you know that my train could take you home

[aaronsguccitie]

Helloo, welcome to my side blog!! <3 I’ll be reblogging and (hopefully) posting fics on here so think of this as an archive of fics lol

If you’d like your daily dose of hotchniss—or my delusions and occasional yapping—check out my main blog @em-prentiss <3 (if you don’t ship them I literally do not want to hear it thanks)

I do love to talk, so if you’re bored, pop in my inbox and let’s chat!

Masterlist <3

[luveline]

Can we perhaps have more of Hotch and Spencer's Shy older sister???

hotch knows he shouldn’t flirt but he can’t really help himself! fem, 1.3k

Aaron’s used to rushing around. He has so little time and so much to do, he spends the majority of his life trying to cram it to capacity. But the half an hour of therapy he forced himself to sit through with the BAU psychologist did unfortunately shed some light on what this is doing to his head —he’s more prone to panicking now than he was ten years ago. He keeps his head at work because he has to, but the fact of the matter is that there will be moments where he can’t choose if he doesn’t look after himself better. 

So. Today Aaron is looking for clothes. Some for himself and some for Jack, and it’s alright if it takes him four hours. All he has to do is get them some summer shorts and get Jack some new underclothes now he’s growing again, and afterwards he’ll go to the butchers for some fresh beef to grind, so he and Jack can make burgers when he’s home from his Aunt Jess’. 

Unfortunately, Aaron is bored out of his mind. He has a basket full of all the things he’d needed, having found what he needed methodically, and now he’s remembered he’s supposed to be relaxing as he's perusing the aisles. There isn’t much relaxing about department stores. A baby cries in a stroller across the room, a clerk slides hangers over a squeaking rail, and an annoying gentleman flirts over loud somewhere to the right. 

“Let me take you out for coffee.” 

Aaron turns the price tag on a sweatshirt and glares at it. Why should a plain black sweatshirt cost forty seven dollars? Jack will only have it for the year. It has about twenty good wears in it. 

“What do you say, sweetheart? Can we go for coffee?” 

Aaron lifts his head before you’ve opened your mouth to speak. He’s surprised to see it’s you, a Reid, nervously disposed as your brother, shifting from one foot onto another. “It’s a nice offer–”

You’re spoken over. “What do you like, matcha? Ice coffee?” 

Your lips are turning down. “I’m sorry, I–” Aaron can feel your panic, poor shy girl. He’s met you a handful of times with your brother in company, and each time you’ve melted under the attention, flustered, and somehow Aaron can tell this is different. “I’m married.” 

It’s obvious that you’re not being truthful. Your tone is high-strung, and it doesn’t perturb the unnamed man one bit. “Are you sure?” he asks with a laugh. “You don’t sound sure.” 

Aaron can’t confess to liking that. 

If a woman doesn’t want you to flirt with her, you shouldn’t. If she says she has a boyfriend, whether that seems true or untrue, you leave her alone. These are basic rules, easily followed, and easier still not to laugh at you. No, you won’t be laughed at. 

Aaron clears his throat, cutting the man’s laugh short, and worsening your panic for the few seconds where you don’t know who he is. You tip your head to him and there, he can see the thread of recognition. There’s pleasure to be found in the relief in your eyes, but Aaron puts it out of his mind. “She’s sure,” he says simply. 

“Aaron,” you say. 

“Found it,” Aaron says, presenting you with the forty-seven dollar sweatshirt, proud when you take it. “He’ll grow out of it by Christmas, but Mrs. Lundy can finally leave us alone about him having clothes for soft play.”

You play your part, inspecting the sweatshirt with a narrowed brow. “It seems a bit short for Jack?” 

Aaron gives your flirting man a look. Sorry buddy, it says, though he isn’t sorry at all. You’re firmly taken. 

“Well, I tried,” he says. 

Aaron snorts. 

You wait for the man to leave before letting your shoulders drop, rubbing your forehead with the back of your hand. “Ah, I’m sorry,” you say. “I’m so bad at saying no.”

“Do you really think that’s too short for Jack?” he asks. 

You raise your gaze. “Well, when I last saw him he was at my hip. That looks like it’d fit him and all, but not when he raises his arms? I don’t know, though, I’m not a mom.” 

You could be, thinking about the arm raising. It’s something he should’ve thought about himself. “I didn’t want to pay for it, anyhow,” he says, sliding it onto a random rack with a small apology in mind for whoever has to put it back. “I hope my intrusion was warranted.” 

“You probably think I’m a bad person. I should’ve been honest.” 

“For lying? You can be married if you want. It’s not really his business.” 

You seem to remember then that you’re intimidated by him, no matter how hard Aaron might try to put you at ease (though, to be fair to you, the last time you’d met Aaron had been flirting) (only because you’d had a crush on him all those years ago when Spencer settled into his new job and you’d came into Virginia to make sure of it). Your hand drifts to your neck and you look pointedly away from the women’s underwear behind you. 

“Uh, so– so how are you?” you ask. 

“I’m good, honey,” he says, entrenched in a fondness for you that’s far more endeared than pitying. “I thought I better come and get Jack some summer clothes without him hanging off of my arm. How are you? How are you settling in?” 

You’d finally made the move to be with Spencer a few months ago. You have your own apartment near his in Washington D.C, and Aaron hasn’t had any opportunity to see you beyond a few lunchtime visits. “It’s good to see you,” he says, giving you little time to answer his questions. 

Your answer is quiet, but not without genuineness. “It’s good to see you too, Aaron.” 

“And you’re alright?” 

“I’m fine.” You offer a smile that melts him to the bone, has him thinking oh, maybe I’m in more trouble than I first thought. “I start my new job on Monday.”

“Really? Where are you working?” 

Before he’s realised, you and Aaron have spent a half an hour standing in one place. Not the kind of chatter you can’t get away from: he is delighting in making you smile, and then laugh. If you weren’t Spencer’s sister, if he hadn’t just saved you from an untimely suitor, Aaron believes he’s grown enough to ask you out, making his intentions and affections clear, because you’re very cute. But you are Spencer’s sister, and you’d already found yourself trapped today by somebody who couldn’t take a hint. 

“Sorry,” you’re saying, “I’ve kept you,” and you’re still flustered, but it’s more of a glow now than a frazzled halo, beaming delight at holding his attention. If you only knew. “I’ll leave you to finish your shopping.” 

“It’s alright, I kept you too.” 

“Do you have a busy day?” you ask. 

“Not really. I have to pick Jack up later… But nothing else.” 

You both seem to teeter on the edge of the question, the possibility of what he could ask you, or what you could ask him if you weren’t so shy. He knows you won’t be able to. 

You let the quiet settle for just long enough for Aaron to know what you want. Spencer’s sister and invented marriage included. You aren’t making conversation and neither is he, because… 

“Would you want to grab a coffee?” he asks, chipper, to mask his nerves. 

You smile shyly. Your eyes dart to his hands, reminding him suddenly of the you he’d met years ago, timid sweetheart just a few years older than her genius brother and used to hiding in his shadow regardless, Gideon’s reluctantly amused observation: She’s sweet on you?

You aren’t as all-consumingly timid now. Still shy. Still sweet on him, it seems. “Yes,” you say, meeting his eyes from under lashes he’d like to feel beneath his fingertip, “I want to.” 

[lexithwrites]

i can't read remus lupin as anything other than the most gentle soul, and im not trying to make him 'boring' by doing this but he just,,,isn't mean. he isn't a pushover or naive, but he will never raise his voice unless he has to, he's never aggressive or nasty or bitchy, he probably covers his ears when other people are gossiping. he's a gentle giant that walks around with a cane and a knee brace on his worst days and the sweetest smile on his best, he loves listening to music and playing video games and reading and writing and he LOVES learning even if he isn't the best at paying attention and has to take countless notes. he's the most loyal friend, he loves buying people gifts and is so shocked when he gets a gift in return, he remembers every little thing about sirius and uses it for birthdays and anniversaries, he likes tidying his flat and humming songs to himself, he likes taking the bus, he likes serving elderly customers at his cafe and helping kids carry over their cakes and drinks, he carries change for the homeless, he will always offer to walk someone home, he gets giggly and sleepy when he's drunk, he's so attentive during sex he will always want to do better and he's addicted to making sirius feel good, he's an AMAZING kisser to the point that everyone is jealous of sirius tbh, he wears too big jumpers and folds the sleeves up because otherwise they get in the way, he loves coffee and hot chocolate and baking the recipes his mum showed him, he visits his parents every sunday for a roast dinner and always brings over flowers for them to put on the table, remus lupin is an angel.

