#jack is sometimes more like aaron than it seems

[kreepja]

May i say a cutie pookie patootie🥹💗

[aureatelys]

she lives in daydreams with me

pairing: aaron hotchner/fem!bau!reader rating: explicit w.c.: 7k.......

content warnings: 18+ please MDNI, fluff and smut, service kink sorta, mild d/s undertones, oral (f) receiving, vaginal fingering, semi public sex, age gap duh, employee/boss relationship duh, an excuse to write hotch eating pussy ngl

It all started with a cup of coffee. Or: You've had a crush on your boss for a long time, but you've recently started noticing him going out of his way to do things for you without you asking. Or or: Aaron Hotchner likes to do things for people. And by people, he means you.

read on ao3 or below <3

It all started with a cup of coffee.

You had just walked through the glass doors and into the bullpen, still waking up and desperately needing a cup of coffee, when JJ walks by you with a stack of folders in her arms. She gives you that look and motions towards the conference room.

You sigh and follow her, not even bothering to put your bag down at your desk. “That bad, huh?”

JJ grimaces. “Isn’t it always?”

You choose not to say anything, because she’s right. Lately, the cases have been getting more gruesome, more violent, and you’re wondering if it’s starting to affect you at all.

You pass by Hotch as he’s leaving his office and down the stairs, most likely going to make a coffee. You nod at him, giving him a small smile. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Hotch says, curt as always. He makes eye contact with you briefly, silently telling you that he is still waking up as well and that he’s not being curt on purpose, before looking away.  

Thankfully, it’s been a couple of months since you’ve joined the team, so now you know that Hotch doesn’t actually hate you like you suspected. In fact, he seems to have taken a liking to you based on the number of dry jokes and banter he’s participated in just this week. It definitely doesn’t help the tiny, miniscule crush you have on him.

You don’t know where it came from. Hotch has always been an objectively attractive man, but it’s not often you have a crush on a man who is your boss who is more than 20 years older than you.

Maybe it happened last month, when you were on the jet and he was placing files onto the table to run through theories, and you noticed just how large his hands were. Or maybe, it started when you had knocked before entering his office and he hadn’t noticed you because he was on the phone with who you assumed was Jack based on the excited whispers and soft smile on his face. Or, to your horror, maybe it started when you walked in for your interview, and you felt something stir in the pit of your stomach when he looked you up and down, his eyes lingering on the form-fitting pencil skirt you had worn.

A very tiny crush, you think to yourself as you situate yourself in the conference room, throwing your bag underneath the table.

It’s still dark outside, barely 6 in the morning, and the entire floor was quiet while JJ set up the files and photos. You yawn and you’re just about to get up and make your cup of coffee since there was still some time left before everyone showed up, when a mug is placed in front of you.

You stare at it, halfway out of your chair, before the wonderful smell of that bad yet addicting office coffee hits you and you sit down.

You look up to find Hotch sitting down at the head of the table with his own steaming mug. He looks at you, not smiling, but his eyes are soft. “I hope I got it right.”

You look back at your coffee. It’s the perfect color. He even used your designated mug you brought from home, plain and pink, and the image of him carrying it through the office makes you want to giggle.

You don’t giggle, and instead carefully pick it up and bring it to your lips to take a sip. It’s warm and absolutely delicious, sweetened the way you like, which is a lot. How does he know, you blink, a bit shocked that Hotch was able to make your coffee perfectly, more perfectly than you’re able to make sometimes.

So you tell him. “This is better than when I make it. Thank you,” you say sincerely, and chalk up the warmth sparking in your stomach to be from the coffee.

“Don’t mention it,” Hotch says, the corner of his mouth quirking up before turning back to his own mug and taking a sip.

You feel pleased that he thought of you, and then a little anxious because why is he thinking of you? He’s never made you coffee before and you wonder how he knew you like your coffee tasting more like sugar than the actual coffee. You blame it on the fact that he probably saw how tired you looked and knew you needed a little caffeine to start the day.

“Morning ladies,” Derek announces, striding in with too much energy this early in the morning, and making you jump a bit. He laughs at your reaction and then notices the man sitting at the table, looking up at him wordlessly. “And Hotch.”

“Morning,” he says flatly, raising his eyebrows at him.

Derek laughs and chooses to situate himself between you and Hotch. You silently try not to be annoyed by that as you take another gulp from your coffee, and then internally beat yourself up because why would you be annoyed, he’s doing you a favor.

You start reading up on the file that JJ placed in front of you when Morgan asks “Hey, where’s my cup of coffee?”

You glance at him, still holding onto your mug like a lifeline, to find him looking at you almost offended. You shrug. “I didn’t make it.”

Morgan whips his head around to look at Hotch, who acts as if he didn’t hear him. “Where’s my specially made Hotch coffee?”

He doesn’t even look up. “I only have two hands.”

You snort, almost choking, while JJ laughs and Morgan scoffs before he gets up to go downstairs to the break room.

You glance at Hotch to find him smiling to himself, mirth in his eyes, and feel the warmth in your chest again despite how tired you feel.

It’s probably the caffeine.

-

The next time it happens, it’s after you had gotten shot.

To be fair, you’ve been shot a handful of times already since being on the team, but still. You hate being shot at.

Luckily, this time it was your leg and not your stomach like last time, which absolutely fucking sucked. You had been on bedrest for weeks and was going crazy in your apartment despite Penelope visiting you every day, bringing takeout or a steamy romance novel.

You’re currently in a hospital in Texas, leg in a cast, and starting to get antsy. They told you you’re going to be able to discharge later today, but you’re ready now.

“Relax,” Hotch says where he’s sitting at your bedside, not even looking up. He’s finishing up some reports from the case they just finished, laptop on the bed providing a warm presence against your thigh. You try not to ogle at his hands. How is he even able to work with hands that big?

“I’m just ready to go home,” you say through gritted teeth. “I don’t know why we can’t just leave now, I’m fine.”

“You’re lucky the bullet didn’t hit a nerve,” Hotch says, now looking up at you. There’s a frown on his face and his eyes are tired. The bags underneath his are deeper, darker, and you ignore the pang in your chest when you remember the frantic shouts of him calling for an ambulance after you got shot, the warmth of his hands on your calf to press against the wound.

“I’m fine,” you say, rolling your eyes. “What I’m worried about is what I’m going to do the next case we get.”

If possible, his frown deepens. “You’re not coming with us on the next one.”

Something like irritability rises up your throat. “Yes, I am. I can still work in this stupid cast.”

“Yes, but the doctor said you need rest,” Hotch states, sitting up a little straighter after seeing the look on your face. He knows how stubborn you can get, and this time is no different.

“I can rest on the jet, at the precincts.” You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow defiantly at him. “I can still be helpful. I’m not useless.” Like hell you were going to go crazy in your apartment again, living off of frozen pizza and reality TV.

Hotch sighs, and whatever he’s about to say is interrupted by a nurse coming in to check your vitals one more time, your pain level, and then giving you the rundown to be careful, get some rest, blah blah blah.

Somehow Hotch is the one who is tasked with driving you to the airport after you get discharged, the rest of the team already on the jet. You hobble awkwardly through the parking lot with your crutches, and Hotch is right next to you with his hand on the small of your back in case you fall. His hand is warm, nearly setting your whole back on fire, and you shake that thought away as you stumble a bit into the passenger side of his car.

“Are you okay?” Hotch asks as he puts your crutches in the backseat. His eyebrows are furrowed as he looks at you with concern, his hands already out to catch you just in case.

You fight a blush and sit down with a grunt. “Yep, I got it.”

The drive to the jet is quiet besides the low hum of the radio. You stare out the window the whole time, just happy to finally feel the warmth of the sun on your face.

“Do you need me to stop for anything?” You turn your head to look at Hotch. He has some stubble forming on his cheeks, hair mussed, and he’s wearing that brown quarter zip-up you like. He has his eyes on the road and turns to look at you, eyebrow cocked. His lips are chapped.

You are struck with the thought of how insanely handsome he is.

You clear your throat. “Nothing I can think of.”

Hotch hums. “Let me know if there’s anything you’re needing.”

You nod silently, and five minutes later, you’re on the tarmac and stumbling up into the jet. Hotch’s hand is at your back again, barely grazing you, and making sure you don’t fall down the stairs. He’s holding onto your crutches despite your protests, and you try not to feel a little indignant.

“There she is,” Morgan singsongs as you plop down into a seat with a sigh. “How’re you feeling?”

“Ready to go home to my bed,” you say, immediately slouching down to get comfortable.

“I feel that,” Emily laughs, nodding, and then she’s patting you on the shoulder before she sits behind you.

Hotch sits across from you, and you try not to think about how this seating chart has become a normal occurrence. He doesn’t seem to mind, however, based on the small smile he gives you.

He’s setting up his laptop and takes out a couple of files from the bag. He then reaches in and places something on the table in front of you. A water bottle and a small bag of trail mix.

“Oh,” you say, caught off guard and not knowing what else to say.

Hotch clears his throat, averting his gaze. “I know you don’t really like hospital food. So.”

You’re suddenly reminded of the coffee incident, where he somehow knew how to make your coffee exactly the way you liked it and continued to do so almost every day since. You can feel Reid staring a hole into the side of your face from where he’s lying on the couch across the aisle.

Your stomach grumbles then, loudly, and you hear Emily laugh behind you. Hotch glances up at you from where he already has a file open. The corners of his mouth just barely quirk up, almost smug. As if he knew that was going to happen.

You wonder when he had the time to get you a snack. It didn’t come from the kitchenette in the jet, having been out of stock of snacks for weeks, and he hadn’t really left your side while you were in the hospital.

“Thanks,” you finally say. You reach forward to open the bag of trail mix. “You didn’t have to.”

Hotch’s eyes soften, his eyebrows relaxed, and there’s concern and something else in his eyes when he says “I wanted to.”

You smile before you can help yourself, ducking your head, and hoping no one else can hear how fast your heart was racing.

You’re hit with the fact that Hotch was thinking of you, planning ahead to get you a snack and make sure you were fed before you guys made it home. You notice the lack of snacks for the rest of the team and try to ignore the thrill that goes through you. It’s like he knows what you want before you know yourself.

Like he’s taking care of you.

You nearly choke on a cashew when the thought occurs to you. Hotch’s head shoots up at the sound, looking alarmed, and it looks like he’s about to get up and hit you on the back when you wave him off. He doesn’t look satisfied until you take a swig from your water bottle and give him a thumbs up. He goes back to tapping away at his laptop, but you can tell he’s still watching you out of the corner of his eye.

It makes sense now that you think about it. He’s made a habit of checking in with you at the end of the day, offering to drive you home if you stay at the office too late. Whenever you check out a location while on a case, he always goes first. He makes sure you’re getting enough sleep, reminding you that you can take time off whenever you want.

You’re not sure if you’re imagining it, but ever since The Coffee Incident, you feel another pair of eyes on you more often than usual. Sometimes you would look up and see Hotch staring fixatedly on a particular file or his phone, but you can’t deny the prickling feeling you get on the back of your neck. You’ve noticed your fingertips touching more, sharing looks when the rest of the team argue, knees and feet knocking together underneath tables.

You’ve noticed that not only is Aaron Hotchner, your boss, very handsome but extremely and undeniably hot.

His broad shoulders, his tall stature. His cologne, the way he fills out his suits. His deep voice that’s able to dominate and control an entire room and make you weak in the knees.

“Interesting,” you mumble to yourself. Hotch glances at you with that same concern etched in his face, a question forming on his lips. You smile at him innocently and knock your knees against his underneath the table. It’s easy to find him with the annoying cast on your leg.

He knocks his knees back, gentler than he needs to, and a corner of his mouth just barely lifts.

-

You are absolutely sure now that Aaron Hotchner has a… thing.

You don’t know what to call the… thing, but there is undoubtedly a thing.

It’s late and you’re the last one in the office. Well, besides Hotch of course, because he practically lives at the office.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to stay?” Emily asks, JJ on her arm. “I’m sure we can find something for us to do.”

You wave them away. “I’m almost done. Just got at least 2 more reports I need to finish my notes. Promise.”

Emily frowns, but you can see she’s slowly walking backwards to the exit. JJ looks like she’s trying not to tug at Emily’s arm to walk faster. “If you’re sure…”

You roll your eyes. “Go on and have fun with… whatever you guys are going to do. I don’t want to know.”

JJ gives you a wink over her shoulder and you watch as they head into the elevator, a skip in her step. And then they’re gone.

Even though you had just gotten back from the case, it takes you awhile to finish your notes hunching over your desk. It’s quiet in the building, silent besides the faint hum of the air conditioner and your pen scratching at the paper. Your hand cramps a bit and you seriously wonder why this has to be handwritten rather than being in the current century and use a laptop. You’re motivated by the thought of sleeping in tomorrow morning though, which means getting up at 9 instead of your normal 6.

You lean back into your chair, staring at your completed notes. You hear paper rustling from the office upstairs and look up to see Hotch’s door slightly ajar. You suddenly feel nervous being alone with him, as if you haven’ t been alone with him countless of times before. Recently, however, it’s been happening more, and you’re not quite sure how to feel.

You get up from your desk and stretch your back, groaning when you hear a pop. You take a deep breath, imagine your soft bed, gather your reports for the final signature, and head upstairs.

You knock, hear a faint “Come in,” and step inside Hotch’s office, closing the door behind you.

He has his desk lamp on, washing his office and his face with a warm golden glow. He hasn’t even looked up from where he’s writing his own reports, so you take the brief chance to stare.

He’s surrounded by piles of papers; messier than how he usually keeps his desk. His tie is loosened from around his neck and the top two buttons are undone. His sleeves are rolled up and you try not to stare at his thick forearms, the veins in his hands. He grabs a nearby mug to take a sip of coffee, no doubt already cold. Your eyes follow his mouth when he takes a drink, watch the way his tongue flicks out to lick his lips, and then to his face. Where he is watching you with a faint smirk tugging at his aforementioned mouth.

You clear your throat, fighting the blush that’s starting to crawl up your neck. You go to stand in front of his desk, files in hand. “I have the rest of my notes from the Florida case.”

Hotch’s face easily morphs back into his stern and professional look, but you can still see something dance around in his eyes. He takes the files wordlessly, opens one, and reads your notes for not even 5 seconds before he says “You have the names of the sisters mixed up.”

You blink, still trying to fight the nervousness you feel and the warmth pooling slowly at the pit of your stomach as you watch his hands. “Huh?”

Hotch points at the crooked paragraph you scribbled out. “The older sister is named Amanda, the younger sister is Cynthia. You have them mixed up.”

And suddenly the nervousness you felt from being in the same room as your boss, alone and in the middle of the night, is overtaken by sheer embarrassment. You must have been more tired than you thought. “I’m sorry.” You put your hand out for the file. “I can go fix it real quick.”

“It’s fine,” Hotch says, and somehow, you’re not surprised. “I got it.”

You think about the past couple of months and the small gestures he’s been doing for you. Even though you’ve known Hotch for a couple of months now, you can’t quite get a read on him. It’s confusing, he’s confusing. You hate to say that it feels like he’s giving you mixed signals. One second, he’s opening the car door for you when you’re on a case, the next he won’t even look at you when the team is at a bar for an evening. Now this? Offering to fix a mistake you made at work? Something indescribable crawls up your throat and you suddenly feel irritated, upset, and something else.

“No,” you say as professionally as you can despite the rush of blood you can hear in your ears. “I can fix it, Hotch.”

He looks at you then, something like surprise on his face. “It’s just a quick fix, I can do it.”

It’s just a little typo, why won’t he let you fix it, you think to yourself. Maybe it’s the stress from the case you just got back from, how late it was, or something else entirely, but you find yourself unable to stop yourself from saying “Why do you keep doing things for me?”

This time, it’s Hotch who blinks back at you. He puts his pen down and clasps his hands together, looking like he’s ready for a talk. “What do you mean?”

“This!” You wave your hand at him, now not sure exactly what to say. “You keep… doing things for me. Things that I am perfectly capable to do myself, you know.”

Now you realize what that nagging feeling in your throat was— anger. Has Hotch been doing this because of how old you were? Because you were a young and new agent, naïve and innocent and can’t do anything herself?

Hotch just looks at you blankly. You quickly try to read his face; he’s clenching his jaw, his hands where they were clasped are now clenched into almost fists, and his eyes are dark.

“You are perfectly capable,” Hotch says, slowly. “I do know that.”

You huff a bit. “That doesn’t really answer my question.”

Hotch is silent again before letting out a deep sigh. He closes his eyes, runs his hand over his face, and you’re starting to wonder if you’ve just ruined your friendship/professional relationship with your boss. You can almost see the wheels spinning in his head as he figures out what to say.

He smoothly gets up from his desk and is now standing in front of you, leaning against his desk. He’s close, nearly towering over you, and you can almost feel the heat of his body like this.

The close proximity makes you nervous, because this is different than sitting next to each other on the jet or in the car. It’s different because the entire floor of the building is empty and you’re alone in your boss’s office.

He finally opens his eyes, making sure to make eye contact with you. His hands open and then close, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “I do these things because I like doing them. For you.”

You stare at him, not sure what to say and feeling overwhelmed at the onslaught of emotions you’re feeling. You feel pleased, shy, giddy, anxious, and overwhelmed.

It makes sense that Hotch likes to take care of people. He’s a leader, a father, and his whole life is about helping those who are in need. You’ve seen it in the way he checks in with everyone, the way he humors Reid with his ramblings or lending an ear to Rossi. You’ve seen it in the way he talks to children and the way he tries to make himself appear softer, almost smaller.

You see it in him now. If it was anyone, Hotch would look stoic or cold, however you can tell he’s just as nervous as you are with the way he’s clearly biting at the inside of his cheek, the tense jaw, and the concerned furrow of his brow.

You’re still not sure what to say, but you know what you want to do.

So, you close the several inches between you and him with one step, grabbing the collar of his pristine button-up, and kiss him.

