#aaron hotchner x bombshell reader

[kiwriteswords]

more bombshell reader and maybe jealous hotch!!

Something in the Way She Moves

Masterlist || Ao3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Bombshell Female Reader||Word Count: 20k!!

Tags/Warnings: No use of Y/N, canon-typical violence, canon-typical themes, spoilers/mentions of past character's death(s), hurt/comfort, jealousy, fluff, angst, breakups, forbidden romance, smut, sex without protection, yearning Hotch, Reader is Hotch's Boss, holidays, Reader has hair, cheating if you squint (not on each other; not Reader on/by Hotch), mentions of alcohol at social setting, bombshell reader, possessive Hotch, jealous reader

Sypnosis: As the new section chief of the BAU, you’re determined to lead with professionalism—despite an undeniable connection with Aaron Hotchner, the stoic unit chief who understands you like no one else. When your growing romance draws scrutiny from the Bureau and threatens both your careers, breaking things off feels like the only choice. But resisting your feelings is easier said than done, and navigating the fallout proves more complicated—and personal—than either of you anticipated.

Aaron Hotchner had always believed in rules. They provided structure, a way to ensure order in the chaos of the world he inhabited daily. He lived by them—until you walked back into his life.

When you first stepped into Erin Strauss’ old office as the new Section Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, Aaron had already known you would get the job. Not because you were an excellent candidate, though that was undeniable, but because he had written the letter of recommendation that tipped the scales. He’d been the one to argue your case, to convince the higher-ups that your tactical mind, people skills, and years of leadership in the Child Abduction and Serial Killer Unit made you the right choice.

He knew he couldn’t take on the job himself. He didn’t want to sacrifice his time in the field or more time away from Jack. Things with Beth had just mutually ended, and he knew now wasn’t time for a big change in his career. His team needed stability, too. He knew where to find it for them. He couldn’t think of a better boss for himself or his team. 

But what Aaron hadn’t expected was how your presence would shift the ground beneath his feet.

From day one, you were everything he remembered—commanding, intelligent, and stunning. But there was a new energy to you now. Your style was impeccable, all sharp lines and elegance, yet undeniably bold. You wore heels that clicked purposefully against the tiled floors, and your perfume lingered just long enough to be distracting. Every room you entered turned its attention to you, though you never seemed to revel in it. You worked hard—harder than anyone—but also knew how to treat yourself. Aaron admired that, envied it even.

And then there was the personal side, the one you didn’t show many. The way you smiled when you spoke about your niece’s upcoming recital. The way your laugh, a warm and genuine sound, filled the briefing room when someone cracked a joke. You were extra, yes—extravagant even—but never entitled. You could be sharp-tongued and exacting, but you were also kind and humble. You never asked anyone for anything you wouldn’t provide for yourself.

You were a paradox, and Aaron found himself drawn to you more every day.

The first time the two of you crossed the line, it had been... unplanned.

It was late, the kind of late where the bullpen was empty except for the faint hum of desk lamps and the rhythmic clicks of Aaron typing. You had come down from your office, a mug of tea in your hand and a softness to your expression he rarely saw as you popped into his opened door.

“You’re still here?”

“I could ask the same of you,” he replied, looking up from his laptop as you perched on the edge of his desk.

The conversation started as work but soon meandered. Aaron had always valued your opinion, and it wasn’t unusual for the two of you to linger over cases. But that night, as the hours stretched on, there was a shift.

“I’ve always admired your dedication,” you said quietly, your gaze steady on him. 

“Thank you,” Aaron replied, his throat tightening.

“And the way you fought for me to get this position... Aaron, it means more than you know.”

There was a vulnerability in your voice, a crack in the armor you so carefully maintained. Aaron wasn’t sure what compelled him, but before he could second-guess it, his hand covered yours where it rested on his desk.

That simple touch was all it took to change everything.

Weeks passed before either of you acknowledged what was happening. It started innocently enough—a lingering glance across the briefing room, the brush of hands when passing files, the way your voices softened when it was just the two of you. But it didn’t take long for the connection to deepen, slipping past the professional boundaries you had so carefully constructed.

Aaron would find himself texting you late at night, ostensibly to discuss case details, but the conversations often veered into personal territory. It wouldn’t take long until you crossed the boundary, deciding the messages weren’t enough phone calls were needed. He learned that you hated mornings but loved the ritual of your complicated coffee orders, that you missed the simplicity of fieldwork but thrived in your new role because it gave you a broader sense of impact. You learned that he still struggled with guilt over Haley, that he missed spending more time with Jack but refused to let his son see his father falter.

The shift wasn’t dramatic, but it was undeniable. The way you looked at him during meetings lingered too long, your gaze softening when you thought no one else was watching. The way he always stood a little closer to you than necessary, catching your perfume—an elegant mix of jasmine and citrus—that lingered long after you walked away. The stolen moments became something he craved, something he couldn’t ignore.

Aaron knew it was wrong—or, at the very least, complicated. But the way you saw him, truly saw him, made it impossible to stay away. Aaron had met a lot of people in his life, nobody who completely saw him. It was almost as if he spent his whole life searching for it, for it to be looking him in the face all of these years. 

The first time he kissed you, it was in your office.

You were pacing, heels clicking against the polished floor, your tailored suit jacket hanging neatly on the back of your chair. The soft silk blouse you wore glimmered faintly in the dim light, catching his attention more than it should have.

“Can you believe this?” you muttered, gesturing toward the papers on your desk. “A dozen forms to approve before tomorrow, as if I don’t already have enough to do. And the Director wants an update on—”

“Stop,” Aaron interrupted gently, his deep voice cutting through your frustration.

You froze mid-stride, turning to face him. Your expression softened slightly, but your eyes—those piercing, calculating eyes that could read anyone in a heartbeat—searched his face for answers.

“What is it, Aaron?” you asked the edge in your tone melting into something warmer.

He stood from the chair opposite your desk, his broad shoulders and crisp suit making him seem even taller in the small space.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he admitted, his voice quiet but firm.

Your brow furrowed, confusion flickering across your features. “Do what?”

He stepped closer, his dark eyes locked on yours, his presence overwhelming in the best way.

“Pretend that I don’t want more.”

For a moment, the air between you stilled, charged with an unspoken tension that had been building for weeks. Your lips parted slightly, but no words came. Instead, you tilted your head, studying him with the same intensity you reserved for interrogations.

And then your free hand moved, reaching up to curl into his tie, the silk fabric slipping easily between your fingers. You tugged gently, pulling him toward you, your breath mingling with his.

“Aaron,” you murmured, a faint warning still lingering in your tone.

But he didn’t stop. His hand rose to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone. Your skin was warm, impossibly soft, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt anything so grounding.

The kiss started tentative, almost hesitant, but the moment your lips met, it shattered whatever walls remained between you. You leaned into him, your other hand finding its way to his chest, where his heart pounded beneath the crisp cotton of his shirt. His other hand slid to your waist, his fingers pressing lightly against the curve of your hip, steadying you as you deepened the kiss.

You tasted like mint and something sweet, and Aaron thought he might be losing his mind. The world outside your office door ceased to exist; there was only you, your warmth, your intoxicating presence.

When you finally pulled back, your cheeks were flushed, and your breathing uneven. His tie was slightly askew, and your fingers still clutched it loosely as if unsure whether to let go.

“Well,” you said, your voice teasing but laced with something raw, something real. “That’s one way to solve a bureaucratic nightmare.”

Aaron chuckled softly, his forehead resting briefly against yours.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, though he didn’t look it. He certainly didn’t feel it. 

“Don’t be,” you replied, your fingers brushing the lapel of his jacket. “Just... don’t make me regret this.”

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice steady.

And he meant it. Whatever came next, whatever complications or consequences arose, Aaron knew one thing for certain: this—you—was worth it.

Aaron Hotchner had never been one to let himself indulge—not in anything that wasn’t for Jack, at least. His life revolved around necessity and function, keeping his head above water while ensuring those around him could do the same. Haley and Beth had been simple…these minor things didn’t appeal to them. But with you, indulgence didn’t feel frivolous. It felt... right.

The kiss had been a turning point. It wasn’t just the line crossed—it was the invitation to something more. After that moment in your office, there was no going back. Within days, the two of you had quietly shifted from colleagues to something undeniably personal. By the end of the first week, Aaron had asked you out, and to his surprise, you’d agreed without hesitation.

Your first date had been dinner at a small but elegant restaurant nestled in the heart of Georgetown. Aaron had chosen the spot carefully—upscale enough to meet your polished tastes but intimate enough to keep prying eyes at bay.

“I have to admit,” you’d said over a glass of sauvignon blanc, “I wasn’t sure you’d be able to keep up with me.”

Aaron had raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Keep up with you how?”

Your expression had turned playful, your eyes sparkling in the candlelight. “Let’s just say I’ve been accused of having... expensive taste.”

Aaron had leaned back in his chair, swirling his whiskey casually. “You think I don’t know that by now?” he teased. “You’re the only person I’ve ever met who insisted on a specific brand of bottled water for office meetings.”

“That’s called maintaining standards,” you countered with mock indignation.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “Don’t worry. I might be frugal, but I’m not struggling. And I like to spoil the people I care about.”

The admission had caught you off guard, he could tell. Your confident demeanor had faltered just enough for him to notice, and for a moment, you’d looked down at your glass, your smile softer. “Well,” you’d said finally, meeting his gaze again, “I won’t complain about that.”

By the time you’d gone on a few dates, Aaron found himself more at ease with the idea of what you were becoming. It wasn’t just the shared dinners, the quiet moments in the corners of bars, or the back seats of dimly lit movie theaters. It was the way you fit into his life so seamlessly. Despite your differences—you with your love of extravagance and meticulous planning and him with his pragmatic approach and quiet restraint—you balanced each other.

You worked well together, too. Surprisingly well. If anything, your meticulous attention to detail and unrelenting standards had only strengthened the BAU. Aaron had always considered himself by the book, but compared to you, he realized he could be downright lenient.

“You’re more Type A than I am,” he commented one night after a case briefing, leaning against the doorframe of your office.

You glanced up from your perfectly organized desk, where every file was stacked at precise right angles. “Is that your way of saying I’m bossy?”

“Not at all,” he replied, his tone teasing. “I’m saying you’re by-the-book to a fault. It’s impressive, really.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “Says the man who color-codes his case files.”

“Touché,” he admitted, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I don’t panic at the thought of bending the rules when necessary.”

Your expression sobered slightly, and Aaron noticed the way your hands stilled over the papers in front of you. “I just... I don’t want to give anyone a reason to question me—or us.”

Ah. There it was.

“You’re worried about telling the Director,” Aaron said, stepping further into the room.

Your silence was answer enough.

Aaron sat on the edge of your desk, his presence grounding. “Things are going well,” he said firmly. “The team respects you. Cases are running smoothly. We work together seamlessly. There’s no reason for anyone to take issue with this—unless we give them one.”

You looked up at him, your expression vulnerable in a way few ever saw. “But what if they do? What if they say it’s inappropriate or unprofessional? I could lose this position, Aaron.”

He reached for your hand, covering it with his. The touch was gentle, but his grip steady, reassuring. “You won’t lose it. You’ve earned this. No one can take that from you.”

“But what about you?” you asked quietly. “If this affects your place on the team...”

“I won’t let it,” Aaron said with conviction. “We’ve handled worse than bureaucratic red tape. Besides, I think the Director has bigger problems than two senior members of the BAU in a consensual, functional relationship.”

Your lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “Functional, huh? That’s romantic.”

Aaron smirked, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “What can I say? I’m a realist.”

You shook your head, your laughter soft but genuine. “I don’t know how you stay so calm about this.”

“Because I’ve spent my life trying to control everything,” he admitted. “And I’ve learned the hard way that some things are worth the risk.”

Your gaze lingered on his, the weight of his words settling between you. And for the first time since this all began, Aaron saw the tension in your shoulders ease.

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice steady. “We’ll tell the Director. Together.”

Aaron nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Together.”

In that moment, as the two of you sat in the quiet comfort of your shared understanding, Aaron knew one thing for certain: whatever the future held, you were worth it. Every risk, every consequence—you were worth it.

Aaron Hotchner had walked into more high-pressure situations than he could count. Interrogating unsubs. Negotiating with armed suspects. Delivering heartbreaking news to grieving families. But as he sat outside the Director’s office with you beside him, he felt a knot in his stomach that rivaled even the most tense of standoffs.

You sat with your legs crossed, your polished heel bouncing ever so slightly—a nervous tick Aaron had come to recognize. You were dressed impeccably, as always, your tailored blazer sharp enough to cut through steel. But Aaron knew you well enough to see the tension in the way you smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from your skirt or adjusted your necklace.

He reached over, his hand brushing yours lightly. “We’ll be fine,” he said quietly, his voice low enough not to carry.

You turned your head, offering him a small smile, but the doubt in your eyes was unmistakable.

Before he could say more, the assistant opened the door. “The Director will see you now.”

The Director’s office was a testament to order and authority. Every book on the shelves was carefully aligned, the awards and commendations behind the desk displayed with precision. Aaron Hotchner had sat across from this desk many times, but today, the air felt heavier. He wasn’t just representing his team or defending a decision. Today was personal.

The Director greeted them with a curt nod, gesturing for them to sit. Aaron glanced at you as you settled into the chair beside him, your posture immaculate, your gaze steady. He knew the nerves beneath the surface were hidden behind that calm, polished exterior.

“You wanted to discuss something... personal,” the Director said, leaning back slightly, his hands folded on the desk.

Aaron cleared his throat and straightened in his chair. “Yes, sir. We wanted to inform you about our relationship.”

The Director’s eyebrows rose slightly, but his face remained unreadable. He waited, prompting Aaron to continue.

“We’ve been seeing each other for some time now. We’ve taken every precaution to ensure it doesn’t interfere with our work or the team’s performance. Cases continue to run smoothly, and morale remains high. We believe—”

The Director raised a hand, signaling for Aaron to stop.

Aaron exchanged a brief glance with you. The air seemed to grow heavier.

“I appreciate your honesty,” the Director said, his voice even, almost sympathetic. “But this isn’t acceptable.”

You leaned forward slightly, your tone measured but firm. “With all due respect, sir, we’ve maintained professionalism at all times. There has been no impact on the team’s dynamics or efficiency.”

The Director sighed and leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful but resolute. “This isn’t about professionalism or efficiency, though I trust that both of you believe you’ve kept those intact. It’s about perception. The BAU is already under a microscope. The media, oversight committees, politicians—they’re all waiting for any reason to scrutinize this unit further.”

Aaron shifted in his seat. “Sir, we’ve handled public scrutiny before. We’ve worked under immense pressure and still delivered results. I believe—”

“You believe,” the Director interrupted, his voice gentle but firm. “But this is not about what you believe or how well you perform. It’s about how this looks. Two of the highest-ranking members in the same unit, in a romantic relationship? It opens doors for questions about bias, favoritism, and poor judgment.”

You stiffened slightly, and Aaron could feel the tension radiating from you.

“We’ve had to address optics before,” the Director continued, his tone less stern and more weary. “When Erin Strauss was here, we allowed too much to slide—her personal struggles, her decisions that created friction within the team. It put the BAU in a precarious position, one we barely recovered from. And now, with our history, with every move under scrutiny, I can’t let this slide. Not again.”

Aaron pressed his lips into a thin line, forcing himself to remain composed. “Sir, neither of us would let this compromise our responsibilities. Our records speak for themselves.”

The Director nodded slowly. “They do, Hotchner. Both of you have impeccable records, and I trust your intentions. But this isn’t about trust. It’s about precedent. If I allow this, what message does it send? That personal relationships among senior staff are acceptable? That the rules don’t apply here?”

You spoke next, your voice calm but resolute. “We’re not asking for special treatment. We’re asking for acknowledgment that this doesn’t interfere with our ability to lead.”

The Director exhaled, his tone softening. “I understand what you’re saying. And if the world operated on logic alone, I might agree. But the reality is perception matters. The BAU is too visible, too scrutinized. I can’t allow this.”

“What are you saying?” Aaron asked, though he already knew the answer.

“I’m saying one of you has to transfer, or this relationship ends,” the Director said evenly. “Those are your options. I won’t dictate which path you choose, but this arrangement cannot continue while you’re both in these positions.”

The finality in his tone hit like a cold wind. Aaron’s fists clenched in his lap, though his face remained impassive. Beside him, he could feel you bristling but holding yourself together.

“Is there any room for reconsideration?” you asked, your voice level but tight.

The Director shook his head. “I wish there were. I respect both of you immensely. But this is a line we can’t afford to cross.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

“I can draft up some reccomendsations for units to transfer,” he continued, “But I’d warn you, that may put a bigger target on your back with the brass.” 

“Is that all, sir?” you asked finally, your voice sharper than you likely intended.

“That’s all,” the Director replied, his tone tinged with something almost regretful.

The Director’s words still echoed in Aaron Hotchner’s ears as you stormed out of the office, your heels clicking sharply against the tile floor. Aaron trailed behind you, his thoughts spinning, barely registering the brisk pace you set.

When you reached the bullpen, you didn’t stop. You headed straight for the stairs that led to the upper offices, bypassing your usual elevator ride. Aaron hesitated for a moment before following, his long strides catching up to you as you pushed through the door to your private office and let it slam shut behind you.

For a moment, Aaron stood outside, his hand hovering near the doorknob. He could hear you moving inside—papers rustling, a muffled sigh, the creak of your chair as you sat heavily into it. He took a breath and opened the door, stepping inside and closing it quietly behind him.

You didn’t look at him. Instead, you stared at your desk, your hands resting on its polished surface as if grounding yourself. Your jaw was tight, your expression unreadable, but Aaron had known you long enough to see the storm brewing beneath the surface.

“This is ridiculous,” you said finally, your voice low but trembling with barely contained frustration. “We’ve done everything right. Everything. And it still doesn’t matter.”

Aaron didn’t respond immediately. What could he say that wouldn’t feel hollow? That he agreed? That he hated the situation just as much as you did? None of it would change the reality bearing down on both of you.

“We’ll figure this out,” he said quietly, though the words felt inadequate even as he spoke them.

Your head snapped up, your eyes blazing as they met his. “How, Aaron? How do we figure this out? Do I transfer? Do you? Do we just pretend we’re fine with throwing everything away?”

Aaron opened his mouth, but the words caught in his throat. He’d been in impossible situations before—ones where no option felt right, but he had to choose anyway. This time, though, the stakes felt different. He wasn’t deciding a case, balancing strategy and risk. He was standing on the precipice of losing something he hadn’t even realized he needed until it was almost too late.

When you finally looked away, your shoulders slumping under the weight of the conversation, Aaron allowed himself a moment to think. To really think.

He imagined what it would mean to leave. Retiring from fieldwork had crossed his mind before—Jack was growing up fast, and Aaron had often wondered if he was missing too much. But the idea of stepping into a more conservative role, away from the pulse of the work, left a hollow ache in his chest.

And then there was you. He thought of you sacrificing your position, giving up this incredible opportunity that you had earned through sheer determination and talent. The thought twisted his stomach.

Aaron couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t let another person give up so much of themselves for his job. He had promised himself, after Haley, that he wouldn’t let his work consume anyone else. That was why he had let Beth go so easily when she wanted more for herself and her career.

But you weren’t Haley or Beth. You were different. You were his equal, his match in every way that mattered. And yet, the guilt and shame of letting you make that kind of sacrifice—for him, for them—was unbearable.

“You shouldn’t have to leave,” Aaron said finally, breaking the silence. His voice was steady, but the weight behind the words was impossible to miss.

You looked at him sharply. “And you think you should?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I can’t ask you to give this up. I won’t.”

Your hands curled into fists on the desk, and Aaron saw the flicker of pain in your eyes before you looked away. “So what? We just... stop?”

Aaron exhaled slowly, his heart aching at the rawness in your voice. “I don’t want to,” he said honestly. “But maybe it’s what’s best.”

Your laugh was bitter, your head shaking. “Best for who? Them? The optics? Certainly not us.”

Aaron stepped closer, his hands resting on the edge of your desk. “It’s not fair,” he said quietly, meeting your gaze. “None of this is. But if we keep fighting this, it could hurt the team. It could hurt you. And I can’t live with that.”

Your eyes glistened, but you blinked quickly, refusing to let tears fall. “So that’s it? We just... agree to walk away?”

Aaron’s throat tightened. “I don’t want to,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I think we have to.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you felt heavy, suffocating as if the weight of what you were agreeing to was pressing down on both of you at once.

Finally, you stood, your movements slow and deliberate. You rounded the desk, stopping just in front of him.

“Do you really think this is the right thing to do?” you asked, your voice cracking just enough to betray the strength you were trying to hold on to.

“No,” Aaron admitted, his own voice hoarse. “But I think it’s the only thing we can do.”

The words hung in the air like a final verdict, sealing something neither of you wanted to face.

When you stepped closer, your hand resting lightly on his chest, Aaron’s heart broke a little more. He covered your hand with his, holding it there for a moment as if trying to memorize the feeling.

“I hate this,” you whispered, your eyes meeting his one last time. He didn’t miss the tears beginning to well in them. It was instinct to want to look away, it was a sight too painful to unsee, but he found himself still looking through to you.

“So do I,” he replied, his voice raw.

And then, as you stepped back and let your hand fall away, Aaron felt the loss like a physical blow—a kick to the knees. You walked past him, your steps unsteady but resolute.

He didn’t turn to watch you leave. He couldn’t. All he could do was stand there, alone in your office, knowing that this decision—the right one, the necessary one—was going to haunt him for a long time.

The weeks that followed were some of the hardest Aaron Hotchner had endured, and that was saying something. He had always prided himself on compartmentalizing, on keeping his personal life from bleeding into his work. But this—you—made that impossible.

The day after the decision, you had returned to work with the same polished professionalism you always displayed. Your suit was impeccable, your tone measured, and your focus sharp. But Aaron saw the cracks beneath the surface. He saw the way your eyes avoided his during meetings, the way your smiles—rare as they were now—never reached your eyes.

And it wasn’t just you. Aaron could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, a constant ache in his chest that no amount of distraction could dull. He would catch himself looking at you across the bullpen, remembering how it felt to have you close, to hear you laugh in those unguarded moments. The memories were like splinters—small, sharp reminders of what he’d lost.

He wondered if it were some sort of sick joke. That once again, here he was, Aaron Hotchner choosing the job over what was right in front of him. 

The team picked up on it quickly, though they didn’t understand the cause at first.

“Something’s off,” Morgan said one afternoon, leaning against Aaron’s office door.

Aaron didn’t look up from the file in front of him. “What do you mean?”

Morgan shrugged, his casual demeanor belying the concern in his eyes. “You and her,” he said, nodding toward your office. “I don’t know... You two used to be so in sync. Now it’s like there’s this... distance.”

Aaron’s jaw tightened, but he kept his expression neutral. “We’re fine. Just busy.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t press further. Still, Aaron knew the others had noticed it too. Reid’s hesitant glances during meetings, JJ’s subtle attempts to smooth over the tension, and even Garcia’s uncharacteristic silence when she addressed the two of you.

The pain of working together was a constant, gnawing ache. Every interaction felt like walking a tightrope, balancing professionalism with the unspoken emotions neither of you could completely hide.

During briefings, Aaron found himself hyper-aware of you. The way you avoided sitting too close. The way your voice would falter, just slightly, when addressing him directly. It was subtle, so subtle that no one outside the team would notice. But Aaron noticed.

You rarely joined the team in the field, but you were more present than Strauss’ constant absence due to her dislike of fieldwork when in your role. Even in the field, the strain was palpable. The easy rhythm you had once shared was gone, replaced by clipped exchanges and a formality that felt wrong coming from you.

“You’re clear on the approach?” Aaron asked during one such mission, his voice firm but hollow.

You nodded, your tone equally curt. “I am.”

It was efficient. Professional. Everything it needed to be. But it wasn’t you. At least not the you he knew.

The worst moments came in the quiet, in the spaces between the chaos. Late nights at the BAU, when the rest of the team had gone home and the building was quiet. Sometimes, Aaron would catch a glimpse of you in your office, the light from your desk lamp casting long shadows across your face. He wanted to go to you, to break the silence and bridge the gap, but he never did.

One night, as he packed up to leave, he saw you sitting at your desk, your head in your hands. You didn’t notice him watching, and for a brief moment, he considered walking in, saying something—anything. But then you straightened, brushing a hand through your hair, and the moment passed.

Aaron turned away, the pit in his stomach growing heavier with each step he took toward the exit.

The team never said anything outright, but Aaron could feel their unease. They didn’t know the details—didn’t know that the two of you had once been something more, or how close you had come to risking everything to stay that way. But they felt the shift.

JJ tried to smooth things over with small acts of kindness—bringing coffee, lightening the mood in meetings. Morgan watched both of you with quiet curiosity, his usual teasing replaced by a patience Aaron hadn’t expected. Even Garcia, ever perceptive, gave him a long, searching look one day before sighing and saying, “You know, you can talk to us, right? About anything.”

