#kiwriteswords

[softtdaisy]

Oh my god Ki you have no idea how this story healed something in me. The Prophecy is one of my favorite song (to the point I want to get a tattoo of it) because I feel like it’s me. And this story perfectly portrays how it is to feel like that. But this story has a beautiful addition: Hotch himself. And your beautiful writing, it’s a huge addition too!!

Well I’m trying to keep this short because I could write words and words about this story 😭but I love to see hotch having feeling for reader from the beginning but still getting to see them grow. The evolution of their relationship is so sweet and that date omg I need a man to take me on a date like that. I need Hotch to take me on a date like that. (A girl can dream)

I hope writing this helped you like it did for me as a reader. That was perfect 🩷

The Prophecy [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Masterlist|| Ao3||Word Count: 4k|| AN: This is for the lovelies who have also felt unlovable, defeated, and gotten their heart broken time after time. This was originally supposed to go in an entirely different direction when I started writing this during the week, but now it is purely self-indulgant...BUT writing this was cheaper than therapy. I also might be embarrassed by this in the morning and delete this--idk LOL. Tags/Warnings: female reader, alcohol tw, reader has self-worth issues, reader goes on bad dates, might be slightly ooc for hotch idk, hotch is no.1 reader defender, hotch falls first, whipped!hotch, insecure!reader, heartbroken reader, protective!hotch, mainly hotch's POV, reader is 100% a mary sue--sorry, not sorry. Summary: Hotch watched you get treated incorrectly time and time again by your poor choice in men. Over time, he begins to try and show you what you deserve.

In the cool, dim light of the early morning, Aaron Hotchner walked into the BAU roundtable room, his footsteps quiet against the polished floor. 

The team was already there- 

Everyone but you gathered around the table, their voices a low murmur of concern. He paused at the door, observing them--

A rare moment of unguarded conversation among the agents.

Your name was circling the room. He knew his team wasn’t one who gossiped, per se. But this was different than workplace chatter; this seemed…this seemed important. 

"Did you see her last night?" JJ asked, her voice tinged with worry. "Spencer found her crying in the parking lot.

Across the table, Spencer nodded, his youthful face more solemn than usual. "She was in her car. Just...sitting there. It was late."

Penelope shook her head, her vibrant accessories jangling softly with the movement. "That guy she's been seeing, the one who keeps popping in and out of her life? He stood her up again. I mean, who does that to someone as wonderful as her?"

Derek’s jaw tightened visibly. "We need to tell her to cut him loose. The guy's no good."

Emily leaned back in her chair, her expression thoughtful. "It's not our place to say who she should see, but it's tough watching her go through this."

Rossi, ever the sage, swirled the coffee in his cup before speaking. "The heart has reasons that reason knows nothing of, but it doesn’t make it any easier to watch someone you care about get hurt."

Hotch stepped into the room fully, the conversation pausing as all eyes turned to him. He moved to his usual seat, the chair's soft scrape punctuating the sudden silence. 

"How is she this morning?" His voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of concern that matched his team's.

No one seemed ready to answer. It was a telling silence, one that spoke volumes about their collective unease for your well-being.

Clearing his throat, Hotch folded his hands on the table, his gaze settling on each of his team members. 

"We're a team, and we look out for each other. It's not just about being agents; it's about being there for one another as people." His eyes darkened with a quiet intensity. "We need to make sure she knows she's supported, not just as a colleague, but as a friend."

Just then, the door opened again, and you stepped in. There was a slight redness around your eyes, a testament to the previous night's tears, but you masked it well with a brave smile. 

"Morning, everyone," you said, your voice steady despite the slight quiver you hoped no one noticed.

The room filled with choruses of "Morning," each agent offering you a smile, but their eyes were too knowing, too filled with empathy.

As the meeting proceeded, Hotch found himself watching you more often than usual. 

You were the glue of the team--

Always brightening up the room. 

Always making sure everyone else was okay. 

It pained him to see that light dimmed, even just a fraction. 

He made a mental note to check in with you later, privately, to offer a listening ear if you needed it.

Throughout the briefing, your contributions were as insightful as ever, but Hotch noticed the small things--

The way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes.

How you were quieter than usual. 

Less inclined to join in the lighter moments of banter.

When the meeting broke up, Hotch lingered, watching as you gathered your notes and prepared to head to your office. 

He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation ahead. It was not just about being a leader now; it was about being a friend and maybe--

Just maybe, something more.

In that quiet, somber room, as the early rays of sunlight began to filter through the blinds, Hotch realized just how deeply your well-being affected him. 

The realization was sudden, like a shift in the air--

A silent acknowledgement of a burgeoning concern that felt a lot like the beginning of something far deeper.

Not even a week later, the office was nearly empty. 

The hum of computers and the distant sound of night shift agents were the only accompaniment to the soft clacking of Hotch’s shoes against the polished floor as he prepared to leave for the evening. 

It had been a long day, filled with the usual demands and stresses, but none of that seemed to matter now as he rounded the corner and stopped short.

There you were, pacing the bullpen in a dress that took his breath away--

A stunning array of shimmering fabric that cascaded down in elegant folds, catching the dim office light and throwing it back out in soft, glowing ripples.

It was unlike anything he had ever seen you wear; the dress made for a special occasion, its beauty stark against the backdrop of the BAU’s utilitarian surroundings.

Looking at it, it reminded him of your personality. A reflection of light on everyone around you. Made up of so many pieces--beautiful in itself, but for others to appreciate as well. 

Your face, however, told a different story. 

It was etched with disappointment, the hurt in your eyes stark and unguarded as you moved restlessly across the floor. Hotch’s concern deepened, his initial pause turning into a determined stride towards you.

You didn’t notice him at first, lost in your troubled thoughts. When you finally saw him, the surprise on your face quickly morphed into a strained smile. 

"Oh, Hotch, I didn’t see you there."

"Clearly dressed for a special occasion," he commented softly, his voice carrying a note of concern. "You look...beautiful." 

He meant it, but the compliment was tinged with…worry as he took in the full picture--

The meticulously done makeup, the curls in your hair falling just so, the perfume that seemed a touch too poignant for the empty office.

You chuckled weakly, the sound hollow. 

"Was supposed to be a special night. I had a date, but..." Your voice trailed off, and you shrugged, a brittle edge to your movements. "He cancelled. Less than an hour ago. Guess it wasn't as special to him."

Hotch frowned, noting the weariness that seemed to seep through your attempt at humor. 

"You shouldn’t have to feel this way," he said, stepping closer, his voice lowering. "You put so much into this, into everything you do. It's not right, him not seeing that."

Your smile faltered, and you looked away, a self-deprecating laugh escaping you. "Maybe I’m just too much, you know? Maybe it’s just... me--”

"No." Hotch said firmly, cutting through your words. His expression was stern, but his eyes were kind, a rare show of open frustration mixing with something softer. "It’s not you. It’s him. Anyone who fails to see what they have right in front of them doesn’t deserve it."

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, the bullpen seemed to hold its breath. The air between you was charged, filled with the unspoken thoughts and emotions swirling around.

"You deserve someone who sees you," Hotch continued, his voice emphatic--passionate even. "Not just the effort you put into one evening, but every day…the way you look out for everyone here, how you keep us…together. You deserve much more than last-minute cancellations and excuses."

The words seemed to hang in the air, heavy and sincere. You swallowed hard, the impact of his words slowly sinking in. The corners of your mouth twitched, a ghost of a genuine smile beginning to form. "Thank you, Hotch," you murmured, your voice thick with unshed tears. "I...I needed to hear that."

Hotch nodded, his posture relaxing slightly as he sensed the shift in your demeanor. "Anyone would be lucky to have you," he added, the truth of his statement clear in his steady gaze.

As the silence stretched between you, a palpable connection in the quiet of the almost deserted office, it was clear that something had shifted. 

Not just in the night. But perhaps, just maybe--in the space that lay between personal heartache and the promise of something deeper, something real that was just beginning to take root in the dim light of the bullpen.

About a month had passed, and Hotch kept a close eye on you. He hated that not much had changed for you. He wanted to see you return to the office with a smile on your face one day. 

That you’d share you met someone who charmed you and held space for you in a way you deserved. 

Someone that treated you right.

The way he wishes he could tattoo it into your brain all of the ways he knows you should be treated. The way he wishes he could treat you that way--

Just to show you. 

Or what he told himself when he began thinking about how he wouldn’t stand you up. 

How he’d hold every door open for you. 

How he’d be prompt and make sure you knew you could take his word. 

Yet here you were. 

The local bar was buzzing with the usual Friday night crowd, the atmosphere lively and the lights dimly lit, casting a warm, inviting glow over the small group from the BAU. 

Laughter and chatter filled the air as the team, having wrapped up a particularly grueling set of cases, gathered around a large table cluttered with empty glasses and half-eaten appetizers. 

Hotch, who usually opted out of such gatherings, found himself not only attending but also genuinely enjoying the camaraderie. 

His eyes frequently searched you out, making sure you were handling the evening well.

As the night progressed and the drinks flowed more freely, the conversation deepened into personal territories. You, slightly more uninhibited from the alcohol, began to share more openly about your recent dating woes. 

"And then," you laughed, though the humor didn't quite reach your eyes, "he just disappears. Poof! Like magic. One day, it's text after text, and then nothing. Like I made it all up in my head."

You laughed. It echoed. He watched, heart sinking. You were drifting. Away.

The team's laughter quieted down as they listened, their expressions a mixture of sympathy and discomfort. Rossi raised his eyebrows, shooting a look at Hotch, who was watching you intently. 

Your smile faded as you continued, the alcohol loosening your tongue further. "I don't know, maybe it's just me. I dunno…Maybe I'm just...unlovable."

A heavy silence fell over the table, the word hanging in the air like a thick cloud. 

The team exchanged awkward glances--

Clearly at a loss. 

Hotch's jaw tightened as he saw the self-deprecation take a darker turn, his concern deepening.

"That's not true," Hotch finally said, his voice firm and commanding attention. "Being ghosted says more about his character than it does about your worth. You are... incredibly important, not just to anyone you date but to all of us here." His voice softened, "You light up every room you enter, and if someone can't see that, it's their loss, not yours."

The table went quiet, everyone looking between you and Hotch, sensing the weight of his words. 

Your eyes welled up with tears--

The kindness in his voice breaking through the veneer of humor you had used as a shield all night. 

"Excuse me," you muttered, quickly standing and making your way to the bar without meeting anyone’s eyes.

As you stood and made your way to the bar, the rest of the team exchanged knowing looks, their earlier conversation giving way to a shared understanding of what needed to happen next.

Derek caught Hotch's arm as he started to follow you. "Man, you see the way she lights up around you?" he said in a low voice, his gaze serious. "She deserves someone who's going to show up for her, really show her how she should be treated."

Emily chimed in, her expression earnest. "And not just show up, Hotch. You need to say it, too. She needs to hear how you feel about her. It’s obvious to all of us, and honestly, it’s been a long time coming."

Rossi, ever the sage, gave Hotch a firm pat on the back. "You’re a good man, Aaron. You both deserve a shot at happiness. Don’t let your chance slip by because you’re too cautious to take the next step."

Hotch looked between his friends, their faces reflecting a mix of encouragement and insistence. 

The weight of their words settled over him, reinforcing what he already felt in his heart.

 He nodded, a resolve firming in his eyes as he turned to follow you to the bar.

"Thanks," he murmured, grateful for their support. 

The team watched for a moment longer, satisfied with their intervention, before they started to gather their things, their subdued waves goodbye mingling with quiet hopes for what might develop between their stoic leader and the woman who had brought a new light to his eyes.

Hotch watched them leave before turning his attention back to you--

Now alone at the bar. 

Throwing back another drink.

With a newfound determination, he was ready to take the advice of his team to heart and to make this evening a turning point--

Not just for tonight, but for all the days to come.

He approached quietly, taking the seat next to you. The bartender moved away to give you some privacy, sensing the shift in mood.

"You don’t have to try so hard to be okay all the time," Hotch said gently, his voice barely above the noise of the bar. "It’s alright to not be alright."

You turned to look at him, the dim light of the bar highlighting the vulnerability in your expression. "I just don’t want to be this person, Hotch. This...sad, pathetic person who gets left all the time."

"You are not pathetic," Hotch countered softly, his tone earnest. "You’re human. And being human means you feel things deeply. It’s one of the things...one of the many things that makes you so special."

Your eyes met his. 

A mix of gratitude and sadness swirling within. 

"Why are you so good to me?" you asked, a small, wistful smile playing on your lips.

"Because you deserve someone to be good to you," Hotch replied, his gaze steady. "And I'm here as long as you need."

The conversation paused as you both sat, the noise around you fading into a background hum. 

Hotch’s offer hung in the air. 

Sincere and simple. 

A promise from a friend that felt like it could be the start of something more, something neither of you had expected but perhaps both needed.

You did not take much convincing to get home. Hotch watched your balance waver. Your eyes glassy. Your yawns. Your red-rimmed eyes. 

The silence in the car was thick--

Only occasionally interrupted by the soft hum of the engine and the faint sound of passing traffic. 

Hotch kept stealing glances at you. His concern evident in the crease of his brow and the tight set of his jaw. 

You stared out the window, your reflection ghosting back at you, tinged with the glow of the streetlights.

Breaking the silence, your voice was soft but filled with a weariness that seemed too heavy for one person to bear. 

"There was this guy I really liked," you began, your words slightly slurred from the drinks. "He always kept me on the back burner. I'd wait by the phone. Hoping he’d call. But he never did. I hate that I've turned into the girl I used to judge…the one who cares too much about people who don't care about her at all."

You paused, a bitter laugh escaping your lips as you continued. 

"I’d give up anything just to love someone who loves me back. It feels like I've taken a back seat in everyone else's life because they've all found love. And me? I’m just... I'm so alone. It’s like this loneliness follows me into every room, no matter how many people are there."

Hotch listened, his expression somber, the usual reserve slowly melting away under the weight of your heartfelt confession. 

After a moment, he spoke.

His voice low and filled with an unexpected vulnerability. 

"I understand what you mean," he admitted. "After my marriage ended and Haley...after she died, I was thrown into a kind of loneliness I had never known. When you spend so much of your life with someone, you don’t realize how much of yourself is intertwined with theirs until they're gone."

He paused, choosing his words carefully. 

"And you’re right, no matter how full other parts of your life are, nothing can truly fill the void that’s left by a lack of romance or intimacy. It’s a different kind of emptiness, one that seems to echo louder the quieter it gets."

Your head turned slowly to look at him, surprised not only by his openness but also by the resonance of his words with your own feelings. 

There was a comfort in knowing you weren’t alone in your loneliness. 

That someone as composed and self-assured as Hotch could understand such deep, personal pain.

"The hardest part," Hotch continued, his eyes briefly meeting yours before returning to the road, "is learning how to fill that void in a way that’s healthy, without losing yourself to it. And I see you trying to do that, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now."

The car pulled up to your place, the engine idling as you both sat in silence for a moment, letting the weight of the conversation settle.

"Thank you, Hotch," you finally said, your voice softer, tinged with gratitude and a newfound respect. "For understanding. For being here."

Hotch nodded. A gentle smile touching his lips. "Always," he assured you. "Let me walk you to the door. Just to make sure you're okay."

At your door, you turned to face Hotch--

And without a word, you wrapped your arms around him in a grateful hug. 

It was more than a simple gesture of thanks; it was a release of some of the night’s accumulated tension and loneliness.

Hotch, caught slightly off guard, heitated for only a moment before his arms came around you, returning the embrace with a protective warmth

He could smell the faint mix of your perfume, now mingled with the sharp scent of alcohol, and it stirred something in him--

A concern deeper than the usual care he held for his team. 

As he held you, his hand gently patting your back in comfort.

Hotch found himself wishing he could do more.

Wishing he could step inside. Make you a cup of coffee. And talk through the night until you felt better. 

But he held back, acutely aware of the boundaries that his role as your superior and his professional integrity dictated.

As you finally pulled back, looking up at him with eyes that showed a flicker of something like relief and comfort, Hotch realized that his feelings were perhaps more complicated than he had admitted to himself. 

There was something magnetic about you. 

Something that drew him in, far beyond the simple need to protect a team member. 

It was a pull he hadn’t expected, one he hadn’t felt in a very long time, and it left him momentarily unsure of his next words.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay?” he asked, his voice low, filled with genuine concern.

