alinathinkstoomuch

[alinathinkstoomuch]

alina ilysm shawty bae i feel guilty asking idk why but could we get some smut w bodyguard hotch pls???? its so hot sigh you wrote him to genuinely destroy me because bodyguard hotch had taken over my thoughts

shaaaawwwwtyyyyy bae i lurveeee u even more 💓💓 and yes promise i will cook something spicy up for those 2 soon!!!!!

anything in particular u would like to see??😏😏

[alinathinkstoomuch]

AAAAAA THANK U ANGEL💖💖💖💖

EX-FACTOR

pairing: aaron hotchner x ex!reader summary: hotch swears he's listening to rossi, except he can’t focus on a single word when you’re at the bar with another guy, based on this request. warnings: hotch is turning greeeeen from jealousy!! pining, hotch just wants his baby back word count: 0.6k

✧ masterlist | ✧ alina's 1k bar

Aaron was trying to listen to Rossi—really, he was. Something about a plot of land and investment potential and tax benefits or… God, he’d lost the thread ages ago. He nodded here and there, tossed out a half-hearted “yeah?” or “makes sense,” but his focus wasn’t anywhere near the conversation. Neither were his eyes.

They were glued to the crowd, more specifically to the gap in it. The spot where you used to be.

You’d disappeared ten minutes ago, and so had the guy who’d been flirting with you. Some twenty-something whose fingers grazed the side of your waist like he had any right to be even within six feet of you.

“And what exactly is your plan for tonight?” Rossi asked, swirling the last bit of his bourbon. 

“What?”

“The staring? Gripping your glass like it can breathe?” Rossi lifted his brows. “What’s next? You going to challenge him to a duel?”

“I’m just watching,” Aaron muttered.

“Mmm,” Rossi said, which was Italian for you’re full of shit but I’m going to let you dig this hole a little deeper.

Aaron didn’t respond, his eyes doing their seventh sweep of the minute. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping for the most, that you’d look back and catch him, or that the guy would spontaneously combust under the weight of his scowl. But for any of that to happen, he had to see where you were.

And he knew that he had no right. That it wasn’t his business anymore, that the only real authority he had over you these days was inside a briefing room with a suspect on the board. Because this? A bar, a night off, your clothes, your smile, a stranger’s hand on your waist? This wasn’t his jurisdiction. This was your playing field now. And Aaron was a benched sub who’d already had his shot and fumbled the pass, reduced to a spectator at best. A ghost, more likely. 

“She’s allowed to dance, you know,” Rossi continued, not unkindly. “Even allowed to enjoy it.”

“I didn’t say she wasn’t.”

“Good,” Rossi said, far too breezily. “Maybe she even left with him. Can’t see her anywhere.”

Aaron’s head whipped towards the exit so fast, it stirred a breeze around him. For a moment his stomach dropped in that cold, involuntary way it did when something went wrong on a case as he considered the possibility that, maybe you did go home with him.

“I’m kidding,” Rossi chuckled. “Relax. She’s by the bar.”

And there you were. Using a stack of napkins to fan yourself, the golden lights catching on your exposed skin, the small specks of glitter scattered across your bare shoulders gracefully. He could still remember the caramel-like scent that came with it, relying on memory alone now, because he no longer had the right to be close enough to smell it again.

The lights shifted, dimming, then bleeding into a soft pink, the kind that made everything—you—look dreamlike. You gasped excitedly, grabbing Penelope’s arm where she stood beside you. She lit up just like you did, and Aaron didn’t even realise he was smiling until you were already pulling her towards the dance floor, placing a hand on the guy’s chest and yelling, “I’ll be back. This is our song!”

He hoped you wouldn’t be back, not to him, anyway. Not really. He hoped you’d stay somewhere close instead, just within reach, orbiting near enough for his eyes to find you and no one else’s.

He was grateful no one around had mind-reading abilities, because if you knew how often he thought about you, you’d probably never speak to him again. Or maybe you would. That was the thing about the two of you, the friendship had held, maybe too well. And maybe that was the problem.

Neither of you could move on. 

“You’re torturing yourself,” Rossi said plainly. 

Aaron didn’t look away. “I know.”

tags - @fandomscombine @pastelpinkflowerlife @hazzyking @bernelflo @risenqueen1521 @jazzimac1967 @camihotchner @abschaffer2 @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @pacmillo-blog-blog @stilestotherescue @kiwriteswords @anvdala @supersanelyromantic @yourallaround-simp @percysley @wowitsafemale @cinnamoncunt @keiminds @iyskgd @mystic-rox @insured-by-the-mafia @mggslover @star-crossed-sephie @tearykth @2dloveshp  @lovelystrawberry @imissaaronhotchner @justyourusualash @alexxavicry @storiesofsvu @ehedrick012110 @khxna

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[alinathinkstoomuch]

[alinathinkstoomuch]

r yall sick of me yet??????????

EX-FACTOR

pairing: aaron hotchner x ex!reader summary: hotch swears he's listening to rossi, except he can’t focus on a single word when you’re at the bar with another guy, based on this request. warnings: hotch is turning greeeeen from jealousy!! pining, hotch just wants his baby back word count: 0.6k

✧ masterlist | ✧ alina's 1k bar

Aaron was trying to listen to Rossi—really, he was. Something about a plot of land and investment potential and tax benefits or… God, he’d lost the thread ages ago. He nodded here and there, tossed out a half-hearted “yeah?” or “makes sense,” but his focus wasn’t anywhere near the conversation. Neither were his eyes.

They were glued to the crowd, more specifically to the gap in it. The spot where you used to be.

You’d disappeared ten minutes ago, and so had the guy who’d been flirting with you. Some twenty-something whose fingers grazed the side of your waist like he had any right to be even within six feet of you.

“And what exactly is your plan for tonight?” Rossi asked, swirling the last bit of his bourbon. 

“What?”

“The staring? Gripping your glass like it can breathe?” Rossi lifted his brows. “What’s next? You going to challenge him to a duel?”

“I’m just watching,” Aaron muttered.