Aaron had nodded, offering a faint smile he didn’t feel. “Thanks, Garcia.”

Months passed, and the ache dulled, but it never went away. Aaron learned to live with it, to bury it beneath the weight of his responsibilities. He told himself it was the right decision, the only decision, but there were moments—late at night, when the silence was deafening—when he let himself imagine what could have been.

And you—he could see it in your eyes, the way you carried the same weight. You were just as professional, just as efficient, but there was a sadness in you now that hadn’t been there before. It mirrored his own, and that was perhaps the hardest part of all.

You were both doing what you thought was best. And it was killing you.

The bullpen was unusually quiet when Aaron Hotchner stepped out of his office. His team was gathered around JJ’s desk, their conversation hushed but animated. The moment his presence registered, they all straightened slightly, trying to appear busy.

Aaron didn’t buy it for a second.

“Morgan. JJ,” he said, his tone even but curious as he descended the steps. “What’s going on?”

JJ exchanged a quick look with Morgan before speaking. “Oh, uh, nothing, Hotch. Just catching up on some... Quantico gossip.”

Aaron arched an eyebrow. Gossip wasn’t something his team typically indulged in—not during work hours, at least. “What kind of gossip?”

Morgan rubbed the back of his neck, a rare flash of discomfort crossing his face. “The kind that probably shouldn’t leave the locker room, but since it’s about someone we all know... it didn’t sit right with me.”

Aaron’s jaw tightened as he stopped a few feet from the group. “Who?”

Morgan hesitated, glancing at the others. Emily crossed her arms, her expression skeptical but intrigued, while Penelope fidgeted, clearly torn between curiosity and concern.

“Look,” Morgan started, his tone careful, “it’s about…You know—”

Aaron’s stomach sank. He didn’t need Morgan to say your name to know exactly who he meant.

“Go on,” Aaron said, his voice clipped but controlled.

Morgan sighed, leaning against the desk. “JJ and I were at the gym downstairs yesterday. I was in the locker room, and I heard some guy—one of the suits from Finance, I think—talking about her.”

Aaron’s chest tightened as Morgan continued.

“He was bragging about how they’ve been... seeing each other,” Morgan said, his expression darkening. “But the way he was talking—man, it was gross. Like, disrespectful. He was sexualizing her in a way that made my skin crawl.”

JJ chimed in, her voice tinged with frustration. “He called her a ‘great ass with brains’—as if that’s all she is. Then he made some comment about how lucky he was to have caught her attention.”

Aaron’s hands curled into fists at his sides.

“I told him to knock it off,” Morgan said, his tone sharp. “Told him it wasn’t cool to talk about her like that—especially in a damn locker room, where anyone could hear.”

Penelope’s mouth fell open, her indignation bubbling to the surface. “You’re kidding me. He said that in the locker room? What kind of—ugh! Men are the worst sometimes.”

Emily smirked faintly, her voice dry as she added, “Not all men. Just most.”

Rossi, who had been quiet up until now, leaned back in the chair and folded his arms. “So she’s seeing this guy? Or is he just running his mouth?”

Morgan shrugged. “Couldn’t say for sure. But he seemed pretty confident.”

Aaron’s jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He could feel the team’s eyes on him, but he refused to let his expression betray the storm brewing inside.

“Hotch,” JJ said gently, her voice pulling him back. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Aaron said curtly. “But I need to remind all of you that gossip—about anyone—isn’t appropriate here. If there’s a problem, it needs to be addressed through the proper channels.”

The team exchanged glances, but no one pushed further.

Aaron returned to his office, closing the door behind him with a bit more force than necessary. He sank into his chair, staring at the stack of files on his desk without really seeing them.

The idea of you seeing someone else didn’t sit well with him. Not because you didn’t deserve happiness—you did, more than anyone. But because the thought of you with someone who didn’t appreciate you, who reduced you to nothing more than your appearance or used you as a bragging point, made his blood boil.

He hated the way that man in the locker room had spoken about you. Hated that it had happened at all.

And yet, there was something else eating at him. Something sharper, more selfish.

Jealousy.

The idea that you might have moved on—might have found comfort in someone else’s arms—cut deeper than he wanted to admit. He had no right to feel this way. The two of you had made your decision, painful as it was, and he had to live with it. But knowing you might be with someone else, hearing those crude words about you... it was unbearable.

Aaron rubbed a hand over his face, willing himself to focus. He couldn’t afford to let his emotions cloud his judgment. Not now. Not ever.

But as he sat there, the words from the locker room replaying in his mind, he couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that he had let you go too soon. Too easily.

And it was killing him.

Time had a way of dulling pain, or so Aaron Hotchner told himself. Days turned into weeks and weeks into months. The ache of what had been and what could never be dulled into something he carried silently, like an old injury that flared up when the weather changed. But it never went away.

And then he found out for certain.

He hadn’t meant to overhear the conversation—it was the kind of thing he normally tuned out. But as he passed by the kitchen in the Quantico building, he caught the tail end of a conversation between two agents from a different unit, their voices low but not low enough.

“Yeah, they’ve been going out for a while now,” one said, his tone carrying an unmistakable edge of smugness. “I can’t believe he managed to lock her down. She’s way out of his league.”

The other laughed. “I heard she’s really something. Smart, gorgeous, the whole package. Lucky bastard.”

Aaron didn’t need to hear your name to know exactly who they were talking about.

He found himself sitting in his office later that day, staring blankly at the case file in front of him. The words on the page blurred together, his focus shattered.

You were seeing him—the man from Finance. The one Morgan had overheard in the locker room, the one who had spoken about you like you were nothing more than a conquest.

Aaron’s jaw tightened, and his chest ached with something that felt dangerously close to regret. He hated the thought of you with someone who didn’t truly see you—who didn’t appreciate the sharpness of your mind, the strength in your character, the way you carried yourself with grace and confidence even under the heaviest burdens.

And yet, what right did he have to feel this way?

You had every right to move on. Every right to find happiness where you could. It wasn’t your fault that he couldn’t shake the lingering shadow of what the two of you had shared—or what might have been if things had been different.

As the weeks dragged on, Aaron tried to bury himself in his work. He tried not to notice the way you laughed at something someone said in the bullpen or the way your eyes lit up during a briefing when an idea struck you. He tried not to think about the nights you spent with someone else, someone who wasn’t him.

And then Beth called.

It had been months since they’d last spoken, her name long buried in the recesses of his mind. But there she was, her voice warm and familiar, asking how he was, how Jack was if he might want to grab coffee sometime.

Aaron hesitated.

He thought of you—of the distance that had grown between you, the way your conversations were now stilted and professional, the warmth that used to linger between you replaced by a polite coolness. He thought of the man from Finance, the way his name had crept into conversations around the office, always tied to you.

Maybe it was time, Aaron thought. If you had moved on, maybe he should too.

He met Beth for coffee and then for dinner. She was as kind and understanding as he remembered, her smile easy, her company pleasant. But something was missing.

With you, there had been a fire—a spark that made every conversation electric, every glance charged with something unspoken. With Beth, it was different. Comfortable but muted.

Still, Aaron told himself it was the right thing to do. Jack liked her, and she was good to him. Maybe this was what he needed—a reminder of what it felt like to let someone in, to have a life outside the walls of the BAU.

But no matter how much he tried, Aaron couldn’t shake the feeling that he was going through the motions. He couldn’t stop himself from comparing every moment with Beth to the moments he’d shared with you.

When Beth laughed, it wasn’t your laugh. When she reached for his hand, it didn’t feel the same as when you had pulled him close in the quiet of your office.

And every time he saw you in the hallways of Quantico or across the table during a case briefing, that ache in his chest flared anew.

Aaron knew he had made his choice. He had chosen to let you go, to protect the work and the team, to do what he thought was right. And now, he was trying to live with that choice, even as it slowly unraveled him from the inside.

But as he sat in his office late one night, the bullpen quiet and empty, Aaron allowed himself a single, fleeting moment of honesty.

He had moved on.

But not really.

Because a part of him—the part he tried to bury beneath duty and responsibility—would always belong to you.

Aaron Hotchner sat at the head of the conference table, scanning the stack of case files in front of him as the team settled into their usual seats. The murmur of conversation drifted around the room—Morgan and Emily debating the odds of another late-night call, Penelope slipping a fresh report to Reid, Rossi sipping a coffee that smelled distinctly stronger than the usual bullpen brew.

You entered last, heels clicking sharply against the tile floor as you carried yourself with the effortless confidence Aaron admired. You placed your tablet on the table and glanced around the room, your polished demeanor demanding attention without a single word.

“Before we get into case updates,” you began, your voice calm but firm, “I wanted to bring something to everyone’s attention.”

Aaron leaned back in his chair, already anticipating the shift in focus. You had a way of setting the room’s tone that even Rossi respected, and your next words proved no different.

“As most of you know,” you continued, your gaze sweeping across the team, “the Bureau’s annual holiday party is coming up. And while I’m well aware that the BAU has a reputation for... skipping it, I feel this year it’s important that we all make an effort to attend.”

That got their attention. Emily’s eyebrows lifted, Morgan tilted his chair back with an incredulous grin, and Penelope froze mid-sip of her elaborately decorated coffee.

“Come on,” Morgan said, his tone half-teasing. “You can’t be serious. You know those parties are all stiff handshakes and bad speeches.”

You smiled faintly, unruffled. “I’m very serious, Morgan. This isn’t about the party itself—it’s about the message it sends.”

Aaron noticed the way you paused, your gaze flickering briefly in his direction before continuing. “After the last few years, it’s important that we show the brass that we’re aligned with their expectations. It demonstrates that we care about appearances and that we’re just as invested in maintaining relationships as they are.”

There it was. A subtle but unmistakable reminder of why things between you and Aaron could never be, woven seamlessly into a broader point that the rest of the team couldn’t grasp fully.

Morgan raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You mean to tell me we’re going to this thing to rub elbows with suits who don’t know what we actually do out here?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean,” you replied, your tone calm but edged with authority. “Appearances matter. And it’s our job to ensure those appearances align with the professionalism the BAU stands for.”

Aaron watched as the words settled over the team, their expressions shifting from mild amusement to begrudging understanding. You had a way of cutting through their resistance without belittling them—a skill Aaron had always admired.

“Plus,” you added, a faint smile tugging at your lips, “I’ve been assured the band will be better than last year’s.” You paused. “And an open bar.” 

That earned a soft chuckle from Penelope, who set her mug down with a small shrug. “Well, if it’s formal attire and a better band, I suppose I could make an appearance.”

“Attire is black-tie,” you confirmed, your gaze sweeping the room. “And yes, plus-ones are welcome. But I expect every one of you to be there. No exceptions.”

Emily leaned back in her chair, smirking. “Guess that means we all have to dust off our evening wear.”

“I have a tux,” Reid offered quietly, drawing a chuckle from Rossi.

Aaron remained quiet, his focus trained on you. He could feel the weight of your words—not just the direct ones, but the subtext you didn’t need to spell out. He knew why you were pushing for this, why it mattered so much to you. And he hated that he understood.

As the meeting wrapped and the team began to filter out, you lingered behind, gathering your tablet and a small stack of papers. Aaron stood as well, pausing briefly near the door.

“Formal wear suits you,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You glanced up, your expression unreadable but your eyes betraying the smallest flicker of something softer. “I expect to see you there, Hotchner. On time.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, his tone carrying a faint edge of humor.

But as he left the room, his chest tightened with the familiar ache that came every time he was near you. Formal appearances, aligned expectations—he understood all of it.

But that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

The Bureau’s holiday party was exactly what Aaron Hotchner had expected: polished, overly formal, and steeped in thinly veiled networking. The grand ballroom at the hotel downtown was decorated in muted gold and deep red, elegant but impersonal. A string quartet played softly in one corner, their music adding to the ambiance without drowning out the hum of conversation.

Beth stood beside him, dressed in a sleek black gown that flattered her in every way. Her brunette hair was swept into a low chignon, and her smile was warm as she introduced herself to the occasional colleague who passed by. She looked stunning, and Aaron knew that anyone in the room would agree.

But when you walked in, Aaron forgot how to breathe.

You entered the ballroom on the arm of Jeff from Finance, a name that Aaron had come to resent more than he cared to admit. He was wearing a garish plaid tuxedo jacket that screamed “trying too hard,” and his broad grin made Aaron’s jaw tighten. But none of that mattered—because you were radiant.

Your gown was a deep emerald green, the kind of color that made your eyes seem brighter, your skin glow. It hugged your figure perfectly, the fabric shimmering faintly under the chandelier light as you moved. Your hair, styled elegantly but effortlessly, framed your face in a way that made Aaron’s chest ache. You looked... otherworldly.

Aaron had always known you were beautiful. It was an undeniable fact, one that had never gone unnoticed by anyone who crossed your path. But tonight, you were something else entirely. You weren’t just beautiful; you were extraordinary, like a rare phenomenon that people spend their entire lives waiting to glimpse.

When you stepped into the room, it was as though the world tilted slightly, every sound dulling, every light dimming except for the one that seemed to follow you. Aaron’s breath hitched, his chest tightening as a strange, almost childlike awe settled over him. He felt like a boy again, staring up at the stars for the first time and realizing just how vast and infinite the universe could be.

You were that kind of beautiful. The kind that made time seem to pause, as if the room itself was holding its breath just to take you in. You were the kind of beauty that inspired poetry and music—the kind artists yearned to capture and always failed to do justice.

And in that moment, Aaron finally understood why men wrote poetry, painted masterpieces, composed symphonies, and created entire films in honor of women like you. It was all a desperate attempt to grasp something fleeting, something divine, and pin it to the earth long enough to keep.

It wasn’t just your gown, though the deep emerald green shimmered like it had been made for you, highlighting the curve of your shoulders and the elegance of your frame. It wasn’t just the way your hair fell, soft waves framing your face in a way that seemed almost unfair. It was something deeper, something impossible to put into words.

Aaron felt it in his chest, a deep, aching yearning that he’d never experienced before. It was amazement, pure and unfiltered, like seeing magic for the first time and realizing it wasn’t a trick. It was real. You were real. And yet, you didn’t feel like something he could ever touch.

He couldn’t stop staring, and for a brief, dizzying moment, he didn’t care who saw. The logical part of his mind—the one that always kept him grounded—was overruled by something more primal, more human. How was it possible, he wondered, for someone to look like that? To exist in a way that felt so rare and unattainable and yet so deeply, painfully familiar?

He thought of how easily you commanded the room, not by seeking attention but simply by being. It wasn’t forced, and it wasn’t deliberate. It was just you—this singular, dazzling presence that made everyone around you seem to fade into the background.

Aaron had never felt this way before, not even with Haley. Not even with anyone else he’d allowed into his life. This was something else entirely, something more profound and unsettling. It wasn’t just admiration or attraction. It was belief. Belief in something he hadn’t even realized he’d been missing.

And then he saw Jeff beside you, his tacky plaid suit clashing with the elegance of everything you were. The man who didn’t seem to understand how lucky he was, who treated your presence like a status symbol rather than a gift.

Aaron’s stomach churned, his skin crawling as jealousy flared sharp and unrelenting. He hated it—hated the way it burned, the way it clawed at the edges of his composure.

But what he hated more was the knowledge that he had no right to feel it.

You weren’t his. And yet, watching you from across the room, Aaron couldn’t help but think you never truly belonged to anyone. You were too rare for that. Too extraordinary.

And God, how it ached to know he had let you go.

He forced himself to smile at Beth as she laughed at something Rossi said, but his attention kept drifting back to you. He hated the way Jeff hovered near you, his posture possessive and his grin smug. He hated the way Jeff’s gaudy suit jacket clashed with the elegance of your dress, as though he didn’t understand how lucky he was to be standing beside you.

More than anything, Aaron hated the feeling crawling under his skin—the sharp, searing jealousy that he couldn’t shake. It was worse than anything he had felt before, even when Haley had been unfaithful right in front of his face. This was different.

Haley’s betrayal had stung, yes, but it had been rooted in a relationship that had already begun to fracture. What Aaron felt now was raw and consuming, made worse by the knowledge that he had no claim on you. You weren’t his.

You never would be.

Beth touched his arm gently, drawing his focus back to her. “You okay?” she asked, her voice soft.

Aaron nodded quickly, plastering on a polite smile. “Of course. Just thinking about the week ahead.”

Beth gave him a knowing look but didn’t press further. She turned her attention back to Rossi, leaving Aaron with his thoughts.

He glanced toward you again, catching the way you laughed at something Jeff said. It wasn’t the laugh he remembered—the soft, genuine sound that used to fill his office late at night. This one was polite, reserved, a laugh you gave when you were being kind but not necessarily amused.

It was a small comfort but not enough to quiet the jealousy raging in his chest.

When you caught his eye from across the room, Aaron felt his breath hitch. Your gaze lingered for a moment—just long enough for him to see the flicker of something in your expression before you turned away, a polite smile on your lips as you greeted someone else.

He had made his choice. You had made yours. But standing there, watching you with someone like Jeff, Aaron couldn’t help but feel like he had made the wrong one.

And yet, there was nothing he could do but endure it.

So Aaron turned back to Beth, his expression carefully neutral, and let the music and the hum of conversation fade into the background. But the ache in his chest didn’t go away.

It never did.

Aaron Hotchner stood at the bar, waiting for the bartender to return with his order. The room buzzed with conversation and the occasional burst of laughter, the hum of the holiday party continuing around him like static. Beth was across the room, talking animatedly with one of the Bureau’s administrators, her glass of white wine nearly empty.

He had volunteered to get her a refill, partly because he wanted to give her a moment to network uninterrupted, but mostly because he needed a moment to himself. Maybe Beth would sell a painting or two with the amount of stiff suits in the room thought, he thought. 

The sight of you with Jeff—laughing politely, your hand resting lightly on his arm—was wearing thin on his composure.

The bartender slid a fresh glass of wine and a scotch across the counter, and just as Aaron reached for them, he heard the unmistakable click of your heels behind him.

You didn’t say anything at first. You simply sidled up beside him, so close that he could feel the faint warmth of your body through the fabric of his suit. The scent of your perfume—something soft and alluring, with notes of jasmine—drifted over him, making his pulse quicken.

Aaron didn’t turn his head, but he felt the air shift between you. His grip on the glass tightened as he fought the urge to look.

Finally, you broke the silence.

“I hate you here with her.”

The words were quiet but sharp, cutting through the hum of the party like a knife. Aaron froze, his breath catching as he turned to look at you.

You weren’t looking at him. Your gaze was fixed on the row of liquor bottles behind the bar, your expression calm but your eyes betraying the storm beneath.

He swallowed hard, his voice low and steady. “And you think I like seeing you here with Jeff?”

You let out a soft, bitter laugh, finally turning to meet his gaze. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension between you was palpable, crackling like static electricity in the small space that separated you.

Then you leaned in, so close that Aaron could feel the warmth of your breath against his ear.

“Do you know what I do?” you murmured, your voice almost a whisper. “I imagine it’s your hands on me instead of his. It makes it... easier.”

Aaron’s heart slammed against his ribcage, the weight of your words knocking the air out of him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but stare at you in stunned silence.

You straightened, your expression unreadable but your lips curling into a faint, almost sad smile. “I thought you should know.”

His throat felt dry, his voice caught somewhere between his chest and his mouth. He wanted to say something—anything—but nothing came.

Before he could gather his thoughts, you stepped back, your gaze flickering briefly to his hands, still clutching the glasses. “Your drinks,” you said softly, the faintest hint of something unspoken lingering in your tone.

And just like that, you were gone.

Aaron watched as you crossed the room, your hips swaying, your gown flowing gracefully behind you as you returned to Jeff and the group of section chiefs. You slipped back into the conversation effortlessly, smiling and nodding as though nothing had happened.

But Aaron knew better.

He stood there at the bar, the scotch and wine forgotten in his hands, as the weight of your words settled over him. His pulse still raced, his skin prickling with the memory of your closeness, your voice, your confession.

For a man who had always prided himself on control, Aaron felt anything but. You had shattered the careful walls he’d built around himself, leaving him standing in the middle of a crowded room, completely undone.

Aaron Hotchner sat at the table, his back straight, his hands loosely clasped around the tumbler of scotch in front of him. The room was alive with the sound of music, laughter, and the murmur of conversation, but to him, it all blurred into a distant hum.

Beth was seated beside him, engaged in an animated discussion with Penelope. Her warm laugh punctuated the conversation. Aaron nodded occasionally when prompted, but his focus was elsewhere.

Across the room, you swayed to the slow rhythm of the music, your body close to Jeff’s as he held you gently, one hand on your waist, the other resting lightly on your back. Your head tilted slightly, your cheek brushing the fabric of his shoulder. The two of you moved easily, almost effortlessly, to the soft melody of the band.

And then you looked up.

Your eyes found his across the room, and in that instant, the rest of the world fell away.

Aaron froze, his breath catching in his chest as your gaze locked onto his. There was something in the way you looked at him, something unspoken but deeply familiar, that cut through the noise and the lights and the meaningless chatter around him.

It wasn’t just eye contact. It was a connection—a thread pulled taut between you, invisible to everyone else but impossibly strong.

He couldn’t look away.

Your eyes held his, and in them, he saw everything that words couldn’t convey. Longing. Frustration. A quiet, desperate ache that mirrored his own. It was as though every emotion he’d buried, every feeling he’d suppressed, was reflected back at him in your gaze.

And then there was the tension—the undeniable, magnetic pull that had always existed between you but felt even stronger now. It was intoxicating, overwhelming, the kind of thing that made time seem irrelevant.

Aaron didn’t notice the way his fingers tightened around the glass in his hand or the way his heart began to pound. All he knew was that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you.

You swayed gently in Jeff’s arms, your movements fluid and graceful, but your gaze never wavered. The music, the people, even Jeff himself—all of it faded into the background. There was only you and him, locked in this moment, this silent conversation that neither of you could end.

It wasn’t just attraction, though, that was there, simmering beneath the surface. It was something deeper, something raw and unspoken. It was the weight of every choice you’d made, every boundary you’d set, and every word you’d left unsaid.

Aaron felt like he couldn’t breathe like the space between you was both infinite and nonexistent. It was a cruel paradox—feeling as though you were so close he could almost reach out and touch you, yet knowing you were untouchable, unreachable.

The ache in his chest wasn’t just pain; it was a deep, hollow yearning that he couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t the sharp sting of a fleeting wound—it was the slow, relentless ache of loss. Of knowing exactly what he was missing and yet being powerless to reclaim it.

He missed you in ways that felt impossible to quantify, in ways that crept into his thoughts when he least expected it. He missed your touch—the way your hand had lingered on his arm during late-night conversations, grounding him in moments when he felt untethered. He missed the warmth of your presence, the quiet reassurance that came with simply having you near.

But it wasn’t just the physical things. It was everything about you, the parts of you that no one else seemed to notice or understand the way he did.

He missed your laugh—the genuine, full-bodied sound that lit up a room and chased away the weight of even the hardest days. It was rare, but when it happened, it was like the world itself paused to listen.

He missed your softness—the way you could be so strong, so unyielding in your convictions, and yet offer a kindness that made even the most jaded person feel seen. You had a way of making people believe they mattered, a way of making him believe he mattered.

And he missed your fierceness—the fire in your eyes when you were fighting for something you believed in, the way you carried yourself with confidence and grace, never backing down from a challenge. You inspired him in ways he didn’t even realize until you weren’t there to do it anymore.

Most of all, he missed your presence. That quiet, steady support that had become such a part of his life he hadn’t realized how much he relied on it until it was gone. You were his equal, his match in every way that mattered. And now, you were just... gone.

The ache in his chest deepened as he sat at the table, staring at the empty doorway where you had disappeared. He didn’t just miss what they had shared—the stolen moments, the quiet confessions. He missed you. The person who had seen him at his worst and still stood by him. The person who had understood him in ways no one else ever could.

And as the weight of that realization settled over him, Aaron knew that no matter how much time passed, no matter what choices either of them made, the space you had left in his life would never be filled.

And then, just as suddenly, you broke the spell.

You blinked, your gaze faltering as you looked away, your expression unreadable. Flustered almost. Aaron watched as you gently stepped back from Jeff, your movements deliberate but hurried.

“Excuse me,” you murmured to him, your voice just audible enough for Aaron to hear over the music.

You crossed the room with purpose, your gown flowing behind you like liquid emerald. Aaron’s eyes followed your every step, his heart sinking as you reached your table and grabbed your clutch.

Jeff, caught off guard, trailed after you, his expression confused but compliant. He said something to you, but you barely acknowledged him, your focus entirely on leaving.

Aaron’s gaze lingered on the empty space you left behind, his chest tightening as he watched the two of you disappear through the ballroom’s double doors.

The world slowly returned—Beth’s voice beside him, the hum of the music, the clinking of glasses—but none of it felt real.

Aaron took a slow sip of his scotch, his gaze fixed on the door as though willing you to return. But he knew you wouldn’t.

