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kiwriteswords · 7 months ago

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Hi Ki! Could I get an Aaron Hotchner x Sunshine!Reader fic, where maybe she LOVES christmas and he's sorta grumpy about the whole thing and she really changes him!

A Season of Sunshine

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Sunshine!Female!Reader||Word Count: 6k

Tags/Warnings: 5+1, Christmas, Sunshine Reader, fluff, mentions of grief, mentions of holiday sadness, mentions of alcohol in social setting, legit tooth-rotting fluff, slow burn, no use of Y/N.

Sypnosis: 5 times reader brought sunshine to Aaron Hotchner around the holidays, +1 time Hotch brought sunshine to her.

Aaron Hotchner observed you from across the bullpen, your laughter ringing out like a bright bell amidst the quiet hum of clicking keyboards and murmured conversations.

The first snow of December swirled gently outside the frosted windows, a backdrop to your seemingly boundless energy. You were leaning over a desk, cheerfully handing out small, festively wrapped candy canes to your teammates.

You looked so happy. That was the thought that lingered in Hotch’s mind as he watched you move from desk to desk, your smile contagious enough to soften even the usually stoic faces of Rossi and Morgan.

“You’re going to give me a cavity, Sunshine,” Morgan teased as you placed a candy cane on his keyboard.

“That’s what dentists are for,” you replied with a wink, earning a chuckle from him.

Hotch’s lips twitched, but the smile never fully formed. It was a rare thing for him these days, and while he appreciated your attempts to brighten the team’s spirits, he couldn’t help but question how someone who dealt with the kind of darkness their job revealed could remain so light—so...sunny.

The holidays were always difficult. For everyone. Suicide rates spiked, depression deepened, and grief—a familiar companion for Hotch—seemed sharper in the winter cold. He thought about Jack, about the guilt that came with knowing his son’s memories of Christmases past were punctuated by his absence, his work always pulling him away.

And then there was you. The newest member of the team. This was your first Christmas with the BAU, and you’d already brought in a small, sparkling tree to decorate the corner of the bullpen, strung colorful lights across your desk, and started an advent calendar that you insisted everyone participate in. You’d even convinced Penelope to wear a reindeer headband, complete with jingle bells that she delighted in shaking whenever someone passed her office.

“Hotch?”

Your voice startled him from his thoughts. He realized belatedly that you were standing in front of his desk, holding out a candy cane with a hopeful smile. Up close, you were radiant, your eyes sparkling with holiday cheer.

“For me?” he asked dryly, glancing at the candy cane as though it might be a trap.

“Of course. Everyone gets one,” you said, placing it neatly beside his coffee mug. “It’s peppermint. Good for focus.”

“Is that so?”

“Absolutely. There’s research on it and everything,” you replied, as though your enthusiasm alone could make it true. You lingered a moment, tilting your head to study him. “You’re not much of a Christmas person, are you?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he replied carefully.

“But you wouldn’t say you are one, either,” you countered, your smile never faltering. “Don’t worry. I’ll fix that.”

And with that, you were gone, leaving him with the candy cane and a faint scent of pine and vanilla trailing in your wake. Hotch’s gaze followed you as you returned to your desk, now chatting animatedly with JJ about the best Christmas movies.

He shook his head slightly, turning back to the stack of case files in front of him. Fix that, you’d said. As if he were some project in need of holiday spirit. He supposed he should’ve been annoyed, but there was something about your relentless optimism that he found...endearing.

Over the next few days, your efforts to “fix” him grew more deliberate. A holiday playlist softly played in the background of the bullpen, courtesy of you and Garcia. You organized a Secret Santa exchange, somehow roping even the most reluctant members of the team into participating. When the team went out for an after-hours dinner, you’d insisted on ordering hot cocoa for everyone, complete with whipped cream and marshmallows.

It was infectious, your enthusiasm. Even Hotch, who prided himself on his unshakable focus, found himself humming along to a Christmas tune as he reviewed case notes late one evening. He stopped mid-hum, frowning. You’d gotten to him.

By the time the team’s annual holiday gathering rolled around, Hotch couldn’t deny the shift in the atmosphere. The bullpen felt lighter, more alive, and the credit undeniably belonged to you. Yet, he still struggled to reconcile how you could be so bright amidst the shadows they encountered daily.

That evening, after most of the team had left, Hotch found himself standing by the small tree you’d brought in. The lights twinkled warmly, and a single wrapped present with Jack’s name sat underneath. You’d insisted on helping him pick out something special for his son, your genuine excitement rivaling that of any child on Christmas morning.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

He turned to find you standing beside him, your coat draped over your arm.

“It is,” he admitted quietly.

“I know this time of year can be hard,” you said softly, your voice losing some of its usual buoyancy. “But it can also be really beautiful, in its own way.”

Hotch studied you for a long moment, taking in the sincerity in your expression. “How do you do it?” he asked finally. “Stay so…”

“Happy?” you finished for him, smiling faintly. “I’m not always happy, Hotch. But I try to focus on the good things, especially when the world feels dark. It helps.”

“Focus on the good things,” he repeated, almost to himself. His gaze shifted back to the tree, the warm glow of the lights reflecting in his eyes.

“Exactly. Like candy canes and Christmas trees,” you teased gently, nudging his arm.

For the first time in a long while, Hotch allowed himself a genuine smile. “Thank you.”

You blinked, surprised by the unexpected gratitude. “For what?”

“For reminding me.”

You tilted your head, your smile widening as you replied, “Anytime, Boss.”

And for the first time, Aaron Hotchner found himself looking forward to Christmas.

II.

Aaron Hotchner stood in the corner of David Rossi's cozy living room, a glass of sparkling water in hand. The house was warm and bright, filled with the soft glow of Christmas lights and the hum of cheerful conversation. Children’s laughter rang out from the area near the tree, where Jack, Henry, and Michael were busy examining their gifts while Savannah held baby Hank on her lap, cooing softly to him.

Hotch’s gaze drifted to you, as it often did these days. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor with Jack, helping him assemble a toy airplane with nimble fingers and endless patience. Jack’s face was lit with excitement as he explained the steps in his careful, deliberate way, and you listened with an encouraging smile. Occasionally, you glanced up to share a warm look or quick comment with the adults nearby, your laughter soft and genuine.

You looked so happy. And watching you, Hotch felt something he couldn’t quite name. Warmth, perhaps, or an ache just beneath it.

It had been over a year since you joined the team, and in that time, you’d become the one person who could cut through his carefully guarded exterior. You had a way of disarming him with your relentless optimism, your knack for seeing light in the darkest moments. He’d felt it most acutely during the holidays, when the weight of loss and responsibility pressed hardest against him. Somehow, you always managed to draw him out, to remind him that there was still beauty in the world.

“Dad!” Jack called, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Look at this!”

Hotch stepped closer to the group, bending down as Jack held up the half-assembled airplane. “That’s impressive,” he said, his voice warm. “You’ve got a good helper.”

“Your dad’s just saying that because I haven’t broken anything yet,” you teased, glancing up at Hotch with a grin. There was a faint blush on your cheeks—likely from the eggnog you’d been enjoying—and your eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Not yet,” Hotch replied, his lips twitching into a rare smile.

You gasped in mock offense, your laughter bubbling up. “I’ll have you know, I am an expert toy assembler. Just ask Henry.”

Henry, who was sitting nearby, nodded sagely. “She’s really good,” he said, earning a chuckle from the adults.

As the evening wore on, the children settled into a quieter rhythm, playing together under Savannah’s watchful eye. The adults moved to the kitchen, chatting over mulled wine and eggnog. You lingered by the doorway for a moment before making your way toward Hotch, who had retreated to the quieter edge of the room.

“You’re hiding,” you said, your tone light but teasing.

“Just taking a moment,” he replied, glancing down at you. You’d swapped your eggnog for water, but the slight sway in your stance betrayed your earlier indulgence.

“It’s Christmas,” you said softly. “No moments allowed. You’re supposed to be enjoying yourself.”

“I am,” he said, and it surprised him how true it felt.

You studied him for a moment, your smile softening. “Good. You deserve it.”

The warmth in your voice unsettled him, and yet he couldn’t look away. You had a way of seeing him that no one else did, peeling back the layers he worked so hard to maintain. It was disarming, intoxicating, and he didn’t know whether to thank you or guard himself more fiercely.

“You’re good at this,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “Bringing people together. Making them feel…better.”