“Yes, thanks to you,” you replied, managing a small smile that seemed to brighten the dim hallway. “Really, Hotch, I can’t thank you enough for tonight.”

“Just doing my part,” Hotch said, trying to sound more casual than he felt. “But if you need anything, or just want to talk, you have my number.”

You nodded, and there was a lingering look, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that had deepened tonight, before you turned to open your door. “Goodnight, Hotch,” you said, stepping inside.

“Goodnight,” he replied, watching the door close gently behind you. 

He stood there for a few more moments, lost in thought. 

The night had revealed layers of both your vulnerabilities and strengths, and Hotch felt a renewed commitment to supporting you, not just as a leader but as someone who genuinely cared.

As he walked back to his car, the quiet of the night surrounding him, Hotch felt a mixture of worry and something akin to anticipation. It was clear now that his concern for you went beyond the professional; it was personal, and it was growing. 

He hoped that would be the end of it. He wished it would.

He just wanted to see you happy. 

Glowing from within like he knew you could and often did. 

Hotch approached your desk, his steps deliberate, echoing softly in the nearly empty bullpen. 

The rest of the team had already left for the day, leaving behind a quiet that seemed to magnify the frustration evident in your posture. 

As he drew closer, he saw your face buried in your hands. Your shoulders tense.

The office was quiet. The clock ticked loud. Each second echoed. You sat, staring. Lost.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his tone laden with concern as he stopped beside your desk.

You lifted your head, your expression a mixture of bitterness and fatigue. "Guess," you said, voice tinged with a harsh laugh.

"A guy?" Hotch guessed, his brow furrowing as he watched your reaction.

"Yup," you replied bitterly. "Got a lovely message today. Apparently, I'm not pretty enough and not compatible enough for him. And oh, he couldn't possibly date someone who works for the FBI." The frustration in your voice grew with each word. "And to top it all off, I'm losing my reservation at this place that took ages to get into."

Hotch's expression shifted from concern to disbelief, then to a visible annoyance. "Where do you find these guys?" he asked, his tone sharp. Boys. He wanted to say. "I'd love to have a chance to talk to them, give them a piece of my mind."

Your eyes widened slightly, taken aback by his intensity. 

Hotch's jaw was set, his eyes hard with indignation on your behalf. 

After a moment, he softened slightly, gesturing to your things. "Collect your things," he instructed.

You stared at him, confusion etched across your face--

"What?"

"We’re going to that dinner reservation," Hotch stated firmly, as if it were the most natural decision in the world. "It’s important to you, and you deserve at least one night where someone can attempt to live up to what you deserve."

The sudden shift in the evening's plans left you momentarily speechless, your previous frustrations giving way to a surge of something else--

Surprise. 

Perhaps tinged with relief. 

You slowly began to gather your belongings, still processing his words.

"Hotch, I..." you started, unsure of how to express your gratitude or the flurry of emotions his gesture had sparked.

"No need to thank me," Hotch interrupted gently, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he saw the change in your demeanor. "Let’s just go have a good evening, okay? No expectations, no pressures. Just dinner. As friends."

The word 'friends' hung in the air, safe yet filled with unspoken possibilities. 

As you followed him out of the office, your steps matched his in rhythm. 

A silent acknowledgment of the shift in your relationship.

As they walked out of the BAU, Hotch's actions spoke volumes about the kind of evening he intended to provide. 

He held every door open for you-- 

His movements graceful. 

Assured. 

A soft but firm hand on your back guiding you through the thresholds. 

At the restaurant, he pulled out your chair, a gesture that might have seemed outdated to some, but from him, it felt respectful. 

A nod to a gentler time.

A time he still lived in and was raising his son to live in. 

Once seated, the conversation between you flowed effortlessly.

You spoke animatedly about the dishes, your favorites, and the memories associated with them, lighting up as you described the people woven throughout your life.

How highly you spoke of them and how important they were to you.

These memories that made you who you were. 

Hotch watched you, a small, genuine smile playing on his lips, captivated by the light in your eyes and the passion in your voice.

As the evening progressed, Hotch found himself offering compliments, each more personal than might be usual for a boss. 

“You have an incredible way of seeing beauty in simple things,” he remarked sincerely, watching as a blush crept up your cheeks.

It was cute. He’d never seen your cheeks turn that color pink before. 

Sweet, even. 

You seemed taken aback, almost shy, under the weight of his words. "I...thank you," you stuttered slightly, your smile bright but your eyes reflecting a hint of disbelief. "I-I’m not used to hearing that kind of thing."

Hotch's expression turned quizzical, his head tilting slightly. “Really? I find it hard to believe no one has ever told you that before. To me, you are so many things…”

Your eyes widened, and a vulnerable honesty shone through as you responded. "I've never been complimented like that. And from someone like you--Hotch,” You laughed, almost at yourself, “you’re... you’re attractive, smart, important. For you to see me like that, it’s... i-it’s everything. And hard to believe."

Hotch paused, the weight of your words settling between them. His brow furrowed slightly, not in frustration, but in a thoughtful reassessment of how he had come to view you--

Not just as a subordinate or a friend, but as someone deeply impressive in your own right. 

Someone he cared for more than just a team member or friend. 

Something so much more, he’d realized. 

“You should believe it because it’s true,” he said earnestly. “And I’d tell you more often if you’d let me.”

The air around you seemed to charge with a new energy, a mixture of surprise, anticipation, and a burgeoning realization of the mutual respect and admiration that might be blossoming into something more. 

The way Hotch looked at you in that moment--

With a profound seriousness tinged with warmth. 

It made your heart flutter in a way that no hollow compliment from anyone else ever could.

Dinner continued under this new, uncharted atmosphere, each of you navigating this subtle shift in your dynamic, exploring the boundaries of a relationship that was, perhaps, no longer just professional. 

As the night drew on, the conversation deepened, not just into personal likes and aspirations but into what made each of you the person sitting at that table. 

As Hotch drove you back to the BAU parking lot after what had unexpectedly turned into one of the most memorable evenings of your both of your lives.

The night air felt charged with a new, electric energy. 

He had been the perfect gentleman throughout the night, insisting on paying for dinner and ensuring every part of the evening felt speciall.

Standing beside your car under the soft glow of the parking lot lights, you turned to him, your heart full of gratitude. "Thank you, Hotch. This was...this was the best not-date, date ever," you said, the words not quite sufficient to express the depth of your feelings.

Hotch smiled, a hint of something more serious in his gaze. "It can be considered an actual date, if you want...or I could plan one that could be our actual first date, if that would be something you’d be interested in," he proposed, watching your reaction closely.

Your expression shifted to one of disbelief, a mix of joy and astonishment dancing in your eyes. "Y-You...would want to go on a real date with me? But look at you? You're handsome, sexy, smart, experienced... and I'm just me?"

Hotch shook his head, his expression softening with a warmth that made your heart skip a beat. "I can’t believe you don’t see what I see," he said earnestly. "You are incredible, truly. You’re beautiful, smart, and absolutely wonderful. I so lucky if you’d have me."

The words washed over you, stirring a mix of emotions so intense they nearly overwhelmed you. "This feels too good to be true, like a dream," you murmured, the vulnerability in your voice mirrored in your eyes.

Like he said the words you’d been waiting for…for so long. 

Hotch stepped closer, his voice dropping to a tender murmur. "Honey, this isn’t a dream. This is real, all of it," he assured you, his call to affection so genuine it carved a warm path straight to your heart.

The air between you had thickened, the kind that could change the course of a life 

You felt the intensity of his gaze, the palpable connection sparking between you, and in a moment of need to ensure this wasn't a figment of your imagination, you blurted out, "Pinch me, I must be dreaming."

Hotch chuckled softly, his eyes alight with affection and amusement. "I’ll do you one better," he said, and before you could respond, he leaned in.

His lips met yours in a kiss that sent sparks flying through every nerve in your body. 

A kiss so profound and filled with emotion it felt as though everything but the two of you had melted away.

A kiss that put all other attempts from others before to shame. 

As you kissed under the soft lights of the BAU parking lot, it was as if the world had come to a standstill, the only sound being your combined breaths and the faint rustle of the night wind. 

It was the kind of kiss that marked the beginning of something new and beautiful.

A moment neither of you would ever forget—

The world seemed to realign itself slowly as you both pulled apart. 

Breathless. 

The air was still thick with the electricity of the moment, and the soft glow of the parking lot lights cast a gentle halo around you. 

He gazed down at you, his eyes searching yours for a reaction, a sign of how you felt after such a profound connection.

For a few heartbeats, neither of you spoke. 

You were both caught in the gravity of what had just happened. 

The kiss lingering like a promise between you.

Finally, Hotch broke the silence, his voice gentle, tinged with hope. 

"Was that better than a pinch?" he asked, a tentative smile playing on his lips.

You couldn't help but laugh softly, the sound light and filled with the fluttering of a thousand tiny butterflies in your stomach.

"Much better," you admitted, your voice a whisper as you dared to meet his eyes again. "Hotch, I...I didn't expect this. A-Any of this."

Hotch's smile grew warmer, his hand reaching up to gently tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. "Neither did I," he confessed. "But I'm glad it happened. You're...you're more amazing than you realize. And I want to explore this, explore us, if you're willing."

The sincerity in his voice, the earnestness of his gaze, it all made your heart swell even as a sliver of uncertainty lingered. 

"Are you sure? I mean, you're you, and I'm...well, I'm just me. Are we really good for each other?"

Hotch’s expression grew serious, his thumb softly caressing your cheek. "You are not 'just' anything," he said firmly. "You are incredible, and yes, I am sure. More than I've been about anything in a long time. I admire you, respect you, and I am drawn to you. I hope to make up for all those who failed so miserably at trying to hold something as special as you.”

His words, so full of conviction and depth, washed away the last of your doubts. 

"O-Okay," you whispered, a smile breaking through your initial apprehension. 

As you both lingered by your car, neither of you in a rush to end the night, the conversation drifted to lighter topics--

Plans for your next outing. Favorite movies, books, the comfortable chatter marking the ease that had always existed between you, now deepened by the new, flourishing intimacy.

Finally, with a last, lingering look, Hotch said goodnight, promising to call you tomorrow. 

As you watched him walk away, his figure receding into the night, you felt a warmth spreading through you, a mix of excitement and peace, the night’s surprises leaving you eager for what the future might hold.

And for Hotch, he knew he had a 1 in a million chance of a lifetime to prove to you over and over again what you deserved. He never wanted to see the light in you dim again. If anything, he wanted to be the one to help you burn brighter. 

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @superlegend216 @sweethotchlogy

[hotchology]

100 and 129!

100. How are you feeling? you know when u feel so much of absolutely everything its kind of just static between ur ears? that one. but right now its swinging towards good im very :D

129. What your zodiac sign? scorpio!! by a matter of like. 4 or 5 hours. my chart in two different layouts for those more astrologically inclined :p

put a number in my ask <3

[aureatelys]

8, 15, & 16 🥰🥰🥰

hi ki 🥹

8: Want any tattoos?

yes! i’ve been wanting to get a skeleton flower tattoo for the longest time but the last time i got a tattoo it became severely infected and required several rounds of antibiotics 😀 so maybe not yet

15: Favorite movie

this is embarrassing but captain america the winter soldier only because of the absolute death grip it had on me for years. or hereditary

16: I’ll love you if

if you like to try new food! i hate a boring eater ngl

[ssamorganhotchner]

16 and 26 🥰

Ki my sweets!!! Tysm for the ask 🥹💕

16. I'll love you if

I’ll love you if you just be yourself around me. Don’t try to be someone you’re not. I work with a few who put on a show to mimic the other persons personality just so they like them, and it bothers me because why? Why do you care if a person likes you or not? As Taylor Swift once said, just be you, there is no one better 💕

26. My biggest pet peeves

I can’t stand hearing someone breathe or chew. I have audibly said “stop breathing so close to me” before to people who know 0 space.

Critiquing what I say all the time. My mentally abusive ex did this like crazy and now it triggers me really, really bad. If it doesn’t change the conversation, there is no reason to do it. For example: if I say someone is worth $20 billion but in reality they’re worth $19 billion? Don’t say anything. I wouldn’t do that to someone else either because it makes me feel small. Makes me feel as if I cannot get anything right and I instantly shut down.

Slow drivers. If you can’t drive the speed limit get off the road.

really get to know me(:

[softestqueeen]

✧*̥˚ aaron hotchner fic recs part 4 *̥˚✧

a/n: yes, i am mentally ill! how did you guess?

✨ favs

part 1 I part 2 I part 3 I part 4 I my criminal minds masterlist

✧*̥˚ smut *̥˚✧

i can't stand you by @juniperskye

headcanons by @ashlinxsloves

✧*̥˚ fluff *̥˚✧

obsessed hotch by @hotchnerwrites

drivin' on 9 by @luvvyouforever ✨

winning over the kids by @kiwriteswords

sweet beginnings by -//-

something to be thankful for by -//-

nerdy reader by @ddejavvu

play it cool by @chithereader

stir crazy by -//- ✨

boo by @thebeast-dennis-etcetera

sleep snuggler by @brynnwrites

opening night by @hoe4hotchner

three stages of truth - sos by @ssa-dado

dad i'd like to by @starrysoiree

only one by @angellsell

a bunch of cuties in love by @lavenderspence

protective hotch by @headkiss

unconditional by @moowmoon-deactivated20241201

kiss her, you fool by @honeypiehotchner

for a long-last friendship by @mdanon027

✧*̥˚ angst/hurt/comfort *̥˚✧

to the end of the earth by @kiwriteswords

it's a wonderful life by -//- ✨

softly, slowly by @mariasont

drifting apart by @cmtwimagines

change your mind by @luveline ✨

the wedding photos by -//-

always come home by @stardusksx

the right person by @ddejavvu

unexplained sadness by @lavenderspence

a/n: if you want you fic removed, dm me! also, quick shoutout to @kiwriteswords for literally carrying the aaron hotchner fics! how she whips up these amazing fics in like no time i will never understand, i am however forever garteful.

peace out!

[somuchforahobby]

invisible string

Summary: Jessica is out of town and Hotch hires a new nanny for Jack Word count: 8k Warnings: Hotchner is afraid of women Tags: Tooth rotting fluff GIFS belong to @kiwriteswords Read on AO3

Time, curious time

It had been quite a while since you got a job interview. You had been recommended by your friend Jessica to her brother in law to take care of her nephew for a few weeks until she comes back from a work-related trip. But first you had to be interviewed by him and Jessica warned you it was not gonna be a walk in the park.

You didn’t know if you had to look like governess or a Nanny Fine, so you went somewhere in the middle, with an oversized blazer, straight jeans, a crop top and loafers. You wanted to look professional and mature but not boring and old.

When you arrived at the Cafe, your eyes quickly searched for a man alone, who seemed like a dad, but you could not find any. Only one that was much closer to a Calvin Klein catalog than what you expected to be Jessica’s in law. He raised his hand and for a second you thought of politely saying no with your head, because you were here for a job interview not a flirt, but then realized.

“Mr. Hotchner?” You asked, once you have walked to his table.

“Yes, nice to meet you, please have a seat.” He stood up from his chair and extended a hand to you. You shared a professional hand shake and sat in front of him.

“Thank you for agreeing to this in such a short notice, I appreciate your time.” He said, raising an eyebrow, forming a crease in his forehead. “Do you have your resume?”

You handed it to him, his eyebrows remained creased as he readed it. While he did it, you ordered a latte to the waitress, his eyes quickly examined you while doing so.

“Why did you study pedagogy and education?” He asked once your coffee had arrived.

“I think the best way to eliminate violence is education, I want to contribute. Also, I like to study human behavior, in a way, and the way we educate children has a lot to do with how they grow up to be. So I’m passionate about that.” You calmly explained, his sigh was still stern. “And I also really like the outfits we get to wear as educators” you decided to throw in a small joke to get a smile but it flopped magistrally. 

“According to this” he gestures to your resume, “you’ve had experience helping children to cope with trauma, can you talk me through the process?” He finished his question and took a sip of his coffee.

“Yes, sure, it’s mostly through art. We either paint, draw or sculpt feelings and we explain them, that way we can talk about ourselves while being grounded by some self made craft.”

“You bring the materials?” 

“Yes, sir. In case there is anything extraordinary I’d be letting you know about extra costs, and of course it’s all based on the child’s preferences and allergies.” 

