#PROFESSOR Hotchner

[luvs4matt]

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐑!𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐃 𝐏!𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 .𝟎𝟎𝟏

with love and stems, cherry ღღ

riding him while he sucks your tits

in the car

he is big big

fucking you from behind

lickin’ you up

your nipples in his mouth

you’re on top while making out

he had enough of your shit and made you become louder than you’ve ever been

fingering

stroking his dick

playing with your pussy

fucking you from behind pt.2

a/n - THIS IS A LEGAL AGE GAP!!! NOT ILLEGAL!!! PROFESSOR!SPENCER IS 38 WHILE READER IS EARLY-MID 20’S!!!

[hoe4hotchner]

Extra Credit | [A.H]

Pairing: Professor!Hotch x fem!Reader CW: 18+, MDNI, coerced sexual activity, power imbalance, emotional manipulation, dubious consent, degradation and humiliation, age gap, student/professor, dom/sub dynamic, praise, (L/N) used once, no use of (Y/N). The smut in this is "just" a blowjob. WC: 2,9k

My dumb ass had to look up the american grading system cause we use a 7 point grading scale of numbers where I'm from. ---- Also alsoalso, i feel kind of evil with this one 😅

@ssamorganhotchner my love I will dedicate this fic to you cause your scream into the void made me finish it. 🤭🤭

           The lecture had been another brutal session, his lectures were always hard to get through, and you could still hear Mr. Hotchner’s voice echoing in your mind, sharp and cutting. His presence dominated the room - a force impossible to ignore - and it rattled you in a way no other professor ever had. Every question he posed felt like a challenge, every glance in your direction seemed to monitor your every move. The pressure in his class had been mounting for weeks now, suffocating and relentless as you tried your hardest to keep up with your studies.

           The other students had already packed up and left, the sounds of hurried footsteps and rustling papers fading as they filtered out of the lecture hall. You were just about to follow when his voice called out, stopping you in your tracks.

           "Miss (L/N), a moment, please."

           His tone was steady. There was no warmth, only command - one you couldn’t ignore, no matter how much you wanted to. Swallowing thickly, your pulse quickened as you turned to face him. Mr. Hotchner stood at the front of the room, his eyes locked onto you, persistent and unreadable. You’d seen that look before - the one that pierced through you, as if he were dissecting every inch of your character, sizing up your worth.

           "Come to my office," he continued, already gathering his notes. "There’s something we need to discuss."

           You nodded, a knot forming in your stomach. You knew exactly what this was about: the last test. The one you felt like you'd bombed so spectacularly, despite staying up all night cramming. Panic twisted in your chest as you hastily grabbed your things, every step toward his office feeling heavier like you were marching to your doom.

           When you arrived at his office, he was already seated behind his desk, his posture straight, his face calm yet calculating. His office was an extension of him - neat, organized, cold - the only warmth coming from the mahogany furniture decorating the room. You hesitated at the door, but when his eyes met yours, pinning you in place, you stepped inside without a word.

           "Sit," he said, gesturing to the chair across from him.

           Your legs felt weak as you obeyed, sinking into the chair. The room seemed smaller now, the silence oppressive. The only sound was the rush of your own panicked heartbeat in your ears.

           Mr. Hotchner reached for the paper on his desk - your test - and slid it across the table toward you. Your eyes dropped to it, the red ink scrawled across the page like a string of wounds, culminating in the bold, unforgiving "F" circled at the top. The sight of it made your stomach drop.

           "Care to explain this?" His voice was low and direct, but there was an edge to it: disappointment, authority, judgment maybe.

           You opened your mouth, but no words came out. What could you say? You had failed. There was no excuse, no way to justify how badly you’d done, no matter how hard you’d tried.

           "I... I’m sorry," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. "I really did try, I-"

           His sharp gaze cut you off before you could finish. His expression hardened. "Trying isn’t enough, Miss. In this class, you’re expected to succeed. Effort without results means nothing to me." He leaned forward slightly, his eyes boring into you. "You know that, don’t you?"

           You nodded quickly, your throat tight with panic. "Yes, Professor. I just... I don’t know what happened."

           Mr. Hotchner sighed, sitting back in his chair, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the desk as his eyes flicked over you, assessing your every reaction. "This isn’t the first time your performance has been subpar," he mused, almost to himself. "But I’m not inclined to hand out second chances freely. You understand that, don’t you?"

           Your pulse quickened, and you grabbed the edges of the chair, trying to steady yourself. You needed this class to pass. Your entire academic path hinged on it. "Please, Sir," you blurted out, the words tumbling from your lips before you could stop them. "I’ll do anything to make up for this. I just..."

           Hotch raised a brow, a faint smile tugging at his lips, though it held no warmth. "Anything, Miss?" His tone shifted, becoming darker, more sinister. He leaned forward again, his elbows resting on the desk, fingers steepled in front of him, his eyes locking onto yours.

           You froze, the weight of that single word hanging heavy in the air between you. Something in his gaze made your skin prickle, a cold realization settling over you, though you still didn’t fully understand what he meant.

           "There are ways," he said, almost absently, his eyes never leaving you. "To improve your grade. But... no, you wouldn’t want to do that."

           The soft, almost indifferent tone only made the tension worse, as if he were toying with the idea, considering something dark and unspoken. His eyes - steady and determined - never left yours, trapping you beneath the weight of his scrutiny. A shiver crawled up your spine, the walls of the small office seeming to close in as his stare held you in place, daring you to speak, to challenge the unspoken hint buried in his words. The air thickened, stifling, and at that moment, you realized you were no longer sitting across from your professor but a man who held all the power - and he knew it.

           "Please, Sir... anything." Your voice lingered on the verge of tears. Your stomach churned as you began to realize the gravity of the situation, the dark current running beneath his words. But it was too late. You’d already sealed your fate.

           The tension in the room thickened as Mr. Hotchner leaned back in his chair, his eyes eyeing you, estimating just what he could get you to do. His silence stretched, but you felt the shift - something in him had clicked, and it set your pulse racing with a mix of fear and something unnameable.

           He moved slowly, deliberately, pushing his chair back just enough to make space. He gestured to the small gap between him and the desk. "Come here," he said, his voice low, the command unquestionable.

           You hesitated, your legs trembling slightly as you stood, heart pounding so hard you swore he could hear it. He didn’t rush you, just watched as you took one small, uncertain step forward, then another, until you were standing directly between his legs. His proximity sent a jolt of awareness through you, your body hyperaware of the heat radiating from him - too close.

           Mr. Hotchner's hand reached out, his fingers brushing the fabric of your skirt before settling on your hip, guiding you into place with a firm grip. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice a quiet rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. You felt trapped, pinned between him and the desk, with nowhere to escape as his other hand came to rest on the small of your back, pulling you even closer. The space between you vanished, and you swallowed hard, your breath catching in your throat.

           You could feel his gaze, assessing, waiting for you to protest, to pull away - but you didn’t. Something about the smoothness of his words kept you intrigued. His control was absolute, the imbalance between you undeniable, and yet… you found yourself rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to think of anything but him and the way his hands felt against your skin.

           "There are certain things you’re willing to do," he said softly, his voice carrying a darker edge now. "Aren’t there?"

           You nodded, barely able to find your voice, the room spinning as his hand slid lower on your back, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. The intensity in his gaze was overwhelming, suffocating, and you realized with a sinking feeling that you were already too far gone to turn back now.

           Mr. Hotchner's gaze remained fixed on you as he maneuvered you with practiced ease. His grip on your hip tightened slightly, guiding you down until you were kneeling on the floor before him. The cold tile pressed against your knees, sending a shiver through you, but Mr. Hotchner's presence was a warm, commanding contrast.

           “That’s it,” he said, his voice rich with approval as you settled into the position he directed. “You’re doing well.”

           The praise made the tension more bearable yet, it came with an edge of something darker, something that made you shiver despite the heat pooling between you. You glanced up at him, meeting his eyes, and saw the way they softened just a touch, but only enough to keep you vulnerable.

           His hand moved with deliberate care, stroking the length of your hair. The soft, almost caressing touch was a strange contrast to the authority he exerted. “You’re very obedient,” Mr. Hotchner said, his tone almost gentle now, but there was an unmistakable command in his words. “And you know, I do appreciate that.” The warmth of his hand was soothing but carried with it an undercurrent of power, leaving you both comforted and apprehensive. “I can see you’re trying to do what it takes to improve.”

           He shifted slightly, his chair creaking as he leaned forward a bit, the fabric of his suit brushing against you. “You’re very dedicated,” he said softly, his eyes roaming over you with a mixture of satisfaction and something else you couldn’t quite place. “And I have to admit, it’s not something I see in my students very often.”

           Your breath quickened as his praise continued, his words a strange mix of encouragement and control that made you feel simultaneously uplifted and trapped. It confused you. The power he held over you was noticeable, his authority unchallenged as you knelt before him, feeling the weight of his gaze.

           “You’re willing to do whatever it takes,” Mr. Hotchner continued his hand now gently stroking the top of your head. “That’s very impressive. Most students wouldn’t go this far.”

           The air between you was thick with his dominance, the atmosphere heavy with the unspoken promises and threats that lingered in his words. His praise was both a comfort and a chain, binding you to him in a way that left you breathless and anxious for what was to come.

           Mr. Hotchner guided you to unbuckle his belt, watching as you hooked your fingers through the loop, carefully removing it and unzipping his pants. You kept looking up at him for reassurance, waiting for a nod of approval to continue. You gently grabbed the elastic waistband and slowly pulled his underwear down, revealing his thick, erect cock. It sprang free, long, and veined, with a bulky head already glistening with pre-cum. You couldn't help but let out a soft gasp at the sight of it.

           “Go on,” he urged. “Show me how much you want that grade.”

           With a slight nod, you leaned forward and extended your tongue, delicately licking the tip of his cock, tasting the salty sweetness. Mr. Hotchner let out a soft groan, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. Encouraged by his reaction, you opened your mouth and took just the head into your warm, wet mouth, swirling your tongue around it.

           “Fuck, that’s it,” he whispered, his hand gripping your neck, guiding your movements. “Suck it, take it deep.” He growled.

           You obeyed, slowly taking more of his length into your mouth, your lips sliding down his shaft. You moaned softly around his cock, the vibrations driving him wild. Mr. Hotchner's hand moved to the back of your head, gently holding you in place as he began to thrust his hips, fucking your mouth with slow, deliberate strokes.

           “You’re doing so well,” he praised, his voice hoarse with desire. “But I want more. I want to feel that tight throat of yours.”

           Eager to please, you relaxed your throat and took him deeper, your nose pressing into his pubic hair. You felt his cock hit the back of your throat, you gagged and coughed around him. Mr. Hotchner stilled for a brief moment as he let you adjust to the new position of his cock in your throat.

           As Mr. Hotchner's hand started gently caressing your hair once again, his other hand slowly shifted, a deliberate movement that drew your attention away from the soothing strokes. He let you take over, expecting you to continue pleasuring. His fingers, initially tender and reassuring, began to trace down the side of your neck, brushing lightly against the fabric of your blouse.

           “You’re doing very well,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. The praise seemed to be more about control than genuine encouragement, keeping you bound in a trance by his spell. The warmth of his hand became more insistent.

           You felt a shiver run down your spine as his hand moved with purpose, sliding along the curve of your shoulder and then lower. His fingers grazed the edge of your skirt, teasing the hem as they explored the fabric. The contact was both alarming and electric, the smoothness of his touch in stark contrast to the pressure of his gaze.

           “Such dedication,” Hotch continued, his tone almost contemplative. His fingers lingered at the edge of your skirt, the touch becoming more deliberate as he traced along the hem. “It’s rare to find someone so willing to go above and beyond.”

           The way his hand inched closer to the soft material of the front of your skirt, it made you acutely aware of the shift in the atmosphere. His touch, though light and seemingly casual, was charged with an intensity that left you on edge. The skirt felt suddenly like a barrier between you and him, a fragile line that he was now exploring with calculated movements.

           He pushed his fingers past the waistband; they were cold as they brushed against your stomach, slowly moving down toward your clothed heat. Mr. Hotchner tutted as he brushed his fingers against your folds, the soaking wet fabric leaving a slick trail on his fingers.

           “You naughty girl,” he mocked. “Do you feel that? The way your body reacts to my touch? How long have you been aching for this kind of attention?” He grinned, his fingers expertly drawing out mewls from you as you tried to keep your focus on the task at hand.

           You felt the way his cock twitched against your tongue, convulsing with every movement, every lick and suck. Mr. Hotchner could feel it too, his climax nearing. He moved his hands to the back of your head, holding you still as he flexed his muscles. You whined around him at the sudden loss of touch on your pussy.

           “Don’t be greedy,” he hissed through gritted teeth, fucking your mouth with such force that all you could do was stay still and relax your throat, trying your best to keep breathing through your nose.

           “Yes, that’s it, take it all,” he grunted, his hips moving faster now, driving his cock down your throat with each thrust. “Oh fuck, I’m close,” Mr. Hotchner groaned, his hips jerking as he came, emptying himself down your throat. You swallowed around him, taking every drop, your eyes never leaving his, a satisfied smile on his face.

           “Look at this mess you made,” he tutted, pulling his cock out of your mouth. The few drops of cum mixed with your saliva glistened under the light. “Now, clean it up.” He scooted his chair closer to the desk, effectively caging you in. “I have papers to grade.”

           You slowly started licking the shaft with small kitten licks as you made your way from the base to the head. You were scared he wouldn't pass you if you didn't follow his orders. Mr. Hotcher paid no attention to you whatsoever. You felt humiliated as you sat under his desk, his thoughts elsewhere as you mindlessly followed his demands. The sound of your tongue mixed with the slight scratching of his pen scribbling on the papers in front of him were the only sounds in the room.

