#aaron hotchner drabble

[ssahotchnerr]

Flustered!reader !!!! Her and Hotch are freshly dating and he’s just so doting and in love and obsessed with her and she’s just :,) not used to all of his attention and is so blush-y :,) and the team just cannot believe this is the same unit chief who chews them out

lovestruck

aww 🥰 cw; fem bau!reader, established relationship, bau banter and fluff <3

"Aren't they amazing? And they were on sale."

"Seriously?" You glanced down, catching another look of Emily's new - and insanely cute - heeled boots. "No way."

"Got two pairs for almost the price of one." Emily smirked, looking rather pleased with herself. "Made Penelope really proud with that one when I told her."

Spencer, blissfully unaware of the girl talk around him, quietly turned another page in his book.

Emily's eyes suddenly shifted, looking past you. "Hey."

What caught her attention was Aaron entering the bullpen, balancing two coffees as he walked in. He was arriving later than usual, an early meeting on the other side of town keeping him. His eyes immediately went to the collection of desks, finding the team. Finding you.

Your heart picked up.

"Quick. Pretend to look busy."

"As long as you stay productive, you can talk amongst yourselves." Aaron told Prentiss once he approached, his lips briefly tugging upwards as he placed one of the to-go cups on your desk. His discrete amusement made your heart flutter, you found it utterly endearing. "They were out of almond, so I got you oat milk. I hope that's alright."

"It's perfect," you smiled softly up at him, warmth rushing to your cheeks. "Thank you."

He gave you a smile, his hand finding your shoulder and giving it a doting squeeze. "Are we still on for tonight? Jessica should be picking Jack up around seven or so. The movie starts at eight, so I can be at yours soon after. Hopefully traffic has died down by then."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world. Popcorn's on me."

"Can't wait." A gentle flicker was present in his eyes, different from his usual office-stern visage, igniting more nervous yet welcomed butterflies in your stomach. A slight tip of his head, addressing everyone. "Now, back to work."

"Look at you two." Emily stated once Aaron retreated, disappearing up into his office. Clearly she was in no rush to be productive just yet.

"Who?" Ignoring the urge to fan your face, still flushed, your hand vaguely gestured in the direction of Aaron. "Us?"

She gave you a look, one that read: who else? "He's whipped. You're whipped. If it weren't for the undeniably real stack of files gracing my desk, I'd think I was dreaming."

"You better get on those too." Reid chimed in, chin on his knuckles as his novel re-engrossed him.

You shrugged shyly, trying to keep your smile small. You wouldn't deny her observation, picking up your coffee and taking a sip. It was prepared just how you liked it, hints of vanilla and cinnamon dancing on your tongue; Aaron had your order down perfectly. "He's sweet."

Emily's face twisted in a mix of disgust and amusement. Her head craned back as Derek joined you, her chair squeaking as it shifted. "What's a word to describe Hotch?"

"Is this a trick question? Who are you working for?"

Emily snorted lightly, looking at you as she spoke. "Would you say he's sweet?"

"Me? I don't have a crush on Hotch." Derek defended, before flashing you his signature grin. "Though, it is nice that he's not on our asses as much. And we have you to thank for that, pretty girl."

Your blushed more, taking another drink of coffee and allowing it to scorch your tongue, doing nothing to calm your growing fluster. "I don't think there's been too much of a difference. Aar- Hotch is the same as he was before."

You were being modest, in slight disbelief yourself you had somehow made a noticeable impact on his everyday life. In such a short amount of time, too.

From the moment you met him, you wanted him to be happy; a simple, quiet goal - to bring a smile to his face each day. Not just because you were drawn to him, but because, deep down, you sensed he truly needed it.

And miraculously to you, you had become the reason for that smile.

"Mhm," Derek playfully replied, keyed in on every ounce of adoration written openly across your face. Your gaze shot to the right, hoping to catch a quick glimpse of Aaron through his window. "You keep thinking that."

[luveline]

hey babe can I request Hotch with a reader girlfriend who’s desperately shy? early seasons hotch please when he’s still smiley (maybe still has Jack tho), i would love to see how he treats a long term girlfriend in your eyes one who he’s just completely gone for 

fem, 0.9k

You should know better than to come to work without venturing up to Aaron’s private office, but you’re late coming in and there’s a ton of stuff to do and he’s supposed to pretend that he cares when you turn in your work late. You log in and start going through things slowly. There are a few emails to respond to, some queries, a consult request Aaron himself has forwarded with a note —your expertise is required. 

You wiggle your mouse to wake the screen. You hadn’t realised you’d gotten stuck until it was dark. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” someone murmurs, tipping your head back to kiss your cheek, “where have you been?” 

He speaks quietly, no one else can hear him, but he enthuses his tone with so much love that you can’t decide between laughter or tears. You turn breathless instead, a thumb against your throat as Aaron’s loving questioning continues, “I thought we talked about this, hmm? You coming up to see me? How else am I supposed to know that you’re here?” 

There’s no Emily sitting at the desk opposite yours. No Spencer adjacent, no Derek to the right. It explains why he’s butter soft, but not his worry. 

“I was nearly late. I’m sorry.” 

He starts to kiss you gently, quietly, his lips tracking over the side of your cheek and pressing in as he goes until his nose is against your temple. “Don’t be sorry, I just wanted to see you.” He holds you to him. “I missed you.”

“Are you okay?” you ask, wishing you were brave enough to tack handsome, or love on the end. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“I thought maybe you were still stressed about Emily.” 

Aaron pulls away, giving you your first proper look at him that morning. He’s as handsome as ever. It makes your chest spike with anxiety. You worry all the time that you’ll lose him; the thought that he might realise all the things you’re missing and break things off is a constant at the back of your mind. It only ever goes quiet when he’s kissing you. “Prentiss has done well so far,” he says. “I’m not happy to have things rearranged above my head, but I have no problem with Emily. Now, how was your morning?” 

“It was fine.” 

“I want to know. Breakfast?” 

“Yeah, oatmeal.” 

He grins. “Me too.” 

Nobody would ever believe that this is your boyfriend when he’s commanding a room during a profile, or apprehending an UnSub with his impassive, furrowed brow. You assumed it was the honeymoon phase at first. It’s not like his affection makes much sense, but if he’s not stressed, it just means he loves you, which is nice. You hold the back of your hand to his cheek, laughing in a shock when he turns his face and traps it between his cheek and his shoulder. 

“No more late mornings,” he says decisively. 

“I wasn’t technically late. I wasn’t early enough to come up to see you, is all. Are you upset I didn’t bring you your coffee?” 

“Is that what you think?” he asks, smiling as he kisses your wrist, before straightening. You let your hand fall and he catches it on the way down. 

“I don’t know. You’re much too touchy. I’m trying to deduce why, but…” 

“Profile me,” Aaron says. He gives your hand a squeeze. “You know how to do it, honey. Figure out my motive from my past behaviours.” 

Aaron’s only ever this sweet on you when you’re in his bed. Well, ‘only ever’ is harsh, but he’s never not sweet on you in the afterglow. And that’s because intimacy is a constant reminder of how close you really are to one another, why he loves you, and why you love him. So perhaps he’s being sweet on you because you’ve reminded him how loved he is? But it doesn’t make much sense. You forgot his coffee.

Your stomach goes warm. “Oh. Oh,” you say, “I called you last night.” 

“You did.” 

“I was tired.” 

“But you were beautiful,” he says, and what does that mean? It’s not as though he could see your face. “I can’t remember the last time you were like that. Not since we were in Helena.”

You can’t remember it clearly. Threads of what you’d said come back to you slowly. Love you, my sweetheart, my Aaron. Can you come over? I know it’s late, I need to see you. You were too tired to function, let alone call someone, and yet. 

Your face is on fire. 

“Sorry I couldn’t come over, honey,” he says, chucking you under the chin with a curled finger. “I would’ve, I promise, but I had Jack until we swapped this morning.”

You go hot all over. “No, I know. It’s fine, I shouldn’t have called you–”

“Who says you can’t call me?” 

“Nobody, but I shouldn’t have.”

“You can call me anytime you want.” He tips your chin up. “Quick, Spencer’ll have finished what I asked him to do soon. Can I kiss you?” 

“I forgot it was your day for Jack–”

He takes your face into his hand. “Doesn’t matter, honey. Kiss?” 

You close your eyes and lift your chin. Ever your prince, Aaron squeezes your cheek gently and leans in to kiss you, far warmer than you’re expecting, his thumb rubbing over your cheek with a reverence he couldn't fake if he wanted to. 

[kimstills]

insatiable

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: with an age gap like yours and aaron’s, it’s expected for there to be differences. aaron expected it, of course, but he never expected it to be like this. but is he really complaining?

content warnings: smut, 18+, minors do not interact!, established relationship, age gap, like two (2) spanks, some dry humping, p in v, cowgirl, cream pie, reader is a horn dog but hotch is whipped regardless, degradation, dirty talk, hints of sugar daddy!aaron

word count: 2.2k

a/n: i already had this in my drafts but when i saw this post i couldn’t help but speed up the process teehee 🤭 all i ever write is smut but i honestly cant help it lmao there’s something wrong w me

Aaron is a tired man.

A tired, busy, stressed, and overworked man.

He swears he somehow has six children despite only one of them having his actual blood and DNA.

He knows the relationship between him and the rest of his team has become fatherly in some aspects (keyword: some), even silently acknowledging the way they call him and Rossi ‘mom and dad’ behind their backs.

Yet, despite his love and respect for them, he was still a tired father man. A man that gave his team the weekend off so he could go home and sleep for 48 hours straight without the annoying six a.m. alarm that was constantly pending and going off.

But, of course, it seemed that you had others plans for him.

You, who he would normally classify as his sweet, beloved angel of a girlfriend, was secretly the devil reincarnated, someone who patiently waited for him to arrive to your shared apartment in order to attack.

He can sense the tension as soon as he steps inside the living area and sees you waiting for him on the couch, sitting primly with your legs tucked underneath you and facing the door. A sweet smile and seemingly innocent look adorns your face but Aaron knows better, and it doesn’t take a profiler to see the mischief that still sparkles through your facade.

He groans inwardly, not just because of those tactics of yours he’s already used to, no. But because of what you’re wearing. The cherry on top, truly.

A short, pink—and overall skimpy—nightie adorns your figure, the satin fabric shining the slightest bit from the glow of the table lamp from behind you. It ends at your mid-thigh, the lace adorned slit spread open over your skin, leaving little to the imagination. He can tell it’s new, a piece he hasn’t seen before—a piece he’s certain you bought with his credit card.

You look sweet, so sweet, but Aaron knows what you truly are.

A horny, insatiable beast.

Out of all the things Aaron has ever wondered in his life, he couldn’t help but be at a loss at how you’ve managed to conceal such ravenous desires with specious normalcy. He knew that hypersexuality and eagerness was a prone factor of yours, given the significant age gap between you two.

The insecurity prods at him now and then, the one that makes him think he’s far too old for a girl like you. But while he still considered himself to have a somewhat normal, healthy libido for his age, yours was over the roof—completely skyrocketed over what Aaron thought was the normal amount for a woman your age.

He doesn’t know how you do it, how you’re always ready to pounce on him at—quite literally—all times.

There’s been times where he’s been woken up with your mouth wrapped around his dick and your head bobbing up and down underneath the blanket, times where little to hardly no work gets done when he’s working from home because he just ‘looked so hot concentrated,’ times where his alarm goes off early in the morning and you call him back to bed with just a spread of your legs.

He swears he’s going to get a heart attack because of you one of these days.

The sound of you shuffling around the couch snaps him back to reality, swallowing harshly when you move to lean over the backrest of the couch. Your breasts push against the cushions, accentuating them further than the nightie allows.

“Welcome home, my love.”

He’s faced far worse monsters than a horny twenty-something-year-old, but he can’t help but look away in mortification as the exhaustion he was previously feeling begins to get replaced by his trousers tightening around him.

Your giggle snaps him out of his trance and he clenches and unclenches his fist, setting his suitcase down by the door. “Hi, sweetheart.”

You grin brightly, eyes twinkling in the low light of the apartment as you tap the seat next to you. Like a predator masking kindness and genuineness in order to get closer to their prey before they attack.

“How was work?” You ask, eyes following his every move as he cautiously makes his way over to you. You shift your body so that you’re facing him once he sits down, the top of your exposed knees brushing against the side of his thigh.

Aaron’s breath hitches. This was all part of your routine, your plan. He knows that you actually do care about how his days go, but right now, by that look in your eyes, he can tell you’re attempting to lure him in just like a siren does with a sailor.

If any of his team members were here right now they’d be snickering at how Aaron Hotchner, their seemingly stoic and intimidating boss, was turning weak in the knees for his horny girlfriend. He swallows the lump in his throat before answering, “It was good. Just a paperwork kind of day.”

You hum, nibbling at your bottom lip and leaning forward, one hand coming to rest on his pantsuit clad thigh. “I missed you today.”

It’s a ruse, Aaron says to himself. It’s all a ruse. The way you flutter your eyelashes at him and creep your hand further up. He knows it, he knows all of your little tricks.

Yet he still has to push you away. He never does.

“I missed you, too, sweet girl.” His heart flutters at the way you bite your bottom lip and smile, another endearing giggle echoing through the room before you finally move onto his lap.

Like a siren with a sailor.

You wrap your arms around his neck, practically shoving your boobs in his face as you settle yourself on either side of his thighs. Aaron groans when you plant yourself right on top of his growing bulge, throwing his head back as you begin to pepper needy, heated kisses all over his face.

His hands come to grip at your waist, hissing when you bite and suck at the sensitive skin on his neck. “Sweetheart—” he tries to usher you, to get you to slow down, but he’s cut off by you grinding down on his clothed dick, eliciting a moan from both of you.

“Missed you so much,” you repeat, voice coming out in a whine like you’ve been starved of his attention for months.

God, Aaron swears he can feel his body go into overdrive in order to attempt to keep up with you. Your lips continue to kiss at his neck while your hands eagerly work to undo his belt, messily pulling and tugging.

He hisses quietly when you reach inside his boxers to spring his cock free of its restraints, the bulge slapping against his tummy while the angry red tip leaks of precome.

“Y/N, honey,” he tries again, trying to regain control of the situation, as if he had ever had any of it to begin with. Another groan is pulled from the back of his throat when you wrap a perfectly manicured hand—a manicure he paid for, of course—around his length, interrupting his attempt to snap you out of your lust-filled haze.

You hum in satisfaction at the sight of him, moving your hand up and down, tugging at the base of his cock and running your thumb over the slit. “So big,” you whimper, nibbling at your bottom lip. “Missed your cock, Aaron. Always miss you.”

Aaron digs his nails into the fabric of the nightie, throwing his head against the cushions when you spit onto your hand and use it as lube to quicken your pace.

Maybe you were secretly a succubus, one that feigned purity and serenity to fool and lure in her victims before showing her true form. One that maxes out all of her victim’s credit cards to buy skimpy outfits and pay for all her things.

But who was he to deny you anything? Aaron never thought he would be able to handle all of this—all of you, even without the constant horniness— but here he was, fighting for his life while you lifted your hips and sunk down on his cock.

Aaron groaned again, the sound loud and guttural as it mixed in with your own cry of pleasure. Your walls clenched, wrapping around him like a vice who never wanted to let go.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he mumbles, his grip on your waist loosening and his hands skirting down your back to slip underneath the hem of your nightie, delivering a particularly harsh slap against your ass that makes you whine. “Take what you so desperately want all the time.”

He chuckles at the sight of your cheeks turning pink, your desperation overpowering your slight embarrassment as you begin to move your hips.

“Aaron,” you cry out, bottom lip jutting out and eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“What? Does that feel good?” He taunts, one hand slipping around your waist, keeping you close while the other leans against the backrest of the couch.

You nod, a fucked-out expression already taking its place on your face. “S-So good, I l-love it.”

“Yeah? You love it?” He coos when you nod again. “Dirty girl, always so needy and ready for me. You have no shame, do you, sweetheart?”

“Uh-uh,” you mumble, “Need you all the time.” The straps from your nightie slip down your shoulder as you lean backwards, resting your palms against his knees behind you before quickening your pace and bouncing needily.

“Shit, honey,” Aaron murmurs, taking in the sight of you before him. Your tits jiggled in his face, threatening to jump out of the fabric covering them, and your head was thrown back in utter pleasure while you rolled your hips. Some of the sweetest sounds Aaron had ever heard in his life were leaving your mouth, a mix of babbled words and moans.

“‘Mma, I’m g-gonna cum, ba-baby,” You whisper, too blissed out to form proper words. “I’m gonna—fuck—gonna c-cum, Aaron.”

Aaron could practically feel how close you were, your walls clenching and unclenching around him repeatedly as you pushed through the pain shooting up your thighs and continued bouncing on his cock.

“You’re going to be the death of me, sweet girl,” he mutters, stopping your irregular movements before pulling you into his chest and taking over for you.

A loud, practically pornographic moan echoed through the apartment as he began thrusting up into you, settling himself further down the couch for a better angle. The only sounds that could be heard were his low grunts and your high-pitched moans along with the sound of skin slapping against skin mixing in with the squelching sound of your pussy.

Repeated strings of ‘yes, yes, yes’ left your mouth, teeth digging into your bottom lip harshly and toes curling as you felt your orgasm approach you violently. You shook in his hold, adding to his thrusts by bouncing up and down again as best as you could.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Aaron whispers into your ear, tightening his hold on you. “Come on my cock, you wanted it so bad, right?”

You nod dumbly, eyes shut and face contorted into pure, utter bliss. You quiver when another slap is delivered to your ass, and it doesn’t take long for you to finish right then and there. You squeal in his arms, body stuttering and shaking as your orgasms rips through your body and invades all your senses.

Aaron presses a chaste kiss to your cheeks, not letting go of his hold on you as he continues thrusting up inside your gushing cunt, his own movements becoming sloppy as he feels his own high approach.

“Aaron,” you sigh, “Come in m-me. P-Please, fill me up,” you throw your head back, “Want it so bad.”

All it takes are those words for him to unload inside you, another groan escaping as white, hot ribbons of his come spurt deep inside you, mixing in with your own release.

You both lay still there, his cock still inside you as you attempt to regain your breath. After a while, you giggle breathily, coming up to wrap your hands around his neck and lay your head on his shoulder tiredly.

“What a shame you have to go back to work tomorrow,” you say, the pout on your lips evident despite Aaron not being able to see you properly.

This next part he knows he shouldn’t say, but he can’t help himself.

“I, uh, gave the team the rest of the weekend off.” He feels you freeze in his arms. “I’ll be home, honey.”

You sit back up, your eyes holding that hunger again as you stare up at him and tilt your head to the side coyly. “Really?”

He nods, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

You giggle again. “Well, looks like we’ll have a lot of time to ourselves then, no?”

Aaron groans when he feels you begin to clench around him again.

When he goes back to work the next Monday, he’s approached by a confused looking Rossi, the older man’s brows furrowed as he takes in his appearance.

“You look more tired than before?” He says, the observation coming out as a question.

Aaron sighed.

Yes, you were insatiable. But he was, too.

[ddejavvu]

omg pls pls pls hotch x nerdy reader like everyone would think you’d be the perfect match with spencer, having the biggest love of reading and all things art, literature, sci-fi and all things nerdy but NOPE it’s hotch who catches your clumsy eyes and he wouldn’t have it any other way!

You're right in the middle of reading about the USS Enterprise's next big adventure when your novel is rudely whisked from your hands, and a strong arm wraps around your waist, yanking you back into a firm chest.

"You were going to fall down the stairs," A deep timbre comes from behind you, and you glance around bewilderedly to find yourself, in fact, at the entrance to the stairwell instead of the elevator. Evidently you'd been too engrossed in your reading to realize you'd gone past the elevator bay and into the stairwell, and you'd have fallen right down the concrete steps if it weren't for Aaron's help.

"Thanks." You stammer, struggling to free yourself from his tight grip, "Aaron- Hotch, lemme go. I'll pay attention from now on, just- don't let anyone see us."

"I don't care if anyone sees us right now. I care that you were so distracted that you almost fell blind down at least one set of stairs, if not seven." His eyes are stern as they regard you, but loving as the reason.

"I know! I know, I get too into it." You try prying your book from his hands but he flips your bookmark into place and tucks the pocket sized novel into his suit jacket lining, "Hey!"

"I'm confiscating this until you're back from the deli. You can have it back when you're sitting down at your desk."

"Agent Hotchner, that's hardly your right to take away a subordinate's property."

"It's my boyfriendly duty to make sure that my girlfriend doesn't plummet to her death with her nose in a book."

You're definitely stable on your feet now, and you try one more time to shimmy out of his hold to no avail, "Aaron! Someone's really going to see, come on."

"Promise me." He glares at you, a slight squinting of his eyes that makes you understand every single squirming unsub for their fear of him.

"Okay, okay! I promise." You nod vehemently, and he lets your waist go. You straighten your blazer, smoothing a hand down your trousers, "Now, can I please have my book back? I promise I won't read while walking anymore."

"You can have it back when you get back from the deli." He repeats, "You can pick it up from my office when you bring me a pastrami sandwich on rye."

"Pickles?"

"Extra. Here." Aaron fishes his wallet out of his pocket, handing you his card, "Get something we can split for dessert. And you'd better not have a backup novel hidden in your purse for the walk there."

For the record, you do, but Aaron's firm glare is enough to dissuade you from using it.

"I don't! I'll be back in twenty minutes." You promise Aaron, tucking his card into your pocket and entering the stairwell on purpose this time, "Be careful with my book!"

[goorgeousz]

hotch is not able to tell you no. ever.

drabble

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader

content/tw: pure fluff, established relationship, reader doesn't have a specific gender!

a/n: I just couldn't get out of my head the image of being spoiled by hotch. I just feel that he goes out of his way to make sure you're happy. Ugh, I love him!

dividers by @uzmacchiato

“Aaron, baby. You could’ve just said no.” 

Hotch stared at you like you just said the most absurd thing that he’s ever heard.

To him, you really did.

Since you walked into his life, from day one, he could never, ever deny you anything. Anything being, five more minutes in bed, dressing up together for halloween, getting a sweet treat in the middle of the night, massages and every silly little thing your creative mind could come up with.

