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scorpio-hotch · 6 months

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this one to me feels much more oc-like than a reader-insert (bc of all the details i added) but a few of yous said to keep it as a reader fic so i hope this is okay!! don't hate me if you can't relate to it please n thanks <3 also sorry for the weird formatting of my fics/the random bold or italics or small text idk tumblr hates me and keeps doing it!!! comfortember day five: treehouse (+day eight: grief/mourning) aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader aaron is there for you, just like he always is, after you lose your mother. word count: 2.1k warnings/content: parent loss, death of reader's mother, hurt/comfort, some emotional conversations and sad topics, mentions of crying, pet names, kissing, hugging, established relationship. lyrics that inspired this: "do not enter" is written on the doorway / why can't everyone just go away / except you / you can stay / what do you think of my treehouse? / it's where i sit and talk really loud / usually / i'm all by myself also on ao3!

the treehouse

You step out into the back garden and take a deep breath, closing your eyes as you allow the crisp air to wash over you. Aaron steps out moments after and closes the door quietly before his hand finds your lower back.

"You okay?" He asks, his voice just above a whisper. It's almost drowned out by the sound of mourning doves overheard.

You shrug, your shoulders feeling as though they’re being weighed down by the heavy armour you’re trying–and failing–to shield yourself with. “I will be.”

“Yeah.” He looks around the garden and lets out a short, flat hum. “But no one is expecting you to be okay, you know that, right? There’s no time limit; you’re allowed to grieve.”

“I know.”

“I know you do, sweetheart. But I just wanted to remind you.” You turn to look at him and, at the sight of his genuine concern, your brave face crumbles. He wraps his arms around you immediately, pulling you close and enveloping you in his warmth. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’ve got you. I’ve got you, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whisper as you cling to him, trying your hardest to hold back your tears but failing miserably. “I know.”

“Good.”

“I just don’t know what to do.”

Aaron presses a kiss to your forehead. “You don’t have to do anything.”

You pull back and look up at him, confused. “Yes, I do. I have to… to get rid of everything and sell the, the house. And do all the paperwork and figure out what to do with her antiques and, and, and–”

“Hey, hey,” he interrupts you gently, pulling you back into a tight hug. “Don’t worry about any of that right now. I’ll do that.”

“What, no–”

“Let’s not talk about this now, okay? We’ll sort it out later or tomorrow. Give yourself some time to think about it.”

“But what do I do in the meantime? I can’t just… sit around.”

He thinks for a moment. “Show me around.”

“What?”

“Show me around the house. Tell me everything you can, anything you can remember, and I’ll listen. I wanna know what life was like for you.”

You almost burst into tears at his words. “Really? You wanna know about my childhood?”

“Sweetheart, I wanna know everything about you.”

***

You take Aaron inside the house, taking him to the living room. The room hasn’t been touched in a few days, save for a few files on the coffee table you checked earlier, and you feel sick at the thought of leaving the house behind once everything’s packed away. Then the thought of having to pack everything away makes you feel even worse and you sway on the spot. Aaron notices you falter and reaches out to squeeze your arm gently, standing beside you patiently.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do when all this is gone.”

“It doesn’t have to be gone,” he replies. “You can take it all.”

“And keep it where?”

“In our house, in a storage container… there’s many places.”

You think for a moment, holding back tears, before shaking your head. “No. I need to… to let it go. Not all of it, but I can’t keep everything. She wouldn’t wanna weigh me down with all her stuff.”

“Alright,” Aaron says, squeezing your arm again and leaning to press a soft kiss to your cheek. “Take anything you need. I promise we’ll find a place for it. That sound good?”

You nod and lean into him for a moment before slowly making your way through the living room, grabbing the objects with the most significance to you and telling Aaron about them before sorting them into a box to take back to the house. You pack a few of your favourite DVDs, ones you’re sure won’t even play anymore with how scratched they’ve become, as you tell Aaron vague memories of watching them as a kid. What happened when you watched them, who you watched them with, how you felt–anything that comes to mind because you know he’s listening.

A few family photos are displayed on the TV stand, as well as a cabinet in the corner, and you relive the memories of when they were taken as you tell him all about them. He asks to look at one closer and you give it to him, watching as he smiles down at a photo of you with your old dog. “You looked happy.”

“I was,” you reply, nodding. “Some of the time, anyway.”

He gives you a small smile and hands you the picture. “I know what you mean.”

You continue to walk him around the house, showing him dents in the wall from where you hurt yourself and little drawings you hid behind drawers and peeling wallpaper. He listens intently, smiling at your happy anecdotes and comforting you when tears well up in your eyes as the worst memories cloud your mind. You show him your childhood bedroom, telling him about friends that used to come over for sleepovers and the first time you kissed someone behind the open door so no one would see.

“My first kiss was with Haley,” he replies. “In the theatre room at our school.”

“Isn’t that where you first met her?”

“Yeah. I kissed her in the same spot I first saw her.”

“Aw,” you smile as you grab an old diary and throw it into your bag. You’ll read that later when you’re alone so you don’t embarrass or upset yourself anymore in front of Aaron. “You’ve always been a romantic, how cute.”

He blushes and presses a kiss to your cheek as he passes by, making his way to your desk and flicking through a few papers you left there when you were last over. “You think you’d want these?”

“Probably not, doubt they’re important.”

Aaron nods and begins to open the drawers, pulling out miscellaneous items and silently dividing them into piles of things you might want to keep and things you’d throw away. You watch him with a sombre smile, feeling your chest ache at the realisation that he knows you so well and that his love for you is endless. When he catches you watching him, he pauses and raises an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“I love you, you know that, right?”

“Of course I do,” he replies, closing the drawer and walking back over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist to tug you close. “I love you, too. More than you’ll ever know.”

“Hm, I don’t know. I think I have a pretty good idea.”

“I don’t want to doubt you, sweetheart, but I really don’t think you do.” He presses a sweet kiss to your lips, channelling all his love into it. “I can’t even begin to express how much I love you. I just… do.”

You press another kiss to his lips to hide the tears welling up in your eyes. The love you feel for him is so strong it feels like you might burst. He kisses back, letting you take the lead. Pulling back, you look deep into his eyes and smile the first genuine smile you’ve been able to manage since you first heard the news. “I love you more.”

Aaron chuckles. “Sure you do.” He presses a chaste kiss to your lips with a hum. “Ready to carry on?”

“Yeah,” you mutter, going to pull away before a thought strikes you and you let out a sharp breath. Aaron pulls you back into his arms immediately, looking down at you in concern but keeping silent to give you a moment to think. “Sorry, I just… realised that that was gonna be my last kiss in this room.”

“Is that a good thing? Or bad?”

“I don’t know,” you reply honestly, feeling out of it. “I don’t like the thought of everything we do in this moment being the last of anything, but… the fact that it’s you that I’m doing all this with… yeah, I think that’s a good thing.”

He smiles sweetly at you, love shining so clearly in his eyes, and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Then let's stay here for a little longer.”

“We should get it over with, I don’t wanna waste all your free time off work. You deserve to get some time to yourself.”

