#aaron X reader

[augustjoy]

You are nothing like her.

Based on the following ask: so i was thinking maybe the reader is pregnant with hotch's baby, but she had a really mean mother, you know, one of those who are strict to say the least, maybe one day hotch comes home and finds the reader crying so much and when he approaches her worriedly she tells him that she is so afraid of being a bad mother as if it were something hereditary maybe she tells him that her loves his baby so much that she's afraid of doing it wrong🥺🥺 it's her first baby, that's why she's so scared, but then my beautiful boy jack tells her, 'u're already like a mommy for me and u're awesome,' or something like that, why Jack is always a band-aid for the soul🥹🥹🤍 and in the end it's just her being spoiled by the hotchner boys 🩵 Okay, this ask is giving me all the feels. I grew up with a mom who I know did her best, but there are many things she did that I had to unpack in therapy, I am using some of that (not directly) to help guide this fic! Enjoy!! Itallics are the readers thoughts, bold are flashbacks

Aaron Hotchner x Pregnant! Fem Reader Angst/Fluff (Happy ending) Word count: 3872

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, unspecified age gap, explicit language, canon typical violence, sweet loving Hotch, pregnant reader, mention of past verbal/emotional abuse (some detail/flashbacks), Jack being a cutie patootie, reader struggles with depression (bad perinatal depression), insecure reader, first time mom reader, internal struggles with previous trauma, mention of therapy, mention of medications, brief (non-descriptive) mention of self-harm,  let me know if I missed any. You are responsible for your own media consumption - if these warnings are triggering or potentially harmful, DO NOT READ.

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

A blue plus sign. Not a single horizontal line, but two lines, perfectly perpendicular to one another. The control line a deep obvious blue, and the other, faint, barely there intersecting the other.

A pit formed in your gut immediately.  You’re not ready for this, you’re not cut out for it. What would Aaron think, I mean sure you guys are married, but did he want more kids? He’ll probably leave you. You can barely take care of yourself. He was older than you, he had been married, had Jack, made a life for them…you’d been able to squeeze yourself into the prefect mold of their life, the last piece of the puzzle. Had the puzzle expanded when you weren’t paying attention? Was there space for a baby?

--

“Why can’t you be more like your sister? She’s so driven, she knew what she wanted to do by the age of fifteen. You need to figure your life out, in a few months you’ll be off to college, and I’ve already told you that you need to do well or that’s it.”

“I know mom. I’m working on it, I’m looking into a few different programs at the school, thankfully the first year is all prerequisites so I have some time to figure it out.”

“Always so indecisive. No man is going to want a woman who lacks confidence. Someone who can’t make up her mind.” She scoffed.

“I’m doing my best. There are just so many options, but I think I’ve narrowed it down, I was thinking about a degree in psychology.”

“Your best isn’t good enough hon. And quite frankly, you’re not smart enough to get a psychology degree, you should stick to something more feminine, like teaching, I’d suggest nursing, but I don’t think you’d make it through nursing school. It’s very competitive.” The words flow out of her mouth sickly sweet, like what she’s saying isn’t slicing you open, leaving you vulnerable and bare.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right. I’ll look into the teaching program.”

--

You’d been sick, and not from the pregnancy, but rather from the fear of breaking the news to Aaron. It would kill you if he was disappointed or upset with you. He’ll probably leave you. He’d mentioned once that he’d always wanted a big family, and there was a time where you’d mentioned children, he seemed okay with it then…but what if his mind had changed.

“Y/n can we have lunch?” Jack’s little voice carried through your room and into the en-suite.

“Yeah, sweet boy. Give me just a moment okay?” You tried to steady your voice.

You washed your hands, tucked the pregnancy text back into its wrapper and stuffed it in the back of your vanity drawer. You’d show it to Aaron when he got home from the case his team was currently working. Look at you, shaking, pathetic. Why couldn’t you be more like your sister. Graceful, poised…instead you look ridiculous, out of your fucking depth. You took a deep breath to steady yourself, splashed some cold water on your face and shook your head.

“Alright cutie pie! What would you like for lunch?”

“Chicken nuggets!” Jack cheered.

“I think I can make that happen! Do you want tater tots or French fries with your nuggets?” You asked.

“French fries please!” Jack confirmed, heading into the living room to continue his movie.

You pulled out the nuggets and fries from the freezer along with a cookie sheet from the cabinet, spreading the food out while the oven preheats. Your hands were covered in crumbs from the chicken, the feeling making your skin crawl, the smell of the frozen chicken wafting through the kitchen. Your stomach lurched, bile rising quickly, your feet moving faster, getting you to the guest bathroom just in time. You emptied your stomach contents, the tears rushing to your eyes.

“Are you okay?” Jack’s little voice came from behind you.

“Yeah bub, I’m okay. Just a tummy ache.” You reassured him. “Go finish your movie okay? I’m gonna get your lunch going.”

You rinsed your mouth out with some mouthwash and went back to the kitchen, doing your best to hold your breath as you slid the cookie sheet into the oven and set the timer.

--

Jack was sitting at the table eating his lunch, while you sat next to him, grading the tests your class took this past week. Jack was going on about his friend from school and how excited he was because they were both going to be on the same soccer team this year.

Your attention had been bouncing back and forth between the tests and your stepson, until the door unlocking called it away. Aaron stepped in, a smile immediately taking over his face as he saw the two of you sitting at the table.

“Am I just in time for lunch?” He asked.

You smiled back at him, “if you were in the mood for chicken nuggets and French fries, then yes my love, you are just in time.” A giggle escaped you.

“It’s like you read my mind.” Aaron joked, pressing a kiss to your temple and hugging you from behind. “Hey buddy, I missed you.”

“Hi dad! I was just saying that Emmett is going to be on my soccer team this year! Isn’t that cool?” Jack asked.

“That’s so cool bud.” Aaron offered. “I missed you sweetheart, how was this week?”

Aaron wandered into the kitchen, plucking a fry from the tray and eating it, turning to face you expectantly.

“I missed you too. It was good, I gave the kids their test on the parts of the brain, that one I was telling you about –”

“Oh! Where they have to label the parts and write out what each one does?” He questioned.

“Exactly, so far, their scores are pretty good, I’m impressed.” You smiled lightly.

“Sweetheart their scores are reflective of what an incredible teacher you are. They are so lucky to have you.”

“Thanks baby.” You blushed.

He’s lying. When you tell him about the baby, he’ll show his true colors and he will leave, just like everyone else.

“How was the case?” You asked.

“It was a rough one.” Aaron didn’t really love talking about his work, he would tell you he didn’t want to drag you and Jack into that darkness. “Too much loss, but ultimately we got the guy.”

“You are an incredible man Aaron. The work you and your team do, I know it doesn’t always feel like enough, but you are making the world a safer place.” You reached for his hand.

He gave yours a gentle squeeze. His gaze meeting your own, and you saw the shift, it was barely there, but you noticed the flicker of concern. He’d seen how the shine of your eyes had dulled, how your skin had grown slightly hollow. You got this way sometimes, you had been really good at verbalizing when you’d get low, you’d gone to therapy regularly, in fact, you’d been going less often now because you had made so much progress. Aaron was worried, that much you knew for sure.

“Hey Jack, is your homework done?” Aaron asked.

“Uhh, yes…” Jack trailed off in that silly way that told you he was lying.

“Jack, why don’t you put your plate in the sink, and then go do your homework.” Aaron instructed. “When you’re done, we can go look at some new cleats and shin guards.”

“Okay!” Jack smiled wide.

--

Aaron led you to your shared room, gently guiding you to sit at the end of the bed. He slowly squatted down in front of you, so you were eye level. His hand reached out slowly, lifting your chin so you would face him.

“Sweetheart, are you doing okay? You just – you seem…”

“I’m pregnant.” You cut him off.

“You, you’re…sweetheart…”

Here it is. He’s going to leave you. He hates you. You’ve never been enough.

“Aaron, I know we haven’t really talked about it, and I know it’s not the best timing, but I just I thought…I’m sorry.” You rambled.

“Honey, why are you apologizing, this is great news! We’re having a baby.”

“You-you’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?” Aaron looked into your eyes then, noticing the storm clouds rolling in. “Honey, I am so excited to be a dad again, and even more so to do this with you. I have to say, I am worried about you, maybe we should schedule you an appointment with Laura.”

Laura was your therapist; she had been for the last three years. It was thanks to her that you’d been able to work through as much of your trauma as you had…but maybe Aaron was right, maybe it would be good to see her more frequently, with all the new things going on.

“Yeah, that might be a good idea. I need to schedule a few appointments actually, therapy, the OB/GYN and my psychiatrist.”

Aaron’s hands grasped your own, subsequently stopping you from picking all the skin on the sides of your nailbeds.

“Why don’t we get those scheduled and I’ll take those days off, that way I can be there with you.”

You’re weak. He sees it now. You’re pathetic.

“Aaron, it’s okay, I can handle it.”

“I know you can baby, but I want to be there with you.”

--

“Jesus Y/n what are you doing with your life? Huh? Your sister, she’s married, has a career, and is pregnant with her second child. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Mom, I’m only twenty-four, there’s time. I double majored, I got a degree in teaching and one in psychology! I got a job! And I-I met someone.” You justified.

“You met someone?” Her face painted with surprise.

“Yeah, I met someone. He’s good mom. It’s still early, but he’s a great guy and he cares about me.”

“You still have time to mess it up though.”

--

“Mr. and Mrs. Hotchner, come on back.”

Aaron held your hand as you made your way back to the exam room. You had been instructed to sit up on the examination table and they offered a chair in the corner of the room to Aaron. He’d pulled the chair closer to you before sitting.

“Okay, we are going to have you fill out these forms and then we are going to ask you a few questions.”

“Okay.”

You completed the forms one by one, growing fatigued at the repetitiveness of them all. Asking about your sexual history, menstrual cycle, whether or not you smoked or drank, your family history in the case that you carried a predisposition to some genetic disorder that could be passed along to the fetus.

“Alright, these questions may seem redundant, but when did your last period begin?”

“Oh um, I think it was in June.” You nervously rubbed your arm.

“Okay! Well then we will go ahead and start with an abdominal ultrasound, if you did conceive in June, you’d be far enough along that we should be able to see the baby this way.”

She assisted you in laying back, you’d pulled the hem of your top up and pushed the waistband of your jeans down. The technician tucked a towel into the waistband of your shorts to avoid getting any gel on them.

“Alright, the gel will be warm.”

She sprayed the gel on the lowest part of your belly, just above your pelvis. She then pressed the wand into the area, spreading the gel around, the picture on the screen coming to life.

The wand shifted two or three times before she paused. She clicked a few things on the screen before addressing you both.

“Okay, that right there, is your baby!”  She gestured to the screen.

You couldn’t believe your eyes. You’d expected to see just a little blip on the screen, barely registering as life, but instead, frozen on the screen was the image of what looked like an actual baby.

“Okay, and this right here, that is your baby’s heartbeat.”

A quick thumping noise filled the room. The heartrate seemingly matching your own, it seemed too fast, but the technician assured you it was normal.

“Okay, I am going to go grab the doctor, she will be able to give you a pretty good estimate as to how far along you are based on measurements and she may call for some bloodwork to check your HCG levels.” 

The two of you sat in wait. Aaron was over the moon, tears in his eyes as he gripped your hand, bringing it to his lips to press kisses over your knuckles. You, however, your mind was reeling. You couldn’t do this; you had no idea how to be a mother. You could tell Aaron could sense your unease, but he didn’t get the chance to speak on it as the doctor entered the room.

“Mr. and Mrs. Hotchner, congratulations! Let’s take a look at your baby, okay?”

Aaron nodded, confirming for the both of you. The doctor followed the same path as the technician that performed the ultrasound a moment ago. She showed you your baby once again, confirming the measurements, and then played the heartbeat, noting how strong it sounded.

“Alrighty then. I’d say based off measurements alone, you are just about out of the first trimester. I do want to order some blood tests just to confirm your HCG, as well as some other standard testing okay?”

“Okay, that sounds good.” Aaron answered and you simply nodded in agreement.

You sat and waited a bit, the nurse came in and drew your blood and then led you both out to the lobby. They were quick to schedule your next appointment, which providing your bloodwork came back clean, you be back in a few short weeks to find out the sex of your baby.

You were feeling numb and unsure. Aaron kept a reassuring hand on you the whole time, only letting go when you had to go in for your next appointment…the one with your psychiatrist.

--

“Okay Mrs. Hotchner, what brings you in today?”

“I uh, I’m pregnant, and I guess I just need to see if it is safe for me to take my antidepressants.” You explained.

“Okay, well let’s go over a few things, you are still going to therapy right?”

“I am.”

“Okay, and how have you been feeling, a lot of women who struggle with anxiety and depression will often experience perinatal depression and are typically at a higher risk for it.” Your psychiatrist explained.

“Perinatal depression?”

“It is sort of an umbrella term for prenatal and postpartum depression. Essentially your usual anxiety and depression may be heightened, especially with all the additional hormones coursing through your body.” She explained. “Do you feel like that is something you may be experiencing.”

“I uh, I have been feeling especially low lately. Hopeless, like nothing I do is good enough.”

“Y/n have you been having any urges or thoughts of harming yourself?”

“No, nothing like that. I just, I feel like I’m going to fuck this up. Like no matter how hard I try, there’s no chance I can succeed.”

“Okay, I think it is best that we get you on a medication that is safe for you and the baby, one that will help okay?” She began. “We are going to start you on a lower dose, but if the feelings of hopelessness persist, please come back in and we will adjust the meds, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you.”

--

“She’s always getting into trouble. I don’t know what to do with her. The school called again, they said she’s unfocused and she’s struggling in all subjects.” Your mom huffed.

“Do you think maybe we should take her in to see a doctor? John’s son just go diagnosed with uh...with ADHD or some shit – the kid can’t sit still to save his life.” Your dad offered.

“I’m not paying a bunch of money, just to have some doctor say that our daughter is hyper. What she needs is discipline.” Your mom rebutted.

