Beach Day (HangmanxF!Reader)

Beach Day (HangmanxF!Reader)

Summary: F!reader’s asthma is flaring up at the beach and Jake is being a worried mother-hen.

A/N: I was working on this before I received the prompt: Hangman takes care of the person of your choice.  But this fits that prompt perfectly!  Let me know if I should also post this on Ao3!

Rating: G

Word Count: 1,254

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Hi Jade! Could I request a cute, fluffy Jungkook drabble where his girlfriend meets Bam for the first time and they instantly become besties?

sure thing, sweet bean!

i saw this pic while i was looking through pinterest for possible banners and it sent me, then it inspired this nonsense 🤪

The first few weeks of dating anyone new are a certifiable mindfuck. Underneath the warm wave of infatuation, there’s a maelstrom brewing; and if you’re too short-sighted, you might drown.

To keep afloat, you spend more time than ever preening — making damn sure that your appearance and personality are at their most palatable. You wear carefully coordinated underwear; you wash your hair on a regular schedule for once; and you try to keep that persistently doubtful inner monologue of yours locked in the vault at the back of your brain.

Meanwhile, outside of presenting yourself as the prettiest of all packages, you have to — somehow — keep an eye out for the other person’s red flags. Sure, you’re a firework whenever their texts light up your inbox, but are they good for your mental health? What if you take off the rose-colored glasses and find that your little love boat is actually trash barge; and — surprise! — that trash barge has been on fire this entire time, with you none the wiser?

If you successfully cross that minefield and survive long enough meet who you’re really dealing with, the introductions don’t stop there. They meet your friends, you meet theirs. Then come parents, then the hidden flaws that are no longer waiting in the wings, then the final arbiter.

If their pet doesn’t like your vibe? Game over.

It’s with a weak jolt of panic that you stand on Jungkook’s doorstep, poised to knock. Before your knuckles can hit the wood, you hear a muffled call from inside: “It’s open!”

Odd.

You inhale as you turn the knob and push it open — and the second you lay eyes on him, it leaves you in a wheezing, entirely and embarrassingly authentic laugh. The very laugh you’ve nearly fainted trying to suppress, which prompts you to immediately slap your hand over your mouth.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor is the bad boy your friends all warned you about — donning a face mask that looks like marshmallow fluff against his tan skin — with a dog wiggling excitedly in front of him, and a toothbrush in hand. Both of them look up at you like everything’s normal, and you swear they’re both smiling.

“Hi,” Jungkook chirps, grinning carefully so as to not disturb his mask. He speaks at his usual quick pace like his body contains more energy than he knows what to do with, “I’m almost done with his teeth. Are you hungry?”

You blink, absolutely dumbfounded, and then you ask, “Did — did you forget I was coming over?”

Jungkook furrows his brows— which are, for the record, hidden under bright, white clay — and now you feel like an absolute asshole for making assumptions. If the roles were reversed, you wouldn’t be caught dead in this state. Not this early into the relationship, when he might not be invested enough in you to see past it.

Yet here he was with all his cards on the table, leaving it up to you to take them or leave them.

“No, I didn’t. I’ve actually been looking forward to this all day,” he admits with a sheepish smile, suddenly shy. Then, Jungkook glances down at the dog, whose wiggling only intensifies as you toe off your shoes and begin your approach. “So has Bam.”

You join them both on the floor, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankle. With your weight propped up on one arm, you tilt your head and muse, “He’s really well trained. Normally, dogs are all over you the second you walk in a room, you know?”

You really should’ve known better than to bait Jungkook like that. There’s barely time to process the look he exchanges with Bam — as if they’re plotting telepathically — because there’s a quick nod in your direction, and then there’s a doberman bowling you over onto your back.

It’s impossible to tell who’s laughing louder: Jungkook, whose watering eyes might leave streaks in his face mask; or you, hugging forty kilograms of unadulterated bliss. One thing is clear: Jungkook is over the moon. So much so that he coos, “Aww, look who made a friend!”

You’re not sure if he’s referring to Bam or to you.

“Best friend, obviously,” You peep, “No one has ever been this excited to see me before in my life.” You have to squeeze your eyes shut to avoid the tongue lapping lovingly over your cheeks. Turning your head abruptly to the side, you snort, “God, he even kisses like you!”

“I sure as fuck do not kiss you like that,” Jungkook huffs with a pout you just barely catch a glimpse of. He’s up on his knees in a heartbeat, carefully removing Bam from you just to take his place. He narrows his eyes playfully as he settles with one hand on either side of your face; and the wicked glint in them isn’t lost on you. “One of us bites, doll. The other one was trained not to.”

You flex an eyebrow and it’s more of a dare than a reaction, “Is that so?”

Jungkook tucks a renegade strand of hair behind your ear. “Definitely,” he hums as he does the same to the other side. “Pretty thing. Know what you’re missing, though?”

You’re scared to ask, so you let your widening eyes do the talking.

“Bit of skincare!” He declares with a wolfish grin.

Within a split second, Jungkook cups your face in his hands and you realize exactly why he bothered to push your hair out of your face. His is pressed to yours as he kisses you deep, right through your startled gasp. Jungkook makes sure to smear the goop from his chin and cheeks onto yours in the process. You can feel his smile as he does.

There’s a teasing nip at your bottom lip when he eventually pulls back, gently tugging what he’s captured with him for a millimeter or two before releasing you. Gazing down at his messy masterpiece, his brows crinkle under the weight of his thoughts. Wordlessly, he drops one hand from your jaw; drags the pad of his thumb down his nose; then swipes the excess along the bridge of yours. He taps the button of your nose gently, looking pleased as fucking punch.

Now, it would seem that you’ve rocketed straight through the awkward, not-quite-yourself phase of dating and ended up crash-landing on the other side.

“That better?” You pant, knowing full well that it really, really is.

Jungkook leans down again to kiss you much more sweetly than before. With his lips still pressed to yours, he smirks, “Much.”

Then, he drops onto the rug next to so you can sit upright again. “And I think you’ve been greenlit, but I won’t presume to speak on Bam’s behalf.”

You both turn to Bam — the final boss — for his verdict. When he lets out a quick boof, it sounds like a sneeze, but it says everything you need to know.

Ahhhh so cute!!

swipe — lee felix.

trope. lee felix. strangers to lovers. chronicles of a dating app. felix is extremely flirty. just fluff.

synopsis. i’m not looking to date right now, but my parents just sent me some computer parts and i saw on your tinder bio that you like assembling computers

word count. 3.2k words

warnings. none except for a few curse words

note. hi hello i got sent this rly funny photo of a conversation so i took inspiration from that and wrote this fic like a whiiile ago. i’ve had this in my drafts for a while so why not let it see the light of day!

Left. Left. Left. Left. Pause. Left. Left. Left. Left.

“(Name)!”

Yunjin offers no warning when her hands move to claw at your shoulders, intent on startling you without sparing a thought on your poor phone that had jumped out of your hands.

When you scare, she laughs, open-mouthed and loud as she plops herself on the spot next to you on your dorm’s mini couch. “You should’ve seen the look on your face.”

“Honestly, how do you even do that? I barely heard you walk into the living room!” You grumble.

You spare her a glance and notice she’s too dressed up to be staying the night in–white crop top that sits just above her hips with some low rise jeans to accentuate her features. Her hair is curled on the ends, recently dyed black and styled to look a little messy.

She must be going out.

Though you try not to think about it, the amount of times Yunjin goes out with her friends in a week is a constant reminder of how pathetic your social life is. While it didn’t quite bother you enough to accept her invite, it’d be nice to leave your dorm once in a while. It’s just that you haven’t found anyone you really clicked with like Yunjin.

“What are you doing?” She cranes her neck to try and see what you were so busy with that you didn’t see her from your peripheral vision.

You show her the app with no shame. It only makes her laugh tenfold, hands clutching her stomach with her head thrown back as if she wasn’t the one who had suggested you download it in the first place.