“Mmm,” Rossi said, which was Italian for you’re full of shit but I’m going to let you dig this hole a little deeper.

Aaron didn’t respond, his eyes doing their seventh sweep of the minute. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping for the most, that you’d look back and catch him, or that the guy would spontaneously combust under the weight of his scowl. But for any of that to happen, he had to see where you were.

And he knew that he had no right. That it wasn’t his business anymore, that the only real authority he had over you these days was inside a briefing room with a suspect on the board. Because this? A bar, a night off, your clothes, your smile, a stranger’s hand on your waist? This wasn’t his jurisdiction. This was your playing field now. And Aaron was a benched sub who’d already had his shot and fumbled the pass, reduced to a spectator at best. A ghost, more likely. 

“She’s allowed to dance, you know,” Rossi continued, not unkindly. “Even allowed to enjoy it.”

“I didn’t say she wasn’t.”

“Good,” Rossi said, far too breezily. “Maybe she even left with him. Can’t see her anywhere.”

Aaron’s head whipped towards the exit so fast, it stirred a breeze around him. For a moment his stomach dropped in that cold, involuntary way it did when something went wrong on a case as he considered the possibility that, maybe you did go home with him.

“I’m kidding,” Rossi chuckled. “Relax. She’s by the bar.”

And there you were. Using a stack of napkins to fan yourself, the golden lights catching on your exposed skin, the small specks of glitter scattered across your bare shoulders gracefully. He could still remember the caramel-like scent that came with it, relying on memory alone now, because he no longer had the right to be close enough to smell it again.

The lights shifted, dimming, then bleeding into a soft pink, the kind that made everything—you—look dreamlike. You gasped excitedly, grabbing Penelope’s arm where she stood beside you. She lit up just like you did, and Aaron didn’t even realise he was smiling until you were already pulling her towards the dance floor, placing a hand on the guy’s chest and yelling, “I’ll be back. This is our song!”

He hoped you wouldn’t be back, not to him, anyway. Not really. He hoped you’d stay somewhere close instead, just within reach, orbiting near enough for his eyes to find you and no one else’s.

He was grateful no one around had mind-reading abilities, because if you knew how often he thought about you, you’d probably never speak to him again. Or maybe you would. That was the thing about the two of you, the friendship had held, maybe too well. And maybe that was the problem.

Neither of you could move on. 

“You’re torturing yourself,” Rossi said plainly. 

Aaron didn’t look away. “I know.”

tags - @fandomscombine @pastelpinkflowerlife @hazzyking @bernelflo @risenqueen1521 @jazzimac1967 @camihotchner @abschaffer2 @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @pacmillo-blog-blog @stilestotherescue @kiwriteswords @anvdala @supersanelyromantic @yourallaround-simp @percysley @wowitsafemale @cinnamoncunt @keiminds @iyskgd @mystic-rox @insured-by-the-mafia @mggslover @star-crossed-sephie @tearykth @2dloveshp  @lovelystrawberry @imissaaronhotchner @justyourusualash @alexxavicry @storiesofsvu @ehedrick012110 @khxna

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[alinathinkstoomuch]

the event is so cute oh my gosh!!! this idea is so cliche but maybe aaron sees ex!reader dancing with someone else and he gets jealous?? it can whatever you want!! (like in terms of angst or fluff)

aaa thank u doll face & im a suckerrrrrr for cliches AND for jealous hotch so tysm for sending this in😙😙😙 hope u enjoy xx

your request can be found here💖

[alinathinkstoomuch]

EX-FACTOR

pairing: aaron hotchner x ex!reader summary: hotch swears he's listening to rossi, except he can’t focus on a single word when you’re at the bar with another guy, based on this request. warnings: hotch is turning greeeeen from jealousy!! pining, hotch just wants his baby back word count: 0.6k

✧ masterlist | ✧ alina's 1k bar

Aaron was trying to listen to Rossi—really, he was. Something about a plot of land and investment potential and tax benefits or… God, he’d lost the thread ages ago. He nodded here and there, tossed out a half-hearted “yeah?” or “makes sense,” but his focus wasn’t anywhere near the conversation. Neither were his eyes.

They were glued to the crowd, more specifically to the gap in it. The spot where you used to be.

You’d disappeared ten minutes ago, and so had the guy who’d been flirting with you. Some twenty-something whose fingers grazed the side of your waist like he had any right to be even within six feet of you.

“And what exactly is your plan for tonight?” Rossi asked, swirling the last bit of his bourbon. 

“What?”

“The staring? Gripping your glass like it can breathe?” Rossi lifted his brows. “What’s next? You going to challenge him to a duel?”

“I’m just watching,” Aaron muttered.

“Mmm,” Rossi said, which was Italian for you’re full of shit but I’m going to let you dig this hole a little deeper.

Aaron didn’t respond, his eyes doing their seventh sweep of the minute. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping for the most, that you’d look back and catch him, or that the guy would spontaneously combust under the weight of his scowl. But for any of that to happen, he had to see where you were.

And he knew that he had no right. That it wasn’t his business anymore, that the only real authority he had over you these days was inside a briefing room with a suspect on the board. Because this? A bar, a night off, your clothes, your smile, a stranger’s hand on your waist? This wasn’t his jurisdiction. This was your playing field now. And Aaron was a benched sub who’d already had his shot and fumbled the pass, reduced to a spectator at best. A ghost, more likely. 

“She’s allowed to dance, you know,” Rossi continued, not unkindly. “Even allowed to enjoy it.”

“I didn’t say she wasn’t.”

“Good,” Rossi said, far too breezily. “Maybe she even left with him. Can’t see her anywhere.”

Aaron’s head whipped towards the exit so fast, it stirred a breeze around him. For a moment his stomach dropped in that cold, involuntary way it did when something went wrong on a case as he considered the possibility that, maybe you did go home with him.

“I’m kidding,” Rossi chuckled. “Relax. She’s by the bar.”