You tilted your head, your expression turning thoughtful. “I try. It’s not always easy, though. Especially with you.”

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” you said, your eyes brightening again. “And you should also consider letting yourself enjoy things a little more. Just a thought.”

“I’ll take it under advisement,” he replied, and the soft, teasing edge in his tone made your smile widen.

For a moment, it was just the two of you, the sounds of the party fading into the background. You looked up at him with an openness that made his chest tighten, and he found himself wondering—not for the first time—how someone like you had ended up here, in a world so often filled with darkness.

“Merry Christmas, Hotch,” you said softly, your voice carrying a warmth that lingered long after you’d turned to rejoin the group.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. And for the first time in years, he meant it.

III.

Aaron Hotchner stared out the window of the small motel room, the cheap curtains drawn back to reveal the dim glow of Christmas lights strung up on a nearby house. It was the only reminder of the holiday, a faint glimmer of cheer amidst the grim reality of their current case. His reflection stared back at him in the glass, tired and drawn, the weight of the day etched into the lines of his face.

The case was bad—one of the worst. Children were involved, and they were short-staffed, with JJ staying behind to be with Henry and Michael. Hotch had insisted on it, even though it meant carrying the guilt of being away from Jack. Jack, who was now old enough to understand that his father’s work sometimes came before everything else. Old enough to feel the sting of his absence.

The thought gnawed at him, a sharp pang that had been with him all day. This was a Christmas Jack might remember—one of the few left before he stopped believing in the magic of the holiday. And Hotch wasn’t there. He should’ve been there.

A soft knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. He turned, half expecting Morgan or Rossi, but it was you. You stood there with a small smile, a wrapped package tucked under one arm. Your presence alone was a balm, a brief respite from the heaviness that seemed to cling to him.

“Can I come in?” you asked, your voice quiet but warm. You weren’t your usual bubbly self tonight—the weight of the case had tempered your sunshine—but there was still a light in your eyes that seemed undimmed.

He nodded, stepping back to let you in. You placed the package on the small table near the window, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as you turned to face him.

“I know this isn’t how you wanted to spend Christmas,” you said softly, your gaze steady on his. “But I thought maybe we could try to make it feel a little more like home.”

Hotch felt his throat tighten as you handed him the gift, your smile tinged with something tender. He unwrapped it carefully, his fingers brushing against the edges of the frame as he revealed the photo inside. It was a candid shot of him and Jack, taken during one of their rare moments of unguarded joy. Jack was laughing, his arms thrown around his father’s neck, and Hotch’s own smile was wide and genuine—a version of himself he hardly recognized anymore.

“Where did you…” His voice faltered as he looked up at you.

“I snuck a photo of you two over the summer at the get-together Penelope hosted,” you admitted, a faint blush creeping up your cheeks. “I thought you might want something to remind you of him. Especially tonight.”

He swallowed hard, the emotion catching him off guard. “Thank you,” he said finally, his voice rough. “This means a lot.”

You smiled, that warm, gentle smile that always seemed to soften the edges of his world. “I’m glad.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled only by the faint hum of the heater. Then Hotch cleared his throat, his gaze shifting back to you. “Would you…stay for a while?” he asked, surprising even himself. “I…I think I could use the company.”

Your smile widened, and you nodded. “I’d like that.”

The two of you settled on the edge of the bed, a small laptop propped between you as you queued up an old Christmas movie. The screen cast a soft glow over the room, the sound of holiday music mingling with the rustle of case files as you both worked quietly. Occasionally, you’d make a comment about the movie, drawing a rare chuckle from him, or he’d ask for your input on a theory for the case, your perspective always sharper than you gave yourself credit for.

As the hours passed, the weight on his chest seemed to lift, just a little. Your presence was steady, grounding, and he found himself watching you more than the screen. The way your eyes lit up during certain scenes, the way your laughter softened the edges of his grief, the way you leaned just slightly toward him, as though drawn by some invisible force.

Eventually, the movie ended, and the case files lay forgotten on the nightstand. You’d curled up on your side of the bed, your head resting on the pillow as sleep claimed you. Hotch sat beside you for a moment longer, watching the rise and fall of your breathing, the peaceful expression on your face.

Carefully, he slid down beside you, his own exhaustion finally catching up with him. As his eyes closed, the photo of Jack on the nightstand caught his gaze one last time. For the first time that day, he felt a flicker of peace.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmured softly, the words barely audible in the quiet room. And for the first time in years, he meant it.

IV.

Aaron Hotchner adjusted his tie as he stepped into the bustling bullpen, the hum of holiday cheer filling the space. Twinkling lights wrapped around cubicle dividers, and Penelope Garcia had outdone herself again, transforming the office into a festive wonderland. The annual Christmas gathering was in full swing, and the team—his family, as much as he’d allow himself to admit it—were mingling, laughing, and enjoying the break from their usual grim reality.

He scanned the room automatically, his eyes landing on you. You were by the snack table, laughing with Morgan and JJ, your smile radiant under the soft glow of the holiday lights. You wore a deep green sweater that somehow managed to be both festive and professional, and your laughter, as always, was the kind of sound that warmed even the coldest corners of his heart. Jack adored you, the team adored you, and though he’d never said it aloud, Hotch knew you were the brightest part of his life. The thought lingered, unspoken but ever-present.

“Hotch, my man,” Morgan called, clapping him on the back. “Looking sharp as always. You’ve got to come try Garcia’s infamous eggnog. It’s got a kick that’ll put hair on your chest.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow. “I think I’ll pass.”

Morgan smirked but said nothing, his eyes flicking briefly toward you. Hotch didn’t miss the knowing glance, but he chose not to comment. The team had been teasing him for months now, their thinly veiled remarks about how well you two complemented each other becoming harder to ignore. And the truth was, they weren’t wrong. You were the sunshine to his shadow, and no matter how hard he tried to maintain his stoic demeanor, you always found a way to break through.

“Hotch, come here for a sec!” Penelope called, waving him toward the breakroom with an exaggerated flourish. Her excitement was suspicious, but he indulged her, weaving through the crowd of colleagues.

You were already there, standing by the counter with a cup of cocoa in hand, your head tilting in curiosity when you saw him approach. “What’s going on?” you asked, glancing between him and Penelope.

Penelope’s grin was practically devious. “Oh, nothing,” she said innocently, gesturing upward. “Except...look up.”

Hotch followed her gaze, his stomach sinking slightly as he spotted the small sprig of mistletoe dangling above the two of you. He heard the team’s collective laughter and chatter outside the door, and when he looked back at you, he saw the faint flush that crept up your cheeks.

“Penelope,” he said, his tone even but edged with warning. “This seems highly inappropriate.”

“Oh, come on, Hotch,” Morgan’s voice rang out from the doorway. “Don’t be a Grinch. It’s tradition!”

The team’s voices joined in, a chorus of good-natured peer pressure that only made the situation more absurd. You laughed softly, glancing at him with a mixture of amusement and resignation. “Looks like we’re outnumbered,” you said, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

Hotch’s lips twitched, the beginnings of a smile threatening to surface. “It seems that way.”

You stepped closer, your expression softening as you leaned in and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. The warmth of your touch lingered, and when you pulled back, you gave the team an exaggerated shrug. “That’s all you’re getting. This seems like an HR nightmare waiting to happen.”

The team erupted in laughter and groans, their teasing echoing through the room as they slowly dispersed, leaving the two of you alone. Hotch stood there, momentarily stunned. He was rarely caught off guard, but something about the way you’d handled the moment—with grace, humor, and that unshakable light of yours—had left him uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

“You’re quiet,” you remarked, breaking the silence. There was a hint of teasing in your tone, but your eyes held something deeper.

Before he could respond, you stepped closer again, your voice dropping to a softer, more serious note. “For the record,” you said, your gaze locking with his, “I’ve thought about doing this for a very long time.”

And then you kissed him. Fully, softly, your lips brushing his with a warmth that stole his breath. It wasn’t hurried or fleeting, but gentle and deliberate, a kiss that spoke volumes without a single word. When you pulled back, your cheeks were flushed, but there was a quiet confidence in your expression.

“Merry Christmas, Aaron,” you said softly, your voice carrying that same warmth that always seemed to anchor him. And before he could find the words to respond, you turned and walked away, leaving him standing there beneath the mistletoe, the faint taste of peppermint and cocoa lingering on his lips.