Because whatever had just passed between you, whatever that moment had been, was too much for either of you to bear.

The drive to Beth’s apartment had been quiet. Too quiet. She had smiled softly at him when he pulled up in front of her building, the warmth of her expression filled with an affection that he knew he couldn’t return—not the way she deserved.

“Do you want to come up?” she asked, her tone light but hopeful.

Aaron hesitated, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. He forced a smile, one that felt more like a grimace. “Not tonight. It’s been a long day.”

Beth studied him for a moment, her disappointment subtle but evident. “Okay,” she said softly, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Drive safe, Aaron.”

He nodded, waiting until she disappeared into the building before exhaling a shaky breath. He should have gone home. He should have driven straight to his house, poured himself another drink, and buried the night in paperwork or sleep.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Aaron found himself driving through the quiet streets, the sound of the city outside his car muffled by the relentless echo of your words in his mind.

Do you know what I do? I imagine it’s your hands on me instead of his. It makes it... easier.

The words played on a loop, relentless and consuming. He could see the way you had looked at him, the softness in your voice, the sadness and longing that mirrored his own. It unraveled him.

He loosened his tie, tugging at the silk knot with a sharp, frustrated motion as if it were choking him. His chest felt tight, his breath shallow, and he couldn’t shake the image of you from his mind—your gown, the way you moved, the way your eyes had locked with his in a silent confession across the room.

He didn’t even notice his speed, the way the city blurred around him as he drove. All he knew was where he needed to go.

When he pulled up in front of your building, he hesitated only briefly. Jeff could be here. That much was obvious. But Aaron didn’t care—not tonight.

He climbed out of the car, his footsteps quick and determined as he approached your door. His heart pounded in his chest, his pulse roaring in his ears, but his mind was clear.

He knocked, his knuckles rapping firmly against the wood.

The seconds stretched endlessly until the door opened, and there you were.

You were wearing a silk robe, its soft fabric clinging to your frame and catching the light. Your hair was loose, framing your face in soft waves, and your expression shifted from surprise to something unreadable when you saw him.

“Aaron,” you said softly, your voice tentative.

“Is he here?” he asked, his voice low and steady, though his chest felt like it might explode.

You blinked, startled by the question, before shaking your head. “No.”

“Good,” he said, stepping forward and into your space.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t hesitant. 

Aaron’s lips crashed against yours, his hands finding your waist and pulling you flush against him as he pushed the door closed behind them with his foot. The kiss was fierce, dominating, raw, filled with all the pent-up tension and longing that had been building for months.

You gasped against his mouth, your hands gripping the lapels of his suit jacket as you stumbled slightly, the force of his kiss pushing you backward. He guided you with purpose, his body pressing yours against the wall just inside the entryway.

His hands moved to your face, his fingers threading into your hair as he deepened the kiss, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the connection. It was raw, desperate, and consuming.

You responded in kind, your hands sliding up to his shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer. The silk of your robe brushed against his suit, the contrast of textures only heightening the sensation.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your chests heaving as you stared at each other.

“Aaron,” you whispered, your voice trembling but laced with something unmistakable—desire, relief, and a trace of vulnerability.

He rested his forehead against yours, his hands still cradling your face as he closed his eyes. “I couldn’t stay away,” he admitted, his voice rough and raw.

You didn’t reply with words. Instead, you pulled him back into another kiss, and Aaron let himself surrender to the moment, the weight of everything else fading away.

For once, nothing else mattered.

Aaron’s breath was ragged as his lips moved against yours, his hands still cradling your face like he was afraid to let go. Every ounce of restraint he’d held onto for so long had snapped the moment you’d opened the door, and now, the thought of stopping felt impossible.

Your fingers curled into the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him closer, and he responded in kind, his body pressing firmly against yours. The silk of your robe was impossibly soft under his hands as he slid them from your face to your waist, his fingers gripping you like he was trying to anchor himself to the moment.

Aaron knew he shouldn’t be here. Knew this was a line he’d promised himself he wouldn’t cross again. But every logical thought dissolved under the weight of your kiss, the way your lips moved against his with a hunger that matched his own.

“God, we shouldn’t—” you murmured against his mouth, your voice breathless but tinged with something desperate.

“I know,” he whispered back, his hands trailing along your sides, feeling the warmth of your body through the thin fabric of your robe. “But I can’t stop.”

Your eyes met his, the intensity of your gaze nearly undoing him. It wasn’t just lust that burned in your expression—it was longing, the same yearning that had been simmering between you for months, the same ache he’d carried every time he saw you.

He kissed you again, deeper this time, his hands roaming up your back as he felt you relax into him. Your hands found the knot of his tie, tugging it loose with a deliberate pull that sent his pulse racing. The silk slipped free, and you tossed it aside, your fingers moving to the buttons of his shirt with a sense of urgency that mirrored his own.

Aaron let out a soft groan as your hands brushed against his chest, your touch igniting a fire in him that he hadn’t felt in years. His mouth trailed from your lips to your jaw, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck as you tilted your head to give him better access.

“Aaron,” you breathed, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, and the sound of it sent a shiver down his spine.

His hands found the sash of your robe, his fingers hesitating briefly as he looked at you, searching your eyes for any sign of hesitation. But there was none—only want, only need.

“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice rough but tender, his forehead resting lightly against yours.

Your answer was clear in the way you pulled him closer, your lips brushing against his as you whispered, “I’m sure.”

The robe slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet, and Aaron’s breath hitched at the sight of you, so beautiful and bare before him. His hands traced the curve of your waist, his touch reverent but firm, as though he was committing every detail to memory.

He kissed you again, deeper and slower this time, savoring the taste of you, the softness of your lips, the way your hands tangled in his hair. The tension between you crackled like electricity, the air heavy with the weight of everything unspoken but understood.

Every touch, every kiss, felt forbidden, a line crossed and recrossed with every passing second. But neither of you pulled away. You couldn’t.

Aaron guided you gently toward the couch, his lips never leaving yours as you moved together. You sank down onto the cushions, pulling him with you, and he let himself get lost in you—the way you smelled, the way your skin felt against his, the way you whispered his name like it was the only thing that mattered.

As his hands roamed over you, exploring, memorizing, Aaron felt a pang of guilt buried beneath the passion. He knew this was dangerous, that there would be consequences. But for now, in this moment, he didn’t care.

Because for the first time in what felt like forever, you were his.

And he wasn’t ready to let that go.

Aaron’s mind was a storm as he pressed you against the cushions of the couch, his lips moving with a ferocity he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in so long. The weight of his body pressed into yours, grounding him in a way that made everything else—Beth, Jeff, the consequences of this moment—fade into the background.

Your hands slid under his shirt, your fingers grazing his skin with a touch that sent shivers through him. He growled low in his throat, pulling back just enough to shrug out of his jacket and let it fall to the floor. His shirt followed, buttons undone hastily by your hands, and he barely registered the faint sound of fabric hitting the hardwood before his mouth was back on yours.

This was wrong. He knew it with every rational part of himself. But it didn’t stop the way he kissed you, dominating, claiming like he was trying to erase the memory of anyone else who had touched you. His hands were everywhere—your waist, your thighs, your back—pulling you closer, needing to feel every inch of you against him.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough, almost a growl. His fingers found your bare skin so inviting. “I’ve wanted this… you… for so long.”

You arched into him, your breath hitching as his lips trailed from your mouth to your collarbone, leaving a scorching path in their wake. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and Aaron felt like he might lose his mind at the way you responded to him.

“Do you know how hard it’s been?” he asked, his voice strained as he paused, his forehead pressed against yours. His fingers grazed your bare shoulder, his touch featherlight but filled with intent. “Watching you, wanting you, knowing I couldn’t have you?”

Your eyes locked with his, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The intensity in your gaze was enough to undo him, filled with the same longing, the same desperation he’d been carrying for months.

“I know,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’ve felt it too.”

That was all it took for Aaron to give in completely. His lips crashed against yours again, his kiss deep and consuming, leaving no room for second thoughts. He shifted, lifting you slightly as he moved you further onto the couch, his hands gripping your hips with a possessiveness he couldn’t hold back.

You were his. At least in this moment, you were his.

His hands roamed over you with purpose, memorizing every curve, every inch of skin he could reach. His lips continued their relentless exploration of your body. He kissed you like he was starving like you were the only thing keeping him alive.

And maybe you were.

The air between you was thick with tension; each movement laced with the weight of everything unspoken. Aaron’s hands framed your face as he paused to look at you, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice soft but intense. “I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.”

You shook your head, your fingers brushing over his jaw as you pulled him back to you. “Stop,” you whispered, your voice trembling but firm. “Don’t say that. Not now.”

Aaron didn’t argue. He couldn’t. The way you looked at him—like he was the only thing in the world that mattered—was enough to silence any doubts. He kissed you again, slower this time, savoring every second, every touch, every sigh that escaped your lips.

It was forbidden. It was reckless. But in that moment, it was everything.

Aaron’s control, the control he prided himself on in every aspect of his life, was slipping through his fingers. His hands gripped your waist as he pulled you impossibly closer, his lips moving against yours with a hunger he hadn’t felt in years—if ever. The feel of your body beneath his was intoxicating, and for once, he allowed himself to surrender to the moment.

But you weren’t passive. No, that wasn’t who you were.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, your nails raking down his back as you shifted beneath him, a movement so deliberate it nearly undid him. You pressed up against him, your strength and confidence matching his in a way that sent his pulse racing.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his breath heavy as his eyes roamed over you. The sight of you—flushed, lips swollen from his kisses, eyes dark with desire—was enough to make his chest tighten.

“You’re not getting away from me this time,” he said, his voice low and commanding, his hands sliding up your thighs as he leaned in close.

You smirked, your fingers tangling in his hair as you tugged him toward you. “I wasn’t planning on it,” you murmured, your voice teasing but filled with intent.

Aaron’s response was immediate. His lips found your neck, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you gasp. He wanted to mark you, to leave a reminder of this moment, of him, as if to stake a claim neither of you would ever admit aloud.

Your hands moved to his belt, the boldness of your actions sending a jolt through him. He let out a low growl, gripping your wrists gently but firmly to still you.

“Not yet,” he said, his tone a mix of command and amusement.

You raised an eyebrow, your expression challenging. “Afraid you can’t keep up, Hotchner?”

That did it.

Aaron’s lips crashed against yours again, his hands sliding up to cup your face as he deepened the kiss, pouring every ounce of frustration, desire, and possessiveness into it. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, drawing a soft moan from you that went straight to his core.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said, his voice rough as he broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours.

You smiled, your fingers trailing down his chest with deliberate slowness. “I think I have some idea,” you replied, your voice low and filled with heat.

The push and pull between you was electric, a constant dance of dominance and surrender that neither of you fully gave into. When you shifted, pushing him back with a surprising strength that only made him want you more, he couldn’t help the low chuckle that escaped him.

“Is that how it’s going to be?” he asked, his hands gripping your hips as you straddled him, your robe slipping fully off your shoulders, completely bare to him. 

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “You don’t mind a challenge, do you?”

Aaron’s grip tightened, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you down against him, his voice a growl. “Not at all.”

The heat between you was overwhelming, the air thick with tension and desire as your lips met his again, both of you fighting for control even as you gave into the pull of each other. It was raw, intense, and unrelenting, a collision of two forces that had been held back for far too long.

Every touch, every kiss, every movement spoke volumes, the unspoken words of longing and frustration spilling out in the way you claimed each other, over and over again.

Aaron had always been a man of control, a man who measured his steps and chose his words with precision. But here, with you, that control was unraveling, slipping away with every kiss, every touch. The months of tension, the stolen glances, the unspoken words between you had built to this moment, and now, neither of you seemed capable of holding back.

Your nails dragged along his chest, leaving faint, red lines in their wake as you leaned into him. He hissed at the sensation, his hands gripping your hips with enough force to anchor himself. Aaron couldn’t stop his hands from exploring, feeling the heat of your skin under his touch.

“You drive me insane,” he growled, his voice rough and strained as he tilted his head to capture your lips again. The kiss was fierce, almost punishing, a testament to the months of restraint that had finally snapped.

You didn’t shy away. You met his intensity with your own, your lips moving against his with a hunger that left no doubt about how much you wanted this—wanted him.

“Good,” you murmured against his mouth, your voice breathless but laced with defiance. “Because you’ve been driving me insane for months.”

Aaron chuckled darkly, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, earning a gasp from you that sent a surge of possessiveness through him. His hands slid down to the backs of your thighs, gripping firmly as he lifted you from the couch effortlessly. The action earned a surprised laugh from you, but it was cut short when he pressed you against the wall, his body pinning yours in place.

“This is mine,” he said, his voice low and commanding as his hands roamed your body. He pressed his lips to your shoulder, trailing kisses down your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re mine.”

Your head tilted back against the wall, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. “Then take me,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of challenge and desire. “If you want me so badly, Aaron, prove it.”

Something snapped in him at your words. His hands tightened on your thighs as his lips found yours again, the kiss rough and consuming, leaving no room for doubt about who you belonged to in this moment. His fingers dug into your skin just enough to leave faint impressions, a silent mark of his claim on you.

Every movement was deliberate, every touch a blend of dominance and reverence. Aaron’s hands slid beneath the loosened fabric of your robe, his fingers exploring every curve, every inch of skin he could reach. 

Your body arched against his, your hands gripping his shoulders as you met him with equal fervor. There was nothing soft or gentle about the way you moved together; it was raw, fierce, a collision of passion and pent-up frustration that neither of you could contain.

“Aaron,” you gasped, his name falling from your lips like a plea, and it undid him. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath ragged as he looked into your eyes, his grip on you firm and steady.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice a growl as he tightened his hold on you.

Your eyes locked with his, dark with desire and unspoken emotion. “Aaron,” you repeated, your voice softer this time but no less commanding.

His lips crashed against yours again, his hands roaming freely, claiming you in every way he could. There was no hesitation, no room for second thoughts—only the overwhelming need to have you, to show you exactly what you meant to him, even if he couldn’t say the words aloud.

He pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes searching yours for any hesitation. What he saw there—desire, longing, and something deeper, more vulnerable—unraveled him completely.

“I need you,” he murmured, his voice low and hoarse, filled with the weight of months of suppressed emotions. “Tell me you want this.”

Your hands cupped his face, your thumbs brushing lightly over his jawline as you looked at him with a gaze that left him breathless. “I’ve always wanted this,” you whispered, your voice trembling but certain.

That was all he needed.

Aaron’s lips crashed against yours, the kiss hungry and all-consuming as his hands slid up your thighs, securing your legs around his waist. He pressed you harder against the wall, the roughness of the plaster against your back contrasting with the heat of his body against yours.

Every touch, every kiss, every movement was filled with urgency, a desperate need to make up for all the time you’d spent denying yourselves this moment. His hands roamed your body, possessive and reverent as if trying to commit every inch of you to memory.

Your hands tugged at the rest of his clothes, pushing them further off him as your lips moved from his mouth to his jawline, trailing kisses down his neck. The soft, breathy sound you made against his skin sent a jolt of electricity through him, his control slipping further.

“Aaron,” you gasped, your voice breaking as his hands moved to the small of your back, pulling you closer.

He groaned in response, his name on your lips undoing him in a way he hadn’t expected. “You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough and raw as his lips found yours again. “No one else’s.”

Your response was immediate, your arms tightening around his neck as you kissed him back with equal fervor. The way you moved against him, the way you whispered his name between gasps, left no room for doubt—you were his, and he was yours.

The tension between you reached its breaking point, the air heavy with the weight of everything unspoken but understood. Aaron’s movements became more deliberate, his hands gripping you firmly as he gave in completely to the moment.

It was raw, intense, and unrelenting, a culmination of months of longing and frustration. Every touch, every kiss, every movement was filled with a passion that left you both breathless, the line between control and surrender blurring as you claimed each other fully.

When he reached between you, he found you wet and wanting. Bucking your hips against his hand. He circled his fingers, warming you up--not that you needed it. Savoring the little responses he got from you. His other hand reached for your breast, caressing and cupping it with achingly slow motions. 

“Aaron!” It was almost a demand, telling him you needed him now. He understood as you pushed yourself up, wrapping one leg around his waist. His pants and belt pooled at his ankles--it wasn’t the most practical scene, but was anything about this situation? 

He entered you swiftly, an open-mouthed kiss with a shared groan between the two of you. Your hands found his hair, tugging on it as your eyes rolled back. His mouth moved to the hollow of your neck, his hands exploring you all at once, but still not enough. 

He imagined the angle was physically more demanding for you as he lifted you, holding you up against the wall, bringing him impossibly deeper now. He rocked into you with a rhythm that was unmatched. The sound of his metal belt buckle shifting on the floor with every swift slap of his hips against yours filled the room.

It didn’t take long for you to reach your peak, basically melting in his arms. It was like a domino effect, taking him down with you. He released deep inside of you, his forehead resting against your shoulder as he groaned your name. 

Something deep was released inside in this moment, too, more emotionally than any sexual release. He knew in this moment he couldn’t not have you again. 

You unwrapped your legs from his hips, the two of you slowly separating with a whimper. 

Aaron held you against him, his forehead resting against yours as both of you tried to catch your breath. His hands remained on your waist, his grip firm but gentle, as if he couldn’t bear to let go just yet.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of what you’d just done hung in the air, but so did the undeniable connection that had brought you to this point.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice low and rough as his fingers brushed lightly against your side.

You nodded, your lips curving into a faint, almost bittersweet smile. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I’m okay.”

Aaron exhaled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as he closed his eyes. For now, in this moment, everything else could wait. For now, there was only you.

The intensity between you had cooled slightly, replaced now by a quiet tenderness that neither of you knew how to navigate. Reaching down, he pulled his boxers, pants and belt back up, leaving them still undone.

The silence was thick, and as Aaron stepped back, his gaze flicked to the disheveled state of both of you. He ran a hand through his hair, his breathing still uneven as the realization hit him like a jolt.

“We didn’t...” he started, his voice low and gravelly. “We didn’t use protection.”

Your lips parted, and for a moment, you didn’t respond. Then, with a softness that caught him off guard, you said, “I know.”

Aaron frowned, confusion furrowing his brow. “And you’re... with Jeff.”

The words tasted bitter on his tongue, but he forced them out, needing to understand. He watched as you turned away.

“We haven’t had sex,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Aaron froze, the weight of your words sinking in slowly. “What?”

You turned to face him, your expression vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to seeing. “I couldn’t,” you said, meeting his eyes. “I couldn’t bring myself to... be with him. He’s—” You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “He’s been an accessory. Something to keep people from asking questions.”

Aaron stared at you, his mind racing. Jeff’s smug comments in the locker room, the way he’d hovered near you at the party—it had all been an act, a performance. You hadn’t been with him. You’d been pulling him along to keep up appearances, just like you’d said.

“I thought...” he began, but his words faltered. He took a breath, running a hand down his face. “You’re with him, and I’m with Beth. Or at least I thought I was.”

You studied him, your eyes searching his face. “Have you?” you asked, the question hesitant but pointed.

Aaron shook his head, his voice quieter now. “No. I haven’t been able to.” His lips pressed into a thin line as he met your gaze. “She’s not... she’s not you.”

For a moment, the weight of that truth hung between you, unspoken but undeniable. Neither of you moved, the air between you thick with something that felt too fragile to name.

Eventually, Aaron stepped forward, his hand brushing against yours before gently taking it in his. “Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

You followed him without a word, the quiet between you more comfortable now, though still heavy with everything unsaid. In the dim light of the small bathroom, Aaron found a clean towel, dampening it with warm water before turning back to you.

He worked in silence, his movements careful and deliberate as he wiped away the remnants of your shared passion. His touch was tender, his fingers brushing against your skin with a reverence that made your breath hitch.

When it was your turn, you took another face cloth, your hands steady but your expression unreadable. You dabbed at his face, his neck, his chest, your fingers lingering just a little too long as if memorizing the feel of him.

Neither of you spoke, the quiet filled only with the soft sound of water and the unspoken tension that neither of you knew how to address. Aaron watched you, his chest tightening as he saw the flicker of vulnerability in your eyes, the way your lips pressed into a thin line as you concentrated on your task.

He wanted to say something—anything—but the words wouldn’t come. So he let the moment stretch, allowing the silence to say what neither of you could.

When you were finished, you folded the towel and set it aside, your hands brushing his one last time before you stepped back. Aaron caught your wrist gently, his touch lingering just long enough for you to meet his gaze.

But still, neither of you spoke.

Instead, you turned away, pulling your robe tighter around you as Aaron let his hand fall to his side. The weight of everything you’d shared pressed heavily on both of you and for now, neither of you had the courage to face what came next.

Aaron stood in the quiet of your bedroom, his hands resting on his hips as he tried to gather his scattered thoughts. The events of the night weighed heavily on him—what they meant, what they would lead to—but before he could sink too deeply into his own mind, you reappeared.

Your silk robe was gone, replaced by his button-up shirt, which hung loosely on your frame, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs. You looked both effortless and intimate, like you belonged in it.

“I missed this,” you said softly, your voice breaking through his thoughts. You smoothed your hands over the fabric, as though savoring the feel of it. “I missed the smell of you. I missed you. Everything about you.”

The words hit Aaron like a punch to the chest, and he exhaled slowly, his throat tightening. He knew the feeling all too well. He had missed you, too—more than he could admit, more than he had allowed himself to feel until now.

You took his hand, your fingers curling around his as you gently tugged him toward the bed. Aaron followed, the quiet intimacy of the moment grounding him even as his heart raced. Removing his dresspants, folding them, and placing them on a chair nearby. 

He sat on the edge of the bed, his body taut with hesitation, but you didn’t let him linger there. You climbed onto the mattress, settling in on your side and motioning for him to join you.

Aaron hesitated for a moment, then slid under the covers, lying on his side to face you. The moonlight spilled through the curtains, bathing the room in a soft, silver glow. It cast delicate shadows across your face, highlighting the vulnerability in your expression as you looked at him.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The quiet stretched between you, filled with the weight of everything unspoken. Aaron’s gaze traced the lines of your face, committing every detail to memory—the curve of your cheek, the softness of your lips, the way your eyes held his with an intensity that made his chest ache.

“Love me,” you whispered suddenly, your voice trembling but insistent. Your fingers brushed lightly against his jaw, your touch hesitant but desperate. “Please, Aaron. Love me.”

The vulnerability in your voice, the way you said the words like they were both a demand and a plea, sent a wave of emotion crashing over him. This was almost uncharacteristic for you. Your presence never demanded attention, yet here you were, asking him to love you. Aaron’s heart twisted painfully, and he reached for your hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“You don’t have to ask me to do that,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I already do.”

Your breath hitched, your eyes searching his as if trying to find the truth in his words. But there was no doubt, no hesitation in his gaze. He loved you—he always had, even when he couldn’t say it, even when it felt impossible.

“But we can’t,” he continued, his voice breaking slightly. “You know that. If we do this, we risk everything—our jobs, the team, the work we’ve both sacrificed so much for.”

“I don’t care,” you said, your voice firm despite the tears shining in your eyes. “I don’t care about any of that, Aaron. I just care about you.”

Aaron closed his eyes, his chest heaving as he struggled to reconcile the conflicting emotions tearing through him. He hated how complicated this was, how the world seemed determined to keep the two of you apart.

“I hate it, too,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I hate how complicated this is, how much we have to give up just to be together. But I can’t lose you. I can’t risk losing everything that makes you... you.”

Your hand cupped his face, your thumb brushing lightly over his cheek as you leaned closer. “Then don’t,” you said, your voice soft but resolute. “Don’t lose me. We’ll figure it out. We have to.”

Aaron exhaled shakily, his forehead pressing against yours as his eyes closed. The thought of giving you up, of walking away from this, was unbearable. And yet, the thought of losing everything you had worked so hard for was just as devastating.

“I’d give it all up,” he murmured, his voice raw with emotion. “The job, the team—all of it. I’d give it up to have you.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of his words settling over you. He had reached a point where he couldn’t even get to with Haley--ready to put the job and whatever else behind him. Then, slowly, you leaned forward, your lips brushing against his in a kiss so soft it felt like a promise.

Aaron kissed you back, his hands cradling your face as he poured everything he couldn’t say into the connection. And as the two of you lay there in the quiet, the moonlight casting its gentle glow over the room, Aaron realized that, for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t afraid of what came next.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room as Aaron woke to the warmth of your body next to his. For a moment, he allowed himself the luxury of forgetting everything outside this space. But the weight of reality settled quickly, and he knew there were choices to be made—choices that couldn’t wait.

You stirred beside him, your head turning slightly on the pillow as your eyes fluttered open. When you looked at him, there was a quiet understanding in your gaze, as though you’d already been thinking about what needed to happen next.

The day was spent in quiet, focused conversation. You sat together at the kitchen table, steaming cups of coffee in front of you, as you laid out the possibilities. Aaron admired your methodical approach, the way you analyzed every angle every consequence, even as he felt the heaviness of the discussion pressing down on him.

