Cosmic Funnies

titsay
i don't do bad sauce passes
Misplaced Lens Cap
Not today Justin
Sade Olutola

shark vs the universe
DEAR READER
Keni
AnasAbdin
$LAYYYTER

Janaina Medeiros

roma★

#extradirty
Xuebing Du
Peter Solarz
Jules of Nature
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

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@floatingthroughfandoms

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how i feel when i drink a black coffee
“I chose to stay silent”
The face I chose to stay silent with:
real as hell
i'm begging for more secret relationship bau!reader and aaron ❤️🔥😩
snooze
sneaking around on a case 🤭🥰🥰 cw; bau fem!reader, established relationship, a lot of fluff <3
Your alarm barely had time to ring before you reached over and killed it, fingers moving on instinct, afraid the sound might carry through the walls and wake up the neighboring team members. For a moment, you stayed perfectly still, listening, half-expecting footsteps in the hall or someone to burst through the door with far too many questions.
Outside, the day is already heavy; mist clings to the windows, and a dull gray light seeps into the room, casting everything in a slow, gloomy haze. It'd be all too easy to fall back asleep, especially with the sound of rain hitting the window.
You stretched, a small noise leaving the back of your throat before you turned, facing Aaron. He lay beside you, his features calm and unguarded in sleep.
A small smile tugged at your lips, your expression softening as you took him in with a quiet gentleness that made your chest ache.
"Aaron." He stirred at his name, one arm finding you and drawing you closer. Tightly. A breathless laugh escaped you, "I have to get up."
He groaned, groggily asking, "what time is it?"
"It's nearly six," you whispered, a hand reaching up and running your thumb across his cheek. It's rough with the faint layer of overnight stubble. "I have to get back to my room."
You didn't typically do this - share a room when on a case. Usually, the two of you were better about keeping certain boundaries in place. But given the gruesome nature of the case, sleeping alone hadn’t felt like an option. Alone in the dark, with nothing to ground your thoughts, your mind had too much space to run and fill in the worst possible images.
It was around midnight when you finally gave up, throwing the covers off and slipping down the hall to his room. You knocked once, and the door opened almost immediately - like Aaron had been lingering on the other side with the same idea, moments away from making the trip to your room instead.
He sighed softly into his pillow, bargaining, "ten more minutes."
"Ten more minutes means risking a potential run-in in the hall." Your eyebrows lifted, a knowing, playful note in your voice. It also didn't help that you’re wearing his t-shirt - a dead giveaway. "Besides, I need to shower."
“Shower here?"
You let the question remain unanswered, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips. He hummed softly against your mouth. "Go back to sleep," you instructed, your voice a murmur. "You can get at least another half hour in."
"I don't think anyone'll be up at this hour."
"Better not to risk it."
You eased out from under the covers, careful not to jostle him, his t-shirt slipping lightly against your skin as you straightened. But you’d barely taken a step when his hand found yours. His fingers curled around your wrist, tugging you gently back onto the mattress and drawing you in. His mouth met yours in a slow, deep kiss.
You melt back into him; limbs loosely tangled, feet brushing beneath the sheets as the kiss lingered - absentminded in the way only half-awake affection can be. His hand drifted lazily along your side while your breathing settled into the same slow rhythm. The moment felt unhurried, suspended in that hazy space between sleep and morning, like the day could wait a little while longer.
When the two of you pulled apart, Aaron spoke with smug satisfaction. "Looks like I got my extra ten minutes."
You huffed a laugh, "you're persuasive, I'll give you that."
Before he can draw you back in again, you quickly gathered your things. You moved carefully through the darkness, watching your step to avoid stubbing your toe on any furniture, not wanting to subject Aaron to the brutal glare of the lights just yet.
You glanced back before exiting. Aaron’s propped up on his elbows now, watching you. His hair's a mess - even more disheveled now thanks to your hands - poking in different directions.
"And I’ve gotta give you time to get yourself together. I know the effort it takes to make sure you look distinguished instead of just sexy."
He chuckled at your teasing, warmth flickering in his expression as his brows knit slightly. "Same time tonight?"
"If you’re lucky," you replied, a definite yes hidden in your tone as you gave him a look that didn’t try very hard to be stern. "I’ll see you soon."

