SUITS AND SASS ; aaron hotchner x female medical examiner
you’re the bau’s new medical examiner, oozing dark humour, sass, and a killer sense of style, ready to shake up the team. but when you butt heads with aaron hotchner on day one, sparks fly while the rest of the team bets on how long it’ll take for you to win him over.
YOU STRUT into the BAU like you own the damn place, and honestly? You should. The overhead fluorescents do their best to wash out your glow, but even the most soul-sucking government lighting can’t dim this.
The emerald green suit hugs you in all the right places, a sharp contrast against the deep red silk blouse that’s unbuttoned just enough to toe the line between ‘professional’ and ‘distracting.’ Your heels which are Louboutin, naturally - click against the floor with every confident step, the sound sharp, decisive, commanding attention even from the most sleep-deprived agents around you. And your jewellery? Impeccable.
Large emerald studs in your ears, a matching ring resting on your manicured fingers. Each piece a carefully curated display of wealth, taste, and an undeniable presence. You don’t just walk into a room; you arrive, and anyone with half a brain can feel it.
Today is your first day as the BAU’s new medical examiner, and if you’re being honest? You’re already unimpressed. Not with the job itself because you live for the thrill of carving open a fresh corpse before most people have had their morning coffee, but the aesthetic of this place is tragic.
Beige walls, government-issue desks, the faint, ever-present smell of burnt coffee and bad decisions hanging in the air. It’s the kind of environment that breeds stress wrinkles and caffeine addictions, and you’ve already decided that you will not be another victim.
No, you’re here for something new. Something interesting. The only reason you transferred was because your last job had become boring, and you refuse to let your skills stagnate among mundane cases and lackluster conversation.
The BAU, at least, promises a bit of excitement—new cases, new killers, new mysteries to unravel. And, if nothing else, the chance to shake up an office full of straight-laced federal agents with your dark humour and sharp tongue.
The bullpen is exactly what you expected. Agents in various states of exhaustion, stacks of paperwork threatening to topple, and the subtle hum of tense conversation punctuated by the occasional ringing phone. It’s an atmosphere of constant movement, of minds working overtime, and while you appreciate the energy, you can’t help but sigh dramatically as you glance around.
“This place is hideous,” you mutter to yourself, brushing a speck of imaginary dust off your sleeve. “Jesus, does the FBI have something against interior design?”
And then you see her ... Penelope Garcia, dressed in an explosion of colour, exuding the kind of confidence that comes from knowing exactly who she is and not giving a damn what anyone thinks about it. Finally, someone with taste.
The second her eyes land on you, she lets out a dramatic gasp, one hand clutching at her necklace like she’s just seen the Virgin Mary herself descend into the bullpen. “Oh my God,” she breathes. “Who are you?”
You smirk, tilting your head just slightly. “The new medical examiner. And, from the looks of things, the only other person in this building with a sense of style.”
Her eyes sparkle like she’s just found a long-lost soulmate. “Oh, honey, we are going to be best friends.”
“Obviously,” you reply smoothly. “Someone needs to help me cope with the tragedy that is this office décor. Do you think the Bureau would let me expense a new couch? Maybe some curtains? Anything to make this place feel less like a funeral home for the aesthetically challenged.”
“Oh, sweetie, they barely let me expense my glitter pens. You’re asking for a miracle.”
Before you can reply, a voice cuts through the air. Sharp, authoritative, and entirely unimpressed. “You’re late.”
You turn slowly, already knowing that this is going to be fun.
Aaron Hotchner stands before you, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but his eyes intense, scanning you like he’s already profiling your entire existence. And damn if he isn’t gorgeous. You hadn’t expected that. The way his suit fits just right, the sharp angles of his face, the sheer command he exudes—it’s almost enough to distract you from the fact that he’s clearly about to be a pain in your ass.
Almost.
You blink at him, deliberately slow, before glancing at the large digital clock on the wall. “It’s 8:59.”
His jaw tightens just slightly. “We start at eight.”
You sigh, placing a perfectly manicured hand over your heart as if this news has wounded you. “Oh, tragic. If only someone had told me that I was expected to conform to the outdated concept of ‘morning people.’” You let out a dramatic sigh. “Next thing you’ll tell me is that I’m expected to function without proper espresso. What kind of barbarism is this?”