This is the reason why, on a wednesday night he got home one hour later than he used to. Ever since you and him started dating, everytime Aaron could find himself alone between one task and the other, he called you. They were quick calls, really. Almost all of them are about five minutes: many times less than that, never much more. He checked on you, maybe made plans for the night. Mainly just listening to you ramble about whatever chorus you were up to at the moment. He truly just wanted to hear you, and make sure you knew he was thinking of you.

It was on one of those calls when it happened. At some point between those 3 minutes and 47 seconds of talking you mentioned you were craving blueberry muffins with powdered sugar on top. You asked him if he could get you some from the bakery next to the BAU on his way home. He (obviously) said yes, and you moved on. You didn’t even think about it after that, it was just a moment. But your wish (every single one) was a (very urgent and imperious) command. 

So, when he walked out of the office to find out that said bakery didn’t have any blueberry muffins left, he decided to check on another bakery on his way home. And another one. After the third failure he decided to make his life mission to find the best blueberry muffins available and bring them home to you.

That’s how he found himself across town, with 30 minutes added to his already long path home and a package of (warm!!!) blueberry muffins (with powdered sugar on top, of course) on the passenger seat. You greeted him by the door the second you heard him unlocking the front door, worried out of your mind about why it took him so long to get home after he texted you he was leaving. And when he explained, you almost couldn’t keep yourself from combusting into flames at how adorable he was.

“But… you asked me to.”

“I know.” you pointed, still giggling and holding your arms around his neck, looking at him lovingly “But I didn’t want to bother…”

“You didn’t.” he dismissed, too quickly “You never do.” he added, softly. You gave him a few pecks on the lips, smiling so hard it was almost hurting your cheeks. “Did you like it?” he asked, and in moments like this he looked like a boy, with eyes slightly wide, scanning your face looking for any signs that he did something right. You loved him a little bit more (as if it was possible) everytime he did it.

“I loved it, baby. They smell so good, I might eat the whole box right away!” you exaggerated, and were rewarded with a chuckle in response.

“Then it was worth it.” he concluded, giving you another peck on the lips.

“You spoil me. Just promise me that, the next time, you will just tell me no.” he scrunched his nose at you.

“Of course, honey.”

(he never did).

[mggslover]

TIED TOGETHER — aaron hotchner

In which you find a creative way to show Aaron the new tie that you had ordered for him.

genre smut (18+) cw perv!hotch, established relationship, sexting, sending of explicit content, male masturbation, slight exhibitionism, sexual tie references (the clothing item) wc 1,4k a/n quick lil drabble in between my studying sessions

Aaron Hotchner is absolutely and utterly infatuated with you. He seems like a gruff, stoic leader but turns into putty whenever he’s around you. He often excuses himself in meetings or walks up to an empty hallway in the location the team is visiting when you send him a text or give him a call. The team always suspects it’s business, but no, it’s you. And when it comes to you, he will always pick up, no matter the time or place. 

Most of the time it isn’t an emergency. And most of the time it isn’t objectively necessary to swipe his finger to the right, opening the call. But he can’t help himself. Not when he knows it’s you on the other side of the line. Sweet you who’s calling him as you take your evening walk, sweet you who wants to put him on speaker as you drive to work, sweet you who needs to listen to his voice as he bids you goodnight. 

But sweet isn’t the only thing that you are. And there is no one like Aaron who knows how naughty you can be.

So the next events shouldn’t have surprised him.

“Your ties have arrived,” your voice sounds through the speaker. He can picture the way you’re balancing your phone between your ear and shoulder, a box full of ties in your hands as you make your way to your bedroom.

“I faked your signature if that’s alright.”

He chuckled at that.

“That’s alright, thank you. You can leave them on the bed; I’ll be home tonight.”

An excited squeal followed, “Thank God, it’s been too long.”

He agreed with your statement, then asked you how you were, but you didn’t answer. Instead he heard some faint shuffling in the background. 

“What are you doing?”

“Putting on this tie, the silk navy one,” you answered.

A memory flashed through his mind: how he was lying down on the couch, your figure seated between his legs, head resting on his chest as you had his laptop placed on top of your lap. You were looking through several websites, finding new ties to order. Your eye had immediately landed on a silk navy one, tracing the fabric with your finger over the screen.

“You know what else this tie will be perfect for?” You had purred to him, resulting in him groaning as he hid his face in the crook of your neck, showering you in kisses and bites.

It was a common bedroom activity you like to participate in: using ties. The two of you made a creative team, finding ways to use his ties as handcuffs, as blindfolds, and even as chokers. And what material could be better than soft silk?

“Check your text messages. You can stay on the call,” you instruct him, bringing him back to reality.

Maybe he should’ve thought his next action more through. Maybe he should’ve told you No, I’ll check it when I have the time. When I’m not standing in the corner of a busy police station. But he didn’t. Simply because it was you who asked. 

He exited the call to go to his messages, for a second afraid he had hung up on you, but then he heard your voice again. “Go on.”

To say that you had knocked the breath out of his lungs was an understatement. There, opened on his phone in full screen, was a picture of you. You were standing in front of the mirror, only your upper body showing. Completely bare, besides… his tie.

The navy blue tie decorated your neck, tied perfectly due to the many times you’ve helped him. Aaron looked up for just a second, seeing his colleagues and police busy themselves in chatter, not focused on him. Still, he turned around, shielding himself as he held his phone in a tight grip, like he held the most valuable possession known to man in his hands. 

He swallowed when he took another glance at the picture. Cock swelling as he took in your hardened peaks, the soft curve of your breasts, the way the silk fell down in between them.

“Earth to Aaron,” you spoke after not having heard a sound besides his heavy breathing for the last minute.

“I have to go.”

Call ended.

-`♡´-

Maybe you’ve gone too far. You sit on the edge of your shared bed, letting out a disappointed sigh as you play with the tie around your neck. Worst case scenario he gets home tonight and will punish you. 

The idea sends an excited jolt to your core. But instead, not even a couple of minutes later, you receive a text message from Aaron.

With scrunched eyebrows you open the app, seeing the loading screen of a video. You can vaguely make out some colors: mainly white, and a warm beige color reminiscent of his skin. Then you take in the text that’s attached to it: Had to go to the bathroom while I’m supposed to give a profile in five. Don’t do that again.

Before you could question his message further, the video pops up in HD, fully loaded. You click on the play button.

The white turned out to be a toilet, making sense with his bathroom text. The beige turns out to be his hand, and as the video starts playing, you connect the dots.

Aaron groans, palming the obvious bulge in his pants that’s visible now that he’s adjusted the camera. Your heart stammers as he unzips himself, hands so skilled that holding his phone in the other hand doesn’t slow him down. His slacks fall to his knees, and his thick cock jumps up with a slap against his button-up.

Your throat turns dry as he grips himself in his fist, wrist flicking in slow circles as he moves his hand up and down his length. It felt so intimate to see. He didn’t speak to you, needing to be quiet. He didn’t acknowledge that the video was for you, even though you knew it was. It truly felt like catching him in a private moment of pleasure.

Precum spilled out of his length, and he caught all of it with his thumb, coating the slick around the head in the same way he usually covered your lips before pressing the rest of his thumb into your mouth. You moaned at the sight, and it seemed like Aaron had the same mental image in mind, groaning as he fisted himself harder. 

You held in your breath and turned the volume of your phone up to the max, wanting to catch every sigh and whimper that escaped his lips. He fucked his hand; wet sounds of his fist making contact with his stomach filled the room. He couldn’t lessen those sounds, not if he wanted to keep up this pace, and by the way his breathing was getting heavier, he did not want to slow down.

“Honey,” he groaned, and your cheeks heated. He was thinking of you. 

His hand moved faster, at a speed you weren’t sure you could recreate: up and down, up and down. You’re wondering what he’s picturing, if he’s imagining you on your knees in front of him, tits on display like they were in the picture, tie around your neck as you’re sticking your tongue out, begging for his release.

He moaned your name, and again, and again, until his cock twitched. White, hot ropes of his release spilling out. Some of the droplets are falling into the toilet, like he had intended, but having built up his release for days not being with you and not having had the time to get himself off, he’s adorning his hand, the seat, and even the floor. 

“Shit,” he mutters, catching up after his mind is getting clear.

Then the video ends.

Thanks for the show. Don’t forget to ask Reid for some cleaning wipes ;) You text him, stifling a giggle, enjoying getting a reaction out of him. 

The video replayed in your mind, and you bit your lip. Your legs were crossed, subconsciously trying to alleviate some of the building pressure, not able to wait to get off to that video later on.

Like the devil had heard you, you received a text back.

Funny. Don’t forget that you’re not allowed to touch yourself until I’m home ;)

[jareaufiles]

DATE NIGHT • a.hotchner

PAIRING: aaron hothcner x female reader

PREMISE: Aaron finally asks you out on a proper date — no cameras, no sets, just the two of you. Dinner’s good, conversation’s better, but neither of you makes it back to your place. You end up in the backseat of his sleek black car, your panties shoved to the side, his hand around your throat, and his cock buried deep while the windows fog up around you.

WARNINGS: pornstar AU, explicit sexual content featuring an established dominance/submission dynamic, including scenes of rough vaginal sex, face-sitting, and cumplay (male character using his mouth to taste and tongue-fuck the cum he previously ejaculated inside the reader). It involves choking/breath play (hand wrapped around the reader's throat during penetration, with air restriction), verbal degradation and praise, oral sex (reader receiving), and overstimulation. takes place in a semi-public setting (a parked car), heightening risk and exhibitionistic tension. sex is raw, possessive, and messy, with an emphasis on control, dominance, and physical restraint (hair-pulling, pinning). it includes soft aftercare such as gentle touches, clothing adjustments, forehead kisses, and reassurance after intense physical and emotional exertion.

WORD COUNT: 6.7K

A/N: he's so yummy, it's unreal. who needs food when he can just eat you (out)? also, excuse the random food order lmao, i've been watching masterchef soooo

masterlists

You weren’t expecting the call. Not from him. Not at that hour.

It was crawling past midnight, that soft, aching hour where everything in your apartment felt a little quieter, a little heavier. The only light came from the flickering glow of your television. Some third rerun of a sitcom you weren’t even pretending to pay attention to, the canned laughter a distant, hollow thing against the thick hush of night.

The air was warm, the last of a long summer day clinging stubbornly to the walls, making your skin tacky beneath the thin cotton of your shirt.

His shirt.

Oversized, faded black, worn soft from too many washes. You’d stolen it months ago, snagged it off the back of a chair in Aaron’s dressing room after the AVN afterparty, one too many drinks deep, your lipstick still smudged at the corner of your mouth, and your thighs aching in the best possible way.

It smelled like him. Even now, after god knows how many laundry cycles, it clung to you like a memory; cologne and old stage lights, a sharp, masculine bite of aftershave stubbornly clinging to the collar. You hadn’t meant to keep it. You just… never gave it back.

Your legs were curled up under you on the couch, one hand lazily scrolling your socials, the other cradling a half-drunk glass of wine, condensation slick against your palm.

That bone-deep kind of solitude had settled in. Not quite loneliness, but a familiar, aching quiet. The kind that crept in at night and made you a little too aware of the way your phone hadn’t buzzed in hours.

And then it did.

The screen lit up with his name. Aaron.

Not Hotch. Never Hotch.

Everyone else called him that. On set, in group chats, in murmured conversations backstage about his stamina, his reputation, the way he could break a girl in two and still have her begging for more.

But you’d called him Aaron since the first day you met, tossing it out so casually it made him look up from whatever contract he’d been reviewing, something sharp and dark and proprietary flickering in his eyes like you’d touched a nerve no one else even knew existed. And you never stopped. It was yours. A small rebellion neither of you acknowledged out loud.

Your heart gave a hard, traitorous kick against your ribs. He never called.

Aaron wasn’t a phone guy. He was a late-night texter, terse and economical. Thinking about that thing you did with your tongue. Or Wear those thigh-highs tomorrow. Or sometimes just a blunt Now, when he wanted you in his bed, no scene, no lights, just sweat and teeth and the kind of rough, desperate sex that left marks.

A call, though? That was new.

You let it ring once. Twice. A third time.

Your fingers tightened around your wine glass, cold seeping into your skin as your thumb hovered over the answer button. By the fourth ring, your stomach was flipping, stupid and hot, nerves strung too tight, some part of you bracing for bad news, the other half already cataloging the way his name looked on your screen, burning it into your brain.

You answered on the fourth ring, your voice soft, careful, curious. “Hey.”

A pause. A breath.

You knew his breathing. You’d mapped it in the dark, felt it against your throat, between your thighs, ghosting over your skin when he didn’t want to speak but couldn’t seem to leave you alone. There was a faint clink of ice against glass on his end, the low rasp of his exhale rough like he’d been drinking, or maybe not sleeping.

When he spoke, his voice was softer than you expected. Rough, yes - that always lingered, but edged with something else. Warmer. Intimate in a way that sent a hot little pulse low in your belly.

“You busy tomorrow?”

It wasn’t what you expected. And somehow, that made it worse. Your lips curled, a slow grin tugging at the corner of your mouth even as your heart kept up its frantic little drumbeat.

“Not if you’re booking me.”

A beat — then a chuckle. Low. Deep. Unfiltered.

The kind of sound he almost never let loose unless you’d earned it, coaxed it out of him with a smart remark or the edge of your teeth against his jaw.

“Not for a scene.”

You sat up a little, tugging your legs tighter beneath you, the worn fabric of his shirt brushing over your bare thighs. There was a strange ache behind your ribs, a little knot of nerves you didn’t want to name. “Oh?”

Another pause. Like he was weighing the words in his mouth. Like he knew once he said it, there was no taking it back.

“I was thinking dinner,” he said. “Just you and me.”

The words landed with a weight you felt in your chest, low and sharp. You weren’t a rookie at this. You knew the game. Knew how to separate what happened under the lights from what happened after dark. You’d fucked coworkers, kissed them in parking lots, let their hands drift too low over drinks in shitty bars. You didn’t confuse it for anything more.

But this? This didn’t sound like a quick fuck or a livestream collab. This sounded deliberate. Like a line being crossed, slow and sure.

“Like…” you tested, your voice going a little breathless, your mouth tugging into a grin you couldn’t fight, “a date?”

He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t laugh it off.

“Yeah,” Aaron said. Low. Certain. That quiet kind of sure that made your stomach clench, like he wasn’t leaving room for you to wriggle out of this.

And God, you knew what this meant. Knew what a step like this could do. The lines it would blur. The rules it would break. You could already feel it; the dangerous, intoxicating thrill of him on the other side of that door, without cameras, without a set, just him and you and that awful, perfect tension that always hung between you.

Your pulse thrummed. You tucked yourself deeper into the couch cushions, cradling the phone closer like you could keep him tethered there, just for a little longer.

“Okay,” you murmured, your voice soft but steady, and for the first time in a long time, you meant it. A grin split across your face, stupid and helpless. “Yeah. I’m in.”

And you knew, in your bones, this wasn’t going to be just dinner.

The place he picked wasn’t what you expected and somehow, that made it better.

Tucked away off Ventura Boulevard, the restaurant sat behind a discreet façade, its weathered brick exterior and dark wood door easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it. No neon. No velvet rope. No desperate mid-tier porn stars in spray tans and knockoff designer dresses posing at the bar for their followers. It was old-school, unapologetically so. Mahogany paneling gleamed under the low, amber glow of scattered votive candles on each table.

The booths were deep, cracked leather, the kind that had held decades of whispered conversations and under-the-table touches. It smelled like aged whiskey and cigar smoke that probably hadn’t been legal in years, the faintest trace of it baked into the walls, mingling with the savory sweetness of seared meat and rich sauces.

In the far corner, a baby grand piano sat beneath a small spotlight, a middle-aged man in a gray suit coaxing out low, smoky jazz that filled the space like a sigh.

You showed up five minutes late on purpose. Because you could. Because you wanted to see how he looked when he realized you made him wait.

You walked in like you owned the place. A black silk slip dress hugging every inch of your skin, the thin straps constantly threatening to slip off your shoulders, nipples already pebbling against the fabric from the cool, conditioned air. No bra. You wanted him to see it. Wanted the promise of it to linger in his mind every time you shifted. The hem barely kissed the tops of your thighs, your legs elongated by delicate strappy black heels you knew would leave little marks on your feet by the end of the night.

Your hair was loose, styled in those effortless, intentionally careless waves — the kind that looked like you hadn’t tried too hard, though you’d spent a good twenty minutes in front of the mirror making sure it fell exactly right. A swipe of gloss. A hint of perfume behind your ears and at your wrists, something soft and expensive that clung to your skin like a secret.

You spotted him instantly.

Aaron was already settled in a booth toward the back, one arm slung along the top of the worn leather like he’d been born in it, a glass of something deep amber resting easy in his other hand. He wore a black button-up — sleeves rolled to his forearms, two buttons undone to show the barest tease of his chest, that triangle of skin you’d buried your face in more times than you cared to count. Dark jeans, clean but well-worn boots. No watch tonight. And you noticed, because he always wore one. Always checked it like he was keeping time for both of you. It struck you like a touch. Deliberate. Unmistakable.

His gaze found you the second you crossed the threshold.

It was a slow, unhurried sweep, starting at your throat, lingering on the line of your collarbones, the thin straps of your dress, the sharp peak of your nipples pressing against silk. Lower, over the curve of your hips, the bare skin of your legs.

By the time his eyes made it back to yours, your stomach was already dipping, a spark of heat flickering low in your belly. That familiar, terrible, perfect hunger that always burned between you. Tonight, it didn’t flicker. It roared.

“Damn,” you murmured as you slid into the booth across from him, a lazy, flirtatious grin tugging at your lips. You let your knee brush his under the table. Didn’t pull back. “You clean up alright.”

He smirked, one corner of his mouth tipping up in that way that always made you want to climb into his lap and cause a scene. His voice was a low, steady rumble, roughened by bourbon and maybe something heavier beneath. “Could say the same.”

The waiter came by, a clean-cut kid barely old enough to serve drinks, and Aaron didn’t even glance at the menu. He ordered for you both like he’d done it a hundred times before. A bottle of cabernet, the pan-seared salmon for you, ribeye for him, medium rare. Roasted fennel, crispy potatoes, lemon beurre blanc.

It should’ve irritated you, the casual assumption, the authority of it, but it didn’t. It never did with him. If anything, it made your skin prickle, made your thighs press a little tighter together beneath the table.

The wine came quickly. Dark, rich, velvety against your tongue, tasting of black cherries and spice, and you let the first sip linger in your mouth, watching the way Aaron’s eyes followed the movement of your lips, your throat as you swallowed.

The conversation started light, safe territory. Studio gossip, a director neither of you liked, an upcoming award show neither of you planned on attending.

He told you about some new girl on set who’d nearly passed out during a breathplay scene, and you countered with a story about a male performer who’d cried when he came too fast.

The words weren’t important, not really. It was the way his gaze never left your mouth. The way his thigh stayed flush against yours. The way you could feel the current thrumming between you, thick and electric, every look and word loaded with everything you weren’t saying.

Somewhere between the second glass of wine and the arrival of your entrees, the conversation slid into something quieter. “Ever seen Out of the Past?” he asked, fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass.

You shook your head. “Should I have?”

He shrugged, a glint in his eye. “Old noir flick. Mitchum. Femme fatale in a white dress. You’d like it.”

The implication was there, that you’d look good in that role. Dangerous. Untrustworthy. The kind of girl who leaves lipstick smudges on cigarette filters and men’s collars.

You arched a brow, grinning. “Guess you’ll have to screen it for me sometime.”

A beat. His gaze darkened. “Yeah. Guess I will.”

The food arrived. Your salmon crisp at the edges, the flesh tender and melting on your tongue. His steak a perfect ruby in the center, juices pooling around the plate. You picked at your plate between sips of wine, conversation continuing in that same lazy, intimate sprawl.

He teased you about your high school obsession with The Killers. You made him admit he still listened to Springsteen when he was too drunk to pretend otherwise.

He described the best wings in LA , some grimy dive bar on the east side where the risk of food poisoning was worth it, and you made him swear to take you.

At some point, he cut you a piece of his steak without asking. Held it out to you on his fork, his gaze never leaving yours. You took it, lips closing around the bite, tasting salt and char and something heavier you didn’t have a name for. He watched your mouth as you chewed, and you felt it like a touch.

By dessert — a crème brûlée you ordered for no reason other than to share — your pulse was a steady thrum in your throat. The heat between you had gone from steady hum to razor wire tension, sharp and singing.

You picked at the crisp shell of burnt sugar, passing the spoon back and forth, your fingers brushing, every glance heavy. Every word thick with what wasn’t being said.

And when he looked at you, head tilted slightly, lips curling at the corner, it wasn’t the look of a man who wanted to fuck you. Not just that. It was a look that said he wanted to ruin you.

You downed the last of your wine, feeling bold and reckless and too aware of the heat pooling between your thighs. You slid out of the booth, leaning down, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek as you murmured against his ear, “Hope you drive fast, Aaron. I’m fucking soaked.”

His jaw tensed, the muscle flexing hard, eyes gone dark and dangerous as they cut to yours. When he stood, it was too quick, too sharp, a man barely keeping a leash on himself.

“Let’s go,” he rasped, voice rough as gravel. And you grinned, knowing exactly how this night was going to end and that neither of you would make it home.

The night air hit you like a punch when you stepped outside. Cool and dense, laced with exhaust, wilting jasmine, and the sharp, tangy bite of hot asphalt cooling after hours of baking under LA sun. The heavy quiet of the city after midnight stretched out around you, the distant hum of traffic on Ventura a low pulse beneath your skin.

It felt like a different world out here, after the dim intimacy of that old restaurant, the flicker of votives still clinging to your retinas, the sound of Aaron’s low laugh in your ears, the taste of wine and butter sauce on your tongue.

You spotted him ahead of you, moving toward his car, a gorgeous, black muscle car gleaming under the hazy glow of a streetlight. The paint shimmered like ink, chrome catching the faintest hints of light.