“Oh, honey,” he sighs, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and resting his head against yours. “This isn’t a waste of my time. Trust me. I want to be here, with you, for you, and that’s all that matters. Don’t think like that, okay? I’m here because I want to be, not because I feel like I have to. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “It does.”

***

“I guess that leaves the treehouse,” you shrug, feeling drained as you step back outside with Aaron following you. You stare up at the treehouse, wondering if it's necessary to go up there. “You don’t have to come up. It’s pretty small.”

“I’ll go wherever you go.”

“You’re so cheesy,” you say with a small smile, even when his words mean the world to you.

He smiles at you. “You love it.”

“I really do.” Making your way to the treehouse, you glance at Aaron and allow a small smirk to dance over your lips. “Don’t stare at my ass as I go up.”

Aaron laughs. “No promises.”

You roll your eyes and begin climbing, risking a glance back to find Aaron’s eyes firmly on the ground and being as respectful as ever. It makes your heart skip a beat. Reaching the top of the ladder, you look at the treehouse's entrance and cringe at the big ‘DO NOT ENTER’ sign hanging beside the doorway. It was a sign you carved yourself when you were younger. When you look inside the treehouse, your heart aches as memories flood through you. It takes you a few seconds to force yourself inside but once you clamber in, you call down to Aaron to let him know he can join you.

The sound of him climbing up surrounds you as you push yourself into your favourite corner, one filled with soft padding and blankets. A few of your favourite books are scattered across the floor and pictures of you and your childhood friends cover the walls. The nostalgia hits you hard and you bite your lip to stifle a sob.

Aaron joins you, crawling inside and looking around with interest. As he gets comfortable in the small space, his long legs curling against himself to fit, you realise it’s the first time anyone’s ever been in the treehouse with you. Or at all.

He remains silent, waiting for you to be the first to talk. You appreciate that.

“I used to come up here a lot,” you say after a few minutes. “To read, to think, to talk to myself out loud… everything.”

“And did it help?”

“Yeah,” you nod, reaching over to grab one of the books beside you. It’s one you’re sure you’ve read a million times over, the pages worn and yellowing and a small layer of dust covering the outside. “It was nice. Peaceful. Somewhere I was never bothered.”

“I had a place like that,” Aaron muses, smiling at you. “Not as personal as this, though. It was a bench a few blocks from where I grew up, hidden by a few overgrown trees. I liked it.”

“Did you go there a lot?”

“Whenever I could. Couldn’t go much in the winter because of the cold, though.”

You huffed out a laugh. “Same here. Still came here even if I meant I almost froze to death.”

His smile becomes sad but there's clear understanding in his expression. “Yeah.”

The two of you sit inside the treehouse for almost an hour, talking about whatever comes to mind. Aaron listens intently to every word you say, his comforting hand drawing patterns over your thigh and eventually over your side when you move to curl up against him. You feel yourself drifting off at one point when the exhaustion settles deep in your bones, feeling so safe and warm and loved and comforted beside him, but you force awake to finish back up in the house.

Aaron follows you inside, as he always has and always will, and comforts you through everything that comes after that. He helps you pack up the house, assuring you over and over that you can take however many boxes you want back to the house you share with him. He sits with you for days after, mostly in silence when the grief catches up to you and you can hardly think, never once looking as if he’d rather be elsewhere. He holds your hand throughout the funeral, never once leaving your side or once letting you think for a moment that you’re ever alone. And even after it’s been weeks, months, years, since that moment, he’s there for you whenever you need a shoulder to cry on. Just like he always has been.

#crying sobbing throwing up #this is SO CUTE!!!#i think its actually impossible for you to not write something adorable for aaron #thats actually a lie i know you can write some heartbreaking shit #but this was not that #it was so cute and sweet #treehouses are so romantic #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #cas tag #🐝#fic rec

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scorpio-hotch · 6 months

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Who would you be in a horror movie?

Create your own look here!

Find out who you are in a horror movie here! Found this and wanted to do it, lol. living up to my username!

no pressure tag: @grandeoatmilklatte @greedyforgarreth @margottheviking @little-emerald-snake @myrachondria @lucy-is-never-logical @celerydays @localravenclaw

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scorpio-hotch · 6 months

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AHHHH FIRST FIC OF COMFORTEMBER YEAHHHH >:D comfortember day one: safe aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader after having a rough night out, you call aaron and he rushes to find you immediately. he fixes you up and the two of you finally admit how you feel about each other. word count: 1.5k warnings/content: mentions of fighting and alcohol but mostly fluff. also on ao3 <3

you make me feel safe

Aaron wakes up to the sound of his phone ringing beside him. It gets to the fourth or fifth ring by the time he grabs it and anxiety bubbles low in his gut when he realises it’s you calling at almost three in the morning. Answering the phone, he immediately asks, “Is everything alright?”

“No.”

He’s up and out of bed instantly, throwing on the first shirt he finds and the closest shoes to the bed. “Tell me where you are.”

“I’m at, uh, I don’t, I’m… somewhere. My mind is all over the place.”

Aaron’s heart hammers widely in his chest. “Somewhere? Can you look around for me and see if you recognise something? Anything?”

“Okay,” you reply, voice shaky. After a few moments, you clear your throat. “I’m outside the bar we all went to a few weeks ago.”

“The Tipsy Ship? The one closest to work?”

“Y-yeah, yeah.”

Aaron grabs his keys and runs out of his house, not even thinking about locking the door as he runs toward his car. Jack is sleeping over at JJ's; the house will be fine unattended for now. “I’m on my way. Are you hurt?”

“I think so.”

“You think–” Aaron stops to take a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment before shoving his phone into its holder and slamming his car door shut. “Don’t worry, I’m on my way.”

“Can you stay on the line with me?”

“Of course.”

***

When Aaron reaches the bar, his heart breaks at the sight of you standing alone outside. He tenses up once he notices that, not only are you alone, but dry blood covers your face, there’s a large bruise forming on your cheek, and the knuckles of your dominant hand are cracked and bloody. “God,” he mutters, running straight for you and grabbing you by the shoulders. He can smell an overpowering scent of alcohol on you and he winces. “What happened? Where’s the bastard that did this to you?”

You point toward an ambulance down the road. “The coward freaked out when I punched him back and thought he needed medical attention. Most they’re gonna diagnose him with is Dumbassery and Stupid Prick Disease.” You look back at Aaron and weakly smile. “And maybe a concussion.”

Aaron can’t help it, he laughs. “At least you haven't lost your sense of humour. But let's get you home and cleaned up, alright?”

“Can I go to yours? I don’t really wanna be alone right now.”

He smiles. “Of course you can.”

***

Aaron holds a wet cloth to your face, reaching out to grab your chin between his fingers gently when you flinch away. “Sorry, sorry.”

“It’s cold, is all.”

“Sorry,” he repeats, gently dabbing away the dried blood under your nose and the corner of your lips. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“I got into a fight.”

“I can see that.”