“I don’t think a belt is going to make her better at math.” Your dad argued.

“Well, it couldn’t hurt.”

--

The next two months were incredibly difficult. You’d been back to your psychiatrist twice to get your meds adjusted. You’d been back to weekly therapy sessions, but nothing was helping. Aaron had been staying back for more and more cases, doing what he could to be there for you.

Aaron had tried to get you to talk to him, he just wanted to be there, to help. He knew that you were likely anxious as this was your first baby and a lot of worries were sure to surface. He was growing increasingly concerned.

What was getting to him more than anything was Jack. Jack had been so sad for you. Aaron had explained to him that he was going to have a little sister, and that while she was growing inside you, that made you tired and sometimes it made you sad, he told Jack that you had to give the baby all your energy and happiness to help her grow…it was the only way he thought Jack would be able to understand it at his age.

“Is momma gonna get better?” Jack asked quietly.

Aaron was surprised at Jack’s use of the name. Jack had asked him a long time ago if he could call you mom and Aaron and you both told him that he could whenever he was ready. I guess that time is now.

“Yeah bud, momma is going to get better. She just needs extra rest for your sister.”

“Do you think we could help momma give happiness to the baby? That way she doesn’t have to give all of hers away?”

Aaron smiled. “I think that is a great idea bud.”

Jack came up with a list of things to do for you to help you. He wanted to draw you pictures, bring you breakfast in bed, bring you flowers, watch your favorite (Disney/Pixar) movies with you, read stories with you, sing songs with you and cuddle with you.

The two of them came up with a plan and a schedule of when they were going to do each of these things with you. Aaron was going to make sure you were taken care of. He knew he needed to put you first and be there for you during this time.

After this realization, Aaron had gone to Dave, explaining the situation to him, telling him that he’d need to take a step back. Dave immediately told Aaron to prioritize his family and that the team would be ready for him, whenever he could return. Director Cruiz had been equally receptive. Informing Aaron that he’d had a rather large bank of PTO waiting to be used and once the baby was born he could switch over to paternity leave.

He’d been thinking about it a lot…and he thought back to when Haley got pregnant with Jack. The fear that filled him, of being like his own father. Swearing to himself and to her that he would never be like him. It had him thinking about your relationship with your mom…and maybe just maybe, you were experiencing a similar fear to what he’d felt.

--

“Sweetheart, are you sure you don’t want to invite them to the wedding?” Aaron asked.

“I’m sure. My sister and her family are coming, my aunt and uncle are coming with some of my cousins, and my friends are coming and that’s all that matters.”

“I just don’t want you to regret anything.”

“Would you invite your dad?” Low blow…speak to him like that and he will leave you.

“No, I wouldn’t.” Aaron confirmed. “I didn’t realize it was like that honey, I’m sorry.”

He held you close, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, whispering sweet nothings into the air surrounding you.

“All that matters is that we are surrounded by our loved ones.” Aaron confirmed.

“I was thinking of asking my uncle to walk me down the aisle.” You suggested.

“I think that’s a great idea.”

--

Aaron and Jack’s plan had been going for two weeks now and thankfully, winter break had just started for both you and Jack. Nearly three weeks off for the holiday, and extra time for them to do everything they can to help you through this.

This particular morning, Jack had told Aaron he wanted to make chocolate chip pancakes with strawberries and bacon on the side, your favorites. Aaron had agreed and woke up early, carefully slipping out of bed and going to wake Jack.

The two of them cooked breakfast side by side, jack was giggling at Aaron as he burned the first batch of pancakes, and jack suggested making the next ones heart shaped.

“To show momma how much we love her.”

As soon as everything was done, they plated it up and placed it on a tray to bring to you. Aaron carried it the majority of the way, before passing it over to Jack, allowing him to take it the last few steps to you.

“Momma, wake up it’s time for breakfast!” Jack called

Aaron placed his hand gently on your shoulder, trying carefully to rouse you. You were quick to stir, you’d been quite restless and were officially in the third trimester, which had brought you an added discomfort.

“What’s this?” You asked

“We made you breakfast, so that way you don’t have to give all your happiness to the baby. Momma, we can give her some of our happiness too. So, you don’t have to be sad.” Jack explained like it was the simplest thing.

Your gaze shot up to Aaron, shock written all over it, at Jack calling you momma, at his offer of sharing his happiness with the baby, and also at his concern of your wellbeing. Tears sprung to your eyes as Aaron simply nodded and hoisted Jack up onto the bed next to you.

“Sweetheart, you are amazing. I know what you’re thinking, and you have nothing to worry about. You are going to be the best mom to this baby.”

“Aaron, I don’t want to be like her. I am so scared that I am going to mess this up…I don’t know what I’m doing. What if I’m a horrible mom?” You cry.

“Momma don’t cry! You’re not horrible, you’re the best mom!” Jack attempted to soothe you, wrapping his little arms around your neck and holding you tight. “I love you momma.”

“I love you too, my sweet boy.” You hugged him to you.

“I know it is scary sweetheart, but this,” Aaron gestures between you and Jack, “you have this part down. The early stuff, we will get through together.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. I love you so much honey.”

“I love you too.”

Aaron pressed a chaste kiss to your lips.

“Love you momma!” Jack kissed your cheek, causing you all to laugh.

“I love you too bub!” You squished his cheek with an exaggerated kiss.

Maybe I can do this…maybe it’ll be okay.

Hotch Taglist: @bernelflo @pastelpinkflowerlife @just-moondust @khxna @crimesthatnooneaskedfor @juninnyxriddle

[yasministration]

subtle diamond rings - aaron hotchner

summary: when your coworkers discover the ring on your finger, they are immediately driven to ssa hotchner's office to ask him who your husband is. wc: 0.9k+

A hand on your forehead, deep in thought. Eyebrows furrowed, trying to make out something you had written down in a rush two days ago. Your co-workers, jaws dropped and eyes wide. A ring on your left hand, with the biggest diamond they had every seen. You hadn’t noticed your mistake yet, and they unanimously decided to give you one last moment of peace before chaos would ensue.

Sighing, you brought both your hands down to grip the corners of the paper you were trying to read from, but your attention was attracted to the light catching on your diamond ring. You smiled fondly at the ring on your finger before your eyes widened. Inhaling deeply, you let go of the document in front of you, trying to delicately slide the ring off your finger. Before you could slip it into a safe pocket of your purse, a voice was heard across from you.

“Subtle.”

Your head snapped up at the sound of Derek’s voice. “Good thing no one saw you take that ring off, am I right?” Emily added, dragging her chair closer to Derek. “That would be a disaster.” Added Spencer, leaning on the back of Derek’s chair. You swallowed thickly, at a complete loss for words, your fist gently closing around the beautiful ring. “I… Please don’t tell anyone.” You found yourself begging, but Derek only grinned. “Don’t tell anyone what?”

You froze.

There was no possibility you could ever lie to the person that voice belonged to, so you supposed if you said nothing, you’d be safe. Penelope Garcia walked in front of your desk, looking at you with arms crossed over her chest. You cleared your throat nervously, blinking slowly at the blonde. “I-uh.”

“Put it on, show it to her.”

“Put what on?”

You opened your palm, letting Penelope see the jewellery in your hand. “You’re engaged!?” You opened your mouth, not wanting to betray them any further, but it seemed that your face had revealed enough. “Married?” Spencer whispered, his mouth agape, shocked that you’d hidden a committed relationship for the course of an engagement too.

“Let’s go ask Hotch who it is!” Decided Penelope, prompting Emily and Derek to stand up in unison. “Wait, why Hotch?” “He’s the supervisory special agent. They usually know those details about their agents.” Explained Spencer. “Oh.” Emily and Derek both shot you the same look, squinting their eyes at you suspiciously. “Right, let’s go ask!” You announced, pushing yourself off your chair as you slid your ring back on.

You watched as Penelope, Derek and Spencer walked ahead of you, but Emily stayed back, her hand curling around your wrist. “Hotch?” She whispered. You blankly stared at her, guilt painting your face. “Let’s go ask Hotch.” You repeated.

You pushed past the agents lingering in Hotch’s doorway, moving to sit on the leather couch in his office. Derek and Spencer’s heads moved to watch in astonishment as you slumped on your boss’ sofa, chewing on your bottom lip worriedly. “You know, I’m really starting to believe my suspicion is correct.” Noted Derek, before turning back to SSA Hotchner. “What suspicion?” Questioned Penelope.

“What are the five of you doing in here?” Hotch sighed, and you turned your gaze to stare at your lap, distracting yourself from everyone’s stares. “We want to know who y/n’s husband is.” Penelope declared, pointing at you. Hotch slowly turned his attention to you, and you swallowed thickly, shrugging your shoulders. “I forgot to take my ring off this morning.”

As though Hotch forgot he hadn’t been discovered yet, a fond smile made its way onto his face, causing your eyes to widen. “It is him.” Whispered Spencer with horror. “Him like Hotch?” Penelope looked around frantically, watching as you cringed softly, eyes still locked on your boss, sharing a look too intimate for him to only be your boss.

Your husband.

“Hotch is him!?” She shrieked, attracting the attention of JJ, who had been looking for the team, trying to call them up to the conference room. “Hey, what’s going on?” She asked softly, poking her head into the office. “These two traitors are married.” JJ laughed softly, but when no one broke character, she began looking around in confusion. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yes, agent l/n and I are married. Or, agent Hotchner, should I say?" At the squeals that came from your coworkers at the confirmation, he playfully rolled his eyes. "We have been before Prentiss joined this team. Have been in a relationship since before Reid joined. We got engaged somewhere in between.” Penelope screamed at your husband’s confession, her jaw dropping to the floor. “It seems silly to slip up now.” You mumbled, spinning the ring around on your finger. JJ gasped again, moving past her coworkers to get a closer look at the ring on your finger.

“This must have cost a fortune.” She spoke in a gossipy tone, smiling wildly when she looked up at you. “Well, it was less of a fortune back then than it would be now. Inflation. Now everyone get out of my office.”

“Oh! We have a case, by the way.” Your coworkers dispersed into the hallway outside and Hotch travelled across the room, shutting his door closed for a moment alone with you. “I’m sorry, I forgot.” You apologised, bringing up your hands up to rest on Aaron’s abdomen. He tilted his head to the side with a smile, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. “Don’t be sorry. I’m happy you get to wear it now.” “I forgot to take it off after dinner.” You reiterated.

“Well, if I remember correctly, we were quite busy after dinner last night.” You felt your cheeks go hot, and reached over to open the door of Hotch’s office. “Sweetheart?” You looked back at your husband, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Happy anniversary.”

[infictionalwonderland]

The BAU team meeting Hotch’s younger gf who looks like she walked off the front cover of a magazine & she’s so bubbly and has a really comforting energy! How would they react????

The satisfying little clicks of heels against the marble floor wasn’t enough to gain any of their attention usually, but accompanied by the delicately enchanting chimes of true laughter and sweet smell of baked goods—eyes were immediately lifting to investigate to the scene.

“Thank you so much!” An incredibly sweet, honeyed voice gushed genuinely, “here, all of these are meant for my boyfriend but I’m sure he won’t even notice.”

The team traded immensely interested looks as they surveyed the scene, Anderson (who was uncharacteristically blushing a bright flustered cherry red) was being handed a chocolate chip muffin by—wow—a startlingly gorgeous young women who was dressed in inviting soft colours and had a large sweet smile on her face that served to emphasise her lovely appearance.

“My day just got a hundred times better.” Derek grinned, swivelling his chair sideways to speak to the rest of his team while barely taking his eyes off you.

“You’re telling me.” Emily’s mouth hung open a little as she leaned forwards on her elbows to look at you more closely.

“Behave.” JJ scolded before her brief look of reprimand melted under Emily’s pointed stare, “she’s looks so sweet I just wanna eat her.”

“She has a boyfriend.” Spencer reminded them.

“What—?”

“Pretty boy—you and—“

“Oh—oh, no!” Spencer flustered, sputtering out the gulp of his coffee he had in his mouth (JJ handed him a napkin with a mothers readiness). “Not—I would be absolutely honoured—and—and, for lack of a sensical phrase, over the moon, to have a romantic relationship with a woman such as her but—no, unfortunately. She—she said a few moments ago that has a boyfriend.”

“Ah.” Emily blinked, a slow almost sheepish smirk on his lips, “I wasn’t really listening to what she was saying, just watching her lips move.”

“Preach sister.” Derek leaned forward for a fist-bump which Emily easily gave, both of them nodding in solidarity.

“Hello!” They all startled heavily as your gentle, happy voice chimed now much closer to them and mouths dropped subtly at just how beautiful you looked up close.

“Well hello sweetheart.”

“H-hi.”

“Hi gorgeous.”

“Hello!”

You blinked at them, an adorable giggle leaving you at the onslaught of greetings that came all at once. “Hi! You wouldn’t happen to know where Aaron Hotchner’s office is would you?”

“Hotch?” Emily furrowed her brows at you curiously and then seemed to forgot about, well, any of anything she was thinking as your bubbly smile and sparkling eyes turned her way and you gave a cheerful ‘yep!’ “Um—just, up those stairs, the first door at the top.”

“Thank you very much.” You told her, voice as sweet as the packet of fizzy haribos hidden in her desk. “It was lovely meeting you all, we’ll probably be better acquainted later on.”

With a sparkly mischievous twinkle in your bright eyes and another adorable giggle, you took off in a small spin that sent the enchanting mix of your perfume and the baked goods wafting over to all of them and they all watched, entranced, as you climbed the steps to their boss’ office.

After several seconds of dazed silence, Spencer gasped.

“Boyfriend—“

“Yeah I wouldn’t mind being her boyfriend either.” Derek murmured. “At all—really, no sweat off my back.”

“Hotch.”

JJ’s mouth dropped open as she realised where Spencer was going with his train of thought, rolling back in her chair as they pointed at him in realisation.

“Oh my God!”

“Hotch—hotch, is her boyfriend..?” Spencer sounded extremely confused, mouth falling open and closing repeatedly.

“Huh?”

“Reid, you are having a giggle.”