He stared after you, his thoughts a whirlwind of emotions he couldn’t quite name. You’d left him stunned, questioning everything he’d been holding back for so long. And for the first time, he allowed himself to wonder—really wonder—what he was waiting for.

Aaron Hotchner stood frozen beneath the mistletoe, replaying the moment over in his mind. Your touch, the warmth of your lips, the quiet confidence in your voice as you walked away—it all lingered like a soft hum, reverberating through him. For a man who thrived on control, who prided himself on composure, he was suddenly untethered.

The sound of laughter and conversation from the bullpen drifted faintly into the breakroom, but Hotch barely registered it. His gaze had followed you as you disappeared through the doorway, the gentle sway of your steps a stark contrast to the rapid thrum of his pulse. He raised a hand to his cheek, where your earlier, teasing kiss still burned faintly, before letting it drop.

He should follow you. Say something. Do something. But what? His mind, usually so sharp and analytical, felt slow and uncertain. You’d left him with no doubt about your feelings, and yet he still found himself grappling with the implications, the flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

The door creaked slightly, and Morgan’s head poked through, a smirk firmly in place. “Hey, Hotch, you coming back out? Or are you still processing?”

Hotch shot him a look, but there was no real heat behind it. “I’ll be out in a minute,” he said, his tone even but quieter than usual.

Morgan chuckled, shaking his head. “Take your time, man. But don’t let her get too far ahead of you. She’s got a lot of sunshine to give, and you’ve been standing in the shade too long.”

With that, Morgan disappeared, leaving Hotch alone once more. He exhaled deeply, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. For all his teasing, Morgan wasn’t wrong. You were sunshine, the kind that warmed even the coldest, darkest parts of him. And maybe—just maybe—he was ready to step into that light.

With a resolute breath, he straightened his tie and stepped out of the breakroom, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on you. You were by the tree now, talking with JJ and Garcia, your laughter carrying softly over the hum of the party. For the first time, Hotch felt a clarity he hadn’t allowed himself before.

He wasn’t going to wait anymore.

Aaron Hotchner stood in the kitchen; his sleeves rolled up as he finished drying the last of the dishes. The faint sounds of Jack’s laughter drifted in from the living room, where you were sitting on the floor by the coffee table, sorting through the pieces of a puzzle you’d brought as a Christmas gift. Jack, now a teenager, had grown taller and lankier in the past year, but his laughter still carried the same unfiltered joy that made Hotch’s chest ache with pride and affection.

He glanced over his shoulder to see the two of you working together, your head bent close to Jack’s as you studied the image on the puzzle box. You wore a soft red sweater, simple but elegant, and jeans that hinted at your easygoing nature. The twinkling lights from the Christmas tree reflected in your eyes as you laughed softly at something Jack said. Hotch couldn’t help but marvel at the way you fit so seamlessly into his life, the way you made everything—even something as ordinary as a puzzle—feel special.

The evening had been everything he could have hoped for. You’d arrived earlier with a bright smile, carrying a bag of gifts and a small dish of your signature dessert. Jack had met you at the door with a quick hug and an eager grin, his awkward teenage reserve slipping away in your presence. You’d brought him a few thoughtful gifts, including a hardcover art book filled with sketches and techniques, knowing he’d taken up drawing. Jack had practically beamed as he flipped through the pages, his gratitude clear in the way he couldn’t stop thanking you.

For you, Hotch had chosen something more personal. When he’d handed you the small wrapped box after dinner, you’d looked at him curiously, your fingers carefully peeling back the paper. Inside was a delicate silver bracelet with a single charm—a tiny sun.

“It reminded me of you,” he’d said simply, his voice quiet but steady.

Your breath had caught, your eyes shining as you turned the bracelet over in your hands. “Aaron,” you’d murmured, your voice soft with emotion. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

He’d watched as you fastened it around your wrist, the charm catching the light in a way that seemed fitting. You were his sunshine, after all—the bright spot in his darkest days.

You hadn’t come empty-handed either. You had given Hotch a new tie, one that followed a similar pattern to his others--it was very him. You’d slipped back to your bag and pulled out another box, this one wrapped in dark green paper with a neat silver bow. “This is for you,” you’d said, holding it out to him with a touch of nervousness in your smile.

Hotch had unwrapped it carefully, revealing an elegant, framed photo of himself and Jack. The picture was candid, taken during one of Jack’s soccer games earlier in the year. Jack was grinning, his arm slung casually around his father’s shoulders, and Hotch was mid-laugh, a rare moment of unguarded joy captured perfectly. These moments so far and few these days, Jack growing up before his eyes so fast. He couldn’t help but worry if he had missed too much, but this photo was a reminder he was present.

“I thought you could use an updated photo of the two of you,” you’d explained, watching him closely. “I thought it might be nice to have a reminder of how much Jack adores you.”

For a moment, Hotch hadn’t been able to speak. He’d traced the edge of the frame with his fingers, his throat tightening as he looked up at you. “It’s perfect,” he’d said simply, his voice rough with emotion. “Thank you.”

Now, as he stepped into the living room, he saw Jack stretch and yawn dramatically, the puzzle only half-finished. “I’m heading to bed,” Jack announced, his voice carrying the exaggerated tone of a teenager.

“Goodnight, kiddo,” you said warmly, reaching up to ruffle his hair. Jack groaned in protest but didn’t pull away, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Goodnight, Dad,” Jack said, pausing by Hotch’s side before wishing you goodnight, “Thanks for the gifts; I loved them.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied, your smile softening as Jack disappeared upstairs.

Hotch settled beside you on the couch, the warmth of the fire casting a gentle glow over the room. You tucked your legs beneath you, leaning slightly into his side as he rested an arm along the back of the couch. The quiet filled the space like a comforting blanket, and for a moment, Hotch simply let himself savor it.

“I think he likes you more than he likes me,” he said, his tone teasing but tinged with sincerity.

You laughed softly, tilting your head to look up at him. “I’m just trying to win him over with gifts and puzzles. It’s all part of my master plan.”

Hotch chuckled, his thumb brushing idly against your arm. “It’s working.”

Your smile lingered, but your expression shifted slightly, growing more thoughtful. “Aaron,” you began, your voice softer now. “Can I tell you something?”

He nodded, his gaze steady as he turned to face you fully. “Of course.”

You hesitated for a moment, your fingers playing with the edge of the throw pillow beside you. Then you looked up, your eyes meeting his with an openness that made his chest tighten.

“This past year has been… incredible,” you said, your voice tinged with emotion. “Being with you, getting to know Jack, feeling like I’m part of something so special… I can’t even put it into words.”

He listened intently, his hand still resting on your arm, his thumb now tracing small, reassuring circles.

“What I’m trying to say is… I love you,” you continued, your voice breaking slightly on the last word. “And I’ve wanted to tell you for a while, but tonight felt right.”

The room seemed to be still, the faint crackle of the fire the only sound as your words hung between you. Hotch felt his breath hitch, his chest swelling with an emotion so profound it left him momentarily speechless. He reached for your hand, his fingers curling around yours as he leaned closer.

“I love you too,” he said finally, his voice steady but filled with quiet intensity. “More than I can ever say.”

Your eyes filled with tears, but your smile was radiant as you leaned into him, your forehead resting against his. For a long moment, the two of you simply stayed like that; the weight of the world momentarily lifted.

Later, as the fire burned low and the room grew quieter still, Hotch held you close, his arm draped around your shoulders. He glanced at the bracelet on your wrist, the tiny sun catching the last flickers of light.

“You know,” you said softly, breaking the silence, “I’ve thought about telling you for so long, but I kept overthinking it. I was so nervous you wouldn’t feel the same way.”

Hotch’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly, his voice quiet but firm. “You never had to worry about that,” he said. “I think I’ve loved you since the moment you walked into my life. I just wasn’t brave enough to admit it.”

You looked up at him, your smile soft but full of emotion. “We’re quite the pair, huh? Overthinking everything when it’s so obvious.”

He chuckled, his chest vibrating against you. “Maybe. But I think we got it right in the end.”

Your hand brushed against his, your fingers intertwining. “The best kind of right,” you murmured.

Hotch pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, the weight of your words and the warmth of your presence filling him with a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in years. As the fire flickered its last embers, he held you close, silently marveling at how you’d turned his world into something brighter than he’d ever thought possible.