“What if we went to the team first?” you suggested your voice steady but laced with uncertainty. “If they’re on our side—if they don’t have any reservations—it might give us the leverage we need when we talk to the Director again.”

Aaron considered your words carefully, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. “It’s risky,” he admitted, his gaze meeting yours. “But it might be the only way to prove that this won’t affect the team’s dynamic. If they can support us, it could make a difference.”

You nodded, your hands wrapped around your mug as you leaned back in your chair. “And if the Director still refuses?”

Aaron’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening with determination. “Then we don’t give him a choice. We go in together and tell him it’s either this—or we both walk.”

The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable. It was a shared understanding of the enormity of what you were discussing. Neither of you had ever walked away from anything lightly, but the thought of giving each other up again was unbearable.

Later, as the day stretched on, the two of you made the decisions you’d been avoiding for weeks. Beth deserved the truth, as did Jeff, no matter how difficult those conversations would be.

Aaron made the visit to Beth first. She was tinged with confusion at his sudden need to talk. He kept his words measured and respectful, explaining that he couldn’t give her what she deserved—that his heart had always belonged to someone else. Beth was hurt but graceful, her acceptance tinged with sadness.

When he returned to the your house later on after also attending to fatherly duties with Jack, you were finishing your call with Jeff. Your expression was unreadable, but the way you let out a soft sigh as you set your phone down spoke volumes. “He didn’t take it well,” you admitted quietly, your fingers tracing the edge of your mug. “But I couldn’t keep leading him on. It wasn’t fair.”

Aaron placed a hand over yours, his touch grounding and steady. “We did what we had to,” he said, his voice low and resolute. “Now we move forward.”

That evening, as you sat together in the quiet, the weight of the day’s decisions settled over you both. The path ahead was uncertain, filled with potential challenges and risks, but for the first time, there was a glimmer of hope.

The two of you had a plan—a united front—and whatever came next, you knew you’d face it.

The BAU conference room felt smaller than usual as Aaron Hotchner stood to the side, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. You were seated at the head of the table, your posture poised but your hands clasped tightly together—a rare sign of nervousness that only someone who knew you well, like Aaron, would notice.

The team filtered in one by one, their expressions curious but light. Emily had a cup of coffee in hand, Derek was chatting with JJ about some recent Quantico gossip, and Penelope trailed behind with a bright, questioning look. Reid sat toward the middle, already flipping through a notepad, and Rossi took his usual spot near the back, his eyes sharp as they scanned the room.

“Alright, what’s going on?” Derek asked, his grin playful as he pulled out a chair and settled in. “This doesn’t feel like our usual meeting vibe.”

You took a steadying breath, your gaze sweeping across the table before landing briefly on Aaron. He gave you a small nod, his expression calm but supportive.

“Thank you all for coming,” you began, your voice steady despite the undercurrent of tension in the room. “I know this isn’t our usual meeting. Aaron and I asked you here because we need to discuss something important—something personal that affects the team.”

The lighthearted chatter died down instantly, replaced by a palpable curiosity and concern.

You continued, your hands tightening slightly around each other as you spoke. “Over the past few months, Aaron and I have realized that we want to pursue a personal relationship. I know this might come as a surprise—or even a concern—to some of you, given our roles and the nature of our work.”

Aaron watched as the team processed your words, their expressions a mixture of surprise, curiosity, and, in some cases, quiet understanding.

You straightened, your tone firm but earnest. “We’ve thought this through carefully. We understand the gravity of this decision, not just for ourselves but for all of you. This team is a family. It’s been my honor to work with each of you, and I don’t take lightly the idea of doing anything that could disrupt that dynamic.”

Aaron stepped forward then, his voice calm and measured as he added, “That’s why we wanted to be upfront with all of you. We respect your opinions, and we’re here to listen if any of you have reservations or concerns.”

There was a beat of silence before Emily leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms with a thoughtful look. “So let me get this straight,” she said, her voice tinged with dry amusement. “The two of you want to be together, but the higher-ups don’t approve?”

You nodded, your gaze steady. “Correct. The Director has made it clear that our relationship is considered inappropriate given our positions. He gave us two options: end it or find roles outside the team.”

JJ frowned, her concern evident. “And what are you planning to do?”

Aaron glanced at you, and you gave a slight nod before he spoke. “We’ve decided to pursue the relationship despite those orders. But we’re not going into this without a plan. We believe the best course of action is to go to the Director with the support of this team. If we can demonstrate that our relationship won’t compromise our work or the dynamic here, it may give us the leverage we need.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Reid asked quietly, his brow furrowed in thought.

You hesitated, and Aaron stepped in. “If the Director won’t budge, we’re prepared to leave. Together.”

That admission hung heavy in the air, and Aaron could feel the weight of the team’s reactions pressing down on him.

Derek leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he let out a low whistle. “Man, that’s a big gamble. But you’ve always been a risk-taker, Hotch.”

Emily smirked faintly, her tone more teasing than judgmental. “Never would’ve pegged you for a rule-breaker, though.”

Penelope, wide-eyed and fidgeting with her bracelets, finally spoke up. “So… does this mean we’re, like, the deciding vote? Because, no pressure, but this feels like a really big deal!”

You smiled faintly, the tension in your posture easing slightly. “It is a big deal, Penelope. But we trust you. All of you. That’s why we wanted to have this conversation first.”

Rossi, who had been quietly observing, finally leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. “For what it’s worth,” he said, his voice calm but firm, “I’ve seen a lot of things in this job. Relationships, breakups, people falling apart under pressure. But I’ve never doubted the professionalism or dedication of either of you. And I don’t see that changing now.”

Aaron felt a flicker of gratitude as Rossi’s words hung in the air, setting the tone for the rest of the discussion.

One by one, the team voiced their thoughts. JJ expressed some concern about how this might look to the brass but ultimately supported you both, trusting your judgment. Reid, after asking a few logistical questions, nodded thoughtfully and said he believed the two of you could handle it. Penelope gave an impassioned speech about love conquering all, which drew chuckles around the table, and Emily and Derek exchanged a look before both offering their backing with only a bit of playful ribbing.

By the end of the discussion, Aaron felt a weight lift from his chest. The team’s support wasn’t just a relief—it was a validation of the respect and trust you had built with each of them over the years.

You stood, your hands resting lightly on the table as you addressed them one last time. “Thank you. Truly. This means everything to us. And I promise, no matter what happens, the integrity of this team will always come first.”

Aaron stepped beside you, his gaze sweeping over the team with quiet gratitude. “We’ll take this to the Director together. And whatever happens, we’ll figure it out.”

As the team began to disperse, Derek clapped him on the shoulder with a grin. “Never thought I’d see the day, Hotch. You breaking rules for love? Guess there’s hope for all of us.”

Aaron chuckled softly, but as he turned to look at you, his expression softened. This wasn’t just about breaking rules—it was about finally choosing the person who made it all worthwhile.

Aaron Hotchner stood in the hallway outside the Director’s office, his hands in his pockets and his gaze steady. The weight of what they were about to do hung heavily between you, but he felt none of the apprehension he might have expected. Instead, he felt a strange calm bolstered by the resolve that radiated from you as you stood beside him.

You turned to him, your expression set but your eyes soft. You had dressed sharply for the meeting, your tailored suit immaculate, projecting the authority you carried so effortlessly. Still, there was something in the way your fingers brushed against his as you reached for him that made his chest tighten.

“You ready for this?” you asked, your voice low but steady.

Aaron looked at you, taking in the determined set of your jaw and the quiet strength in your posture. “With you? Always.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips, and for a moment, the tension between you softened. You stepped closer, your hand resting lightly on his chest as you leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that was both grounding and electrifying.

“Let’s do this,” you murmured against his mouth, and he nodded, his hands lingering briefly on your waist before you pulled away.

When you entered the Director’s office together, the atmosphere shifted. The room was large and imposing, the walls lined with awards and photos that told the story of the Bureau’s successes. The Director sat behind his desk, his expression unreadable as he gestured for you to sit.

Aaron stayed standing beside you as you took the lead, your voice calm and authoritative as you began. “Thank you for meeting with us, sir. We wanted to address the situation between Agent Hotchner and myself directly.”

The Director leaned back in his chair, his hands folded neatly in front of him. “I’m listening.”

Aaron watched as you laid out your case with precision and confidence, detailing how the two of you had handled your relationship with professionalism, how you had sought the team’s support, and how they had expressed their trust in your ability to maintain the integrity of the BAU.

“We understand your concerns, and we don’t take this lightly,” you said, your gaze steady on the Director. “But we also know the value we bring to the Bureau, both individually and as a team. We’re here to ask for your trust, just as we’ve earned the trust of the people we lead.”

Aaron stepped in then, his voice steady but firm. “We’ve always put the mission of the BAU first, and that won’t change. But if this is a line you believe we’ve crossed, we’re prepared to accept the consequences. Both of us.”

The Director’s gaze sharpened at that, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you both. “You’re telling me you’re willing to walk away? Both of you?”

“Yes,” you said simply, your tone leaving no room for doubt. “We believe in what we’ve built here, but we won’t compromise our integrity—or the team’s—by pretending this relationship doesn’t exist.”

The room was silent for a long moment, the weight of your words settling heavily in the air. Aaron could feel the tension coiled in his chest, but he didn’t waver. He stood beside you, unflinching, as the Director considered their ultimatum.

Finally, the Director let out a slow breath; his fingers steepled under his chin. “This is highly irregular. You both know that. The Bureau doesn’t operate on personal exceptions.”

You nodded, your posture unyielding. “We understand that, sir. But losing both of us would be a significant blow to the BAU, especially given our track record and the current demands on the unit.”

The Director’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re asking for a lot.”

Aaron stepped forward, his voice quiet but firm. “And we’re offering a solution. Put us on a review period. Watch us closely. If there are any issues—any compromises to the integrity of the BAU—you’ll have our resignations. No questions asked.”

The Director’s gaze flicked between the two of you, his expression inscrutable. After what felt like an eternity, he leaned back in his chair and exhaled sharply. “Fine. A review period. But understand this: you’ll both be under intense scrutiny. Any sign that this relationship is affecting the team or your work, and it ends. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir,” you said immediately, your voice steady.

Aaron nodded. “Crystal.”

When the two of you left the office, the tension in the hallway was palpable, but it quickly gave way to a quiet sense of victory. You turned to him, your eyes meeting his, and for the first time that day, you allowed yourself a small, relieved smile.

“That went better than expected,” you said, your voice light with a mix of relief and determination.

Aaron chuckled softly, his hand brushing against yours as you walked. “I’d say we make a pretty good team.”

You stopped then, turning to face him fully. The moonlight streaming through the hallway windows cast a soft glow over your face, and Aaron felt his chest tighten at the sight of you—strong, confident, and absolutely unshakable.

“With you?” you said, echoing his earlier words. “We can do anything.”

Aaron smiled, his hand finding yours and giving it a firm, reassuring squeeze. And as the two of you walked away from the Director’s office, united in purpose and resolve, he knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.

Days later, the grand estate was already alive with warmth and light as Aaron Hotchner guided you up the stone steps to Rossi’s front door. The crisp New Year’s Eve air bit at his skin, but it was nothing compared to the warmth he felt when he glanced at you, wrapped in a deep burgundy coat that highlighted the glow in your cheeks.

“Rossi doesn’t do anything halfway,” Aaron remarked quietly, his lips curving into a faint smile as you reached the top step.

“You say that like you’re surprised,” you teased, your eyes sparkling as you met his gaze.

Aaron chuckled softly, his hand finding the small of your back as the door swung open, revealing Rossi himself. Dressed in a sharp suit, his expression was one of genuine delight as he welcomed you both with open arms.

“Ah, my two favorite rule-breakers,” Rossi said with a grin, stepping aside to let you in. “Come in, come in. There’s champagne waiting, and plenty of people to charm.”

The party was every bit as grand as Aaron had expected. Rossi’s expansive living room was filled with colleagues, friends, and family, all dressed in their finest. A jazz quartet played softly in the corner, their music weaving seamlessly through the low hum of conversation.

Aaron scanned the room instinctively, cataloging familiar faces—Emily and JJ chatting near the bar, Penelope gesturing animatedly to Reid, and Derek leaning against a nearby column, his easy grin drawing a small crowd of admirers.

But his focus always returned to you.

You were by his side, your coat now replaced by an elegant black dress that hugged your figure perfectly, the neckline just daring enough to make his chest tighten. You smiled at someone who greeted you, your laugh soft but genuine, and Aaron couldn’t help but marvel at how effortlessly you commanded the room.

“Enjoying yourself?” you asked, tilting your head to look at him as you handed him a glass of champagne.

He took it with a small smile, his fingers brushing yours briefly. “I’d say that depends entirely on you.”

Your lips quirked into a faint smirk, and for a moment, the noise of the room faded, leaving only the quiet connection between the two of you.

As the evening wore on, Aaron found himself drawn to you again and again, his gaze seeking you out even when you were across the room. You had a way of grounding him, even in the chaos of a room full of people, and he felt a quiet thrill every time your eyes met his, a silent understanding passing between you.

When the two of you found yourselves alone on Rossi’s terrace, the night sky stretched out above you, Aaron couldn’t help but steal a moment. The cold air bit at his skin, but the warmth of your presence was enough to chase it away.

“You look stunning tonight,” he said softly, his voice low as he leaned on the railing beside you.

You glanced at him, your smile softening into something more intimate. “You’re not so bad yourself, Agent Hotchner.”

The teasing tone in your voice made him chuckle, but there was an undercurrent of sincerity that made his chest ache in the best way.

The sound of the party spilling onto the terrace broke the moment, and the two of you turned to see Rossi stepping out, his hands raised theatrically.

“Two minutes to midnight, folks!” he called, his grin as wide as ever. “Let’s make it count!”

Aaron glanced at you, his heart pounding as he saw the faint blush on your cheeks. Without a word, he reached for your hand, pulling you gently closer.

“Happy New Year,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm as the first sounds of the countdown began to echo from inside.

“Happy New Year,” you whispered back, your lips curling into a small, private smile as the world around you blurred.

And as the clock struck midnight and the room erupted in cheers, Aaron kissed you, his hand cradling your face as the noise and the cold and everything else faded away. It was just you and him, standing together at the start of something new, something strong.

Together, you could conquer anything.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

[mariasont]

SMILING LIKE A FOOL - A.H

a/n: heyyyy home slices it's me back from the dead! finals are killing me, and this was my procrastination piece. needed to write about my bombshell baby! but surprise she's the one getting flustered this time! gasp!

(for those of you who saw me spell write like right NO YOU DIDNT!!!)

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: um none i think idk friends its been too long since i've done this

wc: 1.8k

The knock was more a formality as you nudged the door open with your hip, juggling a stack of neatly organized files and a coffee cup with a pink heart sticker on the lid (discreet enough that only Hotch should see). Your gaze naturally gravitated to Hotch first, as it often did, lingering just a moment longer than necessary as you offered him a subtle wink. He cleared his throat awkwardly, adjusting his tie as he muttered something inaudible under his breath, his hand half-covering his mouth, though the slight color rising to his cheeks did not go unnoticed by you.

"Hi, good morning!"

You rounded the table, a sway in your step as you approached Hotch's chair. Setting the stack of items in front of him, you leaned in--closer than strictly necessary--your fingertips brushing his shoulder lightly. Your hair, delicately scented with roses, grazed his jawline as you shifted. His posture stiffened, his expression unreadable, though you caught the subtle flare of his nostrils as he inhaled sharply. 

"Sorry for interrupting," you said with a sweet smile that didn't match the glint in your eyes.

You weren't sorry, and the way Hotch's lips pressed into a thin line told you he saw right through the fib.  When he leaned back, almost imperceptibly into your space, his shoulder brushed against your stomach. His muttered thank you was low and gruff, and it almost felt like an admission of defeat. You smirked, basking in the victory of knowing how effortless you could unravel the infamous Aaron Hotchner with just a touch and a perfectly polished smile.

You smiled warmly at the team before straightening, your perfectly styled hair bouncing as you rolled up the sleeves of your sparkly sweater. The conference room was always too warm, and today was no exception. 

"Oh honey, you could never interrupt." Garcia was the first to butt in, followed by a few other sounds of agreement.

"Flattery will get you everywhere."

"Well, hey there, good looking." It was then that Morgan stepped into the room. His eyes sparkled as they landed on you, smile growing wider as he crossed the room. Without missing a beat, he slung an arm over your shoulder like it was second nature. "You feeling better?"

The past week had been a miserable blur of you twisting into every position imaginable to appease a stomachache that refused to budge. The first morning had been the worst--waking up suddenly, barely making it to the bathroom, and sparing Aaron's freshly washed sheets from catastrophe. For a brief, terrifying moment, your mind had spiraled to the possibility of pregnancy. But the nine-dollar test from Rite Aid had quickly put that fear to rest.

Before you could respond, Hotch cut in, "I told her she need to take more time off."

You gave him an exaggerated huff, placing a hand over your heart. "I'm totally fine, pinky promise."

Spencer, frowning slightly, chimed in, "When I asked for more time off to complete my latest paper on cognitive psychology, I had to justify every hour in writing."

Hotch ignored Spencer's grumble of favoritism (that was definitely true), clearly uninterested in entertaining the complaint. His gaze fixed squarely on you, his eyebrow raising as if to say, Go ahead, lie to me.

You edged closer, letting your smile grow sugary sweet. "Oh, don't worry about me, boss man! I have this weird ability to recover from sicknesses super quickly, like magic."

The blatant lie hung between you, and you could see in his eyes that he wasn't buying a word of it. That was part of the fun, honestly. He knew better; after all, he'd been there every step of the way through your so-called recovery. But still, his gaze lingered on you, jaw tightening as he swallowed back his words. He knew that saying too much would tip the scales, and he wasn't about to risk exposing what was to stay hidden. 

In truth, you weren't exactly quick to bounce back from illness--autoimmune disease problems and all--but you didn't mind too much. Not when it meant you got the full Hotch Care Package. You savored the attention and coddling. He held your hair, made you soup, rubbed your feet--all without a single complaint. The man was practically a saint, and honestly, you were tempted to milk it just a little bit longer.

"Hotch can say what he wants, but the rest of us are just glad to have you back, princess." Morgan released your shoulder with a tight squeeze before nodding toward the others. "Hendrick found something on the Anderson case in the lab, wants us to come check it out."

You lingered by the table, watching them file out one by one, leaving behind a trail of disorganized files and lukewarm coffee in their wake. Aaron stayed behind, turning his chair toward you as if he'd been waiting for this exact moment. Once the coast was clear, you hopped up on the table, swinging your legs slightly.

You flashed him a smile, pressing your palms onto the table and leaning in just a little, coking your head to the side as if studying him like a puzzle. He was watching you, of course--he always was. His lips twitched in that way you loved, forming the smallest smile, something that was becoming more and more common these days (which you proudly took credit for).

With a dramatic sigh that was probably a little over the top, you swung your legs around and plopped your high-heeled feet right in his lap.

"You know, Mr. Hotchner," you began, batting your lashes like it was second nature, "skipping the goodbye kiss this morning almost made me forget how much I really love your adorably grumpy face. Are you willing to have that on your conscience?"

Aaron let out a long sigh, gently easing your feet out of his lap, leaving them to swing idly. "You are going to get me in trouble."

You pouted, crossing your arms over your chest, the motion making his gaze linger on your tits before quickly returning to your face. "Well, you're already in trouble with someone."

He raised his eyebrows, pretending to be clueless. "And who might that be?"

You blinked innocently, not aware that it was a rhetorical question. "With me, duh!"

Hotch stood, closing the small space between you, and just like that, your pulse was racing like you were in high school all over again. How did he still have this effect on you? 

"Duh." He was teasing you now. You tried to glare at him, but it wasn't convincing--not with the way you were fighting the urge to grin like an idiot.

"So, are you going to make it up to me, or do I need to find someone else to keep my bed warm tonight?"

You arched a perfectly shaped brow, watching with barely concealed glee as Aaron's jaw tightened and his gaze darkened. He opened his mouth, ready to fire back, but you smirked and pushed further.

"Well, I'm sure Spencer or Morgan would be happy to—,"

You didn't even get to finish before his lips slammed into yours, silencing you with a kiss that made your heart flutter, and your mind go blank--forgetting every word you just said. The kiss was firm, yet urgent, as if he was trying to prove a point. You melted without hesitation, a giggle bubbling from your chest as your arms looped around his neck. His hands steadied you at your waist, and he pulled back, his expression had softened in that way that made him look ten years younger.

Still smiling, you pinched his side. "Mr. Hotchner! We're at work! Tsk tsk!"

Aaron exhaled a deep breath, pressing a fleeting kiss to your cheek. "I'll see you at home."

He straightened up and turned towards the door. You admired the view for just a moment, and you couldn't stop yourself from smiling--who gave him the right to look that hot while walking away? Determined not to be left behind, you quickly clattered after him, heels clicking (and probably echoing obnoxiously) across the floor.

"Also, can we order Chinese tonight?" You called out, pitching your voice a little louder as Aaron's annoyingly long strides widened the gap between you. 

Aaron response was a familiar, low grunt--one of the many unspoken agreements in your relationship that you'd grown to understand. Translation? Yes, dear.

"Oh, wait!" you blurted out, fumbling with your phone as you tried to type out your thoughts before they disappeared like soap bubbles. "And face masks! Can we do face masks? And--wait, wait, wait--The Holiday! Can we watch The Holiday?" 

You were juggling your phone, purse, and wild ideas all at once, scribbling your mental to-do list into your Notes app with one hand while the other flailed in an effort to keep balance. Aaron, still unbothered and impossibly composed, moved ahead like some well-dressed gazelle.

"Wait! I just had another idea--"

Aaron came to abrupt stop. You let out a squeak as you barely avoided plowing straight into his back, his forearm shooting out to steady you just in time. 

"Can we table this conversation for later?" he asked, that stoic voice doing absolutely nothing to hide his fondness for you.

You opened your mouth the protest that this was important, but he cut you off. "But yes--to all of the questions."

You gasped like you'd just won the lottery. "All of them? Even The Holiday?" You wiggled your eyebrows, grinning ear-to-ear. "I knew you loved that movie."

Aaron stopped you before you could say another word, his hand settling lightly on your arm as he leaned just a fraction closer. "No," he murmured, voice dropping low enough to send a shiver through you, "I just love you."

Your cheeks flared instantly, warmth blooming across your face as you blinked at him. "Oh."

Aaron watched you squirm for a moment, clearly enjoying your flustered state, far too smug for someone who'd just dropped the L word at work.

"I've told you I love you, haven't I?" He was teasing, knowing he had said it more times than you could count.

"Yeah, but you've never said it so... so loudly. And at work," you hissed, glancing over your shoulder as if someone might pop out of a closet and catch you.

He arched a brow. "That's loud?"

"For you it is!"

Aaron shook his head, laughing softly as he turned back towards the direction of the lab. "You're too easy to fluster. Go back to work before I decide to really embarrass you."

You were sure you had landed in a different dimension. You? Easy to fluster? 

"Ugh, you're the worst." You pressed your palms to your warm cheeks as you turned on your heel to head back to your desk.

But you were still grinning like an absolute fool the whole way.

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @freyy253 @broadwaytraaaaash @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @crouchingapple @navia3000 @aaronlovesava @bakugocanstompme @pansexualhailstorm @averyhotchner @looking1016 @everythinglizzy @sky2nd @messylxve @alexxavicry @yaykeira @spencerssatchel @candyd1es @storiesofsvu @pleasantwitchgarden @kodzukenmaaa @hiireadstuff @dilflover-3 @spenciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @deadofnight0 @sabmichell @jstcln @just-here-to-read13 @c-losur3 @wondergal2001 @oliver-1270 @ssahotchbabe @savagemickey03 @justanotherbimboslxt @imoonkiss @estragos @khxna @mxriesss @de-duchess @raysmayhem-72

join my taglist here!

[luveline]

Okay, I would love to see an Aaron Hotchner x anemic bombshell!reader (lmao) who gets randomly faint and Aaron freaks <3

“This is oh so difficult,” you say under your breath, a sing-song tone to your voice. You often talk in juxtapositions, unhappy words in silk, cheerful worrying. “This is… stressful.” 

“You don't look stressed,” Spencer says. 

You elbow at him affectionately. “Do I ever? Sweetheart, there's nothing ever so stressful as to wear it on your face. Now come here, you have a pen smudge on your cheek.” 

Hotch could pinch the back of your shirt to stop you, but Spencer holds out a hand to brace you away from him like a disgruntled younger sibling while you laugh and reach for him. 

“Cut it out,” Gideon says. 

“Yes, boss.” 

Hotch turns away from you both to hide his smile. The case is long (as always), difficult (as always), and getting more and more serious as days pass. There hasn't been much time to pause and take stock, and so your playfulness comes at a great time —you need moments of fun like this to stop the weight of the inevitable dragging you down hard.