You’d seen it on set before, once or twice, but never like this. Not like it was waiting for you. And fuck, he looked good in this light. The sleeves of his shirt still rolled to his forearms, collar open, the flush from wine and hunger making his jawline sharper, his mouth softer. His hair was slightly mussed from your earlier kiss, and that alone made your stomach twist tight.

And you didn’t think — you just moved.

Your heels clicked softly on the pavement as you closed the space between you, the silk of your dress catching on the breeze, clinging to your thighs. He turned at the sound, his eyes finding yours, that dark, unguarded look already waiting for you. And before he could speak, before the night could swallow the moment, you rose up on your toes, grabbed a fistful of his shirt, and kissed him.

It was filthy. Desperate. All teeth and tongue and clashing breath. His hands immediately framing your face, one slipping into your hair, the other anchoring at your waist, pulling you in so tight you could feel every inch of his body against yours.

The hard line of his cock through his jeans pressed to your stomach, and Jesus, he was already thick, already straining. You groaned against his mouth, your fingers sliding down his chest, feeling muscle and heat and the way his pulse thundered beneath his skin.

“Couldn’t fucking wait,” he muttered against your lips, breath hot, voice low and cracked with want. “Look at you… standing there, fucking perfect. I knew I wasn’t making it home.”

Your blood turned molten, your cunt throbbing, panties so wet it was obscene. You ground against him shamelessly, both of you so far gone it barely registered when he unlocked the car with a sharp press of his key fob and tugged you toward the back door. He opened it and you barely managed to slide inside before he was following, pulling it shut behind you with a muted slam.

The space was tight. Black leather seats, gleaming under the dim glow of the overhead light before he flicked it off, plunging you into a darkness broken only by the bleeding colors of city lights through the tinted glass. It smelled like leather and old cologne and him, the air thick with heat and need.

You straddled his lap without hesitation, dress riding up your thighs, your ass settling against the hard ridge of his cock through his jeans. The friction made both of you groan.

Your hands roamed instantly — over his chest, up his throat, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to make him hiss. His hands were everywhere at once. One slipped up your dress, fingers dragging over your bare thigh, while the other palmed your ass, the sting of his grip making you moan into his mouth.

The car rocked faintly with every shift of your hips, the windows already fogging from the heat pouring off your bodies. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew anyone could walk by. Knew that one wrong move could have you both caught.

And it made you wetter.

His lips crashed against yours again. Sloppy, desperate kisses that tasted like bourbon and want. His tongue pushed deep, claiming, and you whimpered, your body arching against him, aching. His hand slid higher, fingertips brushing over the soaked scrap of lace between your legs, and when he felt the mess you’d made, a filthy groan left his throat.

“Jesus fuck… soaked for me,” he growled, pulling back just enough to look down between you, watching his hand disappear beneath your dress. His fingers slid the panties aside, teasing your slick folds, gathering wetness before circling your clit with maddening slowness. “You been this wet since dinner, huh? Knew you were sitting there with this sweet little pussy dripping for me.”

You gasped, hips canting into his touch, the rough pad of his thumb making your head fall back, a broken, needy sound escaping your lips.

“So fucking pretty,” he murmured against the curve of your throat, his teeth grazing your skin. “I swear to God, no one else gets to see you like this. No one. Just me.”

Your cunt clenched hard at the possessive edge in his voice, your entire body pulsing with the desperate need to be filled. You could feel the thick line of his cock trapped between your bodies, straining against his jeans, and it made your stomach clench with anticipation.

“I need you, Aaron,” you whined, rocking against his hand, against the hard length of him. The slick sound of your pussy, the obscene wet squelch of it every time his fingers slid through your folds, filled the car. “Fuck — please, I can’t…”

He kissed you again, a filthy, open-mouthed thing that left your lips slick and swollen, his voice breaking against your tongue. “Gonna give it to you, baby. Gonna give you everything. Right here. Wanna feel this tight little cunt choking my cock. You want that?”

You whimpered something that barely qualified as a yes, your nails dragging down his chest, and you both knew neither of you were going to last long. Not like this. Not with the windows fogging, the car rocking, your slick drenching his fingers, his cock thick and heavy between you. The entire night had led here. Every lingering look, every brush of his thigh, every smirk when you called him Aaron.

And neither of you were making it home.

The air inside the car was stifling now, thick and humid with your mingled breath, the scent of sex, sweat, leather, and the sharp tang of arousal. The windows were completely fogged over, blotting out the city, turning the world beyond the glass into smudged streaks of neon and brake lights.

The car rocked in slow, subtle motions beneath you with every shift of his hips, every press of your body against his, the leather creaking beneath your knees as you straddled his lap, his hands greedy and rough, tugging your dress up over your tits so they spilled free.

He groaned when he saw them, dark gaze fixed on your flushed, stiff nipples, his hands cupping the weight of them, thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks. “Fucking perfect,” he rasped, voice breaking like it hurt to hold it in.

Then his mouth was on you. Hot, wet, teeth scraping and tongue swirling, pulling one aching nipple between his lips and sucking hard. You cried out, hips grinding down against the thick, unmistakable bulge beneath you, slick soaking your panties, your clit throbbing with every filthy pull of his mouth.

His stubble scraped your tender skin, making you squirm, loving the way his teeth grazed the sensitive bud before he moved to the other, lavishing it just as hungrily.

Your entire body ached, trembling with the sharp, urgent need to taste him, to have that thick cock stretching your throat, the weight of it heavy on your tongue. Impatient, desperate, you shoved at his shoulders, panting, and slid down between his spread thighs, the cramped space of the backseat barely accommodating you but you didn’t give a fuck.

You dropped to your knees on the floor, the leather hot and sticky under your skin, your hands already working his belt open, the sharp metallic clink of the buckle loud in the tight space.

His cock sprang free the second you tugged down his zipper, and fuck, it was beautiful. Thick and heavy, the flushed head a deep, angry red, a bead of precum already slicking the tip. The skin was velvety-soft over the iron-hard length, veins standing out along the shaft, the weight of it making your mouth ache.

The scent of him — sweat, skin, musk — filled your nose, thick and heady in the humid air, and your pussy clenched hard, a fresh slick of arousal pooling between your thighs.

“Jesus, look at you,” Aaron groaned, his voice pure gravel, watching the way you licked your lips, eyes glassy with want. “Bet your little cunt’s dripping down your legs, huh? Gonna suck my cock like a good girl?”

You didn’t answer, just grinned, filthy and hungry, and leaned in, your tongue flicking out to catch the bead of precum, savoring the sharp, slightly salty taste of him.

The sound he made? a low, guttural groan that sent a pulse of heat straight through you. You dragged your tongue along the underside, tracing the thick vein, before sealing your lips around the head, sucking gently, your hand wrapping around the base to stroke what you couldn’t take yet.

His hips jerked up, a helpless, reflexive motion, a rough curse spilling from his lips. “Fuck, that’s it, baby. Just like that.”

The stretch of him against your tongue made your eyes water, but you wanted it — needed to take it, feel that thick cock filling your throat, making you gag. You hollowed your cheeks, sinking lower, inch by inch, letting spit and precum slick your lips, coating him as you worked your mouth down. Every inch you swallowed made your pussy clench harder, your thighs squeezing together, aching for friction.

The car rocked gently with every bob of your head, the suspension creaking, a constant, filthy reminder of how visible you’d be to anyone walking by. Somewhere in the back of your fogged-over mind, you registered the thrill of it — the danger, the risk — but it only made you wetter. You moaned around him, the vibration making his hand fist tighter in your hair.

“Goddamn, you look so fucking pretty like this,” he groaned, his head tipping back, hips starting to roll up into your mouth, fucking your throat with short, shallow thrusts. “Mouth all stretched around me, drooling all over my cock. Bet you’d let me keep you like this all fucking night, huh? Anyone could walk by and see those windows, see you choking on my dick, and you wouldn’t give a fuck.”

His words made your cunt clench so hard it hurt. Slick dripped down your thighs, the wet heat of it making your skin slick, the fabric of your panties clinging to your folds.

You moaned around him, swallowing around the thick length in your throat, loving the way he twitched, the way his thighs tensed beneath your hands. The salty taste of him flooded your mouth, each pulse of his cock making you hungrier.

Aaron’s breathing turned ragged, voice breaking with every groan, every filthy word. “Jesus… fuck, baby, you suck my cock so good… such a good little cocksucker… making a goddamn mess.”

Your hand stroked what you couldn’t take, twisting your wrist on every upstroke while your tongue pressed flat against the underside, tracing every vein.

You gagged softly when his cock hit the back of your throat, your eyes watering, tears spilling over your lashes. He fucking loved it — the way his hips stuttered, the desperate, choked moan that tore from his throat proved it.

But just when you felt his cock start to pulse harder, his stomach tightening under your palm, his hand yanked you off with a sharp, filthy pop. His cock slipped from your mouth, slick and glistening, spit and precum stringing from your lips to the flushed tip. You gasped, panting, lips swollen, face flushed, eyes glassy with heat.

Aaron’s thumb swiped over your bottom lip, smearing the mess there as he grinned down at you, dark and wrecked. “Look at you… fuck, baby. Got me nice and wet. That perfect little mouth’s gonna have my cock sliding right into that sweet pussy so easy.”

The praise made you whimper, your thighs clenching together, desperate for him to finally fuck you. The heavy pulse of his cock against your cheek made you shudder. And you knew what was coming next would be filthy, rough, and perfect. The kind of fuck that left marks. The kind that made your cunt ache for days.

And you were ready for every goddamn second of it.

Aaron didn’t waste a second.

The second your swollen lips slipped from his cock, he was moving, yanking you up with rough, commanding hands, your body pliant and shaking as he twisted you around. You barely had time to catch your breath before he shoved you forward over the seat, forcing your chest down into the warm leather, your ass high in the air, legs spread wide in instinctive submission.

You gasped as the sticky heat of the car wrapped around you, every inch of your skin damp with sweat and arousal, the scent of sex saturating the space like a second skin.

He kicked your knees wider with his thigh, growling low under his breath, voice a dark rumble in your ear as he gripped your hips. “Look at this,” he muttered, dragging your dress up roughly, exposing your soaked panties to the hot, cramped air. “Look at this filthy little cunt, soaking wet from choking on my cock. Knew you liked it rough, baby, but fuck…”

He didn’t bother to pull your panties down. Just hooked his fingers in the fabric, tugging them roughly to the side, the elastic biting into your thigh, exposing your glistening folds.

You moaned, humiliated and aching, every breath catching in your throat as the air hit your slick skin. His fingers pressed against your pussy, spreading your lips with no gentleness at all, the wet sounds obscene, your arousal thick and messy and unmistakable.

“Dripping for me,” he groaned, dragging the fat, swollen head of his cock through your slick folds. “Fucking soaking, sweetheart. Bet I could slide in with no resistance.”

And then he did.

With one brutal, hungry thrust, Aaron slammed his cock inside you, forcing you open around him, the stretch blinding and deep. You cried out, the sound muffled against the seat as your walls clamped down around the thick length driving into you.

The sudden fullness, the raw, brutal pace — it was overwhelming. His cock split you wide, forcing your cunt to take every inch as he grunted behind you, the force of each thrust rocking your body forward against the seat.

“Fuck ... this pussy,” he snarled, pulling back and slamming in again, hard enough to bruise. “Takes me so fucking well. You were made for this, weren’t you? Made to get ruined in the backseat like a filthy little slut.”

You moaned, helpless and breathless, arms trembling where you braced yourself. Your cheek pressed against the hot leather, your breath fogging the window as he fucked you deeper, faster, the sound of skin slapping on skin filthy and loud in the tight space.

Then his hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back hard enough to arch your spine. Before you could speak, before you could even whimper, his other hand wrapped around your throat — firm, commanding — his fingers pressing into the sides, cutting off your air in the most perfect, dizzying way.

Your gasp was a choked, broken noise, your pulse thundering in your ears as the pressure built. His cock drove into you harder now, faster, using your cunt like it belonged to him. The mixture of pain and pleasure made your eyes roll back, your mouth falling open as your vision blurred. You couldn’t breathe and you didn’t want to. Not when it felt this fucking good.

“Look at you,” Aaron growled, breath hot against your ear as his grip tightened just enough to make your legs tremble. “All fucked out already? That sweet little pussy choking on my cock while my hand’s around your throat. You fucking love this, don’t you?”

You tried to speak, tried to nod, but he tightened his grip just a little more, and the whimper you managed came out as a pathetic, desperate sound. Your cunt clenched hard around him, milking his cock as he slammed in over and over, your slick squelching with every thrust.

It was soaked, messy, completely unrestrained — everything inside you unraveling as he held you there, pinned between his body and the seat, choking and dripping and owned.

“Bet you’re about to come, huh?” he snarled, teeth grazing your ear. “From getting used like this. You gonna soak my cock, sweetheart? Gonna gush all over me like the filthy little fucktoy you are?”

He let go of your throat just long enough for you to gasp in a ragged breath — one sobbing, broken inhale — and then his hand was right back, choking you tight, pushing you back into that perfect floating edge of need.

And that’s when it hit you.

Your orgasm slammed into you like a truck, your body convulsing around his cock, muscles locking as you came so hard your vision went white. Slick gushed from you, flooding down your thighs, soaking both of you in the raw, pulsing aftershock.

You screamed — or tried to — your voice caught between his hand and your climax, the sound reduced to a strangled sob as your body shook beneath him.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Aaron groaned, his rhythm stuttering as your cunt spasmed around him, squeezing tight, dripping wet. “Jesus, you’re so fucking tight.. gonna come, fuck...”

He slammed in once, twice more, burying himself to the hilt as his cock pulsed deep inside you, thick ropes of cum flooding your cunt. He held you there, shaking, breathing ragged, his body sprawled over yours as you both trembled from the force of it.

For a moment, the car was silent but for the sound of your shared panting — his cum still warm inside you, your slick thighs trembling, the fogged windows glowing red and gold in the city light.

And then his grip softened.

His hand slid from your throat, brushing gently down your chest. His other hand released your hair, stroking soothingly down your spine, grounding you in the aftermath of that brutal, perfect fuck.

You sagged into the seat, body boneless, lips swollen and eyes glassy, utterly wrecked.

Aaron leaned in close, voice raw and low as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Good girl,” he whispered, praise thick and real now. “So fucking good for me.”

And you knew, even with your cunt leaking and your body shaking, that he wasn’t finished yet.

Not even close.

You were still trembling, your thighs slick with sweat and cum, your pussy aching and swollen from the raw, relentless way he’d used you and Aaron hadn’t even moved. He stayed pressed behind you, one hand still wrapped loosely around your waist, the other smoothing slow, grounding strokes up your spine.

His cock had softened just slightly inside your still-clenching cunt, but you could feel the pulse of him, the heat. His cum was thick and hot where it leaked out of you, messy and wet between your thighs, seeping out around him with every flutter of your muscles.

“Shh,” he murmured against your shoulder, pressing soft kisses to your skin as he eased out, the stretch making you whimper again. “I know, baby. I know. Just one more for me. You’ve got more in you — I know you do.”

You barely had the strength to nod. You were boneless, dripping, brain spinning in the thick heat of the car, but your cunt clenched just at the sound of his voice. You’d do anything he asked.

He guided you gently, with that strange mixture of patience and hunger only he could balance — tugging you around, helping you straddle his chest until you were facing him again, your legs spread wide over his torso, thighs trembling on either side of him.

You whined, face flushed, as the cool air hit your soaked pussy, his cum already leaking down your folds, shining on your thighs. His hands slid up your body, possessive and steady, until they gripped your hips.

Then he pulled you up higher and you understood.

The second your cunt hovered over his mouth, Aaron let out a wrecked, needy sound and dragged you down the rest of the way, until your thighs were braced against the sides of his face and your ruined, dripping pussy was pressed tight to his tongue.

He groaned like it hurt, like it was relief, like it was both. His mouth was hot and hungry, tongue immediately sliding through your folds, licking up the mess he’d left inside you. He didn’t ease you into it, didn’t offer slow licks or delicate teasing, he fucking devoured you, tongue lapping greedily at his own cum as it leaked from your cunt, licking into you with a desperate, obscene hunger.

“Oh—fuck, Aaron—” you choked out, hips jerking forward instinctively, hands bracing against the fogged window behind his head. Your body arched, thighs trembling around his face as his tongue worked deeper, flicking and curling inside you, wet noises filling the car as he tasted every drop of the slick, filthy mess he’d fucked into you.

He moaned into your cunt, the vibration shooting straight through you, and you sobbed out a sound that was half-laughter, half-broken need. He was fucking tongue-fucking you, eating his own cum from your cunt like it was heaven, like your pussy was everything he’d ever wanted. Every drag of his tongue was filthy and possessive, sliding in deep, tasting you both, spreading you open with his mouth like he was staking his claim.

Then his hands shifted, one sliding up to your spine to hold you steady, the other gripping your ass and pulling you down harder against his face. His nose pressed against your clit, and when he tilted his chin and sucked that throbbing, swollen bundle of nerves between his lips, your vision shattered.

Your whole body tensed, your knees digging into the leather, and you screamed — a ragged, raw cry that filled the car, your second orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You came on his tongue, your pussy gushing, your hips bucking helplessly as he held you down and kept licking, riding out your orgasm with slow, reverent drags of his tongue, sucking softly, coaxing every last twitch and pulse from your spent body.

You collapsed forward with a gasping moan, your palms braced against the seat, thighs twitching where they still framed his face. His tongue finally slowed, his hands softening against your hips as he kissed your cunt with aching tenderness, cleaning you up with soft, wet licks, like he couldn’t stand the thought of wasting a drop.

When you finally managed to sit back, lifting yourself off him with a shudder, you caught sight of him below you — lips wet and swollen, chin shiny with slick and cum, his eyes fucking wrecked with devotion and lust.

“Jesus,” you whispered, voice hoarse, wiping your trembling fingers across your forehead. “You’re .. insane.”

He laughed, breathless, eyes still fixed on your ruined cunt like he hadn’t had nearly enough. “You’re welcome.”

You collapsed against his chest, and this time, he caught you gently, arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you into the solid warmth of his body. His hands weren’t rough now. They were slow, soothing, stroking your spine and hips as your breathing came down. Your heart was still pounding, but it was soft now. Heavy with satisfaction. You were trembling, sweat-damp, sticky and sore — and the most taken care of you’d felt in weeks.

Aaron pressed a kiss to your temple, his lips warm and lingering. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. “You okay?”

You nodded, muffled against his chest. “Better than okay.”

He smiled, you felt it against your hair and kissed you again, softer this time, brushing your hair back from your face. He reached behind you, snagging your panties and gently sliding them back into place over your slick cunt, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh as he tucked the soaked fabric into place.

“Just until we get home,” he said, voice low and teasing. “Then I’m taking those back off.”

You giggled, weakly, and let him help you straighten your dress, smoothing it down over your thighs. He buttoned your coat for you, slow and careful, like every little gesture mattered.

Then he fixed his own clothes, still watching you like you were the center of his fucking universe, and reached over to tuck a damp strand of hair behind your ear.

The windows were still fogged, the city lights smeared in soft halos behind the glass. The air smelled like sweat, sex, and skin — but it was calm now, sated, quiet.

Aaron leaned in, pressing one more kiss to your cheek.

“Home?” he asked gently.

You nodded. “Yeah. But don’t expect me to walk straight when we get there.”

His grin was pure sin. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

And he started the car.

[syena-journals]

The Things We Keep Quiet

Aaron Hotchner x Reader Summary: Hotch gets a surprise visit from his questionably young girlfriend. He doesn’t know about her expunged criminal record—until Garcia does some unasked digging. Word count: 2.5k Warnings: MDNI, mentions of attempted SA (in past context), implied smut, emotional vulnerability, age-gap undertones. Tone: Soft, dreamy, with an undercurrent of psychological tension. A/N: This one’s been sitting in my head for weeks. I wanted to explore that space between comfort and possession—Hotch trying to protect someone who’s been through hell while also wrestling with how much he wants her in his world. Soft, slow, a little unsettling.

It was early, that sweet, hollow sort of early that still felt like night. The world outside Quantico’s glass doors was fog-streaked and gray, the sun not yet brave enough to announce itself, but there she was—standing there with a cardboard drink carrier and that unshakable air of ease that somehow always belonged to her, even in places that didn’t deserve her softness.

Hotch saw her before anyone else did. Of course he did. He caught her through the reflection first—her in that delicate sweater she liked, one sleeve sliding just off her shoulder as if even fabric had to fight for the privilege of clinging to her, hair slightly damp from the morning mist. She wasn’t supposed to be here. She hadn’t told him she was coming. He thought of his schedule, of all the reasons this might be bad, but then she smiled—sleepy, sheepish, the kind of smile that felt like it had been made just for him—and those reasons melted away before they could finish forming.

“Hi,” she said softly, like it wasn’t a shock, like she wasn’t a small, beautiful bomb detonating in the middle of his workday.

“Hi,” he returned, voice low, the single word catching in his throat.

And then the rest of them noticed.

It started with a small sound from JJ—an almost imperceptible, oh—before the others caught on. Morgan’s eyebrows shot up like they’d been pulled by strings. Rossi was smirking like Christmas had come early. Even Tara had abandoned the safety of her coffee cup to take in the scene. Garcia, of course, didn’t do subtle.

“Well, hello mystery girl,” she sang out, sweeping in like she’d been waiting all her life for this reveal. “And who might you be?”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard, before extending one of the cups toward Hotch. “Just bringing him his coffee,” she said, voice light, breezy, though the faint pink creeping across her cheeks betrayed her.

Morgan let out a low whistle. “Just bringing him coffee, huh?”

“Derek,” JJ warned, though her tone had more amusement than reprimand.

Rossi leaned back in his chair, arms folded like he was watching his favorite soap opera. “You’ve been holding out on us, Aaron.”

“She’s—” Morgan started, then stopped, looking her over again like he couldn’t decide how far to push it. “She’s… not your usual type.”

Hotch didn’t rise to the bait. He never did. But they all knew what Morgan meant. She was young. Not just “a little younger than him,” but young enough that the gap became its own unspoken conversation in the room.