You shrug, stumbling on your feet at the movement. Aaron gently grabs you by your elbow and shuffles you toward the kitchen counter so that you’re leaning against it for support. Once you’re stable, he begins to dab the other side of the cloth over your knuckles. “It was stupid, really.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“I know,” you sigh. It’s quiet for a few moments as you watch Aaron continue to clean up the blood. “He… the guy who punched me… I was on a date with him.” Aaron tenses. “And he kept buying me drinks and told me I had to drink them. I did because, well, free drinks, y’know?” You sigh and shake your head again, letting out a groan when it results in pain. “So stupid of me.”

“Hey, none of that. You’re not stupid.”

“Whatever you say. Anyway, I think he was trying to make sure I was drunk enough so that he could take me home without much complaint. I don’t know. I refused because I really wasn’t in the, uh, mood, and the night was a bust anyway, and he started… tryna touch me, grab me and all that, his hands were everywhere and I didn’t want them to be and…” You stop to take a few deep breaths, feeling sick at the thought of what could have happened. Aaron feels anger rip through his veins. “Anyway, he ended up punching me and I guess he wasn’t expecting me to punch back.”

Aaron grits his teeth. "Twice as hard, yeah?"

"Twice as hard," you grin.

“Good. That’s what I expect to hear.”

You tilt your head at him, trying to read his expression. “You’re not mad at me?”

Confused, his eyes meet yours. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, watching as his large hand moves over yours, his thumb gently sweeping over your skin. “I woke you up.”

“You woke– You– That’s what you’re worried about?” He gives you a fond look. “Yes, you woke me up. But I’m glad you did. Thank you for calling me. And for trusting me to help you.”

“I don’t think I trust anyone more than I trust you.”

Aaron’s hand stills as the words sink in. When he looks up at you, he notices that you’re staring at him with so much love that his breath catches in his throat. He hasn’t been looked at like that in… he can’t even remember. But when he thinks about it, eyes never leaving yours as you blink innocently at him, not understanding his revelation at that moment, he realises it’s the way you’ve always looked at him. With complete and utter adoration.

As if he hung the moon and the stars.

“Oh,” is all he can get out.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Oh.”

Your face falls and he feels guilt grow deep in his gut. “You don’t trust me back?”

“What? I never said that.” He steps closer, moving a hand to your shoulder and looking into your eyes. “Of course I trust you. More than most people. More than anyone else, really.”

“Really?”

His eyes search yours and he nods firmly, squeezing your shoulder. “Really.”

You look all over his face before looking down at his lips, licking your own as your mouth immediately goes dry. “I didn't want… I… I didn't go home with that guy because of, uh, well, you. I couldn’t stop thinking of you... when I was with him.”

Aaron hums as his gaze drops to your lips. “That’s why I don’t go on dates.”

“Hm?”

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you either.” He inches closer, moving a warm hand up to cup your cheek. “Can I kiss y–"

“Yea–"

And your lips are pressed together before either of you can finish. The kiss is soft, sweet, gentle, and full of so much raw emotion that it’s almost suffocating (in the best way). Aaron moves his lips against yours desperately, holding your face in his large calloused hands as if you might break at any moment, and you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer. The moment your tongue brushes against his bottom lip, though, he pulls back with a heavy sigh. “Shit, you’re drunk. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I’m totally taking advantage of you and–”

“Aaron.”

“I should know better and–”

“Aaron!”

“You should feel safe here–”

You press your lips against his again, effectively shutting him up. It’s a much shorter kiss this time, but not any less enjoyable. “I do feel safe, Aaron. Here, with you.”

“You do?”

“Of course. You make me feel safe; you always have.”

He visibly relaxes and pulls you into a hug. “So have you.” He sighs against you, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “I like being with you.”

“I like being with you too, Aaron.”

He smiles against you and holds you for a moment more before pulling back, hands still wrapped around you. His heart breaks at the sight of the dark bruise forming on your face and he leans forward to press a tender kiss against the skin, careful not to hurt you in any way. “I wonder how long we’ve liked each other.”

“I fell in love with you the moment I saw you, I think.”

Aaron’s breath hitches at the admission. “You’re in love with me?”

You tilt your head at him, fighting back a smile. “Did I not make that obvious enough?”

“I… didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Well, get them up, Hotchner, because I’m in love with you, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Aaron’s face softens and he presses a kiss to your cheek, sighing in relief. “I’m in love with you, too.” He runs his hands lovingly over your back. “Now let’s get you changed into some comfortable clothes and into bed, yeah? It seems like we have a lot to talk about tomorrow.”

“Can I sleep in your bed with you?”

He presses another kiss to your cheek. “There’s no other place I’d rather you be, sweetheart.”

tag list: @criminalskies @ssahotchnerr @hotchs-big-hands @citrusiove @sillyhotchsgirl

lemme know if you wanna be tagged in future fics

#THIS IS SO CUTE!!!!#aaron is so sweet #he would take such good care of you <33 #im so excited for your comfortember #you're writing is always amazing #ilysm #cas tag #🐝#fic rec #aaron hotchner x reader

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scorpio-hotch · 6 months

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Do you have any Trans!Aaron headcanons?

yesss lemme give you some <3

when he was younger and first realised he felt like a boy, he definitely pushed away those thoughts because he figured he didn't have time for it with all the things he had to do in the future (care for his mom and brother, working a shitty job, getting into law school) and he assumed no one would understand or care

i feel like he worked a few jobs as a teen so he could save up enough for testosterone/top surgery/bottom surgery if he wanted that too because he wanted to get them all as soon as possible

he used to bind unsafely bc he had no proper way of doing it :( so it took a while for his ribs/chest to feel okay again after that. he sometimes still gets pains because of how long he did it for when he was a teen/young adult

him being trans is the reason he wears a lot of suits, especially tailored ones, because it makes him look and feel a lot more masculine <3 but as he gets older and has been on t for years, he feels a lot more comfortable wearing casual clothing around his coworkers and in general

he's not out to people, only the ones he's closest too. so haley knew, jessica also knew but that's because they grew up together, and so does sean. jack probably knows, but might not understand properly until he's older, and maybe dave knows too. the rest of the team doesn't.

he's insecure about his top surgery scars which is why he's never seen shirtless or always leaves to change elsewhere and alone. i feel like after foyet stabs him a few times in the stomach, he feels a lil bit less insecure about his top surgery scars because it's not the only scars on his front anymore. but now he's insecure about all the scars because of the memories they hold and he hates the idea of people asking questions or acting like they know what he's been through </3

when there's a case that includes transphobia, he gets really really angry about it. just like jj does when the case involves kids. but the team can't figure out why it affects him so much and why it has him overworking them without even meaning to. he hardly sleeps when he's on those cases, too focused on solving it and getting the asshole in jail, and dave or whoever knows has to prompt him to take care of himself or tell him to take a breather :(

he hates having to tell people. his biggest worry is them seeing and treating him differently. that's why he never wants the team to find out; it keeps him awake some nights when his dysphoria is at its worst and his anxiety about others finding out terrifies him

if penelope found out, probably accidently by looking at his file or maybe walking in on him shirtless, she'd be sooo supportive and promise not to tell anyone and make sure that he knows she's always there for him if he needs someone to talk about it <3

he likes to work out and stay in shape because it makes him feel both healthier and appear more masculine and he likes the way it feels

he likes his hair really short. having it too long makes him dysphoric as hell and he feels nauseous. that's why it's so short sometimes bc he can't handle having it past his ears or long enough to reach his eyebrows

i think that's all i have rn <3 thanks for asking!