Your playfulness is unfailing. “So,” you say, quieter now to avoid Gideon’s attention while you lean into Hotch's personal bubble, “what will you make me for dinner?” 

“The same thing I've made you for the last four days.” 

“Ah. Nothing, then.” You tip your head to one side. 

“What?” 

“Nothing. Just feeling kinda weird. I really am hungry, handsome, and you aren't very gentlemanly in letting me starve.” You share a smile. You say everything so particularly, it only serves to endear you to him more and more. It's like… you're just sure of yourself, and in love with the world, and at least a little in love with him. Having you here with him makes the job easier. 

“You're hungry?” he asks, standing up. He expects no answer, nor for you to stand, but you clamber onto your feet quick as anything with wide eyes. 

“I was only–” You pause. 

Hotch can see the moment you lose sight of where you are, that far away gloss to your eyes, the rapid blinking that follows, and your hand thrown out to his too quickly. You grab at his arm roughly and he's crueller in his reaction, grabbing you under the arms with a startled, “Hey.” 

“Is she alright?” Spencer asks, his chair smacking the desk as he stands. 

Your lips pull down into a frown, eyes squeezed closed. He's startled —Hotch didn't even know you could frown outside of a joke. You're feeling that heavy, sudden wrongness that comes with being faint, he'd guess. 

He rides it out with you, holding you tight. After a few moments your eyes peel open, a spark of upset about you that quickly lends to sheepishness. “Oh, sorry,” you say softly. 

“Don't be.” 

You gather your bearings. Hotch moves his hands to a more amicable place on your arms, more to comfort than to hold, while Spencer stands and offers you his bottle of water. 

“She good?” Gideon asks Hotch. 

That perks you up. “I'm always good, sir,” you say, sending a smile at your boss from over your shoulder. “Just flirting with Agent Hotchner.” 

“Did you take your medication?” Hotch asks, cutting the fat of the conversation clean off. 

“Yeah, I never miss it.” 

He is admittedly more concerned about you than one coworker would be for another after a dizzy spell, but you aren't just a coworker. Hotch cups your cheek quickly in his hand to gauge your temperature and deduces from there that it isn't a sickness. 

“You weren't exaggerating about being starved,” he decides. Your iron pills do so much, and you have to do the rest. “Reid, what foods help with anaemia?” 

“Anything rich in iron. Red meat, pork, poultry, dark greens, especially spinach. All kinds of beans,” Spencer reels off. 

“Any of that sounds good to you?” Hotch asks, giving your arm a gentle squeeze. 

You meet his lowbrow with softer eyes, nodding your appreciation. Your lips part to answer him, but you're cut off. “Be quick about it,” Gideon says, glasses slipping down his nose as he turns back to his case file, “we have a lot to do.” 

Hotch buys you a burrito for the iron and a smoothie because you deserve it. You kiss his cheek, and apparently he deserves that for being ‘such a sweetheart’. He doesn't bother pretending he doesn't want it, or the second or third kiss that comes after.

[jacqueline-01]

Late Nights and Lipstick Smudges

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Bombshell!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: ~1k

Summary: After a long day at the BAU, Hotch comes home to the vibrant light of your love—high heels, lipstick, and all.

The sound of the front door clicking shut was the only warning you had before Aaron Hotchner stepped into the living room, still clad in his FBI-issued suit. His tie was loosened but not yet removed, and his sharp features were softened by exhaustion.

“Hey, honey,” you called from the couch, crossing your legs dramatically as you adjusted the hem of your silky robe. A red one tonight—Aaron’s favorite.

His tired eyes lit up at the sight of you, the corners of his lips tugging into the faintest smile. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make your heart flutter.

“Long day?” you teased, twirling a strand of hair around your manicured finger.

He chuckled softly, setting his briefcase down by the door and shrugging off his suit jacket. “You could say that.”

You patted the cushion next to you, your red-painted nails catching the light. “Come here, let me take care of you.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice. In a few strides, Aaron was by your side, sinking into the couch with a heavy sigh. You immediately swung your legs over his lap, your bare skin warm against the cool fabric of his pants.

“Rough case?” you asked, your voice softer now as you reached up to smooth the lines of worry on his forehead.

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment. “Rough, but it’s over. I’m just glad to be home.”

You smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. “Good. Because I missed you.”

His hand found your thigh, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. “I missed you, too,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate.

You couldn’t help but grin, your trademark red lipstick bright against your teeth. “Of course you did. I’m irresistible.”

Aaron chuckled, finally opening his eyes to look at you. “That you are.”

For a moment, the two of you just stayed like that, wrapped up in each other’s presence. The tension in his shoulders seemed to melt away as you traced slow circles on the back of his hand, your other hand playing idly with his tie.

“Let me guess,” you said, your tone teasing. “You didn’t eat dinner.”

His silence was answer enough.

You sighed dramatically, slipping off his lap and standing up. “What would you do without me, Hotchner?”

His eyes followed you as you padded into the kitchen, your robe swishing around your legs. “Starve, probably,” he admitted with a small smirk.

“Damn right you would,” you called over your shoulder, pulling out leftovers from the fridge.

By the time you returned, reheated pasta in hand, Aaron had loosened his tie completely and was leaning back against the couch cushions. He looked more relaxed than he had all day, but his gaze sharpened as you approached.

“What?” you asked, setting the plate down on the coffee table.

“You’re beautiful,” he said simply, his eyes soft as they roamed over you.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, but you masked it with a playful scoff. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Hotchner.”

He reached out, catching your wrist as you moved to sit down. “I mean it.”

For once, the teasing words you had ready on your tongue disappeared, replaced by a soft smile. You leaned down, brushing your lips against his in a kiss that was as sweet as it was brief.

“I know,” you whispered, resting your forehead against his.

The rest of the night passed in quiet contentment, with Aaron finishing the dinner you insisted he eat and you stealing bites from his plate. By the time you both made it to bed, he looked lighter, his smile a little wider, and you couldn’t help but feel proud.

Aaron Hotchner may face the darkest corners of humanity every day, but when he came home to you, you made sure he remembered the light.

[hotchnerfuckmeup]

Masterlist:  May 25, 2017

Someone asked for a rebloggable version of my masterlist, so here is my attempt at making one.  I will try to update this as much as possible!

Spencer Reid One-Shots (smut is italicized): Moon, Stars, and Sun On the Case Files Warm Unprofessional Bombshell Strip Study This Town Spencer Reid Multi-Fics: Falling to Pieces - P1  P2  P3

Aaron Hotchner One-Shots (smut is italicized): Don’t Test Me Honeymoon Make Me Shatter Not So Sneaky (Daughter!Reader) You’re the Boss Bite Me Aaron Hotchner Multi-Fics (smut italicized): Gone -   P1   P2   P3   P4   P5   P6   P7   P8

Derek Morgan One-Shots (smut italicized): Tender Loving Care Pent Up Aggression

Luke Alvez One-Shots: Right Here

Emily Prentiss One-Shots (smut italicized): She’s Wonderful Colorless Rainbow Lucky Ladies Weirdos Behind Tinted Windows (Paget Brewster x Reader) Easy as 1, 2, 3 Now and Forever Lauren

Jennifer Jareau One-Shots: Over Brownies and Wine

BAU One-Shots: They’ll Lover Her

[kiwriteswords]

begs nicely for bombshell reader

In the Margin

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Bombshell!Female Reader||Word Count: 6k

Tags/Warnings: canon-typical themes, flirting, fluff, finance talk, banter, Hotch is a softie for Penelope.

Sypnosis: Aaron Hotchner’s weekly budget meetings with you, the sharp-tongued BAU financial analyst, become an unexpected mix of humor, wit, and simmering tension as professional boundaries blur. Between team antics, Penelope’s creative expenses, and your playful challenges, Hotch finds himself navigating far more than just numbers.

Aaron Hotchner wasn’t sure if he hated the newly implemented weekly budget meetings because they disrupted his already packed schedule or because of you, the BAU’s Operations Department Budget Analyst.

No--that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t that he hated you. It was that he hated how much he didn’t hate you. You were sharp-tongued, confident, and armed with a wit so quick it could cut him to ribbons before he even knew he was bleeding. It didn’t help that you looked like you belonged on a movie set rather than in a conference room dissecting every penny spent by his team.

He adjusted his tie as he entered the room. You were already seated at the head of the table, a tablet in front of you and a pen in hand, tapping it rhythmically against the desk as you scanned a detailed report. He knew that was meant for him. It was always meant for him.

“Good morning, Agent Hotchner,” you greeted without looking up. “Let’s talk about how your team managed to burn through three months of budget in--oh, a month and a half.” Your eyes finally met his, and the smile you gave him could only be described as predatory.

“Good morning, Miss. Y/L/N.” He placed his briefcase on the table and sat across from you. “I see we’re getting right into it today.”

“Well, Aaron”—and wasn’t that a bold move? Using his first name like that—“I’d love to make small talk, but someone”—you leaned forward conspiratorially, voice dropping as if this was the world’s biggest secret—“decided we needed to order customized iPad cases last month. For everyone. Including” You looked back down to the itemized invoice,"‘Penelope Garcia’s-second-backup-iPad.’”

Hotch rubbed a hand over his face. “That would be Garcia,” he said dryly.

You laughed, and the sound was like a reward he didn’t know he was aiming for. “Oh, Aaron. It’s always Penelope, isn’t it?”

The meetings became a staple of his week, though not by choice. What had started as a quarterly formality became a monthly necessity when you joined the department and discovered Penelope’s propensity for colorful, extravagant expenditures. But the kicker came two months ago, when Penelope had gone rogue with the budget to fund her “absolutely vital” initiative to replace paper case files with digital ones—complete with the max amount of storage, of course. You’d retaliated by instituting weekly budget reviews.

“She knows,” Hotch told Penelope one afternoon in her lair. “She knows it was you.”

Penelope gasped dramatically. “How does she know? Wait—does she have surveillance on me? Did she bug my office? Tell. Me. She didn’t bug my office.”

“She didn’t bug your office, Garcia,” Hotch said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She knows because you send her invoices.”

Penelope frowned. “But those were justified expenses!”

“She’s not convinced.” Hotch sighed. “Neither is the finance department.”

“Well, maybe if she’d loosen up a bit—”

“She’s very loose, Garcia,” Hotch muttered before realizing how that sounded. Penelope’s grin was instant, and Hotch scowled. “Don’t.”

“I’m just saying,” she teased, “you’ve been spending a lot of time with Miss. Y/N Y/L/N. Maybe you like these meetings more than you’re letting on.”

He left her office before she could get another word in.

The meetings evolved into more than budget disputes. You had a way of challenging Hotch that nobody else did. You questioned his decisions—not about cases, but about expenses. You turned a dry meeting into something that felt like a battle of wits, and despite himself, Hotch found he didn’t mind the sparring.

“So, tell me,” you said during one particularly contentious meeting, “why does Penelope need a beanbag chair? Let me guess—‘it fosters creative thinking.’”

Hotch cleared his throat; his years of being quick on his feet as a lawyer somehow always did him good when it came to defending Penelope’s spending. “She has unique requirements for her workspace.”

“Unique, huh?” You leaned back in your chair, crossing your legs, and Hotch caught himself looking before he forced his gaze back up. “And the collection of...neon gel pens? Also, a unique requirement?”

“She…has a system.”

You laughed again, and Hotch felt the corners of his mouth twitch. He’d smiled more in these meetings than in most social situations, not that he’d admit it.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you said casually, pointing your pen at him, and Hotch stiffened. You were already standing, gathering your papers. “Meeting adjourned. See you next week, Aaron.”

It wasn’t until two months into weekly meetings that things finally shifted.

You caught him in the break room late one evening, well after everyone else had gone home. “Aaron,” you greeted, leaning against the counter with a mischievous glint in your eye. “Did you know your coffee expenses are also over budget?”

Hotch turned, mug in hand. “Should I expect an itemized report on my caffeine consumption?”

You smirked. “Already on your desk.”

The air between you crackled, and for the first time, Hotch saw something beyond the wit and the barbs. He set his mug down and stepped closer, his voice low. “You enjoy giving me a hard time.”

You tilted your head, smiling. “And you enjoy taking it.”

“Do I?” he challenged.

“Don’t you?” you shot back, and the look in your eyes was enough to make him question every professional boundary he’d ever adhered to.

He took another step closer, close enough that he could see the faint trace of amusement in your expression. “This feels like it’s about more than the budget.”

“It definitely is,” you said, your voice softer now. “Maybe I think you could use a little…loosening up.”

Hotch let himself smile just a little. “And you think you’re the person to help me with that?”

You grinned, pushing off the counter and brushing past him, close enough that he caught the faintest hint of your perfume. “I know I am.”

The budget meetings continued, but now, the tension between you and Hotch wasn’t just professional. It simmered, unspoken but palpable, until it was only a matter of time before one of you crossed the line.

And Hotch couldn’t wait to see who would make the first move.

Hotch had a long day ahead of him. Between case briefs, team check-ins, and the weekly budget meeting you’d so gleefully instituted, he felt like the universe was conspiring against him. It didn’t help that Penelope Garcia had texted him earlier with an ominous, “Sir! Big news! You’ll thank me later.”

When he stepped into the bullpen, the team was gathered around Penelope, who stood in the center like a magician about to unveil her latest trick.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she announced, waving her hands dramatically, “I give you the latest and greatest tech upgrade to grace the halls of the BAU!”

Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose as the team collectively oohed and aahed over the sleek new monitors now adorning every desk.

“Garcia,” he said, his tone low and measured, “please tell me this was approved through the appropriate channels.”

Penelope turned to him with a smile so wide it could only mean trouble. “Of course it was, sir!” Then, after a beat, she added, “I mean, I may have pulled a few strings. But can you really put a price on efficiency and team morale?”

Rossi, seated casually nearby, chimed in. “I’ll admit, it’s a nice touch. Maybe next month, you can swing for some leather chairs in the conference room. The kind that recline.”

Hotch shot him a withering look. “Don’t encourage her.”

Penelope pouted. “Come on, Hotch! You know these upgrades are totally needed. Plus, they match my aesthetic.” She gestured to her own office.

He sighed. “You know who’s going to have to explain this, don’t you?”

Her grin didn’t waver. “That’s why you’re the boss.”

Later, Hotch found himself standing outside your office, mentally preparing for the inevitable. When he knocked, you barely looked up from your screen. “Ah, Aaron,” you said, your voice dripping with mock sweetness. “What brings you to my humble lair? Let me guess—Penelope strikes again?”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “You heard?”

“I always hear.” You gestured to the chair across from your desk. “Sit, and tell me why I shouldn’t slash your team's budget to nothing.”

Hotch sat, rubbing his temples. “She upgraded the monitors.”

Your laughter filled the room, light and musical. “Monitors? Really? Did she bedazzle them too?”

“She might have,” he muttered. “Look, I know it’s excessive, but the team…they rely on her. She keeps things running smoothly.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Running smoothly or running through money?”

Hotch gave you a flat look, which only made you grin wider.

“Alright, Aaron,” you said, leaning forward. “Here’s the deal. We can refinance a few line items. Maybe cut back on travel expenses for conferences nobody attends. But I need you to do me a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” he asked warily.

You tapped your pen against your desk, pretending to consider. “How about you keep coming to these meetings on time? And,” you added with a smirk, “try not to look so grumpy when you do.”

Hotch’s lips twitched, threatening a smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The next meeting was no less contentious, but there was a new edge to the banter.

“You really went to bat for Penelope this week,” you said, flipping through your notes. “Is she holding something over you? A dark secret, perhaps? Did she catch you sneaking an extra slice of cake at Rossi’s last party?”

Hotch gave you a pointed look. “She’s an integral part of the team.”

“And I’m sure the sparkly monitor really enhances her skillset,” you quipped. “What’s next? A gold-plated stapler?”

“Don’t give her ideas.”

You laughed, and he found himself staring at the way your eyes lit up when you did. It was distracting. You were distracting.

“So,” you continued, turning serious, “how do you propose we make this work? I’ve crunched the numbers, and unless you want to start holding bake sales, something’s gotta give.”

Hotch straightened in his chair. “Rossi suggested cutting back on the print subscriptions.”

“Oh, no,” you said, feigning horror. “What will he do without his monthly shipment of Fine Living Magazine?”

Hotch sighed. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Maybe,” you admitted. “But only because you make it so easy.”

As the weeks went on, the tension between you and Hotch became undeniable. The banter turned sharper, the lingering glances longer, the air in those meetings thicker with something unspoken.

It all came to a head late one evening, long after everyone else had gone home. Hotch was leaving his office when he saw your light still on. Against his better judgment, he knocked and stepped inside.

“Still working?” he asked.

You glanced up, surprised. “Someone’s gotta keep the lights on.”

He closed the door behind him. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

“Is that an offer to help?” you asked, leaning back in your chair. “Because I could use a second set of eyes on these reports.”

Hotch stepped closer, the tension crackling between you like static electricity. "You’re good at what you do. The team is lucky to have you.”

For once, your usual smirk faltered. “Thanks, Aaron.”

The silence stretched, heavy with possibility. Then you smiled again, playful and challenging. “Careful, Hotchner. If you keep talking like that, I might start thinking you actually like me.”

He let out a rare laugh, low and genuine. “Maybe I do.”

Your eyes widened slightly before you recovered, your grin turning sly. “Well, that’s a start.”

The next budget meeting arrived with its usual dose of tension—and not just the financial kind. Hotch entered the conference room early, a strategic move to reclaim some semblance of control. You were already there, of course, seated at the head of the table, the tablet glowing in front of you.

“Early today,” you said, glancing at your watch with mock surprise. “Did someone finally read my strongly worded emails about punctuality?”

"I'm always on time, and I always read your emails,” he replied dryly, taking his usual seat across from you.

“Sure you do,” you said, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “That’s why you never respond.”

“I’m busy running a team of federal agents.”

“And yet somehow Penelope has time to order monogrammed pen holders.”

Hotch sighed, his hand already moving to rub at the bridge of his nose. “You’re never going to let that one go, are you?”

“Not a chance, Aaron.”

The meeting was halfway through when Penelope barged in, her presence as colorful as ever.

“Sir!” she chirped, holding a bright pink folder that screamed unnecessary expense. “Quick update—I managed to upgrade the entire team’s software licenses. State of the art, cutting-edge, only the best for my BAU fam.”

Hotch stared at her, his mouth a thin line. “Garcia, we discussed this.”

“I know!” she said, beaming. “That’s why I made sure to get a bulk discount. I saved us 12%.”

You leaned back in your chair, biting your lip to stifle a laugh. “Twelve percent? Wow, Aaron, she’s practically a financial wizard.”

Hotch glared at you. “Don’t encourage her.”

“I’m just saying,” you continued, “with savings like that, we’ll be out of the red in no time. What’s next, Penelope? A popcorn machine for movie nights in the bullpen?”

“Oh my God,” Penelope gasped, her eyes lighting up. “That’s genius. The camaraderie…I—”

“No,” Hotch said firmly. “Absolutely not.”

Penelope pouted, but she left without further incident. As soon as the door closed, you turned to Hotch, eyes gleaming with amusement.

“She’s incredible,” you said, shaking your head. “Completely unhinged--but incredible.”

“She’s a lot of things,” Hotch muttered. “Mostly expensive.”

“And you,” you added, grinning, “are such a softie for her.”

Hotch scoffed, leaning back in his chair, but the slight upward twitch of his lips betrayed him. “Softie? I’m her supervisor, not her enabler.”

You laughed, a low, melodic sound that Hotch had come to recognize as the precursor to trouble. “Please. You bend over backward for her, and we both know it.”

“She’s part of my team,” he replied evenly. “It’s my job to advocate for them.”

“Advocating for a new monitor system with glitter decals?” you teased, leaning forward slightly, your grin widening. “Aaron, that’s not advocacy—that’s indulgence. She's like your team's equivalent to 'happy wife, happy life.'"

Hotch crossed his arms, his stoicism cracking just enough to let his dry humor slip through. “I’d call it picking my battles.”

“Oh, really?” you shot back. “And what battle are you avoiding by letting Penelope order custom beanbag chairs?”

His lips pressed into a thin line, but you caught the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Do you know what happens if I say no to her?”

“I can only imagine,” you said, leaning your chin on your hand. “Please, enlighten me.”

“She gets creative,” Hotch said gravely. “Very creative. The last time I vetoed one of her purchases, she launched a campaign with color-coded charts and heartfelt video testimonials from the team about how much they needed a slushie machine in the bullpen.”

Your laughter filled the room again, and Hotch let the corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly. “A slushie machine? You’ve got to give her credit—that’s bold....and random.”

“She called it a ‘hydration initiative,’” he deadpanned.

You leaned back, shaking your head in disbelief. “You are such a softie.”

“I’m pragmatic,” he corrected, his tone firm but not unkind. “It’s easier to approve the monitors than to explain to Strauss why there’s a PowerPoint presentation titled ‘Ice-Cold Justice.’”

You clapped a hand over your mouth to muffle your laughter, and Hotch found himself momentarily distracted by the way your eyes sparkled with amusement. It wasn’t often he let himself relax enough to notice those things, but with you, it was becoming harder to keep the line between professional and personal intact.

“And yet,” you finally said, regaining your composure, “you’re here, pleading her case to me instead of just putting your foot down.”

“She has her merits,” he admitted, his voice softening just enough to remind you why people followed him so loyally. “The work she does is critical. Even when it’s…excessive.”

“See? Softie,” you said triumphantly, pointing your pen at him. “You can’t fool me, Hotchner. You’re all gruff on the outside, but deep down, you’re just one big teddy bear.”

“I’m not sure that’s how the rest of the Bureau would describe me,” he replied dryly.

“Well,” you said, leaning forward with a sly smile, “the rest of the Bureau doesn’t get to see you begging for beanbags.”

He gave you a long, measured look, and for a moment, the air between you seemed to shift. “I don’t beg.”

“No?” you challenged, raising an eyebrow. “What would you call this, then?”

“I’d call it negotiation,” he replied, his voice low but steady. “And if you’re not careful, I might actually win.”

Your grin widened. “Now that I’d like to see.”

Hotch allowed himself a small smirk, the kind that was so rare it felt like a reward in itself. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Oh, Aaron,” you said, leaning back in your chair, your tone playful and just a little daring. “I live to tempt you.”

For a brief moment, the tension crackled, sharper than the wit you both wielded like weapons. Then you straightened, tapping your pen against the table as if to signal the end of the moment.

“Alright, Mr. Softie,” you said lightly, “I’ll see what I can do about those monitors. But don’t think this means you’re getting that cappuccino machine Rossi asked for.”

Hotch stood, smoothing his tie as if to regain his composure. “One victory at a time.”

As he turned to leave, you called after him, your voice laced with amusement. “Don’t forget to tell Penelope her beanbags are still on the chopping block.”

He paused at the door, glancing back at you with a look that was almost fond. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

By the time Hotch left the meeting, he felt thoroughly defeated. You had grilled him on every expenditure, from coffee pods to the mysterious disappearance of two office chairs. You’d teased him mercilessly, of course, but you’d also offered solutions, which only made you more infuriatingly attractive.

Later that afternoon, Rossi cornered him in his office.

“Aaron,” Rossi began, settling into the chair across from his desk. “I have a proposition.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Not at all,” Rossi said smoothly. “I’ve been re-thinking about how to improve morale around here. You know what we need? A cappuccino machine. The kind they have in those fancy Italian cafes.”

Hotch blinked. “A cappuccino machine. We talked about this. We have coffee in the break room.”

Rossi looked hurt by Hotch's definition of coffee. “That isn’t coffee. This is an investment in productivity. Caffeine keeps the team sharp.”

“You’re serious.”

“Completely.”

Hotch exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “You do realize I have to explain this to Y/L/N?”

Rossi grinned. “You’re good with words. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

That evening, Hotch found himself in your office again, this time with what he knew was a losing argument.

“A cappuccino machine?” you repeated, arching an eyebrow. “Is that really where we’re at again?”

“Rossi insists it’s for team morale.”

You laughed, leaning forward on your desk. “Aaron, if I approve this, what’s next? A hot tub in the break room? A second private jet for local cases?”

He gave you a long-suffering look. “I wouldn’t put it past Rossi to suggest either of those.”

Your laughter bubbled out again, and a small smile that tugged at Hotch’s lips. “You’re impossible,” he muttered.

“You mean brilliant,” you corrected, your tone playful. “Come on, admit it—you love these little matches.”

Hotch hesitated, just long enough for the moment to stretch between you. “I do.”

Your smirk softened into something more genuine. “Well, don’t get too comfortable, Hotchner. You might actually win one of these someday.”

“And if I do?”

Your grin turned sly again. “Guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

The tension between you and Hotch simmered like an unsaid promise, lingering in the spaces between your words and the way your eyes lingered just a beat too long. It wasn’t until another late night when the office was quiet and the shadows stretched long, that Hotch found himself once again at your door.

