hoe4hotchner

[hoe4hotchner]

Any new candles, fresheners, maybe something needing to be cleaned that you’ve gone nose blind to but your body is secretly punishing you for?

I hope not! Cause I clean regularly due to my dog and her fur. And I don't really do candles unless it's winter

It went away before bed though, so I have no clue what it could've been.

[hoe4hotchner]

I was about to get pissed and stomp over to the football club next to where I live cause they're testing the microphone like crazy. But now they're playing Morgan Wallen instead of their usual (awful) rap music

So i'm good now.

[hoe4hotchner]

This is from a fic I will never post cause it's my "brain has too many weird ideas" fic. But I need y'all to know how funny I am ;)

(The gist of it is that reader can understand animals and has burned herself out trying to fix every single farm animal's problems and the mmc catch her trying to sneak out the next morning to continue her work.)

You crept into the mudroom and started wriggling into your hoodie, tugging the zipper up as stealthy as possible, ears perked for any sound behind you.

The moment your hand touched the doorknob, a deep voice cut through the quiet.

"Don’t even think about it."

You froze. Damn it.

You turned slowly. He was leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen, arms folded across his chest, eyes still sleepy but sharp. His hair was mussed, the waistband of his sweatpants slung low, and he looked every inch the annoyed-but-worried man who’d already predicted this would happen.

“I was just–” you started weakly.

“–sneaking out. I know.” He walked over and reached past you to lock the door. Click.

You pouted. “I was just going to check on Clover. She said her legs felt stiff and I promised–”

“She’s a goat. Her legs are always stiff.” He gave you a flat look, then sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “You barely made it to dinner last night. You passed out on the couch with a carrot in your hand.”

[hoe4hotchner]

Is it sleep :O

It shouldn’t be tbh, I slept almost 9 hours last night

And I also went outside several times today so it also shouldn’t be lack of fresh air.

[hoe4hotchner]

Today’s mystery drama of what is causing my headache is on:

- it’s not lack of food

- and I’ve had water

- not on my period

- and it doesn’t feel like a migraine

[hoe4hotchner]

Also clarification for understanding half the sentences when I say I understood half I mean like I was able to translate the common words like they, is, my, etc.

My brain stalled when I got to the more specific words and wow I really should start up my lessons again I'm sad I had to to stop them because I was busy I should go do that again

Even remembering the more common words is impressive in my opinion!

I don’t know if the Norwegians think the same but as a Dane I love seeing people try to learn Danish 😊💕

[hoe4hotchner]

I took some Norwegian lessons once and I understood about half of those Danish sentences which I should not have been surprised about

That's actually pretty good!

But tbf modern norwegian has developed from the danish language due to our shared history and danish being the official written language used for stuff during the danish rule of norway.

Also that's why the written form between the two languages are very similar today.

[hoe4hotchner]

As a fellow Danish Hotch enjoyer (han er min lille pookie) , I need Hotch x Danish reader who starts speaking Danish when she gets tired. She also keeps insisting that Jack should watch Kaj og Andrea.

Bakke snagvendt | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Danish fem!reader | WC: 1.5k | CW: Fluff

A/N: I LOVE THIS!!!! Honestly I think I have the puppets laying somewhere in my parents' house.

This is very niche, so I added translations to the parts in danish ;)

The first time you slipped into Danish around Aaron, he didn’t interrupt. The silence of his response was as gentle as the moment itself. You were sprawled across his couch, your feet tucked beneath a soft blanket he kept draped over the armrest. Your head rested against his shoulder, the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you deeper and deeper into sleep as your eyelids grew heavier with each passing second.

The living room was bathed in the soft glow from a single lamp, casting warm shadows across the carpeted floor. In the background, a crime documentary droned on the television, which you were surprised he had agreed to watch with you given his job.