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I love their cute winter outfits in the alaska episode, especially Emily 🥹
Missing Aaron Hotchner hour🥺
Quarter-zip — Aaron Hotchner
word count: 1110
summary: you spend an entire case teasing Aaron Hotchner about his quarter-zips— until he gives you his during a freezing stakeout and it feels like warmth, safety and home. then the case goes wrong, you’re injured, and hotch confesses he loves you. you end up stealing his sweaters forever.
Aaron Hotchner x Reader
authors note: I think this is my favourite piece I’ve written to date! I hope you enjoy reading & please if you have any idea you’d like to see come to life, don’t hesitate to ask or share 💗💗
The motel room smelled faintly like burnt coffee and old carpet, and at two in the morning, everyone on the team looked equally exhausted.
Even Aaron Hotchner.
Though somehow, he still looked unfairly put together.
Tie loosened. Sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. Hair slightly mussed from him running a hand through it every twenty minutes.
And, unfortunately for your own sanity, he was wearing that grey quarter-zip.
Your mortal enemy.
You leaned against the table in the makeshift command center, sipping coffee that tasted like regret as you narrowed your eyes at him.
“That sweatshirt again?”
Hotch barely glanced up from the file in his hands. “Good morning to you too.”
“It’s two a.m.”
He nodded once. “And yet you found the energy to insult my clothing.”
Emily snorted from across the room.
Emily Prentiss looked up from her laptop. “I actually want to hear this.”
You gestured dramatically toward Hotch. “He owns suits worth more than my rent and insists on wearing that sad suburban dad quarter-zip every chance he gets.”
Derek Morgan laughed loud enough to echo. “She’s got a point, Hotch.”
“I’m choosing to ignore all of you.”
Spencer Reid adjusted his glasses. “Statistically speaking, repeated clothing preference often indicates emotional attachment to familiar objects.”
Hotch slowly looked at Reid.
Reid blinked. “I was trying to help.”
You grinned into your coffee. “Thank you, Reid.”
Hotch finally looked at you fully, and that was your first mistake.
Because his gaze softened in that way it only ever seemed to when it landed on you.
“Are you done, sweetheart?”
Your heart embarrassingly skipped.
You recovered quickly. “Never.”
His mouth twitched.
And somehow that tiny almost-smile felt more rewarding than winning an argument.
—
By four a.m., the jokes had stopped.
The unsub had changed patterns.
What was supposed to be a simple surveillance operation turned into a waiting game in freezing November rain.
You were stationed two blocks away from the suspect’s house with Hotch in an unmarked SUV while the rest of the team monitored comms.
Rain hammered against the windshield.
The heating system in the car had apparently given up on life thirty minutes ago.
And you were freezing.
“Tell me again why serial killers can’t operate exclusively in Florida?” you muttered through chattering teeth.
Hotch glanced over from the driver’s seat.
“You’re cold.”
“I’m fantastic.”
“You’re shivering.”
“I’m doing it professionally.”
He sighed quietly before reaching into the back seat.
You frowned as he pulled something familiar into view.
The quarter-zip.
You stared at it like it had personally offended you.
“No.”
“Put it on.”
“I would rather freeze.”
His eyebrow lifted.
“You’re being dramatic.”
“You love that sweatshirt more than life itself.”
“That’s not true.”
“You’ve worn it on six cases.”
“Seven.”
You blinked.
“You counted?”
His expression shifted—just enough to make your stomach flip.
“I notice things about you too.”
The air suddenly felt far too thin.
Rain continued tapping softly against the windows.
Then he held the sweatshirt out again.
“Honey.”
Your entire body short-circuited at the softness in his voice.
“Put it on.”
This time, you took it.
The material was warm from his body heat.
You hesitated before pulling it over your head.
And then—
Oh.
Oh.
It smelled like him.
Clean cologne.
Laundry detergent.
Coffee.
Something distinctly Aaron.
The sleeves swallowed your hands.
The warmth wrapped around you instantly.
And for reasons you absolutely refused to examine too deeply right now—it made your chest ache.
It felt safe.
It felt warm.
It felt like standing in his kitchen at midnight.
Like quiet conversations after difficult cases.
Like the way he always checked that you’d eaten.
Like the softness in his eyes when he thought you weren’t looking.
It felt like home.
Your teasing vanished completely.
Hotch noticed immediately.
“You’re quiet.”
You looked down at yourself.
“I get it now.”
His lips twitched. “Get what?”
“Why you wear this thing.”
He leaned slightly closer. “And?”
Your voice softened.
“It feels like you.”
His expression completely changed.
Gone was the stoic unit chief.
Gone was the carefully controlled professional mask.