“I would not want Jack to be off school, get home and feel like he still has work or school to do, how would you manage that?” 

‘What a fucking jerk’ you thought, the superiority in his tone made you cringe.

“Well, yes, sir. I have a masters in Primary Education, I think I can realize when a child is bored or exhausted and change the activities for something that makes them have fun and relax. So, yeah, I am indeed trained to manage that.” You were certain that answer alone was gonna get you off the job because of the moody tone it came out with. Oddly, you saw the corners of his lips curl upwards just a little.

***

“He hated me” You stated the moment you picked up the phone call from your friend Jessica.

“He loved you!” She overspoke through the line.

“What?” You both said.

“You first” she requested

“He hated me, he was polite but his tone, OH MY GOD!, his tone was implying I was an idiot question after question.” You explained as you walked down the street to your apartment.

“He just called me to ask me when it’s appropriate to tell you you’ve got the job!” Your friend was laughing over the line.

“So, when is he gonna call me?” 

“I said I’d tell you myself.”

You laughed through the line and yelled a little in excitement for finally getting a job.

“Let’s have dinner tonight to talk about Jack and his father.” Your friend made plans and you thought they were perfect.

***

“So, you’re a child’s profiler?” The tall skinny guy you had been talking to since you arrived was very interested in your work.

“Not really, no. I treat kids with trauma to avoid them growing into it.”

“But can you realize when there’s a psychopathy in them?”

“Yeah but I don’t treat them, I refer them to a psychiatrist and I advise the parents to take therapy as well.” 

“That is so interesting, how do you treat them then?”

“Well, I usually work with kids than have blocked their trauma, so I can give them exercises and activities to learn it, live it, understand it and manage it—“ A voice calling your full name interrupted you. You turned and saw Mr. Hotchner on the threshold. You nodded to the young man who you were talking to and headed to your employer’s office.

“Please, come in, how can I help you?”

“Thank you. Well it’s just procedure, a few questions I have to ask before I start treating a child—“

“You are not treating my child.” He scolded you.

“Yes, I am.” You gave him his tone back. “But if you will be ashamed of it then your son will be too and this is not going to work.” 

“Go on.” He took a deep breath.

***

Gave no compasses, gave me no signs

You and Jack had spent the day playing in the snow, then coloring and finally, you requested his help to cook dinner in order to teach him to be independent. Truth is, you two were really getting along.

Dinner was ready when Mr. Hotchner arrived.

He called your name as soon as he opened the door, and the corner of his eyes wrinkled when he saw little Jack with an apron in the kitchen.

“Daddy, I made you dinner!” The little guy raised his hand holding a spoon, wearing a big smile.

“That is amazing, buddy. Then let’s have dinner.” Mr. Hotchner hugged Jack. “How was your day?” He turned his gaze to you, still holding Jack.

“It was great, maybe Jack should tell you what his favorite part was.” You asked him as you laid out the plates for dinner.

“The snowman!” He said with a big smile and you did as well.

“Thank you very much, that would be all for today.” Your boss gave you a handshake with the stern face he always has on. “Jack, say goodnight to your nanny.” He put the boy on the ground.

“Can’t she stay for dinner?” He asked his father. Mr. Hotchner raised his gaze at you in a questioning manner. You scrunched down to meet Jack’s eyes.

“No, sweetie. This is quality time you have to spend with your daddy, besides we only cook for two.”

“Are you also having dinner with your daddy?” He tilted his head to the side in confusion and you couldn’t help but laugh. With the corner of your eyes you saw Mr. Hotchner laughed as well.

“Yeah, I should, right? See you tomorrow little buddy.” You gave him a hug.

You walked to the couch to get your backpack and headed out of the house.

“Goodnight, Mr. Hotncher, Jack.” You gave them a smile before opening the door and walking out.

***

“Hotchner”

“Hey, Mr. Hotchner, sweetie get in the car–” 

“what’s going on?” 

“Sir, I can’t work from your apartment today” a car door closed in the back

“what’s wrong?” 

“There’s a–god–I don’t–I think there’s something inside” You were trailing off, he could hear you starting a car.

He said your name trying to get you to focus.

“I won’t go in there, sir, we will be in my apartment, you can pick up Jack when–”

“Where are you? I’m sending an officer”

“That’s not necessary”

“Come to my office, now” that sounded like an order

“Sir, let me just” you took a deep breath, trying to calm down

“Stay on the line, I will locate your phone”

“Sir, there’s a rat!” You screamed. Jack’s laugh resonated through the line.

“A rat? This is because of a rat?” He was ridiculing you.

“Yes, I opened the door and saw a rat running through the living room. So I can’t go in there.” 

“Daddy, she’s afraid of rats!” Jack screamed through the phone, laughing at you.

“Don’t you ever do this again” And he hung up.

“I think he is afraid too” You told little Jack as you drove home.

***

“Daddy! You’re early! Can my daddy make one too?” Jack jumped to hug his father the second he walked through the door, showing him the paste of play-doh he was holding.

“Yes, of course!” You answered, clearing another seat at the table for him. “Maybe, I should explain the activity again for your father to join in, would you like that Jack?”

“Yes, yes!” 

Mr. Hotchner had no other choice but to drop his briefcase and blazer on the couch and join both of you at the table.

“Today’s activity, Mr. Hotchner is to think of one emotion we have been feeling a whole lot this week and try to represent it in the play-doh. Jack and I had already started so you gotta catch up. Once we finish our sculptures we will share them with the rest, okay?” You looked at him with an apologetic look and he nodded in response.

“I made two,” Jack started to explain. “One is sadness and the other one is happiness.” He pointed at each of the sculptures, one blue and one pink. “The blue is the sadness and the pink is happiness.”

“Why did you choose those colors, Jack?”

“Because blue is a sad color, I think. And also when my daddy is sad he plays music he calls blues.”

“And why have you been feeling  sad,  Jack?”

“I don’t want to say it in front of my daddy, he says I have to be strong.” The little boy covered his face with his hands, in shame. You turned to look at his father in concern and he was just as ashamed as his son.

“Sweetie, if you want you can tell me in secret but you can also share it with your father because above all people, you should trust him to know how you feel.” Your tone was soft and tender, your focus only on the blond child sitting in front of you. “Or you can talk about happiness while you think about how you want to share the sadness.” You finally see a smile form in the little guy’s face. 

“Yes!” He yelled. “I am happy because you’re my new friend and we paint, and play a lot.”

“Oh, thank you sweetie, I am very happy to be your friend too. And why is happiness pink?”

“Because your backpack is pink! When I see it after school I know it’s going to be a fun day!” He was glowing, making your heart fill with joy. “You go!” 

“Okay, I made surprise, because this whole week I have been surprised with you Jack, because you are so smart, funny and amazing!” Your little friend blushed but quickly turned to his father to hear what his emotion was.

“I did love, because that’s the feeling that floods me when I am with you, and this moment is the most important I’ve had in my week.” 

“Not catching the bad guys?” Jack asked, excited.

His father moved his head from side to side with a smile, giving him an answer.

“Now, would you like to share why you have been feeling sad, buddy?”

“I miss my mommy” The little boy dropped his head to the table and you could swear your heart had been smashed. You looked at his father to handle it, but by the look of his face he wasn’t anywhere near to do so.

“Thank you very much for sharing this with us, Jack, is there anything we can do to make you feel better?” You ask. Jack said yes with his head and raised his arms in a hug. His father was quick to raise him in his arms in a tight hug. A tear rolled down your boss’ cheek when he mouthed ´thank you´ to you in complete silence.

“Thank you, that would be all for today” He dismissed you as he took off his jacket, but before you could turn away little Jack took his hand, guiding him a few steps from you.

***

“Daddy, I need to tell you a secwet ” 

Mr. Hotchner gestured for you to wait while he talked to his son, he hunched down to reach his height and the 5 year old leaned to whisper in his father’s ear. Your boss’ face turned from amused to intrigued in seconds while the child eyed you up and down.

“Thank you for sayin that, buddy. Wanna watch some TV while I talk to her?” The little blond kid nodded and walked to the living room. Mr. Hotchner guided you to the kitchen to talk, but you already knew what this was about the second he leaned against the door frame, locking you inside. “Jack says you cried today” folding his arms on his chest.

“I can explain.”

“I certainly hope so.”

“Well, uh, today when I went to pick Jack from school the teacher said his grandfather had already picked him up.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” Even though his voice was lower, he was speaking louder to you, rougher. His shoulders seemed to grow wider and his height taller.

“Sir.” You warned him, “I decided to check first and panic later, which was not necessary because Jack was actually with his grandfather.” You gave him his scolding tone back and saw how his shoulders went back to its original size.

“You should have called me.” He stretched his neck sideways, trying to relieve stress.

“Well I didn’t” you crossed your arms and turned away from him, tears pricking your eyes again. You heard him sigh.

“And then what?” 

“Well I drove to his house.” Your voice was shaking. “And he said a lot of things.” 

Mr. Hotchner said your name in a slow whisper, giving you the courage to look back at him.

“He said horrible things, sir.” Tears were already scrolling down your face and any signs of anger on him disappeared. “It’s not even worth saying them again.” 

He strode closed, “I’d like to know, please.” He raised his palms to your elbows but never actually touched you. He just stood there, in front of you, with his arms stretched to hug you but without the courage to do so.

“He said” you finally met his gaze, “that you… killed her?” A sob left your mouth at the sole repetition. “Is that…?” You couldn’t finish the question. He never had told you exactly what happened to Jack’s mom, he said she had been murdered while Jack was in the house, only that.

“No.” He turned away, “Of course I didn’t do it.” He kept moving his head sideways, almost obsessively, as if he was trying to convince himself as well. “It was a serial killer. He offered me a deal, not to go after him and he would not kill while I lived, but I declined it. I thought myself better, smarter, and I wasn’t responsible enough to take the necessary security measures.” He took a deep breath and you continued crying.

”is he in jail?”

”no.”

You gasped, “so he is still out there?”

“No.” One of his hand raised to massage his eyes in circular motions, “I killed him.”

Your entire body froze at the confession, alarms were flashing inside your head, warning you all the possible trauma that Jack might be suffering because of this. This was much more problematic that “his mother was murdered” as Mr. Hotchner said in your interview.

“Sir, that’s-“

“I know.” He returned to his initial position against the door. “What else did Jack’s grandfather say?”

“Well he insisted that I wasn’t a pedagogue, that I was with you” you turned down again, embarrassed, “so that I would be next.” 

“Did Jack hear any of this?” 

“No.” 

“Good. The first part, he,” he took a deep breath, “believes it is my fault, he thinks my mistakes are what pulled the trigger.” He was looking away, avoiding eye contact. “For the second, I apologize.” 

“Sir, don’t” now you wanted to comfort him, “why haven’t you put him to a stop?”

“Maybe because I think he is right.” He looked down and that was all you needed to round his chest with your arms, pulling him into a hug, his head falling to your shoulder.

“He is not” you repeated slowly while your fingers ran through his hair.

***

Were the clues I didn’t see?

Your boss had let you know he’d be coming home later than usual and requested you to stay home with Jack. Since this had turned out to be an usual request, you always had an extra change of clothes, pajamas and all the basic beauty products in your car.

So after you had dinner with Jack, left some for his father and got him to bed, you headed to the bathroom to get yourself ready to sleep.

You turned the tv on and chose a documentary in the Discovery Channel to lull yourself, after a few minutes you were fast asleep.

The keys didn’t wake you up, neither did the door opening nor the man walking in. Not even him turning off the tv. What woke you up was his judging stare or at least that’s what you woke up to.

“Jeez, Mr. Hotchner, you scared me. What time is it?” You said, sitting in one movement, with your eyes still sleepy.

“It’s 2:30 am. What if I was a murderer?” He asked, and maybe it’s because you were sleepy but you think he was teasing.

“I’m sorry, I was so tired, I couldn’t stay awake for long after putting Jack to bed.” You kept apologizing for… sleeping? At night? Like a human being? 

“No need to apologize, go back to it. I’m sorry I woke you up.” 

“No, sir, I should get home.” You stood up fast to get out of his scrutinous eyes but you were still sleepy so you ended up stumbling on your boss’ chest. His hands secured you by your shoulders. Your eyes automatically raised to his and for a few seconds you allowed yourself to admire him. Gosh, he was so handsome. He raised an eyebrow and that was your cue to stop staring.

“Careful, you can’t drive like this.” You’d swear his voice had dropped an octave. “Sit for a few minutes”

“Yes, sir.” You sat back down, your cheeks felt hot with embarrassment. He walked out of the living room.

“Do you always stay on the couch?” He asked from the kitchen. You didn’t have the courage to look back yet.

“Yes.” 

“Even when I leave for several days?” 

“Yes.”

“You shouldn’t. Sleep in my bed next time, please.” You finally turned your head to see him, shook by what he had asked you.

“Sir, I don’t think that’s appropriate.” You quickly answered.

“Why not? There’s nobody else there. I don’t see why you would neglect a perfectly comfortable bed when nobody else is using it. I need you to rest so you can take care of my child.” His tone was scolding, he sounded like he was talking about something serious, not asking you to sleep on his bed.

“Understood.” You limited to answer and stood up from the couch without losing eye contact with your boss. Or at least enough to see him scan your whole body in seconds and you felt nothing but shame.

There he was, with his pristine suit, tailored head to toe while you wore pink booty short pajamas. You started to fold the covers on the couch to distract yourself from him. Although you couldn’t, you wish you had stayed seated to avoid him seeing you like this. He must think you're a simple, immature woman. He must be the type to like lingerie for pajamas, not the Walmart 2x1 100% cotton promos.

You were lost in your own thoughts of how must be the woman he likes, how well he must treat women, fantasizing of your boss like a man, for once, when his voice interrupted your train of thought.

“Aren’t you cold?” 

“Mm?” You railed out.

“Aren’t you cold? It has been snowing lately.”

“No, not really. The heating system is enough. I'll change so I can go home for the night, excuse me.” And so you walked through the room to the bathroom.

“I’mma go home, Mr. Hotchner, have a good night.” He was still in the kitchen when you were leaving, you got your backpack without looking back and headed to the door.

“Good night”

You opened the door but he called your name before you could be out.

“Yeah?” You turned back to see him.

“Text when you’re home so I know you’re safe.”

“Sure, Mr. Hotchner, good night.”

***

“Is this yours?” Mr. Hotchner asked you, holding a hoodie in between his fingers. Jack was already asleep and you were gathering your stuff to leave for the day after one of your boss’ three day work trips.

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry.” You quickly grabbed it, blushing. You had forgotten it in the bathroom after your morning shower.

“Did you go to Georgetown?” He pointed at the hoodie. Casual conversation wasn’t usual with him, so his question took you out of your concentration.

“Oh, no.” You scoffed, “I was a barista in Georgetown. Getting discounted coffee to the guys in the souvenir store got me some stuff.” He smiled. “You didn’t know? I thought the FBI knew even my high school hobbies.” You teased as you finished folding your clothes in your backpack at the end of the couch.

“Yeah, right, cheerleading and making out with the quarterback?” He teased back with a side smirk that melted your insides, walking to you. You laughed.

“What gave me up? The reading club or the academic scholarship?” You asked, giggling. He smiled, coming to sit next to your backpack, looking up to you.

“I never actually searched you in the FBI database.” 

“What a hustle!” You fake mocked, “what if I was a murderer?” You repeated his question from days before. He smiled again.

“I would’ve known,” he nodded with a confident smirk.

“How?” You put your backpack on the floor and sat next to him.

“I’m very good at my job.” He scanned your face thoroughly, his smile nowhere to be found.

“Oh, really?” You asked, your gaze lost on his lips and how his tongue came out and licked them.

“Yeah” he swallowed, nervous.

“What am I thinking, then?” Your voice was merely a whisper, the tension in the air had gotten the best of you, the logical side of your brain nowhere to be found. His eyes had never been that dark, traveling between your own and your lips.

“That is very late,” he took a deep breath, “and I should” his eyes closed and you bit your lower lip in anticipation as he leaned closer to you when his phone rang. He jumped off his seat in a second.

“Hotchner.” 

You stood up to grab your backpack and head for the door when he lifted a hand motioning you to hold.

“I’m on my way” He said, closing the flip phone. “I have to go back, do you mind staying? I can call a co-worker if you need to leave, he can stay with her husband.” He asked you, taking off his jacket.

“No, it’s ok.” 