There’s a pause, the kind that suggests Hotch is not used to being spoken to like this. Behind him, you catch the subtle exchange of money. Morgan handing Reid a few bills, Emily shaking her head with an amused smirk. Oh, they were betting on this. Good. At least someone in this building understands entertainment.
Hotch, to his credit, doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he exhales, slow and controlled, the only sign that you’re even remotely testing his patience. “Garcia, show her around the building.”
“Oh, I absolutely will,” she says, looping her arm through yours like this is the best thing to happen to her all day.
As you walk away, you can feel his eyes on you—calculating, assessing, already irritated. You turn your head just slightly, meeting his gaze with a slow smirk.
“He’ll recover,” you murmur to Garcia, low enough that only she hears.
She giggles, glancing back at him before whispering, “Oh, I hope not.”
Hotch watches you go, pressing his lips together as he forces himself to look away. You’re impossible. He already knows you’re going to be a problem, and the worst part? He can’t decide if that frustrates him… or intrigues him.
The promised hcs for our favourite hot dilf Aaron Hotchner 🤭 I hope you guys like them, it's gonna be a little lengthy and I've divided them between Basic, SFW Dating and NSFW.. Minors please don't interact with the nsfw content.
–Basic–
Hotch would be the type of guy who listens to classical music around the team, but once he's alone in his personal car, he has a whole collection of CDs in his glove box of his favourite bands and albums (The Beatles, etc.)
He'd also listen to audiobooks during long drives home. The genre can vary between the classics or just a light novel.
A huge overpacker. He packs the essentials during cases, but if the trip is personal, he packs almost everything – sunscreen, mosquito repellent, a map, extra batteries, a flashlight, etc. You'll never know if it might come in handy
Dad instincts are strong af, will know something is wrong before it happens
Wakes up at the crack of dawn. Became a habit after working so long in the BAU
Hotch is overall a light sleeper. Mostly because of emergencies or sudden calls from the BAU
The king of overworking. Before Haley died, he used to work so much that he got nosebleeds. He does it less now and spends more time with Jack than with paperwork.
Likes his coffee black with two teaspoons of sugar. He doesn't like it too sweet but isn't bitter either.
He most probably had a secret rockstar phase in his teens. Crazy shoulder-length hair, studded belts, band tees and EYELINER. Stopped after he became a junior in high school though.
Used to blame himself for failing to save the victims during his early years in the field. He tries to remember every person he failed to save in the past and compensate by saving more while being calm and tactful.
Spends a lot of time with Jack during the weekends. He's trying to make up for lost time after being so busy with his job than being a father. They would go on road trips, and theme parks and would do a whole lot just to see his son smile.
Hotch would unironically start drinking apple or pineapple juice after Jack just asked him to. Just for no reason at all.
He gets horrible migraines because of staying up late and not getting enough rest.
-SFW Dating-
When the two of you just started dating, he wasn't 100% sure of it because 1. your age gap (reader would be in her mid-20s) and 2. The fraternization rule in the Bureau.
The both of you kept the whole thing a secret for about four months until the team figured it out on a random Tuesday.
"I- I mean it was pretty obvious from how Hotch was hovering over you all the time and the ways his stoic face softens when he addresses you. Not to forget the way his pupils dilate-" "That's enough Reid."
When you were gonna meet Jack for the first time, you were quite nervous about it, but Aaron reassured you that he'd love you (and the little dude did).
Hotch would try to take you on dates, but it was kind of hard with your hectic schedules.
So it would usually be movie nights at his place along with some takeout dinner after putting Jack to bed.
It took Hotch a while to open up to you, but you were there to support him and he was worth the wait.
Picks you up for work and drives you home even if you told him that it was okay and you had your own car, he insisted on driving you home and seeing you get there safely.
Brings you coffee and something sweet from the cafe. It's his way of telling you he cares about you without the team teasing you after he goes into his office.
He would start to think irrationally after finding out you got hurt during a case. He wouldn't be able to think straight on the way to the hospital and blurted a mumbled 'I love you' while putting pressure onto your wound.
When you sleep over at his place, he loves seeing you wear his old college T-shirts.
Hotch thinks about Haley a lot and feels guilty for it, but you understand that she was his first love and he peppers you with soft kisses to apologize.