[allllium]

☾ Best Remus Lupin Fics on Tumblr ☆

> Fluff <

Period Pains

I'm Your Boyfriend

Skin

Shy!Remus

Whimsical

↳ [ @moonstruckme ]

Little Family

Full Moon Drabble

↳ [ @wasteddmoondust ]

It's Blue the Feeling I've got

↳ [ @jamespottersdaisy ]

Drunk

Sunshine!Reader

↳ [ @luveline ]

Kiss

Whipped

↳ [ @bruisedboys ]

Shy!Reader ~ [ @daenysx ]

Lazy Sunday Morning ~ [ @gtgbabie0 ]

No Boundaries ~ [ @ddejavvu ]

Sore ~ [ @ellecdc ]

Missed Hints ~ [ @empress-simps ]

Scars ~ [ @crimsntwlip ]

Kisses as Payment ~ [ @diwatopia ]

Lunar Possession ~ [ @jasmines-library ]

Anxious!Reader ~ [ @madwcman ]

Drabble ~ [ @contrarinshiit ]

Annoying Serenading ~ [ @shiftermia ]

Infatuated ~ [ @fourmoony ]

Touch Starved ~ [ @gtgbabie0 ]

Introduction to the Son ~ [ @starzqzi ]

Never His ~ [ @weasleykisses ]

> Hurt/Comfort <

It's Nice to Have a Friend

Sweet Nothing

↳ [ @jamespottersdaisy ]

Migraine ~ [ @moonstruckme ]

Blue Moon ~ [ @ellecdc ]

Unconditionally ~ [ @sarahisslytherin ]

Snappy ~ [ @luveline ]

[langdonfiles]

-> Lari's Infinite Playlist

pairing: remus x gn!reader

summary: remus dances with you to take your mind off of things.

word count: 475

content heads-up: fluff + angst undertones. established relationship. second pov with no use of y/n. set in '81.

author's note: harrione dancing inspired me.

Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to stay home, you two alone in a time like this wasn't always the best: Two quiet souls, still learning not to hold everything in, still too used to hiding the pain.

Sirius had left a few hours before. You hadn't heard from Peter in a while, James and Lily were safe somewhere new you didn't know where with their one year old Harry, but something heavy weighted the air around you even with your eyes closed, head on your lover's lap as his finger rubbed against your cheek mindlessly.

You were uneasy, and so was Remus. Not knowing where the Potters were was hard enough, but after Mary passed... There was a taste of hopelessness, helplessness, to the cold air you both were so familiar with.

Remus touches your forehead with his lips, a chaste kiss that makes you take a deep breath with a smile, your eyes now open to meet his, always filled with the same devotion you felt for him, stared right back to you.

"Stop thinking." He says it softly, but he isn't asking, he's telling you, demanding you to stop and that causes you to laugh at him in earnest, "I'm serious!"

"No, darling, you're Remus." It's a lame joke you save up specially for tense moments. It cracks him up every time by how lame is.

The radio hums in the background, a muggle station Sirius and Dorcas hated with passion. There are good muggle stations, that's not it!

You and Remus loved it, there were always some quiet romantic songs, good to fill the space as you read, crocheted or wrote.

He taps on your thigh, telling you to get up, you do it with a groan and watches as he waves his wand, the song getting louder by the command.

You tilt your head, eyebrow raised in suspicion. Remus ignores it completely, pulling up to him with both his hands, earning another laughter from you, along with a high pitched yelp.

Dancing wasn't something you did often, Remus was shy and always told you he couldn't dance, and how watching you was much more fun for him. Still his hands were on your waist as soon as he guided yours to his shoulders.

Remus always smells nice and you let him lead, laying your head on his chest. He moves slowly, almost awkwardly.

You swear he almost steps on your feet more than once, but it makes you smile.

He laughs loudly when you try to spin him around, it's the first time in weeks you've felt weightless, as if everything could be solved as long as you had him to dance with.

You both barely notice the song ending, only realizing when a voice came through.

And that was the Top 10 songs for today, enjoy your Halloween, everyone!

[luveline]

Hi love your work. I was wondering if you could do a role reversal of the bombshell!reader under anesthesia? One where Aaron woke up and has forgotten he's married to reader so is shocked at her affection (not in a bad way), he just can't believe this beautiful woman is flirting with snd comforting him?

thank you for requesting! fem

Aaron is woken by a soft, displeased hum. 

He pries sticky eyes apart to peek at the source, a woman his junior with a tray table wheeled in front of her. You have neat hands, clipped nails painted softest pink, a ring on your marriage finger, and a little pearl necklace that’s fallen free of your collar to swing as you pen a letter. No, not a letter. A case file. 

You’re a police officer? 

He turns the other way, hoping for a more familiar face, but the only inhabitants of the room are you, him, and his pounding headache. A groan slips past his lips unbidden, Aaron watching in real time as you look up like he’s shocked you. You turn sympathetic and softer, somehow, your face plucking a weird string in his chest. It’s almost like deja vu, but Aaron would remember being looked at like this. 

“You okay?” you ask quietly. 

He clears his throat. “What happened?” he asks hoarsely. Clearing his throat a second time proves more successful. “What happened?” 

“You were struck hard in the back of the head with a rifle. A few times, actually. Luckily nothing broke, but you have a cut and a bruise like nobody’s business. Try not to touch.” 

“What about the team?” 

He realises with a start that he can’t remember who he means. Were the team actually with him? Dave had been there, right? Derek? 

“Reid sprained his wrist. Everyone else is fine.” 

Reid, you said, and not Dr. Reid. Aaron frowns deeply, the headache a full, eye-deep pain that worsens when he props himself up on his elbows. 

You watch him carefully. After a moment, you push the table away from you and get up, turning to sit on his bed. He doesn’t let his eyes widen, not even as you place your hand on his stomach, imploring in your gentleness, leaning in to see him better. In that moment, you might be the most beautiful woman Aaron has ever seen; his heart does a great whirl, picking up its pace. He has just enough capacity to recognise how lucky he is to be detached from any observational tech. 

“What’s worrying you, Aaron?” you ask, thumb rubbing a line into the skin just below his stomach. A butterfly like a hawk beats behind your touch. “You have that strange pinch between your eyebrows.” You draw a line up his stomach, showing him how they’re pulled up. He must look near tears as you go. “You only get that when you’re scared, but everyone’s fine, I promise.” 

He must know you. You clearly know him, your tone alone settling his heart while his mind races. 

“You won’t be out of the field long, and you know I can do it for you while you’re gone. I’m capable,” you say. 

“You are,” he says. He’s telling the truth, though he doesn’t know how. 

You shuffle further up the bed. Aaron sits properly, forcing your hand to fall. You clasp his thigh on instinct, and that tumultuous zing of deja vu washes over him again. 

“You have the worst luck, handsome,” you murmur, rubbing at his leg, soothing him without thinking. 

“I…” He trails off as he catches sight of your wedding band. Silver-gold, a pear-shaped 3.00ct diamond. He chose it on a whim. Aaron nearly swallows his own tongue as he looks up, the memory of it not quite connecting to you. You. 

“What?” you ask. 

“You’re being so quiet,” he asks. 

“Well, you gave me a bad scare,” you say, leaning in further, unafraid to breathe his air. “I thought I lost you. It was terrifying.” 

The breathlessness in your confession is a barb. He grabs your hand where it lays and squeezes accordingly. “That won’t happen,” he promises. 

You turn your hand into his, slotting your fingers together deftly. “Do you remember me now, Hotchner?” you ask. 

He looks you straight in the eye. He doesn’t remember you, not really. But he remembers the size of your fingers threaded through his, and he remembers how nervous he’d tried not to be when he bought that ring, and he remembers your hand warming his thigh in the car every morning. 

“Almost,” he says. His breath catches. “You’re beautiful,” he says. 

“You said something similar the first time you woke up. I blamed the morphine for your puppy-eyes, but…” You smile at him fondly. “I don’t think you’re drugged enough to say it and not mean it, now.” 

“I mean it,” he says, nodding. “Of course I mean it.”

“I know.” You kiss his cheek. 

“Will you tell me your name?” he asks. 

You do, and Aaron falls in love with you all over again. 

[ddejavvu]

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader

contents/warnings: single mom reader, bau!reader, brief mentions of typical cm violence, mutual pining, coworkers to lovers (no arc completion)

based off this post

You’ve been held at gunpoint. You’ve been beaten, battered, and bruised within an inch of your life. You’ve been threatened, harassed, and abused. Yet there’s no fear as debilitating as what you’re feeling now, when you look around the crowded room and can’t find your toddler anywhere. 

She knows not to run off. As much as you withhold from her about your career, her tiny ears unprepared for the horrors you face, you’ve told her a thousand different ways not to leave your side. And she’d been doing so good, her little pudgy fist clasped in the fabric of your dress until midway through your conversation with Emily. You’d reached down to feel her pigtails after she’d dropped your dress, content that she was still there even if she wasn’t holding onto you anymore. And yet, here you are, childless and panicking.

You start ducking into open rooms, figuring that she wouldn’t have shut the door after her if she was wandering into them. She’s nowhere to be seen, though, you don’t catch a glimpse of her black-ribboned hair or her blue-dotted dress.

Your shoes hit the scratchy carpet with urgency, and you feel many-a-head turning to face you. You don’t feel like explaining, though, not when your little girl is loose in a government building.

Government buildings are no place for children. Too many people have guns, and, though they won’t be turned upon her, she’s more than likely to be morbidly curious about one left lying around and end up worse than seriously injured. Or she could get into an elevator and lose herself among the maze of floors and desks. Or she could walk straight out the front door into traffic. Or she could lock herself in a bathroom stall. Or she could stumble upon photos she shouldn’t be seeing, crime scenes and corpses strewn about less child-friendly areas of the place.

Or, you find out, as you head for Hotch’s door, intent on pleading with the man’s parental instinct to aid you in your search, she could be dancing with your boss.