“Thanks. I’ll take a shower and go, please feel free to go to sleep.” And with that he disappeared in the bathroom.

***

“Hotch” his voice resonated through the line, manly and powerful. Made your mouth water, honestly.

“Hey, Mr. Hotchner, I’m sorry to bother you-“

“It’s not a bother,” he interrupted you, “you can call me anytime. Is everything ok?”

“It is, but Jack had a bit of a breakdown today and I think we should talk about it.” 

“How is he now? Do you need me to be there?” He was concerned.

“No, no, he is good. I calmed him down and lulled him to a nap. I’ll text you recommendations on how to behave tonight according to how I see him when he wakes up.”

“Thank you. Let’s have brunch tomorrow while he is at school, 1 o'clock is ok?”

“Perfect.”

“He misses his mom, of course.” You started to explain once you both got your coffees and had exchanged the usual courtesies. He didn’t seem surprised at all by your discovery. “But he says some boy at school told him he can have a new mommy.” You repeated the exact words Jack had said the day before. Mr. Hotchner seemed to be confused. 

“How?”

“His daddy needs to pick him a new mommy. And Jack is upset that his daddy hasn’t done it because he doesn’t have time.” You finished explaining but the gears in his head were still working.

“A step mother?” He finally asked with his usual eyebrow up.

“I think—yeah.” You took a sip of coffee to let the idea sink in.

“I… okay.” He finally said something. His whole face was a puzzle, he was evaluating the options. For once he had more questions than answers. “Should I… get him one?” It was absurd to even ask.

“Look, I definitely cannot tell you what to do, and your dating life is none of my business but as your son’s nanny I would strongly advise you not to introduce anybody to him until you’re very certain of the relationship.” You gather the courage to say.

“So I shouldn’t hurry to find someone?” 

“No, Mr. Hotchner. Jack needs to know that he won’t have another mom, that he already has one. But he has to understand and grieve the death of his mother. As painful and horrendous as it is.” You saw his eyes fill with water at your words. He only nodded in response.

“He will be okay, he is a smart kid and has a loving father helping him in the way.” You gave him a smile and he mimicked one.

“I wish I was around more often.” He took a sip of coffee. “You’re real wise for your age, uh” He sounded amused and scolded at the same time.

“I’m not as young as I’d like to, though”

“Do you mind me asking?”

“Not at all, I’ll be 32 this year, I’m getting old.”

“Oh, I wish I was 32 again. So young, full of hope.” He was glowing, a half smile formed on his lips.

“Well, if I’mma age like you, I shouldn’t be worried.” Oh, shit, you said it. A blush creeped your face the moment you realized and apparently his too. “Oh, my god, I’m so sorry, Mr. Hotch—.”

“Please don’t be.” He cut you off. “Flattery isn’t common in my line of business, I appreciate it.”

“Well, in mine is overly common.” You exaggerated the phrase to lessen the tension.

“Oh, really?” He leaned both of his elbows on the table, amused, “how so?” 

“You do know I do therapies in a clinic, right?” He nodded in response. “Well, there was this one time, I was treating a 10 year old girl for sexual harassment, one day, her father comes to pick her up from the therapy and, in front of her, he just straight out asked me if I was interested in a threesome with his wife!” You blushed at the memory and he laughed. He actually laughed. 

“What did you do?”

“Well I explained to him why his behavior was inappropriate, even more in front of his daughter, and transferred the girl to another therapist. A forty something year old partner, so even if they dare to propose to her, I doubt she’ll have the libido for it.”

“Hey, be careful there.” He actually commanded you and damn it was hot. His phone rang once. You showed him your hands in surrender.

“Hotchner.” You looked at your watch, you had to pick up Jack in 20 minutes. “I’m on my way.” And he closed his phone. “I’m sorry I have to go.”

“It’s ok, so do I.”

After paying the bill, he walked you to your car like the gentleman he is. He even opened your door once you turned off the alarm.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Hotchner.” You said to him from inside your car.

“Nothing to thank me for, and please call me Aaron.” He stated before closing the door and sending you a wink.

***

Isn’t it just so pretty to think

It was a Saturday night, you were getting drinks with your friends when you got a phone call, you answered to your full name being called on the line.

“Hello, sir.” You said with a smile.

“Is that the hot guy?” Your friend asked next to you. You shushed her.

“It’s my employer.”

“Good to know” you heard him chuckle through the words.

“I’m sorry, I have very nosy friends, Mr. Hotchner. How can I help you? Is everything alright?”

“Yes, I’m sorry to interrupt but I have an emergency call and I need you to come stay the night. If you’re busy or… intoxicated, I can call someone else.”

“No, there’s no need. I’m the designated driver. I can be there in 30 minutes, is that ok?”

Your friends booed you until you agreed to pay for the next two rounds. 

When you arrived it was nearly 3 am and he was already in his usual perfect suit.

“Nice outfit” he said the minute you got inside, eyeing up and down your mini black dress and heels.

“Thanks. Likewise.” You made a mock reverence with a smirk, earning a soft smile on his lips.

“Do you have a change of clothes?” He asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I always carry some essentials,” you pointed at your backpack, “just in case.” 

“Well if there’s anything you can use from either mine or Jack’s closet, please take it.” He said as he walked to the door.

“Thanks, sir. If I’m ever in need of a Gucci tie and a spiderman shirt I won’t hesitate.” Your tease didn’t go unnoticed since the edges of his lips curved upwards.

“It was a gift” he quickly justified, smiling.

“Of course” you kept your smug face.

“From a friend.” He was clearly amused by the exchange.

“I need one of those.” You closed your arms on your chest. 

“I can introduce him to you.” 

“Is he single?” 

“Not to you.” 

You gasped in mock surprise, “what does that mean?”

“Sweet dreams.” And with a smile he closed the door.

***

You and Jack were having dinner in your pajamas, you’ve made Mac and Cheese, Jack’s favorite. It was your last night special before his father came back from a trip and would have to go back to regular, healthy dinners.

“Oh, sweetie you’re so sleepy already!” He hadn’t finished his food and he was already falling asleep on the table.

“Can I have some juice?” He asked you, blinking.

“Of course sweetie.” You stood up to grab the bottle of juice from the counter but you didn’t realize Jack was running just behind you, so when you turned back to fill his glass, he crashed against you, throwing juice all over your pajamas.

“I’m sorry!” He screamed.

“Oh, don’t worry, dear. I’ll get cleaned up in a minute.” 

You sent him to bed after he drank his juice, cleaned the kitchen and headed to the master bedroom to take a shower.

Every time you showered in your boss’ bathroom you took your time to satisfy your curiosity smelling his body wash, lotion, shampoo, everything. And this time wasn’t the exception.

Since this was the last night of his trip you had no clean clothes left. So you searched through his drawers for something that could be used as pajamas.

You found an old FBI t-shirt that fitted almost like a dress, in the morning you’d put it in the washing machine as well as the sheets you’d been sleeping in. You’d only washed them on your way out, so you could smell a bit of him every night when you went to bed. Sick? Yeah, you had made your peace with it. That night you slept better than ever, the smell of his clothes relaxed you way past any expectations.

In the morning you got up at 6:30 as usual, to get Jack’s breakfast ready, so you walked to the bathroom to wash your face. When you walked back to the room still half asleep, a voice took your out of your thoughts.

“Nice shirt”

You raised your head to find your boss dropped on the still unmade bed, with half lidded eyes, scanning you, taking extra time on your exposed legs and his t-shirt.

“Good Morning, Mr. Hotchner, last night Jack spilled juice all over my pajamas and I had to borrow—“ He stood up from the bed. “I was gonna wash it along with the sheets—“ He started walking towards you, you were begging your legs to run back to bathroom but your body was numb. “I swear this won’t ever happen again nor it has happened before—“ you were stuttering, covering your mouth in shame. He finally reached you, cornering you to the wall.

“Aaron.” He finally said. “Call me Aaron.” 

His eyes were filled with determination and lust, his hands landed on the wall behind you, just two inches separating your bodies. He was towering, looking down on you like you were the most precious thing he had ever seen.

You scanned him as well, your insides were starting to liquify at his smell. He was still in his suit pants and shirt, he had lost the blazer and tie, the first three buttons were undone, giving him a domestic look and your mouth watered at the sight.

“Understood?” He kept you trapped. 

“Understood.” You said with a knot on your throat. You swallowed, your breathing was strong and agitated, maybe he could even hear your heartbeat.

He tilted his head down to you, his eyes closed like he was focused. Although his expression was of a man in pain. When he was just a few centimeters from you, he took a deep breath and pushed himself away.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what I was thinking. That was inappropriate, please forgive me.” He walked out of the room before he could finish talking.

Once you gathered enough courage, you walked out straight to the washing machine to put the sheets and tshirt.

“Good morning, boss.” You limited to say when you saw him cooking breakfast with the corner of your eyes.

“Don’t boss me, I think of me as an employer rather than a boss, wouldn’t you agree?” His tone was as serious as always. Back to normal.

“What’s the difference?”

“First off, I don’t pay your taxes. And second, I am not a real authority to you.” He was measuring your body language with the corner of his eyes.

“I think you’re authority enough.” You set the machine and turned your body fully to him to show authority as well.

“I wash them every sunday” He said while cutting ham and cheese.

“I don’t wash them because I think they are dirty.”

“Then why?” He was honestly confused.

“Because I don’t think you should sleep in sheets that somebody else has slept on.”

“Do you wash them when you arrive?” He asked.

“No.”

“Why? Somebody has slept on them.” He kept preparing an omelet.

“Because I don’t care” 

“Neither do I”

“Sir, I don’t think it’s appropriate to sleep in the same sheets as your kid’s nanny.” You used the m tone you use to explain things to children.

“But is it appropriate for my nanny to sleep on my sheets?” Well you weren’t ready for that knock out.

“You’re right, sir. I will bring my own from tomorrow on.” 

“I didn’t mean that.” he quickly tried to fix it. “You can use mine, I don’t mind. I just don’t want to be doubling the work.” He tilted his head, explaining.

“Don’t worry, I’ll bring my own and leave your bed ready for you when you get back.” You didn’t even turn to look at him.

“Hey, about this morning, I’m sorry. I was out of the line, I don’t want to make excuses but I am really tired, and—“ this time you interrupted him.

“Don’t worry, sir.—“

“Aaron” he corrected you.

“I understand. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.” You sent a subtle tease.

A devilish grin played on his face. 

“How do you want your omelet?” He asked, blushed.

“Don’t bother, I’ll have breakfast at home.” You grabbed your backpack and left.

***

It was around 10:00 pm, you were working on some other kids files when the door opened. Your legs were extended on the couch, your back leaning on the armrest and you were wearing glasses. This was not a position where you wanted to be found by your boss, even less now. In the last few days you have been avoiding him as much as possible, despite whatever your feelings were, you knew he was vulnerable and probably misinterpreting your presence.

At the end, he was still a parent for a kid you were treating and any complaint of him could take out of business really fast.

“Hello, Mr. Hotchner.” 

“Hey” He left his briefcase on the couch and headed to his son’s bedroom, as always. From the hallway he called you “Please wait, I need a word.” After he gave Jack his goodnight kiss, he came back to the couch and sat on the other end.

“How is he doing?” He took off his jacket, threw it away and started to loosen his tie. What a sight for sore eyes.

“Better, I believe. He talks about his feelings way more, that’s good.”

“Jessica comes back next week.” He completely took off his tie and now was unbuttoning the neck of his shirt.

“About that, would you like me to still treat Jack after that?” 

He raised his shoulders in answer, unbuttoning the cuffs.

“Do you think he needs to?” He asked you while he folded up the cuffs.

“It’s your son, Mr. Hotchner. This is a choice you should take, with him, of course.” 

He let himself relax on the couch, dropping his body completely.

“I have no idea.” He breathed out. He was exhausted. “How do you see him?”

“I think his trauma is far from healing, he is barely getting close to it, but he is starting to talk about it.” A light snore came from Jack’s bedroom interrupting you.

“Come closer” Your boss gestured with a hand to the space between you. You scrunch your legs to a butterfly position, causing you to be seated next to him. “Go on.” He rested his head on the pillow, closed his eyes and fully extended his legs from the couch to the rug beneath it. Knowing he wasn’t looking, you took your chance to stare at his face, how different he  looked relaxed in opposition to what he usually looks. Just as handsome.

“I don’t want this to sound like I want to keep him forever, although I would like to” a smile escaped the corner of his lips, “but I think it’s important that he talks to a professional. It can be me, or it can be a therapist, whoever you want, but please, please, don’t let this golden heart child become a traumatized, hurt, misunderstood adult.” Your tone reflected all the love and care you felt for this kid, and he realized. He turned his head to you with eyes opened. Took your hand and led it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on your knuckles.

“You’re an angel.”

***

“Hello?” You answered the phone to hear your full name on the other line in the voice of your employer. “Hey, Mr. Hotchner.” He was on a work trip and would be returning this afternoon, or at least that’s what he said yesterday.

“Are you still going to the wedding?” He asked. Earlier this week you explained to him you had a very important wedding to attend and kindly asked him to be home Friday night so you’d be able to go, request that he only answered by questioning if the said wedding was your own otherwise he could not promise anything.

“Umm, I guess that’s really up to you, sir.” You heard him clear his throat through the line.

“Do you have a date?” You panicked, absolutely panicked. Your cheeks flushed and were thankful to be over the phone and not face to face. He said your name in a questioning manner to get an answer.

“Uh, no, I mean—“ you swallowed, “I do have an extra ticket but no, no date.”

“I think I can fix that, if you let me” he was teasing. Your whole body was melting over this man’s voice and Jack’s eyes looked at you with concern. “There’s someone who I think would like to go with you, if that’s okay with you…” 

“But, um, who’s gonna—“ take care of Jack? You wanted to say, but your mouth was dry and your throat was closed.

“He’s a nice looking fella, I’d say, for his age.” You could practically hear his smile. ‘You don’t have to compensate yourself, you are a work of art!’ Your mind was shouting while your heart pounded inside your chest in anticipation. “So, what do you say?”

“I would love to” you managed to say.

“Thank you.” He sighed. “Due to bad weather that’s the only way I think you’ll make it to the wedding, we are flying in the morning. I think there’s a tuxedo somewhere in his closet—“ He kept baffling and you were having trouble understanding.

“Jack?” You asked, looking over your little friend. And it all made sense now.

“Yes” You could hear a small laugh, “who else would it be?” 

“Of course, I’ll get this guy handsome and ready. Thank you, sir.” You tried to brush off the disappointment, but also your expectations.

“It’s Aaron.” 

“Have a safe flight.” And you closed your phone feeling like an idiot.

***

That all along there was some invisible string

“Daddy, can I have a girlfriend?” Jack asked as you and him finished making dinner. The early arrival of your boss that night had taken you by surprise and had no other option but to ask him to ‘help’ but he only leaned against the counter, rolling up his sleeves while you two cooked.

“Mmm” Aaron looked at the kid analyzing him, “why do you want to have a girlfriend?” 

Jack shrugged.

“He asked me that earlier today and I said that was something he should ask his father.” You explained.

“I think you should have a girlfriend whenever you meet a girl who you want her to be your girlfriend. Or a boy, doesn’t matter.” 

Jack seemed to think about his father’s answer for a minute, then he looked up to you.

“I want you to be my girlfriend!” He smiled and you could not help but laugh. You lifted him, sitting him on the counter next to his dad.

“I can’t be your girlfriend, I’m too old for you.”

“Buddy, rule number one, you gotta ask her if she already has a boyfriend.” Aaron leaned to say near Jack’s ear, smiling at you.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Jack asked you.

“Or girlfriend.” His father instructed.

“Or girlfriend?” 

You laughed, “no.”

“Then you can be my daddy’s girlfriend!” His smile grew wider while his father blushed.

“Jack” He tried to stop him, laughing.

“He thinks you’re pretty.”

“You little traitor!” He lifted the kid and threw him on his shoulder, Jack’s laugh filled the house as his father faked-wrestled him, taking him to the couch. A few minutes later, Aaron returned, flushed and with a thin layer of sweat on his face, “these kids uh? Say the craziest of things.”

You bit your lower lip to hide your smile.

***

The final day came.

You said your goodbyes to Jack after a whole month of being his best friend. He cried, of course, so did you. You promised to visit his aunt Jessica once a week to play together, you promised him to be friends forever. You hugged him till he fell asleep in your arms, while his dad observed in silence.