           When you finished, the room seemed even smaller than when you'd entered, the walls closer than before. You sat back on your haunches, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps as you tried to process what had just happened, your mind swirling in confusion and shame.

           Mr. Hotchner leaned back, his expression calm, his eyes glittering with a smug satisfaction that made your skin crawl. You were about to ask what he would change your grade to, feeling you had at least deserved a D for the effort. But Mr. Hotcher sensed your question before you even opened your mouth.

           “Don’t think so fast, dear,” he said smoothly, his voice like ice on your skin. “Good grades cost more than that.”

           Your stomach twisted painfully, and you glanced up at him, unsure how to respond, your voice catching in your throat. You wanted to believe this nightmare was over, that you’d somehow paid your dues and could walk out of his office with your dignity intact.

           But Mr. Hotchner wasn’t finished with you. He regarded you coolly, one brow arching as he tilted his head slightly, watching your every reaction with dark amusement.

           “Same time next week?” he asked, though it wasn’t really a question - it was an expectation, a demand disguised as a polite inquiry.

           You nodded, the movement slow and uncertain, the weight of his gaze making you feel trapped, cornered. “Okay… sir,” you whispered, your voice small and fragile.

           His smile deepened, satisfied, and gently patted your cheek. “Good girl.”

[hotchshands]

Teacher’s Pet|Professor!HotchxReader AU

Masterlist | Taglist

Synopsis: Every university student must take two university lectures before graduation, so you signed up for Professor Hotchner's lecture, Intro to Profiling. You were not by any means a Criminology major, but Professor Hotchner was hot, so you had to register for the class. You were lucky enough to get a seat in it but not so lucky, considering Professor Hotchner has a reputation for being strict, but not when it came to you. Professor Hotchner had a soft spot for you and wanted nothing more than to give you an A, which leads you to get down and dirty with the 45-year-old man.

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

New chapters every other Sunday at 11:59 pm! Chapters in red are nsfw!

[ecocharlier]

Sir, I'mma need for you to take a break from BEING THIS GORGEOUS!?!?

[show-your-fangs]

Swimming Pool ✿ Aaron Hotchner

We Shouldn't (And Yet We Do) - Part One

Pairing: DBF!Hotch x f!Reader

Words: 12.6k

CW: 18+, NSFW, mdni, smut, a little angst and so much fluff.

Summary: You return home for the summer because of your parents’ drama but luckily for you, your father’s friend, Mr. Hotchner, is there to bring you some much needed comfort. 

Tags/warnings: shitty family life, age gap relationship (reader is 20, Hotch is 40), teasing, groping, perv!hotch, inappropriate thoughts and behavior, grinding, daddy kink bc fuck you, fingering (f receiving), protected piv sex (wrap it before you tap it or at least make sure you talk it over with your partner and get tested!).

a/n: Thank you so much to @canuck-eh for writing Loose Morals and reigniting my passion to write this series, and to @xladyxdreamer for putting up with my Moments angst to the point where this series is now my penance for it. Finally, to whoever started the DBF!Hotch train, you are a god and I love you.

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.

Coming back home in the middle of summer was…a lot. You’d just finished your second year away at college and you weren’t supposed to come back home until Christmas six months later, a compromise you’d agreed to only for your mother. But then she’d called out of the blue, sobbing, hysterical, and you had booked a flight back home to Virginia before she’d even hung up. 

When you did finally arrive the morning after, she was much calmer, but the edge in her voice remained and you knew something was wrong. The only problem was that she refused to tell you what it was. It wasn’t until your high school friend took you out to lunch later that she finally clued you in as to what was going on. 

Your father had apparently been caught getting busy with another one of the professors at the college he taught at. Someone had taken a…suggestive picture and now everything was in shambles. Well, not everything, mostly just his own marriage. From the little bits of information you were able to string together from your mother, it was clear that he was gaslighting her into believing that the picture was taken out of context and he wasn’t actually having an affair.  

It had all blown up in your face about twenty minutes ago. Your house was packed with people, mostly your father’s close friends, colleagues, and their wives. He had decided to host an end of term/start of summer cocktail party to quell whatever doubts lingered amongst his social circles that whatever had or had not been taken didn’t mean anything and his marriage was still going strong. What he hadn’t accounted for, however, was you coming back to make sure your mother was alright. 

You’d been holding onto the anger all afternoon as you followed your mother around, yelling and complaining and just desperately trying to reason with her. You’d never been a huge fan of your father. Sure, he’d done the bare minimum to give you life and was now paying for the part of your tuition that wasn’t covered by all the scholarships you’d gotten so that you didn’t have to graduate with massive loans. But aside from the small kindnesses he awarded you every so often, your relationship was nonexistent.

It was almost as if he’d predicted your mood because he didn’t arrive at the house until the party was minutes from starting. You had thought about leaving, about going out and getting wasted with your high school friends, but before you could even tell your mother you were going out, you found her crying in the master bedroom. And just like that you were back to seeing red. 

The door swung open and you practically stormed towards it like a woman possessed. 

“We need to talk,” you started. “No, let me rephrase, I need to scream at you and you’re going to listen—”

“Honey,” your father said sternly, opening the door fully. “Do not be rude to Aaron, say hello.”

Shame hit you like a bus as Mr. Hotchner came into focus behind your father. Fuck, he was good. It was eerie how clever your father could be when he didn’t want to be told off, when he knew that he’d done something wrong and instead of owning up to it he’d do everything in his power to avoid talking about it. 

“Hi, Mr. Hotchner,” you managed through gritted teeth as your father walked past you and into the kitchen. 

“Hello, sweetheart,” he replied, an amused smile on his lips. “I didn’t know you were coming back for summer break.”

“I’m not,” you tried to keep your voice steady. He must’ve known why you were angry, why the sudden outburst, but he didn’t reply, he simply nodded, lips in a thin line, trying to look anywhere but you. 

“Well,” he broke the short silence. “I better put this on ice.”

He held out a bottle of Scotch he’d presumably brought over from his own house next door and walked after your father. You stood alone at the open door, the freedom of the night away from the exhaustion of fighting against your parents alluring. And yet you couldn’t seem to walk out, couldn’t seem to will your legs to move you in the direction of the rational choice. 

Your heart was beating unbearably fast, and it wasn’t because of whatever was happening between your parents. No, it had everything to do with the FBI agent that had just walked into your home and the way he had clearly glanced down at your exposed cleavage before he had to immediately shift his gaze to anything else. 

Aaron didn’t want to leave you there but he truly didn’t have a choice. You were wearing a tight black dress, so tight in fact that he could’ve sworn he saw every curve of your body. What had made it even worse was the way your breasts were practically spilling out of the garment, the trim of your lacy bra peeking around the edges. He’d felt like a teenager all over again, his crotch tightening uncomfortably as he tried his hardest to listen to the words coming out of your mouth to make sure that he responded eloquently. 

Your mother had already put out ice buckets and he practically slammed the bottle into an empty one. Was it stupid to chill Scotch? He honestly couldn’t even remember anymore as he desperately wished he could’ve dunk his already hardening erection on the ice as well. He needed to get a grip, needed to calm down, needed to pretend like he hadn’t already seen your body in the many pictures you had posted online in the two years that you’d been gone.  

He served himself a double, watching as you left the door wide open and retreated back upstairs. He lingered by the table for a moment, finishing his drink and calming himself down. He’d known you for a little over two years, at least on a first name, dinner at your house every month, type of way. You had just graduated high school when he started teaching part time at the college where your father also taught. The two of them had become fast friends and in the months that followed while you waited out the summer to start classes you had babysat Jack while Aaron was away on cases.

It was wrong and he definitely knew it. But there was something so captivating about you, about your kindness and curiosity and interest in not only his work but in him as a person. You loved getting to know people, getting to share secrets and discuss the root of existence and emotion and life. It was easy to forget that you were this young, your eloquence far higher than most of the adults that had just started shuffling into your home. 

He’d filled his glass up once more as your father’s friends and his colleagues arrived. He plastered on a polite smile and greeted everyone as they made their way through the house. The repetitive nature of small talk for the next twenty minutes allowed him to forget about you, calm his body down enough to appear normal, collected.

He had migrated to the backyard with the rest of his colleagues after a while, the men around him engaged in mindless conversation about the break ahead, their vacation plans, and anything that wasn’t about the elephant in the room, because he knew, they all knew, that your father had clearly been caught redhanded and if they didn’t get their wives to agree that he was nothing more than a victim, they could be taken down next. 

You waited until the backyard was packed with people before you emerged from your room. If your father didn’t want his friends gossiping about his affair tonight then you’d give them something else to talk about. And what better thing to gossip about than your father’s college age daughter practically displaying her body for all of his married friends and their wives. 

Wearing that skimpy thing that did nothing to cover you up could only mean one thing – you were trying to get back at your father. Aaron couldn’t help but almost choke on his drink as he watched you saunter back out of the house. His ears began ringing loudly as you swayed your hips, clearly asking for attention. You walked right up to the edge of the pool and dove in without so much as a single word, the stark contrast between the cocktail party and your rebellious, summer blowout attitude jarring. 

He couldn’t help but notice your father’s absence back out in the courtyard, your mother also conveniently nowhere to be seen. He could only assume that she was either consoling his poor, broken ego or sucking him off inside. Either outcome made him feel incredibly bad for you, bad that you had to come back home to rumors of your father’s infidelity and your mother’s complete denial of it. 

While she was working overtime trying to fix a one sided relationship, you were determined to lash out against it in the most childish way you could possibly think of, and that unfortunately meant parading around your backyard filled with middle aged men in practically nothing.

Well, fortunate for him because he got to see the way your nipples hardened against the sheer fabric the second you stepped out into the cold night air, got to marvel at way your waist dipped into your full hips, the plush muscle begging to be squeezed tightly, got to catch the faintest glance at the outline of your pussy against the red material. It was unfortunate because he knew he wasn’t the only one staring at you and he had to bite his tongue as he began to hear the men around him murmur about your body.

He wanted to step up and use his own frame to shield you from them, to hide you away from their practically salivating stares. But instead he simply took a sip of his drink and allowed himself to watch you like a hawk, to silently guard, determined to step in if any of them actually decided to turn their thoughts into action. Because even then he couldn’t help but feel protective of you.    

Your father came barrelling out of the house mere minutes later, your mother practically running to catch up and stop him. He was about to blow up, about to make a scene, one that you were eagerly waiting for when her hand landed on his chest and he seemingly remembered where he was and who he was surrounded by. He instantly relaxed his face and Aaron couldn’t help but take a step forward, tense and ready to fight him. 

“Honey,” your mother spoke instead, layering the guilt on thick. “Please get out of the pool, I don’t want you catching a cold.”

Aaron set his glass down and walked over to the little hamper by the grill, expertly fishing out a large towel. He could feel everyone else start to notice that he’d moved, that he was inserting himself into something that clearly had nothing to do with him. But it didn’t matter the second that your round, hurt, expressive eyes met his. His gaze softened, just for you, to let you know that you didn’t want to make this any worse than it already was. And for the first time ever, you listened to him. 

Your mother thanked him as he walked around them, towel extended in his hands for you to simply curl yourself into it. He could tell your cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, and when he draped the fabric over your shivering body, he could smell the faint, lingering scent of alcohol on your breath. He sighed deeply, just for himself and you followed suit, taking the moment to compose yourself. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, delicate fingers taking the towel from him and wrapping it around yourself, terrified of what your reaction would be if you’d let him do it for you. You were back inside the house in seconds, the party resuming quickly as your parents started their rounds of greetings and small talk. He lingered by the pool for a few minutes, not wanting to be incredibly obvious about following you inside. 

He told himself that he only wanted to make sure you were alright, that there was nothing wrong with being concerned for you after what had just happened. And so when the waiters began to pass out hors d'oeuvres, he took advantage of the distraction and slipped back into the house.

“Sweetheart?” he whispered loudly as he willed the wood beneath his feet not to creak loudly against the final step of the staircase. “Are you alright?”

The second floor was deserted, terrifyingly quiet and dark. He noticed the light was on in your bathroom across the hall from your room and he approached. The second his shadow landed over the wood, the door swung wide open, greedy hands grabbing a hold of his shirt and pulling him into the small room. 

“I need you,” you slurred, your hands sliding down towards his belt, trembling fingers struggling with the silver buckle. He couldn’t stop the groan that erupted from his throat, the sounds spurring you on.

He was so distracted by the thrill, the shock and surprise of your neediness, of your clear desire for him that his brain short circuited for a second, lost to the sensations he’d been craving from you for years. 

You’d never done anything like this before, never even flirted with each other as far as he was concerned since he made sure to watch his words around you, only allowing himself one thing, to call you sweetheart. Which could only indicate that your sudden boldness meant that you’d thought about this just as much as he had, that you’d caught him staring at you with hunger in his eyes just like he’d caught you staring at him with danger in yours. 

“Sweetheart,” he said bluntly, trying to use his words before he was forced to use his hands to stop you. “You’ve had a lot to drink,” you scoffed. “You’re upset,” your hand squeezed over the outline of his cock and it took everything in him to not let out a single sound. That seemed to do the trick as your confident demeanor slipped away and the terrified girl desperately trying to hide resurfaced. 