You’ve clearly taken him by surprise, but he pretends to act otherwise as he gingerly places his hands on your hips and kisses you back.

His lips are soft, addictingly so, and he tastes like coffee when he swipes his tongue along your bottom lip. The feeling makes your knees weak and you think you let out a soft moan, but you’re unable to hear anything over the sound of blood in your ears. His hands, large and hot, roam from your hips and up your back, giving you shivers.

Hotch is the first one to pull away and you instinctively chase after him with your lips before he stops you with a hand on your shoulder. “Are you sure?”

You look up at him, not realizing you had to crane your neck so much to do so and feel that all-too-familiar feeling between your legs that makes you clench your thighs. His lips are already swollen, pretty and pink, the collar of his shirt wrinkled from where you were pawing at him, and his eyes boring into you like he’s going to eat you alive.

“Yes,” you breathe, looping your arms around his shoulders to pull him back in. Hotch goes willingly, almost eagerly.

Hotch kisses like he works—meticulous and focused, however his hands are needy with the way he runs them over your ass, your back again, and your breasts through your sweater. He still seems like he’s being careful, like he’s worried about breaking you. You weave your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and pull out of pure curiosity, marveling at the way Hotch lets out a groan deep in the back of his throat.

That seems to set him off because now he’s groping you a bit harder, mouth trailing down your neck and peppering kisses in a way that makes you breathless. You can tell he’s refraining from biting and leaving marks, instead making sure to pay extra attention to the spot underneath your ear that makes you gasp and grab at the back of his shirt. “Hotch…”

“Aaron,” he mumbles against your neck before bringing his face back up to yours, noses nearly touching. “Please call me Aaron.”

He’s looking at you like you hung the moon, like he can’t believe you’re in front of him. His face is relaxed, void of any stress, a faint redness on his face, and his hair is so effortlessly messy in a way it makes him look so young and devastatingly handsome.

You nod and move your hands up the nape of his neck again to touch his face, feeling the rough stubble on your palms. “What are you going to do to me, Aaron?”

He groans again and the sound goes straight between your thighs. He suddenly spins you both around until you have your back pressed up against the desk, nearly digging into you. Your breath is knocked out of you, from surprise or desire you don’t know, but then Aaron has his hands at the hem of your sweater. He looks at you, silently asking, and then quickly taking it off when you nod.

His hands immediately gravitate to your breasts, kneading them through the plain black bra you’re wearing. You’re almost embarrassed that it’s so plain, but clearly Aaron doesn’t mind from the way he’s staring at them, thumbs pressing with the lightest pressure against your nipples through the fabric. You feel them tighten, sighing at the soft beginnings of pleasure, and think surely he’s able to feel them even through your bra.

“Fuck,” Aaron curses, and you have never heard him curse and definitely not like this. For some reason, it makes you hotter, and you scramble to bring your hands behind you to unclasp your bra.

And then his mouth is immediately pressing hot open-mouthed kisses down your chest, between your breasts, and then onto your right nipple. You gasp and involuntarily arch your back to press closer to him, chasing his warm and wet mouth.

Aaron takes his time with you. He alternates between sucking hard to little kitten licks while his hand is rolling the other nipple between his fingers. You bite your lip in an effort to suppress your moans, trying to keep in mind that both of you are still technically at work. The thought of being caught during sex has never appealed to you, but for some reason, tonight it sends lightning down your spine. You could tell that you were already incredibly wet, probably soaking through your panties, and you spread your legs a bit to relieve some of the pressure. Aaron immediately steps in closer.

You suddenly feel the hot line of his hard cock against your leg through the several layers of clothing and it makes you moan even louder. “Please,” you gasp, nearly clawing at his back.

His mouth lets go of your nipple with an obscene noise and he’s back to pressing kisses against your neck now, soft and slow, as if giving you a second to catch your breath. “What do you want?” He murmurs, voice deep, and going straight to your wet pussy.

And there it is again— Aaron’s need to take of people. To take care of you.

You spread your legs more at the thought, feeling like you can’t breathe.

Aaron hums, stroking his hand along your thigh, and it feels like you’re burning through your slacks. “Is that you want?” The deep timbre of his voice makes you dizzy, especially when he talks to you like that; teasing, like he’s playing with you.

You nod, your words stuck in your throat. You feel the sweat start to gather at your forehead, your chest, and you can feel him staring while you’re trying to catch your breath.

“I want you to say it,” Aaron says before he’s lifting your hips up so you’re sitting at the edge of his desk. He then tucks his fingers in the waistband of your pants but makes no move to tug them down.

You glance helplessly at the door, thanking past you and the thought to close the door. You know there is a low chance of being heard since it’s almost midnight on a Friday, but again, the thought of being caught with your pants around your ankles and your bra off sends a shiver through you.

“Look at me.” And there’s a hand on your chin, pulling your attention back to the older man in front of you.

He looks absolutely wrecked despite all of his clothes being on. You didn’t notice his tie was gone, thrown somewhere in the office. Aaron is looking at you intently, eyes dark from how dilated his pupils were, and you can tell he’s just as affected by the way his chest is heaving up and down underneath his button-up.

“Tell me what you want,” Aaron whispers, his free hand running up and down your thighs. “And I’ll give it to you.”

Your throat clicks when you swallow, licking your lips, and you watch as Aaron’s eyes follow the movement. “Please eat me out,” you say breathlessly, and it almost feels stupid to say until Aaron is surging into you to press his hungry mouth against yours.

“That’s a good girl,” Aaron mumbles against your mouth and you want to melt into a puddle.

He finally pulls down your pants, helping you lift your hips up to take them off. He’s helping you take off your shoes and then suddenly, he’s kneeling on the floor in between your thighs.

You almost want to close them, suddenly feeling shy, until he has his hands on your knees to keep them apart. You can’t see his expressions from this angle, but you squirm when you feel his eyes and warm breath on your core, probably having soaked your panties right through. You wouldn’t be surprised if you soaked through your pants.

He lets go of your knee to trace your slit through your panties and you jump a bit in surprise, moaning nonetheless and grinding your hips up into his touch. You’re sensitive and have been teased for who knows how long, and secretly you’ve always liked getting dirty with some clothes being on. Blame Aaron and his penchant for suits.

 And then he’s leaning in and pressing his hot hot mouth against your cunt through your panties.

You gasp, loudly, and your hands fly to the top of his head. That’s all the permission Aaron needs, it seems, as he begins by swiping his flat tongue up you before dissolving into slow languid licks. He’s not exactly touching you where you need him most, but it’s enough for now. He’s messy and you’re starting to wonder if a mix of his spit and your wetness is dripping onto his desk, onto the floor, and the thought makes your thighs shake. You know he’s doing this on purpose to make your panties wetter, and it’s so hot in a way you didn’t know was possible.

You feel him hum against you and you squirm against his hands, mewling when you feel them tighten on your thighs. You secretly hope he leaves bruises.

“Please,” you whisper. As much as you love the thought of him so desperate to get a taste of you, him willing to take what he can get through the fabric, you need more. “Aaron, please…”

He groans, something masculine and guttural, and then he’s moving your panties aside from your wet pussy and delving back in again.

His mouth feels infinitely better like this, and you can feel his tongue swiping into your opening, gathering the wetness and completely avoiding your clit. You whine, grasping at his hair a little harder, and wonder if that’s his smile you can feel against your pussy. You grind against his face, almost involuntarily, and he lets you, even enjoying it based on how he moans and moves his tongue faster, exploring.

He finally moves his tongue to your clit and your eyes nearly roll back at the pleasure wracking your body. You gasp and tighten your hold on his hair. It feels so so good, and again the thought of Aaron being so hungry for you he’s willing to do this in the office, his office. Stern and cold, highly esteemed SSA Aaron Hotchner. Your boss.

“Fuck, Aaron,” you whimper and look down at him on his knees between your thighs. His eyes are closed, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, as if he’s just at his desk filling out paperwork or working on a case. Instead, he’s focused on eating you out so intensely, on making you feel so good, he’s so hot.

He opens his eyes at that, as if he could feel you watching him, and they’re a warm golden brown, pupils blown. His hands on your thighs tighten and he shifts from where’s kneeling on the floor. You could see he’s genuinely enjoying making you come apart with his pretty mouth as he flicks your clit ever so gently. You distantly wonder if he’s hard and leaving a stain through his own dress pants.

He gives a soft suck on your clit and your hips stutter, your breath catching in your chest as you feel that familiar pressure start building at the pit of your stomach. And it’s like he can immediately tell, because of course he can, and you suddenly feel one of his thick and long fingers enter you.

“Oh,” you gasp in surprise, eyes rolling back at the primal feeling of being filled. You wish it was his cock, God do you wish, but this is enough for now.

Aaron is still looking up at you and you can tell he’s about to move away to ask if this was okay, if you’re okay, but before he can, you put your leg on top of his shoulder and pull him in. You hope that that answers his question.

And because Aaron is Aaron and can somehow read your mind, he almost imperceptibly nods and puts his mouth on your clit again. His finger starts slow, despite how wet and open you are, as if he’s still teasing you. It’s almost enough for you; the steady sucking of your clit and something thick in your pussy, if he would only move a little faster.

“Harder, please, please,” you beg, unable to stop yourself, nearly babbling. It would be embarrassing if Aaron clearly didn’t like it based on the way he pushes his finger in deeper and harder, his sucking moving into hard licks to your clit.

It was good, so so good, and so intense that you wish you could swipe all of his files and folders off the desk and lay on your back to savor it. Instead, Aaron moves his tongue faster and that tidal wave is getting stronger. You instinctively push at Aaron’s head so you could catch your breath for at least a second because you don’t want this to be over just yet.

Aaron grunts and moves his free hand to your hip, grabbing you hard to keep you in your place. He inserts another finger, and it’s almost too much but it’s also just the right amount of fullness you want at the same time. He’s pumping them in and out of your wet pussy so fast, the lewd noises filling the office, maybe even carrying downstairs.

And then he’s curling his fingers just so, flicking your clit just so, and looking at you with eyes so dark and intense that you finally, finally come.

The shout of his name dies in your throat as you throw your head back, squeezing your eyes shut, and feeling that blissful white-hot pleasure all over. Your pussy clenches around Aaron’s fingers as he keeps his fingers curled inside you. You can feel your hips stuttering, unable to make your mind up on whether to chase the feeling with his mouth or away, but Aaron makes that decision for you as his hand grips impossibly tighter and laps at your clit gently to help you ride out your orgasm.  

You’re trying to catch your breath when you feel Aaron give a whisper of a kiss on your cunt, making you jump. He chuckles quietly and you blearily open your eyes to see him slowly standing up, hearing him groan when his knees pop. You don’t even have the mental capacity to make fun of him for it, especially when you see the look on his face as he steps closer between your shaking legs.

His hair is absolutely ruined thanks to your fingers and his eyes are soft with a touch of concern. There’s a near triumphant smug grin on his face, sweet dimples poking out, and the bottom half of his face is unquestionably glistening. He flicks a tongue out to lick his lips and you want him so bad.

You glance down and feel a shiver of pride and hunger when you see the line of his hard cock through his slacks, a wet spot barely visible.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you nearly swoon at how low and deep his voice sounds. He uses his clean hand to swipe a strand of hair that’s fallen in front of your face and tuck it behind your ear. You can’t even imagine what a mess you look right now, face probably flushed and naked on his desk.

You nod, swallowing the dryness in your throat. His smile gets wider at that, if possible.

He leans in and gives you a gentle kiss and hums when you part your lips to taste yourself. The hand that’s migrated to cradle the back of your head trails down to the nape of your neck, gripping you in a way that was almost possessive. It’s hypnotizing and you feel breathless again at the thought of his hand around your throat.

You feel his cock pressing against your inner thigh, so close to where you need him the most, and you reach to fiddle with his loosened tie before trailing it down his chest. You can feel his muscles flexing, his stomach tensing, before passing his belt and pressing your palm against him. “Can I…?”

He groans against your mouth before pulling away, leaning his forehead against yours. You can imagine the veins in his throat popping as he tries not to cant his hips against you.

You’re marveling at the size of him as you run your hand up and down his length. You had a feeling he was going to be big but not this big. Your mouth waters at the thought of him between your lips, hot and heavy, or pulsating in your pussy as he comes inside of you, filling you up. You can imagine his biceps tensing, the veins in his forearms showing, and the way his eyes would close as he chased his own orgasm.

So, you’re shocked and maybe a little offended when you feel Aaron’s fingers circling your wrist to pull your hand away.

“It’s okay,” he whispers against your lips before you could say anything.

“But I want to—”

“Not here,” he says, now rubbing your wrist like an afterthought. “I wanted to take care of you first.”

You huff a laugh, starting to understand now. Something warm unfurls in your chest at that. Aaron Hotchner had always seemed like the type to want to make the woman come first, maybe even multiple times before his own release.

He steps away, adjusting himself in his pants and fixing the collar of his shirt. Your eyes follow the motions, fixated on his hands, and for some reason you’re feeling hot again.

You must have made a noise because Aaron’s head whips up at you, that smug grin that he’s not even trying to hide anymore getting wider. He leans down to pick up your pants and helps you wriggle your panties back up your legs and to your hips. His hands linger on your inner thighs as if he can’t help himself and you notice his breath getting deeper, his mouth parted.  

You’re just about to slide them off again, maybe even using your arm to finally slide all the papers on his desk off when he steps away again.

“My place?” He asks lowly. His gaze lingers on your thighs, your chest, and then back up to your face. The desire and want is plain as day on his face.

As if on cue, you hear the familiar sound of a custodial cart next door in Rossi’s office. Your heart leaps in your throat and you push off the desk to scramble and put your pants and sweater back on.

Aaron laughs at that, quietly again, as if they don’t work here and they’re about to get caught doing something they’re not supposed to be doing. Which, you guess, is somewhat true.

But then Aaron is on his knees again, your shoe in one hand and his fingers circling your ankle to lift up with the other as he looks up at you. His eyes are so sincere, sweet, as if he just didn’t give you the most mind-blowing orgasm of your life here in his office.

You smile at him, feeling the fondness grow impossibly larger in your chest, and let him help you put your shoes back.

You can return the favor in his bed.

[thebeast-dennis-etcetera]

Family Friend

Prompt: Jack Hotchner is arrested for underage drinking and the first person he calls to bail him out, is you.

It was almost 2 in the morning when you received the call.

"Y/N?" You heard the familiar voice of Jack Hotchnner's voice speak. He sounded small and almost scared.

"Jack?" You sat up in bed, immediately awake. "Are you alright?"

"I did something stupid Y/N. My dad's gonna kill me."

His words were slightly slurred and slow, imitating that of someone who had been drinking a lot. A million scenarios went through your head as you sprang out from under the covers, rushing to put on a change of clothes, holding your cell between your shoulder and ear.

"What happened Jack? Where are you?"

"I'm in jail. They said I could call someone so I called you. I know my dad is out of the state on a case, please don't tell him," he pleaded.

"Honey, I have to, he's your father. But we can talk about it when I get there. What jail exactly are you at?"

Once you were decent, you grabbed your keys and headed out the door.

"Fairfax I think- Oh God, Y/N, I'm so stupid, I don't even know why I was there. I-

"Jack, sweetheart. Don't say anymore, I'm headed to you now alright? Just sit tight."

He sniffled and let out an intoxicated hiccup. "Ok."

Hanging up, you dialed Aaron's number and put it on speaker as you got into your SUV, driving in the direction of the jail. The call picked up on the third ring and Aaron's sleepy voice mirrored your concerned tone from earlier.

"Y/N? Everything alright?"

"Jack just called me. I guess he's been arrested in Alexandria. He's fine, he's safe, but he did sound like he had been drinking. I'm on my way to pick him up now."

"What? Did he tell you what happened?" You imagined that he was doing the same as you, getting out of bed and dressing to catch the soonest plane out.

"No, I didn't want him to tell me over the phone. I can call you back once I get there and talk with him, I just wanted to give you a heads up."

"Thank you. I'm on my way as well." His voice was low and slightly gruff, telling you that he was pissed but trying to conceal it. You'd memorized all of his subtle tone and posture changes over the years of knowing him, having spent the better part of those years as one of his underlings before transferring units.

"Don't worry about it tonight Aaron, I've got it. You've got a case to solve."

Luckily, all of the lights were working in your favor as you had yet to hit a red, bringing you closer to Jack sooner.

"The team will be fine without me. I'll be there first thing tomorrow morning."

You knew there was no stopping him. He was as stubborn as a mule and you honestly couldn't blame him when it came to the fact that his son was just arrested for God knows what.

"And Y/N. Thank you. For being there."

You were glad he wasn't there to see the slight blush creeping into your face at his words as your voice spoke calmly, a strong opposite of what you were feeling.

"Of course Aaron. I'll always be there for you guys."

Your words lingered in the back of your mind after the both of you hung up, silently mocking your lovesick emotions. For years, the both of you had always kept your friendship that of which it was. A friendship, nothing more. As much as you may have wanted it to be something a little more...intimate. There were times you thought Aaron may have felt the same, by the way he looked at you just a second longer than necessary or how protective he'd get whenever he found out you were going out on a date. But he never voiced such sentiments to you, if he had any at all, causing you to bury your own.

It seemed to be the night that everyone was being arrested as you walked into the police station and towards the booking desk.

"I'm here for Jack Hotchner, he was brought in sometime tonight," you stated to the officer. She gave you a once over before typing into the computer, presumingly looking him up.

"Oh yeah. Looks like he was picked up from a neighborhood party for underage drinking. He's in the drunk tank. Hasn't stopped crying and telling everyone that his father is a FBI agent. That true?"

You sighed at the dramatics she described and sighed before answering. "Yes he is, and I'm Special Agent L/N, a family friend." You flashed your credentials, satisfying her interest and continuing on with the process of bail. 500 dollars later and a short phone call to Aaron to update him on everything, they delivered the still very drunk Jack Hotchner to you.

He practically ran into your arms, crying. "Y/N, I'm so sorry."

If you weren't such a sucker for the kid, you would've been giving him a very stern lecture on his reckless behavior. But you were a sucker and all you could do was hug him back tight and speak gently. "You're alright, I'm just glad you're safe. C'mon, let's get you home."

You thanked the cops and left the building, Jack following close behind obediently. Once the two of you were in the car and on your way back, you decided to have a few words.

"This can't happen again, Jack. You know that, right?"

He seemed to be fading in and out of sleep but was coherent enough to give you a nod of acknowledment.

"Just because you're not in jail anymore, doesn't mean there won't still be a punishment. You broke the law and your dad is not happy about that."

Suddenly at the mention of his father, his eyes sprung open in alarm.

"You told him?"

"Of course I told him Jack. He was planning on flying back the minute I told him the news but I managed to get him to at least wait until tomorrow so you can sleep off the alcohol and he can have some time to calm down. You're welcome."

He threw his head back, cringing his face, making you believe that he was gonna start crying again. "He's gonna kill me."

"Well I highly doubt that sweetheart but I'll be there just in case, to make sure the both of you stay calm, alright?"

He groaned in acceptance and you shook your head smiling at his childlike behavior.

- - - -

Using the spare key Aaron gifted to you a few months back, you helped Jack into his house and led him into his room. Flopping onto his bed and passing out almost immediately, you sighed before straightening him out and taking off his shoes, then covering him up with a blanket and turning out his light.

You knew he was fine to be in the house by himself, but still you stayed, taking minimal space on the massive sectional couch and covering yourself with a throw blanket, noticing how it smelt faintly of Aaron. It didn't take long for the sleep to find you.

- - - -

You woke up with a jolt as the sound of the front door closing echoed in the quiet house, sitting up and catching Aaron's eye. He seemed surprised to see you as he walked over to the dining room table and set his keys and briefcase down.

"Sorry I woke you. I didn't know you spent the night," he spoke softly, loosening his tie.

"Yeah, I didn't want to leave him here alone in the state he was in. He must've had a lot to drink."

A sigh escaped his lips while running a hand over his face, his expression looking tired and overworked. You could only imagine the stress he went through being a single father and Unit Chief as well as the toll it took on his mind and body. Getting up, you folded the throw blanket neatly and walked over into the kitchen, deciding to make the both of you a pot of coffee.

"I don't know why he's so out of control lately. Last week the school told me he's been skipping classes and receiving detention on a daily basis."

You figured Jack was still sound asleep considering that it was only 7 in the morning so there was no chance he'd hear the two of you talking.

"He's not out of control Aaron. He's just being a teenager. A teenager that lost his mother and barely sees his father, he's bound to act out a little."

You prepared the coffee, knowing exactly where everything was, having done these motions numerous times before. Some of your best memories with Aaron were ones where the two of you shared a pot in the late night and talked about anything and everything, just enjoying each others presence. You pushed away the momentary thought and grabbed two mugs from the cabinet.

"I just wish I knew what to do," he sighed. "He's getting more and more distant from me and I feel helpless about it."

You turned to face him, settling you hand on his arm, grabbing his attention. "Just be there for him. And tell him that. He'll come around eventually. He just needs to work through the emotions he's feeling."

He didn't answer but continued holding your gaze, a flicker of something behind his eyes that made you subconsciously hold your breath. "Thank you Y/N. For staying." His voice was soft- tentative almost. You watched his eyes glance down at your lips momentarily, the air now thick with tension. You stood there frozen as he took a small step forward, bringing his body closer to yours and his head tilting down to compensate the height difference.

"Aaron.." you whispered, his name almost spoken as a warning, worried that if he crossed whatever boundary there had been, he'd regret it and that would be the end of your friendship.

"Am I reading this wrong?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for an answer. He didn't lean in any further though. Didn't make a move to kiss you but his close presence was plenty. You could smell the cologne he would wear every once in a while, making your head dizzy.

"I just don't want you to regret this later on," you admitted to him, fearing he's end up agreeing with you. Instead, to your surprise, he reached a hand out to hold your cheek in his hand, making your eyes flutter shut briefly.

"The only regret I have is not doing this sooner." He leaned in, capturing your lips in his which you were more than happy to reciprocate. The kiss was everything you had dreamt it be. He was gentle, loving almost, in the way his arm came around your waist and slowly pulled you in. There was no rush, it was just you and him in the quiet house, everything else forgotten about, including the teenager who had unknowingly left his room to walk right into the living room, seeing everything.

"It's about time," he interrupted, making you practically jump away from Aaron.

"Jack." Your response was breathless, Aaron succeeding in taking it away seconds before. "I wasn't expecting you to be up so early."

You turned to step away from Aaron, which he allowed, but still kept his hand resting on your waist, a small knowing smirk on his face.

"Just because you were right about this, doesn't mean you're off the hook," Aaron said, making Jack roll his eyes lightheartedly. You spun to Aaron with a look of shock.

"Have you two been conspiring about me?" You were surprised of course, but also flattered that Jack felt so comfortable with you to talk with his father about his romantic feelings towards you.

Aaron shrugged his shoulders in admission. "Maybe just a little bit," he said, the tiniest of a blush creeping up his neck. "I just wasn't expecting for it to happen this morning, especially after all the chaos."

"Which I'm totally sorry for, Y/N. Thanks for coming to get me," Jack added. You walked over and brought the boy in for a tight hug that he pretended to not enjoy but eventually gave up and hugged you back. "I'm just glad you're safe and hopefully learned a valuable lesson," you spoke, pulling him back and giving him a once over. "Also, how are you up at 7 in the morning? If I had as much to drink as you looked like you did, I'd be dead till at least noon."

He chuckled and ran a nervous hand through his hair, something you noticed Aaron also did on occasion. "This wasn't my first time, Y/N. I've been drunker."

You gasped and looked over at Aaron who could only shake his head in disapproval but ultimately already knowing about it.

You turned back to Jack. "Well this time, it won't be just your father in charge of punishment. I'm gonna have some say in it as well. I know Spencer has an upcoming lecture on the Theory of Relativity this week. I think it'd be very informational for you."

The horrid expression on his face was exactly what you were looking for. "What?! No! Please, not uncle Spence's lectures. I'll do community service, babysitting, anything but that," he pleaded to his father, who threw his hands up in surrender but didn't lose the amused smile.

"I think it's a great idea. Consider that the beginning of the punishment as well. Now go get showered and dressed, you're gonna come with me to run some errands."

Groaning in disapproval, he did as he said and walked off down the hall to his room. You felt the warmth of Aaron come up behind you and pull you in, resting his head on your shoulder, arms around your stomach. "Good idea on the punishment," he praised, kissing your cheek.

You chuckled while moving to face him, a look of jest in your eyes. "Oh, you're not in the clear either, mister. I think I deserve a proper date after the secret scheming you and Jack have been up to."

The gaze of tenderness and affection glimmered in his eyes gave you butterflies and the ultimate need to pull him in for another kiss. You honestly felt like you could kiss the man forever.

When you both pulled away, he spoke. "How about tonight? I'll pick you up from your place around 6? You could wear that dress you've been talking about wanting to wear."

A big smile appeared on your face at his words, excited for the evening. You stayed just a little longer, sharing a cup of coffee with Aaron, giving some drunk advice to Jack before you all parted your separate ways. Knowing you'd see the both of them so soon, filled your heart with joy and the smiled never faded the whole drive home.

[luveline]

JADEEEE i'd love to see an interaction between hotch and teacher!reader outside of school? maybe jack sees her first and step away from hotch for a moment to say hi, hotch gets scared when he realizes jack left but reader comes with him just a moment later because she's panicking too like 'why are you alone? where's your dad?' and jack takes her to him. is that ok??? i hope so! love you <3333

I love you ty for your request! —Hotch flirts with Jack’s favourite teacher, because he’s never as subtle as he should be. fem, 2k

Jack reads a couple of books a week now his dad is home more often. His mom used to read to him some because he loves them, but she preferred to tell her own on the fly. His dad isn’t as good a story teller, and when he does try the stories don’t end up very happy, so they read. Sometimes two or three books a night if they're short ones. 

With Jack’s library card they can borrow ten books. With his dad’s, another ten. Twenty altogether, enough to last the month if they’re careful or if dad gets called away a lot, which he usually does. 

“Can I look for Super Pup?” Jack asks his dad. 

Aaron sits on a chair a little too small for him in the kids section. “What?” he asks, looking up from the back of the large picture book Jack’s just handed him. 

“Super Pup?” 

“I’ll help, buddy.” Hotch looks like he’s going to stand, then hesitates. “In a second. Don’t go where I can’t see you, Jackers.” 

Hotch is tired. He didn’t come home until very late, but he’d woken Aunt Jess anyway and, when Jack woke, there his dad was sleeping in the beanbag by his bed. He’s sore all over now and exhausted from a restless night. Jack feels sorry, as much as he can for being six nearly seven, but he also knows that his dad doesn’t mind the hurting. It was nice to wake up together after a few days apart. 

And now he’s brought him to the library, and after that they’ll go for groceries. Jack should be quick. If they get home before dinner time his dad will ask him if he wants to nap together, which is the best. They just lay there in the big bed with the fan on and snooze until it’s too late to cook, so his dad breaks out the takeout menus, and promises he won’t do it again with a quick hug from behind. 

As though it makes him a terrible parent for feeding his kid. Jack can’t know how guilty it makes Hotch feel to do it, and Hotch doesn’t seem to notice how much Jack loves these days where his dad is exhausted and totally his. 

Jack runs around looking for Super Pup. Hotch’s phone beeps in his pocket, and he fights to keep his eyes open.

A ways away, you browse the fiction section in a crouch, knees somehow totally under your skirt, flicking aside spines of skinny books for something you can read at lunch time. Something that doesn’t require much attention, and could be read in short intervals. You used to demand a half hour to yourself when you first started teaching, but that was before the lonely kids started cropping up. Kids with no friends, or sad smiles, who want company and quiet alike. 

You reach for a pink-spined Japanese translation as a little hand pats your elbow. You’re so used to kids you say, “What’s up?” before you remember you aren’t at work. 

You turn in your crouch to look behind you. “Oh, hi, Jack! What are you doing here?” 

“Me and dad are looking for books.” 

You smile at him genuinely, happy to see your favourite student, even if you’re terrified on the inside at the prospect of his father. He’s the most gentlemanly man you’ve ever met. He’s arduous in how respectful he is, he’s understanding, and he’s tall, dark, and handsome. It is a chilling collection of traits. You stumble whenever you have to talk to him. 

But Jack is easy. You and Jack talk every day. “What sorts of books? Just for fun?” 

“I want to read Super Pup.” 

The kids love Super Pup and his magic bark. You stand promptly, suddenly much taller than Jack as you brush down your skirt. “Wait,” you say. Mr. Hotchner gets called away for work all the time, but he wouldn’t leave Jack alone, would he? “Where’s your dad? You’re not by yourself, are you?” 

Jack laughs. “No! I’m looking for Super Pup! Dad’s tired.” 

You can’t decipher exactly what those two things have to do with each other, but you can guess how panicked his dad will be to find Jack so far from the kid’s section. Fiction is the other side of the library. “How did you end up over here?” You offer your hand. “Should we go back and find your dad?” 

“I saw your skirt, Miss L/N. I like the flowers.”

He takes your hand, clumsy to your gentleness. “Thanks, honey. Let’s go find dad before he calls his scary friends and has your name on the news.” 

You get to the kids section slowly. Endearingly so, but nerve-wracking, too, because Mr. Hotchner can be intimidating. Jack likes holding your hand, you think, clinging to your fingers as he guides you across the library, past the staircase down to the first floor, and back to the kids section. 

“Jack?” Mr. Hotchner asks loudly, turned away from you both near the graphic novel selection. “Jack.” 

“Mr. Hotchner,” you say. 

“Dad!” 

He spins on his heel. His shoulders relax noticeably, but the stress in his gaze remains. 

“Jack, I said stay where I can see you,” he says, not half as scolding as he could be as Jack lets go of your hand and runs to his legs, where he stops. “Please, buddy. You gotta listen to me.” 

Jack turns between you and his dad with a smile, “But look, it’s Miss L/N.” 

“I can see,” he says softly. 

Mr. Hotchner leans down, taking Jack up into his arms with impressive ease, and begins the walk to you where you’ve stayed. 

“I hope he didn’t interrupt you,” he says. 

“Please,” you say, “he’s my favourite. Just–” You wince. “Don’t tell anybody at school I said that, Jack. Please.” 

“I think we can keep this secret,” Mr. Hotchner says. 

“He was just telling me that you’re looking for Super Pup. If you don’t find it, we have copies at the school library. And we can always order you one.” 

Mr. Hotchner gives you a small, and what you know to be rare, smile. “I don’t think he even looked.” 

“I did look!” Jack disagrees, though his disagreement barely has any attitude to it, a credit to his upbringing. 

“You clearly weren’t looking in the right place.” 

“I was too. How would you know, you were sleeping!” 

“I wasn’t sleeping,” Mr. Hotchner says to you. 

You tuck your hands behind your back. “It’s okay, Mr. Hotchner, I believe you. In my classroom we like to say we’re resting our eyes.” 

“Aaron,” he says, as he says whenever you speak to each other, and as you always forget to call him. Not a demand but a suggestion you’d swear to be bordering affectionate. 

You’ve been Jack’s teacher for two months this year, and almost the entire year previously. In the summer when they leave, you’ll find out if you’re moving up a grade with him, but until then, you’ve made the most of such a nice kid, and you aren’t shy to tell that to Aaron. You don’t mind that Jack spends his lunch time with you. He embodies all of the reasons that pushed you to become a teacher in the first place. 

And his father is a good reason to stay. He’s one of the only nice (hot) dads. 

You do worry often that he can read your expression. His lips have quirked into a bemused smile, what’s so funny? He’s terrifying. 

“Aaron,” you rush to say, and fill the silence you’ve made, “It’s nice to see you.” 

“It’s nice to see you, too. You’ll see me on Monday, so you’ll be sick of me by Tuesday.” 

You rock ever so gently on your heels. “You aren’t working.” 

“It’s Jack’s birthday.” 

You nod, pleased. “I know! I know, we already talked about what cupcakes he wants, didn’t we? Everybody’s gonna have rainbow sprinkle, and for a treat we’re going to watch a movie before lunch.” 

“Do you do that for every kid?” 

“I do.” 

“How do you afford it?” He lowers his gaze. “I just mean, it’s expensive to do that for every birthday.” 

“Luckily for me and unluckily for the kids, quite a few of them have birthdays outside of term time. Thirty students is three trays of ten, and that doesn’t usually break the bank, even if things get tight. But… I don’t know, I guess I just have to make room when it does. It’s special to feel special, and,” —you smile, exuberant and a little shy at once, clutching your elbow in your hand— “Jack always makes everybody else feel special. ” 

The boy in question turns into his fathers chest, pleased beyond words. 

Aaron gives you a long, long look. “Thank you,” he says. 

“Oh, you’re welcome.” 

You say goodbye to Aaron and Jack and wish them both a good weekend, which you spend wondering what the pressure of Aaron’s hand would be like on your shoulder, and if you should be ashamed of yourself for thinking about it at all. He seems like he’d give a good hug. You catch yourself picturing him opening a door and ban yourself from thinking of him at all. 

Monday morning, you stand at the door ushering your students inside, and you can’t help beaming when Jack and Aaron arrive. 

“Aw, Jack, where’s your birthday badge?” you ask, fall air nipping your nose. 

“He was feeling too shy,” Aaron says. He’s in casual dress again. Some men should be banned from half-zips, it’s inhumane. 

“You were?” You bend just a bit, hand in your pocket. “Well, I thought you might be, so I brought my badge from home. It’s super shiny, bud. What do you think?” 

You show Jack the badge, It’s My Birthday in silver against a rainbow backdrop. 

Maybe it was silly to bring, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t want to wear one, and maybe he should. He deserves for all his friends to give him some attention, and to have them fight over who gets to sit with him at lunch. 

“We have something for you,” Jack says. 

You stand straight. “You do?” 

Aaron hadn’t been expecting to be the one to give it to you, that much is obvious. He hesitates for a second before he passes you a small brown box, the top of which is made up of four leaves folded into a dome. You have an inkling of what it might me. 

“Thank you… Can I open it now?” you ask. 

“I think you should wait for lunch,” Aaron says. 

You raise your eyebrows but abide by his suggestion, murmuring another thank you as Aaron bends to give Jack a hug. “Have a good day. I’ll be here to pick you up, I promise,” he says.

It’s a great day. The kids are excited for cupcakes and overjoyed to get them before lunch. Not a crumb goes uneaten, and as they all sing for Jack with his borrowed badge, he’s actually happy for the attention. He doesn’t eat with you at lunch, which is a great thing even if you love his company. 

Alone, you fold back the leaves of your mysterious box and smile like an idiot when you confirm what’s inside. A cupcake slightly more sophisticated than rainbow sprinkle spreads icing across the brown carrier, and a business card leans against the other side. 

The front of the card is as you’d expected it to be spelling out Aaron’s contact details from work, and you combust thinking he wants you to call him, but it’s the back that you’d been meant to see. You read it as you fold down the leaves of the cupcake carrier, 

Thirty students, three trays of ten. What does that leave for you? —Aaron. 

Flirt, you think firmly, happily. He’s such a flirt. 

[kiwriteswords]

Omg based on the gifs you reblogged with our man and his tight shirts, could you write a story (maybe christmas) where Reader keeps buying Hotch shirts that are too tight and hes like why? and has to explain lololol

He's a little bit older...got a bit of a dad bod [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: >1k|| AN: omg YES. YESS. YES. Merry Christmas to those who celebrate. The title is a nod to Sabrina Carpenter's Christmas Song! xoxo

Tags/Warnings: no use of y/n, dad bod Hotch, Hotch x His Tight Button-Ups, Christmas Morning, Christmas activities, Gift Giving, Established Relationship, BAU Reader, mentions of weight changes/body changes, Jack is present, age-gap relationship

Summary: You really...really love Hotch in his tight button-ups, so you choose not to size up this Christmas for his gifts.