“Yunjin, this is stupid. I’ve only had this downloaded for a day and I already feel sick.” You groan, throwing your phone down in the space between you. Though, maybe you should’ve thought twice about that when Yunjin decides to grab so she can have a go herself – swiping left and left and left and… oh?

“What about him?” You curl into her side, peering over your phone.

Oh, he’s pretty cute. Lee Felix?

“He added dog lover. You love dogs and… music?” She goes over his interests quickly, eyes scanning his profile like a pro. You suppose it’s because she’s used to it, quick to read a guy’s intentions just by their Tinder profile.

“I like assembling computers. Oh, this guy’s a dork, you’d love him.”

Right.

It’s a match!

“Yunjin!” You shift in your seat, immediately grabbing your phone from her grip before she can do any further damage. Sure, you had humored yourself into downloading the app for Yunjin but you never thought of actually swiping right for anyone.

“What? He’s cute, and you matched!” She giggles, trying to grab your phone back so she can craft you the perfect first message.

She knows you won’t do it yourself.

You lock your phone before she has a chance to do anything stupid, shaking your head in reprimand. “I know what you’re trying to do and it’s not happening.”

She simply smiles at you, shrugging her shoulders and calling it a day for her trial in meddling with your love life. “Well, I tried. Alright, I have to go. I’ll be back late, you sure you don’t wanna come with?”

You return the smile, shaking your head as you drop yourself to lay down on the entirety of the couch once your roommate gets up. “I think my computer parts are coming in today so I have to be here to sign off the delivery.”

“Nerd.” She snorts, waving you goodbye and locking the door behind her. It’s your cue to grab your laptop and continue binging that new drama that had just been released.

This is your ordinary Friday night, curled up on the sofa with your most comfortable blanket and your laptop on your lap. Despite the desire to socialize sometimes, you think nothing else really goes above wearing your favorite PJs and eating snacks without guilt as the opening song of your new drama plays.

Though, you only get to finish one episode when your doorbell rings, and you waltz yourself to your front door to happily accept the package sent by your parents. They had won it as one of the raffle prizes in a foreign business trip, and since your parents had no use for a computer, they decided to ship it off to you. “Could help with college,” is what your dad says.

It’s only when multiple boxes come rolling in when you realize one small problem. You don’t know how to fucking assemble a computer, and you doubt Yunjin would know how either.

“That’s it. If you could please sign here, here, and here.” The mailman still sounds enthusiastic despite having done hours of his shift already, and you comply immediately as to not add on to the downpour of stress that’s handed to them every single day.

When you shut your door, you quickly turn around to stare at the multitude of boxes on the ground. Maybe Beomgyu would know how? He looks like he’d know a thing or two about computers. So, you shoot him a text.

Turns out, he doesn’t know how. And he’s currently scamming Yeonjun out of a free dinner, and so even though he tells you he’ll try to be there, you know he probably won’t arrive (unless to laugh at your situation).

You think, maybe you can just go to the Computer Engineering department and ask someone to help you, but could you risk socializing with numerous college students face to face? Absolutely the fuck not.

You’ve just about given up when your head strikes an idea and your back immediately straightens in posture at the stupid thought. “Should I?”

You rush towards where you had left your phone, letting out a sigh as you stare at the one person on your Match list. Lee Felix who likes assembling computers.

Lovely fucking timing.

Fumbling with the device, you finally decide to shoot him a message. What are the odds of him responding, anyway?

You’re tempted to throw your phone while waiting for his response, though your plan goes down the drain in a second when he responds almost immediately.

yn (6:03pm): hello!

felix (6:04pm): hey! i didn’t think you would message first :))

yn (6:06pm): oh, i’m sorry i hope you don’t get my intentions wrong. it’s just that … my parents sent over some computer parts and i rly don’t know how to assemble a computer

yn (6:06pm): i know it’s kind of random, but could u possibly help me by any chance?

yn (6:07pm): i don’t rly know anyone who knows how to and you’re the only person that came to mind

You cringe at yourself for triple messaging, face visibly scrunching as you let out a pained noise. And then he replies, and your hand shoots to grab your phone and stare at his message.

“Yeah, why not?” is what he replies, followed by where he should meet you. Is it a good idea to invite a stranger to your dorm? Probably not, but you can’t possibly assemble your computer somewhere else and bring it back to your dorms. So, you tell him to meet you at a cafe nearby – to test out the waters and see if he isn’t some variant of a serial killer.

“Be there in 15,” is his next reply.

15 minutes?!

You look down at yourself in sudden panic, still clad in a big shirt and some shorts. How were you supposed to pick something decent to wear in 15 minutes without Yunjin? You suppose could facetime her but you know it takes her hours to even decide on what to wear for herself.

Bringing your feet towards your closet, you say a silent prayer and start picking out what to wear for yourself. While this wasn’t technically a date, Lee Felix from Tinder is still fucking cute and you would hate for him to think he got scammed into swiping right on you.

You double check yourself in the mirror, chewing at your lips thoughtfully before sighing out in approval. At least you looked as if you put some sort of effort into what you’re wearing. That should be good enough in itself.

The nerve of meeting an entirely new person begins to set in when you repeatedly dart your eyes from the coffee shop back to your phone to try and see if anyone who looked like Felix was in the coffee shop. It’s like watching a game of ping pong the way you repeatedly look back and forth. And when it seems that no one with long black hair is here yet, you take it upon yourself to take a seat by the window where he can find you easily.

The scraping of the chair catches your attention, and holy fuck. Lee Felix is not a catfish. He is way far from it, and you think you might’ve lucked out when he takes the seat in front of you.

“Sorry, I hope I didn’t startle you.” Deep, thick accent. It feels like shots of espresso when he speaks and it physically manifests goosebumps from you. You shake your head, telling him you’re fine. “(Name), right?”

He smiles, and it feels like your whole world stops.

“Uh, yeah. You must be Felix?” The man in question nods his head, reaching out to shake your hand and the gesture has your cheeks flushing. It’s an act of basic human decency, but can you really be blamed for acting like a shy little school girl when someone as beautiful as Felix is sitting and talking to you.

The coffee shop is still bustling, and everyone around you converses as if the most beautiful man hadn’t just stepped foot into the coffee shop. The freckles sitting just below his eyes look like constellations, and his black hair is styled just messy enough to achieve the hot boy who doesn’t know he’s hot look.

“Do you want some coffee before I set your computer up?” You shake your head, suddenly feeling shy.

Instead, you tell him to get whatever he wants so you don’t feel guilty enough for taking time out of his evening just to assemble your computer. He accepts your promise in pretense, but he comes back with his order and a few pastries and it’s clear he’s already paid for it from the way he ignores any mention of how much it cost.

“I didn’t know what you preferred, so I got a bit of everything.” There’s a crinkle just at the corner of his eyes when he smiles, sitting back down adjacent of you as he pushes the plate closer to you.

You look at the array of pastries, a little hesitant. “Please don’t feel shy. Here, let’s take one together.”

He grabs a cookie from the platter, and you shyly follow by grabbing a strawberry muffin.

“Mmm, strawberry muffin. Very good choice.” Felix comments, watching you closely as you take a bite out of the muffin. “Is it good?”

Your eyes widen in delight, nodding your head as you chew slowly. “So good.”

Your words come out as a mumble, and it triggers a sweet laugh out of Felix. You feel familiar, the way you smile with your eyes and close them shut to savor the taste.

“You’re cute.” He says unabashedly, as if his words won’t cause drastic consequences.

A chunk gets stuck on your throat.

Felix is quick to hand you a glass of water when you start choking, rushing to stand by your side. You would’ve hoped the first skinship for the evening would be handholding, and not repeated pats on your back to remedy your choking.

“Are you okay?” His hand is still on your back, gently running small circles as he leans down to check on you. You think you might start choking again if he keeps looking at you like that, 1080p view of his eyelashes and the specs splashing his irises.