You left him on his bed, kissed his forehead and walked out holding your own tears.

“Thank you” He said while he walked you to your car.

“Anytime, and really, if you ever need any help with that little guy, please call me. I adore him.”

“I know. And it’s mutual, I see.” He smiled.

“Yeah, I guess we were kinda meant to meet.” You joked. “Did you think about whether or not I will keep on treating him?” You asked, leaning on your car’s capo to make some time. He took a deep breath, so you knew it was bad news. You were already nodding before he said a thing.

“I think therapy would be better, he just loves you too much.” 

“No, I agree.” You looked down to hide your disappointment. “Well, thank you, Mr. Hotchner–”

“Wait.” He turned the alarm of his car off, opened the passenger door and took out a gift bag that then handed to you. “I got you something, for, well, all the help.”

“Oh” you smiled, “you really didn’t have to buy me anything.”  You grabbed it shyly.

“Actually, I didn’t” A half smile adorned his face.

You opened the bag to find the FBI shirt you had worn as pajamas that one time. A full smile formed on your lips.

“Thank you, I love it.” When you raised your sight to him, he was beaming.

“Looks better on you, anyway.” You blushed at the comment.

“Thank you.” 

He opened the door of your car and you walked towards it.

“If you’re not treating my kid anymore, can I ask you out sometime?” He asked while still holding the door for you. You blushed and smiled at the question.

“Sir, I–” 

“Aaron.” He corrected you yet again.

“Would love to, Aaron .” You said his name, like an experiment on your mouth.

“Will you add me to your list of perverts?” He teased.

“That is completely up to you” You teased back.

“I take the challenge.”��

You got inside the car and he closed the door sending you a cheeky wink.

Tying you to me

[ssaaaronmontgomery]

dbf!hotch +corruption kink 😫😫

Corrupting You

Warnings: Smut themes but no real smut, mentions of Aaron masturbating but not described, age gap (both consenting adults), dbf!hotch, corruption kink/innocence kink, reader wears a short skirt? figured I would include it in case, making out, Aaron has dirty thoughts about reader. I think that is everything but let me know if I missed any!

Word count: 1.3k

Pairing: dbf!hotch x fem!reader

A/n: Yes please 🤭. I was originally going to make this a thoughts post, then it was a blurb, and now it is a fic. Oh well 🤷. Enjoy <3.

Forever tags: @greg-montgomery @boredelle @hotchsdoormat @ssahotchnerr @criminalskies @beardedhotchh @hotchnerbau @ssamorganhotchner @mrs-ssa-hotch @canuck-eh @luvehotch @callm3c0nfus3d @ivyflowers13 @xgreysiconss

Hotch tags: @14buddy22 @htchnr

Tags for this specific post: @anninhaaagomes16 @bernelflo @ssamorganhotchner @kiwriteswords @actualdeemon @ebonynextdoor @amaranthines @queenofvelaris @bringmeanangel @rhineztonepearlz @child-of-the-amis @mrs-ssa-hotch

Let me know if you want to be added to my tags 🫶

*NSFW MDNI*

He has always noticed how innocent you seem to be. The way you dress leaves a lot to the imagination and that's where he starts. He gifts you something for Christmas. It's a skirt, but god is it short. He gives it to you privately, pretending he forgot about it until then. You had walked him out to his car and now he's giving it to you.

"Oh, here. I forgot about this one. Open it." He hands it to you and you look excited to see what else your secret crush and father's best friend has given you.

You're shocked when you open it because it's not what you had expected to find. It's...going to be revealing. That's for sure.

"I just thought it would look nice on you, princess." He winks when he says it. His voice, the words, the wink...all make you want to wear it for him. Even though it's far from your usual attire.

You wore it to his place once so that you could show him how cute it was on you and how much you ended up liking it. You had thanked him for it again and he warned you about where you wear it out to, like wearing it out to bars. He told you that you should be prepared to be hit on quite a few times if you ever decided to wear it to a place like that. You took that advice and filed it away. He wasn't sure if you realised just how good you look in it because you seemed a little naive and diffident about what he said. He had called you beautiful and you waved him off and shook your head a little, a 'thank you' leaving you again but it wasn't real like the one from before.

The next time is a movie night. Your parents have gone to bed, telling you both to finish the movie and then fill them in on how it ends another time. Aaron takes the opportunity to move closer and sit right beside you. His hand finds its home on your clothed thigh. You're still dressing fairly modest most of the time, though that skirt did make you expand your wardrobe a little more.

"Hi princess. You like the movie so far?" His hand kneads your flesh, and your cheeks start to feel warm. He smiles at you, bringing the same hand up to brush the back of his finger over your cheek before rubbing his thumb over your lips.

"Y-yeah. Mhm. I am. It's...it's good." You stumble over your words a little bit, holding eye contact with Aaron. He tries not to, but he lets his thumb slide between your lips just barely. He wants you. Badly. But he holds back. He knows how innocent you are. He knows you don't really have any experience. You told him how you had never kissed anyone before and how bummed you were. You felt so far behind. He would love to help you out though.

"Princess? Have you still been waiting for your first kiss?" He asks, staring at your lips as he removes his thumb. Your eyes are slightly wide. You look so perfect. A little dazed and confused and shocked. You nearly had his finger in your mouth. You are already feeling foggy.

"W-what did you say? I'm sorry, my brain is...it's...not working."

The smirk that comes over his face when you admit that you can't even think now. He loves it. He loves how just the smallest thing can make your mind go blank. You really are starved from so much. So much that he could give you. So much that he craves to give you.

"It's okay, princess. I asked if you're still waiting to have your first kiss. Are you?"

You nod a little dumbly. You can't stop glancing between his eyes and his lips. He notices it like he notices everything else. He knows what you're thinking right now. You want him to kiss you. You've wanted that for a really really long time actually. He cups the side of your face with his hand.

"Do you want me to help you, sweetheart? I have thought about it a lot and I am sure you have too. I would love to...teach you." Corrupt you is more like it. And corrupt you is exactly what he does.

He does kiss you, once you tell him that he can, and it immediately feels like there are fireworks going off in your head and beneath your burning skin. The second his lips are on yours you both know that you will never want another person to be the one kissing you.

It's soft and tentative at first. He's testing it out just like you are. He knows what he's doing, he's done it plenty of times, but he's also trying to let you explore at your own pace. He wants to make sure you feel like you can back out if you change your mind at first which is part of why he is holding back a lot right now.

You hand eventually comes up to his cheek just like how he has been holding yours. He takes that as his sign to deepen it a little bit and he kisses you just slightly harder and you return it with more certainty in your own movements. Aaron lets his tongue slip into your mouth and it presses into yours, causing a small squeak to escape your throat.

He chuckles a little bit and his hand moves to the back of your head to keep you there, right where he wants you. Moments later he can hear and feel you moaning against his mouth and his other hand squeezes your thigh before coming up to hold the side of your head, thumb absentmindedly rubbing against your temple once his hand finds its place.

He eventually pulls away to let you catch your breath. You're panting and squirming a little, he knows that you are feeling the heat grow between your thighs and he smirks slightly at the sight of you. Lips puffy and red, pupils dilated, lids heavy, and body shifting in an attempt to ease the aching feeling that he wishes he could satisfy for you right now.

"How was that for a first kiss, sweetheart? Did it meet your expectations?"

"Y-yes, it did. It... passed my expectations actually. It was even better than I had ever imagined. Thank you, Aaron." You swallow hard and you keep trying to steady yourself. He'll have to teach you to breathe through your nose at some point, and not just for kissing.

He likes knowing that you've imagined it, because he knows that you've thought about kissing him at some point. He likes that once he finally kissed you, no matter who you have dreamed of kissing, he is the one that really did it and he is the one that passed your expectations of what a good first kiss would be.

"You don't need to thank me, princess. It was my pleasure to be your first kiss." It would be his pleasure to be your first for a lot of other things too, but those can wait. For now, he is content with just having you wrapped tightly around his finger.

He is already planning out how to corrupt you further. How he'll teach you to suck on him but first start out with having you suck on his fingers before letting you advance to his cock that he has stroked to the thought of your innocent self so many times. How he'll teach you to touch yourself to the thought of him, an older man and family friend that wants to defile you in so many ways you could never even imagine. And how he'll take you for the first time, completely corrupting you in the process and making it impossible for you to ever want another person because you'll be his and you'll crave him in the same nasty ways that he already wants you.

[sweethotchlogy]

You Care too explain? A.H

I thought this was cute idea wanted to write it hopefully you like it. :)

In which : Aaron is gone away from home more often than he care to admit but when he does make it home he finds a sweet letter from Reader that gets to him ..

Paring : Fem!reader X SoftAaron Hotchner

Content: Angst/Comfort/Fluff

Warnings: Hotch is gone a lot away from home but when he does come back he gets a cute letter from reader Comfort no use of your name .

WC: 445

@zaddyhotch @ssamorganhotchner @hoe4hotchner @hotchs-big-hands @ssaaaronmontgomery

@kiwriteswords this one for you my friend

Aaron’s eyes flickered to the letter lying on the kitchen counter. The envelope, handwritten and delicate, caught his attention. The words on the front were simple but filled with emotion, I see you in everything I love. I wish you were here. He felt a pang of longing. He missed you more than he’d admit.

He stood still for a moment, considering the note in his hands, before walking toward your shared bedroom. There, you were, peacefully asleep in bed, unaware of the weight the letter carried in his hand. The soft hum of the night surrounded him, but there was something lingering in his mind. It was you. It always was.

He gently approached the bed, kneeling beside it, the letter still in his grasp. His voice was soft but laced with curiosity.

"Honey, care to enlighten me about this?" he asked, holding the letter out to you.

You stirred, your eyes slowly opening, the comfort of sleep still clinging to you. For a moment, you didn’t speak, just staring at him with a mixture of longing and guilt.

You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes. “I just wanted you to read it,” you said quietly, your voice thick with emotion.

“No,” Hotch replied, his voice firm yet tender. “I need you to tell me.”

He waited, his gaze soft but penetrating, as if searching for something in the depths of your heart. The room felt quieter, the distance between you two more palpable than ever.

You hesitated for a moment, before speaking again, your voice barely a whisper. “I miss you so much, Aaron. Every part of me craves your touch, your presence... everything about you makes it worth the wait. The distance... it hurts. And sometimes, I feel like I’m holding on by just a thread.”

Hotch’s heart softened at your words. His jaw clenched for a brief moment before he placed the letter down on the nightstand. Reaching out, he cupped your cheek, his thumb gently brushing away a stray tear you hadn’t even noticed had fallen.

“I know, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I feel it too. More than you know.”

He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering there. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a promise. A promise that no matter how far apart you were, he'd always be there when you needed him. Always.

But as he held you, you couldn’t stop the overwhelming emotion from flooding you. Tears began to fall again, uncontrollable. They streamed down your face, each one carrying all the pain of the time spent apart, the longing for him, the uncertainty.

Hotch’s heart ached at the sight. Without hesitation, he reached out, his hand gently wiping the tears away from your cheeks. His touch was warm and steady, a comfort even in the midst of your pain.

"Hey, I got you," he murmured, his voice low but filled with certainty. "I'm here."

You shook your head slightly, the sadness clouding your thoughts. You barely whispered, almost to yourself, "But for how long?"

His expression softened, and he pulled you closer, his strong arms enveloping you. "For as long as you need me, sweetheart," he promised, his voice steady, though there was a quiet vulnerability in it that betrayed the depth of his feelings.

"I’m not going anywhere," he added, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head, holding you tight against him as if to prove his words were more than just comforting, but an unbreakable truth.

In that moment he was all you needed and that was all that mattered…

[solardrop]

sentences sunday

tagged by @honestlydarkprincess !! This is from a wip that is so old. I've had it since last august I really have no faith in myself to actually finish it. But if i keep posting bits of it maybe I will two years from now

It's hotch x lawyer!reader in a second chance/friends with benefits kind of situation!

1989 You throw your slipper at the lanky man sprawled out on your carpet. He doesn’t even flinch. The coin flipping between his fingers continues its path. “Aaron David Hotchner, get out of my house!” you groan “That’s not my middle name,” he whines “And this is an apartment.” You roll your eyes. He’s been here for weeks. Leaving your place after both of you celebrated acceptance into GW’s law program, only for him to show up hours later red eyed and disheveled. You were trying to be a good friend. But you needed your space back. In the time he’s been there he’s eaten through almost half of your food budget for the semester.  “Yes. An apartment much like your own. Across town.” “Are you kicking me out?” “Yes!” “But I’m heartbroken.” “It’s been 3 weeks. Move on. You’re eating all my food and taking all my clothes.” You lean over him and yank at the hem of his sweatshirt — your sweatshirt — for emphasis. He sits up abruptly, almost bumping your heads together as he stands to pace around your bedroom.  You plop yourself down on your bed with a huff, tracking his movements across the room. He stops in front of you and you cheer internally, readying yourself to show him the exit. Only for him to yank the navy blue sweatshirt off, exposing his lower stomach and waist to you briefly, before chucking the thick fabric on your bed.

tagging a random few but no pressure!

@aureatelys @kiwriteswords @sincerelybubbles @cerisereids @mariasont

[mariasont]

i have a 5000 word fic cooking about bimbo reader x aaron’s first time & im no where close to done LOLOL

but i am having so much fun with it hahahaha i cannot wait to share it with u all

also everyone say thank u to the most wonderful @kiwriteswords & @minswriting for requesting & helping my creative juices flow hehehe

❤️‍🔥💖✨💓❤️‍🔥

[kiwriteswords]

Because You're Just a Man [Aaron Hotchner x Reader]

Masterlist (updated!!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 10k|| AN: Who's going to explain to my boss that seeing this prompt caused me to get ZERO work done today. I'm getting more comfortable with writing smut again and this was honestly my favorite piece I have ever written so far! Also! Thank you for the encouragement on my original post @honeypiehotchner @ssamorganhotchner and @hoe4hotchner <3 Tags/Warnings: female reader, mdni, canon typical themes, sexual themes, flirting, hotch and reader pushing each others limits, jealous!Hotch, simp!Hotch, unprotected sex, horny hotch, horny reader, provoking hotch hours. Summary: Based on the prompt from @urfriendlywriter: "You're making it really hard to be a gentleman right now."

The hum of the BAU office felt different at night--quieter, but still charged with the weight of unfinished cases and the scent of stale coffee.

It was late, most of the team had already left, and the bullpen was washed in the dim glow of desk lamps and the occasional flicker of the overhead fluorescents. You sat at your desk, typing halfheartedly on your laptop, stealing occasional glances at the one person still in the office.

Hotch.

He sat in his glass-walled office, posture perfect as ever, his tie loosened just enough to suggest he’d been at this for hours. His jaw was tight, his fingers moving steadily across reports, and even from here, you could see the muscle in his cheek flex every time he clenched it.

God, he was impossible.

You’d been seeing him--or at least talking about the possibility of seeing him--for weeks now. There had been stolen moments, almost-confessions, a tension so thick between you that even the team had started noticing. But Hotch, ever the professional, ever the stoic leader, hadn’t given you much to go on. A lingering glance? A stray touch? A sharp inhale when you got too close? Sure. But he never acted. Never said anything.

Nothing concrete, anyways. 

And it was starting to drive you insane.

At first, you thought maybe he was just slow to act. That he wanted to be sure. But the more time passed, the more you started to wonder: Was he even attracted to you?

You knew he cared. You’d seen it in the way his eyes lingered when he thought you weren’t looking. In the way he checked in after cases, always ensuring you were okay. But physically? He was impossible to read. He was so composed, so disciplined, that you couldn’t tell if he was holding himself back or if he simply didn’t feel the way you did.

So you decided to test him.

Nothing outrageous, nothing too obvious--just enough to see if you could shake his composure.

You leaned back in your chair, stretching your arms overhead, the hem of your blouse riding up just a fraction. If he was looking, he didn’t show it.

Fine.

You stood slowly, making a deliberate show of gathering your things. You could feel the soft stretch of your pencil skirt as you shifted, the way your blouse clung just right in the low light. You weren’t normally one to be overly conscious of what you wore to work, but tonight? Tonight, you wanted him to notice.

File in hand, you took your time walking toward his office, letting the faint click of your heels punctuate the silence.

He didn’t look up right away, but you knew he knew you were there.

"Still working?" you asked, voice just a little softer than usual.