Aaron Hotchner woke early on Christmas morning, the subtle glow of winter light filtering through the curtains. The tree in the living room twinkled with lights, the gifts beneath it carefully wrapped. Hotch was always the first to rise, a habit from years of early morning cases. Today, though, it was the excitement that nudged him from sleep. This Christmas was special—not just because of the holiday, but because he was sharing it with you and Jack.

You stirred beside him, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you felt him shift. "Morning," you murmured, your voice thick with sleep but bright with the day's joy.

"Morning," Hotch replied, his voice low. He watched as you stretched, the corners of your eyes crinkling with a smile. "Ready to see what Santa brought?"

You laughed, the sound as warm as the blankets piled around you. "Only if I get coffee first."

Hotch grinned, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before slipping out of bed to start the coffee. By the time he returned with two steaming mugs, Jack was already rummaging through the stockings, his excitement palpable.

The morning passed in a flurry of ripped wrapping paper and joyful exclamations. Hotch couldn't help but feel a profound sense of contentment watching you and Jack. You had integrated into their lives seamlessly, bringing a lightness to their home that Hotch hadn't realized was missing.

When Jack finally settled down with his new video games, Hotch found you in the kitchen, tidying up the remnants of the morning’s chaos. He wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. "Thank you for the shirts," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. "But I think I might need a bigger size these days."

You turned in his arms, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Oh? And why is that?" you teased.

Hotch chuckled, the sound deep and resonant. "Well, it seems I've filled out a bit more than I used to." He wasn't ashamed of it—his body had changed, but he felt strong, healthy. And if the way your gaze lingered on him lately was any indication, you didn't seem to mind the changes either.

Your smile widened, and you reached up to trace the collar of his shirt, the fabric taut across his shoulders. "I've noticed," you admitted, your voice dropping to a whisper. "And I have to say, I really like it. The way your shirts fit now... it’s incredibly attractive."

Aaron Hotchner felt a familiar warmth spread through him, a warmth that had nothing to do with the coffee or the fire crackling in the living room. He was acutely aware of the changes in his body over the years. He wasn't as lean as he had been when Jack was born, or even when you first met him. Getting older, his fitness routine was not quite what it once was; he sometimes worried about how these changes were perceived, especially by someone younger like you.

"Yeah?" he asked, a part of him needing to hear more, to understand how you saw him.

You nodded, standing on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his jaw. "Yeah. It suits you. It’s…really hot," you confessed, a playful smirk tugging at your lips.

Hotch laughed, the sound rich and full of genuine happiness. He pulled you closer, his hands resting on your waist. "Well, I'm glad you think so," he said, and then, softer, "because there's no one else's opinion I care about more than yours."

You blushed at his words, your eyes shining with affection. "Good," you said simply. Then, with a teasing poke to his chest, you added, "Maybe Santa should bring you some more of those shirts next year."

Hotch pretended to consider it, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Only if Santa agrees to keep making comments on how hot they look on me."

"You have no idea," you laughed, leaning in closer. "Sometimes, at work, it's honestly a little distracting." Your voice dropped to a playful whisper, "There are meetings where I'm definitely more focused on your...shirt situation than the case briefings."

Hotch's eyebrows rose, his lips curving into a smirk at your confession. "Is that so?" he asked, his tone equally teasing.

"Absolutely," you affirmed with a nod. "Especially when you're up there giving a profile, all serious and command-mode with your suit jacket off... It’s a lot to handle," you grinned, poking him again gently.

Hotch's laughter filled the kitchen, deep and heartfelt. He pulled you closer, his hands resting on your waist. "Well, I'll have to make sure take the jacket off more often then, just to keep things interesting," he quipped.

"I'd appreciate that," you said, your eyes alight with mischief. "Maybe I'll even start a personal rating system for them. You know, to provide feedback."

"Looking forward to your reviews," Hotch replied, the warmth in his voice reflecting the warmth in his chest. This easy banter, the shared smiles, they made everything feel right.

This Christmas, like all the moments since you'd joined his life, felt complete. Hotch knew there would be challenges ahead, cases to solve, and long nights. But with you by his side, sharing whispers and stolen kisses between cups of coffee and Christmas lights, he felt ready for anything.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

@person-005

@iyskgd

[finelinevogue]

personal heating pad

summary - you have endometriosis but you're lucky you also have aaron

pairing - aaron hotchner x bau!endo-reader [1.2k]

a/n: i was listening to 'try' by p!nk and inspiration hit plus i am on my period and hating every minute of it... might make this a series? cw: she/her pronouns used

"Son of a..."

You keeled over yourself as another strong, stabbing, pain came across your lower abdomen. You blew out a deep breath before attempting to stand back up.

Periods sucked.

They sucked even worse when you had a condition like endometriosis.

The pain was doubled - sometimes you couldn't even get out of bed. You constantly had a heat pad on your lower abdomen throughout your cycle and you were constantly downing cocktails of medication.

Nothing helped you more - maybe not literally, but at least emotionally - than Aaron Hotchner though.

Your fiancé of 4 months now, Aaron knew all about your battle with endometriosis and yet he still had stuck by you all this time and had even gotten down on one knee.

Previous relationships had always failed because of the knowledge that endometriosis means there's a low chance of having a baby. Aaron chose to stay, though.

"I have Jack and I have you. What more could I need?" You remember Aaron telling you.

"Fuck." You swore as another cramp tore through your happy thoughts.

You had been on the way to get a shower, but even that seemed like too much of a task now thanks to the pain. You sat at the bottom of the stairs in your house, back to the wall as you closed you eyes and breathed through the pain.

Your phone started ringing.

But it was ringing from another room.

Your face scrunched in frustration as you cursed yourself for leaving your phone out of reach. There was no way you were moving from this spot for at least half an hour - you physically couldn't.

<.><.>

On the other side of the city Hotch was pacing in his office.

He sighed as he pulled his phone away from his ear as he heard your voicemail click again.

A knock on the door pulled him away from his internal panic.

"You okay?" Morgan asked.

Hotch sighed again, tucking his phone into his blazer pocket. "Y/N won't answer her phone."

Morgan frowned, "That's not like her."

"No, I know. That's what worries me." Hotch ran his hand over is jaw as he contemplated the next step.

"It's her day off right? She could be out with a friend." Morgan tried to reason with his stressed boss.

"No, it's... She..." Hotch frowned. He couldn't exactly explain why he knew you weren't out with a friend without explaining your condition - something you hadn't told the team and it wasn't his news to spread.

"Okay, well, uh, I'm sure Rossi and the rest of us can hold down the fort if you wanna go check on her." Morgan suggested.

Hotch just gave a meaningful nod in return and didn't waste another minute before leaving his office.

<.><.>

You felt yourself come around as the front door opened.

You hadn't even realised you'd gone to sleep until your eyes reopened. It was hard to know how long you'd been sat on the stairs for now without a clock nearby, but judging by how cold you were you'd say it had been a while.

When Aaron rounded the front door you could tell he was readying to bellow your name, until he saw you sat there.

His heart nearly broke seeing you.

It was so unfair that you had to go through this every month for over half of the month. He would never be able to comprehend how you were so strong to carry on through it.

"Hey sweetheart." Aaron spoke softly.

He came and crouched down in front of where you were still sat on the bottom step. One of his hands came to rest on your knee, whilst the other checked your temperature against your forehead.

"Hi." Your eyes were still heavy. Your arms remained wrapped around yourself as if that would somehow lessen the pain.

"How long have you been here for?"

"How long ago did you leave for work?" You joked.

Aaron smiled along with you but it you could tell it was out of pity more than anything.

Aaron quickly shuffled off his blazer and moved your body slightly so he could wrap it around you. You shivered under the new found warmth, the remanence of his heat still lingered on his jacket.

"You taken any medication?" He asked more seriously.

"No."

"Honey..." Aaron's frown shifted to one of disappointment.

"Don't give me that look." You sighed.

"It's only 'cause I care about you. You know that." Aaron leaned forwards so he could delicately kiss your forehead, careful not to knock you in any way that would hurt you.

"I hate this." You said quietly, tears forming in the corners of your eyes.

"I know." Aaron said, knowing that trying to say anything positive to fill in the sadness was worse than saying nothing at all. You hated it when people tried to spin a positive on this, because there really wasn't one. All you needed was someone to hold your hand through it and you were lucky that that someone was Aaron.

"Thank you for being here."

"Anytime, sweetheart."

<.><.>

It was hours later and you were in your happy place.

Aaron had helped you up the stairs and into the shower. He'd helped you shower and then get into bed without any troubles.

You were enveloped in a large hoodie of his, hood pulled up over your head as you laughed at something Aaron had just said. Both of you were nestled in your bed under the warm light of your salt lamp.

Aaron laid beside you, watching you closely, one arm draped across your waist whilst his fingertips traced soothing patterns against your skin.

You know he hates seeing you in pain, but Aaron knows that distraction—especially his laughter—can sometimes help more than anything else.

“You know, for an FBI unit chief, you’re a surprisingly good nurse.”

A cup of peppermint tea was still warm on your bedside table. You could tell that Aaron was keeping a mental note on how long the tea had left before he would need to go an re-warm it for you. He was too sweet. Your meds were stacked on the side too next to a fresh glass of water.

Aaron chuckled at your silliness, “I'm going to take that as a compliment.”

You turned your head to look at him better, wincing when the movement created a flare up in your lower tummy, “You shouldn’t. You have the same energy as a dad who's trying to help but is just holding out a bottle of ibuprofen like, ‘This fixes everything, right?’”

Aaron shook his head at you, but knowing he had no leverage on reprimanding you right now.

“I am a dad.”

“Jack probably gives you the same ‘you tried’ look I’m giving you right now.” You gave him a deadpan look - trying your best not to laugh.

“Not true. Jack thinks I know everything.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, you’re still here.”

As if you could move anywhere even if you did want to, you thought to yourself.

“That’s because you’re warm and I refuse to give up my human heating pad.” You brought his hand from your waist to push it down just above your panties.

Aaron knew what to do immediately. He spread his hand over the skin there and it immediately felt like you had a secondary heating pad on - it was magical. There was something so intimate about the situation that was more personal than any sort of sexual act.

The moment was ruined seconds later, “So you’re only using me for my body?” Aaron asked.

You snuggled closer to him, preparing to cash in for the evening, “Obviously.”

[venusbyline]

Taste ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 03, oct.

— pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fiancée!reader

— type: smut, Kinktober (Criminal Minds Edition)

— kink: lactation

— summary: Hotch never felt horny seeing a woman breastfeeding. Until he watched his fiancée doing it.

— word count: 2.9k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 3rd day, female!reader, fiance!Hotch, lactation kink, breastfeeding, breast worship, fingering, light overstimulation, mention of Haley's death, Jack has a little sister, canon divergence. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @thatredlipped-classic @magnoliatrees-world @ehedrick012110 @hotchsmutrecs @slutcakes00 @emma-e-a

— crossposting: AO3

Hotch swore to himself that he wouldn't get involved with anyone else after Haley's death. He promised for Jack's sake and his ex-wife's memory, he would try his best to stay away from any woman who could mean more to him than just a few nights of sex or random drinks at a bar. He swore he wouldn't love anyone again, much less allow himself to remarry.

That's until you came into his life.

The damn day he saw you at the hospital after one of his teammates was grazed by a bullet. You were working your shift as a nurse and seemed almost shocked by the number of BAU agents in just one room. But your eyes didn't take long to focus on him. Eye contact only lasted a few seconds until Reid interrupted the magical moment by asking you about the coffee machine not working properly.

Hotch looked straight into your eyes long enough to realize he was fucked up and all his promises were going to go down the drain.

It didn't take long until the simple memory to invade Hotch's mind frequently and he was convinced to find out more about you, profiling you. Prentiss and Reid said he was starting to obsess, JJ thought it was cute, and Garcia and Morgan made fun of him like he was womanizer. Deep down, everyone was also excited but wary by the idea of Hotch being interested in another woman after Haley's murder. This could be good for him and also traumatize him even more.

When Hotch started visiting a pub that you and your co-workers went to often after work, he tried to maintain an indifferent attitude every time he saw you, trying to convince himself that you two would just flirt and maybe fuck. Nothing more than that, something random and insignificant.

However, during a day when he was reflecting on his life, sitting at one of the empty tables and drinking whiskey, Hotch was surprised to see you sit down with him, without even being invited. A sweet smile on your face as you began to strike up a conversation, even though he was clearly perplexed by the fact that you had already noticed his interest in you — no matter how obvious it was to anyone who saw him always watching you.

Two years later, Hotch still had difficulty admitting how much he loved you, feeling like it could be a weakness to him and a danger to Jack, you and his new child. The baby named after the protagonist of The Silence of the Lambs.

"Jack told me that Clarice was crying a lot today..." He said as soon as he came your room after putting Jack to bed, admiring you sitting on the double bed with some pillows behind your back, cradling the little thing in your hands while you breastfed her at the same time.

"Oh, it was just colic." You gave him a soft smile. "But she's better for now. Jack's such a good big brother to Clarice, he helps me a lot to take care of her."

Hotch smiled slightly, knowing how much his oldest son was enjoying having a little sister. Jack was such a sweet boy that sometimes he found himself wondering if he really deserved to be his father.

Jack was an incredible son with an incredible mother. And now Hotch also had an amazing little daughter and an amazing fiancée. With each passing day, insecurities and fears hit his mind hard to the point that he even became lost in thoughts during his own work at the BAU. "What's wrong, Hotch?"

Your question caught him off guard and he clenched his jaw. You could still read him as well as the first time you spoke to him in the pub. "Nothing's wrong."

You rolled your eyes, cradling Clarice a little more slowly now that she seemed to be starting to sleep. "Oh, please. I know you very well at that. It's pretty clear from your frown that you're worried about something." You teased him and it was his turn to roll his eyes. "Just tell me. Keeping everything to yourself will make you explode someday."

Hotch huffed, always hating the idea of opening himself up to anyone, even if you were his fiancée. On the one hand, he wanted to keep you in the dark about the vulnerability he was trying to hide, protecting himself from any judgment or see a look of pity on your face. But on the other hand, he just wanted to not pretend to be strong and invincible for at least a few minutes.

"I'm just thinking about some things, that's all..." He swallowed, the trembling voice exposing him more than his words.

You frowned, caressing Clarice's thinning hair before looking at Hotch. "Well... I'd like you to tell me at least one of them."

Hotch snorted again, but the attempt at indifference failed miserably when he looked at Clarice, still feeding on your breast. "She's looking more like you every day." He smiled, articulating his right index finger so he could caress her chubby cheek with his middle knuckles.

You smiled at Hotch, before raising an eyebrow when you noticed his gaze straying to your breast for a considerably long time. "That's very disrespectful, you know? I can't even breastfeed my own baby without you being a pervert?"

His eyes widened, immediately stopping and looking at you embarrassed to explain, sighing with a little frustration when he noticed that you were just playing with him. "Damn, angel..." He rubbed his face to hide his frightened expression, but also to distract himself from that unusual thoughts. "For a second I thought you were angry."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "Why would I be angry seeing my fiance horny?"

Your teasing made his face turn red and his cock started to feel tight in his work pants. "I'm not...I'm not horny. This is ridiculous. You're just breastfeeding."

His effort to look uninterested by the sight made you laugh again, as you looked at him with your eyebrow still raised. After a few seconds, you checked if the baby was already sleeping enough so you could burp her and go put her in the crib. Then you fixed your nursing bra and turned to Hotch with a playful smirk. "I'll be back in ten minutes."

Your words weren't a random joke, much less a common warning. You were flirting with him, teasing him, warning him that the matter wasn't over and you would come back to learn more about that curiosity that was burning his brain. He watched you leave with Clarice in your arms and go to her room.

Hotch sat down on the bed, the tie starting to tighten around his neck just as his cock was already hurting from being trapped in those damn underwear. He untied the bow with a little more agony than usual, taking a deep breath as he threw the fabric anywhere on the floor. He wasn't worried about organization for now, focused on trying to understand why he was suddenly so turned on.

Okay... He had seen your breast, something he clearly loved to admire at any time possible. But he never got horny seeing you breastfeeding his daughter. Just as he never got horny when Haley was breastfeeding Jack too. In truth, Hotch had never thought of breastfeeding as something rousing and erotic to watch.

Until those few minutes before.

"There... She's sleeping like a little angel." Hotch almost jumped at the sound of your sweet voice returning to the room, locking the door behind you.

Hotch cleared his throat, pretending not to know exactly why you locked the door. It was a rule not to lock the door at night for the children's safety in case something horrible happened. You only did this when both of you wanted a moment alone. "Well, it took you less than ten minutes."

You shrugged nonchalantly. "She went back to sleep quickly."

He nodded silently, placing his hand in his own lap so you wouldn't see his boner growing more and more, even though he knew you had already noticed it since you returned to the room.

"Lactation kink is more common than it seems." You said and Hotch almost choked due your blunt way.

"What? Where did you get that from? I don't... I don't have a lactation kink. That doesn't even make sense." He exclaimed, his frowning face turning red for a second time as he tried to press down on his boner to hide yet another twinge he felt.

You held back your chuckle, but not for long. The moment you sat on the bed next to him and watched how the grumpy man was struggling to hide his desire, you let out a brief giggle, but it was enough to hurt his ego. "That's not funny."

Despite everything, you nodded, not wanting to upset him further. The realization that perhaps this was the first time he could be feeling that specific kind of desire hit you hard, and you felt a mixture of pride with yourself, but also a huge excitement that you hadn't felt since the pregnancy.