And there you were. Using a stack of napkins to fan yourself, the golden lights catching on your exposed skin, the small specks of glitter scattered across your bare shoulders gracefully. He could still remember the caramel-like scent that came with it, relying on memory alone now, because he no longer had the right to be close enough to smell it again.

The lights shifted, dimming, then bleeding into a soft pink, the kind that made everything—you—look dreamlike. You gasped excitedly, grabbing Penelope’s arm where she stood beside you. She lit up just like you did, and Aaron didn’t even realise he was smiling until you were already pulling her towards the dance floor, placing a hand on the guy’s chest and yelling, “I’ll be back. This is our song!”

He hoped you wouldn’t be back, not to him, anyway. Not really. He hoped you’d stay somewhere close instead, just within reach, orbiting near enough for his eyes to find you and no one else’s.

He was grateful no one around had mind-reading abilities, because if you knew how often he thought about you, you’d probably never speak to him again. Or maybe you would. That was the thing about the two of you, the friendship had held, maybe too well. And maybe that was the problem.

Neither of you could move on. 

“You’re torturing yourself,” Rossi said plainly. 

Aaron didn’t look away. “I know.”

tags - @fandomscombine @pastelpinkflowerlife @hazzyking @bernelflo @risenqueen1521 @jazzimac1967 @camihotchner @abschaffer2 @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @pacmillo-blog-blog @stilestotherescue @kiwriteswords @anvdala @supersanelyromantic @yourallaround-simp @percysley @wowitsafemale @cinnamoncunt @keiminds @iyskgd @mystic-rox @insured-by-the-mafia @mggslover @star-crossed-sephie @tearykth @2dloveshp  @lovelystrawberry @imissaaronhotchner @justyourusualash @alexxavicry @storiesofsvu @ehedrick012110 @khxna

join my taglist here 💌

please fill out the form if you'd like to be tagged for specific readers or send me a dm if you'd like to be removed from the list!

[alinathinkstoomuch]

I LOVEEEE THISSSS!!!!

ex!reader fics will always have a special place in my heart and this one is just teeeeewwww good🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

Goodnight Prank

pairing: Ex-Husband!Aaron Hotchner x Reader

summary: After being inspired by the TikTok trend of calling your exes to wish them goodnight, Aaron Hotchner is surprised with a call from his ex-wife.

word count: 1.3k

warning: straight up fluff

note: Also, this wouldn't be me because I would've never let go of him sooooo

Even though exhaustion hadwrapped around his muscles, his body ached to be scrubbed off in the shower and melted back into the comforts of his bed, Aaron could not give in just yet. It might've not been a day where they were on the field, an uncommon occurrence really, but he'd rather tackle down an unsub than do paperwork.

A heavy sigh left his lips as he glanced to his side. His eyes met the darkness that shadowed the empty tables of his team. Stacks of folders and valuables documents sat as piles on their desk. Looking back at his table, his stack had decreased significantly from what seemed impossible. However, it did force him to stay longer than he had intended to—2 hours past his usual clock-out. Some days fell inevitable.

The folder he laid across his table stared up at him, waiting patiently for him to wrap it up. Rereading the sentence he had read at least four times already, the words were a jumbled-up mess, Aaron repositioned himself on his seat to get back into the mood he started with. Just a few more. With his ink pen ready in hand, he was ready to scribble the same signature he had jotted down more than twelve times already.

RINGGGG. The abrupt noise cut through the empty air. Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, the phone buzzed, screaming for his attention. Aaron snatched it. Was it another emergency case? He hoped not, because he didn't want to deal with the hassle of calling his team. All the dreaded thoughts about another mission left his body once his eyes read the caller’s ID. A relieved exhale calmed down his nerves. It was just Y/N. But then like a cracked open dam, his heart picked up its pace. Nervousness from anticipation. Why is she calling? Is she in danger?

Not allowing the phone to cycle through another ring, Aaron interjected midway—silencing its cries, “Hello Y/N.” He was up from his seat. More like shot up, and that usually meant business.

"Hey Aaron," She responded. Sitting cross-legged on her sofa with a blanket thrown over her lap, Y/N played with the cold metal of her bracelet. It had been one of those self-care nights: hair wash day, body shaved, skin shining from body oil, and teeth shining from whitening strips—she felt like she could take over the world. Maybe because she had already miraculously won the battle in the shower, to end up in her best pyjamas under her fluffiest blanket. "Am I disturbing?"

The unit chief shook his head—forgetting that he was behind a screen and that she could not see him. She had that effect on him. "No, not at all." Clearing his throat to remove the obstruction in his throat, his mouth suddenly forgot how to function. "You okay? You... don't usually call."

A small chuckle pressed into his ear, "Yeah. I don't, huh?"

Playing a soft smile on his lips, Aaron played with the pens that sat on his desk—arranging them in their organized, proper way as his mind focused every second of the call. Anything that he could get from her. Every breath, every laugh.

"Whatcha doin'?" Y/N inquired, reaching for the TV remote.

"Working, you know—the usual." Aaron sat on the edge of his desk, readying himself for the lecture he just dragged himself into. He could've lied. He could've said he was in bed, just reading a little bit before hitting it off to snooze land, but a small part of him wanted this, wanted to hear her lecture like old times.

"What?" All it took was to glance at a clock. "Aaron, it's twelve in the morning and your ass is in the office?" Even though they'd had this conversation more than she could count, Aaron was stubborn. She remembered strange hours of nights when she drove herself to his office just to drag him back home. Home. Suddenly, the walls of her house caved in. Short core memories they shared knocked on her door, flooding her thoughts. A glance was thrown to the empty side of the sofa he would sit at, the sofa they had bought together.

All the exhaustion he had felt not too long ago had left his body. Other men would let out the heaviest sigh and end the call—especially when it was a call with their ex-wife, but not Aaron Hotchner. No, he grinned. "Yeah? Guess I lost track of time."

"You always lose track of time, Aaron Hotchner, you can't be doing this." Y/N scolded, rolling her eyes. "I can hear your joints creaking all the way here."