"I'm sorry, Sweetheart... I know I shouldn't be thinking about what could have been and focus on what is.. I'll do better, I promise.."
Calls you to his office sternly as if you were in trouble but in reality, he just wants you for himself in the office for a little while.
His heart clenched yet light when Jack asked him if you were going to be his new mommy.
Pet names would be rare when it comes to him. What really matters is when he calls you by your name. But the occasional 'Sweetheart' and 'Darling' might slip out.
He shows you his unserious side. It was a whole 180 for you and it made you fall for him even more. He's an adorable dork.
Even if the two of you are dating, there's a fine line between being together behind closed doors and pure professionalism. Hotch is still your superior and there wouldn't be any special treatment even if you were his significant other.
But when he realizes he gets too rough with you he will apologize in private after the case.
His love language is quality time, so he tries to be around you and Jack as much as he can.
Cheesy pickup lines to try and make you laugh during a hard day. Only in private though.
Knows what to do when you're on your period. He'll bring a heating pad, warm fuzzy blankets, your favourite snacks and painkillers.
NSFW UNDER THE CUT MINORS DNI!!!
-NSFW Dating-
• The sex is incredible. Hotch knows all the right places to hit and how to give you a godly amount of orgasms.
• He starts out slow, letting you get used to the stretch and how much he's filling you up. You can practically feel his cock in your throat from how full you feel.
• Gentle feather-like kisses on your forehead, telling you how good you feel around him while starting to move his hips at a quicker pace.
• From slow, gentle thrusts, it changes into something more primal and rough. As if he were lashing out all his frustrations from work into your tight, little pussy, trying to fuck you into next week.
• And he does it well. He fucks you senseless until you're coming on his cock multiple times before he finishes and spills his cum into the condom he's wearing.
• He just loves fucking you in the missionary position, because he sees how your face contorts in pleasure.
• The first time the two of you slept together was at your place after a really stressful case and the two of you had a drink too many.
• Obviously, Hotch was still a bit sober but you were out of it. He wouldn't do anything without your consent, but you had dragged him into your bedroom and things got heated.
• Bruised your cervix one too many times. The two of you rarely have any sex but if you do, you go all out. He apologises with an amazing bath and breakfast in bed.
• Amazing aftercare. He'll take care of you after the both of you are done, even if he's tired. He'd always clean you up, get you a glass of water and press soft kisses on your shoulders. Cuddling and whispered confessions under messy sheets.
• Not a big fan of having sex in public spaces. He needs privacy when he's trying to fuck and pleasure you.
• But he does know about the dirty fantasies you have about getting fucked on his desk. He's seen the books read and articles you look up. Not like you could've hidden it from him anyway.
• He fulfills those fantasies to the best of his capabilities when no one's left in the office and it's just the two of you. He looks through the last of his files, calls you to his office and closes the door.
• His tie was loose, sleeves rolled up, revealing his forearms. His hair was slightly dishevelled as if he ran his fingers through them multiple times.
• Hotch makes you suck his cock until you're gagging, being a little rougher on you. Then he got you splayed on his desk, pushing your pencil skirt up and ripping your stockings by the crotch area.
• When he noticed how wet you got, he smirked, moving the gussets of your panties to the side. He then flicked your sensitive clit, making you whimper as slick gushed out your weeping hole.
• “You like this, don't you, sweetheart? Lying on my desk, messing up my paperwork with your slutty pussy?”
• He's not the type to degrade you, but if you really wanted to he would. But he wouldn't go too far with the insults.
• He's a switch. Since he's usually dominant in most of his everyday life, Hotch lets you take over once in a while.
• Loves going down on you. He likes loosening your tight hole with his mouth and savours the taste of your essence on his tongue.
• Hotch goes weak when you go down on him even if he doesn't ask you to. Praises and soft grunts.
• Isn't the type to be loud. Mostly pants and let's out soft groans when your pussy convulses around his shaft.
• Loves hearing you whine his name and complain how deep he is.
• Once he saw you looking at a site involving different positions, but the one that piqued his interest the most was the mating press.
• Was curious and wanted to try it with you. Hotch was too riled up to put on a condom that night and filled you up to the brim, having you pressed into the mattress, your calves over his shoulders as he buried himself deeper, hitting so many new places that it made you see white.