Hotch felt it—the scrutiny, the questions rattling around behind their polite smiles. What was a woman like her doing with him? Why did she look so at ease beside a man whose life was built from discipline and grief?

He simply placed his hand at the small of her back—steady, grounding, a quiet declaration that she belonged here because he said she did—and guided her toward his office.

The room buzzed after they disappeared.

“Is it just me,” Morgan said, leaning across the table, “or is she—”

“A bombshell?” Rossi finished for him.

Garcia clasped her hands dramatically. “Oh, she’s not just a bombshell. She’s like… a devastating, world-altering explosion in kitten heels. Where did you even find her?!”

JJ gave them both a look but couldn’t help her small laugh. “She’s definitely… young.”

“Questionably young,” Rossi corrected with a smirk.

The word hung there, heavy.

It wasn’t said with malice—nothing Rossi said ever really was—but Hotch felt it land anyway. The unspoken: What is she doing with him?

He’d heard it before, in glances and half-smiles, in the quiet hum of conversations that stopped when he walked into a room. He knew the math. The gulf between their ages wasn’t small. Morgan’s low whistle. JJ’s soft “She’s… young.” Rossi’s amused, probing look. Even Tara, silent but curious, watching like she wanted to read the story between their bodies. Hotch caught it all. He always did.

And for a split second, he thought about what they might really be wondering. Was she a phase? Was this his midlife crisis wrapped in soft hair and a delicate frame? Was she with him for stability, or—worse—did they think he’d taken advantage of her need for it?

He’d thought those things himself, once. In quieter moments, when she was asleep and he was left staring at the ceiling, aware of every scar on his soul, aware of what it meant for a man like him to hold a girl like her.

But then she’d look at him—like she had this morning, with that sleepy, made-just-for-him smile—and all of it quieted.

She wanted him. Chose him. Came here for him.

So Hotch didn’t flinch. Didn’t rise to it.

He simply placed his hand at the small of her back—steady, grounding, a quiet declaration that she belonged here because he said she did—and guided her toward his office.

Penelope Garcia prided herself on knowing everything about everyone she loved. And she loved Aaron Hotchner—platonically, of course, but fiercely—like one of her own. Which was exactly why, when the coffee-bearing enigma floated out of the bullpen like a fever dream and left the team buzzing like a nest of hornets, Garcia found herself retreating to her sanctuary.

Her fingers were already flying over the keyboard before she’d even fully justified it to herself.

It wasn’t about prying. It was about protecting.

Hotch was serious in ways the rest of them weren’t, careful to the point of isolation, but he was still a man—a man who had endured too much. And she… well, she was so young. And beautiful. And very clearly smitten.

It was too easy to worry about the story behind a girl like that walking into their fortress of steel and rules with that soft smile and those bare, unguarded edges.

The screen filled with results, and Garcia let out a soft, triumphant hum—until her eyes caught a flagged file.

Expunged record.

Her heart skipped.

She hesitated—long enough to know she should probably stop—before pulling it anyway.

The case details were sealed. But it was there.

Juvenile. Seventeen. One word: homicide.

Penelope froze.

By the time she returned to the round table, they were still at it.

JJ leaned back in her chair, arms folded. “You don’t think it’s weird?”

“Not if they’re happy,” Tara replied evenly, though her expression still carried the weight of unasked questions.

Morgan smirked. “Weird? It’s Hotch. Everything about Hotch is weird. But her? That’s… a new kind of weird.”

“I’m just saying,” Rossi said, tone amused, “it’s one thing for him to date. It’s another thing for him to date… her.”

“Questionably young,” Morgan echoed, like it had become a running joke now.

Hotch wasn’t there to hear it this time, but if he had been, he would’ve felt that sting again.

And then Garcia burst in, clutching her tablet like it might burn her if she let go.

“I may have… done a little digging,” she announced breathlessly.

“Penelope,” JJ warned, but Garcia barreled forward anyway.

“Did you guys know,” she continued, voice too high with the thrill of the reveal, “that your mysterious, gorgeous girlfriend has a criminal record?”

The room went silent.

Morgan blinked. “What?”

Even Rossi’s smirk faltered. “What kind of record?”

Garcia opened the file. She hadn’t read it in full—hadn’t been ready—but now the words burned on the screen.

“Murder,” she said, then faltered. “But—wait—this can’t be right.”

Tara’s brows knit. “Murder?”

“Self-defense,” Garcia rushed out, as if that made it better. “She was seventeen. A man followed her home at night. Tried to…” She trailed off, eyes darting to JJ. “It was an attempted assault. She fought back. He didn’t survive.”

The words landed like stones.

And then a low voice cut through the air.

“You overstepped.”

They all turned.

Hotch stood in the doorway, unreadable but vibrating with a restrained, quiet fury.

The silence that followed wasn’t the quiet of peace. It was the quiet of an entire room holding its breath, waiting for something to shatter or soothe or explode.

Garcia shuffled awkwardly, her fingers nervously twisting the corner of her tablet. “Okay, okay, maybe I didn’t think this all the way through,” she admitted, cheeks coloring a shade of rose that almost matched her glittery glasses. “But I was just trying to look out for Hotch. You know? Like a big sister.”

Morgan raised a brow. “Big sister who pulls up criminal records without asking?”

“Protective sister,” Garcia corrected, flipping a hand dramatically. “Okay, maybe overprotective sister.”

JJ pinched the bridge of her nose but smiled anyway. “Penelope, you have to ask before you snoop. This isn’t a soap opera.”

“Or at least wait until you know the full story before dropping a bomb at the round table,” Rossi added with a smirk.

Garcia’s smile was sheepish but genuine. “Lesson learned. I swear.”

From the doorway, Hotch’s steady gaze didn’t waver. The heat behind his calm eyes said more than words could. And despite Garcia’s awkward humor, the weight in the room thickened—because some secrets weren’t meant to be unearthed like forgotten relics.

Hotch didn’t say anything else to them. He didn’t need to. One sharp look, one clipped breath through his nose, and the room understood that there would be no follow-up questions—not now, maybe not ever.

Y/N was in his office, curled on the small sofa in the corner like she was trying to take up as little space as possible. She’d taken her shoes off, legs drawn up beneath her, scrolling absently on her phone like she hadn’t felt the tremor that had just rolled through the bullpen. But when the door opened and she saw his face, she sat up, her brows knitting with worry.

“Aaron?” Her voice was soft, tentative. She always called him that when she sensed he wasn’t just her Hotch—the man she kissed across kitchen counters and whispered to in bed—but the Hotch the Bureau saw.

He closed the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment as if gathering himself. “We need to talk.”

Her phone was already forgotten. “About what?”

He crossed the room in slow, deliberate steps, crouching in front of her so he could meet her at eye level. She looked so young like this—barefoot, knees tucked to her chest, hair still mussed from the morning. Too young for the things she’d had to survive. Too young for the weight he saw in her eyes.

“Garcia,” he said carefully, as though the name itself was fragile, “did some digging.”

Her breath caught. She didn’t ask what he meant. She didn’t need to.

“They know,” he continued, his voice quieter now, meant only for her. “About what happened. About the record.”

For a moment, she said nothing. Her gaze flickered away, to the floor, to the edge of the coffee table, anywhere but his face. He reached for her hand, warm and small in his, but she didn’t grip back.

“I didn’t want them to know,” she whispered, her voice fraying at the edges.

“I know,” he said.

“I didn’t even want you to know.” Her laugh was bitter, hollow. “That’s not who I am anymore.”

Hotch didn’t flinch. “That’s not who you were, even then. You were a child. You did what you had to do to survive.”

Her chin trembled, the first crack in the mask she always wore so well. “You don’t get it.”

“I do.” His hand tightened around hers. “You don’t have to defend yourself to me. You don’t owe anyone an explanation for surviving.”

She blinked quickly, as though forcing the tears back into her eyes by sheer will. “They’re going to think I’m—”

“They can think whatever they want,” he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. “It doesn’t change anything.”

That quiet declaration hung between them, heavier than any argument, heavier than her shame or his anger or the unspoken questions clawing at the edges of their world. For a moment, she let herself lean into him, forehead pressing to his shoulder, the faint scent of his cologne grounding her.

“You don’t look at me any different?” she asked, so softly he almost didn’t hear it.

Hotch drew in a slow breath, pulling her into his arms fully, tucking her against his chest like he could shield her from everything—her past, their judgment, the world itself. “I look at you,” he murmured, his lips near her hairline, “and I see someone who’s mine. That’s all.”

She stayed curled against his chest for a long time, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, letting it drown out the voices in her head. She hated this—being seen like this, fragile and exposed—but with him, it felt different. Safer. His hand traced slow, deliberate patterns along her spine, neither pushing nor letting go, just holding her in that way he always did: like he had no intention of ever letting her go.

“You don’t have to carry this alone anymore,” he said finally, his voice a low murmur against her hair.

She swallowed hard. “I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Weak. Messed up. Broken.”

He leaned back just enough to meet her eyes, his hands firm at her waist so she couldn’t slip away from the weight of his gaze. “You are none of those things,” he said, deliberate and unyielding. “You’re mine. You’re alive. That’s not weakness.”

Her throat tightened, the words unspooling something in her. “Sometimes I don’t even feel like I’m here. Like I left that night and never came back.”

He didn’t try to tell her she was wrong. He just drew her closer, pressing his forehead to hers, grounding her in the heat of his breath and the solidity of his body. “You’re here,” he whispered, “with me. And you’re not going anywhere.”

The words settled over her like a blanket, heavier than comfort but warmer, too. She didn’t realize she was crying until his thumb brushed a tear from her cheek. He kissed her then—not hungry, not rushed, but slow, deliberate, claiming her without urgency. A tether.

When his lips left hers, he didn’t move far, his mouth tracing a path along her jaw to the sensitive spot beneath her ear. “No one will ever hurt you again,” he murmured, each word soft but laced with steel. “No one will ever touch you again. Not while you’re mine.”

It wasn’t just a promise. It sounded like a vow.

She exhaled shakily, leaning into the weight of him, the scent of him, the quiet, unrelenting safety he embodied. When his hand slid up her thigh, it wasn’t about taking—it was about anchoring her in the present, in his touch, in the truth that she had survived and still belonged here.

“Let me take care of you,” he said, so quiet it almost wasn’t a question at all.

And she nodded, because there was no part of her that wanted to be anywhere but here, in the hands of the one person who could make the past loosen its grip, even for a little while.

[kiwriteswords]

Flower Shop After Hours [Aaron Hotchner x Florist!Reader]****

Florist!Reader Masterlist|| Main Masterlist [I need to update this, sorry!]|| Ao3||Word Count: 2k|| AN:  Requests are very much open for florist!reader <3Tags/Warnings: Female!Reader, Florist!Reader, Non-BAU!Reader, established-relationship, Sassy!Reader, Flirty!Reader, smut, p*rn w/o plot basically, mdni, 18+, female receiving oral, p in v, unprotected sex, sex in a public place (sorta?), taking florist orders in the middle of an intimate moment, horny!hotch, overall no plot Summary: After a long day, Hotch visits you at your flower shop and the two of you play out an overdue fantasy.

It was late. The kind of late where the streets outside had gone still and the shop was quiet in that sacred, golden-after-hours kind of way. The air smelled like lavender and eucalyptus, earthy and heady, a little wild. One bouquet sat half-finished on the counter, stems scattered in a vase of murky water. You had one AirPod in, music humming faintly, hips swaying lazily as you wiped down your work table--

Unhurried, totally in your element.

You didn’t hear the door open.

You felt him before you saw him.

That warm awareness prickled at the base of your spine. Like a low current in the air shifting.

“Aaron?” you called over your shoulder, not turning.

“You left the door unlocked.” 

You wondered if he would ever turn the protective, FBI agent act fully off.

You grinned, biting your lip. “Maybe I wanted company.”

You turned--

And there he was.

Aaron Hotchner, standing just inside the door, barely illuminated by the golden lights strung along the ceiling beams. His jacket was gone. Tie loose. Top two buttons of his dress shirt undone. Hair slightly tousled like he’d run his hands through it five too many times. His shoulders still carried the weight of his day--

But his eyes…

Dark. Sharp. Tracking every inch of you.

Your tank top. Your leggings. Your flushed cheeks and ink-smudged fingers. The soft sheen of sweat still clinging to your collarboe. The faint sway in your hips from your half-dance before you realized he was there.

He didn’t smile.

Didn’t speak.

He just looked at you--

Like a man who hadn’t had a proper breath in days.

You crossed your arms slowly, letting him look, and leaned against the edge of the table.

“You’re quiet,” you said softly, your tone laced with amusement. “Cat got your badge?”

He let out a quiet huff. Not annoyed--

More like…relieved. 

And something else too, something breathy, low in his chest.

I’ve had a long day.”

You tilted your head, just a little. Playful. Knowing. “Want me to make it better?”

That was all it took.

He moved--

Fast.

Not violent. Not careless. But with intent.

He crossed the room in three strides, hand finding your jaw, mouth crashing into yours like it had been aching to for hours. Days. Weeks.

You gasped, caught off guard and not even a little mad about it. Your fingers curled into his shirt, yanking him closer. The kiss was deep, hard, hungry. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t slow. It was starved.

His body pressed fully into yours, all strength and heat and restraint just barely holding.

He pulled back slightly, forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged.

“You don’t get it,” he whispered, voice gravel. “You walk around this place with flowers in your hair and dirt on your hands and that fucking smirk--like you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

You dragged your hands down his chest, slow and deliberate. “You’re right.”

He looked down at you sharply.

You smirked. “I don’t get it. You should probably show me.”

That was it.

His hands slid down to your hips, strong and sure, and in one smooth movement, he hoisted you up onto the work table. Scissors clattered to the floor. A bucket wobbled dangerously nearby. Somewhere, a vase tipped and cracked against a bucket. Your airpod…long gone. 

Boy, would that be a difficult one to find--

But you didn’t care. All problems for a later time.

You were already grabbing his tie, yanking him forward. He settled between your legs, hot breath mingling with yours, hands gripping your thighs with just enough force to make you bite your lip.

Your mouth found his again--

Needier now, messier, teeth catching his bottom lip, tongue sliding against his with a moan that earned you a low, broken sound from his chest.

You rolled your hips up against him, grinding into the heat between you, already aching for it.

“You’ve been like this all day?” you whispered against his jaw. “Worked up, wound tight, just waiting to come ruin me in my shop?”

His grip on your hips tightened.

“Don’t tempt me,” he growled.

“Why not?” you breathed, dragging your fingers along the hem of his shirt. “Scared I’ll let you?”

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eye.

His hands gripped your thighs. “You think I don’t want to fuck you right here? In the place where I first saw you--so smug, so damn beautiful--teasing me with your eyes like you knew I’d come back?”

“I did know,” you breathed. “And I’ve waited. The idea of you and I right here?” You practically laid out on the table for him, but then he pulled you back up to press against him. “It's been a fantasy of mine for a long time.” 

Hotch didn’t need another word.

He slid his hands under your thighs, dragging you to the edge of the table, mouth crashing into your neck. You moaned, head tilting back as he kissed, licked, bit just hard enough to make you gasp.

“Clothes off,” he said, voice rough.

“Yours first.”

He smirked--that smirk--and unbuttoned his shirt like it was nothing, shrugging it off, then tugging his tie from his collar.

You stared--

Eyes raking down his chest, over the defined muscle, the light trail of hair leading down, the soft ridges of old scars.

He looked like he belonged in sin.

You peeled your top off slowly, teasing. “You going to stare all night?”

“I’ve earned it,” he said, voice thick.

He didn’t reach for you right away. He just stood there for a second, looking at you like he had all the time in the world--

Even though both of you were still panting from the tension between you.

Then he stepped in, one hand gliding up your side, skimming your ribs, your breast

Slow, reverent. 

The other tangled in your hair, tugging just gently to tilt your head up as he kissed you again, slower this time. Still deep. Still hungry. But with control that made your knees ache.

You whimpered into his mouth when he finally let his hand trail back down, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your leggings. He broke the kiss only to pull them down your hips, inch by inch, grazing his knuckles against your thighs, dragging the fabric along your legs like he wanted to savor every second of undressing you.

He dropped to his knees, steady hands braced on your hips, and looked up at you like you were something holy.

You felt your breath catch.

He leaned in, lips brushing against the inside of your thigh. A kiss. Then another. Then a slow drag of his mouth higher, just before his breath ghosted over the soaked heat between your legs.

“Aaron,” you gasped, already trembling.

“I know,” he said, voice a growl. “I’ve got you.”

And then his mouth was on you--hot, slow, focused--like he had nowhere else to be but here, making you come apart in the place you worked, in the world you built. His tongue circled, flicked, slid in rhythm with the pressure of his fingers curling into your hips to hold you steady as you cried out his name.

You didn’t last long. You never did with him.

Your legs shook, hands flying to the edge of the table for balance, moans slipping past your lips before you could stop them. He didn’t stop--not until your hips twitched and your thighs clamped and you begged with a whimper and a breathless, “Please--fuck, Aaron, please.”

He rose slowly, lips slick, eyes dark.

“Still want me to fuck you right here?” he asked, voice ragged.

You nodded fast, desperate, breathless. “God, yes--”

He kissed you hard again as he stepped between your legs, wrapping one arm around your lower back and dragging you flush against him. You tugged at his belt, his zipper, frantic now. He helped, pushing his pants down just enough, his breath stuttering as your hand wrapped around him.

He lined himself up--this time with a teasing grind of his hips against you first--and then looked at you, eyes hooded.

“Ready?” he murmured.

“Don’t you dare ask me again,” you whispered.

And with that, he pushed in--

Slow, deep, controlled. 

Filling you in one long, perfect stroke that made your spine arch and your fingers claw at his shoulders.

You gasped, nails biting into his skin.

And Hotch?

Hotch let out a sound you swore was part growl, part groan, part finally.

The two of you had the best of all worlds. The slow, meaningful love making. The hours of foreplay. The quick blow job just to see how much you could push your luck. The lazy, in the middle of the night sex where you fell asleep the minute after both of you finished. 

Yeah, but this? 

This was entirely a different beast. 

A fantasy both of you clearly have had for…for a while. 

“God,” you whimpered, legs trembling. “Aaron.”

He didn’t speak. Just gripped your hips and moved.

And it was everything.

Messy. Desperate. Glorious.

Your heels dug into the table edge, his hips snapped harder, deeper, the slap of skin loud over the music still playing from the back room. He kissed you like he was unraveling--

Like he’d been waiting too long to finally fall apart.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned into your neck. “You always do.”

“Harder,” you begged. “Don’t hold back. Not here.”

He didn’t.

The table shook.

Your moans echoed between the flowers.

He reached between you, fingers finding that perfect spot that had your entire body arching, breath breaking into fragments.

“I’m--Aaron--I’m gonna--”

“I know,” he whispered. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

And when you came--tight around him, body clenched and mouth open in a silent cry--he followed soon after, face buried in your neck, a low, guttural sound escaping his throat that you swore would echo in your bones forever.

You stayed like that for a long time.

Breathless. Tangled. Glowing.

The music in the background had faded into something soft and ambient, like the shop knew to quiet itself too. Your chest rose and fell against his, both of you still catching your breath.

His hands rested on your thighs, thumbs stroking gently, like he wasn’t ready to let you go. Like his body still needed the contact just to remember this had really happened.

Your fingers idly traced the edge of his jaw, still flushed from exertion.

You laughed, soft and slow, eyes still shut. “Guess I’ll have to deep clean this table now.”

He smiled into your shoulder. “I’ll help.”

You snorted. “No, you won’t.”

A pause.

“Probably not.”

You leaned your head back, grinning, eyes catching his. “That was...different.”

He raised a brow. Slightly concerned. “Different how?”

“Less...slow burn. More spontaneous combustion.”

He smirked, but there was still something behind his eyes--

Something more open, raw.

“Any regrets?”

You cupped his face. “Only that we didn’t knock over the whole cooler. Would’ve been more dramatic.”

That earned a quiet laugh. The kind that rumbled against your ribs.

Then his expression shifted.

He reached up, brushed a petal from your hair--fingers tender--and looked at you like you were the most delicate, dangerous thing he’d ever touched.

“I love you.”

He said it like a confession. Like a promise.

Not rushed. Not afraid.

Just true.

You blinked.

Felt it settle deep in your chest.

Heavy and light. 

Full and warm.

You smiled slowly, like he’d just handed you the moon, the stars, and every wildflower in your cooler.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I love you too.”

Hotch exhaled a soft breath, forehead tipping to yours. The silence after was thick with the kind of peace you didn’t know you’d been missing until you met him.

Then--because you couldn’t help it--you added, “I’m still blaming you for the petal carnage.”

He smiled. “That’s fair.”

You glanced down at the mess around you both. “We might’ve crushed a peony.”

He looked up with mock-seriousness. “Was it symbolic?”

“It is now.”

He kissed you again, slow and soft--less heat, more home.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew:

This man, this mess, this night?

It was the start of something blooming.

Something permanent.

His chest pressed to yours. Your legs wrapped around his waist. His hands cradling your thighs like they belonged there.

He hadn’t moved yet--

Neither of you had. Not really.

Still connected. Still inside. Still catching your breath.

The air smelled like jasmine, eucalyptus, and sex. A cracked vase dripped slowly onto the floor. Crushed petals and torn ribbon littered the space around you. A white peony--may it rest in peace--was smooshed under the heel of one of Hotch’s shoes.

It was absolutely wrecked in here.

And he’d never seen anything so beautiful.

You lay beneath him, lips swollen, eyes heavy, skin flushed, and just barely starting to come back to yourself--

When the shop’s landline started to ring.

Hotch froze.

You blinked, glanced toward the counter, and let out the softest, laziest groan. “Ugh. That’s the main line.”

Hotch blinked. “You’re not seriously--”

You reached for the edge of the table, grabbing the wireless receiver like this was any other evening in your shop.

“Don’t--” he started, actually panicking, still fully inside you.

“Hello?” you said, breathy but chipper, your voice going high and professional. “Thanks for calling--yes, we’re still taking Mother’s Day orders...”

Hotch stared.

You propped yourself up on one elbow, casually listening to the caller, and with your free hand, reached for the notepad and pen on the shelf beside the table.