“You know,” you said as he stepped inside, “if you keep showing up here after hours, people are going to start talking.”

“Let them,” he said, surprising himself with the bluntness of his response.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back in your chair. “That sounded suspiciously like flirting.”

“Did it?”

You smiled, slow and dangerous. “It did. And for the record, Aaron, I don’t mind.”

For once, Aaron Hotchner didn’t have a retort. Instead, he let the silence speak, the weight of it filled with possibilities he hadn’t dared entertain before.

And when you smiled at him again, he thought that maybe—just maybe—this was the start of something worth breaking the rules for.

Hotch stood frozen in the doorway for a moment longer than necessary, your words echoing in his mind. “For the record, Aaron, I don’t mind.”

He cleared his throat, stepping fully into your office and closing the door behind him. It wasn’t often that Aaron Hotchner found himself at a loss for words, but there was something about you—your sharp tongue, your disarming wit, the way you looked at him like you knew exactly what you were doing—that threw him off balance.

You leaned back in your chair, studying him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “What brings you here this time? More cappuccino machine negotiations? Or did Rossi decide the bullpen needs a wine fridge?”

“Neither,” he said, his voice steady but quieter than usual. “I wanted to talk.”

“Oh, talk,” you said, your lips curving into a playful smile. “That sounds serious.”

“It is,” he admitted, surprising himself again with his own candor.

You arched an eyebrow, tilting your head slightly. “Alright, Aaron. You’ve got my attention. What’s on your mind?”

He hesitated, not because he didn’t know what to say, but because he wasn’t sure how far he was willing to let this go. The boundary between professional and personal was already blurred; one more step and it might vanish entirely. And yet, as you sat there watching him with that sly, confident smile, he found he didn’t care as much as he should have.

“You,” he said finally, the single word weighted with more meaning than he intended.

Your smile faltered for just a second, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. Then it was back, brighter and sharper than ever. “Well, that’s unexpected. Flattered, of course, but unexpected.”

He allowed himself a small smile, stepping closer to your desk. “I doubt anything surprises you.”

“Not often,” you admitted, leaning forward slightly. “But I’ll admit, I didn’t peg you as the type to make the first move.”

“Who says this is a move?”

You laughed, the sound warm and low. “Oh, Aaron. If this isn’t a move, then I’m very curious to see what one looks like.”

He didn’t answer right away, letting the silence hang between you like a challenge. Finally, he leaned forward, placing his hands on your desk, and met your gaze head-on.

“What if I am making a move?” he asked, his voice steady but tinged with something that made your breath catch.

For the first time since he’d met you, you seemed genuinely caught off guard. Your confident smirk wavered, replaced by a flicker of something more tentative. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, and it struck him in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

“Well,” you said after a beat, your voice quieter than before. “In that case, I’d say it’s about time.”

His heart thudded once, hard and unexpected, and for a moment, he forgot where he was. Forgot who he was. All he could think about was how close you were, how easy it would be to reach across the desk and close the distance.

But then you leaned back, your smile returning with a hint of mischief. “Of course, if this isn’t a move, I’d hate to embarrass myself.”

“Consider yourself safe,” he said, straightening but not stepping back. “For now.”

Your laughter filled the room again, light and teasing. “Careful, Aaron. I’m thinking you actually enjoy these little games.”

“I do,” he said, surprising himself once more with his honesty.

You tilted your head, studying him with a newfound intensity. “Well, in that case, I’ll make sure to keep things interesting.”

As he left your office that night, the air between you charged with unspoken tension, Aaron Hotchner realized something he hadn’t allowed himself to consider before: he wasn’t just drawn to you because of your sharp wit or your undeniable charm. He was drawn to you because you made him feel something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Alive.

The roundtable room was unusually quiet when Hotch gathered the team for an impromptu meeting. That should have been his first clue. They were always at their most dangerous when they were waiting for the hammer to drop.

“All right,” he began, standing at the head of the conference table. “We need to talk about the budget.”

Rossi leaned back in his chair, a smirk already forming. “This is about the cappuccino machine, isn’t it?”

“It’s not about the cappuccino machine,” Hotch said firmly. “Though that’s still off the table.”

“Good thing I didn’t submit the requisition for the margarita blender,” Morgan muttered, earning a stifled laugh from JJ.

Hotch gave him a pointed look before continuing. “We’ve been asked to cut back on end-of-year expenses. That means scaling back on travel accommodations for the next few cases.”

“Scaling back how?” Prentiss asked, her tone cautious.

“Fewer hotels,” Hotch said. “We’ll have to bunk up where possible.”

There was a collective groan around the table.

“Bunk up?” Garcia appeared in the doorway, her dramatic gasp signaling she’d overheard. “Do you mean to tell me we, the esteemed agents of the BAU, are being reduced to sharing rooms? What is this, a slumber party?”

“Garcia, you rarely travel with us. Would it kill you to share a room with JJ or Emily for a few nights, if and when you do?” Hotch asked, his tone dry.

“It’s not about me, sir,” Garcia replied, clutching her chest like he’d wounded her. “It’s about the principle. We’re public servants, heroes even. Heroes deserve better than twin beds and bad room service.”

“Twin beds?” Reid asked, looking genuinely horrified.

Morgan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Come on, Hotch. We all know you’ve got an in with Y/N in finance. Can’t she pull some strings before Garcia does?”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, but he kept his expression neutral. “Y/N is doing her job, just like the rest of us.”

“Oh, is that what they’re calling it now?” Rossi said with a grin, earning a ripple of laughter from the team.

“Funny,” Hotch deadpanned. “But unless any of you have a better solution, this is how it’s going to be.”

“Sure, sure,” Morgan said, his grin widening. “But if anyone could sweet-talk Y/N, it’s you, Hotch. You’ve got that whole brooding, stoic charm thing going for you. She loves that.”

“I’m not sweet-talking anyone,” Hotch said, his tone clipped.

“Really?” Prentiss chimed in, raising an eyebrow. “Because rumor has it you’ve been spending a lot of time in her office lately.”

“That’s called managing the budget,” Hotch replied evenly, though his ears felt uncomfortably warm. “The budget we keep going over. Which is what I’m trying to do right now.”

“Right,” JJ said, her voice full of mock seriousness. “Managing the budget.”

The laughter around the table grew louder, and even Garcia joined in with an exaggerated wink.

Hotch sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This conversation is over.”

“But the bunking isn’t,” Rossi said, still grinning. “Good to know.”

Later, Hotch sat across from you, his tie slightly loosened after the long day. The hum of your sarcasm was already in the air, a comfort he’d never admit aloud.

“Back so soon?” you asked, glancing up from your tablet. “What’s the crisis this time? Let me guess—the team didn’t take kindly to the budgeting suggestion?”

“They had…questions,” Hotch replied, his tone dry. “And commentary.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you said, smirking as you leaned back in your chair. “Let me guess: Rossi wants to requisition a wine fridge instead of a cappuccino machine? Garcia--who if I remember correctly doesn’t even travel with the team--staged a protest? Or did Morgan suggest you charm me into pulling some strings?”

Hotch blinked, caught momentarily off guard. “Actually, yes. That’s almost word for word what he said.”

You laughed, the sound warm and far too satisfying. “I knew it. The whole team thinks I’m your budgetary fairy godmother, don’t they?”

“They’re not subtle about it,” he admitted, leaning forward slightly. “And if I’m honest, they’re starting to have…suspicions.”

Your eyebrows lifted, your smirk turning into a full-blown grin. “Oh, suspicions, huh? About what exactly?”

“That I might have an ‘in’ with you,” he said, his tone measured but carrying a hint of something wry. “And that I use it to get my way.”

You tilted your head, resting your chin on your hand. “Well, you do have an in with me, Aaron.”

“I do?” he asked, raising a brow.

“Mm-hmm,” you said, your grin widening. “You come in here all brooding and stoic, with that deep voice and those puppy-dog eyes, and I’m supposed to say no to you? Please.”

He let out a rare chuckle, low and brief. “So you’re saying you find me…persuasive?”

“I’m saying I find you irritating,” you replied, though the teasing lilt in your voice betrayed you. “But occasionally charming.”

“Occasionally?” he repeated, quirking an eyebrow.

“Don’t push your luck,” you said, though your smile hadn’t wavered. “Now, what exactly are you hoping I’ll do?”

Hotch straightened, slipping back into his professional demeanor. “The travel budget is tight. We need to cut back on some of the accommodations for the next few cases. If there’s any room to reallocate funds or find efficiencies, I’d like your input.”

You studied him for a moment, your pen tapping against the desk. “You know,” you said finally, “you could’ve just sent an email. But you didn’t, which means you wanted to have this conversation in person.”

“Maybe I thought it would be more effective,” he said, his voice steady.

“And maybe,” you said, leaning forward with a sly smile, “you just like spending time with me.”

Hotch’s gaze held yours, the tension between you thick enough to cut. “Maybe the team isn’t wrong to have their suspicions.”

That caught you off guard, and for the briefest moment, your confident grin faltered. Then you recovered, your smile turning soft around the edges. “Well, if you’re going to keep coming to me, Aaron, I guess I’ll have to live up to their expectations.”

“So you’ll help?” he asked, his voice quiet but steady.

You rolled your eyes, though your grin didn’t fade. “Of course, I’ll help. But only because I’d hate for Garcia to have to share a room on the rare chance she joined you on a trip. Can you imagine the drama?”

Hotch stood, his lips curving into a rare, genuine smile. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” you said, your tone playful. “I might make you owe me one.”

He paused at the door, glancing back at you. “I think I already do.”

Your laughter followed him out, and Hotch didn’t mind giving up a little control.

The next few weeks blurred into a whirlwind of cases, budget meetings, and what Hotch could only describe as a game of mutual teasing with you that he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to win. The team’s jabs about his “in” with you only got more relentless, but the truth was, they weren’t wrong. He found himself seeking out your company more often than he’d care to admit, and not just because of budgetary crises.

One evening, well after most of the team had gone home, Hotch walked into your office to find you perched on the edge of your desk, heels kicked off, and a pen tucked behind your ear as you typed furiously on your tablet.

“You work too much,” he said by way of greeting, leaning casually against the doorframe.

You glanced up, smirking. “Says the man who just came from his own office. What brings you here, Aaron? More budget drama? Or are you just here for the company?”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “Would it be so bad if it were both?”

Your eyebrows lifted in surprise, but the smile that followed was slow and dangerous. “Well, well. Are you finally admitting that you like me?”

He hesitated for half a second before replying, his voice low but steady. “I think you already know I do.”

That made you pause. Your usual sharp wit seemed momentarily replaced by something softer, something vulnerable, before you quickly masked it with your trademark confidence. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you flirt before, Hotchner. You’re better at it than I expected.”

“I don’t flirt,” he said, stepping closer. “At least, not intentionally.”

“Oh,” you said, your voice dropping slightly. “So this is just you being your naturally charming self?”

“Something like that,” he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting in a faint smirk.

You laughed, shaking your head as you set your tablet aside. “You know, if you keep talking like that, I might start to think you’re actually serious.”

“What if I am?” he asked, taking another step closer.

Your grin faltered, replaced by a flicker of uncertainty. “Aaron…”

He stopped just in front of you, close enough that he could see the faintest flush on your cheeks. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said quietly. “But I don’t regret it.”

You tilted your head, studying him as if trying to determine whether he was being sincere. Then, slowly, your lips curved into a soft, almost shy smile that he hadn’t seen before. “Well, that’s good,” you said, your voice lighter now. “Because I’d hate to think I’ve been wasting my time trying to get under your skin.”

“You’ve been very effective,” he admitted, his voice laced with dry humor.

You laughed again, the tension between you easing slightly. “Good to know.”

For a moment, the two of you simply stood there, the air between you charged with possibilities. Then you leaned forward just enough that your shoulder brushed his, your voice dropping to a near whisper. “So what now, Aaron? You going to keep playing it safe, or are you finally going to make a move and follow through?”

Hotch held your gaze, his pulse quickening in a way that was entirely unfamiliar and yet oddly welcome. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you replied, your grin returning.

Before he could overthink it, he leaned down, his hand resting lightly on the edge of your desk as his lips brushed against yours. The kiss was brief but electric, leaving both of you slightly breathless when he pulled back.

“Well,” you said after a moment, your voice a little unsteady but filled with warmth. “That’s one way to balance the budget.”

Hotch chuckled softly, his forehead resting lightly against yours. “I hope that’s not the only thing you take away from this.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you said, your grin turning wicked again. “I’ll send you the itemized breakdown tomorrow.”

He laughed, a rare, genuine sound, and as the two of you stood there in the quiet of your office, Hotch couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was exactly what he’d been missing.

The next morning, Hotch walked into the bullpen, his usual stoic demeanor firmly in place—at least on the outside. Inside, he felt lighter than he had in years. But any illusion of subtlety was shattered the moment he saw Morgan smirking at him from across the room.

“Morning, Hotch,” Morgan said, his tone far too casual. “You look…different today. Get a good night’s sleep?”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, choosing not to dignify the comment with a response. He made his way toward his office, but before he could escape, Garcia intercepted him, practically bouncing on her heels.

“Oh, boss man, you’ve got that look,” she teased, waggling her eyebrows. “The look of a man who’s either won the lottery or—” Her eyes widened in dramatic realization. “—had a life-altering, swoon-worthy moment with a certain someone in finance.”

Hotch sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Garcia—”

“Don’t deny it!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “I have sources.”

Before he could reply, the elevator dinged, and you stepped out, striding confidently into the bullpen with your signature blend of poise and sass. You caught Hotch’s eye and shot him a subtle, knowing smile that sent a ripple of warmth through him.

Garcia caught the exchange and gasped audibly. “Oh my God! It’s true!”

Morgan leaned back in his chair, grinning. “I knew it. Didn’t I say he had an in with her?”

“You said it,” Prentiss confirmed, her tone amused. “Repeatedly. But he's really getting it in with her.”

JJ just shook her head, smiling. “Well, at least we know why the budget meetings keep getting longer.”

Hotch leveled a calm, measured glare at his team. “I don’t recall calling a team meeting on my personal life.”

“Ah, but your personal life is so much more interesting than budget cuts,” Rossi said with a wink. “You should let us enjoy it.”

“I’m glad you’re all entertained,” Hotch said dryly, turning toward his office. But as he walked away, he caught your voice behind him.

“Don’t be too hard on them, Aaron,” you called amusement lacing your tone.

The laughter that followed was warm and genuine, and for once, Hotch didn’t mind being the subject of it. As he stepped into his office and closed the door, he glanced back at you through the glass, catching your playful smile once more.

Yes, this was definitely worth breaking the rules for.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

[kiwriteswords]

could you write a hotch x reader story where reader is literally a knockout bombshell and the team meets her for the first time and both are humbled and shocked tht Hotch could pull that. Also maybe she works in different department of the FBI, but not BAU and derek and others have always talked about how hot reader is but happy id they cnt have reaader that hotch can!

The Beauty and The Boss

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: Thanks so much for the request! Sorry, it took me so long to get it written :)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Tags/Warnings: Mild language, fade-to-black smut scene, reader wears makeup, workplace flirting, commentary about reader's appearance by BAU, jealous!Hotch, mention of a Holiday party, mentions of a bar scene.

Sypnosis: Aaron Hotchner’s professionalism hides a secret: he’s been in a relationship with you, the stunning agent who turns every head at Quantico. While his team spends months admiring and teasing about you—unaware of the truth—Hotch quietly enjoys keeping the relationship private. But when the BAU holiday party reveals the truth, the team is left shocked, realizing the woman they’ve been swooning over is already spoken for by the man they least expected.

The Quantico breakroom buzzed with life as Derek Morgan leaned back in his chair, a grin stretching across his face. “I’m telling you, there’s not a person in this building who doesn’t turn their head when she walks by.”

Emily Prentiss smirked, crossing her arms as she perched on the edge of the counter. “Understatement of the year, Morgan. She’s practically stopped traffic in the hallways more than once.”

Penelope Garcia, seated with her tablet, chimed in. “More like a goddess descended from Mount Olympus, wielding a to-do list and a killer power suit. The woman is unreal.”

You had no idea you were the current topic of conversation as you breezed through Quantico’s corridors. Your heels clicked against the tiled floor with the kind of authority only a seasoned professional carried. Your fitted blazer hugged your form just right, the kind of attire that screamed competence but still left a trail of stunned admirers in your wake. You were a boss, and you knew it—not in an arrogant way, but in the way a woman who worked twice as hard to get half as far in a male-dominated field knew her worth.

Little did they know that, as much as they admired you from afar, you had a certain someone who saw all those layers they missed—someone who knew how you carried the weight of your team, your projects, and your life with equal parts grace and grit.

That someone was Aaron Hotchner.

Unbeknownst to the BAU, the stoic Unit Chief had been keeping a significant secret. You and Aaron had been together for over a year. Though you both worked under the same massive roof, your respective departments didn’t often overlap—an intentional boundary to keep things professional and out of sight from prying eyes.

Aaron entered the room just as Morgan’s laughter rang out. “No, but seriously, Hotch, you’ve seen her, right? You can’t tell me someone that fine doesn’t have half the men here wrapped around her finger.”

Aaron’s sharp gaze flicked to Morgan, his jaw tightening subtly. “Morgan, shouldn’t you be focusing on case files rather than office gossip?”

Morgan raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying, man, beauty like that deserves to be appreciated.”

Emily grinned. “Don’t let Strauss hear you. She’d have you running sensitivity training for a month.”

Garcia waggled her eyebrows. “Maybe Hotch is just annoyed because she’s his type. Dark hair, smart, confident—maybe there’s some unspoken pining we don’t know about.”

Aaron’s lips pressed into a firm line as he reached for a file, “Let’s keep the speculation to yourselves. We have enough on our plates without playing matchmaker.” His tone was calm but carried enough weight to signal the end of the conversation.

He didn’t let his composure falter, but inwardly, he found himself caught in a tug-of-war between amusement and annoyance. You were undeniably stunning, and he couldn’t blame his team for noticing, but their casual banter skirted dangerously close to the truth.

Later that afternoon, the sun streamed through the tall windows of the BAU bullpen, casting golden streaks across the room as you entered. Your heels echoed confidently against the polished floor, their rhythmic click commanding attention as you moved with purpose. A fitted pencil skirt emphasized the natural sway of your hips, and your blazer was tailored perfectly, hinting at the strength and grace beneath. Loose curls framed your face, falling just so, and your makeup—subtle but flawless—added to the aura of a woman who meant business.

Conversations quieted as you passed by the desks. Agents glanced up from their work, some stealing longer looks than they should have, while others leaned toward their neighbors to murmur something under their breath. You didn’t acknowledge the attention. You were used to it. Your focus remained locked ahead as you carried the neatly bound folder in your hands, its weight a mere fraction of the responsibility you carried daily.

You reached the door to Aaron Hotchner’s office just as it opened. He stepped out, his posture as straight and commanding as ever, but his sharp eyes softened for the briefest moment when they landed on you. The shift was imperceptible to anyone else, but you caught it—it was the kind of look he reserved only for you.

“Agent Y/L/N,” he greeted evenly, his voice steady but low enough that it felt personal.

“Agent Hotchner,” you replied with a nod, the professionalism in your tone betrayed by the faint twitch of a smile at the corner of your lips.

Behind you, Morgan's voice rose in a stage whisper. “And there she is…”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, keeping your expression neutral as you extended the folder to Aaron. “I just need your signature on these budgetary adjustments. It’s time-sensitive.”

Aaron’s brow furrowed slightly as he accepted the folder, his long fingers brushing against yours briefly. “Of course,” he said, already flipping it open to skim through the pages. “Give me a moment.”

As he turned and walked back into his office, you followed without hesitation, pushing the door closed behind you. The muted sound of the latch clicking shut seemed to signal a shift in the atmosphere. The second the door was closed, your composed expression melted into something softer, teasing.

“I heard Morgan,” you said in a low voice, a mischievous glint dancing in your eyes. You set a hand on your hip, leaning slightly as you watched him work.

Aaron’s lips curved into a subtle smirk as he scribbled his signature onto the documents. “They talk about you often,” he replied, not looking up right away. “Morgan more than most.”

You tilted your head, your brow arching playfully. “Jealous?”

Finally, he looked up, setting the pen down and stepping closer. “Observant,” he corrected, his tone dry but his gaze warm. He handed the folder back to you, and as his fingers brushed yours again, the slightest spark of electricity passed between you. “You look stunning today, by the way.”

“Today?” you teased, your voice dropping slightly as you tilted your chin. “What about yesterday?”

Aaron’s smirk deepened, the rare expression enough to make your stomach flip. “Every day,” he replied smoothly, his voice dipping into that low, velvety tone that sent a thrill through you. He stepped just close enough that you caught the faint scent of his cologne—subtle and clean, just like him.

For a moment, the space between you felt charged, but you straightened, breaking the tension with a soft laugh. “Careful, Agent Hotchner,” you said, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “Someone might notice.”

He chuckled softly, the sound rare but rich. “Let them speculate.”

The corner of your mouth twitched in amusement, but you turned on your heel, your exit as purposeful as your arrival. Behind you, Aaron watched, his expression softening again as the door clicked shut. The office suddenly felt emptier without you in it, and the faintest hint of a smile lingered on his lips.

Moments after, when you stepped out of Aaron’s office, the door closing softly behind you, you nearly collided with David Rossi. The veteran profiler stepped back gracefully, offering you a warm smile as his eyes flicked to the folder in your hands.

“Agent Y/L/N,” he greeted smoothly, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. “You’re lucky Hotch doesn’t have a ‘No Stunning Women’ policy in his office. Makes the rest of us forget what we’re working on.”

You gave a polite laugh, your smile measured but warm. “Always a pleasure, Agent Rossi. Don’t let me distract you too much.” With a nod, you stepped past him and continued down the hall, your heels clicking confidently on the polished floor.

Rossi watched you leave, shaking his head slightly before stepping into Hotch’s office, and shutting the door behind him. “You didn’t tell me your office doubled as a runway, Aaron,” Rossi quipped as he took a seat across from Hotch’s desk, still grinning.

Hotch didn’t look up from the report in front of him. “Rossi.”

“I’m just saying,” Rossi continued, leaning back in his chair. “Agent Y/L/N is quite the… presence. Can’t imagine you get much work done when she’s around.”

Hotch finally glanced up, his sharp eyes locking on Rossi with a calm but pointed look. “She’s one of the most competent agents in this building.”

Rossi raised his hands in mock surrender, the grin still on his face. “No offense, Aaron. I’m just appreciating fine talent when I see it. Professionally, of course.”

Hotch’s expression didn’t shift as he returned to his paperwork. “Make sure it stays professional, Dave.”

Rossi chuckled, standing up and adjusting his suit jacket. “Noted. I’ll leave you to your work, but for the record… you’ve got good taste.”

Hotch’s eyes flicked up for a brief moment, narrowing slightly as Rossi turned to leave. Once the door closed behind him, Aaron exhaled, his jaw relaxing as the corners of his mouth twitched faintly. You had that effect on people. Rossi wasn’t wrong about that, but Aaron wasn’t about to let anyone reduce you to just that. Not on his watch.

It wasn’t much later in the week when the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses filled the dimly lit bar as the BAU team finally unwound after wrapping a grueling case. At their usual table near the back, JJ, Penelope, and Emily leaned close together, conspiring with mischievous smiles. Derek Morgan leaned back in his chair, his beer in hand, as he glanced across the room toward you.

You were with your own team, sitting at the far end of the bar. The laughter coming from your group was infectious, and more than a few heads in the bar had turned to admire the sharp, confident woman at the center of it all. You were a vision, dressed in a fitted, dark emerald blouse that complemented your glowing skin, your hair falling perfectly into place despite the long week.

Emily nudged Derek, her grin widening. “Now’s your chance, Morgan. She’s right there, and she’s smiling. That’s basically an invitation.”

Penelope nodded eagerly, swirling her cocktail. “Seriously, Derek. You’re Mr. Smooth—to make one of your famous sweet moves. She’s gorgeous, brilliant, and, let’s face it, probably way out of your league, but you’ve got charm. Use it!”

JJ smirked, sipping her drink. “They’re not wrong. She’s definitely the type to keep you on your toes.”

Derek chuckled, shaking his head, though his gaze lingered on you for a moment. “You ladies make a good point. Pretty boy over here has been staring so hard, I think he forgot how to blink.”

Reid’s head snapped up, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. “I haven’t been staring—I was observing!”

Penelope laughed, reaching out to pat his arm. “Sure, sweetie. Keep telling yourself that.”

Meanwhile, Aaron Hotchner sat quietly at the edge of the table, nursing his drink and doing his best to keep his expression neutral. He caught Rossi’s amused glance and ignored it, his attention drifting toward you. Across the room, your eyes flicked to his, and in that instant, the noise of the bar seemed to fade. Your lips curved into a soft, knowing smile, and Hotch’s lips twitched in response, his gaze steady but warm.