She could be on her tip-toes, ruffled socks bunched up around her ankles and mary-janes toeing Aaron’s sleek black work shoes. She could be stretched all the way to his waist, her arms hung above her head as she grips one of his thick fingers in all of her tiny ones. She could be grinning up at him, baby teeth on full display as her hair bounces to the beat of the song he’s making up. You’ve never heard him hum before, nor have you seen that fond of a glint in his eyes, but he’s beaming down at her, a happy little tune flitting through the air from his throat. He’s jutting one foot out after the other, tie swaying against his chest as he gives your daughter the dance of her, admittedly short, lifetime.

Neither of them have noticed you hovering just outside the crack in the door, and she looks down just in time for one of her shoes to slip from his own. Her weight goes with it, but he holds steady to her hands, pulling her upright until she can latch her foot onto his again.

“Woah!” She gushes, giggling with exhilaration. 

“Woah,” He parrots, “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” She nods, a slight lisp invading her words from her pacifier habits, “You’re strong, Uncle Aaron.”

“Well I have to be,” He muses, and though he’s no longer humming, the song lives on as he continues moving their feet in sync, “Just in case someone needs protecting.”

“I think mommy needs protecting sometimes,” Your daughter decides, and your cheeks grow hot at the mere mention of yourself, “She runned into my backpack yesterday and tripped!”

He doesn’t correct her poor grammar, nor does he point out that she was probably the one to put her backpack in a less-than-ideal place. All he does is raise his eyebrows amusedly, nodding at her statement.

“Well, maybe you could start protecting her.”

“How?” She stares up at him skeptically, unsure why the man is insinuating that a three year old can be so heroic.

“I think you should put your backpack somewhere where she won’t trip over it,” There it is, the parental voice of reason, “Maybe on a chair? Or the couch?”

“I think you should do it.” She blazes past his suggestion, typical for a child who doesn’t understand responsibility for their actions. He seems to notice the cliche as well, chuckling mirthfully, “Alright. If I see any backpacks on the floor, I’ll save her from them. Deal?”

“Deal.” She grins toothily, squealing as he lifts her straight into his arms from only his grip on her hands.

Her legs curl effortlessly around his waist and you worry about her shoes staining his shirt, but you’d seen a grape juice stain on his tie only days before, and you remember that your kid isn’t the only one crawling all over Aaron. You rush down the stairs when they begin heading for the door, posing as if you’d just began your ascent by the time they swing the hinges open.

“There you are,” You try acting relieved, though the panic you’d felt only moments prior is long gone, replaced by sticky-sweet adoration, “What, did Hotch lure you away with candy?”

“Just my natural charm,” He defends, squeezing her where she’s curled around his hip, “And a dance move or two.”

“A dance move,” Morgan repeats teasingly from the other end of the room, a few downcast smirks shot from the rest of your teammates, “I don’t recall you ever teaching me any of those, boss man.”

“You’re too big to stand on my toes.” Aaron laments with a goofy smile towards your daughter, who giggles at the thought of her big, strong Uncle Derek balancing on Hotch’s feet.

“Well if we don’t visit Auntie Penelope soon,” You accept the arm that your daughter throws out to you at the mention of her bubbly godmother, taking her from Hotch’s strong arms, “I’m going to be given a very long lecture, and you’ll be given one less cookie than usual.”

“Only five?” She gasps in real, palpable terror, fingers clenching in the fabric of your dress once more, “Let’s go!”

The bullpen shares a chuckle at her dramatics, and Reid steps aside from where he’s aiming to ask Hotch a question at the base of the stairs. You’re crossing your own desk, intent on ducking into Penelope’s lair for a chat, when Hotch’s voice rings out across the room, urgent and strong.

“Y/N!” He doesn’t often use your first name, and that’s what gets your attention the most. You turn towards him, bewildered and hesitant to take another step.

“Backpack,” He points down at the floor where you’re about to step blindly, a tinkerbell-themed bag discarded in the middle of the walkway. You eye your daughter rather unimpressed, but her attention is focused solely on Hotch, who’s already engaged with Reid.

“Pick it up,” You groan, holding your daughter’s waist and angling her towards the floor. She giggles jovially at the headrush she receives from being held nearly upside-down, and her little arms reach eagerly for her belongings.

Once she secures the backpack and deposits it on your desk rather than in your path, you tuck her back against your hip. She’s got her chin hooked over your shoulder, out of your eyesight, which means that you don’t catch the thumbs-up that she throws towards Hotch. You don’t happen to notice the wink that he throws her back while Reid’s head is ducked towards a paper he’d brought along, another one of his rare smiles aimed at her as he holds up his end of the bargain.

[aaronsguccitie]

And another!!

hotch playing tea time with his daughter and he’s forced to wear tiaras, sit in a small chair, and drink his imaginary tea with his pinky up and mom!reader is just laughing and sneaks a picture to send to the team

- 💗

💗 anon, you shall get a hundred kisses <3

Tea time

Cw: fem!mom!reader, fluff, girl dad Aaron, no use of yn, Aaron being a complete pushover

Word count: 1.2k

----

His knees ache.

Come to think of it, so does his back. Sitting cramped in a plastic pink chair, folded nearly in half will do that to him, Aaron thinks. 

His stuffed companions don’t seem to suffer from the same fate. They’re happily drinking their tea and enjoying their biscuits, much like Aaron is supposed to be doing. He almost envies the way their furry legs rest comfortably on their matching pink chairs.

“Purple or pink?” Olivia asks him, holding out two tiaras. 

Aaron eyes the sharp combs at the end of them with mild terror. He opens his mouth to decline—he almost does, really—but Olivia’s eyes are wide and impatient, exactly like yours. 

The protest gets trapped in his throat. 

“Uhh, don’t you have a blue one?” He asks, mentally kicking himself. “I seem to remember buying you a blue tiara.”

“Nope! Purple or pink?” Olivia asks again. Her own tiara rests lopsidedly on her head, its purple jewels catching the sunlight streaming in through her bedroom window. The color matches with her Princess Rapunzel dress he’d gotten her at Disney World.

Well, at least nobody else is gonna see him in it.

“Purple,” Aaron decides. “So I can match with you, won’t that be nice?”

“But you won’t be the princess, too,” his daughter says. A small frown pulls her brows together, exactly the same as his—and way too stern for a four-year-old. Aaron gently touches the scrunch until it fades. “I’m the only princess.”

“Of course,” Aaron agrees softly. He adjusts her lopsided crown. “I’ll be the prince, is that okay?”

“No.” Olivia giggles, two of his dimples appearing in her cheeks. “Silly Daddy. You’ll be the king!” She says as she grabs the purple tiara and rises on her tiptoes, trying to reach the top of his head.

Aaron bends his neck down, a hand going to her waist to steady her until her heels touch the ground again. “How could I have forgotten,” he murmurs, his small smile turning into a wince when the combs of the tiara dig against his scalp. He bites down on his tongue to trap the hiss in his throat, forcibly stretching his lips into another smile as he looks up at Olivia with mildly watering eyes.

“How do I look?”

“Kingly.” His daughter giggles. Aaron blinks back the blurriness in his vision, smiling as Olivia picks up her purple fairy wand and waves it around theatrically before she clears her throat, “And now I dec—del…delcare—”

“Declare.”

“—declare it’s time for teatime!”

She sets down her wand and pours the very strong concoction of tap water into Aaron’s teacup, her tongue peeking out as she holds the lid of the teapot to keep it steady. Some of the faux tea spills over the rim and splashes onto his sweatpants, turning the fabric into a darker gray as Olivia hands him a plate of plastic cake when she’s done.

Aaron accepts it graciously. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He places the plate next to his tea and fumbles for the teacup, struggling to hook his finger through the handle.

“Y’welcome,” Olivia mumbles, too busy with pouring the rest of her guests’ tea.

Did they poke the hole with a needle? Aaron resigns himself to picking up the teacup from its sides. It gets swallowed up by his hands, his fingers overlapping around its circumference. 

“Being a hostess is hard work, isn’t it?” He asks as he watches her hand out cake slices to their stuffed companions.

“Mommy does it an’ she’s good at it.”

“She is,” Aaron chuckles, “guess you got that from her, huh?”

“Mhm.” Olivia finally plops down onto her chair, tilting her crown again as she reaches for her own teacup with a deep sigh.

“So how have you been ruling over your subjects?” Aaron asks seriously. He turns to the stuffed animals lining the table; her teddy and Jack’s orca and a battered unicorn from Penelope, “Are you all satisfied with the way Princess Livvy is treating you?”

“Princess Olivia, Daddy.” She corrects, frowning a little and continuing again before Aaron can remedy his mistake. “They say we go t’bed too early,” Olivia pouts.

“Do they? Well,” he brings the teacup to his lips again, pretending to take a sip, “I say—”

“Daddy, y’have to do this,” Olivia interrupts, picking up her own teacup and sticking out her pinky. She looks at Aaron expectantly.

“Oh, forgive me.” Aaron says and sticks his out, too. “Is that better?”

A muffled laugh catches his attention. That in itself makes him smile, but when he hears the not so subtle click of a camera, his eyes flick to you.

Caught.

You bite your lip and throw him a wink, disappearing behind the door frame with your phone held in your hand.

Aaron turns back to Olivia as he sets down his teacup. “I’m so sorry, your highness, may I be excused for a moment?”

“You’ll come back?” She frowns, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Aaron stifles a laugh; his daughter through and through.

“Yes, baby.” He promises.

Her frown clears. “Okay.”

Aaron eagerly gets up from the cramped chair, his knees cracking when he straightens. He stifles a wince and leaves Olivia’s bedroom, immediately finding you in the hallway just outside. There’s a grin on your face as you look down at your phone, thumbs flying over the screen.

You hear him and look up, your smile turning sheepish as you click your phone shut and slide it into your back pocket.

He crosses over to you, his arms wrapping around your body, hands dipping into your pockets to search for your phone.

“Delete that.” Aaron murmurs.

You slap his hands away. “Delete what?”

“The picture.” He lifts his brow. Your mouth drops open, no doubt to deny it, and he cuts across you, “I know you took one, honey, don’t play dumb.”

The corner of your lip pinches as you try to hold back a wider smile. “That’s a cute crown. But sorry, your majesty,” you bow, “it’s already been sent to the group chat.”

“Jesus Christ.” Aaron groans, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

A grin splits your face in half. You pull his hands away from his eyes, gently holding them in your own. “So does that make me queen now?” 

“It makes you a traitor. I’ll call Garcia about this.”

You blow a raspberry in his face. “Please. She’s the first one to back it up on all her devices. You’re too late, bossman,” you straighten his tiara.

Aaron winces as the combs dig in deeper. He gently holds your wrist, his scalp just shy of weeping blood.

Your eyes shine as you press your lips together, the corners of them turning up as you try in vain to hold back a smile. “You look very kingly, your majesty.” The edges of your voice quiver with a laugh.

Aaron sighs. “Your daughter said the same.” He drones flatly.

You can no longer hold back your laughter.

[noneofthisfeelsreal]

sirius who wears leather jackets and paints his nails black and rides a motorbike and grew up in a violent angry house who else could he have fallen for but remus who is soft and sweet, who bites his nails and has brown curls that turn golden in the sunlight and falls asleep in armchairs, who is gentle and forgiving. sirius who always thought the world was violent and angry but who met remus and realised the world has love and softness as well

[hoe4hotchner]

Ink | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!Reader CW: Fluff, I mentioned haley once WC: 0.9k Summary: Hotch has tattoos

           You stirred from your slumber, groggy and warm, wrapped up in the sheets as the morning sun filtered softly through the curtains. The familiar rustle of fabric and the quiet creak of the floorboards made you aware that Aaron had gotten out of bed and was getting ready for work. Through heavy eyelids, you saw him standing by the dresser, his broad back to you as he slipped his shirt over his shoulders. Your gaze lingered on the arm that had yet to disappear into his sleeve, taking in the sight of the black outlines covering it from wrist to shoulder.

           The ink swirled in intricate, detailed designs, tribal patterns that blended into abstract shapes and pictures, and hidden among them were symbols that meant something so profoundly personal to him. It was a side of him that still felt like a secret between the two of you, something he kept tucked away beneath the sharp, professional exterior of his suits.

           A soft smile curled at the corner of your lips. No one at the BAU, except perhaps Rossi, had any idea of this hidden layer to Aaron Hotchner - the loving, soft man who hid beautiful art that told the story of him under his perfectly tailored attire.

           You shifted under the sheets, drawing his attention as you yawned and stretched. “Morning,” you murmured, your voice was thick with sleep but laced with affection.

           Aaron turned, his lips curving into a gentle smile as his eyes met yours. He was already nearly dressed, his pants on, tie draped around his neck, but the buttons of his shirt remained undone. He moved with the same grace and composure you’d come to love - always so calm and collected, yet with you, there was an undercurrent of warmth.

           “Good morning,” he said. “Did I wake you?”

           You shook your head, sitting up slightly, propping yourself on your elbows. “No. Just woke up to a nice view,” you teased, your eyes dipping to the few parts of ink on his arm still exposed.

           He chuckled softly, a low sound that rumbled in his chest as he stepped closer to the bed. “The view, huh?” His tone was playful, his eyebrow slightly raised.

           Your fingers reached for his arm, gently brushing over the designs. You traced the lines of one of the patterns, something abstract and fluid, before shifting to the more personal details - the initials of Jack woven into the design, a small symbol from his days as a prosecutor, and something you knew was tied to Haley, but never dared to ask about, it was a reminder of his past.

           "I still can't believe you hide all this every day," you murmured, your fingers following the art up to his forearm.

           His smile softened, a glimmer of something fond in his eyes. "Not exactly professional to show up with tattoos on full display at a federal agency," he replied, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

           "Yeah, because Morgan doesn't do that every day," you teased, rolling your eyes, and then smiled more softly. "But I love that this part of you is mine to see," you whispered, your hand now resting on the inside of his forearm. His skin was warm beneath your touch, and you felt the steady pulse of his heartbeat there.

           He watched you for a moment, there was something tender and unguarded in his expression, and then he leaned down, bracing his hands on the bed on either side of you. "You like the tattoos?" he asked softly, his lips close to yours.

           You nodded, your breath catching slightly as his proximity made your heart race. “I love them. It’s such a contrast to the Aaron Hotchner everyone knows at the BAU.”

           His gaze flickered down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “I like that you get to see all of me,” he admitted, his voice lower now, rougher, as if confessing something vulnerable.

           You smiled, reaching up to brush a stray strand of his hair back. "And I can't wait to see more when you come home," you murmured, your voice teasing but sincere.

           Aaron smirked, leaning in to brush his lips lightly against yours, a fleeting kiss that left you wanting more. “I’ll show you as much as you want,” he whispered against your lips before pulling back slightly, his breath warm on your skin.

           “Promise?” you asked softly, your fingers trailing down the front of his shirt, still unbuttoned, leaving a trail of warmth where they touched.

           He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes closing for a brief second as he took in the moment. “Promise," he said, his voice soft but full of intent.

           Reluctantly, Aaron pulled away, straightening up as he finished buttoning his shirt, hiding the tattoos once more. You watched as the last bit of ink vanished beneath the crisp, white fabric, a small part of you already missing the sight.

           He reached for his tie, looping it around his neck with ease as you propped yourself up further on the bed, watching him with a mixture of admiration and affection. He caught your gaze in the mirror, smirking slightly at your look of longing.

           "Don’t worry," he said as he tucked the end of his tie into place, "Tonight, I’ll make it up to you.”

           You grinned, biting your lip. "You better."

           With a soft laugh, Aaron grabbed his jacket, leaning down for one last kiss before he headed to work. It was slow and lingering, a promise in itself that he’d be back later tonight.

           As the door closed behind him, you flopped back into the pillows, already counting down the hours until he returned. Because tonight, the suit would come off, and his ink would be on full display, and all of him would be yours once more.

[aaronsguccitie]

Stars

----

Aaron and Jack take interest in your star shaped pimple patches.

Cw: fem!reader, mentions of periods, reader is pmsing, she’s also being kind of self deprecating, Aaron comfort!!, established relationship, fluff, Jack being a sweetheart

Word count: 1.6k

----

The week before your period is, safe to say, never a good look. 

Adding to the ruthless turmoil of your volatile emotions, your face is lacking its usual glow. Pimples have broken out across your skin, blooming painfully along your jaw and cheeks, and you have to bite back a wince when you glimpse yourself in the mirror, the white tops of them shining unavoidably under the lights.

Salvation comes in the form of pimple patches. The stars at least make your face more pleasing to look at, so you stick to those instead of the near transparent circles.

Today you have to use five. 

Five. Across your cheek and on your jaw and one near your temple, shining right on the edge of your hairline.

The situation is too dire for you to wait till bedtime to leave them on overnight, so you stick the patches on after washing your face—though your expensive cleanser seems pretty useless right now—while late morning light filters in through the window. You’ve slept in; you always do when you’re pmsing. Aaron has gotten used to it in the two months since you’ve moved in, simply leaving bed with a kiss to your forehead and letting you sleep until your bones grow sluggish.

Pain already assaults every inch of your body, so you dress almost entirely in his clothes—his sweatpants and his socks and his warm, deep green sweater that smells faintly of him. It’s a small comfort as cramps wring their way through your stomach, and as you bite back a wince, you leave the room in search of the main source of comfort.

Unsurprisingly, he’s in the kitchen.

The familiar scent of coffee hangs in the air as Aaron looks down at his mug, shoulder blades popping out beneath his t-shirt as he stirs rhythmically. 

Quietly, the socks muffling your steps, you pad over to him and wrap your arms around his neck. Leaning against his back, you press your cheek to his, feeling his light stubble scratch your skin. Your tender chest doesn’t appreciate the pressure, but he’s warm and he smells like the sweatshirt times ten.

“Hi,” Aaron stops his stirring and kisses your knuckles. His lips are a balm, soothing and familiar; it’s in your head, you know, but the pain in your stomach almost eases.

“Hmm,” you hum in response. Aaron’s used to it. The socks you’re wearing slip on the floor as you bring yourself to his height, and you briefly tumble into him, making him knock against the counter.

A small oof of surprise leaves him. You wince, but Aaron’s laughing softly by the time he steadies himself and turns in the cage of your arms.

