw his attention back to you. And it works. His eyes flicker away from whatever intensity Hotch is radiating behind you and settle back on yours.
You lean in, slow and deliberate, and the moment you do, he seems to forget everything else as he leans in too.
And, just like before, just as your lips grazeâ
âAgent!â
Somehow, his voice is harsher than before â each syllable laced with barely contained fury.
Your hands fall from Ryanâs face and drop to your sides as you sigh, letting your head dip forward slightly.
âWhatâs his problem?â Ryan murmurs, his frustration mirroring yours as he shoots Aaron a brief, irritated glance before turning his attention back to you.
You lift your head, just enough to meet his eyes again, and mutter, âI donât know. Heâs justââ You wave a hand vaguely behind you. âA hardass.â You pause. âOr an ass. A normal ass. Whichever floats your boat.â
Ryan snorts, nodding as he looks back at Aaron. âYeah. That tracks.â
You smile, wide and genuine. âWell then,â you say, looking up at him, âduty calls.â
He nods, looking a bit reluctant as he returns your smile and asks, âWill I see you again before you go?â
You hesitate, just for a second, before finally glancing over your shoulder.
Hotch stands by the entrance of the Jacksonville Sheriffâs Office â arms crossed, back stiff, jaw tight. His eyes are locked on you like heâs trying to dissect every inch of the moment he just interrupted. He looks furious. Controlled, as always, but furious nonetheless.
You look back at Ryan. âProbably not.â
Thereâs a brief pause â just a breath of silence â before he nods. He doesnât push, doesnât ask for anything more. Instead, he steps in and kisses your cheek again, soft and quick, like a quiet goodbye. When he pulls back, he lets his hand brush down your arm before stepping away.
You turn without another word, lowering your head as you approach Aaron. With each step, the feeling of his stare on you burns hotter, sharper.
You stop in front of him, standing there for a moment before you glance up.
His blazer is off, his blue button-up clinging slightly to his skin. His sunglasses perched on his nose and his jaw is tight.
You hate yourself for thinking that he looks hot.
You cross your arms, exhaling sharply before saying, âYou called?â
He doesnât waste a second. âGet the scene logs from the officers inside. I want them scanned and uploaded before we leave for the jet.â
His tone is dry, detached. The words hang in the air like a weight that doesnât match the way heâs looking at you. His expression is stone-cold, all business, and it only fuels the frustration coursing through you.
You blink, your chest tightening. Thatâs it? Thatâs the urgent reason he called you out of a kiss like the sky was falling?
Itâs a bullshit task. You both know it.
But heâs your Unit Chief. And right now, heâs pulling rank â not for the case. The case is over. Solved.
Heâs doing it for himself, and it makes you want to scream.
You bite back the thousand things you want to say, give a tight nod, and walk past him without a glance.
â
On the jet, the tension is unbearable.
Aaron is sitting near the front, a stack of case files spread in front of him that he hasnât touched since takeoff. He just stares at them, unmoving, like heâs willing them to make him forget.
Youâre in the back, headphones on, glaring out the window as your forehead rests against the glass of it.
The others feel it â the tightrope tension stretching across the cabin. No one says a word.
After a while, you canât help but glance his way, your eyes rolling when you see how heâs glaring at the files in front of him.
Heâs clearly seething. The image of you, about to kiss someone else, seemed to be carved into his memory.
If heâd been closer, he mightâve punched the guy. Hell, if he wasnât so goddamn professional, he mightâve dragged you away himself.
But he didnât. He waited. He watched.
He hates that he waited.
And now heâs stewing in it.
When the jet lands, everyone moves quickly â eager to escape the static pressure in the air. You stand, grabbing your go-bag before heading for the stairs.
And then â low, sharp, right in front of you:
âStay.â
Heâs still seated, leaning forward slightly, elbow propped on the table. His hand is pressed to his face, fingers buried in his hair while his palm digs into his temple like heâs desperately trying to hold his thoughts together.
His eyes are closed â not from sleep, but something heavier â and despite the jet landing, his papers are still out, strewn in front of him. Clearly, heâd given up trying to read them â or pretending to read them.
His face is taut, shadowed â caught in a quiet storm of exhaustion or thought. Maybe both.
He looks really hot.
Swallowing, you will that thought away.
âStay.â He had said, in a tone that made you freeze â one that left no room for argument.
You hesitate, your grip on your bag tightening a bit as you stare before deciding.
No.
With your lips set in a frown, you start walking again.
Just as youâre about to move past him, though, his hand reaches out to wrap around your wrist.
You tense, his touch making you feel warm and a bit breathless despite your anger.
âI said stay.â His voice cuts through the quiet â steady with an edge that sends a jolt through you.
Shit.
You look down at him, jaw set. âLet go.â
He doesnât move at first â just lifts his eyes to meet yours, something unreadable flickering behind them. Then he exhales before rising to his feet in a fluid motion. His grip on your wrist doesnât loosen as he stands over you, shoulders squared.
You falter, thrown by the sudden nearness. âHotchââ
âAaron.â He interrupts you, his eyes narrowing as he stares down at you. His tone is sharp, stern like hearing his last name offended him.
âHotch.â You repeat it, just to piss him off.
If distance is what he wants, distance is what heâll get.
He stares at you for a second before exhaling, a tired look in his eyes as he says, âWe need to talk.â
âOh, now you want to talk?â Your voice rises a bit and you barely manage to hold back a laugh. âYou ignore me for weeks, send me off like Iâm a problem you can delegate, and now â suddenly â you want to talk?â
His jaw clenches. âYou donât understandââ
âNo. You donât get toââ
Before you can finish what youâre saying, he uses his grip on your wrist to pull you into him. Fuelled by everything he hasnât said, itâs not a gentle gesture.
You gasp as you stumble forward, crashing into his chest. Your cheek brushes the soft fabric of his shirt and your hand splayed instinctively against him for balance. When your eyes finally meet his, heâs already looking down at you â jaw tense, eyes dark, your faces now inches apart.
âYou were going to kiss him.â His voice is quiet, but the words hit harder than if heâd shouted them.
His grip on your wrist tightens slightly, and for a moment, he closes his eyes. The sight of you both leaning in replays in his mind â the tension in his jaw is visible as his lips press into a line. His expression looks as if the image physically hurt him.
When he opens them again, his eyes lock onto yours, searching, checking to see if you understand the severity of it.
Your lips are parted as you stare at him.
Youâre not surprised that he brought it up. You knew it was coming, but the way he says it â the weight in his voice â wasnât something you were expecting.
His words carried an undertone of pain that make you falter. Itâs not just about the kiss, you realise. Itâs about everything heâs been holding in.
âYou were about to kiss him.â He repeats, slower than before, his eyes still boring into yours.
Hearing the word âkissâ a second time, along with the sudden proximity, had your gaze falling to his lips.
You couldnât help it.
You looked back up quickly to find his eyes still on you.
A flicker of guilt creeps into your chest â something small, unwanted. Maybe itâs the way his voice quietened when he said it. Maybe itâs the look in his eyes, like he wasnât prepared for how much it hurt him â you almost kissing someone else.
For a split second, you start to feel bad.
But it doesnât last.
Not when you remember the last few weeks â how heâs iced you out, kept his distance like you didnât matter, like the moments you shared never happened.
Your jaw tightens and your brows furrow in the way they always do when youâre annoyed.
âStop.â You say, the word sharper than you intended. Shaking your head, your voice comes out quieter the second time. âJust⊠stop.â
He doesnât move, doesnât speak, just watches you â eyes flicking across your face like heâs trying to read you.
Like heâs trying to profile you.
What happened to never profiling each other? Probably the same thing that happened to being âprofessionalâ.
âYouâre being unfair, Aaron.â
You avert your gaze, unable to hold his anymore. It drops to his chest â the fabric of his shirt stretched a bit beneath your hands that are still resting there. You can feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, slightly faster than it should be.
He has no right to be upset, you think, and it takes everything in you not to say it out loud first. But when you look back up at him, your anger catches fire again, sharp and unforgiving.
âYouâre the one who pushed me away.â You bite out, voice low. âYou iced me out. For weeks, Aaron.â
Your words land heavy in the space between you, but you donât stop.
âYou told me we couldnâtââ You falter slightly, pain catching in your throat, ââthat we had to keep things professional. And then you avoided me. You acted like I didnât matter.â
His jaw flexes again, but he says nothing.
âAnd now what?â you continue. âNow youâre upset because I almost kissed someone else? You donât get to pull me in two different directions like this. You canât tell me to stay away, and then look at me like that when someone else gets close.â
His hand is still on your waist, his grip on your wrist still firm. He hasnât let go, hasnât backed off, and that makes it worse â the contradiction of it. The ache of being wanted but not claimed.
âItâs confusing. Youâre confusing.â My voice goes back to being quiet as I lower my gaze again, missing the way his expression softens a bit.
It softens because he knows youâre right.
He canât argue with you, not really. Not when youâre looking at him like that. Or rather, not looking at him at all. Your eyes are fixed on his chest now, lips pressed together in that tight little frown that always means youâre trying not to show how hurt you are.
He canât argue with you because youâre right.
Heâs being unfair, and the guilt of that realization hits him instantly, swallowing him whole. The weight of his own selfishness also sinks in, making him feel stupid for not realizing how much heâs hurt you.
When the silence stretches for too long, you look up, and your frown deepens when you see how heâs watching you.
âStop profiling me.â Your voice shakes a bit as you try to yank yourself free of his grip. But Aaron doesnât let go. His hands stay firm on your waist, like letting go would mean losing something heâs not ready to give up.
It only makes you angrier.
You shove at his chest, hard, but he barely budges. âLet go.â you snap, glaring up at him, but his expression doesnât shift. He just watches you, jaw tight, eyes unreadable behind the shield of his silence.
That silence cuts deeper than anything.
âYou ignored me for weeks!â you shout, your voice rising, cracking with something raw. âYou didnât even look at me. You shut me out like I meant nothing!â
You try again to pull away, like his touch burns. Like the heat of his hands is searing through your skin, cracking you open.
And it hurts him â more than he thought it would. Watching you try to escape him like heâs done something unforgivable â which he has â makes something twist in his chest. He wants to fix it, but he doesnât know how. Every word you throw at him lands like a blow, and still, he doesnât move. Doesnât let go.
He just hurts.
âLet go!â you yell, louder now, fists balled as you push at him again. âI said fuck off, Aaron!â
You look up at him then â eyes blazing, cheeks flushed with anger, your frown etched deep into your face. The fury in your expression is undeniable, and it hits him like a punch.
And before he even realizes what heâs doing â he kisses you.
It comes out of nowhere. Like something snaps inside him, like instinct. Itâs not gentle. Itâs not soft. Itâs angry and desperate and messyâlike heâs trying to shut you up and apologize all at once. Like everything heâs been holding back has just erupted, too big to contain.
You freeze at first, tensing against it, breath caught in your throat.
But then you break.
Your hands fist in the lapels of his blazer, gripping hard like you need something to hold you upright. Your lips move against his with the same kind of fury youâd just thrown at him â like this is a fight, too. But somewhere in that chaos, your shoulders slump, and so do his.
Like youâre both exhaling for the first time in weeks.
Like this is the first breath either of you has taken since everything fell apart.
His hands move â one, then both â rising to cradle your face, fingers splayed across your cheeks like heâs terrified youâll disappear if he lets go.
You pull back first, breaking the kiss with a gasp, your breath catching somewhere between his mouth and your own. His grip loosens, and for a second, something like a whine escapes him â soft and involuntary â like he canât believe youâre already pulling away.
Youâre breathless. Lips swollen. Heart racing.
âYouâre such an asshole.â you hiss, voice low, hoarse, but still furious.
His eyes darken. âYou were gonna kiss him.â
âStop repeating that!â you snap, but thereâs no bite behind it now â just exhaustion and heat and emotion so tangled you canât separate any of it.
You donât even think about it â you just lean in again, drawn like a magnet. And this time, he meets you halfway. Your lips part just before they touch, and when they do, it feels like the ground shifts beneath you. Like the jet could be spinning or crashing and you wouldnât even notice.
Itâs slower, deeper â but just as intense. His hands are still on your face, and yours are clinging to him like you donât trust gravity anymore.
But then he pulls away.