An hour earlier, you’d been sitting cross-legged on Jack’s bed, reading Where the Wild Things Are to him with an exaggerated, vaguely British accent that sent him into fits of giggles. His laughter had echoed through the small bedroom, his small hands clutching the edges of his dinosaur-patterned duvet as he begged for “just one more page.”

Now, with Jack tucked in and the apartment settled into silence, you felt the weight of the day pulling you under. Your lips parted, and a string of words spilled out, soft and slurred, utterly incomprehensible to Aaron’s tired ears.

“–jeg kan ikke holde mine øjne åbne længere, de er tunge som bly–” (I can't keep my eyes open anymore, they're as heavy as lead)

Aaron blinked, his eyes flickering with curiosity as he tilted his head slightly, trying to parse the unfamiliar syllables. “What was that?” he asked, his voice low, careful not to disturb the peace of the moment.

You didn’t respond. Instead, you let out a contented sigh, your body sinking deeper into his side, your murmurs fading into a quiet mumble. The cadence of your voice was different in Danish–softer, more melodic, the consonants rounded and gentle.

Aaron didn’t press further. He watched you, the way your lashes fluttered against your cheeks, the way your fingers curled loosely around the edge of the blanket. There was something intimate about it, the way your mother tongue surfaced when your defenses were down. He didn’t understand the words, but he didn’t need to.

It wasn’t until a week later, in the midst of a different kind of chaos, that he brought it up. The living room was a battlefield of LEGO pieces, scattered across the rug like colorful shrapnel. You were sprawled on the floor, one of his old academy shirts on, its hem brushing your thighs as you sat cross-legged beside Jack. The two of you were deep in the construction of a LEGO dinosaur, a T-Rex with a wobbly head and a tail that kept snapping off.

Your eyes were pink-rimmed from a long day at work, but you were patient, handing Jack pieces and offering quiet encouragement as he debated where the next block should go.

Jack had scampered off to brush his teeth, leaving you alone with the half-built creature. You slumped against the base of the couch, the T-Rex dangling from your hand as you muttered to yourself, “Det giver ingen mening, LEGO er i mit DNA!” (It makes no sense, LEGO is in my DNA!)

Aaron, seated in his armchair with a newspaper spread across his lap, lowered the pages just enough to peer at you over the top. “Sweetheart?” he called, his voice carrying that familiar mix of amusement and affection.

“Hm?” you replied, your head tilting lazily toward him, your expression dazed and dreamy.

“You’re doing it again,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Doing what?” you asked, blinking as if your brain was slowly rebooting.

He folded the newspaper with care, setting it aside before crossing the room to kneel beside you. His hand found your hair, his fingers brushing it back from your face with a tenderness that felt like it belonged to a different world. “Speaking…Danish. I think,” he said, his smile widening just enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes.

You froze, your cheeks flushing a soft pink as realization dawned. “Oh,” you said, your voice small. “Sorry. I–I do that sometimes. When I’m tired.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, his tone firm but warm, his thumb grazing your cheek. “It’s cute.”

“Cute?” you huffed, though the corners of your mouth betrayed you, curling into a reluctant smile. “Well. Det er fandme første gang nogen har sagt det.” (Damn, that's the first time anyone's ever said that.)

Aaron’s brow arched, his expression a mix of curiosity and mock suspicion. “I assume that wasn’t an insult.”

Your grin widened, bright and mischievous. “No. Just…never mind. You’re not ready for that one.”

It became a quiet thread woven into the fabric of your relationship, slipping into Danish when the world grew heavy or soft. It was never intentional, never a performance–just you, sleepy, your sweater slipping off one shoulder, your hair mussed from the couch pillow or the armrest of Aaron’s car.

The words mostly came in fragments, not full sentences, as if your brain relinquished its hold on English when exhaustion took over. Aaron began to notice the patterns: the way your voice softened, the way the Danish words carried a rhythm that felt like home to you, even if he couldn’t follow the meaning.