“Mhm, sorry.” You put the glass down, refusing to meet his eyes as he remains hovering over you. You want to leave out of embarrassment. He notices your silence, notices the way you cross your arms in mock defense.

“Don’t worry, I still think you’re cute.” There’s a smirk on his face. You can tell without even looking up at him. “I’ll take these out.”

He says it so casually, as if he’s simply asking about your day. His outward flirty-ness is new, but it isn’t unwelcome.

“Ready to go?”

With the plastic bag in his hand and his order in a takeout cup, you sigh gratefully. “Yeah.”

The walk to your dorm is short, but it’s spent in conversation. Lee Felix is talkative, has lots of stories to offer. Whatever it takes to make you laugh.

You like that about him. You like that you don’t have to talk so much. He doesn’t even force a comment out of you. Just needs to know you’re listening.

So you do. You listen intently as he shares pieces of his life with you—his friends, his course, games he plays. He’s chatty, and the way he smiles with every word reminds you of a cat. Deep whiskers and crescent eyes.

“So, really, this is a great way to end the day, assembling a pretty girl’s computer.”

His mouth drops a little when he realizes he’d vocalized the latter part of his sentence, yet he doesn’t make a move to take it back. You are pretty, one of the prettiest he’s ever seen. And the blush on your face is well worth the slip of his tongue.

“As long as you’re sure this isn’t a hassle.” You mumble, looking down at your feet as you reach your building.

That you aren’t getting anything out of this.

Though, before you can step forward, you’re tugged back to where Felix is standing. He’s holding your hand now, grabbing your full attention. “I promise this isn’t a bother.”

The way he looks at you answers your silent question—he doesn’t mind that you’re simply asking for his help without any intention.

“I enjoy building computers, especially with good company. You don’t even have to do anything. Just sit there and be yourself.”

“Okay. Thank you.” He squeezes your hand for extra measure, allowing you to drag him to your dorm room.

True to his word, Felix doesn’t so much as let you lift a finger. You stay seated on the couch, watching as he sets to work on the floor. From time to time, he’d tell you what he’s doing. Something about screwing some parts in and a mother board? You don’t understand much, but you listen as much as you can.

“Tell me about yourself.” Felix looks up from his work, and your eyes widen a little at the boy’s sudden request.

You’re sure you’re simply imagining the gentle interest in his eyes. “Hm?” You ask him to repeat himself, even though you heard him loud and clear.

“I’ve been yapping about myself all night. I wanna know more about you.” He teases.

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything. Everything.”

“Soooo… do I start with the year I was born?” You laugh when he throws you a look, quick to throw your hands in the air in mock surrender. “Joking, joking.”

“You’re an interesting girl, (Name).” Felix grins, locking eyes with you for a second and a half before turning back to his work.

“There’s nothing much to me, really. I go to school and go home and that’s about it. I just try and survive college the best I can.”

He shoots you a disapproving look. “Well, I beg to differ.”

“What do you mean?” You bring your legs up on the couch, sitting cross-legged as you wait for what he had to say.

“For one, your eyes lit up when I talked about Chan’s Pokemon collection, or how Seungmin is obsessed with Kdramas.” He points out, reaching for his takeout drink and taking a few large gulps. “And you smiled when I mentioned the little chicken plush I own.”

You don’t expect Felix to notice any of this, and the thought that he did has a blush fighting to creep up your face.

You grab a throw pillow to hide behind.

“Oh, and you like strawberry muffins. So, I’d say there’s a lot to you. And I’m hoping to learn everything more.”

You have to force your eyes to look away from him in fear that your flustered cheeks would appear too obvious to the boy. Though, if he’d noticed the mere brightening of your eyes, you’re sure he’s already caught on to the silly schoolgirl smile on your lips.

“Stop looking at me.” You mumble, burying your face in your pillow. All you can hear is his sweet laughter.

“Come here, I’m just about done.”

You clap your hands in small when he turns on your computer, fully functioning and fully assembled. It surprises you how a task that would’ve taken you 6 hours is done in under 2 by Felix. Even more that it didn’t even feel like two hours.

You suppose that’s just the thing with Felix. He makes it so that time disappears with the whole night sky in his eyes—the moon for eyes and stars littering his face.

“Thank you, Felix. Like really.” He dismisses you, telling you it was nothing. The satisfaction on your face is enough compensation for his work.

There’s a few do’s and don’t’s that he mentions, and you try to list them down the best you can.

“Or, I can just text it to you?”

You pause mid-writing, looking up at him. “Sure, that’s… that’s fine with me.”

You’re unsure of how to say goodbye to him after giving him your number, unsure even of how you can make it up to him for the 3 hours you’d taken away from him. If it were anyone else, you would’ve said it in ease, so you don’t know why you can’t do the same for Felix.

It’s different with him because you don’t want to say goodbye. You could go hours longer listening to him and watching him assemble your computer. Though, before you can contemplate to do anything, Felix interrupts your inner monologue.

“Actually, I have an idea on how you can make it up to me.”

You look up at him expectantly, and you see the hint of a smirk tracing on his features.

“Let me take you out on a date. A real one.”

“A date?” You stutter.

“I know you said you texted me just because I could fix up computers, but I really enjoyed talking to you today.” He’s holding back a smile. “So, what do you say?”

“Okay.” His eyes light up, glazed with happiness as he processes your response.

“Okay? As in, I can take you out on a real date?”

“Yes.”

Felix can feel something sweet in his heart, can feel it flutter like it’s being squeezed. To his surprise, you’d actually agreed, and the genuine excitement in his smile is too wholesome to not stare at.

“So… goodnight then?”

“Goodnight.”

“I’ll text you?”

“Okay. I’ll be waiting.”

Felix fixes you with a look one last time, almost romantic with the soft glaze in his eyes. And then he’s stumbling out into your hallway.

With a second glance, he turns his back away from you and walks away. You can’t help but still feel the warmth of his smile.

You feel a compelling force telling you you’ll see much more of Lee Felix in the near future.

𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

You worry your boyfriend is ashamed of you. This is very much not the case. Or, 5 times Hotch hid your relationship (+1 time he didn’t).

7k words, new-ish established relationship, lots of fluff between angst, hurt/comfort, fem!reader, civilian!reader, reader calls him aaron mostly

༺༻

The security for Aaron's building is weird. Weird as in extensive, intimidating, and extremely intricate. 

You'd really wanted to minimise his stress — the whole reason you're here is to bring him a forgotten sheet of paper that must've slipped out at your kitchen table from one of his case files because you don't want him to have to make up a new copy — but you're too scared to go in. 

You pull your phone out reluctantly and dial in his number, eager to hear his voice even if the security detail a few feet away are freaking you out. 

"Hotchner." 

"Hi, handsome," you say softly. 

There's a small pause. For a split-second a nightmare situation runs through your head, his low voice asking, Who is this?

"Hi, honey." 

You beam so wide it aches, forcing a pleased little breath from your mouth. 

"What do you need?" he asks. 

"I'm outside of your building but I'm too afraid to come in. I'm not sure they'll let me. I need a badge, right?" 

"You're outside." 

You pick at the hem of your sweater, a loose thread marring your otherwise pretty outfit. You'll admit to dressing up unnecessarily to see him. Nice clothes, your most subtle perfume. 

"I found something confidential this morning, a piece of paper. I didn't read it, I promise."

"You really shouldn't be here," he says. 

Your smile abruptly drops. You press the phone closer to your face and wait, hoping he's not talking to you. When it's clear that he is you cringe, the silence pervasive and the most awkward it's ever been with him. 

"Sorry." Your apology is quick, quiet. "I thought it would be easier for you. I didn't mean to… overstep." 

"It's not that. It's busy. Would you hang on to it for me? Maybe I can come and get it tonight, bring dinner." 

You love how he says it. It's not a question, not an assumption. And it's a relief. If he wants to see you on a night where you hadn't planned to get together, he can't be mad at you for being here. 