Hotch finally glanced up, dark eyes flicking to yours before settling back on the paperwork in front of him. "Looks that way." His voice was smooth, measured. Controlled.

You stepped inside, setting the file down on his desk--closer than necessary. Close enough that you could smell the subtle, clean scent of his cologne, something rich and warm beneath the sharpness of his aftershave.

"You should take a break," you mused, tilting your head slightly.

He exhaled slowly through his nose. "I don’t have time for a break."

"Not even for me?" You rested your hand against the edge of his desk, fingers just barely brushing the wood as you leaned in--just enough to make it impossible for him to ignore the proximity.

That did it.

It was quick, almost imperceptible, but you saw it.

The slight shift of his jaw. The way his fingers tightened around his pen just briefly before setting it down.

A rush of satisfaction curled in your stomach.

So, he does notice.

But the moment passes as quickly as it came. Hotch barely spares you another glance, flipping the page of his report with that same unreadable, impassive expression. If he was affected, he sure as hell wasn’t showing it now.

You narrowed your eyes slightly, watching him.

That’s how you want to play it, Hotchner?

Fine.

You could almost see it--the way his mind worked, the methodical discipline he relied on to keep himself locked up tight. He was compartmentalizing. Shoving down whatever impulse had flickered through him the second he caught your scent, or felt the heat of your body just inches from his desk.

He wasn’t indifferent. He was deliberately refusing to acknowledge it.

That realization sent a slow hum of intrigue through you.

This wasn’t going to be as simple as you thought. If you wanted to get a real reaction out of him, you’d have to be smarter about it. Subtler.

You straightened up, deliberately not lingering the way you had been. Let him think you were backing off.

“Don’t work too hard,” you said lightly, turning toward the door.

You swore you felt his eyes on you as you walked away--but when you glanced back, he was already staring at his paperwork again, jaw tight.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

Back at your desk, you settled into your chair and let your fingers drift over your keyboard, not really typing, not really thinking about work anymore. Instead, your mind was spinning, plotting.

What else would get to him?

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of your lips.

You had all the time in the world to figure that out.

oxoxoxoxoxoxox

The conference room was buzzing with low chatter, the sound of files rustling, and the distant whir of the coffee machine in the bullpen. The team was gathering for a briefing, and you were one of the last to arrive, slipping in just as Hotch stood at the head of the table, setting down the case file.

You slid into the chair across from him, casually smoothing the hem of your skirt as you crossed your legs, slow and deliberate.

His gaze flicked up--so brief, so controlled, that anyone else would have missed it. But you didn’t.

Your stomach hummed with satisfaction.

His eyes dropped immediately to the folder in front of him, fingers adjusting his watch before flipping open the case file. His movements were precise, methodical. A man rebuilding his walls, brick by brick.

Good. You weren’t done testing their strength yet.

Morgan and JJ were still chatting, waiting for Garcia to finish setting up, so you leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand, watching Hotch as if you were actually interested in the file he was reading.

“You didn’t go home last night, did you?” you mused.

Hotch’s jaw tightened just slightly. “I was finishing reports.”

You hummed, tilting your head. “Right. That explains why you’re so grumpy today.”

“I’m not grumpy,” he replied, voice smooth, but the way his grip subtly flexed around his pen told you otherwise.

“You kind of are.” You let the amusement curl in your voice. “At least a little.”

His exhale was barely audible, a long, slow breath through his nose. He still wasn’t looking at you, keeping his attention on the paperwork in front of him, but his fingers tightened around his pen just slightly.

You smiled.

And then, because you wanted to see just how much he was holding back, you stretched--a lazy, innocent stretch, your back arching just enough to accentuate your figure, your blouse shifting ever so slightly.

Hotch froze.

Just for half a second.

But it was there.

The slight pause in the movement of his pen. The subtle way his jaw went even tighter. The fraction of a second where his eyes flicked toward you before snapping back to his papers.

You bit back a smirk.

This was working.

You tapped your fingers against the table, feigning nonchalance. “You know, Hotch, if you ever actually relaxed once in a while, I think the world would keep turning.”

His lips parted slightly, as if he was about to respond--but at that moment, Garcia’s voice burst through the moment, her usual chipper tone filling the room.

You didn’t miss the slight tension in Hotch’s shoulders as he very purposefully turned his full attention to the case.

He was trying so hard.

And it was only making you more determined.

xoxoxoxoooxox

The night air in Quantico was thick with humidity, the kind that settled into your skin and made the inside of the BAU feel heavier than usual. It made you wonder if this is where they decided to save bureaucratic dollars, by turning the air conditioner off when people worked after office hours.

Most of the team had already left, the bullpen dimly lit except for the faint glow of desk lamps and the occasional flicker of the coffee machine cycling through its last brew of the night.

Hotch was still in his office, as always.

And you were still here.

At first, your little experiments had been entertaining--a game to see if you could shake his impossible composure, test the limits of his discipline. And while you had noticed the cracks--those fleeting glances, the small shifts in body language--he never let them grow into something more.

And it was starting to piss you off.

It wasn’t as if you expected him to shove the desk between you aside and kiss you breathless (though the thought was an incredibly tempting one). But you needed something. A sign. A confirmation that this thing--this slow, unbearable push-and-pull--wasn’t just in your head.

Because if he wasn’t interested, if all of this was just a cruel trick of your own imagination, then what the hell were you doing?

You pushed away from your desk, snatching up the case file you’d been pretending to work on, and made your way up the stairs to his office.

His door was open, but he was in his usual state of intense focus--pen in hand, elbow resting on the desk, brows drawn together. His sleeves were rolled up now, exposing the lean muscle of his forearms, and his tie was loosened just enough to be tempting.

You leaned against the doorway, tilting your head. “You do realize the case is over, right?”

Hotch didn’t even look up. “Paperwork isn’t.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping inside. “You work too much.”

“I’ve been told.”

There was something infuriating about his ability to stay perfectly neutral. You stepped closer, rounding his desk slightly, just enough to lean against the edge.

Close enough to be impossible to ignore.

“You ever think about taking a break? Doing something fun?”

His eyes flicked up at that--just for a second--but his expression didn’t change. “I have fun.”

You huffed a laugh, crossing your arms. “No, you don’t.”

His lips pressed into a thin line.

You took it further. “When was the last time you let yourself actually relax?”

“I don’t have the luxury of--”

“Oh, come on, Hotch,” you interrupted, frustration leaking into your tone now. “You’re always like this. So composed, so in control.” You leaned in slightly, voice dipping into something just a little more pointed. “So unaffected.”

Something flickered behind his eyes. A warning. A silent caution that you were pushing too hard.

You ignored it.

You tilted your head, considering him, your frustration bubbling into something sharper.

And then, because you couldn’t stop yourself, because you were tired of second-guessing and waiting for something that might not even be there, you let the words slip:

"You must be the most disciplined man on the planet, Hotchner." You let it sit for a beat before adding, deliberately flippant, "Or maybe I’m just not your type."

That did it.

It was instant.

His pen stilled, fingers tightening around it before setting it down with deliberate care. His jaw tensed, the muscle there flickering under the low light. And then--finally--he looked at you.

Not a glance. Not a fleeting acknowledgment.

A look.

Slow. Measured. And dark in a way that made your breath hitch.

For the first time, you felt something shift in the air between you--something crackling, something dangerous.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he leaned back in his chair, rolling his shoulders, his gaze locked onto yours like he was considering his next move. Like he was deciding.

When he finally spoke, his voice was lower than before. “You really think that?”

Your stomach tightened.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance even as your pulse picked up. “Well, I don’t see you proving me wrong.”

His exhale was slow, controlled--like he was reining himself in.

And suddenly, you weren’t sure if you were the one poking him--or if you had just walked straight into something you weren’t ready for.

The room felt smaller.

Hotch hadn’t moved--not an inch. He was still leaning back in his chair, arms resting on the desk, posture as composed as ever. And yet, something had shifted.

Maybe it was in the air between you, thick with unsaid things.

Maybe it was in his eyes--still dark, still unreadable, but no longer distant.

Or maybe it was in the silence, the heavy pause after your words had landed, stretching just long enough for doubt to creep in.

Maybe you were right? Maybe you were wrong? 

"You really think that?"

He repeated. His voice was low, controlled, but there was something new in it. Something deliberate.

You lifted a shoulder in a shrug, determined to keep your ground, even as your heartbeat knocked against your ribs. “Well, again, I don’t see you proving me wrong.”

Hotch inhaled slowly, tilting his head ever so slightly as he studied you.

And then--he smirked.

It wasn’t full, wasn’t obvious, but it was there. The barest hint of amusement curling at the edges of his lips, just enough to make your stomach tighten.

“You’re impatient,” he murmured.

Your brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

He tapped his fingers against the desk once--just once--before leaning forward. Not much, but enough that the shift in proximity sent a shiver down your spine.

"You expect me to react on your timeline," he said, voice smooth, steady. "You think if I don’t, it means I don’t feel it." His eyes flickered over your face, slow and deliberate. "That I don’t want to."

Heat licked up your spine.

His words were careful, calculated--but there was something beneath them. A warning.

Your pulse quickened, but you refused to let him see it. You lifted your chin slightly. "Am I wrong?"

Hotch exhaled sharply, the ghost of a laugh under his breath, before shaking his head.

“No,” he admitted. “But you are underestimating me.”

Your stomach flipped.

You felt the weight of those words, how easily they unraveled the confidence you’d built up.

Underestimating him?

Your lips parted slightly, but before you could speak, he continued, voice dropping just slightly:

“If I wanted to give in, I would have already.”

The sheer certainty in his tone sent a thrill down your spine.

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry. "So why haven’t you?"

He held your gaze steady and unwavering.

"Because I'm not going to give you the satisfaction of winning this little game you're playing."

Your breath caught.

So he knew.

He’d known this whole time.

Bastard. 

Every shift in your tone. Every touch that lingered just a little too long. Every glance, every tease, every attempt to get a reaction out of him.

He had seen all of it.

And he had been letting you play.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, frustration and thrill curling into one. You had been trying to push him, to get under his skin, but now it was you who felt unsteady, heat pooling low in your stomach.

"You think this is a game?" you challenged.

Hotch’s gaze flickered lower--just briefly, just enough to make your breath hitch--before snapping back to yours.

“I think you’re trying to get a reaction out of me,” he murmured, voice like velvet. “And I think you’re getting frustrated because I won’t give you one.”

You sucked in a breath, hands curling at your sides.

“And that’s why you’re underestimating me.”

Your throat tightened.

He’s turning this on you.

You had walked into this office thinking you were the one in control, that you were the one poking at his restraint.

But now, sitting there, completely composed, unshaken, he was making it clear:

He had never been the one losing control, but you did have an effect on him.

He was letting you think you were winning--letting you push, letting you test, letting you play.

But the second he wanted to break the tension, he would.

And not a moment sooner.

Silence stretched between you, and you realized that if you said anything now, you’d only be proving him right.

So you did the only thing you could.

You stepped back.

Not much. Just enough to put a few inches of space between you. Just enough to breathe.

Hotch’s lips twitched slightly, almost like he knew he had won this round.

"Goodnight," he said, voice as smooth as ever.

Your nails pressed into your palm, heat still simmering low in your stomach, but you forced yourself to stay composed as you turned.

And as you walked out of his office, one thought burned in your mind.

You had severely underestimated Aaron Hotchner.

And now, you were more determined than ever to make him break.

xxoxoxoxoxo

The local precinct smelled like stale coffee and cheap disinfectant, the kind of place that saw too many long nights and not enough successful arrests. The team had been working with the local PD all morning, briefing the officers, pouring over evidence, and establishing a strategy for catching the unsub. The air was thick with tension--case tension, but also something else.

Hotch tension.

You had been careful, playing it safe the last couple of days after your last conversation with him. He had successfully flipped your game back on you, made you second-guess your own approach, and that had annoyed you. But more than that--it had intrigued you.

You had underestimated him.

But that only made you want to try harder.

So now, standing in the middle of the precinct, surrounded by officers, detectives, and your team, you found your next move.

It happened when one of the younger officers--a rookie, maybe mid-twenties--sidled up beside you while you were scanning over a map of the unsub’s hunting ground. He was cocky, too casual for a case like this, but harmless enough.

“You guys always get put on the bad ones, huh?” he asked, shaking his head.

You hummed, glancing at him briefly. “Something like that.”

He smelled like cheap cologne and bad news. 

His eyes flicked over you--not in a way that was offensive, but in a way that was obvious. “So, what’s it like working for him?” His gaze drifted past you, and you knew exactly who he was referring to.

You glanced toward the other side of the room, where Hotch was standing with Rossi and Morgan, discussing logistics with the local captain. He was doing what he always did--keeping his tone measured, his posture unwavering, his presence demanding attention even when he wasn’t speaking.

“What do you mean?” you asked, playing dumb.

The rookie smirked. “I mean, he’s kind of intense, right? Seems like the type of guy who doesn’t let his team breathe.”

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, he lets us breathe. Just not when we’re wasting time.”

The officer chuckled, leaning slightly closer. “And what about after hours? He loosen up at all then?”

It was an innocent enough comment. It wasn’t inappropriate, wasn’t particularly suggestive, but it was loaded--an implication lingering beneath the surface.

And that’s when you felt it.

The shift.

It wasn’t obvious. No one else in the room would have noticed. But you did.

His energy--you could feel it surrounding you without him even making as much as a subtle eye movement. He was all around you. All at once. Just not physically. 

The way Hotch’s posture stiffened, ever so slightly.

The way his conversation faltered for just a fraction of a second before continuing.

The way his fingers twitched, like he had the urge to look over but refused to.

You had just done something dangerous.

And you liked it.

A slow, wicked idea unfurled in your mind.

You didn’t even have to flirt with the rookie. You just had to let him think he had a shot. Let Hotch think that someone else might be in your orbit.

So you smiled--just a small, amused smile--as you said, “Why? You looking for some FBI mentorship?”

The officer grinned. “I wouldn’t say no.”

And then, because you could, because you were feeling reckless, you let your fingers lightly trail over his forearm. A barely there touch. A casual, fleeting thing.

But it wasn’t casual at all.

You felt the shift further before you even looked up.

And when you finally glanced toward Hotch--when you saw the way his gaze was locked onto you now, the sharp, barely restrained tension in his features--you almost lost your own composure.

His expression was unreadable, but his eyes?

His eyes were burning.

A rush of heat surged through your body.

Oh.

You had found something.

But before you could process it, Hotch’s voice cut through the air--calm, too calm.

“Agent,” he said sharply. “A word.”

Your stomach dropped.

And not in the way that made you nervous.

In the way that made your pulse spike.

You turned slowly, heart hammering, as Hotch gestured for you to follow him.

He didn’t wait for you--just walked toward one of the quieter hallways of the precinct, expecting you to keep up.

You did.

His legs were so long--such long strides. 

Your mind was racing, trying to figure out if he was mad or if this was something else--if you had finally managed to push too far.

When he finally stopped, he turned abruptly, standing so close that you almost collided into him.

His jaw was tight. His breathing controlled.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, voice low.

You blinked up at him, playing the part of the innocent. “Excuse me?”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable. “The officer.”

Your heart thumped. You knew what this was now.

It wasn’t anger.

It was something else entirely.

A slow, knowing smirk curved your lips. “Oh,” you said, tilting your head. “You were paying attention.”

His nostrils flared slightly.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he murmured, voice even lower now.

Your pulse thrummed in your throat. “Am I?”

Hotch’s gaze locked onto yours, something sharp, something restrained--but this time, barely.

For the first time, you knew you had him.

And now?

Now you were dying to see what happened when Aaron Hotchner stopped holding back.

The hallway was too quiet.

Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was just you, hyperaware of every single breath, every shift in the air between you and Hotch. The precinct buzzed faintly in the distance, but here, in this small, dimly lit corridor, it felt like another world entirely.

Hotch hadn’t moved.

Neither had you.

The space between you was barely a few inches, and yet, the tension crackled like a live wire, sparking in the narrow gap separating you.

His jaw was tight. His shoulders squared. His hands twitched--just slightly, like he was debating what to do with them.

Hotch exhaled through his nose, slow, measured, but there was something off about it--something that told you it wasn’t just an exhale. It was restraint.

Tightly coiled, barely-leashed restraint.

You had never seen him like this.

He was always so careful. So composed. So in control.