“No, he’s right.” JJ confirmed, mouth open and eyebrows raised. “She said she was here to see her boyfriend and she’s gone to see Hotch. . 2 plus 2 equals. .”

“. . An incredibly brokenhearted Derek Morgan.” Derek’s own mouth dropped open, craning his neck to see what was going on in the office of his boss before realising that Hotch had shut the blinds. Derek gasped, that sneak.

“And a flummoxed Emily Prentiss.”

“But she’s so—“

“Yeah.”

“And he’s like—“

“Literally!”

“Well, the last few months Hotch has been incredibly more relaxed, in fact his percentage of smiles given has gone up from a measly 30% to almost 84%, his laugh quota has reached high yet levels than I’ve ever known it to be. I had also noted that every Thursday he never goes home as late as he usually retires for the day and with this new revelation of a relationship—I assume this correlates to their date nights.”

“It does.”

Everyone turned in their chairs quickly to face their boss who now stood outside his office a faintly amused smile curving up his lips, at his side was you and you were wearing an amused and loving smile, eyes practically sparkling after Spencer’s speech on your boyfriend’s behaviour as they flickered up to said boyfriend beside you who looked down at you with soft, fond eyes.

“So you figured out my secret.” You grinned at them all, taking in Spencer’s red cheeks and Emily’s flabbergasted, dazed stare. “I’m Y/N, Aaron’s girlfriend!”

“Doesn’t that just crush a man’s hopes and dreams.” Derek pouted quietly to himself, straightening up in alarm when his boss’ intense eyes zeroed in on him.

“Honey, this is JJ—“ The blonde gave a warm, welcoming smile and a wave, “Spencer,” said genius gave a tight lipped awkward smile, hands flailing awkwardly and cheeks a burning fiery red, feeling this pulse thump when they smiled back directly at him, “Emily and Derek.” Both of the aforementioned gave waves with half flirty-ish smirks and half genuine smiles.

The door to Rossi’s office opened and when he stepped out and saw you beside Aaron he smiled happily, walking towards you both.

“Ah, Y/N!” He took you into an embrace, kissing both of your cheeks. “You get more beautiful every time I see you, is this big brute treating you right?”

“Always, Dave.”

He patted you on the shoulders, smiling, before turning to Aaron who was rolling his eyes at him fondly.

“Let’s keep it that way.”

“Rossi!” Emily’s astounded voice exclaimed, “you—know Y/N—you knew about this—“

It was Dave’s turn to roll his eyes as he continued walking to descend down the stairs, tutting at her disappointedly.

“You thought I wouldn’t?” He countered, “who do you think encouraged him to go for it?”

You laughed at that and your boyfriend smiled down at you fondly, looping an arm around your waist—seemingly forgetting he was in his place of work and needed to keep up the facade of stone cold, emotionless boss.

“What—Rossi—get back here—“ Derek leaped up from his seat and trailed after the older man.

“What, you gonna come watch me take a leak?”

“If it means we get some answers!”

“Shoo parassita.”

All you could do was laugh again, smiling up at your boyfriend as his arm tightened around your waist and he pulled you closer into his side. You were very happy with your decision to come and deliver baked goods to him.

[rkivefae]

(DIE)TS ── AARON HOTCHNER

Pairing ── Plus Size/Chubby Fem!Reader x Aaron Hotchner

Summary ── Hotchner hates nothing more than when you go on unhealthy diets. (Or: You were mocked by a woman and her words stuck to you like glue. You internalized it so much that you began restricting and over-exercising but Aaron comes back and talks to you.)

Rating ── Mature

Content Warnings ── Disordered Eating & behaviors, fatphobia, let me know if I need to say something else.

Word Count ── 3.8k+

Note ── I wrote this in like 2 and a half hours and didn't edit it. I pulled this from some dark corner of my brain that's struggling with wanting to relapse and need this comfort. I suggest anyone struggling with an ED or disordered eating to not read if easily triggered. It goes in detail and should not be consumed by just anyone but I'm sure there's someone out there who needs this just as much as me. AND IF ANYONE IS WONDERING ABOUT HIS KID, just assume he's staying the night at family houses and other peoples and at school thx.

Hotchner hates nothing more than when you go on unhealthy diets.

But you can’t help how it’s drilled in your head. You’ve always been a chunky kid and as you got older, your size never really changed. You were always bigger and people had their things to say about it.

You’ve been called many names in the book, there wasn’t anything you haven’t heard of. They used to make you cry, you wouldn’t go out with your friends, you wouldn’t eat out, you wouldn’t wear sexy or tight clothing. You trained yourself to cover yourself, to not show yourself in front of people - including the basic need of eating.

It felt wrong, forbidden of sorts and although you dropped many of those habits now in your early 30s, it still lingered. You’d occasionally forget meals, pull at your clothes when you thought your stomach was showing and on your worst days, you didn’t dare go out.

But then you met Aaron, the sweetest man you’ve ever met. You were out clubbing with your friends, in a tight green dress with a back cut out. And you never felt prettier, dancing under the lights in the club with your friends. You felt the cold air on your heated skin and it was a thrill as your body mingled with your girlfriends. They grabbed on your hips occasionally, your bodies in sync.

You could feel eyes on you, and you knew it was you because your friends giggled it in your ear. Their hands left your body, though they still were near like a precaution, you opened your eyes and your breath was caught in your throat. His jet black hair was pulled back, save a few strands in front of his face but god did it work. He was sculpted by a god who took pride in their work, you were sure of it. 

You smiled, the plump of your lips covered in the gloss you put on, eyes lined with your favorite black eyeliner and thick mascara. It all made your eyes more piercing when the light shined just right - or so you’ve been told. Then before you knew it, you were in his hands that night. And it felt more than right. His hands never left your body that whole night it felt like. He said your name on his tongue like a prayer, chanting over and over again with a rasp, a moan and a raw need that ignited a fire within you.

You both met that night by chance, his friends finally breaking his hard cover and pressuring him to give in and you, god you were looking for a break and boy did you get one. The best night of your life.

You haven’t left each other's side since that night, he worshipped you and you did the same, in your own ways.

And you knew he found you attractive, he told you that every night. And not just in sexual moments. He’d come behind you, wrap his arms around you, lean over to kiss your neck to your ear as you cooked his favorite meal (considering he cooked yours the night before) and he’d tell you how beautiful you are. To which you’d giggle and thank him. Sometimes giving him sass, “compliments will not give you sneaky bites of dinner before it’s done.”

But something got beneath your hard exterior. He was gone for the week on a case (as he is a lot, but you didn’t mind. You’d rather him out there saving lives like he does best) and you were at home. Your girlfriends asked if you wanted to go out, you pondered it for a bit but it’s been a minute since you’ve all gone out, let alone get a drink together.

So you agreed, dressing up in the green dress you met Aaron in. You decided you’d tease him with pictures, especially considering you wanted to wear your green lace set beneath it. It wasn’t to make him jealous, no one could touch him besides you, but to rile him up a little. You weren’t going to send it while he was in the middle of a case but when he was on his way home, just a little treat to show him what he’s coming home to.

You were all having fun, dancing on the floor like the time before but you got achy sooner than you thought you would, you pardoned yourself with a giggle as your friends hands chased after you but didn’t pull you back, respecting your decision to rest for a minute.

But on your way back, you weren’t watching where you were going and before you knew it, you were completely cold. A drink was spilled from your exposed chest down the silk of your dress.

“Fucking fat bitch,” you heard a girl growl out before you were pushed backwards. You went with the motion, too shocked to fight against it. You didn’t register it all at first until your eyes came to hers, the blue pierced your skull as her face twisted into what could only be described as disgust by the scrunch of her nose and snarl of her lips. “Watch where you’re fucking going. That was like fifty bucks of drinks, you lard.”

And just like that, apologies rushed out your lips. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry” you say as you bend to pick the glass that dropped. You muttered more apologies and you didn’t even notice when your fingers were pricked by the glass, you fumbled as you tried to put it on the tray. “I’ll pay for a new one, I’m sorry-“

The girl scoffed, “I don’t need your money. Just stay out of the way or better yet, lose some fucking weight.” And you backed into yourself. You’ve been clumsy before but you’ve never had a reaction like this. And it didn’t help that you found out you gained a few more pounds while having been with Aaron.

“Yo, watch who the fuck you’re talking to.” One of your friends came up behind you, her eyes squinting at the girl before you and this time, the girl stepped back, scoffing again, muttering a whatever and walking off.

Sasha was your best friend and always has been, but when her comforting hands made their way to your body, you shrugged them off and turned to her with the best smile you had, it was small and you knew she could see past it.

“It’s okay, I think- I think I’ll just go home.” You muttered before taking off, pushing through the crowd until you made it out.

You wanted nothing more than the world to swallow you up. You hadn’t given it much thought to lose weight, not in a while. But she could barely fit the green dress she was wearing and it was perfect a few months ago.

But you didn’t know how to lose weight. You already ate healthy (with a few occasions of not) and you worked out occasionally but maybe you needed to eat less, way less and work out more.

Your walk home was cold and you were non-stop sniffling. You’ve done this to yourself, you said. You should fix it.

Aaron said they made a break in the case and might be home in a few days. Maybe you could surprise him by losing a few pounds. Maybe he’d like you more. 

These thoughts snowballed. Every thought you’ve had since you were 7 was rushing back and ten times worse.

Over the course of the next few days, you rejected your friends' invitations to eat out and tried to eat only one meal a day and spend the rest of the time working out and being busy.

You tried to eat just a salad most nights and others you were too tired, so you ordered takeout. Work was an absolute pain, you moved on your feet like a zombie. God you looked like one, there were bags under your eyes. You couldn't sleep well, you stayed up most nights because you just couldn't sleep. You had to take melatonin most nights and you tried not to do it every night considering their health concerns but sleep was becoming something that was a treat. You were rarely getting it.

Aaron called you sometimes, he said that the case is taking longer than expected and that he'd be gone for even longer. You tried not to let it get to you but maybe it was your lack of sleep (and probably proper nutrition) but you were getting more emotional. Your period had already passed so you knew it wasn't that, but you were eating yourself up from the inside out. You were getting messages from your friends, you responded as positively as you could but you could tell they were getting concerned for your health and safety as days went by and you didn't accept any of their brunch plans nor hang outs. 

It was unusual of you, it's been 2 weeks since that night and this never ending routine you've been doing was catching up to you. But you needed to continue it. You had to. You don't even understand why anymore, you loved yourself - you thought you did at least and now you weren't so sure. That night destroyed all that you built and you couldn't explain why.

You thought you were pretty before going out, maybe a little upset that you probably wouldn't be able to wear the dress again soon because you gained a few pounds and you didn't want to rip it. It was your favorite dress for multiple reasons and it being the dress that you met Aaron in was definitely the number one reason. It was the dress you were in, shamelessly flaunting yourself and he picked you. Out of everyone there. It was already not his scene, he didn't want to be there and he was dreading the whole night.

Sometimes you think late at night, what is the point of doing this? He loves you, doesn't he? Why would you have to lose weight for that love to be more? But then your other side fights that maybe he wants what every other man in his life has, a skinny girlfriend. It wasn't fair to him. What if he got mocked for dating someone like you just like you received for being yourself?

Being alone consumed you, all you had was yourself (and everything anyone has ever told you in your life). 

Aaron said it was extended another week probably due to new findings of a group. You didn't understand, you weren't allowed to consider that it was confidential business and you weren't upset about not knowing. Just that you missed him, more than anything else right now.

Around week three or four, the days began to blur more. You didn't feel like yourself anymore and you were forgetting things more. Your brain was fogging up compared to the first week, you still had pizazz in your movement. But maybe this is what beauty costs?

"Hey baby," 

Your heart ached at his voice, rough and tired through the phone.

"Hey handsome," You gave out, with a light giggle. In bed yourself. You hoped he was too. He had the tendency to stay up and overwork himself when a case was getting to him. "I miss you." you whispered into the phone after a few beats of silence.

You heard his sigh, like the world was weighing on him - and to him, it probably did feel like this. "I miss you most, angel." he muttered into the phone.

"You're not staying up working, are you?" you chided, a softness to your phone. But there was only silence to your question. You shook your head, he couldn't see it but you knew he could feel your disapproval. "Oh you totally are! You need to go to bed." You reprimanded him through the phone. 

"But I feel so close, I just need to focus on it."

"No, what you need is sleep." You countered. And you heard his groan. You knew it wasn't of annoyance towards you, just everything that's on him.

"But I'm leading this case and I just, I feel like I need to do more."

"Mhm, you may be the leader boss man of the FBI but listen here, mister, I'm the boss now. You need to get your butt into bed and rest. Anything you're missing won't be found through a tired mind and overworked body. It'll still be there when you wake up and you'll be better than right now to be able to find it. I know you will, but you need to nourish your mind." You spoke softly to him. Maybe a few words of yours was childish but this was the one place and way where he didn't have to act so cold. When you're running the FBI and hunting down criminals, you can't act like the true warm teddy bear you are.

"I know baby, I know." He sighed softly. "Sleep on Skype with me?" He asked and you smiled into the phone. You granted him the request, both of you opening your computers (he now carried one regularly for you) and your smile brightened at him but you knew he couldn't see you, you were in a dark room with no light - and thank god for that but he could hear you and maybe that's what he needed, to hear you in the night. 

It definitely helped you, hearing him next to you even though he wasn't truly there. His breathing was all you needed, you recognized it like no other and a big part of you was soothed by it. You slept a little better that night- just a little.

Your days were still rough, you ached in places you never ached before. But when you woke in the morning, you were startled by loud banging on your door. You peeked through the hole and saw the only face those loud knocks could belong to. Sasha.

You purse your lips, knowing if you opened the door, it would be a world of butt whooping and you weren't ready for it. You knew better than to get away with - not ignoring, just not talking to her as much. 

But as soon as you undid the locks, the door swung open as you had the handle in your hand and you were met with a face of fury. Her eyes set on you and they narrowed. 