“Alright,” Derek announced, standing up and brushing imaginary dust off his shirt. “Time to show you all how it’s done.”

As he sauntered toward you, the rest of the team watched with poorly concealed anticipation. Hotch leaned back slightly, a faint smirk playing at his lips as he took another sip of his drink, clearly amused.

At the bar, Derek slid into the seat beside you, his trademark charm on full display. “Well, well, Agent Y/L/N,” he began, flashing you a dazzling smile. “A woman like you at a place like this—it’s like a shooting star landing in a parking lot. Rare. Unexpected. Stunning.”

You turned toward him, your smile warm but professional. “Agent Morgan,” you greeted. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh, I’m just wondering if I can buy you a drink. You look like someone who deserves only the finest.”

You chuckled softly, tilting your head. “That’s kind of you, but I’m good for now. Thank you, though.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, undeterred. “You sure? A woman like you turning down a Morgan Original? That doesn’t happen often.”

You smiled, leaning in slightly, your voice light but firm. “I’m flattered, Derek, really. But no, thank you.”

Derek blinked, clearly surprised but respectful, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Can’t blame a guy for trying. You have a good night, Agent Y/L/N.”

As he returned to the table, Rossi leaned back in his chair, his grin widening. “I think I know why she turned you down.”

Derek arched a brow. “Oh, yeah? Enlighten us, wise old man.”

Rossi swirled his drink lazily. “She’s already seeing someone.”

That caught the team’s attention. JJ frowned thoughtfully. “She doesn’t wear a ring.”

Emily shrugged. “Doesn’t mean anything. Rossi’s probably right—someone like her? Definitely taken.”

Penelope gasped. “She’s got to be dating some rich CEO type. Like a Christian Grey situation—minus the creepy stuff. You know, private jets, expensive suits, maybe even his own island.”

Reid tilted his head. “Statistically, high-powered women often prefer partners who are equally accomplished, so it’s not unreasonable to assume…”

Hotch, listening quietly, couldn’t help but chuckle softly under his breath. It was rare for him to indulge in such amusement, but their wild guesses about your personal life were too far from the truth to resist.

“Something funny, Hotch?” Derek asked, narrowing his eyes playfully.

Hotch met his gaze evenly, his lips twitching. “Just enjoying the show, Morgan.”

From across the room, you glanced at him again, your eyes meeting his with a spark of shared amusement. You knew, just as he did that the truth was far more satisfying than any of their guesses.

That night, the familiar warmth of your shared apartment enveloped you as you stepped out of the bathroom, your hair still damp from the shower. The soft glow of the bedside lamp lit the room in hues of gold, casting a gentle light over Aaron as he stood at the dresser, folding his tie with precision. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong forearms, and his expression was calm, though you could tell from the faint tension in his jaw that something was on his mind.

There was something mesmerizing about the way he moved—calm, methodical, and yet there was an intimacy in the gesture that always left your heart fluttering.

You crossed the room, barefoot, wearing one of his old FBI academy T-shirts that hung just above your thighs. It was soft and familiar, smelling faintly of him, and you loved how it made you feel wrapped in his presence.

As you climbed into bed, you leaned back against the headboard, watching him with a small smile. “You’re quiet tonight,” you teased, running a hand through your damp hair. “That’s usually my thing.”

Aaron glanced at you, his lips quirking slightly before he shook his head and continued folding. “I’m just thinking.”

“About?”

He sighed, placing the tie in the drawer before turning to face you, his arms crossing over his chest. “My team.”

You raised a brow, leaning forward slightly. “Oh? What did the BAU do this time?”

Aaron smirked faintly, shaking his head as he sat on the edge of the bed to remove his watch. “It’s not what they’ve done. It’s what they keep saying.”

You tilted your head, your curiosity piqued. “Do tell.”

He exhaled, his voice even but carrying a hint of frustration. “They don’t stop talking about you. Derek, Emily, Penelope… even Reid, apparently. It’s constant.” He turned to look at you, his dark eyes warm but serious. “I’ve been patient. I’ve let it slide because they don’t know. But I think I’ve hit my limit.”

A slow smile spread across your face as you scooted closer, resting your chin on his shoulder. “You’re jealous,” you teased, your voice light and laced with amusement. “Aaron Hotchner, stoic leader of the BAU, is jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” he replied firmly, though the slight twitch of his lips betrayed him. “I just don’t appreciate them… ogling you.”

You chuckled softly, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your chin against his shoulder. “You know I think it’s kind of hot when you’re jealous, right?”

He turned his head slightly to look at you, his expression softening. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” you said with a grin, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “It’s sweet that you care so much. But you don’t have to worry, Aaron. I’m yours. Completely.”

He turned fully now, his hands coming up to rest on your knees as he looked at you with a rare softness in his eyes. “You have no idea how much I appreciate hearing that.”

You smiled, leaning in to brush your lips against his. “Good. Because it’s true.”

He kissed you back gently, one hand sliding up to cradle your cheek. When you pulled away, you saw the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Aaron lingered close for a moment, his thumb brushing your cheek in a rare display of vulnerability before he exhaled softly and pulled back. Standing, he moved toward the dresser with the same calm, deliberate manner that always captivated you.

His hands went to the buttons of his shirt, working them loose one by one. The sound of each button sliding free seemed amplified in the quiet of your shared space. You couldn’t help but admire the way the soft light played over his features—his strong jaw, the tension in his shoulders, and the faint lines around his eyes that only made him more striking.

Aaron shrugged off his shirt, revealing the toned muscles of his chest and the scar along his side that you knew he sometimes still tried to hide. He folded the shirt with the same precision as his tie, setting it neatly aside before slipping out of his slacks and into the lounge pants he favored at night.

“Don’t stop on my account,” you teased, your voice warm and playful as your eyes lingered on him.

He glanced back at you with a small, knowing smile. “Enjoying the show?”

You grinned. “Always.”

Aaron shook his head slightly, his smirk growing as he crossed the room and slid into bed beside you. The mattress dipped under his weight, and the familiar warmth of his body radiated toward you as he leaned back against the pillows, one arm sliding around your waist to pull you close.

“You really don’t have to worry about what your team says,” you murmured, your fingers tracing absent patterns on his chest. “I only have eyes for you.”

His hand came up to cup your cheek, gently tilting your face toward his. “You’re sure about that?” he asked softly, though the faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes betrayed the question’s seriousness.

“I’m sure,” you whispered, leaning in to brush your lips against his. “You’re the only one who gets this version of me. The rest of them don’t even come close.”

Aaron deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that still sent your heart racing. His hand slid down to your hip, pulling you closer as your fingers tangled in his hair, and for a moment, the world outside your shared room ceased to exist.

The soft rustle of sheets and the low hum of your shared laughter filled the space as your words became unspoken reassurances, translated into the way he touched you, the way he held you, the way he kissed you as though you were his lifeline.

In the darkness, as the lamp flicked off and the night stretched on, you made it perfectly clear—he was yours, and you were his, completely. Always.

The annual Bureau holiday party arrived soon after and was in full swing, the large event hall buzzing with laughter and conversation as agents and staff mingled under the soft glow of festive string lights. Tables lined with food and drinks flanked the room, and a DJ played a mix of holiday classics and upbeat pop songs. The BAU team had claimed a table near the center, already deep into their drinks and holiday banter.

Derek leaned back in his chair, scanning the room with an easy grin. “Alright, I’m calling it now. This year’s party MVP? Gotta be me. I’ve got the charm, the moves, and the mistletoe strategy ready to go.”

Emily rolled her eyes, sipping her drink. “Your confidence is astounding. Let’s see how it plays out when someone turns you down again.”

Penelope chuckled, adjusting the festive reindeer antlers perched on her head. “Maybe don’t aim for anyone who’s already out of your league, like a certain Agent Y/L/N.”

“They’re never letting that one down,” Reid laughed. 

Derek smirked. “She’s not here yet, but hey, holiday parties are all about surprises. Maybe she’ll get a look and change her mind?”

JJ raised a brow. “Speaking of surprises… does anyone else feel like Hotch is acting weird lately? He’s been way too quiet during our usual teasing.” Will was at her side, with an arm wrapped over her shoulders. 

Rossi, swirling his glass of whiskey, gave a knowing smirk but said nothing.

The conversation halted abruptly as the door to the hall opened, and heads turned to see Aaron Hotchner entering with you at his side.

The two of you stepped into the room, hand in hand, your fingers loosely intertwined as Aaron scanned the crowd with his usual composed demeanor. You looked radiant in a fitted emerald dress, its sleek design effortlessly elegant, while Aaron’s sharp black suit was understated yet commanding.

The BAU table fell silent, their jaws collectively dropping.

“Is that…?” Penelope started, blinking rapidly.

“Hotch,” JJ finished, her voice barely above a whisper. Will let out a breathy laugh. 

“And Agent Y/L/N,” Emily added, looking between the two of you as if she’d seen a ghost.

Morgan leaned forward, his grin faltering. “No way.”

Hotch’s lips twitched into the faintest smile as he caught their stunned expressions. He led you toward the table with a calm confidence, his hand still firmly in yours.

“Evening, everyone,” he greeted, his tone as steady as ever.

You smiled warmly, giving a little wave with your free hand. “Hi, guys. Hope we’re not late.”

The team exchanged glances, still struggling to process what they were seeing.

Derek was the first to recover, though his grin was more sheepish than his usual swagger. “Well, damn. Hotch, you really know how to keep a secret.”

Hotch arched a brow, his hand resting protectively on your back as he pulled out a chair for you. “It’s never been a secret. Some things are worth keeping private.”

Emily leaned closer to Penelope, muttering, “Okay, I officially feel bad for every single comment I’ve ever made about her in front of him.”

Penelope nodded vigorously. “Same. Oh my gosh, same.”

JJ shook her head, laughing softly. “And Derek, all the flirting?”

Morgan held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, I didn’t know! But I’ll admit when I’m beat. Respect, Hotch. You’re a lucky man.”

Hotch’s expression softened slightly as he glanced at you. “I know.”

Rossi, still sipping his drink, chuckled. “For the record, I knew when to quit. The first time I made a comment about her, the look Hotch gave me said everything I needed to know.”

You raised a brow, your lips curving into a playful smile. “Oh? And what look was that?”

Rossi smirked. “The one that says, ‘Say one more word, and you’re not making it to retirement.’”

“Back into retirement,” Hotch corrected with an amused look. The table erupted into laughter.

Emily leaned forward, her curiosity winning out. “Alright, spill. How long has this been going on?”

You exchanged a glance with Aaron, his hand still resting lightly on your back.

“A little over a year,” you admitted, and Hotch nodded. 

“A year?” Penelope gasped. “And you managed to keep it quiet this long? I’m impressed.”

Hotch’s gaze swept over his team, his voice calm but with a subtle warmth. “We wanted to keep things professional. But we both agreed it was time.” A mischievous glint flashed in his eyes as he added, “Especially before one of you asked her out on a date next.”

The team erupted into laughter, though Derek groaned, throwing his head back. “Aw, come on, Hotch! You’re never letting me live that down, are you?”

Emily smirked, leaning back in her chair. “You really did shoot your shot, Morgan. Respect for the boldness, but hindsight? Not your best moment.”

Penelope covered her mouth with her hand, barely containing her giggles. “I’m never going to stop picturing Hotch sitting back in his office, watching that go down and just... waiting.”

JJ joined in, shaking her head with a grin. “Honestly, Derek, if looks could kill…”

Derek held up his hands in surrender, chuckling despite himself. “Alright, alright! I didn’t know, okay? And for the record, I was nothing but a gentleman.”

You leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand as you smiled at him. “You were, Derek. I thought it was sweet.”

“Sweet?” Hotch interjected, his tone laced with playful sarcasm as he glanced at you. “I’d call it… bold.”

You nudged his arm with your elbow, your smile widening. “Aaron.”

His lips twitched into a faint smirk as he looked back at the table. “But in all seriousness, I can’t blame anyone for noticing how incredible she is. I just happen to be the lucky one.”

The table quieted for a moment, the sincerity in his tone catching everyone off guard. Emily was the first to break the silence, raising her glass with a grin. “Well, here’s to the two of you. A BAU power couple if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Cheers to that,” Penelope chimed in, her eyes sparkling.

As the team raised their glasses once more, you glanced at Aaron, your fingers brushing his under the table. His quiet smile and the gentle squeeze of your hand told you everything you needed to know. You were his, and he was yours, and no amount of teasing or surprise from his team could change that.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

[luveline]

could you pleaseee do more hotch x bombshell reader

cw suggestive —you and Hotch have a shared secret you’re hiding from the rest of the team. fem, 1k

“He’s too old for you, you know.” 

You give Elle a charmed smile. “He is not.” 

“Is too.” 

“How old do you think I am, Greenaway?” you tease. “I know I look good for my age, but I’m fully developed. He is not too old for me.” 

“Who?” Spencer asks, placing down his dinner tray with a smile. 

“Gideon,” you say. “What do you think, babe, do I have a chance with our great leader?” 

“No,” Spencer says, giggling as he spears a dehydrated looking green bean with his fork. He’s getting good at recognising jokes for what they are. 

As the younger (but, despite Elle’s insistence, not young) crowd, you have complimentary avoiding of work to do, free with your employment. You spend your lunch hour trying to stretch it into two, driving Gideon insane, and prompting Hotch to come and find you. He hasn’t appeared yet, but when you check your watch you’ve got about ten minutes left until you need to get back. 

“The line was so long,” Spencer says. “They could reduce the foot traffic in here by half if they had two people working the register.” 

“Maybe if we had our own offices we could eat our lunch alone from a brown paper bag like everybody else does, and we wouldn’t need to line up,” Elle says wryly. 

“You don’t like lining up like middle schoolers?” you ask in feigned shock. 

“I don’t,” Spencer says earnestly. 

“She’s being sarcastic,” Elle says. “You couldn’t tell?” She looks over your shoulder suddenly, but there’s a velvet voice in your ear before you can turn around.

“Can I borrow you?” 

You smile because he can’t see it. “That depends, Agent Hotchner, will I get to finish my lunch?” 

You don’t have a tray in front of you. It clearly doesn’t matter to Hotch. “I’ll take care of it.” 

You’d let him drag you around by the collar, but that’s none of his business. You turn to meet his eyes over your shoulder, disappointed that he’s already a few steps back waiting for you to stand up. 

What Elle doesn’t get, what nobody seems to see but you, is that Hotch had no need to lean in and talk so close to your ear. He could have sent you an email, paged you, and he’s here in the cafeteria waiting for you to follow him out. 

You send both Elle and Spencer a suggestive look and climb off of the bench. Hotch senses when you’re near rather than looking, starting out of the cafeteria and down the hall to the elevator bank. He does a sharp turn you aren’t expecting to the photocopying rooms, where you refuse to go, lest you get killed by a falling stack of printer paper. One minute you’re walking together and the next he’s taken your hand and pulling you into an alcove, suddenly sliding his hand behind your back. 

“Aaron–”

He dips his face down and kisses you. It’s surprising and not, one slight nipping kiss before he looks you in the eyes. He’s asking if you’re alright to be kissed, and if it’s him, he can shove you up against a wall —you lift your head and he pulls you right back up to be kissed again. His hands slide over the tight fabric of your blazer and hold you chest to chest, his nose crushing yours, his lips unwavering. Pinpricks of heat ricochet from your mouth to your neck, a shudder he feels that has him laughing hot against your lips.

“That’s not very gentlemanly,” you say, weaving your fingers into the soft crop of hair behind his ears. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. He lifts his hand, cleaning the smudge of your lipstick with his pinky finger, before stroking your cheek with his knuckle.  “What sort of note was that, this afternoon? Why do you think that’s alright to leave at my desk?” 

“How’d you know it was me?” you ask, dropping your hands from his hair to poke at his waist. 

“I hoped it was you,” he admits. He looks like he might say something else, but he steals a rough kiss instead, and then another. 

“Okay,” you say, pleased to be kissed like this by him, “it was me. And you deserved it.” 

“Did I?” He takes your face into two hands. “Did I?” 

You stutter momentarily at his repeated question. “You– yeah, Hotchner, you did. It was supposed to be nice, like a promise.” 

“Are you promising?” he asks, giving your cheek a sweet, gentle stroke with his thumb. 

You kiss his nice jaw, ruffle the hair that curls over his forehead playfully, and laugh as he catches your hand. He doesn’t grab. Hotch isn’t ever aggressive with you (though he can get a little excited). 

“Decide what you want for dinner tonight, and we’ll go after work,” he says, returning your hand gently to your side. 

“Another kiss?” you ask. 

Hotch kisses you sweetly. “Come on, honey, lunch is over.” 

“Just one more?” you ask. 

He falls for it every time. You must harvest half a dozen extra kisses, incensed because it’s him, because nobody thought for a minute he’d bend to your whims. 

Hotch doesn’t bend. He just wants you like you want him. 

“One more,” he says as you pull away. “Just one.” 

It tickles your lips. You curl your arms behind his neck and try to make it one that’ll linger, your fingers scratching lightly at his scalp as he presses your back to the cold wall. You yelp a laugh and he covers your back with big hands, mumbling a sorry that gets completely lost. 

You don’t know how he’s going to explain this to Gideon. 

[luveline]

Is it just me who needs Aaron Hotchner x bombshell!reader? Please 🙏🙏🙏

like more? cos I've written him recently with her !! but of course if you have a request ur more than welcome to that just wondering ♥♥♥

[appledressing]

Took me two days to read this 😂😂🤣

Finally!!! I liked this . I like this a lot. They were both so mature and sweet and like sticking to the lines. I wish he actually asked her out like right out but really lovely to read. Thanks for sharing 😊

begs nicely for bombshell reader

In the Margin

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Bombshell!Female Reader||Word Count: 6k

Tags/Warnings: canon-typical themes, flirting, fluff, finance talk, banter, Hotch is a softie for Penelope.

Sypnosis: Aaron Hotchner’s weekly budget meetings with you, the sharp-tongued BAU financial analyst, become an unexpected mix of humor, wit, and simmering tension as professional boundaries blur. Between team antics, Penelope’s creative expenses, and your playful challenges, Hotch finds himself navigating far more than just numbers.

Aaron Hotchner wasn’t sure if he hated the newly implemented weekly budget meetings because they disrupted his already packed schedule or because of you, the BAU’s Operations Department Budget Analyst.

No--that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t that he hated you. It was that he hated how much he didn’t hate you. You were sharp-tongued, confident, and armed with a wit so quick it could cut him to ribbons before he even knew he was bleeding. It didn’t help that you looked like you belonged on a movie set rather than in a conference room dissecting every penny spent by his team.

He adjusted his tie as he entered the room. You were already seated at the head of the table, a tablet in front of you and a pen in hand, tapping it rhythmically against the desk as you scanned a detailed report. He knew that was meant for him. It was always meant for him.

“Good morning, Agent Hotchner,” you greeted without looking up. “Let’s talk about how your team managed to burn through three months of budget in--oh, a month and a half.” Your eyes finally met his, and the smile you gave him could only be described as predatory.

“Good morning, Miss. Y/L/N.” He placed his briefcase on the table and sat across from you. “I see we’re getting right into it today.”

“Well, Aaron”—and wasn’t that a bold move? Using his first name like that—“I’d love to make small talk, but someone”—you leaned forward conspiratorially, voice dropping as if this was the world’s biggest secret—“decided we needed to order customized iPad cases last month. For everyone. Including” You looked back down to the itemized invoice,"‘Penelope Garcia’s-second-backup-iPad.’”

Hotch rubbed a hand over his face. “That would be Garcia,” he said dryly.

You laughed, and the sound was like a reward he didn’t know he was aiming for. “Oh, Aaron. It’s always Penelope, isn’t it?”

The meetings became a staple of his week, though not by choice. What had started as a quarterly formality became a monthly necessity when you joined the department and discovered Penelope’s propensity for colorful, extravagant expenditures. But the kicker came two months ago, when Penelope had gone rogue with the budget to fund her “absolutely vital” initiative to replace paper case files with digital ones—complete with the max amount of storage, of course. You’d retaliated by instituting weekly budget reviews.

“She knows,” Hotch told Penelope one afternoon in her lair. “She knows it was you.”

Penelope gasped dramatically. “How does she know? Wait—does she have surveillance on me? Did she bug my office? Tell. Me. She didn’t bug my office.”

“She didn’t bug your office, Garcia,” Hotch said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She knows because you send her invoices.”

Penelope frowned. “But those were justified expenses!”

“She’s not convinced.” Hotch sighed. “Neither is the finance department.”

“Well, maybe if she’d loosen up a bit—”

“She’s very loose, Garcia,” Hotch muttered before realizing how that sounded. Penelope’s grin was instant, and Hotch scowled. “Don’t.”

“I’m just saying,” she teased, “you’ve been spending a lot of time with Miss. Y/N Y/L/N. Maybe you like these meetings more than you’re letting on.”

He left her office before she could get another word in.

The meetings evolved into more than budget disputes. You had a way of challenging Hotch that nobody else did. You questioned his decisions—not about cases, but about expenses. You turned a dry meeting into something that felt like a battle of wits, and despite himself, Hotch found he didn’t mind the sparring.

“So, tell me,” you said during one particularly contentious meeting, “why does Penelope need a beanbag chair? Let me guess—‘it fosters creative thinking.’”

Hotch cleared his throat; his years of being quick on his feet as a lawyer somehow always did him good when it came to defending Penelope’s spending. “She has unique requirements for her workspace.”

“Unique, huh?” You leaned back in your chair, crossing your legs, and Hotch caught himself looking before he forced his gaze back up. “And the collection of...neon gel pens? Also, a unique requirement?”

“She…has a system.”

You laughed again, and Hotch felt the corners of his mouth twitch. He’d smiled more in these meetings than in most social situations, not that he’d admit it.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you said casually, pointing your pen at him, and Hotch stiffened. You were already standing, gathering your papers. “Meeting adjourned. See you next week, Aaron.”

It wasn’t until two months into weekly meetings that things finally shifted.

You caught him in the break room late one evening, well after everyone else had gone home. “Aaron,” you greeted, leaning against the counter with a mischievous glint in your eye. “Did you know your coffee expenses are also over budget?”

Hotch turned, mug in hand. “Should I expect an itemized report on my caffeine consumption?”

You smirked. “Already on your desk.”

The air between you crackled, and for the first time, Hotch saw something beyond the wit and the barbs. He set his mug down and stepped closer, his voice low. “You enjoy giving me a hard time.”

You tilted your head, smiling. “And you enjoy taking it.”

“Do I?” he challenged.

“Don’t you?” you shot back, and the look in your eyes was enough to make him question every professional boundary he’d ever adhered to.

He took another step closer, close enough that he could see the faint trace of amusement in your expression. “This feels like it’s about more than the budget.”

“It definitely is,” you said, your voice softer now. “Maybe I think you could use a little…loosening up.”

Hotch let himself smile just a little. “And you think you’re the person to help me with that?”

You grinned, pushing off the counter and brushing past him, close enough that he caught the faintest hint of your perfume. “I know I am.”

The budget meetings continued, but now, the tension between you and Hotch wasn’t just professional. It simmered, unspoken but palpable, until it was only a matter of time before one of you crossed the line.

And Hotch couldn’t wait to see who would make the first move.

Hotch had a long day ahead of him. Between case briefs, team check-ins, and the weekly budget meeting you’d so gleefully instituted, he felt like the universe was conspiring against him. It didn’t help that Penelope Garcia had texted him earlier with an ominous, “Sir! Big news! You’ll thank me later.”

When he stepped into the bullpen, the team was gathered around Penelope, who stood in the center like a magician about to unveil her latest trick.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she announced, waving her hands dramatically, “I give you the latest and greatest tech upgrade to grace the halls of the BAU!”

Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose as the team collectively oohed and aahed over the sleek new monitors now adorning every desk.

“Garcia,” he said, his tone low and measured, “please tell me this was approved through the appropriate channels.”

Penelope turned to him with a smile so wide it could only mean trouble. “Of course it was, sir!” Then, after a beat, she added, “I mean, I may have pulled a few strings. But can you really put a price on efficiency and team morale?”

Rossi, seated casually nearby, chimed in. “I’ll admit, it’s a nice touch. Maybe next month, you can swing for some leather chairs in the conference room. The kind that recline.”

Hotch shot him a withering look. “Don’t encourage her.”

Penelope pouted. “Come on, Hotch! You know these upgrades are totally needed. Plus, they match my aesthetic.” She gestured to her own office.

He sighed. “You know who’s going to have to explain this, don’t you?”

Her grin didn’t waver. “That’s why you’re the boss.”

Later, Hotch found himself standing outside your office, mentally preparing for the inevitable. When he knocked, you barely looked up from your screen. “Ah, Aaron,” you said, your voice dripping with mock sweetness. “What brings you to my humble lair? Let me guess—Penelope strikes again?”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “You heard?”

“I always hear.” You gestured to the chair across from your desk. “Sit, and tell me why I shouldn’t slash your team's budget to nothing.”