"Yeah, please. If you want to." 

"I want to. Okay?"

Not for confirmation, it's shorthand. You okay? 

"Yeah. Okay. Have a good rest of your day, handsome." 

"Bye." 

You like to think you can hear the sound of his phone clicking shut, imagining him at his desk in one of his neat suits with a case file open in front of him. You're not sure on the specifics of his job but you know he looks good doing it, and you also know he's very, very busy. You don't take his clipped goodbye as anything but efficiency. 

Maybe you should. 

—

The next time Aaron inadvertently hurts your feelings is in person. 

Compared to him, you wouldn't say you're an incredibly exciting character. Your day job is tame, your hobbies are invaried. You like to watch TV, see movies, you enjoy people-watching. When you hold that stuff up to his job, his profiling, and his hobbies (seriously, who likes triathlon?) you feel rather immature. 

You know deep down that hobbies are hobbies and that your job doesn't define how special you are, but when you're with someone like Aaron who lives and breathes his profession it can play with your head. 

"Is there something interesting about my shirt?" he asks, a murmur under the sound of the TV. 

You look up from the hem of his nice button down and smile, a half-smile. You want it to be more genuine than it is. "Don't you already know?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"You can tell I'm…" You frown, dropping the starched material of his shirt from between your fingers. "I've given myself up, haven't I?" 

"A little," he concedes sympathetically. 

You huff your defeat and let your cheek fall into his chest. Nice to seek comfort from him, nicer for him to give it to you, his arm rising from behind your shoulders to hook around your neck. 

"I'm not profiling you," he says, voice close to the top of your head, "I'm wondering what you're thinking."

You relax under his touch, his big hand settling in the curve of your neck. A semi-hug. It doesn't take long for you to melt into his front completely, your unhappy thoughts dissolving with any tension and leaving only a want to kiss his stupidly nice neck.

"It doesn't matter," you say. 

"You sure?" 

You lift your head from his chest. He has to lean back to meet your eyes and he does it unflinchingly, a bemused smile playing on his lips. 

"I'm good. Better, if you would…" 

"Yeah?" he asks quietly, leaning down, down. 

You can't withstand his charms. He knows exactly how to get you, his smile and his eyes, his lashes kissing in the corners as they close. 

He's imposing in the best way, a heavy presence that overwhelms you. All you can think about is the way he nudges his nose with yours to encourage your head back and the heat of his lips as they touch your own. His arm tightens behind your head.

You try to rise onto your knees, hands vying for his neck and his pitch dark hair. You're doubly pleased when you feel his mouth turning up into a smile, a mirror of your own. 

"Slow down," he chides gently. 

You're about to say something unlike yourself, something loud and brash. Speed up, Hotchner. You're hopped up on the giddiness that comes with being close to him. You're just about to say it when his phone rings. 

He gives you a short, hard kiss. 

"Hotchner." 

You sit back in his lap, his hand sliding to the small of your back to keep you close as his face clouds with confusion. You attempt to climb off of him because you're not a sack of sugar — you're probably giving him numb thighs — but he won't let you.

"Garcia," he says eventually, "is this an emergency?" His tone makes it clear to you that whatever it is Garcia is saying, it's far from an emergency. 

His hand climbs up, over your shoulder. You shudder as he tugs your earlobe, a mild and thoughtless gesture. You're so busy shivering you almost miss his playful eye roll. 

"I haven't changed my mind. Yeah. Thanks for the invitation, but I'm perfectly happy where I am tonight." 

Whatever Garcia says makes him laugh. If you weren't sitting as close to him as you are you wouldn't have heard it. 

"Have fun. Bye," he says succinctly. He snaps his phone closed in one hand, the other dropping from your ear to your shoulder. It's heavy with a remorse you can't allow. "Sorry."

"Doesn't matter," you assure, tilting your head toward his hand and pretending to size him up. You don't know how to profile, but you're a good guess. 

"You're not telling me something." 

"No?" He blinks in surprise.

"No. You've been invited somewhere with your work friends, and you usually go. Why not tonight?" 

"I think that's obvious." 

"You don't have to flake on your friends for me, Aaron." 

He smiles as you say his name. "Like I told Garcia, I am perfectly happy where I am." 

You hide your face in his neck lest he see your doped up smile. "You have nice friends," you murmur, working your hands under the hem of his shirt. 

"I think you'd love Garcia after the infinitial terror." 

"I think I would too. She's good to you, after all. Makes me like her… Maybe one day we can all go out for drinks." 

You don't have to be a profiler to feel the way he tenses. 

"Yeah," he says. It sounds very much like Probably not. 

That's a strumming hurt. Aaron is so nice, so so nice, and he treats you like you're gold dust. He does all the movie boyfriend stuff like flowers, silver earrings on your birthday (with tiny diamonds!), dinner reservations at dauntingly fancy restaurants. And he does stuff you didn't know men did, like calling you near every night to make sure you had a good day, and praising even your smallest achievements, and leaving notes in places he knows you'll find them on hard days. You don't know how he knows when days are hard, he just does. 

You'd figured all of this stuff meant he must really like you, might even love you though he's yet to say it, and that's why his lack of enthusiasm stings. 

Why doesn't he want you to meet his friends? He's obviously very proud of what they do at the BAU. They're not the issue. 

It's you. 

You cuddle him as a pit forms in your chest. 

"You're tired?" he asks.

Funny how it's his comfort you crave when he's the one who's hurt your feelings. You're a little lopsided being upset with him, and you know if you tell him how you feel he'll try to make it up to you, but you're too afraid of the other alternative — a fight. Right now his arms are a sanctity you wouldn't trade for anything. You hope he feels the same. 

You're not sure anymore. 

"Yeah," you say roughly. 

Your eyes burn as he pats your back. "Let's go to bed, honey." 

You'll just… have to prove you're someone worth showing off. 

—

Your plan, loosely titled 'Get Aaron Hotchner to Show Me Off,' is going about as well as you'd thought it would. 

If Aaron doesn't want me to meet his friends there must be a reason. You've been thinking about it and it can't be a coincidence that he hadn't wanted you to return his paperwork a few weeks ago. That must've been something significant. 

But what? 

You start with your hair. Aaron has expressed a lovely and heaping handful of times that he thinks you have pretty hair. He plays with it often, usually when he's limp and tired from a long day. You've always taken care of it. Now you're going to the extreme — hair masks, hair appointments you can't afford, anything to make it look perfect. 

It doesn't work toward the plan, though your boyfriend certainly notices. 

"Your hair," is the very first thing he says when he sees you, stopping only in his smiling assessment to kiss your cheek in greeting. 

"Is it okay?" you ask, turning your face to one side. 

"More than okay. Do you want to go in?" 

So it's kind of a bust. But that's okay, you weren't expecting to get a haircut and magically be invited to team dinners. You persevere, and eventually you forget the plan for the night when Aaron promises to show you how much he likes your new look with a hand at the small of your back. 

Phase two, your clothes. 

You dress as nicely as you can but you're no fashion guru and you can't afford an entirely new wardrobe. You get a bunch of magazines and look for fall staples. What's in this year, and how do you style it? You buy a couple of pieces that fit your budget and try to work around them. 

Aaron's favourite are the new corduroy pants. They aren't a great fit. 

"They're too tight," you lament, pulling the fabric from your thighs where they hug snugly. They're a desaturated sort of burgundy, not bright by any means but a good 'pop of colour'. 

"I know," he says. 

You gawp at him, and when he gets his fingers on the buttons afterward, you break. 

"You like them?" you ask worriedly. 

"What makes you think I don't?" 

"Besides how eager you are to get them off of me?" 

He hooks two fingers in your belt loops and holds your gaze as he tugs them down. "I like them." 

A good time, but still no dice. You suppose a new look, besides looking smarter, doesn't actually prove your merit as a girlfriend. Maybe he wants something a little more concrete before he introduces you to people. Maybe things aren't as good for him as they are for you, and he doesn't see the point. 