“You’re kidding,” he murmured.

You scribbled a few notes.

He blinked, speechless.

You were completely naked. Hair tousled. Bite marks on your neck. He could see where he’d left red splotches along your collarbone. He’d just had you--had you--in the most undignified, wrecked, completely-fucked-out way he’d ever had anyone…

And now you were taking floral orders like a goddamn business goddess.

“Uh-huh,” you said into the receiver, twirling the cord around your finger. “Mmhm, we can do a mixed bouquet with tulips and lisianthus. Yes. No baby’s breath--of course.”

Hotch sat back slightly on his heels, watching you.

A petal clung to your hair, near your temple. Your lips were still parted. You were flushed, radiant, wrecked, and handling this like it was a routine Tuesday.

He felt his heart squeeze.

You were completely and utterly unhinged. And he was completely and utterly in love with you.

You hung up the phone with a cheery, “Thanks so much! See you then!” and dropped it back into the receiver like nothing had happened.

Hotch stared at you.

You blinked at him. “What?”

He blinked back. “What?! What?! You just took a bouquet order with me still inside you.”

You grinned. “Multitasking.”

“Multitasking?” he choked. “That was a customer!”

“Small business life, babe.”

“You were naked.”

“You were too.”

He dragged a hand down his face, half horrified, half...absolutely losing his mind over you.

Then you reached for his tie--still half looped around his neck--and tugged.

“I think they could tell,” you said, a little smug. “My voice got a little breathy around ‘lisianthus.’”

He groaned, head dropping to your shoulder.

You laughed, breath hot against his ear.

“What?” you teased. “Didn’t realize you were fucking a professional?”

He looked up at you, and suddenly the flustered horror shifted--melted--into something else. Something hot.

“You know,” he said slowly, adjusting his grip on your hips, “it’s really not fair.”

You raised an eyebrow, teasing. “What’s not?”

“That I’m still inside you, and you’re the one making me feel unhinged.”

You smirked. “Guess you better do something about it.”

His eyes darkened. “Oh, I plan to.”

And with a slow, devastating roll of his hips--

You gasped, head falling back against the wall behind you.

Round two was happening.

And this time, the phones could damn well ring all they wanted.

You had…other business to handle.

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

[mysindividual]

Unknowingly, his | Aaron Hotchner

requested

MASTERLIST

pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem liaison reader

summary: You never fail to make Hotch smile, even in hard times. One late night, when reader comes to his office to do some paperwork with him, he cannot help but catch himself staring at you and wondering if Hayley had the right to be jealous of you

cw: hints of jealous reader, mentions of jealous haley, divorce talk, cheating talk, mutual pinning my beloved <33

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!

It was 7 in the morning when you entered your dull office with an emphatic unambiguous ugh. You tossed your briefcase and jacket onto the leather couch to your right, closed the door behind you with your heel, walked over to the table and turned on the light. You did a good job rearranging everything last night, but the files you were supposed to audit for the day had already been put on your desk. Though, you needn’t to rush as the team had already gotten a new case when 20 minutes prior you received a call. At least you had already been prepared to come down to your office, all dressed up. The phone call came through just as you were to about to cross your doorstep.

Moaning, you picked up the phone, dialed the number and patiently held for a response. You despised this. After a month, the team had a day off and you weren't expected to have a heavy workload today (also, you could never take a day off when the rest of the team did), so the most noticeably awful thing to do on a day like this for you was to call them back in.

You played with a tangled cord of your telephone when a hoarse voice spoke, "Hotchner” on the other end of the call.

Great, you wondered, was he already awake or did you wake him up. You could name a handful of different better ways of doing so.

"Uh, hi, Hotch." You noticed it was slightly too sweet how you said it. It might have been your way to make the news more appealing, or maybe, his early morning voice made you melt. You could never be certain which is the one.

Before he spoke your name, he cleared his throat and you believed you heard a light peck against his lips and someone’s chuckle.

The butterflies in your stomach died in an instant. Another great thing you had to do this morning.

“I’m sorry if I’m interrupting anything,” you said with a wry smile, rolling your eyes, “but I’m afraid I don’t have good news.”

Silence.

It made you glance at the handset you were holding to your ear.

Oh, how you have ruined his day before it even began.

“I figured. Call the rest of the team. I’ll meet you there in 20.” And with that, he ended the call. You could already detect a sudden shift in his tone, could already see a familiar frown appearing on his face.

──────────────────────

It was late at night when you knocked at Aaron's office door. Most of the agents on the sixth floor of the building were already out. Aaron could hear your heels clicking against the floor, echoing in the space before you even entered the bullpen.

"Hey."

A frown was settled on his face as he sat in a large chair behind his desk, his red tie slightly askew on his white-collar shirt, his rolled-up sleeves revealing his bare forearm. You couldn't help but notice that his hair, too, was more disheveled than normal. You tilted your head. If you had the chance, you would stare at him like that for eternity.

When Hotch regarded you with a fleeting gaze and a quick 'come in' in response before resuming to his paperwork and forms, you entered his office with a gentle exhale.

There was no need for questions or instructions as you silently retrieved the documents from your side of the table once you had sat across him.

That was the schedule you used to follow regularly.

Every time a case ended, both of you had to come together and complete the paperwork. At times, you’d spend extra time working together into the late night until you both were barely able to keep your eyes open, whilst other times it didn't take as long. Even though some might argue that it was not the perfect scenario - staying up late with your boss - those times when you had to be silent and be in close proximity to him were calming and almost sufficient to fuel your bizarre attraction that began the moment you first laid eyes on him. It was constantly shifting, influenced by mood changes from both of you. You were never afraid to express your strong opinion even if it didn’t parallel his, never afraid to speak for yourself, but you were also the one that spent most time with him, knew him better than the rest of the team, even had the most in common. The team referred to you as Hotch’s soft spot (not to his knowing, of course). In spite of being one of the youngest members of the team, if another member messed something up, they’d hide behind you, ask you to talk some sense into Hotch. To him, you could never do wrong. He was always a little bit blind to your faults. And you, obviously, weren’t oblivious to that. Not that you took advantage of it, or to be quite frank never a serious one. You could notice how one look, one ‘Hotch?’, one ‘please?’ could make him easily change his mind no matter who stood on the other end of the topic. You still remember when Penelope first started working with the team, and the first time she saw you two together - you saw a ‘?!?’ above her head. She asked if you were the wife.

And then, on the other side, there was a wife. Hotch was married, and you knew his little family - Haley and their son, so you never thought about breaking that boundary. As such, you were very adept at playing the game of hot and cold when it came to Hotch. Even if he weren’t someone’s husband, there was still a bit of an age gap between the two of you, and let’s not forget Aaron Hotchner’s professionalism. He was your boss after all, and in all your mind, you just firmly believed Aaron would never allow himself such a thing.

While you filled out the forms, you noticed something quite different tonight. Hotch had complete trust in you, he was aware of where your loyalties laid. You'd been on the same team for a few years in a row now, during which he would occasionally sign certain documents prior to you completing them. However, tonight was different. Tonight, he appeared unenthusiastic about returning home early to maximize the limited time his job allowed him to spend with his family.

“What’s wrong?” You inquired, feigning ignorance of his eyebrows raising towards you.

He shook it off, replied with a stock ‘Nothing’.

Neither of you seemed to stop whatever you were writing down.

“We’ve spent way too much time together. If you think I wouldn’t notice,” you eyed him. “You are wrong, boss.”

Aaron’s eyes finally really met yours for the very first time tonight. He leaned back in his seat comfortably, arms resting on armrests. “Are you a profiler now?”

“I might be one,” you mused, leaning back in your seat, crossing your legs as you put your pen aside. “Perhaps I have picked up a few skills working with the best.”

He surveyed you, a smile playing in the corner of his lips.

Aaron Hotchner - the profiler - never misses anything.

“In any case, I believed we had agreed not to profile each other,” he spoke gently.

You expressed gratitude to God for that. Would he, then, realize the extent of a crush you had for him in those little moments and mood changes? Was he just as unaware of that as any other man even though Aaron Hotchner was not just any man? You, in rare cases of boredom, would wonder what he really thought of you. Did he think it was just your personality - being all flirty and smiley, with everyone?

“I’m not profiling you, Hotch.” You reassured him. “It’s just… Would you not ask me if I were fine if you’d noticed?”

“Yes, I would.”

“And you’d want me to tell the truth?”

He nodded slightly in response.

Your eyebrows snapped together. “Then?”

As soon as the thought of Haley came back into his mind, his expression fell serious, his smile faltered.

He couldn't believe that Haley could possibly be jealous of any of his colleagues. After being together for years, he believed she would have had more insight, would known him better than that. For months now, that had not been the case. They practically turned into strangers who occasionally had to share the same bed. Even though he didn't realize it then, after the final confrontation and some calm reflection, everything became clear. Although the very thought of losing Haley was unknown… painful.

That morning when y/n called him, the moment Haley was waking him up in bed with her kisses, he called out your name. They both got carried away in the heat of the moment, not realizing that the call was indeed coming at his work number.

He recalled the way she gazed at him then - disappointed more than anything else - she shook her head and pushed him aside, getting up from the bed and putting on her robe. After the call had ended, he wanted to explain to Haley but what she said to him petrified him.

“It's always work, and it's always her, and you always go running like a dog whenever she calls you!”

He was upset, offended. However, he was fully aware that Haley was determined to find a way to bring their relationship to an end, regardless of his actions, whether positive or negative.

Aaron remembered then the call to the home telephone which he had picked, but was welcomed with silence before that someone hang up on him. And then Haley's mobile rang. He knew. He knew then, in that shared gaze with Haley. But regardless of all that, Aaron wanted one more chance, at least for their son Jack, who needed a united family more than anything else.

“Haley and I are getting divorced.” He spoke, not realising you had been back to signing the documents whilst he was busy in his thoughts.

“What?”

That took you by a surprise. You would have never guessed it. Yes, you shared glances with the rest of the team while working on the last case, noticing how something bothered Hotch, how slightly distracted he was. You could have notice how quiet he was on your way back home in the jet, not engaging in a conversation with anyone, with you. Yes, you all have guessed he had an argument with Haley having to leave for work again when he’d finally had a day off, but divorce… No one believed the two of them would ever divorce.

“I’m so sorry, Hotch.”

“For a while it has been… different. I guess there’s nothing I could do about that now, nothing to change the situation we have gotten into.” He spoke as if though he hadn’t heard you, his dark eyes distant in a dim lighting. “I tried.”

You didn’t want to pry. You needed not to know what happened - their reason, whatever it might have been, was sufficient. You didn't believe it was Haley's fault, nor his fault. You could understand both of them. It was indeed a rather challenging one. Only a handful of individuals could understand the job you have chosen to do, sometimes it made you wonder if you’d ever find anyone that would.

Unless it was someone doing the same job, the chances were relatively small. Reid could give his statistics on this one, you’d remind yourself to ask.

“I know, Hotch.” You reached out instinctively, your hand over his, slightly squeezing. He did not move or flinch, his eyes shifting to where the contact was. The hand under your palm was warm, simultaneously rough and soft. His wedding ring was reverberating a tiny bit of coldness against your skin. “And I know you. I know you would never just quit. You don’t deserve this. And I’m really so so sorry.”

“I’m not ideal. Haley has every right. I’m more gone than present, more a boss than a husband.” He sighed, pondering. “My own marriage’s been in trouble and needed saving, but I wasn’t able to admit it and help myself, help us. I wonder how I still keep this job.”

“Don’t take it too hard on yourself, ok? It’s never just one side, but it does get better. I promise. At least that much I know of. If there’s anything I can do…”

“You are here. Listening.”

You once again felt noticed as his intense yet somehow gentlest of gaze met yours. You loved that about Aaron, the ways he could make you feel in just seconds - you could be all platonically giggly and flirty with him in one, but in the next moment when he would regard you with that look in his eyes, one word, one smile - the world would stop, you could only hear your heart beating, his presence only existing. And it scared you.

It should have been just a banal crush.

You withdrew your hand from his at the thought, clearing your throat to cover a moment that was… profound, finding sudden interest in the documents again. “I can complete this by the end of night, you can-“

“No.” He cut you off, sighing as the documents on his desk filled his sight again. “It’s fine. I don’t have anywhere to be in particular tonight. I have to finish this by morning…”

His brows raised once his eyes met yours again before he added, whispering. “And I could use some company.”

Or preferably, he could use your company.

“Ah, Strauss… The woman knows how to keep her employees in dislike of her.” You stated, averting your gaze from his eyes, taking another file from atop of others. “You should give her some tips.”

A soft chuckle escaped his throat, breaking the silent grimness that spread in the room.

“Since this is gonna be one hell of a night...” You put your hands on the armrests, ready to stand up. It was an attempt to run, reflect, calm down. “Anything you want me to get you?”

“Actually, I’m about to get some coffee. Would you like some?”

“Well, if we must finish all this work…” You nodded, eyes narrowing. “Yeah, we have to.”

“Ok.” He said in a soft-spoken manner, rising to his feet, and then pointed his finger at you in a manner similar to scolding a child. “But don’t doze off on me again. I’ll be right back.”

You put your hands up in defiance.

When he passed next to you, you followed him with your gaze out of the office. His perfume barely reached up your nostrils and you slumped in your seat, eyes closed, your breath shuddering.

That was close.

And about that… It wouldn’t be your first time. The team was amazed by your ability to fall asleep literally anywhere - desk, bench, floor, cinema, waiting rooms - you name it.

The first time Aaron found about this talent of yours was after the case. You went to check out of the hotel with the rest of the team, and while waiting for others in the lobby seated on a bar stool with your arms crossed, you fell asleep. He was quite taken aback, or rather impressed as well as everyone else, to see you dozing off while seated. On your way home, the team occasionally made jokes about it, but what stood out to you the most was that Hotch was also very engaged in them.

“Thank you.” He said once he returned to his office and put your cup of coffee before you.

You locked eyes with him, offering a small smile. “You are always very welcome.”

Taking a break from work, you took a sip. Just how you liked it. How attentive. Not that it was surprising. “And I suppose I should thank you.”

He lifted the cup in his hand to his lips but halted before taking a sip, his tongue gliding over his lips. You stared, hypnotized. “I’m sorry? Thank me for what exactly?”

“Yeah, you know…” Nervous, you offered him a report you’d just finished hoping he didn’t catch that. He reached forward to take it. “For indirectly acknowledging that seeing my name on your phone on a day off is not the most pleasant thing. I suppose I am bad news.”

“It’s a rather heavy subject, you know.” He replied in a professional tone, his eyes glued on the paper.

“Well, we’ve got all night.” You joked, throwing your hands in the air.

His eyes softened upon meeting yours once again. “I didn’t say that, and no, you aren’t.”

You lifted your brow at him. And then, there was that crooked grin on your face, teasing him to admit.

He observed you for a moment. “Sometimes, yes.” He succumbed to your will once again, before signing the report, concealing his own smile from you.

[ssahotchnerr]

how do you think Aaron and reader who are married, react to both being called ‘Agent Hotchner’ and they both answer? That’s so cute, I could just imagine Derek smirking and Rossi having a proud dad moment

the hotchners

AHHH I LOVE THAT cw; bau!reader, established relationship, typical cm case talk, playful banter/fluff 🥰

"The unsub is devolving, they’re getting more reckless," Derek thought aloud, clicking his pen in hand. "He dumped the last victim in a public place, rather than the usual, secluded spot."

"They're losing control." You inputted in agreement, your eyes darting across the conference room table to him.

Aaron leaned down on the table, still standing, but with his palms pressed against the surface. He was next to you, and this stance allowed him to be ever so slightly closer. Your heart warmed by his proximity, as any displays of affection were at a minimum when in the field. You were happy he was just close by. "The next victim will probably be someone they can’t control-"

"Agent Hotchner?" A voice came from behind, hindering the conversation.

"Yes?" Both of you answered swiftly, out of habit, though it was a new habit for you. Your tickled eyes met Aaron's, your nose scrunched up slightly in amusement.

Derek grinned, swiveling back and forth in his chair in observance. Rossi raised his hand to his mouth casually, concealing a chuckle.

The voice in question, one of the local police department's officers, even hesitated himself, as if he didn't know which Hotchner he were to rely the information to.

As soon as you and Aaron got engaged, the discussion of whether or not you'd take his last name was on the table. To avoid confusing situations like these, or to prevent any reputable prejudices. It was rare, but every so often you received grimaces from bystanders, both in the field and in the office back home. Marrying your boss? Either tremendously romantic or something to be frowned upon.

But in the end it was unanimous; you wanted his last name, and as did Aaron. It was even more important to him. A symbol of a bond he couldn’t wait to share with you; an acknowledgment of the life you were about to build together. You and him. The Hotchners.

"Uh- sorry to interrupt. The victim's fiancé is here for their interview. They're waiting in interrogation." He stammered, his gaze switching between the two of you.

"Thank you. We'll send someone in shortly." Aaron replied, politely dismissing the officer. He kept his trained demeanor, but you could hear the laughter underneath his voice.

As his footsteps trailed away, you nudged Aaron, humorously bumping your shoulder into his upper arm.

He kept his gaze on the files laid on the table, his lips spread in a soft smile as he slowly shook his head.

"Wipe that smirk off your face, Dave." He didn't even need to look up.

"Hey!" Dave commented, his tone light as he spoke. He held up his hands in surrender, but that didn't diminish from the proud gleam in his eyes; it also happened to be the same one he had adorned on your wedding day. "I didn't say a thing."

"Oh, but it's written all over your face." You quipped also, raising an eyebrow in his direction.

"Just when I thought the two of you couldn't be any more married." Derek rolled his eyes, playfully as his lips pulled back into a grin. "What's next? Have you mastered the art of the ‘yes honey’ yet, or is that still a work in progress?"

"Please, that was perfected before we got married." Aaron remarked as he relaxed his posture, straightening up. He flashed a smile in your direction, speaking over Morgan's cackle. "Isn't that right, honey?"

[luveline]

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞

you get a good dose, confess your affections, and leave poor, oblivious hotch to fix things up neatly. 

cw painkiller high, light suggestive theme 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

“Hello.” 

You lift your gaze without blinking. Hotch is standing in the doorway, making his way in with a bouquet of flowers tucked under one arm and a white envelope against his chest. 

“Hello,” he says again, meeting your wide, still eyes with concern. “You okay?” 

“Flowers for me?” 

“You’re the one here in a hospital bed. They’re from me and Jack. He insisted.” 

You nod up and down robotically. Your heart is unhappy today. You’ve been fast and slow and now it’s running fast again, a tip-tip-tip on the heart monitor that makes Hotch frown. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “They told me you were on a lot of pain medication, you shouldn’t be hurting anymore. Is it not working?” 

“I feel a lot.” 

“And that’s unsettling,” he surmises.

“Can I have my flowers?” 

Hotch offers them to you immediately. “Why don’t you count to a hundred for me?” 

“They’re beautiful, but there’s not that many.” 

“Count to one hundred. I can start. Do you need me to start for you?” 

You dip your face into the flowers. “I love when you say stuff like that.” 

Hotch doesn’t answer you. You begin counting, hoping he’ll say a nice thing if you do as he asked. The numbers get mixed up after thirty five, there really aren’t enough flowers to count to a hundred, but when forty five and fifty four begin to feel like the same number spiritually, Hotch reaches for your forearm and gives it a squeeze. That means job well done. Nobody else in the team gets arm squeezes —they’re for you. Nobody else has noticed, but you have. 

“Thank you,” he says. 

You beam at him. The heart monitor beeps in slow loops. “You’re welcome. Did it help?” 

“I’d say so.” He takes off his suit jacket and puts it over the back of the chair, pulling the chair towards the bed with his foot, and getting comfortable beside you, a little lower down than you but tall regardless. “Are you feeling alright?” 

“I can’t believe you got me flowers.” 

“I got you flowers the last time you were injured.” 

“I know,” you say with a laugh. “I know, it was amazing.” 

“Here’s your card from Jack. I’ve opened it for you, I hope that’s okay.” 

“I cannot open anything. I tried to stab my pudding open with a spoon and broke it and can’t find the sharp part in my blankets. I’m worried it’s going to poke me.” 

Hotch stands from his chair. “That’s not good.” 

You take up Jack’s card, pinching the folded printer paper and pulling all of its homemade glory from the envelope. The front has a red heart drawn with bandages wrapped around it, and inside is a message written in impressive penmanship considering his age. To Y/N, it says, Please get well soon. We are hoping you to have a speedy recovery! Love you, Jack and Aaron 

“It says you love me,” you say. 

“Mm, Jack wrote the message. He misses you.” 

You catch the feeling of Hotch’s hand where it slips between your legs and almost burst, giggling excitedly, which makes his hand jump away from you like a fish out of water. “You have the spoon!” 

“Found it. No more danger.” 

“Thank you. I knew you could find it.” 

“Don’t mention it.” 

The pain medication Hotch spoke of is starting to make itself known. You hadn’t felt very different to begin with, the only worthy note your absence of pain, but right now you feel weird. Light. Happy, but strange, like the opposite feeling of missing a step. You know something’s wrong and you know it’s the medication, but you’re elated at the same time. Hotch is here. Maybe it’s just him. Maybe he’ll know. 

“Do you think I feel happy ‘cos of you or the morphine?” you ask. Softly, slurring, you swallow and try not to sound as drunk. “I feel amazing.” 

“It’s the morphine.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Well, it’s been a long time since I had some myself, but I remember feeling amazing at the time, and you’re on a lot more of it than I was.” Hotch sets himself back down in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Are you staying for long?” 

“Until they make me leave,” he says. 

You breathe out a sigh of relief. “Oh, good. Yesterday you were here for ten minutes and I felt like my heart was bruised.” 

He doesn’t speak for a moment. His eyes seem darker than usual. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I had to be home to take care of Jack.” 

“I know you had to, it’s not your fault, but I still missed you.” 

You prop Jack’s amazing card on the nightstand with a proud grin. You love Jack Hotchner, he’s the smartest, kindest, sweetest boy you’ve ever met, and it must be because of his parents. You’ve not met Haley many times, but Hotch is amazing. It makes sense that his kid would be just as awesome as he is. Turning your attention back to the flowers, you find the courage to ask, “Do you think you could bring Jack to see me?” 