#this is so cute!!#but also :((#trans hotch my beloved #the one about how he doesnt talk bc he was insecure about his voice is so real #trans aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner headcanons #cas tag #🐝

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scorpio-hotch · 7 months

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Hi love!

I wanted to drop off some more headcanons,

starting off with hotch hates haircuts. Always has. The clippers snag at his scalp and the buzzing sound whirring around his head is disorienting, the lights sting his eyes. The scissors always come too close to his ears, the cold metal and threat of a sharp slice freak him out. The water spraying all over his face is just plain demeaning and trying to describe what he wants despite having had almost the same haircut for 16 years frustrated him because every barber alive wants different lingo from him. He doesn’t even want to consider the blue gunge they clean the tools in between clients. Not to mention the prickly hairs under his collar no matter how careful they are to prevent it. Hotch Hates Haircuts™️, it’s an all around stressful event that tests his patience.

Until, reader starts cutting his hair at home. In his own bathroom, patiently using scissors instead of clippers, no harsh lighting, no water overspray into his eyes and ears and nose. Just slow, gentle hands around his head and temples, the occasional kiss landing on his forehead. It becomes a serene sort of experience.

hotch hates haircuts amen !!!

i love the idea of the reader/you cutting his hair so much. like, it's such a soft intimate loving moment, ya'know?

the first time you cut his hair, it's because you realise it's getting a bit longer than usual. you think it's really cute the way his hair flops over his forehead. but after a few weeks, you notice it's irritating him. he brushes it away as if it's burning his skin, an annoyed huff leaving his lips. after gently suggesting he go to the barbers, you become aware of just how much he hates getting his hair cut.

when you suggest cutting his hair for him, he's immediately against it. he doesn't want to be a burden but most importantly he doesn't want any reason to be annoyed at you, and the thought of getting overstimulated when you're simply trying to help him makes him feel sick with guilt. however, after much persuasion on your end (mixed with lovey dovey puppy dog eyes and lots and lots of gentle smooches all over his face), he caves in after a few days and decides to let you cut his hair.

he prepares himself for the worst, expecting that once it's over he'll have to go on a run to calm down or even go to bed early so that he can have a few hours alone. the thought of possibly shutting you out after you help him makes him anxious and he gets the urge to call the whole thing off.

when aaron gets home later that day, you gently lead him to the bathroom and show him your set-up. one of the kitchen chairs is sat beside the sink and a pair of scissors, ones you bought specifically to cut his hair, rests on the edge of the bath. when he sits down, you lovingly smile at him and press a soft kiss to his lips, cheeks, and forehead. as a last surprise, you pull out your phone and open an app before the overhead light begins to dim. it's a smart bulb you found when you went shopping earlier and aaron almost bursts into tears at how thoughtful you are.

the hair cut itself takes a while due to only using scissors but aaron, to his own surprise, finds it relaxing. he almost nods off once or twice, the feeling of your soft hands combing through his hair and resting on his shoulders bringing him a great sense of comfort. occasionally, you press a kiss to his forehead or nose when you find yourself standing in front of him, and the adorable relaxed smile on his face, combined with his pretty eyelashes resting against his cheeks as he rests his eyes, makes it worth it each time.

once you've finished cutting his hair, you softly push it back the way he usually does and smile down at him lovingly, feeling a twist in your gut at just how much you love him. he looks up at you - completely calm and peaceful and not at all overstimulated like he always is after a haircut - and he feels the exact same way. he gives you the most loving kiss ever and thanks you profusely, promising to make it up to you somehow and telling you how much you mean to him and how he never imagined feeling as happy as he does when he's with you.

after that, he never lets his hair grow too long.

#so cute <33 #cas tag #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner x reader #🐝

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scorpio-hotch · 7 months

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Hotch HCs!

I think he’s such an insomniac normally. His mind just feels with thoughts of foyet/unsubs and home invasions and everything scary he has to face at work. He just can’t relax long enough for sleep to overtake him.

BUT. If you lay your head on his chest, the pressure on him it like a snooze button. He can’t help but fall asleep in minutes. Your warmth in his arms. He can’t quite explain it, but he just CRASHES when your body is on his :)

ohhhh my god yes i love this sm!!

i feel like when he's on case, he's able to sleep (if he really has to). like, he stays up during cases anyway - there's too much for him to do and his mind never quiets enough for him to even think about getting some rest - but if he really needs to sleep, he's able to pass out in seconds. the team and the victims need him at his best, meaning he's able to compartmentalise everything and fall into a (usually very restless) sleep.

but when he's not on a case, he can't do that. there's nothing for him to focus on, no team to lead, no people to think about other than himself, and all the thoughts and feelings he's constantly running from hit him at full force. it takes him hours to sleep, if he does at all. he finds himself unable to relax - he's constantly getting up to look in on jack, he's double and triple checking the locks on the doors, he's making sure his gun is always within reaching distance. once it gets to a specific time, he gives up and nurses a coffee until it's time to get ready and take jack to school or head to work himself.

but when you stumble into his life, quickly making him the happiest he's felt in a while, he finds that sleep comes easier. even in the first few weeks or months of knowing you, when you haven't even spent the night at his, he finds himself drifting off easier at just the thought of getting to spend more time with you the next day.

the first time you spend the night with him at his apartment, you rest your head on his chest as you slowly trail your fingers over his warm skin. you feel his voice rumble against you as he speaks, the two of you talking about whatever comes to mind, before he abruptly goes completely lax beneath you, silent. you glance up to see him completely knocked out, looking incredibly peaceful and at ease. when he wakes up after a full eight hours, he's never felt so rested in his life.

after that moment, he's inviting you around as much as possible. he loves having you in his space, in his arms, in his life. there's nowhere he'd rather be than with you. he wants to make you laugh and smile for the rest of his life. the fact he can finally sleep when you're around is just a plus.

#cas back at it with the hotch hcs #as things should be #its of couse cute and amazing as always #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner x reader #cas tag #🐝

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scorpio-hotch · 8 months

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reblog to manifest gender euphoria for the person you reblogged this from

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scorpio-hotch · 9 months

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sleepy miggy hcs! sleepy miggy hcs!

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ sleepy!miguel has my heart heart heart! thank u 😚

extras. masterlist. want to make a request? please read this. ( if you’ve made a request, please make sure to reblog it. ♡ )

✰ let’s be real—this man is ridiculously attractive—gorgeous, stunning, handsome. sculpted by the gods for sure. but when he’s tired, sleepy; on the verge of drifting off to dreamland? it’s truly a sight for sore eyes.

✰ his usually neat, semi-slick backed hair would be slightly frazzled; thin strands of curls falling over his forehead so effortlessly beautifully. the bags under his eyes would be a few shades browner than his skin tone, still complementing the warm shade of his hickory toned irises.