His forehead drops to yours â close, so close â and for a moment you almost let him stay there. But something in you twists, and you turn your head just slightly, breaking the contact. You keep your eyes shut, breathing shallow, your face turned toward the wall of the jet like if you donât look at him, you can hold onto the last piece of your anger.
His heart sinks.
âIâm sorry.â he says, his voice quieter now. Cracked open. âIâm sorry for all of it.â
You donât move. Donât look.
âIâ I thought it was the right thing.â he says, and now itâs all unraveling, everything heâs shoved down clawing its way out. âI didnât know how to handle what I felt for you. I didnât know if I should. So I convinced myself the best thing â the most responsible thing â was to shut it down. To shut you out.â
He lets out a breath, sharp and rough. âI told myself youâd be better off. That you didnât need someone like me â someone older, someone who barely knows how to process his own shit, let alone drag you into it. My hours are a nightmare, Iâm exhausted all the time, and I have nothing to give you except⊠this mess.â
His voice softens but doesnât steady. âAnd if Strauss found out, she wouldnât hesitate to pull you off the team. To punish you for something that was always my fault.â
You still donât speak. Your eyes remain closed.
âI thought I was doing the right thing,â he says again, quieter now, like it physically hurts to say. âBut it felt like cutting off my own oxygen. Seeing you every day, hearing your voice, pretending you were just another agent â it fucking destroyed me. Every moment I stayed away, I felt like I was unraveling. But I thought⊠if I could just hold the line a little longer, maybe I could let you go.â
His voice cracks then, barely above a whisper. âBut I couldnât. I canât.â
You donât say anything, and the silence eats at him. He shifts slightly, eyes scanning your face like heâs trying to read anything â any flicker of emotion, of softness, of something.
âPlease say something.â he murmurs.
Thereâs no anger in him anymore. Just regret. Just longing.
âI havenât slept,â he says, after a second. âNot really. Not since I let you go. Youâve been in my head every day. Every night. You walk into the room and I canât think straight. I hear your voice down the hall and I forget what Iâm doing. Itâs pathetic.â
Then gently â cautiously â he reaches out, fingers brushing against your chin. He turns your face to him, coaxing your eyes to his.
And when you look at him, he looks wrecked.
Thereâs exhaustion in his features, shadows beneath his eyes, but itâs the look in them that breaks you: raw, sincere, desperate. Like youâre the only thing anchoring him to earth right now.
âIâm sorry.â he says again, like itâs the only thing he has left to give. Like he means it with everything heâs got.
And he does.
Itâs silent for a second.
His eyes search yours, unsure and a little frantic, like heâs trying to profile you again â trying to get an understanding of whateverâs going on in your mind.
He gives up quickly, wanting to find out whatever it is your thinking from you yourself. But just as heâs about to ask, you kiss him.
When you pull back, your hands stay on him, sliding down to his chest where you can feel the rapid, uneven rhythm of his heart.
âI donât expect you to be perfect, Aaron.â you murmur, voice soft but steady. âIâm not. I barely have my own shit together half the time. And Iâm not looking for some ideal version of you â just you. The version that cares too much and thinks too hard and carries everything on his back like itâs his job to keep the world spinning.â
You pause, your eyes searching his, and he doesnât look away.
âI donât want anyone else.â you say, more firmly now. âI canât want anyone else. My heartâs already decided. Itâs you. Itâs always been you. These past few weeks without youâfeeling you pull away, watching you pretend like nothing matteredâthat was hell. And if you think I just brushed it off and moved on, you really donât know me at all.â
You donât stop there, because you can see it â how heâs still doubting, still not sure what you see in him. So you tell him.
âYou donât even realize how much I see you.â you whisper. âHow good you are. Youâre strong, yeah, but youâre also⊠unbelievably kind. Youâre the one who makes me feel stable when everything else is a mess. You make me feel safe without trying to control me. You make me feel⊠things I didnât even know I was capable of feeling.â
His brow creases like he doesnât know what to do with that, like itâs too much, too pure.
âAnd I donât give a damn about your age. If anything, it makes you hotter.â you add with a breath of a laugh. âIt means youâve lived, youâve learned, and you listen. You make me feel taken care of in a way no one ever has.â
Heâs blinking at you like his brain short-circuited somewhere along the way.