Shaking his head at her audacity, Aaron let out a laugh, already expecting her to say that. However, she had him beat as she said it before the 1-minute mark he had expected. A con of being a profiler. A curse and a blessing. He responded, "Alright, don't be mean now. I'm not that old."

"That's not what you said when we first met."

Aaron huffed, "Maybe I should ask you then missy, why are you up at this time?"

"Wouldn't you wanna know, weather boy?" Before he could interject and question, she cut him off. "Cleaned my whole place today. I think we might have matching joints now."

"Welcome to the club," God, Aaron felt his cheeks pinch and sting from how much he was smiling. Maybe it wouldn't have hurt as much if he had smiled more. He thought he couldn't grin wider, but he did once he heard a laugh from the other end. "Well, you needed me?"

An 'oh' came from her lips as she realized why she called him. Repositioning herself on her seat to lock back in, she rested her feet on the sofa. She inhaled a bit before she got to the fun part, "I just wanted to say goodnight."

Aaron blinked, processing her words, "Goodnight?"

She hummed, "Yeah, I'm ready for bed and jus' wanted to say goodnight before I snooze off." It took a lot from her to not let a laugh escape because she knew if one wrong breath went out—she was done for. She would blow her cover.

Aaron wasn’t sure if it was the lack of sleep finally catching up to him or if his age had caught up to the point he might’ve lost his hearing because he truly could not comprehend what was going on. He picked up on the small laugh, “Are you okay?” He asked. “Are you drunk? Do you need me to come over?”

She couldn’t help the laughter from escaping. After gathering herself back, she responded, “I’m fine Aaron, really, and I’m not drunk. Just wanted to wish you a goodnight and sleep tight.”

Aaron took time to process her words, still unconvinced with her words, “Are you high?”

“What?” She half-screamed, fully amused at his accusations. “Aaron, I am perfectly fine. I have not had any sip of alcohol, I am not smoking a blunt right now, and I am also not doing coke. Can a girl not wish you goodnight?”

“Of course, you can,” Aaron responded, his tone as if she had asked a rhetorical question.

“Alright then," Y/N beamed, expressing too much energy for someone at midnight, especially after claiming victory in her bathroom. "Goodnight Aaron.” The words sounded coy, almost as if there was an underlying intention.

Aaron smiled, rounding to the seating side of his desk, and pulling open the drawer to reveal his wedding band that he shared with her. He felt like a high schooler again, “Goodnight, missy.”

“Byee,” Y/N sang softly, picking at the unravelling threads of her blanket. The call had dragged on longer than she had expected, filled with comfortable silence, and Aaron Hotchner still had remaining files waiting.

“Bye, Y/N.”

Silence stretched, familiar and tranquil.

“...Okay, bye Aaronn.”

“Bye, Y/N.”

Squinting at her screen, seeing the number increase with every quiet second, she laughed, “Why aren’t you ending the call?” God, she felt like a middle schooler as she raised the blanket to her face, covering her joyous face.

Aaron shrugged, taking out the gleaming ring onto his palm, “Maybe I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“You’re so dumb.”

“Am not.”

Another silent beat.

“Bye Aaron!”

“Bye Y/N.”

Then as if another caller, silence entered their call. The type of silence that you enjoy just listening to their breaths. She could feel her heartbeat pick up as she blurted out, "I made cookies."

"Hm?" Aaron fidgeted with the silver ring between his fingers, his body moving on its own will as he slipped it on where it used to sit.

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, "Wanna come over?"

Aaron's grip on the device tightened, "Fifth floor?"

With a 'yeah', the call ended. That was all it took for her to jump from her couch to spray her house with whatever house spray she could get her hands on. The ones Aaron liked. Maybe she would win another battle, this time in her bed.

[alinathinkstoomuch]

mmmmmmmhhghhmmmmm this was absolutely delicious!!!! as a fellow insomniac girly my thoughts will now be occupied of this exact scenario🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂��↕️

and you have to convince yourself that he's just casually breathing into your ear and it's not a form of foreplay.

HAHAHAHHAA SHES SO ME

aaron likes to have his way with you before he leaves for work

drabble

+18 MDNI

pairing: aaron hotchner x wife!reader content/tw: r has trouble sleeping (just me being self-indulgent once again), morning sex, p in v sex, unprotected sex, established relationship, mentions of oral sex, lmk if i missed any! a/n: god forbid a girl wants some morning endorphin! enjoy this little thing while i work on a dbf!hotch fic inspired by aaron warner (hell yeah) <3 reqs open, thank you again for 500 followers i love you all 💗🪽 reposting this because i messed it up the first time! masterlist drabble masterlist

You spent your whole life thinking that not having a good sleep schedule wasn’t good for your health.

Being a light sleeper, not getting enough time to rest, waking up earlier than you should… All of that was normal to you. Not a flaw or a lack of skill, but just part of who you are. It usually doesn’t affect your routine, you were so used to it that having less hours asleep than most people didn’t make you less prepared for the day.

Of course, you did find yourself wishing you had it in you. The ability to fall asleep easily. It would be a very welcome trick on those lonely nights you spent at your place while your husband travelled to god knows where to catch psychopaths all around the country. You tried medicines, routines, different rituals and methods. Although some of them helped, nothing really seemed to completely handle the issue.

Nonetheless, you soon found out that your trouble sleeping could come in quite handy. Especially when said husband got back home in the middle of the night, so anxious to get back to you that he couldn’t wait for the flight in the morning. You hear the sounds from downstairs, and by the time he reached the bedroom door you were awake, slowly sitting up with your eyes half opened to find him staring at you with that smile and that gaze of relief that melts you everytime. While you wait for him to shower you quickly prepare him a cup of tea, getting ready to lay on his lap while he drinks the warm drink and wind down from the past days.

But truthfully, the best part was the mornings.

Aaron is a morning person. That was very much clear from the first look you took at him. And with the FBI and his healthy habits, his alarm always sets up at 6 a.m. sharp, almost every day. No snoozes, no safe alarms. One ring and he was up. Three of four if he’s had a specially rough night. It took you a few days sleeping with him for your body to get used to that routine and start to wake up at the same time as him.