✰ and his voice, gosh his voice. surrendering from his usual sharp, sarcastic, bass-filled monotone it would be more soft, whispy, and light—almost like a feather. each word and every syllable sounding more and more like a delicate whisper, the warmth of his drowsy voice feeling something like a lit fireplace during a cold winter night.

✰ trying to hold a conversation with him while he’s sleep deprived would be almost impossible. but it’s rarely his fault. in miguel’s defense, he’d be trying so hard to tune into whatever you’re talking about, but the plushness of the pillows he’s propped up on tease him with slumber. the softness of the mattress in your shared bed mixed with warmth of your covers welcome him with open arms. falling asleep is just too easy for him—accidentally, but also unapologetically.

#cute!!#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara headcanons #miguel o’hara x reader #fic rec #jase's q

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scorpio-hotch · 9 months

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What am I supposed to do? I want to absorb Oscar Isaac in my mouth like Kirby

#jase's q

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scorpio-hotch · 9 months

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the thing that gets me about the barbie movie being framed as an "anti-men" movie is that it's fundamentally untrue to the message it's sending out. the movie is an empowering feminist piece as much as it is a cautionary tale about men letting their insecurities and doubts about their place in the world lead them to falling into the alt-right/incel/mra pipeline. it's looking out for men just as much as it's looking out for women, and the only reason you might find this as an "anti-men" message is because you somehow deeply believe that this is the wrong message to send

#barbie spoilers #maybe #just to be safe #jase's q

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scorpio-hotch · 9 months

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I am Kenough.

#you are kenough #jase's q

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scorpio-hotch · 9 months

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The urge I feel to Headcannon every skinny, drug addict, white man with a buzz cut as transgender is unfathomable.

#real #just started watching the boys #frenchie my beloved #jesse my beloved too #the boys #jase's q

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scorpio-hotch · 9 months

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AHHHHHH THE SANTI SOCCER PLAYER FIC!!! It was so good!! One of my favorite fics ive read in a while, thank you very much 💙💙

Imagine playing soccer with santi and the boys and absolutely kicking their asses. I feel like santi might feel a certain way 👀 just food for thought

Ah thank you so much! I’m super happy you enjoyed it 😊

Since I’m now so into this pairing I HAD to write a little blurb with your idea! Here you go! It’s set prior to the last one, earlier in their relationship.

Kick around: Santiago “Pope” Garcia x Masc!Soccer Player!Reader

Summary: Santi watches you run circles around his squad, and it makes him feel some kinda way.

Genre: fluff but Santi is a horny bastard (no smut, not explicit.) He soff! He dopey in love!

Reader: masc!reader, he/him pronouns. No anatomical / physical descriptions. Reader takes shirt off on pitch.

Author’s note: I ship these two so hard 🥹

Gif by @thewaythisis

You’re the hottest person to have ever existed.

Santi is sure of it.

He’d invited the whole squad along to your traditional Sunday morning kick-around. They’d been pestering him to meet you and this -you’d agreed- seemed like a fun and low pressure way to get to know them a little. While you’re in your element.

But, watching you run circles around every single one of them, is making him feel some kind of way.

It’s basically 5-a-side (well, four of them) versus you, and you are a fucking machine.

The breath saws in and out of his lungs as he watches Frankie attempt to pass the ball to Will as though he’s never met a soccer ball in his life, the shot clearly jarring his leg - a fact Frankie quickly attempts to gloss over.

He watches you dance around Will, basically teasing him far more than you need to with you fancy footwork. Will’s chest is heaving, his body lurching all over the place. You make every one of his highly trained operatives look cumbersome and tired, and meanwhile you’re not even out of breath. Haven’t broken a sweat. Have a gorgeous shit-eating grin on your face.

Santi is fit enough to keep up for a while longer at least, even if his soccer skills are lacklustre. He’s fine with that, honestly. He knows he has plenty of other skills - but the boys are actually competing with you as though it’s a matter of personal pride. As through they stand a chance.

Santi dips off to the side of the pitch to refuel with water and to calm his shaky legs, but in truth he’s just enjoying watching you. He enjoys showing you off. He enjoys the fact that you’re completely kicking their asses. He very much enjoys how hot you look as you do it too. How in control you look. How poised. You’re so fucking competent. The way your body looks as you run circles around them. Your 100-watt smile which he can see shining from all the way over here.

And finally, he watches you approach Benny, the last line of defence between you and the goal.

Benny is the only one that maybe has any kind of shot at besting you. He’s in shape. He’s spry. He’s an athlete.

No wait. He’s… calling a time-out? He’s grabbing some water. He’s taking his shirt off and… damn, you follow suit, and as Santi continues to sip on his water he has to be careful it doesn’t drool from the corner of his mouth at the sight of you.

Still, when Benny is ready, you resume, and he puts in a good effort but he has no hope in hell. You run rings around him. Leave him in the dust. His only hope is a completely dirty tackle, and Santi had already warned him what the consequences of that would be.

Still, the bastard does it anyway. Tries to grab you and swipe the ball from out under you. You stop dead still, putting your arms in the air and scolding the man. “This isn’t MMA, Benjamin.” Santi chuckles to himself. God, he loves that you fit right in. Like you’ve always been here. Like he’s always known you.

Then, you let Benny retake his position and you fleet straight past him, socking a sweet shot right into the top corner of the net with precision.

The boys all congregate now, Frankie folded in half and looking like he’s begging for an end to this torment. You pat him on the back and run to get him a towel and an isotonic drink, and Santi’s eyes crease with fondness as he watches you take care of and banter with his squad as though they are your own.

It’s one of the many things that can make him imagine you being in his life for a very long time, and the thought causes a sort of tranquility to wash over him.

Eventually, you peel of, nodding your head in the direction of Santi and beelining over towards where he casually leans up against a tree, doing that little footballer run to get over to him.

“Hiiiii,” he says dreamily, his pupils replaced by hearts, he’s sure, as he melts into a puddle.

You look amused. “Having fun, baby?”

Santi simply blinks, batting his long-lashes at you.

“Hiiiii,” he repeats, giving you the once-over with his eyes and evidently liking what he sees.

“Hi,” you laugh bashfully, the rich sound bobbing in your throat, and meanwhile Santi pushes up off the tree and shimmies closer. He places his hands at your hips, where shorts meet bare skin, and you have the good sense to clamp your hands over his, as though he’d be ballsy enough to strip you right here. “Do you think the guys are having fun?”

“I don’t know,” Santi purrs. “I’ve forgotten all their names. Faces. There’s only you.” A blatant heat is brewing in his eyes, and his gaze trails like fire over you.

You drop your voice lower in your throat. “Oh, you liked that did you? Watching me run circles around your friends? Showing me off?”

Santi smiles dopily at you. He’s got nothing.“Hiiiii,” he repeats, and you slide your hands from where they rest and loop them around his neck.

“Well. You can show me how much I impressed you later. For now, we have brunch.”

“Skip brunch,” Santi grunts, like a Neanderthal.

“Baby!” you eyes search his for sense. “I promised to get to know your friends. It’s important for us, right?”

The fact you’d do that for him? The fact you said us? It’s just one of the many things that makes Santiago want you in his life for a very, very long time.