[A/N: Highly recommend listening to “Not Afraid Anymore” from Fifty Shades Darker while reading what’s under the cut 😘 Enjoy, my fellow Hotch sluts 😈🖤]
“Oracle of Quantico,” Penelope’s voices rings out clearly through the car, “speak and be heard.”
“Hey, baby girl,” Derek croons from his spot next to you in the driver’s seat, and you chime in, “Hi, Pen! Can you do some digging for me?”
“Can I- Y/N Y/L/N,” she admonishes playfully, and you share a knowing smile with Derek. “How long have you been with this team now? You know I’m a digital shovel. Give me a name, date, or a hint of nefarious activity, and I shall reveal all, my love.”
“It’s, uh, the local sheriff,” you confess through a grimace. “Wilson. Who invited us in. I think he’s involved with the sole witness we can’t seem to find. So don’t send anything to their office, just call us or Hotch, okay?”
“Oh, you smart little cookie, you’ve got it. PG out.”
Derek shakes his head before flicking on the turn signal and pulling over at the newest crime scene. “You’re sure about the picture you saw, Y/L/N?”
“No doubt,” you assure him. “I just need Garcia to find me proof that he can’t deny.”
“If it’s there to be found, she’ll find it,” he answers, turning the Suburban off and pausing with his fingers tucked into the car door handle. “But these small town cops are just gonna hate us even more once we prove your theory right.”
“Oh no,” you deadpan, “however will we go on without their respect and admiration?” You hop out of the SUV, not missing the way Derek rolls his eyes before following you across the lawn to grab a pair of gloves from the forensics team and head inside the latest victim’s house.
Several minutes later, you’re examining the contents of the shelves in the living room when your phone rings, and Penelope animatedly confirms what you suspected earlier today. You enter the bedroom where Hotch is analyzing the scene with a critical eye and gently grasp his elbow to guide him away from the primary crime scene- and earshot of Sheriff Wilson.
“What is it?” he murmurs softly, resisting the urge to pluck your bottom lip out from where your teeth are nervously gnawing on it, keenly aware of the local law enforcement’s prying eyes. When you don’t respond immediately, he prompts, “Y/N?”
“Pen and I found something,” you answer. “And you’re not gonna like it.”
You share the information with Aaron in hushed tones, and his brow grows more furrowed the longer you talk. When you finish with a deep breath, he turns on his heel to chew out the officer, but looks back at you before walking away. Taking a quick peek around to make sure you’re alone, he pecks your lips and commends your intuition with a soft smile.
If you had a tail, it would be wagging right about now.
“I don’t have to listen to this!” Sheriff Wilson explodes out of the bedroom, Hotch hot on his heels as they head toward the front yard. You follow after, fingers twitching at your side and ready to draw your gun when you see other officers taking an interest in their heated conversation, fiery eyes set on your boss- but more importantly in this moment, the man you love.
“Everybody just take it easy,” you counsel, grateful when you feel Derek’s solid form now pressing against your arm. Hotch meets the sheriff’s ire with an eerie calm, speaking too low for you to hear. An eerie calm, that is, until Wilson says something clearly so egregious that Aaron barks, “Get off my crime scene, Sheriff, before I have you charged with obstruction of justice.”
The entire neighborhood seems to fall silent; the birds cease chirping, the wind stops rustling through the trees, the local officers slink away from the altercation, and the sheriff opens his mouth to respond, but no words form on his stunned lips. He stalks off to his police cruiser in a huff, and Aaron turns back to instruct Derek to follow him and find out where the witness is.
You, on the other hand, are frozen in place, in awe of the raw power and authority emanating from your imposing man. Your erratic heartbeat thrums between your legs, and if you had even a shred less of self-respect, you would fall to your knees right now to worship Aaron like he deserves.
Instead, you swallow down the saliva pooling in your mouth at the phantom taste of him on your tongue and follow him back into the house to continue cataloguing the crime scene.
Your hunger will have to wait.