“Sorry,” you whisper as his hands circle your waist.

“S’okay.” He kisses you lightly and you taste the morning on his lips; traces of a previous mug of coffee, the lingering mint of his toothpaste, the sandwich he’d made himself alongside Jack’s.

A balm, you think again as he squeezes your waist with large hands that radiate warmth.

Aaron smiles as he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “What are these for?” He murmurs, gently thumbing at a star on your jaw. You lean into his hand as he carefully traces the edges of the pimple patch, a much lighter version of his usual frown pulling his brows together.

“To make me less hideous.” You say wryly.

The words make his dimples disappear. 

Aaron frowns—full Unit Chief mode this time. “Nothing about you is hideous.” He says, firm but soft as his thumb skates over your jaw. He looks almost disappointed in you, upset at your self deprecating tone.

It makes you laugh. 

“It’s okay, Aaron,” you lean forward and slot your face into his neck, partly to hide from his eyes. Looping your arms around his waist, you intertwine your fingers together to lock you to him. “I know I don’t look my best the week before my period—and during. You don’t have to lie to make me feel better about it.” But because he’s being sweet, you tilt your chin and place a kiss on his jaw.

“Honey,” he murmurs, and you can hear the frown as he tries to look down at you, “you think a bit of acne makes you look hideous?”

Safe to say, he’s in disbelief.

“Mmm, tragically so.” You bury your face in his warm chest. His heart thumps steadily beneath your ear, and when Aaron’s firm hands land on your shoulders to push you back, you let out a pathetic whine.

His honeyed eyes meet yours—god, they’re so warm you could sink into them. “Hey, listen to me.” His hands travel to cup your cheeks. You blink at him and hold back a smile, sensing that you’re about to be bullied into loving yourself. “If I pull these off,” Aaron traces the star on your cheek, “you’d be the same gorgeous person you are without them.”

It’s sweet, really. And he’s so adamant about it you can’t help but smile, a gentle warmth replacing the sharp stabs in your abdomen. 

“Really?” You tilt your head.

Aaron gives a small shake of his head, exasperated. “I know you don’t believe it,” he leans forward and gently presses his lips to the star on your cheek, “but I do.” His voice rumbles through your skin.

Aaron’s palms are endlessly gentle as they cradle your head, keeping you close while he kisses each of the stars on your face. His light stubble scrapes against your skin as he reaches for every single star, all five of them.

Suddenly it gets to you. His gentle tone, his soft touch. The press of his lips against your face, sealing his love over the small patches covering your acne.

Embarrassingly, your eyes start to water. 

You bunch up his shirt in your fists, twisting the material tightly against his skin. 

“Do you like making me cry?” There’s a lump in the back of your throat, insurmountable as Aaron tangles his fingers in your hair.

“Of course not.” His lips lovingly trace over your pulse. “I like proving you wrong, that’s all.”

It pulls a laugh from you, shaky and wet as you mutter, “Fucking asshole,” into Aaron’s rumbling chest, the laughter running through his body echoing yours.

****

“Quicker, Dad!”

“Okay, okay.” Aaron blows out a breath as he follows Jack into the arts and crafts aisle. “What was it you wanted?” He asks, trailing after his overexcited son.

“These,” Jack says gleefully, grabbing a packet of rainbow star stickers off the shelf. 

“That’s it?” Aaron’s brows raise. Jack’s been nagging him for weeks to go with him to the grocery store, pleading for a special something that he refused to disclose until now. He was expecting something a little more exciting.

“Yep.” Jack chirps.

Aaron’s confused, but it’s not unusual for a seven-year-old boy to be in want of star stickers. He doesn’t really think much of it, not until they’re home and he’s unpacking the groceries with you in the kitchen.

“Did you finally get what Jack wanted?” You ask as you prop open the fridge with your foot, sliding the milk and eggs onto the shelf. You’re yet again in one of his sweaters, the sleeves rolled up to your elbows because you’re due for your period any day now. Two stars dot your face today, on your chin and next to your brow.

It’s not uncommon these days to find you with stars kissing your skin. Aaron rather likes the way they stand out on your face, despite your mindset towards the acne they hide.

“Yeah,” he hums, sorting the cereals in the cabinet. “He wanted stickers.”

“All that for stickers? I would’ve thought—”

“Hi.” Jack’s face pops up sneakily when you close the fridge door.

Aaron notices the stickers on his face at the same time you do. There’s two of them; one on his chin and one next to his brow.

You bend down to get a proper look at them, a smile toying on your lips as you touch the sticker on his chin. “Hi. What’re these?” You ask, though Aaron’s pretty sure everyone in this kitchen knows what they are.

“Stickers!” Jack grins. “Like yours. We’re matching now, isn’t it cool?” He asks gleefully, two dimples carving in his cheeks.

Aaron sees your eyes start to shine, your control on your emotions at an all time low these particular days of each month. He sidles closer, ready to enforce damage control in case you burst into tears, but you beam back at Jack with minutely trembling lips.

“It’s so freaking cool, Jack.” You say, your voice breaking at the end.

Jack brightens and you ruffle his hair, leaning over to kiss his forehead and discreetly blink away the tears.

Aaron smiles, warmth igniting in his chest. “Don’t I get stickers too?” He asks.

“You want one?” Jack gapes at him.

Aaron laughs softly. He taps the star on Jack’s chin, then the one on yours. “Yeah. It wouldn’t be fair for me to be left out, would it?”

Jack stares for another disbelieving moment before darting out of the kitchen, for what Aaron hopes is the stickers. He looks at you and is less than surprised at the tears spilling over your lash line. 

Aaron opens his arms; you fall into them, curling into his side as your arms wrap around his waist. A small smile pulls at his lips, despite your soft sniffling.

“Come on, now,” he says gently, “was my idea that bad?”

A wet laugh joins the sniffles, as does a weak punch to his arm. “You’re ridiculous.”

Hooking his arm around your shoulders, he pulls you in close and kisses your forehead. “I love you too.”

[aaronsguccitie]

i promise this is the last—unless i think of something more

its aaron’s day off and he’s out doing errands with the baby and jack, maybe in the grocery or something, and he has the baby strapped to his chest or something and someone from the team spots him?

- 💗

💗 anon I love u <3

Grocery shopping

Cw: fem!mom!reader, fluff, you and Aaron have an infant, literally nothing except tooth rotting fluff and Aaron being a girl dad, no use of yn, use of petnames, reader isn’t present too much in this (she’s tired)

Word count: 1.5k

————

Aaron’s attempts at waking you are thoroughly ineffective. 

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs for the third time, brushing some of your sleep-mussed hair away from your brow. You snuggle into his side, eyes still closed as you give him a weak grunt in response. He smiles into your warm forehead. “Okay, sorry. I’m getting the hint.” 

It’s 8:30 and he’s restless. Apparently his kids have inherited the same early bird gene, because he hears Jack thudding around, Olivia’s soft coos reaching him from the baby monitor on your nightstand. You’re breathing evenly into his neck, starting to sink back into the sleep he’s trying to rouse you from, but not quite there yet.

“Hey, how about I take the kids and we go get some groceries?” Aaron runs his hand over your arm, gently squeezing as you burrow closer. “Give you more time to sleep in.”

“Fuck yeah.” You mumble sleepily. Aaron laughs at the speed with which the words leave your mouth. “Take ’em. Go, just lemme sleep.”

He would be offended if he didn’t know just how tired you are. 

While he would love spending his day off with you, he knows your daughter has been wearing you out recently. She’s only six months old and attached to your hip, which is only made harder by his unyielding schedule and her recent teething. So Aaron slips out of bed, untangling himself from you with some difficulty despite the way you’d jumped at the thought of him leaving. He gives you a kiss on your temple before leaving the room, quietly shutting the door behind him and making his way to the nursery.

A string of babbles reaches him when he opens the door. Warmth stirs in his chest as he walks in and peers into the crib, finding Olivia already rolled around on her stomach.

“Hi sweetheart,” Aaron whispers, a wide smile spreading across his face at the sight of her; her pacifier is thrown next to her on the mattress and she smiles when she sees him. Red sleep lines are imprinted on both her cheeks and he laughs, the sound soft as she looks up at him with alert eyes. “Did you sleep well?” He asks rhetorically, lifting her up into his arms and pressing a kiss to her messy hair. “I think you did.” 

The soft strands tickle his cheek. Aaron takes a moment to hold her, breathing in the soft milky scent of her and savoring how tiny she feels, the way she slots perfectly into his chest. She tolerates it for a minute, but it doesn’t take long before her feet kick restlessly in her sleep sack. Aaron smiles and kisses her cheek before he lays her down on the changing mat.

Olivia gurgles at him. “We’re going out today, Liv.” He tells her, his voice softened to a whisper. “You and me and Jackers. No Mommy, though, but that’s okay, right?” 

She kicks her feet and he finally frees them from the sleep sack. Olivia immediately reaches for her foot, intending to bring it to her mouth.

“I know you like her more than me, but she’s gotta rest,” Aaron soothes, quickly stealing a kiss from a petal-soft cheek before taking out a change of clothes. “Taking care of you is hard work, missy.” He scolds gently and reaches for a toy in the drawer, pressing it into her hand instead of her foot. “But we like doing it.”