Aaron Hotchner stood in the middle of the living room, adjusting the final string of twinkling lights around the small tree you and Jack had picked out together the week before. It was early Christmas morning, and the house was quiet save for the soft crackle of the fireplace and the faint sound of Jack’s laughter from the video game he was playing upstairs. Hotch had been up for hours, carefully setting everything into place for what he hoped would be the perfect day.

Living with you had changed him in ways he hadn’t expected. It wasn’t just the warmth you brought to his home but the way you’d taught him to savor moments, to lean into the joy of life rather than keeping it at arm’s length. This Christmas, he wanted to return the favor.

The first part of his plan unfolded at the BAU’s holiday party earlier that week. For the first time, Hotch had embraced the festivities rather than standing on the sidelines. He’d worked with Penelope to set up a hot cocoa bar, complete with toppings and festive mugs, and even organized a Secret Santa exchange. When you’d arrived in your cozy sweater and bright smile, you’d lit up even more upon seeing what he’d done.

“You did all this?” you’d asked, looking around at the decorated conference room.

“I had help,” he admitted, his lips curving into a rare smile. “But I thought it might be nice to bring a little sunshine to the team. You’ve inspired me.”

Your cheeks had flushed at his words, your smile widening as you leaned into his side. “I think it’s wonderful. You’re wonderful.”

Now, at home, he hoped to create something equally memorable. He’d waited until you were fast asleep the night before to finish wrapping the small but meaningful gifts he’d chosen for you. Among them was a leather-bound journal with your initials embossed in gold, a nod to the way you’d always jot down your thoughts or ideas. But the most significant gift was hidden beneath the tree, tucked inside a small box. It wasn’t extravagant—Hotch had never been one for grand gestures—but it was deeply personal.

When you came down the stairs later that morning, your hair still slightly mussed from sleep and a soft blanket draped around your shoulders, you froze at the sight of the living room. The tree glowed softly, surrounded by neatly wrapped presents, and the mantle was adorned with garland and stockings. On the coffee table sat a tray with freshly brewed coffee and your favorite pastries.

“Aaron,” you breathed, your voice thick with emotion. “Did you do all this?”

“Merry Christmas,” he said simply, stepping forward to press a kiss to your temple. “I wanted to make it special for you. For us.”

You looked at him, your eyes shining as you took it all in. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

The morning passed in a blur of laughter and warmth as you and Jack opened gifts together. The journal earned a quiet, heartfelt thank you, but it was the last box Hotch handed you that brought tears to your eyes. Inside was a delicate gold necklace with a tiny sun-shaped charm, a perfect match to the bracelet he’d given you the year before.

“It’s beautiful,” you said softly, your fingers brushing over the charm. “I love it.”

“It reminded me of you,” he said, his voice low. “And of everything you’ve brought into my life.”

Later, as Jack retreated upstairs to play with his new gifts--mainly video games this year, you and Hotch curled up on the couch together. The fire crackled softly, casting a warm glow over the room as you rested your head against his chest.

“You really outdid yourself this year,” you murmured, your voice filled with affection. “You’re like a whole new person.”

“Not new,” he corrected gently, his hand tracing slow, comforting circles on your back. “Just better. Because of you.”

You lifted your head to meet his gaze, your smile soft but radiant. “I love you, Aaron Hotchner. And you’ve given me the best Christmas I could ever ask for.”

He leaned down to kiss you, his heart full in a way he hadn’t thought possible. “I love you too,” he said softly. And as he held you close, the warmth of the season and the light of your presence surrounding him, he knew that this—this life with you—was the greatest gift he could ever receive.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

@person-005

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glitteredrry · 6 months ago

Text

sugar honey kisses

summary: harry’s next tour is joined by a special guest that has taken over his life and the world.

warning: brief mention of infertility/ miscarriage & fluff

wc: 3k+

a.n. i’ve been in a writing slump, and i just thought of this. i kind of went overboard (sorry). please excuse any spelling errors. i hope you enjoy these little blurbs. i was missing our harry, and i’m secretly manifesting another tour for us. byeee see y’all soon. 🤍

1. breaking news

Harry sat in the studio stuck on a verse on the last song to his album. He was gearing up to the release of his 4th studio album, and tour. Love on tour was going to be hard to top, but he looked forward to how this tour was going to be. He felt that he was in a better era of his life, all he hoped was that his growth would reflect on this new album. Fans were begging him to come back, and soon their prayers would be answered. His management was going to be releasing the album release date at 9 P.M. tonight. As he thoughtfully bite on the arm of his glasses, in walked in his wife YN. Harry’s eyes shot up looking at her happy to finally see her for the first time today, he had an early studio time today and only was able to give her a kiss to her head as she slept. Harry’s happiness quickly turned to nervousness as he saw a disheveled YN walking closer to him. “Doll, what’s wrong?” As she came in arm’s width from him, he grabbed onto her, and guided her to sit in his lap. Taking the tips of his fingers, he moved her hair out of her face as he watched her eyes tear up. Which only caused him to be more worried, “Harry, I wish I would've waited to tell you but I can’t.” YN reached down in her purse to grab something, and once it was shown to Harry he felt as if his heart rate had tripled in a split second.

“We’re pregnant.” She whispered to him with a smile. Harry was speechless as he stared at the test, he couldn't believe the words that were coming out of her mouth. “You’re serious,” YN nodded, touching his face for some solace. “I’m absolutely serious, we have half of us here.” She grabbed his hand holding him to her stomach. Harry’s tears came crashing down as he laid on her chest still accepting that they were with child. Joy rang through Harry’s body as he felt his wife’s comforting touch all over him. Harry reelected on their journey of building their family, going into everything they thought it would be so easy to add a baby; Yet that was the furthest thing than what it was.

After the loss of two children you never got to meet, Harry had been grief ridden for his wife. YN had the optimism Harry couldn’t bear to have during that time. She tried her best to keep him determined that they would one day have a child. They had tried for two years straight, and as of 10 months ago they stopped deliberately trying, and just left it to divine timing. There were doctor appointments to see if something was off with either of them and everything came back clear. The couple tried IVF, and that also wasn’t for them. Harry couldn’t believe that YN was sitting here pregnant after all this time. Harry quickly remembered his album and tour that was supposed to happen, and panic rushed through him. “I-I need to push back the album. I'll call Jeff, and tell him to postpone the tour.” “Absolutely not, you’re not pushing anything back, H. You’re releasing the album, and you’re going on tour. This baby will have to fit into our lives, we’re going to have a tour baby.” Harry smiled at his wife hugging her tightly, he didn’t know how this was going to happen. All he knew is that he loved and trusted his wife. If he had her he could get through anything.

2. trending topic

The world was preparing for the release of the album “Saturn Return”. He had given it that title because he believed he was in his life's peak. Harry was elated as he did his press tour. He felt reconnected to his fans in a way where he had missed them. As Harry was in the green room preparing for his last appearance before the album dropped, Harry’s manager, Jeff walked into the room with his phone in hand. “We have a slight situation going on. Pictures of YN leaving her gym class were released today. She looks visibly pregnant in them. I could release a statement to the press to calm the media, or we can ignore it.”

Harry was furious because he knew that where YN was pictured was an alley. She tried her best to be as inconspicuous as she could. YN was bent over, tying her shoe, and her shirt came up, revealing her growing belly. “I’m sure she’s going to be upset at herself,” Harry kissed his teeth, hating that he would have to break the news of this to his wife. As he continued scrolling online, he saw how fans defended their beloved YN, and Harry appreciated the support at this time. Harry looked at the time and would have to be out there in five minutes. So, he quickly dialed YN. When she answered the phone, Harry explained what had just happened, and the couple decided that the media wouldn’t push them to say anything. This was for them to reveal when they wanted to. Harry rushed to the stage as Jeff followed him, “I want you to make sure there are no questions about what is out right now, no family questions in general. Understood?” He said to Jeff sternly.

As not only a husband but now a father it was his duty to protect his unborn child. Jeff nodded and spread the message. Not commenting on this assumption from the press didn’t make it die down. It only brought more media attention to the couple. On the night of the album release, Harry decided to have a private dinner in New York to celebrate his achievement. YN wore a dress that took attention away from her bump, but as the couple approached the restaurant, paparazzi attacked the couple, asking questions, and someone hit YN, making her nearly fall to the ground. “Move back. Get the fuck away from her,” he created a barrier around YN, making sure she was on her feet. “You okay, doll?” “I’m fine. That just scared me.” Harry held her hand, pressing a brief kiss to her hand as they walked through the door. The media only got worse as time went on. He knew that they wouldn’t stop until they had an answer. So, YN thought of a way to announce the tour that Harry couldn’t resist. Harry’s hand hovered over the “share” button on Instagram as he looked at his wife. “You sure?” “Yes, press it, Harry. It’s now or never.” Harry hit the button and shut off his phone. Within ten minutes of the post being out, the couple was trending on Twitter with one simple post.