After that, it took you another week for your body to wake up before the alarm went off. A few minutes in, the peaceful sounds of his breath against your neck, his arms weighing down on your waist and pulling you flush against his broad chest, sensing you too were awake and making sure you weren’t going to move away until you absolutely had to. More usually than not – especially with him being away as much as he was – the warmth of his body makes its way down to the middle of your thighs, and you have to convince yourself that he’s just casually breathing into your ear and it’s not a form of foreplay.

Your strength doesn’t last, though, and you find yourself all hot and bothered, wiggling your hips slightly until your ass is pressed directly into his crotch, and you feel him getting hard by the touch alone. It takes him little to no time to realize your intentions, and soon he’s gripping your hips and rocking into you from above your clothes, humming against your shoulders and lazily kissing your neck.

He bites the shell of your ear, chuckles as you try to press into him harder to get some – anything, please – relief, massaging your breasts and pinching your nipples, grazing your bare thighs with his fingertips in a tough so light you have to look down to see if it’s actually there. And when you’re surrendering, begging, whining, ready to shove your panties down and take matters with your own hands, Hotch clasps your hand to your front, pinning them down with one hand and pulling himself out of his pajamas with the other, using the tip of his cock to tease your ass cheeks, murmuring praises on your ear before pulling your panties and shorts to the side with one swift motion and burying himself into you with one deep thrust.

You pant together for a second, delishing in the feeling of him stretching you this early in the morning, sometimes even before the sunrise.

“We’ll have to be quick, okay, honey?” he asks, his voice hoarse practically melting into your neck, to which you just agree between moans, fucking him back sleeply but eagerly. He grips your hips tight enough to bruise, and when his fingers find their way to your clit, rubbing and pressing into it like it’s his job it’s all, that’s all it takes for you to collapse, orgasm so strong it could put you back to sleep in a second. He’s not far behind, the way your body is trembling and your pussy clenching around him makes him follow suit behind you, and his movements become sloppy as he rides out his orgasm, filling you up with his seed.

Usually you have about thirty seconds to breathe before the alarm goes off, and he groans as he leans away to turn it off. He turns back to see you stretching or yawning, and he turns your body to him, chuckling as you smirk at him, pulling him into one last embrace before he gets up.

“I love you, Aaron.” you whisper.

“Yeah, I could tell.” he jokes, and you playfully smack his shoulder, making him laugh and leave a lovingly peck on your lips “I love you too, sweetheart.” And then, he gets up to get dressed and you sit pretty and behave until he leaves, not a minute after schedule – at least that’s what he tells you to do, right before one of you gets on your knees right under the bathroom sink and gives the other a second round.

@zunibugsiren @jazzimac1967 there it is!! i'm sorryyyyy lmao

[alinathinkstoomuch]

GIRL DAD AARON GIRL DAD AARON GIRL DAD AARON GIRL DAD AARON

hey nowwwww hey nowwwwwww this is what dreaaaaammms are made of

this was wonderful, thank u for sharing💖💖💖💖💝💝

THE BEST THINGS COME IN BOWS

summary: it's picture day for your daughter and, just like he is with everything else, aaron is very serious about it. pairing: girl dad!aaron hotchner x wife!reader. word count: 1.4k tags: afab reader, no use of y/n, reader wears a dress, pre-established relationship, pushing the girl dad hotch agenda, hotch is a big grump that loves his family, fluff notes: happy late father's day have this tiny lil thing

Aaron Hotchner is extremely serious about everything he does. Described as a drill sergeant with no sense of humor (which you’ve never agreed with), everything has a routine and a high expectation. While it can be annoying at points, it keeps his life running smoothly with only minimal kinks, such as being stabbed brutally by a serial killer when just wanting a drink.

Today was meant to be easy. Wake up, make breakfast for you and the kids, get everyone dressed and out the door by ten in order to make it to the photographer in time, all prim and proper. Get a photo that’d sit framed on his desk at work and the mantle of the fireplace, along with getting plastered in the photobook you had insisted on keeping since the birth of your daughter, Charlotte.

It was a family photo day. How hard could it be for a seasoned BAU unit chief, profiler and former prosecutor?

Except, here he stood, crouched in front of Charlotte’s high chair with a furrowed brow and a discarded bow in his hand, screams and wails filling the open space of the kitchen. “C’mon, Charlie. It’s just a bow,” he grumbles, thumb brushing against her hairline before his hand was swatted away by a sassier, tinier one. 

“You still haven’t gotten it on?” 

Nine and a half times out of ten, Aaron is grateful to hear your voice. It’s like a balm to all of his worries, pulling him out of whatever problem he has curated inside of his mind. However, mixed with the loud screech of your daughter and the faint sounds of Jack making a mess out of his room in an attempt to find his tie, all he can think about is how his planned perfect morning is turning into a Category 5 hurricane and how your family will most definitely be late to the mall.

A heavy sigh leaves his lips as he stands to his full height, the hand with the pink bow in it raising to rub at the wrinkles on his forehead that he swears are getting more pronounced by the second. “She just rips it off and tosses it on the floor. Plus, she hasn’t stopped screaming, as if my hearing isn’t bad enough.” He frowns, chocolate eyes finding the red-faced toddler, nothing but accusatory with a glimpse of adoration. Because as annoyed as he could get at his children, there is nothing that’d keep him from loving them.

You laugh as you make your way over, your white dress swaying and brushing against your thighs with your quick movements. Gently and swiftly, you hoist Charlie out of her high chair, ignoring her softening cries as you twirl once, and then twice. “Are you being a brat, Charlie girl?” It’s a soft coo, followed by a wrinkle of your nose and a poke to her belly that has the girl screaming with a giggle rather than out of anguish. 

“She’s just like her mother.” Aaron deadpans, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff. It’s a brief glimpse of the surly unit chief everyone but you saw him be, as if he was handling a terrorist rather than a toddler. The same thing, in his opinion. 

