imagine hanging out with the team at a bar when you're single and bumping into an older guy and he's like SO fine and you're very clearly flirting with each other n stuff and aaron is just sending him death glares. fully just staring at the guy like
to the point where dave leans over to him and goes "you wanna make it any less obvious you're jealous, aaron?" and he shakes his head and goes "why would i be jealous?" as he continues to stare at the two of you. you laughing at something the guy says, the guy's staring at you as his fingers graze your hand on the table.
aaron knows he's jealous, he can feel it ready to boil over, but he gets a lil lightheaded (chalking it up to the one beer he's had) when he realises that this is actual confirmation that you're into older men. and by god is he gonna use this new information wisely.
but first he has to try and find a way to get this man away from you.
In the Quiet Moments - Aaron Hotchner x female reader
Summary: A case makes you admit your feelings to Hotch
Words: 1.8K
Warning: none, just fluffiness
Y/N's POV
The jet cabin is cloaked in a heavy silence, a stark contrast to the usual banter and camaraderie that fills the air after a case. Each member of the team occupies a space, physically present yet emotionally distant, lost in their own thoughts and the weight of the horrors we've witnessed. I hate this part of the cases, the cool down. The somber atmosphere that feels suffocating when things don’t go as well as they could have. The exhaustion on everyone’s faces. The guilt in their eyes.
I’m stood by the coffee machine, nursing a hot cup to keep away the nightmares. Everyone’s doing what they can to distract themselves. Spencer’s taken the couch, his lanky frame stretched out across it and my coat as his pillow and soft snores emitting from him. In the nearest four seater to Spencer is sat Rossi, he’s playing a game of chess with Emily to distract themselves. Morgan’s sat in the two seater with his headphones on and JJ’s asleep opposite him, leaving Hotch sat on his own in the other four seater.
The soft glow of the cabin lights casts a gentle halo around Hotch, illuminating the worn lines etched into his features. There's a subtle furrow in his brow, a testament to the weight of responsibility that rests upon his shoulders. His gaze, fixed with unwavering determination, traces the lines of the case files spread out before him, each page a glimpse into the horrors we've witnessed.
Despite the exhaustion that hangs heavy in the air, Hotch remains steadfast, his posture rigid with resolve. His jaw is set in a firm line, the faintest hint of weariness lurking beneath the surface. In the quiet solitude of the cabin, he seems both distant and yet achingly present, a pillar of strength amidst the chaos that surrounds us.
As I watch him from across the cabin, a surge of empathy washes over me, mingling with the exhaustion that gnaws at my bones. Hotch's unwavering composure belies the turmoil that rages within, a silent battle fought in the depths of his soul.
It what makes me decide who to sit with. I need to feel someone and that someone would usually be Spencer but he’s taken up too much of the couch for me to join his sleeping form so I head towards Hotch.
My steps tentative as I don’t want to disturb the quiet peace, approaching Hotch as the soft hum of the jet engines create a soothing backdrop. Hotch looks up, his gaze meeting mine with a flicker of acknowledgment, a silent invitation lingering in the air between us.
Hotch's gaze softens as I gently push his shoulder, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes at my playful pout. With a subtle nod, he shifts over to the window seat, making room for me to slide in beside him. The warmth of his presence envelops me like a comforting embrace as I settle into the space next to him, the gentle hum of the jet engines a soothing backdrop to the heavy silence that surrounds us.
"What are we looking at?" I inquire softly, my voice barely above a whisper as I pick up the nearest folder, my heart sinking at the gruesome images that greet me. Hotch takes the folder from my hands with a shake of his head, a silent gesture of protection against the horrors contained within despite me being a member of the BAU and seeing this stuff on a daily bases.
With practiced efficiency, he begins to stack the folders, creating a barrier between us and the darkness that threatens to consume our thoughts. I meet his gaze with a mixture of determination and vulnerability, my silent plea for solace echoing in the depths of his gaze.
"What do you need?" Hotch's voice is gentle, a beacon of calm amidst the chaos that swirls around us. But instead of answering, I find myself drawn to him, a primal instinct guiding my movements as I gently manoeuvre him into the corner of the seat, his warmth enveloping me like a protective shield.
I lay my head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a soothing lullaby against the backdrop of our shared exhaustion. With a faint smile, I hand him a case file, the words barely a whisper against the material of his suit jacket.
"I sleep, you work," I murmur, the weight of our shared burdens momentarily forgotten in the quiet intimacy of the moment. And as the jet hurtles through the night sky, carrying us home to the familiar embrace of the unknown, I find solace in the unspoken bond that binds us together, a beacon of light amidst the darkness that threatens to consume us all.