But right now? Right now, there was something just beneath the surface, something barely held together by the thread of his discipline.

And it was because of you.

You could feel your pulse hammering against your ribs, heat rising up your spine, but you didn’t step back.

Neither did he.

“I didn’t realize talking to an officer was against BAU protocol,” you mused, letting the words hang in the air between you, testing, pushing.

Hotch’s eyes darkened. “That’s not what this is about.”

Your lips curled slightly, your confidence returning in full force. “No?”

His breath hitched--just a fraction, just enough.

Then, before you could blink, he took a step closer.

It was subtle. Barely there.

But it was deliberate.

You were trained to decipher human behavior, after all. This man--he was one of the hardest shells to crack, but something told you how to put the pieces together now. 

Your spine straightened instinctively, the sudden nearness setting off a slow burn low in your stomach.

For the first time, it felt like he was the one testing you.

“You think I don’t see what you’re doing?” he murmured, voice dangerously low.

A shiver trailed down your spine.

You forced yourself to hold his gaze, even as the heat between you thickened. “And what am I doing, Hotch?”

His jaw ticked. “You want a reaction.”

You tilted your head slightly, barely suppressing a smirk. “Do I?”

His exhale was sharp this time, less measured, less composed. His fingers flexed at his sides, like he was physically keeping himself from moving.

Then, before you could process what was happening, he leaned in--just enough that his breath ghosted over your skin, warm, sharp.

“You really want to test me?” he murmured.

Your stomach flipped.

Your lips parted slightly, a retort forming, but nothing came out.

Hotch let the moment hang, suspended, the air thick with something neither of you wanted to name.

Then--just as quickly as he had closed the space--he pulled back, his expression unreadable once more.

His discipline snapped back into place like a steel trap, as if he had never let it slip at all.

But you had seen it.

You had felt it.

And as he straightened, adjusting his tie, clearing his throat, you knew.

He wasn’t unaffected.

Not even close.

“Get back to work,” he said finally, voice smooth, controlled.

But he didn’t look at you when he said it.

And that?

That told you everything you needed to know.

You thought you had won.

You felt the tension, saw the moment Hotch nearly cracked, heard the shift in his breath. You knew now--knew for certain--that you affected him. That you weren’t imagining things.

That Aaron Hotchner wanted you.

And yet, as you walked back into the main room of the precinct, trying to steady your own breathing, trying to refocus on the case, something gnawed at you.

Because when he had pulled back, when he had gathered himself, when he had smoothed his tie and sent you back to work like nothing had happened--there had been something in his expression.

Not regret. Not hesitation.

Something else.

And you realized it too late.

You had just handed him the upper hand.

oxoxoxoxoxxoox

It started small.

You were seated at the long table in the precinct’s war room, reviewing files, mapping out patterns on a whiteboard with Morgan and Prentiss, when you felt it.

A gaze.

Hotch was across the room, engaged in a discussion with Rossi and the lead detective, his voice even, steady. Composed.

But he was watching you.

Not directly. Not obviously.

But you could feel it.

The way his eyes flicked toward you between sentences, the way his attention lingered just a second too long before returning to the conversation at hand.

It shouldn’t have rattled you.

But it did.

Because you had spent so long trying to get a reaction out of him. And now, suddenly, he wasn’t ignoring you. He wasn’t brushing it off.

He was watching you back.

And worse?

He wasn’t hiding it anymore.

Your stomach twisted in a way you weren’t used to.

You forced yourself to refocus, flipping through the files in front of you, but it was impossible to concentrate, not when you could still feel his eyes on you, his presence like a gravitational pull you couldn’t ignore.

And then--he upped the ante.

It was in the small things.

Like the next time you spoke to him--when you handed him a report, expecting him to simply take it like he always did, business as usual.

But instead, his fingers brushed yours as he took the file, slow, deliberate.

The touch was barely there, but it sent an electric jolt up your arm.

You glanced up at him, startled, only to find his gaze already on yours. Steady. Controlled.

Like he knew exactly what he had done.

Your lips parted, but he simply nodded, expression unreadable. “Thank you.”

And then he walked away.

Your breath stuck in your throat.

Oh, he’s good.

It only got worse from there.

During the next strategy meeting, you found yourself seated beside him--not an unusual occurrence, but this time, you felt it.

The space between you was almost nonexistent.

His arm rested along the table, his fingers occasionally brushing the edge of your notepad, each accidental touch sending a slow hum through your body.

But the worst part?

The absolute worst part?

Was when you went to reach for your coffee mug at the same time he reached for his.

Your fingers brushed again, but this time, he didn’t move away.

Not right away.

Instead, his thumb lingered against your skin for a half-second too long.

And when you looked up at him, startled, he just--

Smirked.

It was small. Subtle. So quick that if you hadn’t been looking, you might’ve missed it.

But it was there.

You swallowed hard, gripping your coffee mug like it was your lifeline, because suddenly, the temperature in the room felt ten degrees hotter.

And he just continued on like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn’t just turned the game back on you.

You barely heard a word Morgan was saying, barely processed anything but the way Hotch’s arm remained just close enough that if you moved, even slightly, you would touch again.

He was toying with you now.

Testing you.

And suddenly, you understood.

He had been waiting for this.

Letting you push him. Letting you get bold.

Because he had known the whole time that the moment he pushed back, you wouldn’t be ready for it.

You inhaled sharply, forcing yourself to refocus, forcing yourself to push through the way your stomach twisted, the way your pulse hammered against your ribs.

Fine.

If he wanted to play, you could play.

But you were starting to realize something you hadn’t expected.

Aaron Hotchner was a much more dangerous opponent than you had ever given him credit for.

And now, you weren’t sure if you were winning--or if you were about to completely lose yourself in him.

xoxoxoxoxoxo

The bar was dimly lit, the kind of place the team liked to celebrate in after a case closed--a quiet enough spot to talk, but loud enough that no one paid much attention to a group of FBI agents drinking in the corner.

The case had been a difficult one, drawn out and exhausting, but the unsub was in custody, the victims’ families had answers, and--for tonight at least--you could all breathe a little easier.

You nursed your drink, watching as Morgan and Prentiss laughed at something Garcia said, Rossi swirling his whiskey in his glass as he smirked at whatever banter they were trading.

And then there was Hotch.

Sitting beside you, as always.

Close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence, but still distant in that way only he could manage--always composed, always aware of himself, of his surroundings.

Always in control.

You had spent the entire night testing that control.

At first, it was subtle. A lingering touch when you handed him his drink, a fleeting brush of your fingers against his wrist when you leaned in to speak over the noise of the bar.

Then, bolder.

A teasing remark, the way you laughed just a little softer when he said something dry and sarcastic, the way your hand rested lightly against his thigh just as you shifted in your seat.

You had expected a reaction.

You wanted one.

But instead of pulling away, instead of scolding you, instead of doing what he always did--remaining unaffected, unshaken--Hotch did something worse.

He played along.

He didn’t move your hand. He didn’t shift away.

He let it happen.

And the worst part?

He let you sit with it.

Let you feel the weight of your own actions, the way the tension between you thickened, the way your pulse picked up when his dark eyes flicked toward yours, unreadable but aware.

He was so much better at this game than you were.

And you were losing.

You needed to tip the scales back in your favor.

So you made a choice.

You reached for your drink, fingers brushing the rim, and took a slow sip--letting your lips close around the edge of the glass, letting your tongue flicker just slightly against the rim as you pulled back.

It was innocent enough.

But the moment you placed your glass back down, you shifted in your seat--legs crossing deliberately, brushing against his knee as you tilted your head, looking up at him from beneath your lashes.

And then you said it.

Low. Soft. Just for him.

"You know, Hotch…I don’t think I’ve ever seen you flustered before."

It was a direct challenge.

A blatant, deliberate provocation.

And this time?

He reacted.

The shift was instantaneous.

His fingers tightened hard around his glass, his jaw clenching as his breath hitched--so subtly that no one else would have noticed, but you did.

His lips parted slightly, his tongue flicking against the inside of his cheek like he was considering his next move.

Then, finally--finally--he turned to look at you fully.

And the intensity in his gaze?

It nearly knocked the breath out of you.

His voice was low, rough around the edges, laced with something you had never heard from him before.

"You’re making it very hard to be a gentleman right now."

Your stomach dropped.

Your fingers curled slightly against the table, and you swallowed, suddenly feeling so much smaller beneath the weight of his attention.

You had wanted this.

You had asked for this.

And now?

Now you weren’t sure if you were ready for what happened next.

Because the way Hotch was looking at you?

Like he had been holding back for so long--so painfully long--and was finally, finally reaching the edge of his control?

It sent a shiver down your spine.

And suddenly, for the first time since this little game started…

You realized you might have just gotten in over your head.

Your stomach clenched, heat flooding through your body in waves, but you didn’t move.

You couldn’t.

Not when he was looking at you like that.

Not when his fingers flexed against his glass, his jaw clenched so tightly that you could almost hear the strain in it.

Not when you realized--really realized--that you had finally done it.

You had finally pushed him to his limit.

And now, for the first time, you were the one feeling unsteady.

A slow smirk threatened at the corner of his lips, barely there, his fingers tapping against his whiskey glass before he finally--finally--pulled his gaze away from yours.

But not before he leaned in, just a fraction closer.

Just enough for you to feel his warmth.

Just enough for his breath to ghost against your skin when he murmured, “Finish your drink.”

Your breath hitched.

You forced yourself to swallow, gripping the glass as your pulse pounded in your ears, suddenly hyperaware of the fact that he hadn’t given you an order before.

Not like that.

Not in a way that made your thighs press together beneath the table.

You took a slow sip, the whiskey burning down your throat, but it wasn’t the alcohol that was making your head spin.

It was him.

You were utterly and completely drunk on him. 

Hotch leaned back in his chair, as if regaining some of his composure, but you could see it now.

The way his fingers still flexed against the glass.

The way his chest rose and fell just a little deeper than usual.

The way his entire body was coiled tight, like he was waiting.

And the worst part?

The absolute worst part?

You had no idea what he was waiting for.

A few minutes passed, conversation continuing around you, but it felt like background noise now--like nothing else in the room mattered except the heavy weight of whatever this was sitting between you.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, Hotch glanced at his watch and pushed back his chair.

The shift sent a jolt of anticipation through your body.

He leaned down slightly, voice low in your ear.

"Let’s go."

Your stomach flipped.

You set your glass down, fingers slightly shaky as you grabbed your coat, barely managing a quick glance at the team.

Morgan smirked. Rossi raised an eyebrow. Prentiss definitely noticed something.

But you didn’t have time to care.

Because the moment you stepped outside into the cool night air, the second the door shut behind you, you barely had time to turn before Hotch’s voice--low, measured, dangerous--cut through the silence.

"Tell me something."

You looked up, breath catching. “What?”

His gaze burned into yours, dark and unwavering.

"Was this just a game to you?"

Your throat tightened.

You blinked. “What?”

His jaw clenched. “All of it,” he murmured. “The teasing. The touches. The way you looked at me back there.” His eyes flickered to your lips before snapping back to your gaze. “Was it just a game?”

The air between you was electric.

Your stomach churned, your pulse hammering in your chest, because this was it.

This was him--finally, finally dropping the act.

And the rawness in his voice?

The realness in it?

It made you realize exactly what you wanted.

Your lips parted slightly, a shaky breath escaping before you whispered, “No.”

Hotch’s entire body reacted to that word.

A sharp inhale. His fingers twitching like he was holding himself back.

And then--finally--he stopped holding back.

His hand lifted--slow, deliberate--fingers grazing your jaw as he tilted your chin up.

Not demanding. Not rushed.

Just assessing.

Just waiting.

Like he needed you to give him permission.

Like he needed to know you wanted this as much as he did.

And God, did you want this.

Your breath stuttered, but you didn’t look away.

Instead, you leaned into his touch, exhaling softly as your fingers curled against the lapels of his jacket.

That was all it took.

Hotch moved.

His lips were on yours, firm but controlled--measured, like he was still trying to hold back, still trying not to lose himself completely.

But you wanted him to lose it.

So you made a sound--soft, desperate--pressing yourself closer, and that was it.

His restraint snapped.

A sharp inhale against your lips, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him.

His body was warm, solid, hot, and suddenly you were gripping him, fingers twisting into his shirt as his lips parted, deepening the kiss, letting out a low, gravelly noise that sent a shockwave down your spine.

The street was too open.

The world was too present.

But Hotch--Aaron--was kissing you like it was the only thing that had ever mattered.

And the second his hands tightened around you, the second his teeth grazed your lower lip, you knew.

You had both lost this game.

And you couldn’t wait to see what happened next.

The kiss was heated, sharp, and all consuming, a slow unraveling of every ounce of tension you had been building for weeks.

Hotch’s hands were firm against your waist, fingers flexing like he was still battling the instinct to pull you closer, like he was still trying to cling to the last fragments of control that were slipping through his fingers.

You weren’t making it easy for him.

Your hands fisted into the front of his shirt, tugging him forward, pressing yourself into the solid warmth of his chest, needing more--needing all of him.

And God, the way he reacted--

The sharp inhale against your lips, the way his fingers dug into your waist, the soft, barely-contained groan that rumbled deep in his chest--

It was like nothing you had imagined.

He wasn’t careful.

He wasn’t measured.

He was starved.

Hotch tore his lips from yours, breathing hard, forehead resting against yours, his grip still tight on your hips as if he was physically keeping himself from devouring you completely.

Your own breath was uneven, your hands sliding up his chest, nails scraping lightly against his shirt.

“Aaron--”

His groan was immediate, like hearing his name like that sent a direct current through his body.

Then his hands moved.

He skimmed them up your sides, tracing the curves he had so painstakingly ignored for weeks, months, forever--his fingers ghosting over the fabric of your blouse before one of them slid into your hair, tilting your chin just so before he kissed you again.

Harder.

Rougher.

No restraint now.

It sent a shockwave through your body, heat pooling low in your stomach as his teeth scraped your lower lip, his other hand gripping your waist like he needed you, like he couldn’t stop himself anymore.

And God, you didn’t want him to stop.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you were aware that you were still outside the bar, still in public, still far too exposed for what was rapidly spiraling into something uncontainable.

Hotch must have realized it at the same time because he broke away, breathless, dark eyes burning into yours.

“Come with me.”

You didn’t even hesitate.

The ride to his place was a blur.

You barely remembered getting into the car.

Barely remembered the way his hands tightened on the wheel, the way his jaw ticked as you sat beside him, thighs pressing together, anticipating.

The air in the car was thick, electric with everything unsaid, everything about to happen.

And the second the door to his apartment closed behind you--

It snapped.

Hotch was on you before you could take another breath.

His lips crashed into yours, his hands gripping your hips, backing you against the wall like he needed to feel you, like he was making up for every second he had spent denying this.

Your breath hitched, your arms looping around his neck, nails dragging along the short hairs at the nape of his neck as you kissed him back, tilting your head to let him deepen it, let him take what he wanted.

And God, did he want.

His hands wandered, gripping your waist, sliding up your back, fingers teasing the hem of your blouse before slipping beneath it, palms searing against your skin.

He let out a low groan, his mouth moving to your jaw, down to your neck, hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing lower, sending a pulse straight to your core.

“Aaron--”

Another groan.

His fingers tightened on your hips, his breath warm against your skin.

“You--” He exhaled sharply, voice wrecked. “You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me.”

You shivered, gripping his shoulders. “Then show me.”

Something snapped in him at that.

His hands slid to the back of your thighs, and before you could react, he was lifting you, guiding your legs around his waist, pressing you firmly against the wall, his body pressing flush against yours.

Heat flared through you at the sheer strength of him, the way he held you so effortlessly, the way his lips found yours again, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, owning the kiss in a way that made you dizzy.

He walked you to the bedroom like that, lips never leaving yours, never giving you a moment to breathe.

And when he laid you down, settling between your legs, hands braced beside your head, his breath coming out ragged--

You realized you had been so, so wrong.

You had thought you were in control.

Had thought you were winning this game.

But the way Aaron Hotchner was looking at you now?

Like he owned you?

Like he was done holding back?

You knew.

You had never stood a chance.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The room was dim, bathed in the soft glow from the city lights spilling through the window. The air was thick--heavy--with heat and want and weeks of barely restrained tension finally snapping apart at the seams.

Hotch hovered above you, one hand braced against the mattress, the other tracing along your jaw, his thumb dragging over your lower lip, teasing.