Now he looked at you like you’d said something devastatingly honest.
Before either of you could say anything—
A gunshot cracked through the night.
“Shots fired!” Morgan yelled over comms.
Everything exploded into motion.
Hotch threw the SUV into drive.
Your suspect bolted from the house toward a back alley.
You and Hotch pursued on foot through slick pavement and pouring rain.
“FBI!” Hotch shouted.
The unsub turned.
Another gunshot rang out.
Pain exploded through your shoulder.
You hit the ground hard.
Everything blurred.
Someone screamed your name.
No—
Not someone.
Hotch.
The unsub was tackled by Morgan seconds later.
But all you could focus on was Hotch dropping to his knees beside you.
His hands pressed desperately against your shoulder.
His face looked pale with panic.
“Stay with me.”
“I’m okay,” you whispered weakly.
“You were shot.”
“Well when you say it like that—”
“Honey.”
His voice cracked.
And that terrified you more than the bullet wound.
Rain soaked both of you.
Blood mixed with water beneath you.
His hands were shaking.
Jennifer Jareau was shouting for an ambulance somewhere behind him.
But Hotch only looked at you.
“You are not leaving me.”
Your breath caught.
“Aaron—”
His forehead pressed against yours for one trembling second.
And then he whispered words you’d waited years to hear.
“I love you.”
The world went silent.
Even through the pain, you smiled.
“Took you long enough.”
A wet laugh broke from him—half sob, half relief.
“You’re impossible.”
“And you dress like a retired gym teacher.”
He actually laughed this time.
Then kissed your forehead.
“Survive this,” he whispered.
“You can make fun of my quarter-zips for the rest of our lives.”
—
Three weeks later, you stood in Aaron’s apartment wearing another one of his quarter-zips.
This one navy blue.
He walked into the kitchen and stopped cold.
“You stole it.”
You looked down innocently. “This old thing?”
“That’s mine.”
“Mhm.”
He crossed the room slowly.
His hands settled on your waist.
“You used to mock these relentlessly.”
You smiled up at him.
“I was young and foolish.”
“You mocked me last month.”
“Growth is a beautiful thing.”
He laughed softly before kissing you—slow, warm, familiar.
Home.
When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours.
“You keeping it?”
You tugged the sleeves over your hands.
“Absolutely.”
He smiled in that rare, breathtaking way that still made your heart stutter.
“Keep it, sweetheart.”
And wrapped in his sweatshirt, his arms, and his love—
you realized you already had everything you’d ever wanted.
Closer to Forever - Aaron Hotchner
word count: 1032
summary: after a case goes wrong and you’re injured protecting Aaron Hotchner, the reality of how dangerous life in the BAU truly is finally catches up with both of you
Aaron Hotchner x Reader
authors note: as I keep saying, it’s been a while since I’ve properly wrote anything so please be nice, I hope you enjoy reading & please if you have any ideas for future writings, then send them my way 💗💗
The safe house smelled like antiseptic and burnt coffee.
You sat on the edge of the narrow hospital bed in the temporary FBI medical unit, fingers trembling around a paper cup you hadn’t actually drunk from in over ten minutes. Outside the closed curtain, agents moved back and forth in hushed voices, radios crackling occasionally through the quiet.
Aaron sat beside you with his sleeves rolled up and dried blood still staining the cuff of his white shirt.
Your blood.
Every few seconds his eyes flicked back to the bandage wrapped around your ribs like he still expected to see it soaking through again.
“Aaron—”
“You should’ve stayed behind the barricade.”
His voice was low. Controlled. Too controlled.
You knew that tone. It was the same one he used in interrogation rooms when he was trying not to let emotion interfere with his judgment.
You leaned back carefully against the pillows. “The unsub had a gun pointed at you.”
“And you stepped in front of me.”
“You would’ve done the same thing.”
“That’s not the point.”
His jaw tightened sharply, dark eyes fixed on the floor now. You watched the muscle feather in his cheek, the barely restrained anger that wasn’t really anger at all.
Fear looked strange on Aaron Hotchner.
Quiet. Precise. Terrifying.
The doctor had said the bullet only grazed you. A few inches over and it would’ve punctured a lung.
A few inches.
You swallowed hard at the memory of Aaron dropping to his knees beside you on the warehouse floor, one hand pressing desperately against your side while he barked orders into his radio with the other.
“Stay with me, sweetheart.”
You’d never heard his voice shake before today.
Now, sitting here hours later, he still hadn’t fully let go of your hand.
His thumb moved absently over your knuckles as he stared ahead.
“We should postpone it,” he said suddenly.
Your stomach dropped.
“The wedding?”
“You almost died.”
“That’s exactly why we shouldn’t postpone it.”