Laugh On Tour. Coming 2025. +1.

3. not your average gender reveal

YN had just become accustomed to tour life, and she would soon be leaving to prepare to give birth. Harry pampered her throughout the tour, ensuring she had her own dressing room to cater to all her needs. YN was sad to say she would leave the tour, but soon, her baby would be here. Harry took it seriously that he wouldn’t have YN flying for the last two months of her pregnancy. In the four months, YN had been on tour with Harry, fans loved pregnant YN content. She was considered a style icon with her looks not only during their time off but at shows. YN would sometimes be recorded more at his shows than him, as fans would see her on the side of the stage dancing with her pregnant belly. Harry often joked with fans and asked them about his dad's jokes and if he needed to improve them. Fans would boo or cheer, and it became a fun section of the show. “How about that one, honey?” Harry asked YN on the mic, putting her on blast. As the fans turned their attention to YN, her reaction would be what the audience followed with. YN shook her head and threw out a thumbs down. Then, the crowd followed with booing. “I love constructive criticism. I’ll work on a better one. I’m trying to make my baby laugh when they get here. I would rather get booed here than with my baby.” He shot YN a wink and continued to the next song.

The moment between the couple went viral, and people wondered what the child's gender was. As the couple sat in the bath together after a show, YN thought of something that had been in her head for two weeks since fans had been asking about the gender of their child. Harry rubbed on her growing bump and hummed as he felt himself destressing. “Harry, we should do a gender reveal for my last show with you. Well, the last one for my time on tour, what do you think?” “This tour has felt like a special one. I can’t describe it, but it feels more personal than past ones. I think that would be a great idea.” Harry’s team got ready for the big day and decided that the best idea for this last-minute gender reveal would be to do it right before the closing song, “Kiwi.” YN would be joining him on stage for the first time since they’ve been together, which would also be a massive moment for the couple. Harry took a sip of water after finishing up a song, and he couldn’t help but smile at himself, knowing that the crowd was about to go crazy. “Now, I hate to say that we are coming to an end. But we are. Soon, you will be stuck in traffic, and I will be thinking of you all and the laughter we have shared. Before you go, though, I want to invite a special guest. To all you people trying to sneak off, I see you, so sit down. You won't want to miss this. Please welcome my wife, YN Styles, to the stage.”

YN comes from stage left with a big black balloon, making the crowd scream so loud her ears begin to hurt. “Everyone calm down. My baby is sleeping. Shhh.” Harry said to the crowd as he embraced YN. “Many of you don’t know, but, today is my wife’s last show with me.” The crowd began to say “no” collectively, sounding upset she was making a departure. “It will only be a short break, but when she returns, our baby will be here. So, today, we will be celebrating our baby before their arrival. YN, will you give us the honor of sharing the gender of our baby?” Harry said as if it was nothing, and it was at that exact moment all phones in the room were up, ready to capture the iconic moment happening before them. “Wait, before you pop it, let's add some suspense, right?” Harry looked toward the band as they teased the crowd with music. There was anxious screaming across Wembley Stadium. At each sound of the music, you heard and felt the tension. Harry gave YN the cue to pop the balloon, and as she did, pink confetti flew out, causing the crowd to squeal, cry, and shout, saying how they knew it was a girl. The instrumental to Kiwi started. YN and Harry shared a sweet kiss as YN exited the stage. At the show's end, pink fireworks ended the best night of Harry’s career.

4. tour baby

Everything has been perfect for Harry and YN for the past three months. They couldn’t be happier with their baby girl Genevieve, or Vivi as Harry called her. YN left the tour five months ago, and now she had their three-month-old daughter in her hands, staring back at her. Harry decided to go on break during the middle of his tour to spend three months with his family without worrying about it. YN gave birth in December of 2025, and now, in April, Harry would be heading back for tour, and YN would be joining him again. Harry had been so consumed by their bubble that he almost dreaded coming back for a tour. YN would be lying if she said she wouldn’t miss his attention, and his time. It was the sad side of touring that she was familiar with. YN always knew his family was his number one priority. Now, going back on tour, the fact of the matter is that they aren’t his only priority. Naturally, with Harry touring, it could weigh down on him. He became tired easily or just lacked being attentive in other areas. It wasn’t necessarily his fault.

The tour just consumes his life. Harry had promised her that he wouldn’t let that happen this time around. YN was going through postpartum depression, and expressed to Harry her feelings. Harry took that into account and constantly tried to pour love into YN. Sometimes, his sugar honey kisses got her through the day. YN felt wholly supported as she transitioned to becoming a mother. Harry was the perfect spouse during this time; as Harry prepared to return to tour, there had to be many accommodations for Vivi and YN. Harry wanted to ensure they had everything and more that they needed. Harry was nervous about his baby girl coming to tour, he knew the media would wish to have the first look at his child. His only priority was to protect his family. Over the break, Harry and YN had many talks about the transition that would be taking place. Nannies were in place for the rest of the tour, and there was a schedule the couple would try their best to follow.

On the first day back from tour, the crew fell in love with Vivi. Harry made sure to have a long talk with everyone about the boundary with his most precious gift the world gave him, and he made sure to have NDAs signed for anyone who would be working on the tour. If news were to leak about Vi, he doesn’t know how he would react. Truly he would feel betrayed. As Harry was on stage, he saw signs all around the stadium asking about his baby girl. “She’s happy, we’re happy,” Harry said to a fan sign. Towards the middle of the concert, fans across the Camp Nou stadium got a notification while Harry was dancing across the stage, which caused all of them to scream.

Laugh On Tour. Barcelona I. April, 2026.

5. bittersweet first birthday

Vivi was the star of the tour, and as her first birthday approached, she knew this. As she gained consciousness, she joined Harry for soundcheck and even joined him in singing (which was just her screaming). Harry was overjoyed that it seemed like his baby girl was enjoying this side of his life. He had many fears that she would be scared of the loud music, but instead, she embraced it. As Vi got older, YN thought it would be good to start showing her to attend concerts.

Typically, during shows, Vivi would be backstage with a nanny. During Vivi's 6 months on tour, she finally sat in a suite with YN, watching her father perform on stage, and it seemed that she enjoyed it. At nine months old, even though she had protective earphones, YN often caught her hanging on to the songs she once knew in the womb. It looked as if she was relearning them as the months flew by. Now, one day away from her first birthday, Harry and YN both share tears about this bittersweet birthday. Of course, the couple was happy that their child was turning one year old while Harry was on tour, but the tour would end a month after Vi’s birthday, and it felt like an era of all of their lives would be ending. Vi was conceived right before this era of their lives, and Harry had reached heights of his career that he had never reached before. He had to credit this to his wife and child for all attributes.

Harry felt a sense of motivation and drive that he never had before. Vi was the inspiration for everything in his life, and he knew that shortly after this tour ended, he would be working on an album dedicated to his daughter. Watching her grow had caused him to jot down small notes about what he would write about for the next album. Vi was the inspiration of his life. Harry wanted to share his daughter with fans because they patiently waited and never invaded his space in public when they saw his daughter was with him. Harry kept Vi’s identity under wraps, although some articles would pull different things together about what they thought his daughter looked like. Sharing the most private thing in Harry’s life made him anxious; he was exposing Vi to the public eye's scrutiny. Harry knew how difficult it would be to keep her hidden as she grew into a toddler.