****

The grocery store is blissfully quiet. Aaron keeps one hand needlessly on the back of Olivia’s head, the other holding on to the list you wrote down and stuck to the fridge three days ago. He keeps half an eye on Jack at the end of the aisle and half an eye on the baby strapped to his chest, snug in her carrier as he checks item after item off. She’s currently toying with the buttons on his shirt and babbling to herself, content with grasping at his chest.

Aaron stares down at the endless rows of baby food. Olivia is supposed to start solids soon, but you’ve written down a lifetime’s supply of baby food anyway. Even after two kids, he still hates this part. But it’s okay; he’s got a helper today. 

“Okay honey, what do you think about…apples and apricots?” Aaron asks, holding a packet of purée for Olivia to see. She stares at it, interested for a second before redirecting her attention back to his shirt.

“No? I think we can at least try before judging.” He murmurs, dropping it into the cart as she pulls on the buttons again.

Aaron looks down at his list. His lips brush the top of Olivia’s head and he automatically places a kiss there, the movement absent yet fond. “Let’s have a few with oatmeal too,” he mutters, grabbing two packs off the shelf. “Fiber is good for you, yeah?

Olivia babbles back something he hopes is an affirmative. As Aaron bends to place the packets in the cart, she reaches out and places a small hand on his jaw. He smiles as he straightens, the action quickly turning into a wince when her sharp nails dig into his skin.

Aaron places his hand over hers, gently loosening her grip. “Looks like we just have—”

“Daddy, when can we go get the chocolate?” Jack sulks. He returns to his perch at Aaron’s side, his head resting against his torso.

“In a minute, bud.” Aaron lightly ruffles Jack’s hair. With one hand on each child, his heart suddenly grows warm, and the dull task of picking out baby food is no longer as taxing as it was. Despite Jack’s mood, Aaron smiles as Olivia’s whole hand wraps around his index finger. “Here, help me out. Do you think we should get banana or—”

A sudden gasp cuts him off. “Aunt Emily!” Jack beams. He darts from Aaron’s side to the end of the aisle, where Emily stands, holding a basket.

Her expression morphs into surprise when Jack barrels into her, but it quickly turns fond. 

“Jack! Hey, buddy.” She wraps an arm around his shoulders in a hug. It’s lopsided and a little awkward with the basket hanging from her wrist, but both her and Jack are smiling as he pulls back.

“We’re shoppin’ with Livvy.” He tells her, his frown nowhere to be found as he beams happily.

“Are you? That’s nice.” Emily smiles as she approaches. “Hey, Hotch.”

He clears his throat. “Hi.”

Her gaze travels to the baby strapped to his chest. Olivia squeals at her, recognizing her from all the times you’ve taken her to the BAU—and more than a few baby-friendly girl’s nights. 

“Hi baby girl,” Emily grins, reaching for Olivia’s flailing fist. It only takes a second before she freezes, her eyes meeting Aaron’s and her smile quickly turning into a grimace. “Damn, Morgan and Garcia really ruined that one for me.” 

An easy smile pulls at Aaron’s lips. “Don’t curse in front of the baby,” he scolds, only half joking.

Emily rolls her eyes. She’s a lot more comfortable doing that when they’re both in casual clothing, he notices—her in a huge sweater and leggings and him in a polo practically hidden from the baby on his chest.

Aaron doesn’t know when she gets the time to pull out her phone, but suddenly she’s backing up and he’s staring into her camera.

“What are you doing?” His brows pinch together.

“Snapping a picture for the wife.” She says easily. “Say cheese, Jack. You too, boss.” 

Jack complies happily, showcasing two of his newly lost teeth. Aaron can’t see Emily’s face behind her phone, but he’d bet there’s a shit eating grin pasted on her lips.

He just wants to finish grocery shopping.

“Emily—”

“Smile, Hotch.”

Aaron sighs. A yanking at his shirt buttons drags his gaze down, and before he knows it, a genuine smile is tugging at his lips. He directs it to the camera and tries not to feel too ridiculous about taking a picture in the middle of a deserted supermarket aisle—at 10 in the morning, no less.

A click dictates the end of his misery.

“Cute,” Emily beams, “I’ll send this to the missus.” Cheerily ignoring Aaron’s frown, she pockets her phone and—quite bravely—approaches the carrier.

“Good luck with the Unit Chief, chérie.” She kisses the baby’s fist then backs away. Olivia reaches for her and Emily smiles wider, her dimples flashing. “Later, Hotch. Bye Jack.” She waves at him and Jack waves excitedly back, his bad mood apparently gone.

As she’s walking away, Aaron spots the contents of her basket; cat food, red wine, cheese, and chocolate biscuits.

“Get some proper food,” he calls out, already turning back to the shelves with a hand on the back of Olivia’s head.

“Yes, Dad.” Emily replies.

Aaron rolls his eyes, suppressing the urge to run an exasperated hand through this hair. Instead he looks down, meeting sweet eyes just like the ones he fell in love with.

“My team acts like kids sometimes,” he wrinkles his nose exaggeratedly. Olivia giggles, the sound like a tinkling bell; Aaron is unable to hold the frown for long. “I think,” he brings her tiny fingers to his lips, “you’re way more mature.”

But he may be biased.

[luveline]

I love Hotch sm. How can someone be so handsome - esp s1 Hotch omigosh! 😭😭😭 Can we possibly get a fic where sunshine!reader (or even bombshell!reader, if you prefer instead!) loves to kiss and cuddle away her grumpy!Hotch’s frowns and scowls? 🙏🏼❤️

“C’mere.” 

“No.” 

“Come here,” you whisper, curling your finger, beckoning your boyfriend into your space. 

Aaron gives you a knowing look but eventually steps forward. He stops in front of you, all business today. He smiles less and less at work as responsibilities pile on, but you remember your smiley coworker. He used to like his job. You still love it, and you love him, but you aren’t unit chief.

You smile, daring him to smile back. 

“Did you want something?” he asks. 

His hair flops onto his forehead. You rake it back. “So long.” 

“I’m thinking about going shorter.” 

“That’s a decision for both of us,” you say, teasing while he stays incredibly still. 

You’d helped him get dressed that morning, pinching his shirt together over his undershirt, buttoning it to the neck, and bending his stiff collar away. You’d thrown the tie over his shoulders and brought it together. Tied it, tucked it, and used it as an anchor to pull him down for kissing. In your bedroom, he’d grabbed you by the face and kissed you ardently. 

Here, he only looks at you. 

“You okay?” 

“I’m stressed,” he says. 

“Can I fix it?” 

“It’s politics,” he explains away. “I’m fine.” 

You check the landing for watchers and tilt your head up to kiss his chin. He laughs softly, head angled down, allowing you better access as you pepper his cheek with kisses. You kiss until you feel his cheek apple, evidence of a smile you can’t see, and when his hand comes to the small of your back you wrap your arms around his neck and hide there.

“Does it get exhausting, being serious?” you ask. 

“Mm… no, not really.”

“I wish you had less of a propensity for misery.” 

“How can I be miserable when you’re around?” he asks, cupping your head to keep you in the curve of his neck. 

Down in the main offices, keyboards clack and phones ring. You’re slightly secluded where you stand in front of the conference room door, but not by much. You honestly don’t care if people see you kissing your boyfriend in work hours —perhaps they should make him less kissable— or holding him when you should be at your desk. They can dock your pay, if they want. 

It helps that Aaron is technically your boss. There isn’t protocol for one half of a couple becoming boss of the other one, so you get to make the rules. 

Or, Aaron does. “Alright,” he says, peeling you away from him gently. “I have things to do.” 

“One last one?” you ask, equally gentle. 

He nudges your nose with his and kisses you. Again, you persevere in kissing until he smiles. 

“No more frowning. You’ll get wrinkles,” you say.

“I have them already.” 

“And they’re contagious.” You frown deeply at him. He manages another smile before he sends you on your way. 

[greg-montgomery]

Texting bf's dad hotch by accident when you're drunk and trying to get your bf to pick you up...

this idea >>>>

also aaron has another son besides jack in this

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

They were just a few margaritas. You didn’t expect a casual girl’s night to turn into a pounding headache and a room that was spinning around you.

It was fun and your friends wanted to stay longer, but your upset stomach would not let you enjoy the rest of your night. You were more than ready to get out of there.

“I’m gonna ask my boyfriend to come pick me up,” you told your friends, who seemed a bit too drunk to process your words.

As carefully as you could, you made your way outside the bar, and took your phone out of your purse. Going through your contacts you stopped when you spotted your boyfriend’s name.

‘Babe can you come and pick me up? I can’t drive’

You hit send, and right after, you shared your location with him.

‘I’ll be there in 20.’

Oh.

That was it? No whining? No scolding you for drinking too much? No complaining about you being an inconvenience?

It was a full moon; maybe he was going through some kind of transformation.

You closed your eyes for a bit and rested your head against the wall. The minutes would simply not pass fast enough. I’m never drinking again, you thought.

Your phone buzzed in your hands and a new message flashed across the screen.

‘I’m here.’

You were ready to lift your head and search for his car, but your eyes were glued on the contact name that appeared above the text you had just received.

It didn’t say Mark. It said Mark’s dad.

No way, you thought. No way, I asked Aaron Hotchner to come pick me up from a bar because I’m wasted.