Finally he looked at you.
There it was again — that raw fear hidden underneath all the discipline and professionalism. Aaron always carried himself like a man impossible to rattle, but you knew him better than anyone now.
You knew how deeply he loved.
And how deeply he feared losing people because of it.
“Aaron,” you said softly, squeezing his hand, “I’m okay.”
“You were bleeding out in my arms.”
The words came out rougher than he intended.
You saw him glance away immediately after, composure slipping for only a second.
The room fell quiet.
Outside, thunder rolled somewhere beyond the city skyline, rain tapping softly against the windows.
You reached up carefully, brushing your fingers against the back of his hand.
“Do you know what I thought when I hit the ground?” you asked.
His eyes lifted reluctantly.
“I thought I wasn’t going to get to marry you.”
His expression cracked.
Barely. But enough.
Enough for you to see it.
Aaron exhaled slowly through his nose and leaned forward, elbows braced against his knees. For a moment he just sat there with your joined hands hanging between you.
Then, quieter:
“I already lost one marriage to this job.”
Your chest tightened instantly.
He rarely spoke about Haley in moments like this. Not because he didn’t love her once — but because the grief surrounding it still lived somewhere deep inside him.
“You’re not going to lose me,” you whispered.
“You can’t promise that.”
“No,” you admitted. “But neither can you.”
That hit him.
You saw it in the way his shoulders sagged slightly.
For two profilers, neither of you were particularly good at lying to each other anymore.
The job was dangerous. It always would be. There would always be guns and unsubs and late-night phone calls and the possibility that one of you wouldn’t come home.
That was the truth of loving someone in the BAU.
Aaron stood abruptly then, pacing two slow steps away before stopping with his hands on his hips. His tie had long since disappeared, hair slightly disheveled from running his fingers through it all evening.
God, you loved him.
Even now.
Especially now.
“You know what Garcia said to me?” you asked gently.
He glanced back over his shoulder. “What?”
“She said if this didn’t convince us to stop dragging our feet with wedding planning, she was personally going to kidnap us and force a courthouse ceremony.”
To your relief, the corner of his mouth twitched faintly.
“A threat she’s probably capable of carrying out.”
“Absolutely.”
A small silence followed.
Then Aaron looked at you fully again.
Not Unit Chief Hotchner.
Not the profiler.
Just your Aaron.
The man who made you coffee every morning because he remembered exactly how much sugar you liked. The man who kissed your forehead absentmindedly while reading case files. The man who called you honey or sweetheart so often it had stopped sounding like a nickname and started sounding like your real name.
He crossed back toward you slowly.
When he spoke this time, his voice was softer than you’d heard it in weeks.
“How quickly do you think they could put together a ceremony?”
You blinked. “What?”
“If we moved it forward.”
Your heart skipped.
“Aaron…”
“I’m serious.”
He sat carefully beside you again, one hand coming up to cradle your jaw gently, thumb brushing your cheekbone.
“I don’t want to wait another year,” he murmured. “Or six months. Or even another few weeks if I can help it.”
Emotion clogged suddenly in your throat.
“You want to elope?”
“I want to marry you before this job gets another chance to scare the hell out of me.”
You laughed softly through sudden tears.
“That’s possibly the least romantic proposal update ever.”
A tiny smile finally appeared.
“It’s honest.”
“That’s very you.”
His forehead rested lightly against yours.
For a long moment neither of you spoke.
The rain continued outside. The bullpen noise faded somewhere down the hall. Everything narrowed until it was just him holding you carefully like you were something precious.
Something he refused to lose.
“You know,” you whispered, “I’d marry you tomorrow if you asked.”
Aaron’s eyes met yours immediately.
“Honey,” he said quietly, “I’m asking.”
tired

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Hotchniss comic style complete
Marker pens x
these hoes are not ready for the tidal wave of fanfiction that will flood tumblr's every crevice when this new Einstein show drops. Matthew Gray Gubler playing an eccentric misunderstood genius with a unique fashion sense and is unconventionally involved with the law?
and this time he's starting at dilf age
THOMAS GIBSON as emotional AARON HOTCHNER | 7.10 “THE BITTERSWEET SCIENCE”
CRIMINAL MINDS (2005 — PRESENT)

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Greg Montgomery and Aaron Hotchner are SO different that the mix is so funny.
Here Agent Hotchner doing the airplane on one foot.
AARON HOTCHNER | 11.01 “THE JOB”
requested by anon. thank you anon!!! bonus: