I just had to get this out of my system because I’ve been reading way too much top gun material. Pilot!Femreader x aaron hotchner. I won’t call this a fic, because it is really just a guilty pleasure. Reader’s call sign: Siren.
“Jesus fucking christ.” You swear into your comms as the gust and force generated by the jet blazing through between yours and the aircraft beside yours flips your own jet in a circle. A sharp pull on the center stick helps you to stabilise and come back to equilibrium.
“Absolute dick move Razor.” You mutter into your coms, which earns a resounding agreement from Viper in the jet beside you.
“Just keeping you on your toes, Siren.”
“Alright guys, fly in.” The voice of your commander crackles over your comms, and you pull right, angling your plane back to base.
You see him on your approach onto the runway, standing out in his black polo and dark jeans, aviators shielding his eyes, against the green and brown of flight suits and uniforms that dot the airbase. It makes you grin as your wheels touch the ground, and you slide your jet smoothly into a standstill. You flick off the aircraft, pulling your mask from your face and dropping it down, while popping over the top of the jet.
He is there by the time you clamber out, stepping onto the wing. A tug of your helmet off your face reveals your smile, bright, megawatt against the sheen of sweat plastering strands of hair to the side of your face, because you hadn’t expected him to be here. He reaches up, catching you as you jump down onto the pavement and you drop your helmet to the ground while latching your hands around his neck, his arms holding you firmly around your waist.
“Hi.” Your greeting is simple, and he squeezes your sides through your flight suit in greeting. “Why and how?”
“We were on a case not too far off,” he explains in response to your first question before continuing, “and I made some calls,”
“Well ain’t I lucky my husband is a big FBI man.” You drawl out as you tiptoe, pressing your lips to his, the sounds of hollers, whistles and calls of “get him Siren”, from the other aviators echoing around you.
He kisses you back, but you both keep it simple, short and sweet, before he pulls away. You let your hands fall away from his neck, tugging his aviators off his face, before popping them on yours.
“I am the pilot.” You joke to his raised brow.
“Whatever you say sweetheart.” He opts for leaning forward to press another quick kiss to your lips again, his nose bumping lightly against yours, while tugging down the zip of your flight suit, allowing it to hang open, freeing you of your constraints, to reveal the white tank beneath your flight suit. It earns him a hoot from Razor who stops beside the both of you, clapping Aaron on the back.
Aaron winks at you, to which you roll your eyes, before he turns his attention to your approaching flight team who are pouring out their greetings.