That particular thought sparks a wave of panicked tears. 

The next time you see him, it's like he can tell. You wonder if he has x-ray vision, some sixth sense for tear stains that he has yet to tell you about. He's been gone for a few days in St. Louis, and when he'd come back he'd spent the weekend with Jack, so it's a whole seven days since the last time you saw him and your worries have festered. Not even his doting phone calls had kept the thought at bay. 

Maybe I'm not a good girlfriend. 

You open your door and there he is in a quarter zip with an overnight bag, matte suit cover draped over one arm. 

"Hi," you say, unsure. 

"Did I get uglier while I was away?" he asks seriously. 

You startle. "No, of course not." 

He smiles and meets you in the doorway, your head dipping back to accommodate. "I think I've had it too good," he says lightly, bringing a tentative hand to your cheek. "Are you okay?" 

You're trying to work out what he means, and when you do your heart skips. "Handsome!" you say urgently. "Hi, handsome. No, you didn't get uglier, I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking, and-" 

He kisses you. It's malaligned because of your parted lips, but it's good. You'd really missed him. 

"You're definitely still handsome," you murmur. 

"Doesn't count. I begged for it-" 

"No!" you deny, lifting on tiptoes to give him another kiss and stop his slander. "It does count because you're always handsome, I promise. I think I slept too much and miswired my brain when I woke up." 

"I don't mind that you didn't call me handsome," he says firmly, "now let me in. We have dinner to make." 

"Right, sorry."

Aaron frowns at you, then. It's weird. He frowns at his phone, at the TV, at nothing, but he doesn't frown at you. 

"Is something wrong?" he asks as you traverse down the hall. You hold your hands out for his suit and bag to take to your room and hang up, ignoring his question. He doesn't give them to you. "Is there?" 

"No." You smile as you say it. 

You're an awful liar, especially with him. He makes you more nervous than anyone because he's your boyfriend and because he's a literal human lie detector. 

"You didn't even try." 

You cover your face with both hands and groan dramatically, spinning around and away from him. You don't want him to see how flustered you are. 

"Don't make fun," you beg. 

"You're embarrassed." 

"Teach you that at the Bureau, do they?"  

You stop in the doorway of the kitchen, distracted by your own racing thoughts when suddenly there are two long arms needling around your waist and pulling you backward. You gasp a laugh and squirm uselessly to escape. 

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. 

You tip your head back, hands falling from your face in surprise. "What for, handsome?" 

His laugh fans out over your face but when he speaks again there's no humour there, only sincerity, "For being gone so long." 

"Well don't be. You can't exactly help it, Agent Hotchner," you hum. 

"Oh, don't." 

"Going out and saving the world takes time. I knew that when I met you, 'n I know it now. You don't have to say sorry." 

"I'm not apologising for my work. I'm apologising that we've," — his nose presses into the highest point of your cheek — "been apart." 

"I did miss you," you relent. 

He presses his lips to your cheek. "I missed you too." 

It's a nice distraction. You'd missed one another, and now you're together. You forget for a while what you'd worried, and only when he leaves again do you remember. 

Maybe I'm not a good girlfriend. 

You're not stupid enough to think Hotch is using you for anything, or that he's insincere. You're level-headed, though. His affection for you isn't necessarily permanent no matter how genuine. 

You don't want to be overbearing. The offers start slow. 

I can wash that for you. Of course I'm sure, I'm great with whites. 

Maybe I could make you lunch tomorrow. You can take it in, spare yourself the federal cafeteria. 

Yeah, I got them shined for you. They were looking a little dull at the toes. 

"Do you want me to press these?" you ask. 

Aaron looks up from where he's sitting in bed. You'd been out on a foray to the bathroom and have come to a stop by his bedroom door where a pair of black slacks hang in wait for the morning. 

He pushes a darling pair of reading glasses up the bridge of his nose. "No." 

"Are you sure? It won't take five minutes." 

"I'll do it in the morning." 

"I can do it for you, then. Just wake me up," you say, pushing back the sheets on the empty side of his bed. Your socked foot bumps his thigh as you pull up your legs. "What are you reading?" 

He puts his book on the nightstand, takes off his glasses. It's too bad. He really suits them.

"I want to talk to you about something." 

You laugh and slide down onto the flat of your back. 

"What?" he asks, confused, the tiniest hint of amusement in his eyes. 

"It's unlike you to start that way. You always cut around the fat." You bring his bed sheets up to your nose and squint at him. "'M I in trouble?" 

"Depends." 

"On what?" 

"You know I care about you." 

Your heart somersaults. That feels very much like a break-up opener, and he must see your anxiety on your face. He wrangles your hand from under the sheets and leans over you, his face in your eyeline, his fingers massaging yours until they ache in the good way. 

"Do you know how much?" he asks. 

"Is that a trick?" 

"No." 

You wait in case there's something he's going to add. When there's nothing, you pull the sheets to your chin and tamp down your perplexed pouting. 

"Yeah, I know how much." 

"I'd like to tell you how much." He pulls your joined hands toward his jaw. "I know I'm not always here, but I'm always thinking of you. In roundabout ways." 

"What ways?" you ask. Self-indulgence.

Aaron Hotchner indulges you. 

"I see," — he kisses your hand — "trees. I've seen a thousand trees, but when I see the bigger ones I wish you could see them too." 

It's a dropping sensation, near uncomfortable, that's how gutted his confession makes you feel. "You do?" 

"Sometimes women walk past me and I swear that it's you because they smell like your perfume. Flowers growing through cracks in the sidewalk. Lights through the jet window." It's the kind of stuff you like to point out to him when you're together. 

He stares at you, a long, reassuring look. 

He deserves a better reply, but all you can say is, "I think of you all the time, too." 

"I love that you want to take care of me, but you don't need to wear yourself out." 

You bite the inside of your bottom lip. So that's what this is about. Aaron has profiled you, and now he's being the gentleman that he is and assuaging your fears. 

"I'm not," you say quickly. 

He understands that you're saying I'm not wearing myself out rather than I'm not taking care of you. You are taking care of him, the best that you can, the best that he'll allow. 

"I can press my own pants," he says, leaning down for a kiss. "I can shine my own shoes." He kisses you again. You screw your eyes closed as the warmth of his breath heats your cupid's bow. "I can do my own laundry." He pulls back, dropping your hand in favour of your neck. His thumb pushes against your windpipe gently, palm hot over your skin. "I'll accept the lunches, if you're sure you don't mind making them." 

You feel as excited as you did the very first time he touched you, chest full of a dizzying pleasure, heart bump-bump-bumping a racing rhythm. His thumb strokes a lazy quarter circle into your neck. He can probably feel your pulse, see the way your eyes have blown. 

"I love making them," you say, breathless in earnest.

"The team think I'm spoiled." 

"You aren't spoiled." You're adored, you want to say. You cup his cheek instead. "You'd be spoiled if I brought them by everyday." 

Aaron doesn't stay with you and you don't stay with him enough to make him lunch everyday. He might get one or two a week, and that's when he's home. 

"Wouldn't that be nice," he mutters, his fingers pushing between your neck and the pillow underneath. 

You hike up on to your elbows slowly to avoid headbutting him. "Well, I could." 

His easy, loving smile flattens. "No." 

"I wouldn't mind. My lunch break is super long and it only takes me ten minutes to get there. We could have lunch together." 

"That's not going to work." 

"Okay." You wish you could take it as calmly as he says it. You sound choked up. You are choked up. 

"Sweetheart, the office is a war zone. Half the time I'm not there." 

"I get it," you say, dropping flat onto your back again. 

"Sweetheart." 

"Handsome," you mirror, putting on your best unaffected smile. 

You can't hold it very long, his concerned brows too much to deal with. You turn your head to the left and turn off the lamp on the nightstand, throwing at least half of your expression into darkness. 

Aaron doesn't give up. Does he ever? He cups your cheek and pulls you back to face him. 