His scent surrounds me, a mixture of leather and cologne, familiar and comforting in its simplicity. It’s a scent that speaks of strengths and resilience, of the countless battles fought and won in the name of justice. And as his hand finds its way to my hair, the gentle caress sending shivers down my spine, I can’t help but lean into his touch, my eyes fluttering shut as I bask in the warmth of his presence.
In this fleeting moment, nestled against his chest, I feel safe, cocooned in the protective embrace of his arms. His heartbeat, steady and reassuring, lulls me into a state of peaceful oblivion until it suddenly picks up when I burrow a hand under his suit jacket and into the fabric of his button-up shirt. It brings back that yearning I’ve been trying to bury, a desire that simmers just beneath the surface, threatening to engulf us both in its fiery embrace. I long to lean up, to press my lips against his in a silent confession of the emotions that swirl beneath the surface. But he’s my boss, and I’m just his friend and college, bound by the unspoken rules that govern our professional relationship.
As I nestle against Hotch's chest, a pang of longing courses through me, igniting a fire that threatens to consume us both. I find myself nuzzling at his shirt, the fabric warm against my nose and cheek, his solid and toned chest a testament to the strength that lies within. In the hushed stillness of the jet cabin, I hear Hotch’s breath hitch, a subtle indication that he, too, is affected by the tension that crackles between us.
His voice, when he speaks, is quiet and measured, a soothing balm against the storm raging within, “What’s on your mind?” Hotch’s words are laced with an undercurrent of curiosity, a silent invitation to share the burden that weighs heavy upon my heart. And as his gaze meets mine, I see something flicker within the depths of his eyes, a vulnerability that mirrors my own.
For a fleeting moment, his eyes dip down to my lips, a silent acknowledgement of the unspoken desires that simmer just beneath the surface. And in that moment, I see the truth reflected in his gaze, a yearning that echoes my own.
Summoning every ounce of courage I possess, I run my hand up from his chest to his cheek, the touch tentative yet filled with longing. His stubble grazes against my palm, tactile reminder of the intimacy that binds us together. And as my fingers slip into the soft tufts of his black hair, I see a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, a question hanging in the air between us.
I’m shifting my body slightly, bringing my lips tantalisingly close to his, I feel the tension crackling through his entire being as if he wants this but he wants to remain professional. Uncertainty hangs like a veil, casting a shadow over the moment, yet I can’t help but be drawn to the magnetic pull that binds us together.
“Stop me if I’m reading this wrong.” I murmur, the words a soft whisper against the canvas of our shared intimacy. It’s a plea, a silent beg for him to guide me through this uncharted territory of our desires.
And then, in a heartbeat, everything changes. Hotch surges forwards, his lips meeting mine in a breath stealing kiss that ignites a firestorm of emotions within me. It’s a symphony of passion and longing, a silent confession of the unspoken desires that have been lingering between us for far too long.
His hands find their way to the small of my back, drawing me closer in a gesture of unspoken longing. His touch is both gentle and possessive, a silent promise of the depth of his desire. His lips, warm and velvety against mine, ignite a firestorm of sensation that courses through my veins like liquid flame. It’s a kiss that speaks volumes, a language of passion and longing that transcends the boundaries of words.
In his embrace, I feel alive, every nerve ending ablaze with the intensity of our shared connection. It’s a if the world fades away, leaving only the two of us suspended in a timeless embrace, lost in the depths of shared desire. Hotch makes me feel cherished, desired, and understood in a way I’ve never experienced before. In his arms, I find solace, a sanctuary from the chaos that surrounds us, a beacon of light amidst the darkness that threatens to consume us.
But, just as we lose ourselves in the depth of our shared desire, a sharp wolf whistle pierces the air, snapping us back to reality with a jolt. Morgan is standing before us, a mischievous grin playing on his lips as he observes our flushes cheeks and disheveled appearances.
With a nervous laugh, I jump apart from Hotch, the remnants of the coffee spilling across the table in a chaotic mess. My cheeks flame red with embarrassment as I fumble for words, the panic evident in my trembling hands.
Morgan’s laughter echoes through the cabin, a lighthearted reminder of the camaraderie that binds us together. With a playful wink, he saunters away, leaving Hotch and me to contend with the aftermath of our momentary lapse in composure as we hear Morgan telling the others what he just witnesses at the end of the cabin and hearing the gasps and giggles and laughter.
I glance at Hotch who’s cheeks are as red as his tie, his expression a mixture of amusement and affection and I can’t help but smile despite the embarrassment that lingers in the air.
“Get some sleep, we’re gonna need it.” He mutters, pulling me back into his arms so my head is on his chest again and this time I let his heartbeat begin to lull me into the sweet bliss of sleep as he pours over the now slightly coffee stained case files, not quite sure if this is all a dream or not.
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