lomlhotchner

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so soft talking about Gideon

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I LOVE THIS SO MUCH

Relic | [A.H]

Pairing: Country boy!Hotch x City girl!reader | WC: 0.7k | CW: Fluff, a little sexual tension but it's very minimal, to the point where you can't really see it that much.

The old leather couch groaned under Aaron’s weight as he sank onto it, the sound was the only thing that could be heard throughout the quiet ranch. His jeans were dusty, frayed slightly at the edges from yet another day spent on mending the fence line, and his boots, well-worn but polished, rested firmly on the creaky wooden floor.

Outside, the sun was sinking low, casting the room in the last remnants of daylight streaming through the windows.

You stood a few steps away, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk playing on your lips. "You know," you began, your tone dripping with sarcasm, "I think this couch should be in a museum. Really, Aaron. It’s practically an antique."

He tilted his head, his deep brown eyes glinting with amusement as he glanced at the old couch beneath him. "That couch," he drawled, his voice as calm as the man himself, "has more character than any overpriced piece of furniture you’d find in the city."

You rolled your eyes, pushing yourself away from the doorframe, stepping into the room with slow, deliberate clicks of your heeled boots against the floorboards. "Character isn’t exactly what I’d call it," you teased, stopping a few feet away.

Aaron leaned back slightly, letting one arm drape across the back of the couch as he studied you. His gaze was warm, but there was a glimmer of challenge in it, too, as though daring you to keep going. "You’re welcome to find something better," he said, his lips curving into a faint smirk. "Good luck getting it past the front gate, though."

With a soft laugh, you took another step forward, closing the distance between you. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

"And yet, here you are," he shot back, the smirk widening.

You planted yourself between his knees, standing tall, your hands resting on your hips as you looked down at him. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Without warning, you reached out, placing your hands on his shoulders and easing yourself onto his lap. The couch creaked again beneath the shift of weight, but you didn’t care. Aaron’s hands immediately found your waist, his touch firm yet careful, like he was afraid to hold you too tightly.

"Careful," he murmured, his voice low and rich, "you might just fall for this 'museum piece.'"

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you, light and teasing as you leaned in slightly. "You wish, cowboy."

Aaron’s grip tightened just slightly, his thumbs brushing against your sides as his gaze locked onto yours. The warmth in his eyes darkened, and the smirk on his lips softened. "Oh, I know," he said quietly.

Your breath hitched, but you recovered quickly, refusing to let him have the upper hand for long. "Still think I wouldn’t last out here?" you challenged, tilting your head slightly as you leaned just a little closer.

His chuckle was low and rumbling, a sound that vibrated through his chest and into you. "Not a chance," he replied, his tone was teasing but tinged with affection. "But I’m glad you keep trying."

You narrowed your eyes at him, though the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. "Maybe I’m not here to prove anything," you said, your voice softening slightly. "Maybe I just like the view."

His gaze dropped, just for a moment, to your lips before meeting your eyes again. His hands shifted slightly, his thumbs tracing slow circles against your waist. "The feeling’s mutual," he murmured.

For a moment, the world outside seemed to fall away. The ranch, the city, the differences that should’ve kept the two of you worlds apart, they didn’t matter. All that existed was his touch, the steady rise, and fall of his chest beneath your hands, and the way his eyes seemed to hold you in place like you were the only thing that mattered.

"I think I’m starting to like this country life," you admitted softly, your fingers brushing against the stubble on his jaw. His skin was rough beneath your touch, a stark contrast to the polished, pristine men you’d known back in the city. But you liked it. You liked him. You loved him.

Aaron’s lips quirked into a small smile. "Don’t get too comfortable, city girl," he warned, though his tone was far from serious. "I might just make you stay."

You tilted your head, your smile softening as you let your fingers trace along the line of his jaw. "Promise?"

"Promise."

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AARON HOTCHNER in 2x03 ‘THE PERFECT STORM’ Criminal Minds (2005)

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Breakfast in bed

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Aaron Hotchner in every episode of Criminal Minds:

Season 7, Episode 1, ‘It Takes a Village’

Masterlist ✰

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You didn’t hear him come in, just felt the shift in the air, like the room itself tensed. Hotch stood in the doorway, sleeves rolled, tie loosened, eyes darker than you remembered.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered, heart already betraying you with every beat.

“I know,” he said, stepping closer, voice low, almost broken. “But I couldn’t stay away.”

The silence between you crackled. You reached for him without thinking, fingers brushing the bruises time hadn’t healed. His hand found your wrist, gentle but firm.

“I thought forgetting you would keep me sane,” he breathed. “Turns out, it just made me hollow.”

You pressed your forehead to his chest, hearing the ache in his heartbeat. And in that quiet, painful closeness you both knew you'd never be the same again.