One evening, as summer bled into autumn, you were both out on the balcony, the air crisp and cool. You were curled up in a wicker chair, a glass of red wine cradled in your hands, the deep ruby liquid catching the light from the string of bulbs you had hung on the railing.

You were half-asleep, your head tipped back, when you mumbled, “Skal vi ikke bare gå i seng…” (Shouldn’t we just go to bed)

Aaron, seated beside you with a book he hadn’t been reading, glanced over and gently pried the wine glass from your fingers before it could tip.

“We will,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Just one more minute.”

You nodded, your eyes closed, your lips curving into a faint smile, even though you hadn’t fully registered his words. He didn’t mind.

But then came your campaign, and with it, a new kind of chaos. It started one evening in the kitchen, the air thick with the scent of garlic and thyme as Aaron chopped vegetables for dinner. You leaned over the island, your elbows propped on the granite, your eyes sparkling with the kind of mischief that made Jack your instant ally.

“Jack,” you said, your voice low and conspiratorial, as if you were plotting a heist. “You know what you need to watch?”

Jack, perched on a stool with a glass of apple juice, leaned in, his eyes wide with excitement. “What?”

“Kaj og Andrea,” you declared, with the gravitas of someone revealing a long-guarded secret.

Aaron paused, his knife hovering over a carrot. “What’s that?” he asked, his tone cautious, as if he sensed the tide turning against him.

“The best thing ever,” you said, straightening up and planting your hands on your hips. “It’s a Danish children’s show. About a frog and a parrot. They live in a little apartment and argue and eat popcorn. It’s iconic.”

Jack’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Can we watch it?” he asked, already sliding off the stool and making a beeline for the living room.

Aaron held up a hand, his expression a mix of skepticism and amusement. “Let’s…just take a moment. Is this in English?”

You stared at him, your mouth slightly open, as if he’d just asked if the moon was made of cheese. “No. Of course not. It’s in Danish. That’s the whole charm.”

Jack, already halfway to the couch, called back, “I wanna watch the frog one!”

You shot Aaron a smug look, your eyes dancing with victory. “He’s a man of culture.”

Aaron gave you a long, measured look over the counter, his lips twitching. “If he starts mixing Danish with his math homework, that’s on you.”

“Helt fair,” (Fair enough) you said sweetly, batting your lashes. “You’ll just have to learn too.”

Later that night, long after Jack had been tucked into bed and the house had settled into its familiar quiet, you were curled up against Aaron in his bed. The soft glow of your phone illuminated your face as you scrolled through clips on YouTube, your enthusiasm undimmed despite the late hour.

You held the phone out to him, your eyes bright. “Just watch one clip. One. They sing about talking backward.”

Aaron took one look at the brightly colored puppets–a green frog with a lopsided grin and a parrot with a penchant for dramatic gestures–and shook his head, a low laugh rumbling in his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m Danish,” you corrected, your voice thick with sleep as you yawned. “It’s worse, the Swedes would agree.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as he pulled the blankets up higher around you, tucking them beneath your chin. “I wouldn’t change a thing,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Even when you started mumbling about frogs and parrots in Danish, your voice trailing off into soft, happy nonsense as you drifted to sleep against his chest, Aaron only smiled. He tightened his arms around you, holding you close, and let the unfamiliar words wash over him like a lullaby.

[hoe4hotchner]

You know, something I frequently wonder about is:

How many men do you think know about the hand thing on your lower stomach?

[hoe4hotchner]

Give me just a chance You'll never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you

for @dearhoneybabe, whose reply to this post on twitter promptly got all of rumours stuck in my head 🩶

[hoe4hotchner]

You know that trend with Gen-Z going to war wearing airpods on tiktok and fighting to the likes of barbie girl and crazy frog.

I'll do one better as a Gen-Z. Draft me to the war but give me a horse and the good the bad and the ugly or (ghost) riders in the sky – That would be iconic

[hoe4hotchner]

(gif from this incredible forever favorite post by ropoto)

just sayin'.