âAs for StraussâŠâ You shrug a little. âSheâs not a profiler. We barely even see her. If we keep things professional at work, weâll be fine. Weâre good at this â at keeping calm under pressure. This isnât gonna change that.â
Then you take one of his hands and hold it tightly, pressing your fingers to his palm.
âAll I want,â you say, voice low, âis for you to let me love you.â
Something in him breaks. Or maybe it mends. You canât quite tell.
His eyes widen just a little, and for a second he just stares at you â like his brain is still catching up. Like the word punched the breath right out of him.
âWhat?â he asks, the word so soft itâs barely audible.
âI just want to love you, Aaron.â you repeat, quieter this time, like itâs a promise.
His breath shudders out of him, and he leans forward again â not kissing you yet, just resting his forehead against yours, like he needs the grounding.
âI love you.â he says, the words raw and unfiltered. âAnd Iâm sorry. Iâll talk to you next time â really talk. I wonât shut you out again. I wonât let myself forget what this feels like.â
âYou better not.â you murmur.
And then he kisses you again.
Itâs steadier now. Certain. Like heâs finally, finally giving in to the truth heâs been denying. Like he knows what he wants â and itâs you.
As your lips move together, the world outside the jet fades into the background. His hand moves slowly, purposefully, down your side, and then it shifts, lowering until he reaches into your pocket.
You pull away a little, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Before you can fully process it, he pulls out the small piece of paper â the one with Ryanâs number scrawled on it.
Your heart skips a beat. He saw that?
The thought stings for a second â had he seen everything? Youâd assumed heâd stepped outside for some reason and had just happened to catch a glimpse of you two â coincidentally, when you were about to kiss.
But Aaronâs mind works in a different way. He had seen you leave with Ryan, noticed the way you two were talking, the smiles on your faces. And something in him tensed. He didnât like it. The way you were walking so close, how easy it seemed between you. So he followed, curiosity gnawing at him. He hadnât meant to â but it felt like he had to know.
You break the silence with a quiet question, still trying to make sense of it all. âYou saw that?â
Aaronâs jaw tightens, his face flickering with a flash of frustration, then quickly hardening as he remembers it.
âI saw all of it.â he says, his voice colder than you expected. A wince pulls at his expression as he scrunches the paper up in his hand, turning to toss it in the small bin beside the exit of the jet, the movement sharp and final.
You canât help but let out a small, amused laugh despite the tension. His reaction, his possessiveness â itâs almost too much to ignore. But then, before he can get too far in his thoughts, you soften and murmur an apology. âSorry. I didnât mean toââ
He cuts you off with a question of his own, his gaze still intense as he watches you, his tone now a little guarded. âWere you actually going to kiss him?â
You blink, surprised by the bluntness, but you canât help the smirk that slips onto your face. âHey, youâre the one who paired me with him.â
Aaron rolls his eyes, the hint of frustration fading a little, but you can still see the sharp edge to his expression. âFrom now on, youâre with me for every case.â
You laugh at the thought, shaking your head, but the joke settles in as you reply, âI donât think thatâd help with keeping Strauss off our trail.â
Aaron chuckles, his eyes softening just a fraction, but he doesnât back down. âIâll risk it. Itâs fine.â
Your laughter fills the space between you, and it warms Aaronâs heart more than heâd care to admit. Heâs missed hearing it, hearing you so carefree, even when things feel a little chaotic.
He pulls you a little closer then, wrapping an arm around your waist as if he canât let you go now that heâs got you. He starts guiding you off the jet with that same quiet confidence he always carries, but thereâs something different now â a sense of peace between you both, even if the world outside still feels a little unsettled.
âYouâre coming to my place.â he says, his voice low and steady. âIâm making you dinner.â
Secret relationship with Hotch where youâre so damn scared of people knowing because it can end up with you losing your job so youâre always trying to stay away from him as much as possible and when he almost instinctively walks near, searching for your touch you freak out so you take him somewhere no one can see you just to tell him âyou canât just do thatâ
But then he replies
âI canât just leave my love for you at home. And even if I could, I wouldnât.â
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