But that was exactly what you had done.

The word embarrassment didn’t even begin to cover the range of emotions you were feeling at that moment; especially as you watched him get out of his car and walking towards you.

Why did he have to look so good? As if drunk texting him wasn’t embarrassing enough, he had to look like a god in a suit that cost more than your monthly rent.

‘Mr. Hotchner,” you said, when he approached you. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to text you. I wanted to text Mark, but I got confused and God…I’m so, so dizzy.”

 His expression stayed serious, but he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Let’s get in the car.”

Aaron opened the door for you and held your hand so you could get inside. You expected him to close the door but instead he leaned over you and fastened your seatbelt for you.

Your heart started jumping around at the smell of his cologne and the feeling of his face so close to yours. You weren’t proud of it, but Aaron Hotchner was your forbidden desire. And the star of more dirty dreams than you’d ever dare to admit.

His thick fingers brushed against your stomach as he made sure that your seatbelt was tight enough to keep you safe.

You shut your eyes and took a deep breath trying to calm your body down.

“Are you alright?” he asked, softly.

His deep voice was the cherry on top that had you melting on your seat.

“Yeah,” you answered weakly. “Just dizzy.”

He closed the door and made his way to the other side, and soon he was on the driver’s seat.

There was a small water bottle in the cup holder and he picked it up. “Here,” he offered, “Have some water. It’ll help.”

“Thank you,” you said taking it from his hands, and shivered at the contact when your fingers brushed.

The bottle was half empty which meant he already had some of it before you. He had wrapped his lips around it; around where your lips were now.

You devoured any water that was left and realized how bad you needed to get hydrated. “I needed that.”

“I can tell,” he laughed. “Come on,” he added, and started the car. “Let’s take you home.”

“Were you asleep?”

“Hm?””

“When I texted you. Did I wake you up?” you asked with a worried tone.

“I rarely sleep, honey. You don’t have to worry about me.”

You pressed your thighs together at the sound of the pet name and the sight of his hands around the wheel.

“Thank you for coming. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” he said. “You needed me.”

“I did,” you said, breathless. “Mark would…”

You paused.

“Go on.”

You hesitated. “He would have probably told me to call a cab.”

“He’d let his girl get in the car with a stranger in the middle of the night? When she’s drunk?”

“Sometimes he gets upset with things like that. And, listen, I get it. I can be trouble sometimes.”

“Oh you can be,” Aaron said. “But not for the reasons you think.”

“What do you mean?”

He ignored your question, but it didn’t take too long before he spoke again.

“I’m gonna have a word with him. He’s not treating you well.”

“No, please don’t.”

The only thing that talk would achieve would be Mark getting upset with you.

There was a long pause, and you took advantage of the silence to stare at him. His side profile, his hands, his arms. He was perfect.

‘I wish Mark was more like you,” you said before thinking any better.

“Sweetheart, you shouldn’t say things like that.”

“I could say way worse.”

He chuckled. “Unless you want both of us to get in trouble, don’t.”

“But-”

Aaron reached out to hold your hand, making you go quiet. “You’re drunk. But what I do want you to know is that I’m always here, okay?”

“Okay.”

He squeezed your hand and didn’t let go the entire ride home.

part 2

[luveline]

hello might i ask for sassy badass reckless reader who is the #1 leading cause of aaron's gray hairs pls 🤞🏻 he is SO exasperated with her like he is TIRED™ but also tweaking bcs he's horrendously down bad for her he's gna throw up

Good morning. I hope you slept well, honey. Can you come to work early, say 6.10AM? I’d like to see you and talk about something in person. 

You squint at the text that’s just come through. Another follows as you’re finishing, lighting the dark of your room.

I love you. Sorry, I know you don’t like when I forget to tell you in the mornings. 

Your own response is sent without propriety. I love you too handsome. 6.10 is not gonna work.

Can you make an effort for me? he asks. 

You do your very best. 

“It’s almost seven,” Hotch says when you finally get there that morning, his frown audible and plain to see. 

You hold up the bag of sugar donuts you’d purchased from the truck on the square just outside of Quantico’s endless parking lots. “Necessary delay.” 

“Unnecessary. I asked you nicely to come early and you’re barely on time,” he grumbles. 

How adorable. You put the bag of donuts on the desk and ignore the paperwork laid out waiting for you in favour of his side of the desk. He smells like cedar, his suit sleeve starched under your hand. You lean back against the lip of his desk and pretend you hadn’t been thinking about climbing into his lap —he’s formidable and lovely and that’s the best combination for lounging about atop someone, especially when that someone is very good at pressing you backwards, and better at kissing your neck. 

He knows what you’re thinking. “You’ve woken up in a mood,” he murmurs. 

“A good one,” you promise. 

You take his coffee and steal a sip. Hotch, resigned, lays a hand on your thigh. “I have important things to talk about, you know? I thought I made that clear this morning.” 

“You made a couple of things clear.” 

“Don’t say it like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like I…” He tilts his head to the side. “Like I’ve been sending you dirty texts or photos.” 

“Is that an option? I don’t think I’ve subscribed to those emails.” 

“You make me out to be this salacious lark–”

“Aaron, I don’t do anything of the sort.” You can hardly hold back a laugh. “I’m sorry I implied you were sexting me, okay? I wish you had been.” He sighs a long-suffering sigh as you carry on. “But you were very formal. I’ll be sure to tell HR the same thing.” 

His hand slips between your thighs. Nowhere it shouldn’t be, just trapped between soft flesh. “Don’t tell HR anything.” 

His coffee is lukewarm and unsweetened on your tongue. Would it kill your uptight love to add just a dash of cream and sugar? Wrinkling your nose, you set aside the mug and press your mildly heated hand to his cheek. Just quickly, brushing a thumb up to the skin below his eye before you let it fall. “Tell me what you wanted me to come in early for. And, for the record, I’m sorry for not trying to get here before, just I didn’t sleep well, and my neck hurt too much to rush.” 

He looks like he wants to ignore your apology. He doesn’t ask you for much, and showing up when he’d wanted you to would’ve been the kinder thing to do —he can be annoyed as both boss or boyfriend. 

But he doesn’t have it in him. 

“Why didn’t you sleep?” he asks softly. 

“Thinking too much about my nice boyfriend.” 

“Really?” 

You slouch a little. Cover his hand where it rests between your legs. “I don’t know. It was really hot, and my mattress is getting old, probably.” 

He ushers you down for a sympathetic kiss. He’s always so sorry to hear about your minor ailments, he must like you too much. 

You attempt to crawl into his lap, curling an arm behind his head. He, disgruntled and yet far from reluctant, lets you take a seat. 

[luveline]

hey!! I'd love to see one where maybe jack and hotch try speaking to the baby in pregnant!reader's tummy :))

thank you for requesting! fem, 1k

You sniff Aaron’s hair. It’s your right as his wife to enjoy his smells. You’re too tired for subtlety. “You know how many weeks I am today?” you ask. 

You’re in a bubble together. Aaron answers with his usual calm tenor. “You are twenty seven weeks today, honey.” 

It’s endearing that he knows. It’s nice to have found a good one. To never have to worry about compassion or care. Which isn’t to say he’s perfect, he makes wrong decisions, and he disappoints you sometimes, but still, he’s a good one. You aren’t perfect either and you don’t have to be, all you need to do is love and respect one another as much as is physically possible, and you do.  

“Mm,” you hum, drawing a heart into his arm, “and you know what they say around this time?” 

“I’m not sure.” 

“She can hear you, if you want to talk to her.” 

“Really?” 

“That’s what I read earlier on. That if you talk to her through my stomach, she can probably hear your voice. By full term she’ll have hearing like me and you.” 

“Is that true?” he asks, resting his hand on your bump. Sometimes when the baby is in a bad mood and her foot feels like it’s making a bruise through your skin, all Aaron has to do is touch you, and she stops. 

“Well, according to the baby book. They say by twenty nine weeks it’s a sure thing.” 

“Can I speak to her?” 

You brush through his hair with your pinky nail. “Sure, sweetheart. You can talk to her all night long, I’m sure she’d love to hear your voice.” You push the hair from his forehead. “I like hearing you talk.” 

“Lay back,” he says. 

Aaron sits up and you lay down, your head in the pillows, your pregnancy cushion a support on your left side. He slides your t-shirt up slowly as though giving you time to say no. He begins to rub slow circles around the bump, before laying his head flat to he bed, his lip less than two inches from your distended tummy. 

“Hi, baby,” he says, unabashed. “How are you feeling?” 

You laugh. He peeks up at you. 

“Sorry, it’s just funny.” 

“It’s okay. I’d laugh if you started asking my stomach questions too…” He smiles. “But my baby’s in there, so you’ll have to forgive me.” 

“I won’t laugh again, promise.” 

“It’s fine if you do. I’m finding it hard to take myself seriously.” He slows his rubbing. “Baby, if you can hear me, please say hi… I love you. I’m so happy you’re getting bigger.” 

The longer he talks, the less funny it becomes. His melodic murmuring turns praising, he talks of you and Jack and every amazing thing waiting for the baby in the world when she’s done cooking. He tells her he loves her, loves you, that she’s beautiful even though she’s shaped like a GMO kidney bean. He’s totally relaxed. You fall in love with him all over again. 