"Y/n-"

And before you could finish, you took off as her body lurched forward to get you. But she was always faster, her hands catching you and she pulled you along with her to the couch before she threw you down on it. "Now, I'm giving you five seconds to explain why in the world you're ignoring your most amazing and best friend," she paused for only a second before pointing back at herself, "me before I open a can of whoop-ass on you."

You stared for a second and you couldn't think of anything, mind wiped clean.

"One."

And you squeaked.

"Two."

"Idon'tknowI'vejustbeensadwithoutAaron-" You rushed out before she could say 'three' and that was enough for her, she registered it and she lifted a brow to you.

"That's all it is? You're not lying to me, right?"

"I'm not lying to you." You told her, not confirming the first part but it seemed like she took it as an answer to the first question.

And her solution to this very dire problem was a movie marathon. 

A part of you was more than grateful for this break of thinking, just binge watching movies with your best friends was a cleansing you never knew you needed before. It was the best thing to ever have happened to you. You had an excuse for why you didn't sleep last night, having stayed up most of it with her. But she had to leave somewhere around 2 a.m. 

And the following day, Aaron messaged you that he was finally coming home. And small parts of your world was crashing because you only lost so much weight with his absence, you didn't know how you'd be able to hide what you've been doing-

Hide?

Yes, you needed to hide it.

But not all plans follow through, you learned.

As soon as he made it home, you were in his arms, he wrapped around you as tight as he could and breathed you in like you were a drug he was addicted to and truthfully, you probably were. You swore you saw him going through withdrawals - or perhaps that was the delusion of it all. Maybe you were the one addicted. It didn't matter in the end, you both were obsessed and in love with each other.

You both pulled back on for him to press his lips against yours, his hands on your hips - keeping you as close as possible. "I never want to be away that long from you, ever again." He mumbled against your lips and to that you let out a soft giggle.

"I'll just have to keep you all to myself, handsome."

He pulled back and you saw it - for the split second it appeared - his confused gaze, eyebrows pinched. His hand went to your face - and his hand was the perfect size, cupping your face like you were a doll and truly, to him, you were. His thumb lightly traced the bags beneath your eyes and you felt your stomach drop.

"Have you been sleeping?"

And you were never much of a liar, not like you could get away with it while dating a behavioral analysis.

"Uhm, not too well." You muttered. You felt bad, his return should be about him, not you. It was stupid. He looked tired, he should be resting.

"What's been keeping you up?" He asked, eyes now on yours and not the bag beneath them. You sucked in a breath and shrugged because you knew speaking would only make you give it away and you were scared of what he'd say or think.

Would he be happy? Would he think that you were finally doing something about your body? Would he say he was proud because he wanted you thin like other girls?

Or would he cradle you? Would he tell you to eat more, that it was stupid to base your worth off of something like that? That you're more than a plate of pasta that you forbid yourself from and ate only a plate of salad?

You hoped for that but it would probably be the former. Aaron was a fit man, he could already pick you up now and maybe he would want a smaller girl.

"Have you been eating well?"

Your heart sunk deeper into your stomach and you shrugged again. 

"It's okay-" You began but his firm look on you told you otherwise.

"Baby, be honest with me because I can tell by one look the answer to my question already. I just want you to be honest with me."

A part of you was happy and another - was destroyed? You felt like it was blown up and chopped up and put through a shredder. You couldn't explain why, not really.

"I just- I wanted to lose some weight."

"Why?"

And it made you scoff a little, not an exaggerated one, just a small one. He should know this answer, shouldn't he?

"Come on, Aaron, take one look at me. I'm fat and not just phat, the big F. Capital even. And I just want to look better for you, I know what people think when they see us together and I guess I just realized how much better you deserve- which is just so shitty of me- and I'm just trying to give you that. I could look so much better if I was skinny, you can't tell me I wouldn't." You huffed out, your words were to distance him but your grip on his suit kept him close because even with this tough act, you were falling apart. Tears were in your eyes and you sniffed at him.

"You wouldn't."

"Don't lie to me, Aaron."

"You wouldn't." 

You huffed out a laugh, hands letting go of his suit and you moved to turn but his hands stopped you, cradling you by your waist and bringing you closer.

"You wouldn't look "so much better" if you were skinny, you look beautiful to me now. You'll look just as beautiful to me if you gained fifty pounds or lost fifty pounds. Your weight is a number that is out of my mind because I love you, Y/n. And that's not something conditioned by your weight." He began, taking in a breath while his eyes searched yours. Tears that formed before, were finally falling. "You're beautiful to me, Y/n. Your body is beautiful, your personality is beautiful, you are beautiful. If you want to lose weight, that's fine by me but I won't watch you wither away before me. Losing weight shouldn't be about being 'skinny'. It's about loving yourself and changing for health. You're healthy as you are now and if you want to change something to be better, then so be it but it will be in a healthy way. There's nothing about you I want to change, but I'll support any change you want to have. And if you don't want to change, then don't. Because I'm in love with the beautiful woman in front of me. Not an idea of how others may want her to be."

You sniffled by the time he was finished, face completely soaked by tears and you couldn't help a laugh that came from your mouth. "Do you know it's rude to make a girl cry?" And he smiled at that. And you caught your breath a second later, sniffling again. "I love you, I love you- God, I love you, Aaron. I'm sorry for what I said and acted like." You took a long breath. "It's just, something happened when I was out with my friends and it just, it affected me. Those few words she said affected me and I couldn't let it go."

And ever the understanding and loving boyfriend he was, he took the apology and ordered take out (both too tired to cook) and cuddled up to watch a show.

And as the movie began, you peered up at him from your position against his chest and said, in the most quiet voice. "I don't want to lose weight, maybe build muscle a bit but I don't want to be like that, not right now at least." You confided.

And to that he smiled, "Then that's how it'll be. I love you no less." He pressed a kiss against your lips and it truly felt like he didn't love you any less.

Things will get better, you'll get better. And with him by your side, that's more than possible.

please leave thoughts and comments <3 requests are open if you'd like to see more of him or anyone else (esp with plus size reader or buff)

[sincerelybubbles]

hi!! i love the shy!reader x hotch fics, but i was wondering if you could do a completely opposite dynamic? where it's like a super flirty and playful reader who's goal is to try to fluster and get a reaction out of hotch? <33 feel free to ignore !!

cannon typical violence, mentions of blood, hospitals. not my best but it's something!! ty for the request <3

"Any chance to get your hands on me," you say, breathless, as Hotch presses the fabric of his jacket into the wound at your side.

He ignores you, shouting for a medic.

"Nothing to say, handsome?" Leaning back on your elbows, you watch as Hotch focuses entirely on the injury. Anything to distract against the pain would be welcome but you'd be lying if you said you'd ever abandoned any opportunity to fluster the man in front of you.

"I have plenty to say to you," Hotch says, voice low, peering up at you from under furrowed eyebrows, "starting either with personal safety or inappropriate conduct at work."

"Inappropriate? So you have noticed the flirting." You're starting to fade, the telltale signs of an impending faint thrumming in your numb fingers.

"Okay, save your breath," Hotch implores, hands pressing harder on the wound, shouting for help again.

You're sure the paramedic's are on their way, you watched Morgan slam the unsub to the ground moments before, and you're certain enough in your safety to chuckle and send a wink to him, "ah, got other plans for how I can waste it later?"

It doesn't even make total sense but Hotch chuckles, exasperated, still. Slowly shaking his head, he lets out a slow breath. "You're more trouble than you're worth."

"We both know you don't mean that." Pounding head, flashing lights (ambulance, maybe?), ringing ears. Yeah, you're going to pass out. Before you succumb, though, you reach forward to pat Hotch's cheek. "You care too much to mean it. And hey, handsome?"

Hotch hums, eyes blurring in your sightline and refusing to come back into focus. "Don't freak out."

---------

"Morning, sunshine." Hotch is reading in the chair next to your hospital bed, case files resting on his knee. The pain on your side is incessant, constant and unignorable.

"Don't freak out?" Hotch asks slowly, shutting the folder without looking at you. "A proper warning that you're feeling like you're going to pass out would be appreciated."

"It's okay, handsome, I'm good." Hiding a wince, you sit yourself up. "See, I was right, though."

"About?" Hotch asks, finally looking up to watch you at your movement. You can tell that he sees your pain so you talk quickly to cover it.

"You care! About little ole me, how flattering."

"Of course I do. Do you want me to call the nurse?" You feel out of breath, cramps between your ribs, white hot pain settling.

"And interrupt our alone time? Never."

"Stop doing that."

"Doing what?" You're distracted, banter subpar, as you struggle to maintain even breath.

"Hiding your pain."

"I'm not?" You pitch your voice up, questioning, attempting to trip him up so that he forgets his original argument.

"You are. I know you better than that - you're usually better at this," he gestures between the two of you, setting his case file on the table beside him and leaning forward, resting his forearms on his knees to get a better look at you.

"What're you talking about?"

"Come on," he sighs your name, shaking his head and frowning at you. "Let me call the nurse if it hurts, you should sleep more."

"Trying to get rid of me?" You ask, flashing the smile at him that you always use to disorient others. Wide, all teeth, wrinkled nose, distracting distracting distracting.

It usually works but Hotch looks past it, catching the way your eyebrows pinch in the center.

"I'm calling the nurse."

"Stop, no," you reach forward to snatch the remote before he can grab it. You don't want to sleep, you want to spend more time with him, you want to get out of this bed, you want to stop feeling helpless as soon as possible.

"Seriously?" Hotch asks, half standing, leaning over you now.

"Seriously. I'm good. Maybe you don't know me as well as you think." You're half teasing, hints of truth littered behind the words.

You feel that way, sometimes. You're always fast to hide behind a tease, a flirt, a well placed laugh. You're aware it's a defense mechanism - do your best to make them love you superficially, they can't see the dirtier parts of you and run. Fluster Hotch so he can't see your attraction to you and reject you quicker than you can catch hope.

Hotch raises an eyebrow, settling back in his seat. "You take two sugars in your tea unless people aren't watching, then you add a third. You always triple lock your car, too aware that it doesn't do any good - we've all seen how little it matters in the end. You sit next to Spencer when he sleeps on the plane to help him with his nightmares when he wakes up, you pack an extra banana for early mornings to give to Morgan - you actually hate them, you just pretend to help him. You're more than you give yourself credit for."

Blinking slowly, mind sluggish from pain medication, you watch Hotch, fully aware that maybe you've been watched more than you've realized.

Slowly, you pass him the remote, a silent omission of relenting.

Perhaps it won't be so bad to be seen.

[gold-onthe-inside]

flu season

who? aaron hotchner (s7) x fem!reader summary: when you catch the same bug that's been going round at jack's school, your favourite person returns the favour to take care of you. content warnings: sickness obv, lots of praise (smart/best girl) word count: 0.8k a/n: wrote this for my best girl @minswriting to help her feel better <3 love you bby ; listened to flu season by koffer

You don’t fall sick that often — your record had been 6 sick days last year — but flu season gets to everyone, especially when you spent the better half of a week taking care of a 10 year old with your boyfriend while he was working on a case. You’d felt the odd tickle of a sneeze but nothing more, and Aaron had shown his gratitude in more ways than one. You didn’t mind, you never minded. Just like Aaron, Jack had made a home for himself in your heart, complete with a pillow fort and all.

Except come Tuesday, you’ve got the same bug he did, waking up much later than you normally did, your whole body aching and sore and your head woozy. There’s no choice, you have to call in sick - for fear you might pass out behind the wheel. You wouldn’t have called him if there was another choice either, but it’s just your luck that you’re out of any medication that might help — no painkillers, no cold syrup, nothing.

He can hear it in your voice, the frail hoarseness to it, the stuffy nose that means your voice is a little more nasally than usual. It’s a no-brainer; he tells Rossi to hold down the fort for a day, to which he receives a knowing smirk, and then he’s out of the office, stopping only at a general store in your neighbourhood to pick up everything you need. He splurges on the hypoallergenic eucalyptus tissues, the softest ones he can find, and strawberry cold syrup because he’d be a lousy profiler to not remember your favourite flavour. The next stop is groceries — chicken, eggs, and vegetables, seeing as you wouldn’t go shopping until Thursday — and then he’s at your apartment, sliding the key you’d given him for emergencies into the door.

You look, and feel, like death warmed up, all laid up on the couch with your red-tinged nose and pale skin, tissues scattered around you. “Hey, honey, how are you feeling?” he asked, instantly making a beeline to kneel at your side. He doesn’t even take off his dress shoes first.

“M sorry,” you managed, reaching out for his handsome face, which he covers with his own large palm, kissing the inside of your wrist.

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” he murmured, closing his hand over your hand and frowning with concern. “You do seem a little warm, though. You check your temperature?”

“Mhm, was 100 degrees this morning. Figured I should stay warm.”

“Smart girl,” he praised, pressing his lips to your temple. “Food?”

“Toast and orange juice,” you said, looking at him as he stroked your hair. “Were you very busy?”

“Never too busy to take care of my best girl,” he replied. “Let’s get some medication in you and then you need to rest, okay?”

You nodded, uncaring of how childish you felt yourself being. Not when he was so caring. He measured out the exact dose of cold syrup for you, had you follow it with a painkiller to help with the body ache, praising you the whole time. “Stay with me?” you asked in your sleepy voice, and he can’t say no. You shift to make space for him on the couch, laying your head on his lap, drifting off to his hand stroking your hair.

You stirred a couple hours later, rubbing your eyes groggily as you try to make sense of everything. Aaron’s suit jacket hung on the back of a chair, and the curtains had been drawn to help you sleep better, and you feel too hot in your hoodie and blanket. You pulled off the hoodie, leaving it beside you just as Aaron walked over, carefully holding a tray with bowl of chicken soup.

“This is officially too much,” you said, your voice a little stronger than it had been when he’d come through the door.

“It’s not nearly enough,” he said firmly. “Go on, sit properly.” He waits until you oblige, his look firm, but a fondness in his eyes as you crossed your legs, leaving him plenty of space to sit beside you. He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead, drifting down to check your neck. “Not as warm as before, but you can do better,” he said and you pursed your lips at him.