Tears laced your eyes, your chest began to shake, your hands trembled, slowly slipping away from his body. He scooped them both up in his warm, large palms, bending your arms over your chest before pressing you tightly to his. You began to sob then and it broke Aaron’s heart. Your face landed over his frantically beating heart. If you noticed through your tears you made no effort to comment on it. He held you like that for a while, not caring at all that his clothes were definitely wet now. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to him, arms crossing over your chest in a feeble attempt to cover yourself up now that you were clearly not going to get what you’d wanted only seconds before. He crouched down and picked up the towel off the floor, this time making it a point to drape it over you and wrap you tightly in it. You felt like a child, a dumb, stupid child that had just thrown a tantrum and had been scolded. It was humiliating. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart,” he assured you, allowing himself to talk down to you just a little. His heart was still racing, his mind even more so now as he realized that the barrier that he’d put up between the two of you all those years ago had just been shattered into a million pieces. “Why don’t you take a shower and get some sleep?”

You nodded, refusing to look him in the eyes. But he would not have it. He hooked a finger under your chin, gently yet forcefully, pulling your gaze up to meet his. His thumb ghosted over your bottom lip, your mouth opening slightly without him doing anything to you. 

“Good girl,” he hummed and you practically whimpered, your thighs pressing together. The side of his mouth curled into the tiniest of smirks before he removed his hand from your body completely and walked out the door, leaving you alone in your bathroom with a fire burning in your chest. 

You were unsure when the decision had been made, but you’d awoken the next day to a letter from your mother on the kitchen counter, the house spotless as the cleaning crew she’d hired probably went through it the night before. Your parents were gone for the rest of the summer, apparently one of your father’s friends had a timeshare at some resort in Italy and they were able to squeeze your parents into their trip last minute. 

You released a sigh you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. The memories of the events of the night before had been washing over you in powerful, drowning waves ever since you opened your eyes fifteen minutes ago. You regretted at least ninety percent of your actions, having been so wrapped up in getting back at your father that you had completely forgotten that your actions would also affect your mother. The look of disappointment, of complete and utter shame and embarrassment that had taken over her face as she spoke to you haunting, especially now in the brightness of the day. 

And then there was Mr. Hotchner. Fuck, you cringed every time you remembered what you’d done, how you’d come onto him so pathetically. You couldn’t deny the rejection didn’t hurt but he had been right. You were upset, unbelievably so, and it would’ve stung even more to think of your first time with him to have been because you were trying to make your father angry, not because you actually wanted to sleep with him. 

And oh boy did you want to.

As much as Freud was an idiot, you were very aware after two years of your psychology degree that your attraction to older men had everything to do with your need to seek the approval your father denied you from your romantic partners. 

You’d had a very childish crush on Mr. Hotchner for years. It was silly, something that kept your pussy wet at night and made your friends giggle whenever you told them about the hot neighbor that you used to babysit for. But you knew he was unattainable. You could never have him, and sadly, that only made you want him even more. 

In an act of defiance you hadn’t done what he’d told you to do the night before. Instead you took off the remaining pieces of clothing you still had on and tossed them into your shower before you walked across the hall to your room, pulled out the shitty bullet vibrator you’d left behind two years ago, and desperately tried to get yourself off. To say you’d been unsuccessful, your fingers and the weak device never even coming close to what you truly desired, what you needed. 

That had only made you angrier, angrier at yourself, angrier at him. By the time you had drank your first cup of coffee all of your embarrassment had washed away into cold, seething irritation. He clearly wanted you just as much as you wanted him. You definitely hadn’t imagined the way he responded to your touch, the way he’d groaned in response. And that was the problem. He’d been holding himself back, whatever friendly relationship the two of you had built, one that you regarded as honest and sincere nothing more than a facade he’d concocted to keep you at arm’s length. 

You grabbed a pair of sunglasses that your mother must’ve left on the kitchen counter and placed them over your eyes before walking back out to your backward. You were aware that there was a specific spot in front of the sliding doors that he could see from his house next door. You’d noticed it when you were babysitting one time, the thrill that he could’ve seen you in your bikini at some point that summer driving you insane. 

You didn’t want to be at arm’s length anymore. You refused to let whatever fears you were holding onto because of his relationship with your father to stop you from going after what you’d wanted for so long. 

You dragged a lounge chair over to that exact spot, the blaring sun perfectly over it as the excuse you needed in case he brought up your pathetic ploy. Once you were satisfied with your placement you shrugged off the robe you’d been wearing, the fabric falling off your shoulders and pooling around your feet in an instant to reveal absolutely nothing covering your body. 

You’d fallen asleep at some point, completely naked and aggravated. You made sure to take your time getting into a comfortable position over the chair, chest out, legs curled suggestively, putting all of your assets on display. With the bait set, it was now a matter of waiting for him to bite.  

You heard him yell your name across your house about ten minutes later. It didn’t surprise you that he had his own set of keys, your stomach already twisting in anticipation and excitement at just how easy it had been to get him exactly where you wanted him.

“Are you decent?” he asked with a smirk in his voice. He knew you weren’t. “Jack is here with me.”

You practically leapt off the chair, frantically picking up the robe and putting it on as the two of them walked out onto the backyard. Jack said your name then, chipper and excited, immediately melting away any ice left behind. You turned around just in time for the boy to wrap himself around your legs, squeezing you into a tight hug which you reciprocated, pulling him up to sit on your hip. 

“Hi, angel,” you greeted the boy. “How’s summer treating you?”

“Hot,” he replied, trying to push himself away from you. You couldn’t help but laugh, setting him back down in the shade. “Can we swim in your pool?”

“Of course you can!” you replied. “Do you mind if I join you?”

The boy’s eyes practically widened out of his head in joy, turning back to his dad with just an unbelievable amount of energy. 

“Not at all,” Mr. Hotchner replied for him and you shot him a smile before you excused yourself to go change into something kid appropriate. 

To say that he’d seen your little display was an understatement. He’d been sitting on his desk in his home office, finalizing his weekly schedule with Jessica when he saw you step out. He knew, after much trial and error, that you couldn’t see him from this angle, and so he made no effort to move to get a better look. 

And then you took off your robe and he was abruptly presented with your naked body. His mouth went dry in an instant, his pupils dilated, his heart pounded against his chest. It took him a full minute to realize that Jessica was trying to get his attention before his brain reconnected with his body and he asked her to repeat herself. 

Five minutes later he was hanging up the call and rushing down the hall to ask Jack if he wanted to go swimming. The boy practically leapt to his feet, running across his room to get himself ready. They didn’t have a pool at their house, so your mother had generously let them use theirs after you went away for college. She’d even gotten them key to the house and sent him the alarm code every time they changed it just in case. 

Aaron changed into his swimsuit in record time, practically tripping as he ran back and forth, all over the house, looking for the many, many toys that Jack definitely needed to stay distracted for the next few hours. As much as he wanted to walk over alone, find you naked and eager for him, fuck you on the lounge chair and then probably inside the pool to cool off, he couldn’t leave Jack behind, he wouldn’t leave Jack behind because he didn’t want you to know just how much you had affected him. 

This was a power move, one that he had fallen for instantly. What he needed to do was not give in, not give you what you wanted, continue to frustrate you, to tease you until you couldn’t take it anymore, all because he wanted to remind you that he held all the cards, that he was the one calling the shots, that he would be the one on top while you writhed in pleasure beneath him.

You returned a few minutes later in a plain black one piece. To say he was disappointed was an understatement, but he admired your decorum while you were around Jack. It was like a flip had switched, eyes clouded with lust and desire clearing away to joy and excitement to spend your day with a hyperactive kid instead of lazily sunbathing your troubles away. 

You handed Mr. Hotchner a bottle of sunscreen, having specifically chosen the cream kind instead of the spray so that he’d be forced to touch you when you asked, “Would you mind getting my back?”

He looked up at you with the same eyes from last night and you were surprised your knees didn’t buckle. He looked at Jack then to make sure the boy was adequately engrossed in his toys, clearly deciding which ones he was going to play with first, before he opened the bottle and squirted some of the cream into his palm.

“On my lap,” he ordered, low and just for you to hear. Your eyes immediately darkened and he smirked knowingly. You rolled your eyes then, reminding yourself that today was just playful after all. 

You stepped forward towards his opened legs and prettily sat yourself down on his thigh, your back to him. You’d already put your hair up so he went right in. His warm, sticky palms landed on the sides of your neck first, slowly sliding down your shoulders before they returned to the center and then slid down your exposed back. While you couldn’t wear the skimpy, barely there suit you wanted, you’d still chosen something that gave him a subtle peek of your body.

He continued his movements, unapologetically taking his time, dragging his touches, lingering over your neck and putting pressure around it. You shivered under his hands, your ass unconsciously grinding down on his leg. 

“Be a good girl and stay still,” he purred in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. You stilled immediately, his fingers squeezing around your neck softly in reward. “All done.”

Your brain processed the words and yet you made no effort to stand up, and he made no effort to make you. His hands grazed down your arms, the backs of his fingers practically leaving feather light kisses on your skin until they landed on your hips. He gave your love handles a squeeze before he let his hands settle over your lap, leaning down to rest his chin on the crook of your neck.

The gesture itself had been so casual yet unbearably intimate that you didn’t notice you’d stopped breathing until your lungs started to burn. You inhaled sharply, your entire body shivering as you tried to keep the panting at bay. 

“You say the word and I’ll stop, sweetheart,” he whispered against your neck, gentle and kind, his tone meant to reassure you that you still had power. You nodded and he pressed a kiss below your ear, making you shudder once more. “So responsive for me.”

A whine escaped your lips, making Jack turn back to face the two of you. His hands were off you before you could even register, your own body reacting instinctively as you shot up to your feet. 

“Ready to get in the water?” you managed, flashing the boy a bright smile. He nodded enthusiastically, picking up a few of his diving toys in one hand before taking your outstretched hand with his other one. He diligently led you to the shallow end of the pool and Aaron watched as you both threw the little fishes into the deep end, giggling as Jack tried to toss them farther than you. 

He took a moment to compose himself, a moment to shift the material of his swim suit to try and hide the evidence of his arousal. He hated how easy it was for him to come undone around you, how you had him wrapped around your finger and could get him hard by simply existing. It made him feel young again, his libido higher than it’d been in years, and it was all because of you. 

He was brought out of his thoughts when he heard you and Jack splash against the water. Jack resurfaced first, already panting as he worked overtime to keep himself above water. You appeared then, like a beautiful mermaid coming above water to lure unsuspecting sailors to their deaths. And in that moment Aaron knew that he’d sink to the bottom of the ocean if it meant he could have even a taste of you. 

“Daddy!” Jack yelled, getting his attention. “Come into the pool!”

“Yeah, daddy,” you teased. “What are you waiting for?”

All the playfulness drained from his face in a second, making you choke on your own saliva in response before it reappeared as if nothing had happened. Your thighs rubbed together, the knowledge of the effect your words had had on him thrilling. 

“Coming buddy,” he replied to the boy, choosing to ignore you as he stood back up, kicking off his flip flops and cannonballing into the pool. 

Jack’s laughter brought you back down to reality as the waves his dad had created crashed over you, cooling your overheating face. You watched him resurface at the other end of the pool, one of the fishes you’d thrown under between his fingers.

“One to zero,” he announced playfully and Jack gasped, immediately diving down to gather as many fishes as he could, giving Aaron the perfect pocket of privacy to glance back at you. His face fell into a stern look of warning, daring you to call him that again to see what you could find out. 

You smirked back briefly before diving underwater, the mere mention of a challenge overshadowing whatever tension lingered between the two of you. 

You grabbed three fishes, swimming across the pool towards him underwater. You made sure Jack was above water before you made your move, fingers wrapping around Mr. Hotchner’s trunks to pull yourself out of the water as you practically climbed him. 

You felt him tense against your touch and that made your body flood with warmth once more. You made him feel like this, you made him react like this, you had the same effect on him that he had over you. 

Your head pierced the surface and he wasted no time pulling you further out of the water, his arm hooking around your waist again and pressing your hip against his painfully hard erection. 

You gasped loudly, nervously looking around and noticing that Jack had thankfully gone back underwater so at the very least he wouldn’t see the euphoric expression on your face. 

“Fuck,” you moaned, your hands steadying yourself against his chest. “Mr. Hotchner,” you whined and his grip tightened. 

For a second you forgot about where you were and the game you were still playing. Your eyes landed on his. They were hazy, glossed over and dangerously close to snapping. 

“Address me properly,” he ordered, lifting his knee to slide between your legs and press you further into him. You swallowed a moan, your breathing ragged, your skin unbearably tight over your body. 

You opened your mouth to speak but the word was screamed into existence by a voice that wasn’t yours. The two of you turned to face Jack who was eagerly swimming over to where the two of you were. You started to shift uncomfortably, trying to pull away from him, but he kept you in place as if you weren’t caught in a compromising position. 

“Did you get tired of swimming?” Jack asked you like this was the most normal thing in the world and you managed a nod. “That’s okay! I get tired sometimes and daddy has to hold me too.”

Your cheeks heated up once more and you thanked every deity out there that the sun was so hot on your skin that the kid didn’t notice a change. Jack reached out and grabbed a hold of his father’s shoulder to keep himself above water before pulling out his other hand from under the water, a fistfull of the colorful fishes in his palm. 

“I got six!” he told you and you finally snapped out of your daze, groaning dramatically as you showed him your own loot only being three. 

“I demand a rematch!” you told the boy before tossing your fishes back into the pool. He followed your lead and held your stare, the two of you seizing the other up before he got tired of waiting and dove back into the water, his giggles getting swallowed by the water. 

“Little cheater!” Aaron let you go then and you followed after the boy. You were so concerned with winning the silly game that you didn’t even notice the dopey smile across his face, one that he couldn’t hide from himself, one that almost made his heart burst with happiness.   

You played with the fishies a few more times until Jack was complaining that he was starting to get hungry and the three of you got out of the pool to dry off while Mr. Hotchner ordered lunch. 