“I think he might be a little young for hospitals, I’m sorry.” 

“Well, maybe I can see him when I’m out of the hospital? How can I say thank you for the card? Does he still like bears?” 

“He has enough bears,” Hotch says gently. “You don’t need to buy him anything, he just wants you to get better soon.” 

“You’re such a good dad.” Your lashes kiss with the force of your smile. “You’re lovely. Jack is really kind.” 

“Thank you.” 

“You’re handsome,” you continue, slinking down in the bed. You feel tired but not sleepy, craving a really big, hot sandwich. Hotch holds your gaze. “Can I ask you a question?” 

“What?” he asks quietly. 

“Can you please get me a big, hot sandwich? Maybe with hot chicken? Or spicy chicken in a burrito? I really need it to be hot.” 

Hotch laughs aloud and reaches for your forearm to squeeze you again. “Of course I can. I’ll call Derek and I’ll make him get you both of those things, if you like.” 

“Oh, good. I really really don’t want you to leave but I really want the sandwich more than I want you to stay.” You tip your head to one side. “If you hugged me again I’d say I want you to stay more than I want the sandwich, ‘cos you haven’t hugged me in a long time.” 

“Does that bother you?” he asks, the pad of his thumb working against your wrist. 

“No, I know I’m not supposed to want you to hug me.” 

“We’re friends,” he says, shaking his head, “good friends, aren’t we? It’s alright if you want a hug. I should be better at giving them.” 

When he was with Haley you wouldn’t have dreamed of wanting it, because your affection for him has always been more than a friend‘s. You’ve guarded the secret carefully over the years. What’s more unfair to a wife than to fancy her husband? But Haley left Hotch, and he’s been single for a while now, and you think that lately he’s actively dating. He’s always had pride in his appearance, but his suits are tailored again. His hair is left to grow beyond what’s easily maintained. He and Dave occasionally joke about him getting back out there —he doesn’t need to get out there, you’re right here. 

You can’t help frowning. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“I think I’m a bad friend.” 

“You aren’t a bad friend.” 

“I am, I have ulterior motives.” 

Hotch rolls his eyes. “Honey, everybody does. You’re fine. You’re a good friend. You know you’re the sole member of the team who’s remembered Jack’s birthday every year? Remembered mine?” 

“I don’t do that to be a good friend, I just love Jack.” 

His hand slips down to yours. He holds it briefly. “I know you do.” 

“It’s why I remember yours,” you say, shaking your head, annoyed he’s taken his hand back but ready to move on to better things. “Can you ask Derek for my sandwich now, please? Please, please, I’m so hungry I’m gonna die.” 

Hotch gives you a funny look. “How about I go and get you your sandwich? I’ll be very fast. I’ll go to Sam’s across the street, would you like that?” 

“Can I have maybe a donut too?” 

“Sure, honey. I’ll get you a half dozen.” 

“Really?” 

“Sure. Do you want any in particular?” 

Hotch goes off to get you a sandwich and you click the button for more morphine without really thinking. You’re asleep before he gets back.

—

You wake up shaking. 

Aaron straightens in his chair. He hadn’t meant to doze off, but it’s nearing the end of your visiting hours and he’s been here since three. Your sandwich is stone cold in the bag and he’s not sure how he’ll get it warmed up.

Your arms are trembling badly. 

“Are you alright?” he asks. 

“Sorry.” 

“What for?” 

“Hotch, where am I?” 

Aaron stands. “You’re in the hospital. You’ve had some morphine and it ended up sedating you. The shaking will calm down soon, but nothing’s wrong, okay?” 

You’re noticeably confused, and Aaron hates it enough to sew his fingers between yours. His are thicker by quite a bit, but he’s used to smaller hands. He’s careful with you. He can’t stop thinking about what you said earlier. 

The undercurrent of fear you’d been harbouring begins to ebb. You let Aaron hold your hand and settle back down into your sheets, turning your face toward him and shutting your eyes. You don’t seem sleepy. He’s not sure what’s wrong. 

When you say you love him, he understands. He loves you, too. He doesn’t think that he’s in love with you, but he could be. He’s had enough guilty daydreams about it, batted them away, moments doing the dishes or at the gym or when you’re standing together working a case, where he forgets to forbid himself the pleasure and imagines you in simple intimacies. He sees himself taking your hand. He pictures waking up to the smell of you on his pillows. When he’s especially pent up and you’ve haunted him with your bare face or a shy smile, he ends the day thinking of you. How he’d kiss your head with just a little of his weight atop you, or a lot. 

And then he feels so horribly wrong for doing it that he resigns himself to the distance between you forever. 

Aaron doesn’t know what you want from him, but he knows he could fall in love with you if given the chance. He has to determine how honest your morphine-confession was, and there’s no time like the present. 

“Are you feeling okay?” he asks softly. 

“Yeah,” you whisper back. 

“I brought you the donuts and a sandwich, but I’ll have to reheat it. I’m sorry.” 

“Did I ask for a sandwich?” you ask, startled.

“A hot one. You emphasised.” 

“Thank you, Aaron. I don’t think I’m hungry now, I’m kinda queasy.” 

“You had a little bit more morphine than you should’ve.” 

“Sorry.” 

“Sweetheart,” he says under his breath, “that’s not your fault.” 

You squeeze his hand weakly. Any want to draw the truth from you is quickly dwindling. All he wants now is to make sure you’re okay. 

He spills himself closer to you and, without untangling your hands, brings your thin blankets to your shoulder. “You’re gonna be okay. The queasiness won’t last long. In fact, eating might help, but we can wait.” 

“Don’t you have to go home?” 

“No, I can stay if you want me to.” 

“Please, I want you to.” 

“You’re still on the morphine,” he says, rubbing your hand, “I can ask them to lower your dosage if you don’t like it, but you have to remember that it’s keeping you unaware of your pain.” 

You hesitate. “I don’t want it to hurt.” 

“Then it won’t,” he promises. You had more than your fair share of pain. 

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you whisper. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“This is all I want. For you to look after me.” 

He takes a measured breath. “I would love to look after you.” 

You turn your head half an inch to see him. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah, I think so.” He’s trying to blend the half of him you know at work with the half of him responsible for his outer life, the part of him that flirts with beautiful women at bars, the part of him that loved being a husband. “I don’t know what you want, and now isn’t the time, but,” —he prepares to be brave— “if you want me to look after you, then I will.” 

“You promise?” 

“I promise.”

“Can you kiss me?” 

His heart skips a beat. “No, honey, I can’t, I’m sorry.” 

“Not even on the head?” 

His stomach aches, but it’s a good feeling. Like worrying you lost something and finding it in the first place you’ve looked. “On the head I can do.” 

You squeeze your eyes closed in wait of his kiss, a light, chaste brush of the lips to your temple. The morphine makes you laugh, a girly, giggly bubble of it as you burrow into the sheets, like he’s tickled you. He’s twice as endeared when you squint at him like you’re waiting. 

“Can I–”

“One more,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss your forehead again. “Any more than that and you’ll die of embarrassment when you’re not drugged out of your mind.” 

“I’m not out of my mind. I’m just hallucinating. Or having a great dream.” 

He’s inclined to agree, but he knows with confidence he hasn’t had any heavy medication today. He gives you a fond look and sits back down, obliging you when you scramble to put your hand in his again. It’s a weight he could get used to holding.

“I really like you,” you confess quietly. 

He quite likes you in return. “That’s great, honey. Do you want to talk about it later? Maybe you can have one of your donuts.” 

You don’t take his misdirection as rejection, you just pull his hand to your chest and smile. “No thank you. I can wait.” 

He can wait too. 

[kimstills]

crazy

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader

summary: after one heated and spontaneous night together, aaron can’t seem to get his pretty subordinate (or her pussy) out of his head.

content warnings: smut, 18+, minors do not interact!, pussy!whipped hotch, age gaps, dirty talk, rough unprotected office sex, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving, mentions of m receiving in the past), choking, hair pulling, ass slapping, groping, some angst if u squint, love confessions and some asshole behavior, hotch is a munch and masturbates in his office.

word count: 6.5k (yea…)

a/n: this may seem a lil out of character for hotch? we all know he’s a professional thru and thru but the point is this is that he’s pussy whipped! also lots of flashbacks in italics whoopsies <3

Aaron was sure he was going crazy.

Or maybe he already was, and he was just starting to feel the effects of his craziness.

Aaron Hotchner, usually poised in a way that unwillingly intimidated others and made them back away from him, was unraveling in a way he had never done so before.

Having a one-night stand with his subordinate, the same subordinate he had been harboring painfully arising feelings for literal years, often led to such a reaction.

He could still recount every single detail from that night, from the moment the tension between you both began building itself up to the moment it actually snapped. It was as if he had everything engraved in his mind; the views he never thought he'd get to see to the things he never thought he would get to feel etched into his brain.

It had all been a blur that night, and a part of Aaron still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that you reciprocated his attraction towards you, letting him, not only touch you but also fuck you.

You two had stayed up late in your shared hotel room only to talk, really. After you and the rest of the team had wrapped up a somewhat good case, you only wanted to rant to one another. Aaron knew that you weren’t a ‘whiskey girl,’ or whatever it was that you said, but he had offered you a drink either way.

Neither one of you had even gotten tipsy, so he couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol. But the connection had always been there, though, one thing finally leading to another and all the unsaid words and stolen glances between you both began to surface.

It was as if everything you both silently felt for another was starting to seep through and everything that hindered you from telling each other no longer mattered.

It had felt so hot, from the way you held him close with your legs wrapped around his waist to the messy yet passionate kisses you shared, your bodies connected beneath.

It was everything Aaron envisioned it to be. But, as magical and heated as it was, he was the one to have ended things before they even had a chance at starting.

The morning after, as soon as you had both untangled your bodies from one another and got dressed to get back home to Quantico, he had done the stupidest thing imaginable.

“We shouldn’t do this again.”

You froze in your spot, half-way through tugging your pants up your legs. You blink at him from where he stood on the other side of the bed, already dressed, “This?”

“Yes.” Aaron says, voice awfully neutral.

You frown, jutting out your bottom lip that same way you did when you were thinking, “May I ask why?”

He takes a deep breath, “I’m your boss,” he gives you a pointed look, as if he had to remind you after fucking you dumb, “and you’re my subordinate. This goes against several workplace regulations and if anyone were to find out we could both lose our jobs.”

You’re quiet for several moments after that, and Aaron uses the silence to his advantage to prepare for any arguments you could be thinking of to use against him. He can’t seem to read you, though, your expression pensive as you stare at the floor.

Then you shrug. “Okay.” You say, simple and nonchalant.

Aaron watches as you continue finishing getting ready and he doesn’t know if he should ask if you were actually okay with it.

He decides that it’s for the best, not getting any pushback or having to argue on why he’s just subconsciously pushing you away after having one of the best nights of his life.

“Okay.” He repeats, giving you a small nod, even though you weren’t looking at him. With one last glance to your surprisingly calm figure, he finishes collecting the rest of his things and heads out of the room.

Even after the team had checked out of their hotel and settled onto the jet, you didn’t spare him a second glance. You hadn’t necessarily moved to ignoring him or silently lashing out, but it was as if everything went back to normal, with no mentions or glances back to that night.

That should be what was driving him crazy; the way he didn’t know if you were only calm because you were planning on going to the higher-ups, to HR, about what had happened. If you were secretly planning on putting him on blast out of anger or betrayal or telling him that he had coerced you to sleep with him and threatened you in case you didn’t.

No. What was driving him crazy was that he couldn’t get you out of his head, even after he broke things off.

Everything was engraved into his mind, from the sight of you on your knees, mouth full of his cock while you stared up at him with tear-pricked eyelashes and basked in his praises. Or the way your nails dug into his skin as he thrusted into you and the way you felt around him, all while he took pleasure in the sweet sounds he emitted from you every second.

He was going mad, and the already established feelings he had for you weren’t helping, either.

Aaron stared at you from inside his office, studied your features from afar whilst you sat on your desk. Your face was set in a neutral expression, flickering your attention from your computer screens to the physical files in front of you, but all he could see was the same face and person morphed into the one that had been withering in pleasure underneath him.

“Hotch…” you whine, a hand wrapped around his bicep as he dipped a finger inside your glistening pussy.

He watched as your back arched off the bed, throwing your head back against the pillows at the feeling of his thick digit inside you, “What, sweetheart?” He asked, the nickname rolling of his tongue easily. “What do you need? Hm?”

Your hips stuttered as he inserted another finger, thrusting them in and out you, “Y-You. I want you. Inside me.” You peered at him through your fluttering lashes, your mascara smudged underneath your eyes from the tears that had slipped out while you were sucking his cock.

“Yeah?” His voice is filled with amusement and bewilderment, one part of him indulging in seeing you this way—all disheveled and needy for him—while the other was still stunned at the whole thing. “Want my cock inside you after you just had it in your mouth?”

You nod meekly at his words, a sweet pout adorning your flushed lips.

Despite the heat and tension that suffocated the room, Aaron’s heart fluttered at the sight of you. The way you were asking for him ever so bashfully after just giving him the best head of his life tugged at his heartstrings and made his cock twitch.

“Please,” you whisper, bucking your hips upwards. A stuttered gasp emits from your lips when you feel the tip of his dick prod at your sopping entrance, “Aaron…”

Aaron lets out a low, throaty groan at the sound of his first name mumbled in desperation, and he thinks back to all the times he’s thought about you like this. How many times he’s dreamed of having you underneath him, encaged by his broad figure and whining for him.

“I got you, sweet girl,” he says promisingly. He lifts himself to his full height on his knees, lining himself up with your entrance and holding onto the meat of your thigh. Another groan utters from the back of his throat, mixed in with your gasps and puffs of breath as he begins to sink inside you.

A knock on his office door forces Aaron to snap out of his train of thought. He looks down at himself, registering the painfully hard boner he was now sporting. Quickly, he scooted further into his desk so that the tent in his pants wouldn’t be visible by whoever was knocking on his door. Clearing his throat, he lets out a somewhat proper ‘come in.’

In walks Garcia, and Aaron doesn’t know if he should be thankful or mortified it was her out of all people.

“Sir?” She asks politely, files in hand and head tilted in an ever so Penelope manner. “We’re ready whenever you are.”

Right. It was barely nine in the morning and Aaron was already sporting a growing tent in his suit pants.

He nods, doing his best to feign being busy, “I’ll be there in five, Garcia.”

He wants to think he comes out as somewhat normal, but panic surges through him briefly when her expression turns into a curious one.

“Are you alright, sir?” She takes a step forward and Aaron has to hold himself back from screaming for her to stay where she is. “You look red and pale at the same time.”

He shakes his head, waving a hand dismissively yet good-naturedly, “I’m fine. Jack is coming down with something and I think I might be, too.”

Great. Now he was using his innocent son as a scapegoat for his own horniness and bad decisions. Some father he was.

Garcia nods, looking convinced enough before bidding him a nod shuffling out of his office and closing the door behind her.

Aaron lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding in. His boner had softened the slightest bit, and he was conflicted in trying to make it go down completely or taking care of it right here and now. But the thought of having to face his team after fucking himself into his fist mortified him. Of seeing you, right after fucking himself into his fist to the thought of you after leaving you hanging coldly.

He opted out of it, though it took more than five minutes to settle himself before heading over to the conference room. Once again, he tried to play it as casual as possible while he walked to his seat with everyone staring expectantly at him, including you.

“Let’s get started.”

The team’s briefings went on as so, everyone presenting their perspective cases and discoveries within them. It was a bit easier to lose focus of what he was thinking earlier when the gory crime scenes showed up on the TV screen each time someone went up, but all focus was lost when it was your turn.

You stood from your seat, taking the control from Penelope’s hands and talking everyone through the case you were currently focusing on.

Aaron held his fist up to his face as he tried to focus on the details of the case instead of you and your entire being. Your hair whipped out and into your face each time you looked from the screen and back to the team. The top part of your dress twisted with each turn and motion you made, the bottom part of it creasing along with it. Was it a new dress?

Didn’t matter. It didn’t compare to the pajama shorts he had slowly, almost tauntingly, pulled down your legs before–

“...makes me think he’s keeping them in a secluded space. He obviously likes the control and the pleasure of having his victims’ screams and cries for help to himself, so I’ve advised police to search condemned and empty areas far away from the city and even on the outskirts of the town.” You finished with a nod and once again Aaron was snapped away from his unholy thoughts.

While everyone else added their own commentary and advice, Aaron realized he had been the only to have not said anything during your presentation, too preoccupied with you once more.

“Adding in the possibility of him keeping them outside of the main town the victims have been found in was a smart move,” He quickly added, trying his best to comment on what he had paid attention to. His breath hitched when you turned to look at him. “Law enforcement might have missed that and can collaborate with police from the next town over. Good job.”

You smiled softly and nodded in appreciation, “Thank you.”

Fuck. How were you so nonchalant about this? Aaron’s mind wandered back to the probability of you getting back at him by going to Strauss about your rendezvous. It was only early morning Monday, the first day back in the office after said events, so it wasn’t a surprise he hadn’t heard anything from her. Yet.

He nodded back in response, though, casting his gaze downwards and collecting his things, “Great. I expect everyone’s reports to be on my desk by tonight, please.”

Everyone stood from their seats, shuffling out of the room with mumbled conversations. Aaron held back, taking his time in looking through his files and stacking them together while you did the same, leaving the two of you alone once everyone else had gone.

He wanted to say something, gather the courage to ask you something. Anything, just to make sure you were alright. If the two of you were still right, in spite of everything.

Only when you finished collecting things did he bring himself to open his mouth, a soft utterance of your name to get your attention.

You stopped in your tracks, a good couple feet away from him and the door. You stared at him, waiting for him to speak with a neutral expression on your face.

Not one of annoyance or irritation. Just expectant.

God, you really were driving him crazy.

You raised a brow when he didn’t say anything, “…Yes?”

He clears his throat again before asking, “Is everything okay?”

You blink and tilt your head, dumbfounded, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Aaron grips at his files, guilt consuming him all over again. “With us,” he clarifies, swallowing harshly. “Is everything okay with us?”

You blink a couple more times, eyes wandering to the side as if you’re trying to catch onto what he’s implying.

It makes his heart churn.

“Oh.” You finally say, meeting his gaze. “Yes. We both agreed, no? To what you said.”

Aaron can’t decipher if the smile you give him is genuine or jeering, and he can’t tell if what you say last is clarifying as his answer or if it’s something underlyingly petty.

Either way it’s something. You’ve given him something and he’ll take it.

He nods finally, “Yes, we did.”

You shrug, smiling a bit wider this time, “All good then.”

He gives another curt nod, stepping to the side so you could exit the room. He moves to follow behind you, but he gets a whiff of your perfume as soon as you brush past him. The scent makes him halt and he has to hold onto one of the back posts of a chair to stabilize himself.

He takes a deep breath, inhaling the remnants that linger behind you for a moment.

He truly was going crazy.

The rest of the day goes by the same and hardly any work gets done on Aaron’s end. He’d scribble whatever he needed to write down or fill out then get distracted by the void of you.

It was getting impossible for him to keep working with the relentless problem that was his ongoing boner. He was tucked into his desk all the way yet it hurt whenever he leaned forward or backwards while moving around. Oftentimes he tried to give himself some sort of relief by running a hand over himself, but it didn’t help much, and the dirty thoughts about you certainly didn’t either.

The sounds that filled the room were lewd, your gags and moans from below mixed in with Aaron’s grunts and words of encouragement echoing off the hotel room’s walls. His large hand was entangled in your hair, pushing your head forward to take more of him, as if your jaw wasn’t aching enough already.

Though there wasn’t a way for him to tell, really. You gave no sign or indication that you wanted him to stop, your tongue swiping at the head of his cock each time he dipped your head even more. Saliva pooled from your tongue and leaked from your mouth, dripping into the carpeted floor and entailing a trail from your lips to your chin.

Aaron’s head was thrown back in utter pleasure and astonishment, bewildered that you’d ever be doing this to him. He didn’t want to finish before you, but it was taking everything him to not give in and fuck your face the way he truly desired.

He’d never received head this good, nor had he received it much recently. His legs were spread with you settled in between them contently. “That’s it sweetheart,” he mumbled, brushing fallen strands of hair out of your face lovingly. “Taking me so good, such a good girl.”

His praises only edged you on even further, bobbing your head up and down a couple more times before pulling off of him with a slick ‘pop!’ You rest your head on his thigh in an attempt to catch your breath, a shaky, stuttered sigh heaving from your chest as your hand comes up to continue the rest of your work.

Aaron has to run a hand over his face to try and keep his composure, his nails digging into the skin of his palm albeit their short length. He throws his head back against his chair, a grunt threatening to emit from his throat as he coercively runs his hand over his boner.

At least he wishes he can say it’s coercively, really it’s just a tainted image of you he’s embedded in his own dirty mind.

It doesn’t take long for Aaron to give in and reach inside his pants, sparing another careful glance to his now locked office door before springing his painfully hard cock free. A low, pleased grunt spills from his pursed lips as he wraps his hand around himself. He gives his length a good tug, bucking his hips up instantaneously, the same way he did when you first wrapped your mouth around him.

Still, as cautiously and quietly as possible, he begins to stroke at his length, a hand covering his mouth as he continues to dart his eyes from below himself to his door–as if anyone would walk in at any second and catch him jerking himself off in his own government-issued office.

He begins to imagine that his fist is you. That you’re sitting in the space between his legs with your hot mouth licking long stripes up his length and that your hand is toying with his balls the same way you did before. It only makes him pump at his fist even faster, the hand that was covering his mouth shooting down to the armrest of his chair, gripping at the cushioned leather as he began to reach his high.

“Fuck, Hotch, fuck!” Your whines are eccentric, head thrown back in pure ecstasy. Your legs wrap around Aaron’s waist, pulling him closer to you as he continues to thrust into your sopping pussy.

Aaron groans loudly, silently thanking that his and yours room was placed further down the hall from everyone else’s. His hands rest at the bottom of your thighs, his large hand gripping the flesh for support as he pounds into you relentlessly. Your pussy grips him like a vice and your nails dig into the skin of his biceps from where you hold him.