As she got older, Vi would attempt to snatch the blankets off that kept her hidden, or she would try to peek out from her stroller as the flashing noises from cameras were on her. Harry knew he wouldn’t show her often, so he wanted the first time to be a special occasion. Once he brought up the idea of singing “Happy Birthday” to her on stage to YN, it was something YN had to agree to. As Harry performed to a crowd of 78,000 people, he knew it was time for his surprise before he took a brief intermission. His fans didn’t necessarily know the date of Vi’s birthday, so this would be something else that was personal to him. “If you all would join me, it’s a very special someone’s first birthday.” The crowd cheered loudly as Harry laughed briefly at the reaction, opening his eyes in shock at the loud cheering. “That’s the best you can do?” He said sarcastically as the crowd screamed louder. “I think we should bring our guest out on stage…what do you say?” As the crowd continued to cheer, it dawned on them that this would be the first look at his daughter. “Don’t scare her too bad; she’s new to show business. Welcome my pride and joy to the stage, Vivi. Come here.” YN sat Vi down and YN instructed her to walk to Harry. Vivi walked out on stage to her father with stumbling legs as if the stage and crowd were second nature to her. As Vi walked into Harry’s opening arms, the crowd loudly aww’ed as Vi laid her head on Harry’s shoulder. “Now, don’t make my baby cry. Let’s have a nice hushed happy birthday to my Vi.” The crowd listened to Harry and joined him in singing to Vivi. Which seemed to surprise her as the crowd said her name to her, “Happy birthday, Vivi,” Harry said, then he pressed a kiss to the side of her head feeling more emotional than he thought he would.

Vi clung to his body as Harry walked off stage to an emotional YN. When the show ended, the crew decided to do something special for Vivi, which had Harry and YN thanking everyone for hours afterward. That night in the hotel, Genevive was sleeping in between the couple after her sugar crash from eating too much cake. Harry and YN watched the online outpour of love and admiration for their baby.

NEW DADRRY CONTENT

Happy birthday to the laugh on tour baby

Aww she has his eyes

Harry and YN reacted to different comments, which also led to playful arguments about who she looked more like. YN was happy with her decision that Harry continued to go on tour, creating memories for a lifetime as a family. Everything fell into the right place for the couple, and the timing couldn’t have been more perfect. As weeks passed, Harry was on cloud nine when his tour ended, and he couldn’t wait until the next tour to see how much more involved Vi would be. He thought of including her throughout his next album, too. He just wanted something to capture her at this age, his personal time capsule. His family slept upstairs in their London home, and before he joined his wife for bed, he posted one last picture to conclude the end of this era.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. This is goodbye for now, but not forever. I love you always. - H & V

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fic rec #harry styles fluff #harry styles fic #harry styles blurb #harry styles x y/n #harry styles drabble #harry styles imagine

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aceofshitposts · 6 months ago

Text

Contrary to popular belief Tim is actually well aware of the importance of sleep. Tim knows that the body needs sleep to function optimally, that he needs to get more of it and imbibe less caffeine. That would all be well and good, if his body would let him.

Tim's no stranger to insomnia. Has suffered sleepless nights staring at the inside of his eyelids over and over until... Well, if he wasn't going to get any sleep anyway he might as well do something else. Tailing Batman and Robin when he was younger then working on cases, tinkering with gadgets in the early morning hours in the Batcave; anything to maybe force his body past the point of no return so he could actually sleep.

While it's gotten better, Tim still spends more time awake then he does asleep. It might be easier, some nights, but not always.

"I'm heading in early." It's a thankfully quiet night but Tim can feel the exhaustion tugging at his limbs. By his estimation he's gotten a scattered total of ten hours of sleep the last couple days and none of it was particularly restful.

"Alright," comes Oracle's computerized voice, "you okay?"

"Fine. Just feeling a little under the weather." It's true enough and Tim manages to be in bed in his apartment a little after 12:30am.

He just has to close his eyes. Close his eyes, stop thinking...

Two hours pass and Tim still. Can't. Sleep.

Fine then. There's WE reports to review anyway. If he passes out while working on the couch then so be it.

The sun is beginning to rise, Tim's living room cast in a deep orange light when there's a noise at the balcony. Even as tired as he is Tim manages to fish a batarang out from the underside of the coffee table and brandish it at the intruder.

"The hell are you doing awake?"

Who turns out to be the Red Hood in all his armoured glory, a plastic takeout bag dangling from one hand.

Tim drops back onto the couch in a huff, rubbing one hand down his face.

"Honestly couldn't tell you. What're you doing here?"

"Blondie told me you were sick," Jason says simply, placing the plastic bag on the coffee table with a thunk. The helmet follows soon after. "Thought I'd drop off some food as thanks for helping me out the other day, especially if you were doing it while getting sick."

Huh. That's awful... thoughtful of Jason. Unfortunately, Tim wasn't any more sick than he was normally, Stephanie had probably exaggerated the problem just through hearsay.

Jason is looking at him. Scrutinizing him in a way only a bat can.

Tim's never exactly told anyone about his troubles with insomnia, content to let everyone just assume it was by choice. Which was probably an entirely different problem in and of itself.

"Alright, come on," Jason says. Commands, really. He's gone from the other side of the coffee table to grabbing Tim by the bicep and hauling him to his feet in the span of a blink. Or maybe Tim's perception of time has completely deteriorated. One of the two.

"What?" Tim asks belatedly in the middle of being dragged from the livingroom to the bedroom. Jason doesn't answer, instead drawing the blackout curtains to block out the rising sun and... it's not quite a shove, but it's definitely not a suggestion either that Tim lie down.

He disappears out the door leaving Tim to wonder if he actually hallucinated all that. There's noise in the apartment- the fridge door opening, the rustling of a plastic bag, the fridge door closing. Tim expects Jason to leave, sighing into his comforter as he tries to get comfortable. If he's lucky he'll fall asleep in a few hours at this rate.

And then he hears the bedroom door close. Footsteps and a weight on the bed. Warm, strong arms pull Tim in until he's pressed flush against Jason's solid body.

Tim starts to wonder if he did fall asleep on the couch and is currently just. Halluci-dreaming. Or something.

Jason's chest expands, his breath ruffling Tim's hair.

"Stop thinking, babybird," he rumbles, squeezing Tim a little tighter.

Tim closes his eyes and falls asleep in record time.

#astrix writes #things i do when i myself can't sleep #finish wips from 2 years ago #clunkily but finished lmao #jaytim

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gav-san · 2 months ago

Text

A Vintage Bouquet Masterlist

Masterlist Here

One Piece Masterlist

Word Count: 5k+

Dracule Mihawk x Reader

Rating: 16+

Themes: Slowburn, slow burn, long fic, long distance relationship turned found friends to love, strangers to lovers, hurt, gendered terms used, swearing, adult language. Mihawk x f!reader, platonic!Shanks x f!reader.

Notes:

Read on Ao3

Chapter 1

Mihawk stops on his journey home to an island famous for its women, and more importantly to him, its wine. The legacy of your mother's good name can be tasted in every bottle of wine you create. You aren't going to let the monastery take that and sell that- and you- without vengeance. You unknowingly bribe the man into helping, unaware of his reputation.

Chapter 2

Mihawk spares your life not out of mercy but due to bureaucratic sabotage, good wine, and vague convenience. Out of spite, he places you in his cursed, crumbling castle upon the island of Kuraigana. You are given a cold servants' room, no promises, and one sarcastic note.

Chapter 3

After Mihawk leaves without warning—his only parting words a backhanded note to the mandrills not to eat you—you’re left to survive alone in a haunted, crumbling castle with nothing but vinegar, rotting furniture, and a deeply bruised sense of pride. So you begin rebuilding your life out of sheer spite.

Chapter 4

Rot, Vine, and Vengeance — the story of what happens when you're abandoned in a haunted castle and decide, out of sheer spite, to become the most terrifying vintner the Grand Line has ever seen. There’s soil. There’s screaming. There’s a very aggressive carrot-based alliance with jungle cryptids.

Chapter 5

It all begins with a mandrill trying to warn you, and you, armed with a ladle and blind optimism, misreading the situation entirely. Enter: Shanks. Loud. Red-haired. Uninvited.

Chapter 6

Mihawk returns to Kuraigana Island expecting chaos, but finds it’s been transformed into a bizarre, domestic paradise run by you. After a series of increasingly ridiculous interactions, Mihawk comes to the shocking realization that he's no longer the apex predator on the island—he’s just another resident in a bizarre household.

Chapter 7

Mihawk keeps showing up just in time for dinner, rearranging your vineyard, critiquing your compost like it insulted his honor, and absolutely not catching feelings. That would be ridiculous. You respond with passive-aggressive seasoning, weaponized bread, and a mandrill-led resistance movement. Somewhere between pruning shears, sword training, and suspiciously domestic silence, things get… complicated. And then misunderstandings abound.

Chapter 8

A quiet morning unravels into something neither of you were prepared to name. Tea is poured, gloves are exchanged, and the vineyard bears witness to a truth that has been growing for a very long time.