You reapplied Jack’s sunscreen, placed a hat over his head and a towel over his body before you walked into the house to make a pitcher of lemonade and get some of the fruit your mother had bought a few days ago so that you could snack on it while you waited for the pizza to get there. 

You’d cut the lemons and had started squeezing them into the pitcher when his hands wrapped around your waist again, his front pressing against your back forcefully. You ground your ass back into him, never once stopping your task. 

“Hi,” he whispered in your ear. 

“Hello,” you replied, squeezing a half of a lemon with your hand, too lazy to get something else dirty. 

“Thank you for today,” he continued, his hands now slowly running up and down your sides, begging to elicit a reaction from you. “I know it’s not exactly what you planned but Jack is having a lot of fun.”

You hummed in agreement. “I’m having a lot of fun too.”

“Oh, yeah?” he stepped forward, locking you in place between the counter and his chest. “I’m having a lot of fun three.”

You snorted at the insinuation and the terrible joke, and he laughed in return, the two of you devolving into a fit of giggles like you’ve known each other intimately for years. And in a weird, almost strange way, you had. You’ve always had this rapport with him, this deep understanding of each other, mostly because you were both so into the other that you’d actually spent many nights asking questions, eager to know more. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asked you once the laughter subsided and your heart started beating rapidly once more. 

You immediately twisted around in his grip, holding your hands up and away from him as the juices from the lemons ran down your arms. 

“Yes,” you heaved and he didn’t waste another second as he pressed his lips to yours. They were so soft and still warm from the sun still lingering over them, lulling you into a sense of safety. You opened your lips as his hands left your waist and cupped your jaw to press you further into him. You moaned into his mouth as his tongue entered, deepening the kiss into a hungry and desperate mess. 

He pulled back so you could breathe after a few more laps and your eyes blinked open, the light reflecting against them and making them shine almost ethereally. He smiled, his thumbs rubbing over your cheeks. You returned the smile, somehow already feeling warm and fuzzy from just a kiss. He leaned in again, his nose playfully tickling your own, making you giggle sweetly. He truly wanted nothing more than to make you laugh all the time. 

He was about to press his lips against yours again, already craving the feeling like a man that had been left to wander the desert for days, when his phone rang loudly, interrupting the tender moment. He sighed deeply, apologetically looking at you and you immediately shook your head, letting him know not to worry about it. He picked up the phone, determined to make the conversation quick so he could return to what he truly wanted to do. 

In the meantime you finished the lemonade, washed your hands with soap, and brought the pitcher, some glasses, and the bowl of cubed watermelon to the table outside. You checked in on Jack, the boy having fallen asleep, making you chuckle softly. You sat yourself at the table and waited for him to come back, already missing his lips. 

It was certainly an interesting turn of events, made even more interesting by how easy it was to fit into his life. Even with your parents you always felt like the odd one out, like they were their own thing and you just sort of existed around them. But with Mr. Hotchner and Jack…you felt like you just fit right in, like you’d always been a part of their family.

When he finally exited into the backyard he bore a very different expression on his face, one of remorse and stress. The playfulness from before had left his body and all that remained was the stoic FBI agent you’d sometimes get when he returned from cases or…got called into one. 

You sighed deeply, knowing that was exactly what had happened and he had to stop himself from melting at the thought that you just knew what he needed before he could even ask it. 

“Do you need me to look after Jack?” you asked as he sat down on the chair across from you. 

“Please,” he replied, taking your hand in his and squeezing gently. “Jessica can pick him up at school Wednesday afternoon and take him to her place.”

You nodded, returning the squeeze and trying to alleviate his guilt with an understanding smile. 

“When do you leave?” he asked you then, one of the many elephants in the room finally getting addressed. 

“Friday morning,” you replied and it was his turn to sigh, defeated. As much as you understood his work and just how much he needed it, he also understood your own, your life being far away from D.C., far away from him. He just wanted you all to himself, here with him all the time, and it pained him that he couldn’t have it. 

After allowing himself another moment of sitting in silence, of feeling his emotions and letting them tear his heart into pieces, he stood up, pulling you to your feet with him. He crushed his lips to yours and your hands finally tangled in his hair, his own greedily squeezing your hips. 

“Pizza should be here any minute,” he mumbled against your lips. 

“I got it, don’t worry,” you replied, pressing a closed kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Why don’t you say goodbye to Jack?”

He nodded, reluctantly letting you go as he knelt down beside the lounge chair and woke the boy up. You watched as they said their goodbyes, your fingers coming up to trace your lips where he’d just kissed you, all the conflicting things you were feeling crashing over you at once.

The first phone call came that same night. It was late, you were already asleep when your phone vibrated on the nightstand next to you. You were honestly surprised that you’d heard it, annoyed more so than surprised as your eyes blinked open painfully. 

“Hello?” your voice was deep, hoarse and clearly exhausted. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” his on the other hand was soft and awake. 

“Hi,” you replied, settling back on the soft pillow and closing your eyes. 

“Did I wake you?”

“Mhmm,” you whined and it broke his heart.

“I’m sorry,” to his credit, he did sound sorry. 

“It’s okay,” you mumbled. 

“I just wanted to say goodnight to Jack.” And to you. 

“He fell asleep immediately…” You tried to stay awake, desperately, but sleep was pulling you down, the heat from spending the entire day under the sun had seeped deep into your bones, making them heavy. The current had sinked your boat and you were peacefully sinking under the waves with it. You didn’t even register him calling your name, realizing that you were probably out of it, and finally telling you that he’d call you another time. 

You woke up bright and early the next morning, your senses overwhelmed by just how much his bed smelled like him. 

It was honestly a stupid thought, that the things that were his carried him with them, but it didn’t matter how many times you’d slept here in the past, there was something so all consuming about them now. 

Your three days with Jack went by quickly. You had forgotten how much of a perfect kid he was, how attentive and kind and easy it was to take care of him. Getting him ready for school was a breeze, breakfasts were filled with laughter and him rambling on about the dream he’d had the night before. Once you dropped him off at school, you found yourself missing him more than you ever had, and so you spent your days wandering aimlessly.

On Monday you cleaned the entire house, top to bottom. You put on one of Mr. Hotchner’s records on and drowned the house in music, your voice booming just as loudly as the singer’s, wanting nothing more than to distract yourself from the ache in your chest.

On Tuesday there was a lice outbreak and luckily, Jack was not affected. They still had to shut down the school for the day, so Jack had gotten a half day. You took him to the store to buy enough baking supplies to start your own bakery, and spent the rest of the afternoon making cookies and cupcakes. 

It was around six that your phone rang. You were in the kitchen, cooking dinner for the two of you. Saucepan forgotten, you immediately crossed the room, fingers fumbling to answer the phone. 

“Hey, give me one second,” you cut him off, putting him on speaker before you stepped out into the hall. “Jack! Your dad’s on the phone!”

“I don’t know if I should be touched or offended that you don’t want to speak with me,” he cracked and you couldn’t help but smile, making your way back to the device on his counter. 

“I always want to talk to you,” you hummed. “But I also know you’re busy and—”

“Dad!” Jack ran into the kitchen, swiping the phone away from you and running right back down the hall. You laughed to yourself, returning to the stove before you burnt something. 

You hadn’t been speaking, not really. Every so often you’d send him a picture of what you were up to and he’d do his best to reply, always short and sweet. He never sent any pictures of his own for obvious reasons, but it still made your heart constrict every time that you woke up the morning after to a missed call from him.

They were on the West Coast, in a small town somewhere in Oregon. At least that’s what you’d gathered from the messages here and there. By Wednesday you said goodbye to Jack at dropoff and told him you’d see him for Christmas. He was, understandably, very upset, since you’d just spent, what he kept calling, the best three days of his life with him. It broke your heart, shattered it into a million pieces, but you reminded him that you didn’t live there anymore and that you had other places to be. Obviously not cooler than spending time with him, but that it was still important. 

Jessica called you that afternoon to let you know that she had Jack and you chatted for a bit. She was always so easy to talk to, her openness to their strange family dynamic almost overwhelmingly supportive. She always remembered your birthday, always sent you a card (one that you knew she’d been making Mr. Hotchner and Jack to sign every year), and always made sure to ask if you were coming back home for any major break.

She liked having you around, liked the extra support you had given them while Jack was out on his own break, liked that the boy clearly loved you and felt safe around you. And after the three days you had spent with him then, it only made sense to start thinking about actually coming back home next summer to help them out, to have an excuse to see him as often as you could. 

You spent Wednesday and Thursday working on the tasks you'd been left with from your internship. They had graciously allowed you to go home after you informed them there was a family emergency, but you still had to meet the weekly quota, just like everyone else. Being in your house alone was...exhausting. It was too quiet, too empty, too devoid of Jack's infectious laugh and...and Mr. Hotchner's low and inviting voice. 

You hadn't spoken to him since you let him know Jessica had picked his son up. You knew he was busy, knew that he probably didn't want to speak to you while his mind was not in the right place, while he was using most of his energy to do his job. He didn't text and so neither did you. And as much as you understood why, the silence had only made your heart clench in pain, your brain already overthinking all the possibilities.

He was supposed to arrive in a few hours, having received the only text he'd sent to tell you that they were about to take off and that he should be back home in a few hours. 

You’d decided to get one last swim in before you returned to your concrete life that was Brooklyn. But if you were being honest with yourself, you just needed a distraction. 

You’d been drowning, quite literally, as the finality of the distance that you were about to put between yourself and Mr. Hotchner loomed closer and closer. Sure, he traveled a lot for work, he was away at least sixty percent of the time…but you had moved away two years ago with the intention of cutting yourself loose of all the ties keeping you in D.C. 

It had been easy to do so, the only one that truly hurt you every day being your mother. But now, after sitting with your overwhelming crush that has snowballed into catching actual feelings for him…was hell.

You needed to talk to him about it, needed to ask him to tell you that everything was going to be okay, that you could make this work, whatever this was. But you also didn’t want to pressure him, didn’t want to pressure yourself to get tied down to something that could very easily not work out.

You were floating on your back, simply allowing the water to gently rock you around the pool when you saw a pair of slacked legs walking towards the edge of the pool. 

“There you are, sweetheart,” he hummed. “I’ve been calling for a whole minute and you didn’t answer.”

You stood yourself up, shooting him an apologetic smile as you walked towards him. 

“'m sorry,” you murmured, the tightening on your heart only squeezing harder now that he was really here. He shot you a smile in response but he looked tired, defeated almost. You could only imagine what it must feel like to walk around with all of that weight, with the burden of the atrocious things they dealt with every day. 

He squatted down next to the edge and you propped yourself up on the space between his legs to pull yourself high enough for his lips to reach yours. The kiss was short and soft, domestic almost, as if you did this every time he came back home from a long case.

You slid back into the water, unable to hold yourself up any longer as an excuse to put some distance between the two of you. You were certain that if he stared at you for even a second longer, he would definitely know there was something wrong, that somehow he’d be able to see into your body and realize just how contorted your heart was.  

“Join me?” you asked, trying to change the subject before it was even brought up. 

He sighed, conflicted. “I don’t think we should, sweetheart.”

“Please,” you whined. “I promise I’ll behave.”

He chuckled at that, knowing fully well that you most definitely would not, because he would most certainly not. But he found himself standing back up, quickly shrugging off his button down, the white wife pleaser underneath, his shoes, socks, and pants. You watched him in awe, mouth hanging slightly open as you began to salivate, your desire quickly making you forget all about your painful feelings.

He smirked at you as he sat down on the edge of the pool and slowly lowered himself into it. You hadn’t realized until he stretched his hand out to you that you’d drifted away to the other side of the pool. You took a small, steadying breath, trying to appear as normal as possible before you walked back to him. 

His hands wrapped around you instantly, bringing you into him tightly. It was almost as if he relaxed into you, his breathing deep and steady, a drastic contrast to your rapidly beating heart. You tried so hard to copy his rhythm, to blend into it in a feeble attempt to not raise suspicion, to show him that you were happy he was back.

And it worked...for almost a second. 

“Thank you for taking care of Jack,” he said. 

“It was my pleasure,” you replied almost too quickly. 

“Alright, what’s wrong?” he pulled back, his gaze desperately trying to meet yours. 

You hated him so much, hated how good he was at his job, hated how he could read you like it was the easiest thing in the world. Meanwhile, you were having to use all of your knowledge to just guess how he was feeling. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” you lied, your fingers subconsciously fiddling with his hair. He sighed, shifting your core away from his as his hand snaked down to pull your swimsuit bottoms out of the way. Your eyes widened in shock and confusion, finally snapping up to meet his but his attention was no longer on your face. 

Before you could question the sudden advance, he plunged his middle finger into you, making you moan loudly, your walls clenching around him.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he ordered, his finger curling upwards to hook against the spot that he somehow knew instinctively would make you come undone. 

You whined, holding onto him tighter. “I’m scared!”

“Of what?”

“This–” he curled his finger again, another moan erupting. “Us– fuck, I’m scared that I won’t be able to see you every day and it’ll mess up whatever this is,” you practically screamed. 

His movements stilled and you decided to foolishly allow yourself to meet his eyes. He was staring at you with what you could only describe as relief? 

You blinked, realizing that he was allowing you to read him like he could read you. You’d said exactly what he was thinking, what he was also holding in, what the heaviness that he carried had been about.

He pressed further into you. “Do you want to be mine?”

“Yes,” you moaned. “I want to be yours, all yours.”

“That’s good,” he groaned. “Because I want to be all yours too, sweetheart.”

You whined at his words, the tight grip fear had on your heart releasing just enough to let you breathe again. 

“I thought…” you trailed off, afraid that if you said what you’d thought aloud that he’d hate you. Instead he just waited patiently for you to muster the courage to say what you’d been holding in. “I thought you might only want to fuck me and nothing else.”