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So ffffucking hot 😫

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hotch has feelings for you and decides to deal with it (going to a psychiatrist)

drabble

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!fem!reader

content/tw: none i think?

a/n: a drabble no one asked for… yet, here i am. idek what is this… anyways… THANK YOU FOR 400 FOLLOWERS 😭❤️ i’m soooo happy sending much love to each and every one of you MWAH MWAH MWAH

dividers by @uzmacchiato

masterlist

“What brings you here today, Mr. Hotchner?” the psychiatrist asks, adjusting her large glasses up on her nose.

Hotch shifts on his seat, a frown forming on his features. The first thing that comes to his mind at that question is you. Your laugh, your glistening eyes, your smart mouth, your legs…

“I’m having a… problem. And I need it fixed.” his mouth barely moved. The psychiatrist stifled a sigh. He’s that kind of patient. Those who want instant solutions to many-decades old problems without giving a hint of what it’s about. Every professional’s personal favorite.

“Okay, then.” she hoped she sounded more excited than she felt “Why don’t we start with symptoms?” he nodded – yes, he could do that – “Are you having trouble breathing?”

“Sometimes.” she nodded, writing it down. It was a start, since there was nothing on his physical exams – which he brought on a fold, all labeled and laminated.

“How is your sleep schedule?”

“Not ideal.”

“Is this a regular thing or do you think your… problem… is causing that?”

“Both.”

The woman nodded, pressing her lips together and scribbling harder on her paper. Aaron fought the urge to ask what she was writing.

“How are your eating habits?”

“Fine. I’m eating less. I'm getting nauseous often.”

“Really?” she leans in, trying to hold onto every piece of information. He scratched the back of his head, not enjoying the attention.

“Yes. It’s affecting my work.”

“Why do you feel that?” she tilts her head to her side, and it takes all of his strength not to snap at her.

“Because it is. I’m getting slower. She’s frequently on my way.”

“She?”

“My coworker. She’s the problem.”

The woman nodded, trying not to sound too relieved to finally get some advance.

“So you’re having problems with a coworker.”

“That’s what I said, yes.” he muttered, trying once again not to be rude.

“Do you feel threatened by her?”

“No.”

“Does she disrespect you?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you feel angry at her?”

“I’m stressed.”

“Do you feel like getting violent towards her?”

“No, what do you think…” 

She raises a hand, interrupting him “Mr. Hotchner, I’m just trying to understand the root of the problem. I’m not her to judge you, I just need to get you diagnosed.”

He nodded, sighing loudly.

“So, you feel stressed, you don’t feel angry or violent. Can you specify the problem you’re having with her?”

“I’m having work-inappropriate problems.” he manages, his voice barely hearable.

“Mhm.” the psychiatrist hums “And she’s your subordinate?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think about being inappropriate with her?”

He keeps silent, looking everywhere but the woman before him “Yes.”

“Do you feel like using your position as her superior to get her to perform those inappropriate scenarios?”

Hotch frowns “Absolutely not. Everything we ever did was completely consensual.”

“Oh.” her eyes widened at that “So you have a relationship with your coworker. Are you having relationship problems?” “No. We’re not in a relationship, and I’m having problems.”

“You’re having problems with not being in a relationship with her?”

“No. We can’t have a relationship, that’s inappropriate.”

“So what happened between you…”

“It never happened in a work scenario.”

“It happened more than once?”

“Many times. Never in front of other people, especially at work.”

“So you have a casual relationship with her, and no one in your work knows.”

“Again, not a relationship,” he pointed out.

“Understood. So back to those problems you’re having. Trouble sleeping and eating, sometimes breathing. Do you get any other physical symptoms?”

“Sometimes trembling, heart palpitations and occasionally gastrointestinal distress.”

“And tell me, Mr. Hotchner, do any situations trigger those symptoms?”

His mind instantly flooded with images of you.

“She does.”

“She makes you feel like that? She’s causing all of those problems?”

“Exactly.”

The psychiatrist started to smile, her posture more easy going now, which didn’t sit right with Hotch.

“Do you feel stressed when she’s not around?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And nauseous when thinking about or seeing her interacting with any other men?”

“Yes.”

“Does the trouble sleeping have anything to do with you thinking about her?”

“Yes, doctor. That’s exactly what I said.” he sounded incredibly impatient.

She laughed, the sound making him want to stand up and walk out without looking back.

“Something funny?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hotchner. Can we talk more about those feelings?”

“Doctor, with all due respect.” he started, buttoning up his suit as if he was ready to stand. “I’m not here to talk about my feelings. I’m currently under a lot of stress, which is leading to a mental disorientation and it’s causing me physical symptoms. And I came here because I need something to help me.”

“I’m afraid no medicine will help you with that, Mr. Hotchner.” and before his already blushed face could explode like a cartoon scene, the professional explained with a large smile and glistening eyes “You’re in love with her.”

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8x17 - The Gathering

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a dilf saying “sweetheart.” 73 dead. 246 injured.

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I adore him <3

I can’t wait for may