—————
“Fuck, I’m so glad to be leaving this town tomorrow,” Aaron confesses as the hotel room door clicks shut behind you. He turns to find you blindly following him further into the room, a vacant expression on your face, though your eyes track his every move. “Honey, what is it?” His brows draw together in concern while he tugs at his tie. You watch his fingers work their way into the knot to undo it, and your tongue darts out to wet your lips while the embers that’ve been burning in your lower belly for days flare to life. “Honey?” Aaron tries again, genuinely growing worried now. “Do you feel sick? Or did one of those assholes say something to you to get back at me? Just tell me what’s wrong and I’ll-”
“No, Aaron,” you finally blurt out. “I’m just- I need you,” you confess softly, wringing your hands.
He cocks an eyebrow, and you know immediately that he understands your meaning but is choosing to toy with you now. “I’m right here, sweetheart.”
“No, Aaron,” you repeat, more forcefully this time. “I need you.” Finally, after days of suppressing your desire, you snap and push him to sit on the edge of the bed so you can straddle his lap, a soft gasp escaping your parted lips when your skirt rides up enough to let you feel the heat of him through your already wet panties. You start grinding on him in earnest, rocking your hips against the zipper of his slacks in search of some kind of reprieve from the persistent ache between your legs. It’s not enough, and you tell him as much amid a whine.
“Oh god,” you keen breathily, “oh fuck, I need more.” His tie already loosened, you tug the loop of fabric over his head and toss it behind you, then pop open the top few buttons of his shirt and mouth hungrily at his chest, moaning at the salt on his skin from chasing down the unsub earlier. You suck a few possessive marks into his skin, whimpering at the feeling of him growing hard beneath you from your repetitive motions, and slide your hands into his hair for a better grip.
Then you feel Aaron’s strong hand on the nape of your neck, pulling you back and forcing you to detach your swollen lips from his chest, now marred with teeth marks from your desperation. He tucks his index finger under your chin and lifts your head up to find tears welling in your eyes and your bottom lip trembling. “Why are you pouting, sweet girl?” The condescension in his tone and the weight of the power he holds over you sends another wave of arousal pooling between your already slick thighs. “Are you feeling empty?”
You blink slowly, and traitorous tears roll down your cheeks when you drop your head into a nod with a pathetic sniffle. He takes pity on you and slides his thumb into your mouth, allowing you to suck on it and gratefully swirl your tongue around the thick digit as you start grinding on him again. Then he runs his thumb down your chin leaving a cooling trail of your own spit on your heated skin before dipping his hand under your skirt to press his thumb against the embarrassingly wet spot on your panties. Your head falls back and your mouth drops open, but no sound comes out as your brain short circuits. You’re practically vibrating at this point, so utterly desperate for him, and he laughs darkly at your need which only serves to turn you on even more. “How long have you been thinking about this, hm?”
“Since-” You swallow down the saliva flooding your mouth before mustering up the resolve to continue. “Since you yelled at the sheriff,” you confess softly, and he chuckles again.
“Oh, you poor thing,” Aaron tuts. “That was days ago.”
You let out a startled squeak when he roughly grabs your hips and deposits you on the bed without warning. His large hands tuck into the dip of your shirt and then he’s ripping it open, buttons flying in all directions. He flips you over with no semblance of tenderness and you let out a gasp, one of his hands unclasping your bra while the other tugs down the zipper at the back of your pencil skirt.
Suddenly you’re on your back again, and within the span of a few seconds you’re laid bare before a fully clothed Aaron, sans tie and the few buttons of his shirt you managed to fumble open earlier. You stare up at his towering figure in awe, your breath coming in short pants that match the heaving of his chest, the only sign that he’s as turned on as you are.
Then he’s undoing his belt buckle, and your walls flutter at the thought of what’s coming next. “Yes, oh yes, please, please, please,” you beg breathily, squeezing your eyes shut and fisting the sheets at the telltale sound of Aaron’s zipper opening.
He slides his cock through your folds to gather your wetness then presses just the tip in, and you release a downright pornographic moan at the sensation. Aaron ever so gently rests his hand on your throat and squeezes once to get your attention, waiting for your bleary eyes to focus on his face before shushing you softly. “Everyone’s rooms are nearby and they need to rest, so you have to be quiet, okay, angel? Can you do that for me?”
Somewhere in the back of your fuzzy brain, you realize he didn’t say anything about caring if your team can hear how much pleasure he wrings out of you. He just wants to ensure your friends can get their much needed sleep after a trying case.