One of the things; but there are so many more.

#santiago garcia x m!reader #santiago garcia #santiago garcia x reader #fic rec #jase's q

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scorpio-hotch · 9 months

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Yeah, I'm fine

*Types "<character name> x reader" into tumblr search bar*

#real #jase's q

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scorpio-hotch · 9 months

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Im kinda obsessed with the idea of marc or santi having a professional soccer player boyfriend/partner. They'd be so supportive and come to all your games and help you practice. Thanks world cup for the inspiration

Omg! Thank you for sharing this headcanon with me, Anon! I am now picturing Santiago in a full soccer kit and so thank you also for that glorious mental image 🥵. God. It just works on him.

Also, I can totally see this for him and I think they would be SO perfect together! 🥹

I wrote a very quick blurb/one-shot of Santi x Masc!Soccer player!Reader below. (I hope that’s okay? I know you didn’t technically ask me to write anything but I was CONSUMED by the idea of these two and I think they might even be soulmates so there! 😝)

Please be warned it is 18+ so please do NOT read or interact with this if you are a minor.

On the defensive: Santiago “Pope” Garcia x masc!soccer player!reader

Summary: Commitment-averse Santiago Garcia never expected to fall for a soccer player. But there’s something about it that just makes sense.

Genre: it does include recurring sexual themes but it is largely fluffy.

Author’s note: Can safely say this is something that never would have occurred to me to write without your amazing idea, anon, so kudos to you! (Written very quickly so almost certainly typos and likely a bit scrappy.)

Reader: he/him pronouns used and masc word endings in Spanish. No anatomical descriptions (implied penis-owner but enough scope for interpretation and never stated explicitly), use of traditionally masc terms like boyfriend, fella, handsome etc. in ref to reader.

Warnings: flirtatious chat/innuendo, recurring mentions of oral sex, mentions of arousal etc., making out (I couldn’t help it they’re so into each other!) Established relationship. Alcohol mentions. Mentions of prior leg injury (no details).

Gif by @vera-kozhemiakina

“Whyyyy, Tío Santi?” Frankie’s little daughter mewls whilst clinging on to her favourite honorary Uncle’s leg. “Why you have to gooooo?”

Santi’s heart cleaves in two as he watches the crocodile tears bead in her big brown eyes as he prepares to depart. He smiles at the display of affection and reaches to fondly muss her hair. “Because your second favourite Uncle” -he chuckles to himself even if you’re not there to hear the dig- “has a game today, sweetie, and I need to be there.”

“Whyyy?” Her bottom lip juts out, and he can see her teetering on the edge of a tantrum; but Santi manages to bring it back.

He crouches before her, coming to eye-level, and takes her little hands firmly in his.

“Because I love him and so I want to be there to cheer him on. But,” -he gently tickles her tummy and she giggles chaotically - “we’ll both come over next weekend. Take you and Budweiser for milkshake. We got a deal, Princesita?”

Santi cracks an encouraging grin as she mulls it over, and he can see the cogs turning. Her eyes tick over to the couch where Budweiser lays - her favourite plushie, gifted by Benny - so named “because it’s Uncle Benny’s word. He says it alllllll the tiiiime.”. Frankie had been mortified at first to have his kid shouting “Budweiser!” in the park, but he had slowly caved to his girl’s insistence that since the naming ceremony was now concluded, there was nothing else for it but to get on board, stat. He had.

“Okay,” she nods suddenly, the crocodile tears drying as quickly as they had arrived. She sticks her little thumb in the air. “Deal.”

Deepening crinkles radiate from out of the corner of Santiago’s eyes, and his smile turns all gummy. “Deal.”

Immediately, she gives Tío Santi a peck right in the middle of his forehead, being very careful to avoid “alll the scratchy bits” on his face, and then within moments she is playing again, his pending absence now oh so happily forgotten.

When Santi unfurls himself from the floor a moment later, replete with some groaning and cricking knees, Frankie is approaching from across the room for a farewell hug.

“How did you manage to get something so cute from this,” Santi ribs, gesturing up and down the length of Frankie with his hand.

That earns a chuckle from the girl’s mom - Frankie’s wife, Charlotte - who is currently sat in the easy chair with her feet up. She smooths a hand over her heavily pregnant belly, and Frankie gets that melted chocolate look in his eyes again.

“She’s all her mama,” Frankie gushes, and the pair exchange a soppy smile, Charlotte’s eyes equally aglow with love.

The display would have made Santi uncomfortable at one stage. He’d typically have cracked some joke or made some comment.

Deep down, his disdain for such overt affection - he now realises- was a result of him being on the defensive. Constantly. And that, was a result of him believing that he’d never have anything even approaching that level of bliss. That he didn’t, in fact, even deserve it.

But, that was all before you.

Santi only has to think about you in this moment and his eyes mist over instantly with the glossy veneer of love. He’s head over heels for you, honestly. It had all happened so fast.

“Your beautiful fella all set for the game, Santiago?” Charlotte asks from her position on the chair as he scoops up his ball cap and keys from the coffee table.

Your team’s logo is emblazoned on the front and he’s in your home colours today. Santiago certainly doesn’t do things by halves; although, he is still in jeans, and you’ve been trying to convince him to go for the shorts and knee socks combo for a good while now.

Maybe soon he’d finally cave. He’s a soft touch for you.

Coming back to the room, Santiago feels a flurry of nerves flutter in his belly along with Charlotte’s question. “Holy...” -he mouths the word “shit” so as not to swear in front of the little one. “I’m so nervous for him. It’s the first game since the injury and Christ… he’s worked so hard.”

Santi just wants it to go well for you. Wants you to have everything you want, in fact. He’s still bemused by the fact what you want seems to be him, but he’s certainly not going to argue with that.

“Look at you,” Frankie sing-songs, patting his buddy on the shoulder, a bright smile cracking his face.

“What?” Santi responds, and old habits die hard, he guesses. He can feel tension zip through his body. He’s instantly on the defensive. He awaits teasing. Some comment about how he’s sappy or whipped or whatever. It doesn’t come.

“It’s nice,” Frankie clarifies. “It’s nice how you support each other.”

Santi feels a flush of heat rush to his cheeks then. It surprised him how much pride he takes in that. In his buddy noticing how well you two complement one another. “Yeah,” he admits, and finds it is easier than he thought it would be to do so. “Yeah. It is good. Really good.”

God knows you’d been there for him. The knee surgery. Nursing him back to health. Helping him adjust to life out of the military. You’d made it all so… easy, despite all of his well-cultivated, super gnarly defences.

Santi had never expected to fall for you quite so hard and so fast when he’d found you. But in the end, it just makes sense. It works, you and him. It fits.

Your training schedule is militaristic and disciplined with lots of early mornings - things he’s used to. The travelling too, when you’re away for games, means that Santi doesn’t feel too pinned down. Means it isn’t as much of a problem if he has to jump on a plane to do some consulting. The whole team mentality is very familiar to him as well. You’d both come as a package deal - with a ready made squad - and it had all pieced together so readily.

(That, and there’s freaking hot you look in your soccer kit. You make his goddamn creaky knees go weak. Make them shake.)