"I can't promise any lunch dates. But I was thinking we'd go out for dinner next week, Friday," he begins hopefully, "somewhere nice." 

It feels like an apology and you're desperate to take it. 

"I don't need somewhere nice, s'long as you're there 'n not in Kansas, or Colorado, or Idaho, or New Jersey-" 

He hums and drops his head until his nose lies against your own. "Gonna go through all fifty?" 

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, Hotchner?" 

"I love your voice," he says agreeably. 

Disarmed, you let him charm you, and you let him push it all out of your mind. Plan foiled, your fears fall on the backburner for a third time. 

—

His fourth rejection is the first that feels entirely intentional, though you won't know until later. 

Mostly because Aaron pushes you. 

Far from cruel, the two of you are actually out walking in the city when he forces you into an alleyway, your fancy drink sloshing down the front of your sweater. 

You laugh in surprise and almost roll your ankle, hands clinging to his coat to stop an unfortunate fall. 

"Holy shit, Hotchner, learn to be a gentleman," you say as he presses up against you. "What are you doing? I'm soaked, you're gonna ruin your sleeves." 

He kisses you hard. It's a surprise, your head jumping back against the wall to find his hand already there to protect it. 

It's worth noting that Aaron is a sweetheart in practically every aspect of life. He once apologised after having walked in on you changing, which is ridiculous because most of the nights where you're together he insists on getting you some sort of undressed (even if it's just to help you into your pyjamas).

Needless to say, he's never kissed you like this. Your emotions spike so suddenly you laugh into his mouth, a girlish peel of giggles that you'll regret afterward but can't stop for the life of you. 

He shushes you. "Sorry," he whispers, as ill-composed as you've ever heard him. "Sorry, just-" He cuts you both off with another bruising kiss. 

Your laughter fades into sighs and little gasps for air. Somewhere near the alleyway opening a group of people pass by, a jovial series of cheers and friendly laughter trailing behind them. Aaron presses you further into the wall behind, and slowly, slowly winds down. Weirdly, you think his last couple of pecks feel sorry, softer and sweeter. 

Your lips buzz. 

"Why'd you buy me that fancy drink if you were gonna tip it all over me?" you ask good-naturedly when he finally pulls back. 

"You looked too nice today." His deadpan voice wars with the smile on his face. "I'm sorry. We'll go find you something to change into." 

"Was it really that important that you kiss me right then?" you ask, feigning disdain. 

He looks out toward the main street again. "Yes. Where do you want to go? There's a Nordstrom." 

You take a sip of your drink, unsurprised when he takes your hand and starts to lead you toward the department stores. "Have you ever been inside of a Nordstrom?" 

"I'm sure I'll figure it out."

— 

The fifth time is the straw that breaks the camel's back. Or the brick. It feels heavier than a strand of straw. It's technically already come to pass, so it's an invisible brick. 

You're out for coffee by yourself which really means you're out for something sweet, bundled up in a coat and scarf to fight the night-time chill. 

"Thank you," you tell the barista, accepting your drink and receipt with a smile. 

You turn around and almost walk straight into a pretty dark-haired woman with really nice hair. You make a note to tell Aaron about it when you see him next, not because he'll care but because he likes to hear what you've been thinking about. And right now, all you can think about is her feathered bangs. 

I want nice bangs, you think offhandedly. 

"I'm sorry," you say, trying to move around her. 

She steps into your path. 

"Sorry," you say again. 

She's squinting at you, thin eyebrows peeking out from behind her hair. "Sorry, have we met?" she asks. 

You try not to be too hasty, but you're not sure you've ever seen her. You stare at her as she stares at you, and you get a tiny inkling of familiarity, but it's gone as quick as it comes. 

"I'm really sorry, I don't think so," you murmur, tilting your head to one side. 

She bites her lip, let's it go. "Oh!" she says excitedly, voice bright with triumph. "Oh oh oh! I know who you are, you're Hotch's mysterious girlfriend!" 

Your smile turns quizzical. You know nearly everybody calls Aaron 'Hotch'. Whenever you try it he either gives you the silent treatment or covers your mouth with his hand. 

"I'm Emily Prentiss, I work in the BAU," she explains rapidly, shoving her purse under her hand to offer it for a handshake. 

You do the same and shake her hand. Introducing yourself feels awkward. She knows you. You don't have a clue who she is. Only- 

"Oh, I know who you are now, I'm sorry I didn't recognise you before!" you say contritely. "I've seen photos of you and the team together. It's really nice to meet you." 

She nods. "It's nice to meet you too. I have to say, we've been dying to meet you. We even have a betting pool on what you're like, because Hotch barely says a thing about you." 

You try not to look as devastated as you feel, re-wrapping your fingers around your cup. "No?" 

"We didn't even know what you looked like until we saw you the other day. We came looking to say hi and you'd disappeared." 

You lick your dry lips. "The other day?" 

"Yeah, last Friday. We were out for impromptu drinks, celebrating a case. You know, you should come with sometime. It would be fun." 

Emily talks each word with an undertone of good humour. She's stunning, bubbly, and her hair flows around her face with every movement. 

"He really doesn't talk about me?" 

Emily drops into girl code niceties, backtracking. "I mean, not too often. We catch him smiling at his phone and hear your voice sometimes when you call. He seems happy. Well, happy as Hotch can seem." She swallows. "He's a private creature."

He doesn't talk about me. 

You pretend to check your watch. 

"It was really good to meet you," you say, voice airy with a feigned nonchalance. 

"Yeah, of course. Super nice," Emily says. 

You smile at her. It's more like a grimace. By the time you're outside of the coffee shop you're too upset to care, a humiliated shock of tears brewing behind your achy eyes. 

You hold your cup to your chest and unzip your purse to tuck the receipt inside, trying to maintain some control. There's a folded note inside, thick cardstock quartered. 

You take it out. Your fingers tremble with offended adrenaline. 

You're beautiful. 

Short, sweet, extremely Aaron Hotchner. Too bad you can't believe it. 

Emily Prentiss being out and about means the BAU are done for the night, though whether your workaholic boyfriend got the memo is anyone's best guess. You're not sure if it's better or worse if he's in work when you call. You're so upset that you can't help yourself. 

"Hi, honey." 

"Do you really think I'm beautiful?" you ask, staving off tears with all your willpower. 

"I wouldn't write it if I didn't mean it. That one took you a while to find, I was-" 

"Are you sure?" 

"...Are you okay?" 

You glare up at the dark sky rather than answer, blinking hard to force down your tears. You really don't wanna cry, but it's been a bad day and meeting Emily has made it worse. No matter how hard you try to think otherwise, all signs point to Aaron being ashamed of you. Embarrassed to be with you. He's hiding your relationship from everybody. 

"Am I- Is it my clothes? My job?" 

"What's wrong with your clothes?" 

"You tell me, detective." 

You're getting angry. He's- he's lying, or he's messing with you. He's making fun of you. At least that's how it feels. 

"Where are you right now?" he asks. You can picture him shrugging on his suit jacket, putting his files in order to come and meet you. 

You don't want to see him. "I'm at the coffee shop by your apartment. I actually ran into somebody, and I'm feeling very well-informed." A first tear bumps down your cheek. You ignore it. 

"I don't understand." 

"I don't understand! What am I doing wrong?" You bite your tongue in last ditch efforts to remain intact, but the tears won't hold off any longer. You swallow a sob. "What's wrong with me?" 

"Nothing. Nothing, honey, nothing is wrong with you." 

You wipe your wet face with mean hands. 

"Stay where you are. I'll come and meet you." 

"No. I don't wanna see you." 

"Honey-" 

"Leave me alone, Aaron." 

You hang up. You walk for a while, feeling as though steam is rising off of your flushed skin with every clumsy step. It had been a short phone call and already you can't remember what you said, all you can feel is angry, and then that runs out and all you can do is cry. 

You've never felt incredibly attractive. Aaron makes you feel better than that — he has the uncanny ability to inspire self-confidence with a loaded look alone. He can smile at you and your skin feels like it's glowing. 

So why doesn't that translate? If he thinks you're so pretty, why does he insist on hiding you away?

Because that day, he'd seen his friends. He could've introduced you but he took you down the alley and kissed you so you wouldn't be seen. That's not too busy: That's secretive. 

That kiss. You fooled yourself into thinking you must've looked irresistible. Fuck. You went home that night thinking you were the best thing since sliced bread. 

"I'm so stupid," you mutter, sniffling. 

Your self deprecation is muffled by the sound of a slowing car. You don't look up. There are two possibilities for who it is, and you don't want to deal with either. 

The car parks and then you do look up. Despite how mad you are you're not suicidal, and Aaron's given you extensive coaching on sex trafficking. 

It's him. Shocker. 

You're half-expecting him to reprimand you. You didn't look up until I parked. You know it takes five seconds to snatch and incapacitate someone? 

He looks haphazardly put together. Suit jacket on but tie loosened, he rounds the hood of his car and joins you on the sidewalk. You don't want to play games with him. He really doesn't need it, he didn't sign up for it, and drama isn't your style, but you're sick of this. 

"You want to tell me what you're thinking?" he asks, standing an amicable two feet away, hands at his hips.

"I'm really mad." 

"What else?" 

"I'm thinking," you say, looking down at your cold hands, "that you… That you're…" You rub your cheek into your shoulder to hide a fresh tear. "I don't know, Aaron. I'm thinking lots of things." 

"Do you want to think about them in the car?" he asks. 

Do you want to talk about it?

You don't want to talk about it. You don't like crying in front of him on a good day. 

You're pretty sure he'll combust on the spot if he knows you're walking home alone in the dark and distracted. 

You get in the car. He has the good sense not to touch your shoulders like he normally would. 

You buckle as soon as you've closed the passenger side door. "I'm sorry," you mumble, looking down at your knees. 

"Let's forget that, for now." He turns the key but doesn't pull out. "Tell me what's upset you and I'll explain." 

"I met Emily Prentiss." 

He looks at you out of the corner of his eye.

"She told me that you don't talk about me. Ever. That they didn't even know what I looked like." 

You know he's listening but he keeps his eyes on the road, and you chance a look at the side of his face. He doesn't seem mad. 

"I don't talk about you often," he says. "But that doesn't mean never… It's true that they didn't know what you look like." 

"Until last week, when they saw us together and you pulled me into an alley so they couldn't see me." 

"Yes." 

Your lower lip trembles. "Do you see why that would upset me?" You're asking genuinely. 

"Yeah, honey." 

Your head jolts up. He's diverting his gaze from the road to you intermittently, offering up a regretful grimace. The oncoming headlights splash over his work worn face. 

"Then why are you doing this? What's so wrong with me that you won't even admit we're together?" 

"Nothing is wrong with you. I'm not ashamed of you," he says firmly, volume rising. 

"Then why?" 

His eyebrows pull together. "You're the best person I've ever met that isn't my son, and I selfishly don't want to share you yet. I also don't want to scare you off." 

You pull your sleeves over your hands and turn in your seat, wiping your damp cheeks as he continues. 

"My job is hard, and it's dangerous. It has jeopardised the safety and wellbeing of people I love before. So no, I'm not eager to introduce you to my world. The more intertwined with my life that you become, the more danger I put you in, and…" The car slows down again. He turns to look at you. "And I like that I'm the only one who knows you like this.

"I have been hiding you. I have. But it was a," — his tone turns wry — "misguided attempt at keeping you all to myself. Safe, and to myself." 

You're finding it difficult to be mad with him. 

He's finding it difficult to maintain his poker face. A fat tear rolls down your cheek and you're not sure what it's made of, fatigue or relief or plain hurt, whatever it is he doesn't like it. He pulls over. 

You hold still as he pinches the tear off of your chin. 

"How long have you felt like this?" 

"Like what?" you ask wetly. 

"Like this." He opens his hand against your cheek. It encompasses your face; you lean in, hungry for reassurance. 

"I don't know." 

"This is why you changed your hair. Your clothes. And started making my lunch." 

You cover his hand with your own. "I actually really like making your lunches." 

You stare at each other until suddenly you're laughing, sniffly, short of breath. Aaron joins in soon after. He always sounds so surprised to be laughing.

"I'm glad," he says when your laughter has abated, pinky and ring finger caressing down the slope of your cheek. "I really like having them. Rossi can't hide how jealous he is." 

"They know about the lunches?" 

His mindless petting pauses. "They know about the lunches. You're not a secret. I'm… selfish with the details. I'm selfish." Aaron takes back his hand. "I'm sorry." 

You take as deep a breath as you can. "Okay." 

"Yeah?" 

"Mm. Can we go home?" 

His eyebrows jump and swiftly smooth again. "Yeah, we can go home." He chucks your chin and gets the car moving again. 

You watch him drive. 

When you get home, he doesn't mind reassuring you some more. Actually, it's like he needs to do it. You'd love to say that it's overkill and that his low murmurings of praise are unnecessary, but you can't. 

"You're lovely," he says seriously across two plates of pasta. Again through the mirror when you're brushing your teeth, and again when you've curled into his chest for the night. You're lovely. Nothing that needs hiding. 

You hear him on the phone early in the morning, half asleep. 

"Hey, Dave. Yeah. Okay. Uh… No, that's fine." He laughs under his breath. "Yeah, if she was awake I'd ask her to make you one. I think she would… Okay. See you in forty." 

You bury your tired face into his pillows and beam. 

—

+1 

Aaron's office is terrifyingly hectic. You can see already that the bullpen is full to bursting with agents, including but not limited to his special team of profilers. There's the distinct smell of coffee, sharp and burning, and then the underlay of printer ink, new paper. 

You can't believe you're here. 

You're not brave enough to introduce yourself to his team, and half aren't at their desks anyways. You hover in the doorway until somebody needs to get past you, taking a reluctant step inside.

You shouldn't wait for Aaron. You should be brave. You're a grown up, and you're bringing your grown up partner his very grown up lunch. You'd wanted desperately to do this. The least that you can do is do it by yourself. 

You've scrapped most of the fall staples but kept the burgundy pants Aaron likes so much at his request. They feel insanely tight on your thighs, as does your collar. In fact, the room has definitely shrunk since you got here. 

Like an idiot, Aaron says your name loud and clear, standing with a hand on the railings at the top of the instep. You hadn't even noticed him emerging from his office.

His voice demands — commands — attention. People turn in their seats, first toward him, and then toward you. 

All eyes on me. 

You don't run but you don't walk either, weaving through desk chairs and people looking a mix of busy and curious.

"You're being cruel," you say as you approach him, a brown paper bag held close to your abdomen. 

"Hi, honey," he says. He wears a knowing smile, all dark and tall and handsome as he starts down the stairs to meet you. 

"Don't punish me." 

"Is that what you'd call this?" he asks, hand quick to clasp your shoulder, glueing you in place so he can kiss your forehead.

And yes, this is what you'd wanted. The doting boyfriend not just at home but at work, too.

That doesn't mean it isn't really, really embarrassing. 

"Is everyone looking at me?" you murmur. 

He slips his arm behind your shoulders to walk you up the stairs. "Yes." His voice drops lower. "At one place specifically, I imagine." 

"What part is that, Agent?" 

He laughs and opens his office door to beckon you inside. "Don't start." 