His sight is focused on you only, the way your tits bounce with each thrust and the way your mouth is curled into a wide ‘o’ from the pleasure you’re receiving.

“So good for me, baby,” he mumbles, hand coming down to grab at your breast, squeezing possessively before leaning down to crash his lips against yours hungrily.

You whine through the kiss, grabbing a fistful of his hair and tugging while your other hand scratches at his back. A string of saliva connects at your lips when he pulls away, his head dipping down to kiss and suck at your neck while he grabs your hips to better pistol himself inside you.

A moan echoes through the room again and straight to his ear, your back arching into his chest, “Feels so good, Aaron, so good!”

Aaron’s release sputters everywhere messily and he has to bite at his fist to stop himself from groaning loudly. His come spills onto parts of his leg, his desk, and even onto the floor. He leans back into his chair, trying to contain himself and his heaving chest.

He takes a look at the mess he created–the mess you unknowingly entailed from him. Like clockwork, the paranoia and guilt from doing this begins to seep in and he’s quick to snatch a handful of tissues from the box he kept on the corner of his desk to clean himself up. He tucks himself back into his pants then moves to clean at his desk and his floor.

Clearly, he hadn’t known what he was thinking. Not when it came to calling things off between the two of you before they even happened and certainly not now after he realized the spell he was currently in.

The last hour of the work day comes by agonizingly slowly. After his little session, Aaron finds it a little bit easier to get the rest of his work done (key word: a little bit). The rest of the members all begin to spill into his office to hand in their finished paperwork and files, all of them sparing him brief glances of curiosity and concern–the same way Garcia had done earlier–before bidding him goodnight and leaving.

The only one that hasn’t come to hand in anything was you. He knew you were still here, he could see you sitting at your desk from the view through his blinds, scribbling away casually like you had been doing so the whole day. After you had stalled to follow behind the rest of your co-workers, Aaron had gotten up from his desk and pretended to be walking around his office with a file in hand, lifting his head every few minutes to see if you were ever making your way towards him to turn in your work.

He wanted desperately to know what you were thinking. If you were secretly being tortured by the recollections of your hook-up, too, or if you truly didn’t care about him basically dumping you after having sex with you and telling you that it could never happen again due to your perspective titles.

With a defeated sigh, he closes the file he was still pretending to read. His eyes instinctively travel back to where your desk was at and his breath immediately catches in his throat when he sees that you aren’t there. He hears the sound of footsteps approaching closer and closer through the staircase that leads up to his office and you walk in soon after.

You freeze in the doorway when you see that he’s already staring at you. Your eyes flicker to a space behind him then back at him before you take a tentative step back and glance at the clock hung on the wall facing his desk, “Uh, is this a bad time?”

“No!” Aaron takes a step forward when you take another one back. He rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly, “No, no, it’s not. I didn’t know you were still here. Everyone else left almost half an hour ago.”

“Oh,” you glance back behind you to the rest of the bullpen before looking back at him. “I was just finishing up the reports you said you wanted done by the end of today.” You jut your chin toward the stack of files you were carrying in one arm.

“Right.” He clears his throat, motioning to the pile of files the rest of the team had stacked on his desk. “You can just leave them there.”

You nod, giving him a small smile.

He watches as you walk over to his desk, taking in your appearance while you double-check that everything was correct. He swallowed harshly, taking in the way your skirt hugged your lower figure perfectly the same way it did during the morning debriefing. Your hair flows ever so slightly and he takes in a good look at your side profile when you tuck a loose strand behind your ears while you continue to flip through the pages of your file.

You’re breathtakingly gorgeous and Aaron doesn’t know if what suddenly makes him start walking up behind you is from what he’s felt since sleeping with you or if it’s everything he’s felt since way before that.

You halt your movements when you feel his presence directly behind you, gasping when you turn and find how close he was standing.

“Hotch–” you gulp, heat blooming through your cheeks albeit feeling confused. “W-What are you doing?”

Aaron takes in your tone and he can tell that you’re not asking in a disgusted, annoyed way, more so in a flustered way. He lifts a hand to brush the hair that frames your face past your face but doesn’t actually move to do it, keeping it there to see if you push him away. But you don’t. So he brushes it away.

“I can’t get you out of my head.” He mumbles, eyes boring into the side of your face as you stare up at him as best as you can from your practically rigid figure.

You scoff, a sound filled with so much humor yet so little at the same time, “You were the one that said this couldn’t happen again.” You twist your head, trying to turn your body around more with the way he had you pressed against the front of his desk.

“That was a mistake,” he whispers. He dips his head so that his mouth is by your ear, watching you shiver from the proximity.

“A mistake?” You repeat, brows raised. You lull your head to the side but you don’t know if you do it to get away from him or to grant him access to your neck.

Aaron takes it as the latter and hovers his lips over your skin, the same spot where he had left splotches of pink and purple last time.

“Yes,” he confirms, “a mistake.”

You want to ask why he said it then, want to press him for answers but you can’t when his hot breath sends shivers down your spine and arms. Your legs go weak when he brings a hand around you to wrap at your middle, big hand splayed across your stomach to pull you in even closer, if possible.

“H-Hotch,” you clear your throat. “We can’t. You said so yourself.” You roll your shoulders back in a weak effort to push him away, but all he does is hold you tighter.

“I was wrong,” he mutters, pressing a feather-light kiss to the very side of your neck. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the aroma of your perfume again and letting out a pleased hum from the back of his throat. “I was so wrong.”

You gasp when he flings an arm out in front of you, proceeding to knock over the multiple things from his desk. Files, pens, and other trinkets fly off the hard wood and land on the floor with a loud crash. Aaron spins you around before you can process the whole mess, turning you around so that you were facing him.

“Aaron-!” Your mind is a whirlwind as he grabs at your hips and easily sets you down on the edge of the desk. His lips crash onto yours messily and you hum, satisfied.

The kiss quickly becomes sloppy and hungry, muffled whines as you two practically devour one another. Your hands wrap around his neck while his own roam your body, curious hands searching for the zipper of your dress and bunching up the fabric in the process. You mewl when he finally finds it and slowly tugs it down. You break apart from the kiss in order to help him, scrambling from side to side so that it comes off from under you.

Aaron lets out a groan at the sight of you as he tosses the dress to the side. You’re wearing a matching set: a lacy white bra that cups your breasts gorgeously and a lacy white thong paired with it. It takes everything in him to not come undone right then and there.

Holding your gaze, Aaron sinks to his knees, shrugging off his suit jacket as he kneels before you.

“Aaron…”

He immediately shushes you, discarding the jacket somewhere next to your dress on his office floor. “Spread your legs for me, sweetheart.”

Instead of obeying, you knock your knees together bashfully, the fat of your thighs pressing against each other.

Aaron’s eyes darken at your shy defiance. “I said spread your legs.” His hands come out to grab behind your knees and you gasp again when he spreads them apart forcefully, large hands holding them in place.

“Oh, sweet girl,” he utters, gaze locked on your soaked panties. His palms slide down your legs, eyes flickering back up at you as he begins to kiss at your calves. Each peck to your skin leaves a wet trail from your earlier kiss and you whine in anticipation as he makes his way up before coming face to face with your pussy. His fingers hook themselves inside the thin fabric and you immediately get the message, lifting your hips once more so he could slide them down your legs

Aaron swiftly shoves the wet material into his pockets, wasting no time before diving straight in and burying his head in between your thighs.

His tongue swiping at your folds elicits a loud moan from you, your hands shooting out to grab at his head, “Aaron!” You yell out, fingers tangling in his hair to stabilize yourself from the suddenness.

Aaron grunts from below you, the sound sending vibrations up your body and causing you to arch into his touch. He didn’t know how he hadn’t thought of tasting you that night in the hotel room, too preoccupied with the pleasure he had received from you. But–dare he say–this was better than head, better than anything else he had ever gotten, tasted or even done. He wasn’t even a minute into devouring you and he had already decided that this was the best pussy he had ever had in his whole life.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about this pussy.” He lapped at your juices, mouth hot on your dripping cunt. His hands continued to grip at your thighs, large palms still keeping you in place from where you were writhing in pleasure.

“A-Aaron,” you whimper, grinding your hips against his face. “Please, I need you. Need you so bad.”

Your head was thrown back in utter bliss, hips stuttering with each nibble at your clit. Your fingers tugged his face closer despite the longing you had to feel him inside you, caging his head to keep him there.

Aaron couldn’t help but bask in the sounds he was pulling from you. It was as if his mouth had a mind of his own and all it could focus on was licking up every single one of your juices, the taste nearly intoxicating. He flickered his eyes up to you, taking in the way your chest heaved and your breasts pushed against the cups of your bra, practically spilling out.

Without removing his tongue from your pussy, he reaches behind you and easily undoes the hooks.

You let the straps fall from your shoulders and aid him in tossing it somewhere in the room along with your dress. Desperately, you reach for Aaron’s hands and place them on your breasts, groaning when he rolls each already hard and sensitive nipple in between your fingers.

Your legs begin to shake and you’re quick to wrap them around Aaron’s head, the heels of your feet digging into his muscular back. “Mm, fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” you toss your head back as the coil in your belly threatens to snap.

“Yeah?” He teases, angling his head so that he could spit onto your cunt, all before diving right back in and swirling it together with your arousal. “You gonna cum on my mouth, honey?”

You nod, feverishly, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you feel your orgasm getting closer and closer.

“Go ahead, pretty,” Aaron ushers, voice deep and rough from his non stop nibbling and sucking. “Come on my mouth, sweetheart.”

A certain bite on your clit immediately has you seeing stars and the office is soon filled with your cries of ecstasy as your orgasm washes over you violently. Your body shakes and stutters as you ride out the high on his face, leaning backwards until your back was resting against his desk.

Aaron doesn’t relent even as you begin to come down from your high, enhancing the way your legs shook from where they were wrapped around him.

“No, n-no more, Aaron, p-please,” you begged, keeping your back on the desk while weakly attempting to push him away.

“Just one more, honey. You can give me one more, can’t you?”

You don’t get the chance to answer, back arching off the desk as his fingers prodded at your entrance briefly before he shoved two inside. A high-pitched moan emitted from your swollen lips and your hips rutted against his face once more as he scissored the thick digits inside your gummy walls.

“That’s it, pretty girl, that’s it,” Aaron’s sultry words only encouraged you further, his face wet with your arousal and the release of your first orgasm. “I’m gonna make it up to you, sweetheart. But first you gotta give me another one.”

His thumb came up alongside his mouth to rub rough circles on your already sensitive, swollen clit and you immediately felt that coil snap once more, mixing in with the first orgasm you hadn’t even properly come down from.

“Aaron, Aaron, Aaron!” You mumbled dumbly, mouth agape and head hanging back from the desk as you rode out your second high on his face, the heavy wood shaking with every motion.

Aaron’s head was buried even further in between your legs, lips trying to catch every single drop that leaked from your hole, pulling out your fingers and cleaning them with a swirl from his tongue. He delivered a sweet kiss to your folds before standing, his knees cracking in response to being kneeled on the ground for so long.

He leans over, bringing a guiding hand to the back of your neck to get you to sit up, “You good, honey?” Aaron asks, brushing away the stray hands of hair that had stuck to your face. “Still with me?”

You hum, nodding weakly, “Need you, Aaron.”

Aaron chuckles at your fucked-out form, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head, “I got you, sweetheart. Bend over the desk for me.”

You stand on wobbly legs and do as he says blindly, the need to have him inside you outshining your nearing overstimulation. You feel yourself salivate as the sound of him undoing his belt is heard from behind you and you look back to watch him pull himself out from his boxers.

He hears you gasp when his cock springs out and hits against his stomach, tip an angry red and leaking with precome. He wraps a hand around himself and groans at how painfully hard he was. He quickly lines himself up with your entrance, slapping his length against your dripping folds before easing himself inside little by little.

You whine from in front of him when he bottoms out, the tip of his dick easily hitting your sweet spot the same way it did before in the hotel. This time, though, it feels even better with how wet you already were, his cock glistening when he pulls out before shoving himself back in roughly.

It doesn’t take long for Aaron to set a brutal pace, hands on your hips as he begins to pound into you from behind ruthlessly, a stark contrast from the way he had asked you if you were okay.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You have no idea how crazy you’ve driven me since I first fucked this pretty pussy,” Aaron grunted form behind, fingers digging so hard into your hips he was sure there would be an imprint there. “Had to get myself off in my own office, that’s how crazy you had me going.”

You don’t answer. You can’t answer. Your mouth is wide open, small huffs the only noise you can make while a line of saliva drools from your tongue. It’s only when you feel him wrap your hair in his hand and pull your back flush against his chest that you squeal, the angle pushing his cock further inside you.

“You like that, pretty?” He asks deeply, voice hoarse and gravely as he continues to pound into your pussy, the squelching that comes from beneath scandalous. “Like getting this pussy fucked by me, huh?”

You nod dumbly, too fucked out to properly answer him. A harsh slap against your ass makes you cry out, the sting somewhat snapping you back to reality.

“Answer me,” Aaron commands, tugging at your hair and making your back arch even further against him. “Did I fuck you dumb like last time?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you babble, legs shaking even in your standing position. “I l-love it, Aaron. Feels so g-good.”

He chuckles against your ear, the way you could barely register his questions only making him quicken his pace, “You gonna come on my cock, sweetheart? Gonna give me one more wrapped around me?”

You nod with as much fervor as possible, “Yes, y-yes, can I, Aaron? Want you to c-cum inside me, please.”

“Yeah? Want me to stuff you full of my cum?” He asks. He doesn’t bother to correct you when you don’t answer, instead snaking his hand to your front and down to your pussy.

The feel of him rubbing circles on your clit is the final push you need before you’re clenching around him, body trembling against him as he continues his assault on your swollen bud.

It doesn’t take long for Aaron to spill his own release inside you, giving you a couple more shallow thrusts as he comes down from his own high.

You whine when you feel him pull out, a string of your mixed releases following suit on the tip of his cock.

“So good, baby,” he praises, wrapping a hand around your neck gently and pressing soothing kisses on your cheek. “Did so good for me.”

You lean your head against his shoulder as he reaches for some tissues to clean you up, “So I guess we’re definitely doing this again?”

Aaron laughs, a pink adorning his cheeks, “Yes. Yes, we are. In fact, I’m telling everyone to work from home tomorrow so I can take you on a proper date. I’m not risking going crazy again.”

You suppress a giggle, “You went crazy? Over my pussy?”

He sighs, “If only you knew.”

[ddejavvu]

hotch x new recruit! reader where it's SO obvious to everyone in the team that she's just so in love and enamoured with hotch. it gets worse when the team go out drinking to celebrate after a case, and she's an affectionate drunk who just wants to sit in hotch's lap 🤭

"I just need to rest my eyes." You swear, your head feeling like a stone sinking in a lake as you press your forehead into the steady plane of Hotch's shoulder.

"You need to rest your arm," Emily laughs, reaching out to take your drink from your hand, "Slow down with the booze, sleepyhead."

"I'm not tired." You insist, lips brushing the rough fabric of Aaron's polo shirt, "I'm- I told you, I'm resting my eyes."

"That's what my mom used to say before she'd start snoring," Reid recalls with a slight smirk, one that's almost out of place on his soft features.

"That's parent-code for 'I don't want my kids to bother me while I'm napping'." Rossi agrees, raising one of your hands and watching it drop, "Face it, kid, you're smashed."

You roll your eyes with a heaving sign that teenage Penelope Garcia would have envied, raising your spinning head to look up at Hotch. You're closer than you've ever been to him, nearly face-to-face as he peers down at you where you rest on his shoulder, but you don't notice above your ire.

"They're making fun of me."

"They are." Hotch nods, a rare smile on his face as he tries not to laugh, "I think it's because you're tipping over into my lap."

"Fine. Fine!" You struggle to straighten yourself, but you lead with your upper half that's pitched towards Hotch. You slide over the bench and hoist yourself onto one of Hotch's legs, barely able to manage even that with the table in your way. It's a tight squeeze, but it earns you a round of laughter as Aaron's hands come up to brace whatever fall you're about to throw yourself into.

"Hey- hey!" Morgan gestures to his own lap, "This seat is open too, you know. Why are you all cuddled up with the boss man?"

"Because he's not laughing at me." You huff haughtily, but Aaron's face is nestled gently into the curve of your spine to hide his snickering, "He loves me- he doesn't think I'm drunk!"

"Right." Aaron flounders, a little on the nose, "Of course not." he recovers, drawing in a deep breath for composure, "On an unrelated note, Y/N, you should let me drive you home. I think you'd like the music I listen to."

"Okay." You nod, attempting to spin your head 180 degrees to look at him where you're uncomfortably perched in his lap, "Can we get ice cream on the way?"

"Of course." Hotch nods, patting a firm hand against your hip, one that prompts you to slump further against him, "And if you keep your seatbelt on the whole ride, I'll get you two scoops."

[mariasont]

friendly fire

when you get tipsy, hotch struggles with an overwhelming need to protect you

pairing: aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader warnings: fem!reader, tipsy reader, alc consumption, reader saying she likes hotch's nose prompt: here wc: 0.9k

Hotch’s mid-conversation with Rossi — something about fishing, or wine, or God knows what — when he catches himself looking past his friend, scanning the patio for what feels like the twentieth time.

He locates you instantly, smiling barefoot, your dress catching the fading sunlight as Garcia and Emily enthusiastically coax another drink into your hand.

He immediately reprimands himself internally for this constant vigilance, this needless protectiveness, but it’s too late to pretend otherwise. It’s already embedded deep within him, the subconscious urge to keep tabs on your every move. 

Here, removed from the structured predictability of life back in Virginia, that same urge feels amplified, somehow justified by unfamiliar surroundings — but that rationale doesn’t completely ease his embarrassment over how closely he’s monitoring you.

You catch him looking — of course you do — and Aaron feels a quick heat rise along his collar. He suppresses the urge to look away, instead opting to awkwardly clear his throat. 

He considers, briefly, returning to Rossi’s neglected conversation, except Rossi, it seems, had already given up on him, vanishing inside without Aaron even noticing.

Before he can feel truly guilty for his shitty conversational skills, you’re already padding toward him, swaying a little, a sweet, confused smile on your face.

“Hotch,” you say softly, and maybe a little sleepy. “Do you know what happened to my sandals?”

Aaron frowns slightly, genuinely perplexed.

“Your sandals?” He shakes his head. “No, I haven’t seen them.” But the look on your face — a little dazed, a little dreamy — has him cocking his head to the side, concern filtering through his confusion. “Are you alright without them? Should we find them?”

A laugh bubbles up as you shake your head emphatically.

“No,” you manage between airy giggles. “It just felt important to ask.”

Aaron ducks his head, hiding a reluctant smile behind a casual nod.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll keep an eye out for them.” He pauses, taking in your bright, glassy eyes. “In the meantime, do you think you might want some water?”

“I’m okay. But thank you very much for asking.” Even drunk, your manners remain perfectly intact. “Can I maybe just stay here with you? We don’t usually get to spend much time together like this, you know — as friends.”

Your softly slurred request strikes a delicate nerve inside Aaron.

Had he truly seemed so inaccessible — someone you could only approach when your inhibitions were lowered by alcohol? Rationally, he knows it’s a product of rank, professionalism, and perhaps his naturally reserved demeanor — barriers he unintentionally reinforces every day.

Still, knowing you’d felt the need to overcome them through a few spritzers leaves him oddly unsettled.

Maybe he needs to ease back a bit. Maybe he’s doing more harm than good.

Aaron swallows quietly, calming the rising fluster. His immediate concern, though, is your clearly unstable footing.

“Sure,” he replies warmly, adding quickly, “though maybe sitting would be better?”

He eases you toward the outdoor couch, silently determined not to smother you, even though every wobble in your step makes him tense slightly.

You settle beside him, closer than expected. So close, in fact, that he feels a subtle heat rise in his cheeks. You’re sitting cross-legged, facing him fully.

“Do you think we would’ve been friends if we met somewhere else — without all the FBI stuff?”

He knows the answer. No. Of course not. With the age difference alone, he doubts your paths would’ve crossed naturally, let alone sparked a friendship.

Beyond that, the awareness that your father had once been his roommate hangs uncomfortably in the back of his mind, despite the clear reality that he’d never even met you until your first day on his team. The ghost of misplaced guilt still persists.

For what? He’s not sure.

But right now, with your hopeful, slightly blurry-eyed gaze fixed expectantly on him, Aaron opts for gentle misdirection instead of complicated truths.

“I think we would,” he replies. “Though I imagine you probably would’ve found me unbearably dull.”

“That’s not true at all.” You shake your head at him. “I find you highly fascinating.”

“Highly fascinating,” he murmurs, clearly entertained by your choice of words. “I didn’t realize I was so interesting.”

You don’t seem to register the gentle teasing in his voice, leaning closer instead, fingers curling around his arm. 

“You are!” you insist, nodding eagerly. “You’re smart, and you always know what to say, and the whole team respects you, and,” you tap the bridge of his nose as if to illustrate, “and you have a really great nose by the way.”

Of all the things he’s anticipated hearing from you — or anyone, really — a compliment about his nose wasn’t exactly on his list.

“Thank you.” He clears his throat. “Though, I think water might be more helpful for you than discussing my nose.”

“I disagree,” you protest stubbornly, but your voice fades into a sigh, your head drifting until it settles comfortably against his shoulder. “But… you’re the boss…”

Aaron stays perfectly still, breathing shallow. He tells himself he’s merely being considerate, letting you sleep off the alcohol, but he knows it’s more than that. He stays long past the point of necessity. 

When the team finally migrates to where you were, chatting softly, Aaron fixes them with a pointed look that clearly states to let you be. Garcia bites back a grin, Emily arches a brow, but not a single one dares disturb your peace or his.

Maybe tomorrow he’ll retreat behind professionalism again. Right now, Aaron lets his guard down just a fraction, accepting this temporary closeness as something that’s allowed, at least for tonight.

join me at the beach for my 1 year/4k event!