“And it looks like your big brother wants to say hi too,” he says. 

You perk up. Footsteps rush down the hall to the master bedroom, and a knock echoes fast. Jack doesn’t wait for an answer, bursting in with a happy gasp. “I knew you were still awake,” he says. “Please can I come watch TV with you?” 

“Sure, buddy, but we aren’t watching anything right now,” Aaron says. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m talking to your sister.” 

Jack leans against the bed, fingers screwing in Aaron’s shirt unthinkingly. “You are?” 

“I read in my book today that she can maybe hear you when you talk to her,” you tell him. “Would you want to talk to her, bud?” 

“Can I?” 

“Sure. I don’t mind. I’d love for you to say hello, ‘cos how special is that? For the last few weeks, all she’s been able to hear is me. She doesn’t know she has a whole family waiting for her.” 

Aaron straightens and helps Jack climb onto the bed. He settles at the pillows with you, leaning down briefly to kiss you, lips misaligned but no less gentle. 

“What do I say?” Jack whispers, putting his hand carefully on your bump. 

“You can say anything you want,” you whisper back. “You can say hi, or you can tell her something. The best thing about babies is that we get to teach them about everything.” 

“Okay, um… well,” —he braces himself with two hands on your tummy and leans in— “you can’t see, but we have a dad with brown hair and brown eyes, and we have a super pretty mommy who smiles all the time at me…” Jack’s cheek tips toward his shoulder. “On Sunday they take me to the library and we stay there all morning. And for dinner we always have, um, one hand of vegetables and one hand of chicken, or pork, or pasta. But it’s okay if you can’t finish everything.” 

He looks at his father. “Is that okay?” he asks. 

Aaron offers his hand. “Buddy, that’s perfect. You can tell her anything that you want. She just wants to hear your voice.” 

“Can I tell her about teenage mutant ninja turtles?” 

You laugh. “Sure,” Aaron says. 

Jack starts to talk about Donatello. You try not to laugh as his little hands tickle you, turning your face into Aaron’s side. 

“I have so many things to say to you right now, but I’m worried it’s too saccharine,” he says. 

“Save them for later,” you say, hugging his waist. “Can I nap here? Would you rub my arm?” 

Aaron rubs your arm as you’ve asked. You fall asleep to the sound of your stepsons mumbled rambling and Aaron’s occasional breathy laugh. 

[aaronsguccitie]

it’s the same anon with the baby teeth prompt, i’m back to double dip in your askbox

what about daughter asking hotch how babies are made? like daughter has a friend in kindergarten who’s getting a new sibling so this gets her wondering how and where babies come from

is it obvious I’m enjoying myself too much with these? Unanswered questions

Cw: fem!mom!reader, fluff, Aaron being a girl dad, no use of yn

Word count: 1.2k

————

Fridays are always half days at Olivia’s kindergarten. When there’s no case calling you away, you and Aaron alternate Fridays to pick her up.

Today is your turn, and though it hasn’t been long since you’ve last seen her, you find yourself stealing kisses from your daughter after she’s settled into her car seat. Your lips find warm cheeks and temples, the tip of her nose and her small chin. 

She tolerates a few kisses and then pushes you away with a giggle, the sweet dimples in her cheeks only making her rejection meaner.

“Mommy, wanna ask you somethin’.” She kicks her shoes against the car seat.

“What is it?” You dutifully pause your kisses and smooth down her hair, messy and hot from the sun. A dull ache starts to settle in your lower back from your awkward position.

“Where do babies come from?”

You choke on your spit. Olivia looks at you with curious eyes as you straighten a little, as if to shy away from the question. The steady beat of your heart picks up, until it’s fluttering against your ribs.

It’s too early for this. It’s too early and she’s still a baby and her honeyed eyes blink at you in question, her head tilting the way Aaron’s does when he’s looking down at a messily written report.

Oh yes, Aaron. He’ll deal with this.

A tight smile stretches across your face. “Why don’t you ask your dad, honey? I’m sure he knows.” Throw it all on him, what a great partner you are.

Olivia frowns, looking scarily like him as she does. “You don’t know?” Her tone is strangely skeptical for a five-year-old.

Definitely Aaron’s daughter.

“I think Daddy can explain it better, Liv.” You offer weakly. “We’ll see him soon and you can ask, okay?” You say, already backing out of the backseat. 

Olivia nods and you close the door, hiding a grimace as you turn away. You want to know what made her bring up the subject, but a part of you shudders at continuing that conversation, so you slide back behind the wheel and drive off like nothing happened. 

Olivia herself moves on, serenading you with tales of recess and play time and the wonders of the color purple all the way to Quantico. In the elevator, she tells you about her friend Sophia and the baby in her mommy’s belly. You’re both relieved and not, glad for a perfectly reasonable explanation but decidedly less enthused at another mention of the subject. 

Which you’ll leave for your husband to take care of.

He can handle it better, you reason to yourself, trying to make yourself feel better about it. Jack probably asked the same question when he was her age.

“Sophia’s gonna be a big sister,” Olivia says as you lead her through the bullpen, her small hand in yours. The desks are strangely devoid of your team, but it’s lunchtime, so you ignore that and head up the stairs to Aaron’s office. “When can I be a big sister?” She frowns up at you.

“I don’t know, that depends if Mommy and Daddy have another baby. Special delivery.” You hastily throw Aaron’s door open, leading your too-curious daughter inside and shutting it behind you. 

Aaron is, as usual, bent over a file with his brows pulled together. He looks up when the two of you walk in, the way his shoulders drop alerting you to the fact that they were tensed.

“Daddy!” Olivia beams. She skips to his desk as Aaron drops the pen in his hand, the scowl on his face melting into a soft smile.

“Hi, princess.” He holds out his hands and hauls Olivia into his lap once she’s close enough. She wraps her arms around his neck, his large hands circling her back. “Did you have a good day at school?” The question is lost in a kiss to her cheek, the same spot you pressed your lips to in the car.

“Uh-uh,” Olivia nods as you settle into the chair across from his desk. Aaron’s eyes meet yours and you smile innocently, counting down the seconds until the second blow. 

It lasts for a little while as Aaron softly asks Olivia the routine questions—what did you learn today, did you eat all of your lunch, who did you play with. She answers readily, always content to sit and talk as Aaron draws circles on her arm and you lean your elbow on the desk, basking in her chatter.

It only lasts so long, though.

“Daddy?” 

You brace yourself. Aaron is blissfully unaware, smiling at her as he brushes some of her hair behind her shoulder.

“Yes, princess?”

Olivia doesn’t hesitate. “Where do babies come from?” She asks.

Aaron freezes. His eyes snap to yours, the unadulterated fear in them making you swallow down a delirious laugh. He’s silent as he stares at you, begging with his eyes for help. 

You raise your shoulder in a tiny shrug—I can’t help you. 

Olivia tugs impatiently at his tie and he looks down at her, the color drained from his face. Aaron clears his throat. “Why do you ask, honey?” His voice raises an octave.

“Sophia’s mommy has a baby in her belly.” Olivia says promptly. “Her belly’s really big now.” She giggles.

You think if Aaron was more prepared—if you had given him a heads up—he might’ve come up with a more watered down version of the truth. Something logical albeit digestible, suitable for a five-year-old to understand. 

Instead, with reddened cheeks, he tells your daughter, “When two parents are ready to have a baby, they wish for it really hard and then the baby goes in the mommy’s belly.” His answer is quick, a bandaid ripped off, the words slurring slightly as they escape his mouth.

Olivia’s eyes light up. “I want one! Can I just wish really hard and I’ll get it?”

Oh, god. 

“Absolutely not.”

“No.” Aaron chokes out. He squeezes Olivia’s shoulders, red crawling to the tips of his ears. “Babies are for grownups, Olivia. You can’t have a baby if you’re still a baby yourself.” His voice is both gentle and firm, that puzzling juxtaposition that you’ve always loved. An undertone of anxiety sticks to his words now; you would’ve laughed if you didn’t feel the same.

Olivia frowns. “I’m not a baby.” She crosses her arms, puffs out her chest. “I’m a big girl.”

“You are a big girl,” Aaron soothes, much softer now after the initial shock. “But not big enough for a baby yet, okay?”

“You have Isabella, remember?” You say once the lump in your throat has dissolved. Olivia turns to you, her frown fading at the mention of her baby doll. “Isabella and Daisy, don’t tell me you forgot about them.” You fake-frown at her and she shakes her head.

“I didn’t forget.” Olivia pouts. 

“So you have them, you don’t need babies, right?” You prod gently. 

She thinks about it for a second, but then shakes her head again. Aaron’s body turns to liquid as he exhales, the relief palpable in his eyes when he looks at you. Thank you, they say as Olivia turns her attention to the cufflinks on his shirt, twisting them around as she cheerfully jumps to another topic.

You smile back at him, hoping he doesn’t see through it.

You don’t know the half of it.

[camhotchner]

Words cannot describe how adorable this is and how much I adored it. Like if Tumblr had an option to favorite or bookmark things so you can revisit it easily and whenever this would be one of the top ones I’d add

[aaronsguccitie]

Omg🥹🥹 you’re so sweet, tysm! I’m so so happy you enjoyed it🩷