"I know, baby..." You reassured him, smiling slightly at him now. "But you don't need to hide from me either. We agree not to keep secrets from each other."

Your sentence had more than one meaning and Hotch knew it. He shouldn't lie to you, either about his own fears or about what he was wanting at that moment.

Hotch took a deep breath, deciding to start slowly. "Maybe... Maybe I'm horny."

"Seeing me breastfeeding?" You asked to be sure, but without any hint of judgment.

He nodded, clenching his jaw as he looked away, before holding his breath when he felt your hand caressing his thigh through his dress pants. "Hey... Look at me, Aaron."

Almost a minute passed before he worked up enough courage to look into your eyes. He felt pathetic inside. How could he deal with criminals every day, but not be able to receive a touch on his thigh from you without feeling like a stupid teenage virgin?

"Do you wanna... Taste it?" Your suggestion made his dark eyes widen as if you were saying the most unexpected thing he'd ever heard. "I'm serious, Aaron."

"Taste your milk?" He frowned. However, you knew he wasn't offended, but rather embarrassed with himself for even considering that. Everything was driving him crazy... the memory of you breastfeeding, his vivid imagination, your hand remaining caressing his thigh. Aaron felt like he was going to explode. "Hmm... Maybe."

You smiled when he gave in a little, knowing that his lust was speaking louder than any self-loathing he was feeling. Without waiting for him to think better and maybe change his mind, you adjusted your body on the bed, leaning your back against the headboard, while your legs were stretched out and comfortable. You smirked, pointing to the other pillow, indicating to him to get comfortable too.

Your command made his cock throb. As he obeyed, lying down in place, he felt a sigh of pleasure escape when he realized how much closer your bust was to his face in that position.

"It's a good view..." He muttered, fighting his pride.

You bit your bottom lip. "Oh, really?" You took your hands to your bra, removing it completely and watching Hotch's breathing hitch. "And now?"

"Angel... You're such a tease." He watched your breast for a few minutes, feeling his mouth water with the uncontrollable need to taste you like that. He moved his large hand to one of your mounds, biting his lip as he gently squeezed the soft flesh, barely holding back the groan that escaped by a strangled way when some milk splashed on his shirt "Fuck..."

You couldn't help but whine too. The feeling of his slender fingers groping your breast had been great, but it was the hunger in his eyes when your breast milk splashed out that made you start to feel desperate. "A-Aaron... I want you. I want your mouth."

"Oh, do you want my mouth, angel?" He scoffed, going back to caressing your breast, but now with one hand on each one. "And where do you want my mouth? Here?" Hotch questioned teasingly and leaned in, brushing his lips against the skin of your neck, feeling you shudder when he licked it and grazed his teeth afterwards.

He waited for your answer, but you just shook your head. It was good, of course. However, it was far from what you really wanted.

"Oh, no?" He feigned surprise, looking into your eyes now desperate for more. Hotch then smirked and stood up enough for you to be face to face. He moistened his lips, noticing the way your gaze fell there immediately. "Here, maybe?" Hotch teased, capturing your mouth in a slow but intense kiss. He tasted your lips as if they were heaven, delighting with the pleasure of dipping his tongue into your mouth and feeling your tongue too.

Then you moved your face away, panting for air. "No. More..." You whispered, lips red and swollen from the kiss.

He laughed lightly. "More? You're so greedy, baby..." Hotch scoffed, thinking about stopping the teasing, but an idea popped into his head, lowering his face until he was close to your breasts again. One of his hands kept caressing one of them, his long fingers playing with your nipple wet with milk.

However, his right hand let go of your left breast, making you whimper with confusion. "Why did you stop? You're so fucking... Oh!" You moaned, your eyes widening when his fingers got into your panties. "H-Hotch..."

Your moans made Hotch smirked, as he rubbed your clit slowly, enjoying how wet your pussy already was. "Is this where you want my mouth, baby?" He said, rubbing a little slower to get some verbal reaction from you.

"Not yet... Not yet." You managed to whisper as he slowed down, afraid he would completely stop rubbing your needy bud.

Hotch scoffed. "Wow, my future wife's a spoiled and needy little whore...." He went back to interspersing the movements of the hand that pleasured your pussy with the hand that caressed your heavy breast. "How about here then?" He blew lightly on your left nipple that was without his attention. "What do you think, angel?"

You almost whimpered at that teasing. It was obvious what you wanted and it was obvious Hotch was desperate for it too. Meanwhile, Hotch liked to hear you ask him. Beg him.

"Y-yes, please..." You pouted sadly as he chuckle, finally bringing his mouth, licking the sensitive nipple and making you moan his name, his soft tongue tasting the light drops of milk that flowed through contact. "S-suck... Please, Aaron, I need you to suck my milk."

Hotch lifted his face to look at you, doing as you asked. His mouth closed carefully around your nipple, making a gentle sucking motion, his eyes widening as much as you did when a favorable amount of milk came on his tongue, making him swallow with surprise before keeping sucking.

You felt the movements of his hands faltering, his mind going into a frenzy as he heard you moaning desperately each time he sucked you like a hungry baby. Your entire body had been needy since giving birth, but your breasts... They had become a powerful and fragile little thing at the same time. They were always sensitive due to continuous breastfeeding. Hotch had never given you pleasure there since Clarice was born, too busy taking care of you two and Jack, in addition to always having his mind stuck on work. Besides, neither of you have had much time since then.

However, you knew it wasn't just because your breasts were sensitive or the fact that both of you had been deprived of sex for a while. It was the incredible feeling of having Hotch suckle on your milk, seeing him desperate for every drop.

When he closed his eyes to focus on sucking and enjoy the slightly sweet taste of breast milk even more, you began to tremble your orgasm getting closer. His fingers kept rubbing your clit while the other fingers played with your free nipple, but it was the sight of him with his eyes closed and sucking your milk that made you cum, moaning his name breathlessly and wetting his fingers with your release.

Hotch smirked as he noticed the real reason for your orgasm. He opened his eyes, nibbling on the tip of your breast and stopping fingering you so as not to prolong your overstimulation too much after you whimpered in slight discomfort when it all started to get too much. "That was more amazing than I imagined it would be." He murmured, tongue still busy licking you.

“Too amazing, actually…” You teased, moving his lips away from your nipple. "You better save some drops for Clarice."

He chuckled at your joke, feeling you run your hand over his chin, wiping away the drops of milk that had run down, gently licking your own fingers.

"Thanks for not judging me, angel."

The sweet words made you smile, and you stroked his hair tenderly. "I would never do that." Your gaze dropped to his boner, even bigger than before. "And I'll help you with that if you promise to tell me about what was plaguing your mind earlier."

Hotch rolled his eyes sarcastically, looking at you with a frown and a small smile on his face. "Okay... That's a sacrifice I'm willing to make then. But just this once."

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

[lokidjarin-7567]

Florida!!!

Aaron Hotchner x Reader 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. fem!reader, 18+ MDNI 4.2k words TTPD Contents | General Masterlist | AO3

It had been a horrible case. Children had been going missing across Tallahassee for a few weeks, but the incompetent police department had only just called you in. You found the unsub after a few long days and even longer nights. He was a police officer, someone that kids were taught to trust. At least that explained the shocking lack of investigation so far. Thankfully, the children he had taken - all 9 of them - were alive, but you couldn’t say too much more than that. The state they were in when you found them… it wasn’t something you were going to forget any time soon.

And now, a storm was coming in and the jet couldn’t take off until tomorrow at the earliest.

The motel you were all staying in wasn’t the worst by any stretch of the imagination, but it wasn’t exactly great. The rooms were small and dingy, the smell of sweat and cigarettes clinging to the soft furnishings, and questionable stains bloomed across most of the carpet. You weren’t complaining too much, though. There was a dive bar next door, and the bed was clean. That was all you cared about.

It hadn’t taken you long to wind up at the bar. Most of the team were there already, seeming a hell of a lot happier than you. They had drinks and a handful of appetisers spread out on the table, laughing at a story Rossi was telling enthusiastically. You were about to turn and leave, to find somewhere else to wallow for the evening, but Emily spotted you, waving you over with a wide smile. Fuck. At least you knew how to fake it. You plastered on a grin and said your hellos while everyone congratulated you on finding the kids today. It made you feel sick. Maybe that’s why they saw this whole case as a win. They hadn’t fucking seen it.

You excused yourself to get a drink before you had even sat down, ordering two shots alongside the beer you would be drinking at the table, wanting to feel something quickly. You took them as soon as the bartender gave them to you, thanking him and paying what you owed.

“Bad day?” He mused, eyebrow raised as he put your cash into the register.

“You have no idea.” You muttered, and you noticed his eyes raking over your body. He was cute. A little older than you, but that was what you usually went for anyway. Maybe he was something else that you could drown your sorrows in later.

You smiled at him as you left, just in case, and headed back to the table. It was then that you noticed Hotchner wasn’t there. He was the other member of the team who had been with you when you found them, and he had been even more shaken up than you afterwards. It made sense; he had a kid. You were sure he was calling Haley now so he could talk to Jack like he usually did after any cases where children were involved. You just hoped he made his way over at some point. It would be nice to have someone else here who understood a little more.

And you did your best to hide it, but you did have a bit of a crush on him. It was wrong, and you would never act on it; he was your superior, your boss, and he was married. But he was so authoritative and intelligent and handsome that you couldn’t help but think about it sometimes. A lot, actually. Hopefully, by the end of the night you’d be drunk enough to imagine the bartender was him.

You finished your drink quickly, having completely ignored the conversations going around the table. It didn’t take long for Rossi to offer to get you another, a soft, concerned expression on his face. You thanked him with a wide smile, promising yourself to try harder as him and Morgan headed to the bar to get another round, and Emily and JJ headed to the bathroom. Spencer moved next to you in the booth when everyone had left, filling the space where Emily had been sitting and nudging you softly.

“Are you ok?” He asked. You opened your mouth to say that you were fine, but you knew you didn’t have the energy to lie well. He would just notice straight away.

“Just… um… finding the kids today…” he nodded as you ran your hand through your hair, as though trying to dispel the images that had accumulated again at the mere mention of it. “I know it was a good thing, that they were alive and they would recover physically, but it just really didn’t feel like a win.” He didn’t say anything, just squeezed your arm and pulled you in for a hug, which you gratefully accepted. He was your best friend on the team, and he always knew exactly what you needed. You were glad he was here.

Spence had only just released you when everyone came back, their energy still high. You chatted for a bit, forcing yourself to engage now that the conversation had shifted from this week’s case. It was nice, and you felt your mood start to pick up as the drinks kicked in, finishing your second and third beer before excusing yourself for a smoke. You knew it was a bad habit, but with a job as stressful as yours, it was hard to kick.

You had only just lit your cigarette when you saw Hotch heading across the carpark of the motel. It was hot outside, the Florida humidity lasting into the night, but he was still wearing his suit, but he had ditched the jacket, and his tie was hanging loosely around his neck. He looked about as grim as you felt. You smiled softly as he got close, the usual butterflies gathering in your stomach, expecting him to go past you and inside, but he stopped, leaning on the wall next to you. You offered him the pack, just in case, but he shook his head.

“Are you ok?” You asked gently. He sighed.

“Not really. You?”

“Not really.” You took a drag as he stood there, and you felt the need to fill the void with something. “Everyone else is inside celebrating.”

“I’m not sure I feel like there’s a lot to celebrate.”

“Me neither, but Rossi seems to be buying a lot of drinks, so I’m sticking around for that.” He almost laughed at that, a harsh expulsion of air that was as close as you’d ever come to seeing a break in his stony exterior.

“That is a good incentive.” You smiled at him, taking the opportunity to just look at him. He was so fucking attractive, the dark brown of his eyes, the strong nose and jaw that gave him a permanently serious expression, his lips…

“Did you talk to Jack and Haley?” You asked quickly, as though reminding yourself that he has a wife.

“No, Jack was asleep, and Haley and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms right now…” You had to stop yourself from asking anything too quickly.

“Oh?” You were impressed by how casual you managed to keep your voice.

“Yeah, we separated a few months ago.” Oh. “I haven’t exactly told the team yet, I…” he sighed heavily, running his hands over his face in frustration, “I’m not really sure why I’m telling you to be honest. I just…” He seemed to stop himself, sighing again, and looking at you in a way you couldn’t even begin to interpret. Regret maybe?

“I won’t tell anyone, don’t even worry about it.” You said trying to quell his doubts, and he just smiled softly, shaking his head.

“I know.” A third sigh. “I’ll see you inside, ok?” You couldn’t do much but nod, your heart still lurching from his revelation.

You got another beer as soon as you were back inside, ordering another shot as well to calm your frazzled nerves. You knew you were reading too much into it, that he had just had a bad day and let something slip, but it had made your stupid brain think you had a chance. You sat down again next to Spencer, who smiled at you, and you noticed Hotch’s whole demeanour had changed. He was smiling, and actively participating in the team’s chatter and you felt like you couldn’t stop staring at him. How did he do it so easily?

After about an hour or so some of the team started to head to their rooms, midnight looming, and it was at this point you noticed the glances from Hotch. That was a lie, you had noticed them earlier, and you had just chalked them up to your own imagination running away from you. But now, there was no denying it. He was a couple of drinks in, and his looks had started to linger, even when you weren’t the one talking. There was an element to them that made you squirm a little in your seat, especially the way he had stopped hiding the fact he was looking. His eyes were openly gazing at your lips, your chest, and when your eyes met his, he didn’t back down. He didn’t smirk, or smile, or anything other than maintain infuriating and intense eye contact until a blush forced itself across your cheeks. It was fucking intoxicating.

Emily excused herself. Then Morgan. Then JJ. Reid finished his story with a smile, finishing his drink too as you tried your best to comment as though you were listening. It seemed to work.

“I’m going to get a drink, do you want another?” Hotch stood up, talking to both of you, but his eyes stayed firmly on yours.

“Just a diet coke please.” You had had enough for the night, your mind finally quiet enough to stop replaying the days events. “Reid?”

“No, actually I’m going to head to bed too.” Hotch just nodded, wishing him a good sleep and headed to the bar. Reid squeezed your arm softly as he stood up, his expression serious. “You going to be ok?”

“Yeah, I’m good, honey. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Ok, you know where I am.” And with that, it was just you and Hotch.

He put the drinks down wordlessly, sitting opposite you with an unreadable expression on his face, one even a profiler like yourself couldn’t read.

“What?” You asked playfully, your brows furrowing as he took a sip of his scotch.

“Nothing, just the bartender.” You glanced towards the bar to see him standing there, looking at you with a soft smirk on his face. “He was asking after you.” Oh God.

“Was he?” You asked coyly, smiling at the thought. Hotch’s face was steel as his eyes continued to rake over your face and body. Was he… jealous?

“Interested?” He muttered coldly. You grinned.

“Maybe…” You watched as he clenched his teeth and repositioned himself in the seat, leaning forward to rest his arms on the table, never once breaking eye contact.

“Really? Him?”

“What’s wrong with him?” He laughed dryly, taking another drink.

“He’s not exactly…”

“What?”

“He’s not what I’d imagine you going for.” So he’s thought about it. About you. The idea made arousal pool in your stomach.

“Who do you think I’d go for, then?”

“Not him.” He dodged the question easily, not taking the bait. “He’s too cocky, but he also has no real respect for himself. He pours drinks like a performer, just showboating for attention. A bravado begging for approval, but still believing he deserves it. He must be delusional to think he deserves even a glance from you…” He paused, and for the first time you saw a slight waver in his confidence, watching his face change as he realised he said something a little too close to home. You just smiled as he carried on, trying to retrace his steps. “I just think you would only go for him if your first choice wasn’t available.” He knows. Surely he knows. “I know Reid went to bed, but if you…” You cut him off with an uncontrollable laugh of genuine disbelief as he just furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“What?”

“You think I’m after Reid? And you call yourself a profiler.”

“Are you not?” You finished your drink with a sigh.

“Jesus, no Hotch, I’m not. And with that, I’m going to bed.” You left him sitting there, same confused look on his face, sending an apologetic smile to the bartender as you left.

You found yourself pacing when you got back to your room, unable to make sense of what the fuck just happened. You must be going crazy. You thought he knew, that it was so painfully obvious, that he maybe even saw you in the same way… but no. Nothing. Your stupid mind playing tricks on you.

You don’t know why you even wanted this. You couldn’t date him, you couldn’t do anything about it, married or not he was your boss. He was on your team. You saw him everyday at work. It would never end well. It was just a bad fucking idea, regardless of how much your dirty mind protested. How much it reminded you of all the times you’d thought about him while you were touching yourself, or sleeping with other people, or when you were bored on the jet. He had been the only thing that got you off for months and he didn’t even fucking know. But now you knew it was a possibility? That he wasn’t married, that your dirty little fantasy could actually happen? You were spiralling. You needed a smoke, some fresh air, something to remind you nothing had actually changed.

You opened the door, pack in hand to see… him. He looked dishevelled, his tie long gone and his hair messy, as though he been running his hands through it. He was as shocked as you were, just muttering your name quietly as you stood there just looking at him, waiting for him to explain why he was here. What he wanted. He didn’t. There was just this intensity that seemed to emanate from him, this nervous desperation that made you want to grab him by the collar of his shirt and show him what you could do, how you could make him feel better after horrible cases like this one, give him something to use for his own pleasure. Show him that you would do anything he fucking wanted. But you didn’t.

“Did you…” you trailed off, vaguely gesturing to the open door in a way you hoped conveyed what your lips couldn’t bring themselves to say. He was silent as he stepped into your room, closing the door behind him.

“Was it me? Am I…?” He muttered, and you knew what he meant. Am I the one you were after? You stayed quiet, not trusting yourself anymore now he was here in front of you, looking at you like that. He knew anyway. You had no doubt in your mind now. He stepped closer.

“This isn’t a good idea.”