Hotch sat, rubbing his temples. “She upgraded the monitors.”

Your laughter filled the room, light and musical. “Monitors? Really? Did she bedazzle them too?”

“She might have,” he muttered. “Look, I know it’s excessive, but the team…they rely on her. She keeps things running smoothly.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Running smoothly or running through money?”

Hotch gave you a flat look, which only made you grin wider.

“Alright, Aaron,” you said, leaning forward. “Here’s the deal. We can refinance a few line items. Maybe cut back on travel expenses for conferences nobody attends. But I need you to do me a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” he asked warily.

You tapped your pen against your desk, pretending to consider. “How about you keep coming to these meetings on time? And,” you added with a smirk, “try not to look so grumpy when you do.”

Hotch’s lips twitched, threatening a smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The next meeting was no less contentious, but there was a new edge to the banter.

“You really went to bat for Penelope this week,” you said, flipping through your notes. “Is she holding something over you? A dark secret, perhaps? Did she catch you sneaking an extra slice of cake at Rossi’s last party?”

Hotch gave you a pointed look. “She’s an integral part of the team.”

“And I’m sure the sparkly monitor really enhances her skillset,” you quipped. “What’s next? A gold-plated stapler?”

“Don’t give her ideas.”

You laughed, and he found himself staring at the way your eyes lit up when you did. It was distracting. You were distracting.

“So,” you continued, turning serious, “how do you propose we make this work? I’ve crunched the numbers, and unless you want to start holding bake sales, something’s gotta give.”

Hotch straightened in his chair. “Rossi suggested cutting back on the print subscriptions.”

“Oh, no,” you said, feigning horror. “What will he do without his monthly shipment of Fine Living Magazine?”

Hotch sighed. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Maybe,” you admitted. “But only because you make it so easy.”

As the weeks went on, the tension between you and Hotch became undeniable. The banter turned sharper, the lingering glances longer, the air in those meetings thicker with something unspoken.

It all came to a head late one evening, long after everyone else had gone home. Hotch was leaving his office when he saw your light still on. Against his better judgment, he knocked and stepped inside.

“Still working?” he asked.

You glanced up, surprised. “Someone’s gotta keep the lights on.”

He closed the door behind him. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

“Is that an offer to help?” you asked, leaning back in your chair. “Because I could use a second set of eyes on these reports.”

Hotch stepped closer, the tension crackling between you like static electricity. "You’re good at what you do. The team is lucky to have you.”

For once, your usual smirk faltered. “Thanks, Aaron.”

The silence stretched, heavy with possibility. Then you smiled again, playful and challenging. “Careful, Hotchner. If you keep talking like that, I might start thinking you actually like me.”

He let out a rare laugh, low and genuine. “Maybe I do.”

Your eyes widened slightly before you recovered, your grin turning sly. “Well, that’s a start.”

The next budget meeting arrived with its usual dose of tension—and not just the financial kind. Hotch entered the conference room early, a strategic move to reclaim some semblance of control. You were already there, of course, seated at the head of the table, the tablet glowing in front of you.

“Early today,” you said, glancing at your watch with mock surprise. “Did someone finally read my strongly worded emails about punctuality?”

"I'm always on time, and I always read your emails,” he replied dryly, taking his usual seat across from you.

“Sure you do,” you said, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “That’s why you never respond.”

“I’m busy running a team of federal agents.”

“And yet somehow Penelope has time to order monogrammed pen holders.”

Hotch sighed, his hand already moving to rub at the bridge of his nose. “You’re never going to let that one go, are you?”

“Not a chance, Aaron.”

The meeting was halfway through when Penelope barged in, her presence as colorful as ever.

“Sir!” she chirped, holding a bright pink folder that screamed unnecessary expense. “Quick update—I managed to upgrade the entire team’s software licenses. State of the art, cutting-edge, only the best for my BAU fam.”

Hotch stared at her, his mouth a thin line. “Garcia, we discussed this.”

“I know!” she said, beaming. “That’s why I made sure to get a bulk discount. I saved us 12%.”

You leaned back in your chair, biting your lip to stifle a laugh. “Twelve percent? Wow, Aaron, she’s practically a financial wizard.”

Hotch glared at you. “Don’t encourage her.”

“I’m just saying,” you continued, “with savings like that, we’ll be out of the red in no time. What’s next, Penelope? A popcorn machine for movie nights in the bullpen?”

“Oh my God,” Penelope gasped, her eyes lighting up. “That’s genius. The camaraderie…I—”

“No,” Hotch said firmly. “Absolutely not.”

Penelope pouted, but she left without further incident. As soon as the door closed, you turned to Hotch, eyes gleaming with amusement.

“She’s incredible,” you said, shaking your head. “Completely unhinged--but incredible.”

“She’s a lot of things,” Hotch muttered. “Mostly expensive.”

“And you,” you added, grinning, “are such a softie for her.”

Hotch scoffed, leaning back in his chair, but the slight upward twitch of his lips betrayed him. “Softie? I’m her supervisor, not her enabler.”

You laughed, a low, melodic sound that Hotch had come to recognize as the precursor to trouble. “Please. You bend over backward for her, and we both know it.”

“She’s part of my team,” he replied evenly. “It’s my job to advocate for them.”

“Advocating for a new monitor system with glitter decals?” you teased, leaning forward slightly, your grin widening. “Aaron, that’s not advocacy—that’s indulgence. She's like your team's equivalent to 'happy wife, happy life.'"

Hotch crossed his arms, his stoicism cracking just enough to let his dry humor slip through. “I’d call it picking my battles.”

“Oh, really?” you shot back. “And what battle are you avoiding by letting Penelope order custom beanbag chairs?”

His lips pressed into a thin line, but you caught the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Do you know what happens if I say no to her?”

“I can only imagine,” you said, leaning your chin on your hand. “Please, enlighten me.”

“She gets creative,” Hotch said gravely. “Very creative. The last time I vetoed one of her purchases, she launched a campaign with color-coded charts and heartfelt video testimonials from the team about how much they needed a slushie machine in the bullpen.”

Your laughter filled the room again, and Hotch let the corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly. “A slushie machine? You’ve got to give her credit—that’s bold....and random.”

“She called it a ‘hydration initiative,’” he deadpanned.

You leaned back, shaking your head in disbelief. “You are such a softie.”

“I’m pragmatic,” he corrected, his tone firm but not unkind. “It’s easier to approve the monitors than to explain to Strauss why there’s a PowerPoint presentation titled ‘Ice-Cold Justice.’”

You clapped a hand over your mouth to muffle your laughter, and Hotch found himself momentarily distracted by the way your eyes sparkled with amusement. It wasn’t often he let himself relax enough to notice those things, but with you, it was becoming harder to keep the line between professional and personal intact.

“And yet,” you finally said, regaining your composure, “you’re here, pleading her case to me instead of just putting your foot down.”

“She has her merits,” he admitted, his voice softening just enough to remind you why people followed him so loyally. “The work she does is critical. Even when it’s…excessive.”

“See? Softie,” you said triumphantly, pointing your pen at him. “You can’t fool me, Hotchner. You’re all gruff on the outside, but deep down, you’re just one big teddy bear.”

“I’m not sure that’s how the rest of the Bureau would describe me,” he replied dryly.

“Well,” you said, leaning forward with a sly smile, “the rest of the Bureau doesn’t get to see you begging for beanbags.”

He gave you a long, measured look, and for a moment, the air between you seemed to shift. “I don’t beg.”

“No?” you challenged, raising an eyebrow. “What would you call this, then?”

“I’d call it negotiation,” he replied, his voice low but steady. “And if you’re not careful, I might actually win.”

Your grin widened. “Now that I’d like to see.”

Hotch allowed himself a small smirk, the kind that was so rare it felt like a reward in itself. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Oh, Aaron,” you said, leaning back in your chair, your tone playful and just a little daring. “I live to tempt you.”

For a brief moment, the tension crackled, sharper than the wit you both wielded like weapons. Then you straightened, tapping your pen against the table as if to signal the end of the moment.

“Alright, Mr. Softie,” you said lightly, “I’ll see what I can do about those monitors. But don’t think this means you’re getting that cappuccino machine Rossi asked for.”

Hotch stood, smoothing his tie as if to regain his composure. “One victory at a time.”

As he turned to leave, you called after him, your voice laced with amusement. “Don’t forget to tell Penelope her beanbags are still on the chopping block.”

He paused at the door, glancing back at you with a look that was almost fond. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

By the time Hotch left the meeting, he felt thoroughly defeated. You had grilled him on every expenditure, from coffee pods to the mysterious disappearance of two office chairs. You’d teased him mercilessly, of course, but you’d also offered solutions, which only made you more infuriatingly attractive.

Later that afternoon, Rossi cornered him in his office.

“Aaron,” Rossi began, settling into the chair across from his desk. “I have a proposition.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Not at all,” Rossi said smoothly. “I’ve been re-thinking about how to improve morale around here. You know what we need? A cappuccino machine. The kind they have in those fancy Italian cafes.”

Hotch blinked. “A cappuccino machine. We talked about this. We have coffee in the break room.”

Rossi looked hurt by Hotch's definition of coffee. “That isn’t coffee. This is an investment in productivity. Caffeine keeps the team sharp.”

“You’re serious.”

“Completely.”

Hotch exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “You do realize I have to explain this to Y/L/N?”

Rossi grinned. “You’re good with words. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

That evening, Hotch found himself in your office again, this time with what he knew was a losing argument.

“A cappuccino machine?” you repeated, arching an eyebrow. “Is that really where we’re at again?”

“Rossi insists it’s for team morale.”

You laughed, leaning forward on your desk. “Aaron, if I approve this, what’s next? A hot tub in the break room? A second private jet for local cases?”

He gave you a long-suffering look. “I wouldn’t put it past Rossi to suggest either of those.”

Your laughter bubbled out again, and a small smile that tugged at Hotch’s lips. “You’re impossible,” he muttered.

“You mean brilliant,” you corrected, your tone playful. “Come on, admit it—you love these little matches.”

Hotch hesitated, just long enough for the moment to stretch between you. “I do.”

Your smirk softened into something more genuine. “Well, don’t get too comfortable, Hotchner. You might actually win one of these someday.”

“And if I do?”

Your grin turned sly again. “Guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

The tension between you and Hotch simmered like an unsaid promise, lingering in the spaces between your words and the way your eyes lingered just a beat too long. It wasn’t until another late night when the office was quiet and the shadows stretched long, that Hotch found himself once again at your door.

“You know,” you said as he stepped inside, “if you keep showing up here after hours, people are going to start talking.”

“Let them,” he said, surprising himself with the bluntness of his response.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back in your chair. “That sounded suspiciously like flirting.”

“Did it?”

You smiled, slow and dangerous. “It did. And for the record, Aaron, I don’t mind.”

For once, Aaron Hotchner didn’t have a retort. Instead, he let the silence speak, the weight of it filled with possibilities he hadn’t dared entertain before.

And when you smiled at him again, he thought that maybe—just maybe—this was the start of something worth breaking the rules for.

Hotch stood frozen in the doorway for a moment longer than necessary, your words echoing in his mind. “For the record, Aaron, I don’t mind.”

He cleared his throat, stepping fully into your office and closing the door behind him. It wasn’t often that Aaron Hotchner found himself at a loss for words, but there was something about you—your sharp tongue, your disarming wit, the way you looked at him like you knew exactly what you were doing—that threw him off balance.

You leaned back in your chair, studying him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “What brings you here this time? More cappuccino machine negotiations? Or did Rossi decide the bullpen needs a wine fridge?”

“Neither,” he said, his voice steady but quieter than usual. “I wanted to talk.”

“Oh, talk,” you said, your lips curving into a playful smile. “That sounds serious.”

“It is,” he admitted, surprising himself again with his own candor.

You arched an eyebrow, tilting your head slightly. “Alright, Aaron. You’ve got my attention. What’s on your mind?”

He hesitated, not because he didn’t know what to say, but because he wasn’t sure how far he was willing to let this go. The boundary between professional and personal was already blurred; one more step and it might vanish entirely. And yet, as you sat there watching him with that sly, confident smile, he found he didn’t care as much as he should have.

“You,” he said finally, the single word weighted with more meaning than he intended.

Your smile faltered for just a second, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. Then it was back, brighter and sharper than ever. “Well, that’s unexpected. Flattered, of course, but unexpected.”

He allowed himself a small smile, stepping closer to your desk. “I doubt anything surprises you.”

“Not often,” you admitted, leaning forward slightly. “But I’ll admit, I didn’t peg you as the type to make the first move.”

“Who says this is a move?”

You laughed, the sound warm and low. “Oh, Aaron. If this isn’t a move, then I’m very curious to see what one looks like.”

He didn’t answer right away, letting the silence hang between you like a challenge. Finally, he leaned forward, placing his hands on your desk, and met your gaze head-on.

“What if I am making a move?” he asked, his voice steady but tinged with something that made your breath catch.

For the first time since he’d met you, you seemed genuinely caught off guard. Your confident smirk wavered, replaced by a flicker of something more tentative. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, and it struck him in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

“Well,” you said after a beat, your voice quieter than before. “In that case, I’d say it’s about time.”

His heart thudded once, hard and unexpected, and for a moment, he forgot where he was. Forgot who he was. All he could think about was how close you were, how easy it would be to reach across the desk and close the distance.

But then you leaned back, your smile returning with a hint of mischief. “Of course, if this isn’t a move, I’d hate to embarrass myself.”

“Consider yourself safe,” he said, straightening but not stepping back. “For now.”

Your laughter filled the room again, light and teasing. “Careful, Aaron. I’m thinking you actually enjoy these little games.”

“I do,” he said, surprising himself once more with his honesty.

You tilted your head, studying him with a newfound intensity. “Well, in that case, I’ll make sure to keep things interesting.”

As he left your office that night, the air between you charged with unspoken tension, Aaron Hotchner realized something he hadn’t allowed himself to consider before: he wasn’t just drawn to you because of your sharp wit or your undeniable charm. He was drawn to you because you made him feel something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Alive.

The roundtable room was unusually quiet when Hotch gathered the team for an impromptu meeting. That should have been his first clue. They were always at their most dangerous when they were waiting for the hammer to drop.

“All right,” he began, standing at the head of the conference table. “We need to talk about the budget.”

Rossi leaned back in his chair, a smirk already forming. “This is about the cappuccino machine, isn’t it?”

“It’s not about the cappuccino machine,” Hotch said firmly. “Though that’s still off the table.”

“Good thing I didn’t submit the requisition for the margarita blender,” Morgan muttered, earning a stifled laugh from JJ.

Hotch gave him a pointed look before continuing. “We’ve been asked to cut back on end-of-year expenses. That means scaling back on travel accommodations for the next few cases.”

“Scaling back how?” Prentiss asked, her tone cautious.

“Fewer hotels,” Hotch said. “We’ll have to bunk up where possible.”

There was a collective groan around the table.

“Bunk up?” Garcia appeared in the doorway, her dramatic gasp signaling she’d overheard. “Do you mean to tell me we, the esteemed agents of the BAU, are being reduced to sharing rooms? What is this, a slumber party?”

“Garcia, you rarely travel with us. Would it kill you to share a room with JJ or Emily for a few nights, if and when you do?” Hotch asked, his tone dry.

“It’s not about me, sir,” Garcia replied, clutching her chest like he’d wounded her. “It’s about the principle. We’re public servants, heroes even. Heroes deserve better than twin beds and bad room service.”

“Twin beds?” Reid asked, looking genuinely horrified.

Morgan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Come on, Hotch. We all know you’ve got an in with Y/N in finance. Can’t she pull some strings before Garcia does?”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, but he kept his expression neutral. “Y/N is doing her job, just like the rest of us.”

“Oh, is that what they’re calling it now?” Rossi said with a grin, earning a ripple of laughter from the team.

“Funny,” Hotch deadpanned. “But unless any of you have a better solution, this is how it’s going to be.”

“Sure, sure,” Morgan said, his grin widening. “But if anyone could sweet-talk Y/N, it’s you, Hotch. You’ve got that whole brooding, stoic charm thing going for you. She loves that.”

“I’m not sweet-talking anyone,” Hotch said, his tone clipped.

“Really?” Prentiss chimed in, raising an eyebrow. “Because rumor has it you’ve been spending a lot of time in her office lately.”

“That’s called managing the budget,” Hotch replied evenly, though his ears felt uncomfortably warm. “The budget we keep going over. Which is what I’m trying to do right now.”

“Right,” JJ said, her voice full of mock seriousness. “Managing the budget.”

The laughter around the table grew louder, and even Garcia joined in with an exaggerated wink.

Hotch sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This conversation is over.”

“But the bunking isn’t,” Rossi said, still grinning. “Good to know.”

Later, Hotch sat across from you, his tie slightly loosened after the long day. The hum of your sarcasm was already in the air, a comfort he’d never admit aloud.

“Back so soon?” you asked, glancing up from your tablet. “What’s the crisis this time? Let me guess—the team didn’t take kindly to the budgeting suggestion?”

“They had…questions,” Hotch replied, his tone dry. “And commentary.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you said, smirking as you leaned back in your chair. “Let me guess: Rossi wants to requisition a wine fridge instead of a cappuccino machine? Garcia--who if I remember correctly doesn’t even travel with the team--staged a protest? Or did Morgan suggest you charm me into pulling some strings?”

Hotch blinked, caught momentarily off guard. “Actually, yes. That’s almost word for word what he said.”

You laughed, the sound warm and far too satisfying. “I knew it. The whole team thinks I’m your budgetary fairy godmother, don’t they?”

“They’re not subtle about it,” he admitted, leaning forward slightly. “And if I’m honest, they’re starting to have…suspicions.”

Your eyebrows lifted, your smirk turning into a full-blown grin. “Oh, suspicions, huh? About what exactly?”

“That I might have an ‘in’ with you,” he said, his tone measured but carrying a hint of something wry. “And that I use it to get my way.”

You tilted your head, resting your chin on your hand. “Well, you do have an in with me, Aaron.”

“I do?” he asked, raising a brow.

“Mm-hmm,” you said, your grin widening. “You come in here all brooding and stoic, with that deep voice and those puppy-dog eyes, and I’m supposed to say no to you? Please.”

He let out a rare chuckle, low and brief. “So you’re saying you find me…persuasive?”

“I’m saying I find you irritating,” you replied, though the teasing lilt in your voice betrayed you. “But occasionally charming.”

“Occasionally?” he repeated, quirking an eyebrow.

“Don’t push your luck,” you said, though your smile hadn’t wavered. “Now, what exactly are you hoping I’ll do?”

Hotch straightened, slipping back into his professional demeanor. “The travel budget is tight. We need to cut back on some of the accommodations for the next few cases. If there’s any room to reallocate funds or find efficiencies, I’d like your input.”

You studied him for a moment, your pen tapping against the desk. “You know,” you said finally, “you could’ve just sent an email. But you didn’t, which means you wanted to have this conversation in person.”

“Maybe I thought it would be more effective,” he said, his voice steady.

“And maybe,” you said, leaning forward with a sly smile, “you just like spending time with me.”

Hotch’s gaze held yours, the tension between you thick enough to cut. “Maybe the team isn’t wrong to have their suspicions.”

That caught you off guard, and for the briefest moment, your confident grin faltered. Then you recovered, your smile turning soft around the edges. “Well, if you’re going to keep coming to me, Aaron, I guess I’ll have to live up to their expectations.”

“So you’ll help?” he asked, his voice quiet but steady.

You rolled your eyes, though your grin didn’t fade. “Of course, I’ll help. But only because I’d hate for Garcia to have to share a room on the rare chance she joined you on a trip. Can you imagine the drama?”

Hotch stood, his lips curving into a rare, genuine smile. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” you said, your tone playful. “I might make you owe me one.”

He paused at the door, glancing back at you. “I think I already do.”

Your laughter followed him out, and Hotch didn’t mind giving up a little control.

The next few weeks blurred into a whirlwind of cases, budget meetings, and what Hotch could only describe as a game of mutual teasing with you that he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to win. The team’s jabs about his “in” with you only got more relentless, but the truth was, they weren’t wrong. He found himself seeking out your company more often than he’d care to admit, and not just because of budgetary crises.

One evening, well after most of the team had gone home, Hotch walked into your office to find you perched on the edge of your desk, heels kicked off, and a pen tucked behind your ear as you typed furiously on your tablet.

“You work too much,” he said by way of greeting, leaning casually against the doorframe.

You glanced up, smirking. “Says the man who just came from his own office. What brings you here, Aaron? More budget drama? Or are you just here for the company?”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “Would it be so bad if it were both?”

Your eyebrows lifted in surprise, but the smile that followed was slow and dangerous. “Well, well. Are you finally admitting that you like me?”

He hesitated for half a second before replying, his voice low but steady. “I think you already know I do.”

That made you pause. Your usual sharp wit seemed momentarily replaced by something softer, something vulnerable, before you quickly masked it with your trademark confidence. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you flirt before, Hotchner. You’re better at it than I expected.”

“I don’t flirt,” he said, stepping closer. “At least, not intentionally.”

“Oh,” you said, your voice dropping slightly. “So this is just you being your naturally charming self?”

“Something like that,” he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting in a faint smirk.

You laughed, shaking your head as you set your tablet aside. “You know, if you keep talking like that, I might start to think you’re actually serious.”

“What if I am?” he asked, taking another step closer.

Your grin faltered, replaced by a flicker of uncertainty. “Aaron…”

He stopped just in front of you, close enough that he could see the faintest flush on your cheeks. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said quietly. “But I don’t regret it.”

You tilted your head, studying him as if trying to determine whether he was being sincere. Then, slowly, your lips curved into a soft, almost shy smile that he hadn’t seen before. “Well, that’s good,” you said, your voice lighter now. “Because I’d hate to think I’ve been wasting my time trying to get under your skin.”

“You’ve been very effective,” he admitted, his voice laced with dry humor.

You laughed again, the tension between you easing slightly. “Good to know.”

For a moment, the two of you simply stood there, the air between you charged with possibilities. Then you leaned forward just enough that your shoulder brushed his, your voice dropping to a near whisper. “So what now, Aaron? You going to keep playing it safe, or are you finally going to make a move and follow through?”

Hotch held your gaze, his pulse quickening in a way that was entirely unfamiliar and yet oddly welcome. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you replied, your grin returning.

Before he could overthink it, he leaned down, his hand resting lightly on the edge of your desk as his lips brushed against yours. The kiss was brief but electric, leaving both of you slightly breathless when he pulled back.

“Well,” you said after a moment, your voice a little unsteady but filled with warmth. “That’s one way to balance the budget.”

Hotch chuckled softly, his forehead resting lightly against yours. “I hope that’s not the only thing you take away from this.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you said, your grin turning wicked again. “I’ll send you the itemized breakdown tomorrow.”

He laughed, a rare, genuine sound, and as the two of you stood there in the quiet of your office, Hotch couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was exactly what he’d been missing.

The next morning, Hotch walked into the bullpen, his usual stoic demeanor firmly in place—at least on the outside. Inside, he felt lighter than he had in years. But any illusion of subtlety was shattered the moment he saw Morgan smirking at him from across the room.

“Morning, Hotch,” Morgan said, his tone far too casual. “You look…different today. Get a good night’s sleep?”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, choosing not to dignify the comment with a response. He made his way toward his office, but before he could escape, Garcia intercepted him, practically bouncing on her heels.

“Oh, boss man, you’ve got that look,” she teased, waggling her eyebrows. “The look of a man who’s either won the lottery or—” Her eyes widened in dramatic realization. “—had a life-altering, swoon-worthy moment with a certain someone in finance.”

Hotch sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Garcia—”

“Don’t deny it!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “I have sources.”

Before he could reply, the elevator dinged, and you stepped out, striding confidently into the bullpen with your signature blend of poise and sass. You caught Hotch’s eye and shot him a subtle, knowing smile that sent a ripple of warmth through him.

Garcia caught the exchange and gasped audibly. “Oh my God! It’s true!”

Morgan leaned back in his chair, grinning. “I knew it. Didn’t I say he had an in with her?”

“You said it,” Prentiss confirmed, her tone amused. “Repeatedly. But he's really getting it in with her.”

JJ just shook her head, smiling. “Well, at least we know why the budget meetings keep getting longer.”

Hotch leveled a calm, measured glare at his team. “I don’t recall calling a team meeting on my personal life.”

“Ah, but your personal life is so much more interesting than budget cuts,” Rossi said with a wink. “You should let us enjoy it.”

“I’m glad you’re all entertained,” Hotch said dryly, turning toward his office. But as he walked away, he caught your voice behind him.

“Don’t be too hard on them, Aaron,” you called amusement lacing your tone.

The laughter that followed was warm and genuine, and for once, Hotch didn’t mind being the subject of it. As he stepped into his office and closed the door, he glanced back at you through the glass, catching your playful smile once more.

Yes, this was definitely worth breaking the rules for.

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