But, it’s so much more than the ease with which you fit into Santiago’s life. It’s the ease with which you fit into his heart. That had been the most astounding thing of all.

It was as though he’d been keeping a vacant part of his heart warm for you his whole life - just waiting for you to show up. You had bipassed every one of his defences. You had made a home in his chest. And the craziest thing is, he didn’t even mind.

He wanted it. He wanted you.

Carrying a happiness in his chest, Santi wishes fond farewells to the Morales-Baker household -Budweiser included- and he jumps in his truck. Then, after a short drive and with military punctuality, he arrives at the stadium. At this time, only the keenest of fans have begun filtering into the stands. Well, he guesses he’s the keenest. He doesn’t want to miss a thing when it comes to you.

He filters to his assigned seat -as close as he can get without being literally on the sidelines - he doesn’t want to intrude too much - and whips out his phone, idly thinking about you getting your kit on in the locker rooms. Pulling those socks up your calves. He enjoys the thought.

Santi always texts you. Reliably, always 30 minutes before game time. And you are always waiting for it.

“Good luck, mi amor. Remember, if you win I’ll give you the best oral of your life later.”

You type back immediately. Santi knows his window of opportunity is short; and he never misses it. “Oh damn 🤤. And if I lose?”

“Same deal.” He can’t say no to you.

“I think you got confused, hun. Then where’s the incentive? 🤨”

“Okay. If you win, I’ll do it again and again until you can’t think straight.”

“Hnnng. Oh god stop. You know how thin these shorts are. Don’t you dare get me too worked up now!” You fire through another message in quick succession. “Babe, coach wants everyone out on the pitch in 5. Not got long. You be okay in the stands? Ayo hooked you up with those seats, yeh?”

“Don’t you worry about me. Focus on the game. You’re going to be amazing. You’ve worked so hard and it’s going to pay off.”

“Hilarious. If you want me to F O C U S, honey, you really shouldn’t have mentioned that hot little mouth of yours. 😈

“Oops.”

“Well, just know if I score that I was extra motivated by the promise of that tongue. (Don’t tell the coach 🤪.)”

“Cause then everyone will want a turn?”

“Nuh UH. You’re mine. All mine. Santiago.”

There it is again. That sense of pride blooming in the pit of him because you called him yours. It makes him feel so good. “Damn right I am.”

“And baby? Thank you for being here. I love you xxx”

Santi thinks back. To how nervous you had been this morning. How he had tried to calm you with sweet kisses and a slow release, high-energy breakfast. With words of encouragement. You’d tried to play it off, but he could tell the nerves were eating you up. He types back. “I love you. Where else would I be?” It’s funny really. Hilarious. Because with anyone else, he’d always had somewhere else to be. Somewhere else to run to.

With you, he simply wanted to stay.

Another message from you pings up on the screen. “Oh wait, there’s one more thing.”

It’s a picture message and Santiago pops it out, curling his hand around the screen to obscure the positively obscene image - a down the shorts shot of you showing him just how aroused he’d got you.

Christ you look good. Sudden, throbbing warmth rushes to his crotch and the sight of you like that makes him fucking blush. No-one has ever been able to do that to him besides you, his tan cheeks turning a deep shade of crimson.

“Holy fucking Christ, cariño. What’s that for?”

“That’s your motivation 😉”

He laughs to himself in surprise. Like he needed any scrap of motivation to want you. It’s effortless. Damn - not that he’s complaining about this visual feast. Not in the slightest.

He takes a deep breath though. Gets himself under control so he’s not like acting like a fucking pervert by the time your boots hit the turf and the stands have filled up.

He distracts himself. Takes a while to pore through some dry division stats on his phone, committing them to memory. He knows just about everything there is to know by this point. All the player stats. All the transfers and deals and subs.

In truth, Santi never really was a soccer guy - he always preferred baseball - but he is most certainly a You guy. And so, it was inevitable. What matters to you, now matters to him too.

Your successes feel like his successes. Your failures are his failures.

He helps you schedule your training. Goes for a kick around with you on a Sunday morning, even though he sucks ass. He accommodates all your early starts. Doesn’t moan when you miss little things when the season is in full swing.

He admires how driven you are. How dedicated. It’s super attractive to him. And plus… on top of all that. Have you seen you in your kit on game day? Running around getting all sweaty like that. Your shirt being torn at. The way it rides up and shows your appealing stomach. The way you douse yourself in water from the sports bottle and let it cascade down your face, mouth open for it. Watching you do your stretches? Damn, your cute butt in those shorts is everything. And those fucking socks. Those godforsaken socks, which drive Santi to distraction. Especially when you wear nothing but them. Especially when you leave nothing but your socks on while he-

-Anyway. He was meant to be focussing, wasn’t he?

He realises just about in time too.

He watches you and the other players all file out, go through the ceremonial bits and pieces, and take your positions as the opposing side’s players frame the centre spot for kick-off.

He doesn’t miss a thing. He cheers you on. Commiserates when the other team gains ground. He joins in with the chanting, when it’s going well. When it isn’t he just stands there all intense, arms folded and laser focussed on everything you’ve talked him through. Form, tactics, all of it.

His heart is in his mouth as you find an opening and pace it the length of half the pitch with the ball, unchallenged. This could be it. He hides behind his hands as you lob your shot in past the defender and the goalie, and he jumps up out of his seat, throwing his arms into the air and yelling jubilantly when your shot sinks into the back of the net.

It’s a fucking friendly match. It’s not even a qualifier or anything, but Santi doesn’t care about any of that. He only cares about you.

“Did you just win $100 or something,” the woman next to Santi in the stand asks as his overblown celebration dials down.

“No,” he grins. “No - that’s my boyfriend,” he says breathlessly, bursting with pride and relief.

“The goal scorer?” she asks.

“That’s him.”

She looks over at you as you do your traditional celebratory display. She pumps her eyebrows. “Congratulations.”

Santiago can’t stop smiling.

He’s into it. He’s invested.

He feels every collision in his body. Every near miss, every chance, every tackle, every triumph. The thud of the ball could be his heartbeat, as loud as it is thudding in his chest.

He’s there for every minute of it. He’s there for you.

The 90 minutes runs their course, eventually, and your team valiantly holds the 1-0 victory right through until the final whistle. It’s a success!

You sub out for the last 10 minutes and your team holds the defensive position, just keeping the clock ticking over. He’s pleased you came off. He’d made you promise not to push your newly healed injury too hard today. To leave a little in the tank.

By the time the victory is official, Santiago is beaming with happiness. He knows you’ll be thrilled by the outcome. Knows it will be a huge relief and a huge confidence boost for you too, after everything you’ve been through these past few months.

So, by the time the game is wrapped up and Santi filters down through the tunnels and into the interior of the stadium, his heart is racing.

It’s racing from the adrenalin of the game, but also in anticipation of seeing you.

You meet him at your usual spot, in the disused locker room come equipment store. He’s somehow wangled a special pass to wait here, and it’s always deserted. He relishes these stolen post-game moments alone with you. Today especially, he’s looking forward to it.