“I know.” You let yourself whisper as he moved to just an inch away from you, a shuddering breath escaping his lips as he looked down at yours. You couldn’t even breathe, couldn’t make eye contact as he continued to scan your face and you could feel yourself getting wet before he had even touched you. Everything you’d wanted for months was a breath away and you still couldn’t bring yourself to be the one to close the gap.

“This isn’t…” he started to repeat himself, tapering off as his fingers touched your chin, tipping your face further up to look at him, a light touch that was fucking electricity through your body.

“I know.” You breathed the words, not meaning them anymore and as you met his gorgeous, hazel eyes, you knew you were fucking done for. He pressed his lips into yours. Just once, light as a feather. But that was all the permission you needed. You threw your arms around his neck and pulled him closer, smashing your lips into his with a desperation you had never felt before. It was a kiss of teeth and tongue, and as you licked up into his hot mouth you heard a groan from him that sent your hands flying to his shirt buttons. He grabbed the bottom of your top and pulled it over your head before you had even had a chance to undo a single one. His lips were back to yours as quickly as they had left, and you only registered that you had moved backwards when your legs hit something. He grabbed your hips and easily lifted you onto the desk, and you thanked the lord you had decided to wear a skirt today as he pushed it up your thighs and settled comfortably between them. Your entire body was practically shaking in anticipation already, and as his hands gripped the soft flesh of your thighs, you whimpered into his mouth. He pulled you forward until you were pressed tightly against his thick erection, and you couldn’t help but grind into him as you undid his buttons, desperate for some friction against your aching cunt. It was almost embarrassing how quickly he had turned you on, wound you up to the point where every tiny touch made you feel like you were going fall over the edge into that white hot pleasure you knew he was capable of giving you.

The hottest part of it all was the pure need you felt from every grab and kiss. Even the moments where he pulled back for air, he used them to bite your neck, or press sloppy open mouthed kisses to your chest that made you whine every fucking time. The way he wanted you so badly he couldn’t even move to the bed, just to wherever was closest, and even when he was trying to catch his breath it was as though he physically couldn’t keep his lips off you.\

You finally got his shirt undone and pressed as much of yourself to him as possible, wrapping your legs around his waist. His kisses were getting more and more sloppy, his hands wandering further and the moan you let out when he grabbed your breast seemed to flip a switch in him. He pulled you off the desktop by your ass, flipping you in a way that was pure filth, and pressing your hips hard into the desk.

“Can I…” You didn’t need him to finish his question as you heard him unzip his fly.

“Fuck, please.” You couldn’t help but beg. His hands ran up the back of your legs, pushing your skirt to your waist and pulling your panties down so quickly you barely noticed until his hard dick hit your throbbing pussy. You could feel the weight of him, the thickness. You wanted to turn around and look at him, truly take him in like this, but you were pinned to the table still, the sharp edges biting into your hips in the most deliciously painful way that you knew would leave bruises. You heard him mutter something, but you couldn’t make it out, anticipation causing blood to rush in your ears and your heart was beating so loud it blocked any other noise. Before you even knew it was happening, he was pressing against your entrance, slowly at first, but then he snapped his hips into yours, splitting you open and all the air was pushed out of your lungs. The groan that escaped his lips was intoxicating, and he stayed there for a moment, gathering your hair in his hands and twisting your head so your lips met his. You felt like a ragdoll, your body and movements his now, but you didn’t care. This is how you wanted it. You just want to make him feel good, and you needed to think about nothing but him. It was working. There was no space for any other thoughts with his cock filling you and his hand gripping your hair.

“Are you…?”

“On the pill.” You confirmed, and he bit down on your shoulder in approval, earning a gasp. One hand stayed on your hair, but he moved backwards, his other hand pressing the small of your back into the table. You were utterly powerless, and you clenched around him at the thought. He groaned as he pulled out of you slowly, and you could feel every single inch of him as he did. And then he started just pounding into you. It stole all the air from your lungs, and you were left gasping as he continued his merciless pace, filthy sounds of his hips meeting your ass and your shuddering breaths and whimpers filling the room. You had to brace your hands against the wall, nothing else to hold on to, and as you lifted your chest slightly to breathe, he took his cue, grabbing your neck and pulling you up so his lips could reach you, the slight force he applied to your throat making you clench around him and earning a loud moan from him. The angle he hitting into you now was incredible, this sweet spot that made your legs turn to jelly and your breaths shorten.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” He panted into your ear, earning a loud moan.

“Fuck, I’m close Hotch..” Even now, with him inside you, you couldn’t bring yourself to call him by his first name, but the soft growl he let out told you he might like it more this way anyway. You just needed something to push you over, and you grabbed his hand on your neck, tightening it to indicate what you wanted. He followed suit, gripping you in a way that limited your air just enough to go a little lightheaded and you whimpered.

“Filthy.” He whispered, and that was all you needed. You started cumming, clenching around him with a strangled sob and he let go of your neck at just that second, letting the blood rush to your head and searing hot pleasure course through your body. You heard him groan and curse behind you, his hips stuttering too as he came, filling you and staying pressed deep inside of you as you rode out the waves of your orgasm, pressing soft kisses to your shoulders.

You stayed like that for a little while, catching your breath. He moved first, pulling out of you slowly with a sigh.

“You can… um…” the energy was awkward suddenly, both unsure of what to do now that passion wasn’t driving you. Unsure how to be around each other. You still knew what he meant though.

“Thanks.” You headed to the bathroom, cleaning up quickly, taking a second to fix your messy hair and makeup, and pulling your skirt down. He went in straight after you, and you took that time to find your panties and put them back on. You had no idea what would happen now. If it was up to you, he would just stay here, but he might not feel comfortable enough to do that. You just wanted to know what he was thinking.

He came out of the bathroom looking perfect, but pensive, his brow furrowed in his signature scowl. You were sitting on the side of the bed, just waiting for him to speak.

“We probably shouldn’t have done that.” He muttered. Disappointment flooded your system. You knew he was right, and you agreed, it was messy and stupid but so fucking good it couldn’t be ignored.

“Probably not.” He nodded.

“Well, I should…” He moved towards the door.

“I don’t want a relationship you know.” You blurted out, and internally scolded yourself, but it had stopped him, so you stood up, carrying on. “This is all I want. A distraction.” You watched relief bloom across his face, and he strode back across the room, planting a light kiss to you your lips.

“Ok.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He stayed, not leaving until the early morning. You knew he just wanted some comfort after the past few days. Something solid to hold on to. You also knew your feelings had already gone past a crush, welling up inside you as he slept peacefully, feeling his chest rise and fall with each breath against yours. But you didn’t care. You would rather have some of him than nothing at all. Even if you were going to get hurt. Even if it got messy. He was worth it.

[sunshineandspencer]

Friendly face (Part 3)

A/N: I know I said I always succumb to peer pressure, but that did not need to be tested. Also if I did a Hotch(or Spencer) taglist, would anyone be interested, also.. how do you do a taglist?? I may be 20 and from the UK, but I have only been using tumblr for about two months, I’m learning (slowly). [I’ve made a form for a taglist!! it’s underneath the parts!!]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Receptionist!Reader.

Summary: Little does the team know, their little receptionist and their Unit Chief had been closer for a lot longer than any of them knew. And while he’s brilliant at hiding it, she is now.

Word Count: 825

Warnings: please, stop requesting the fluff it hurts my little heart

part 1! and 2!!

be added to the taglist!!

Honestly, she could come to work with a massive neon sign floating above her head saying ‘stupidly in love with Aaron Hotchner’ and it would have probably the same effect as she normally does to him.

While he goes through the rules, needing to check about whether their relationship - yes, relationship - was actually legal, they needed to keep it secret.

A serious conversation they’d had over dinner well over six months ago, one that she’d seem to conveniently forget whenever they were actually in the office together. Thankfully that isn’t very often, unless he’s personally asked for files she stays by her desk.

Sometimes, he will admit, he requests reports just to get her into the office, but not very often.

However, it seemed to have been just often enough for his coworkers - Emily, mostly - to realise. From there, and after getting everyone else to join her, they were trying to find exactly how much the pair actually cared for each other.

Crowding together at the round table, quickly giving everything they’d noticed before Hotch arrived.

Emily starts, grinning at both Morgan and Spencer, nothing better than a bit of office gossip.

“So, she doesn’t hide anything. But, we’re all well aware that he sometimes uses excuses to get her into his office. But I noticed that she always leaves post-it notes on the files that she does give him, and they do look sickeningly sweet. It’s hard to believe Hotch actually likes that.”

Spencer chimes in, wringing his fingers lightly. He loves gossip as much as the next person, but the receptionist is a sweetheart and treats him so kindly, plus he doesn’t really believe in talking about other people’s business.

However, he’s invested in her happiness, and knows that there’s more to the pair than meets the eye.

“Well.. he smiles at her, more than I’ve ever really seen. And he does things for her that he wouldn’t do for anyone else. He helped her set up her desk and made sure she settled properly with the team.. plus Penelope found the paperwork and he requested her to be moved up.”

“What?! She didn’t tell me that!” Morgan looked pretty dejected, and Emily could only pat his back apologetically. But as much as they want to say that Morgan is her favourite, Spencer is everyone’s favourite.

He just shrugged, and Morgan kept talking, needing to add in what he’d seen - and profiled - about the two of them.

“Whatever. We’ve all seen how smitten Jack is with her, kid practically has hearts coming from his eyes. And I heard them talking about her having stayed over on the weekend. And we all see the way Hotch is with the two of them, it’s like the past decade of the job lifts off him.”

They all eventually came to the agreement that they believed that Hotch and their receptionist were together, and they needed to know more. The achilles heel of most profilers, the desire for gossip whenever they can get it.

Hearing footsteps approaching, they quickly nominated Spencer to ask Hotch, panicking the younger agent as he spluttered over his words.

As Hotch stepped through, with her following close behind, files in her hands as she waited for Hotch to take them. Waving to the rest of the team happily, very grateful the images weren’t on screen yet. Emily booted Spencer under the table and he jolted, getting Hotch’s attention.

“Hotch!” His voice cracked, how cute. “I uh- we, we wondered if you and uhm.. if you two--”

Christ, she wanted to take pity on the poor boy, looking up at Aaron. Thankfully he seemed amused rather than irritated that they’d worked it out. Looks like they got their answers on whether or not the relationship was allowed.

He nodded at her softly and she grinned, leaning up to peck his lips quickly, stuffing the files into his hands.

“Let me know if you take the case?”

“I’ll text you.”

Grinning, she winked at Spencer, which earned her a warning “sweetheart”, which only fed into her giddiness now that they didn’t have to hide it. Loving the surprised looks on their faces, even though Morgan was definitely acting as if he knew the whole time. Exactly as Aaron said he would, god she loves that he knows them so well.

“Stay safe you lot. Bring my boyfriend home safe or I’ll hunt you down!”

As she walked out of the briefing room, she smacked Aaron’s ass and scampered off giggling, being followed with his scolding voice.

“Dove.”

Eventually, he had to turn back around to his grinning teammates - bar a very embarrassed Spencer who now avoided his boss’ gaze - he sunk into his chair. Waiting for whichever one was going to say something first.

Emily, of course, was the one to speak up first, looking at him all innocently as if she didn’t know damn well what she was doing.

“Dove~?”

“Don’t push it.”

Want more?! Good!

[cognitiveoverload]

Craving (Aaron Hotchner x reader? Does it count?)

summary: Hotch shows up in your hotel room after the events of 2x19.

note: Kinda pathetic!Hotch if you ask me. Wants to be with reader despite still being married, but she says no.

After emotionally draining cases you’re usually a heavy sleeper, so no wonder you only wake up when the mattress dips in the hotel room you’re staying in. You jolt awake, eyes snapping open to see who got in the bed on the empty side next to you, and you’re shocked to see the man who wraps an arm around you as if it was the most natural thing, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Hotch, what are you doing here?” you ask, fighting the urge to bury your fingers into his hair to soothe him.

Because he’s clearly under the weather, and his warm breath smells like whisky as he rests his chin on your collar bone to look at you. “I don’t want to be alone,” he mutters.

There has always been tension between you, but he’s married, there was no way you would ever even think of giving into that feeling. Having him here, though, makes you wonder just how deep are his feelings for you. He’s not blackout drunk, he probably only drank like two glasses, but thanks to the vulnerable state of mind he was in earlier, it’s no surprise that it got the best of him.

“How did you even get in?” 

He lets out a sigh, then a small smile appears on his lips. “I have my methods,” he replies.

This sentence is followed by a soft sigh, but he remains silent for a minute or two, as if he’s contemplating how to say what’s on his mind. His thumb is rubbing circles into your arm, and while your brain knows you should stop him, you simply can’t get yourself to send him away. He doesn’t want to be alone, and there’s something he wants to talk about.

So, you wait. Rushing him wouldn’t help, and he’s stubborn enough to take his time opening up. Sometimes you wonder if he ever tells Haley about work stuff, or if he keeps it to himself since she has a lot on her plate already because of Jack. Either way, what happened earlier today definitely hit him where it hurt the most.

“It’s my fault,” he finally speaks up, his voice unusually quiet. You tilt your head to the side, urging him to explain. “I should have known, I should have gone there to see if I could help, now there’s a kid without a father and—”

You shook your head without thinking, a hand moving up to push his hair back. “It’s not your fault. You’re not a mind reader, Hotch, you couldn’t have known what he was planning,” you try.

“Aaron.” You let out a questioning hum, but he doesn’t answer, instead he moves a little to place a featherlight kiss on your exposed skin, followed by another, and another at an agonizingly slow pace. “Call me Aaron. I hate it that you call me Hotch too,” he mumbles against your skin.

“You’re my boss, I’m not calling you Aaron,” you point out.

“But we could be so much more than that. You mean so much more to me.” 

Before you can say anything, he moves just enough to be able to kiss you—a gentle, soft kiss that feels so good, but also forbidden. You cup his face, pushing him away just enough to look into his eyes. There’s a mixture of sadness and lust in there, but you know you can’t give in, you can’t let him win this one. 

Deciding that this is your best chance to set boundaries, you move past him as you sit up, watching the way he turns on his back with a groan. “For one, you’re my boss. And second, you’re married. Keep that in mind,” you warn him.

He loosens his tie and props on his elbows. “Yeah, right, a marriage that’s falling apart,” he notes bitterly. When you give him a questioning look, he goes on. “It seems like no matter how hard I try, I can’t be the husband she wants. This job is demanding, sure, but… I don’t know.”

“You need to sleep,” you tell him kindly, not having the heart to be harsh after what he just told you. 

This confession explains the phone calls that always left him grim, but you don’t feel like prying for more details. You know that he loves his family, what he just told you must have come from the desperation caused by the trouble at home and this recent case you just closed. It can’t be more than that.

Hotch opens his mouth, but he doesn’t say anything for now, he just watches you with an unreadable expression. “I’ll have to return to give the letter to Abby’s son. That’s the least I can do,” he suddenly says, lying back down, but he faces you. “Come with me.”

You take a deep breath as you watch him, but then you pick up your phone from the nightstand and put on the robe you left on the foot of the bed. “I’ll beg JJ to let me sleep in her room. Or I’ll take yours since you’re clearly planning to stay here,” you tell him. “I’ll wake you up in the morning.”

“Okay, fine,” he mumbles, his face already buried into the pillow your head rested on a few minutes ago.

[ddejavvu]

Hotch with a totally shy medical examiner!!! He always visits her although sometimes it would‘nt be necessary ... 🫣🫣 Hotch got a crushhhhhh !!

The team notices that Hotch seems to be injuring himself more and more now that Quantico has a medical wing installed. Because of a rather unfortunate incident on floor 4, where a woman had an allergic reaction and no one was able to find her an epipen in time, there's now a mini-clinic located just across the elevators on floor 5.

Hotch doesn't even bother notifying his team of where he's going this time. He simply barrels towards the glass doors that shield the BAU from the hallway outside, but JJ doesn't let him escape that easily.

"Hotch, is everything okay?"

She expects him to say that there's been some sort of emergency at Jack's school, that he needs to pick the boy up. But she shouldn't, she should have expected what must be the most frequent phrase out of his mouth in the past three weeks.

"Fine. I've got a headache, I'm going to the clinic."

He offers no room for his team's replies as he pushes through the glass doors, standing by the elevators and waiting impatiently. His gaze is so intense on the metal doors that he's surprised he doesn't burn right through them, but the elevator finally reaches him, and he steps inside without looking back into the BAU to see his team members staring.

"He's so full of shit," Derek scoffs, "He doesn't have a headache."

"I think he's got a perpetual headache," Reid muses, and Rossi, who'd been working on stirring his third cup of coffee for the day pipes up.

"I would, if I had to manage you bozos all day," The man grins wryly, but doesn't exclude himself from the conversation; for all his teasing, he wants to gossip about Hotch too.

"Nah. He just wants to see the hot nurse," Derek insists, "I've seen her. She's cute, and all, but she's no Savannah."

"Maybe I should have a headache later," Emily muses, lost in thought and toying with the necklace resting on her chest.

"He's gonna have to start finding new excuses," Derek leans back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other with his ankle against his knee, "Maybe he'll ask one of us to shoot him just so he can get her hands all over him packing up the bullet hole."

"And that is my cue to leave," Rossi grimaces, "I don't often like mixing sex with wound care."

The older man pointedly ignores Derek's comment about how that's probably why he's thrice divorced; he's not freaky enough. He shuts his office door behind him and conversation putters out among the bullpen, each agent stuck with a residual smirk on their faces as they get back to their paperwork.

--

"Agent Hotchner," You smile kindly up at the man who steps through the doors of your clinic, "I'm not sure why I even looked up, I should have known it was you."

He chuckles bashfully, hands tucked into his pockets, "I haven't been getting much sleep lately, so I've got a pretty persistent migraine."

"Is it hard, sleeping after a day at your job? The things you see," You trail off, reaching into a drawer at your desk to retrieve a bottle of excedrin, "I don't think I'd be sleeping either."