Chapter 9

Between stubborn silences, ruined bedrooms, and unsolicited mandrill sabotage, something begins to shift. What starts with a library ends with a quiet truth: love, like wine, is best when it's slow, intentional, and a little bit ridiculous.

Chapter 10

#mihawk #hawkeye mihawk #dracule mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader #mihawk x reader

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aziraphales-library · 1 month ago

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hi! i was wondering if you could find any short fics (like between 1k & 14k) where Az gets really jealous? it can be rated anything thank you<3

Hey. We have a #jealous aziraphale tag, so do check that out. Here are more to add to the collection...

Touching what's not theirs by Dandyfello (M)

While hosting another meeting at the bookshop one of the new shopkeepers gets a bit to handys with Crowley. Aziraphale makes sure its obvious who he belongs to

Larry by Dancer_in_the_rain (G)

“Hello, my dear. You‘re a bit tardy, have you done something special today?“ Crowley shrugged noncommittally. “Nah, not really. Same old same old. Driving around town and scaring some humans. Got some new records at the music store. Oh, and I went to the greenhouse, met someone there and took him home.“ Aziraphale paused mid-movement while putting away his book. “You took them home? What do you mean, you took them home, dear?“, he asked, frowning at Crowley. He couldn‘t mean… what Aziraphale thought he meant. Could he!? It couldn’t be… that! Not with a human! Right?! Crowley just shrugged again. “I mean, he looked good, I liked him and I took him home. Showed him around the place and then took him to the bedroom.“ Aziraphale gaped at him disbelievingly. Or: Crowley comes into the bookshop, telling Aziraphale all about Larry, the guy he met at the greenhouse, about how good he looks and that he immediately brought him home to share his bed. Aziraphale is devastated until he discovers that the whole situation isn‘t quite what he first made it out to be.

you can testaroli me anytime by Phoenix_Soar (E)

Crowley, the best friend Aziraphale could ever ask for (and the best alpha to have on hand for all heat-related emergencies), has one major flaw. In spite of this, Aziraphale finds that he has competition for Crowley’s attention. This is… not acceptable.

A Place For Us by sensiblesquirrels, SmutKeeper (E)

Living with Crowley in their cottage in the South Downs was pure joy. Over the millenia, Aziraphale had never dared to imagine what it would be like. Waking up, looking into the demon’s face. Discussing plans for the day over breakfast. Spending hours upon hours, idling the day away with a good book or in Crowley’s case, a captivating mobile telephone game. Spending the evenings in a tight embrace, whispering sweet nothings into each other's ears. It was truly magnificent. Having the demon around day and night was what he had always longed for. Aziraphale would never be ungrateful and complain about it now that some minor details might be less than optimal.

or When Crowley gives Aziraphale the space he asks for, the angel realises that he's not prepared to share Crowley's attention. Good thing the demon knows how to show the angel that he always comes first for him.

Just a little bit of green by Angelica_Tree (G)

Aziraphale spends six weeks in Greece, on a quest for books. Meanwhile, Crowley mopes around London, bored out of his skull - and missing his angel terribly. Fortunately there’s a pub to keep him busy, a pub where he stumbles over someone needing a demonic miracle. When Aziraphale returns, and sees Crowley laughing and talking to a human, a human seemingly giddy with happiness, he misunderstands the situation completely. But this misunderstanding clears the way to a proper talk.

Dance With Me, Angel by cupidsstarlight (T)

“Well, if I do recall correctly, one of us apologized about an hour ago for something I would most certainly call dire,” the demon raised his eyebrows at Aziraphale in a manner which allowed for no argument, “And I do believe that means you, dear angel, owe me an apology dance.” “Crowley, I will not debase myself with that silly dance in front of all of these mortals-” Crowley sighed, before blurting, “That’s not what I meant.” "Oh," Aziraphale blinked, "What, then?" “Dance with me, angel.”

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #jealousy #jealous aziraphale #short fic #mod d

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a-stars-art-blog · 6 months ago

Text

No, cause, what do you mean he was innocent?? Wdym for most of his life he was a happy and kind person? Full of hope and optimism for the future. Surrounded by people he loved and trusted and did the same to him back.

What do you mean those most important to him were ripped away all at once???

Hi my name is Maria and I’m gonna scream about Barok real quick

SPOILERS FOR DGS 2-4/5

I wish some people didn’t boil him down to “racist”

Like, i totally understand why people don’t like him and if the damage is done, it’s done. But it just doesn’t sit right when people refuse to acknowledge his character growth!! Especially if they make people feel bad for liking him.

I don’t think a majority of people do this, but I have seen it happen and it’s :((

AND ALSO!! I wish I depicted it, but the lyrics aren’t just Current vs Past Barok either.

I’ve been wanting to scream this for a while but-

HE KNOWS??? HE UNDERSTANDS HES BEING IRRATIONAL HE KNOWS HIS FEELINGS ARE WRONG

AND IT HURTS HIM

He’s keeping up this facade because it was helping the crime rate. Even though it was such a monumental burden on himself.

But it was too much for him.

And that kills me.

The way he had a limit. The way he tried to be strong and selfless. The way he probably felt that burden again upon his return. The way he convinces himself that he’s willing, able, even HONORED, to uphold this awful reputation. Even though he plays no part in it truthfully

The way he never wanted to be cold, rude, and ruthless. He really is a kind-hearted soul forced to change and sink himself further and further in rage and resentment.

You can really see younger Barok still in him.

He’s such a goddamn tragedy, he makes me sob, and I’m so glad by the end of the game, he’s finally getting a brighter future 🥹

#ace attorney #the great ace attorney #barok van zieks #tgaa #dgs #my art #tgaa spoilers #dgs spoilers #I have many song lyrics I want to draw Barok too….uragh….#he actually makes me unwell #insane even #what a turn of events???#I USED TO DISLIKE THIS GUY CAN YOU BELIEVE IT???#he was such a nothing character to me…bland and a whatever burger #NOWW HES MY BABY BOY 😫😫😫 12 years older then me but shhhhh #I could revisit his cases 12 times and it wouldn’t be enough #his story and character arc and growth is BEAUTIFUL #MAKES ME SCREEEEAM #Spotify

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months ago

Text

On Good Behaviour 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: after release, you try to get on the right track but your new boss isn’t much help. (ex-con reader)

Characters: Loki

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As the day winds down to close, you steel yourself for the inevitable. It doesn’t come. Laufeyson remains in his office as you pack up your bag. Your lunch is untouched. You’ll have that for dinner, though your appetite is fleeting.

You shut down the computer and check that everything is tidy. You get up and approach the door. You linger there until five minutes after the hour. You go but cannot leave the dread behind.

You get home and leave your bag at the door. You step out of the creaky heels and go to the couch which makes up the bulk of your furnishing. You sit in silence. Just like those days in your cell. The air crackles in your ears, buzzing through your skull.

You’ve done worse for less. It’s more bitter now because you thought those days were behind you. No, you hoped they were. Whatever optimism you’d clung to is gone. You’re back where you started even if you’re on the other side of the walls.

Your phone rings. You get up and dig it out of your bag. It’s Dina. You better answer.

“Hello,” you stand by the door, an arm across your churning stomach.

“Well, hello,” she trills in her pretentious way, “I’ve only had a rather long conversation with your employer.”

You falter and uncurl your arm, placing your hand flat to the wall. You lean as your legs shake. After all that. You should’ve known better than to trust a snake like him.

“He gave a shining review of your work,” she says. Your ears ring and you shake your head. You don’t believe it. You can hardly understand. “Punctual, attentive, thorough. I’m only just sending in your monthly report. The board will be happy.”

“Oh,” you utter. “Right.”

“They will be inclined to review your conditions. Granted you stay within them,” the edge returns to her churlish voice. “And who wouldn't be good for a man like that.”

You frown.

“Thank you,” you sniff.

“Oh no, you be sure to thank Mr. Laufeyson. Had you another disappointing report, I think there may have been a bit of reversion. I hear the ankle monitors are not very comfortable,” she warns. You were lucky to avoid that at least.

“Yes, Dina.”

“Don’t lose sight of the end goal. We both know the rates. I’d hate to see you back in orange,” she chides.

She hangs up. You’re happy she does before you can respond. Your lip curls as the grey humiliation blazes to white hot rage. You black the phone and drop it on top of your bag. It falls to the floor. You don’t give a fuck.