Jack had been nine when the both of you had figured out that you were pregnant with Charlie. Approximately seven years since the older man had dealt with toddler tantrums. Plus, Jack had always been an easy kid. He had still gotten zero sleep, sure, but Charlie had been born with an attitude, which he knew stemmed from you and your fiery temper. Reluctance only a father could have sat in his gut about the idea of who she’d become as a teenager.

At Aaron’s grumpiness, you laugh, swaying closer to pluck the bow out of his fingers. With a skilled grace, your fingers splay to widen it before you slide it on her head, poking at her belly again to distract her from whipping it off immediately. “Says the one throwing a fit of his own.” You retort, a playful twinkle in your eyes as you look at him.

His shoulders relax as he takes in the sight in front of him. You, in a flowy white dress with a grin on your painted lips, and Charlie, with that infuriating bow on her head and a matching look of glee at being in your arms, staring at him with identical eyes and smiles. The similarities between the two of you are uncanny, enough to pull any evidence of frustration off of his face and remind him why this picture day is so important. 

For a moment, he allows himself to wish that he had an eidetic memory like Reid, able to remember everything down to the exact detail, just to soak in moments like these and replay them later. For another moment, he allows himself to think that he deserves this.

He steps closer until he can place his hand on the small of your back, pulling you closer with a soft tensing of his fingers and raising his other hand to brush a fingertip against Charlie’s cheek. “My girls,” he murmurs, leaning over to press a kiss to your hairline. “Equally cute and equally frustrating.”

“You love us.” It comes out as a hum as you perch yourself on your tippy toes, pressing your lips against his cheek.

Aaron’s just about to turn his head to kiss your lips when a voice speaks up from the entrance of the kitchen. “Gross. Can someone help me clean my shoes? I spilled my milk on them.” Jack speaks with not a bit of apology, his own attitude growing with his age, although a glance at his face shows the hidden worry of getting in trouble.

You laugh as Aaron takes in a deep breath through his nose to steady himself, handing over your daughter into his waiting hands before shaking your head. “I’ll handle it. Superglue the damn thing to her head if you have to.” A joke coming from your lips, yet he considers it. Before he can admit it, you’re walking out of the kitchen, your deathly tempting dress brushing against your thighs as you lead Jack out with a hand on his shoulder.

As you finish getting Jack dressed in some clean shoes, he adjusts Charlie in his arm as he fixes his posture, trying to smoothen out the pinch in his nerves near the bottom of his spine. Children were heavy, evidenced by the soreness of his arms after holding her for too long, but letting her go to her own devices would end up with all of Charlie’s clothes off, not just the bow. 

Turning, he sets the toddler down on the counter, large hands holding onto her sides to keep her from tipping or falling. Like she hadn’t just been screaming her lungs out, her eyes blink at him as she lets out a giggle around the fingers she had shoved in her mouth. Slobber drips down her forearm, but he decides to pick his battles and just clean her up once they get to the mall.

Calloused fingers reach out to brush an unruly strand of hair out of her face, sighing. “What would I do without all of you, Charlie girl?” He hums quietly, corner of his lips twitching as she beams up at him with her newly-grown, barely-there front teeth. “I’d be a shell of a man, I think.” 

Aaron places a kiss on her head, hand holding the back of it as he does so, just as you walk back into the kitchen, a diaper bag over your shoulder and Jack bouncing on his feet at your side. “Mom said we can get pretzels at the mall if I’m good and help you look after Charlie. Is that true?” The boy huffs, arms crossing over his chest. He may not be your son but blood, but there’s evidence of your presence written all over his pouty face.

His brow raises as he glances up at you, hoisting Charlie back onto his hip. You have a quiet conversation through your eyes, a silent argument about you wanting a snack and using the kids to get it, before he sighs in defeat. “If we can get to the mall in time and you take a good photo, yes. We can get pretzels.”

Jack cheers at the same time as you, pulling a squeal and a giggle out of the girl in your arms. Aaron wishes he could bottle the moment up, pop off the cork every time he has a bad day, remind himself that there’s always something to live for – in the form of two girls in annoying bows and a boy with milk-covered shoes.

[alinathinkstoomuch]

did paris also get an invite to blue’s birthday party???????????

[alinathinkstoomuch]

derek morgan spicy stir pleaseeeee

HIIII ANGEL!!!! ty for requesting, hope u lurrrrveee it xx

your request can be found here💖

[alinathinkstoomuch]

BATHROOM BREAK

pairing: derek morgan x reader summary: post-case unwinding usually involves derek on his knees, right?? based on this request. warnings: smut 18+ MDNI, oral (f receiving) derek is a munch. that's literally it. bau’s no.1 pussy eater! word count: 1.3k

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Technically, the team was still on call. After wrapping up a case in Jamaica, you weren’t set to leave until the morning, though it would be very unlike you and Derek not to explore the area (code for all the clubs and bars you could squeeze into the next twelve hours) before heading home.

Your relationship with him was hard to put a label on. You weren’t dating, not really, but on more than one occasion, you’d ended up a little too close for what was considered normal between friends and coworkers.

So tonight, you were grateful to not have an audience and to be spared the endless stream of comments from Reid and Emily about how the activity you and Derek both referred to as ‘dancing’ was, according to them, not dancing at all. Emily had once called it ‘straight-up humping,’ and Spencer, in his usual fashion, had described it as a form of foreplay, though he somehow managed to make it sound deeply unsexy with science.

The bass was pounding so hard it felt like it was shaking your whole chest, and the cocktails had done just enough to take the edge off the past four brutal days. You finally felt loose, like you could actually enjoy the balmy night without your brain dragging you back through the profile to scrutinise every single step you took.

Derek’s hands were on your hips, a place they were all too familiar with. It started out as a subtle touch when he was walking past you in a tight space—an accident, something he’d almost thrown his hands off in embarrassment over. But when you barely reacted and brushed it off with a comment about how it was the most contact you’d had, he hadn’t stopped. And so now, when the two of you went out, your hips were his favourite place to rest his warm hands on, and it was quickly becoming your favourite weight to feel.