Aaron's suddenly flustered by your concern for him. He'd intended for his poorly crafted excuse to come across as light insomnia, too much coffee during the day or a scary movie at night. But as you reach out to hand over two tablets of medicine, he meets your eyes with a fond gaze.

"I'm alright," He assures you, his voice soft and earnest. He touches you more than necessary, taking your loose fist in his hand and uncurling your fingers for you so that the excedrin falls into his other palm bumped up against the heel of your hand.

You're surprised your hand doesn't start sweating at how flustered you've become, but you're glad for it. He secures the medicine in his fist, his hand still humming with the ghost of your touch.

"Sleep tonight," You warn him with a slightly weak voice, watching as he downs the pills with a gulp of water from a delicate paper cup stored by your sink, "Get off of any electronic devices for an hour before bed, read something boring, and keep the lights dim. And if none of that works, take sleeping pills, I can give you Tylenol PM if you don't have any at home."

"I'd love some," He smiles, lingering by the edge of your desk, "Thank you, Doctor."

"You can call me Y/N," You avert your eyes to your desk drawer, your voice feeble, "We see each other every day, you ought to be more familiar with me than that."

He chuckles, a soft exhale that sends butterflies with it into your stomach. You offer him the pills and again he takes your hand in his own, only making the fiery heat that burns at your cheeks more intense.

"Thank you. And you can call me Aaron," He takes the pulls from you, tucking them into the breast pocket of his button-up.

"Goodbye, Aaron," You grin, barely able to stop the expression from growing an embarrassing amount.

"Bye Y/N," He smiles back, eyes glimmering with fondness, "See you next time."

[hotchfiles]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ the mood i'm in ❞ ─ an adhd chronicles blurb

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!adhd!reader. summary: sometimes rearranging a whole entire closet is a biological need. content warnings: fluff, adhd antics (i'm diagnosed don't try to come for me) word count: 600+. a/n: this was requested by @ficmeoutofthisworld and i felt the need to make a blurb!verse of it, so expect more fluff for these three 🩵 & the idea of jack calling you honey came from honey is for love by @angellsell

      “Daddy, honey has that weird look again.” Aaron can’t help but smile at his little boy, putting the files he was working on down on his desk, telling him to come closer with his hands. Jack had gotten into the habit of calling you honey very early on in your relationship, that being one of the pet names Aaron used the most when talking to you. It was too endearing to correct him, even after you moved in. You both just let the boy be, knowing that he would call you by name once he got older.

      You didn’t mind him not calling you mom or any of its variants, even if the relationship you shared now was much alike mother and child, Jack didn’t remember a lot of Haley by himself, he was too little, but Aaron always did his best to keep her memory alive in him, so if for his young mind it was easier to call you a pet name, you would take it every single time with a smile. And so would Aaron. 

      “What look, buddy?” He asks even though he’s sure he knows the answer, having been through that a few times over the last two years. 

      “She’s staring at my stuff and sitting on the floor.” Bingo. Every once in a while you would get obsessed with something, it made sense after you were diagnosed with ADHD and he learnt how to accommodate you properly, but for a while it was just a big clash of his organized and controlling nature and your chaotic mind. 

      “Let’s see what she needs, okay?” Jack nods, leading the way with his dad closely behind. They find you exactly as his boy explained to him, sitting with your legs crossed on the floor, staring at his wardrobe so attentively it might scare the unknown eye. 

      “Darling? What’s going on?” He asks without entering the room, not wanting to invade your space before you called him in, instead he decided to lean on the door frame, observing you with his kind eyes.

      “I want to rearrange all of Jack’s clothes but we need more hangers for that and I don’t want to go to the store just to buy hangers, but I also can’t get up to go to the kitchen and check what else we need.” You answered quickly, finishing your ramble with a huff, dropping your shoulders and looking at your fiancé with a pout that made him get closer to you, offering his hands so you could have some support while getting up, you lazily do it, being embraced by him as soon as your feet touch the ground. 

      “Go watch something with Jack, okay?” His tone is always soft, as if your conversations, even the silliest and mundane ones, were secrets for you two to keep. He knew you too well, so he prevented the whine he knew would come–you wanted to get this done, you needed to rearrange Jack’s clothes or the itch in your brain wouldn’t leave–and he did so by holding both of your cheeks with his hands, making you look at him. “I’ll make the shopping list and then you both can go to Target while I get some reports done.” You nod happily, his hands moving with your head. 

      Telling you to watch something with Jack could seem like a mindless choice of words, but it wasn’t, Aaron knew you were feeling stuck and how bad that made you feel, you needed a dopamine kick before you could do something, and no better way for that than colorful silly shows with your favorite boy.

      By the time he’s done with the shopping list, you had already started another important project: Napping on the couch with Jack. So he leaves it attached with a magnet on the fridge, gives you both soft forehead kisses and goes back to work, not minding the fact he did it quickly for no reason, happy you were resting and that it was done for when you decided to shop.

[lis-likes-fics]

aaron hotchner drabble

tw: none, fluff. 750 words

Aaron is a light sleeper. It just comes with being in his line of work. When he married you, sleep became a little easier to indulge in. He loves holding you as he sleeps, an arm around your waist, his nose nuzzled in your hair. You're a warmth he adores, and one he welcomes.

And you're also really funny.

Sometimes in a worrying kind of way.

The bed dips next to him sometime in the middle of the night, and Aaron is warmed by the movement and the chill that follows. His eyelids part heavily as he orders them to open like the agents he orders on the field. His sleepy gaze follows you out of the door of your bedroom, closing it behind you as you do. He lets out a groggy sigh, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Aaron shuffles the covers off his body and stands to his feet. He opens the door you closed and walks after you.

He comes up carefully behind you as you stand in the living room with a pillow in your hands. You're tapping on it like it's a tablet, giggling about something under your breath and then “typing” something out.

“Hey, honey,” he whispers, setting a hand on your waist so gently and he turns you to look at him. Your eyes are open, but you seem to look right through him, even as you snake a hand around his own waist. “What did you find?” he asks as he takes the pillow from you.

For a moment, he gets worried. Because as soon as you hear him, your smile drops and you look annoyed.

“I don't want to hear your excuses.” You give up the pillow, staring past him as you shake your head.

Oh?

“I'm sorry,” is what he says, wanting you to elaborate without accidentally upsetting you.

“You can't just give me wet-willies.”

Oh.

If the pillow hadn't proved it, your reprimand just did. Never in his life has he ever given you, or anyone for that matter, a wet-willy. You're sleepwalking again.

“Okay,” he chuckles lightly. “No more wet-willies.”

He rubs your back as you lean into him. You make no move to walk, so he just holds you.

“What about the baby?” you ask randomly.

He raises a brow, wondering what's going on in your head. You could be talking about Jack, but you've never called him “the baby” before. “What about the baby?” he counters.

You tilt your head. “Did you tell them?”

“Tell them what?”

You scoff, blinking strangely. “The goose bit a bug on the baby.”

Your nonsensical words amuse him to no end. Part of him feels guilty for finding this so entertaining. You've been a tad stressed lately, which is why you've been sleepwalking a little more than usual. But it's nothing the two of you can't handle.

“Is the baby okay?” he asks as he guides you slowly back to the room before Jack wakes up at the sounds of your voices.

You scoff again. “It's a baby.”

While that does answer his question, he takes it anyway. “Well, let's talk about it in bed,” he says.

You walk with him, though your words protest. “We can't.”

“Why not?”

“The zombies.”

Wow.

Aaron can't help the little chuckle that slips past his lips. He looks at you, “Where are the zombies, honey?”

“On the toaster.”

He loves you.

“How'd they get there?”

“Tap dance.”

“Tap dance?”

“On the sofa. Like this.” You raise your hand, wiggle your fingers, and then give a thumbs up. When you've finished, you drop it again at your side.

“That's really good,” he laughs, trying to be quiet as he leads you into the bedroom, closing the door behind him with his foot. You hum in response.

“Lay down,” he murmurs at your side of the bed.

“On the plank?”

He nods, his smile hurting his cheeks. “Yes, on the plank.”

“But there are sharks.”

He kisses your forehead fondly. “I'll protect you from sharks.”

“Okay.” You lay in bed, and he pulls the covers over your body and rounds to his side. When he's securely at your back, he wraps his arms around you once again and pulls you into his chest.

“Goodnight, honey,” he whispers into the back of your head. He kisses your shoulder, sighing gently. “I love you.”

“Love,” you mutter distantly, “like loaf. Bread.”

He smiles against your hair, rubbing your side. “Yes,” he says, lulling you back to sleep with soft touches. “Bread.”

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[littleslaywrites]

no place like home for the holidays | aaron hotchner x reader

summary: aaron comes home from a long case just in time for christmas

word count: 0.8k

cw: f!reader, fluff, slight angst at the beginning

You had gotten used to being alone. It was harder on the holidays, but you knew it was out of your control. Aaron was busy, and you knew his job was important. Sometimes you even felt selfish to think of your own feelings when he was in the midst of saving people.

Despite it happening often, it still stung that Aaron was still away on Christmas Eve. He’d missed a lot of special occasions before, but never Christmas. You weren’t sure why, but something made it seem more important. Jack had been asking him all week if he’d be back in time to open presents, and, as usual, Aaron couldn’t make any promises.

The house was ready for tomorrow morning, all except for a main member of the household missing. Glancing over at the tree, you saw the pile of presents, imagining Aaron’s sitting there unopened tomorrow morning. Sighing, you resign yourself to washing the last dishes left in the sink. You had stayed up for a few hours, hopeful that you’d get at least a text from Aaron. There was nothing of that sort, and you decided it was time for you to accept your fate.

You’re putting a plate into a cupboard when you hear the door open. You jump at first, but you realize it’s Aaron from the gentleness. He always tries to be quiet on late nights like this, not wanting to wake anyone in the house.

“Y/n?” he whispers, surprised to see you awake so late. 

You stare at him, and for a second you think you must be dreaming. “You didn’t text,” is all you can think of to say.

“That’s quite the warm welcome,” he says as he drops his bag and makes his way over to you in the kitchen.

“I’m sorry.” A smile grows across your face. “I didn’t think you’d make it home in time.”

He hugs you, even tighter than he usually does when he gets home. “Me neither,” he responds, “but we solved it just in time. I didn’t want to text in case the weather delayed the jet.” He’s whispering, both of you knowing you’ll never be able to get Jack back to sleep if he realizes Aaron is home. 

He presses a light kiss to your forehead. “I got you something,” he says, reluctantly releasing you. 

“Shouldn’t I wait until tomorrow to open it?” you ask as he excitedly pulls something from his bag.

“No,” he brings over something wrapped in a plastic bag. “I don’t think the wrapping matches the rest of the gifts,” he says, acknowledging the hasty presentation.

You unwrap it, pulling the bag away to reveal a small turquoise box. “Aaron, you shouldn’t have spent so much on me,” you say, realizing what he’s gotten you. You open the lid to see pearl earrings with a small gold outline.

“Yes, I should’ve,” he protests. “It’s my job to spoil my wife.”

You look up at him, his love evident from the way his brown eyes regard you. 

“Thank you,” you say. It’s always hard for you to accept the way he spoils you, no matter how much he insists giving you gifts makes him as happy as receiving them. His affection makes you feel shy sometimes. Everyone outside of your family knows him as stoic and serious, but he shows you how much of a softie he really is in moments like this, where it’s just the two of you within the walls of your home. 

“I know you love that movie, Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” he pushes a strand of hair behind your ear, “and I thought I’d get something for you even though you couldn’t be there.”

You lean up to kiss him and run a hand through his hair, still shocked that he made it home.

You pull away and question him: “You put Tiffany earrings in a grocery bag?” 

“I had to disguise them somehow,” he grins down at you, smile shining under the low light.

He presses one final kiss to your forehead before telling you that you need to sleep. You get under the covers, anticipating him joining you once he gets out of the shower. You feel cozy, more so than before he got home. Of course, you’d have a good Christmas without him, but part of your heart is missing whenever he’s away.

He crawls into bed with you, your back fitting perfectly into his chest. 

“I can’t wait to see Jack’s face tomorrow when he sees you’re home,” you whisper. “It’ll make all the gifts I got him disappointing in comparison.”

He lets out a light laugh and rests his chin on your shoulder. 

“I’m glad you’re home,” you say, on the edge of falling asleep. 

He’s clearly more tired than you, as he only lets out a hum and a short “love you”. 

“Love you, too,” you say, closing your eyes, basking in his warmth as you fall asleep.

[luveline]

more hotch with teacher!reader? maybe she’s trying to take a bunch of things into her classroom one morning and hotch jumps in to help (and flirt with) them :)) i adore you’re writing thank you for sharing sm with us lately!!!

you’re so welcome ily ty for requesting! <3 fem, 1k

Today, you and your class are going to make dioramas with a heavy focus on paper crafting. For the last few days, you’ve helped them make plans on what they want to create, and then you scoured the internet for origami and craft tutorials to suit. The only one you couldn’t find was for poor Jamie’s tractors. You’ll figure it out, you’re sure. 

You’ve been saving cardboard boxes, toilet roll inserts, and egg cartons for months. There’s a total mountain of things to bring in, so you’re here early. You figure if you carry huge armfuls, you can get everything inside in three trips. 

“Oh,” you say, as a cardboard box tumbles to the ground, and somehow doesn’t give you a clearer view, “whoops. I’ll pick that up. Jeez.” 

You step over it and almost slip. 

“Careful,” someone says. 

You jump and send an egg carton skittering across the floor. “Oh, gosh! You scared me!” You twist your head, the cardboard that had been resting on your face falling down into your collar. “Oh, Mr. Hotchner.” 

Of course it’s Mr. Hotchner. Aaron, predictably. 

“Aaron,” he says, leaning down to grab the things you’ve dropped, before he opens his arm toward you. You lean away from your tower, embarrassed but relieved when he takes the bulk of your tall tower from you. 

“Thank you, Aaron. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here so early. Is everything okay?” 

“Let me help you with this.” 

Avoiding the question. You and Aaron carry your cardboard inside to the classroom, where you unlock your door (and you never would’ve been able to do without his rescue). He follows you to the arts and crafts table toward the back of the room, and you deposit your stock. 

“Thank you,” you say when he places his armful down. 

“It’s no problem. Can I help with the rest?” 

“Would you, please?” you ask. “It seemed a lot less before today.” 

You bring the rest back in. He’s the picture of a perfect gentleman and carries more than you each time, which isn’t to say you can’t have carried the same as he did, but it’s nice for once to be the one looked after. As a teacher, you get used to giving. 

He doesn’t make you ask him twice. “I’m here early because I wanted to talk with you if you’re free, before I head into the office.” 

“His Aunt is bringing him today?” you ask about Jack. 

“I didn’t manage to get home in time last night to see him, but I’ll be here at pick up time.” 

You nod, hyper aware that you’d swayed the conversation again. “Sorry, what were you saying?” 

“It’s about Jack. Well, it’s mostly about me. I’d like to ask you for a favour, if you’re willing.” 

“Oh, sure. Of course.” 

“You haven’t heard it yet.” 

You flush under the weight of his knowing smile. “No, I mean, I’m sure it’ll be fine. So…” 

“It’s hard sometimes to get Jack to tell me what you’re doing in school. I had no idea he’d be making dioramas today. And I don’t need your lesson plans, I’d never expect that of you, but I was hoping you could summarise the week for me on Fridays? Or whenever you can. I don’t need updates on how Jack is progressing, it could be a couple of words on the topics you’ve chosen, just so I know what he’s doing while I’m away.” 

You’ve never been asked to do it. Parents of kids in the second grade aren’t usually clocked in on what their kids are learning. School is still half fun at this age, your most important job is to make sure they can all read with acceptable fluency. And it’s hard because their parents don’t help, but it’s fine. You love teaching them something so important, and you’re ecstatic to meet someone who’s actually interested. 

You beam. “Yeah, of course I can. I can do that, I don’t mind. Nobody ever wants to know what we’re doing, which is such a shame! I mean, they’re so excited and of course their parents care, but if they have just a little bit of support it makes a huge difference. I can totally send you my lesson plans, Aaron. I’d like to.” You laugh to yourself smugly. “I never get to show them off. They’re extensive. And they take ages.” 

“You want to show them off?” he asks softly. 

His voice is velveteen. 

“Is that awful?” you ask.

“No, it makes sense. You really don’t have to if it’s too much trouble, but I… feel guilty, when I call him and ask how school was, and he can’t remember what happened.” 

“Don’t feel bad about that. The kids can’t remember what I told them ten minutes ago.” 

He isn’t like you, in that he’s very still. He doesn’t move or fidget, which makes his looking at you all the more obvious. “Thank you,” he says. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“Can I pay you back?” 

You catch one of your bracelets and twist it around your wrist. 

Aaron told you without hesitation that he profiles criminals. He can read their expressions, habits, and idiosyncrasies as thoughts and feelings. He can trace movement to the source. You’re positive he wouldn’t keep asking you such leading questions, or insist you call him by his first name every time you see him, if he didn’t already know that you find him attractive. 

“How would you do that?” you ask. 

“Is there anything else you… need help with?” 

A million things, but you’re no idiot. You can read subtlety too. 

“Well, I have a bunch of textbooks on the top shelf in the stockroom you could help me with.” You smile shyly. “It gets hot in there, though.” 

He begins taking off his suit jacket. “That,” he says, his gaze on you with all the tenderness and amusement of someone who’s known you longer, “won’t be a problem.” 

[kiwriteswords]

I really loved your affectionate reader story. I love the idea of Aaron asking reader for affection. Could you write a story of him asking her for comfort?

Let me hand you my love [Aaron Hotchner x Affectionate!Fem!Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 4k|| AN: Loved writing this one! I did not continue the other story, so this could be read as a stand alone!