“You may be a boss at work, but you don’t boss me around here, understood?” you told him, threatening him with your spoon and he tried not to laugh.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, sinking back into the couch while you return your attention to the soup, his hand rubbing your back. “Anything else I can do for you?” he asked, and you know he’s being genuine, because there’s nothing he loves more than being of service.

“You’re here,” you said softly. “That’s enough.” And you mean it, of course. You also make him watch Moulin Rouge, even though he hates watching movies that make you cry, and he doesn’t leave your side, spending the day in his slightly unbuttoned dress shirt and slacks, letting you use him like a large body pillow for the rest of the day.

[alexblakegf]

think i might be going crazy cause i’m 100% sure this was requested but i cannot find it in my inbox 😭

aaron hotchner x reader soft launch instagram posts

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[souredvodka]

⤷ TITLE: The Study

⤷ PAIRING: mob boss ! aaron hotchner & assistant ! female reader

⤷ SUMMARY: Caught sneaking into his private study, you’re pinned against a bookshelf, a cold pistol pressed to your chest while his other hand finds its way beneath your panties.

⤷ WARNINGS: Read at your own discretion.

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST

You’ve worked for Aaron Hotchner long enough to know better. Long enough to have memorized the rules, the routines, the things you don’t ask about. Officially, you’re his assistant — the one who manages schedules, sends messages, arranges meetings that’ll never appear on paper.

But you’ve become something else too. The one he calls when his knuckles are split open from a fight, when there’s a bullet graze on his shoulder or a knife wound along his ribs. The one who keeps their mouth shut while cleaning the blood from his skin, pretending like your thighs don’t clench at the sight of him streaked in red, breathing heavy, looking like death itself in an Armani suit.

You should be ashamed of how wet it makes you. The way your heart races when he walks in, bloodied and seething, the scent of smoke and iron thick around him. You’ve imagined his hands on your throat, his cock splitting you open, more times than you’d ever admit.

Especially when he sits in that leather chair, his shirt open, and lets you clean him up — those rough hands on your skin by accident, those sharp dark eyes flicking over your body like he knows what you’re thinking.

And maybe he does.

Which is why you’re in his study now, stomach fluttering, knowing damn well this is the one room you were never supposed to touch. The air smells like old wood, whiskey, and danger, and you’re half-hardwired to turn back when the door slams shut behind you.

“You got a death wish, sweetheart?”

That voice. Low and sharp enough to flay you open. You spin around, heart in your throat, and there he is — Aaron Hotchner in all his lethal glory. His sleeves are rolled up, his knuckles bruised, a smear of dried blood on his jaw. And in his hand, a matte-black Sig Sauer P226, the one you’ve seen him use more than once to put a man in the ground.

Your mouth goes dry.

“I— I wasn’t—”

“Wasn’t what?” He steps forward, the heavy tread of his boots making the floor vibrate under your feet. “Wasn’t snooping? Wasn’t about to stick your nose where it didn’t belong?” His gaze drops, sweeping over your body like he’s stripping you bare. “Or maybe you wanted to get caught.”

The muzzle of the Sig presses against your thigh, cold and unyielding, and your breath stutters out of you. He drags it up slow, letting the metal nudge beneath the hem of your tiny cut-off shorts. The ones you shouldn’t have worn to work, but did anyway because you wanted him to look. He always fucking looked.

“You know what I could do to you with this?” Hotch murmurs, voice dark silk, gun circling over your pussy now, barely grazing through the thin denim. “Could make you cum just from the feel of it stretching you open. Make you sob while you fuck yourself on it.”

A needy, broken whimper tears from your throat before you can stop it, your legs threatening to give out. You’re soaked, can feel it — your panties clinging to your pussy, damp and humiliatingly obvious.

His smirk is slow, cruel. “Take ‘em off.”

You fumble with the button, breath hitching as you push your shorts down over your hips. He watches, sharp eyes narrowing as the fabric drops to the floor, taking your soaked panties with them. The cool air makes you shiver, thighs sticky, your pussy glistening wet, folds puffy and flushed from nothing but his voice and the press of that gun.

“Fuck, look at you,” Hotch growls. The Sig lowers, replaced by his hand — big, rough, calloused fingers parting you without hesitation. You gasp, feeling how wet you are, slick coating his skin instantly.

“Dripping. Just from a little threat, huh? Knew you were a filthy thing, but this? This is new.”

Two fingers slide into you, knuckle-deep, without warning. Thick, unrelenting, filling you so good you nearly sob. He crooks them, finding that spot inside you that makes your hips jerk against his palm, makes your vision blur.

“Oh yeah, there it is,” he mutters darkly, fucking you with his fingers, wrist flexing, palm grinding against your swollen clit. “This pussy was made for me. Bet you’ve been getting yourself off thinking about it. About me pinning you down, filling this greedy cunt while you beg for more.”

You can’t even deny it. The squelch of his fingers inside you is obscene, your slick making a mess down your thighs, hips canting shamelessly toward his hand.

“Gonna cum already, baby? That easy for me?”

You nod, desperate, lips trembling.

He shoves the muzzle of the Sig against your chest, right between your tits, the cold steel pressing into your racing heart.

“Then do it,” he orders, voice a growl. “Cum for me with my gun against your heart like the depraved little whore you are.”

The words tip you over the edge. You cum hard, pussy clenching around his fingers, hips jerking as the pleasure shudders through you. It’s messy, wet, your arousal dripping down his hand, onto the floor. The gun stays against your chest, firm and unforgiving, keeping you pinned in place while you moan his name.

Hotch watches you ride it out, a satisfied snarl curling his lip.

When your legs finally stop shaking, he pulls his fingers from your spent cunt, holding them up in front of your face.

“Clean ‘em.”

You don’t hesitate. Lean forward and take them into your mouth, tongue swirling over them, sucking eagerly, tasting yourself while he watches, hard-on straining against the front of his tailored slacks.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his other hand burying in your hair as you finish. “Now get on your fucking knees.”

You drop instantly, the rug rough against your skin. Without even thinking, you press your cheek against the bulge in his pants, rubbing your face against it like a cat in heat. His cock is thick, heavy, and hard as a rock beneath the fine fabric, and you moan at the thought of finally feeling it stretch you open.

“Goddamn pathetic,” Hotch sneers, but there’s a dangerous, dark satisfaction in his voice. “Can’t believe I waited this long to put you in your place.”

And when he unzips his pants, when you catch sight of just how big he really is — you realize you might never want to leave it.

You barely have time to catch your breath before he’s got the Sig pressed to the side of your head again, the cold muzzle resting right at your temple as you stay knelt between his legs like the obedient little thing he’s already made you into tonight. His other hand works his fly down, the metal teeth of his zipper dragging slow, deliberate, like he knows you’re watching every move with your lips parted and your cunt still throbbing from the orgasm he just pulled out of you.

Then he frees his cock from his slacks, and fuck — you thought about it before, sure, imagined it when you were alone in your bed, fingers buried in your soaked cunt with his name on your tongue. But nothing, not a single filthy fantasy, compares to the sight of it in front of you. Thick and heavy, flushed dark at the head, a prominent vein running along the underside. His cock curves upward slightly, like it was made to hit deep, to wreck a throat, to press against the back of it until tears spill down your face.

You can’t help but reach for it, wrapping your hand around the base, marveling at how hot and weighty it feels in your palm. Your thumb brushes over the head, gathering a bead of precum and smearing it down the shaft. The growl that rumbles out of Hotch’s chest makes your pussy pulse, your thighs slick and trembling where you kneel.

“Open that fucking mouth, sweetheart,” he orders, the gun still firm against your head. “Let’s see how good you really are.”

You do it eagerly, tongue out, lips parted, offering yourself up like a fucking whore. He doesn’t hesitate — slides the tip past your lips, lets you taste the salt and heat of him, before pushing deeper. His cock stretches your mouth wide, makes your jaw ache in seconds, but you don’t care. You want this. Want him to ruin you. To fuck your throat so raw you’ll taste him for days.

You start working him with your mouth and hand, spit slicking him up as you drool around his length. Your tongue curls under the head, teasing the sensitive spot just beneath the crown, and his hips jerk forward involuntarily, making you gag on the sudden thrust. The sound you make is desperate, filthy, but you love it — love the way your eyes water, the way your spit dribbles down your chin.

When you pull back, you make it even nastier — spit thick and shiny stretching from your lips to his cock. You stroke him fast, wet and messy, before dipping your head lower to take his balls into your mouth. They're heavy, tight against his skin, and you roll them on your tongue while stroking his shaft, moaning like a fucking pornstar because it’s so goddamn good. He hisses through his teeth, hand tightening in your hair.

“Jesus Christ, look at you,” he rasps, watching you work like you were born for this. “Knew you were a filthy little slut underneath all that paperwork. Should’ve had you on your knees months ago.”

Your nipples are straining against the fabric of your top now, so hard they ache, your whole body flushed and trembling. One hand works his cock, the other slipping between your thighs to rub at your swollen clit. You’re so wet it’s obscene, slick coating your fingers instantly as you circle your clit, chasing another orgasm while your mouth and hand never stop moving on him.

The Sig presses a little harder against your temple when you gag again, your throat working around his cock.

“Touch yourself while you do it,” he growls. “Wanna watch you cum with your mouth full.”

And you do, fingers working faster on your clit, grinding down against your palm while you deepthroat him, drool and spit running down your neck, making a filthy mess of yourself. The head of his cock hits the back of your throat over and over, making your eyes blur with tears, and you fucking love it.

Eventually, he sets the gun aside with a soft click on the desk — not because he’s going soft, but because now he needs both hands to wreck you properly. One buries in your hair, the other wrapping around your throat as he starts to fuck your face in earnest. Hard, brutal thrusts, his hips slamming against your lips, cock forcing its way deep, the stretch and burn of it addictive.

The sounds are obscene — wet, sloppy, gagging, moaning, the lewd squelch of your fingers working your cunt in time with his thrusts. Your nipples ache under your top, rubbing against the fabric with every frantic, needy movement.

“I want you to choke on it,” Hotch snarls, his grip bruising, forcing your head still so he can drive into your throat without mercy. “Fucking drool on my cock while you cum, you depraved little whore.”

And you do — god, you do. The second his cock punches the back of your throat, you fall apart. Fingers circling your clit, your pussy spasms around nothing, another hot rush of slick coating your hand as you cum hard, the world going hazy around the edges. You sob around his cock, choking and gasping, tears spilling down your cheeks.

Hotch groans, deep and rough, and his thrusts grow erratic. Then you feel it — the hot, thick pulse of his cum shooting down your throat, filling your mouth as he snarls out a brutal, “Fucking take it.”

You swallow around him, licking every drop, eager and wrecked, still touching yourself as you do, too addicted to stop.

When he finally pulls out, cock slick and twitching, he grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him, a filthy, satisfied smirk on his face.

“Now that’s a good fucking girl.”

And you know you’ll beg for it again.

You're barely catching your breath before Hotch’s hand is in your hair again, yanking you up off your knees and crushing his mouth to yours. It’s not a kiss — it’s a filthy, possessive, bruising claim. Teeth clashing, tongues tangling, spit smeared between your lips. He sucks your tongue into his mouth like he wants to devour it, biting down just hard enough to make you whimper, chasing the sting as his hand fists in your hair, tilting your head for him to ravage your throat.

The gun’s somewhere forgotten on the desk now, but it doesn’t matter — Aaron Hotchner is the real weapon. Dangerous and lethal and so fucking hot your knees almost give out when his mouth moves down your neck. He bites hard, leaving sharp, angry marks in his wake, lips dragging down to your collarbone while his hands rip your shirt up and over your head. Your nipples are already stiff, aching from how hard they’ve been straining against the fabric, and his palm comes down in a vicious slap against one of them.

“Fucking look at these tits,” he grits out, slapping them again, watching them bounce with each hit. He pinches one nipple, then the other, cruel little twists that make your pussy clench. You moan, already wrecked and begging for more, arching into the pain like the desperate slut you’ve turned into for him.

While he works you over, Hotch kicks out of his slacks, shoves his boxers down, his cock still flushed, heavy, glistening with spit and precum. You’re fumbling at the buttons of his shirt, tugging it open, your eyes catching on the smear of blood near his ribs. The cut’s shallow, but the sight of it — the scent of iron and leather and his skin — makes your cunt throb.

Without thinking, you duck your head and lick the blood clean, tongue dragging over the wound. He lets out a feral growl, grabbing your chin and dragging your mouth back to his.

“You’re so fucking depraved,” he snarls into your mouth, and you moan into his lips, needy and wrecked. “Gonna fuck you so hard you won’t walk tomorrow.”

And then he does.

He shoves you over the desk, your hips slamming into the edge, tits pressed to the cool wood, your ass in the air. The cool air on your soaked cunt makes you squirm.

“Look at this pussy,” Hotch snarls behind you, parting your lips with two fingers. “Wet as fuck. You get off choking on my cock, sweetheart?”

You whimper, nodding, and then he’s there — thick, hot, the head of his cock dragging through your slick folds before slamming inside you in one brutal thrust. You scream, hands scrabbling at the desk, your body jolting forward from the force.

He pounds into you mercilessly, hips slapping against your ass, your tits swaying and bouncing with every thrust. The stretch is obscene, your pussy gripping him tight, the sting mixing with pleasure so sharp it makes your vision blur.

Hotch grips your hip with one hand, the other coming down in a brutal slap against your ass, the crack of it loud in the room. You gasp, your cunt clenching around him.

“Fuck — you like that,” he snarls. “Say it.”

“I— I love it,” you sob, tears burning your eyes. “I fucking love it.”

He doesn’t slow down. If anything, he fucks you harder, the desk creaking under the force. Another slap lands on your other ass cheek, the sting making you cry out, your pussy milking his cock.

The first time you cum, it’s sharp and sudden, crashing over you like a wave. Your walls flutter around him, wet and tight, a desperate sob wrenching from your throat.

“Good fucking girl,” Hotch growls, rutting into you. “But we’re not done.”