"You keep dancin’ like that," Derek said, his words tumbling out of a wide grin you could feel without even looking, "you’re gonna have the whole place thinking we didn’t book separate rooms."

You lifted his hands from your hips, just so you could turn around, ass all up in his crotch. “Did we?”

“We did. Doesn’t mean we gotta stay in ‘em.”

“Doesn’t mean we have to stay out here either,” you murmured, resting your head against his chest, looking up at him through your lashes.

His hand slid back to your waist, thumb moving slowly against the fabric of your skirt. “You tryna call it a night already?” 

“Not a night. Just…a change of scenery.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded, stepping back and slipping your hand into his, tugging him through the crowd towards where you vaguely recalled the bathrooms were.

Derek let you lead, taking the time to admire the view of your plump thighs, the way they filled out that skirt with every step. And the tan line that marked your skin on the back of your shoulder, still there from when you wore a vest to a crime scene. He had a complicated relationship with religion, but if he ever got the chance, he’d want to meet the God that made you.

He followed with a smirk as you weaved through groups and pairs of people, not bothering to check if there was a queue before you pushed straight into the bathroom, holding the door open for him like this moment was exactly the one you were waiting for. 

As soon as he stepped through the door and clicked the lock in place, you were all over him. Hands snaking around his neck, tugging him to you until the back of your thighs met the counter. He only pulled back to lift you onto it, watching as your skirt rolled up your thighs, your panties on full display just for him.

“I like these,” he said, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Red. Fitting.”

“Mm,” you hummed, trailing your finger under his chin to tilt his face back up to yours, “you can take them off too.”

“Oh, I plan to.” His mouth was on yours again, hands on your thighs, thumbs toying with the lace no longer hidden beneath your skirt. The heat was already enough to make you sweat, but the feeling of finally getting what had kept you up several nights in a row had you parched.

“Can you stand for me, baby?”

You nodded and hopped off, his fingers already slipping under the waistband of your underwear, dragging the fabric down. “Been dying to know what you taste like,” he murmured just as you leaned back against the counter on your elbows, watching him drop to his knees, hands trailing up your legs. 

He kissed the inside of your thigh, then again, just shy of where the evidence of how badly you wanted him was glistening in the light. His hands gripped the backs of your legs, pulling you closer as he went. 

“You smell so fucking sweet. Been driving me crazy all week.” 

You couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out of you, half-stangled. “It’s probably the sunscreen. I’ve been layering that shit on like it's—oh.” Your voice caught mid-sentence the moment you felt his mouth on you.

One hand scrambled for the counter and the other reached for his shoulder, fingers digging in. You felt his tongue drag through your pussy causing you to curse and twitch into him. And when he began working over your clit your mind went blank, no thoughts filtering in or out…just his tongue. 

And it felt good. So damn good. Nothing like you’d ever felt before. Sure, there were other times you’d found yourself in this situation, but it usually ended with you pushing their mouth away because they didn’t seem to know what they were doing. But Derek Morgan was eating your pussy like he was on death row, and you never wanted it to end.

In fact, there was one thought in your brain—how the hell were you supposed to move on from this? How were you meant to say good morning to that wicked mouth, or watch it wrap around a coffee mug without dying a little inside?

He tapped your thigh, mumbling a rough, “Over my shoulder, baby,” into your soaked heat, and you’d always been very good at following instructions. You lifted one of your legs over, granting him the access he wanted. 

“Fuck,” you moaned. “H-how do you do that?” 

He pulled back briefly, mouth slick. “Do what?”

You whimpered, completely dishevelled. “That. That.”

“This?” he asked before sucking your clit into his mouth.

“Yes—that. Mmhm. Exactly that.”

He hummed against you, the vibration knocking you closer to your orgasm. You clenched around nothing, hips rocking into his mouth just to feel him go deeper. If anyone was waiting outside the door, not even the music would be enough to masquerade the wet, lewd sounds echoing from inside.

Did you care? No. Not even a little. You were too busy holding onto the edge of the counter like it owed you money, one leg still hooked over his shoulder, thinking about all the ways you were going to repay the favour the second you got back to the hotel.

Your mouth fell open, no real words coming out, just a string of moans that got increasingly desperate the closer you got. “Oh my God, Derek.”

And then your thighs were squeezing around his head, all that pent-up tension releasing in seconds. You think you might have blacked out for a moment? Hard to say. You’d probably have to consult the mirror behind you for answers, but your head was too busy lolling back like someone had unplugged you.

Eventually—eventually—he pulled back. You let out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a whimper, blinking back into consciousness. 

“You good?” he asked, breath a little ragged.

“So incredibly good,” you managed, still half-dazed, just as he gently placed your leg back down. “Now do you want me on my knees here or back at the hotel?”

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[alinathinkstoomuch]

BEYONCÉ  COWBOY ★ CARTER ★ TOUR  Paris, France | June 19, 2025

[alinathinkstoomuch]

ultraviolence confirmed on lana’s setlist man im getting treated this year my favs must love me

[alinathinkstoomuch]

OH. MY. GOD. 🔥

Max in St Tropez!

[alinathinkstoomuch]

CLOSET FULL OF NERVES

pairing: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader summary: meeting your FBI boyfriend’s team? cue the outfit crisis, a bad blouse, and a mild spiral. good thing aaron knows exactly how to talk you down and remind you that being yourself is more than enough, based on this requesst. warnings: fluffff, brief porno discussion lol, aaron being sweet and protective word count: 1.1k

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Meeting Hotch’s—Aaron’s, now—team shouldn’t have filled you with this much anxiety and yet here you were, engulfed by nerves, knee-deep in a closet implosion, and currently debating whether the sacred casual but cute look was code for jeans or a dress or a possible a tailored meltdown. Your people-pleasing radar was at its absolute peak. You’d changed outfits six times, debated redoing your hair twice, and spent far too long practicing a casual ‘hi’ in the mirror.

When Aaron mentioned drinks with the team at the start of the week, it had sounded breezy enough. Being around a bunch of slightly tipsy profilers (aka human lie detectors) couldn’t be that bad…right?