Tags/Warnings: no use of y/n, canon-typical themes, touch-starved Aaron Hotchner, non-bau!reader, affectionate reader, mentions of Hotch's abusive father, Jack is mentioned, Haley is mentioned, Beth is mentioned, 5+1 trope, physical touch love language

Summary:  Aaron Hotchner is beginning to see why your love language is physical touch. 5 times Aaron Hotchner asks you for affection, and the one time you ask him.

I.

Aaron Hotchner had always prided himself on his composure. He was a man of steel—unyielding in the face of danger, stoic even when chaos reigned around him. But lately, he’d begun to realize there was something soothing about letting his guard down, something he'd been missing out on for far too long. Physical touch, a simple concept yet so integral, had slowly woven its way into his life, thanks to you.

You, a journalist with a keen sense of the world and a heart full of warmth, had unknowingly begun to chip away at his fortress of solitude. Physical affection was your language, a means to express what words sometimes could not. Whether it was a gentle squeeze of his hand, a soft kiss goodbye in the morning, or the way your fingers would brush his when you passed him a cup of coffee, each touch reverberated through him like the soft hum of a melody long forgotten.

This evening was different; Hotch felt an unfamiliar, gnawing ache as he drove home after a particularly grueling case. The images from the day were harsher than usual, the weight of each decision heavier. As he turned the key in his apartment door, the silence of the room felt suffocating rather than peaceful. He needed something he’d never consciously admitted he needed before—comfort.

You were there, sitting on the sofa, papers sprawled around you as you scribbled notes for your latest article. The lamp cast a soft glow around you, creating an aura that seemed both inviting and serene. Hearing the door, you looked up, your expression shifting from concentration to concern in a heartbeat.

“Hey,” you greeted, your voice a soothing balm. “Rough day?”

Hotch only nodded, locking the door behind him before joining you on the sofa. The space between you was minimal, but to him, it felt like miles. He watched as you set your pen down, turning your full attention to him, your eyes filled with unspoken questions.

There was a palpable hesitation in the air. Hotch had never been one to reach out first, to seek solace or admit a need for anything beyond the basics. But as he sat there, the remnants of the day’s burdens clinging to him, he realized how much he yearned for that simple, healing connection. The warmth of your hand, the comfort of your presence—it was a silent call to which his heart responded before his mind could.

“You know,” Hotch began, his voice rough around the edges, “I think I’m starting to understand why you...” He paused, searching for the right words, “why you value touch so much.”

You shifted closer, reducing the cold space between you. “It’s healing,” you said softly, reaching out to place a hand on his knee. “Sometimes, words aren’t enough.”

Hotch let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. He looked down at your hand, a lifeline thrown in the still waters of his turmoil. “Could you—” His voice faltered, unaccustomed as he was to asking for more. “Would you just hold me for a bit?”

The corners of your lips turned up in a gentle smile, eyes sparkling with warmth and understanding. Without a word, you shifted, opening your arms to him. Hotch moved closer, allowing himself to be pulled into an embrace. He rested his head against your shoulder, feeling the tension begin to seep out of his muscles as your hands gently rubbed his back.

In the quiet of the room, with the hum of the city life buzzing faintly beyond the walls, Aaron Hotchner, the steadfast leader of the BAU, realized how profound the gesture was. Here in your arms, he wasn’t just the unit chief or a federal agent; he was just Aaron, a man learning the language of love through the touch of someone who spoke it fluently. And as he relaxed into the embrace, allowing the comfort to wash over him, he understood that it was okay to ask for this—to need this.

The simplicity of the moment, the profound impact of your touch, reshaped the contours of his world, teaching him that even the strongest of us need a haven, a safe place to rest. And perhaps, for Aaron Hotchner, that place had been here all along, in the arms of the person who had taught him the true strength found in vulnerability.

II.

It had been weeks since Aaron Hotchner first admitted the comfort he found in your touch. Each day, the memory of that evening lingered in his mind like a soft echo, a reminder of the unfamiliar territory he had begun to explore. He knew he needed to cross it again; the day’s events had been a brutal reminder of his job's relentless demands. Yet, as he stood outside the door to your apartment, his hand paused in mid-air, a familiar sense of reticence taking hold.

Hotch had never been one to rely on others for emotional support—not with Haley, and certainly not with Beth. With Haley, their closeness had been a given, an expectation filled more out of duty than desire. With Beth, it was casual, simple, lacking the deep intertwining of lives that true intimacy brought. But with you, it was different. Every moment shared, every touch, felt like a deliberate step into a world where vulnerability was not a weakness but a shared strength.

As he finally turned the key and stepped inside, the warm glow of the living room offered a stark contrast to the darkness of his thoughts. You were curled up on the couch, a book in hand, the very picture of relaxation. But your eyes lifted the moment you sensed his presence, shifting with an intuitive spark from contentment to concern.

“Hey,” you said, your voice pulling him further into the safety of the room. “Everything okay?”

Hotch hesitated, his feet rooted just beyond the threshold as he met your gaze. “Can we talk?”

The simplicity of the question masked the turmoil beneath. You set your book aside, patting the couch next to you. As he sat, the familiar, comfortable distance between you now felt like a chasm. He needed to bridge it, yet the words—and the admission they required—weighed heavily on him.

“I’m not very good at this,” Hotch started, his voice a mix of resolve and reluctance. He paused, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. “Asking for... support. For something as simple as a hug. It’s not how I was... how I’ve been.”

You listened, your body turned towards him, your eyes soft and encouraging. The room was filled with the soft ticking of the clock, marking the seconds as he gathered his thoughts.

“I’ve always thought I needed to handle things on my own,” he continued, his gaze drifting to the window, to the world outside that demanded so much of him. “With Haley, with Beth... it was different. I never felt I could ask for that…I never felt like I needed that with them. It was always about fulfilling expectations, about maintaining a facade.”

Turning back to look at you, he saw the understanding in your eyes, and it gave him the courage to continue. “But with you, I feel...” Hotch struggled for the right words, “I feel that it’s okay to ask. To need.”

The admission hung in the air between you, a confession of his evolving heart.

“You can always ask me, Aaron,” you said gently, reaching out to take his hand. “I want to be here for you, in whatever way you need.”

Feeling the warmth of your hand in his, Hotch felt the last barriers within him begin to crumble. “Would you just...be here?” he asked, the words less difficult this time, more a relief than a burden.

Without a word, you opened your arms, and he moved closer, letting his head rest against your shoulder. As your arms wrapped around him, a sense of peace settled over him. Here, in the quiet of your embrace, the world's demands faded into the background. It was just him, just Aaron, learning to be human, learning to accept the touch, the love, that he had never known he needed so desperately.

As you both sat there, the struggles of the day slowly dissipating into the warmth between you, Hotch realized this was not just about seeking comfort. It was about building a new normal, one where he could be strong not just for others, but for himself, by acknowledging the simple human need to be held, to be loved.

III. 

The weight of his past was something Aaron Hotchner carried with him like a silent shadow, shaping the man he became—a man of law, of order, a protector. Growing up with a father whose temper was as swift as it was brutal had taught him early on that vulnerability was a liability, and that physical touch, rather than a comfort, could be a precursor to pain. It was a lesson ingrained so deeply that even now, as he walked alongside you after a long day, he found himself grappling with an old, familiar sense of shame.

He watched you laugh at something light and trivial, the sound as free and open as the park around you. Your hand brushed against his occasionally, a simple touch, yet each contact sparked a silent battle within him. He needed more than those fleeting connections; he needed the grounding, comforting weight of your touch to anchor him away from the tumultuous sea of his memories. But asking for it, needing it, felt like a betrayal of the stoic image he had cultivated for so long.

"You're quiet today," you observed, slowing your pace to match his troubled stride. "What's on your mind?"

Hotch hesitated, his instinct to retreat warring with the growing trust he placed in you. He took a deep breath, the cool air of the early evening filling his lungs, as he prepared to voice the thoughts that rarely saw the light of day.

"It's... difficult for me," he started, his voice rough with unspoken emotions. "Growing up, I never saw... My father, he wasn’t a man who showed affection. He believed men needed to be strong, unyielding. And I learned to see touch as something to be wary of, not something to seek comfort in."

You stopped walking, turning to face him fully. The empathy in your eyes was palpable, a silent encouragement for him to continue.

"And I find myself struggling with that legacy. Feeling as if needing touch, needing your comfort, is a form of weakness. Sometimes, it feels like... like I’m failing some archaic test of manhood just by admitting I need that connection," he admitted the words tasting foreign on his tongue. He thought briefly to Jack--would he ever want Jack to feel this shame for needing affection?

You reached out slowly, deliberately, taking his hand in yours, your grip firm and reassuring. "Aaron, it's okay to need touch, to seek out comfort. It doesn’t make you less of anything. It makes you human," you said gently. "I need it too. I need your touch just as much as you might need mine. It’s okay for us to find safety in each other."

Hotch looked down at your interlocked fingers, the simple act of holding hands suddenly imbued with deeper meaning. He felt the tension begin to ebb, the shame receding under the warmth of your acceptance.

"Could we... Could you just hold my hand? Like this, for a while?" he asked, his voice more steady than he felt. It was a small request, yet it felt monumental.

"Of course," you smiled, squeezing his hand lightly. And so you both resumed walking, hands clasped tightly, a silent pact between you. With each step, Hotch felt a little more of the barriers within him dissolve, his past receding into the background.

This touch, so different from the crushing grips of his father, was healing. It was a reminder that he had the power to redefine what strength meant to him. Strength wasn’t just enduring in solitude; it was also in reaching out, in admitting need, in allowing himself to trust in the safety you offered.

As the park's paths wound before them, lined with the soft glow of streetlamps, Aaron Hotchner walked with a lighter heart, knowing that with each step, he was moving not just away from his past, but towards a future where he could be whole, where he could embrace vulnerability as courageously as he faced down any other challenge. And all it took was the simple, healing touch of holding hands.

IV. 

The clock on the hotel room wall ticked past midnight, its sound unnervingly loud in the otherwise silent room. Aaron Hotchner sat on the edge of the bed, his phone in his hand, the weight of the unresolved case pressing down on him like a physical burden. The room felt cold, impersonal, a stark contrast to the warmth and comfort of home—of you. With each passing hour, the sense of losing control, of failing to bring the case to a close, gnawed at him, amplifying his isolation.

He stared at the phone, debating. Calling you felt like an admission of his own helplessness, a crack in his armor he was seldom comfortable revealing. But tonight, the distance felt more than geographical; it was an emotional chasm he was desperate to bridge.

Finally, with a resigned sigh, he dialed your number, listening to the ring that seemed to echo around the sparse room. When your voice finally came through, it was like a lifeline thrown across the miles.

"Hey, Aaron," you greeted, your voice sleepy yet filled with warmth. "Is everything alright?"

Hotch hesitated, the familiar reluctance to expose his vulnerabilities warring with his need to hear your reassuring words. "I’m not sure," he admitted, his voice low. "It’s been a tough day. We’re... we’re not making the progress I hoped for, and it feels like we’re running out of time."

He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing, "I just... I wish you were here. I could really use the comfort of just lying beside you right now."

There was a soft sigh on the other end of the line, not of frustration, but of shared sorrow. "I wish I could be there too," you said softly. "To just lie there with you, to make it feel a little less heavy."

Hotch closed his eyes, allowing himself to imagine that simple scene: the two of you together, the weight of the day's failures temporarily lifted. "It’s strange," he continued, his voice a mix of wonder and resignation. "I used to think I had to face everything alone. But now, it’s moments like this, just imagining being with you, that seem to help the most."

"And that’s okay, Aaron," you reassured him. "It’s okay to need someone, to miss this. I’m here, even if it’s just like this—over the phone. Tell me, what would we be doing if I were right here with you?"

Hotch let out a half-hearted chuckle, the scenario playing out vividly in his mind. "We’d be in bed; I’d be holding you close. Maybe we’d talk about anything but the case just to distract me. Or maybe we’d just lie in silence, just feeling you there would be enough."

"Then let's do that, just over the phone," you suggested gently. "Close your eyes, Aaron. I’m right there with you, okay? I’m holding your hand, lying right beside you. We don’t need to talk about anything else unless you want to."

Hotch did as you suggested, lying back against the pillows, phone pressed to his ear, eyes closed. He listened to your breathing, steady and calm, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions inside him. Gradually, his breathing slowed to match yours, the tension starting to ebb away.

"We’re going to figure this out," you whispered after a long silence, your voice firm yet tender. "You’re not alone in this, Aaron. Remember that."

"I know," Hotch replied, a sense of peace finally beginning to settle over him. "Thank you, for being here like this."

"Always, Aaron. Whenever you need me," you assured him, and though the miles remained between them, Aaron Hotchner felt a little less alone, bolstered by the simple, profound connection of your voice in the darkness, a reminder of the strength found not just in presence, but in the promise of unwavering support.

V.

The moment the breakthrough in the case was confirmed, a wave of relief washed over Aaron Hotchner. It wasn’t just any case; it was one that had stretched the resources and emotional resilience of his team to their limits. Now, standing in the quiet hum of the BAU offices, surrounded by the bustling energy of his colleagues celebrating their hard-won victory, only one thought dominated his mind: sharing this moment with you.

As he stepped away from the crowd, pulling out his phone, his heart raced with a blend of triumph and anticipation. He could already imagine how your face would light up, the way your eyes would sparkle with shared joy. Dialing your number, he found himself smiling, a rarity that felt both foreign and exhilarating.

The phone barely rang twice before you answered. "Hey, Aaron, what's up?" your voice came through, always a balm to his often stormy existence.

"We did it," Hotch burst out, unable to contain the enthusiasm in his voice. "We solved it, finally. And it’s... it’s a big relief."

"Really? That's amazing, Aaron!" you exclaimed, your excitement palpable even through the digital divide. "I wish I could see your smile right now."

Hotch laughed, a sound of pure joy. "I wish you could, too," he confessed. "And I... I really wish I could hug you right now. Celebrate this moment with you."

"Me too," you sighed. "I’d give anything to give you a big hug and a kiss. You deserve it after all the hard work and long hours."

The image of that—of returning home to you, of your arms open and welcoming—solidified his next decision. "Wait for me," Hotch said impulsively. "I’m coming home now. I can’t think of a better way to end this day than being with you."

"Really? You’re on your way?" your voice lifted in surprise and delight.

"Yes, I just... I need to be with you," Hotch admitted, feeling a warmth spread through him at the thought of seeing you soon.

"Drive safe, Aaron. I’ll be here, waiting," you promised, a smile in your voice.

The drive home felt different this time. Each mile closer to you, Hotch felt a growing sense of anticipation, a lightness he hadn’t experienced in years. When he finally pulled into the driveway, his pulse quickened. He barely took the time to lock the car before heading to your door.

The moment you opened it, the look on your face was everything he had imagined. Joy, love, pride—all reflected in your eyes. You didn’t speak; you simply stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace that spoke volumes. Hotch returned the hug with equal fervor, burying his face in your hair, inhaling the comforting scent that was uniquely you.

After a long moment, you pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands framing his face. "Congratulations, Aaron," you whispered before pressing a soft, celebratory kiss to his lips.

The kiss, sweet and affirming, was a perfect punctuation to the day’s victory. "Thank you," Hotch murmured against your lips, his voice thick with emotion. "For everything."

As you both stepped back inside, hand in hand, Aaron Hotchner felt a profound gratitude not just for the case solved, but for the personal victories he was beginning to achieve. Tonight was not just a celebration of a job well done, but of new beginnings, of barriers broken, and of the indescribable comfort found in the arms of the one he loved.

+I

The room was cloaked in darkness, only the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the curtains provided any illumination. It was deep into the night when Aaron Hotchner was jolted awake, not by a sound but by a palpable shift in the atmosphere. Beside him, he could feel you stirring restlessly, your breaths quick and uneven.

Turning towards you, Hotch could just make out your silhouette in the dim light. Your movements were tense, a stark contrast to the usual peacefulness of your sleep. "Hey," he whispered softly, reaching out to gently touch your arm. "Are you okay?"

You turned to face him, and even in the weak light, Hotch could see the distress etched across your features. "I... I had a nightmare," you admitted, your voice shaky. "It was nothing, really, but it felt so real."

Hotch’s instincts as both a partner and a profiler kicked in. He knew the power nightmares held, the way they could claw their way into one's peace of mind. "You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to," he assured you, his tone soothing. "Just tell me what you need."

You moved closer to him, seeking his warmth. "Could you... just hold me? Maybe... just your touch, it helps," you requested, a hint of vulnerability in your voice that pulled at his heart.

Without hesitation, Hotch opened his arms, and you nestled against him, your head resting on his chest. His hand began to stroke your hair gently, the other arm wrapped securely around you, grounding you to the here and now. "I’ve got you," he murmured into the darkness.

The rhythm of his heartbeat under your ear and the steady, reassuring pressure of his hands brought a slow but sure calm. Hotch felt you relax incrementally, your breathing eventually deepening as the remnants of the dream faded under the safety of his touch.

He lay there, awake, holding you, feeling a profound sense of protectiveness and love. In his career, he had often been the one to offer a safe harbor to others in their moments of need. But with you, it was deeper, more personal. It was a shared journey of giving and receiving comfort, of building a sanctuary not just for you but for himself as well.

As the night slowly gave way to the early hints of dawn, Hotch felt you stir slightly in his arms. "Better?" he asked quietly, not wanting to disturb the peace that had settled over you.

"Yeah, much better," you replied, your voice still soft but steadier now. "Thank you, Aaron, for being here."

"Always," Hotch responded, a quiet conviction in his voice. He knew the challenges that lay ahead, in both his professional and personal life, but in this moment, he felt a clarity and a determination to face them all, as long as he had you by his side. With each other's support, there was nothing they couldn't face, no nightmare too daunting to overcome. And as the first light of morning crept through the window, it underscored a silent promise exchanged in the quiet comfort of their embrace—a promise of always, of home, of never having to face the dark alone.

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