[hoe4hotchner]

I hate graduation season!!!

There’s a flock of 16 year olds throwing a party in my neighborhood and they’re louder than necessary

And I have to be awake in 5 hours 😭😭😭

[hoe4hotchner]

Hi!! I hope you're doing well! I've been watching wildlife rescue shelters videos all day and that led me to have this idea for a small fic and I immediately thought of you! Okay so imagine reader is dating Hotch and she's working at one of those shelters and so she always sends him cute videos of all the tigers/leopards/lions etc. she's taking care of! And like he'd be so proud of her for doing that job but also low-key scared because she's literally cuddling a giant tiger there (you can also include the other BAU members' reactions!!)

No worries if you don't feel like writing this I just thought it could be fun/cute!

Okay have a nice day/night bye!!!

Wild at heart | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!reader | WC: 0.5k | CW: Mentions of potential danger.

Hotch's phone buzzed on the table with a new message, and despite the never-ending paperwork in front of him, he reached for it immediately.

🐅 From: Y/N

“Look at my new cuddle buddy!! 🥰”

Attached was a video of you lying on the ground, absolutely dwarfed by the massive Siberian tiger curled up beside you. The big cat let out a slow, contented huff as you scratched behind its ears, your laughter ringing out softly. Hotch exhaled sharply, torn between admiration and sheer terror.

Morgan, sitting across from him, raised an eyebrow. “You okay, man? You just made a face.”

Hotch turned the screen toward him. “She sent me another one.”

Morgan leaned in, then burst out laughing. “Oh, hell no. She’s basically using a tiger as a pillow? That’s insane.”

Emily, overhearing, walked over with her coffee. “Wait, let me see.” As soon as she caught a glimpse, her jaw dropped. “That’s either the coolest thing I’ve ever seen or the most reckless. How are you not having a heart attack every time she sends you these?”

“I am,” Hotch admitted, rubbing his temple. “Every single time.” He sighed

JJ peered over his shoulder, shaking her head with a smile. “You have to admit, it’s adorable. She looks so happy.”

“I know.” He did. That was the problem. He couldn't take that away from you.

Rossi strolled by, glancing at the phone. “You do realize that’s a predator, right?”

“Yes, Dave, I’m aware,” Hotch sighed. “But she loves what she does.” And as much as it terrified him, he loved how passionate you were about your job.

Another buzz.

🐅 From: Y/N

“Also, here’s my baby leopard learning how to pounce!!”

The next video showed a clumsy little leopard cub attempting to pounce onto your lap but misjudging the distance, tumbling forward into your arms instead. Your giggles were audible as you scooped it up.

Hotch’s heart clenched.

Penelope appeared out of nowhere. “Oh! Oh! Are we looking at Y/N’s daily ‘How To Give Hotch a Heart Attack’ update?” She squealed.

“Apparently,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Reid, curious at what everyone was watching, peeked at the screen. “Statistically speaking, working closely with large wild cats poses significant risks, even in controlled environments.”

Hotch shot him a flat look. “Thank you, Reid. That helps.”

Morgan chuckled. “What’s the over-under on him showing up at her work in full-on protective detail one of these days?”

“Very funny,” Hotch muttered, but they weren’t entirely wrong. He had considered visiting just to see the safety protocols himself.

Another message.

🐅 From: Y/N

“Love you! Don’t worry, the tigers love me too!! ❤️”

Hotch sighed, shaking his head fondly. He typed out a quick response:

To: Y/N

“I love you too. Please be careful. And tell the tigers they need to share.”

Morgan saw the text and grinned. “Man, you’re whipped.” Hotch didn’t even deny it, cause it was no use trying to pretend not to be in a room full of profilers.

[hoe4hotchner]

Here’s something to boost my own ego

My Bf’s bff (who happens to be American) apparently told him yesterday that I’m (out of all the non-native speakers he knows) the best at english and pass as a native speaker