You strip off your clothes as you head for the boxy bathroom. There’s not enough room for a tub, only a shower. All your time in lock up and you looked forward to that final soak. There was so much you wanted when you got out. As usual, you’re wrong.

You stand under the stream of hot water until it turns cold. You don’t notice the difference. You get out and dry off. You pull on your green swears and a black shirt. You unfold the couch, the frame squeaking beneath the thin mattress. It’s as stiff as a bunk but bigger.

Your phone goes off again. You want to scream. You want to break every single thing in this place, not that there’s much.

You retrieve your phone from the floor. It’s him. Laufeyson. You hesitate but answer. You left without saying goodbye. Would he be unhappy? Hardly concerned. You won’t fool yourself.

“You’re welcome, darling,” he begins the conversation as you put the phone to your ear. “Now, don’t think I can’t hear you huffing like some rabid dog. Speak.”

You inhale and cross the apartment. You stand by the window. “Thank you, Mr. Laufeyson.”

“I am not in the habit of lying. Especially for felons,” he slithers.

“I understand, sir. I am... grateful.”

“Are you? Because you sound rather angry.”

“No, sir,” you counter.

He snickers. You huff.

“Oh, do not fear. I will assist you in refraining from your worst instincts. I have no doubt I will break you of those unseemly habits,” he tuts. “I will make a lady of you. Or a facsimile of one.”

You grit your teeth. “Yes, Mr. Laufeyson. Thank you.”

He laughs again.

“I shall allow you to get your reprieve for surely you will need your energy tomorrow,” he taunts.

“Yes, sir.” You mutter.

He only finds it amusing as he chuckles. “Good night, darling.”

The line clicks. You squeeze the phone and spin. You hurl it at the wall and it pings off the corner. Fuck it all.

You stomp to the mattress and fall onto your stomach. The frame jars you through the narrow cushion. You bury your face in your arms and growl.

You’re a fuck up. You always have been, you always will be. You hear your mother’s voice; I told you so.

💼

You walk into the office. You wouldn’t say you’re ready. You’re resigned. It’s a familiar feeling. It’s how you got through those years. Alone.

Mr. Laufeyson sits at your desk, leaning back, one long leg crossed over the other, arms bent behind his head. His nonchalance is a bit too performative. You put the cortado before him.

“Ah, like a well-trained dog,” he smirks. “Let us see what else you’ve learned.”

He’s completely prepared and you are anything but. You put your hand on your bag and dig your nails into it. Your anger aches in your knuckles.

“Let us see,” his eyes flick down, “did you attend to your work attire?”

You stare at him. You slip your bag from your shoulder and place it next to your feet. You didn’t change anything. You were too paralysed to do much more than hate yourself. It’s better to do nothing than to fuck yourself any more than you already have.

You pull up your skirt. He sighs.

“Off,” he commands.

You let the skirt fall slightly as you reach under it. He clicks his tongue.

“Pull it up and take them off,” he orders.

You swallow your disgusts. You roll the skirt above your waists and clutch it with one hand. With your other, you tug down each side of your panties. You step out of them. You ball them up and near him, holding out.

He pinches the seam and pulls them free of your grasp. He unfurls them and turns them around. He runs his thumbs along the back of the panties.

“This. None of that. You will not show up again unprepared. I haven’t the time for you to waste,” he reproaches.

You drop your skirt. His green eyes flash but he says nothing. He tosses the panties in the bin and pushes himself out of the chair.

“I pay you well, you will meet the standards I set,” he sneers.

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson. Thank you.”

He comes close and stares you down. He’s not as intimidating as Jenny who used to steal your shampoo. Not scary, but a problem nonetheless.

“I’ve been told that employee appreciation is... important. You’ve made it this far so why don’t you book us in somewhere for lunch and I will show my...” his eyes skim up and down you. “Appreciation.”

“Mr. Laufeyson.”

He rolls his eyes and swipes up his coffee. He leaves you. You grab your bag and round the desk. You sit and tuck it beneath. You leave your cracked phone inside. Best not to get distracted.

You login and get started. You go into the deleted folder and search out anything you can find. You don’t know many places for lunch that aren’t selling burgers for two bucks or pizza and wing combos. You don’t expect he’ll be pleased with that.

There’s nothing in the inbox. You revert to the shared drive and review the receipts and cost reports. Several business lunches later. There’s a place he’s been to several times and written off. Well, that seems a safe choice.

You don’t think you’re passing his test but you’re doing enough. You’ll never be good enough. He’s made that clear. It’s what he gets off on.

As if you haven’t been through that before. He thinks that he’s the big bad. You’ve dealt with assholes your whole life. You just wanted to try not to become one.

You make the reservation online under his name. That will feed the ego. You forward him the confirmation. No response. That’s perfect.

You get to work. The stuff in your job description. Emails, filing, all that boring, safe stuff.

Your Teams bings. He’ll have some gripe about the booking. You click on the chat. It’s a hyperlink. You click without thinking.

The image of the lingerie surprises you. It shouldn’t, really. He’s not very subtle.

It’s not really your style. You don’t have much of that. You wear what’s expected. Years of the same uniform every day made you less concerned about clothing. Coming out, you just tried to match what was normal. You could laugh at the teenage rebel in her band shirts and striped leggings.

The style is much too refined. Too elegant. That ever-present sense of inadequacy grows suffocating. He’s winning.

You’re not a lady. You’re never going to be like him. You’ll always be another cog in the machine. Just doing what needs to be done. Even after your through your probation, you’ll have that stain for life.

You send a thumbs up. What else can you do or say? You’ll look for something like that. The thought of walking into a lingerie shop makes you shrink further. If it’s anything like the boutique, you’ll be lucky not to be chased out by security.

There’s always online.

Sigh. Back to work. Think of anything but that. But him. Not so easy when everything around here is stamped with his condescending touch.

💼

Laufeyson struts out as he checks his watch. He clears his throat and you’re on your feet. He waves you ahead of him.

“I would guess you haven’t a car?” He wonders as he locks the door.

“No, Mr. Laufeyson.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” he sniffs.

You’re patient and placid. You count up to ten and back down in your head. Let him say whatever he likes. Reacting is what got you into this.

He strides ahead of you. You follow him outside and to his car. A sleek silver luxury sedan. You only get it as he buckles his seat belt. You will not presume. Especially with him.

He turns the engine as you click the seat belt in. He checks his blind spots before he pulls out. He exhales heavily.

He joins traffic and stretches his arm over to tap along the headrest behind you. His touch crawls along your hair and he extends his finger across your skull.

“It is a mess today,” he drones. “Come, let’s pass the time.”

He wrenches you away from the seat. Your neck pangs with his strength. You grip the edge of the seat as you resist throwing a punch.

You hold air in your chest and bend awkward between the seats. He shoves your head over his lap as you push the top of the seat belt behind you. You brace his leg as you twist awkwardly.

You pick at his fly as your vision hazes. He’s already hard. You can’t help the shudder as it rolls through you. You take him out and stroke his length. Your jaw locks up and you take several breaths to loosen it.

“You must sing for your supper,” he teases.

You put your lips to his tip. Slowly, you open and slide down his length. You close your eyes and recede into yourself. Like you did when Shanna bashed your head into the top bunk. Everything after that was black.

It’s not much different than that. Reality shifts and time whirs by. It all comes back in a sickening tide.

You choke as Laufeyson spurts down your throat and you pull off him with a cough, covering your mouth to catch the mess. Your spit is smeared down him and across your palm. Your face is wet with it, your tongue salty with his cum.

You blink and look around. You don’t recognise this area. It’s far from the office. You’re shaken by the blip.

“Darling,” he pets your head and lets you sit up. You gag as his cum gathers behind your tongue.

You reach for the door and open it. You spit out onto the tarmac. There's a car right beside you, and to the other side of the car. You’re in a parking lot. The restaurant marquee greets you as you sit up.

“Mm,” he tugs his pocket square free and wipes himself clean. You swallow down the dregs and drag your hand across your mouth. You check yourself in the side mirror.

You’re silent as he gets out. You follow. You can only mirror him as the shock slakes away piece by piece.

You enter the restaurant behind him. The hostess takes his name. It’s all a blur.

As you’re led into the dining room, a squeal cuts through the din.

“Loki!” A woman’s shrill cry stills your feet. Laufeyson stops and grumbles as you nearly hit his back. “Oh, what a surprise!”

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #on good behaviour #mcu #marvel #thor #avengers

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