He shoved another finger into you at that, as if you say how dare you think that. You moaned again, your body tensing up, your walls pulsing around his fingers, practically keeping them hostage inside of you. 

“So tight,” he mumbled, clearly needing a moment to regain his composure before he spoke again. “I’ve wanted you– to be with you for a while, sweetheart. I was just…afraid of how it could destroy your relationship with your parents.”

The second elephant in the room reappeared and you couldn’t help but get another one of your fears off your chest. 

“Did you know he was…” you trail off before you can finish your sentence but Aaron knew exactly what you wanted to ask him. 

“No, I didn’t,” he shook his head, intensely observing your reaction. When you tensed under his touch he wasted no time to press a soft kiss to your temple. If you didn’t know but now you do then why are you still hanging around with him? That was the second part of your question, of your uneasiness, of your tensing body. 

“To see you,” he murmured against your skin and you pulled back from his touch, far enough to look him in the eyes. “I kept coming back to see you.”

The confession made your stomach flip. You didn’t know how to respond, how to tell him that you’d felt the same way in a way that didn’t make you come across as insane or clingy or immature. So instead you smiled softly, leaning forward to press your lips to his once more. His grip on your body tightened, his lips on yours opened, pulling you further into him. You may not have tomorrow, but you definitely had tonight. 

“I am more than happy and willing to take this slow, to just see where it goes,” he makes it crystal clear, no way to misinterpret his words, no way for you to twist them until you’ve convinced yourself that you’re crazy. Instead you just let your mind free. 

“Please fuck me,” you begged and a groan loudly erupted from his throat. His fingers resumed their fast pace but you whined in response, trying to stop him. “No, I need your cock in me, please.”

He shushed you then, kissing your temple gently as he only doubled down in his forcefulness.

“Let me make you cum first,” he replied. “I gotta stretch you out, you’re so tight.” 

You whimpered then, a symphony of breathy moans as you remembered just how big he’d felt through his pants. If he was telling you he needed to work you up before he could slide inside of you then you would obey. Fuck, the anticipation alone was going to be the death of you. 

The water began to splash over the edge, the constant crashing of waves somehow in perfect synchronicity to the pace he’d set. It quickly became overwhelming, as if your pleasure was so intense it was actually transcending your body and manipulating the world around you.

You moaned into his ear, your hands desperately digging into his back, trying to anchor yourself to him, afraid that you could slip away at any moment. He began peppering kisses along your jaw, each one lower and lower until he was physically unable to reach any more of your skin due to the water level. 

You were so close, so, so, close and he could feel it. Your body had tensed, your toes curled against his lower back, pulling him closer to you. And with one final thrust against the spot inside of you that made you see stars, the band snapped and you were screaming, not caring if the neighbors could hear you. 

He worked you through your orgasm, his fingers slowing down to a bearable pace as you rested your forehead against his chest. 

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” he asked, clearly concerned that you hadn’t said something for a couple of minutes. You nodded against his body, slowly pushing against his chest to face him. 

“Never better,” you replied and his eyebrows shot up in provocation. 

“Do you want to make them a little better?” he teased and you couldn’t help the smile that took over. 

“Yes.”

He pulled his hand out of you and you whined at the loss of contact. 

“Such a greedy girl,” he mocked. “You’re about to be stuffed with my cock and you’re whining about missing my fingers.”

You shivered, eyes darkening as he grabbed a hold of your hand and led you back to the shallow end of the pool. He helped you out of the water, his hands attentive, possessive, never once letting you take a step without being on you.

Once you were out of the water he pulled you into him swiftly, lips back on yours with abandon. You practically melted into his touch, into his embrace, into him. Every thought in your brain was about him, about how soft his lips were, about how he smelled like a warm fire in a forest, about how his rough hands felt on your body, about how desperate he was for you. 

You didn’t even register as he undid the knots of your bathing suit, only felt the cold air against your nipples, making them immediately perk up. The back of his hands accidentally brushed one as he shuffled to discard your top and you moaned into his mouth. The noise that reverberated from him in response was addictive. His eyes snapped open and he pulled back, your own lips chasing his in protest. 

But he didn’t give you a second to figure him out as he arched your back with his hands, his mouth latching onto the nipple he’d just touched. It was your turn to mewl, eyes glossy and hands hungry to dig into him. 

“Aaron,” you whimpered and he froze, ice cold, fully stopping his movements. His mouth softly unlatched from your breast, a thin string of saliva connecting him to you. Your face heated up immediately, the mere thought that you did something to upset him filled your eyes with tears.

“What did you say?” he asked, softly, as if he knew you were feeling like a small little animal and he needed to be careful not to spook you.

“A-Aaron?” you mumble, not even once fully comprehending what you had just done. 

“You’ve never called me Aaron before,” he explained, taking pity on how much your brain was clearly not working at the moment.

You blinked in confusion, a tear accidentally falling down your cheek. He immediately wiped it away, looking down at you with eyes filled with nothing but adoration.

“I’m sorry—” you started, unsure exactly what you’re apologizing for. And he shuts you up with a kiss immediately.

“Say it again,” he groaned against your lips.

“Aaron,” you repeated, his name finally feeling heavy and important on your tongue. 

He places a kiss on the corner of your mouth. “Again.”

“Aaron.”

Another kiss, this one on your neck. “Again.”

“Aaron,” he licked down to the base of your neck, his teeth greedily sinking into your soft skin as his lips suck. “Fuck, Aaron, please.”

You whined again, the sting of his mouth marking your body absolutely making you lose it. Whatever wits remained evaporated in an instant. When he pulled back, eyes practically raven, face flushed, lips plump and swollen, you couldn’t help the need to reward him. 

Your hands landed on the pronounced outline of his cock against his still wet, black boxers. He wasn’t quick enough to stop you as you wasted no time pulling the fabric off him. Your eyes widened, your breathing hitched in your throat, your hand trembled slightly as you abandoned your efforts to get his boxers down his thighs and instead tentatively returned your hand to hover over his length. 

He was so hard, the vein running along the underside practically pulsating. You tentatively traced it with your nail and he hissed. You smiled to yourself, your full palm replacing your finger as you wrapped your hand around him, slowly pumping him. 

His own hand curled around your wrist, demanding you to stop. Your eyes shot up to finally see him, to see just how clenched his jaw was, just how deep his breathing had become. 

“No, sweetheart,” he huffed. “I need you.”

As if you could both finally read each other’s minds, you untangled yourselves from each other, discarding the clothing that remained on your bodies and tossed it away before his eyes landed on you, on your naked frame, now right in front of him and not far away, separated from him by the haziness of glass. 

His eyes raked lower to your pussy and his brows knitted in surprise. 

“You have a tattoo,” the question blended into a statement as his hand gripped your hip, pulling you forward so that he could see it better. You bit your lip, amused by just how mesmerized he looked. 

“A friend of mine gave it to me first semester,” you explained, omitting the many health code violations, how you’d been high and couldn’t remember actually getting it, or the fact that you had been sleeping with your friend when he did. 

He traced his thumb over it, the placement was lower than your hip, easily hidden by your underwear and small enough that he’d never been able to make it out at a distance. His thumb dug into the center of the shitty heart then, anchoring his grip as he pulled you back to him. You moaned at the sting and it only spurred him on, the realization that you liked it when he hurt you igniting a fire in him. 

His other arm hooked under your ass, lifting you over his shoulder. You gasped loudly, your confusion quickly turning into a fit of giggles as he moved you both towards the lounge chair that you had rearranged earlier that week to face his house. 

He made sure to hook his foot around the pants he’d discarded earlier, kicking them forward with his foot, making sure that they landed right against the chair. He then unlatched the backrest and quickly set you down on it, your entire body over the comfortable foam cushion your mother had bought last year just for the Hotchners. 

He knelt between your legs, hands running down your body to pry them open for him. It didn’t take much as you opened yourself up to him eagerly. He grinned, the smile that graced you one that you’d never seen from him before, one that even he couldn’t remember when he’d smiled like that last.

Before he forgot, he reached over to where he’d thrown his pants, growing impatient as he struggled to pull out his wallet and procure a single silver wrapper from it. You’d been so consumed by the moment that you hadn’t even thought about protection. 

You thought about telling him not to, that you were on birth control and that as far as you were concerned you were clean. But you had no idea where he’d been, not that talking about his sexual partners bothered you, but bringing it up now did not seem like the right time.

“Someone was sure of himself,” you teased, watching him roll on the sheer latex over himself with more concentration than you’d ever seen from him before, and that was saying a lot. 

He retaliated by slamming his tip into you without warning. Your head fell back, a moan rocking through you and down to your core, the waves reverberating against him, causing him to take a sharp, steadying breath.

“You ready, sweetheart?” he panted, a little condescending and you swallowed the urge to fight back, to resume the game you’d started when you called him daddy. He didn’t know just how deep you were willing to go, how much fun the two of you would have. 

But tonight wasn’t the night for it. You needed him, craved him, desperately demanded that he fill the ache between your legs. You nodded, your hands gripping the cushion below you.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at your need to anchor yourself, his ego boosted so high he had no idea how he was supposed to come back down. But he didn’t care, he couldn’t care, not when you were laid out in front of him like a buffet, what he’d been starving for the only thing on the menu now.

His left hand wrapped around your thigh, opening you further. You propped your other leg over the armrest, and he pushed forward. He had not been lying, fortunately for you. He stretched you painfully, practically stuffing you full. 

He made it halfway into you when you hissed, one of your hands shooting up to wrap around his bicep, urging him to stop. He stilled immediately, slowly rocking his hips back to slide out of you before slowly pushing himself back in. 

That’s when you fell, your arms giving out under you. An accomplished grin lit up his features. He sat himself back up on his heels to tower over you. Your hand sliding down to the one he’d wrapped around your leg, your fingers lacing with his, almost like a pinky promise as he continued his slow rhythm, never giving you too much, never forcing your body to take anything it wasn’t ready for. 

You could practically feel the wetness dripping out of you, coating him more and more with every thrust. He could clearly feel it too, the slick making it easier for him to slide in and out of you each time.

He took it as an indication to keep going. He thrust back into you, pushing himself just an inch further than before. You were a mess of whines and whimpers, your back arching in response, needing him fully in you. 

“Please, Aaron,” you slurred. “More.”

He pulled out of you completely, the desire to see himself slam back into you fully overwhelming. His hips pushed forward, easily sliding himself inside to the hilt, your ass slapping against his hips beautifully. He moaned then, his hands flying to your hips, locking you in place. You whimpered, your head craning up enough to see there was no space left between the two of you. 

“Fuck,” you mumbled, your walls clenching around him unconsciously. 

His eyes shut close in pleasure at your movement, jaw clenching, fingers digging into your skin deeper. You took him in, on the verge of coming undone, on the verge of cumming in seconds like a teenage boy that didn’t know how to stop himself. 

You giggled, your warm laughter bringing him back to you as he realized what you were laughing about. He scoffed, blush creeping over his cheeks in the most adorable way. You clenched around him again, deliberate and mean. He almost screamed then, the moan that left his lips guttural and raw. 

“Sweetheart, you’re killing me,” he huffed. “I don’t want to cum yet, give me a second, alright?”

You sighed, feigning annoyance, but respected his request, unclenching your muscles to give him a moment of respite. Your hands began to draw circles over his own, nails slowly dragging up his arms and towards his chest, gentle, curious, exploring.

You took your time, diligently running your fingers over every ridge, every dip, every single one of the scars that littered his abdomen. They were smaller now and faded from what they had been when he was first attacked, but you knew they were there.

He hadn’t told you the full story, hadn’t really mentioned it aside from briefly alluding to it when he was forced to explain a comment Jack had made in passing one time, a comment about his mother. But you’d noticed them years ago, and as much as he could act like he was over it, like he was comfortable being shirtless around you, you needed him to know that he was safe, that he could trust you.

He didn’t flinch under your touch, instead he hummed, his own hands shifting their grip on you to show you how much he appreciated your touch.

“Did you catch the bad guy?” you asked suddenly. He turned to face you with a scolding expression, this is clearly not the time for this. It only made you laugh again, embarrassed. “What? Thinking about gross things helps!”

“I don’t want to ever think about that when I’m with you, got it?” he commanded.

“Yes, sir,” you replied and his eyes darkened once more, whatever fear of bursting immediately leaving his body as lustful greed flooded back in, emboldening him.

“What you called me the other day,” he started, somehow both confident in what he wanted to ask and yet boyishly shy about it. “Are you okay with that?”

“What did I call you?” you acted dumb, so dumb indeed that it got you another powerful, forceful jam of his cock. You squealed, his tip now uncomfortably pressing deeply into you. “No, daddy, ’s too much,” you whined, your voice hitching into a sweet, high pitch that made his cock twitch inside of you. “It hurts.”

“Too deep?” he asked in his normal voice, making sure to check in with you. You nodded, desperate for him to pull back, and he immediately returned to the comfortable pain. You let out a deep breath, air filling your lungs again. He was concerned, but more than anything he was turned on, the desire to ruin you too strong. “I’m going to start moving, alright?”

“Yes, daddy,” you mumbled and he groaned loudly, his cock practically taking on a life of its own and making him react in a way he’d never experienced before. 

Aaron understood what desire was, he knew what it felt like, knew what to do with it, but this? This wasn’t desire. This was debilitating, allconsuming, painful almost. His brain disconnected from his body, it was as though he was floating next to his body as well as feeling everything that was happening around him, to him, because of him. 

He wanted to consume you, wanted to lose himself to the perfect sounds coming out of you, wanted to feel your tightness around him all the time, wanted to drown and stay at the bottom of your waters forever. 