You exhaled sharply, your chest rising beneath him, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. You had never seen him like this--eyes dark, his breath uneven, his entire body wound so tight, like he was fighting every urge to just take you right then and there.

He was still holding back.

You weren’t having that.

Your fingers tugged at his collar, pulling him down until his lips crashed against yours again, hot and desperate, teeth scraping, tongues meeting, consuming.

A low sound rumbled in his chest--a groan, gravelly and wrecked--as his weight settled between your legs, pressing firm against you, and God, you could feel everything.

Your thighs tightened around his waist, your nails dragging down his back, and that was it.

He broke.

Hotch's mouth moved--leaving your lips, tracing a path down your jaw, to the curve of your throat. He sucked, bit--just enough to make you gasp, his tongue sweeping over the sting.

"Aaron," you breathed, your hands threading into his hair, tugging hard.

His reaction was immediate--a deep groan against your skin, his fingers gripping your waist, his hips pressing flush against yours in a slow, torturous roll.

You gasped, arching up against him, heat flooding through your body as his hands wandered, sliding beneath your blouse, fingers tracing over your stomach, exploring.

“You drive me insane,” he muttered, lips dragging down your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. “You and your games.”

You smirked, gasping as his teeth grazed a particularly sensitive spot. “I think you liked them.”

Hotch exhaled a sharp breath, pressing his forehead to your shoulder for a moment, laughing, but it was low, dark--not amusement, but something else.

Something dangerous.

Then he lifted his head, his fingers tilting your chin just so until your eyes met his.

“I let you play, sweetheart.” His voice was silk and steel, deep and gravelly, thick with desire. “But now?”

He smirked--smirked--and leaned in, lips brushing against yours in a whisper of a kiss.

“Now it’s my turn.”

A shiver ran through you, your pulse pounding, your entire body on fire.

Then, in one swift motion, he sat up, pulling you with him, his fingers tugging at the hem of your blouse. His eyes met yours, giving you one last out.

But there was no hesitation.

Not from you.

Not from him.

Your hands covered his, pushing the fabric up, and then it was gone--tossed aside, forgotten.

His eyes--God, the way he looked at you.

Dark. Devouring. Like he was memorizing every inch.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, voice thick, rough.

Then his hands were on you again--roaming, claiming--his lips pressing, trailing, worshiping.

Your head tipped back, another breathless gasp escaping as his hands found the clasp of your bra, his fingers making quick work of it before sliding the straps down your shoulders, his lips following their path, tongue flicking, teasing.

You arched into him, needing more, your own hands tugging at his shirt, desperate to even the playing field.

Hotch chuckled--deep, dark--before obliging, sitting back just enough to yank the offending fabric over his head.

Your breath hitched.

You had seen him in varying states of undress before--worn-down hotel rooms, bulletproof vests over tight shirts, dress shirts rolled up to his forearms.

But this?

Seeing him like this--the broad lines of his shoulders, the toned muscle of his chest, the faint scar near his ribs--

Your fingers traced over it instinctively, your touch featherlight.

Hotch inhaled sharply.

“That’s not fair,” he muttered, his voice wrecked, a teasing edge beneath the gravel.

You barely had time to process before he was kissing you again--deep and desperate, his hands sliding down, over the curve of your hips, fingers gripping, pulling you closer.

You gasped, hands curling around his biceps, feeling the tension in them, the way he was still holding himself back, still reining himself in.

So you tested him again.

Rolling your hips just so against his.

Hotch groaned, a sharp, wrecked sound against your lips. His fingers dug into your thighs, his control finally fraying--

“Fuck,” he exhaled, forehead pressing to yours.

You smirked, barely able to breathe.

“That’s all it took?” you teased. “I thought you had more self-control than that, Hotchner.”

His breath hitched.

Then--

You barely had a second to react before he had you pinned, his body flush against yours, his lips ghosting over your ear.

His voice was low, dangerous, devastatingly wrecked.

"You're going to regret saying that."

Your breath caught.

Then his hands moved--and you shattered.

Your pulse pounded, every inch of your body burning under Hotch’s touch, under the way he was looking at you now--like he had waited for this, ached for this, and was finally letting himself have it.

You swallowed, fingers tightening against his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles, the way he was still holding himself back--even now.

"Then make me," you whispered.

Hotch moved.

His lips crashed against yours, harder this time, rougher, his hands gripping your waist like he needed to touch you, like letting go wasn’t an option anymore.

You moaned into the kiss, arching against him as his hands slid down, fingers tracing the curve of your hips, exploring, learning you.

You were already dizzy, already losing yourself in him, but you didn’t care.

You didn’t want careful.

You wanted him.

You tugged at his belt, fingers fumbling with the buckle, but Hotch caught your wrist, breath ragged, his forehead pressing to yours.

His eyes--dark and burning--searched yours, his fingers tightening around your wrist like he was waiting for something.

"Are you sure?" His voice was rough, strained, but still careful.

Your heart ached at the question, at the way he was still thinking about you, still making sure this was something you wanted.

You lifted your other hand, tracing along his jaw, feeling the tension there, the restraint.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," you whispered.

Something in him snapped.

His lips were on yours again, his hands sliding lower, gripping your thighs as he lifted you, guiding your legs around his waist before pressing you firmly against the mattress.

His body was solid, strong, his weight pressing into you in a way that had your breath catching, heat spreading low in your stomach as his mouth wandered--down your jaw, your throat, lips and tongue claiming you inch by inch.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, gasping as his hands explored, learning the shape of you, teasing, tormenting--

"Aaron--"

The groan that ripped from his throat was wrecked, his fingers digging into your skin as his hips pressed flush against yours.

"You love saying my name like that, don’t you?" His voice was low, teasing, but you could hear the strain in it.

You smirked, tilting your head back, offering him more as his lips traced a path down your collarbone. "I like what it does to you."

His breath hitched.

Then his teeth scraped, just enough to make you gasp, his hands finally making quick work of the last barriers between you.

Fabric was pulled away, discarded, forgotten.

And when his gaze lowered--when his hands finally moved where you needed them most--

You shattered.

Hotch devoured every reaction, every gasp, every moan, learning you, memorizing you, until you were a writhing, trembling mess beneath him.

And when he finally, finally pressed into you--

It was slow. Deliberate.

Like he wanted you to feel every inch of him.

Like he wanted to ruin you.

Your fingers clawed at his back, legs wrapping tighter around him as he groaned, head dipping into the crook of your neck.

"You feel so--" His voice broke, his breath ragged, his lips pressing against your shoulder as he rolled his hips--

You gasped, arching into him, pleasure crashing through your veins.

Hotch cursed, a low, deep sound against your skin, his movements slow, controlled, but hard, perfect.

He was relentless.

He set the pace, dragging it out, making you feel every second of it, torturing you with the way he pulled back just enough before thrusting deep, the friction sending sparks down your spine.

Your moans were breathless, your nails scraping down his back, but it only spurred him on.

"You wanted this," he groaned, his breath hot against your skin. "All those games--"

You gasped as his hips snapped harder, his fingers digging into your thighs.

"You wanted to see if you could break me."

He rolled his hips again, making your eyes squeeze shut, pleasure coiling tight in your stomach.

"Do you feel broken now?"

You let out a sound that wasn’t even words, your fingers fisting into the sheets, your entire body on fire.

Hotch smirked against your skin, but his composure was fraying now--his thrusts turning more erratic, his breath coming faster, his muscles tensing beneath your hands.

He was losing it too.

And God, it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

His head dipped, lips crashing into yours in a deep, desperate kiss as the tension finally snapped.

Pleasure ripped through you, white-hot and overwhelming, your entire body trembling as his name tore from your lips.

Hotch groaned, his movements turning sloppy, frantic, chasing the edge--

And then he fell, his body shuddering against yours, his lips parting in a low, wrecked moan as he collapsed, breathless, his forehead resting against yours.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Your bodies were still tangled, limbs entwined, your hearts pounding in sync.

Then, finally, Hotch exhaled--a slow, deep breath--before lifting his head to look at you.

His gaze was soft now, but sated, his thumb brushing lazily over your cheek, tender.

"You really are trouble," he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion, but teasing.

You smirked, tracing your fingers down his chest, lingering. "And yet, here we are."

Hotch huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "You’re insufferable."

You grinned, pressing a lazy kiss to his lips. "You love it."

His smirk widened slightly.

"Maybe."

Then he kissed you again--slower this time, softer.

Like he was memorizing the taste of you.

Like he already knew this wasn’t the last time.

And God, neither of you wanted it to be.

You blinked, the haze of exhaustion settling in as reality began to sink in.

You had slept with Aaron Hotchner.

And it hadn’t been careful. It hadn’t been measured.

It had been raw. Consuming.

Desperate.

You swallowed, turning slightly in the bed, suddenly hyperaware that he was rolling off of you.

For a moment, your stomach twisted--should you leave? Would this change things between you? Was he already regretting it?

But before you could spiral, before you could even begin to untangle your thoughts, you heard it--

The quiet sound of running water.

You furrowed your brows, shifting up slightly onto your elbows, and then you saw him.

Hotch was standing near the bathroom sink, his back to you, shirtless, his lean muscles flexing as he ran a washcloth under warm water.

Your breath caught.

And more than that--he wasn’t panicked. He wasn’t rushing.

He was taking care of you.

Your throat tightened.

He turned a moment later, towel in hand, his dark eyes immediately finding yours.

“You should lie back,” he murmured, voice softer now, the roughness of the night before smoothed into something gentle.

You blinked at him, lips parting, but you didn’t argue. You simply did as he asked, sinking back against the pillows, watching as he approached the bed.

The mattress dipped as he sat beside you, his warm hand skimming lightly over your thigh before he pressed the warm cloth against your skin.

The sensation made you exhale, your body still aching in the best way, but his touch was tender, careful.

"You don't have to--"

Hotch gave you a look.

You stopped.

Because you realized--he wanted to.

He continued in silence, wiping away the remnants of the night before, his touch slow, thoughtful. His fingers brushed against you so gently that your chest tightened.

The air between you was different now.

The tension of the past weeks, the game you had been playing--it was gone.

All that was left was this.

Him.

You.

The weight of what you had just done, settling between you like something neither of you could take back.

When he was finished, he set the towel aside, fingers tracing over your hip absentmindedly before finally speaking.

"Are you okay?"

You blinked.

The question caught you off guard.

Not because you weren’t--God, you were--but because you hadn’t expected him to ask.

You swallowed, nodding. "Yeah. I am."

His lips pressed together slightly, his fingers brushing against your skin again, almost like he needed to feel you still there.

Your stomach twisted--not in doubt, but in something else entirely.

Something dangerous.

Something real.

So you asked.

"What about you?"

Hotch exhaled slowly, like he was steadying himself, and then--finally--he met your gaze.

And you knew.

Whatever restraint he had left--whatever pieces of the mask he had been holding onto--it was gone.

"I'm not sure I know how to stop wanting you now," he admitted, voice low, raw.

Your breath hitched.

Because that?

That was the first real truth he had given you.

Your fingers curled against the sheets, your heart hammering in your chest. "Then don't," you whispered.

Hotch exhaled sharply, shaking his head slightly, his fingers tightening just slightly against your hip.

"You don’t understand," he murmured. "I’ve wanted you for so long."

Your stomach flipped.

You opened your mouth, but he continued before you could speak.

"I tried--" He exhaled again, rough, like he was frustrated with himself. "I tried to ignore it. To pretend it was nothing. That it was just...passing attraction."

You swallowed. "Was it?"

Hotch let out a short, almost humorless laugh, shaking his head.

"No," he admitted. "It never was."

Your breath caught, your fingers gripping the sheets tighter, because this--this--was more than you had ever expected him to admit.

"You drove me insane," he murmured, voice dropping lower. "The way you looked at me. The way you challenged me. The way you--" He exhaled, shaking his head. "The way you said my name."

Your heart stuttered.

"You noticed that?"

Hotch huffed a soft laugh, his fingers trailing up your arm, his touch leaving a burning path in its wake.

"I noticed everything," he murmured. "The way you crossed your legs during briefings. The way you stretched when you were tired, your shirt lifting just enough to make me lose my train of thought. The way you knew exactly what you were doing--"

You let out a breathless laugh. "I didn’t always know."

Hotch tilted his head slightly, studying you.

Then, slowly, his lips curled into something dangerous.

"No?"

Your stomach flipped. "No."

His fingers brushed your jaw, thumb tracing over your lower lip.

"You really think you weren’t getting to me?" His voice was low, rough, something dark beneath it.

Your breath hitched.

"You were always getting to me," he admitted. "And you loved it."

You swallowed, suddenly feeling very small beneath the weight of his gaze.

Because God--he was right.

You had.

You had loved it.

But what you hadn’t realized was that he had loved it, too.

"I--"

Hotch moved before you could speak, pressing you back into the mattress, his lips ghosting over your jaw.

His weight was warm, solid, comforting.

And for the first time, there was no hesitation.

No restraint.

Only truth.

"I’m done holding back," he murmured against your skin.

You shivered.

"Good," you whispered.

And when his lips met yours again, soft and slow, hands sliding under the sheets this time--

You knew.

This wasn’t just a game anymore.

This was real.

And neither of you were walking away from it.

Not now.

Not ever.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry

[hotchology]

Aaron Hotchner for #5 and 16!

5. What's the first song that comes to mind when you think about them?

this ones two fold.

mini skirt by aoa because the first time i ever watched route 66 i saw his exposed calf, called him a slut for walking around with his legs out in his miniskirt and then started brainstorming about a miniskirt edit and live translating the lyrics to my sister who was sat right beside me witnessing hotch leg induced insanity.

then a more serious answer all things end by hozier for a few reasons. Divorce. and also when i think about him leaving the show it starts looping in my head over and over and over. most haley divorce. but. i cant talk too much about it or ill get insane about it.

16. What's your least favorite ship for this character?

jj/hotch 😭 something abt it man. just do not get it

character ask game!!

[nathanbatemanfucker]

WIP game! Post the last line you wrote and tag as many people as there are words!

That is how you and Joaquin end up exchanging phone numbers. And for a long while, it’s radio silent.

np tags: @reallyrallyauthor, @campingwiththecharmings, @toracainz, @dudeitiskarev, @kiwriteswords, @masterwords, @nerdieforpedro, @megamindsecretlair, @soft-girl-musings

[ssamorganhotchner]

6 and 17 🥰🥰

ki!!’ hello my love! tysm for the asks 🥹🥰

6. what’s your favorite candle scent?

my favorite candle scent is probably either vanilla (i’m a vanilla girl through and through) or palo santo vanilla from bbw! it’s the musk of a man topper with a subtle vanilla aroma & i looovvveee it

17. how do you feel best loved?

i answered this one here 💞

send me soft asks 🎀

[softestqueeen]

✧*̥˚ aaron hotchner fic recs part 3 *̥˚✧

a/n: *heavy sigh* another month, another fic rec list! yes, i am insane.

✨ favourites

part 1 I part 2 I part 3 I part 4 I my criminal minds masterlist

✧*̥˚ smut *̥˚✧

cockwarming blurb by @minswriting

needy blurb by @emmcfrxst

tease by @ladycaramelswirl

✧*̥˚ fluff*̥˚✧

sleep deprived by @ssahotchnerr ✨

honey is for love by @angellsell

anesthesia blurb by @luveline

jack & reader blurb by -//-

autumn tracks by @springtyme

ink by @hoe4hotchner ✨

home is where the heart is by -//-

passenger princess by @juniperskye

married to hotch hc's by @girlkisser13 ✨

his initial by @catssluvr

stars by @aaronsguccitie

✧*̥˚ angst/hurt/comfort *̥˚✧

you showed me colors you know I can't see with anyone else by @kiwriteswords

sick of maybe by @luveline

don't look at me with those eyes by @springtyme

✧*̥˚ honorable mentions *̥˚✧

symposium series by @ssa-dado I the series masterlist I part 0

if you want your work removed, dm me!

[knitmeatardis]

WIP game! Post the last line you wrote and tag as many people as there are words!

Thanks for the tag @masterwords!

“Groupies? Cara mia, what are you talking about?”

From my WIP Hotch/Rossie Criminal Minds fic.

Zero pressure tags: @kiwriteswords @minswriting @earlgreytea68 @cappuccinoandglitter @usedtobecooler @justmeinadaze @ssaaaronhotchnerr