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[mggslover]

No Strings Attached

In which reader is on a mission to get her boss to relieve some stress, not realizing he'd end up doing the same for her.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader Genre: smut (18+) x fluff Content warnings: porn with plot, jessica and jack make an appearance, no mention of haley, hotch smiling (lol), reader being sad and a bit insecure bc she hasn't got laid in a while, mentions of drinking wine, no strings attached (but not really bc they're obsessed with each other), soft!dom hotch, praise, breast play, ass worship, oral (f receiving), p in v sex Word count: 4,7k A/n: first time writing a fic dedicated to Hotch and i fear i'm obsessed... also i had to do some acrobatics to make sure these positions work (they do) so give me a heart for the effort your feedback and support are highly appreciated!

Aaron Hotchner is a busy man. And these days, even more so. The responsibilities of being Unit Chief were always demanding, but they seemed to multiply now that he was balancing the weight of single parenthood as well.

As a profiler it was obvious to you how much he struggled with juggling between these professions, even though he always tried to hide it from the team. You noticed his slightly furrowed brow when he thought no one was watching, and the slow drag of his steps as he moved between meetings and paperwork.

Since you’d joined the team, you'd developed a deep respect for Aaron. Where others saw a hard-nosed, no-nonsense boss—a “drill sergeant” in Morgan’s words—you saw a man who held himself and his team to incredibly high standards because he believed in their potential. You saw a man who cared deeply, even when his personal life was slowly suffocating beneath the pressure of it all.

Even if he would never admit it, no human being can go through the difficulties he goes through without ever catching a break, without getting any help. So tonight, as you passed his office, a light still flickering inside, you decided to do something about it.

Your knuckle made contact with the door, knocking three times as you waited. When there was no immediate response, you quietly creaked the door open.

The sight of him behind the desk was familiar. His shoulders were hunched and his brows furrowed in concentration, as he scanned the endless stacks of paperwork that seemed to breed faster than he could handle them.

"Hey," you greeted softly, offering a small smile as you stepped into the room.

Hotch looked up from the pile in front of him, his gaze flicking from the documents to you. There was a slight exhaustion behind his eyes that he didn’t try to mask.

"Hey.” His eyes dropped to his wristwatch for just a moment, his lips curling into a subtle frown. "It’s late. Why haven’t you gone home yet?"

You waved off his concern. "I’m about to. Had to send a few more emails for the lab reports."

He nodded, but didn’t immediately return to his work. Instead, he watched you with that signature intensity of his, silently observing you.

"I- uh, I wanted to ask you something.” You hesitated for a moment as you moved further into the room, the door gently clicking shut behind you.

His brows rose slightly, an almost imperceptible shift of interest in his posture. "Go on."

You cleared your throat, your hands instinctively clasping behind your back. "You’ve been working a lot of late nights."

“That’s not a question.” He stated in an amused tone.

A small smile played on your lips. "I know, but it’s a… concern," you said. "And I was wondering if there was anything I could do to help you out."

He looked at you, his expression unreadable. His hands folded neatly in his lap, and he leaned back in his chair. It was hard to tell whether he was considering your offer or mentally debating the logistics of it.

"You want to help me out?" he asked, his voice tinged with confusion.

“Yes.”

Aaron grabbed a stack of papers, knocking them into a neat pile on his desk, then looked back at you. "So, this is something you’re interested in?" His tone was laced with amusement as he nodded down at the amount of paperwork in his hands.

You winced at the sight of it. "Uh... not exactly," you said, trying to keep your tone light. "I was thinking more along the lines of taking care of Jack," you added, raising your voice slightly on the last part, unsure of how he’d react to your suggestion.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Taking care of Jack?"

"Yeah.” You met his gaze, trying to sound confident despite the uncertainty creeping in. "Just on the days we don’t have a case. I could go to your place and stay with him until you get home."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "You know Jessica’s there," he said, referring to his ex-sister-in-law who had taken on the role of taking care of Jack when he had to work.

“Don’t you think she deserves a break every once in a while?”

His expression shifted, becoming slightly defensive. "She offered to take care of him.”

"I know," you responded quickly, knowing he’d never force her into it. "But I’m offering too. I babysat all through university, I know what I’m doing."

He gave you a tight-lipped smile, his eyes flicking back to the papers in front of him. "That’s not necessary, but thank you," he said, his tone closing the conversation.

You weren’t ready to let it go yet. You stepped closer to his desk, hoping to draw his attention back. "Please? I want to help you."

He didn’t look up. "I don’t need any help," he stubbornly replied, his eyes still glued to the paperwork.

“Then let me put it this way,” you pressed on. "I want to help the team, because no offense, your stress is affecting all of us. And on top of that, I want to help Jack."

He glanced up at you, the wheels in his mind turning, and you showed him your best puppy eyes.

"Did you learn that from Reid?" he asked, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Is it working?" you grinned back.

He chuckled breathlessly. "Alright, fine. One night. Let’s see how it goes."

You fought back a victorious grin. “Good. Just you wait, Hotchner. Once you see how great I am with kids, you’ll never let me go."

—

A week later, Hotch took you up on your offer. Jessica had a wedding to attend, and you’d agreed to look after Jack for the evening.

Though you’d spent plenty of time with Jack when he visited his dad at the office or at events outside of work, Hotch insisted on driving you to his place for a proper handoff.

He held the door open for you as you entered his apartment. You were immediately greeted by Jessica, dressed in a stunning outfit with a purse ready in hand.

"I’m late, I’m late!" she panicked, almost running as she headed for the door. But when she saw you, her demeanor softened.

“There’s my saving grace,” she said with a relieved smile. “Thank you so much for doing this.”

You waved her off with a grin. “It’s my pleasure. You look amazing, go have fun.”

She offered a final smile, then said her goodbyes to Hotch before quickly heading out.

“Hi, Dad!” Jack’s voice rang out as he bounced into the living room, his excitement palpable. You smiled, watching the little boy as he ran toward his father.

“Hey, buddy.” Hotch lifted him into his arms with a small groan. “You’re getting bigger every day.”

Your heart warmed at the exchange. Hotch was a completely different man when he was at home—more relaxed, more playful, the kind of father who carefully kept work and family separate.

He put Jack down, introducing you to him.

“I know who she is, Dad. We colored together. She’s really good at drawing Spider-Man.”

Hotch raised an intrigued eyebrow at you.

"I have more hidden talents than you know,” you playfully shrugged.

You turned to Jack, crouching down to his level. "Want to grab the crayons? We can make some more drawings."

Jack’s eyes lit up, and without hesitation, he scampered off in search of his favorite colors, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll find the red one!”

You chuckled at his enthusiasm and straightened up, turning back to Hotch. “You’ve got a sweet kid,”

Hotch’s eyes followed Jack as he rummaged through the drawer. There was pride in the way he looked at his son, but you could see the hint of anxiety that always seemed to lurk beneath the surface when it came to Jack.

You placed a reassuring hand on his arm, giving him a small, comforting squeeze. “He’s in good hands, Hotch. You don’t have to worry.”

He met your eyes, and for a brief moment, the weight of his responsibilities seemed to lift. His gaze softened with unspoken gratitude. “I trust you,” he spoke sincerely.

“Good.” You gave him a small smile and gave his bicep a final, reassuring pat. “Now get some work done. You might be able to make it in time for dinner.”

With a final glance at Jack, he turned to leave. The door clicked softly behind him, and you were left on your own with the mini version of him, who was already showing off his new crayons.

—

That evening marked the first of many. When you weren’t out on a case, you found yourself naturally heading to Hotch's after work—sometimes taking over from Jessica for the day or picking up Jack from school yourself. You often stayed well into the evening, even after Hotch came home, enjoying dinner together, playing games, or simply talking. There were even times where you stayed the night, sharing a quiet drink after putting Jack to bed. He’d insist you sleep in his bed while he took the couch. In the mornings, the three of you would share breakfast, with Hotch always ensuring the fridge was stocked with your favorite foods and knowing exactly how you liked your eggs.

You knew your colleagues would lose their minds if they’d ever find out, but for you, it never felt strange. It felt right. Comfortable. And whenever you were back on the field, you’d slip back into your professional roles—the accidental first-name slips the only sign of the bond you shared.

Being at their place made you realize how much your work had tangled itself into every aspect of your life. You’d moved away from family, struggled to maintain a personal life, and watched every attempt at dating falter because of your job. Despite how fulfilling your work at the BAU was, you’d forgotten just how deeply you craved a sense of belonging—a place where you were appreciated for more than just your professional skills or your ability to handle a weapon. Around Aaron and Jack, you could simply let go and be yourself.

Today was another day at the Hotchner house. You had spent the entire afternoon with Jack playing soccer in a nearby park until he was utterly exhausted, you practically had to drag him home. This time you didn’t mind though. Today has been a painful reminder of how single you were. The park had been filled with happy couples—some picnicking, some feeding the ducks, and others nervously sharing their first kiss.

You were grateful for how Aaron had allowed you to wiggle your way into his little family on days like these, but still it wasn’t yours. You still longed for one to call your own one day.

So, here you were—alone on the couch, watching a rom-com wishing you were starring in it, and finding comfort in the warmth of his house and the glass of wine in your hand.

You were so absorbed in the movie that you didn’t notice the door unlocking until Hotch stepped inside.

“Hey,” you greeted, reaching for the remote to pause the film.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he said, putting down his bag and hanging up his jacket. He loosened his tie and walked over to the couch, settling on the opposite end.

“Sorry, I opened a new bottle of wine”

He waved it off. “I’m glad that you did. It would’ve just collected dust on the shelf.”

You take another sip. “It’s a good one. Rossi’s?”

“You know it,” he replied with a soft smile, getting comfortable in the cushions as you put the movie back on.

The screen flickered with a romantic scene: a couple dancing in the rain, the male lead spinning the woman around in circles as they laughed.

“I miss that,” you murmured, a wistful smile tugging at your lips as you watched them.

Hotch glanced at you, a smirk forming. “It’s raining outside. Be my guest.”

You rolled your eyes, playfully dismissing the comment. “That’s not what I meant. Just look, Aaron,” you pointed at the TV, where the couple gazed at each other lovingly, before he pulled her in for a passionate kiss. “I don’t remember the last time someone looked at me like that.”

“Sometimes, I feel so desperate that I think about saying yes to the first guy who comes along, just to feel wanted again.”

Hotch straightened, concern flickering in his eyes. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“I know, Dad,” you teased, trying to ease the tension. “I’m unfortunately fully aware of the creeps out there.”

“On top of that, I’m not even sure anyone would take me up on it,” you added with a breathless laugh, your voice betraying a hint of vulnerability. “I haven’t exactly gotten much attention since joining the team. Maybe I’m not considered attractive anymore.”

“People can tell you know how to handle yourself,” he profiled. “Some find that intimidating. But you’re just as attractive—if not more so—than before you joined the team.”

You almost spilled your wine at his confession, the sudden heat in your cheeks betraying the flutter in your stomach.

“You don’t have to say that,” you mumbled, not wanting him to feel pity for you.

“Am I lying?” he asked, his voice steady. You met his gaze—his posture was open, his shoulders relaxed, and his eye contact was unwavering. It was textbook honesty.

“No,” you admitted quietly, feeling the truth of his words sink in.

“I don’t think you need some stranger or a serious relationship to get what you’re after.”

You blinked, not sure if you’d heard him right. “No?”

Hotch leaned in just a little, his voice lower now. “I think we could give each other what we need... without it being complicated.”

Your heart skipped, and you tried to process what he was suggesting. Your mind raced, the words hanging in the air between you.

“Are you suggesting a no-strings-attached relationship with me?”

He gave a small, wry smile. “I’m trying to be subtle about it, but it’s not going so well.”

You laughed, caught off guard, trying to mask your surprise as you saw the seriousness in his expression.

“How will this work?”

The corners of his lips lifted as you acknowledged thinking this through. “We would just… enjoy ourselves. Just when we’re here. Just when it’s the two of us.”

Enjoying yourself with Aaron Hotchner definitely wasn’t how you’d imagined this night going.

You stayed quiet, thinking it over. After a moment you slowly nodded your head. “Okay.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, waiting for confirmation.

“Yes. I am,” you responded, the words coming easier now.

You licked your lips nervously as he moved closer to you. His cologne enveloped you, making your pulse quicken.

As he continued gazing into your eyes, you decided it was your turn to make the next move. Carefully, you reached up to cup his cheek, feeling the slight roughness of his stubble against the palm of your hand. A small prayer passed through your mind, hoping you wouldn’t regret your next decision.

Then you kissed him.

The moment his lips met yours, the cliché of “fireworks” suddenly made sense—the feeling was intense, electric, a rush that left you breathless. His hands moved to the sides of your waist, pulling you closer. Before you could think, you were settled on his lap, the world around you narrowing to the heat of his touch.

A small, desperate whimper escaped you as his tongue brushed against yours. It had been so long since someone touched you this way—especially someone as strong and attractive as Aaron. You could feel his heartbeat beneath your fingertips as your hand slid over his chest, the other wrapping around his neck. He deepened the kiss, and the feeling was so overwhelming that it almost made you cry in relief.

He brushed his hands over the smooth curve of your waist and down the swell of your thighs, digging his fingers into the clothed skin.

Your soft moans were swallowed by your kisses, and you couldn’t help yourself as you moved your hips against his, feeling yourself get more aroused with each movement against the thin fabric of his slacks.

He let out a low grunt as you repeatedly rolled your hips against the hardening bulge in his pants. His large hands roamed up beneath your shirt, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. You placed your hands over his, ready to take your shirt off, but just as quickly his hands closed around your wrists, stopping you gently.

“Not here,” he warned. “Let’s move to the bedroom.”

His words sent a rush of desire to your core, and though your legs trembled, you stood from his lap and followed him across the room. As he moved, Hotch unbuckled his belt with one swift, effortless motion. You paused mid-step, breath catching at the sight of the leather coiled in his hand, hypnotised by how seductive the image looked. You blinked a couple of times to get out of your trance, before hurrying after him, your legs trying to catch up to his confident pace.

You stepped into the bedroom, moving until you stood at the foot of the bed as he locked the door behind you. A flutter of nerves stirred in your stomach at the reality of what was about to happen.

Hotch walked toward you, slowly closing the distance. His eyes were dark as they took you in with a look of pure lust—one you’d previously never seen on him.

“Turn around for me.”

Maybe it was because you were so accustomed to his authority in the field, or perhaps it was the undeniable fact that you'd let him do anything to you at this point, but without a second thought, you obeyed, turning your back toward him.

His hands reached out to rub over your shoulders in slow circles. You instinctively leaned into him, your eyes closing as you let yourself melt into the comfort of his touch. He presses in closer, his chin resting against your shoulder.

“What is it that you’ve been longing for?” His voice is a soft, sensual whisper, his breath warm against your skin.

A shaky breath escapes your lips as his hands delicately trail over your collarbones, carefully moving lower, inching toward your breasts. The moment his palms cup them, your nipples harden.

He hummed, still awaiting a response.

“You,” you whispered back, your voice barely audible through the thick need.

You feel the faint curve of a teasing smile against your skin. “You already have me,” he murmured. “Tell me how I can make you feel good.”

His thumbs flick over your nipples, and you arch your back into him, feeling the solid press of his body against yours, the hardness in his pants meeting you once again.

“It’s been a while since-” your words dissolve into a moan as his fingers pinch your nipples.

“Since what?” he teased, his lips tracing the curve of your neck, each kiss setting your skin alight.

You swallowed. “Since… since someone’s gone down on me.”

“Is that so?” he hummed, the sound rich with interest. His tongue slides up your neck, before turning it into a kiss.

“Aaron, please,” you begged, grinding your hips into him.

“How can someone like you have been deprived of pleasure for so long?” he thought out loud, and he finally grabbed the material of your shirt, pulling it over your head.

His hands glide softly over your back, before he unclasps your bra with one smooth motion. Your breasts spill free, and he immediately cups them in his hands, holding them as if he wants to keep you warm and covered. The pleasure is even more delicious now that the contact is skin-to-skin.

His hands roam over your stomach, until he reaches the button of your pants, undoing it. He sinks to his knees behind you, his fingers curling around the waistband of your pants and panties, easing them down. A low curse escapes him as the fabric slides over your ass and down your thighs, revealing more of you inch by inch.

You held onto his shoulder for support, as he steadied your leg, guiding you to step out of your pants. The second he tossed the fabric to the side, he placed his hands steadily on your thighs, leaning in to press a heated kiss to your ass. You let out a moan, bucking forward, but he holds you firmly in place as his lips trail wet, lingering kisses over your cheeks.

“Place your knee on the bed for me,” he tenderly instructs.

You followed his order, lifting one knee onto the bed, your upper body arching slightly as it hovers just above the mattress. The cool air brushes over your exposed pussy as you’re displayed in front of him.

A loud moan leaves your mouth, as his tongue makes contact with your folds. The pressure is just right, each flick of his tongue drawing a sharp gasp from you as he licks up and down in a deliberate rhythm.

“You taste like heaven,” he groans, the deep rumble of his voice vibrating through you as he speaks, “dripping down your thighs already.” His lips trail lower, and he laps up the wetness that has gathered on your inner thighs, his stubble tickling against your sensitive skin. You grip the sheets, desperate for something to hold on to.

Aaron’s tongue returns to your pussy, the tip of it firmly pushing inside, curling upward as he slides in and out, hitting all the right spots, sending waves of pleasure through you. Each thrust makes you cry out.

You let out a small whine as his tongue retreats, pressing a delicate kiss to the tender skin. “Don’t get me wrong,” he starts, licking his lips clean, “I love hearing you, but you can’t be too loud.”

You silently nodded, your breath hitching as his finger unhurriedly traced your sensitive folds. Just as he was about to enter you, you stopped him.

“I- I need your cock,” you whined, your hips pushing back toward him, desperate for more.

“Yeah? You need it that bad?” he teased, as he rose to his feet behind you.

You crawled onto the bed, glancing back at him. His lips still glistened with the trace of you, and his eyes were locked onto yours, filled with predatory focus.

“I need it, Aaron,” you repeated, biting your bottom lip as your gaze lingered on the hard outline of his length pressed against his thigh.

He groaned, his hands quickly pulling at his tie, tossing it aside before he began unbuttoning his shirt. His movements were confident—like a private performance just for you. You leaned back on your arms, your feet planted on the bed, allowing him to see just how much he was making you ache for him.

As he removed his shirt, the muscles in his broad shoulder flexed, and the trail of dark hair down his stomach led your eyes straight to what you craved.

He wasn’t shy as he pulled his pants down, eager to show you just how worked up you’d made him. His length stood hard, the tip flushed red and glistening with precum. You instinctively pressed your thighs together, giving you a soft release of tension.

He joined you on the bed, lying on his side and pulling you flush against his chest, spooning you. His lips crashed into yours in a deep, hungry kiss, his groans vibrating against your mouth. His hand explored your front, squeezing your breasts, while his arousal pressed insistently against your ass.

You moaned, your leg draping over his as you shifted, opening yourself up to him. He reached down, gripping his length, positioning it against you before slowly pushing inside, stretching you inch by inch.

You took a sharp breath, adjusting to the feel of him inside you. His cock throbbed, as if begging for you to move. Slowly, you rolled your hips, taking more of him in, and Hotch’s low growl rumbled in your ear.

“That’s it,” he praised, his voice rough with pleasure. “Taking me so well.”

He was fully inside you now, filling you completely, and his hand slid down to your exposed clit, his fingers moving in slow, rhythmic circles. His thrusts matched the pace, deep and deliberate.

Every movement sent shockwaves through your body, your breath quickening as the familiar knot of pleasure tightened in your stomach.

“I’m close, Aaron,” you whimpered, and he moaned in response, placing soft kisses along your jaw before sucking at your neck, marking you.

His fingers moved faster, pushing you closer to the edge, and your body twitched as your orgasm crashed over you. His arms held you tight, anchoring you as the sensations slowly subsided.

When he withdrew his hand from your clit, it slid down to your knee, bending your leg to spread you even wider. Without warning, he began pounding into you, the sudden change in speed making you cry out, a high-pitched moan escaping your lips.

“Be quiet for me. Don’t make me tell you again,” he warned. You involuntarily moaned at the way he commanded you, and he grunted in response.

With a swift motion, he flipped you onto your stomach, your body pressed flat against the bed. A sharp gasp escaped you as he grabbed your thighs, lifting them to raise your ass in the air, before entering you again.

One hand pressed firmly into your shoulder, holding you down, while the other gripped your hips, forcing you to meet each of his thrusts. The new position did its job—your moans were muffled into the pillow, leaving only the wet slap of skin and the sound of Hotch’s deep, guttural grunts with each push of his hips.

“They're so stupid for not wanting you,” he groaned. “You have me now. I’ll give you everything you want.”

Your heart fluttered at his words. After feeling this, you knew you wouldn’t ever be satisfied by anyone else. You would want no one but him.

“I’m going to come inside of you,” he breathed, bending over so his chest pressed against your back, his warmth enveloping you.

“Oh-“ Your breath caught as the sensation in your core tightened again. “Yes, please. Inside of me, please.” You couldn’t form a full sentence as the heat inside of your core builds up again.

He reaches under you to touch your clit, and the instant his fingers make contact, you come undone. Your legs tremble, giving way beneath you as the rush of pleasure takes over. Hotch pushes into you two more times before you feel him spill inside, the sensation sending you into another, deeper orgasm.

He presses soft, tender kisses to your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he whispers in your ear, “I’m sorry I got a little carried away.”

You hum in satisfaction, a pleased smile tugging at your lips. “I’m glad you did.”

—

You weren’t sure what time it was, but you had a quick shower together—Hotch giving you one more orgasm—and were now laying in bed, your clean bodies tangled under his sheets.

“Will you stay the night?” he asked softly, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand as he held you close.

It was endearing how gentle and shy he sounded, a stark contrast to what the two of you had just shared.

“Only if you promise to not move to the couch,” you mumbled sleepily, your voice heavy with exhaustion.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

You turned your head to him, noticing the quiet that had settled between you both.

“What is it?” you asked, tracing absent patterns to his skin.

He hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I was thinking… maybe we can attach those strings a bit more.”

You chuckled. “Maybe,” you playfully teased, pressing a final kiss to his lips.