Santi takes his hat off and ruffles his curls for good measure to tidy them up. He hoists the waist on his snug jeans up and discards his gum in the trash. Then, he waits, butterflies gently dancing in his stomach at the thought of seeing you.

As soon as he hears the door creak, the rusted up hinges signalling your arrival before he sees you, his face splits into a smile.

You smile back upon entering and it makes his heart race even faster. It’s the first time he’s seeing you since you kissed him goodbye early this morning, and it already feels far too long.

He takes you in. You’re all sweaty in your kit, damp with it everywhere, and covered in mud from slipping and sliding all over the turf. Your thighs are looking insanely hot in those shorts and socks, as per usual, all sheened from the exertion, and a pulse of arousal zips through Santi, right to his middle.

Still, what he wants most is to hold you, and the man bounds over to draws you into an enclosing hug, not even caring if his clothes get all soiled. He’s hardly precious about that - they’ll wash. “You were fucking amazing. I told you you would be!”

“I was pretty good, right? Ugh. That damn cross that hit the post though?” You’re always so hard on yourself, always pushing yourself to do more. He understands it, but Santiago just wants you to pause sometimes. To see how far you’ve come. How incredible you are.

“Cariño.” Santi intones softly, slipping his palm up to your face. Dips forward to kiss your soft lips. You hum into his kiss and it sends a shiver right down to his toes. “You were perfect.” You kiss him back, immediately attempting to deepen the kiss, but Santiago has other things on his mind. “That dipshit who dirty-tackled you in the 39th minute though? Fuckin”….” he grits his teeth and shakes his head. “I almost came down on the pitch to give him a piece of my mind.”

You laugh - a tired but bright sound. “Down boy,” you warn, kissing him again for good measure.

“How’s the quad holding up? We can get some heat packs on you if you need it?”

Santi inspects you carefully with soft, earnest eyes for any sign of harm. For any need for comfort, and his hands are ready and willing to provide it. The very same hands which he’d once thought were only good for killing, and which now he only wants to use to care for you.

He sees a red angry scrape on your knee then, and he has the overwhelming urge to bathe and dress it for you - a tender urge so intense that his fingers twitch by his sides like he’s desperate to pull the trigger on helping you.

“Mmmm. Sweetheart,” you purr, walking Santiago back until he is pressed up against the cool metal lockers, ensuring he adequately reads your intention now. “Stop worrying about me, would you, and come here. I just want to kiss you, darling.”

Santi stands there almost limp with lust and love as you move against him, dumbfounded by you. By the way your hands snake tenderly around the nape of his neck and his waist. By the way you dip forward to his mouth with a slight gasp of air as you part your lips. At the way your tender, hungry mouth moves against him, the taste and scent of exertion on you all too familiar from your long, carnal nights, endlessly exploring each other’s bodies. And, as your tongue probes his mouth in attempt to deepen the kiss, dragging deliciously along his lower lip, Santiago is gone.

An unfiltered moan spills from his lips -you drink it down- and a stone of molten desire sinks right through his middle, sending ripples thrumming out to every extremity.

He pants warm, ragged breath against your cheek. “Unnngggg. If you want me down, querido, you’re not doing a very good job of that.”

Your beautiful mouth curls into a smile, briefly, before your tongue licks into him again with quiet, steady vigour. “You’re such a horn dog.”

“For you, always.”

“Sounds like I should get you home, rightaway, huh?”

Santiago wraps his arms around your middle, his hands snaking beneath your synthetic shirt to find skin. He strokes back and forth there with his warm, broad hands, relieving a little of your tightness into the bargain. “Sure. But you certain you don’t want to go out celebrating with the guys?”

“I like the sound of your celebration a lot more.”

Santi could be selfish right now, but truly, he knows he’s a goner for you. He only wishes to make you as happy as possible tonight. Every night, actually. Hell, all of the time. “Hey. Why don’t we do both?”

“You’d do that? You don’t mind heading out for a few?”

“Of course I don’t mind,” he responds, his long-lashes eyes flitting ardently all over your face. “We’re a team, remember? Whatever you want.”

Santiago had thought he’d known what that meant for a long time. To be a part of a team. It turns out he still had a lot to learn, but he’d learned it all when he’d met you.

It feels good. Really good to be on your team.

You eye his mouth hungrily and Santiago deliberately pouts his lips, just a little, enjoying your attentions and the heat it trails down his spine - like a spoon dripping honey.

“Alright then, gorgeous. Let me go get turned around, okay? But first, just one more thing.” You kiss him again, pinning him just a little more harshly up against the lockers, delivering a deep, pleasantly wet kiss before nipping the pillow of his lower lip in between your teeth and dragging.

“Oof.”

That move gets him every time and boy do you know it.

You know everything there is to know about him, he thinks.

You know everything and remarkably, you’re still not running.

You’re still on his team.

And, after that kiss, Santiago so desperately wants to muster something dirty; but, looking at you like this, pride and love glowing in your eyes because he’s yours and you are his, he’s only got one thing. “I love you,” he pushes out, the words rising from a place deep in his gut. Full of feeling gathered on the way out.

With a soft, lilting smile you wrap his shapely jaw in one hand, grabbing him by his sandpaper chin and dragging his lips to yours all over again, this time for a far more tender kiss. “I fucking love you too, Santiago Garcia.”

Santiago feels ten feet tall.

He feels happy. Happier than he’s ever felt.

You turn from him, with a promise to be back - you’re somehow still not running - and Santiago can’t help but smile as his eyes follow you.

He can’t help but smile as he leans his head back against the lockers, the butterflies continuining to dance in the pit of his stomach. His heartbeat still quickened in his chest.

And, for the first time maybe ever… because of you, Santiago Garcia doesn’t feel like running.

With you, Santiago doesn’t feel trapped by love. Doesn’t feel scared by it. Dismissive of it. Undeserving of it.

He feels free. He feels brave. He feels worthy.

He feels sure. Now, more than ever. Indeed, he pats the ring box hidden in his jacket pocket for reassurance, and, to his satisfaction, it’s still there, ready for him to stash away in the dresser later. Until his plans for asking you to be his forever can materialise.

He’d never believed it. Never thought he could have what Frankie and Charlotte have. Never thought it would be possible for him. A family. A home. But with you? It all feels so easy.

You’d skipped past every single one of his defences, but now that he thinks about it, it just makes sense. After all, you do work offence. That is what you’re good at. Getting through.

“Unless…?” Santi calls as he watches you go, never quite able to resist your cute butt in those flimsy shorts. Never quite able to resist you.

You turn to find his lips curled into a delicious smirk, and he keeps your gaze on that hot mouth of his, his pink tongue dragging along his lower lip. “Unless what?”

“Unless you want me on my knees right here?”

He ticks up a thick eyebrow in suggestion.

You’re going to say “yes”, he’s sure of it.

To this, and to a life with him.

It just makes sense.

The two of you fit.

You lick your lips and he waits for it, but he isn’t afraid.

For once, he isn’t afraid.

#womens world cup started today so i had to reread this #one of my favorite fics ever #i love santi sm #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x m!reader #fic rec #triple frontier #santiago garcia #<33 #nsfw

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