But then you hone in on the throbbing between your legs again, and you remember he’s waiting for an answer. You’re so desperate for him to be inside you that you’d say yes to anything he asked right now, so you nod vigorously, biting down on your lip and squeezing your eyes shut once more. He smiles proudly and says, “That’s my good girl.” Aaron presses his other hand to your lower belly and finally, finally slides into you agonizingly slowly while reverently professing, “You look so good when you’re full of me.”
You’re helpless to do anything but nod again because he’s right, of course he’s right. This is when you feel the most beautiful, feel entirely whole and complete, when you’re being worshipped by and getting to worship Aaron Hotchner.
You let out a whimper that your partner intuits as a plea for him to move, and he begins slowly thrusting in and out of your wet heat, the hand on your stomach keeping you keenly aware of just how big he is with each drive of his hips. Aaron squeezes your throat gently, and somewhere in the back of your mind you know that means he wants your eyes on him. You lift your heavy-lidded gaze to his, weighed down by lust and love, to find him watching your every micro-expression and easily reading your reactions. He can feel what angle, what speed, what pressure makes your body sing, and he hits all the right spots as he gradually picks up his pace. The bite of his metal belt buckle against the back of your thigh with each roll of his hips reminds you that he’s still fully dressed while you’re stark naked and completely at his mercy, and the power dynamic has you clenching around him, doing everything you can to be as close to him as possible.
By this point, you’re a hiccuping, crying, desperate mess, and when Aaron releases his hold on your throat to grip your hip instead, you choke out a plea of, “Harder.”
“More, baby?” he asks between pants, and you whimper, “Please, daddy, please.”
Aaron lifts your ankle onto his shoulder to get an even deeper angle, pressing his hand down more forcefully against your stomach so he can feel himself moving inside of you with every thrust. He picks up speed until you can’t even cry his name anymore, just little gasps knocking out of you each time his hips meet yours.
Seeking better leverage, he pauses his worship of your body to slide you higher up on the bed so he can brace himself against the wall with his right arm. The change in angle and power of his thrusts has you seeing stars, your hands fisting in his hair in an attempt to anchor yourself to the real world. “My good girl,” he punctuates each word with a hard thrust, a sheen of sweat coating his forehead and a few errant strands of hair falling into his face.
You can’t say anything back, rendered dumbstruck by his expert ministrations, so Aaron carries on with his adoration. “In the field and in my bed, hm? My good little girl. All mine.”
His words are getting breathier by the minute, morphing into whimpers of pleasure that mimic your own, and you start crying harder knowing he’s about to really fill you up. He leans down to lick your tears off your cheeks and you shudder underneath him, raking your nails down his back and clinging to him for dear life.
When you feel his thick cock twitch inside of you, you start babbling, “Yes, yes, yes, give it to me, daddy. Please, oh god, please fucking breed me.” Your desperate command turns out to be Aaron’s undoing, and the feeling of him painting your walls with a surprised gasp has you clamping down around him, every nerve in your body firing at once as an indescribable orgasm rips through you. Despite the muscles in his legs spasming, Aaron continues fucking you through it, evidently trying to make good on your request.
Spent and satiated, Aaron eases out of you, giving you a quick cleanup and shedding himself of his clothes before climbing into bed to help you back down to earth. He pulls you into his lap and dries your tears, dotting gentle kisses along your cheeks, neck, and shoulders. You wrap your limbs around his body, clinging to him, and Aaron rubs your back until you calm down and your hiccups subside to deep breaths instead.
Ever so quietly, he asks, “Better, my baby?” You nod your head where it’s resting in the crook of his neck and murmur, “Thank you, Aaron. I needed that. Needed you so badly.”
“Anything you need, princess, you know that.” There's a thoughtful pause and then, “We’ll talk about that… new thing later. After a good night’s rest.” You’re grateful he turned off the light before getting into bed because a blush warms your cheeks at the memory. Even though he can’t see your face, he knows you’re getting shy and emits a soft laugh. “If you couldn’t tell, I loved it,” Aaron reassures you, then presses his lips to your temple.
He settles back into the bed with you in his arms, running his fingers through your hair to further calm your breathing. “Now get some sleep,” he orders gently. “If you really want me to make you a mama, you need to rest before we practice again tomorrow morning.”