The second builds fast — your clit grinding against the desk edge with every thrust, the rough stretch of him dragging over every sensitive spot inside you. Your tits bounce, nipples tingling with every pass, and when his palm cracks across your ass again, you cum hard, gushing around him with a loud, needy scream.

“I said slow down,” you sob, but he just laughs — dark and cruel.

“Not a fucking chance,” he snarls. “Take it. Take it like the filthy little whore you are.”

He doesn’t let up. His cock pounds into your overstimulated cunt, the ache edged with pleasure so intense it makes you dizzy. His hand grips the back of your neck, pinning you to the desk as he fucks you harder, your body jolting with every brutal thrust.

The third orgasm rips through you like a goddamn explosion — sharp, shattering, your pussy spasming around him, your juices soaking his cock and thighs, the wet slap of your bodies obscene.

Hotch snarls a filthy string of curses, hips jerking, and then he’s spilling inside you, hot and thick, filling your pussy with his cum. You feel every pulse of it, every drop as he fucks it deeper with lazy, punishing thrusts.

He leans down, his chest against your back, teeth nipping your ear.

“Fucking perfect,” he murmurs, voice low and wrecked. “You were made for this.”

And you know it — your wrecked cunt dripping, your body marked and aching, your pussy still fluttering around him even as he pulls out, cum spilling down your thighs.

And you’d let him do it again.

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

I have a Hotchner and Bimbo!reader request for you

Reader getting bruises from bumping into things and not realising until Aaron gets nervous or protective?

Just cute, misunderstanding and very Aaron like

plus size bimbo!reader, wc: (written on the app!).

۶ৎ a/n .ᐟ | gonna try and clean out my inbox with some fun little drabbles!! what's better than some bimbo reader my sweet :']

You honestly hadn't even noticed it.

You were a bit scatter-brained, so forgive you if you bump into a few things and then forget about it.

It happens all the time! So, what's the big fuss?

You were just moving about the apartment as you normally did, humming along to whatever song you were listening to when you had bent over to grab something off the floor.

A warm, large hand found itself on the side of your thigh and you jumped slightly, straightening hurriedly.

It's not that the touching was unwanted, just surprising.

"Aaron?" You asked as you removed your baby pink headphones from over your ears.

"What happened here?" His gravelly voice had asked, his tone painted with concern.

His thumb gently caressed a relatively large bruise on the side of your thigh. Now that he had drawn attention to it, it did hurt a little.

"I don't know." You answered truthfully.

Your response didn't seem to quell Aaron's worrying though, because his eyebrows furrowed and that familiar frown tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Honey, did someone do this to you?"

"No, no! I probably just bumped into something. It happens all the time." You tug the hem of your white camisole up to expose a part of your soft, round stomach.

"Here, look." There laid a bruise that wasn't as fresh, but it was noticeable. "I clipped my side on the kitchen counter a week or two back."

You then release the material, though another one of his hands slips themselves under it. Aaron has two protective hands on you, one settled on the mark on your leg and the one on your side.

"Are you sure?" Aaron pushed, sounding a bit skeptical. It's not that he didn't trust you were tell the truth, he just frets.

"Yes, sir." You say teasingly.

He let's out a long, pained sigh, before leaning forward to rest his forehead against your own.

"Next time, I'm baby proofing the whole apartment."

"Aaron!" You call out in mock offense.

© ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused .ᐟ

[shattermelyhfmlblog]

@warneraaronanderson @warnerslove

[hotwritergf]

can you pls do smut with hotch where they’re in his office and so have to be quiet 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

Tempted, you know.🪐

“Quieten down.”

Hotch demands, his voice rough like there’s something stuck in his throat. There is. All the pent up groans he wants to let out as he pounds deeper into your soaked cunt. You lay on his desk, his files and stationary flung onto the floor carelessly. The blinds of his office closed down, that’s as close to privacy as you’ll get here.

“You better keep that mouth closed or I’ll find other uses for it.”

He clamps his palm over your lips, his grip tightening when he feels your core clench around him. So warm and inviting, made just for him. Each thrust causes you to mewl into his hand, salivating over his fingers as you drool from pleasure.

Aaron’s cock feels perfect. He’s thick and cut, his tip angry and red. Overstimulated as he finds your sweet spot deep inside your womb. Looking down at him working over your body, you can see the imprint of him bulging through your stomach.

You’re riding on the edge of orgasm the entire time, but he won’t allow you release yet. This wasn’t a passionate moment, it was rough and imperfect. Taking your body like a fuck toy, you knew that skirt was against uniform regulations but you wore it anyway. Teasing Aaron with every moment you make, only wearing a thong underneath so everyone could see your ass cheeks when you bend over after ‘accidentally’ dropping a case file.

He grapped your wrist, pulling you harshly into your office. Assuming it was only going to be a verbal scolding about how you shouldn’t be inappropriate in the workplace, you smirked at him. But he just threw you on the desk, and that’s how you were here. With your panties pushed to the side and being filled with cock as he holds you down by your mouth, your hair decorating the desk.

Your eyes leak with tears as he fucks against your g-spot, and with each thrust you feel closer to screaming.

“Shouldn’t fucking tempt me should you? Maybe now you’ll learn your lesson not to be a little slut, or maybe I should open those blinds and show all of our coworkers who you belong to and what happens when you misbehave. They all know you’re a whore anyway, look what you’re fucking wearing. Ridiculous. You wanted this.”

His words push you over the edge, you couldn’t hold back the orgasm that was building deep in your stomach. His pubes tickle over your clit as his tip brushes over your spot again, it’s all too much for your body to handle.

Aaron looks down at his cock disappearing into your cunt, your folds rubbing against his base. Smirking down at you when he feels you clench him harder, milking the cum straight from his balls, forcing him to empty them inside of you. Breeding you here in his office.

Hotchner’s cock spurts ropes of cum inside you, painting your walls and reaching up to your womb. All whilst you come undone, writhing and bouncing yourself on him like he’s fucking a flesh-light. He continues to fuck you through the aftershocks until you’re begging him to stop, too weak and tired to take his dick anymore.

“I told you, don’t test me while I’m on the clock.”

Aaron groans as he pulls out of you, smirking as he watches his cum leak out of your now-sore cunt.

“You’ll learn, once you realise how bruised inside you’ll be if you don’t.”

[augustjoy]

okey so i have one idea 💡

i was thinking maybe little Jack doesn't know about time and space you know? like in this timeline where Hotch and Hayley get divorced but it's completely amicable and they go on with their normal lives (i don't know if it counts as an au, tbh) Jack doesn't remember his parents together, why did they separate when he was still little and all that, and when Aaron gets a girlfriend (maybe a little younger than him) Jack thinks she is there for him, to be his friend or an adventure partner as he calls her, and it takes Hotch a while to explain that she is actually his girlfriend like his mom has a boyfriend, he has a girlfriend and Jack just doesn't quite understand and says 'but mommy lives with his boyfriend and she only visits you when i'm here maybe u doesn't like you that much☺️🤪' or something like the normal recklessness of a small child who simply does not understand the adult world, because Hotch and Hayley have shared parenthood, he doesn't realize that the reader spends more time at Hotch's house, so it's just Jack hogging the reader's attention in games and movies and all that.🥹🥹♥️♥️♥️

and although both parents try to explain it to him, a little Jack, a little tantrum-throwing and with his arms crossed, insists that she is there to be his friend and maybe one day they will discover a treasure together. 🤷🏻‍♀️

and Hotch complains all the time when they are together but jokingly he actually loves that his two favorite people love each other so much and have such a good time together and when Jack goes to sleep he simply says 'can i be your boyfriend again or are you still here to play with my son?🤨'

i hope it's as understandable as it is in my head, otherwise i'll be very embarrassed😔☝🏻 i also apologize for this being so long.🫠

i didn't even say hello here, so hi hi ♥️♥️

xoxoxo

(this happened to me the first few months of my relationship with my partner and it was so funny to see him fight with his little brother)

ps-can be this emoji 🔆, if it isn't already assigned?:)

Hi 🔆!!! I have to post this prior so I can use the ask link cuz it's a longer one!

But this is in the works, expect Is is My Turn Now? on 7/12 at 12:00 pm MST

[yasministration]

The team discovers you're dating - Aaron Hotchner

d/n: daughter's name.. Summary: The team discovers you're dating because of Jack's freudian slip. (singlemom!bau!reader) 0.7k wc

Small trudging footsteps paired with loud squeals caught the attention of the agents in the bullpen, an apologetic SSA following after his son. Derek and Penelope raced to the young boy, Derek scooping him up the second he was close enough, beating his work wife by seconds. "I'm sorry guys, national holiday and our sitter cancelled." The team dismissed him, understanding of his protectiveness over his son. After seeing so many cases, there was no way he'd let a random person look after his son. "I'll take him down to the daycare in a second, but Jack here just wanted to say hello to someone first."

Derek exaggeratedly frowned, looking down at the blonde boy "Is uncle Derek not the person you were looking for Jacky boy?" Jack shook his head, loud giggles filling the bullpen, just as the glass door opened one more. "Sorry guys," You started, trying to flip strands of hair out of your face while balancing your coffee and keeping your bag on your shoulder. "I had to drop d/n at daycare, sitter cancelled." You gasped loudly when you spotted the small figure in Derek's arms, placing all your things on the closest desk as you opened your arms wide. Jack wiggled his legs in Derek's arms so he could be put down on the floor, a wide smile gracing his features. You crouched down on the floor, grinning at the boy, who yelled loudly "Mommy!" as he ran into your arms.

An eerie silence filled the bullpen as all conversation died down. You wrapped your arms around the boy, his words sinking into your teammates' heads. You lifted Jack up into the air with a clueless smile, standing tall enough so you could see all of your coworkers' facial expressions, when it hit you. Your eyes widened and you froze, past the point of collecting yourself or trying to brush off what Jack said as an accident.

"What did he just say?" You hear Penelope interrogate, looking back and forth between the profilers in the room, hoping to get an answer. As though sensing the change in atmosphere in the room, Jack lifted his head from the crook of your neck, looking up at your face. You moved your stance to balance him on your hip, using the other hand to pick up your to-go cup and take a long sip of your coffee. "You wanna try my coffee Jack?" You teased, breaking the silence between you and him, laughing as the boy pulled a face of disgust, remembering the time he smelt his dad's black coffee one morning when you were over with d/n.

"Yuck! ... Mommy, am I gonna see d/n?" He asks, swinging his legs happily. You're painfully aware of the eyes stuck on you and the boy, glancing up to look at Aaron, observing his reaction. He's smiling softly at you and his son, back turned to the other agents in the bullpen. He walks over to you just as you reply to Jack "She's in daycare right now! Do you want to go join her?" Jack nods excitedly, arms lifting up when his dad walks over, allowing him to take him from you. "Well since the cat's out of the bag." Aaron shrugs, leaning down to press a kiss on your lips, walking out with Jack in his arms who giggles loudly "What cat daddy?"

With Jack finally facing away from you, you let all your emotions show up on your face: shock, confusion, and most importantly embarrassment to being exposed to your relentless team of close friends who will never stop the questions:

'How long?' 'Jack calls you mommy?' 'Don't you owe me money Morgan?'

You laugh at Spencer's comment, watching as Derek fishes his wallet out of his pocket, holding up a 20 dollar bill for Spencer to take. Rossi pushes himself off the desk behind him, where he faces Emily and the rest of the team. He sighs, shaking his head "For the record, I knew his whole time. And at least now you don't have to hide your ring, y/n." He states as he walks away. "You're married!?" Emily and JJ yell at the same time as Penny squeals loudly, running to hug you tightly. "Engaged!" You try saying over the noise. "Engaged not married!"

[cerisereids]

𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

characters i write for

(i no longer take requests, sorry!)

criminal minds: aaron hotchner, spencer reid, derek morgan, emily prentiss, luke alvez

stranger things: eddie munson, steve harrington, robin buckley, nancy wheeler

tasm: peter parker (andrew garfield’s peter only)

bridgerton: benedict, anthony, colin, kate

𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗶𝗱

some bunny special- dad!spencer x fem!reader

please don’t have somebody waiting on you- s1!spencer x bau!reader

lovely to sit between comfort and chaos, part 1- spencer reid x fem!reader

part 2

in the mirror of your eyes, my love, my life- young dad!spencer reid x bau!mom!reader

is it that sweet? i guess so!- later seasons!spencer reid x plus size!liason!reader

time makes you bolder, children get older- young dad!spencer reid x bau!mom!reader

You Showed Me a Power That is Strong Enough to Bring Sun to the Darkest Days- Spencer Reid x Kindergarten Teacher!Reader

I’ll Be Watching You (Every Breath You Take)- Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

Something About Him Was Made For Somebody Like Me- S1!Spencer Reid x Bombshell!Reader

It Ain't Me, Babe- PostPrison!Spencer x OldMoney!Liaison!Reader

Can’t You See I Bloom At Night? (Part One)- PostPrison!Spencer x bombshell!reader

Part Two

I’m Looking For It In An Alphabet Soup Cup- Spencer Reid x Children’s Librarian!Reader

Like A Witch I Know I Need My Potion- part 2 of their date!

Different Dimensions, Stuck In The Twilight Zone- Gideon!Reader x Post Prison!Spencer

Hash Brown, Egg Yolk, I Will Always Love You- mom!reader x s18!Spencer

blurbs found under the tag- belle’s blurbs s.r.

𝗮𝗮𝗿𝗼𝗻 𝗵𝗼𝘁𝗰𝗵𝗻𝗲𝗿

we can’t be friends (wait for your love)- complete

part 2

part 3

part 4

Wish You’d Get Here, Kiss My Face, Instead You’re Somewhere Far Away

blurbs found under the tag- belle’s blurbs a.h.

𝗯𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗱𝗶𝗰𝘁 𝗯𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗴𝗲𝗿𝘁𝗼𝗻

good old fashioned lover boy- benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

𝘀𝘁𝗲𝘃𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘁𝗼𝗻

blurbs found under the tag- belle’s blurbs s.h.