His moans danced with yours in a delicate choir ensemble, the slapping of your bodies coming together becoming the bass keeping the pace, the rattling of the lounge chair against the concrete floor the percussion, the scrapping of the mattress against the plastic the strings – it was all too much, too good, too perfect. 

“I’m close, sweetheart,” he whined. “Rub your clit for me.”

Whatever coherent thoughts were left in you forced your body to obey immediately, your shaky hand landing in between your bodies. Your fingers were met with a lewd amount of slick, your clit puffy and screaming out to be touched. You rolled your fingers over it and the sensitivity sent you into overdrive, a snap of electricity running all the way down to your opening. 

He moaned in response, your core starting to tighten with each thrust, with each touch. The pressure was tight, tighter, desperately trying to force your dam to burst. 

“Daddy,” you whimpered. “Daddy, please, please, please, please–”

“Cum, sweetheart, cum all over me,” he demanded and you let it break. Waves of pleasure crashed against you, your entire body shaking, thrashing, slamming against his. Your moans turned into whines, you dug into his forearms, your legs hooked around his waist, pulling him further into you, locking him in place. 

The second he felt you clench against him, the second he felt your core tighten, your slick warm his entirety, your nails digging into his arms so hard he wouldn’t be surprised you drew blood – he lost it. He managed to thrust into you two more times before he slammed himself as far as he could inside of you, not caring if it was uncomfortable for you. 

He came hot and hard into the condom, his own pleasure blurring his vision, making his own body shake against yours, making his heart feel like it had skipped a beat. He stopped breathing for a few seconds, the sensations too overwhelming for his body to remember that it needed to breathe to survive. 

You were panting hard, your chest rising and falling as if you’d just ran a marathon. Your nails had stopped digging into his skin but he barely registered the lack of pain. It wasn’t until you ran your fingers over the indents in his arms that he opened his eyes, seeking yours immediately. 

You waited until his gaze met yours as if it was about time it did. You smiled lazily at him, completely spent, content, satisfied. He returned the smile, allowing himself to lower his body down over yours. His chest pressed against your own, softly caging you, holding you captive as his aching lips found yours. 

This kiss was unlike any of the ones you’d shared, unlike any of the ones you had shared with anyone before. It was definitive, possessive, claiming you as his, and yet it was unbearably gentle, playful, wholesome. 

He was the first to pull back for air, but he didn’t move away, instead he pressed his forehead to yours, his gaze unflinching, trying to communicate so much with no words at all. It was like he was making sure to savor every last drop, committing the sight and feeling of you to memory. 

Aaron took much of his life for granted, the routine of it all having numbed him to most things that other people would deem as exciting or fulfilling. The only area of his life where that wasn’t the case was his son. That little boy made everything worthwhile, every battle worth fighting, every day worth living. And now, looking at you, feeling how good he’d made you feel, he knew had found something else, someone else, that made him feel excited for what the next day could bring. That made him feel fulfilled in more ways than he could yet comprehend. 

Whatever doubts you’d had, whatever walls you had started to put up to protect yourself now laid crumbled all around you. He was right from the start, you were his, whatever that happened would happen, the best that you could do was ride the waves and see where they would lead you. All that did matter was that he was there and that you knew that he was also yours. 

If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading! This chapter was a blast to write after all the angst that Moments has killed me with.

My requests are open! I have a few chapter ideas for Mr. Hotchner but I would love to hear what y’all would like to see. Even if it doesn’t make it into the actual series, I will try to write some cute lil blurbs.

And also, because I’m a writer that needs validation, please leave me comments or love letters if you’d like to remain anon. I need the praise and love, thank you 🩷

Ps. The next chapter is titled Guest Lecturer so you can imagine what kind of debauchery I’m about to write.

Pss. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future updates!

[little-diable]

Profiling 101 – Professor Aaron Hotchner Masterlist

Coming to your local Tumblr next month, a new series y'all voted for. I promise there will be lots of smut (you know me), but please also show some love to the chapters that have no smut in them. A big thank you to @deathofpeaceofmind for brainstorming with me and for her ideas. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader enrolls in professor Hotchner's class "Profiling 101", a man she has always looked up to, a man who treats her like an asshole from day one. Will her need for academic validation manage to push the two closer together? Will her bright mind push her into the world of Aaron Hotchner and the BAU team? Will he manage to keep his distance before the world he tries to protect her from can get its grasp on her?

header by @deathofpeaceofmind

Chapter 1 – A word of advice

Chapter 2 – The Porcelain Killer

Chapter 3 – Saturn swallowing his son

Chapter 4 – Your drunken foolishness

Chapter 5 – A complicated man

Chapter 6 – A secret to hold, a secret to share

Chapter 7 – Mine to own, mine to hold

Chapter 8 – A losing game

Chapter 9 – The Game is Won

This series is now complete

[lokidjarin-7567]

The Tortured Poets Department

Multi-fandom fic based on the TTPD album!! I’ll add tags as I go and I’ll add a little description for each one under the link here ❤️

Down Bad

Wolverine x You

Short one shot, smut

You meet a mysterious man called Logan in a bar, and end up having some fun…

1,255 words

Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?

Charles Xavier x Erik Lehnsherr x You

Longer one shot, smut and a little fluff, threesome

After joining the First Class of Professor X’s school with your brother Hank, you realised you have a connection with two of the mutants there, and that they might also have a connection to each other…

6,258 words

Florida!!!

Aaron Hotchner x You

Longer one shot, smut, a little fluff, and a little angst

After a tough case in Tallahassee, a storm blows in and the jet is grounded, so you find comfort in the arms of someone unexpected.

4,203 words

My Boy Only Breaks His Favourite Toys

Billy Butcher

Short one shot, smut

Your occasional fling sees you in a dress you had put on to tease him, and he reminds you who you belong to.

1,385 words

Fortnight

Mando/Din Djarin

Longer one shot, smut

After being employed by Greef to transport you back to your home planet, Mando comes back from one of his bounty hunts beaten and bloody, and you’re forced to get closer than you expected to the man made from metal.

5,539 words

[zvdvdlvr]

— Chiaroscuro

⭐️ — synopsis. It was no doubt to anyone how attractive and smart your professor was. You recognized his jarring looks but figured throwing yourself at your professor (as other students in your class did) wouldn’t mean anything. To your surprise, Professor HOTchner wants to talk to you.

⭐️ — warnings. Student/professor dynamic. Reader isn’t fucking stupid. Course language. Self deprecation.

⭐️ — author’s note: Chiaroscuro: use of string lights & strong darks; bold contrasts affecting the whole composition. Chose that word because it sounded cool. Also I am not very educated in anything art related so I hope this is accurate. Part two?

You pressed your fingertips harshly into your temple and rubbed, trying desperately to relieve the growing headache. The bright laptop screen in front of you did nothing to help your predicament. Thankfully, though, you had about twenty minutes until art class. Despite the teacher herself, the class was alright.

     “Fuckin’ Christ,” you whispered to the screen in front of, willing a wonderfully composed essay about the rise and fall of ziggy stardust to magically appear and take up at least three pages. You checked the watch on your wrist and groaned again. Mrs. Chang always arrived fifteen minutes early to her class. She had a habit of leaving the door unlocked and almost had a heart attack the first time she walked into the room and saw you siprawled over three chairs with an arm over your eyes as you mentally prepared for your others classes. You supposed she let you stay because you had never caused her any problems and had a keen eye and passion for art.

When fifteen-til rolled around, you were mildly concerned. Mrs. Chang was old, sure, but her health had never been a problem before. And if she was ill, she probably would have told everyone

Another five minutes passed. Similarly to the first time Mrs. Chang first caught you being way too early to class, yout legs were crossed on one chair, your back on another, and your face observing the cieling on the third chair. Your arm propped up your head as you quietly murmured song lyrics and waited for Mrs. Chang.

The door swung open and you shot up. Your elbow slammed against the underside of a table and your fingers collided with the cold metal legs of the table as you looked, shell-shocked, at the dark haired man bustling towards the teacher’s desk. His dark brown eyes looked surprised to see you, much less to see you shaking your hand to attempt to relieve the stinging pain in your fingers. “Good morning. I’m so sorry- are you okay?”

Suspiciously, you nodded at the man and flexed your fingers. “Morning. Who are you?” The man looked barely old enough to be a teacher.

The man approached you and held out his hands. You carefully let your own palm hover over his. “I’m Professor Hotchner. Professor Chang had an accident and will be out for the rest of the semester. That doesn’t look good, but aren’t broken. Again, I am truly sorry for scaring you,” the professor explained. “May I ask who you are?”

You nodded and retracted your hands. You figured as much. You stepped back and tried to decipher the meaning of the look the strinkingly handsome man gave you. Professor Hotchner hummed after you told him your name. He had a small smile on his face, a business smile to keep from looking extremely displeased. There was no way someone could actually be that happy after having a conversation with you, you scoffed to yourself. Honestly though, the tall and lanky build paired with the obvious smarts and good lookds were exactly your type. But you tried to ignore the parting of your professor’s lips after you told him you normally came here early after your last class.

“Punctual ,” professor Hotchner nodded, “an admirable trait.”

You nodded. The professor’s mouth opened to say something else but the corwd of entering students stopped him. He looked at the mass of students and you couldn’t help but chuckle at his expression. “You got this, professor,” you said lightly before heading to your seat without waiting for a response.

“Thank you,” Aaron murmured, watching the braids in your shift as you maneauvered yourself past tables and to your seat. His attention snapped to the rest of the crowd as the chairs filled up around the room. Curious eyes followed his movement as he wrote his name on the whiteboard. He cleared his throat and began to teach.

Beside you sat one of your friends Isabella- to your left- and  Norman- to your right. Isabella immediately purred as professor Hotchner’s shirt pulled up showed how nice his butt looked in the pants he wore. You and Norman both groaned.

“Be normal, for the love of God,” Norman begged, closing his eyes and resting his forhead on the heel of his palm. “He is the professor, Isabella Coryn Carlyle.”

Isabella just shrugged, watching Hotchner turn around and address the class. “He looks like he’s our age, Norm, don’t get that way. Izzy’s gotta get her extra credit somehow,” she joked, not even blinking.

You shook your head with quiet laughter. You agreed with the crowd of gawking men and women- the professor sure was a looker, but you had no chance with him anyway. Tons of prettier girls were in his line of sight. You listened to Isabella and Norman bicker for about half the class before you finally shut them down and had them lock in for the rest of the period (while making sure Izzy was writing stuff down instead of just paying attention to the way the professor’s bulge moved when he walked). 

[kiwriteswords]

Professor!Aaron Hotchner x Student!Reader

↳ Moodboard requests 5/?

[himegureisu]

The Masterlist

Author's Rambles

Hi, this is Grace! This post gets updated as much as I can so feel free to explore.

Thank you to everyone who followed, noted, reblogged, or read my fics. I'm happy you love them (I do too!). I take requests by the pairings below BUT I don't do Harry Potter at the moment.

My fics are all Character x Female Reader because I'm female and if it's not your cup of tea that's okay! If you'd read it regardless, yay!

Thanks for viewing, I hope you find what you're looking for!

Harry Potter

Severus Snape x Female Reader

Severus Snape Headcanons

The Mail Mini-Series

Requests

You: the Wife | Companion Pieces to the Mail Mini-Series

The Hobbit

Thranduil x Female Reader

Time

Elrond x Female Reader

The Right Time

Sherlock

Mycroft Holmes x Female Reader [REWRITING]

Attraction

The Woman: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

The Firsts : [In the beginning]

Criminal Minds

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Spill

calls

ties

my idiot

[sequinsmile-x]

Eros - Part 5

Emily wasn’t surprised that she’d started to sleep with one of her professors, but she was surprised that she’d fallen in love with him.

A Hotchniss AU.

-x-

Hi friends,

Somehow 10 months have gone by since I last updated this fic, and then I got an anon about it. People seemed to really miss this version of them, and I did too, so here we are with another part.

If you'd like me to go back to updating this more regularly please do let me know <3

As always, let me know what you think!

-x-

Words: 3.5k

Warnings: Smut, 18+

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She loved watching him teach. 

It did something to her, unfurled a desire that felt deep in her blood as she watched him command a room with nothing more than his deep voice and a simple raise of his eyebrow. It reminded her of when they first started sleeping together, when it was completely forbidden - quick fucks in his office after class. Clandestine and fast as she scratched marks into his desk that she knew were still there. On some level, she missed it. She missed the secrecy, the sneaking around that came with it, how it heightened everything to the point where it would drive her crazy.  

She smiles when his eyes meet hers, somehow spotting her in his busy classroom where she is standing at the back, her arms crossed over her chest and her book bag slung over her shoulder. 

She missed the secrecy sometimes, but what she had now was infinitely better. He was kind and loving. He listened to her and took care of her in a way no other partner ever had - even the ones who had been older than him. She could see them going the distance, and was planning on finding a job nearby when she finished her masters in a couple of months.

The idea of Europe, of being far away from him, was no longer as appealing as it once had been.

She jumps a little when the bell goes off, the sound louder than it usually was since she was just below it, and she smiles as Aaron dismisses his class. She tightens her shoulders, sees how some of the students look at her and then whisper to each other. Their relationship was no secret on campus, and she was sure people were aware it hadn’t started only when she started the master's programme - something Aaron had nothing to do with. 

The staring, and the gossip, made her oddly grateful for her upbringing. She’d been taught how to ignore it before she had even started first grade. 

She walks over to him as the last student leaves the room and hums happily as he leans in to stamp a quick kiss against her lips, “Hi sweetheart.” 

“Hi,” she replies, kissing him again before she steps back, making sure to keep some space between them in case someone walks in, “You ready to go?” 

He nods and picks up his briefcase before he eases her bookbag from her shoulder, smiling as he purposely ignores the way she rolls her eyes at him but lets the bag go without comment, “My tux is already at yours, right?” 