༺༻

my first hotch fic omg. i did a big character study beforehand but i doubt it's entirely in character, hotch is a difficult character to write for! (and im only at season 4). but this was so fun and he's hot so it's worth it. if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging! i promise it makes a difference to me (and also i love seeing what people thought). thank you for reading!! ♥

“i was listening to your heartbeat”

sirius black x gn!reader

tags: fluffy sirius, cute relationship moments 🫶🏽

a/n: SEND ME REQUESTS I BEG<3

sirius knew that he came with trauma and baggage. his life was never easy and before you it was a disaster, you had put him back together, made sure he was eating, that he did his homework or that he made sure to hang out with people he loved.

you were never pushing sirius to do things he didn’t like to do like socializing when all he wanted was to stay in bed, but you were there.

every step of the way.

you stayed in with him when everyone got ready to go to hogsmead because his anxiety bubbled up to the point where he couldn’t breathe.

you stayed with him in the bathroom on the 3rd floor corridors when he got a howler from his mother in the middle of potions.

you visited him the same weekend he arrived at the potters because james sent you a letter about him running away.

you never judged him, it was what made you so comforting to him, he didn’t mean to fall in love with you but it happened.

you were always aware that sirius was one of the most desired people at hogwarts so your surprise when he had told you he liked you of all people had you stuttering in nervousness.

you two had shortly begun to date under the radar just after the start of your 6th year, his friends were the first to find out and slowly but surely people would place two and two together when one of you would show up, the other wouldn’t be far behind.

sirius was a clingy boyfriend, which made you all the more happier, you loved physical affection and whenever sirius couldn’t let go of you it only reassured you that he wanted you.

as you both lay in the marauders dorm, cuddled up in sirius’ bed you can feel his slow breathing on your chest as your play with his hair softly.

you can feel him start to grin and you’re confused before you try to lift his head up.

he slaps your hand teasingly and frowns up at you before laying back on your chest.

“sirius, what in merlin’s name are you doing” you ask confused whilst flicking his nose

“i was listening to your heartbeat dove” he smiles up at you and you can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of love flow through you.

my boy you think to yourself, how lucky must you be to be blessed with this angel of a man.

“i love you sirius orion black” you mutter as you kiss his forehead

“i love you more darling” he smiles and snuggles back into your arms

waitttt aerial writing poly!marauders?? omg. how about them looking after sick or injured reader I feel like that could be so cute!!!! they’re all worrywart bfs tbh

emergency contact

summary james gets called when you faint at work. and then sirius. then remus. you feel awful

content poly!marauders x fem!reader

note this was combined with another request. I accidentally deleted it I'm super sorry but it was a request for poly x fem!reader where the boys come to your work after fainting!

You feel really embarrassed sitting at the end of the bar, ice pack held to your head, mouth wrapped around the straw in your drink.

Your embarrassment turns to worry when you see James walking across the room. He’s rushing, hair a mess, mud tracked up his calves. He’s still in his rugby kit.

You turn your head to look at your colleague. “Ash, you told me you wouldn’t call anyone!” You’re not really upset, you feel like a bit of a nuisance.

“It’s procedure, Y/N. I’m sorry.” She doesn’t sound very sorry. You don’t blame her.

“Sweetheart,” he says when he reaches you. He’s frantic, soft about it, but still upset. “Are you okay? They told me you fainted.”

“I’m really sorry,” you say instead of a hello. You feel entirely stupid.

“What?” He grasps your shoulder and squeezes hard. “What are you sorry for, honey?”

“I feel bad,” you say quietly, voice a little thick. You screw your face up and your head tinges. A dull pain that radiates down into the back of your skull.

“Please, don’t.” He says. Firm with a hint of worry he’s trying to mask. If James cries you think you might too, and you really wouldn’t put it past him.

You drop the pack to the bar and take his hand, fingers damp with condensation that transfers to his palm. “I’m fine. Promise.”

“You bumped your head?” He uses his free hand to hold your face, careful where he has his fingers. His eyes track over your face to search for any harm. You’re blood-free, luckily, though there’s a red mark blooming up and into your hairline. Most likely to bruise.

“Yeah.” Your eyes flutter closed because you can’t help it.

“You’re not feeling drowsy?” comes James’s voice.

“No, feels nice,” you chuckle, a tiny huff of air. “Your hands are warm.”

You don’t expect it, but suddenly, you’re hearing Sirius’s worried voice come from the other side of the room. You crane your head around James' broad shoulders to see him, haloed by the light coming through the front door.

“Why is he here?” you mumble, feeling worse by the second. It comes out worse than it sounded in your head.

Apparently, he hears you. “He is here because James had to call him.” He hugs you almost immediately. Big, warm hands come around to cage you in against his chest. You hide the good side of your face into his neck and huff. “Do you not want me here?”

You pull back quickly and really regret it. Blinking back the hot, pinching pain in your face. “What? No, I’m just…ugh.”

Sirius pouts, then hums a sympathetic noise from the back of his throat. He keeps his hands on your shoulders. “It’s okay, honey. Don’t worry about it, yeah?”

You close your eyes and incline your head to lean it down on his ringed-up hand. Your cheek all smooshed up against him.

“Is she okay?” You hear him ask James. He hums a yes. “She’s not concussed?”

“She doesn’t think so,” he says.

“She is right here,” you mumble. You pull back from his chest and swing your legs over the chair.

"I'm sorry, lovely." He looks like he wants to hug you again. "You're okay? Had some water?"

You nod. "Just really wanna go home."

"All right, let's go, yeah?" James takes your elbow to help you off the stool, and Sirius steadies you by the shoulder. It's kind of adorable how gentle they're being with you. Soft hands and pinched brows. They both make a funny sound when you wobble a little.

James grabs your bag and throws it over his shoulder and you all leave.

"I'm sorry, Sirius," you say before you get to the door. "Were you at work? You won't get in trouble for leaving, will you?"

"No, it's okay. Don't worry about that." He smiles.

You will. You'll no doubt feel bad for the rest of the week.

You bump into Remus on your way out. He holds the door open for you. He looks like he's run up the block. "Rem, baby, they didn't call you too?" You're not sure why you hadn't expected it. If he wasn't here, he'd definitely feel horrible.

"Dove, you're okay?" he pants. He holds your face in his hands and you try not to cry. You're not sure if having them all here makes you feel better or worse. "God, I was so worried."

The first tear leaves a hot track down your cheek. You push yourself into Remus's chest instead of answering and wrap your hands around his waist. He crosses his arms over your back.

He moves you out of the way of the entrance and you scuffle along with him. Your tears are slow, dampening his shirt, catching the brunt of your upset. You don't make any horrible sounds, just quiet, sticky tears.

He encourages your face back with a firm, pinching hand. You blink back the end of your cries. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare everyone."

"Don't worry," he says, corners of his mouth trembling into a sad smile. "It's all good. As long as you're okay."

"I just," you take a stuttering breath, "just got really tired. I probably shouldn't have worked today."

Sirius kisses the end of your eyebrow, right across your temple. "You've been working a bit too much, I think."

"I didn't ruin anyone's day?" You sniffle way too sadly for anyone's opinion. Remus squeezes you closer with almost bruising fingertips.

"No, lovely," James says, sticky smile gracing his lips. "Don't worry about it, okay? We just wanted to be here for you. That's our job."

"Right," you say, voice catching at the end.

Sirius shucks your jacket on for you as the wind outside picks up. "Speaking of being here for you," he says. "Is James your emergency contact?"

"No, you all are," you tell him, a hint of laughter in your words.

"Right."

Then, you start actually laughing. "Was he the only one to pick up?"

"I think so," he joins in.

"What if it was serious?" Suddenly, you're teasing.

"It was serious!" Remus balks.

"You didn't answer the phone!"

Everyone goes quiet. You burst out into the biggest fit of giggles, smiling so widely it hurts. "I'm kidding!" you say, struggling to speak. "God, stop. Look at your faces! Stop - stop it, my head hurts."

James cages you in against his chest, stealing you from Remus. "My poor baby," he coos. "Oh, they're awful, awful boyfriends."

"Fuck off," Sirius grumbles. "Just cause you're always on your phone."

"Don't listen to them, honey." He's awful. "You comin' in my car?"

"If you stop being mean, then yeah."

"Yeah, you fuckin' tell him, Y/N." Comes Remus's grumpy voice.