𝗲𝗱𝗱𝗶𝗲 𝗺𝘂𝗻𝘀𝗼𝗻

the boy is mine- eddie munson x fem!reader

[hotchfiles]

instead of hotch being protective what about bau!girly standing her ground when a reporter flirts with her man

You knew better than to be jealous. Aaron was more than loyal to you, more than faithful, to betray, to cheat, those were not things even in his vocabulary, definitely not in his moral code. But the thing is, you weren't jealous, you were baffled, to say the least. Just before the press conference the woman you had your eyes fiercely glued on right now saw Aaron gripping on your waist and placing a kiss on your forehead as you wished him good luck. She knew.

She knew very well she wasn't flirting with a single man, and she proved it every time she touched his arm after the cameras shut off, her eyes betraying her as she looked at you for few seconds at a time.

Aaron had already told her he was busy and needed to leave, but she was insisting on keeping the one sided conversation going, taking advantage of his politeness and the fact he couldn't be rude to news reporters, he couldn't misrepresent the FBI.

Luckily. Or unluckily for him, he decided to date someone not as preoccupied with the Bureau's image, so after the second time he tried to leave and the reporter held him by the wrist, you stepped in, gently taking her hand from him.

"For a news reporter you're really slow on catching on, huh?" Your voice and the smile you gave her sickly sweet, Aaron giving you his best I'm still your boss do not do this look, even if he knew you well enough to see it was a lost cause.

"Excuse me!?" Her eyes finally gave attention to anyone else rather than Hotchner, giving you her best offended expression. It was pitiful, to try and conceal her true intentions from an experienced profiler, really.

"Sweetie, this man is not interested in you. And we have a job to do here, so get off of him, will ya? Jesus." You shook your head at her, not giving her time to try anything else, pulling Aaron with you by the end of the sleeve of his blazer.

In other occasions he might have apologized for your behavior, but he was indeed bothered and he wanted to leave just as much as you wanted to take him out of there. It was nice to be the protected one at times. And it was cute to see you jealous.

"What about the whole too mature to be jealous talk we had months ago?" he teases you, hugging you sideways.

"Hotchner, don't try me, I could've arrested her, I was completely sane and controlled." You glanced up to him, met with his very known smile, lips lightly turned as he shook his head at you.

"Arrested her in what grounds!?"

"Trespassing federal property! I'm a federal agent and she was touching my property!" You're obviously making fun of the situation now, but your face looks dead serious and you're using your most threatening voice tone.

"Terrible, awful, jealous thing you." Aaron laughs and you mock his list of adjectives directed at you, he opens the door of the SUV so you can get on the passenger seat, and he puts the seat belt on you, kissing you tenderly right after. "I love you."

"Love you too."

[sincerelybubbles]

oooo shybau and hoth first kiss!!!

and I do mean you

warnings: lots of kissing, references to christianity, loss of faith, all of the lovely things I selfishly pour into everything I write pairing: hotch x shy!bau!reader

I took far too long with this because it felt like their first actual kiss needed to be so them and I didn't know how to do that until I suddenly did.

||

The night is quiet, the kind of quiet that settles deep in the bones, the kind that makes everything feel a little softer, a little more sacred. You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until the lock on your front door clicks shut behind you, muffling the world outside.

Aaron lingers in your entryway, hands resting lightly on his hips, exhaling like he’s letting go of something heavy. The case had been a brutal one. It wasn’t the worst you’d seen, but something about it had weighed on him. He hadn't said much on the plane home, but then again, he never really had to—not with you.

Now, in the hush of your apartment, that quiet between you stretches like a held note. The exhaustion clings to you both, but neither of you moves to part ways.

“You should get some rest,” he says finally, voice low and steady.

You nod, though you make no effort to leave, and he doesn’t step away. Instead, he watches you the way he always does—attentively, patiently, like he’s waiting for something you don’t yet have the words for.

Maybe it’s the hours of close proximity, the way his shoulder brushed against yours on the plane, the way he had glanced over at you every so often as if checking to make sure you were still there. Maybe it’s the way your body still hums with adrenaline, or maybe it’s simply because you want to.

But whatever it is, you move before you can talk yourself out of it.

It’s barely anything—a shift forward, your fingers brushing against his wrist. His breath catches. Just for a second. But you hear it.

And when you tilt your chin up, meeting his gaze, there’s something in his eyes—something searching, something unsure but steady all the same. He doesn’t move away. He doesn’t pull you in. He just watches, like he’s memorizing the moment before it happens, as if he wants to be sure.

As if he’s willing to wait as long as it takes.

You swallow, heart fluttering wildly in your chest. "Aaron..."

It’s nothing more than his name, barely a whisper, but it undoes something in him. His hands come up—gentle, grounding—one settling at your waist, the other skimming up, up, until his knuckles ghost over your jaw, tilting your face just so.

He leans in, so close you can feel the warmth of his breath, but he doesn’t close the distance just yet. He gives you that space, that choice, because that’s what he does.

And you—shy, quiet, observant you—you make the choice.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, and you close the space between you.

It’s barely a kiss at first. Just the press of your lips against his, testing, tentative, reverent. He exhales sharply through his nose, like he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath either. Then his hand at your waist tightens ever so slightly, his other tilting your chin just enough to angle you to him.

And Aaron Hotchner—who is always so careful, always so controlled—melts into you like he’s been waiting for this.

Like he’s home.

His lips are warm against yours, steady but unhurried. The weight of his hand at your waist keeps you grounded, keeps you from floating away entirely, because that’s what this feels like—like weightlessness, like the moment before freefall.

Your fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt, and he responds in kind, the press of his mouth growing just the slightest bit firmer. He’s still careful, still giving you time to pull away if you want to, but you don’t. You couldn’t if you tried.

The world outside is silent, the only sound between you the quiet hitch of breath when he shifts, tilting his head to deepen the kiss—just a little, just enough. His thumb ghosts along your jaw, the touch featherlight, reverent.

Aaron Hotchner, composed and measured, is kissing you like he’s afraid you might disappear.

It sends something warm curling through your chest, something that chases away any last shred of hesitation. You lift onto your toes, pressing closer, and that’s all it takes for him to let go of whatever restraint he’d been holding onto.

He exhales sharply, his hand sliding from your waist to splay against your lower back, pulling you flush against him. It’s still soft, still achingly tender, but there’s more now—more intent, more certainty.

You feel it in the way he holds you, in the way his fingers press into your skin like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you, in the way he lets out a breath when you tilt your head and let yourself melt into him completely.

It would be so easy to get lost in this moment, to let time slip away entirely. But then he stills, just slightly, just enough for you to feel it.

He lingers, his lips barely brushing yours, and when he finally pulls back, he does it slowly, like he doesn’t really want to.

His forehead rests against yours, his breath warm and uneven. For a moment, neither of you speak.

Then, softly, his thumb traces along your cheekbone. “Are you okay?”

You blink up at him, dazed, the weight of his question sinking in. He’s not asking if the kiss was okay. He’s asking about all of it—about the fact that he’s your boss, about the way this changes things, about whether or not you regret it.

And maybe you should. Maybe you should be afraid of what this means, what it could mean for the two of you, for the job, for everything.

But you’re not.

Because right now, with his hands still holding you close, with his lips still tingling against yours, there’s no space for regret. There’s only this.

You swallow, searching his face, the faint crease in his brow, the way his dark eyes trace over yours, studying, waiting.

And then, finally, you answer.

“I’m good.”

The relief in his eyes is subtle, but you catch it. His lips twitch like he’s fighting the urge to smile.

And for the first time in a long time, Aaron Hotchner lets himself believe that something good—something soft, something steady—might finally be his to keep.

Aaron doesn’t let go of you. His hands stay where they are—one pressed warm and steady against your lower back, the other cradling your face with a kind of reverence that makes your breath catch.

His thumb brushes over your cheekbone again, and there’s something searching in his gaze, like he’s looking for hesitation, for regret. But you don’t give him any.

Instead, you lean in first this time.

It’s tentative, your fingers tightening in the front of his shirt as you tilt your chin up. You feel his breath hitch just before he meets you halfway.

The second kiss is different from the first.

It’s slower but deeper, less of a question and more of an answer. Where the first had been cautious, this one lingers, his lips parting just slightly against yours, pulling you closer, tilting his head to fit against you more perfectly.

He tastes like coffee and something distinctly him, something warm and grounding, something you think you could get lost in if you let yourself.

And it’s clear now—he’s letting himself fall.

The hand at your back slides higher, fingers skimming along the line of your spine, anchoring you to him. Your heart is hammering, but it’s not fear, not nerves—it’s just him. The way he’s kissing you like he can’t help himself, like he’s memorizing the shape of you, the feel of you, the way you sigh softly into his mouth when he angles himself just right.

There’s nothing hurried about it, nothing rushed or frantic. It’s deliberate, patient, like he’s savoring the moment, like he’s been waiting for this longer than he’d ever admit.

And then—he slows.

It’s barely noticeable at first, but you feel it in the way his lips linger just a second longer before pulling back, in the way his fingers tighten against your back like he’s reluctant to let go.

When he does finally pull away, he doesn’t go far.

His forehead rests against yours, breaths uneven, warm between you. Neither of you speak right away.

Your eyes flutter open, and he’s already looking at you.

His expression is unreadable at first—something caught between awe and disbelief. Like he can’t quite wrap his head around this, around you.

Then, finally, after a long moment, he exhales, voice rough at the edges.

“I’m not sure I know how to stop.”

Your breath catches.

Because he’s not just talking about the kiss.

He’s talking about the way he feels about you, the way you’ve slowly unraveled him without even trying.

And God, you don’t want him to stop.

So you tighten your grip on his shirt, tilting your head just slightly, lips brushing against his once more in quiet invitation.

“You don’t have to.”

And with that, Aaron Hotchner—always measured, always careful—lets himself fall just a little bit further.

His presence is steady, grounding, and yet, your heart is anything but steady. It’s quick, uneven, rattling against your ribs with a nervous kind of energy you don’t know how to contain.

You step further into the apartment, away from him, before you can stop yourself, motioning vaguely toward the couch. “You can sit—if you want, I mean—you don’t have to.”

The words tumble out too fast, unfiltered, rushed in a way that makes your face heat. You don’t usually speak without thinking. You’re careful. Measured. But right now, with him standing so close in the quiet of your home, you feel stripped bare.

Aaron doesn’t move to sit. Instead, he studies you with that quiet intensity of his, head tilting slightly, gaze flickering over your face like he’s cataloging every thought you’re trying to bury.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. “I’m not nervous because of you.” The words come quicker than you mean them to, and you rush to clarify, stepping forward again. “I don’t want you to think that. I trust you, Aaron. Completely.”

His brow creases slightly, lips parting like he’s about to speak, but you don’t let him—not yet.

“It’s me,” you admit, voice softer now, almost hesitant. “I don’t trust myself.”

His expression shifts, something deeper settling in his gaze.

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “Not in the way you think. I just—I don’t want to mess this up. I don’t want to—” You falter, pressing your lips together. “I don’t want to give you everything and then—lose you.”

The words feel small. Too vulnerable.

Aaron doesn’t hesitate.

His hands find yours, wrapping around them with steady warmth, grounding you in a way you didn’t know you needed.

“You won’t,” he says, voice firm but gentle. “I’m here.”

Your breath catches.

Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? He is here. With you. Always.

And yet, there’s still that voice in the back of your mind whispering that nothing this good ever lasts. That he’s lost before, and losing you might be easier than letting himself risk that pain again.

But then he’s tugging you closer, tilting your chin up with the lightest touch, and suddenly, none of that matters.

Because when he kisses you, slow and deliberate, he doesn’t leave any room for hesitation.

He’s telling you something without words.

That he sees you.

That he’s choosing you.

That he’s not going anywhere.

And for now, that’s enough.

||||

Aaron follows you into the kitchen without a word, his presence close but unintrusive. He lingers near the doorway, watching as you move—still a little careful, still a little hesitant, but steadier than before.

You open the fridge, the cold air a sharp contrast to the warmth settling in your chest. “Are you hungry?” you ask, glancing at him over your shoulder. Your voice is softer than you mean it to be, but the question is genuine. You need something to do, something to tether yourself back into the tangible, something to dilute the thick tension that still lingers between you.

Aaron exhales, the ghost of a chuckle beneath his breath. “I could eat.”

It’s such a simple answer, but it makes you smile. A quiet, grateful thing.

You busy yourself gathering ingredients, pulling out what you can with deliberate focus. Bread. Cheese. Something easy, something mindless. You’ve done this a hundred times—after late cases, when your body is too tired for anything elaborate but your mind is too wired to sleep.

Aaron watches, but not in a way that unsettles you. His gaze is steady, patient, like he’s waiting for you to dictate the rhythm of whatever this is.

“You don’t have to stand there,” you murmur, glancing at him as you set a pan on the stove.

He hums, stepping forward until he’s close enough that you can feel the warmth of him at your side. “What are we making?”

“We?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

His lips twitch, not quite a smile, but something close. “I assumed this was a team effort.”

You shake your head, focusing back on the pan as butter melts in the center. “It’s just a grilled cheese, Hotch.”

“Then I’m sure I can help.”

You don’t argue, though there’s something about the image of Aaron Hotchner making a grilled cheese sandwich that nearly makes you laugh. Instead, you hand him a slice of bread and let him take over, watching as he works in comfortable silence.

It’s easy, standing here with him like this.

And for the first time tonight, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—this could be simple, too.

The sizzle of butter against the pan fills the quiet space between you, but your thoughts are elsewhere—circling the weight of this moment, the quiet divinity of it.

Aaron stands close, sleeves rolled up, the golden glow of your kitchen light catching the slight furrow in his brow as he carefully presses the sandwich into the pan. He treats it with the same precision he gives everything—handling something as simple as this with the same care as he does a gun, or a case file, or a person he’s sworn to protect.

It shouldn’t feel sacred, but it does.

There is something terrifying in the ease of it—in the quiet devotion of sharing a kitchen, in watching his hands work, in the way he glances at you as if to ensure you are still here, still real. There is something terrifying about being witnessedlike this, wholly and without demand.