Her mother had invited them both to an event she was hosting, and Emily couldn’t think of one good reason to get out of it. Elizabeth had only met Aaron once, a few months ago, when Emily was in the hospital. She’d very purposely kept Aaron and her mother apart ever since then, but she knew she couldn’t forever.

Not when she was sure her mother now understood the nature of how their relationship would have begun. 

“Yes,” she says, grimacing at the thought of their evening plans, “But…” she adds, leaning in towards him, making a point of looking up at him through her long lashes, “We could always just stay at mine,” she says, her smile getting wider as he swallows thickly, his gaze lingering on her lower lip when she wets it with her tongue, “Miss this evening entirely.” 

He leans in and kisses her cheek before he pulls back, “Your mother invited us both,” he says, smiling when she groans, “We should go. Then you can have your way with me when we get back to your place.” 

She scoffs and walks alongside him as they leave the classroom, “You used to be fun.” 

He holds the door open for her and takes the opportunity to lean in close, to press himself against her as she slips out into the hallway, “Later I’ll show you just how fun I can still be.” 

___

Aaron looks around the ballroom curiously, his focus shifting between the groups of strangers scattered around.

He was sure there was more money in this one room than he’d ever get to see in his lifetime.

It was strange to think this was Emily’s world, that this was the environment she’d grown up in. She simultaneously fit it, her grace and elegance and poise making her seem like a natural, and seemed out of place too. This wild, beautiful thing of a woman who had never quite been able to be what her mother wanted or expected. 

She was what he wanted though, and he’d long gotten over any shame or embarrassment over how they’d met. He knew people had their opinions, that they would continue to do so as they moved forward together, but he didn’t care anymore. 

He loved her. Even if he hadn’t told her that yet. 

He wanted to, the words on the tip of his tongue at any given moment, but he always held back. A tiny bit of him laced with insecurity that she’d find someone better, that he’d feel like nothing  short of a lovesick fool when she did. It was a bad attempt at trying to protect himself, his heart still not quite healed from the divorce that had let him jump into something with Emily in the first place. 

“Here you go, honey.”

He smiles as looks up at her and takes the glass of champagne she offers him. He takes the opportunity to look her up and down, to appreciate the dark red dress she is wearing. He’d seen her naked countless times, but there was something about seeing her like this, about the thin straps resting over her collarbone and the split that showed just a little too much of her left thigh that was driving him crazy. 

“Thanks, Em,” he says, sipping his drink before he looks around, “This is…something.” 

She chuckles and steps closer to him, making sure she’s standing next to him so she has the same view of the party that he does, “I’d give this a solid 5 out of 10 on the scale of parties Mother can throw.” 

He raises his eyebrow at her, “Really?”

She hums, “Oh yeah, the ones the President comes to are always much fancier,” she says, laughing when he chokes a little on his drink. She looks over at Elizabeth and groans when she sees her making a beeline for them, determination in her step whilst she carries on talking to the man with her. The man who just so happened to be Emily’s ex-boyfriend, “Oh here we go.” 

He wraps his arm around her, pulling her back into his chest as he kisses her shoulder, smiling into her skin as she shivers, turning her head to narrow her eyes at him.

“It will be fine sweetheart,” he assures her, and she hums, taking a large sip of her champagne as Elizabeth continues to make her way from the other side of the large ballroom. 

“Says the guy who’s only met her once.” 

He smiles and kisses her cheek, making sure his voice is low so only she hears him, “To be fair though, that one time was in the hospital after you cracked your ribs after shower sex. And when she learned you have your nipple pierced.”

“Don’t remind me,” she groans and turns to look at him again, her irritation dulled as he kisses her, his lips quickly stamped against hers. Any further conversation is cut off as Elizabeth finally makes it to them, a smile on her face Emily knows is fake.

“Emily, Aaron,” she says, her hands folded in front of her, “Lovely to see you both.” 

“You too, Mother,” Emily says, leaning forward to kiss her cheek, “Thank you for inviting us.” 

Elizabeth smiles and then turns to face the man next to her, “Mark, you know Emily of course, and this is Aaron.” 

Mark smiles and reaches out, shaking Aaron’s hand before he kisses Emily’s cheek. It makes something in Aaron’s chest burn, jealousy bubbling low in his gut as he tightens his hold on Emily, making the space between them even smaller. 

“Nice to meet you,” Mark says, clearing his throat as he stands back, “How did the two of you meet?”

Before Emily can answer, Elizabeth speaks over her, “Oh Aaron here is a professor at Emily’s university,” she says, smiling politely at her daughter as she carries on, “Emily was in his class.” 

Emily clenches her teeth together, her jaw tight as she swallows down her irritation, knowing Elizabeth wants a reaction from her. In another world, another lifetime, where they had a more typical mother-daughter relationship, she’s sure that on some level she’d understand her mother’s criticism of her relationship with Aaron. She’d appreciate that her mother was worried about her, that the age gap, albeit on the small side given he was a professor, and the power dynamic was a concern. But their relationship wasn’t like that - it never had been - and Emily had long outgrown the need to have her mother’s opinion on something. 

“Aaron teaches the undergrads,” Emily says, maintaining eye contact with her mother for a second before she turns to Mark, “I’m in the masters programme.” 

They all know she’s leaving out the fact she had been an undergrad when they’d first got together, but none of them says it. They make tense, but polite, conversation for a few minutes before Elizabeth moves on and Mark leaves shortly after, making an excuse that he’d seen his parents and that he wanted to say hi to them. 

As soon as they are alone again, Emily sags into his side, grumbling so only he can hear her, “I knew she’d bring it up.” 

“It’s fine, sweetheart,” he says, kissing her temple, “We thought she knew - now we know she does,” he runs his hand up and down her side, the rasp of the material of her dress against his fingers something he could focus on, “Who was that Mark guy?”

“Oh, I dated him during my freshman year.” 

He frowns as he pulls away, the jealousy back in full swing, the simmer turning to a boil, “What?”

She smiles as she looks at him, “No need to be jealous, Aaron. It was years ago now. And…we mutually broke up. He was…nice.” 

“Nice?”

She nods and wraps her arm around his, placing her glass down as she leads him to the dancefloor, “Just nice. Kind of boring. The type of guy my mother would want me to end up with.” 

He chuckles, the familiar insecurity building in his chest, his anxiety that he wasn’t enough for her making itself known, “And I’m, what? More than nice?” 

She smiles as they make it to the dancefloor, immediately pressing herself closer to him, her arms linked around his neck as she uses the proximity to kiss him, sighing into it when his hands settle on her lower back. 

“You’re a lot more than nice,” she says, stamping a kiss to his lips again as they begin to sway, lost in each other, “You’re everything I want.” 

He pulls her closer, his hand firm on her lower back as he kisses her, “You’re everything I want too.”

___

He’s all over her the moment they get into her building. She encourages it, leans into the grasping touch, desperation in it she knows is lingering jealousy from their brief conversation with Mark. 

She also knows he’s distracting her, that he could sense the tension only her mother could bring out in her all evening, and she’s grateful for it. Grateful for him. 

She gasps as she tries to open her front door, her grip tight on her keys as he kisses her cheek and then her jaw, nibbling at the sharp edge of it with his teeth before he licks down her neck. She gets them inside, the door slamming closed behind them, and she turns in his embrace, her hands on his cheeks as she pulls him into a kiss, swallowing down the groan he lets out.

Aaron pushes her against the nearby wall, trapping her between him and it. He runs his hand up her thigh and hooks it around his waist, smirking against her throat when she gasps when his palm presses against her skin.

“Love this dress on you,” he grunts out, “Fucking gorgeous.” 

She looks him up and down, her smile slightly wild as she takes him in, “You don’t look bad yourself in that tux.” 

He grasps her chin to hold her in place as he leans in to kiss her fiercely, tilting her head as his other hand traces her inner thigh, his fingers ghosting over her underwear groaning when he feels the soft damp material. 

“So wet already,” he says as he pulls back, smiling when she chases the kiss, “Bet you’ve been like this all evening.” 

She rests her head against the wall, the thump of it echoing around them, as he rubs her clit through her underwear, “Since I came to your classroom.” 

He grins as he pushes her underwear to the side, groaning as he feels the heat of her, running his fingers back and forth through her slick, “You like watching me teach?”

He knew that already. Had known it since they first started having sex. She’d come to him after class, desperate and ready for him as she’d kiss him before his office door was even locked. She nods, pushing her hips against his hand as he continues to tease her, ghosting over her clit, his touch too gentle, barely there and infuriating. 

“Aaron-” she growls, but she’s cut off as he slips two fingers inside of her, her irritation turning into a moan, “Yes,” she closes her eyes, losing herself in the feeling of him when he starts to pump his fingers in and out of her, curling them to hit the spot deep inside of her that only he’d ever been able to each, “Fuck, yes. Don’t stop.” 

Part of him is tempted to tease her, to use his knowledge of her body to bring her to the edge and then stop, to drive her to that point again and again until she is begging, but he can’t. He wants this - to pull her apart - to remind her that she was his. Not Mark’s. Not anyone else's. His.

He makes quick work of it, pumping his fingers in and out of her, circling his thumb around her clit. It feels like he’s pulling pleasure from her and all she can do is grip his arms, her nails digging into him through his tux jacket. He groans as he feels her tighten around his fingers, and he leans in to kiss her, licking through her mouth as she gets closer to the edge, swallowing down the way she chokes out his name. 

When she comes she’s grateful he’s pressing her so tightly against the wall that she can’t fall, the one leg she has on the ground giving way. She rests her forehead against his and lets out a breathless chuckle.

“Fuck you’re good at that,” she says kissing him again as he pushes her dress up over her hips, his hands on her thighs, fingers slippery with her, as he encourages her to jump, her other leg wrapping around his waist, “So good.” 

Aaron carries her to her bedroom. He tugs at the zipper running down her back and she pulls at his bowtie, letting it fall open before she turns her attention to the buttons on his shirt. She grumbles in frustration when she can’t undo them, her fingers still shaking from the orgasm still thrumming in her veins, and she pulls at the material, buttons scattering across the floor. 

He chuckles, kissing her cheek as he lowers her onto her bed, “This tux is a rental.”

She smirks at him, something settling in her gut when she smooths her hand across his chest, the press of his skin against hers soothing, “I’ll pay the fine.” 

They get undressed quickly, clothes and shoes scattering across her bedroom floor before she pulls him on top of her, sighing when he settles into the cradle of her hips, matching groans escaping them as he notches against her.  She reaches between them and pumps him up and down, smirking when a punched out groan escapes him, his breath skipping across her face. She guides him into her, her eyes rolling back at the familiar stretch, her hips stuttering against his. 

“You feel so good, sweetheart,” he says, resting his forehead against hers, grasping at her thigh again as he hooks it around his back, “So fucking good.” 

“You too,” she gasps out, rolling her hips against his, desperately trying to encourage him to move, every nerve in her body an edge, “Please move, I need you to move.” 

He starts to move, his lips against hers before he makes his way down her neck, biting at her collarbone before he rests his forehead against it, getting lost in the feeling of her, of how she was clenching around him. 

“God, you’re perfect,” he says, kissing every bit of skin he can reach, his hands grasping at her thigh and waist and anywhere he can touch, “So perfect, and all mine.” 

“All yours,” she breathes out, her hands on his back, scratching at his skin as she tries to get him impossibly closer, “Yours.” 

He moves them, pulling out of her and flipping her over, pushing back in before she can even react. She pushes herself up on her elbows, shuddering at the feel of him from this angle. He felt impossibly bigger like this and it overwhelms her, his body draped over hers as he links his fingers through hers. He presses his chin into the top of her head as he grabs her face, tilting it upwards so their eyes meet as he continues to thrust into her, stealing the breath from her lungs. 

“Aaron…” she says, her entire body shuddering, her eyes fixed on his as he brings her closer to the edge, “I’m so close, I’m so fucking close.”

“I know you are baby,” he soothes, kissing her forehead, “I can feel how tight you are,” he sneaks a hand between them and rolls her clit between his thumb and finger, growling when she clenches around him, “Come for me.” 

Her elbows give way when she comes her face pressed against the mattress as she muffles a scream. Her orgasm triggers his, and he comes deep inside of her, grunting her name as he grips her hips so tightly he knows she’ll bruise. 

She chuckles as he slips out of her, falling onto the bed next to her. She turns her head to look at him, smiling when he reaches over to brush her hair from her face. 

“You okay?” 

She hums and nods, shifting closer to him, curling herself around him, “I’m more than okay.” 

He kisses the top of her head as he pulls her closer, their skin sticking together with sweat as she settles into his embrace. They lay in silence for a few minutes, the only sound in the room their breathing slowly evening out. 

“Tonight was…” he starts, drifting off, “Interesting.” 

She chuckles and tilts her head to look up at him, “That’s one way of putting it,” she says, running her fingers through his hair, “I’m sorry about my mom.” 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Em.”

She hums and reaches for his hand, linking their fingers together, “If our relationship was different, if she was a normal mom, I’d understand her issue with us,” she says, lifting their joint hands to kiss his knuckles, “Fuck, if I have a daughter one day who I found out was seeing one of her professors, I’d have an issue with it.” 

He can’t explain why, can’t rationalise it, but all of a sudden he’s picturing a girl half him and half her, all defiance and fire as she argued with them about why it wasn’t okay for her to sleep with a professor when that’s how they’d met. The thought of it makes him smile, makes the love he has for the woman curled up in his arms warm him from the inside out. 

“Anyway,” she says, resting her head on her hand as she looks at him, “I don’t want to think about my mother…” she says, stamping her lips against his, smiling when he tightens his hold on her, “I just want to think about you.” 