Well. You were now strongly reconsidering your earlier optimism. 

You’d pieced together a mental scrapbook of them from the sidelines through Aaron’s end-of-day stories, Jack’s offhand dinner-table commentary, and the one time JJ had picked up Henry from a playdate and waved at you like she already knew your SAT scores.

But dating Aaron? That changed the math. This wasn’t idle curiosity anymore. This was entering the orbit of people who could, with startling ease, determine your attachment style and also what you were like in sixth grade. Especially now, since you weren’t just the nanny anymore—you were his person. And walking into a room full of highly perceptive people who loved him like family suddenly felt like the pressure had tripled.

You were still standing in front of the mirror, scrutinising your earrings when you heard your phone buzz. 

Aaron: Leaving now. Should be there in 10.

You: Are we sure this is a good idea? I’m totally fine skipping this one. No pressure, no potential for public humiliation. Everyone wins.

Aaron: You’ll be fine, don’t stress. They’re going to like you. 

You: But will they like-like me?

You wait. Longer than is reasonable for a man who never uses more than ten words per text. 

Aaron: I like-like you.

It was unfair, really, how casually he could undo you with four words and a hyphen. You blinked at your reflection. Your hair was doing something vaguely hopeful and the earrings suddenly didn’t seem like they mattered all that much.

You hearted the text and figured you’d let him actually reverse out of the parking lot and into yours before you started catastrophizing again. You just needed to get through the evening. Smile. Make polite conversation. Don’t say anything that reveals your deeply repressed childhood fears or the fact that you still Google words you pretend to know.

After exactly ten minutes you heard a knock on your door.

You were, naturally, mid-blouse change, tangled in something with too many buttons and not enough leniency. So you grabbed your phone, thumbed out a quick It’s open, and tossed it onto the bed, which now looked like a fabric massacre had occurred.

From downstairs, his voice travelled up to your bedroom. “Please tell me you didn’t leave the door unlocked again.”

You groaned, loudly. “Hello to you too!”

“I’m serious,” Aaron called back. “You live alone, what if someone had walked in?”

You stepped into the hallway, barefoot and still adjusting your sleeves. “What if it was the tooth fairy? You ever consider that? Maybe I was hoping to get my rent covered.”

He appeared at the bottom of the stairs then, that furrow between his brows activated in full-blown dad mode. “You live alone in a house with multiple windows and no security system.”

“Yes, but I have a very scary FBI boyfriend who never smiles. All the nonexistent threats in this neighborhood know better than to mess with me.”

You flicked the bedroom light off, grabbed your phone and made your way downstairs, one hand on the railing, the other trying to discreetly tug your blouse into behaving. You narrowed your eyes at your allegedly serious, stoic boyfriend, who, for someone denying the existence of his own smile, was very clearly suppressing one right now.

“Is something funny?” 

He shook his head, far too quickly. “No. Not at all. You just look... different.”

You stopped at the last step. “Different how?”

“Just…”

“Spit it out, Hotchner, or I swear I’ll continue leaving my doors unlocked.” Blackmail. It never lets you down.

“You don’t look very you. You look like…we’re going to a job interview.”

“Aaron!” you shrieked, giving his chest a shove. 

He took it in stride, both hands raised in surrender, that damn half-smile still flirting with the corner of his mouth. “Honey, I know how you dress. And I would bet actual money that this blouse still has the tags on from when you panic-bought it today.”

“I wanted to make a good impression,” you groaned, tipping your head back. “Figured if I dressed normal enough, it might smooth over the whole ‘Hi, I’m slutting it up with your boss who also happens to be my boss because I’m his nanny’ thing. Which, if we’re being honest, sounds like the plot of a really bad porno.”

Aaron raised a brow. “Oh yeah? What do you know about pornos?”

You squinted at him, suspicious. “Is this a trap?”

“Just curious. You seemed oddly fluent in the premise.”

​​“I—okay, I was making a point. A colourful, exaggerated point.”

“That you’re in a porno.”

You sighed, ready to launch into a defensive monologue but Aaron stepped forward and caught your hands. Both of them. Like he’d done it a hundred times before and would keep doing it until your brain finally agreed you were safe.

“All jokes aside, I want you to be comfortable. And I want you to be you—the great, wonderful, endlessly patient, charming woman I fell in love with. Not some version you think will be more appealing to everyone else.”

You let a breath out. 

“Now,” he continued, “if this blouse makes you feel confident and happy, then wear it. But what I don’t want—what I won’t let happen—is you walking in there thinking any of this is inappropriate, or scandalous, or something to be ashamed of.”

The inside of your cheek caught between your teeth. Not because you didn’t believe him, but because it was easier to chew on skin than emotion.

“Yes,” he added, “it was a little complicated at the start. We knew that. But I’d go through all of it again if it meant ending up here with you.”

There was something a little terrifying and kind of wonderful about being seen that clearly by someone who refused to look away. Your heart did this weird fluttery thing, like affection had turned into a full-body cramp.

“I hate this blouse,” you mumbled.

Aaron’s mouth twitched. “I suspected.”

“Do I have time to change?”

He checked his watch, then looked back at you. “Only if you tell me what pornos you’ve been watching in your spare time.”

You laughed, a chesty thing that felt borderline suffocating inside the godforsaken polyester trap that passed for a blouse on the receipt. “That’s blackmail.”

“Hm,” he hummed casually,  “wonder where I got the idea from.”

tags - @fandomscombine @pastelpinkflowerlife @hazzyking @bernelflo @risenqueen1521 @jazzimac1967 @camihotchner @abschaffer2 @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @pacmillo-blog-blog @stilestotherescue @kiwriteswords @anvdala @supersanelyromantic @yourallaround-simp @percysley @wowitsafemale @cinnamoncunt @keiminds @iyskgd @mystic-rox @insured-by-the-mafia @mggslover @khxna @starsmoonn @newavenger @star-crossed-sephie @tearykth @2dloveshp

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[alinathinkstoomuch]

jealous tara is so cute