It reminds you of stories you read as a child, of devotion poured from one vessel into another. Of sacrifice and faith, of saints and sinners alike giving themselves over to something greater than themselves. All in. No half-measures.

The idea of giving yourself over to someone—to be known like this, in every small and unnoticed moment—burns at the edges of your mind.

Because you see him, too.

You see the way his brows pinch in focus as he lifts the sandwich to check the color, the way he frowns when it’s not quite right. The way he tilts his head slightly, listening for the sound of the crust crisping beneath the weight of his spatula. The way his shoulders settle, not tense but aware of you. Always aware.

It is so easy to fall into this—into him. The ease of this moment is a quiet betrayal of the fear still curling in your ribs.

Because you want this. Him.

And wanting something this much, something that feels so wholly right, is the most terrifying thing of all.

Aaron must sense something in you—some quiet turmoil you haven’t named—because he turns, meeting your gaze with something unbearably gentle. “You okay?”

Your throat tightens. You nod.

And when he hands you half of the sandwich, the warm press of his fingers against yours feels like an unspoken vow.

The sandwich is warm in your hands, but you barely taste it. Your mind is elsewhere, spinning itself into delicate knots you’re not sure you can untangle.

You watch Aaron, the quiet way he eats, the way his fingers curl around the napkin he doesn’t quite use. The way he always chews a little slower than necessary, like he’s learned to be mindful of the smallest things, like he knows the weight of savoring something—how rare it is to be given something simple and good.

He looks at you between bites, not with expectation, not waiting for you to speak, but just looking. Present. Steady.

You wonder what it would be like to let him see all of you.

Not just the quiet, competent agent he trusts in the field. Not just the awkward, hesitant thing you become under the weight of his attention.

But all of it.

The things you keep tucked away, the things you don’t like to look at too closely. The weak, the ugly, the unpolished. The parts of you you’ve hidden behind layers of self-preservation, behind careful smiles and quiet nods and an unwavering dedication to keeping yourself small.

You’ve spent so long convincing yourself that your careful restraint is a kindness—that keeping yourself contained, giving only the good and holding back the rest, is the best way to keep the people you love close.

But Aaron doesn’t take pieces of you. He doesn’t pry, doesn’t dig his fingers into the edges of you looking for something to unfold. He simply waits.

And somehow, that makes you want to give.

To crack yourself open like the fragile thing you are, to pour yourself into his hands and say, Here. Here I am, for better or worse. Do you still want me now?

Would he take the raw, unfiltered version of you? The parts that make no sense, the thoughts that spiral too fast, the fears you can’t name? Would he hold them the way he holds everything—with quiet reverence, with the same careful patience he’s giving this moment now?

Would he love you, if you let him?

And more terrifying still—

Could you let him?

Faith has always been a foreign thing to you—something you were taught to have, something you were told to nurture, but never something you truly felt.

You tried. God, you tried. You folded your hands in prayer as a child, whispered words into the dark, but they never felt like yours. You sat in the pews, still and small, let sermons wash over you like baptismal water, but you never came out clean.

The weight of it—the expectation of belief, the demand for devotion without proof—left you hollow. They told you faith was certainty in the unseen, but you could never find comfort in blind trust.

So, you let it go.

Not in one grand act of defiance, not in a moment of clarity, but in slow, crumbling pieces. You stopped asking for signs. Stopped waiting for answers. Stopped pretending to believe in something that never made itself real to you.

You are not a woman of faith.

And yet.

You believe in Aaron.

It’s a quiet, creeping thing—not the overwhelming, all-consuming devotion you were told faith should be. Not something demanded, not something you owe, but something freely given. Something that grows.

It’s in the way he looks at you now—calm, steady, expectant, but never forceful. The way he waits for you to be ready, to be certain. He asks nothing of you. He doesn’t need your belief, doesn’t press you for assurances you can’t yet give.

And maybe that’s why you want to give them.

The feeling unfurls slow and careful inside you. Not holy, not sacred, but real.

You don’t know what tomorrow looks like. You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to lay your whole self bare, to place your fragile, beating heart in his hands and trust him not to break it.

But you believe he wouldn’t.

You believe in this, whatever it is, wherever it leads.

And for the first time, faith doesn’t feel like a burden.

It feels like hope.

"You're staring at the bread like it personally offended you."

Aaron’s voice breaks through the thick fog of your thoughts, dragging you back to the present. You blink, refocusing on the cutting board in front of you—half a loaf of sourdough, a butter knife hovering uselessly in your hand.

You must have been standing there for a while because Aaron is leaning against the counter now, arms crossed, watching you with the same mix of patience and quiet amusement he always seems to have reserved just for you.

Heat prickles up the back of your neck. "I—" You clear your throat, forcing yourself to move, to slice the bread like a normal person and not a woman on the verge of an existential crisis. "I was just thinking."

"About?"

About faith. About belief. About giving myself to you in ways I never could with God.

You spread butter onto the slice with too much focus, too much force. "Nothing important."

Aaron makes a quiet sound—something like a hum, something like a laugh. "It looked important."

You chance a glance up at him. He’s still watching you, still waiting, but there’s no pressure there, no push. Just quiet patience.

Your chest tightens.

You nudge a plate toward him instead, deflecting. "Eat your bread, Hotchner."

He takes it without argument, but the way he’s still looking at you makes you think he’s not letting this go.

Aaron takes a slow, deliberate bite of his sandwich, watching you over the rim of his plate. "You know," he muses, "for someone who insists on feeding me, you didn’t exactly make a balanced meal. Where are the vegetables?"

You scoff, setting your own sandwich down. "You're welcome to dig through my fridge and find a carrot stick, but good luck. I think there's a single wilted bag of spinach in there that I bought optimistically and then ignored."

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. "That sounds about right."

"You’re welcome to bring me groceries next time if you’re so concerned," you add, flashing him a small, teasing smile before taking another bite.

Aaron lifts a brow, clearly pleased by your rare willingness to push back. "So you’re already inviting me over again?"

You roll your eyes. "I’m just saying, if you’re going to judge my meal prep—"

"I wasn’t judging," he interrupts smoothly, voice warm with amusement. "Just… observing."

You narrow your eyes at him, mock-suspicious. "Observing, huh?"

"Mm-hmm," he hums, finishing the last of his sandwich. He wipes his fingers on a napkin, then leans slightly toward you, elbows resting on the counter. His voice drops just enough to be dangerous when he adds, "Like how you’re getting better at teasing me back."

You freeze mid-chew, suddenly regretting every word you just said. You force yourself to swallow, trying to maintain your composure. "Well, someone has to keep you humble."

"Is that what you were doing earlier?" He tilts his head, faux-curious. "When you kissed me?"

Your entire body tenses.

The playfulness fizzles out of you so quickly it’s almost embarrassing. Your mouth opens, then shuts again, warmth flooding every inch of your skin as you suddenly become hyperaware of everything—of the way he’s watching you, of the ghost of his lips still lingering on yours, of the way your hands twitch in your lap like they don’t know what to do.

Aaron doesn’t push. He just waits, looking far too pleased with himself.

You let out a weak, breathless laugh and immediately break eye contact, staring hard at the counter. "I hate you," you mutter.

"You don’t," he replies, and damn him, he's right.

Aaron doesn’t let up. He leans in just a little closer, just enough to make you squirm. His voice dips lower, deliberate and slow.

"You know," he murmurs, "for someone who kisses like that, I wouldn’t have expected you to get this shy about it afterward."

Your spine straightens like he’s just yanked you upright with an invisible string. "I—"

But you don’t know what to say. You don’t even know how to breathe properly under the weight of his gaze, like he’s cataloging every tiny twitch of your expression, every little way you crumble under the heat of his attention.

Aaron, to his credit, looks like he’s enjoying every second of it. His mouth tugs at the corners, his amusement restrained but not hidden.

"That was a compliment, by the way," he adds, as if that makes it better. As if it won’t set you even more on fire.

You cover your face with one hand, willing yourself not to combust. "You’re being mean."

He lets out a quiet chuckle. "I’m being honest."

"You’re enjoying this," you accuse, peeking at him through your fingers.

His silence is answer enough.

You groan, tilting your head back as if pleading with the ceiling to strike you down. "I was having such a nice time eating my sandwich."

Aaron nods, completely unrepentant. "And now you’re having a nice time blushing in your own kitchen."

"I take it back. I do hate you."

"You don’t," he counters smoothly, just like before. Then, after a beat, he adds, "But I do love watching you get all flustered."

You drop your hand from your face just to glare at him properly, but it only makes his smirk deepen, his eyes crinkling with quiet delight.

It’s almost unfair how much of an upper hand he has—how easily he can undo you with just a few well-placed words. And worse, he knows it. He’s reveling in it.

"I’m never kissing you again," you grumble, mostly as a defense mechanism.

Aaron exhales a soft laugh, then tilts his head, considering you for a long, knowing moment. "I don’t believe that," he says simply.

You don’t either.

Aaron leans back in his chair, completely at ease, completely insufferable, and looking so pleased with himself that you kind of want to shove him. Gently. Maybe.

"I don’t believe that," he repeats, smug and steady, like he’s saying something as simple as the sky is blue or I know exactly how to make you melt.

You cross your arms over your chest, mustering up every ounce of composure you have left. "You don’t know that."

He just lifts an eyebrow. "Oh? You’re really never going to kiss me again?"

"Never," you declare, pretending your cheeks aren’t burning. "Not once. Not ever."

Aaron hums, nodding along, though there’s a spark of mischief in his eyes. "That’s a shame," he muses, "because I was going to say that I think we should practice more."

You choke on air.

"Practice?"

"Mhm," he says, and then—because he’s the worst—he takes another casual bite of his sandwich, like this is just some regular, normal conversation.

Like he hasn’t just suggested practicing kissing. With him.

You press your hands to your face again. "I hate you so much."

Aaron laughs, soft and warm, and suddenly there’s a gentle touch at your wrist, coaxing your hands away. You let him, mostly because you think you might actually pass out if you try to hide behind them any longer.

"Let me see you," he murmurs, and just like that, his teasing fades into something softer, something that has your stomach flipping for an entirely different reason.

You lower your hands.

He smiles—small, but real. "There you are."

Your heart does something absolutely ridiculous in your chest.

"You are so unfair," you whisper, shaking your head.

Aaron just tilts his head slightly, his expression all warmth and quiet amusement. "I don’t know what you mean. I’m just sitting here, enjoying my sandwich."

"You weaponized a sandwich," you accuse, pointing at him, and he actually chuckles, shaking his head.

"I did not—"

"You did. You used the sandwich as a distraction while you flirted with me!"

He lets out a dramatic sigh. "Alright, you got me. I was flirting with you. And it was very successful, I might add."

You groan, dropping your head to the table. "I am so done with you."

Aaron smirks. "No, you’re not."

You peek up at him. "How do you know?"

"Because you’re going to stay, and we’re going to keep doing this—me making you blush, you pretending you hate it"—and one day, when you’re ready, you’re going to kiss me first."

You gape at him. "Absolutely not."

His smirk deepens. "We’ll see."

You lift your head and squint at him, trying to determine whether he’s a mind reader, a wizard, or just too good at reading you. Probably all three.

Aaron leans forward slightly, lowering his voice to something unbearably fond. "I like you," he says, like it’s the simplest truth in the world.

Your stomach swoops.

"You—" You cut yourself off, floundering. "I—I like you, too."

"I know."

You huff, rolling your eyes, but you can’t fight the smile pulling at your lips.

Aaron grins. "See? We should practice."

You swat at him, and he catches your hand, laughing, laughing like you’re something light in his chest, like you are something warm and easy and good.

You think you might let him keep you.

You try to glare at him, but it’s useless—he’s already got that insufferable grin on his face, and the warmth in his eyes makes it impossible to hold onto any semblance of frustration.

Aaron still has your hand, his thumb brushing idly along your knuckles like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Or maybe he does. Maybe he’s just that unfair.

"You’re too smug for your own good," you grumble, though your voice lacks any real bite.

He tilts his head, considering. "I don’t think that’s true," he says, the teasing still evident, but softer now. He tugs lightly on your hand, coaxing you closer. "You just make it easy."

You scoff, but you don’t resist when he pulls you in. "I make it easy?"

He nods, all confidence, all ease, like this is the most natural thing in the world. Like you are.

You should say something clever. You should push back. You should do something.

But then he’s leaning in, and his hand comes up to cradle your cheek, and every thought you’ve ever had vanishes into nothing.

You mean to pull away, to protest but he presses a featherlight kiss to the corner of your mouth, and the words dissolve on your tongue.

"That doesn’t count," you whisper, your breath mingling with his.

Aaron hums, his thumb skimming over your cheekbone. "No?"

You shake your head, though you’re not sure who you’re trying to convince.

"Hmm." He leans in again, and this time he does kiss you—properly, fully, but still playful, still teasing, still drawing you in like he knows exactly how to unravel you.

You do pull away then, just for a second, just long enough to narrow your eyes at him. "You're enjoying this way too much."

He smirks. "Undeniably."

You huff, rolling your eyes, and then you’re the one grabbing him—fisting the front of his shirt and pulling him down into another kiss before he can say something else smug.

This time, there’s nothing playful about it.

He makes a low sound in his throat—surprised, pleased, needy—and his hands are on you, warm and steady, one at the nape of your neck, the other settling firm at your waist. You shudder at the feel of his fingers splaying across your skin, like he’s grounding you, like he’s holding on just as much as you are.

You let him pull you closer, let yourself sink into him, into the heat of his mouth, the gentle insistence of his touch. He tastes like peanut butter and something deeper, something heady, something that makes your stomach swoop.

By the time you part, you’re breathless, your fingers still curled into his shirt like you’re afraid to let go.

Aaron studies you, his gaze flickering over your face, searching. And then—so quietly, so earnestly—

"I would never leave you."

The words hit something deep, something tender, something you’ve tried so hard to keep hidden.

Your throat tightens.

He must see it, because his hand moves, his thumb brushing gently along your jaw. "Never," he repeats, his voice steady.

You believe him.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s not so terrifying after all.