He grabs her, swallowing the yelp she lets out as he settles her on top of him, “All I ever want to think about is you.” 

-x-

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[hotchshands]

Chapter 2 |Falling Behind

Masterlist | Taglist | Other Chapters

Summary: It's been a month since the start of the semester, and Hotch's lecture was kicking your ass. You couldn't help but get distracted by your professor, and the material was beyond difficult. Professor Hotchner begins worrying about your success in the class and thinks about how to help you.

Word Count: 1.1k

Contains: use of she/her pronouns

A/N: Check out my other series, Somebody Special! Also, I think I forgot to mention this is a fem!reader piece... my apologies for any confusion!

It's been a month since the start of the semester, and you were already starting to feel the stress. You were in your junior year of undergrad, aka the worst year in anyone's academic career. On top of your classes, you worked a part-time job at the local coffee shop and were an active member of the school paper. It's safe to say you were way in over your head, but in your mind, you had to keep busy to avoid the anxiety of academia.

Professor Hotchner's class was by far the most difficult. It was so difficult that you considered dropping it entirely, but it was too late now. You were stuck with the hot teacher and his high expectations. Thankfully, the TA helped explain the information the professor gave during the lectures. However, it wasn't enough.

Hotch started to take notice three weeks into the semester. He saw how you looked less at him and more at your notes (or lack thereof). After the first two weeks, you took fewer notes, sometimes none. He profiled that it was due to a lack of understanding of the material rather than carelessness. He knew from the first time you met that you were a dedicated student. It was your dedication that made him happy you enrolled in the class. Lately, though, you seemed stressed, so he decided to talk with your TA, the infamous Spencer Reid.

"Come in," Hotch announced upon hearing a knock on his office door. Reid walked in and greeted Hotch before sitting down in the chair in front of his desk.

"Thanks for meeting with me. A while ago, you mentioned that you were concerned about someone in your section. That student wouldn't be Y/N, would it?" Hotch asked.

"Yeah. How'd you know that?" Spencer responded.

Hotch knew he shouldn't express favoritism among his students, but he had a soft spot for you, though he'd never admit it, especially not to his coworker. "Well, we talked briefly, and I just had a feeling something was up," he answered.

Reid nodded. "Well, she's been having a hard time with the material. She never engages with the information or offers up any thoughts. She's fairly quiet, even when I know she has a question."

Hotch sighed. He knew his class was challenging, but he hated seeing a student fail to understand the material, especially when that student was you. He held office hours weekly, but students rarely used them. Perhaps he could lend you a hand.

"None of the students seem to use the office hours, so I would remind her that they are there for students to use, and I encourage all my students to use them," Hotch stated, hoping that Reid would pass the message and that you would listen.

"Will do. I can also refer her to tutoring services," Reid said.

Hotch wanted to disagree, but instead, he nodded. He shouldn't deny a student resources simply because he wanted to be the hero. He has seen this sort of thing plenty of times before. Most students either withdraw or fail the class. He didn't want to see that happen to you.

Reid could tell Hotch was worried about Y/N. Usually, Hotch was tough on all his students, so it was odd to see him have a soft spot for one. "I'm sure she's going to be fine, Hotch. In fact, I just finished grading the first round of quizzes, and she got a B," Reid said, pulling a file out of his bag and handing it to the professor.

Hotch looked over the paper with a big B written at the top in red. He sighed in relief, knowing you were a bright student, but the first quiz was the easiest. He expected all students to get an A on it, but things would only get harder for you in class if you got a B.

"It's just one quiz. I will have a chat with her after class today. If she uses the office hours, I'm sure she'll improve," Reid continued, trying to be optimistic about your situation.

"Thank you. I hope you're right," Hotch said, handing the quiz back to Reid.

"I always am!" Reid replied before leaving Hotch alone in his office.

You walked into the classroom five minutes early, anxious to see what you got on the quiz. A few students were already there, including your TA, Dr. Reid. Reid smiled at you as you walked in, and in return, you smiled back. That had to be a good sign! You thought to yourself as you took your seat.

Despite his tenacity to babble about crime statistics, Dr. Reid was a great TA. He cared for his students and was much less intimidating than Professor Hotchner. However, that didn't make the material any less challenging.

Once class started, Dr. Reid announced that he would return our quizzes from last week. As he walked around the classroom, your leg started shaking in anticipation of your grade. When your quiz landed on the table in front of you, you stared at the big fat letter B at the top of the page. The grade wasn't bad, but you haven't gotten a B since high school math. You reviewed your quiz to see where you went wrong, as your TA reviewed the answers in grave detail.

After class, Dr. Reid called for you to stay behind, which only made you more anxious. What could he possibly want to say to me? You pondered, walking toward him, quiz in hand.

"Y/N, I wanted to chat with you about your quiz," Dr. Reid began. "I noticed you've been struggling with the material a bit more than others. So, I wanted to check in and see how you feel about the course."

You gulped before responding, "It's difficult, that's for sure, but I can handle it."

Reid nodded. "I spoke with Professor Hotcner, and he told me what a bright student you are, but we've seen this kind of thing before and just want to ensure you succeed. That said, we both agreed that you might want to visit office hours. They're after the Monday lectures, but if that presents a conflict-"

"No, I can make it!" You interrupt him, jumping at the opportunity to be alone with your professor.

"Great!" Reid grinned. "I hope they become helpful to you, but if not, the university has a tutoring office I can refer you to."

"Thank you, Doctor, but I don't think I'll need the tutoring services. I'm just not sure if some Graduate student can help me with this material," you said.

"Very well. I'll see you on Monday." And with that, you leave the classroom, excited for Monday to come.

Taglist: @targaryenswhxre @none-of-your-bullshit @chicagotrio101 @barbeddreams @adrienneleclerc @reidfile @spencerreidsshoelaces @justwinxit

[mrsfoyet]

AU where Hotch is a professor!

[ravawrites]

Who do u specifically write for?? <3

Criminal minds (Spencer, Hotch, Emily)

Marauders (James, Remus, Sirius)

Doctor who (The doctor)

maybe percy jackson in the future too

These are who i mainly write for but if these aren’t who you’re looking for, send me a request anyway and i’ll see if i’d be up to it!

[little-diable]

A word of advice – Professor Aaron Hotchner (Profiling 101 Series, Part 1/?)

Y'all voted for this series, so here we go. I promise there will be lots of smut (you know me), but please show some love to this chapter which has no smut in it just yet. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader enrolls in professor Hotchner's class "Profiling 101", a man she has always looked up to, a man who treats her like an asshole from day one. Will her need for academic validation manage to push the two closer together? Will her bright mind push her into the world of Aaron Hotchner and the BAU team? Will he manage to keep his distance before the world he tries to protect her from can get its grasp on her?

Warnings: eventual smut, eventual CM violence, Aaron is an asshole here, authority kink, university professor x student relationship, each chapter will have its own warnings, for this one no warnings needed tho

Pairing: Professor!Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader (1.6k words)

Profiling 101 Series Masterlist

Chapter Two

With her eyes set on her phone, (y/n) entered the coffee shop. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods filled her nostrils, a comforting sensation that left her relaxing for a few seconds, though without ever taking her eyes off her phone screen. Her eyes kept following the sentences she had read numerous times in the past week, trying to memorise every single word, forcing the readings into her aching head. 

It was the first week of the new semester, and while she had enrolled in a few classes with professors that were all too familiar with her, she had almost cried in excitement as she had stumbled upon the course “Profiling 101” – with none other than Aaron Hotchner as a professor. Without even thinking twice (y/n) had instantly enrolled in the class, filled with a giddiness she hadn’t felt in months, all too excited about meeting the agent she had been admiring for years. 

(Y/n) could still remember the first talk he had given at her university, accompanied by Spencer Reid and David Rossi, men (y/n) had always looked up to, admiring their knowledge, their work. It still felt too good to be true that she finally got the chance to enrol in Aaron Hotchner’s class, needing to put on her best act, silently hoping that she’d manage to catch his attention. 

She was too deep in thought to spare her surroundings any mind, still focused on her reading, not noticing the tall man standing behind her, impatiently waiting for (y/n) to keep on moving, to finally tell the barista her order. 

“Excuse me?” His raspy, harsh voice shook her from her thoughts, blinking a few times before her eyes found his coffee coloured ones. A silent gasp left (y/n) as she realised that none other than Aaron Hotchner himself was standing behind her, staring her down as if she was a criminal he was about to interrogate. “You’re wasting our time here, could you please move along? And please, try to start your readings for my class earlier and not only an hour before class starts.”

Her mouth was dry, throat tight, unable to speak up, unable to explain to the man she had always looked up to that she was only trying to reread the texts, that it wasn’t the first time she was looking at it. But (y/n) only turned away from him, turning towards the woman behind the counter who shot her a comforting smile, all too aware of the harsh words the tall, brooding man had just spoken. 

(Y/n) didn’t pay any attention to the words leaving her, speaking the same order she always got. Her heart was clenching in her chest, pounding with pain and embarrassment, forcing her blood to rush through her veins even faster than before, ears ringing in annoyance. With her eyes staring stoically ahead, she watched the woman prepare her order, pushing it closer to (y/n) as soon as she was done. 

By the time (y/n) had reached for her order anger had managed to arise in her system, flushing through her body with quick steps, forcing her lips to part before her mind could even catch up with what she was about to say, “A word of advice, professor Hotchner. If you want your students to respect you, you shouldn’t treat them like you’re the biggest asshole they’ll meet on campus.”

Before Aaron could even try to pierce a reply together, staring at her with surprise tugging on his features, (y/n) had turned from him, stepping out of the coffee shop with a deep exhale of the breath she had been holding. The second the cold October air stroked along her frame, teasing her warm cheeks, (y/n) allowed her disappointment to thump through her veins, wondering if he was always this rude to other people or if she had just been the unlucky one to be met with his bad mood today. 

……

If there was one thing (y/n) was known for, it was sitting in the first few rows, scribbling down every word her professors spoke. She was determined, set on her good grades, on the career path she had wanted to follow ever since high school. Not once had she broken her routine, not once had she found herself sitting in the last few rows, but today everything had changed, today (y/n) found herself hiding away from the professor who spoke without any emotions dripping from his words, one with the students that preferred to find shelter in the back of the big room. 

Even though she knew that he couldn’t see her in the darkness filling the room, all light focused on him, it felt as if he was searching for her in the endless rows filled with students, eyes actively searching for the woman that had spoken with anger dripping from her words, fuelling the fire simmering inside of him. Her heart hadn’t stopped pounding, guided by the embarrassment her own action had shot through her system, knowing that she’d think back to this moment for weeks on end – perhaps even months. 

“I need you all to pay attention every week, it’s crucial for your homework, for the things you’ll work on this semester. I’d advise you to show up to every class, you won’t be able to catch up otherwise, especially not since you’ll get the chance to work on active cases.” A few gasps of surprises echoed through the room, and even (y/n) couldn’t stop herself from giving into the excitement once again filling her system. Perhaps she’d still get a chance to make things right with the man she had called an asshole only an hour ago. 

“You’ll turn in your homework every Friday, you have time to upload it till 11:59 pm, you won’t get to hand it in later, once you miss the deadline that’s it. If you miss the deadline more than once, you’ll be kicked out of this class immediately. I need you all to understand that this class requires hard work, and as you hopefully also read in the description before enrolling, I expect you to have some basic knowledge about profiling, if not I’d advise you to quickly catch up, you’ll find a list of recommended readings uploaded to your online folders for this class.” 

(Y/n) couldn’t help but focus on his appearance, on the rolled up sleeves of his black dress shirt that exposed his muscular forearms, on the black trousers that seemed to add to his height, making him appear even taller. He was handsome, a man one could only dream of, and yet (y/n) was no longer sure how to feel about him after their run in this morning, momentarily ripped out of the crush she had fostered on him for years. 

“And one last thing before I’ll let you go, if you have any questions, you can always email me and I’ll try to squeeze you in for my consultation hours, but please don’t waste my time with questions you can find answers to online. I will see you all next week, please remember to do your homework.” 

……

The second (y/n) had entered her apartment, she had opened her laptop, finding her way to the folder for this week's homework. Perhaps she still had some chances to impress the man, turning in the homework as early as possible, instantly getting to work. But while she got to answering the questions that seemed all too easy to her, her mind started to wander, thinking back to her run in with professor Hotchner. 

Even at the first talk he had held all these years ago, he had appeared distant, closed off, though not as cold as today, not as angry and annoyed. He had grown older, and yet (y/n) could only think that he was even more handsome, she’d probably never get over her crush on him, on the man she’d dream of when the nights grew darker and the days blurred by all too quickly. 

She could only guess that something must have happened this morning, something that had pushed him further into the misery he was guided by, foregoing any kindness he’d normally use to approach strangers. And yet (y/n) couldn’t help but wonder if she should email him, to apologise, hoping that she could restore the bad image he now probably had of her. 

Driven by her need to make things right, (y/n) reached for her phone, typing away a kind though distant apology, overthinking every word that could paint her like a desperate student, hungry for the man’s attention. Before her mind could produce any worst case scenarios that would leave her even more embarrassed, she clicked on “Send”, hoping to smooth the waters she was sailing through, hoping that she wouldn’t sink only hours after leaving her safe haven. 

It didn’t take long for his reply to find its way back to her, shaky hands reaching for her buzzing phone, eyes growing wider as she read through the reply that shot heat through her once again. 

“A word of advice, miss (y/n),

 Don’t go around calling your professors assholes. It’d be a shame to kick somebody who has a reputation of being the smartest student in her faculty out of my class. 

Best, A.H.” 

[jxvipike]

PEEPAW